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Proverb Tales.
PREFACE.
Being forbidden to write anything at present I have collected various waifs and strays to appease the young people who clamor for more, forgetting that mortal brains need rest.
Being banned from writing anything right now I have gathered various bits and pieces to satisfy the young folks who are demanding more, forgetting that human minds need a break.
As many girls have asked to see what sort of tales Jo March wrote at the beginning of her career, I have added “The Baron’s Gloves,” as a sample of the romantic rubbish which paid so well once upon a time. If it shows them what not to write it will not have been rescued from oblivion in vain.
As many girls have asked to see what kind of stories Jo March wrote at the start of her career, I’ve included “The Baron’s Gloves” as an example of the romantic nonsense that used to sell so well. If it teaches them what not to write, it won’t have been brought back from obscurity in vain.
CONTENTS.
| PAGE | |
| Kitty's Graduation Day | 5 |
| Aunt Kipp | 26 |
| Psyche's Artwork | 55 |
| A Country Christmas | 84 |
| On Strike Duty | 124 |
| The Baron’s Gloves | 156 |
| My Red Hat | 251 |
| What the Bells Witnessed and Communicated | 271 |
KITTY’S CLASS DAY.
“Fixing a problem early prevents it from getting much worse.”
“O PRIS, Pris, I’m really going! Here’s the invitation—rough paper—Chapel—spreads—Lyceum Hall—everything splendid; and Jack to take care of me!”
“O PRIS, Pris, I’m really going! Here’s the invitation—rough paper—Chapel—spreads—Lyceum Hall—everything’s great; and Jack is going to take care of me!”
As Kitty burst into the room and performed a rapturous pas seul, waving the cards over her head, sister Priscilla looked up from her work with a smile of satisfaction on her quiet face.
As Kitty rushed into the room and did an excited pas seul, waving the cards above her head, sister Priscilla glanced up from her work with a pleased smile on her calm face.
“Who invites you, dear?”
“Who invited you, dear?”
“Why, Jack, of course,—dear old cousin Jack. Nobody else ever thinks of me, or cares whether I have a bit of pleasure now and then. Isn’t he kind? Mayn’t I go? and, O Pris, what shall I wear?”
“Why, Jack, of course—my dear old cousin Jack. Nobody else ever thinks of me or cares if I get some enjoyment now and then. Isn’t he so kind? Can I go? And, oh Pris, what should I wear?”
Kitty paused suddenly, as if the last all-important question had a solemnizing effect upon both mind and body.
Kitty suddenly stopped, as if the final crucial question weighed heavily on both her mind and body.
“Why, your white muslin, silk sacque, and new hat, of course,” began Pris with an air of surprise. But Kitty broke in impetuously,—
“Why, your white muslin, silk jacket, and new hat, of course,” started Pris with an expression of surprise. But Kitty jumped in impulsively,—
“I’ll never wear that old muslin again; it’s full of darns, up to my knees, and all out of fashion. So is my sacque; and as for my hat, though it does well enough here, it would be absurd for Class Day.”
“I’m never wearing that old muslin again; it’s full of patches, up to my knees, and totally out of style. So is my coat; and as for my hat, even though it works fine here, it would be ridiculous for Class Day.”
“You don’t expect an entirely new suit for this occasion,—do you?” asked Pris, anxiously.
“You don’t expect a completely new suit for this occasion, do you?” asked Pris anxiously.
“Yes, I do, and I’ll tell you how I mean to get it. I’ve planned everything; for, though I hardly dreamed of going, I amused myself by thinking how I could manage if I did get invited.”
“Yes, I do, and I’ll explain how I plan to get it. I’ve thought everything through; even though I never really expected to go, I entertained myself by imagining how I could handle things if I did get invited.”
“Let us hear.” And Pris took up her work with an air of resignation.
“Let us hear.” And Pris resumed her work with a sense of acceptance.
“First, my dress,” began Kitty, perching herself on the arm of the sofa, and entering into the subject with enthusiasm. “I’ve got the ten dollars grandpa sent me, and with eight of it I’m going to buy Lizzie King’s organdie muslin. She got it in Paris; but her aunt providentially—no, unfortunately—died; so she can’t wear it, and wants to get rid of it. She is bigger than I am, you know; so there is enough for a little mantle or sacque, for it isn’t made up. The skirt is cut off and gored, with a splendid train—”
“First, my dress,” Kitty began, sitting on the arm of the sofa and diving into the topic with excitement. “I’ve got the ten dollars grandpa sent me, and with eight of it, I’m going to buy Lizzie King’s organdie muslin. She got it in Paris; but her aunt unfortunately—no, providentially—died; so she can’t wear it and wants to sell it. She’s bigger than I am, you know; so there’s enough for a little mantle or jacket since it’s not made up yet. The skirt is cut off and gored, with a stunning train—”
“My dear, you don’t mean you are going to wear one of those absurd, new-fashioned dresses?” exclaimed Pris, lifting hands and eyes.
“My dear, you can’t be serious about wearing one of those ridiculous, trendy dresses?” exclaimed Pris, throwing up her hands and eyes.
“I do! Nothing would induce me to go to Class Day without a train. It’s been the desire of my heart to have one, and now I will, if I never have another gown to my back!” returned Kitty, with immense decision.
“I do! Nothing would make me go to Class Day without a train. It’s been my dream to have one, and now I will, even if I never wear another gown again!” replied Kitty, with great determination.
Pris shook her head, and said, “Go on!” as if prepared for any extravagance after that.
Pris shook her head and said, “Go on!” as if ready for anything wild after that.
“We can make it ourselves,” continued Kitty, “and trim it with the same. It’s white with blue stripes and daisies in the stripes; the loveliest thing you ever saw, and can’t be got here. So simple, yet distingué, I know you’ll like it. Next, my bonnet,”—here the solemnity of Kitty’s face and manner was charming to behold. “I shall make it out of one of my new illusion undersleeves. I’ve never worn them; and the puffed part will be a plenty for a little fly-away bonnet of the latest style. I’ve got blue ribbons to tie it with, and have only to look up some daisies for the inside. With my extra two dollars I shall buy my gloves, and pay my fares,—and there I am, all complete.”
“We can make it ourselves,” Kitty continued, “and add the same details. It’s white with blue stripes and has daisies in the stripes; the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and you can’t get it here. So simple yet stylish, I know you’ll love it. Next, my bonnet,”—here, the seriousness of Kitty’s face and demeanor was charming to see. “I’ll make it out of one of my new illusion undersleeves. I’ve never worn them; and the poufy part will be enough for a cute, trendy little bonnet. I have blue ribbons to tie it with, and I just need to find some daisies for the inside. With my extra two dollars, I’ll buy my gloves and cover my fares,—and there I am, all set.”
She looked so happy, so pretty, and full of girlish satisfaction, that sister Pris couldn’t bear to disturb the little plan, much as she disapproved of it. They were poor, and every penny had to be counted. There were plenty of neighbors to gossip and criticize, and plenty of friends to make disagreeable remarks on any unusual extravagance. Pris saw things with the prudent eyes of thirty, but Kitty with the romantic eyes of seventeen; and the elder sister, in the kindness of her heart, had no wish to sadden life to those bright young eyes, or deny the child a harmless pleasure. She sewed thoughtfully for a minute, then looked up, saying, with the smile that always assured Kitty the day was won,—
She looked so happy, so pretty, and full of youthful satisfaction that her sister Pris couldn’t bring herself to disrupt the little plan, even though she disapproved of it. They were poor, and every penny counted. There were plenty of neighbors ready to gossip and criticize, and friends who would make unkind comments about any unusual spending. Pris saw things with the cautious perspective of thirty, while Kitty viewed them with the romantic perspective of seventeen; and the older sister, with kindness in her heart, didn’t want to dampen the bright light in those youthful eyes or deny the girl a harmless pleasure. She sewed thoughtfully for a moment, then looked up and said, with the smile that always reassured Kitty that the day was hers,—
“Get your things together, and we will see what can be done. But remember, dear, that it is both bad taste and bad economy for poor people to try to ape the rich.”
“Gather your things, and we’ll see what we can do. But remember, dear, it’s both in poor taste and a waste of resources for those who are struggling to try to imitate the wealthy.”
“You’re a perfect angel, Pris; so don’t moralize. I’ll run and get the dress, and we’ll begin at once, for there is much to do, and only two days to do it in.” And Kitty skipped away, singing “Lauriger Horatius,” at the top of her voice. Priscilla soon found that the girl’s head was completely turned by the advice and example of certain fashionable young neighbors. It was in vain for Pris to remonstrate and warn.
“You’re an absolute sweetheart, Pris, so don’t preach. I’ll go grab the dress, and we’ll start right away because there’s a lot to do and only two days to get it done.” And Kitty skipped away, singing “Lauriger Horatius,” at the top of her lungs. Priscilla soon realized that the girl’s head was completely twisted by the advice and example of some trendy young neighbors. It was pointless for Pris to object and warn.
“Just this once let me do as others do, and thoroughly enjoy myself,” pleaded Kitty; and Pris yielded, saying to herself, “She shall have her wish, and if she learns a lesson, neither time nor money will be lost.”
“Just this once, let me do what others do and really enjoy myself,” Kitty begged; and Pris agreed, telling herself, “She will get what she wants, and if she learns a lesson, neither time nor money will be wasted.”
So they snipped and sewed, and planned and pieced, going through all the alternations of despair and triumph, worry and satisfaction, which women undergo when a new suit is under way. Company kept coming, for news of Kitty’s expedition had flown abroad, and her young friends must just run in to hear about it, and ask what she was going to wear; while Kitty was so glad and proud to tell, and show, and enjoy her little triumph that many half hours were wasted, and the second day found much still to do.
So they cut and stitched, and organized and assembled, going through all the ups and downs of worry and joy that women experience when a new outfit is in the works. Friends kept dropping by, as word of Kitty's adventure spread, eager to hear about it and ask what she was going to wear. Kitty was so happy and proud to share and show off her little victory that they wasted a lot of time, and by the second day, there was still so much to do.
The lovely muslin didn’t hold out, and Kitty sacrificed the waist to the train, for a train she must have or the whole thing would be an utter failure. A little sacque was eked out, however, and when the frills were on, it was “ravishing,” as Kitty said, with a sigh of mingled delight and fatigue. The gored skirt was a fearful job, as any one who has ever plunged into the mysteries will testify; and before the facing, even experienced Pris quailed.
The beautiful muslin didn’t last, and Kitty gave up the waist for the train, because she had to have a train or the whole thing would be a total disaster. A little sacque was managed, though, and when the frills were added, it was “gorgeous,” as Kitty said, with a sigh of mixed joy and exhaustion. The gored skirt was a nightmare, as anyone who has ever tackled the details will agree; and even experienced Pris was intimidated before the facing.
The bonnet also was a trial, for when the lace was on, it was discovered that the ribbons didn’t match the dress. Here was a catastrophe! Kitty frantically rummaged the house, the shops, the stores of her friends, and rummaged in vain. There was no time to send to the city, and despair was about to fall on Kitty, when Pris rescued her by quietly making one of the small sacrifices which were easy to her because her life was spent for others. Some one suggested a strip of blue illusion,—and that could be got; but, alas! Kitty had no money, for the gloves were already bought. Pris heard the lamentations, and giving up fresh ribbons for herself, pulled her sister out of a slough of despond with two yards of “heavenly tulle.”
The bonnet was also a challenge, because when the lace was added, it turned out that the ribbons didn’t match the dress. This was a disaster! Kitty frantically searched the house, the shops, and her friends' stores, but found nothing. There wasn’t time to send someone to the city, and despair was about to overwhelm Kitty when Pris saved her by quietly making one of the small sacrifices that came easily to her because she dedicated her life to helping others. Someone suggested a strip of blue illusion, which was available; but, unfortunately, Kitty had no money, as she had already bought the gloves. Pris heard the complaints and, giving up some ribbons for herself, pulled her sister out of her funk with two yards of “heavenly tulle.”
“Now the daisies; and oh, dear me, not one can I find in this poverty-stricken town,” sighed Kitty, prinking at the glass, and fervently hoping that nothing would happen to her complexion over night.
“Now the daisies; and oh, dear me, I can’t find a single one in this poor town,” sighed Kitty, preening in front of the mirror, fervently hoping that nothing would happen to her complexion overnight.
“I see plenty just like those on your dress,” answered Pris, nodding toward the meadow full of young white-weed.
“I see lots just like those on your dress,” replied Pris, nodding toward the meadow full of young white-weed.
“Pris, you’re a treasure! I’ll wear real ones; they keep well, I know, and are so common I can refresh my bonnet anywhere. It’s a splendid idea.”
“Pris, you’re amazing! I’ll wear the real ones; they last a long time, I know, and are so easy to find I can change my hat anytime. It’s a great idea.”
Away rushed Kitty to return with an apron full of American daisies. A pretty cluster was soon fastened just over the left-hand frizzle of bright hair, and the little bonnet was complete.
Away rushed Kitty to come back with an apron full of American daisies. A lovely bunch was quickly pinned just above the left side of her bright hair, and the little bonnet was done.
“Now, Pris, tell me how I look,” cried Kitty, as she swept into the room late that afternoon in full gala costume.
“Now, Pris, tell me how I look,” shouted Kitty as she burst into the room late that afternoon in her full party outfit.
It would have been impossible for the primmest, the sourest, or the most sensible creature in the world to say that it wasn’t a pretty sight. The long train, the big chignon, the apology for a bonnet, were all ridiculous,—no one could deny that,—but youth, beauty, and a happy heart made even those absurdities charming. The erect young figure gave an air to the crisp folds of the delicate dress; the bright eyes and fresh cheeks under the lace rosette made one forget its size; and the rippling brown hair won admiration in spite of the ugly bunch which disfigured the girl’s head. The little jacket set “divinely,” the new gloves were as immaculate as white kids could be, and to crown all, Lizzie King, in a burst of generosity, lent Kitty the blue and white Paris sunshade which she couldn’t use herself.
It would have been impossible for even the most uptight, grumpy, or sensible person in the world to say that it wasn’t a beautiful sight. The long train, the big bun, and the ridiculous bonnet were all laughable—no one could deny that—but youth, beauty, and a happy heart made even those quirks charming. The straight young figure gave an elegance to the crisp folds of the delicate dress; the bright eyes and rosy cheeks under the lace rosette made you forget its size; and the flowing brown hair earned admiration despite the awkward bun that messed up the girl’s head. The little jacket looked “divine,” the new gloves were as pristine as white leather could be, and to top it all off, Lizzie King generously lent Kitty the blue and white Paris sunshade that she couldn’t use herself.
“Now I could die content; I’m perfect in all respects, and I know Jack won’t be ashamed of me. I really owe it to him to look my best, you know, and that’s why I’m so particular,” said Kitty, in an apologetic tone, as she began to lay away her finery.
“Now I could die happy; I feel perfect in every way, and I know Jack won’t be embarrassed by me. I really owe it to him to look my best, you know, and that’s why I’m so picky,” said Kitty, in a sorry tone, as she started to put away her beautiful things.
“I hope you will enjoy every minute of the time, deary. Don’t forget to finish running up the facing; I’ve basted it carefully, and would do it if my head didn’t ache so, I really can’t hold it up any longer,” answered Pris, who had worked like a disinterested bee, while Kitty had flown about like a distracted butterfly.
“I hope you enjoy every minute of your time, dear. Don’t forget to finish attaching the facing; I’ve pinned it carefully, and I would do it if my head didn’t hurt so much, I really can’t manage it any longer,” replied Pris, who had worked diligently like a focused bee, while Kitty had flitted around like a restless butterfly.
“Go and lie down, you dear, kind soul, and don’t think of my nonsense again,” said Kitty, feeling remorseful, till Pris was comfortably asleep, when she went to her room and revelled in her finery till bedtime. So absorbed was she in learning to manage her train gracefully, that she forgot the facing till very late. Then, being worn out with work and worry, she did, what girls are too apt to do, stuck a pin here and there, and, trusting to Priscilla’s careful bastings, left it as it was, retiring to dream of a certain Horace Fletcher, whose aristocratic elegance had made a deep impression upon her during the few evenings she had seen him.
“Go lie down, you sweet, kind soul, and don’t think about my nonsense again,” Kitty said, feeling guilty, until Pris was sound asleep. Then she went to her room and enjoyed her fancy outfit until bedtime. So focused was she on learning to walk gracefully in her train that she completely forgot about the facing until very late. Then, exhausted from all the work and stress, she did what girls often do: she stuck a pin here and there and, trusting Priscilla’s careful basting, left it as it was, retiring to dream of a certain Horace Fletcher, whose classy elegance had made a strong impression on her during the few evenings she had seen him.
Nothing could have been lovelier than the morning, and few hearts happier than Kitty’s, as she arrayed herself with the utmost care, and waited in solemn state for the carriage; for muslin trains and dewy roads were incompatible, and one luxury brought another.
Nothing could have been more beautiful than the morning, and few hearts were as happy as Kitty's as she dressed herself with great care and waited elegantly for the carriage; muslin trains and dewy roads just didn't mix, and one luxury led to another.
“My goodness, where did she get that stylish suit?” whispered Miss Smith to Miss Jones, as Kitty floated into the station with all sail set, finding it impossible to resist the temptation to astonish certain young ladies who had snubbed her in times past, which snubs had rankled, and were now avenged.
“My goodness, where did she get that stylish suit?” whispered Miss Smith to Miss Jones as Kitty walked into the station with all her confidence, unable to resist the urge to impress some young ladies who had looked down on her in the past. Those past slights had hurt, and now she was getting her revenge.
“I looked everywhere for a muslin for to-day and couldn’t find any I liked, so I was forced to wear my mauve silk,” observed Miss Smith, complacently settling the silvery folds of her dress.
“I looked everywhere for a fabric for today and couldn’t find any I liked, so I had to wear my mauve silk,” said Miss Smith, comfortably adjusting the silvery folds of her dress.
“It’s very pretty, but one ruins a silk at Class Day, you know. I thought this organdie would be more comfortable and appropriate this warm day. A friend brought it from Paris, and it’s like one the Princess of Wales wore at the great flower-show this year,” returned Kitty, with the air of a young lady who had all her dresses from Paris, and was intimately acquainted with the royal family.
“It’s really beautiful, but you ruin a silk on Class Day, you know. I thought this organdy would be more comfortable and fitting for this warm day. A friend brought it from Paris, and it’s similar to one the Princess of Wales wore at the big flower show this year,” replied Kitty, with the attitude of a young lady who got all her dresses from Paris and knew the royal family personally.
“Those girls” were entirely extinguished by this stroke, and hadn’t a word to say for themselves, while Kitty casually mentioned Horace Fletcher, Lyceum Hall, and Cousin Jack, for they had only a little Freshman brother to boast of, and were not going to Lyceum Hall.
“Those girls” were completely silenced by this remark and had nothing to say for themselves, while Kitty casually brought up Horace Fletcher, Lyceum Hall, and Cousin Jack, because they only had a little Freshman brother to brag about, and were not going to Lyceum Hall.
As she stepped out of the cars at Cambridge, Jack opened his honest blue eyes and indulged in a low whistle of astonishment; for if there was anything he especially hated, it was the trains, chignons and tiny bonnets then in fashion. He was very fond of Kitty, and prided himself on being able to show his friends a girl who was charming, and yet not over-dressed.
As she got out of the cars at Cambridge, Jack opened his honest blue eyes and let out a low whistle of surprise; because if there was one thing he really hated, it was the trains, hair buns, and tiny hats that were popular at the time. He was very fond of Kitty and took pride in being able to show his friends a girl who was charming but not overdressed.
“She has made a regular guy of herself; I won’t tell her so, and the dear little soul shall have a jolly time in spite of her fuss and feathers. But I do wish she had let her hair alone and worn that pretty hat of hers.”
“She has turned herself into a regular person; I won’t say that to her, and the dear little thing will have a great time despite her worries and drama. But I really wish she had left her hair alone and worn that pretty hat of hers.”
As this thought passed through Jack’s mind he smiled and bowed and made his way among the crowd, whispering as he drew his cousin’s arm through his own,—
As this thought crossed Jack's mind, he smiled, bowed, and navigated through the crowd, whispering as he linked his cousin's arm with his own,—
“Why, Kitty, you’re got up regardless of expense, aren’t you? I’m so glad you came, we’ll have a rousing good time, and you shall see all the fun.”
“Why, Kitty, you really dressed up without worrying about the cost, didn’t you? I’m so glad you came; we’re going to have an amazing time, and you’ll get to enjoy all the fun.”
“Oh, thank you, Jack! Do I look nice, really? I tried to be a credit to you and Pris, and I did have such a job of it. I’ll make you laugh over it some time. A carriage for me? Bless us, how fine we are!” and Kitty stepped in, feeling that only one thing more was needed to make her cup overflow. That one thing was speedily vouchsafed, for before her skirts were smoothly settled, Jack called out, in his hearty way,—
“Oh, thank you, Jack! Do I really look nice? I tried my best to make you and Pris proud, and it was quite a task. I’ll make you laugh about it sometime. A carriage for me? Wow, we’re really living the good life!” Kitty stepped in, feeling that there was only one more thing she needed to feel completely happy. That one thing came quickly, for just as her skirts were neatly arranged, Jack called out, in his cheerful way,—
“How are you, Fletcher? If you are bound for Chapel I’ll take you up.”
“How's it going, Fletcher? If you're headed to Chapel, I'll give you a ride.”
“Thanks; good-morning, Miss Heath.”
“Thanks; good morning, Miss Heath.”
It was all done in an instant, and the next thing Kitty knew she was rolling away with the elegant Horace sitting opposite. How little it takes to make a young girl happy! A pretty dress, sunshine, and somebody opposite, and they are blest. Kitty’s face glowed and dimpled with pleasure as she glanced about her, especially when she, sitting in state with two gentlemen all to herself, passed “those girls” walking in the dust with a beardless boy; she felt that she could forgive past slights, and did so with a magnanimous smile and bow.
It all happened in a flash, and the next thing Kitty knew, she was rolling away with the charming Horace sitting across from her. It’s amazing how little it takes to make a young girl happy! A nice dress, some sunshine, and someone sitting across from her, and she feels like she’s on top of the world. Kitty’s face lit up with joy as she looked around, especially when she, sitting proudly with two gentlemen all to herself, passed by “those girls” walking in the dust with a boy who had no facial hair. She felt that she could let go of past grievances, and she did so with a gracious smile and a nod.
Both Jack and Fletcher had graduated the year before, but still took an interest in their old haunts, and patronized the fellows who were not yet through the mill, at least the Seniors and Juniors; of Sophs and Freshs they were sublimely unconscious. Greeted by frequent slaps on the shoulder, and hearty “How are you, old fellows,” they piloted Kitty to a seat in the chapel. An excellent place, but the girl’s satisfaction was marred by Fletcher’s desertion, and she could not see anything attractive about the dashing young lady in the pink bonnet to whom he devoted himself, “because she was a stranger,” Kitty said.
Both Jack and Fletcher had graduated the year before, but they still enjoyed hanging out at their old spots and visited the guys who hadn’t graduated yet, at least the Seniors and Juniors; they were completely unaware of the Sophomores and Freshmen. Welcomed with frequent pats on the back and hearty “How’s it going, old friends,” they led Kitty to a seat in the chapel. It was a great spot, but the girl's enjoyment was spoiled by Fletcher leaving her side, and she couldn’t find anything appealing about the flashy young lady in the pink hat that he focused on, “because she was a stranger,” Kitty said.
Everybody knows what goes on in the Chapel, after the fight and scramble are over. The rustle and buzz, the music, the oratory and the poem, during which the men cheer and the girls simper; the professors yawn, and the poet’s friends pronounce him a second Longfellow. Then the closing flourishes, the grand crush, and general scattering.
Everybody knows what happens in the Chapel after the fight and chaos are over. The rustling and buzzing, the music, the speeches, and the poem, during which the guys cheer and the girls giggle; the professors yawn, and the poet's friends call him a second Longfellow. Then come the final flourishes, the big crowd, and the general dispersal.
Then the fun really begins, as far as the young folks are concerned. They don’t mind swarming up and down stairs in a solid phalanx; they can enjoy half a dozen courses of salad, ice and strawberries, with stout gentlemen crushing their feet, anxious mammas sticking sharp elbows into their sides, and absent-minded tutors walking over them. They can flirt vigorously in a torrid atmosphere of dinner, dust, and din; can smile with hot coffee running down their backs, small avalanches of ice-cream descending upon their best bonnets, and sandwiches, butter-side down, reposing on their delicate silks. They know that it is a costly rapture, but they carefully refrain from thinking of the morrow, and energetically illustrate the Yankee maxim which bids us enjoy ourselves in our early bloom.
Then the fun really starts, as far as the young people are concerned. They don’t mind crowding up and down the stairs in a solid group; they can enjoy multiple courses of salad, ice, and strawberries, all while stout gentlemen step on their feet, worried moms jab them with sharp elbows, and absent-minded teachers walk right over them. They can flirt enthusiastically in a hot mix of dinner, dust, and noise; they can smile with hot coffee running down their backs, small avalanches of ice cream falling onto their best hats, and sandwiches, butter-side down, resting on their delicate silk outfits. They know it’s an expensive thrill, but they purposely avoid thinking about tomorrow, and they actively embody the Yankee saying that encourages us to enjoy ourselves while we’re still young.
Kitty did have “a rousing good time;” for Jack was devoted, taking her everywhere, showing her everything, feeding and fanning her, and festooning her train with untiring patience. How many forcible expressions he mentally indulged in as he walked on that unlucky train we will not record; he smiled and skipped and talked of treading on flowers in a way that would have charmed Kitty, if some one else had not been hovering about “The Daisy,” as Fletcher called her.
Kitty really had “a fantastic time;” because Jack was dedicated, taking her everywhere, showing her everything, feeding and fanning her, and patiently adjusting her train. We won't mention how many strong thoughts he had as he walked alongside that unfortunate train; he smiled, laughed, and talked about walking on flowers in a way that would have delighted Kitty, if someone else hadn’t been lingering around “The Daisy,” as Fletcher called her.
After he returned, she neglected Jack, who took it coolly, and was never in the way unless she wanted him. For the first time in her life, Kitty deliberately flirted. The little coquetries, which are as natural to a gay young girl as her laughter, were all in full play, and had she gone no further no harm would have been done. But, excited by the example of those about her, Kitty tried to enact the fashionable young lady, and, like most novices, she overdid the part. Quite forgetting her cousin, she tossed her head, twirled her fan, gave affected little shrieks at college jokes, and talked college slang in a way that convulsed Fletcher, who enjoyed the fun immensely.
After he came back, she ignored Jack, who took it in stride and only showed up when she wanted him to. For the first time in her life, Kitty purposely flirted. The little playful gestures, which come naturally to a fun-loving young girl just like her laughter, were all on display, and if she had stopped there, it would have been fine. But, inspired by those around her, Kitty tried to act like the trendy young woman, and, like most beginners, she went overboard. Completely forgetting about her cousin, she tossed her hair, twirled her fan, let out dramatic little gasps at college jokes, and spoke college slang in a way that had Fletcher in stitches, enjoying the whole thing.
Jack saw it all, shook his head and said nothing; but his face grew rather sober as he watched Kitty, flushed, dishevelled, and breathless, whirling round Lyceum Hall, on the arm of Fletcher, who danced divinely, as all the girls agreed. Jack had proposed going, but Kitty had frowned, so he fell back, leaving her to listen and laugh, blush and shrink a little at her partner’s flowery compliments and admiring glances.
Jack saw everything, shook his head, and said nothing; but his expression became more serious as he watched Kitty, flushed, messy, and breathless, spinning around Lyceum Hall on Fletcher's arm, who danced beautifully, as all the girls agreed. Jack had suggested going, but Kitty had frowned, so he stepped back, letting her listen and laugh, blush, and feel a bit shy at her partner's flowery compliments and admiring looks.
“If she stands that long she’s not the girl I took her for,” thought Jack, beginning to lose patience. “She doesn’t look like my little Kitty, and somehow I don’t feel half so fond and proud of her as usual. I know one thing, my daughters shall never be seen knocking about in that style.”
“If she stands that long, she’s not the girl I thought she was,” Jack thought, starting to lose his patience. “She doesn’t look like my little Kitty, and I don’t feel as fond and proud of her as I usually do. I know one thing, my daughters will never be seen hanging around like that.”
As if the thought suggested the act, Jack suddenly assumed an air of paternal authority, and, arresting his cousin as she was about to begin again, he said, in a tone she had never heard before,—
As if the thought triggered the action, Jack suddenly took on a fatherly demeanor and, stopping his cousin just as she was about to start again, said in a tone she had never heard before,—
“I promised Pris to take care of you, so I shall carry you off to rest, and put yourself to rights after this game of romps. I advise you to do the same, Fletcher, or give your friend in the pink bonnet a turn.”
“I promised Pris I would take care of you, so I’m going to take you away to rest and help you recover after this playful time. I recommend you do the same, Fletcher, or give your friend in the pink hat a turn.”
Kitty took Jack’s arm pettishly, but glanced over her shoulder with such an inviting smile that Fletcher followed, feeling very much like a top, in danger of tumbling down the instant he stopped spinning. As she came out Kitty’s face cleared, and, assuming her sprightliest air, she spread her plumage and prepared to descend with effect, for a party of uninvited peris stood at the gate of this Paradise casting longing glances at the forbidden splendors within. Slowly, that all might see her, Kitty sailed down, with Horace, the debonair, in her wake, and was just thinking to herself, “Those girls won’t get over this very soon, I fancy,” when all in one moment she heard Fletcher exclaim, wrathfully, “Hang the flounces!” she saw a very glossy black hat come skipping down the steps, felt a violent twitch backward, and, to save herself from a fall, sat down on the lower step with most undignified haste.
Kitty grabbed Jack’s arm in a huffy way but looked back with such a cute smile that Fletcher followed, feeling like a top that might fall over as soon as it stopped spinning. As they stepped outside, Kitty’s expression brightened, and with her most cheerful demeanor, she spread her arms and got ready to make a grand entrance, since a group of uninvited guests were at the gate of this paradise, eyeing the enticing sights inside. To make sure everyone could see her, Kitty gracefully walked down the steps, with the charming Horace following her, and was just thinking, “Those girls won’t forget this anytime soon,” when suddenly she heard Fletcher shout angrily, “Forget the frills!” She saw a shiny black hat bounce down the steps, felt a strong pull backward, and to keep from falling, she quickly plopped down on the bottom step in a rather undignified way.
It was impossible for the bystanders to help laughing, for there was Fletcher hopping wildly about, with one foot nicely caught in a muslin loop, and there sat Kitty longing to run away and hide herself, yet perfectly helpless, while every one tittered. Miss Jones and Miss Smith laughed shrilly, and the despised little Freshman completed her mortification, by a feeble joke about Kitty Heath’s new man-trap. It was only an instant, but it seemed an hour before Fletcher freed her, and snatching up the dusty beaver, left her with a flushed countenance and an abrupt bow.
It was impossible for the onlookers to hold back their laughter, because there was Fletcher hopping around wildly, with one foot stuck in a muslin loop, and there sat Kitty, wanting to run away and hide but completely helpless, while everyone chuckled. Miss Jones and Miss Smith laughed loudly, and the annoying little Freshman added to Kitty's embarrassment with a weak joke about Kitty Heath’s new man-trap. It only lasted a moment, but it felt like an hour before Fletcher finally freed her, quickly grabbed his dusty hat, and left her with a red face and a sudden bow.
If it hadn’t been for Jack, Kitty would have burst into tears then and there, so terrible was the sense of humiliation which oppressed her. For his sake she controlled herself, and, bundling up her torn train, set her teeth, stared straight before her, and let him lead her in dead silence to a friend’s room near by. There he locked the door, and began to comfort her by making light of the little mishap. But Kitty cried so tragically, that he was at his wit’s end, till the ludicrous side of the affair struck her, and she began to laugh hysterically. With a vague idea that vigorous treatment was best for that feminine ailment, Jack was about to empty the contents of an ice-pitcher over her, when she arrested him, by exclaiming, incoherently,—
If it hadn't been for Jack, Kitty would have started crying right then and there, the humiliation weighing down on her. For his sake, she held it together, gathering her torn dress, gritting her teeth, looking straight ahead, and letting him guide her silently to a nearby friend's room. There, he locked the door and tried to comfort her by downplaying the little incident. But Kitty cried so dramatically that he didn't know what to do until she finally saw the funny side of it and started laughing hysterically. With the thought that a strong approach was best for her emotional state, Jack almost poured the contents of an ice pitcher over her, but she stopped him by shouting, incoherently,—
“Oh, don’t!—it was so funny!—how can you laugh, you cruel boy?—I’m disgraced, forever—take me home to Pris, oh, take me home to Pris!”
“Oh, don’t!—that was so funny!—how can you laugh, you heartless guy?—I’m humiliated, for life—take me home to Pris, oh, please take me home to Pris!”
“I will, my dear, I will; but first let me right you up a bit; you look as if you had been hazed, upon my life you do;” and Jack laughed in spite of himself at the wretched little object before him, for dust, dancing, and the downfall produced a ruinous spectacle.
“I will, my dear, I will; but first let me fix you up a bit; you look like you just got hazed, I swear you do;” and Jack chuckled despite himself at the miserable little sight before him, for dust, dancing, and the aftermath created a disastrous scene.
That broke Kitty’s heart; and, spreading her hands before her face, she was about to cry again, when the sad sight which met her eyes dispelled the gathering tears. The new gloves were both split up the middle and very dirty with clutching at the steps as she went down.
That broke Kitty’s heart; and, covering her face with her hands, she was about to cry again, but the sad sight in front of her made her hold back the tears. The new gloves were both ripped in the middle and had gotten dirty from gripping the steps as she went down.
“Never mind, you can wash them,” said Jack, soothingly.
“Don’t worry, you can wash them,” said Jack, reassuringly.
“I paid a dollar and a half for them, and they can’t be washed,” groaned Kitty.
“I paid a dollar fifty for them, and they can’t be washed,” complained Kitty.
“Oh, hang the gloves! I meant your hands,” cried Jack, trying to keep sober.
“Oh, forget the gloves! I meant your hands,” shouted Jack, trying to stay sober.
“No matter for my hands, I mourn my gloves. But I won’t cry any more, for my head aches now so I can hardly see.” And Kitty threw off her bonnet, as if even that airy trifle hurt her.
“No matter for my hands, I miss my gloves. But I won’t cry anymore, because my head hurts so much that I can hardly see.” And Kitty tossed aside her bonnet, as if even that light accessory was painful to her.
Seeing how pale she looked, Jack tenderly suggested a rest on the old sofa, and a wet handkerchief on her hot forehead, while he got the good landlady to send her up a cup of tea. As Kitty rose to comply she glanced at her dress, and, clasping her hands, exclaimed, tragically,—
Seeing how pale she looked, Jack gently suggested she rest on the old sofa and put a wet handkerchief on her hot forehead while he asked the kind landlady to bring her up a cup of tea. As Kitty stood to comply, she glanced at her dress and, clasping her hands, exclaimed dramatically,—
“The facing, the fatal facing! That made all the mischief, for if I’d sewed it last night it wouldn’t have ripped to-day; if it hadn’t ripped Fletcher wouldn’t have got his foot in it, I shouldn’t have made an object of myself, he wouldn’t have gone off in a rage, and—who knows what might have happened?”
“The facing, that cursed facing! That’s what caused all the trouble, because if I’d sewn it last night, it wouldn’t have ripped today; if it hadn’t ripped, Fletcher wouldn’t have tripped on it, I wouldn’t have embarrassed myself, he wouldn’t have stormed off in anger, and—who knows what could have happened?”
“Bless the what’s-its-name if it has settled him,” cried Jack. “He is a contemptible fellow not to stay and help you out of the scrape he got you into. Follow his lead and don’t trouble yourself about him.”
“Bless the whatever if it has sorted him out,” shouted Jack. “He's a pathetic guy for not sticking around to help you out of the mess he got you into. Just follow his lead and don’t worry about him.”
“Well, he was rather absurd to-day, I allow; but he has got handsome eyes and hands, and he does dance like an angel,” sighed Kitty, as she pinned up the treacherous loop which had brought destruction to her little castle in the air.
“Well, he was pretty ridiculous today, I admit; but he has really nice eyes and hands, and he does dance like an angel,” sighed Kitty, as she pinned up the tricky loop that had brought down her little dream world.
“Handsome eyes, white hands, and angelic feet don’t make a man. Wait till you can do better, Kit.”
“Good-looking eyes, fair hands, and perfect feet don’t define a man. Just wait until you can improve, Kit.”
With an odd, grave look, that rather startled Kitty, Jack vanished, to return presently with a comfortable cup of tea and a motherly old lady to help repair damages and soothe her by the foolish little purrings and pattings so grateful to female nerves after a flurry.
With a strange, serious expression that surprised Kitty, Jack disappeared, only to come back soon with a comforting cup of tea and a kindly old lady to help fix things and calm her down with the silly little purrs and pats that are so appreciated by women after a stressful moment.
“I’ll come back and take you out to see the dance round the tree when you’ve had a bit of a rest,” said Jack, vibrating between door and sofa as if it wasn’t easy to get away.
“I’ll come back and take you out to see the dance around the tree when you’ve had a bit of a rest,” said Jack, fidgeting between the door and the sofa as if it was hard to leave.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” cried Kitty, with a shudder at the bare idea of meeting any one. “I can’t be seen again to-night; let me stay here till my train goes.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Kitty exclaimed, shuddering at the thought of meeting anyone. “I can’t be seen again tonight; let me stay here until my train leaves.”
“I thought it had gone, already,” said Jack, with an irrepressible twinkle of the eye that glanced at the draggled dress sweeping the floor.
“I thought it was gone by now,” said Jack, with an uncontainable glint in his eye as he looked at the tattered dress dragging on the floor.
“How can you joke about it!” and the girl’s reproachful eyes filled with tears of shame. “I know I’ve been very silly, Jack, but I’ve had my punishment, and I don’t need any more. To feel that you despise me is worse than all the rest.”
“How can you joke about it?” The girl’s hurt eyes brimmed with tears of shame. “I know I’ve been really silly, Jack, but I’ve already been punished, and I don’t need more. Knowing that you look down on me is worse than everything else.”
She ended with a little sob, and turned her face away to hide the trembling of her lips. At that, Jack flushed up, his eyes shone, and he stooped suddenly as if to make some impetuous reply. But, remembering the old lady (who, by the by, was discreetly looking out of window), he put his hands in his pockets and strolled out of the room.
She ended with a soft sob and turned her face away to hide the shaking of her lips. At that, Jack blushed, his eyes lit up, and he suddenly bent down as if to make some impulsive reply. But, remembering the old lady (who, by the way, was discreetly looking out the window), he put his hands in his pockets and walked out of the room.
“I’ve lost them both by this day’s folly,” thought Kitty, as Mrs. Brown departed with the teacup. “I don’t care for Fletcher, for I dare say he didn’t mean half he said, and I was only flattered because he is rich and handsome and the girls glorify him. But I shall miss Jack, for I’ve known and loved him all my life. How good he’s been to me to-day! so patient, careful, and kind, though he must have been ashamed of me. I know he didn’t like my dress; but he never said a word and stood by me through everything. Oh, I wish I’d minded Pris! then he would have respected me, at least; I wonder if he ever will, again?”
“I’ve lost them both because of today’s stupidity,” thought Kitty, as Mrs. Brown left with the teacup. “I don’t care about Fletcher; I’m sure he didn’t mean half of what he said, and I was just flattered because he’s rich and good-looking, and the girls admire him. But I’ll really miss Jack, since I’ve known and loved him my whole life. He’s been so good to me today—so patient, careful, and kind, even though he must have been embarrassed by me. I know he didn’t like my dress, but he never said a word and stood by me through everything. Oh, I wish I’d listened to Pris! Then he would have at least respected me; I wonder if he ever will again?”
Following a sudden impulse, Kitty sprang up, locked the door, and then proceeded to destroy all her little vanities as far as possible. She smoothed out her crimps with a wet and ruthless hand; fastened up her pretty hair in the simple way Jack liked; gave her once cherished bonnet a spiteful shake, as she put it on, and utterly extinguished it with a big blue veil. She looped up her dress, leaving no vestige of the now hateful train, and did herself up uncompromisingly in the Quakerish gray shawl Pris had insisted on her taking for the evening. Then she surveyed herself with pensive satisfaction, saying, in the tone of one bent on resolutely mortifying the flesh,—
Following a sudden impulse, Kitty jumped up, locked the door, and then started to get rid of all her little vanities as much as she could. She smoothed out her curls with a wet and ruthless hand; secured her pretty hair in the simple style Jack preferred; gave her once-beloved bonnet an annoyed shake as she put it on, and completely covered it with a big blue veil. She hiked up her dress, leaving no trace of the now-despised train, and wrapped herself up firmly in the plain gray shawl Pris had insisted she take for the evening. Then she looked at herself with thoughtful satisfaction, saying, in a tone of someone determined to deny themselves, —
“Neat but not gaudy; I’m a fright, but I deserve it, and it’s better than being a peacock.”
“Neat but not flashy; I may be a disaster, but I deserve it, and it’s better than being a show-off.”
Kitty had time to feel a little friendless and forlorn, sitting there alone as twilight fell, and amused herself by wondering if Fletcher would come to inquire about her, or show any further interest in her; yet when the sound of a manly tramp approached, she trembled lest it should be the victim of the fatal facing. The door opened, and with a sigh of relief she saw Jack come in, bearing a pair of new gloves in one hand and a great bouquet of June roses in the other.
Kitty had a moment to feel a bit lonely and sad, sitting there by herself as evening set in, and entertained herself by wondering if Fletcher would come to check on her or show any more interest in her; yet when she heard the sound of someone approaching, she felt anxious that it might be the person she hoped to avoid. The door opened, and with a sigh of relief, she saw Jack walk in, holding a pair of new gloves in one hand and a huge bouquet of June roses in the other.
“How good of you to bring me these! They are more refreshing than oceans of tea. You know what I like, Jack; thank you very much,” cried Kitty, sniffing at her roses with grateful rapture.
“How nice of you to bring me these! They’re more refreshing than oceans of tea. You know what I like, Jack; thank you so much,” cried Kitty, inhaling the scent of her roses with grateful delight.
“And you know what I like,” returned Jack, with an approving glance at the altered figure before him.
“And you know what I like,” Jack replied, giving an approving look at the changed figure in front of him.
“I’ll never do so any more,” murmured Kitty, wondering why she felt bashful all of a sudden, when it was only cousin Jack.
“I won’t do that again,” Kitty said quietly, confused about why she felt shy all of a sudden, especially since it was just cousin Jack.
“Now put on your gloves, dear, and come out and hear the music; your train doesn’t go for two hours yet, and you mustn’t mope here all that time,” said Jack, offering his second gift.
“Now put on your gloves, darling, and come out and hear the music; your train doesn’t leave for another two hours, and you shouldn’t just sit around here all that time,” said Jack, presenting his second gift.
“How did you know my size?” asked Kitty, putting on the gloves in a hurry; for though Jack had called her “dear” for years, the little word had a new sound to-night.
“How did you know my size?” asked Kitty, quickly putting on the gloves; for even though Jack had called her “dear” for years, the word felt different tonight.
“I guessed,—no, I didn’t, I had the old ones with me; they are no good now, are they?” and too honest to lie, Jack tried to speak carelessly, though he turned red in the dusk, well knowing that the dirty little gloves were folded away in his left breast-pocket at that identical moment.
“I thought—no, I didn’t, I had the old ones with me; they're useless now, right?” And too honest to lie, Jack tried to sound casual, but he flushed in the twilight, fully aware that the dirty little gloves were tucked away in his left breast pocket at that very moment.
“Oh, dear, no! these fit nicely. I’m ready, if you don’t mind going with such a fright,” said Kitty, forgetting her dread of seeing people in her desire to get away from that room, because for the first time in her life she wasn’t at ease with Jack.
“Oh, no way! These fit perfectly. I’m ready if you don’t mind going with someone who looks so scary,” said Kitty, forgetting her fear of seeing people in her urge to leave that room, because for the first time in her life she felt uncomfortable around Jack.
“I think I like the little gray moth better than the fine butterfly,” returned Jack, who, in spite of his invitation, seemed to find “moping” rather pleasant.
“I think I like the little gray moth more than the fancy butterfly,” replied Jack, who, despite his invitation, seemed to find “moping” quite enjoyable.
“You are a rainy-day friend, and he isn’t,” said Kitty, softly, as she drew him away.
“You're a friend for the tough times, and he isn’t,” Kitty said gently as she pulled him away.
Jack’s only answer was to lay his hand on the little white glove resting so confidingly on his arm, and, keeping it there, they roamed away into the summer twilight.
Jack’s only response was to place his hand on the small white glove resting trustingly on his arm, and, keeping it there, they walked off into the summer twilight.
Something had happened to the evening and the place, for both seemed suddenly endowed with uncommon beauty and interest. The dingy old houses might have been fairy palaces, for anything they saw to the contrary; the dusty walks, the trampled grass, were regular Elysian fields to them, and the music was the music of the spheres, though they found themselves “Right in the middle of the boom, jing, jing.” For both had made a little discovery,—no, not a little one, the greatest and sweetest man and woman can make. In the sharp twinge of jealousy which the sight of Kitty’s flirtation with Fletcher gave him, and the delight he found in her after conduct, Jack discovered how much he loved her. In the shame, gratitude, and half sweet, half bitter emotion that filled her heart, Kitty felt that to her Jack would never be “only cousin Jack” any more. All the vanity, coquetry, selfishness, and ill-temper of the day seemed magnified to heinous sins, for now her only thought was, “seeing these faults, he can’t care for me. Oh, I wish I was a better girl!”
Something had changed about the evening and the place, making them seem suddenly filled with unusual beauty and interest. The shabby old houses looked like fairy palaces, oblivious to anything else; the dusty paths and trampled grass felt like true paradise to them, and the music was like the sound of the cosmos, even though they found themselves “Right in the middle of the boom, jing, jing.” Both had made a little discovery—no, not just a little one, but the greatest and sweetest one a man and woman can make. In the sharp pang of jealousy he felt at the sight of Kitty flirting with Fletcher, and the joy he found in her later behavior, Jack realized just how much he loved her. In the shame, gratitude, and the mix of sweet and bitter feelings filling her heart, Kitty sensed that for her, Jack would never be “just cousin Jack” again. All the vanity, flirting, selfishness, and bad mood from earlier seemed like terrible sins, for now her only thought was, “Seeing these faults, he can’t care for me. Oh, I wish I was a better girl!”
She did not say “for his sake,” but in the new humility, the ardent wish to be all that a woman should be, little Kitty proved how true her love was, and might have said with Portia,—
She didn't say "for his sake," but in her newfound humility and strong desire to be everything a woman should be, little Kitty showed just how genuine her love was, and could have said, like Portia,—
All about them other pairs were wandering under the patriarchal elms, enjoying music, starlight, balmy winds, and all the luxuries of the season. If the band had played
All around them, other couples were strolling under the grand elms, enjoying the music, starlight, gentle breezes, and all the pleasures of the season. If the band had played
it is my private opinion that it would have suited the audience to a T. Being principally composed of elderly gentlemen with large families, they had not that fine sense of the fitness of things so charming to see, and tooted and banged away with waltzes and marches, quite regardless of the flocks of Romeos and Juliets philandering all about them.
it’s my personal opinion that it would have been perfect for the audience. Since they were mainly made up of older gentlemen with big families, they didn’t have that nice sense of what was appropriate, which is so delightful to witness. They played waltzes and marches loudly and energetically, completely ignoring the couples acting romantic all around them.
Under cover of a popular medley, Kitty overheard Fletcher quizzing her for the amusement of Miss Pink-bonnet, who was evidently making up for lost time. It was feeble wit, but it put the finishing stroke to Kitty’s vanity, and she dropped a tear in her blue tissue retreat, and clung to Jack, feeling that she had never valued him half enough. She hoped he didn’t hear the gossip going on at the other side of the tree near which they stood; but he did, for his hand involuntarily doubled itself up into a very dangerous-looking fist, and he darted such fiery glances at the speaker, that, if the thing had been possible, Fletcher’s ambrosial curls would have been scorched off his head.
Under the cover of a popular song, Kitty overheard Fletcher making fun of her to entertain Miss Pink-bonnet, who was clearly trying to catch up on lost time. It was weak humor, but it shattered Kitty’s pride, and she shed a tear in her blue tissue hideaway and clung to Jack, realizing she had never appreciated him nearly enough. She hoped he didn’t hear the gossip happening on the other side of the tree where they were standing; but he did, as his hand instinctively tightened into a dangerous-looking fist, and he shot such fiery glares at the speaker that, if possible, Fletcher’s beautiful curls would have been burned off his head.
“Never mind, and don’t get angry, Jack. They are right about one thing,—the daisies in my bonnet were real, and I couldn’t afford any others. I don’t care much, only Pris worked so hard to get me ready I hate to have my things made fun of.”
“It's fine, and don’t get upset, Jack. They're right about one thing—the daisies in my hat were real, and I couldn’t afford any others. I don’t mind too much, but Pris put in so much effort to get me ready that I really hate having my things mocked.”
“He isn’t worth a thrashing, so we’ll let it pass this time,” said Jack, irefully, yet privately resolving to have it out with Fletcher by and by.
“He’s not worth a beating, so we’ll let it go this time,” said Jack, angrily, but privately deciding to confront Fletcher later.
“Why, Kitty, I thought the real daisies the prettiest things about your dress. Don’t throw them away. I’ll wear them just to show that noodle that I prefer nature to art;” and Jack gallantly stuck the faded posy in his button-hole, while Kitty treasured up the hint so kindly given for future use.
“Why, Kitty, I thought the real daisies were the prettiest things on your dress. Don’t throw them away. I’ll wear them just to show that idiot that I prefer nature to art;” and Jack gallantly pinned the faded posy in his buttonhole, while Kitty remembered the suggestion so kindly given for future use.
If a clock with great want of tact hadn’t insisted on telling them that it was getting late, Kitty never would have got home, for both the young people felt inclined to loiter about arm in arm through the sweet summer night forever. Jack had meant to say something before she went, and was immensely surprised to find the chance lost for the present. He wanted to go home with her and free his mind; but a neighborly old gentleman having been engaged as escort, there would have been very little satisfaction in a travelling trio; so he gave it up. He was very silent as they walked to the station with Dr. Dodd trudging behind them. Kitty thought he was tired, perhaps glad to be rid of her, and meekly accepted her fate. But as the train approached, she gave his hand an impulsive squeeze, and said very gratefully,—
If a clock that lacked subtlety hadn’t insisted on reminding them that it was getting late, Kitty would have never made it home, because both of them wanted to stroll arm in arm through the beautiful summer night forever. Jack had intended to say something before she left, and was really surprised to find that opportunity gone for now. He wanted to walk home with her and share his thoughts, but since a kindly old man had been asked to escort her, a trio wouldn’t have felt very satisfying; so he let it go. He was quite quiet as they walked to the station, with Dr. Dodd trudging behind them. Kitty thought he was tired, maybe even happy to be rid of her, and accepted her situation. But as the train came into view, she gave his hand a spontaneous squeeze and said very thankfully,—
“Jack, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness to your silly little cousin; but I never shall forget it, and if I ever can return it in any way, I will with all my heart.”
“Jack, I can’t thank you enough for being so kind to your silly little cousin; I’ll never forget it, and if I ever get the chance to repay it in any way, I will do so with all my heart.”
Jack looked down at the young face almost pathetic now with weariness, humility, and pain, yet very sweet, with that new shyness in the loving eyes, and, stooping suddenly, he kissed it, whispering in a tone that made the girl’s heart flutter,—
Jack looked down at the young face that seemed almost sad now with exhaustion, humility, and pain, yet very sweet, with that new shyness in her loving eyes. Suddenly stooping down, he kissed her, whispering in a tone that made the girl’s heart flutter—
“I’ll tell you how you may return it ‘with all your heart,’ by and by. Good-night, my Kitty.”
“I’ll explain how you can return it ‘with all your heart’ later. Goodnight, my Kitty.”
“Have you had a good time, dear?” asked Pris, as her sister appeared an hour later.
“Did you have a good time, sis?” asked Pris as her sister showed up an hour later.
“Don’t I look as if I had?” and, throwing off her wraps, Kitty revolved slowly before her that she might behold every portion of the wreck. “My gown is all dust, crumple, and rags, my bonnet perfectly limp and flat, and my gloves are ruined; I’ve broken Lizzie’s parasol, made a spectacle of myself, and wasted money, time, and temper; yet my Class Day isn’t a failure, for Jack is the dearest boy in the world, and I’m very, very happy!”
“Don’t I look like I have?” Kitty said, shedding her wraps and slowly turning around so she could show off every part of her mess. “My dress is covered in dust, crumpled, and torn, my hat is completely droopy and flat, and my gloves are wrecked; I broke Lizzie’s parasol, made a fool of myself, and wasted money, time, and patience; but my Class Day isn’t a failure, because Jack is the sweetest guy in the world, and I’m really, really happy!”
Pris looked at her a minute, then opened her arms without a word, and Kitty forgot all her little troubles in one great joy.
Pris looked at her for a minute, then opened her arms without saying anything, and Kitty forgot all her little worries in one huge moment of happiness.
When Miss Smith and Miss Jones called a few days after to tell her that Mr. Fletcher was going abroad, the amiable creatures were entirely routed by finding Jack there in a most unmistakable situation. He blandly wished Horace “bon voyage,” and regretted that he wouldn’t be there to the wedding in October. Kitty devoted herself to blushing beautifully, and darning many rents in a short daisy muslin skirt, “which I intend to wear a great deal, because Jack likes it, and so do I,” she said, with a demure look at her lover, who laughed as if that was the best joke of the season.
When Miss Smith and Miss Jones called a few days later to inform her that Mr. Fletcher was going abroad, the friendly girls were completely taken aback to find Jack there in a very obvious situation. He cheerfully wished Horace “bon voyage,” and expressed regret that he wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding in October. Kitty focused on blushing prettily and fixing several tears in a short daisy muslin skirt. “I plan to wear this a lot because Jack likes it, and I do too,” she said, glancing shyly at her boyfriend, who laughed as if it was the funniest joke of the season.
AUNT KIPP.
"Kids and fools tell the truth."
I.
“WHAT’S that sigh for, Polly dear?”
“What's that sigh for, Polly dear?”
“I’m tired, mother, tired of working and waiting. If I’m ever going to have any fun, I want it now while I can enjoy it.”
“I’m tired, Mom, tired of working and waiting. If I’m ever going to have any fun, I want it now while I can enjoy it.”
“You shouldn’t wait another hour if I could have my way; but you know how helpless I am;” and poor Mrs. Snow sighed dolefully, as she glanced about the dingy room and pretty Mary turning her faded gown for the second time.
“You shouldn’t wait another hour if it were up to me; but you know how powerless I am;” and poor Mrs. Snow sighed sadly, as she looked around the drab room and watched pretty Mary turning her faded dress for the second time.
“If Aunt Kipp would give us the money she is always talking about, instead of waiting till she dies, we should be so comfortable. She is a dreadful bore, for she lives in such terror of dropping dead with her heart-complaint that she doesn’t take any pleasure in life herself or let any one else; so the sooner she goes the better for all of us,” said Polly, in a desperate tone; for things looked very black to her just then.
“If Aunt Kipp would just give us the money she’s always talking about instead of waiting until she’s gone, we would be so comfortable. She’s such a drag because she’s so scared of dying from her heart condition that she doesn’t enjoy life and doesn’t let anyone else enjoy it either. So, the sooner she goes, the better for all of us,” said Polly, in a desperate tone; things looked really bleak for her at that moment.
“My dear, don’t say that,” began her mother, mildly shocked; but a bluff little voice broke in with the forcible remark,—
“My dear, don’t say that,” her mother began, mildly shocked; but a bold little voice interrupted with the forceful remark,—
“She’s everlastingly telling me never to put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day; next time she comes I’ll remind her of that, and ask her, if she is going to die, why she doesn’t do it?”
“She’s always telling me never to put off until tomorrow what can be done today; next time she comes, I’ll remind her of that and ask her, if she’s going to die, why she doesn’t just do it?”
“Toady! you’re a wicked, disrespectful boy; never let me hear you say such a thing again about your dear Aunt Kipp.”
“Toady! You’re a naughty, disrespectful kid; don’t ever let me hear you say something like that again about your dear Aunt Kipp.”
“She isn’t dear! You know we all hate her, and you are more afraid of her than you are of spiders,—so now.”
“She’s not precious! You know we all dislike her, and you’re more scared of her than you are of spiders,—so there."
The young personage whose proper name had been corrupted into Toady, was a small boy of ten or eleven, apple-cheeked, round-eyed, and curly-headed; arrayed in well-worn, gray knickerbockers, profusely adorned with paint, glue, and shreds of cotton. Perched on a high stool, at an isolated table in a state of chaos, he was absorbed in making a boat, entirely oblivious of the racking tooth-ache which had been his excuse for staying from school. As cool, saucy, hard-handed, and soft-hearted a little specimen of young America was Toady as you would care to see; a tyrant at home, a rebel at school, a sworn foe to law, order, and Aunt Kipp. This young person was regarded as a reprobate by all but his mother, sister, and sister’s sweetheart, Van Bahr Lamb. Having been, through much anguish of flesh and spirit, taught that lying was a deadly sin, Toady rushed to the other extreme, and bolted out the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, at all times and places, with a startling abruptness that brought wrath and dismay upon his friends and relatives.
The young character who had been nicknamed Toady was a small boy around ten or eleven, with rosy cheeks, wide eyes, and curly hair. He was dressed in worn gray knickerbockers, covered in paint, glue, and bits of cotton. Sitting on a high stool at a messy table, he was focused on making a boat, completely unaware of the toothache that had kept him from school. Toady was as cool, cheeky, tough, and tender-hearted a little example of young America as you’d want to see; a tyrant at home, a rebel at school, and an enemy of rules, order, and Aunt Kipp. Most people considered him a troublemaker except for his mom, sister, and his sister's boyfriend, Van Bahr Lamb. Having learned through a lot of pain and struggle that lying was a serious sin, Toady went to the opposite extreme, blurting out the truth— the whole truth and nothing but the truth— at all times and places, with a startling directness that often angered and shocked his friends and family.
“It’s wicked to fib; you’ve whipped that into me and you can’t rub it out,” he was wont to say, with vivid recollection of the past tingling in the chubby portions of his frame.
“It’s wrong to lie; you’ve drilled that into me and you can’t erase it,” he would say, with a strong memory of the past tingling in the plump parts of his body.
“Mind your chips, Toady, and take care what you say to Aunt Kipp, or you’ll be as poor as a little rat all the days of your life,” said Polly, warningly.
“Watch your chips, Toady, and be careful what you say to Aunt Kipp, or you’ll be poor like a little rat for the rest of your life,” Polly cautioned.
“I don’t want her old money, and I’ll tell her so if she bothers me about it. I shall go into business with Van and take care of the whole lot; so don’t you preach, Polly,” returned Toady, with as much dignity as was compatible with a great dab of glue on the end of his snub nose.
“I don’t want her old money, and I’ll tell her that if she brings it up. I’m going to start a business with Van and handle everything; so don’t lecture me, Polly,” Toady replied, trying to sound dignified despite the big glob of glue on the end of his flat nose.
“Mother, did aunt say anything about coming this week?” asked Polly, after a pause of intense thought over a breadth with three darns, two spots, and a burn.
“Mom, did Aunt say anything about coming this week?” asked Polly, after a moment of deep thought over a piece of fabric with three repairs, two stains, and a burn.
“Yes; she wrote that she was too feeble to come at present, as she had such dreadful palpitations she didn’t dare stir from her room. So we are quite safe for the next week at least, and—bless my soul, there she is now!”
“Yes; she wrote that she was too weak to come right now because she was having such awful palpitations that she didn't dare leave her room. So we’re all good for at least the next week, and—oh my goodness, there she is now!”
Mrs. Snow clasped her hands with a gesture of dismay, and sat as if transfixed by the spectacle of a ponderous lady, in an awe-inspiring bonnet, who came walking slowly down the street. Polly gave a groan, and pulled a bright ribbon from her hair. Toady muttered, “Oh, bother!” and vainly attempted to polish up his countenance with a fragmentary pocket-handkerchief.
Mrs. Snow clasped her hands in dismay and sat as if she were mesmerized by the sight of a heavy-set woman in an impressive bonnet slowly walking down the street. Polly groaned and yanked a bright ribbon from her hair. Toady muttered, "Oh, come on!" and unsuccessfully tried to tidy up his face with a crumpled pocket handkerchief.
“Nothing but salt fish for dinner,” wailed Mrs. Snow, as the shadow of the coming event fell upon her.
“Just salt fish for dinner,” lamented Mrs. Snow, as the shadow of the impending event loomed over her.
“Van will make a fool of himself, and ruin everything,” sighed Polly, glancing at the ring on her finger.
“Van is going to embarrass himself and mess everything up,” sighed Polly, looking at the ring on her finger.
“I know she’ll kiss me; she never will let a fellow alone,” growled Toady, scowling darkly.
“I know she’ll kiss me; she never will leave a guy alone,” grumbled Toady, scowling darkly.
The garden gate clashed, dust flew from the door-mat, a heavy step echoed in the hall, an imperious voice called “Sophy!” and Aunt Kipp entered with a flourish of trumpets, for Toady blew a blast through his fingers which made the bows totter on her bonnet.
The garden gate creaked, dust flew from the doormat, a heavy step echoed in the hall, and a commanding voice called, “Sophy!” Aunt Kipp entered dramatically, as Toady blew a loud blast through his fingers that made the bows on her bonnet wobble.
“My dear aunt, I’m very glad to see you,” murmured Mrs. Snow, advancing with a smile of welcome; for though as weak as water gruel, she was as kind-hearted a little woman as ever lived.
“My dear aunt, I’m so happy to see you,” murmured Mrs. Snow, approaching with a smile of welcome; for although she was as weak as water gruel, she was as kind-hearted a little woman as ever lived.
“What a fib that was!” said Toady, sotto voce.
“What a lie that was!” said Toady, sotto voce.
“We were just saying we were afraid you wouldn’t”—began Mary, when a warning, “Mind now, Polly,” caused her to stop short and busy herself with the newcomer’s bag and umbrella.
“We were just saying we were worried you wouldn’t”—started Mary, when a warning, “Careful now, Polly,” made her pause and attend to the newcomer’s bag and umbrella.
“I changed my mind. Theodore, come and kiss me,” answered Aunt Kipp, briefly.
“I've changed my mind. Theodore, come kiss me,” Aunt Kipp replied shortly.
“Yes’m,” was the plaintive reply, and, closing his eyes, Toady awaited his fate with fortitude.
“Yes, ma’am,” was the sad reply, and, closing his eyes, Toady braced himself for what was to come.
But the dreaded salute did not come, for Aunt Kipp exclaimed in alarm,—
But the dreaded salute didn't come, because Aunt Kipp exclaimed in alarm,—
“Mercy on us! has the boy got the plague?”
“Have mercy! Does the boy have the plague?”
“No’m, it’s paint, and dirt, and glue, and it won’t come off,” said Toady, stroking his variegated countenance with grateful admiration for the stains that saved him.
“No, it’s paint, and dirt, and glue, and it won’t come off,” said Toady, running his fingers over his colorful face with thankful appreciation for the marks that protected him.
“Go and wash this moment, sir. Thank Heaven, I’ve got no boys,” cried Aunt Kipp, as if boys were some virulent disease which she had narrowly escaped.
“Go and wash this moment, sir. Thank Heaven, I’ve got no boys,” cried Aunt Kipp, as if boys were some serious illness that she had narrowly avoided.
With a hasty peck at the lips of her two elder relatives, the old lady seated herself, and slowly removed the awful bonnet, which in shape and hue much resembled a hearse hung with black crape.
With a quick kiss on the lips of her two older relatives, the elderly lady sat down and slowly took off the terrible bonnet, which looked a lot like a hearse draped in black fabric.
“I’m glad you are better,” said Mary, reverently receiving the funereal head-gear.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” said Mary, respectfully accepting the funeral headgear.
“I’m not better,” cut in Aunt Kipp. “I’m worse, much worse; my days are numbered; I stand on the brink of the tomb, and may drop at any moment.”
“I’m not better,” Aunt Kipp interrupted. “I’m worse, way worse; my days are limited; I’m on the edge of the grave and could drop at any moment.”
Toady’s face was a study, as he glanced up at the old lady’s florid countenance, down at the floor, as if in search of the above-mentioned “brink,” and looked unaffectedly anxious to see her drop. “Why don’t you, then?” was on his lips; but a frown from Polly restrained him, and he sat himself down on the rug to contemplate the corpulent victim.
Toady's face was quite the sight as he glanced up at the old lady's flushed face, then down at the floor, seemingly searching for the aforementioned “brink,” while appearing genuinely anxious to see her fall. “Why don’t you, then?” nearly slipped out, but a frown from Polly held him back, so he sat down on the rug to observe the stout victim.
“Have a cup of tea, aunt?” said Mrs. Snow.
“Would you like a cup of tea, aunt?” Mrs. Snow asked.
“I will.”
"I will."
“Lie down and rest a little,” suggested Polly.
“Lie down and take a short break,” suggested Polly.
“I won’t.”
"I don't want to."
“Can we do anything for you?” said both.
“Can we help you with anything?” they said.
“Take my things away, and have dinner early.”
“Take my stuff away, and have dinner early.”
Both departed to perform these behests, and, leaning back in her chair, Aunt Kipp reposed.
Both left to carry out these tasks, and, leaning back in her chair, Aunt Kipp relaxed.
“I say, what’s a bore?” asked Toady from the rug, where he sat rocking meditatively to and fro, holding on by his shoe-strings.
“I say, what’s a bore?” asked Toady from the rug, where he sat rocking back and forth, holding on by his shoe laces.
“It’s a kind of a pig, very fierce, and folks are afraid of ’em,” said Aunt Kipp, whose knowledge of Natural History was limited.
“It’s a kind of pig, really fierce, and people are scared of them,” said Aunt Kipp, whose knowledge of Natural History was limited.
“Good for Polly! so you are!” sung out the boy, with the hearty child’s laugh so pleasant to most ears.
“Good for Polly! Yes, you are!” shouted the boy, with the joyful child's laughter that's so pleasing to most ears.
“What do you mean, sir?” demanded the old lady, irefully poking at him with her umbrella.
“What do you mean, sir?” the old lady asked, angrily jabbing at him with her umbrella.
“Why, Polly said you were a bore,” explained Toady, with artless frankness. “You are fat, you know, and fierce sometimes, and folks are afraid of you. Good, wasn’t it?”
“Why, Polly said you were a bore,” Toady explained, being completely honest. “You are overweight, you know, and can be fierce at times, and people are scared of you. Good, right?”
“Very! Mary is a nice, grateful, respectful, loving niece, and I shan’t forget her, she may depend on that,” and Aunt Kipp laughed grimly.
“Definitely! Mary is a kind, appreciative, respectful, loving niece, and I won’t forget her, she can count on that,” and Aunt Kipp laughed bitterly.
“May she? well, that’s jolly now. She was afraid you wouldn’t give her the money; so I’ll tell her it’s all right;” and innocent Toady nodded approvingly.
“May she? Well, that’s great now. She was worried you wouldn’t give her the money; so I’ll let her know it’s all good;” and innocent Toady nodded in agreement.
“Oh, she expects some of my money, does she?”
“Oh, she thinks I owe her some of my money, does she?”
“Course she does; ain’t you always saying you’ll remember us in your will, because father was your favorite nephew, and all that? I’ll tell you a secret, if you won’t let Polly know I spoke first. You’ll find it out to-night, for you’d see Van and she were sweethearts in a minute.”
“Of course she does; aren't you always saying you'll remember us in your will, because father was your favorite nephew and all that? I'll let you in on a secret, but don't tell Polly I said anything first. You'll find out tonight, because you’d see that Van and she are a couple in no time.”
“Sweethearts?” cried Aunt Kipp, turning red in the face.
"Sweethearts?" yelled Aunt Kipp, blushing.
“Yes’m. Van settled it last week, and Polly’s been so happy ever since. Mother likes it, and I like it, for I’m fond of Van, though I do call him Baa-baa, because he looks like a sheep. We all like it, and we’d all say so, if we were not afraid of you. Mother and Polly, I mean; of course we men don’t mind, but we don’t want a fuss. You won’t make one, will you, now?”
“Yes, ma'am. Van took care of that last week, and Polly's been really happy ever since. Mom likes it, and I like it too because I’m fond of Van, even though I call him Baa-baa since he looks like a sheep. We all like it, and we’d all say so if we weren't afraid of you. I mean Mom and Polly; the guys don’t care, but we want to avoid any drama. You won’t start one, will you?”
Anything more expressive of brotherly good-will, persuasive frankness, and a placid consciousness of having “fixed it,” than Toady’s dirty little face, it would be hard to find. Aunt Kipp eyed him so fiercely that even before she spoke a dim suspicion that something was wrong began to dawn on his too-confiding soul.
Anything more representative of brotherly goodwill, honest openness, and a calm awareness of having “fixed it,” than Toady’s dirty little face, would be hard to find. Aunt Kipp glared at him so intensely that even before she spoke, a vague sense that something was off began to emerge in his overly trusting heart.
“I don’t like it, and I’ll put a stop to it. I won’t have any ridiculous baa-baas in my family. If Mary counts on my money to begin housekeeping with, she’ll find herself mistaken; for not one penny shall she have, married or single, and you may tell her so.”
I don’t like it, and I’m going to stop it. I won’t have any silly sheep in my family. If Mary thinks she can rely on my money to set up her home, she’s going to be disappointed; because she won’t get a single penny, whether she’s married or single, and you can tell her that.
Toady was so taken aback by this explosion that he let go his shoe-strings, fell over with a crash, and lay flat, with shovel and tongs spread upon him like a pall. In rushed Mrs. Snow and Polly, to find the boy’s spirits quite quenched, for once, and Aunt Kipp in a towering passion. It all came out in one overwhelming flood of words, and Toady fled from the storm to wander round the house, a prey to the deepest remorse. The meekness of that boy at dinner-time was so angelic that Mrs. Snow would have feared speedy translation for him, if she had not been very angry. Polly’s red eyes, and Aunt Kipp’s griffinesque expression of countenance, weighed upon his soul so heavily, that even roly-poly pudding failed to assuage his trouble, and, taking his mother into the china-closet, he anxiously inquired “if it was all up with Polly?”
Toady was so shocked by the explosion that he let go of his shoelaces, fell over with a crash, and lay flat, with the shovel and tongs spread over him like a shroud. Mrs. Snow and Polly rushed in to find the boy completely dejected for once, and Aunt Kipp in a furious rage. Everything came out in a rushing flood of words, and Toady escaped from the chaos to wander around the house, consumed by deep remorse. The humility of that boy at dinner was so angelic that Mrs. Snow would have worried about him being taken away if she hadn't been very angry. Polly’s red eyes and Aunt Kipp’s fierce expression weighed on his soul so heavily that even the roly-poly pudding couldn’t ease his worries, and taking his mother into the china closet, he anxiously asked, “Is it all over for Polly?”
“I’m afraid so, for aunt vows she will make a new will to-morrow, and leave every penny to the Charitable Rag-bag Society,” sighed Mrs. Snow.
“I’m afraid so, because my aunt insists she will make a new will tomorrow and leave every penny to the Charitable Rag-bag Society,” sighed Mrs. Snow.
“I didn’t mean to do it, I truly didn’t! I thought I’d just ‘give her a hint,’ as you say. She looked all right, and laughed when I told her about being a bore, and I thought she liked it. If she was a man, I’d thrash her for making Polly cry;” and Toady shook his fist at Aunt Kipp’s umbrella, which was an immense relief to his perturbed spirit.
“I didn’t mean to do it, I really didn’t! I thought I’d just ‘give her a hint,’ you know? She seemed fine and laughed when I mentioned being boring, so I thought she was okay with it. If she were a guy, I’d knock her out for making Polly cry;” and Toady shook his fist at Aunt Kipp’s umbrella, which was a huge relief for his troubled mind.
“Bless the boy! I do believe he would!” cried Mrs. Snow, watching the little turkey-cock with maternal pride. “You can’t do that: so just be careful and not make any more mischief, dear.”
“Bless the boy! I really think he would!” exclaimed Mrs. Snow, watching the little turkey-cock with pride. “You can’t do that, so just be careful and don’t cause any more trouble, dear.”
“I’ll try, mother; but I’m always getting into scrapes with Aunt Kipp. She’s worse than measles, any day,—such an old aggrawater! Van’s coming this afternoon, won’t he make her pleasant again?”
“I’ll try, Mom; but I keep getting into trouble with Aunt Kipp. She’s worse than getting the measles, any day—such an old pain! Van’s coming this afternoon; won’t he make her nice again?”
“Oh, dear, no! He will probably make things ten times worse, he’s so bashful and queer. I’m afraid our last chance is gone, deary, and we must rub along as we have done.”
“Oh, no! He’ll probably just make everything ten times worse; he’s so shy and odd. I’m afraid our last chance is gone, my dear, and we have to manage as we always have.”
One sniff of emotion burst from Toady, and for a moment he laid his head in the knife-tray, overcome with disappointment and regret. But scorning to yield to unmanly tears, he was soon himself again. Thrusting his beloved jack-knife, with three blades and a file, into Polly’s hand, he whispered, brokenly,—
One sniff of emotion escaped Toady, and for a moment he laid his head in the knife tray, overwhelmed by disappointment and regret. But refusing to give in to unmanly tears, he soon composed himself again. Shoving his beloved jackknife, with three blades and a file, into Polly's hand, he whispered, brokenly,—
“Keep it forever’n’ever; I’m awful sorry!” Then, feeling that the magnitude of this sacrifice atoned for everything, he went to watch for Van,—the forlorn hope to which he now clung.
“Keep it forever and ever; I’m really sorry!” Then, feeling that the significance of this sacrifice made up for everything, he went to wait for Van—the desperate hope he was now holding onto.
II.
“Sophy, I’m surprised at your want of judgment. Do you really mean to let your girl marry this Lamb? Why, the man’s a fool!” began Aunt Kipp, after dinner, by way of opening a pleasant conversation with her relatives.
“Sophie, I can’t believe you’re considering this. Are you really going to let your daughter marry this Lamb? Come on, the guy’s an idiot!” Aunt Kipp said after dinner, trying to kick off a friendly conversation with her family.
“Dear me, aunt! how can you know that, when you never saw him?” mildly returned Mrs. Snow.
“Wow, aunt! How can you know that when you’ve never even met him?” Mrs. Snow replied gently.
“I’ve heard of him, and that’s enough for me. I’ve a deal of penetration in judging character, and I tell you Van Bahr Lamb is a fool.”
“I’ve heard of him, and that’s all I need to know. I’m pretty good at reading people, and I’ll tell you, Van Bahr Lamb is an idiot.”
The amiable old lady thought this would rouse Polly, against whom her anger still burned hotly. But Polly also possessed penetration; and, well knowing that contradiction would delight Aunt Kipp, she completely took the wind out of her sails, by coolly remarking,—
The friendly old lady thought this would get Polly's attention, against whom her anger still burned fiercely. But Polly was also sharp; and knowing that arguing would please Aunt Kipp, she effortlessly took the wind out of her sails by casually saying,—
“I like fools.”
"I like klutzes."
“Bless my heart! what does the girl mean?” ejaculated Aunt Kipp.
“Bless my heart! What does the girl mean?” exclaimed Aunt Kipp.
“Just what I say. If Van is a fool, I prefer simpletons to wiseacres. I know he is shy and awkward, and does absurd things now and then. But I also know that he has the kindest heart that ever was; is unselfish, faithful and loving; that he took good care of his old parents till they died, and never thought of himself while they needed him. He loves me dearly; will wait for me a dozen years, if I say so, and work all his days to make me happy. He’s a help and comfort to mother, a good friend to Toady, and I love and respect and am proud of him, though you do say he is a fool,” cried Polly heartily.
“Exactly what I mean. If Van is a fool, I'd rather have simpletons than know-it-alls. I get that he’s shy and a bit awkward, and he does silly things sometimes. But I also know he has the kindest heart ever; he’s selfless, loyal, and loving; he took great care of his elderly parents until they passed away, never thinking about himself while they needed him. He loves me deeply; he’d wait for me a dozen years if I asked, and he’d work his whole life to make me happy. He’s a support and comfort to my mom, a good friend to Toady, and I love, respect, and am proud of him, even if you call him a fool,” Polly exclaimed passionately.
“And you insist on marrying him?” demanded Aunt Kipp.
“And you really want to marry him?” Aunt Kipp asked.
“Yes, I do.”
"Yeah, I do."
“Then I wish a carriage immediately,” was the somewhat irrelevant reply.
“Then I want a carriage right away,” was the somewhat irrelevant reply.
“Why, aunt, you don’t mean to go so soon?” cried Mrs. Snow, with a reproachful glance at the rebellious Polly.
“Why, aunt, you can’t be leaving already?” cried Mrs. Snow, giving a disapproving look at the defiant Polly.
“Far from it. I wish to see Judge Banks about altering my will,” was the awful answer.
“Not at all. I want to see Judge Banks about changing my will,” was the shocking response.
Polly’s face fell; her mother gave a despairing sigh; Toady, who had hovered about the door, uttered a suppressed whistle of dismay; and Mrs. Kipp looked about her with vengeful satisfaction.
Polly's expression sank; her mom let out a frustrated sigh; Toady, who had been lingering near the door, gave a quiet whistle of shock; and Mrs. Kipp glanced around her with a sense of malicious satisfaction.
“Get the big carryall and old Bob, so the boy can drive, and all of you come; the trip will do you good.”
“Grab the big carryall and old Bob so the boy can drive, and all of you come along; the trip will be good for you.”
It was like Aunt Kipp to invite her poor relations to go and “nip their own noses off,” as she elegantly expressed it. It was a party of pleasure that just suited her, for all the fun was on her side. She grew affable at once, was quite pressing in her invitation, regretted that Sophy was too busy to go, praised Polly’s hat; and professed herself quite satisfied with “that dear boy” for a driver. The “dear boy” distorted his young countenance frightfully behind her back, but found a balm for every wound in the delight of being commander of the expedition.
It was typical of Aunt Kipp to invite her less fortunate relatives to go and "cut off their own noses," as she put it so elegantly. It was a gathering of joy that was perfect for her, since all the fun was on her side. She immediately became friendly, was very insistent with her invitation, expressed disappointment that Sophy was too busy to attend, complimented Polly’s hat, and claimed she was completely happy with "that dear boy" as the driver. The "dear boy" grimaced horribly behind her back, but found solace in the enjoyment of being in charge of the outing.
The big carryall appeared, and, with much creaking and swaying Mrs. Kipp was got into the back seat, where the big bonnet gloomed like a thunder-cloud. Polly, in a high state of indignation, which only made her look ten times prettier, sat in front with Toady, who was a sight to see as he drove off with his short legs planted against the boot, his elbows squared, and the big whip scientifically cracking now and then. Away they went, leaving poor Mrs. Snow to bewail herself dismally after she had smiled and nodded them out of sight.
The big carryall pulled up, and with a lot of creaking and swaying, Mrs. Kipp was helped into the back seat, where the large bonnet loomed like a thundercloud. Polly, in a heightened state of indignation that only made her look ten times prettier, sat in the front with Toady, who was quite a sight as he drove off with his short legs planted against the boot, his elbows squared, and the big whip cracking occasionally. Off they went, leaving poor Mrs. Snow to mourn dismally after she had smiled and waved goodbye until they were out of sight.
“Don’t go over any bridges or railroad crossings or by any saw-mills,” said the old lady, as if the town could be suddenly remodelled to suit her taste.
“Don’t go over any bridges or railroad crossings or by any sawmills,” said the old lady, as if the town could be suddenly changed to fit her preferences.
“Yes’m,” returned Toady, with a crack which would have done honor to a French postilion.
“Yes ma’am,” replied Toady, with a crack that would have impressed a French coachman.
It was a fine day, and the young people would have enjoyed the ride in spite of the breakers ahead, if Aunt Kipp hadn’t entertained the girl with a glowing account of the splendors of her own wedding, and aggravated the boy by frequent pokes and directions in the art of driving, of which she was of course, profoundly ignorant. Polly couldn’t restrain a tear or two, in thinking of her own poor little prospects, and Toady was goaded to desperation.
It was a nice day, and the young people would have enjoyed the ride despite the waves ahead, if Aunt Kipp hadn't distracted the girl with an enthusiastic story about the amazing details of her own wedding and annoyed the boy with constant nudges and tips on how to drive, which she clearly knew nothing about. Polly couldn't hold back a tear or two, thinking about her own bleak future, and Toady was pushed to the edge of frustration.
“I’ll give her a regular shaking up; it’ll make her hold her tongue and do her good,” he said to himself, as a stony hill sloped temptingly before him.
“I’ll give her a good talking-to; it’ll make her keep quiet and do her some good,” he said to himself, as a rocky hill loomed invitingly in front of him.
A sly chuck, and some mysterious manœuvre with the reins, and Bob started off at a brisk trot, as if he objected to the old lady as much as her mischievous little nephew.
A sly chuckle and a clever move with the reins, and Bob took off at a brisk trot, as if he disliked the old lady just as much as her mischievous little nephew.
“Hold him in! Keep a taut rein! Lord ’a mercy, he’s running away!” shrieked Aunt Kipp, or tried to shriek, for the bouncing and bumping jerked the words out of her mouth with ludicrous incoherency.
“Hold him back! Keep a tight grip! Oh my goodness, he’s escaping!” yelled Aunt Kipp, or tried to yell, as the bouncing and bumping made her words come out in a ridiculous jumble.
“I am holding him, but he will go,” said Toady, with a wicked triumph in his eye as he glanced back at Polly.
“I’m holding him, but he will go,” said Toady, with a wicked triumph in his eye as he looked back at Polly.
The next minute the words were quite true; for, as he spoke, two or three distracted hens flew squalling over the wall and scattered about, under, over, and before the horse, as only distracted hens could do. It was too much for Bob’s nerves; and, taking matters into his own hands, or feet, rather, he broke into a run, and rattled the old lady over the stones with a velocity which left her speechless.
The next minute, the words were completely true; for, as he spoke, two or three frantic hens flew over the wall, squawking and scattering around, under, over, and in front of the horse, just like frantic hens do. It was too much for Bob’s nerves, so he took action—literally—by breaking into a run and jostling the old lady over the stones at a speed that left her speechless.
Polly laughed, and Toady chuckled, as they caught glimpses of the awful bonnet vibrating wildly in the background, and felt the frantic clutchings of the old lady’s hands. But both grew sober as a shrill car-whistle sounded not far off; and Bob, as if possessed by an evil spirit, turned suddenly into the road that led to the railroad crossing.
Polly laughed, and Toady chuckled as they caught sight of the terrible bonnet shaking wildly in the background and felt the old lady’s frantic grip. But both became serious when a sharp car whistle sounded nearby; and Bob, as if taken over by some evil force, suddenly turned onto the road that led to the railroad crossing.
“That will do, Toady; now pull up, for we can’t get over in time,” said Polly, glancing anxiously toward the rapidly approaching puffs of white smoke.
“That’s enough, Toady; now stop, because we won’t make it over in time,” said Polly, looking anxiously at the quickly approaching puffs of white smoke.
“I can’t, Polly,—I really can’t,” cried the boy, tugging with all his might, and beginning to look scared.
“I can’t, Polly—I really can’t,” the boy exclaimed, pulling with all his strength and starting to look frightened.
Polly lent her aid; but Bob scarcely seemed to feel it, for he had been a racer once, and when his blood was up he was hard to handle. His own good sense might have checked him, if Aunt Kipp hadn’t unfortunately recovered her voice at this crisis, and uttered a succession of the shrillest screams that ever saluted mortal ears. With a snort and a bound Bob dashed straight on toward the crossing, as the train appeared round the bend.
Polly offered her help, but Bob barely seemed to notice it because he used to be a racer, and when he got excited, he was tough to control. His common sense might have held him back, if Aunt Kipp hadn't unfortunately found her voice at that moment and let out a series of the loudest screams anyone had ever heard. With a snort and a leap, Bob charged straight toward the crossing just as the train came around the corner.
“Let me out! Let me out! Jump! Jump!” shrieked Aunt Kipp, thrusting her head out of the window, while she fumbled madly for the door-handle.
“Let me out! Let me out! Jump! Jump!” screamed Aunt Kipp, sticking her head out of the window as she frantically searched for the door handle.
“O Toady, save us! save us!” gasped Polly, losing her presence of mind, and dropping the reins to cling to her brother, with a woman’s instinctive faith in the stronger sex.
“O Toady, help us! help us!” gasped Polly, panicking and letting go of the reins to grab onto her brother, trusting instinctively in the stronger sex.
But Toady held on manfully, though his arms were nearly pulled off, for “Never say die,” was his motto, and the plucky little lad wouldn’t show fear before the women.
But Toady kept holding on bravely, even though his arms felt like they were about to come off, because “Never say die” was his motto, and the brave little guy wouldn’t show fear in front of the women.
“Don’t howl; we’ll do it! Hi, Bob!” and with a savage slash of the whip, an exciting cry, a terrible reeling and rattling, they did do it; for Bob cleared the track at a breakneck pace, just in time for the train to sweep swiftly by behind them.
“Don’t complain; we’ll get it done! Hi, Bob!” and with a fierce snap of the whip, an exhilarating shout, and a chaotic pounding and clattering, they did do it; because Bob sped down the track at a breakneck pace, just in time for the train to zoom swiftly by behind them.
Aunt Kipp dropped in a heap, Polly looked up at her brother, with a look which he never forgot; and Toady tried to say, stoutly, “It’s all right!” with lips that were white and dry in spite of himself.
Aunt Kipp collapsed in a heap, Polly looked up at her brother with a look he never forgot; and Toady tried to say confidently, “It’s all good!” with lips that were pale and dry despite himself.
“We shall smash up at the bridge,” he muttered, as they tore through the town, where every one obligingly shouted, waved their hats, and danced about on the sidewalks, doing nothing but add to Bob’s fright and the party’s danger. But Toady was wrong,—they did not smash up at the bridge; for, before they reached the perilous spot, one man had the sense to fly straight at the horse’s head and hold on till the momentary check enabled others to lend a hand.
“We’re going to crash at the bridge,” he muttered, as they sped through the town, where everyone kindly shouted, waved their hats, and danced on the sidewalks, only making Bob more scared and putting the group in greater danger. But Toady was wrong—they didn’t crash at the bridge; before they got to the risky spot, one man had the presence of mind to run directly at the horse’s head and hold on until the brief stop allowed others to help.
The instant they were safe, Polly, like a regular heroine, threw herself into the arms of her dishevelled preserver, who of course was Van, and would have refreshed herself with hysterics if the sight of Toady hadn’t steadied her. The boy sat as stiff and rigid as a wooden figure till they took the reins from him; then all the strength seemed to go out of him, and he leaned against his sister, as white and trembling as she, whispering with an irrepressible sob,—
The moment they were safe, Polly, like a true heroine, threw herself into the arms of her disheveled rescuer, who was, of course, Van. She would have broken down in hysterics if it weren't for Toady's presence calming her down. The boy sat as stiff and rigid as a wooden figure until they took the reins from him; then all his strength seemed to drain away, and he leaned against his sister, as pale and trembling as she was, whispering through an unstoppable sob,—
“O Polly, wasn’t it horrid? Tell mother I stood by you like a man. Do tell her that!”
“O Polly, wasn’t it awful? Tell Mom I stood by you like a man. Please tell her that!”
If any one had had time or heart to laugh, they certainly would have done it when, after much groping, heaving, and hoisting, Mrs. Kipp was extricated and restored to consciousness; for a more ludicrously deplorable spectacle was seldom seen. Quite unhurt, though much shaken, the old lady insisted on believing herself to be dying, and kept the town in a ferment till three doctors had pronounced her perfectly well able to go home. Then the perversity of her nature induced her to comply, that she might have the satisfaction of dying on the way, and proving herself in the right.
If anyone had the time or inclination to laugh, they definitely would have when, after a lot of searching, lifting, and pulling, Mrs. Kipp was freed and brought back to her senses; for it was a hilariously sad sight that was rarely seen. Completely unharmed, though quite shaken up, the old lady insisted she was dying, keeping the town in a frenzy until three doctors declared her perfectly fine to go home. Then her stubborn nature led her to agree to leave, just so she could have the satisfaction of dying on the way and proving herself right.
Unfortunately she did not expire, but, having safely arrived, went to bed in high dudgeon, and led Polly and her mother a sad life of it for two weary days. Having heard of Toady’s gallant behavior, she solemnly ordered him up to receive her blessing. But the sight of Aunt Kipp’s rubicund visage, surrounded by the stiff frills of an immense nightcap, caused the irreverent boy to explode with laughter in his handkerchief, and to be hustled away by his mother before Aunt Kipp discovered the true cause of his convulsed appearance.
Unfortunately, she didn't pass away, but after safely arriving, she went to bed in a huff and made Polly and her mom's lives miserable for two long days. After hearing about Toady’s brave actions, she formally summoned him to receive her blessing. But when he saw Aunt Kipp’s red face surrounded by the stiff frills of a huge nightcap, the boy couldn't help but burst into laughter into his handkerchief and was quickly whisked away by his mom before Aunt Kipp found out what was really making him laugh.
“Ah! poor dear, his feelings are too much for him. He sees my doom in my face, and is overcome by what you refuse to believe. I shan’t forget that boy’s devotion. Now leave me to the meditations befitting these solemn hours.”
“Ah! poor dear, his feelings are overwhelming for him. He sees my fate in my face and is crushed by what you refuse to believe. I won’t forget that boy’s loyalty. Now let me reflect in a way that suits these serious moments.”
Mrs. Snow retired, and Aunt Kipp tried to sleep; but the murmur of voices, and the sound of stifled laughter in the next room disturbed her repose.
Mrs. Snow retired, and Aunt Kipp tried to sleep; but the low voices and muffled laughter coming from the next room interrupted her rest.
“They are rejoicing over my approaching end, knowing that I haven’t changed my will. Mercenary creatures, don’t exult too soon! there’s time yet,” she muttered; and presently, unable to control her curiosity, she crept out of bed to listen and peep through the key-hole.
“They’re celebrating my imminent demise, thinking I haven't changed my mind. Greedy creatures, don't celebrate too soon! There's still time,” she muttered; and soon, unable to contain her curiosity, she got out of bed to listen and peek through the keyhole.
Van Bahr Lamb did look rather like a sheep. He had a blond curly head, a long face, pale, mild eyes, a plaintive voice, and a general expression of innocent timidity strongly suggestive of animated mutton. But Baa-baa was a “trump,” as Toady emphatically declared, and though every one laughed at him, every one liked him, and that is more than can be said of many saints and sages. He adored Polly, was dutifully kind to her mother, and had stood by T. Snow, Jr., in many an hour of tribulation with fraternal fidelity. Though he had long blushed, sighed, and cast sheep’s eyes at the idol of his affections, only till lately had he dared to bleat forth his passion. Polly loved him because she couldn’t help it; but she was proud, and wouldn’t marry till Aunt Kipp’s money was hers, or at least a sure prospect of it; and now even the prospect of a prospect was destroyed by that irrepressible Toady. They were talking of this as the old lady suspected, and of course the following conversation afforded her intense satisfaction.
Van Bahr Lamb did look a bit like a sheep. He had a curly blond head, a long face, pale, gentle eyes, a soft voice, and an overall expression of innocent timidity that strongly reminded one of animated lamb. But Baa-baa was a “trump,” as Toady clearly declared, and even though everyone laughed at him, everyone liked him, which is more than can be said for many saints and sages. He adored Polly, was dutifully kind to her mother, and had stood by T. Snow, Jr. through many tough times with brotherly loyalty. Although he had long blushed, sighed, and gazed dreamily at the object of his affection, only recently had he mustered the courage to express his feelings. Polly loved him because she couldn’t help it; but she was proud and wouldn’t marry until Aunt Kipp’s money was either hers or at least a solid prospect. Now, even the prospect of a prospect was ruined by that unstoppable Toady. They were discussing this, as the old lady suspected, and of course, the ensuing conversation gave her immense satisfaction.
“It’s a shame to torment us as she does, knowing how poor we are and how happy a little of her money would make us. I’m tired of being a slave to a cruel old woman just because she’s rich. If it was not for mother, I declare I’d wash my hands of her entirely, and do the best I could for myself.”
“It’s really unfair to keep tormenting us like this, especially since she knows how broke we are and how much happier a little of her money would make us. I’m sick of being stuck under a cruel old woman just because she has money. If it weren’t for Mom, I swear I’d cut ties with her completely and just focus on taking care of myself.”
“Hooray for Polly! I always said let her money go and be jolly without it,” cried Toady, who, in his character of wounded hero, reposed with a lordly air on the sofa, enjoying the fragrance of the opedeldoc with which his strained wrists were bandaged.
“Hooray for Polly! I always said to spend her money and have fun without it,” shouted Toady, who, acting like a wounded hero, lounged with a regal attitude on the sofa, savoring the scent of the opedeldoc that was wrapped around his sore wrists.
“It’s on your account, children, that I bear with aunt’s temper as I do. I don’t want anything for myself, but I really think she owes it to your dear father, who was devoted to her while he lived, to provide for his children when he couldn’t;” after which remarkably spirited speech for her, Mrs. Snow dropped a tear, and stitched away on a small trouser-leg which was suffering from a complicated compound fracture.
“It’s because of you kids that I put up with your aunt’s temper. I don’t want anything for myself, but I truly believe she owes it to your beloved father, who cared for her so much when he was alive, to take care of his children when he couldn’t;” after this surprisingly passionate speech for her, Mrs. Snow shed a tear and continued to sew on a small trouser leg that was dealing with a complicated tear.
“Don’t you worry about me, mother; I’ll take care of myself and you too,” remarked Toady, with the cheery belief in impossibilities which makes youth so charming.
“Don’t worry about me, Mom; I’ll take care of myself and you too,” said Toady, with the optimistic belief in impossible things that makes youth so appealing.
“Now, Van, tell us what to do, for things have come to such a pass that we must either break away altogether or be galley-slaves as long as Aunt Kipp lives,” said Polly, who was a good deal excited about the matter.
“Now, Van, tell us what to do, because we’ve reached a point where we either have to break free completely or be stuck as Aunt Kipp’s slaves for as long as she’s around,” said Polly, who was pretty worked up about the situation.
“Well, really, my dear, I don’t know,” hesitated Van, who did know what he wanted, but thought it might be selfish to urge it. “Have you tried to soften your aunt’s heart?” he asked, after a moment’s meditation.
“Well, honestly, my dear, I’m not sure,” hesitated Van, who did know what he wanted, but thought it might be selfish to push for it. “Have you tried to get your aunt to be more understanding?” he asked after a moment’s thought.
“Good gracious, Van, she hasn’t got any,” cried Polly, who firmly believed it.
“Good grief, Van, she doesn’t have any,” exclaimed Polly, who was absolutely convinced of it.
“It’s hossified,” thoughtfully remarked Toady, quite unconscious of any approach to a joke till every one giggled.
“It’s hossified,” Toady remarked thoughtfully, completely unaware that he was making a joke until everyone started giggling.
“You’ve had hossification enough for one while, my lad,” laughed Van. “Well, Polly, if the old lady has no heart you’d better let her go, for people without hearts are not worth much.”
“You’ve had enough of being a horse for a bit, my boy,” laughed Van. “Well, Polly, if the old lady has no heart, you might as well let her go, because people without hearts aren’t really worth much.”
“That’s a beautiful remark, Van, and a wise one. I just wish she could hear you make it, for she called you a fool,” said Polly, irefully.
“That’s a beautiful remark, Van, and a wise one. I just wish she could hear you say it, because she called you a fool,” Polly said angrily.
“Did she? Well, I don’t mind, I’m used to it,” returned Van, placidly; and so he was, for Polly called him a goose every day of her life, and he enjoyed it immensely.
“Did she? Well, I don't mind, I'm used to it,” Van replied calmly; and he really was, because Polly called him a goose every day of her life, and he loved it.
“Then you think, dear, if we stopped worrying about aunt and her money, and worked instead of waiting, that we shouldn’t be any poorer and might be a great deal happier than we are now?” asked Polly, making a pretty little tableau as she put her hand through Van’s arm and looked up at him with as much love, respect, and reliance as if he had been six feet tall, with the face of an Apollo and the manners of a Chesterfield.
“Then you think, darling, if we stopped worrying about Aunt and her money, and focused on working instead of just waiting, we wouldn’t be any poorer and might actually be much happier than we are now?” asked Polly, creating a lovely scene as she linked her arm through Van’s and looked up at him with as much love, respect, and trust as if he were six feet tall, with the face of a god and the charm of a gentleman.
“Yes, my dear, I do, for it has troubled me a good deal to see you so badgered by that very uncomfortable old lady. Independence is a very nice thing, and poverty isn’t half as bad as this sort of slavery. But you are not going to be poor, nor worry about anything. We’ll just be married and take mother and Toady home and be as jolly as grigs, and never think of Mrs. K. again,—unless she loses her fortune, or gets sick, or comes to grief in any way. We’d lend her a hand then, wouldn’t we, Polly?” and Van’s mild face was pleasant to behold as he made the kindly proposition.
“Yes, my dear, I do, because it really bothers me to see you so harassed by that very unpleasant old lady. Independence is a wonderful thing, and being broke isn’t nearly as bad as this kind of servitude. But you’re not going to be poor, nor worry about anything. We’ll just get married, take Mom and Toady home, and be as happy as can be, and never think of Mrs. K. again—unless she loses her fortune, gets sick, or runs into trouble in some way. We’d help her out then, wouldn’t we, Polly?” Van’s gentle face was nice to see as he made this kind suggestion.
“Well, we’d think of it,” said Polly, trying not to relent, but feeling that she was going very fast.
“Well, we’ll think about it,” said Polly, trying not to give in, but feeling like she was moving really fast.
“Let’s do it!” cried Toady, fired with the thought of privy conspiracy and rebellion. “Mother would be so comfortable with Polly, and I’d help Van in the store, when I’ve learned that confounded multiplication table,” he added with a groan; “and if Aunt Kipp comes a visiting, we’ll just say ‘Not at home,’ and let her trot off again.”
“Let’s do it!” shouted Toady, excited by the idea of a secret plan and rebellion. “Mom would be totally fine with Polly, and I’d help Van in the store after I’ve mastered that annoying multiplication table,” he added with a sigh; “and if Aunt Kipp comes by, we’ll just say ‘Not home,’ and let her leave again.”
“It sounds very nice, but aunt will be dreadfully offended and I don’t wish to be ungrateful,” said Mrs. Snow, brightening visibly.
“It sounds really nice, but Aunt will be horribly offended and I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” said Mrs. Snow, visibly brightening.
“There’s no ingratitude about it,” cried Van. “She might have done everything to make you love, and respect, and admire her, and been a happy, useful, motherly, old soul; but she didn’t choose to, and now she must take the consequences. No one cares for her, because she cares for nobody; her money’s the plague of her life, and not a single heart will ache when she dies.”
“There’s no ingratitude in this,” Van exclaimed. “She could have done everything to make you love, respect, and admire her, and been a happy, helpful, motherly old soul; but she didn’t choose to, and now she has to deal with the consequences. No one cares about her because she cares about no one; her money is the curse of her life, and not a single person will mourn when she dies.”
“Poor Aunt Kipp!” said Polly, softly.
“Poor Aunt Kipp!” Polly said quietly.
Mrs. Snow echoed the words, and for a moment all thought pitifully of the woman whose life had given so little happiness, whose age had won so little reverence, and whose death would cause so little regret. Even Toady had a kind thought for her, as he broke the silence, saying soberly,—
Mrs. Snow repeated the words, and for a moment everyone felt sorry for the woman whose life had brought so little joy, whose age had earned so little respect, and whose passing would bring so little sadness. Even Toady had a kind thought for her as he broke the silence, saying seriously,—
“You’d better put tails on my jackets, mother; then the next time we get run away with, Aunt Kipp will have something to hold on by.”
“You should really add tails to my jackets, Mom; then the next time we get swept away, Aunt Kipp will have something to grab onto.”
It was impossible to help laughing at the recollection of the old lady clutching at the boy till he had hardly a button left, and at the paternal air with which he now proposed a much-desired change of costume, as if intent on Aunt Kipp’s future accommodation.
It was impossible not to laugh at the memory of the old lady grabbing onto the boy until he barely had a button left, and at the fatherly way he now suggested a long-awaited change of clothes, as if he was thinking about Aunt Kipp’s future comfort.
Under cover of the laugh, the old lady stole back to bed, wide awake, and with subjects enough to meditate upon now. The shaking up had certainly done her good, for somehow the few virtues she possessed came to the surface, and the mental shower-bath just received had produced a salutary change. Polly wouldn’t have doubted her aunt’s possession of a heart, if she could have known the pain and loneliness that made it ache, as the old woman crept away; and Toady wouldn’t have laughed if he had seen the tears on the face, between the big frills, as Aunt Kipp laid it on the pillow, muttering, drearily,—
Under the cover of the laughter, the old woman quietly snuck back to bed, fully awake, with plenty to think about now. The shake-up had definitely done her some good because somehow the few good qualities she had surfaced, and the mental wake-up call she just experienced had brought about a positive change. Polly wouldn’t have doubted her aunt's ability to feel if she had known the pain and loneliness that made her heart ache as the old woman slipped away; and Toady wouldn’t have laughed if he had seen the tears on her face, hidden behind the big frills, as Aunt Kipp laid it on the pillow, muttering tiredly,—
“I might have been a happy, useful woman, but I didn’t choose to, and now it’s too late.”
“I could have been a happy, useful woman, but I didn't choose to be, and now it's too late.”
It was too late to be all she might have been, for the work of seventy selfish years couldn’t be undone in a minute. But with regret, rose the sincere wish to earn a little love before the end came, and the old perversity gave a relish to the reformation, for even while she resolved to do the just and generous thing, she said to herself,—
It was too late to become all she could have been, because the damage of seventy selfish years couldn't be fixed in a minute. But with regret came the genuine desire to earn a little love before the end arrived, and the old stubbornness added a twist to her change of heart, for even as she decided to do the right and generous thing, she said to herself,—
“They say I’ve got no heart; I’ll show ’em that I have: they don’t want my money; I’ll make ’em take it: they turn their backs on me; I’ll just render myself so useful and agreeable that they can’t do without me.”
“They say I don’t have a heart; I’ll prove them wrong: they don’t want my money; I’ll make them take it: they turn their backs on me; I’ll just become so helpful and pleasant that they won’t be able to ignore me.”
III.
Aunt Kipp sat bolt upright in the parlor, hemming a small handkerchief, adorned with a red ship, surrounded by a border of green monkeys. Toady suspected that this elegant article of dress was intended for him, and yearned to possess it; so, taking advantage of his mother’s and Polly’s absence, he strolled into the room, and, seating himself on a high, hard chair, folded his hands, crossed his legs, and asked for a story with the thirsting-for-knowledge air which little boys wear in the moral story-books.
Aunt Kipp sat straight up in the living room, hemming a small handkerchief decorated with a red ship and surrounded by a border of green monkeys. Toady suspected that this fancy piece of fabric was meant for him and longed to have it; so, taking advantage of his mother’s and Polly’s absence, he walked into the room, sat down on a tall, uncomfortable chair, folded his hands, crossed his legs, and asked for a story with the eager-for-knowledge expression that little boys have in moral storybooks.
Now Aunt Kipp had one soft place in her heart, though it was partially ossified, as she very truly declared, and Toady was enshrined therein. She thought there never was such a child, and loved him as she had done his father before him, though the rack wouldn’t have forced her to confess it. She scolded, snubbed, and predicted he’d come to a bad end in public; but she forgave his naughtiest pranks, always brought him something when she came, and privately intended to make his future comfortable with half of her fortune. There was a dash and daring, a generosity and integrity, about the little fellow, that charmed her. Sophy was weak and low-spirited, Polly pretty and head-strong, and Aunt Kipp didn’t think much of either of them; but Toady defied, distracted, and delighted her, and to Toady she clung, as the one sunshiny thing in her sour, selfish old age.
Now Aunt Kipp had a soft spot in her heart, even though it was somewhat hardened, as she honestly admitted, and Toady held a special place there. She believed there was no one like him and loved him as much as she had loved his father before him, although she would never admit it. She scolded him, dismissed his antics, and predicted he’d end up in trouble, but she overlooked his worst mischief, always brought him gifts when she visited, and secretly planned to make his future secure with half of her wealth. There was a boldness, a generosity, and a sense of integrity about the little guy that captivated her. Sophy was weak and gloomy, Polly was pretty and stubborn, and Aunt Kipp didn’t think highly of either; but Toady challenged, entertained, and brought her joy, and he was the one bright spot in her bitter, selfish old age.
When he made his demure request, she looked at him, and her eyes began to twinkle, for the child’s purpose was plainly seen in the loving glances cast upon the pictorial pocket-handkerchief.
When he made his quiet request, she looked at him, and her eyes started to sparkle, because the child's intention was clearly visible in the affectionate glances directed at the decorative handkerchief.
“A story? Yes, I’ll tell you one about a little boy who had a kind old—ahem!—grandma. She was rich, and hadn’t made up her mind who she’d leave her money to. She was fond of the boy,—a deal fonder than he deserved,—for he was as mischievous a monkey as any that ever lived in a tree, with a curly tail. He put pepper in her snuff-box,”—here Toady turned scarlet,—“he cut up her best frisette to make a mane for his rocking-horse,”—Toady opened his mouth impulsively, but shut it again without betraying himself—“he repeated rude things to her, and called her ‘an old aggrawater,’”—here Toady wriggled in his chair, and gave a little gasp.
“A story? Sure, I’ll share one about a little boy who had a kind old—um!—grandma. She was wealthy and hadn’t decided who to leave her money to. She cared a lot for the boy—much more than he deserved—because he was as mischievous as any monkey that ever lived in a tree, with a curly tail. He put pepper in her snuff-box,”—here Toady turned bright red—“he cut up her best wig to make a mane for his rocking horse,”—Toady opened his mouth impulsively but closed it again without giving himself away—“he said rude things to her, and called her ‘an old aggravator,’”—here Toady squirmed in his chair and gasped a little.
“If you are tired I won’t go on,” observed Aunt Kipp, mildly.
“If you’re tired, I won’t continue,” Aunt Kipp said quietly.
“I’m not tired, ’m; it’s a very interesting story,” replied Toady, with a gravity that nearly upset the old lady.
“I’m not tired, I’m just really interested in the story,” replied Toady, with a seriousness that almost unsettled the old lady.
“Well, in spite of all this, that kind, good, forgiving grandma left that bad boy twenty thousand dollars when she died. What do you think of that?” asked Aunt Kipp, pausing suddenly with her sharp eye on him.
“Well, despite all of this, that nice, good, forgiving grandma left that troubled kid twenty thousand dollars when she passed away. What do you think about that?” Aunt Kipp asked, suddenly stopping with her sharp gaze fixed on him.
“I—I think she was a regular dear,” cried Toady, holding on to the chair with both hands, as if that climax rather took him off his legs.
“I—I think she was really sweet,” cried Toady, gripping the chair with both hands, as if that climax really knocked him off his feet.
“And what did the boy do about it?” continued Aunt Kipp, curiously.
“And what did the boy do about it?” Aunt Kipp asked, intrigued.
“He bought a velocipede, and gave his sister half, and paid his mother’s rent, and put a splendid marble cherakin over the old lady, and had a jolly good time, and—”
“He bought a bike, gave his sister half, paid his mother’s rent, put a beautiful marble statue over the old lady, had a great time, and—”
“What in the world is a cherakin?” laughed Aunt Kipp, as Toady paused for breath.
“What on earth is a cherakin?” laughed Aunt Kipp, as Toady paused to catch his breath.
“Why, don’t you know? It’s a angel crying, or pointing up, or flapping his wings. They have them over graves; and I’ll give you the biggest one I can find when you die. But I’m not in a very great hurry to have you.”
“Why don’t you know? It’s an angel crying, or pointing up, or flapping its wings. They put them over graves; and I’ll get you the biggest one I can find when you die. But I’m not in a real rush to have you.”
“Thankee, dear; I’m in no hurry, myself. But, Toady, the boy did wrong in giving his sister half; she didn’t deserve any; and the grandma left word she wasn’t to have a penny of it.”
“Thanks, dear; I’m in no rush, really. But, Toady, the boy was wrong to give his sister half; she didn’t deserve any; and grandma made it clear she wasn’t supposed to get a single penny.”
“Really?” cried the boy, with a troubled face.
“Really?” the boy exclaimed, looking worried.
“Yes, really. If he gave her any he lost it all; the old lady said so. Now what do you think?” asked Aunt Kipp, who found it impossible to pardon Polly,—perhaps because she was young, and pretty, and much beloved.
“Yes, really. If he gave her anything, he lost it all; the old lady said so. Now what do you think?” asked Aunt Kipp, who found it impossible to forgive Polly—maybe because she was young, pretty, and very much loved.
Toady’s eyes kindled, and his red cheeks grew redder still, as he cried out defiantly,—
Toady's eyes sparkled, and his red cheeks grew even redder as he shouted defiantly,--
“I think she was a selfish pig,—don’t you?”
“I think she was a selfish jerk—don’t you?”
“No, I don’t, sir; and I’m sure that little boy wasn’t such a fool as to lose the money. He minded his grandma’s wishes, and kept it all.”
“No, I don’t, sir; and I’m sure that little boy wasn’t so foolish as to lose the money. He respected his grandma’s wishes and kept it all.”
“No, he didn’t,” roared Toady, tumbling off his chair in great excitement. “He just threw it out a winder, and smashed the old cherakin all to bits.”
“No, he didn’t,” yelled Toady, falling off his chair in excitement. “He just tossed it out the window and shattered the old thing into pieces.”
Aunt Kipp dropped her work with a shrill squeak, for she thought the boy was dangerous, as he stood before her, sparring away at nothing as the only vent for his indignation.
Aunt Kipp dropped her work with a sharp squeak, because she believed the boy was a threat, standing in front of her, shadowboxing at nothing as the only way to express his anger.
“It isn’t an interesting story,” he cried; “and I won’t hear any more; and I won’t have your money if I mayn’t go halves with Polly; and I’ll work to earn more than that, and we’ll all be jolly together, and you may give your twenty thousand to the old rag-bags, and so I tell you, Aunt Kipp.”
“It’s not an interesting story,” he shouted; “and I’m not listening to any more; and I won’t take your money if I can’t share it with Polly; and I’ll work to earn more than that, and we’ll all have a great time together, and you can give your twenty thousand to the old rag-bags, and that’s what I’m saying, Aunt Kipp.”
“Why, Toady, my boy, what’s the matter?” cried a mild voice at the door, as young Lamb came trotting up to the rescue.
“Hey, Toady, what’s wrong?” called a gentle voice from the door as young Lamb hurried over to help.
“Never you mind, Baa-baa; I shan’t do it; and it’s a mean shame Polly can’t have half; then she could marry you and be so happy,” blubbered Toady, running to try to hide his tears of disappointment in the coat-skirts of his friend.
“Don’t worry about it, Baa-baa; I won’t do it; and it’s really unfair that Polly can’t have half; then she could marry you and be so happy,” cried Toady, running to try to hide his tears of disappointment in the coat-tails of his friend.
“Mr. Lamb, I suppose you are that misguided young man?” said Aunt Kipp, as if it was a personal insult to herself.
“Mr. Lamb, I guess you are that misguided young man?” Aunt Kipp said, as if it was a personal insult to her.
“Van Bahr Lamb, ma’am, if you please. Yes, thank you,” murmured Baa-baa, bowing, blushing, and rumpling his curly fleece in bashful trepidation.
“Van Bahr Lamb, ma’am, if you please. Yes, thank you,” mumbled Baa-baa, bowing, blushing, and messing up his curly fleece in nervous shyness.
“Don’t thank me,” cried the old lady. “I’m not going to give you anything,—far from it. I object to you altogether. What business have you to come courting my niece?”
“Don’t thank me,” shouted the old lady. “I’m not going to give you anything—far from it. I totally disapprove of you. What right do you have to come after my niece?”
“Because I love her, ma’am,” returned Van, with unexpected spirit.
“Because I love her, ma’am,” Van replied, showing unexpected enthusiasm.
“No, you don’t; you want her money, or rather my money. She depends on it; but you’ll both be disappointed, for she won’t have a penny of it,” cried Aunt Kipp, who, in spite of her good resolutions, found it impossible to be amiable all at once.
“No, you don’t; you want her money, or actually my money. She relies on it; but you’ll both be let down, because she won’t have a dime of it,” shouted Aunt Kipp, who, despite her good intentions, found it impossible to be nice all at once.
“I’m glad of it!” burst out Van, indignant at her accusation. “I didn’t want Polly for the money; I always doubted if she got it; and I never wished her to make herself a slave to anybody. I’ve got enough for all, if we’re careful; and when my share of the Van Bahr property comes, we shall live in clover.”
“I’m glad about it!” Van exclaimed, angry at her accusation. “I didn’t want Polly for the money; I always wondered if she really got it; and I never wanted her to make herself a slave to anyone. I have enough for everyone, as long as we’re careful; and when my share of the Van Bahr property comes through, we’ll be living in comfort.”
“What’s that? What property are you talking of?” demanded Aunt Kipp, pricking up her ears.
“What’s that? What property are you talking about?” Aunt Kipp asked, perked up and listening intently.
“The great Van Bahr estate, ma’am. There has been a long lawsuit about it, but it’s nearly settled, and there isn’t much doubt that we shall get it. I am the last of our branch, and my share will be a large one.”
“The great Van Bahr estate, ma’am. There’s been a lengthy legal battle over it, but it’s almost resolved, and there’s little doubt that we’ll get it. I’m the last of our line, and my share will be substantial.”
“Oh, indeed! I wish you joy,” said Aunt Kipp, with sudden affability; for she adored wealth, like a few other persons in the world. “But suppose you don’t get it, how then?”
“Oh, really! I wish you all the best,” said Aunt Kipp, suddenly friendly; because she loved money, like a few other people in the world. “But what if you don’t get it, then what?”
“Then I shall try to be contented with my salary of two thousand, and make Polly as happy as I can. Money doesn’t always make people happy or agreeable, I find.” And Van looked at Aunt Kipp in a way that would have made her hair stand erect if she had possessed any. She stared at him a moment, then, obeying one of the odd whims that made an irascible weathercock of her, she said, abruptly,—
“Then I’ll try to be happy with my salary of two thousand and make Polly as happy as I can. Money doesn’t always make people happy or nice, I’ve realized.” And Van looked at Aunt Kipp in a way that would have made her hair stand on end if she had any. She stared at him for a moment, then, following one of her strange moods that turned her into a grumpy weather vane, she said abruptly,—
“If you had capital should you go into business for yourself, Mr. Lambkin?”
“If you had the money, would you start your own business, Mr. Lambkin?”
“Yes, ma’am, at once,” replied Van, promptly.
“Yes, ma’am, right away,” replied Van, promptly.
“Suppose you lost the Van Bahr money, and some one offered you a tidy little sum to start with, would you take it?”
“Imagine you lost the Van Bahr money, and someone offered you a nice amount to begin with, would you accept it?”
“It would depend upon who made the offer, ma’am,” said Van, looking more like a sheep than ever, as he stood staring in blank surprise.
“It would depend on who made the offer, ma’am,” said Van, looking even more like a sheep as he stood there, staring in blank surprise.
“Suppose it was me, wouldn’t you take it?” asked Aunt Kipp, blandly, for the new fancy pleased her.
“Suppose it was me, wouldn’t you take it?” asked Aunt Kipp, casually, because the new fancy delighted her.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” said Van, decidedly.
“No, thank you, ma'am,” said Van, firmly.
“And why not, pray?” cried the old lady, with a shrillness that made him jump, and Toady back to the door precipitately.
“And why not, please?” shouted the old lady, her voice so piercing it made him jump, causing Toady to retreat to the door in a hurry.
“Because, if you’ll excuse my speaking plainly, I think you owe anything you may have to spare to your niece, Mrs. Snow;” and, having freed his mind, Van joined Toady, ready to fly if necessary.
“Because, if you’ll excuse my speaking frankly, I think you should give any extra you have to your niece, Mrs. Snow;” and, having expressed his thoughts, Van joined Toady, ready to leave if needed.
“You’re an idiot, sir,” began Aunt Kipp, in a rage again.
“You're an idiot, sir,” Aunt Kipp started, getting angry again.
“Thank you, ma’am.” And Van actually laughed and bowed in return for the compliment.
“Thank you, ma’am.” And Van actually laughed and bowed back in response to the compliment.
“Hold your tongue, sir,” snapped the old lady. “You’re a fool and Sophy is another. She’s no strength of mind, no sense about anything; and would make ducks and drakes of my money in less than no time if I gave it to her, as I’ve thought of doing.”
“Shut your mouth, sir,” the old lady shot back. “You’re an idiot and Sophy is just as bad. She’s got no strength of mind and no sense about anything; she’d waste my money in no time if I gave it to her, which I’ve considered doing.”
“Mrs. Kipp, you forget who you are speaking to. Mrs. Snow’s sons love and respect her if you don’t, and they won’t hear anything untrue or unkind said of a good woman, a devoted mother, and an almost friendless widow.”
“Mrs. Kipp, you’re forgetting who you’re talking to. Mrs. Snow’s sons love and respect her even if you don’t, and they won’t listen to any false or cruel words about a good woman, a devoted mother, and an almost friendless widow.”
Van wasn’t a dignified man at all, but as he said that with a sudden flash of his mild eyes, there was something in his face and manner that daunted Aunt Kipp more than the small fist belligerently shaken at her from behind the sofa. The poor old soul was cross, and worried, and ashamed of herself, and being as feeble-minded as Sophy in many respects, she suddenly burst into tears, and, covering her face with the gay handkerchief, cried as if bent on floating the red ship in a sea of salt water without delay.
Van wasn't dignified at all, but when he said that with a sudden spark in his gentle eyes, there was something in his expression and demeanor that intimidated Aunt Kipp more than the small fist aggressively shaken at her from behind the sofa. The poor old woman was frustrated, anxious, and ashamed of herself, and since she was as simple-minded as Sophy in many ways, she suddenly broke down in tears, covering her face with the colorful handkerchief and cried as if she were determined to set the red ship afloat in a sea of salt water immediately.
“I’m a poor, lonely, abused old woman,” she moaned, with a green monkey at each eye. “No one loves me, or minds me, or thanks me when I want to help ’em. My money’s only a worryment and a burden, and I don’t know what to do with it, for people I don’t want to leave it to ought to have it, and people I do like won’t take it. Oh, deary me, what shall I do! what shall I do!”
“I’m a poor, lonely, abused old woman,” she moaned, with a green monkey under each eye. “No one loves me, notices me, or thanks me when I want to help them. My money is just a worry and a burden, and I don’t know what to do with it, because the people I don’t want to leave it to should have it, and the people I actually like won’t take it. Oh, dear me, what should I do! What should I do!”
“Shall I tell you, ma’am?” asked Van, gently, for, though she was a very provoking old lady, he pitied and wished to help her.
“Should I tell you, ma’am?” asked Van softly, because, even though she was a very irritating old lady, he felt sympathy for her and wanted to help.
A nod and a gurgle seemed to give consent, and, boldly advancing, Van said, with blush and a stammer, but a very hearty voice,—
A nod and a gurgle seemed to agree, and, confidently stepping forward, Van said, with a blush and a stutter, but in a very strong voice,—
“I think, ma’am, if you’d do the right thing with your money you’d be at ease and find it saved a deal of worry all round. Give it to Mrs. Snow; she deserves it, poor lady, for she’s had a hard time, and done her duty faithfully. Don’t wait till you are—that is, till you—well, till you in point of fact die, ma’am. Give it now, and enjoy the happiness it will make. Give it kindly, let them see you’re glad to do it, and I am sure you’ll find them grateful; I’m sure you won’t be lonely any more, or feel that you are not loved and thanked. Try it, ma’am, just try it,” cried Van, getting excited by the picture he drew. “And I give you my word I’ll do my best to respect and love you like a son, ma’am.”
“I think, ma’am, if you did the right thing with your money, you’d feel at ease and it would save a lot of worry for everyone. Give it to Mrs. Snow; she deserves it, poor lady, since she’s had a tough time and has done her duty faithfully. Don’t wait until you are—that is, until you—well, until you actually die, ma’am. Give it now, and enjoy the happiness it will bring. Do it kindly, let them see you’re happy to do it, and I’m sure you’ll find them grateful; I’m sure you won’t feel lonely anymore, or think that you aren’t loved and appreciated. Try it, ma’am, just try it,” cried Van, getting excited by the picture he was painting. “And I promise I’ll do my best to respect and love you like a son, ma’am.”
He knew that he was promising a great deal, but for Polly’s sake he felt that he could make even that Herculean effort. Aunt Kipp was surprised and touched; but the contrary old lady couldn’t make up her mind to yield so soon, and wouldn’t have done it if Toady hadn’t taken her by storm. Having a truly masculine horror of tears, a very tender heart under his tail-less jacket, and being much “tumbled up and down in his own mind” by the events of the week, the poor little lad felt nerved to attempt any novel enterprise, even that of voluntarily embracing Aunt Kipp. First a grimy little hand came on her shoulder, as she sat sniffing behind the handkerchief; then, peeping out, she saw an apple-cheeked face very near her own, with eyes full of pity, penitence, and affection; and then she heard a choky little voice say earnestly,—
He knew he was making a big promise, but for Polly’s sake, he felt he could make that huge effort. Aunt Kipp was surprised and moved; however, the stubborn old lady wasn’t ready to give in just yet, and she wouldn’t have if Toady hadn’t taken her by surprise. With a strong aversion to tears, a really tender heart under his tail-less jacket, and feeling quite confused by the week’s events, the poor little guy felt ready to take on any new challenge, even the idea of hugging Aunt Kipp. First, a grimy little hand went on her shoulder while she sat sniffing behind her handkerchief; then, peeking out, she saw a rosy-cheeked face close to hers, with eyes full of sympathy, regret, and affection; and then she heard a choked little voice say earnestly,—
“Don’t cry, aunty; I’m sorry I was rude. Please be good to Mother and Polly, and I’ll love and take care of you, and stand by you all my life. Yes, I’ll—I’ll kiss you, I will, by George!” And with one promiscuous plunge the Spartan boy cast himself into her arms.
“Don’t cry, aunt; I’m sorry I was rude. Please take care of Mom and Polly, and I’ll love and look after you, and support you for the rest of my life. Yes, I will—I’ll kiss you, I promise!” And with one sudden move, the brave boy threw himself into her arms.
That finished Aunt Kipp; she hugged him close, and cried out with a salute that went off like a pistol-shot,—
That wrapped up Aunt Kipp; she hugged him tightly, and shouted with a salute that rang out like a gunshot,—
“Oh, my dear, my dear! this is better than a dozen cherakins!”
“Oh, my dear, my dear! This is better than a dozen donuts!”
When Toady emerged, somewhat flushed and tumbled, Mrs. Snow, Polly, and Van were looking on with faces full of wonder, doubt, and satisfaction. To be an object of interest was agreeable to Aunt Kipp; and, as her old heart was really softened, she met them with a gracious smile, and extended the olive-branch generally.
When Toady came out, a bit flushed and disheveled, Mrs. Snow, Polly, and Van were watching with expressions of wonder, doubt, and satisfaction. Aunt Kipp enjoyed being the center of attention, and since her old heart was genuinely softened, she greeted them with a warm smile and extended a friendly gesture to everyone.
“Sophy, I shall give my money to you at once and entirely, only asking that you’ll let me stay with you when Polly’s gone. I’ll do my best to be agreeable, and you’ll bear with me because I’m a cranky, solitary old woman, and I loved your husband.”
“Sophy, I’ll give you all my money right now, but I just ask that you let me stay with you after Polly's gone. I'll try my best to be pleasant, and you’ll be patient with me because I’m a difficult, lonely old woman, and I loved your husband.”
Mrs. Snow hugged her on the spot, and gushed, of course, murmuring thanks, welcomes, and promises in one grateful burst.
Mrs. Snow hugged her right then and there, overflowing with gratitude, murmuring thanks, welcomes, and promises all in one enthusiastic moment.
“Polly, I forgive you; I consent to your marriage, and will provide your wedding finery. Mr. Lamb, you are not a fool, but a very excellent young man. I thank you for saving my life, and I wish you well with all my heart. You needn’t say anything. I’m far from strong, and all this agitation is shortening my life.”
“Polly, I forgive you; I agree to your marriage and will provide your wedding outfit. Mr. Lamb, you are not a fool, but a truly wonderful young man. Thank you for saving my life, and I genuinely wish you the best. You don’t need to say anything. I’m not very strong, and all this stress is making my life shorter.”
Polly and Van shook her hand heartily, and beamed upon each other like a pair of infatuated turtle-doves with good prospects.
Polly and Van shook her hand enthusiastically and smiled at each other like a couple of lovestruck doves with bright futures.
“Toady, you are as near an angel as a boy can be. Put a name to whatever you most wish for in the world, and it’s yours,” said Aunt Kipp, dramatically waving the rest away.
“Toady, you're as close to being an angel as a boy can be. Just say the name of whatever you most desire in the world, and it's yours,” Aunt Kipp said, dramatically waving the rest away.
With his short legs wide apart, his hands behind him, and his rosy face as round and radiant as a rising sun, Toady stood before the fire surveying the scene with the air of a man who has successfully carried through a difficult and dangerous undertaking, and wasn’t proud. His face brightened, then fell, as he heaved a sigh, and answered, with a shake of his curly head,—
With his short legs spread wide, hands behind him, and his rosy face as round and bright as a rising sun, Toady stood before the fire, taking in the scene like someone who has just completed a tough and risky task, and wasn't boasting about it. His face lit up, then dimmed as he sighed and responded, shaking his curly head,—
“You can’t give me what I want most. There are three things, and I’ve got to wait for them all.”
"You can’t give me what I want the most. There are three things, and I have to wait for all of them."
“Gracious me, what are they?” cried the old lady, good-naturedly, for she felt better already.
“Goodness, what are they?” exclaimed the old lady, cheerfully, as she felt much better already.
“A mustache, a beaver, and a sweetheart,” answered Toady, with his eyes fixed wistfully on Baa-baa, who possessed all these blessings, and was particularly enjoying the latter at that moment.
“A mustache, a beaver, and a sweetheart,” Toady replied, gazing dreamily at Baa-baa, who had all these things and was especially enjoying the last one at that moment.
How Aunt Kipp did laugh at this early budding of romance in her pet! And all the rest joined her, for Toady’s sentimental air was irresistible.
How Aunt Kipp laughed at this early sign of romance in her favorite! And everyone else joined in, because Toady’s sentimental vibe was impossible to resist.
“You precocious chick! I dare say you will have them all before we know where we are. Never mind, deary; you shall have my little watch, and the silver-headed cane with a boar’s head on it,” answered the old lady, in high good-humor. “You needn’t blush, dear; I don’t bear malice; so let’s forget and forgive. I shall settle things to-morrow, and have a free mind. You are welcome to my money, and I hope I shall live to see you all enjoy it.”
“You clever little thing! I bet you’ll have them all wrapped around your finger before we know it. Don’t worry, dear; you can have my little watch and the silver-headed cane with a boar’s head on it,” the old lady replied cheerfully. “You don’t need to blush, dear; I’m not holding a grudge; so let’s just move on. I’ll sort everything out tomorrow and have a clear mind. You’re welcome to my money, and I hope I live long enough to see you all enjoy it.”
So she did; for she lived to see Sophy plump, cheery, and care-free; Polly surrounded by a flock of Lambkins; Van in possession of a generous slice of the Van Bahr fortune; Toady revelling in the objects of his desire; and, best of all, she lived to find that it is never too late to make oneself useful, happy, and beloved.
So she did; because she got to see Sophy thriving, cheerful, and free-spirited; Polly surrounded by a bunch of Lambkins; Van with a good chunk of the Van Bahr fortune; Toady enjoying the things he wanted; and, best of all, she realized it's never too late to be helpful, happy, and loved.
PSYCHE’S ART.
"Good looks are as good does."
I.
ONCE upon a time there raged in a certain city one of those fashionable epidemics which occasionally attack our youthful population. It wasn’t the music mania, nor gymnastic convulsions, nor that wide-spread malady, croquet. Neither was it one of the new dances which, like a tarantula-bite, set every one a twirling, nor stage madness, nor yet that American lecturing influenza which yearly sweeps over the land. No, it was a new disease called the Art fever, and it attacked the young women of the community with great violence.
ONCE upon a time, in a certain city, there was one of those trendy epidemics that occasionally hits our young people. It wasn’t the music craze, nor the gymnastics frenzy, nor the popular game of croquet. It also wasn’t one of the new dances that made everyone start twirling like they’d been bitten by a tarantula, nor was it stage obsession, nor that American lecture craze that sweeps the nation every year. No, it was a new condition called Art fever, and it struck the young women of the community with great intensity.
Nothing but time could cure it, and it ran its course to the dismay, amusement, or edification of the beholders, for its victims did all manner of queer things in their delirium. They besieged potteries for clay, drove Italian plaster-workers out of their wits with unexecutable orders, got neuralgia and rheumatism sketching perched on fences and trees like artistic hens, and caused a rise in the price of bread, paper, and charcoal, by their ardor in crayoning. They covered canvas with the expedition of scene-painters, had classes, lectures, receptions, and exhibitions, made models of each other, and rendered their walls hideous with bad likenesses of all their friends. Their conversation ceased to be intelligible to the uninitiated, and they prattled prettily of “chiaro oscuro, French sauce, refraction of the angle of the eye, seventh spinus process, depth and juiciness of color, tender touch, and a good tone.” Even in dress the artistic disorder was visible; some cast aside crinoline altogether, and stalked about with a severe simplicity of outline worthy of Flaxman. Others flushed themselves with scarlet, that no landscape which they adorned should be without some touch of Turner’s favorite tint. Some were blue in every sense of the word, and the heads of all were adorned with classic braids, curls tied Hebe-wise, or hair dressed à la hurricane.
Nothing but time could fix it, and it went on as expected, to the annoyance, amusement, or education of those watching, because its victims did all sorts of odd things in their frenzy. They crowded potters for clay, drove Italian plaster workers crazy with impossible requests, got neuralgia and rheumatism while sketching perched on fences and trees like artistic chickens, and drove up the prices of bread, paper, and charcoal with their enthusiasm for drawing. They covered canvases as quickly as scene painters, held classes, lectures, receptions, and exhibitions, made models of one another, and made their walls ugly with terrible portraits of all their friends. Their conversations became unintelligible to outsiders as they sweetly chatted about "chiaroscuro, French sauce, refraction of the angle of the eye, seventh spinus process, depth and juiciness of color, tender touch, and a good tone." Even in clothing, the artistic chaos was obvious; some completely abandoned crinoline, walking around with a stark simplicity of shape worthy of Flaxman. Others flaunted bright red so that no landscape they decorated would lack a touch of Turner's favorite shade. Some were feeling blue in every sense of the word, and everyone’s hair was styled in classic braids, curls tied like Hebe’s, or styled à la hurricane.
It was found impossible to keep them safe at home, and, as the fever grew, these harmless maniacs invaded the sacred retreats where artists of the other sex did congregate, startling those anchorites with visions of large-eyed damsels bearing portfolios in hands delicately begrimed with crayon, chalk, and clay, gliding through the corridors hitherto haunted only by shabby paletots, shadowy hats, and cigar smoke. This irruption was borne with manly fortitude, not to say cheerfulness, for studio doors stood hospitably open as the fair invaders passed, and studies from life were generously offered them in glimpses of picturesque gentlemen posed before easels, brooding over master-pieces in “a divine despair,” or attitudinizing upon couches as if exhausted by the soarings of genius.
It was impossible to keep them safe at home, and as the fever grew, these harmless maniacs invaded the special spaces where female artists gathered, surprising those recluses with images of large-eyed young women carrying portfolios in hands that were gently smudged with crayon, chalk, and clay, gliding through halls that had only been filled with shabby coats, shadowy hats, and cigar smoke. This intrusion was met with masculine strength, if not cheerfulness, as studio doors welcomed the beautiful invaders, and opportunities for life studies were generously offered to them in glimpses of stylish gentlemen posing by easels, lost in masterpieces with “a divine despair,” or lounging on couches as if worn out from their creative flights.
An atmosphere of romance began to pervade the old buildings when the girls came, and nature and art took turns. There were peepings and whisperings, much stifled laughter and whisking in and out; not to mention the accidental rencontres, small services, and eye telegrams, which somewhat lightened the severe studies of all parties.
An air of romance started to fill the old buildings when the girls arrived, blending nature and art together. There were sneaky glances and whispers, lots of muffled laughter, and people coming and going; not to mention the chance meetings, little favors, and silent exchanges that eased the intense studying for everyone involved.
Half a dozen young victims of this malady met daily in one of the cells of a great art bee-hive called “Raphael’s Rooms,” and devoted their shining hours to modelling fancy heads, gossiping the while; for the poor things found the road to fame rather dull and dusty without such verbal sprinklings.
Half a dozen young victims of this condition gathered every day in one of the rooms of a big art hive called "Raphael's Rooms," spending their bright hours sculpting creative heads and chatting at the same time; the poor things found the path to fame pretty boring and tedious without those verbal sprinkles.
“Psyche Dean, you’ve had an adventure! I see it in your face; so tell it at once, for we are as stupid as owls here to-day,” cried one of the sisterhood, as a bright-eyed girl entered with some precipitation.
“Psyche Dean, you've had an adventure! I can see it in your face; so spill it right away, because we're completely clueless today,” shouted one of the sisters as a wide-eyed girl rushed in.
“I dropped my portfolio, and a man picked it up, that’s all,” replied Psyche, hurrying on her gray linen pinafore.
“I dropped my portfolio, and a guy picked it up, that’s all,” replied Psyche, quickly adjusting her gray linen pinafore.
“That won’t do; I know something interesting happened, for you’ve been blushing, and you look brisker than usual this morning,” said the first speaker, polishing off the massive nose of her Homer.
“That won’t work; I know something interesting happened, because you’ve been blushing and you look livelier than usual this morning,” said the first speaker, polishing the large nose of her Homer.
“It wasn’t anything,” began Pysche a little reluctantly. “I was coming up in a hurry when I ran against a man coming down in a hurry. My portfolio slipped, and my papers went flying all about the landing. Of course we both laughed and begged pardon, and I began to pick them up, but he wouldn’t let me; so I held the book while he collected the sketches. I saw him glance at them as he did so, and that made me blush, for they are wretched things, you know.”
“It was nothing,” Pysche started a bit hesitantly. “I was rushing up when I bumped into a guy coming down fast. My portfolio fell, and my papers scattered everywhere on the landing. Naturally, we both laughed and apologized, and I started to pick them up, but he wouldn’t let me; so I held the book while he gathered the sketches. I noticed him looking at them as he picked them up, and that made me blush because, you know, they’re terrible.”
“Not a bit of it; they are capital, and you are a regular genius, as we all agree,” cut in the Homeric Miss Cutter.
“Not at all; they're amazing, and you're a total genius, as we all agree,” interrupted the legendary Miss Cutter.
“Never tell people they are geniuses unless you wish to spoil them,” returned Psyche severely. “Well, when the portfolio was put to rights I was going on, but he fell to picking up a little bunch of violets I had dropped; you know I always wear a posy into town to give me inspiration. I didn’t care for the dusty flowers, and told him so, and hurried away before any one came. At the top of the stairs I peeped over the railing, and there he was, gathering up every one of those half-dead violets as carefully as if they had been tea-roses.”
“Never tell people they’re geniuses unless you want to spoil them,” Psyche replied firmly. “Well, after I fixed the portfolio, I was about to leave, but he started picking up a small bunch of violets I had dropped; you know I always take a flower with me to town for inspiration. I didn’t like the wilted flowers, and I told him so, then rushed off before anyone saw me. At the top of the stairs, I peeked over the railing, and there he was, carefully gathering each one of those half-dead violets as if they were tea roses.”
“Psyche Dean, you have met your fate this day!” exclaimed a third damsel, with straw-colored tresses, and a good deal of weedy shrubbery in her hat, which gave an Ophelia-like expression to her sentimental countenance.
“Psyche Dean, you’ve faced your fate today!” exclaimed a third girl, with straw-colored hair and a lot of tangled greenery in her hat, which gave her a sentimental, Ophelia-like look.
Psyche frowned and shook her head, as if half sorry she had told her little story.
Psyche frowned and shook her head, as if she was somewhat sorry for sharing her little story.
“Was he handsome?” asked Miss Larkins, the believer in fate.
“Was he handsome?” asked Miss Larkins, the one who believed in fate.
“I didn’t particularly observe.”
"I didn't really notice."
“It was the red-headed man, whom we call Titian: he’s always on the stairs.”
“It was the red-headed guy, who we call Titian: he’s always on the stairs.”
“No, it wasn’t; his hair was brown and curly,” cried Psyche, innocently falling into the trap.
“No, it wasn’t; his hair was brown and curly,” cried Psyche, innocently falling into the trap.
“Like Peerybingle’s baby when its cap was taken off,” quoted Miss Dickenson, who pined to drop the last two letters of her name.
“Like Peerybingle’s baby when its cap was taken off,” quoted Miss Dickenson, who longed to drop the last two letters of her name.
“Was it Murillo, the black-eyed one?” asked the fair Cutter, for the girls had a name for all the attitudinizers and promenaders whom they oftenest met.
“Was it Murillo, the one with the dark eyes?” asked the fair Cutter, since the girls had names for all the show-offs and strollers they frequently encountered.
“No, he had gray eyes, and very fine ones they were too,” answered Psyche, adding, as if to herself, “he looked as I imagine Michael Angelo might have looked when young.”
“No, he had gray eyes, and they were really striking,” Psyche replied, adding quietly to herself, “he looked like how I picture a young Michelangelo.”
“Had he a broken nose, like the great Mike?” asked an irreverent damsel.
“Did he have a broken nose, like the great Mike?” asked an impudent young woman.
“If he had, no one would mind it, for his head is splendid; he took his hat off, so I had a fine view. He isn’t handsome, but he’ll do something,” said Psyche, prophetically, as she recalled the strong, ambitious face which she had often observed, but never mentioned before.
“If he had, no one would care, because his head is impressive; he took off his hat, so I got a good look. He isn’t good-looking, but he’ll do something,” said Psyche, foreseeing, as she remembered the strong, ambitious face she had seen often but had never spoken about before.
“Well, dear, considering that you didn’t ‘particularly look’ at the man, you’ve given us a very good idea of his appearance. We’ll call him Michael Angelo, and he shall be your idol. I prefer stout old Rembrandt myself, and Larkie adores that dandified Raphael,” said the lively Cutter, slapping away at Homer’s bald pate energetically, as she spoke.
“Well, dear, considering that you didn’t really ‘look’ at the man, you’ve given us a great idea of what he looks like. We’ll call him Michael Angelo, and he can be your idol. I personally prefer stout old Rembrandt, and Larkie loves that fancy Raphael,” said the lively Cutter, playfully smacking Homer’s bald head as she spoke.
“Raphael is a dear, but Rubens is more to my taste now,” returned Miss Larkins. “He was in the hall yesterday talking with Sir Joshua, who had his inevitable umbrella, like a true Englishman. Just as I came up, the umbrella fell right before me. I started back; Sir Joshua laughed, but Rubens said, ‘Deuce take it!’ and caught up the umbrella, giving me a never-to-be-forgotten look. It was perfectly thrilling.”
“Raphael is nice, but Rubens is more my style now,” replied Miss Larkins. “He was in the hall yesterday chatting with Sir Joshua, who had his usual umbrella, like any true Englishman. Just as I walked up, the umbrella fell right in front of me. I jumped back; Sir Joshua laughed, but Rubens said, ‘Damn it!’ and picked up the umbrella, giving me a look I'll never forget. It was totally thrilling.”
“Which,—the umbrella, the speech, or the look?” asked Psyche, who was not sentimental.
“Which—the umbrella, the speech, or the look?” asked Psyche, who wasn’t sentimental.
“Ah, you have no soul for art in nature, and nature in art,” sighed the amber-tressed Larkins. “I have, for I feed upon a glance, a tint, a curve, with exquisite delight. Rubens is adorable (as a study); that lustrous eye, that night of hair, that sumptuous cheek, are perfect. He only needs a cloak, lace collar, and slouching hat to be the genuine thing.”
“Ah, you lack an appreciation for the art in nature and the nature in art,” sighed Larkins, with her amber hair. “I do appreciate it, as I thrive on a glance, a shade, a curve, with exquisite joy. Rubens is amazing (as a study); that shining eye, that dark hair, that rich cheek, are all perfect. He just needs a cloak, lace collar, and a slouchy hat to be the real deal.”
“This isn’t the genuine thing by any means. What does it need?” said Psyche, looking with a despondent air, at the head on her stand.
“This isn’t the real deal at all. What does it need?” said Psyche, looking with a hopeless expression at the head on her stand.
Many would have pronounced it a clever thing; the nose was strictly Greek, the chin curved upward gracefully, the mouth was sweetly haughty, the brow classically smooth and low, and the breezy hair well done. But something was wanting; Psyche felt that, and could have taken her Venus by the dimpled shoulders, and given her a hearty shake, if that would have put strength and spirit into the lifeless face.
Many would have called it clever; the nose was very Greek, the chin gracefully curved upward, the mouth sweetly haughty, the brow classically smooth and low, and the breezy hair well styled. But something was missing; Psyche felt that, and could have grabbed her Venus by the dimpled shoulders and given her a good shake if that would have put some strength and spirit into the lifeless face.
“Now I am perfectly satisfied with my Apollo, though you all insist that it is the image of Theodore Smythe. He says so himself, and assures me it will make a sensation when we exhibit,” remarked Miss Larkins, complacently caressing the ambrosial locks of her Smythified Phebus.
“Now I am totally happy with my Apollo, even though you all insist that it looks like Theodore Smythe. He says so himself and guarantees it will be a big hit when we showcase it,” said Miss Larkins, happily stroking the beautiful hair of her Smythified Phebus.
“What shall you do if it does not?” asked Miss Cutter, with elegance.
“What will you do if it doesn’t?” asked Miss Cutter, elegantly.
“I shall feel that I have mistaken my sphere, shall drop my tools, veil my bust, and cast myself into the arms of Nature, since Art rejects me;” replied Miss Larkins, with a tragic gesture and an expression which strongly suggested that in her eyes nature meant Theodore.
“I’ll feel like I’ve chosen the wrong path, will put down my tools, cover up, and throw myself into the arms of Nature, since Art doesn’t want me,” replied Miss Larkins, with a dramatic gesture and an expression that clearly suggested that for her, Nature meant Theodore.
“She must have capacious arms if she is to receive all Art’s rejected admirers. Shall I be one of them?”
“She must have big arms if she is going to take in all of Art’s rejected admirers. Will I be one of them?”
Psyche put the question to herself as she turned to work, but somehow ambitious aspirations were not in a flourishing condition that morning; her heart was not in tune, and head and hands sympathized. Nothing went well, for certain neglected home-duties had dogged her into town, and now worried her more than dust, or heat, or the ceaseless clatter of tongues. Tom, Dick, and Harry’s unmended hose persisted in dancing a spectral jig before her mental eye, mother’s querulous complaints spoilt the song she hummed to cheer herself, and little May’s wistful face put the goddess of beauty entirely out of countenance.
Psyche asked herself this as she got to work, but her ambitious dreams just weren't thriving that morning; her heart wasn't in it, and her mind and hands agreed. Everything was going wrong, as some neglected chores were haunting her in town, bothering her more than the dust, heat, or constant chatter around her. Tom, Dick, and Harry’s torn socks kept flashing in front of her mind’s eye, her mother’s complaints ruined the tune she was trying to hum for motivation, and little May’s yearning expression completely overshadowed her beauty.
“It’s no use; I can’t work till the clay is wet again. Where is Giovanni?” she asked, throwing down her tools with a petulant gesture and a dejected air.
“It’s pointless; I can’t work until the clay is wet again. Where is Giovanni?” she asked, tossing her tools down with an irritated motion and a gloomy expression.
“He is probably playing truant in the empty upper rooms, as usual. I can’t wait for him any longer, so I’m doing his work myself,” answered Miss Dickenson, who was tenderly winding a wet bandage round her Juno’s face, one side of which was so much plumper than the other that it looked as if the Queen of Olympus was being hydropathically treated for a severe fit of ague.
“He's probably skipping out again in the empty upper rooms, like always. I can't wait for him any longer, so I'm doing his work myself,” replied Miss Dickenson, who was gently wrapping a wet bandage around her Juno’s face, one side of which was so much puffier than the other that it looked like the Queen of Olympus was going through a hydropathy treatment for a bad case of chills.
“I’ll go and find the little scamp; a run will do me good; so will a breath of air and a view of the park from the upper windows.”
“I’ll go find that little rascal; a run will do me good; so will some fresh air and a look at the park from the upper windows.”
Doffing her apron, Psyche strolled away up an unfrequented staircase to the empty apartments, which seemed to be too high even for the lovers of High Art. On the western side they were shady and cool, and, leaning from one of the windows, Psyche watched the feathery tree-tops ruffled by the balmy wind, that brought spring odors from the hills, lying green and sunny far away. Silence and solitude were such pleasant companions that the girl forgot herself, till a shrill whistle disturbed her day-dreams, and reminded her what she came for. Following the sound she found the little Italian errand-boy busily uncovering a clay model which stood in the middle of a scantily furnished room near by.
Ditching her apron, Psyche walked up an unused staircase to the empty rooms, which seemed too high even for enthusiasts of Fine Art. On the west side, it was shady and cool, and, leaning out of one of the windows, Psyche watched the delicate tree tops swaying in the gentle breeze that carried spring scents from the green, sunlit hills far away. Silence and solitude felt like such nice company that the girl lost track of time until a sharp whistle broke her daydreams and reminded her of her purpose. Following the sound, she found the little Italian delivery boy actively uncovering a clay model in the middle of a sparsely furnished room nearby.
“He is not here; come and look; it is greatly beautiful,” cried Giovanni, beckoning with an air of importance.
“He's not here; come and see; it's really beautiful,” cried Giovanni, gesturing with a sense of importance.
Psyche did look and speedily forgot both her errand and herself. It was the figure of a man, standing erect, and looking straight before him with a wonderfully life-like expression. It was neither a mythological nor a historical character, Psyche thought, and was glad of it, being tired to death of gods and heroes. She soon ceased to wonder what it was, feeling only the indescribable charm of something higher than beauty. Small as her knowledge was, she could see and enjoy the power visible in every part of it; the accurate anatomy of the vigorous limbs, the grace of the pose, the strength and spirit in the countenance, clay though it was. A majestic figure, but the spell lay in the face, which, while it suggested the divine, was full of human truth and tenderness, for pain and passion seemed to have passed over it, and a humility half pathetic, a courage half heroic seemed to have been born from some great loss or woe.
Psyche looked and quickly forgot both her purpose and herself. It was the figure of a man, standing upright and gazing straight ahead with an incredibly lifelike expression. Psyche realized it wasn’t a mythological or historical figure, which made her happy, as she was completely tired of gods and heroes. Soon, she stopped wondering what it was, feeling only the indescribable charm of something beyond beauty. Despite her limited knowledge, she could see and appreciate the power evident in every part of it; the precise anatomy of the strong limbs, the elegance of the pose, the strength and spirit in the face, despite it being made of clay. It was a magnificent figure, but the true magic lay in the face, which, while hinting at the divine, was filled with human truth and warmth, for it seemed to reflect pain and passion, and a humility that was partly sad, a courage that was partly heroic, as if it had been shaped by some great loss or sorrow.
How long she stood there Psyche did not know. Giovanni went away unseen, to fill his water-pail, and in the silence she just stood and looked. Her eyes kindled, her color rose, despondency and discontent vanished, and her soul was in her face, for she loved beauty passionately, and all that was best and truest in her did honor to the genius of the unknown worker.
How long she stood there, Psyche didn’t know. Giovanni left quietly to fill his water bucket, and in the silence, she just stood and stared. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed, sadness and dissatisfaction faded away, and her emotions shone through her face, for she loved beauty deeply, and everything that was best and truest in her honored the talent of the unknown artist.
“If I could do a thing like that, I’d die happy!” she exclaimed impetuously, as a feeling of despair came over her at the thought of her own poor attempts.
“If I could do something like that, I’d die happy!” she exclaimed impulsively, as a wave of despair washed over her at the thought of her own failed attempts.
“Who did it, Giovanni?” she asked, still looking up at the grand face with unsatisfied eyes.
“Who did it, Giovanni?” she asked, still gazing up at the impressive face with unfulfilled eyes.
“Paul Gage.”
“Paul Gage.”
It was not the boy’s voice, and, with a start, Psyche turned to see her Michael Angelo, standing in the doorway, attentively observing her. Being too full of artless admiration to think of herself just yet, she neither blushed nor apologized, but looked straight at him, saying heartily,—
It wasn't the boy's voice, and, startled, Psyche turned to see her Michael Angelo, standing in the doorway, watching her closely. Too caught up in genuine admiration to think about herself just then, she neither blushed nor apologized, but looked directly at him and said earnestly,—
“You have done a wonderful piece of work, and I envy you more than I can tell!”
“You did an amazing job, and I envy you more than I can express!”
The enthusiasm in her face, the frankness of her manner, seemed to please him, for there was no affectation about either. He gave her a keen, kind glance out of the “fine gray eyes,” a little bow, and a grateful smile, saying quietly,—
The excitement on her face and her straightforward way of speaking seemed to make him happy, as there was nothing fake about either. He looked at her with a warm, sharp gaze from his "fine gray eyes," gave a slight bow, and offered a thankful smile, saying softly,—
“Then my Adam is not a failure in spite of his fall?”
“Then my Adam isn’t a failure despite his fall?”
Psyche turned from the sculptor to his model with increased admiration in her face, and earnestness in her voice, as she exclaimed delighted,—
Psyche turned from the sculptor to his model with a look of greater admiration on her face and sincerity in her voice as she exclaimed happily,—
“Adam! I might have known it was he. O sir, you have indeed succeeded, for you have given that figure the power and pathos of the first man who sinned and suffered, and began again.”
“Adam! I should have known it was you. Oh sir, you have truly succeeded, for you have given that figure the strength and emotion of the first man who sinned and suffered, and started over.”
“Then I am satisfied.” That was all he said, but the look he gave his work was a very eloquent one, for it betrayed that he had paid the price of success in patience and privation, labor and hope.
“Then I’m satisfied.” That was all he said, but the look he gave his work was very expressive, revealing that he had earned his success through patience and sacrifice, hard work, and hope.
“What can one do to learn your secret?” asked the girl wistfully, for there was nothing in the man’s manner to disturb her self-forgetful mood, but much to foster it, because to the solitary worker this confiding guest was as welcome as the doves who often hopped in at his window.
“What can I do to learn your secret?” the girl asked with a sigh, as there was nothing in the man’s demeanor to disrupt her dreamy state, but plenty to encourage it, since to the lonely worker, this trusting visitor was as welcome as the doves that often popped in through his window.
“Work and wait, and meantime feed heart, soul, and imagination with the best food one can get,” he answered slowly, finding it impossible to give a receipt for genius.
“Work and wait, and in the meantime, nourish your heart, soul, and imagination with the best things you can find,” he replied slowly, realizing it was impossible to provide a formula for genius.
“I can work and wait a long time to gain my end; but I don’t know where to find the food you speak of?” she answered, looking at him like a hungry child.
“I can work and wait a long time to get what I want; but I don’t know where to find the food you’re talking about?” she replied, looking at him like a hungry child.
“I wish I could tell you, but each needs different fare, and each must look for it in different places.”
“I wish I could tell you, but everyone needs different things, and everyone has to look for them in different places.”
The kindly tone and the sympathizing look, as well as the lines in his forehead, and a few gray hairs among the brown, gave Psyche courage to say more.
The gentle tone and the understanding look, along with the lines on his forehead and a few gray hairs mixed in with the brown, gave Psyche the confidence to speak further.
“I love beauty so much that I not only want to possess it myself, but to gain the power of seeing it in all things, and the art of reproducing it with truth. I have tried very hard to do it, but something is wanting; and in spite of my intense desire I never get on.”
“I love beauty so much that I not only want to have it for myself, but also to be able to see it in everything and to reproduce it truthfully. I've worked really hard to achieve that, but something is missing; and despite my strong desire, I never make progress.”
As she spoke the girl’s eyes filled and fell in spite of herself, and turning a little with sudden shamefacedness she saw, lying on the table beside her among other scraps in manuscript and print, the well-known lines,—
As she spoke, the girl's eyes filled with tears and fell despite herself, and turning slightly with sudden embarrassment, she saw lying on the table next to her among other scraps of notes and printed material, the familiar lines,—
She knew them at a glance, had read them many times, but now they came home to her with sudden force, and, seeing that his eye had followed hers, she said in her impulsive fashion,—
She recognized them instantly, having read them many times before, but now they hit her with unexpected intensity, and noticing that his gaze had followed hers, she said in her usual impulsive way,—
“Is doing one’s duty a good way to feed heart, soul, and imagination?”
“Is fulfilling one’s duty a good way to nurture heart, soul, and creativity?”
As if he had caught a glimpse of what was going on in her mind, Paul answered emphatically,—
As if he could see what she was thinking, Paul replied firmly,—
“Excellent; for if one is good, one is happy, and if happy, one can work well. Moulding character is the highest sort of sculpture, and all of us should learn that art before we touch clay or marble.”
“Great; because if someone is good, they are happy, and if they’re happy, they can do good work. Shaping character is the best kind of sculpture, and we all need to master that skill before we start working with clay or marble.”
He spoke with the energy of a man who believed what he said, and did his best to be worthy of the rich gift bestowed upon him. The sight of her violets in a glass of water, and Giovanni staring at her with round eyes, suddenly recalled Psyche to a sense of the proprieties which she had been innocently outraging for the last ten minutes. A sort of panic seized her; she blushed deeply, retreated precipitately to the door, and vanished, murmuring thanks and apologies as she went.
He spoke with the enthusiasm of someone who truly believed in what he was saying, and he tried hard to be deserving of the wonderful gift he had received. The sight of her violets in a glass of water, along with Giovanni staring at her with wide eyes, suddenly reminded Psyche of the social norms she had been unwittingly ignoring for the last ten minutes. A sense of panic overwhelmed her; she turned bright red, rushed to the door, and disappeared, murmuring thanks and apologies as she left.
“Did you find him? I thought you had forgotten,” said Miss Dickenson, now hard at work.
“Did you find him? I thought you forgot,” said Miss Dickenson, now hard at work.
“Yes, I found him. No, I shall not forget,” returned Psyche, thinking of Gage, not Giovanni.
“Yes, I found him. No, I won’t forget,” Psyche replied, thinking of Gage, not Giovanni.
She stood before her work eying it intently for several minutes; then, with an expression of great contempt for the whole thing, she suddenly tilted her cherished Venus on to the floor, gave the classical face a finishing crunch, and put on her hat in a decisive manner, saying briefly to the dismayed damsels,—
She stood in front of her work, staring at it intently for several minutes. Then, with a look of total disdain for the whole thing, she suddenly knocked her prized Venus onto the floor, crushed the classical face with a final twist, and put on her hat with determination, saying briefly to the shocked girls,—
“Good-by, girls; I shan’t come any more, for I’m going to work at home hereafter.”
“Goodbye, girls; I won’t be coming back because I’m going to work at home from now on.”
II.
THE prospect of pursuing artistic studies at home was not brilliant, as one may imagine when I mention that Psyche’s father was a painfully prosaic man, wrapt in flannel, so to speak; for his woollen mills left him no time for anything but sleep, food, and newspapers. Mrs. Dean was one of those exasperating women who pervade their mansions like a domestic steam-engine one week and take to their sofas the next, absorbed by fidgets and foot-stoves, shawls and lamentations. There were three riotous and robust young brothers, whom it is unnecessary to describe except by stating that they were boys in the broadest sense of that delightful word. There was a feeble little sister, whose patient, suffering face demanded constant love and care to mitigate the weariness of a life of pain. And last, but not least by any means, there were two Irish ladies, who, with the best intentions imaginable, produced a universal state of topsy-turviness when left to themselves for a moment.
THE prospect of pursuing artistic studies at home wasn’t great, especially considering that Psyche’s father was a dull man, absorbed in his work; his woolen mills kept him busy with little time for anything except sleeping, eating, and reading newspapers. Mrs. Dean was one of those infuriating women who would bustle around the house like a domestic steam engine one week and then sulk on the couch the next, consumed by restlessness and complaints. There were three wild and strong young brothers, who need no further description except to say they were boys in every sense of the word. There was a frail little sister, whose patient, weary expression required constant love and care to ease the burden of her painful life. And last, but definitely not least, there were two Irish ladies who, despite their good intentions, created utter chaos whenever they were left alone for even a moment.
But being very much in earnest about doing her duty, not because it was her duty, but as a means toward an end, Psyche fell to work with a will, hoping to serve both masters at once. So she might have done, perhaps, if flesh and blood had been as plastic as clay, but the live models were so exacting in their demands upon her time and strength, that the poor statues went to the wall. Sculpture and sewing, calls and crayons, Ruskin and receipt-books, didn’t work well together, and poor Psyche found duties and desires desperately antagonistic. Take a day as a sample.
But really committed to doing her duty, not just because it was her duty but as a means to an end, Psyche got to work with determination, hoping to please both sides at once. She might have succeeded, perhaps, if her body had been as flexible as clay, but the real demands on her time and energy were so overwhelming that her unfinished projects were left behind. Balancing sculpture and sewing, social calls and drawing, art critiques and cookbooks just didn’t mix well, and poor Psyche found her responsibilities and her wishes completely at odds. Just take one day as an example.
“The washing and ironing are well over, thank goodness, mother quiet, the boys out of the way, and May comfortable, so I’ll indulge myself in a blissful day after my own heart,” Psyche said, as she shut herself into her little studio, and prepared to enjoy a few hours of hard study and happy day-dreams.
“The washing and ironing are finally done, thank goodness, mom is quiet, the boys are out of the way, and May is comfortable, so I’ll treat myself to a wonderful day just the way I like it,” Psyche said as she closed the door to her little studio and got ready to enjoy a few hours of serious study and happy daydreams.
With a book on her lap, and her own round white arm going through all manner of queer evolutions, she was placidly repeating, “Deltoides, Biceps, Triceps, Pronator, Supinator, Palmanis, Flexor carpi ulnaris—”
With a book on her lap, and her own round white arm going through all sorts of strange movements, she was calmly saying, “Deltoid, Biceps, Triceps, Pronator, Supinator, Palmaris, Flexor carpi ulnaris—”
“Here’s Flexis what-you-call-ums for you,” interrupted a voice, which began in a shrill falsetto and ended in a gruff bass, as a flushed, dusty, long-legged boy burst in, with a bleeding hand obligingly extended for inspection.
“Here’s Flexis whatever-you-call-its for you,” interrupted a voice that started in a high-pitched tone and ended in a deep, gruff sound, as a flushed, dusty, tall boy burst in, holding out a bleeding hand for inspection.
“Mercy on us, Harry! what have you done to yourself now? Split your fingers with a cricket-ball again?” cried Psyche, as her arms went up and her book went down.
“Have mercy, Harry! What have you done to yourself now? Did you split your fingers with a cricket ball again?” Psyche exclaimed, throwing her arms up and letting her book fall.
“I just thrashed one of the fellows because he got mad and said father was going to fail.”
“I just beat up one of the guys because he got angry and said Dad was going to fail.”
“O Harry, is he?”
"Oh Harry, is that him?"
“Of course he isn’t! It’s hard times for every one, but father will pull through all right. No use to try and explain it all; girls can’t understand business; so you just tie me up, and don’t worry,” was the characteristic reply of the young man, who, being three years her junior, of course treated the weaker vessel with lordly condescension.
“Of course he isn’t! These are tough times for everyone, but dad will be fine. There’s no point in trying to explain everything; girls just don’t get business. So just keep me out of it, and don’t stress,” was the typical response from the young man, who, being three years younger than her, naturally spoke to the weaker sex with a patronizing attitude.
“What a dreadful wound! I hope nothing is broken, for I haven’t studied the hand much yet, and may do mischief doing it up,” said Psyche, examining the great grimy paw with tender solicitude.
“What a terrible wound! I hope nothing is broken, because I haven’t learned much about the hand yet, and I could accidentally make it worse while treating it,” said Psyche, carefully examining the large, dirty paw with gentle concern.
“Much good your biceps, and deltoids, and things do you, if you can’t right up a little cut like that,” squeaked the ungrateful hero.
“Much good are your biceps, deltoids, and all that stuff if you can’t even handle a little cut like that,” squeaked the ungrateful hero.
“I’m not going to be a surgeon, thank heaven; I intend to make perfect hands and arms, not mend damaged ones,” retorted Psyche, in a dignified tone, somewhat marred by a great piece of court-plaster on her tongue.
“I’m not going to be a surgeon, thank goodness; I plan to create perfect hands and arms, not fix broken ones,” retorted Psyche, in a dignified tone, slightly spoiled by a big piece of bandage on her tongue.
“I should say a surgeon could improve that perfect thing, if he didn’t die a-laughing before he began,” growled Harry, pointing with a scornful grin at a clay arm humpy with muscles, all carefully developed in the wrong places.
“I’d say a surgeon could fix that perfect thing, if he doesn’t die laughing before he starts,” Harry grumbled, pointing with a mocking grin at a clay arm lumpy with muscles, all awkwardly developed in the wrong places.
“Don’t sneer Hal, for you don’t know anything about it. Wait a few years and see if you’re not proud of me.”
“Don’t mock me, Hal, because you don’t know anything about it. Just wait a few years and see if you’re not proud of me.”
“Sculp away and do something, then I’ll hurrah for your mud-pies like a good one;” with which cheering promise the youth departed, having effectually disturbed his sister’s peaceful mood.
"Sculpt away and make something, then I’ll cheer for your mud pies like a champ;" with that encouraging promise, the young man left, having thoroughly disrupted his sister’s calm mood.
Anxious thoughts of her father rendered “biceps, deltoids, and things” uninteresting, and hoping to compose her mind, she took up The Old Painters and went on with the story of Claude Lorraine. She had just reached the tender scene where,—
Anxious thoughts about her father made “biceps, deltoids, and things” seem boring, and wanting to calm her mind, she picked up The Old Painters and continued reading the story of Claude Lorraine. She had just reached the touching scene where,—
“Calista gazed with enthusiasm, while she looked like a being of heaven rather than earth. ‘My friend,’ she cried, ‘I read in thy picture thy immortality!’ As she spoke, her head sunk upon his bosom, and it was several moments before Claude perceived that he supported a lifeless form.”
“Calista looked on with excitement, appearing more like a creature from heaven than from earth. ‘My friend,’ she exclaimed, ‘I can see your immortality in your picture!’ As she spoke, her head fell onto his chest, and it took Claude a few moments to realize that he was holding a lifeless body.”
“How sweet!” said Psyche, with a romantic sigh.
“How sweet!” Psyche exclaimed, letting out a dreamy sigh.
“Faith, and swate it is, thin!” echoed Katy, whose red head had just appeared round the half opened door. “It’s gingy-bread I’m making the day, miss, and will I be puttin’ purlash or sallyrathis into it, if ye plase?”
“Faith, and it’s sweet it is, then!” echoed Katy, whose red head had just popped around the half-open door. “I’m making gingerbread today, miss, and should I add pearl ash or saleratus to it, if you please?”
“Purlash, by all means,” returned the girl, keeping her countenance, fearing to enrage Katy by a laugh; for the angry passions of the red-haired one rose more quickly than her bread. As she departed with alacrity to add a spoonful of starch and a pinch of whiting to her cake, Psyche, feeling better for her story and her smile, put on her bib and paper cap and fell to work on the deformed arm. An hour of bliss, then came a ring at the door-bell, followed by Biddy to announce callers, and add that as “the mistress was in her bed, miss must go and take care of ’em.” Whereat “miss” cast down her tools in despair, threw her cap one way, her bib another, and went in to her guests with anything but a rapturous welcome.
“Sure, Purlash,” the girl replied, keeping a straight face, afraid to make Katy mad by laughing; the red-haired girl got angry way faster than her bread rises. As she quickly left to add a spoonful of starch and a pinch of whiting to her cake, Psyche, feeling better after her story and her smile, put on her apron and paper cap and got to work on the deformed arm. An hour of happiness passed, then there was a ring at the doorbell, followed by Biddy announcing guests and saying that since “the mistress was in her bed, miss had to go and take care of them.” With that, “miss” dropped her tools in despair, tossed her cap one way, her apron another, and went to greet her guests with anything but a cheerful welcome.
Dinner being accomplished after much rushing up and down stairs with trays and messages for Mrs. Dean, Psyche fled again to her studio, ordering no one to approach under pain of a scolding. All went well till, going in search of something, she found her little sister sitting on the floor with her cheek against the studio door.
Dinner was done after a lot of running up and down the stairs with trays and messages for Mrs. Dean. Psyche quickly escaped to her studio, telling everyone to stay away or they’d get an earful. Everything was going smoothly until, while looking for something, she discovered her little sister sitting on the floor with her cheek pressed against the studio door.
“I didn’t mean to be naughty, Sy, but mother is asleep, and the boys all gone, so I just came to be near you; it’s so lonely everywhere,” she said, apologetically, as she lifted up the heavy head that always ached.
“I didn’t mean to be bad, Sy, but mom is asleep, and the boys are all gone, so I just came to be close to you; it’s so lonely everywhere,” she said, apologetically, as she lifted her heavy head that always hurt.
“The boys are very thoughtless. Come in and stay with me; you are such a mouse you won’t disturb me. Wouldn’t you like to play be a model and let me draw your arm, and tell you all about the nice little bones and muscles?” asked Psyche, who had the fever very strong upon her just then.
“The boys are really careless. Come in and hang out with me; you're such a quiet one you won't bother me. Would you like to pose for me so I can draw your arm, and I can tell you all about the cool little bones and muscles?” asked Psyche, who was feeling very feverish at that moment.
May didn’t look as if the proposed amusement overwhelmed her with delight, but meekly consented to be perched upon a high stool with one arm propped up by a dropsical plaster cherub, while Psyche drew busily, feeling that duty and pleasure were being delightfully combined.
May didn’t seem as if the suggested amusement thrilled her, but she quietly agreed to sit on a tall stool with one arm supported by a swollen plaster cherub, while Psyche worked away, feeling that duty and pleasure were wonderfully merged.
“Can’t you hold your arm still, child? It shakes so I can’t get it right,” she said, rather impatiently.
“Can’t you keep your arm still, kid? It’s shaking so much I can’t get it right,” she said, a bit impatiently.
“No, it will tremble ’cause it’s weak. I try hard, Sy, but there doesn’t seem to be much strongness in me lately.”
“No, it will shake because it’s weak. I’m trying hard, Sy, but I don’t feel like there’s much strength in me these days.”
“That’s better; keep it so a few minutes and I’ll be done,” cried the artist, forgetting that a few minutes may seem ages.
“That's better; hold it like that for a few minutes and I'll be done,” shouted the artist, forgetting that a few minutes can feel like forever.
“My arm is so thin you can see the bunches nicely,—can’t you?”
“My arm is so thin you can clearly see the muscles, right?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Sure, honey.”
Psyche glanced up at the wasted limb, and when she drew again there was a blur before her eyes for a minute.
Psyche looked up at the damaged limb, and when she tried again, everything went fuzzy in front of her for a moment.
“I wish I was as fat as this white boy; but I get thinner every day somehow, and pretty soon there won’t be any of me left but my little bones,” said the child, looking at the winged cherub with sorrowful envy.
“I wish I was as fat as that white kid; but I get thinner every day somehow, and pretty soon there won’t be anything left of me but my little bones,” said the child, looking at the winged cherub with sad envy.
“Don’t, my darling; don’t say that,” cried Psyche, dropping her work with a sudden pang at her heart. “I’m a sinful, selfish girl to keep you here! you’re weak for want of air; come out and see the chickens, and pick dandelions, and have a good romp with the boys.”
“Don’t, my love; don’t say that,” Psyche exclaimed, dropping her work with a sudden ache in her heart. “I’m a flawed, selfish girl for keeping you here! You’re weak from lack of fresh air; come outside to see the chickens, pick dandelions, and have a fun time with the boys.”
The weak arms were strong enough to clasp Psyche’s neck, and the tired face brightened beautifully as the child exclaimed, with grateful delight,—
The frail arms were strong enough to wrap around Psyche’s neck, and the weary face lit up beautifully as the child exclaimed, with joyful gratitude,—
“Oh, I’d like it very much! I wanted to go dreadfully; but everybody is so busy all the time. I don’t want to play, Sy; but just to lie on the grass with my head in your lap while you tell stories and draw me pretty things as you used to.”
“Oh, I’d love that! I really wanted to go; but everyone is so busy all the time. I don’t want to play, Sy; I just want to lie on the grass with my head in your lap while you tell stories and draw me pretty things like you used to.”
The studio was deserted all that afternoon, for Psyche sat in the orchard drawing squirrels on the wall, pert robins hopping by, buttercups and mosses, elves and angels; while May lay contentedly enjoying sun and air, sisterly care, and the “pretty things” she loved so well. Psyche did not find the task a hard one; for this time her heart was in it, and if she needed any reward she surely found it; for the little face on her knee lost its weary look, and the peace and beauty of nature soothed her own troubled spirit, cheered her heart, and did her more good than hours of solitary study.
The studio was empty all afternoon, as Psyche sat in the orchard drawing squirrels on the wall, cheeky robins hopping by, buttercups and moss, elves and angels; while May lay back happily soaking up the sun and fresh air, enjoying sisterly affection and the “pretty things” she adored. Psyche didn’t find the task difficult at all; this time her heart was fully into it, and if she needed any reward, she definitely found it; because the little face on her knee lost its tired look, and the peace and beauty of nature calmed her own troubled spirit, lifted her mood, and did her more good than hours of studying alone.
Finding, much to her own surprise, that her fancy was teeming with lovely conceits, she did hope for a quiet evening. But mother wanted a bit of gossip, father must have his papers read to him, the boys had lessons and rips and grievances to be attended to, May’s lullaby could not be forgotten, and the maids had to be looked after, lest burly “cousins” should be hidden in the boiler, or lucifer matches among the shavings. So Psyche’s day ended, leaving her very tired, rather discouraged, and almost heart-sick with the shadow of a coming sorrow.
Finding, to her surprise, that her imagination was full of lovely ideas, she hoped for a quiet evening. But her mom wanted to gossip, her dad needed his papers read to him, the boys had lessons and issues to sort out, May's lullaby couldn't be forgotten, and the maids needed supervision to make sure burly “cousins” weren’t hiding in the boiler or lucifer matches in the shavings. So Psyche's day ended, leaving her extremely tired, somewhat discouraged, and almost heartbroken with the hint of a coming sorrow.
All summer she did her best, but accomplished very little, as she thought; yet this was the teaching she most needed, and in time she came to see it. In the autumn May died, whispering, with her arms about her sister’s neck,—
All summer she tried her hardest, but felt like she achieved very little; however, this was the lesson she truly needed, and eventually she realized it. In the fall, May passed away, whispering, with her arms around her sister’s neck,—
“You make me so happy, Sy, I wouldn’t mind the pain if I could stay a little longer. But if I can’t, good-by, dear, good-by.”
“You make me so happy, Sy. I wouldn’t mind the pain if I could stay just a little longer. But if I can’t, goodbye, dear, goodbye.”
Her last look and word and kiss were all for Psyche, who felt then with grateful tears that her summer had not been wasted; for the smile upon the little dead face was more to her than any marble perfection her hands could have carved.
Her final glance, word, and kiss were all for Psyche, who then felt with grateful tears that her summer hadn’t been wasted; for the smile on the little lifeless face meant more to her than any marble perfection her hands could have sculpted.
In the solemn pause which death makes in every family, Psyche said, with the sweet self-forgetfulness of a strong yet tender nature,—
In the quiet moment that death brings to every family, Psyche said, with the gentle disregard of someone who is both strong and compassionate,—
“I must not think of myself, but try to comfort them;” and with this resolution she gave herself heart and soul to duty, never thinking of reward.
“I can't focus on myself, but I need to comfort them;” and with this determination, she devoted herself wholeheartedly to her duties, never considering any reward.
A busy, anxious, humdrum winter, for, as Harry said, “it was hard times for every one.” Mr. Dean grew gray with the weight of business cares about which he never spoke; Mrs. Dean, laboring under the delusion that an invalid was a necessary appendage to the family, installed herself in the place the child’s death left vacant, and the boys needed much comforting, for the poor lads never knew how much they loved “the baby” till the little chair stood empty. All turned to Sy for help and consolation, and her strength seemed to increase with the demand upon it. Patience and cheerfulness, courage and skill came at her call like good fairies who had bided their time. Housekeeping ceased to be hateful, and peace reigned in parlor and kitchen while Mrs. Dean, shrouded in shawls, read Hahnemann’s Lesser Writings on her sofa. Mr. Dean sometimes forgot his mills when a bright face came to meet him, a gentle hand smoothed the wrinkles out of his anxious forehead, and a daughterly heart sympathized with all his cares. The boys found home very pleasant with Sy always there ready to “lend a hand,” whether it was to make fancy ties, help conjugate “a confounded verb,” pull candy, or sing sweetly in the twilight when all thought of little May and grew quiet.
A busy, anxious, monotonous winter, because, as Harry said, “it was hard times for everyone.” Mr. Dean grew gray under the weight of business worries he never mentioned; Mrs. Dean, under the delusion that having an invalid was a necessary part of the family, took the place left empty by the child's death. The boys needed a lot of comforting because they hadn’t realized how much they loved “the baby” until the little chair was empty. Everyone turned to Sy for help and support, and her strength seemed to grow with the demand. Patience and cheerfulness, courage and skill came to her like good fairies who had been waiting for their moment. Housekeeping became bearable, and peace settled in the parlor and kitchen while Mrs. Dean, wrapped in shawls, read Hahnemann’s Lesser Writings on her sofa. Mr. Dean sometimes forgot about his mills when a bright face greeted him, a gentle hand smoothed the furrows of worry from his forehead, and a daughterly heart understood all his concerns. The boys found home very enjoyable with Sy always ready to “lend a hand,” whether it was to make fancy ties, help conjugate “a confounded verb,” pull candy, or sing sweetly in the twilight when they all thought of little May and fell silent.
The studio door remained locked till her brothers begged Psyche to open it and make a bust of the child. A flush of joy swept over her face at the request, and her patient eyes grew bright and eager, as a thirsty traveller’s might at the sight or sound of water. Then it faded as she shook her head, saying with a regretful sigh, “I’m afraid I’ve lost the little skill I ever had.”
The studio door stayed locked until her brothers pleaded with Psyche to unlock it and create a bust of the child. A wave of joy spread across her face at the request, and her patient eyes lit up with excitement, like a thirsty traveler seeing or hearing water. But then that excitement faded as she shook her head and said with a sorrowful sigh, “I'm afraid I've lost whatever little talent I once had.”
But she tried, and with great wonder and delight discovered that she could work as she had never done before. She thought the newly found power lay in her longing to see the little face again; for it grew like magic under her loving hands, while every tender memory, sweet thought, and devout hope she had ever cherished, seemed to lend their aid. But when it was done and welcomed with tears and smiles, and praise more precious than any the world could give, then Psyche said within herself, like one who saw light at last,—
But she tried, and with great wonder and delight discovered that she could work like never before. She believed the newfound power came from her desire to see the little face again; it grew like magic under her loving hands, while every cherished memory, sweet thought, and heartfelt hope she had ever held seemed to help her. But when it was done and met with tears and smiles, and praise more valuable than anything the world could offer, then Psyche thought to herself, like someone who had finally found the light,—
“He was right; doing one’s duty is the way to feed heart, soul, and imagination; for if one is good, one is happy, and if happy, one can work well.”
“He was right; doing your duty is how you nourish heart, soul, and imagination; because if you are good, you are happy, and if you’re happy, you can work well.”
III.
III.
“She broke her head and went home to come no more,” was Giovanni’s somewhat startling answer when Paul asked about Psyche, finding that he no longer met her on the stairs or in the halls. He understood what the boy meant, and with an approving nod turned to his work again, saying, “I like that! If there is any power in her, she has taken the right way to find it out, I suspect.”
“She hurt her head and went home and hasn’t come back,” was Giovanni’s surprising reply when Paul asked about Psyche, realizing he no longer saw her on the stairs or in the halls. He knew what the boy meant, and with a nod of approval, he turned back to his work, saying, “I like that! If she has any strength in her, I think she’s on the right path to discover it.”
How she prospered he never asked; for, though he met her more than once that year, the interviews were brief ones in street, concert-room, or picture-gallery, and she carefully avoided speaking of herself. But, possessing the gifted eyes which can look below the surface of things, he detected in the girl’s face something better than beauty, though each time he saw it, it looked older and more thoughtful, often anxious and sad.
How she was doing well he never asked; because, even though he met her more than once that year, their meetings were short ones in the street, concert hall, or art gallery, and she deliberately avoided talking about herself. However, with his keen insight, he noticed in her face something deeper than beauty, although each time he saw her, she appeared older and more contemplative, often anxious and sad.
“She is getting on,” he said to himself with a cordial satisfaction which gave his manner a friendliness as grateful to Psyche as his wise reticence.
“She is getting older,” he said to himself with a warm satisfaction that made his demeanor as friendly as his thoughtful silence was appreciated by Psyche.
Adam was finished at last, proved a genuine success, and Paul heartily enjoyed the well-earned reward for years of honest work. One blithe May morning, he slipped early into the art-gallery, where the statue now stood, to look at his creation with paternal pride. He was quite alone with the stately figure that shone white against the purple draperies and seemed to offer him a voiceless welcome from its marble lips. He gave it one loving look, and then forgot it, for at the feet of his Adam lay a handful of wild violets, with the dew still on them. A sudden smile broke over his face as he took them up, with the thought, “She has been here and found my work good.”
Adam was finally done, proving to be a real success, and Paul genuinely enjoyed the well-deserved reward for years of hard work. One cheerful May morning, he slipped into the art gallery early, where the statue now stood, to admire his creation with pride. He was completely alone with the impressive figure that gleamed white against the purple drapes, seeming to offer him a silent greeting from its marble lips. He gave it one affectionate glance and then forgot it, because at the feet of his Adam lay a handful of wild violets, still dewy. A sudden smile spread across his face as he picked them up, thinking, “She has been here and found my work good.”
For several moments he stood thoughtfully turning the flowers to and fro in his hands; then, as if deciding some question within himself, he said, still smiling,—
For a few moments, he stood there, thoughtfully turning the flowers back and forth in his hands. Then, as if making up his mind about something, he said, still smiling,—
“It is just a year since she went home; she must have accomplished something in that time; I’ll take the violets as a sign that I may go and ask her what.”
“It’s been just a year since she went home; she must have achieved something in that time; I’ll take the violets as a sign that I can go and ask her what.”
He knew she lived just out of the city, between the river and the mills, and as he left the streets behind him, he found more violets blooming all along the way like flowery guides to lead him right. Greener grew the road, balmier blew the wind, and blither sang the birds, as he went on, enjoying his holiday with the zest of a boy, until he reached a most attractive little path winding away across the fields. The gate swung invitingly open, and all the ground before it was blue with violets. Still following their guidance he took the narrow path, till, coming to a mossy stone beside a brook, he sat down to listen to the blackbirds singing deliciously in the willows over head. Close by the stone, half hidden in the grass lay a little book, and, taking it up he found it was a pocket-diary. No name appeared on the flyleaf, and, turning the pages to find some clue to its owner, he read here and there enough to give him glimpses into an innocent and earnest heart which seemed to be learning some hard lesson patiently. Only near the end did he find the clue in words of his own, spoken long ago, and a name. Then, though longing intensely to know more, he shut the little book and went on, showing by his altered face that the simple record of a girl’s life had touched him deeply.
He knew she lived just outside the city, between the river and the mills, and as he left the streets behind, he found more violets blooming all along the way like floral guides leading him right. The road grew greener, the wind felt warmer, and the birds sang happily as he continued, enjoying his holiday with the enthusiasm of a boy, until he came across a charming little path winding across the fields. The gate swung invitingly open, and the ground in front of it was covered in blue violets. Following their lead, he took the narrow path until he reached a mossy stone by a brook, where he sat down to listen to the blackbirds singing sweetly in the willows overhead. Nearby, half-hidden in the grass, he spotted a little book. Picking it up, he discovered it was a pocket diary. There was no name on the flyleaf, and as he flipped through the pages to find a clue to its owner, he read enough here and there to catch glimpses of an innocent and sincere heart seemingly learning a tough lesson patiently. Only near the end did he find the clue in words he had spoken long ago, along with a name. Then, even though he was intensely curious to know more, he shut the little book and continued on, his changed expression revealing that the simple account of a girl’s life had moved him deeply.
Soon an old house appeared nestling to the hillside with the river shining in the low green meadows just before it.
Soon, an old house appeared nestled against the hillside, with the river gleaming in the low green meadows right in front of it.
“She lives there,” he said, with as much certainty as if the pansies by the door-stone spelt her name, and, knocking he asked for Psyche.
“She lives there,” he said, as confidently as if the pansies by the doorstep spelled out her name, and, knocking, he asked for Psyche.
“She’s gone to town, but I expect her home every minute. Ask the gentleman to walk in and wait, Katy,” cried a voice from above, where the whisk of skirts was followed by the appearance of an inquiring eye over the banisters.
“She’s gone to town, but I expect her back any minute. Ask the gentleman to come in and wait, Katy,” shouted a voice from above, where the swish of skirts was followed by the sight of an inquisitive eye peering over the banister.
The gentleman did walk in, and while he waited looked about him. The room, though very simply furnished, had a good deal of beauty in it, for the pictures were few and well chosen, the books such as never grow old, the music lying on the well-worn piano of the sort which is never out of fashion, and standing somewhat apart was one small statue in a recess full of flowers. Lovely in its simple grace and truth was the figure of a child looking upward as if watching the airy flight of some butterfly which had evidently escaped from the chrysalis still lying in the little hand.
The man walked in and started to look around while he waited. The room, although very simply decorated, had a lot of beauty to it. The pictures were few but well chosen, the books were timeless, the music on the well-used piano was always in style, and there was a small statue set off to the side in a recess filled with flowers. The figure of a child was lovely in its simple grace and truth, looking up as if watching a butterfly that had clearly just emerged from the chrysalis still resting in the child’s small hand.
Paul was looking at it with approving eyes when Mrs. Dean appeared with his card in her hand, three shawls on her shoulders, and in her face a somewhat startled expression, as if she expected some novel demonstration from the man whose genius her daughter so much admired.
Paul was watching it with a look of approval when Mrs. Dean showed up, holding his card, wearing three shawls on her shoulders, and sporting a slightly surprised expression, as if she was anticipating some kind of unique display from the man whose talent her daughter admired so much.
“I hope Miss Psyche is well,” began Paul, with great discrimination if not originality.
“I hope Miss Psyche is doing well,” started Paul, with great discernment if not originality.
The delightfully commonplace remark tranquillized Mrs. Dean at once, and, taking off the upper shawl with a fussy gesture, she settled herself for a chat.
The pleasantly ordinary comment relaxed Mrs. Dean right away, and, removing the top shawl with a flustered gesture, she got comfortable for a chat.
“Yes, thank heaven, Sy is well. I don’t know what would become of us if she wasn’t. It has been a hard and sorrowful year for us with Mr. Dean’s business embarrassments, my feeble health, and May’s death. I don’t know that you were aware of our loss, sir;” and unaffected maternal grief gave sudden dignity to the faded, fretful face of the speaker.
“Yes, thank goodness, Sy is okay. I don’t know what we would do without her. It’s been a tough and sad year for us with Mr. Dean’s business issues, my poor health, and May’s passing. I’m not sure if you knew about our loss, sir;” and genuine maternal sorrow added a sudden grace to the tired, troubled face of the speaker.
Paul murmured his regrets, understanding better now the pathetic words on a certain tear-stained page of the little book still in his pocket.
Paul quietly expressed his regrets, now understanding more clearly the sad words on a tear-stained page of the little book still in his pocket.
“Poor dear, she suffered everything, and it came very hard upon Sy, for the child wasn’t happy with any one else, and almost lived in her arms,” continued Mrs. Dean, dropping the second shawl to get her handkerchief.
“Poor thing, she went through so much, and it was really tough on Sy because the child wasn’t happy with anyone else and pretty much lived in her arms,” continued Mrs. Dean, letting go of the second shawl to grab her handkerchief.
“Miss Psyche has not had much time for art-studies this year, I suppose?” said Paul, hoping to arrest the shower, natural as it was.
“Miss Psyche hasn’t had much time for art studies this year, I guess?” Paul said, trying to stop the downpour, as natural as it was.
“How could she with two invalids, the housekeeping, her father and the boys to attend to? No, she gave that up last spring, and though it was a great disappointment to her at the time, she has got over it now, I hope,” added her mother, remembering as she spoke that Psyche even now went about the house sometimes pale and silent, with a hungry look in her eyes.
“How could she manage with two invalids, the housework, her father, and the boys to take care of? No, she gave that up last spring, and although it was a big disappointment for her at the time, I hope she has moved past it now,” added her mother, recalling as she spoke that Psyche still walked around the house sometimes looking pale and quiet, with a hungry look in her eyes.
“I am glad to hear it,” though a little shadow passed over his face as Paul spoke, for he was too true an artist to believe that any work could be as happy as that which he loved and lived for. “I thought there was much promise in Miss Psyche, and I sincerely believe that time will prove me a true prophet,” he said, with mingled regret and hope in his voice, as he glanced about the room, which betrayed the tastes still cherished by the girl.
“I’m glad to hear that,” though a slight shadow crossed his face as Paul spoke, because he was too genuine an artist to think that any work could be as joyful as the one he loved and lived for. “I saw a lot of potential in Miss Psyche, and I truly believe that time will show I was right,” he said, with a mix of regret and hope in his voice, as he looked around the room, which revealed the tastes still held by the girl.
“I’m afraid ambition isn’t good for women; I mean the sort that makes them known by coming before the public in any way. But Sy deserves some reward, I’m sure, and I know she’ll have it, for a better daughter never lived.”
“I’m afraid ambition isn’t good for women; I mean the kind that makes them stand out by appearing in public in any way. But Sy deserves some reward, I’m sure, and I know she’ll get it, because a better daughter never existed.”
Here the third shawl was cast off, as if the thought of Psyche, or the presence of a genial guest had touched Mrs. Dean’s chilly nature with a comfortable warmth.
Here the third shawl was removed, as if the thought of Psyche, or the presence of a friendly guest had warmed Mrs. Dean’s cold demeanor with a comforting heat.
Further conversation was interrupted by the avalanche of boys which came tumbling down the front stairs, as Tom, Dick, and Harry shouted in a sort of chorus,—
Further conversation was interrupted by the rush of boys crashing down the front stairs, as Tom, Dick, and Harry shouted in unison,—
“Sy, my balloon has got away; lend us a hand at catching him!”
“Sy, my balloon got away; can you help me catch it?”
“Sy, I want a lot of paste made, right off.”
“Sy, I want a lot of paste made, right away.”
“Sy, I’ve split my jacket down the back; come sew me up, there’s a dear!”
“Sy, I’ve torn my jacket down the back; please help me fix it, would you?”
On beholding a stranger the young gentlemen suddenly lost their voices, found their manners, and with nods and grins took themselves away as quietly as could be expected of six clumping boots and an unlimited quantity of animal spirits in a high state of effervescence. As they trooped off, an unmistakable odor of burnt milk pervaded the air, and the crash of china, followed by an Irish wail, caused Mrs. Dean to clap on her three shawls again and excuse herself in visible trepidation.
Upon seeing a stranger, the young men suddenly became silent, straightened up, and with nods and smiles, slipped away as quietly as six loud pairs of boots and an overflowing amount of energy could manage. As they left, a distinct smell of burnt milk filled the air, and the sound of breaking dishes, followed by an Irish cry, made Mrs. Dean hurriedly put on her three shawls again and excuse herself, clearly anxious.
Paul laughed quietly to himself, then turned sober and said, “Poor Psyche!” with a sympathetic sigh. He roamed about the room impatiently till the sound of voices drew him to the window to behold the girl coming up the walk with her tired old father leaning on one arm, the other loaded with baskets and bundles, and her hands occupied by a remarkably ugly turtle.
Paul chuckled quietly to himself, then became serious and said, “Poor Psyche!” with a sympathetic sigh. He paced around the room restlessly until he heard voices that pulled him to the window. He saw the girl coming up the path with her tired old father leaning on one arm, while the other was loaded with baskets and bundles, and her hands were occupied by a surprisingly ugly turtle.
“Here we are!” cried a cheery voice, as they entered without observing the new-comer. “I’ve done all my errands and had a lovely time. There is Tom’s gunpowder, Dick’s fish-hooks, and one of Professor Gazzy’s famous turtles for Harry. Here are your bundles, mother dear, and, best of all, here’s father home in time for a good rest before dinner. I went to the mill and got him.”
“Here we are!” shouted a cheerful voice as they walked in without noticing the newcomer. “I finished all my errands and had a great time. I've got Tom’s gunpowder, Dick’s fishhooks, and one of Professor Gazzy’s famous turtles for Harry. Here are your packages, mom, and, best of all, dad’s home just in time for a good rest before dinner. I went to the mill and brought him back.”
Psyche spoke as if she had brought a treasure; and so she had, for though Mr. Dean’s face usually was about as expressive as the turtle’s, it woke and warmed with the affection which his daughter had fostered till no amount of flannel could extinguish it. His big hand patted her cheek very gently as he said, in a tone of fatherly love and pride,—
Psyche spoke as if she had brought a treasure; and she really had, because even though Mr. Dean’s face was usually as expressive as a turtle's, it lit up with the affection that his daughter had nurtured until no amount of flannel could dull it. His large hand gently patted her cheek as he said, in a tone filled with fatherly love and pride,—
“My little Sy never forgets old father, does she?”
“My little Sy never forgets her old dad, does she?”
“Good gracious me, my dear, there’s such a mess in the kitchen! Katy’s burnt up the pudding, put castor-oil instead of olive in the salad, smashed the best meat-dish, and here’s Mr. Gage come to dinner,” cried Mrs. Dean in accents of despair as she tied up her head in a fourth shawl.
“Goodness, my dear, the kitchen is such a mess! Katy burnt the pudding, used castor oil instead of olive oil in the salad, broke the best meat dish, and now Mr. Gage is here for dinner,” Mrs. Dean exclaimed in despair as she wrapped her head in a fourth shawl.
“Oh, I’m so glad; I’ll go in and see him a few minutes, and then I’ll come and attend to everything; so don’t worry, mother.”
“Oh, I’m so glad; I’ll go in and see him for a few minutes, and then I’ll come back and take care of everything; so don’t worry, Mom.”
“How did you find me out?” asked Psyche as she shook hands with her guest and stood looking up at him with all the old confiding frankness in her face and manner.
“How did you find me out?” asked Psyche as she shook hands with her guest and looked up at him with all the old trust and openness in her face and manner.
“The violets showed me the way.”
"The violets led me."
She glanced at the posy in his button-hole and smiled.
She looked at the flower in his buttonhole and smiled.
“Yes, I gave them to Adam, but I didn’t think you would guess. I enjoyed your work for an hour to-day, and I have no words strong enough to express my admiration.”
“Yes, I gave them to Adam, but I didn’t think you would figure it out. I enjoyed your work for an hour today, and I don’t have words that are strong enough to express my admiration.”
“There is no need of any. Tell me about yourself; what have you been doing all this year?” he asked, watching with genuine satisfaction the serene and sunny face before him, for discontent, anxiety, and sadness were no longer visible there.
“There’s no need for any. Tell me about yourself; what have you been up to all this year?” he asked, watching with genuine satisfaction the calm and bright face in front of him, as discontent, anxiety, and sadness were no longer apparent there.
“I’ve been working and waiting,” she began.
“I've been working and waiting,” she said.
“And succeeding, if I may believe what I see and hear and read,” he said, with an expressive little wave of the book as he laid it down before her.
“And if I can trust what I see, hear, and read,” he said, giving a meaningful little wave of the book as he set it down in front of her.
“My diary! I didn’t know I had lost it. Where did you find it?”
“My diary! I didn't realize I had lost it. Where did you find it?”
“By the brook where I stopped to rest. The moment I saw your name I shut it up. Forgive me, but I can’t ask pardon for reading a few pages of that little gospel of patience, love, and self-denial.”
“By the stream where I paused to take a break. The moment I saw your name, I shut it. Sorry, but I can’t apologize for reading a few pages of that small book about patience, love, and self-denial.”
She gave him a reproachful look, and hurried the tell-tale book out of sight as she said, with a momentary shadow on her face,—
She gave him a disappointed look and quickly hid the revealing book as she said, with a brief frown on her face,—
“It has been a hard task; but I think I have learned it, and am just beginning to find that my dream is ‘a noonday light and truth,’ to me.”
“It’s been a tough job; but I think I’ve got it down, and I’m just starting to realize that my dream is ‘a noonday light and truth’ for me.”
“Then you do not relinquish your hopes, and lay down your tools?” he asked, with some eagerness.
“Then you don’t give up your hopes and put down your tools?” he asked, a bit eagerly.
“Never! I thought at first that I could not serve two masters, but in trying to be faithful to one I find I am nearer and dearer to the other. My cares and duties are growing lighter every day (or I have learned to bear them better), and when my leisure does come I shall know how to use it, for my head is full of ambitious plans, and I feel that I can do something now.”
“Never! I initially thought I couldn't serve two masters, but by trying to be loyal to one, I realize I'm getting closer to the other. My worries and responsibilities are becoming easier to manage each day (or I’ve just learned to handle them better), and when I finally have some free time, I’ll know how to make the most of it because my mind is full of ambitious plans, and I feel like I can do something now.”
All the old enthusiasm shone in her eyes, and a sense of power betrayed itself in voice and gesture as she spoke.
All the old excitement lit up her eyes, and a feeling of confidence showed in her voice and movements as she talked.
“I believe it,” he said heartily. “You have learned the secret, as that proves.”
“I believe it,” he said enthusiastically. “You’ve figured out the secret, just as that shows.”
Psyche looked at the childish image as he pointed to it, and into her face there came a motherly expression that made it very sweet.
Psyche looked at the childish picture he was pointing to, and a motherly look came over her face that made it very sweet.
“That little sister was so dear to me I could not fail to make her lovely, for I put my heart into my work. The year has gone, but I don’t regret it, though this is all I have done.”
“That little sister was so precious to me that I couldn’t help but make her beautiful, because I poured my heart into my work. A year has passed, but I don’t regret it, even though this is all I’ve accomplished.”
“You forget your three wishes; I think the year has granted them.”
“You’re forgetting your three wishes; I think the year has already granted them.”
“What were they?”
"What were they talking about?"
“To possess beauty in yourself, the power of seeing it in all things, and the art of reproducing it with truth.”
“To have beauty within yourself, the ability to see it in everything, and the skill to reflect it with honesty.”
She colored deeply under the glance which accompanied the threefold compliment, and answered with grateful humility,—
She blushed deeply under the gaze that came with the triple compliment and replied with sincere humility,—
“You are very kind to say so; I wish I could believe it.” Then, as if anxious to forget herself, she added rather abruptly,—
“You're really sweet to say that; I wish I could believe it.” Then, as if eager to push thoughts of herself away, she added rather suddenly,—
“I hear you think of giving your Adam a mate,—have you begun yet?”
“I hear you’re considering getting a partner for your Adam—have you started yet?”
“Yes, my design is finished, all but the face.”
“Yes, my design is complete, except for the face.”
“I should think you could image Eve’s beauty, since you have succeeded so well with Adam’s.”
"I bet you can picture Eve’s beauty since you did such a great job capturing Adam’s."
“The features perhaps, but not the expression. That is the charm of feminine faces, a charm so subtile that few can catch and keep it. I want a truly womanly face, one that shall be sweet and strong without being either weak or hard. A hopeful, loving, earnest face with a tender touch of motherliness in it, and perhaps the shadow of a grief that has softened but not saddened it.”
“The features maybe, but not the expression. That’s the allure of feminine faces, a charm so subtle that few can grasp and hold onto it. I want a genuinely feminine face, one that is sweet and strong without being weak or harsh. A hopeful, loving, sincere face with a gentle hint of motherliness in it, and maybe the trace of a sorrow that has softened it but not made it sad.”
“It will be hard to find a face like that.”
“It will be hard to find a face like that.”
“I don’t expect to find it in perfection; but one sometimes sees faces which suggest all this, and in rare moments give glimpses of a lovely possibility.”
“I don’t expect to find it in perfection; but sometimes you come across faces that hint at all this, and in rare moments, they offer glimpses of a beautiful possibility.”
“I sincerely hope you will find one then,” said Psyche, thinking of the dinner.
“I really hope you find one then,” said Psyche, thinking about the dinner.
“Thank you; I think I have.”
"Thanks; I think I have."
Now, in order that every one may be suited, we will stop here, and leave our readers to finish the story as they like. Those who prefer the good old fashion may believe that the hero and heroine fell in love, were married, and lived happily ever afterward. But those who can conceive of a world outside of a wedding-ring may believe that the friends remained faithful friends all their lives, while Paul won fame and fortune, and Psyche grew beautiful with the beauty of a serene and sunny nature, happy in duties which became pleasures, rich in the art which made life lovely to herself and others, and brought rewards in time.
Now, to make sure everyone gets what they want, we'll pause here and let our readers finish the story as they see fit. Those who enjoy the traditional ending can imagine that the hero and heroine fell in love, got married, and lived happily ever after. But those who can envision a life beyond a wedding ring might believe that the friends remained true friends throughout their lives, while Paul achieved fame and fortune, and Psyche became more beautiful with her calm and sunny nature, finding joy in duties that became pleasures, thriving in the art that made life lovely for herself and others, and eventually reaping rewards.
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS.
"Having a bit of real-life experience is more valuable than a lot of book learning."
“DEAR EMILY,—I have a brilliant idea, and at once hasten to share it with you. Three weeks ago I came up here to the wilds of Vermont to visit my old aunt, also to get a little quiet and distance in which to survey certain new prospects which have opened before me, and to decide whether I will marry a millionnaire and become a queen of society, or remain ‘the charming Miss Vaughan’ and wait till the conquering hero comes.
“DEAR EMILY,—I have a fantastic idea, and I’m eager to share it with you. Three weeks ago, I came up to the Vermont wilderness to visit my old aunt, as well as to find some peace and distance to consider some new opportunities that have come my way. I need to decide whether to marry a millionaire and become a socialite or stay ‘the charming Miss Vaughan’ and wait for my true hero to arrive.”
“Aunt Plumy begs me to stay over Christmas, and I have consented, as I always dread the formal dinner with which my guardian celebrates the day.
“Aunt Plumy is asking me to stay for Christmas, and I’ve agreed, as I always dread the formal dinner my guardian throws to celebrate the day.
“My brilliant idea is this. I’m going to make it a real old-fashioned frolic, and won’t you come and help me? You will enjoy it immensely I am sure, for Aunt is a character, Cousin Saul worth seeing, and Ruth a far prettier girl than any of the city rose-buds coming out this season. Bring Leonard Randal along with you to take notes for his new book; then it will be fresher and truer than the last, clever as it was.
“My brilliant idea is this. I’m going to turn it into a real old-fashioned fun time, and I’d love for you to come and help me. I'm sure you'll enjoy it a lot, because Aunt is quite a character, Cousin Saul is worth meeting, and Ruth is way prettier than any of the city girls debuting this season. Bring Leonard Randal with you to take notes for his new book; then it will be fresher and more genuine than the last one, clever as it was.”
“The air is delicious up here, society amusing, this old farmhouse full of treasures, and your bosom friend pining to embrace you. Just telegraph yes or no, and we will expect you on Tuesday.
“The air is amazing up here, the company is fun, this old farmhouse is full of treasures, and your close friend is eager to see you. Just send a quick message with yes or no, and we will expect you on Tuesday.”
“Ever yours,
"Always yours,
“Sophie Vaughan.”
“Sophie Vaughan.”
“They will both come, for they are as tired of city life and as fond of change as I am,” said the writer of the above, as she folded her letter and went to get it posted without delay.
“They will both come because they are just as tired of city life and as eager for change as I am,” said the author of the above, as she folded her letter and went to mail it without hesitation.
Aunt Plumy was in the great kitchen making pies; a jolly old soul, with a face as ruddy as a winter apple, a cheery voice, and the kindest heart that ever beat under a gingham gown. Pretty Ruth was chopping the mince, and singing so gaily as she worked that the four-and-twenty immortal blackbirds could not have put more music into a pie than she did. Saul was piling wood into the big oven, and Sophie paused a moment on the threshold to look at him, for she always enjoyed the sight of this stalwart cousin, whom she likened to a Norse viking, with his fair hair and beard, keen blue eyes, and six feet of manly height, with shoulders that looked broad and strong enough to bear any burden.
Aunt Plumy was in the big kitchen making pies; a cheerful old soul, with a face as red as a winter apple, a bright voice, and the kindest heart that ever beat under a gingham dress. Pretty Ruth was chopping the mince and singing so happily as she worked that the four-and-twenty immortal blackbirds couldn't have added more music to a pie than she did. Saul was stacking wood into the big oven, and Sophie paused for a moment at the doorway to watch him, because she always liked seeing this strong cousin, whom she compared to a Norse Viking, with his fair hair and beard, sharp blue eyes, and six feet of sturdy height, with shoulders that looked broad and strong enough to handle any load.
His back was toward her, but he saw her first, and turned his flushed face to meet her, with the sudden lighting up it always showed when she approached.
His back was to her, but he noticed her first and turned his flushed face to greet her, with the familiar brightening that always happened when she came close.
“I’ve done it, Aunt; and now I want Saul to post the letter, so we can get a speedy answer.”
“I've done it, Aunt; and now I want Saul to send the letter, so we can get a quick reply.”
“Just as soon as I can hitch up, cousin;” and Saul pitched in his last log, looking ready to put a girdle round the earth in less than forty minutes.
“Just as soon as I can get going, cousin;” and Saul tossed in his last log, looking like he could circle the globe in less than forty minutes.
“Well, dear, I ain’t the least mite of objection, as long as it pleases you. I guess we can stan’ it ef your city folks can. I presume to say things will look kind of sing’lar to ’em, but I s’pose that’s what they come for. Idle folks do dreadful queer things to amuse ’em;” and Aunt Plumy leaned on the rolling-pin to smile and nod with a shrewd twinkle of her eye, as if she enjoyed the prospect as much as Sophie did.
“Well, dear, I don’t have the slightest objection, as long as it makes you happy. I suppose we can handle it if your city folks can. I imagine things will look kind of strange to them, but I guess that’s what they’re here for. Bored people do all sorts of bizarre things to entertain themselves;” and Aunt Plumy leaned on the rolling pin to smile and nod with a knowing twinkle in her eye, as if she enjoyed the idea just as much as Sophie did.
“I shall be afraid of ’em, but I’ll try not to make you ashamed of me,” said Ruth, who loved her charming cousin even more than she admired her.
“I’ll be scared of them, but I’ll try not to make you ashamed of me,” said Ruth, who loved her wonderful cousin even more than she admired her.
“No fear of that, dear. They will be the awkward ones, and you must set them at ease by just being your simple selves, and treating them as if they were everyday people. Nell is very nice and jolly when she drops her city ways, as she must here. She will enter into the spirit of the fun at once, and I know you’ll all like her. Mr. Randal is rather the worse for too much praise and petting, as successful people are apt to be, so a little plain talk and rough work will do him good. He is a true gentleman in spite of his airs and elegance, and he will take it all in good part, if you treat him like a man and not a lion.”
“No need to worry about that, dear. They will feel awkward, and you just have to make them comfortable by being your true selves and treating them like regular people. Nell is really nice and cheerful when she lets go of her city habits, which she needs to do here. She’ll get into the fun right away, and I know you’ll all enjoy her. Mr. Randal has probably become a bit spoiled by too much flattery and pampering, as successful people tend to be, so a bit of straightforward talk and some hard work will be good for him. He’s a true gentleman despite his pretensions and sophistication, and he will take it all in stride if you treat him as a man and not like a celebrity.”
“I’ll see to him,” said Saul, who had listened with great interest to the latter part of Sophie’s speech, evidently suspecting a lover, and enjoying the idea of supplying him with a liberal amount of “plain talk and rough work.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said Saul, who had listened with great interest to the latter part of Sophie’s speech, clearly suspecting a love interest and looking forward to giving him a good dose of “straight talk and tough love.”
“I’ll keep ’em busy if that’s what they need, for there will be a sight to do, and we can’t get help easy up here. Our darters don’t hire out much. Work to home till they marry, and don’t go gaddin’ ’round gettin’ their heads full of foolish notions, and forgettin’ all the useful things their mothers taught ’em.”
“I’ll keep them busy if that’s what they need, because there’s going to be a lot to do, and we can’t get help easily up here. Our locals don’t often take on outside work. They stick to home until they marry and don’t go wandering around filling their heads with silly ideas, forgetting all the useful things their mothers taught them.”
Aunt Plumy glanced at Ruth as she spoke, and a sudden color in the girl’s cheeks proved that the words hit certain ambitious fancies of this pretty daughter of the house of Basset.
Aunt Plumy looked at Ruth as she spoke, and a quick flush in the girl's cheeks showed that the words touched on some of the dreams of this lovely daughter of the Basset family.
“They shall do their parts and not be a trouble; I’ll see to that, for you certainly are the dearest aunt in the world to let me take possession of you and yours in this way,” cried Sophie, embracing the old lady with warmth.
“They will do their part and not cause any trouble; I’ll make sure of that, because you are truly the most beloved aunt in the world for allowing me to take over you and yours like this,” Sophie exclaimed, hugging the old lady warmly.
Saul wished the embrace could be returned by proxy, as his mother’s hands were too floury to do more than hover affectionately round the delicate face that looked so fresh and young beside her wrinkled one. As it could not be done, he fled temptation and “hitched up” without delay.
Saul wished he could get a hug back through someone else, since his mother’s hands were too covered in flour to do anything more than hover affectionately around the delicate face that looked so fresh and young next to her wrinkled one. Since that wasn’t possible, he avoided temptation and quickly got ready.
The three women laid their heads together in his absence, and Sophie’s plan grew apace, for Ruth longed to see a real novelist and a fine lady, and Aunt Plumy, having plans of her own to further, said “Yes, dear,” to every suggestion.
The three women rested their heads together while he was away, and Sophie’s plan developed quickly, since Ruth was eager to meet a real novelist and a sophisticated woman, and Aunt Plumy, having her own agenda to pursue, agreed to every idea with a “Yes, dear.”
Great was the arranging and adorning that went on that day in the old farmhouse, for Sophie wanted her friends to enjoy this taste of country pleasures, and knew just what additions would be indispensable to their comfort; what simple ornaments would be in keeping with the rustic stage on which she meant to play the part of prima donna.
Great was the arranging and decorating that happened that day in the old farmhouse, as Sophie wanted her friends to enjoy this taste of country pleasures. She knew exactly what essentials would be necessary for their comfort and what simple decorations would match the rustic setting where she planned to take center stage.
Next day a telegram arrived accepting the invitation, for both the lady and the lion. They would arrive that afternoon, as little preparation was needed for this impromptu journey, the novelty of which was its chief charm to these blasé people.
Next day, a telegram came in accepting the invitation for both the lady and the lion. They would arrive that afternoon, as not much preparation was needed for this spontaneous trip, which was the main attraction for these blasé people.
Saul wanted to get out the double sleigh and span, for he prided himself on his horses, and a fall of snow came most opportunely to beautify the landscape and add a new pleasure to Christmas festivities.
Saul wanted to take out the double sleigh and the horses, because he took pride in his horses, and a layer of snow arrived just in time to enhance the scenery and bring extra joy to the Christmas celebrations.
But Sophie declared that the old yellow sleigh, with Punch, the farm-horse, must be used, as she wished everything to be in keeping; and Saul obeyed, thinking he had never seen anything prettier than his cousin when she appeared in his mother’s old-fashioned camlet cloak and blue silk pumpkin hood. He looked remarkably well himself in his fur coat, with hair and beard brushed till they shone like spun gold, a fresh color in his cheek, and the sparkle of amusement in his eyes, while excitement gave his usually grave face the animation it needed to be handsome.
But Sophie insisted that they take the old yellow sleigh with Punch, the farm horse, because she wanted everything to match. Saul agreed, thinking he had never seen anything prettier than his cousin when she showed up in his mother’s vintage camlet cloak and blue silk pumpkin hood. He looked great himself in his fur coat, with his hair and beard brushed until they shone like spun gold, a healthy color in his cheeks, and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, while excitement brought a lively spark to his usually serious face.
Away they jogged in the creaking old sleigh, leaving Ruth to make herself pretty, with a fluttering heart, and Aunt Plumy to dish up a late dinner fit to tempt the most fastidious appetite.
Away they jogged in the creaky old sleigh, leaving Ruth to fix herself up, her heart racing, and Aunt Plumy to prepare a late dinner that would entice even the pickiest eater.
“She has not come for us, and there is not even a stage to take us up. There must be some mistake,” said Emily Herrick, as she looked about the shabby little station where they were set down.
“She hasn’t come for us, and there isn’t even a stage to take us. There must be some mistake,” said Emily Herrick, as she looked around the shabby little station where they were dropped off.
“That is the never-to-be-forgotten face of our fair friend, but the bonnet of her grandmother, if my eyes do not deceive me,” answered Randal, turning to survey the couple approaching in the rear.
“That is the unforgettable face of our dear friend, but that looks like her grandmother's bonnet, if I'm not mistaken,” replied Randal, turning to look at the couple coming up behind them.
“Sophie Vaughan, what do you mean by making such a guy of yourself?” exclaimed Emily, as she kissed the smiling face in the hood and stared at the quaint cloak.
“Sophie Vaughan, what do you mean by acting like such a fool?” exclaimed Emily, as she kissed the smiling face in the hood and stared at the old-fashioned cloak.
“I’m dressed for my part, and I intend to keep it up. This is our host, my cousin, Saul Basset. Come to the sleigh at once, he will see to your luggage,” said Sophie, painfully conscious of the antiquity of her array as her eyes rested on Emily’s pretty hat and mantle, and the masculine elegance of Randal’s wraps.
“I’m dressed for my role, and I plan to maintain it. This is our host, my cousin, Saul Basset. Come to the sleigh right away; he’ll take care of your luggage,” Sophie said, painfully aware of how old-fashioned her outfit was as she glanced at Emily’s pretty hat and coat and the stylish elegance of Randal’s attire.
They were hardly tucked in when Saul appeared with a valise in one hand and a large trunk on his shoulder, swinging both on to a wood-sled that stood near by as easily as if they had been hand-bags.
They had barely settled in when Saul showed up with a suitcase in one hand and a large trunk on his shoulder, tossing both onto a nearby sled as easily as if they were just handbags.
“That is your hero, is it? Well, he looks it, calm and comely, taciturn and tall,” said Emily, in a tone of approbation.
“That’s your hero, huh? Well, he definitely looks the part—calm and good-looking, quiet and tall,” Emily said, sounding impressed.
“He should have been named Samson or Goliath; though I believe it was the small man who slung things about and turned out the hero in the end,” added Randal, surveying the performance with interest and a touch of envy, for much pen work had made his own hands as delicate as a woman’s.
“He should have been named Samson or Goliath; though I think it was the little guy who flung things around and ended up being the hero,” Randal added, watching the performance with interest and a hint of jealousy, as all the writing he did had made his own hands as delicate as a woman's.
“Saul doesn’t live in a glass house, so stones won’t hurt him. Remember sarcasm is forbidden and sincerity the order of the day. You are country folks now, and it will do you good to try their simple, honest ways for a few days.”
“Saul doesn’t live in a glass house, so stones won’t hurt him. Remember, sarcasm is off-limits and sincerity is the way to go. You’re country folks now, and it’ll be good for you to try their simple, honest ways for a few days.”
Sophie had no time to say more, for Saul came up and drove off with the brief remark that the baggage would “be along right away.”
Sophie didn’t have a chance to say anything else because Saul approached and left with a quick comment that the luggage would “be along right away.”
Being hungry, cold and tired, the guests were rather silent during the short drive, but Aunt Plumy’s hospitable welcome, and the savory fumes of the dinner awaiting them, thawed the ice and won their hearts at once.
Being hungry, cold, and tired, the guests were pretty quiet during the short drive, but Aunt Plumy’s warm welcome and the delicious smells of the dinner waiting for them broke the silence and won them over instantly.
“Isn’t it nice? Aren’t you glad you came?” asked Sophie, as she led her friends into the parlor, which she had redeemed from its primness by putting bright chintz curtains to the windows, hemlock boughs over the old portraits, a china bowl of flowers on the table, and a splendid fire on the wide hearth.
“Isn’t it nice? Aren’t you glad you came?” Sophie asked as she led her friends into the living room, which she had transformed from its stuffiness by putting vibrant chintz curtains on the windows, hemlock branches over the old portraits, a china vase of flowers on the table, and a beautiful fire in the spacious hearth.
“It is perfectly jolly, and this is the way I begin to enjoy myself,” answered Emily, sitting down upon the home-made rug, whose red flannel roses bloomed in a blue list basket.
“It’s really fun, and this is how I start to have a good time,” replied Emily, sitting down on the homemade rug, with its red flannel roses blooming in a blue wicker basket.
“If I may add a little smoke to your glorious fire, it will be quite perfect. Won’t Samson join me?” asked Randal, waiting for permission, cigar-case in hand.
“If I could add a bit of smoke to your amazing fire, it will be just right. Won’t Samson come with me?” asked Randal, holding his cigar case and waiting for permission.
“He has no small vices, but you may indulge yours,” answered Sophie, from the depths of a grandmotherly chair.
“He has quite a few flaws, but you can enjoy yours,” replied Sophie, from the comfort of a grandmotherly chair.
Emily glanced up at her friend as if she caught a new tone in her voice, then turned to the fire again with a wise little nod, as if confiding some secret to the reflection of herself in the bright brass andiron.
Emily looked up at her friend, sensing a different tone in her voice, then turned back to the fire with a knowing little nod, as if sharing a secret with her reflection in the shiny brass andiron.
“His Delilah does not take this form. I wait with interest to discover if he has one. What a daisy the sister is. Does she ever speak?” asked Randal, trying to lounge on the haircloth sofa, where he was slipping uncomfortably about.
“His Delilah isn’t like that. I’m curious to see if he actually has one. What a gem the sister is. Does she ever talk?” asked Randal, trying to relax on the uncomfortable haircloth sofa, where he was slipping around awkwardly.
“Oh yes, and sings like a bird. You shall hear her when she gets over her shyness. But no trifling, mind you, for it is a jealously guarded daisy and not to be picked by any idle hand,” said Sophie warningly, as she recalled Ruth’s blushes and Randal’s compliments at dinner.
“Oh yes, and she sings beautifully. You'll hear her when she gets past her shyness. But no fooling around, mind you, because it's a carefully protected flower and not to be picked by any lazy hand,” Sophie said with a warning tone, remembering Ruth’s blushes and Randal’s compliments at dinner.
“I should expect to be annihilated by the big brother if I attempted any but the ‘sincerest’ admiration and respect. Have no fears on that score, but tell us what is to follow this superb dinner. An apple bee, spinning match, husking party, or primitive pastime of some sort, I have no doubt.”
“I should expect to be completely shut down by big brother if I showed anything less than ‘sincere’ admiration and respect. Don’t worry about that, but tell us what’s next after this amazing dinner. An apple picking, spinning match, husking party, or some sort of old-school activity, I’m sure.”
“As you are new to our ways I am going to let you rest this evening. We will sit about the fire and tell stories. Aunt is a master hand at that, and Saul has reminiscences of the war that are well worth hearing if we can only get him to tell them.”
“As you’re new to our ways, I’m going to let you relax this evening. We’ll gather around the fire and share stories. Aunt is great at that, and Saul has some memories from the war that are definitely worth hearing if we can just get him to share them.”
“Ah, he was there, was he?”
“Ah, he was there, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, all through it, and is Major Basset, though he likes his plain name best. He fought splendidly and had several wounds, though only a mere boy when he earned his scars and bars. I’m very proud of him for that,” and Sophie looked so as she glanced at the photograph of a stripling in uniform set in the place of honor on the high mantel-piece.
“Yes, all the way through, and he’s Major Basset, even though he prefers his simple name. He fought valiantly and received several wounds, even though he was just a kid when he earned his scars and medals. I’m really proud of him for that,” and Sophie looked proud as she glanced at the photo of a young man in uniform, placed in a place of honor on the high mantelpiece.
“We must stir him up and hear these martial memories. I want some new incidents, and shall book all I can get, if I may.”
“We need to get him excited and hear these battle stories. I want some fresh experiences, and I'll document everything I can, if that's okay.”
Here Randal was interrupted by Saul himself, who came in with an armful of wood for the fire.
Here, Randal was interrupted by Saul himself, who walked in with a bunch of firewood.
“Anything more I can do for you, cousin?” he asked, surveying the scene with a rather wistful look.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, cousin?” he asked, looking around the scene with a somewhat nostalgic expression.
“Only come and sit with us and talk over war times with Mr. Randal.”
“Just come and sit with us and chat about the war with Mr. Randal.”
“When I’ve foddered the cattle and done my chores I’d be pleased to. What regiment were you in?” asked Saul, looking down from his lofty height upon the slender gentleman, who answered briefly,—
“When I’ve fed the cattle and finished my chores, I’d be happy to. What regiment were you in?” asked Saul, looking down from his tall height at the slim gentleman, who replied briefly,—
“In none. I was abroad at the time.”
“In none. I was overseas at that time.”
“Sick?”
"Feeling unwell?"
“No, busy with a novel.”
"No, I'm busy with a novel."
“Took four years to write it?”
“Took four years to write this?”
“I was obliged to travel and study before I could finish it. These things take more time to work up than outsiders would believe.”
“I had to travel and study before I could finish it. These things take more time to develop than outsiders realize.”
“Seems to me our war was a finer story than any you could find in Europe, and the best way to study it would be to fight it out. If you want heroes and heroines you’d have found plenty of ’em there.”
“Looks like our war was a better story than anything you’d find in Europe, and the best way to learn about it would be to actually fight it. If you want heroes and heroines, you’d have found plenty of them there.”
“I have no doubt of it, and shall be glad to atone for my seeming neglect of them by hearing about your own exploits, Major.”
“I’m sure of it, and I’d be happy to make up for my apparent neglect of them by hearing about your own adventures, Major.”
Randal hoped to turn the conversation gracefully; but Saul was not to be caught, and left the room, saying, with a gleam of fun in his eye,—
Randal wanted to steer the conversation smoothly; but Saul wasn’t having it, and he left the room, saying, with a twinkle of humor in his eye,—
“I can’t stop now; heroes can wait, pigs can’t.”
“I can’t stop now; heroes can wait, pigs can’t.”
The girls laughed at this sudden descent from the sublime to the ridiculous, and Randal joined them, feeling his condescension had not been unobserved.
The girls laughed at this abrupt shift from the amazing to the absurd, and Randal joined in, realizing that his condescension hadn't gone unnoticed.
As if drawn by the merry sound Aunt Plumy appeared, and being established in the rocking-chair fell to talking as easily as if she had known her guests for years.
As if pulled in by the cheerful sound, Aunt Plumy showed up, and after settling into the rocking chair, she started chatting as effortlessly as if she had known her guests for years.
“Laugh away, young folks, that’s better for digestion than any of the messes people use. Are you troubled with dyspepsy, dear? You didn’t seem to take your vittles very hearty, so I mistrusted you was delicate,” she said, looking at Emily, whose pale cheeks and weary eyes told the story of late hours and a gay life.
“Laugh it off, kids, that’s better for digestion than all the junk people eat. Are you having trouble with indigestion, dear? You didn’t seem to enjoy your food much, so I thought you might be feeling fragile,” she said, looking at Emily, whose pale cheeks and tired eyes revealed the story of late nights and an active social life.
“I haven’t eaten so much for years, I assure you, Mrs. Basset; but it was impossible to taste all your good things. I am not dyspeptic, thank you, but a little seedy and tired, for I’ve been working rather hard lately.”
“I haven’t eaten this much in years, I promise you, Mrs. Basset; but it was impossible to try all your delicious food. I’m not feeling sick, thank you, just a bit worn out and tired because I’ve been working pretty hard lately.”
“Be you a teacher? or have you a ‘perfessun,’ as they call a trade nowadays?” asked the old lady in a tone of kindly interest, which prevented a laugh at the idea of Emily’s being anything but a beauty and a belle. The others kept their countenances with difficulty, and she answered demurely,—
“Are you a teacher? Or do you have a ‘profession,’ as they call a job these days?” asked the old lady in a tone of genuine curiosity, which stopped anyone from laughing at the thought of Emily being anything other than a beauty and a socialite. The others struggled to keep straight faces, and she replied modestly,—
“I have no trade as yet, but I dare say I should be happier if I had.”
“I don’t have a job yet, but I bet I’d be happier if I did.”
“Not a doubt on’t, my dear.”
"There's no doubt about it, my dear."
“What would you recommend, ma’am?”
“What do you recommend, ma'am?”
“I should say dressmakin’ was rather in your line, ain’t it. Your clothes is dreadful tasty, and do you credit if you made ’em yourself,” and Aunt Plumy surveyed with feminine interest the simple elegance of the travelling dress which was the masterpiece of a French modiste.
“I have to say, making clothes is definitely your thing, isn’t it? Your outfits are super stylish, and I really credit you if you made them yourself,” Aunt Plumy said, looking with feminine interest at the simple elegance of the traveling dress, which was the masterpiece of a French designer.
“No, ma’am, I don’t make my own things, I’m too lazy. It takes so much time and trouble to select them that I have only strength left to wear them.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t make my own things; I’m too lazy. It takes so much time and effort to choose them that I only have energy left to wear them.”
“Housekeepin’ used to be the favorite perfessun in my day. It ain’t fashionable now, but it needs a sight of trainin’ to be perfect in all that’s required, and I’ve an idee it would be a sight healthier and usefuller than the paintin’ and music and fancy work young women do nowadays.”
“Housekeeping used to be the favorite profession in my day. It’s not fashionable now, but it requires a lot of training to excel in everything that's needed, and I have a feeling it would be much healthier and more useful than the painting, music, and fancy crafts young women do these days.”
“But every one wants some beauty in their lives, and each one has a different sphere to fill, if one can only find it.”
“But everyone wants some beauty in their lives, and each person has a different role to play, if only they can find it.”
“’Pears to me there’s no call for so much art when nater is full of beauty for them that can see and love it. As for ‘spears’ and so on, I’ve a notion if each of us did up our own little chores smart and thorough we needn’t go wanderin’ round to set the world to rights. That’s the Lord’s job, and I presume to say He can do it without any advice of ourn.”
“Seems to me there’s no need for so much art when nature is full of beauty for those who can see and appreciate it. As for opinions and such, I think if each of us handled our own little tasks well and completely, we wouldn’t need to go wandering around trying to fix the world. That’s God’s job, and I believe He can handle it without our input.”
Something in the homely but true words seemed to rebuke the three listeners for wasted lives, and for a moment there was no sound but the crackle of the fire, the brisk click of the old lady’s knitting needles, and Ruth’s voice singing overhead as she made ready to join the party below.
Something in the simple yet truthful words felt like a reprimand to the three listeners for their unfulfilled lives, and for a moment, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire, the sharp click of the old lady’s knitting needles, and Ruth’s voice singing above as she prepared to join the gathering below.
“To judge by that sweet sound you have done one of your ‘chores’ very beautifully, Mrs. Basset, and in spite of the follies of our day, succeeded in keeping one girl healthy, happy and unspoiled,” said Emily, looking up into the peaceful old face with her own lovely one full of respect and envy.
“To judge by that sweet sound, you’ve done one of your ‘chores’ really well, Mrs. Basset, and despite the craziness of our times, you’ve managed to keep one girl healthy, happy, and unspoiled,” said Emily, looking up at the calm old face with her own beautiful one full of respect and envy.
“I do hope so, for she’s my ewe lamb, the last of four dear little girls; all the rest are in the burying ground ’side of father. I don’t expect to keep her long, and don’t ought to regret when I lose her, for Saul is the best of sons; but daughters is more to mothers somehow, and I always yearn over girls that is left without a broodin’ wing to keep ’em safe and warm in this world of tribulation.”
“I really hope so, because she’s my little lamb, the last of four sweet girls; all the others are in the cemetery beside my father. I don’t expect to have her for long, and I shouldn’t regret losing her, since Saul is the best son; but daughters mean more to mothers for some reason, and I always feel a strong connection to the girls who are left without a caring wing to keep them safe and warm in this troubled world.”
Aunt Plumy laid her hand on Sophie’s head as she spoke, with such a motherly look that both girls drew nearer, and Randal resolved to put her in a book without delay.
Aunt Plumy placed her hand on Sophie’s head as she spoke, with such a caring expression that both girls moved closer, and Randal decided to include her in a book right away.
Presently Saul returned with little Ruth hanging on his arm and shyly nestling near him as he took the three-cornered leathern chair in the chimney nook, while she sat on a stool close by.
Currently, Saul came back with little Ruth clinging to his arm, shyly snuggling up to him as he settled into the three-legged leather chair in the corner by the fireplace, while she sat on a stool nearby.
“Now the circle is complete and the picture perfect. Don’t light the lamps yet, please, but talk away and let me make a mental study of you. I seldom find so charming a scene to paint,” said Randal, beginning to enjoy himself immensely, with a true artist’s taste for novelty and effect.
“Now the circle is complete and the picture perfect. Don’t light the lamps yet, please, but keep talking and let me take a mental picture of you. I rarely come across such a charming scene to paint,” said Randal, starting to enjoy himself immensely, with a true artist’s appreciation for novelty and impact.
“Tell us about your book, for we have been reading it as it comes out in the magazine, and are much exercised about how it’s going to end,” began Saul, gallantly throwing himself into the breach, for a momentary embarrassment fell upon the women at the idea of sitting for their portraits before they were ready.
“Tell us about your book, because we’ve been reading it as it comes out in the magazine, and we're really curious about how it’s going to end,” Saul started, bravely stepping in, as a brief awkwardness spread among the women at the thought of posing for their portraits before they felt prepared.
“Do you really read my poor serial up here, and do me the honor to like it?” asked the novelist, both flattered and amused, for his work was of the æsthetic sort, microscopic studies of character, and careful pictures of modern life.
“Do you actually read my struggling serial up here, and do me the favor of liking it?” asked the novelist, both flattered and amused, because his work was of the artistic kind, detailed studies of character, and careful depictions of modern life.
“Sakes alive, why shouldn’t we,” cried Aunt Plumy. “We have some eddication, though we ain’t very genteel. We’ve got a town libry, kep up by the women mostly, with fairs and tea parties and so on. We have all the magazines reg’lar, and Saul reads out the pieces while Ruth sews and I knit, my eyes bein’ poor. Our winter is long and evenins would be kinder lonesome if we didn’t have novils and newspapers to cheer ’em up.”
“Goodness, why not?” Aunt Plumy exclaimed. “We have some education, even if we're not very fancy. We have a town library, mostly maintained by the women, with fairs and tea parties and everything. We get all the magazines regularly, and Saul reads the articles while Ruth sews and I knit, since my eyesight isn’t great. Our winters are long, and the evenings would be quite lonely if we didn’t have novels and newspapers to brighten them up.”
“I am very glad I can help to beguile them for you. Now tell me what you honestly think of my work? Criticism is always valuable, and I should really like yours, Mrs. Basset,” said Randal, wondering what the good woman would make of the delicate analysis and worldly wisdom on which he prided himself.
“I’m really glad I can help entertain them for you. Now, what do you honestly think of my work? Feedback is always valuable, and I would really like yours, Mrs. Basset,” said Randal, curious about what the good woman would think of the subtle analysis and worldly wisdom he took pride in.
Short work, as Aunt Plumy soon showed him, for she rather enjoyed freeing her mind at all times, and decidedly resented the insinuation that country folk could not appreciate light literature as well as city people.
Short work, as Aunt Plumy quickly demonstrated to him, because she really liked expressing her thoughts openly and definitely disliked the suggestion that country folks couldn’t enjoy light reading as much as city people.
“I ain’t no great of a jedge about anything but nat’ralness of books, and it really does seem as if some of your men and women was dreadful uncomfortable creaters. ’Pears to me it ain’t wise to be always pickin’ ourselves to pieces and pryin’ into things that ought to come gradual by way of experience and the visitations of Providence. Flowers won’t blow worth a cent ef you pull ’em open. Better wait and see what they can do alone. I do relish the smart sayins, the odd ways of furrin parts, and the sarcastic slaps at folkses weak spots. But, massy knows, we can’t live on spice-cake and Charlotte Ruche, and I do feel as if books was more sustainin’ ef they was full of every-day people and things, like good bread and butter. Them that goes to the heart and ain’t soon forgotten is the kind I hanker for. Mis Terry’s books now, and Mis Stowe’s, and Dickens’s Christmas pieces,—them is real sweet and cheerin’, to my mind.”
“I’m not really an expert on anything except the naturalness of books, but it really seems like some of your men and women are pretty uncomfortable creatures. It seems to me that it’s not wise to constantly dissect ourselves and pry into things that should come naturally through experience and the workings of Providence. Flowers won’t bloom worth much if you force them open. It’s better to wait and see what they can do on their own. I do enjoy clever sayings, the unusual customs from foreign places, and the sarcastic digs at people’s weaknesses. But, good grief, we can’t live on fancy desserts alone, and I feel like books are more satisfying when they’re full of everyday people and things, like good bread and butter. The kind that touches the heart and isn’t easily forgotten is what I long for. Mrs. Terry’s books, and Mrs. Stowe’s, and Dickens’s Christmas stories—they are truly sweet and uplifting, in my opinion.”
As the blunt old lady paused it was evident she had produced a sensation, for Saul smiled at the fire, Ruth looked dismayed at this assault upon one of her idols, and the young ladies were both astonished and amused at the keenness of the new critic who dared express what they had often felt. Randal, however, was quite composed and laughed good-naturedly, though secretly feeling as if a pail of cold water had been poured over him.
As the straightforward old lady paused, it was clear she had made an impression. Saul smiled at the fire, Ruth looked shocked by this attack on one of her heroes, and the young women were both surprised and entertained by the boldness of the new critic who dared to say what they had often thought. Randal, however, remained calm and laughed good-naturedly, even though he secretly felt like someone had doused him with a bucket of cold water.
“Many thanks, madam; you have discovered my weak point with surprising accuracy. But you see I cannot help ‘picking folks to pieces,’ as you have expressed it; that is my gift, and it has its attractions, as the sale of my books will testify. People like the ‘spice-bread,’ and as that is the only sort my oven will bake, I must keep on in order to make my living.”
“Thank you very much, ma'am; you’ve surprisingly hit the nail on the head about my weakness. But you see, I can't help 'analyzing people,' as you've put it; that’s my talent, and it has its perks, as my book sales show. People enjoy the 'spice-bread,' and since it's the only kind I can make, I have to keep at it to earn a living.”
“So rumsellers say, but it ain’t a good trade to foller, and I’d chop wood ’fore I’d earn my livin’ harmin’ my feller man. ’Pears to me I’d let my oven cool a spell, and hunt up some homely, happy folks to write about; folks that don’t borrer trouble and go lookin’ for holes in their neighbors’ coats, but take their lives brave and cheerful; and rememberin’ we are all human, have pity on the weak, and try to be as full of mercy, patience and lovin’ kindness as Him who made us. That sort of a book would do a heap of good; be real warmin’ and strengthenin’, and make them that read it love the man that wrote it, and remember him when he was dead and gone.”
“So the people who sell rum say, but that’s not a good way to make a living, and I’d rather chop wood before I’d earn my living by hurting my fellow man. It seems to me I’d let my oven cool for a bit and find some ordinary, happy people to write about; people that don’t borrow trouble and don’t go looking for faults in their neighbors, but take life bravely and cheerfully; and remembering we’re all human, have compassion for the weak, and try to be as full of mercy, patience, and kindness as the one who created us. That kind of book would do a lot of good; it would be really warming and strengthening, and make those who read it love the person who wrote it and remember him when he’s gone.”
“I wish I could!” and Randal meant what he said, for he was as tired of his own style, as a watch-maker might be of the magnifying glass through which he strains his eyes all day. He knew that the heart was left out of his work, and that both mind and soul were growing morbid with dwelling on the faulty, absurd and metaphysical phases of life and character. He often threw down his pen and vowed he would write no more; but he loved ease and the books brought money readily; he was accustomed to the stimulant of praise and missed it as the toper misses his wine, so that which had once been a pleasure to himself and others was fast becoming a burden and a disappointment.
“I wish I could!” Randal truly meant it, as he was as tired of his own style as a watchmaker might be of the magnifying glass he uses to strain his eyes all day. He realized that his work lacked heart, and both his mind and soul were becoming unhealthy from fixating on the flawed, absurd, and metaphysical aspects of life and character. He often slammed down his pen and swore he would write no more; but he enjoyed comfort, and the books brought in money easily. He was used to the boost of praise and missed it like an alcoholic misses his wine, so what once brought pleasure to himself and others was quickly turning into a burden and disappointment.
The brief pause which followed his involuntary betrayal of discontent was broken by Ruth, who exclaimed, with a girlish enthusiasm that overpowered girlish bashfulness,—
The short pause after his unintentional display of dissatisfaction was interrupted by Ruth, who exclaimed with a youthful excitement that overwhelmed her shyness,—
“I think all the novels are splendid! I hope you will write hundreds more, and I shall live to read ’em.”
I think all the novels are amazing! I hope you write hundreds more, and I’ll be around to read them.
“Bravo, my gentle champion! I promise that I will write one more at least, and have a heroine in it whom your mother will both admire and love,” answered Randal, surprised to find how grateful he was for the girl’s approval, and how rapidly his trained fancy began to paint the background on which he hoped to copy this fresh, human daisy.
“Bravo, my kind champion! I promise I’ll write at least one more, and have a heroine in it that your mother will admire and love,” Randal replied, surprised by how grateful he felt for the girl’s approval, and how quickly his trained imagination began to sketch the backdrop on which he hoped to capture this fresh, human daisy.
Abashed by her involuntary outburst, Ruth tried to efface herself behind Saul’s broad shoulder, and he brought the conversation back to its starting-point by saying in a tone of the most sincere interest,—
Abashed by her unexpected outburst, Ruth tried to hide behind Saul’s broad shoulder, and he steered the conversation back to where it started by saying in a tone of genuine interest,—
“Speaking of the serial, I am very anxious to know how your hero comes out. He is a fine fellow, and I can’t decide whether he is going to spoil his life marrying that silly woman, or do something grand and generous, and not be made a fool of.”
“Speaking of the serial, I’m really eager to find out how your hero turns out. He’s a great guy, and I can’t figure out if he’s going to ruin his life by marrying that silly woman, or if he’ll do something amazing and generous, and not let himself be tricked.”
“Upon my soul, I don’t know myself. It is very hard to find new finales. Can’t you suggest something, Major? then I shall not be obliged to leave my story without an end, as people complain I am rather fond of doing.”
“Honestly, I don’t even know who I am anymore. It’s really tough to come up with new endings. Can’t you suggest something, Major? That way, I won’t have to leave my story unfinished, which people say I tend to do.”
“Well, no, I don’t think I’ve anything to offer. Seems to me it isn’t the sensational exploits that show the hero best, but some great sacrifice quietly made by a common sort of man who is noble without knowing it. I saw a good many such during the war, and often wish I could write them down, for it is surprising how much courage, goodness and real piety is stowed away in common folks ready to show when the right time comes.”
“Well, no, I don’t think I have anything to offer. It seems to me that it’s not the dramatic adventures that reveal the hero best, but rather some significant sacrifice quietly made by an ordinary person who is noble without even realizing it. I saw a lot of people like that during the war, and I often wish I could write their stories down, because it’s surprising how much courage, goodness, and genuine faith is packed away in everyday people, ready to show up when the right moment comes.”
“Tell us one of them, and I’ll bless you for a hint. No one knows the anguish of an author’s spirit when he can’t ring down the curtain on an effective tableau,” said Randal, with a glance at his friends to ask their aid in eliciting an anecdote or reminiscence.
“Tell us one of them, and I’ll reward you for a clue. No one understands the pain of a writer's soul when they can't end a powerful scene,” said Randal, looking at his friends for help in getting an anecdote or memory out of them.
“Tell about the splendid fellow who held the bridge, like Horatius, till help came up. That was a thrilling story, I assure you,” answered Sophie, with an inviting smile.
“Tell me about the amazing guy who stood guard at the bridge, like Horatius, until help arrived. That was such an exciting story, I promise you,” Sophie replied, beaming with a friendly smile.
But Saul would not be his own hero, and said briefly:
But Saul wouldn't be his own hero and simply said:
“Any man can be brave when the battle-fever is on him, and it only takes a little physical courage to dash ahead.” He paused a moment, with his eyes on the snowy landscape without, where twilight was deepening; then, as if constrained by the memory that winter scene evoked, he slowly continued,—
“Any guy can be brave when adrenaline is pumping, and it only takes a bit of physical courage to rush forward.” He paused for a moment, looking at the snowy landscape outside, where twilight was settling in; then, as if held back by the memory that winter scene brought up, he slowly continued,—
“One of the bravest things I ever knew was done by a poor fellow who has been a hero to me ever since, though I only met him that night. It was after one of the big battles of that last winter, and I was knocked over with a broken leg and two or three bullets here and there. Night was coming on, snow falling, and a sharp wind blew over the field where a lot of us lay, dead and alive, waiting for the ambulance to come and pick us up. There was skirmishing going on not far off, and our prospects were rather poor between frost and fire. I was calculating how I’d manage, when I found two poor chaps close by who were worse off, so I braced up and did what I could for them. One had an arm blown away, and kept up a dreadful groaning. The other was shot bad, and bleeding to death for want of help, but never complained. He was nearest, and I liked his pluck, for he spoke cheerful and made me ashamed to growl. Such times make dreadful brutes of men if they haven’t something to hold on to, and all three of us were most wild with pain and cold and hunger, for we’d fought all day fasting, when we heard a rumble in the road below, and saw lanterns bobbing round. That meant life to us, and we all tried to holler; two of us, were pretty faint, but I managed a good yell, and they heard it.
“One of the bravest things I ever saw was done by a poor guy who became a hero to me from that moment on, even though I only met him that night. It was after one of the big battles that last winter, and I was on the ground with a broken leg and a couple of bullets here and there. Night was falling, snow was falling, and a sharp wind was blowing across the field where many of us lay, dead and alive, waiting for the ambulance to come and pick us up. There was skirmishing happening nearby, and our chances didn’t look good between the freezing cold and the fire. I was figuring out how I would manage when I found two poor guys close by who were in worse shape, so I toughened up and did what I could to help them. One had an arm blown off and was groaning terribly. The other was badly shot and bleeding to death for lack of help, but he never complained. He was closest to me, and I admired his courage, as he spoke cheerfully and made me feel ashamed to complain. Times like that can turn men into terrible creatures if they don’t have something to hold on to, and all three of us were almost wild with pain, cold, and hunger, as we’d fought all day without food, when we heard a rumble on the road below, and saw lanterns bobbing around. That meant life for us, and we all tried to shout; two of us were pretty faint, but I managed a good yell, and they heard it."
“‘Room for one more. Hard luck, old boys, but we are full and must save the worst wounded first. Take a drink, and hold on till we come back,’ says one of them with the stretcher.
“‘Room for one more. Tough luck, guys, but we’re full and have to prioritize the severely injured first. Grab a drink and hang on until we return,’ says one of them with the stretcher.”
“‘Here’s the one to go,’ I says, pointin’ out my man, for I saw by the light that he was hard hit.
“‘Here’s the one to go,’ I said, pointing out my man, because I could see by the light that he was seriously injured.
“‘No, that one. He’s got more chances than I, or this one; he’s young and got a mother; I’ll wait,’ said the good feller, touchin’ my arm, for he’d heard me mutterin’ to myself about this dear old lady. We always want mother when we are down, you know.”
“‘No, that one. He has more chances than I do, or this one; he’s young and has a mother; I’ll wait,’ said the good guy, touching my arm, since he’d heard me muttering to myself about this dear old lady. We always want our mom when we’re feeling low, you know.”
Saul’s eyes turned to the beloved face with a glance of tenderest affection, and Aunt Plumy answered with a dismal groan at the recollection of his need that night, and her absence.
Saul’s eyes went to the beloved face with an expression of the deepest affection, and Aunt Plumy responded with a gloomy groan as she remembered his need that night and her absence.
“Well, to be short, the groaning chap was taken, and my man left. I was mad, but there was no time for talk, and the selfish one went off and left that poor feller to run his one chance. I had my rifle, and guessed I could hobble up to use it if need be; so we settled back to wait without much hope of help, everything being in a muddle. And wait we did till morning, for that ambulance did not come back till next day, when most of us were past needing it.
“Well, to keep it brief, the guy who was groaning got taken, and my guy left. I was furious, but there was no time for discussion, and the selfish one took off, leaving that poor guy to handle his one chance. I had my rifle and figured I could limp over to use it if necessary; so we settled back to wait without much hope of help, everything being in chaos. And wait we did until morning, because that ambulance didn't come back until the next day, when most of us no longer needed it.”
“I’ll never forget that night. I dream it all over again as plain as if it was real. Snow, cold, darkness, hunger, thirst, pain, and all round us cries and cursing growing less and less, till at last only the wind went moaning over that meadow. It was awful! so lonesome, helpless, and seemingly God-forsaken. Hour after hour we lay there side by side under one coat, waiting to be saved or die, for the wind grew strong and we grew weak.”
“I’ll never forget that night. I dream about it as clearly as if it were real. Snow, cold, darkness, hunger, thirst, pain, and all around us cries and curses fading away, until finally, only the wind was moaning across that meadow. It was terrible! So lonely, helpless, and seemingly abandoned by God. Hour after hour, we lay there side by side under one coat, waiting to be rescued or to die, as the wind got stronger and we grew weaker.”
Saul drew a long breath, and held his hands to the fire as if he felt again the sharp suffering of that night.
Saul took a deep breath and held his hands to the fire as if he were reliving the intense pain of that night.
“And the man?” asked Emily, softly, as if reluctant to break the silence.
“And the man?” Emily asked softly, as if she didn’t want to interrupt the silence.
“He was a man! In times like that men talk like brothers and show what they are. Lying there, slowly freezing, Joe Cummings told me about his wife and babies, his old folks waiting for him, all depending on him, yet all ready to give him up when he was needed. A plain man, but honest and true, and loving as a woman; I soon saw that as he went on talking, half to me and half to himself, for sometimes he wandered a little toward the end. I’ve read books, heard sermons, and seen good folks, but nothing ever came so close or did me so much good as seeing this man die. He had one chance and gave it cheerfully. He longed for those he loved, and let ’em go with a good-by they couldn’t hear. He suffered all the pains we most shrink from without a murmur, and kept my heart warm while his own was growing cold. It’s no use trying to tell that part of it; but I heard prayers that night that meant something, and I saw how faith could hold a soul up when everything was gone but God.”
“He was a man! In times like that, men talk like brothers and show who they really are. Lying there, slowly freezing, Joe Cummings told me about his wife and kids, his parents waiting for him, all depending on him, yet all ready to let him go when he was needed. He was a simple man, but honest and true, and full of love like a woman; I soon noticed that as he kept talking, half to me and half to himself, because sometimes he drifted a little toward the end. I’ve read books, heard sermons, and met good people, but nothing ever affected me more or did me as much good as watching this man die. He had one chance and took it with grace. He missed those he loved and said goodbye in a way they couldn’t hear. He endured all the pains we most try to avoid without a complaint, and kept my heart warm while his own was getting cold. It’s hard to describe that part; but I heard prayers that night that actually meant something, and I saw how faith could keep a soul strong when everything else was gone except for God.”
Saul stopped there with a sudden huskiness in his deep voice, and when he went on it was in the tone of one who speaks of a dear friend.
Saul paused there with a sudden roughness in his deep voice, and when he continued, it was in the tone of someone talking about a close friend.
“Joe grew still by and by, and I thought he was asleep, for I felt his breath when I tucked him up, and his hand held on to mine. The cold sort of numbed me, and I dropped off, too weak and stupid to think or feel. I never should have waked up if it hadn’t been for Joe. When I came to, it was morning, and I thought I was dead, for all I could see was that great field of white mounds, like graves, and a splendid sky above. Then I looked for Joe, remembering; but he had put my coat back over me, and lay stiff and still under the snow that covered him like a shroud, all except his face. A bit of my cape had blown over it, and when I took it off and the sun shone on his dead face, I declare to you it was so full of heavenly peace I felt as if that common man had been glorified by God’s light, and rewarded by God’s ‘Well done.’ That’s all.”
“Joe became quiet after a while, and I thought he was asleep because I could feel his breath when I tucked him in, and his hand was holding mine. The cold numbed me, and I drifted off, too weak and dazed to think or feel. I wouldn’t have woken up if it hadn’t been for Joe. When I finally came to, it was morning, and I thought I was dead because all I could see was that vast field of white mounds, like graves, and a beautiful sky above. Then I looked for Joe, remembering; but he had placed my coat back over me and lay stiff and still under the snow that covered him like a shroud, except for his face. A bit of my cape had blown over it, and when I removed it and the sun shone on his lifeless face, I swear it looked so full of heavenly peace that I felt as if that ordinary man had been glorified by God’s light, rewarded by God’s ‘Well done.’ That’s all.”
No one spoke for a moment, while the women wiped their eyes, and Saul dropped his as if to hide something softer than tears.
No one said anything for a moment, while the women wiped their eyes, and Saul looked down as if to hide something more vulnerable than tears.
“It was very noble, very touching. And you? how did you get off at last?” asked Randal, with real admiration and respect in his usually languid face.
“It was really admirable, really moving. And you? How did you finally manage it?” asked Randal, with genuine admiration and respect in his usually sluggish expression.
“Crawled off,” answered Saul, relapsing into his former brevity of speech.
“Crawled off,” Saul replied, slipping back into his usual short answers.
“Why not before, and save yourself all that misery?”
“Why didn’t you do it earlier and spare yourself all that pain?”
“Couldn’t leave Joe.”
"Couldn't leave Joe."
“Ah, I see; there were two heroes that night.”
“Ah, I get it; there were two heroes that night.”
“Dozens, I’ve no doubt. Those were times that made heroes of men, and women, too.”
“Definitely dozens. Those were the times that turned men and women into heroes.”
“Tell us more;” begged Emily, looking up with an expression none of her admirers ever brought to her face by their softest compliments or wiliest gossip.
“Tell us more,” begged Emily, looking up with an expression that none of her admirers ever inspired with their kindest compliments or cleverest gossip.
“I’ve done my part. It’s Mr. Randal’s turn now;” and Saul drew himself out of the ruddy circle of firelight, as if ashamed of the prominent part he was playing.
“I’ve done my part. Now it’s Mr. Randal’s turn;” and Saul stepped back from the warm glow of the firelight, as if embarrassed by the attention he was getting.
Sophie and her friend had often heard Randal talk, for he was an accomplished raconteur, but that night he exerted himself, and was unusually brilliant and entertaining, as if upon his mettle. The Bassets were charmed. They sat late and were very merry, for Aunt Plumy got up a little supper for them, and her cider was as exhilarating as champagne. When they parted for the night and Sophie kissed her aunt, Emily did the same, saying heartily,—
Sophie and her friend had often listened to Randal, as he was a great storyteller, but that night he really brought his A-game and was exceptionally captivating and fun, as if he was trying to impress them. The Bassets were delighted. They stayed up late and had a wonderful time because Aunt Plumy prepared a light supper for them, and her cider was as refreshing as champagne. When they said goodnight and Sophie kissed her aunt, Emily did the same, saying warmly,—
“It seems as if I’d known you all my life, and this is certainly the most enchanting old place that ever was.”
“It feels like I’ve known you forever, and this is definitely the most charming old place there ever was.”
“Glad you like it, dear. But it ain’t all fun, as you’ll find out to-morrow when you go to work, for Sophie says you must,” answered Mrs. Basset, as her guests trooped away, rashly promising to like everything.
“Glad you like it, dear. But it’s not all fun, as you’ll find out tomorrow when you go to work, because Sophie says you have to,” answered Mrs. Basset, as her guests left, foolishly promising to like everything.
They found it difficult to keep their word when they were called at half past six next morning. Their rooms were warm, however, and they managed to scramble down in time for breakfast, guided by the fragrance of coffee and Aunt Plumy’s shrill voice singing the good old hymn—
They found it hard to stick to their promise when they were woken up at half past six the next morning. Their rooms were cozy, though, and they managed to rush down in time for breakfast, following the smell of coffee and Aunt Plumy’s loud voice singing the classic hymn—
An open fire blazed on the hearth, for the cooking was done in the lean-to, and the spacious, sunny kitchen was kept in all its old-fashioned perfection, with the wooden settle in a warm nook, the tall clock behind the door, copper and pewter utensils shining on the dresser, old china in the corner closet and a little spinning wheel rescued from the garret by Sophie to adorn the deep window, full of scarlet geraniums, Christmas roses, and white chrysanthemums.
An open fire crackled in the fireplace, since the cooking was done in the lean-to, and the large, sunny kitchen was maintained in all its traditional charm, with the wooden bench in a cozy corner, the tall clock behind the door, copper and pewter utensils gleaming on the dresser, old china in the corner cabinet, and a little spinning wheel that Sophie saved from the attic to decorate the deep window, filled with bright red geraniums, Christmas roses, and white chrysanthemums.
The young lady, in a checked apron and mob-cap, greeted her friends with a dish of buckwheats in one hand, and a pair of cheeks that proved she had been learning to fry these delectable cakes.
The young woman, wearing a checked apron and a mob cap, greeted her friends with a plate of buckwheat pancakes in one hand and rosy cheeks that showed she had been perfecting her frying skills.
“You do ‘keep it up’ in earnest, upon my word; and very becoming it is, dear. But won’t you ruin your complexion and roughen your hands if you do so much of this new fancy-work?” asked Emily, much amazed at this novel freak.
“You really stick to it, I swear; and it suits you very well, darling. But aren't you going to mess up your skin and roughen your hands if you do this much of this new craft?” asked Emily, quite surprised by this new obsession.
“I like it, and really believe I’ve found my proper sphere at last. Domestic life seems so pleasant to me that I feel as if I’d better keep it up for the rest of my life,” answered Sophie, making a pretty picture of herself as she cut great slices of brown bread, with the early sunshine touching her happy face.
“I really like it, and I honestly believe I’ve finally found my place. Domestic life feels so enjoyable to me that I think I’d prefer to continue it for the rest of my life,” replied Sophie, creating a lovely image of herself as she cut big slices of brown bread, with the morning sunshine illuminating her cheerful face.
“The charming Miss Vaughan in the rôle of a farmer’s wife. I find it difficult to imagine, and shrink from the thought of the wide-spread dismay such a fate will produce among her adorers,” added Randal, as he basked in the glow of the hospitable fire.
“The delightful Miss Vaughan in the role of a farmer’s wife. I can hardly picture it, and I dread to think of the widespread disappointment such a fate will bring among her admirers,” added Randal, as he enjoyed the warmth of the welcoming fire.
“She might do worse; but come to breakfast and do honor to my handiwork,” said Sophie, thinking of her worn-out millionnaire, and rather nettled by the satiric smile on Randal’s lips.
“She might do worse; but come to breakfast and appreciate my cooking,” said Sophie, thinking of her exhausted millionaire, and feeling a bit annoyed by the sarcastic smile on Randal’s lips.
“What an appetite early rising gives one. I feel equal to almost anything, so let me help wash cups,” said Emily, with unusual energy, when the hearty meal was over and Sophie began to pick up the dishes as if it was her usual work.
“What an appetite getting up early gives you. I feel ready for almost anything, so let me help wash the cups,” said Emily, with unexpected energy, when the big meal was over and Sophie started to clear the dishes as if it were her regular job.
Ruth went to the window to water the flowers, and Randal followed to make himself agreeable, remembering her defence of him last night. He was used to admiration from feminine eyes, and flattery from soft lips, but found something new and charming in the innocent delight which showed itself at his approach in blushes more eloquent than words, and shy glances from eyes full of hero-worship.
Ruth went to the window to water the flowers, and Randal followed to be friendly, recalling how she defended him last night. He was used to admiration from women and compliments from soft lips, but he discovered something new and attractive in the innocent joy that appeared as he approached, shown through blushes that spoke louder than words, and shy glances from eyes filled with admiration.
“I hope you are going to spare me a posy for to-morrow night, since I can be fine in no other way to do honor to the dance Miss Sophie proposes for us,” he said, leaning in the bay window to look down on the little girl, with the devoted air he usually wore for pretty women.
“I hope you’ll save me a bouquet for tomorrow night since I can’t look good in any other way to honor the dance Miss Sophie has planned for us,” he said, leaning in the bay window to look down at the little girl, with the attentive expression he usually had for attractive women.
“Anything you like! I should be so glad to have you wear my flowers. There will be enough for all, and I’ve nothing else to give to people who have made me as happy as cousin Sophie and you,” answered Ruth, half drowning her great calla as she spoke with grateful warmth.
“Anything you want! I’d be so happy to have you wear my flowers. There will be plenty for everyone, and I don’t have anything else to give to people who have made me as happy as cousin Sophie and you,” answered Ruth, nearly drowning her large calla lily as she spoke with grateful warmth.
“You must make her happy by accepting the invitation to go home with her which I heard given last night. A peep at the world would do you good, and be a pleasant change, I think.”
“You should make her happy by accepting her invitation to go home with her that I heard about last night. A glimpse of the world would do you good and be a nice change, I believe.”
“Oh, very pleasant! but would it do me good?” and Ruth looked up with sudden seriousness in her blue eyes, as a child questions an elder, eager, yet wistful.
“Oh, that sounds nice! But would it actually help me?” Ruth said, looking up with a sudden seriousness in her blue eyes, like a child asking an adult, both eager and a bit wishful.
“Why not?” asked Randal, wondering at the hesitation.
“Why not?” asked Randal, curious about the hesitation.
“I might grow discontented with things here if I saw splendid houses and fine people. I am very happy now, and it would break my heart to lose that happiness, or ever learn to be ashamed of home.”
“I might become unhappy with things here if I saw amazing houses and impressive people. I’m really happy right now, and it would break my heart to lose that happiness or ever feel ashamed of my home.”
“But don’t you long for more pleasure, new scenes and other friends than these?” asked the man, touched by the little creature’s loyalty to the things she knew and loved.
“But don’t you crave more joy, new experiences, and different friends besides these?” asked the man, moved by the little creature’s loyalty to what she knew and loved.
“Very often, but mother says when I’m ready they will come, so I wait and try not to be impatient.” But Ruth’s eyes looked out over the green leaves as if the longing was very strong within her to see more of the unknown world lying beyond the mountains that hemmed her in.
“Very often, but my mom says when I’m ready they will come, so I wait and try not to be impatient.” But Ruth’s eyes gazed over the green leaves as if she had a strong desire to see more of the unknown world beyond the mountains that surrounded her.
“It is natural for birds to hop out of the nest, so I shall expect to see you over there before long, and ask you how you enjoy your first flight,” said Randal, in a paternal tone that had a curious effect on Ruth.
“It’s natural for birds to leave the nest, so I expect to see you over there soon and ask you how you’re enjoying your first flight,” Randal said, in a fatherly tone that had a strange effect on Ruth.
To his surprise, she laughed, then blushed like one of her own roses, and answered with a demure dignity that was very pretty to see.
To his surprise, she laughed, then blushed like one of her own roses, and responded with a shy dignity that was very nice to see.
“I intend to hop soon, but it won’t be a very long flight or very far from mother. She can’t spare me, and nobody in the world can fill her place to me.”
“I plan to leave soon, but it won’t be a long trip or far from my mom. She can’t let me go, and no one in the world can take her place for me.”
“Bless the child, does she think I’m going to make love to her,” thought Randal, much amused, but quite mistaken. Wiser women had thought so when he assumed the caressing air with which he beguiled them into the little revelations of character he liked to use, as the south wind makes flowers open their hearts to give up their odor, then leaves them to carry it elsewhere, the more welcome for the stolen sweetness.
“Bless the child, does she think I’m going to make love to her?” thought Randal, feeling quite amused but totally wrong. More astute women had believed so when he took on the charming demeanor that drew them into the little character insights he enjoyed using, like the south wind making flowers bloom to share their fragrance, only to leave them to carry that sweetness elsewhere, even more appreciated for the stolen allure.
“Perhaps you are right. The maternal wing is a safe shelter for confiding little souls like you, Miss Ruth. You will be as comfortable here as your flowers in this sunny window,” he said, carelessly pinching geranium leaves, and ruffling the roses till the pink petals of the largest fluttered to the floor.
“Maybe you’re right. The maternal wing is a safe haven for trusting little souls like you, Miss Ruth. You’ll be just as comfortable here as your flowers in this sunny window,” he said, casually pinching geranium leaves and disturbing the roses until the largest pink petals fell to the floor.
As if she instinctively felt and resented something in the man which his act symbolized, the girl answered quietly, as she went on with her work, “Yes, if the frost does not touch me, or careless people spoil me too soon.”
As if she could instinctively sense and dislike something in the man that his action represented, the girl replied calmly while continuing her work, “Yes, if the frost doesn’t get to me, or if careless people don’t ruin me too soon.”
Before Randal could reply Aunt Plumy approached like a maternal hen who sees her chicken in danger.
Before Randal could respond, Aunt Plumy came over like a protective hen that sees her chick in trouble.
“Saul is goin’ to haul wood after he’s done his chores, mebbe you’d like to go along? The view is good, the roads well broke, and the day uncommon fine.”
“Saul is going to haul wood after he finishes his chores, maybe you’d like to come along? The view is great, the roads are in good shape, and the weather is really nice.”
“Thanks; it will be delightful, I dare say,” politely responded the lion, with a secret shudder at the idea of a rural promenade at 8 A.M. in the winter.
“Thanks; it will be great, I must say,” politely replied the lion, secretly shuddering at the thought of a country walk at 8 AM in the winter.
“Come on, then; we’ll feed the stock, and then I’ll show you how to yoke oxen,” said Saul, with a twinkle in his eye as he led the way, when his new aide had muffled himself up as if for a polar voyage.
“Come on, then; we’ll feed the animals, and then I’ll show you how to yoke oxen,” Saul said, his eyes sparkling as he led the way, while his new assistant had bundled himself up as if he were preparing for a trip to the Arctic.
“Now, that’s too bad of Saul! He did it on purpose, just to please you, Sophie,” cried Ruth presently, and the girls ran to the window to behold Randal bravely following his host with a pail of pigs’ food in each hand, and an expression of resigned disgust upon his aristocratic face.
“Wow, that's really unfortunate for Saul! He did it on purpose just to make you happy, Sophie,” Ruth exclaimed, and the girls rushed to the window to see Randal confidently trailing his host with a bucket of pig feed in each hand, an expression of resigned disgust on his classy face.
“To what base uses may we come,” quoted Emily, as they all nodded and smiled upon the victim as he looked back from the barn-yard, where he was clamorously welcomed by his new charges.
“To what low uses might we sink,” quoted Emily, as they all nodded and smiled at the victim while he looked back from the barnyard, where he was enthusiastically greeted by his new charges.
“It is rather a shock at first, but it will do him good, and Saul won’t be too hard upon him, I’m sure,” said Sophie, going back to her work, while Ruth turned her best buds to the sun that they might be ready for a peace-offering to-morrow.
“It’s a bit of a shock at first, but it’ll be good for him, and I’m sure Saul won’t be too tough on him,” said Sophie, returning to her work, while Ruth turned her best buds to the sun so they would be ready for a peace offering tomorrow.
There was a merry clatter in the big kitchen for an hour; then Aunt Plumy and her daughter shut themselves up in the pantry to perform some culinary rites, and the young ladies went to inspect certain antique costumes laid forth in Sophie’s room.
There was a cheerful noise in the big kitchen for an hour; then Aunt Plumy and her daughter locked themselves in the pantry to do some cooking rituals, and the young ladies went to check out some vintage costumes displayed in Sophie’s room.
“You see, Em, I thought it would be appropriate to the house and season to have an old-fashioned dance. Aunt has quantities of ancient finery stowed away, for great-grandfather Basset was a fine old gentleman and his family lived in state. Take your choice of the crimson, blue or silver-gray damask. Ruth is to wear the worked muslin and quilted white satin skirt, with that coquettish hat.”
“You see, Em, I thought it would be fitting for the house and the season to have a vintage dance. Aunt has tons of old fancy clothes stored away because great-grandfather Basset was quite the gentleman and his family lived in style. You can choose from the crimson, blue, or silver-gray damask. Ruth is going to wear the embroidered muslin and quilted white satin skirt, along with that flirty hat.”
“Being dark, I’ll take the red and trim it up with this fine lace. You must wear the blue and primrose, with the distracting high-heeled shoes. Have you any suits for the men?” asked Emily, throwing herself at once into the all-absorbing matter of costume.
“Since it’s dark, I’ll go with the red and dress it up with this nice lace. You should wear the blue and primrose, along with those eye-catching high heels. Do you have any suits for the guys?” Emily asked, diving straight into the all-consuming topic of outfits.
“A claret velvet coat and vest, silk stockings, cocked hat and snuff-box for Randal. Nothing large enough for Saul, so he must wear his uniform. Won’t Aunt Plumy be superb in this plum-colored satin and immense cap?”
“A burgundy velvet coat and vest, silk stockings, a tricorne hat, and a snuffbox for Randal. Nothing big enough for Saul, so he has to wear his uniform. Won’t Aunt Plumy look amazing in this plum-colored satin and huge hat?”
A delightful morning was spent in adapting the faded finery of the past to the blooming beauty of the present, and time and tongues flew till the toot of a horn called them down to dinner.
A wonderful morning was spent transforming the worn-out elegance of the past into the vibrant charm of the present, and before they knew it, time had passed and chatter filled the air until the sound of a horn summoned them to dinner.
The girls were amazed to see Randal come whistling up the road with his trousers tucked into his boots, blue mittens on his hands, and an unusual amount of energy in his whole figure, as he drove the oxen, while Saul laughed at his vain attempts to guide the bewildered beasts.
The girls were surprised to see Randal whistling as he walked up the road with his pants tucked into his boots, blue mittens on his hands, and an unusual amount of energy, driving the oxen, while Saul laughed at his futile attempts to steer the confused animals.
“It’s immense! The view from the hill is well worth seeing, for the snow glorifies the landscape and reminds one of Switzerland. I’m going to make a sketch of it this afternoon; better come and enjoy the delicious freshness, young ladies.”
“It’s huge! The view from the hill is definitely worth seeing, because the snow enhances the landscape and brings to mind Switzerland. I’m going to draw it this afternoon; you ladies should come and enjoy the lovely fresh air.”
Randal was eating with such an appetite that he did not see the glances the girls exchanged as they promised to go.
Randal was eating with such enthusiasm that he didn't notice the looks the girls gave each other as they agreed to leave.
“Bring home some more winter-green, I want things to be real nice, and we haven’t enough for the kitchen,” said Ruth, dimpling with girlish delight as she imagined herself dancing under the green garlands in her grandmother’s wedding gown.
“Bring home some more winter greens, I want everything to look really nice, and we don’t have enough for the kitchen,” said Ruth, smiling with girlish delight as she pictured herself dancing under the green garlands in her grandmother’s wedding dress.
It was very lovely on the hill, for far as the eye could reach lay the wintry landscape sparkling with the brief beauty of sunshine on virgin snow. Pines sighed overhead, hardy birds flitted to and fro, and in all the trodden spots rose the little spires of evergreen ready for its Christmas duty. Deeper in the wood sounded the measured ring of axes, the crash of falling trees, while the red shirts of the men added color to the scene, and a fresh wind brought the aromatic breath of newly cloven hemlock and pine.
It was beautiful on the hill, as far as the eye could see, the wintry landscape sparkled with the fleeting beauty of sunshine on fresh snow. Pines swayed above, resilient birds flitted around, and in all the trampled areas, the little spires of evergreen stood ready for their Christmas duty. Deeper in the woods, the steady sound of axes ringing and the crash of falling trees could be heard, while the red shirts of the men added color to the scene, and a crisp wind carried the fragrant scent of freshly cut hemlock and pine.
“How beautiful it is! I never knew before what winter woods were like. Did you, Sophie?” asked Emily, sitting on a stump to enjoy the novel pleasure at her ease.
“How beautiful it is! I never knew what winter woods were like before. Did you, Sophie?” asked Emily, sitting on a stump to enjoy this new pleasure at her leisure.
“I’ve found out lately; Saul lets me come as often as I like, and this fine air seems to make a new creature of me,” answered Sophie, looking about her with sparkling eyes, as if this was a kingdom where she reigned supreme.
“I’ve found out lately; Saul lets me come as often as I want, and this fresh air seems to transform me into a new person,” Sophie replied, looking around with sparkling eyes, as if she were the queen of this kingdom.
“Something is making a new creature of you, that is very evident. I haven’t yet discovered whether it is the air or some magic herb among that green stuff you are gathering so diligently;” and Emily laughed to see the color deepen beautifully in her friend’s half-averted face.
“Something is turning you into a new person, that’s clear. I still haven’t figured out whether it’s the air or some magical herb among the greenery you’re collecting so intently;” and Emily laughed at the sight of her friend’s face reddening beautifully as she turned slightly away.
“Scarlet is the only wear just now, I find. If we are lost like babes in the woods there are plenty of Red-breasts to cover us with leaves,” and Randal joined Emily’s laugh, with a glance at Saul, who had just pulled his coat off.
“Scarlet is the only thing in fashion right now, I’ve noticed. If we feel lost like kids in the woods, there are plenty of Red-breasts to cover us with leaves,” Randal said, joining Emily’s laughter with a look at Saul, who had just taken off his coat.
“You wanted to see this tree go down, so stand from under and I’ll show you how it’s done,” said the farmer, taking up his axe, not unwilling to gratify his guests and display his manly accomplishments at the same time.
“You wanted to see this tree fall, so step back and I’ll show you how it’s done,” said the farmer, grabbing his axe, eager to impress his guests and showcase his skills at the same time.
It was a fine sight, the stalwart man swinging his axe with magnificent strength and skill, each blow sending a thrill through the stately tree, till its heart was reached and it tottered to its fall. Never pausing for breath Saul shook his yellow mane out of his eyes, and hewed away, while the drops stood on his forehead and his arm ached, as bent on distinguishing himself as if he had been a knight tilting against his rival for his lady’s favor.
It was an impressive sight, the strong man swinging his axe with amazing strength and skill, each blow sending a thrill through the grand tree until it reached the center and started to topple. Without stopping for a break, Saul shook his blond hair out of his eyes and kept chopping away, while sweat gathered on his forehead and his arm ached, as determined to prove himself as if he were a knight competing against his rival for his lady’s affection.
“I don’t know which to admire most, the man or his muscle. One doesn’t often see such vigor, size and comeliness in these degenerate days,” said Randal, mentally booking the fine figure in the red shirt.
“I don’t know which to admire more, the man or his muscles. You don’t often see such strength, size, and attractiveness in these days,” said Randal, mentally noting the impressive figure in the red shirt.
“I think we have discovered a rough diamond. I only wonder if Sophie is going to try and polish it,” answered Emily, glancing at her friend, who stood a little apart, watching the rise and fall of the axe as intently as if her fate depended on it.
“I think we’ve found a rough diamond. I just wonder if Sophie is going to try to polish it,” replied Emily, looking at her friend, who stood a bit aside, watching the rise and fall of the axe as if her fate depended on it.
Down rushed the tree at last, and, leaving them to examine a crow’s nest in its branches, Saul went off to his men, as if he found the praises of his prowess rather too much for him.
Down rushed the tree at last, and, leaving them to examine a crow’s nest in its branches, Saul went off to his men, as if he found the praises of his skills a bit too much for him.
Randal fell to sketching, the girls to their garland-making, and for a little while the sunny woodland nook was full of lively chat and pleasant laughter, for the air exhilarated them all like wine. Suddenly a man came running from the wood, pale and anxious, saying, as he hastened by for help, “Blasted tree fell on him! Bleed to death before the doctor comes!”
Randal started sketching while the girls made their garlands, and for a little while, the sunny spot in the woods was filled with lively conversation and cheerful laughter, as the fresh air energized them all like wine. Suddenly, a man came running out of the woods, looking pale and worried, shouting as he rushed by for help, “A fallen tree hit him! He’ll bleed out before the doctor gets here!”
“Who? who?” cried the startled trio.
“Who? Who?” cried the startled trio.
But the man ran on, with some breathless reply, in which only a name was audible—“Basset.”
But the man kept running, breathlessly replying, with only one name clear—“Basset.”
“The deuce it is!” and Randal dropped his pencil, while the girls sprang up in dismay. Then, with one impulse, they hastened to the distant group, half visible behind the fallen trees and corded wood.
“The hell it is!” and Randal dropped his pencil, while the girls jumped up in shock. Then, with a single urge, they rushed to the distant group, partially hidden behind the fallen trees and stacked wood.
Sophie was there first, and forcing her way through the little crowd of men, saw a red-shirted figure on the ground, crushed and bleeding, and threw herself down beside it with a cry that pierced the hearts of those who heard it. In the act she saw it was not Saul, and covered her bewildered face as if to hide its joy. A strong arm lifted her, and the familiar voice said cheeringly,—
Sophie arrived first, and pushing her way through the small crowd of men, she saw a figure in a red shirt on the ground, injured and bleeding. She dropped down beside it with a cry that broke the hearts of everyone who heard it. In that moment, she realized it wasn’t Saul, and covered her stunned face as if to hide her relief. A strong arm lifted her up, and a familiar voice said encouragingly,—
“I’m all right, dear. Poor Bruce is hurt, but we’ve sent for help. Better go right home and forget all about it.”
“I’m fine, dear. Poor Bruce is injured, but we’ve called for help. You should head home and forget all about it.”
“Yes, I will, if I can do nothing;” and Sophie meekly returned to her friends who stood outside the circle over which Saul’s head towered, assuring them of his safety.
“Yes, I will, if I can’t do anything;” and Sophie quietly went back to her friends who were standing outside the circle where Saul’s head loomed, reassuring them of his safety.
Hoping they had not seen her agitation, she led Emily away, leaving Randal to give what aid he could and bring them news of the poor wood-chopper’s state.
Hoping they hadn't noticed her anxiety, she took Emily away, leaving Randal to provide any help he could and bring them updates on the poor woodchopper's condition.
Aunt Plumy produced the “camphire” the moment she saw Sophie’s pale face, and made her lie down, while the brave old lady trudged briskly off with bandages and brandy to the scene of action. On her return she brought comfortable news of the man, so the little flurry blew over and was forgotten by all but Sophie, who remained pale and quiet all the evening, tying evergreen as if her life depended on it.
Aunt Plumy took out the “camphire” as soon as she noticed Sophie’s pale face and told her to lie down, while the fearless old lady hurried off with bandages and brandy to help. When she returned, she brought good news about the man, so the brief scare passed and was forgotten by everyone except Sophie, who stayed pale and quiet all evening, tying evergreen as if her life depended on it.
“A good night’s sleep will set her up. She ain’t used to such things, dear child, and needs cossetin’,” said Aunt Plumy, purring over her until she was in her bed, with a hot stone at her feet and a bowl of herb tea to quiet her nerves.
“A good night’s sleep will prepare her well. She’s not used to this kind of thing, poor child, and needs some pampering,” said Aunt Plumy, gently taking care of her until she was tucked into bed, with a hot stone at her feet and a bowl of herbal tea to calm her nerves.
An hour later, when Emily went up, she peeped in to see if Sophie was sleeping nicely, and was surprised to find the invalid wrapped in a dressing-gown writing busily.
An hour later, when Emily went upstairs, she peeked in to see if Sophie was sleeping well, and was surprised to find the sick girl wrapped in a robe, writing away.
“Last will and testament, or sudden inspiration, dear? How are you? faint or feverish, delirious or in the dumps! Saul looks so anxious, and Mrs. Basset hushes us all up so, I came to bed, leaving Randal to entertain Ruth.”
“Last will and testament, or sudden inspiration, dear? How are you? faint or feverish, delirious or feeling blue! Saul looks so worried, and Mrs. Basset shushes us all so much, I went to bed, leaving Randal to keep Ruth company.”
As she spoke Emily saw the papers disappear in a portfolio, and Sophie rose with a yawn.
As she spoke, Emily watched the papers get packed away into a portfolio, and Sophie stood up with a yawn.
“I was writing letters, but I’m sleepy now. Quite over my foolish fright, thank you. Go and get your beauty sleep that you may dazzle the natives to-morrow.”
“I was writing letters, but I’m feeling sleepy now. I'm completely over my silly scare, thanks. Go get your beauty sleep so you can impress the locals tomorrow.”
“So glad, good night;” and Emily went away, saying to herself, “Something is going on, and I must find out what it is before I leave. Sophie can’t blind me.”
“I'm so glad, good night;” and Emily walked away, telling herself, “Something is happening, and I need to figure out what it is before I go. Sophie can’t fool me.”
But Sophie did all the next day, being delightfully gay at the dinner, and devoting herself to the young minister who was invited to meet the distinguished novelist, and evidently being afraid of him, gladly basked in the smiles of his charming neighbor. A dashing sleigh-ride occupied the afternoon, and then great was the fun and excitement over the costumes.
But Sophie spent the entire next day happily cheerful at dinner, focusing her attention on the young minister who was invited to meet the famous novelist. She seemed a bit intimidated by him but happily soaked up the smiles from his charming neighbor. A thrilling sleigh ride filled the afternoon, followed by a lot of fun and excitement over the costumes.
Aunt Plumy laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks as the girls compressed her into the plum-colored gown with its short waist, leg-of-mutton sleeves, and narrow skirt. But a worked scarf hid all deficiencies, and the towering cap struck awe into the soul of the most frivolous observer.
Aunt Plumy laughed until tears ran down her cheeks as the girls squeezed her into the plum-colored dress with its short waist, balloon sleeves, and narrow skirt. But a decorative scarf covered up any flaws, and the tall cap inspired awe in even the most carefree onlooker.
“Keep an eye on me, girls, for I shall certainly split somewheres or lose my head-piece off when I’m trottin’ round. What would my blessed mother say if she could see me rigged out in her best things?” and with a smile and a sigh the old lady departed to look after “the boys,” and see that the supper was all right.
“Keep an eye on me, girls, because I might definitely lose something or get myself into trouble while I’m wandering around. What would my dear mother say if she saw me wearing her finest things?” And with a smile and a sigh, the old lady left to check on “the boys” and make sure dinner was all set.
Three prettier damsels never tripped down the wide staircase than the brilliant brunette in crimson brocade, the pensive blonde in blue, or the rosy little bride in old muslin and white satin.
Three more beautiful young women never walked down the wide staircase than the stunning brunette in crimson brocade, the thoughtful blonde in blue, or the blushing little bride in old muslin and white satin.
A gallant court gentleman met them in the hall with a superb bow, and escorted them to the parlor, where Grandma Basset’s ghost was discovered dancing with a modern major in full uniform.
A dashing court gentleman greeted them in the hall with a stylish bow and led them to the parlor, where Grandma Basset’s ghost was found dancing with a modern major in full uniform.
Mutual admiration and many compliments followed, till other ancient ladies and gentlemen arrived in all manner of queer costumes, and the old house seemed to wake from its humdrum quietude to sudden music and merriment, as if a past generation had returned to keep its Christmas there.
Mutual admiration and plenty of compliments followed until other older ladies and gentlemen showed up in all sorts of strange costumes, and the old house seemed to come alive from its dull quietness to sudden music and fun, as if a past generation had come back to celebrate Christmas there.
The village fiddler soon struck up the good old tunes, and then the strangers saw dancing that filled them with mingled mirth and envy; it was so droll, yet so hearty. The young men, unusually awkward in their grandfathers’ knee-breeches, flapping vests, and swallow-tail coats, footed it bravely with the buxom girls who were the prettier for their quaintness, and danced with such vigor that their high combs stood awry, their furbelows waved wildly, and their cheeks were as red as their breast-knots, or hose.
The village fiddler quickly started playing the classic tunes, and the newcomers watched a dance that made them feel both happy and a bit jealous; it was funny and so genuine. The young men, feeling a bit awkward in their grandfathers’ old-fashioned knee-breeches, floppy vests, and swallow-tail coats, danced boldly with the lively girls who looked even better because of their quirky outfits. They danced with such energy that their big combs were crooked, their frills swayed wildly, and their cheeks were as red as their fancy knots or stockings.
It was impossible to stand still, and one after the other the city folk yielded to the spell, Randal leading off with Ruth, Sophie swept away by Saul, and Emily being taken possession of by a young giant of eighteen, who spun her around with a boyish impetuosity that took her breath away. Even Aunt Plumy was discovered jigging it alone in the pantry, as if the music was too much for her, and the plates and glasses jingled gaily on the shelves in time to Money Musk and Fishers’ Hornpipe.
It was impossible to stay still, and one by one the city folks gave in to the rhythm, with Randal starting off with Ruth, Sophie being whisked away by Saul, and Emily being claimed by a young giant of eighteen, who spun her around with a youthful exuberance that left her breathless. Even Aunt Plumy was found dancing alone in the pantry, as if the music was too much for her, while the plates and glasses jingled cheerfully on the shelves to the tunes of Money Musk and Fishers’ Hornpipe.
A pause came at last, however, and fans fluttered, heated brows were wiped, jokes were made, lovers exchanged confidences, and every nook and corner held a man and maid carrying on the sweet game which is never out of fashion. There was a glitter of gold lace in the back entry, and a train of blue and primrose shone in the dim light. There was a richer crimson than that of the geraniums in the deep window, and a dainty shoe tapped the bare floor impatiently as the brilliant black eyes looked everywhere for the court gentleman, while their owner listened to the gruff prattle of an enamored boy. But in the upper hall walked a little white ghost as if waiting for some shadowy companion, and when a dark form appeared ran to take its arm, saying, in a tone of soft satisfaction,—
A pause finally came, and fans were waving, foreheads were wiped, jokes were shared, couples exchanged secrets, and every little corner had a guy and a girl playing the timeless game of love. There was a glimmer of gold lace in the back entry, and a trail of blue and primrose shone in the dim light. There was a richer red than the geraniums in the deep window, and a delicate shoe tapped the bare floor impatiently as bright black eyes searched everywhere for the court gentleman, while their owner listened to the rough chatter of a smitten boy. But in the upper hall, a little white figure moved as if waiting for some shadowy partner, and when a dark form appeared, it rushed to take its arm, saying in a tone of soft satisfaction,—
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come!”
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t show up!”
“Why did you leave me, Ruth?” answered a manly voice in a tone of surprise, though the small hand slipping from the velvet coat-sleeve was replaced as if it was pleasant to feel it there.
“Why did you leave me, Ruth?” a deep voice replied, sounding surprised, even though the small hand slipping away from the velvet coat sleeve was replaced as if it felt nice to have it there.
A pause, and then the other voice answered demurely,—
A pause, and then the other voice replied softly,—
“Because I was afraid my head would be turned by the fine things you were saying.”
“Because I was scared that your sweet words would distract me.”
“It is impossible to help saying what one feels to such an artless little creature as you are. It does me good to admire anything so fresh and sweet, and won’t harm you.”
“It’s hard not to express what I feel about someone as innocent as you. It makes me happy to admire something so fresh and sweet, and it won't hurt you.”
“It might if—”
"It could if—"
“If what, my daisy?”
“If what, my flower?”
“I believed it,” and a laugh seemed to finish the broken sentence better than the words.
“I believed it,” and a laugh seemed to complete the broken sentence better than the words.
“You may, Ruth, for I do sincerely admire the most genuine girl I have seen for a long time. And walking here with you in your bridal white I was just asking myself if I should not be a happier man with a home of my own and a little wife hanging on my arm than drifting about the world as I do now with only myself to care for.”
“You can, Ruth, because I truly admire the most genuine girl I've seen in a long time. And walking here with you in your bridal white, I was just thinking if I wouldn't be a happier man with a home of my own and a little wife by my side than wandering around the world as I do now with only myself to take care of.”
“I know you would!” and Ruth spoke so earnestly that Randal was both touched and startled, fearing he had ventured too far in a mood of unwonted sentiment, born of the romance of the hour and the sweet frankness of his companion.
“I know you would!” Ruth said passionately, and Randal felt a mix of warmth and surprise, worried that he had gone too far in a moment of unusual emotion, influenced by the romance of the moment and the genuine openness of his companion.
“Then you don’t think it would be rash for some sweet woman to take me in hand and make me happy, since fame is a failure?”
“Then you don’t think it would be unwise for a kind woman to take me under her wing and make me happy, since fame is a letdown?”
“Oh, no; it would be easy work if she loved you. I know some one—if I only dared to tell her name.”
“Oh, no; it would be simple if she loved you. I know someone—if I only had the courage to reveal her name.”
“Upon my soul, this is cool,” and Randal looked down, wondering if the audacious lady on his arm could be shy Ruth.
“Honestly, this is cool,” Randal said as he looked down, wondering if the bold woman on his arm could actually be shy Ruth.
If he had seen the malicious merriment in her eyes he would have been more humiliated still, but they were modestly averted, and the face under the little hat was full of a soft agitation rather dangerous even to a man of the world.
If he had noticed the wicked amusement in her eyes, he would have felt even more embarrassed, but they were modestly turned away, and the face under the little hat showed a soft, unsettling agitation that could be quite dangerous even for a worldly man.
“She is a captivating little creature, but it is too soon for anything but a mild flirtation. I must delay further innocent revelations or I shall do something rash.”
“She’s a charming little thing, but it’s too early for anything more than a light flirtation. I need to hold off on any deeper confessions, or I might act impulsively.”
While making this excellent resolution Randal had been pressing the hand upon his arm and gently pacing down the dimly lighted hall with the sound of music in his ears, Ruth’s sweetest roses in his button-hole, and a loving little girl beside him, as he thought.
While making this excellent resolution, Randal had been holding the hand on his arm and gently walking down the dimly lit hall with music in his ears, Ruth’s sweetest roses in his buttonhole, and a loving little girl next to him, or so he thought.
“You shall tell me by and by when we are in town. I am sure you will come, and meanwhile don’t forget me.”
“You should let me know later when we're in town. I'm sure you’ll come, and in the meantime, don’t forget about me.”
“I am going in the spring, but I shall not be with Sophie,” answered Ruth, in a whisper.
“I’m going in the spring, but I won’t be with Sophie,” Ruth whispered.
“With whom then? I shall long to see you.”
"Who will I be with then? I can't wait to see you."
“With my husband. I am to be married in May.”
“With my husband. I’m getting married in May.”
“The deuce you are!” escaped Randal, as he stopped short to stare at his companion, sure she was not in earnest.
“The hell you are!” Randal exclaimed, as he suddenly stopped to stare at his companion, convinced she was joking.
But she was, for as he looked the sound of steps coming up the back stairs made her whole face flush and brighten with the unmistakable glow of happy love, and she completed Randal’s astonishment by running into the arms of the young minister, saying with an irrepressible laugh, “Oh! John, why didn’t you come before?”
But she was, because as he watched, the sound of footsteps coming up the back stairs made her entire face flush and light up with the unmistakable warmth of happy love, and she added to Randal’s surprise by running into the arms of the young minister, saying with an uncontrollable laugh, “Oh! John, why didn’t you come earlier?”
The court gentleman was all right in a moment, and the coolest of the three as he offered his congratulations and gracefully retired, leaving the lovers to enjoy the tryst he had delayed. But as he went down stairs his brows were knit, and he slapped the broad railing smartly with his cocked hat as if some irritation must find vent in a more energetic way than merely saying, “Confound the little baggage!” under his breath.
The court gentleman composed himself quickly and remained the calmest of the three as he offered his congratulations and gracefully stepped away, letting the lovers savor the moment he had interrupted. But as he descended the stairs, his brow was furrowed, and he sharply slapped the broad railing with his hat, as if his frustration needed to be expressed in a more forceful manner than just muttering, “Damn that little brat!” under his breath.
Such an amazing supper came from Aunt Plumy’s big pantry that the city guests could not eat for laughing at the queer dishes circulating through the rooms, and copiously partaken of by the hearty young folks.
Such an incredible dinner came from Aunt Plumy’s large pantry that the city guests couldn’t eat because they were laughing at the strange dishes being passed around the rooms, and the energetic young people were enjoying them a lot.
Doughnuts and cheese, pie and pickles, cider and tea, baked beans and custards, cake and cold turkey, bread and butter, plum pudding and French bonbons, Sophie’s contribution.
Doughnuts and cheese, pie and pickles, cider and tea, baked beans and custards, cake and cold turkey, bread and butter, plum pudding and French candies, Sophie’s contribution.
“May I offer you the native delicacies, and share your plate. Both are very good, but the china has run short, and after such vigorous exercise as you have had you must need refreshment. I’m sure I do!” said Randal, bowing before Emily with a great blue platter laden with two doughnuts, two wedges of pumpkin pie and two spoons.
“Can I offer you some local delicacies and share your plate? Both are really good, but we’ve run out of china, and after the intense exercise you’ve had, you must need some refreshment. I know I do!” Randal said, bowing before Emily with a large blue platter filled with two doughnuts, two wedges of pumpkin pie, and two spoons.
The smile with which she welcomed him, the alacrity with which she made room beside her and seemed to enjoy the supper he brought, was so soothing to his ruffled spirit that he soon began to feel that there is no friend like an old friend, that it would not be difficult to name a sweet woman who would take him in hand and would make him happy if he cared to ask her, and he began to think he would by and by, it was so pleasant to sit in that green corner with waves of crimson brocade flowing over his feet, and a fine face softening beautifully under his eyes.
The smile she gave him when he arrived, the eagerness with which she made space for him and seemed to enjoy the dinner he brought, was so calming to his troubled mind that he quickly started to feel that there's no friend quite like an old friend. He realized that it wouldn't be hard to think of a lovely woman who would take care of him and make him happy if he chose to ask her. He began to consider that he might do that sooner or later; it was just so nice to sit in that green corner with waves of crimson fabric draping over his feet, and a beautiful face softening under his gaze.
The supper was not romantic, but the situation was, and Emily found that pie ambrosial food eaten with the man she loved, whose eyes talked more eloquently than the tongue just then busy with a doughnut. Ruth kept away, but glanced at them as she served her company, and her own happy experience helped her to see that all was going well in that quarter. Saul and Sophie emerged from the back entry with shining countenances, but carefully avoided each other for the rest of the evening. No one observed this but Aunt Plumy from the recesses of her pantry, and she folded her hands as if well content, as she murmured fervently over a pan full of crullers, “Bless the dears! Now I can die happy.”
The dinner wasn’t romantic, but the vibe was, and Emily thought the pie was amazing, especially since she was sharing it with the man she loved, whose eyes spoke more than his mouth, which was busy with a doughnut. Ruth stayed away but glanced at them while serving her other guests, and her own happy moments helped her see that everything was fine between them. Saul and Sophie came out from the back hallway looking cheerful but made sure to avoid each other for the rest of the night. No one noticed this except Aunt Plumy from her pantry, who clasped her hands in contentment as she fervently murmured over a pan full of crullers, “Bless the dears! Now I can die happy.”
Every one thought Sophie’s old-fashioned dress immensely becoming, and several of his former men said to Saul with blunt admiration, “Major, you look to-night as you used to after we’d gained a big battle.”
Everyone thought Sophie’s old-fashioned dress looked great, and several of his former soldiers said to Saul with straightforward admiration, “Major, you look tonight like you did after we won a big battle.”
“I feel as if I had,” answered the splendid Major, with eyes much brighter than his buttons, and a heart under them infinitely prouder than when he was promoted on the field of honor, for his Waterloo was won.
“I feel like I have,” replied the impressive Major, with eyes much brighter than his buttons and a heart beneath them infinitely prouder than when he was promoted on the battlefield, for his Waterloo was won.
There was more dancing, followed by games, in which Aunt Plumy shone pre-eminent, for the supper was off her mind and she could enjoy herself. There were shouts of merriment as the blithe old lady twirled the platter, hunted the squirrel, and went to Jerusalem like a girl of sixteen; her cap in a ruinous condition, and every seam of the purple dress straining like sails in a gale. It was great fun, but at midnight it came to an end, and the young folks, still bubbling over with innocent jollity, went jingling away along the snowy hills, unanimously pronouncing Mrs. Basset’s party the best of the season.
There was more dancing, followed by games, where Aunt Plumy really stood out, since the supper was off her mind and she could let loose. Laughter filled the air as the cheerful old lady spun the platter, chased the squirrel, and danced like a sixteen-year-old; her cap all messed up, and every seam of her purple dress straining like sails in a storm. It was a blast, but at midnight it all wrapped up, and the young folks, still bubbling with innocent joy, jingled away over the snowy hills, all agreeing that Mrs. Basset’s party was the best of the season.
“Never had such a good time in my life!” exclaimed Sophie, as the family stood together in the kitchen where the candles among the wreaths were going out, and the floor was strewn with wrecks of past joy.
“Never had such a good time in my life!” Sophie exclaimed as the family gathered in the kitchen, where the candles among the wreaths were flickering out, and the floor was covered in remnants of past joy.
“I’m proper glad, dear. Now you all go to bed and lay as late as you like to-morrow. I’m so kinder worked up I couldn’t sleep, so Saul and me will put things to rights without a mite of noise to disturb you;” and Aunt Plumy sent them off with a smile that was a benediction, Sophie thought.
“I’m really happy, dear. Now you all go to bed and sleep as late as you want tomorrow. I’m so worked up I couldn’t sleep, so Saul and I will sort things out quietly so we don’t disturb you;” and Aunt Plumy sent them off with a smile that felt like a blessing, Sophie thought.
“The dear old soul speaks as if midnight was an unheard-of hour for Christians to be up. What would she say if she knew how we seldom go to bed till dawn in the ball season? I’m so wide awake I’ve half a mind to pack a little. Randal must go at two, he says, and we shall want his escort,” said Emily, as the girls laid away their brocades in the great press in Sophie’s room.
“The sweet old lady talks as if midnight is a time when no Christian should be awake. What would she think if she knew we hardly ever go to bed before dawn during the ball season? I’m so alert that I’m tempted to pack a little. Randal has to leave at two, he says, and we’ll need him to escort us,” said Emily, as the girls put away their fancy dresses in the large wardrobe in Sophie’s room.
“I’m not going. Aunt can’t spare me, and there is nothing to go for yet,” answered Sophie, beginning to take the white chrysanthemums out of her pretty hair.
“I’m not going. Aunt can’t let me go, and there’s really nothing to go for yet,” Sophie replied, starting to take the white chrysanthemums out of her beautiful hair.
“My dear child, you will die of ennui up here. Very nice for a week or so, but frightful for a winter. We are going to be very gay, and cannot get on without you,” cried Emily, dismayed at the suggestion.
“My dear child, you’ll be bored to death up here. It's nice for a week or so, but terrible for a whole winter. We’re going to have a great time, and we can’t do it without you,” cried Emily, upset by the idea.
“You will have to, for I’m not coming. I am very happy here, and so tired of the frivolous life I lead in town, that I have decided to try a better one,” and Sophie’s mirror reflected a face full of the sweetest content.
"You'll have to, because I'm not coming. I'm really happy here, and I'm so done with the shallow life I have in the city that I've decided to try for something better," and Sophie's mirror showed a face full of the sweetest content.
“Have you lost your mind? experienced religion? or any other dreadful thing? You always were odd, but this last freak is the strangest of all. What will your guardian say, and the world?” added Emily in the awe-stricken tone of one who stood in fear of the omnipotent Mrs. Grundy.
“Have you lost your mind? Found religion? Or some other terrible thing? You’ve always been strange, but this latest behavior is the weirdest of all. What will your guardian think, and what will everyone else say?” added Emily in a tone filled with awe, as if fearful of the all-powerful Mrs. Grundy.
“Guardy will be glad to be rid of me, and I don’t care that for the world,” cried Sophie, snapping her fingers with a joyful sort of recklessness which completed Emily’s bewilderment.
“Guardy will be happy to be done with me, and I really don’t care at all,” Sophie exclaimed, snapping her fingers in a joyful and reckless way that left Emily feeling even more confused.
“But Mr. Hammond? Are you going to throw away millions, lose your chance of making the best match in the city, and driving the girls of our set out of their wits with envy?”
“But Mr. Hammond? Are you really going to throw away millions, miss your chance to make the best match in the city, and drive the girls in our social circle crazy with envy?”
Sophie laughed at her friend’s despairing cry, and turning round said quietly,—
Sophie chuckled at her friend’s desperate shout and, turning around, said softly,—
“I wrote to Mr. Hammond last night, and this evening received my reward for being an honest girl. Saul and I are to be married in the spring when Ruth is.”
“I wrote to Mr. Hammond last night, and this evening I got my reward for being an honest girl. Saul and I are getting married in the spring, just like Ruth is.”
Emily fell prone upon the bed as if the announcement was too much for her, but was up again in an instant to declare with prophetic solemnity,—
Emily collapsed onto the bed as if the news was too overwhelming for her, but she was back up in an instant to declare with serious importance,—
“I knew something was going on, but hoped to get you away before you were lost. Sophie, you will repent. Be warned, and forget this sad delusion.”
“I knew something was happening, but I hoped to get you out before you got lost. Sophie, you will regret this. Take heed, and let go of this sad illusion.”
“Too late for that. The pang I suffered yesterday when I thought Saul was dead showed me how well I loved him. To-night he asked me to stay, and no power in the world can part us. Oh! Emily, it is all so sweet, so beautiful, that everything is possible, and I know I shall be happy in this dear old home, full of love and peace and honest hearts. I only hope you may find as true and tender a man to live for as my Saul.”
“It's too late for that. The pain I felt yesterday when I thought Saul was dead made me realize how much I love him. Tonight he asked me to stay, and nothing in the world can separate us. Oh! Emily, it’s all so sweet, so beautiful, that everything feels possible, and I know I’ll be happy in this lovely old home, filled with love, peace, and honest hearts. I just hope you find a man as true and caring to live for as my Saul.”
Sophie’s face was more eloquent than her fervent words, and Emily beautifully illustrated the inconsistency of her sex by suddenly embracing her friend, with the incoherent exclamation, “I think I have, dear! Your brave Saul is worth a dozen old Hammonds, and I do believe you are right.”
Sophie’s face expressed more than her passionate words, and Emily highlighted the inconsistency of her gender by suddenly hugging her friend and exclaiming, “I think I have, dear! Your brave Saul is worth a dozen old Hammonds, and I really believe you’re right.”
It is unnecessary to tell how, as if drawn by the irresistible magic of sympathy, Ruth and her mother crept in one by one to join the midnight conference and add their smiles and tears, tender hopes and proud delight to the joys of that memorable hour. Nor how Saul, unable to sleep, mounted guard below, and meeting Randal prowling down to soothe his nerves with a surreptitious cigar found it impossible to help confiding to his attentive ear the happiness that would break bounds and overflow in unusual eloquence.
It’s not essential to explain how, as if pulled in by the undeniable magic of connection, Ruth and her mother quietly slipped in one by one to join the late-night gathering, adding their smiles and tears, tender hopes and proud joy to the happiness of that unforgettable moment. Nor how Saul, unable to sleep, kept watch downstairs, and when he ran into Randal wandering down to calm his nerves with a sneaky cigar, he couldn’t help but share with him the overwhelming happiness that was about to overflow in unexpected eloquence.
Peace fell upon the old house at last, and all slept as if some magic herb had touched their eyelids, bringing blissful dreams and a glad awakening.
Peace finally settled over the old house, and everyone slept as if some magical herb had brushed against their eyelids, filling their dreams with joy and ensuring a happy awakening.
“Can’t we persuade you to come with us, Miss Sophie?” asked Randal next day, as they made their adieux.
“Can’t we convince you to join us, Miss Sophie?” Randal asked the next day as they said their goodbyes.
“I’m under orders now, and dare not disobey my superior officer,” answered Sophie, handing her Major his driving gloves, with a look which plainly showed that she had joined the great army of devoted women who enlist for life and ask no pay but love.
“I’m following orders now, and I can’t go against my superior officer,” Sophie replied, giving her Major his driving gloves, with an expression that clearly indicated she had become part of the vast army of devoted women who sign up for life and ask for nothing in return but love.
“I shall depend on being invited to your wedding, then, and yours, too, Miss Ruth,” added Randal, shaking hands with “the little baggage,” as if he had quite forgiven her mockery and forgotten his own brief lapse into sentiment.
“I'll rely on being invited to your wedding, then, and yours too, Miss Ruth,” Randal said, shaking hands with “the little baggage,” as if he had completely forgiven her teasing and forgotten his own short moment of sentiment.
Before she could reply Aunt Plumy said, in a tone of calm conviction, that made them all laugh, and some of them look conscious,—
Before she could respond, Aunt Plumy confidently said in a way that made everyone laugh, and some of them seemed a bit self-aware,—
“Spring is a good time for weddin’s, and I shouldn’t wonder if there was quite a number.”
“Spring is a great time for weddings, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were quite a few.”
“Nor I;” and Saul and Sophie smiled at one another as they saw how carefully Randal arranged Emily’s wraps.
“Me neither,” Saul and Sophie smiled at each other as they watched Randal carefully arrange Emily’s wraps.
Then with kisses, thanks and all the good wishes that happy hearts could imagine, the guests drove away, to remember long and gratefully that pleasant country Christmas.
Then, with kisses, thanks, and all the good wishes that happy hearts could think of, the guests drove away, likely to remember fondly and gratefully that wonderful country Christmas.
ON PICKET DUTY.
"Better late than never."
“WHAT air you thinkin’ of, Phil?”
“WHAT are you thinking about, Phil?”
“My wife, Dick.”
"My wife, Dick."
“So was I! Ain’t it odd how fellers fall to thinkin’ of thar little women, when they get a quiet spell like this?”
“So was I! Isn’t it strange how guys start thinking about their little women when they have a quiet moment like this?”
“Fortunate for us that we do get it, and have such memories to keep us brave and honest through the trials and temptations of a life like ours.”
“Lucky for us that we do get it, and have such memories to keep us brave and honest through the challenges and temptations of a life like ours.”
October moonlight shone clearly on the solitary tree, draped with gray moss, scarred by lightning and warped by wind, looking like a venerable warrior, whose long campaign was nearly done; and underneath was posted the guard of four. Behind them twinkled many camp-fires on a distant plain, before them wound a road ploughed by the passage of an army, strewn with the relics of a rout. On the right, a sluggish river glided, like a serpent, stealthy, sinuous, and dark, into a seemingly impervious jungle; on the left, a Southern swamp filled the air with malarial damps, swarms of noisome life, and discordant sounds that robbed the hour of its repose. The men were friends as well as comrades, for though gathered from the four quarters of the Union, and dissimilar in education, character, and tastes, the same spirit animated all; the routine of camp-life threw them much together, and mutual esteem soon grew into a bond of mutual good fellowship.
October moonlight shone brightly on the lone tree, draped in gray moss, marked by lightning, and twisted by the wind, resembling an old warrior whose long fight was nearly over; below, a guard of four stood watch. Behind them, many campfires sparkled on a distant plain, while in front, a road cut through the ground, scarred by the passage of an army, littered with the remnants of a retreat. On the right, a slow river flowed like a snake, quietly, smoothly, and darkly, into a thick jungle; on the left, a Southern swamp filled the air with dampness, swarms of pests, and jarring noises that disrupted the tranquility of the night. The men were both friends and comrades, for even though they came from all corners of the Union and were different in education, character, and interests, they shared the same spirit; the routine of camp life brought them together, and respect quickly grew into a strong friendship.
Thorn was a Massachusetts volunteer; a man who seemed too early old, too early embittered by some cross, for, though grim of countenance, rough of speech, cold of manner, a keen observer would have soon discovered traces of a deeper, warmer nature hidden behind the repellent front he turned upon the world. A true New Englander, thoughtful, acute, reticent, and opinionated; yet earnest withal, intensely patriotic, and often humorous, despite a touch of Puritan austerity.
Thorn was a volunteer from Massachusetts; a man who seemed to have aged too quickly, too early becoming bitter from some hardship. Though he had a grim expression, rough speech, and a cold demeanor, a keen observer would soon notice hints of a deeper, warmer nature hidden behind the uninviting exterior he showed to the world. A true New Englander, thoughtful, sharp, reserved, and opinionated; yet sincere, deeply patriotic, and often humorous, despite a hint of Puritan strictness.
Phil, the “romantic chap,” as he was called, looked his character to the life. Slender, swarthy, melancholy-eyed, and darkly-bearded; with feminine features, mellow voice, and alternately languid or vivacious manners. A child of the South in nature as in aspect, ardent and proud; fitfully aspiring and despairing; without the native energy which moulds character and ennobles life. Months of discipline and devotion had done much for him, and some deep experience was fast ripening the youth into a man.
Phil, known as the “romantic guy,” truly embodied his character. He was slender, dark-skinned, had sad eyes, and a thick beard; with delicate features, a smooth voice, and alternatingly lazy or energetic behavior. A product of the South in both nature and appearance, he was passionate and proud; sometimes reaching for dreams and other times feeling hopeless; lacking the inner strength that shapes character and elevates life. Months of training and commitment had transformed him significantly, and some profound experiences were quickly turning the young man into an adult.
Flint, the long-limbed lumberman, from the wilds of Maine, was a conscript who, when government demanded his money or his life, calculated the cost, and decided that the cash would be a dead loss and the claim might be repeated, whereas the conscript would get both pay and plunder out of government, while taking excellent care that government got very little out of him. A shrewd, slow-spoken, self-reliant specimen, was Flint; yet something of the fresh flavor of the backwoods lingered in him still, as if Nature were loath to give him up, and left the mark of her motherly hand upon him, as she leaves it in a dry, pale lichen, on the bosom of the roughest stone.
Flint, the tall lumberjack from the wilds of Maine, was drafted who, when the government demanded either his money or his life, weighed his options and figured that giving up cash would be a complete loss and that this draft could happen again. He realized that being conscripted would allow him to earn both a salary and loot from the government, all while making sure the government didn’t benefit much from him. Flint was a sharp, slow-talking, self-sufficient guy; yet some of that fresh, rugged charm from the backwoods still lingered in him, as if Nature was hesitant to let him go, leaving a trace of her nurturing touch on him, much like the dry, pale lichen on the roughest stone.
Dick “hailed” from Illinois, and was a comely young fellow, full of dash and daring; rough and rowdy, generous and jolly, overflowing with spirits and ready for a free fight with all the world.
Dick came from Illinois and was a handsome young guy, full of energy and bravado; wild and unruly, generous and cheerful, bursting with enthusiasm and always ready for a good brawl with anyone.
Silence followed the last words, while the friendly moon climbed up the sky. Each man’s eye followed it, and each man’s heart was busy with remembrances of other eyes and hearts that might be watching and wishing as theirs watched and wished. In the silence, each shaped for himself that vision of home that brightens so many camp-fires, haunts so many dreamers under canvas roofs, and keeps so many turbulent natures tender by memories which often are both solace and salvation.
Silence filled the air after the last words, while the friendly moon rose in the sky. Each man watched it, and each man's heart was occupied with thoughts of other eyes and hearts that might be watching and wishing just like them. In that silence, each created a vision of home that lights up countless campfires, lingers in the minds of many dreamers under canvas roofs, and softens the hearts of many fiery souls through memories that often serve as both comfort and salvation.
Thorn paced to and fro, his rifle on his shoulder, vigilant and soldierly, however soft his heart might be. Phil leaned against the tree, one hand in the breast of his blue jacket, on the painted presentment of the face his fancy was picturing in the golden circle of the moon. Flint lounged on the sward, whistling softly as he whittled at a fallen bough. Dick was flat on his back, heels in air, cigar in mouth, and some hilarious notion in his mind, for suddenly he broke into a laugh.
Thorn paced back and forth, his rifle slung over his shoulder, alert and soldier-like, no matter how soft-hearted he might be. Phil leaned against the tree, one hand tucked into the chest of his blue jacket, staring at the painted image of the face his imagination was conjuring in the golden glow of the moon. Flint lounged on the grass, whistling softly as he carved a fallen branch. Dick lay flat on his back, feet in the air, cigar in his mouth, and some funny idea in his head, because suddenly he burst out laughing.
“What is it, lad?” asked Thorn, pausing in his tramp, as if willing to be drawn from the disturbing thought that made his black brows lower and his mouth look grim.
“What’s up, kid?” Thorn asked, stopping his walk, as if he wanted to be pulled away from the troubling thoughts that furrowed his dark brows and made his mouth look serious.
“Thinkin’ of my wife, and wishin’ she was here, bless her heart! set me rememberin’ how I see her fust, and so I roared, as I always do when it comes into my head.”
“Thinking about my wife and wishing she was here, bless her heart! made me remember how I saw her first, and so I yelled, just like I always do when it pops into my mind.”
“How was it? Come, reel off a yarn, and let’s hear houw yeou hitched teams,” said Flint, always glad to get information concerning his neighbors, if it could be cheaply done.
“How was it? Come on, share a story, and let’s hear how you managed to get the teams together,” said Flint, always eager to get information about his neighbors, as long as it didn’t cost him much.
“Tellin’ how we found our wives wouldn’t be a bad game, would it, Phil?”
“Talking about how we found our wives wouldn’t be a bad idea, right, Phil?”
“I’m agreeable; but let’s have your romance first.”
“I’m on board; but let’s hear your love story first.”
“Devilish little of that about me or any of my doin’s. I hate sentimental bosh as much as you hate slang, and should have been a bachelor to this day if I hadn’t seen Kitty jest as I did. You see, I’d been too busy larkin’ round to get time for marryin’, till a couple of years ago, when I did up the job double-quick, as I’d like to do this thunderin’ slow one, hang it all!”
“There's hardly anything like that about me or what I do. I can’t stand sentimental nonsense just as much as you can’t stand slang, and I would still be single to this day if I hadn’t seen Kitty just as I did. You see, I had been way too caught up in having fun to find time to get married until a couple of years ago, when I wrapped it up quickly, just like I’d like to do with this incredibly slow situation, for goodness’ sake!”
“Halt a minute till I give a look, for this picket isn’t going to be driven in or taken while I’m on guard.”
“Wait a minute while I take a look, because this stake isn’t going to be driven in or taken while I’m on watch.”
Down his beat went Thorn, reconnoitring river, road, and swamp, as thoroughly as one pair of keen eyes could do it, and came back satisfied, but still growling like a faithful mastiff on the watch; performances which he repeated at intervals till his own turn came.
Down his route went Thorn, scouting the river, road, and swamp as thoroughly as one pair of sharp eyes could manage. He returned feeling satisfied but still grumbling like a loyal watchdog on alert; tasks he repeated at intervals until it was finally his turn.
“I didn’t have to go out of my own State for a wife, you’d better believe,” began Dick, with a boast, as usual; “for we raise as fine a crop of girls thar as any State in or out of the Union, and don’t mind raisin’ Cain with any man who denies it. I was out on a gunnin’ tramp with Joe Partridge, a cousin of mine,—poor old chap! he fired his last shot at Gettysburg, and died game in a way he didn’t dream of the day we popped off the birds together. It ain’t right to joke that way; I won’t if I can help it; but a feller gets awfully kind of heathenish these times, don’t he?”
"I didn’t need to leave my own state to find a wife, believe me," Dick started, boasting as always. "We grow some of the best girls around here, just as good as any state in or out of the Union, and we’re not afraid to stand up to anyone who says otherwise. I was out on a hunting trip with my cousin Joe Partridge—poor guy! He fired his last shot at Gettysburg and faced his end bravely in a way he never imagined that day when we were shooting birds together. It’s not right to joke about that; I’ll try not to if I can help it, but a guy gets a bit wild these days, doesn’t he?"
“Settle up them scores byme-by; fightin’ Christians is scurse raound here. Fire away, Dick.”
“Wrap up those scores with me soon; fighting Christians are rare around here. Go ahead, Dick.”
“Well, we got as hungry as hounds half a dozen mile from home, and when a farmhouse hove in sight, Joe said he’d ask for a bite, and leave some of the plunder for pay. I was visitin’ Joe, didn’t know folks round, and backed out of the beggin’ part of the job; so he went ahead alone. We’d come out of the woods behind the house, and while Joe was foragin’, I took a reconnaissance. The view was fust-rate, for the main part of it was a girl airin’ beds on the roof of a stoop. Now, jest about that time, havin’ a leisure spell, I’d begun to think of marryin’, and took a look at all the girls I met, with an eye to business. I s’pose every man has some sort of an idee or pattern of the wife he wants; pretty and plucky, good and gay was mine, but I’d never found it till I see Kitty; and as she didn’t see me, I had the advantage and took an extra long stare.”
“Well, we got as hungry as dogs six miles from home, and when we spotted a farmhouse, Joe said he’d ask for something to eat and would leave some of the loot as payment. I was visiting Joe, didn’t know anyone around, and backed out of the begging part of the job; so he went ahead alone. We’d come out of the woods behind the house, and while Joe was scrounging, I took a look around. The view was great, as the main part of it was a girl airing beds on the roof of a porch. Now, just around that time, having a free moment, I’d started to think about marriage and looked at all the girls I met with an eye on the future. I suppose every man has some idea or image of the wife he wants; pretty and spirited, kind and cheerful was mine, but I’d never found it until I saw Kitty; and since she didn’t notice me, I had the advantage and took an extra long look.”
“What was her good p’ints, hey?”
“What were her good points, huh?”
“Oh, well, she had a wide-awake pair of eyes, a bright, jolly sort of a face, lots of curly hair tumblin’ out of her net, a trig little figger, and a pair of the neatest feet and ankles that ever stepped. ‘Pretty,’ thinks I; ‘so far so good.’ The way she whacked the pillers, shook the blankets, and pitched into the beds was a caution; specially one blunderin’ old feather-bed that wouldn’t do nothin’ but sag round in a pig-headed sort of way, that would have made most girls get mad and give up. Kitty didn’t, but just wrastled with it like a good one, till she got it turned, banged, and spread to suit her; then she plumped down in the middle of it, with a sarcy little nod and chuckle to herself, that tickled me mightily. ‘Plucky,’ thinks I, ‘better ’n’ better.’ Jest then an old woman came flyin’ out the back-door, callin’, ‘Kitty! Kitty! Squire Partridge’s son’s here, ’long with a friend; been gunnin’, want luncheon, and I’m all in the suds; do come down and see to ’em.’
“Oh, she had these bright, awake eyes, a cheerful, happy face, a lot of curly hair spilling out of her net, a neat little figure, and the cutest feet and ankles you’ve ever seen. ‘Pretty,’ I thought; ‘so far so good.’ The way she thumped the pillows, shook the blankets, and tackled the beds was impressive, especially with one stubborn old feather bed that just wanted to sag and wouldn’t cooperate. Most girls would have gotten frustrated and given up, but not Kitty; she wrestled with it like a champ until she got it turned, fluffed, and laid out just right. Then she plopped down in the middle of it, with a sassy little nod and chuckle to herself that made me laugh. ‘Brave,’ I thought, ‘getting better and better.’ Just then, an old woman came rushing out the back door, calling, ‘Kitty! Kitty! Squire Partridge’s son is here with a friend; they’ve been hunting and want lunch, and I’m all in a panic; please come down and take care of them.’"
“‘Where are they?’ says Kitty, scrambling up her hair and settlin’ her gown in a jiffy, as women have a knack of doin’, you know.
“‘Where are they?’ says Kitty, quickly fixing her hair and adjusting her dress in no time, as women tend to do, you know.”
“‘Mr. Joe’s in the front entry; the other man’s somewheres round, Billy says, waitin’ till I send word whether they can stop. I darsn’t till I’d seen you, for I can’t do nothin’, I’m in such a mess,’ says the old lady.
“‘Mr. Joe's in the front entry; the other guy's somewhere around, Billy says, waiting for me to tell him whether they can stop by. I didn't want to say anything until I saw you because I can't do anything; I'm in such a mess,' says the old lady.”
“‘So am I, for I can’t get in except by the entry window, and he’ll see me,’ says Kitty, gigglin’ at the thoughts of Joe.
“‘Me too, because I can’t get in except through the entry window, and he’ll see me,’ says Kitty, giggling at the thought of Joe.”
“‘Come down the ladder, there’s a dear. I’ll pull it round and keep it stiddy,’ says her mother.
“‘Come down the ladder, sweetheart. I’ll steady it and hold it for you,’ says her mother.
“‘Oh, ma, don’t ask me!’ says Kitty, with a shiver. ‘I’m dreadfully scared of ladders since I broke my arm off this very one. It’s so high, it makes me dizzy jest to think of.’
“‘Oh, Mom, don’t ask me!’ says Kitty, shivering. ‘I’m really scared of ladders since I broke my arm on this very one. It’s so high, it makes me dizzy just thinking about it.’”
“‘Well, then, I’ll do the best I can; but I wish them boys was to Jericho!’ says the old lady, with a groan, for she was fat and hot, had her gown pinned up, and was in a fluster generally. She was goin’ off rather huffy, when Kitty called out,—
“‘Well, then, I’ll do the best I can; but I wish those boys were gone!’ says the old lady, groaning, since she was overweight and hot, had her dress pinned up, and was generally flustered. She was walking off a bit huffily when Kitty called out,—
“‘Stop, ma! I’ll come down and help you, only ketch me if I tumble.’
“‘Hold on, Mom! I'll come down and help you, just catch me if I fall.’”
“She looked scared but stiddy, and I’ll bet it took as much grit for her to do it as for one of us to face a battery. It don’t seem much to tell of, but I wish I may be hit if it wasn’t a right down dutiful and clever thing to see done. When the old lady took her off at the bottom, with a good motherly hug, ‘Good,’ thinks I; ‘what more do you want?’”
“She looked scared but steady, and I bet it took just as much courage for her to do it as it would for any of us to face a whole army. It might not seem like a big deal, but I swear it was a truly dedicated and smart thing to witness. When the old lady took her away at the bottom with a warm motherly hug, I thought, ‘Good; what more could you ask for?’”
“A snug little property wouldn’t a ben bad, I reckon,” said Flint.
“A cozy little place wouldn’t be too bad, I guess,” said Flint.
“Well, she had it, old skin-flint, though I didn’t know or care about it then. What a jolly row she’d make if she knew I was tellin’ the ladder part of the story! She always does when I get to it, and makes believe cry, with her head in my breast-pocket, or any such handy place, till I take it out and swear I’ll never do so ag’in. Poor little Kit, I wonder what she’s doin’ now. Thinkin’ of me, I’ll bet.”
“Well, she had it, old skin-flint, though I didn’t know or care about it back then. What a scene she’d make if she knew I was sharing the latter part of the story! She always does when I get to it, and pretends to cry, with her head in my chest pocket or some other convenient spot, until I take it out and promise I’ll never do that again. Poor little Kit, I wonder what she’s up to now. I bet she’s thinking of me.”
Dick paused, pulled his cap lower over his eyes, and smoked a minute with more energy than enjoyment, for his cigar was out and he did not perceive it.
Dick paused, pulled his cap down over his eyes, and smoked for a minute with more intensity than pleasure, as his cigar was out and he didn’t even notice.
“That’s not all, is it?” asked Thorn, taking a fatherly interest in the younger man’s love passages.
“That’s not everything, is it?” asked Thorn, showing a fatherly interest in the younger man’s romantic experiences.
“Not quite. ’Fore long, Joe whistled, and as I always take short cuts everywhar, I put in at the back-door, jest as Kitty come trottin’ out of the pantry with a big berry-pie in her hand. I startled her, she tripped over the sill and down she come; the dish flew one way, the pie flopped into her lap, the juice spatterin’ my boots and her clean gown. I thought she’d cry, scold, have hysterics, or some confounded thing or other; but she jest sat still a minute, then looked up at me with a great blue splash on her face, and went off into the good-naturedest gale of laughin’ you ever heard in your life. That finished me. ‘Gay,’ thinks I; ‘go in and win.’ So I did; made love hand over hand, while I stayed with Joe; pupposed a fortnight after, married her in three months, and there she is, a tip-top little woman, with a pair of stunnin’ boys in her arms!”
“Not quite. Before long, Joe whistled, and since I always take shortcuts everywhere, I came in through the back door just as Kitty came trotting out of the pantry with a big berry pie in her hand. I startled her, she tripped over the threshold and down she went; the dish flew one way, the pie flopped into her lap, the juice splattering my boots and her clean dress. I thought she’d cry, scold, have some kind of fit, or something like that; but she just sat still for a moment, then looked up at me with a big blue splash on her face and burst into the greatest laugh you’ve ever heard in your life. That got to me. ‘Alright,’ I thought, ‘I’m going for it.’ So I did; I made love like crazy while I stayed with Joe; proposed a couple of weeks later, married her three months after that, and there she is, a fantastic little woman, with a pair of adorable boys in her arms!”
Out came a well-worn case, and Dick proudly displayed the likeness of a stout, much bejewelled young woman with two staring infants on her knee. In his sight, the poor picture was a more perfect work of art than any of Sir Joshua’s baby-beauties, or Raphael’s Madonnas, and the little story needed no better sequel than the young father’s praises of his twins, the covert kiss he gave their mother when he turned as if to get a clearer light upon the face. Ashamed to show the tenderness that filled his honest heart, he hummed “Kingdom Coming,” while relighting his cigar, and presently began to talk again.
Out came a well-used case, and Dick proudly showed off a picture of a sturdy, heavily adorned young woman with two wide-eyed babies on her lap. To him, the humble image was a more perfect piece of art than any of Sir Joshua’s baby portraits or Raphael’s Madonnas, and the little story needed no better ending than the young father’s praises of his twins, the secret kiss he gave their mother when he turned as if to get a better look at her face. Embarrassed to show the affection that filled his genuine heart, he hummed “Kingdom Coming” while lighting his cigar again, and soon started talking once more.
“Now, then, Flint, it’s your turn to keep guard, and Thorn’s to tell his romance. Come, don’t try to shirk; it does a man good to talk of such things, and we’re all mates here.”
“Alright, Flint, it’s your turn to keep watch, and Thorn’s turn to share his story. Come on, don’t try to dodge it; it’s good for a guy to talk about these things, and we’re all friends here.”
“In some cases it don’t do any good to talk of such things; better let ’em alone,” muttered Thorn, as he reluctantly sat down, while Flint as reluctantly departed.
“In some cases, it doesn’t help to talk about these things; it’s better to just leave them alone,” muttered Thorn, as he reluctantly sat down, while Flint similarly left.
With a glance and gesture of real affection, Phil laid his hand upon his comrade’s knee, saying in his persuasive voice, “Old fellow, it will do you good, because I know you often long to speak of something that weighs upon you. You’ve kept us steady many a time, and done us no end of kindnesses; why be too proud to let us give our sympathy in return, if nothing more?”
With a look and a genuine gesture, Phil placed his hand on his friend’s knee, saying in a soothing voice, “Hey buddy, it will help you, because I know you often want to talk about what’s bothering you. You've kept us grounded many times and done so many kind things for us; why be too proud to let us offer our support in return, even just a little?”
Thorn’s big hand closed over the slender one upon his knee, and the mild expression, so rarely seen upon his face, passed over it as he replied,—
Thorn’s large hand wrapped around the slender one on his knee, and the gentle expression, which was so rarely seen on his face, crossed over it as he answered,—
“I think I could tell you almost anything if you asked me that way, my boy. It isn’t that I am too proud,—and you’re right about my sometimes wanting to free my mind,—but it’s because a man of forty don’t just like to open out to young fellows, if there is any danger of their laughing at him, though he may deserve it. I guess there isn’t now; and I’ll tell you how I found my wife.”
“I think I could tell you almost anything if you asked me like that, kid. It’s not that I’m too proud—and you’re right about me wanting to share my thoughts sometimes—but a man who's forty doesn’t usually like to open up to younger guys if there’s any chance they might laugh at him, even if he has it coming. I guess that’s not an issue now; so I’ll tell you how I met my wife.”
Dick sat up, and Phil drew nearer, for the earnestness that was in the man dignified his plain speech, and inspired an interest in his history, even before it was begun. Looking gravely at the river and never at his hearers, as if still a little shy of confidants, yet grateful for the relief of words, Thorn began abruptly:—
Dick sat up, and Phil came closer, because the sincerity in the man gave weight to his simple words and sparked curiosity about his story even before it started. He looked seriously at the river, avoiding eye contact with his listeners, as if he was still a bit hesitant about sharing but thankful for the chance to express himself. Thorn began without preamble:—
“I never hear the number eighty-four without clapping my hand to my left breast and missing my badge. You know I was on the police in New York, before the war, and that’s about all you do know yet. One bitter cold night I was going my rounds for the last time, when, as I turned a corner, I saw there was a trifle of work to be done. It was a bad part of the city, full of dirt and deviltry; one of the streets led to a ferry, and at the corner an old woman had an apple-stall. The poor soul had dropped asleep, worn out with the cold, and there were her goods left with no one to watch ’em. Somebody was watching ’em, however; a girl, with a ragged shawl over her head, stood at the mouth of an alley close by, waiting for a chance to grab something. I’d seen her there when I went by before, and mistrusted she was up to some mischief; as I turned the corner, she put out her hand and cribbed an apple. She saw me the minute she did it, but neither dropped it nor ran, only stood stock still with the apple in her hand till I came up.
"I never hear the number eighty-four without putting my hand to my left chest and missing my badge. You know I was a cop in New York before the war, and that's about all you know about me so far. One freezing cold night, I was making my rounds for the last time when, as I turned a corner, I saw there was a little work to do. It was a rough part of town, full of grime and trouble; one of the streets led to a ferry, and at the corner, an old woman had an apple stand. The poor woman had fallen asleep, exhausted from the cold, and her goods were left unattended. However, someone was keeping an eye on them; a girl, with a ragged shawl over her head, stood at the entrance of an alley nearby, waiting for a chance to snatch something. I had noticed her there when I passed by before and suspected she was up to no good; as I turned the corner, she reached out her hand and stole an apple. She saw me the instant she did it but neither dropped it nor ran away, just stood still with the apple in her hand until I got closer."
“‘This won’t do, my girl,’ said I. I never could be harsh with ’em, poor things! She laid it back and looked up at me with a miserable sort of a smile, that made me put my hand in my pocket to fish for a nine-pence before she spoke.
“‘This isn’t going to work, my girl,’ I said. I could never be tough with them, poor things! She put it aside and looked up at me with a sad kind of smile, which made me reach into my pocket to pull out a nine-pence before she spoke.
“‘I know it won’t,’ she says. ‘I didn’t want to do it, it’s so mean, but I’m awful hungry, sir.’
“‘I know it won't,’ she says. ‘I didn’t want to do it, it's so cruel, but I’m really hungry, sir.’”
“‘Better run home and get your supper, then.’
“‘You better run home and get your dinner, then.’”
“‘I’ve got no home.’
“I have no home.”
“‘Where do you live?’
"Where do you live?"
“‘In the street.’
“In the street.”
“‘Where do you sleep?’
“‘Where do you stay?’”
“‘Anywhere; last night in the lock-up, and I thought I’d get in there again, if I did that when you saw me. I like to go there, it’s warm and safe.’
“‘Anywhere; last night in the holding cell, and I thought I’d end up there again, if I did that when you saw me. I like going there, it’s warm and safe.’”
“‘If I don’t take you there, what will you do?’
“‘If I don’t take you there, what are you going to do?’”
“‘Don’t know. I could go over there and dance again as I used to, but being sick has made me ugly, so they won’t have me, and no one else will take me because I have been there once.’
“‘I don’t know. I could go over there and dance again like I used to, but being sick has made me unattractive, so they won’t accept me, and no one else will take me because I’ve already been there once.’”
“I looked where she pointed, and thanked the Lord that they wouldn’t take her. It was one of those low theatres that do so much damage to the like of her; there was a gambling place one side of it, an eating saloon the other. I was new to the work then, but though I’d heard about hunger and homelessness often enough, I’d never had this sort of thing, nor seen that look on a girl’s face. A white, pinched face hers was, with frightened, tired-looking eyes, but so innocent! She wasn’t more than sixteen, had been pretty once, I saw, looked sick and starved now, and seemed just the most helpless, hopeless little thing that ever was.
“I looked where she pointed and thanked the Lord that they wouldn’t take her. It was one of those seedy theaters that cause so much harm to girls like her; there was a gambling place on one side and a diner on the other. I was new to this kind of work back then, but though I’d heard about hunger and homelessness plenty of times, I had never seen this kind of situation or that expression on a girl’s face. Her face was pale and gaunt, with scared, tired-looking eyes, but so innocent! She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, had been pretty once, I could tell, but now she looked sick and starved, like the most helpless, hopeless little thing that ever existed.
“‘You’d better come to the Station for to-night, and we’ll see to you to-morrow,’ says I.
“‘You’d better come to the Station tonight, and we’ll take care of you tomorrow,’ I said.”
“‘Thank you, sir,’ says she, looking as grateful as if I’d asked her home. I suppose I did speak kind of fatherly. I ain’t ashamed to say I felt so, seeing what a child she was; nor to own that when she put her little hand in mine, it hurt me to feel how thin and cold it was. We passed the eating-house where the red lights made her face as rosy as it ought to have been; there was meat and pies in the window, and the poor thing stopped to look. It was too much for her; off came her shawl, and she said in that coaxing way of hers,—
“‘Thank you, sir,’ she says, looking as grateful as if I’d invited her home. I guess I did speak a bit fatherly. I’m not ashamed to admit that I felt that way, given how young she was; and I’m also not ashamed to say that when she put her little hand in mine, it hurt to feel how thin and cold it was. We passed the diner where the red lights made her face as rosy as it should have been; there were meats and pies in the window, and the poor thing stopped to look. It was too much for her; off came her shawl, and she said in that sweet, coaxing way of hers,—
“‘I wish you’d let me stop at the place close by and sell this; they’ll give a little for it, and I’ll get some supper. I’ve had nothing since yesterday morning, and maybe cold is easier to bear than hunger.’
“‘I wish you’d let me stop at the place nearby and sell this; they’ll give me a little for it, and I’ll get some dinner. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, and maybe being cold is easier to handle than being hungry.’”
“‘Have you nothing better than that to sell?’ I says, not quite sure that she wasn’t all a humbug, like so many of ’em. She seemed to see that, and looked up at me again with such innocent eyes, I couldn’t doubt her when she said, shivering with something beside the cold,—
“‘Don’t you have anything better to sell?’ I asked, not entirely convinced she wasn’t just putting on a show, like so many others. She seemed to sense my hesitation and looked up at me again with such innocent eyes that I couldn’t doubt her when she said, shivering from something other than the cold,—
“‘Nothing but myself.’ Then the tears came, and she laid her head down on my arm, sobbing,—‘Keep me! oh, do keep me safe somewhere!’”
“‘Nothing but myself.’ Then the tears came, and she laid her head down on my arm, sobbing, ‘Keep me! Oh, please keep me safe somewhere!’”
Thorn choked here, steadied his voice with a resolute hem! but could only add one sentence more,—
Thorn cleared his throat here, steadied his voice with a determined hem! but could only add one more sentence,—
“That’s how I found my wife.”
"That's how I met my wife."
“Come, don’t stop thar. I told the whole o’ mine, you do the same. Whar did you take her? how’d it all come round?”
“Come on, don’t stop there. I told everyone, you do the same. Where did you take her? How did it all happen?”
“Please tell us, Thorn.”
“Please share with us, Thorn.”
The gentler request was answered presently, very steadily, very quietly.
The softer request was answered right away, very calmly, very quietly.
“I was always a soft-hearted fellow, though you wouldn’t think it now, and when that little girl asked me to keep her safe, I just did it. I took her to a good woman whom I knew, for I hadn’t any women folks belonging to me, nor any place but that to put her in. She stayed there till spring working for her keep, growing brighter, prettier, every day, and fonder of me, I thought. If I believed in witchcraft, I shouldn’t think myself such a fool as I do now, but I don’t believe in it, and to this day I can’t understand how I came to do it. To be sure I was a lonely man, without kith or kin, had never had a sweetheart in my life, or been much with women since my mother died. Maybe that’s why I was so bewitched with Mary, for she had little ways with her that took your fancy and made you love her whether you would or no. I found her father was an honest fellow enough, a fiddler in some theatre; that he’d taken good care of Mary till he died, leaving precious little but advice for her to live on. She’d tried to get work, failed, spent all she had, got sick, and was going to the bad, as the poor souls can hardly help doing with so many ready to give them a shove. It’s no use trying to make a bad job better; so the long and short of it was, I thought she loved me; God knows I loved her! and I married her before the year was out.”
“I’ve always been a soft-hearted guy, even if you wouldn’t believe it now, and when that little girl asked me to keep her safe, I just did. I took her to a good woman I knew because I didn’t have any female relatives or anywhere else to take her. She stayed there until spring, working for her keep, getting brighter and prettier every day, and I thought she was growing fonder of me. If I believed in witchcraft, I wouldn’t think of myself as such a fool as I do now, but I don’t believe in it, and to this day, I can’t understand why I did it. Of course, I was a lonely man, without family, had never had a sweetheart in my life, or spent much time with women since my mother died. Maybe that’s why I was so enchanted by Mary, as she had little ways about her that made you like her and love her whether you wanted to or not. I found out her father was a decent guy, a fiddler in some theater; he took good care of Mary until he died, leaving behind hardly anything but advice for her to live on. She’d tried to find work, failed, spent everything she had, got sick, and was heading down a bad path, as many poor souls do with so many ready to push them. It’s pointless to try to make a bad situation better; so the bottom line is, I thought she loved me; God knows I loved her! and I married her before the year was up.”
“Show us her picture; I know you’ve got one; all the fellows have, though half of ’em won’t own up.”
“Show us her picture; I know you have one; all the guys do, even if half of them won't admit it.”
“I’ve only got part of one. I once saved my little girl, and her picture once saved me.”
“I’ve only got part of one. I once saved my little girl, and her picture once saved me.”
From an inner pocket Thorn produced a woman’s housewife, carefully untied it, though all its implements were missing but a little thimble, and from one of its compartments took a flattened bullet and the remnants of a picture.
From an inner pocket, Thorn pulled out a woman's sewing kit, carefully untied it, even though all its tools were missing except for a small thimble. From one of its compartments, he took out a flattened bullet and what was left of a picture.
“I gave her that the first Christmas after I found her. She wasn’t as tidy about her clothes as I liked to see, and I thought if I gave her a handy thing like this, she’d be willing to sew. But she only made one shirt for me, and then got tired, so I keep it like an old fool, as I am. Yes, that’s the bit of lead that would have done for me, if Mary’s likeness hadn’t been just where it was.”
“I gave her that the first Christmas after I found her. She wasn’t as neat about her clothes as I liked, and I thought if I gave her something useful like this, she’d be willing to sew. But she only made one shirt for me and then got tired of it, so I keep it like a fool, which I am. Yes, that’s the piece of lead that would have finished me off, if Mary’s likeness hadn’t been right where it was.”
“You’ll like to show her this when you go home, won’t you?” said Dick, as he took up the bullet, while Phil examined the marred picture, and Thorn poised the little thimble on his big finger, with a sigh.
“You'll want to show her this when you get home, right?” said Dick, as he picked up the bullet, while Phil looked at the damaged picture, and Thorn balanced the little thimble on his large finger with a sigh.
“How can I, when I don’t know where she is, and camp is all the home I’ve got!”
“How can I, when I don’t know where she is, and camp is all I have for home!”
The words broke from him like a sudden groan, when some old wound is rudely touched. Both of the young men started, both laid back the relics they had taken up, and turned their eyes from Thorn’s face, across which swept a look of shame and sorrow, too significant to be misunderstood. Their silence assured him of their sympathy, and, as if that touch of friendliness unlocked his heavy heart, he eased it by a full confession. When he spoke again, it was with the calmness of repressed emotion, a calmness more touching to his mates than the most passionate outbreak, the most pathetic lamentation; for the coarse camp-phrases seemed to drop from his vocabulary; more than once his softened voice grew tremulous, and to the words “my little girl,” there went a tenderness that proved how dear a place she still retained in that deep heart of his.
The words came out of him like a sudden groan, like when an old wound is unexpectedly touched. Both young men jumped, put down the items they had picked up, and turned their eyes away from Thorn’s face, which showed a look of shame and sorrow that was impossible to misinterpret. Their silence showed him they felt for him, and as if that touch of kindness unlocked his heavy heart, he relieved it by fully confessing. When he spoke again, it was with the calmness of repressed emotion, a calmness that touched his friends more than the most passionate outburst or the most heartbreaking lament; it was as if the rough camp language fell away from him. More than once, his softened voice trembled, and when he said “my little girl,” there was a tenderness that showed how important she still was to his deep heart.
“Boys, I’ve gone so far; I may as well finish; and you’ll see I’m not without some cause for my stern looks and ways; you’ll pity me, and from you I’ll take the comfort of it. It’s only the old story,—I married her, worked for her, lived for her, and kept my little girl like a lady. I should have known that I was too old and sober for a young thing like that, for the life she led before the pinch came just suited her. She liked to be admired, to dress, and dance and make herself pretty for all the world to see; not to keep house for a quiet man like me. Idleness wasn’t good for her, it bred discontent; then some of her old friends, who’d left her in her trouble, found her out when better times came round, and tried to get her back again. I was away all day, I didn’t know how things were going, and she wasn’t open with me, afraid she said; I was so grave, and hated theatres so. She got courage finally to tell me that she wasn’t happy; that she wanted to dance again, and asked me if she mightn’t. I’d rather have had her ask me to put her in a fire, for I did hate theatres, and was bred to; others think they’re no harm. I do; and knew it was a bad life for a girl like mine. It pampers vanity, and vanity is the Devil’s help with such; so I said No, kindly at first, sharp and stern when she kept on teasing. That roused her spirit. ‘I will go!’ she said, one day. ‘Not while you are my wife,’ I answered back; and neither said any more, but she gave me a look I didn’t think she could, and I resolved to take her away from temptation before worse came of it.
“Guys, I've come this far; I might as well finish up; and you’ll see I have my reasons for my serious expressions and demeanor; you’ll feel sorry for me, and I’ll take comfort in that from you. It's the same old story— I married her, worked for her, lived for her, and raised my little girl like a lady. I should have realized that I was too old and serious for someone so young; the life she led before the struggles suited her perfectly. She loved being admired, dressing up, dancing, and making herself pretty for everyone to see, not running a household for a quiet guy like me. Being idle wasn’t good for her; it caused dissatisfaction. Then some of her old friends, who abandoned her in her hard times, showed up again when things got better and tried to win her back. I was out all day and had no idea how things were going, and she didn’t open up to me because she said she was scared; I was too serious and hated theaters so much. Eventually, she found the courage to tell me she wasn’t happy; that she wanted to dance again, and asked if she could. I would have preferred her to ask me to throw her into a fire because I absolutely hated theaters, and I was raised to think that way; others think there's nothing wrong with them, but I do, and I knew it was a bad scene for a girl like mine. It feeds vanity, and vanity is the Devil’s assistant with girls like her; so I said no, kindly at first, then firmly and sternly when she kept asking. That sparked her spirit. ‘I will go!’ she declared one day. ‘Not while you are my wife,’ I shot back; and we didn’t say any more, but she gave me a look I didn’t think she was capable of, and I decided to get her away from temptation before things could get worse.”
“I didn’t tell her my plan; but I resigned my place, spent a week or more finding and fixing a little home for her out in the wholesome country, where she’d be safe from theatres and disreputable friends, and maybe learn to love me better when she saw how much she was to me. It was coming summer, and I made things look as home-like and as pretty as I could. She liked flowers, and I fixed a garden for her; she was fond of pets, and I got her a bird, a kitten, and a dog to play with her; she fancied gay colors and tasty little matters, so I filled her rooms with all the handsome things I could afford, and when it was done, I was as pleased as any boy, thinking what happy times we’d have together and how pleased she’d be. Boys, when I went to tell her and to take her to her little home, she was gone.”
“I didn’t share my plan with her, but I quit my job, spent over a week finding and setting up a cozy little home for her in the beautiful countryside, where she would be safe from theaters and bad influences, and hopefully learn to love me more when she saw how much she meant to me. Summer was approaching, and I made everything as welcoming and pretty as I could. She loved flowers, so I created a garden for her; she liked pets, so I got her a bird, a kitten, and a dog to play with; she was into bright colors and cute little things, so I filled her rooms with all the nice things I could afford. When it was all finished, I was as excited as a kid, thinking about the happy times we’d have together and how delighted she’d be. But when I went to tell her and take her to her new home, she was gone.”
“Who with?”
"Who's with you?"
“With those cursed friends of hers; a party of them left the city just then; she was wild to go; she had money now, and all her good looks back again. They teased and tempted her; I wasn’t there to keep her, and she went, leaving a line behind to tell me that she loved the old life more than the new; that my house was a prison, and she hoped I’d let her go in peace. That almost killed me; but I managed to bear it, for I knew most of the fault was mine; but it was awful bitter to think I hadn’t saved her, after all.”
“With those cursed friends of hers, a group of them left the city right then; she was eager to go; she had money now and all her good looks back again. They teased and tempted her; I wasn’t there to stop her, and she left, leaving me a note saying that she loved the old life more than the new; that my house felt like a prison, and she hoped I’d let her go peacefully. That nearly broke me, but I managed to cope, knowing that most of the blame was on me; still, it was incredibly bitter to think I hadn’t saved her after all.”
“Oh, Thorn! what did you do?”
“Oh, Thorn! What did you do?”
“Went straight after her; found her dancing in Philadelphia, with paint on her cheeks, trinkets on her neck and arms, looking prettier than ever; but the innocent eyes were gone, and I couldn’t see my little girl in the bold, handsome woman twirling there before the footlights. She saw me, looked scared at first, then smiled, and danced on with her eyes upon me, as if she said,—
“Went straight after her; found her dancing in Philadelphia, with makeup on her cheeks, jewelry around her neck and arms, looking prettier than ever; but the innocent eyes were gone, and I couldn’t see my little girl in the confident, beautiful woman twirling there in front of the stage lights. She saw me, looked scared at first, then smiled, and continued dancing with her eyes on me, as if she said,—
“‘See! I’m happy now; go away and let me be.’
“‘Look! I’m happy now; just leave me alone.’”
“I couldn’t stand that, and got out somehow. People thought me mad, or drunk; I didn’t care, I only wanted to see her once in quiet and try to get her home. I couldn’t do it then nor afterwards by fair means, and I wouldn’t try force. I wrote to her, promised to forgive her, begged her to come back, or let me keep her honestly somewhere away from me. But she never answered, never came, and I have never tried again.”
“I couldn’t take it anymore, so I managed to get out. People thought I was crazy or drunk; I didn’t care, I just wanted to see her once in peace and try to bring her home. I couldn’t do it then or later in a straightforward way, and I refused to try force. I wrote to her, promised to forgive her, begged her to come back, or at least let me keep her somewhere away from me. But she never replied, never showed up, and I haven't tried again since.”
“She wasn’t worthy of you, Thorn; you jest forgit her.”
“She wasn’t worthy of you, Thorn; you should just forget her.”
“I wish I could! I wish I could!” In his voice quivered an almost passionate regret, and a great sob heaved his chest, as he turned his face away to hide the love and longing, still so tender and so strong.
“I wish I could! I wish I could!” His voice held an almost passionate regret, and a deep sob shook his chest as he turned his face away to hide the love and longing, still so tender and so strong.
“Don’t say that, Dick; such fidelity should make us charitable for its own sake. There is always time for penitence, always certainty of pardon. Take heart, Thorn, you may not wait in vain, and she may yet return to you.”
“Don’t say that, Dick; that kind of loyalty should inspire us to be kind just for the sake of it. There’s always time for remorse, and there’s always a chance for forgiveness. Take heart, Thorn, you might not be waiting in vain, and she could still come back to you.”
“I know she will! I’ve dreamed of it, I’ve prayed for it; every battle I come out of safe makes me surer that I was kept for that, and when I’ve borne enough to atone for my part of the fault, I’ll be repaid for all my patience, all my pain, by finding her again. She knows how well I love her still, and if there comes a time when she is sick and poor and all alone again, then she’ll remember her old John, then she’ll come home and let me take her in.”
“I know she will! I’ve dreamed about it, I’ve prayed for it; every time I come out of a battle safe makes me more certain that I was meant for this. When I’ve endured enough to make up for my share of the blame, I’ll be rewarded for all my patience and all my pain by finding her again. She knows how much I still love her, and if there’s ever a time when she is unwell, struggling, and all alone again, then she’ll remember her old John. That’s when she’ll come back home and let me take her in.”
Hope shone in Thorn’s melancholy eyes, and long-suffering, all-forgiving love beautified the rough, brown face, as he folded his arms and bent his gray head on his breast, as if the wanderer were already come.
Hope sparkled in Thorn’s sad eyes, and his patient, forgiving love enhanced his rough, brown face as he crossed his arms and lowered his gray head to his chest, as if the traveler had already arrived.
The emotion which Dick scorned to show on his own account was freely manifested for another, as he sniffed audibly, and, boy-like, drew his sleeve across his eyes. But Phil, with the delicate perception of a finer nature, felt that the truest kindness he could show his friend was to distract his thoughts from himself, to spare him any comments, and lessen the embarrassment which would surely follow such unwonted confidence.
The emotion that Dick refused to show for himself was clearly visible for someone else, as he sniffed loudly and, like a boy, wiped his eyes with his sleeve. But Phil, with his sensitive nature, realized that the best way to be kind to his friend was to take his mind off himself, to avoid any comments, and to ease the awkwardness that would definitely come from such unusual openness.
“Now I’ll relieve Flint, and he will give you a laugh. Come on, Hiram, and tell us about your Bewlah.”
“Now I’ll take over for Flint, and he’ll give you a good laugh. Come on, Hiram, and tell us about your Bewlah.”
The gentleman addressed had performed his duty by sitting on a fence and “righting up” his pockets, to beguile the tedium of his exile. Before his multitudinous possessions could be restored to their native sphere, Thorn was himself again, and on his feet.
The man being addressed had done his part by sitting on a fence and "fixing up" his pockets to ease the boredom of his exile. Before his many belongings could be returned to their rightful place, Thorn was himself again and back on his feet.
“Stay where you are, Phil; I like to tramp, it seems like old times, and I know you’re tired. Just forget all this I’ve been saying, and go on as before. Thank you, boys! thank you,” and with a grasp of the two hands extended to him, he strode away along the path already worn by his own restless feet.
“Stay where you are, Phil; I enjoy walking, it feels like the old days, and I know you’re tired. Just forget everything I’ve been saying, and keep doing what you were. Thank you, guys! Thank you,” and with a firm握of the two hands reached out to him, he walked away along the path he had already worn down with his restless feet.
“It’s done him good, and I’m glad of that; but I’d like to see the little baggage that bewitched the poor old boy, wouldn’t you, Phil?”
“It’s done him good, and I'm happy about that; but I’d love to see the little troublemaker who captivated the poor old guy, wouldn’t you, Phil?”
“Hush! here’s Flint.”
“Shh! Here’s Flint.”
“What’s up naow? want me tew address the meetin’, hey? I’m willin’, only the laugh’s ruther ag’inst me, ef I tell that story; expect you’ll like it all the better fer that.” Flint coiled up his long limbs, put his hands in his pockets, chewed meditatively for a moment, and then began, with his slowest drawl:—
“What’s up now? Want me to kick off the meeting, huh? I’m up for it, but the joke’s kind of on me if I share that story; I bet you’ll enjoy it even more because of that.” Flint curled his long limbs, put his hands in his pockets, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then started, with his slowest drawl:—
“Waal, sir, it’s pretty nigh ten year ago, I was damster daown tew Oldtaown, clos’t to Banggore. My folks lived tew Bethel; there was only the old man, and Aunt Siloam, keepin’ house fer him, seein’ as I was the only chick he hed. I hedn’t heared from ’em fer a long spell, when there come a letter sayin’ the old man was breakin’ up. He’d said it every spring fer a number er years, and I didn’t mind it no more’n the breakin’ up er the river; not so much, jest then; fer the gret spring drive was comin’ on, and my hands was tew full to quit work all tew oncet. I sent word I’d be ’long ’fore a gret while, and byme-by I went. I ought tew hev gone at fust; but they’d sung aout ‘Wolf!’ so often I warn’t scared; an’ sure ’nuff the wolf did come at last. Father hed been dead and berried a week when I got there, and aunt was so mad she wouldn’t write, nor scurcely speak tew me for a consider’ble spell. I didn’t blame her a mite, and felt jest the wust kind; so I give in every way, and fetched her raound. Yeou see I hed a cousin who’d kind er took my place tew hum while I was off, an’ the old man hed left him a good slice er his money, an’ me the farm, hopin’ to keep me there. He’d never liked the lumberin’ bizness, an’ hankered arfter me a sight, I faound. Waal, seein’ haow ’twas, I tried tew please him, late as it was; but ef there was ennything I did spleen ag’inst it was farmin’, ’specially arfter the smart times I’d ben hevin’, up Oldtaown way. Yeou don’t know nothin’ abaout it; but ef yeou want tew see high dewin’s, jest hitch onto a timber-drive an’ go it daown along them lakes and rivers, say from Kaumchenungamooth tew Punnobscot Bay. Guess yeou’d see a thing or tew, an’ find livin’ on a log come as handy as ef you was born a turtle.
“Well, sir, it's been nearly ten years since I was down in Oldtown, close to Bangor. My family lived in Bethel; there was only the old man and Aunt Siloam taking care of him since I was his only kid. I hadn’t heard from them in quite a while when a letter arrived saying the old man was giving in. He'd said that every spring for several years, and I didn’t take it any more seriously than the river breaking up; not so much, just then, because the big spring drive was coming up, and I was too busy to stop working right away. I sent word that I’d be there soon, and eventually I went. I should have gone right away, but they’d cried ‘Wolf!’ so often I wasn’t worried; and sure enough, the wolf did come after all. Father had been dead and buried for a week when I got there, and Aunt was so angry she wouldn’t write or barely speak to me for quite a while. I didn’t blame her at all, and felt really bad; so I tried everything to make it up to her. You see, I had a cousin who sort of took my place at home while I was away, and the old man had left him a good chunk of his money and me the farm, hoping to keep me there. He’d never liked the lumber business, and he really missed me, I found out. Well, given how it was, I tried to please him, even though it was late; but if there was anything I was against, it was farming, especially after the great times I’d been having up Oldtown way. You don’t know anything about it; but if you want to see high living, just hop onto a timber drive and go down along those lakes and rivers, say from Kaumchenungamooth to Penobscot Bay. I bet you’d see a thing or two, and find living on a log comes as naturally as if you were born a turtle.”
“Waal, I stood it one summer; but it was the longest kind of a job. Come fall I turned contry, darned the farm, and vaowed I’d go back tew loggin’. Aunt hed got fond er me by that time, and felt dreadful bad abaout my leavin’ on her. Cousin Siah, as we called Josiah, didn’t cotton tew the old woman, though he did tew her cash; but we hitched along fust-rate. She was ’tached tew the place, hated tew hev it let or sold, thought I’d go to everlastin’ rewin ef I took tew lumberin’ ag’in, an’ hevin’ a tidy little sum er money all her own, she took a notion tew buy me off. ‘Hiram,’ sez she, ‘ef yeou’ll stay to hum, merry some smart girl, an’ kerry on the farm, I’ll leave yeou the hull er my fortin. Ef yeou don’t, I’ll leave every cent on’t tew Siah, though he ain’t done as waal by me as yeou hev. Come,’ sez she, ‘I’m breakin’ up like brother; I shan’t wurry any one a gret while, and ’fore spring I dessay you’ll hev cause tew rejice that yeou done as Aunt Si counselled yeou.’
“Well, I managed it one summer; but it was the longest job ever. When fall came, I left the country, fixed up the farm, and promised I’d go back to logging. By that time, Aunt had grown fond of me, and felt really bad about me leaving her. Cousin Siah, as we called him, didn’t care much for the old woman, although he did like her money; but we got along just fine. She was attached to the place, hated the idea of it being rented out or sold, thought I’d end up in eternal trouble if I went back to lumbering, and having a nice little sum of money all to herself, she decided she wanted to buy me off. 'Hiram,' she said, 'if you’ll stay home, marry some smart girl, and run the farm, I’ll leave you my entire fortune. If you don’t, I’ll give every last cent to Siah, even though he hasn’t treated me as well as you have. Come,' she said, 'I’m breaking down like an old horse; I won’t bother anyone for quite a while, and before spring, I’ll bet you’ll be glad you took Aunt Si’s advice.'”
“Now, that idee kinder took me, seein’ I hedn’t no overpaourin’ love fer cousin; but I brewdid over it a spell ’fore I ’greed. Fin’lly, I said I’d dew it, as it warn’t a hard nor a bad trade; and begun to look raound fer Mis Flint, Jr. Aunt was dreadf’l pleased; but ’mazin pertickler as tew who was goin’ tew stan’ in her shoes, when she was fetched up ag’inst the etarnal boom. There was a sight er likely women-folks raound taown; but aunt she set her foot daown that Mis Flint must be smart, pious, an good-natered; harnsome she didn’t say nothin’ abaout, bein’ the humliest woman in the State er Maine. I hed my own calk’lations on that p’int, an’ went sparkin’ two or three er the pootiest gals, all that winter. I warn’t in no hurry, fer merryin’ is an awful resky bizness; an’ I wan’t goan to be took in by nobuddy. Some haouw I couldn’t make up my mind which I’d hev, and kept dodgin’, all ready to slew raound, an’ hitch on tew ary one that seemed likeliest. ’Long in March, Aunt, she ketched cold, took tew her bed, got wuss, an’ told me tew hurry up, fer nary cent should I hev, ef I warn’t safely merried ’fore she stepped out. I thought that was ruther craoudin’ a feller; but I see she was goan sure, an’ I’d got inter a way er considerin’ the cash mine, so that it come hard to hear abaout givin’ on ’t up. Off I went that evenin’ an’ asked Almiry Nash ef she’d hev me. No, she wouldn’t; I’d shilly-shallyed so long, she’d got tired er waitin’ and took tew keepin’ company with a doctor daown ter Banggore, where she’d ben visitin’ a spell. I didn’t find that as hard a nub to swaller, as I’d a thought I would, though Almiry was the richest, pootiest, and good-naterest of the lot. Aunt larfed waal, an’ told me tew try ag’in; so a couple er nights arfter, I spruced up, an’ went over to Car’line Miles’s; she was as smart as old cheese, an’ waal off intew the barg’in. I was just as sure she’d hev me, as I be that I’m gittin’ the rewmatiz a settin’ in this ma’sh. But that minx, Almiry, hed ben and let on abaout her own sarsy way er servin’ on me, an’ Car’line jest up an’ said she warn’t goan to hev annybuddy’s leavin’s; so daown I come ag’in.
“Now, that idea kind of grabbed me, since I didn’t have any overwhelming love for my cousin; but I thought it over for a bit before I agreed. Finally, I decided to go for it, since it wasn’t a hard or bad deal; and I started looking for Miss Flint, Jr. Aunt was really pleased; but she was super particular about who would take her place when she faced the inevitable end. There were plenty of nice women around town; but Aunt was adamant that Miss Flint had to be smart, religious, and good-natured; she didn’t mention anything about looks, even though she was the plainest woman in the state of Maine. I had my own ideas about that, so I spent that winter courting two or three of the prettiest girls. I wasn’t in a hurry, because marriage is a risky business; and I wasn’t going to be fooled by anyone. Somehow I couldn’t make up my mind who I wanted, and kept dodging, always ready to turn around and latch onto whoever seemed the best option. In March, Aunt caught a cold, went to bed, got worse, and told me to hurry up, because I wouldn’t get a cent if I wasn’t safely married before she passed away. I thought that was a bit much for a guy; but I saw she was really going, and I’d gotten into a mindset about the money being mine, so it was hard to think about giving that up. Off I went that evening and asked Almira Nash if she’d have me. No, she wouldn’t; I’d taken too long, she got tired of waiting, and started seeing a doctor down in Bangor, where she’d been visiting for a while. I didn’t find that as tough to swallow as I thought I would, even though Almira was the richest, prettiest, and sweetest of the bunch. Aunt laughed hard and told me to try again; so a couple of nights later, I cleaned myself up and went over to Caroline Miles’s; she was as sharp as a tack and pretty well off, too. I was sure she’d say yes, just as I’m sure I’m getting rheumatism sitting in this marsh. But that little minx, Almira, had gone and spilled about her own sassy way of turning me down, and Caroline just said she wasn’t going to take anyone else’s leftovers; so back I went again."
“Things was gettin’ desper’t by that time; fer aunt was failin’ rapid, an’ the story hed leaked aout some way, so the hull taown was gigglin’ over it. I thought I’d better quit them parts; but aunt she showed me her will all done complete, ’sceptin the fust name er the legatee. ‘There,’ sez she, ‘it all depends on yeou, whether that place is took by Hiram or Josiah. It’s easy done, an’ so it’s goan tew stan till the last minit.’ That riled me consid’able, an’ I streaked off tew May Jane Simlin’s. She wan’t very waal off, nor extra harnsome, but she was pious the worst kind, an’ dreadf’l clever to them she fancied. But I was daown on my luck ag’in; fer at the fust word I spoke of merryin’, she showed me the door, an’ give me to understan’ that she couldn’t think er hevin’ a man that warn’t a church-member, that hadn’t experienced religion, or even ben struck with conviction, an’ all the rest on ’t. Ef anny one hed a wanted tew hev seen a walkin’ hornet’s nest, they could hev done it cheap that night, as I went hum. I jest bounced intew the kitchen, chucked my hat intew one corner, my coat intew ’nother, kicked the cat, cussed the fire, drawed up a chair, and set scaoulin’ like sixty, bein’ tew mad fer talkin’. The young woman that was nussin’ aunt,—Bewlah Blish, by name,—was a cooking grewel on the coals, and ’peared tew understan’ the mess I was in; but she didn’t say nothin’, only blowed up the fire, fetched me a mug er cider, an’ went raound so kinder quiet, and sympathizin’, that I found the wrinkles in my temper gettin’ smoothed aout ’mazin’ quick; an’ ’fore long I made a clean breast er the hull thing. Bewlah larfed, but I didn’t mind her doin’ on’t, for she sez, sez she, real sort o’ cunnin’,—
“Things were getting pretty desperate by that time; my aunt was failing fast, and somehow the story had leaked out, so the whole town was laughing about it. I thought it was best to leave that place, but my aunt showed me her will, all finished except for the first name of the legatee. ‘There,’ she said, ‘it all depends on you, whether that place goes to Hiram or Josiah. It’s easy to do, and so it's going to stand until the last minute.’ That really annoyed me, and I took off to May Jane Simlin’s. She wasn’t very well-off or particularly attractive, but she was deeply religious and really kind to those she liked. But I was down on my luck again, because the moment I mentioned marrying her, she showed me the door and made it clear that she couldn’t consider being with a man who wasn’t a church member, who hadn’t experienced religion, or even had a moment of conviction, and all the rest of that. If anyone had wanted to see a walking hornet’s nest, they could have seen one cheaply that night as I went home. I just stomped into the kitchen, threw my hat in one corner, my coat in another, kicked the cat, cursed the fire, pulled up a chair, and sat there fuming like crazy, too mad to talk. The young woman taking care of my aunt—Bewlah Blish, by name—was cooking gruel on the stove and seemed to understand the mess I was in; but she didn’t say anything, just stoked the fire, brought me a mug of cider, and went around kind of quietly and sympathetically, which made me feel my anger fading pretty quickly; before long, I confessed the whole thing. Bewlah laughed, but I didn’t mind her doing it, because she said, she said, real sort of cute,—”
“‘Poor Hiram! they didn’t use yeou waal. Yeou ought to hev tried some er the poor an’ humly girls; they’d a been glad an’ grateful fer such a sweetheart as yeou be.’
“‘Poor Hiram! They didn’t treat you well. You should have tried some of the poor and humble girls; they would have been glad and grateful for a sweetheart like you.’”
“I was good-natered ag’in by that time, an’ I sez, larfin’ along with her, ‘Waal, I’ve got three mittens, but I guess I might’s waal hev ’nother, and that will make two pair complete. Say, Bewlah, will yeou hev me?’
"I was in a better mood by then, and I said, laughing along with her, 'Well, I’ve got three mittens, but I suppose I might as well have another, and that will make two complete pairs. So, Bewlah, will you take me?'"
“‘Yes, I will,’ sez she.
“‘Yes, I will,’ she said.”
“‘Reelly?’ sez I.
“‘Really?’ says I.”
“‘Solemn trew,’ sez she.
“‘Serious truth,’ she said.”
“Ef she’d up an’ slapped me in the face, I shouldn’t hev ben more throwed aback, fer I never mistrusted she cared two chips for me. I jest set an’ gawped; fer she was ‘solemn trew,’ I see that with half an eye, an’ it kinder took my breath away. Bewlah drawed the grewel off the fire, wiped her hands, an’ stood lookin’ at me a minnet, then she sez, slow an’ quiet, but tremblin’ a little, as women hev a way er doin’, when they’ve consid’able steam aboard,—
“Even if she had suddenly slapped me in the face, I couldn’t have been more shocked, because I never thought she cared at all for me. I just sat there staring; I could see that she was genuinely serious, and it kind of took my breath away. Bewlah pulled the pot off the fire, wiped her hands, and stood there looking at me for a moment. Then she said, slowly and quietly, but with a bit of a tremble, like women often do when they’re feeling a lot of emotion,—”
“‘Hiram, other folks think lumberin’ has spilt yeou; I don’t; they call you rough an’ rewd; I know you’ve got a real kind heart fer them as knows haow tew find it. Them girls give yeou up so easy, ’cause they never loved yeou, an’ yeou give them up ’cause you only thought abaout their looks an’ money. I’m humly, an’ I’m poor; but I’ve loved yeou ever sence we went a-nuttin’ years ago, an’ yeou shook daown fer me, kerried my bag, and kissed me tew the gate, when all the others shunned me, ’cause my father drank an’ I was shabby dressed, ugly, an’ shy. Yeou asked me in sport, I answered in airnest; but I don’t expect nothin’ unless yeou mean as I mean. Like me, Hiram, or leave me, it won’t make no odds in my lovin’ of yeou, nor helpin’ of yeou, ef I kin.’
“‘Hiram, other people think lumbering has changed you; I don’t; they call you rough and rude; I know you have a real kind heart for those who know how to find it. Those girls gave you up so easily because they never loved you, and you let them go because you only thought about their looks and money. I’m humble, and I’m poor; but I’ve loved you ever since we went a-nutting years ago, and you helped me out, carried my bag, and kissed me at the gate, when everyone else avoided me because my father drank and I was poorly dressed, ugly, and shy. You asked me in fun, I answered seriously; but I don’t expect anything unless you mean what I mean. Stay with me, Hiram, or leave me, it won’t change my love for you, nor my willingness to help you, if I can.’”
“‘T ain’t easy tew say haouw I felt, while she was goin’ on that way, but my idees was tumblin’ raound inside er me, as ef half a dozen dams was broke loose all tew oncet. One thing was rather stiddier ’n the rest, an’ that was that I liked Bewlah more ’n I knew. I begun tew see what kep’ me loafin’ tew hum so much, sence aunt was took daown; why I wan’t in no hurry tew git them other gals, an’ haow I come tew pocket my mittens so easy arfter the fust rile was over. Bewlah was humly, poor in flesh, dreadful freckled, hed red hair, black eyes, an’ a gret mold side of her nose. But I’d got wonted tew her; she knowed my ways, was a fust rate housekeeper, real good-tempered, and pious without flingin’ on’t in yer face. She was a lonely creeter,—her folks bein’ all dead but one sister, who didn’t use her waal, an’ somehow I kinder yearned over her, as they say in Scripter. For all I set an’ gawped, I was coming raound fast, though I felt as I used tew, when I was goin’ to shoot the rapids, kinder breathless an’ oncertin, whether I’d come aout right side up or not. Queer, warn’t it?”
“It's not easy to explain how I felt while she was going on like that, but my thoughts were swirling inside me, as if half a dozen dams had burst all at once. One thing stood out more than the rest, and that was that I liked Bewlah a lot more than I realized. I started to understand what kept me hanging around home so much since Aunt was taken down; why I wasn’t in a rush to get involved with those other girls, and how I ended up putting my mittens away so easily after the first stir-up was over. Bewlah was plain, thin, really freckled, had red hair, black eyes, and a large mole on the side of her nose. But I had gotten used to her; she knew my quirks, was an excellent housekeeper, really good-tempered, and devout without shoving it in your face. She was a lonely creature—her family was all dead except for one sister, who didn’t really care about her, and somehow I kind of felt for her, just like they say in Scripture. Even though I sat there staring, I was coming around quickly, though I felt like I used to when I was about to shoot the rapids, a bit breathless and uncertain about whether I’d come out right side up or not. Strange, wasn’t it?”
“Love, Flint; that was a sure symptom of it.”
“Love, Flint; that was a definite sign of it.”
“Waal, guess ’t was; anyway I jumped up all of a sudden, ketched Bewlah raound the neck, give her a hearty kiss, and sung aout, ‘I’ll dew it sure’s my name’s Hi Flint!’ The words was scarcely out of my maouth, ’fore daown come Dr. Parr. He’d ben up tew see aunt, an’ said she wouldn’t last the night threw, prob’ly. That give me a scare er the wust kind; an’ when I told doctor haow things was, he sez, kinder jokin’,—
"Well, I guess it was; anyway, I suddenly jumped up, wrapped my arms around Bewlah’s neck, gave her a big kiss, and shouted, ‘I’ll do it as sure as my name’s Hi Flint!’ The words were hardly out of my mouth before down came Dr. Parr. He’d been up to see Aunt, and said she probably wouldn’t make it through the night. That really scared me; and when I told the doctor how things were, he said, kind of jokingly,—"
“‘Better git merried right away, then. Parson Dill is tew come an’ see the old lady, an’ he’ll dew both jobs tew oncet.’
“‘Better get married right away, then. Parson Dill is to come and see the old lady, and he’ll do both jobs at once.’”
“‘Will yeou, Bewlah?’ sez I.
“‘Will you, Bella?’ said I.
“‘Yes, Hiram, to ’blige yeou,’ sez she.
“‘Yes, Hiram, to please you,’ she said.”
“With that, I put it fer the license; got it, an’ was back in less ’n half an haour, most tuckered aout with the flurry of the hull concern. Quick as I’d been, Bewlah hed faound time tew whip on her best gaoun, fix up her hair, and put a couple er white chrissanthymums intew her hand’chif pin. Fer the fust time in her life, she looked harnsome,—leastways I thought so,—with a pretty color in her cheeks, somethin’ brighter ’n a larf shinin’ in her eyes, and her lips smilin’ an’ tremblin’, as she come to me an’ whispered so ’s ’t none er the rest could hear,—
“With that, I went to get the license; I got it and was back in less than half an hour, pretty worn out from the whole deal. As quick as I’d been, Bewlah had found time to put on her best gown, fix her hair, and put a couple of white chrysanthemums in her handkerchief pin. For the first time in her life, she looked beautiful—at least I thought so—with a nice color in her cheeks, something brighter than a laugh shining in her eyes, and her lips smiling and trembling as she came to me and whispered so none of the others could hear—”
“‘Hiram, don’t yeou dew it, ef yeou’d ruther not. I’ve stood it a gret while alone, an’ I guess I can ag’in.’
“Hiram, don’t do it if you’d rather not. I’ve put up with it for a long time on my own, and I think I can do it again.”
“Never yeou mind what I said or done abaout that; but we was merried ten minutes arfter, ’fore the kitchen fire, with Dr. Parr an’ aour hired man, fer witnesses; an’ then we all went up tew aunt. She was goan fast, but she understood what I told her, hed strength tew fill up the hole in the will, an’ to say, a-kissin’ Bewlah, ‘Yeou’ll be a good wife, an’ naow yeou ain’t a poor one.’
“Never mind what I said or did about that; but we got married ten minutes later, in front of the kitchen fire, with Dr. Parr and our hired man as witnesses; and then we all went up to Aunt. She was going fast, but she understood what I told her, had the strength to fill in the hole in the will, and to say, kissing Bewlah, ‘You’ll be a good wife, and now you aren’t a poor one.’”
“I couldn’t help givin’ a peek tew the will, and there I see not Hiram Flint nor Josiah Flint, but Bewlah Flint, wrote every which way, but as plain as the nose on yer face. ‘It won’t make no odds, dear,’ whispered my wife, peekin’ over my shoulder. ‘Guess it won’t!’ sez I, aout laoud; ‘I’m glad on’t, and it ain’t a cent more’n yeou derserve.’
“I couldn’t help but take a look at the will, and there I saw not Hiram Flint or Josiah Flint, but Bewlah Flint, written all over the place, but as clear as day. ‘It won’t make any difference, dear,’ whispered my wife, leaning over my shoulder. ‘I guess it won’t!’ I said out loud; ‘I’m glad about that, and it’s not a cent more than you deserve.’”
“That pleased aunt. ’Riz me, Hiram,’ sez she; an’ when I’d got her easy, she put her old arms raound my neck, an’ tried to say, ‘God bless you, dear—,’ but died a doin’ of it; an’ I ain’t ashamed tew say I boo-hooed real hearty, when I laid her daown, fer she was dreadf’l good tew me, an’ I don’t forgit her in a hurry.”
“That made my aunt happy. ‘Hug me, Hiram,’ she said; and when I made her comfortable, she wrapped her old arms around my neck and tried to say, ‘God bless you, dear—,’ but passed away while doing it; and I’m not ashamed to say I cried really hard when I laid her down, because she was incredibly good to me, and I don’t forget her easily.”
“How’s Bewlah?” asked Dick, after the little tribute of respect all paid to Aunt Siloam’s memory, by a momentary silence.
“How’s Bewlah?” asked Dick, after everyone paid their respects to Aunt Siloam’s memory with a brief moment of silence.
“Fust-rate! that harum-scarum venter er mine was the best I ever made. She’s done waal by me, hes Bewlah; ben a grand good haousekeeper, kin kerry on the farm better’n me, any time, an’ is as dutif’l an’ lovin’ a wife as,—waal, as annything that is extra dutif’l and lovin’.”
“First-rate! That wild venture of mine was the best I ever made. She’s done well by me, hasn’t she? Been a great housekeeper, can run the farm better than I can anytime, and is as dutiful and loving a wife as—well, as anything that is extra dutiful and loving.”
“Got any boys to brag of?”
“Do you have any boys to brag about?”
“We don’t think much o’ boys daown aour way; they’re ’mazin’ resky stock to fetch up,—alluz breakin’ baounds, gittin’ intew the paound, and wurryin’ your life aout somehaow ’nother. Gals naow doos waal; I’ve got six o’ the likeliest the is goin’, every one on ’em is the very moral of Bewlah,—red hair, black eyes, quiet ways, an’ a mold ’side the nose. Baby’s ain’t growed yet; but I expect tew see it in a consid’able state o’ forrardness, when I git hum, an’ wouldn’t miss it fer the world.”
“We don’t think much of boys around here; they’re pretty risky to raise—all they do is break free, get into trouble, and worry you to death somehow. Girls, on the other hand, are doing well; I’ve got six of the best ones around, and each of them is just like Bella—red hair, black eyes, quiet demeanor, and a little spot beside the nose. The baby hasn’t grown yet; but I expect to see it making good progress by the time I get home, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The droll expression of Flint’s face, and the satisfied twang of his last words, were irresistible. Dick and Phil went off into a shout of laughter; and even Thorn’s grave lips relapsed into a smile at the vision of six little Flints with their six little moles. As if the act were an established ceremony, the “paternal head” produced his pocket-book, selected a worn black-and-white paper, which he spread in his broad palm, and displayed with the air of a connoisseur.
The quirky look on Flint’s face and the pleased tone of his last words were too much to resist. Dick and Phil burst into laughter, and even Thorn’s serious expression softened into a smile at the thought of six tiny Flints with their six little moles. As if it were a well-known ritual, the “paternal head” pulled out his wallet, chose a faded black-and-white paper, which he spread out on his large palm, and showed it off like an expert.
“There, thet’s Bewlah! we call it a cuttin’; but the proper name’s a silly-hoot, I b’leeve. I’ve got a harnsome big degarrytype tew hum, but the heft on’t makes it bad tew kerry raound, so I took this. I don’t tote it abaout inside my shirt, as some dew,—it ain’t my way; but I keep it in my wallet long with my other valleu’bles, and guess I set as much store by it as ef it was all painted up, and done off to kill.”
“There, that’s Bewlah! We call it a cutting, but the proper name is a silly-hoot, I believe. I’ve got a nice big daguerreotype at home, but it’s too heavy to carry around, so I took this one instead. I don’t keep it inside my shirt like some people do—it’s just not my style; but I keep it in my wallet with my other valuables, and I value it just as much as if it were all framed and done up really nice.”
The “silly-hoot” was examined with interest, and carefully stowed away again in the old brown wallet, which was settled in its place with a satisfied slap; then Flint said briskly,—
The “silly-hoot” was looked at with curiosity and then carefully put back into the old brown wallet, which was placed down with a pleased slap; then Flint said cheerfully,—
“Naouw, Phil, yeou close this interestin’ and instructive meeting; and be spry, fer time’s most up.”
“Now, Phil, you wrap up this interesting and informative meeting; and be quick, because time's almost up.”
“I haven’t much to tell, but must begin with a confession which I have often longed but never dared to make before, because I am a coward.”
“I don’t have much to share, but I have to start with a confession that I’ve often wanted to make but have never had the courage to say before, because I’m a coward.”
“Sho! who’s goan to b’leeve that o’ a man who fit like a wild-cat, wuz offered permotion on the field, and reported tew headquarters arfter his fust scrimmage. Try ag’in, Phil.”
“Sho! Who's going to believe that a man who fought like a wildcat was offered a promotion on the field and reported to headquarters after his first scrimmage? Try again, Phil.”
“Physical courage is as plentiful as brass buttons, nowadays, but moral courage is a rarer virtue; and I’m lacking in it, as I’ll prove. You think me a Virginian; I’m an Alabamian by birth, and was a Rebel three months ago.”
“Physical courage is as common as brass buttons these days, but moral courage is a much rarer quality; and I’m lacking in it, as I’ll show. You think I’m from Virginia; I was actually born in Alabama, and I was a Rebel just three months ago.”
This confession startled his hearers, as he knew it would, for he had kept his secret well. Thorn laid his hand involuntarily upon his rifle, Dick drew off a little, and Flint illustrated one of his own expressions, for he “gawped.” Phil laughed that musical laugh of his, and looked up at them with his dark face waking into sudden life, as he went on:—
This confession surprised his listeners, just as he expected, because he had hidden his secret well. Thorn instinctively placed his hand on his rifle, Dick stepped back a bit, and Flint gave a perfect example of his own saying, as he "gawped." Phil laughed his charming laugh and looked up at them, his dark face suddenly coming to life as he continued:—
“There’s no treason in the camp, for I’m as fierce a Federalist as any of you now, and you may thank a woman for it. When Lee made his raid into Pennsylvania, I was a lieutenant in the—well, never mind what regiment, it hasn’t signalized itself since, and I’d rather not hit my old neighbors when they are down. In one of the skirmishes during our retreat, I got a wound and was left for dead. A kind old Quaker found and took me home; but though I was too weak to talk, I had my senses by that time, and knew what went on about me. Everything was in confusion, even in that well-ordered place; no surgeon could be got at first, and a flock of frightened women thee’d and thou’d one another over me, but hadn’t wit enough to see that I was bleeding to death. Among the faces that danced before my dizzy eyes was one that seemed familiar, probably because no cap surrounded it. I was glad to have it bending over me, to hear a steady voice say, ‘Give me a bandage, quick!’ and when none was instantly forthcoming to me, the young lady stripped up a little white apron she wore, and stanched the wound in my shoulder. I was not as badly hurt as I supposed, but so worn-out, and faint from loss of blood, they believed me to be dying, and so did I, when the old man took off his hat and said,—
“There’s no betrayal here, because I’m as strong a Federalist as any of you now, and you can thank a woman for that. When Lee raided Pennsylvania, I was a lieutenant in the—well, it doesn’t matter what regiment, it hasn’t done anything noteworthy since, and I’d rather not kick my old neighbors when they're down. During one of the skirmishes in our retreat, I was wounded and left for dead. A kind old Quaker found me and took me home; but although I was too weak to speak, I was aware of what was happening around me. Everything was chaotic, even in that well-organized place; no surgeon could be found at first, and a group of scared women were addressing each other in old-fashioned language over me, but they didn’t have the sense to realize that I was bleeding to death. Among the faces that spun before my dizzy eyes was one that looked familiar, probably because it wasn’t covered by a hat. I was relieved to see it leaning over me, to hear a calm voice say, ‘Give me a bandage, quick!’ and when none was immediately available, the young lady tore a strip from her little white apron and staunched the wound in my shoulder. I wasn’t as badly hurt as I thought, but I was so exhausted and faint from blood loss that they believed I was dying, and so did I, when the old man took off his hat and said,—
“‘Friend, if thee has anything to say, thee had better say it, for thee probably has not long to live.’
“‘Friend, if you have anything to say, you better say it, because you probably don’t have long to live.’”
“I thought of my little sister, far away in Alabama, fancied she came to me, and muttered, ‘Amy, kiss me good-by.’ The women sobbed at that; but the girl bent her sweet compassionate face to mine, and kissed me on the forehead. That was my wife.”
“I thought of my little sister, far away in Alabama, imagined she came to me, and whispered, ‘Amy, kiss me goodbye.’ The women cried at that; but the girl leaned her sweet, compassionate face toward mine and kissed me on the forehead. That was my wife.”
“So you seceded from Secession right away, to pay for that lip-service, hey?”
“So you broke away from Secession immediately to atone for that empty talk, huh?”
“No, Thorn, not right away,—to my shame be it spoken. I’ll tell you how it came about. Margaret was not old Bent’s daughter, but a Massachusetts girl on a visit, and a long one it proved, for she couldn’t go till things were quieter. While she waited, she helped take care of me; for the good souls petted me like a baby when they found that a Rebel could be a gentleman. I held my tongue, and behaved my best to prove my gratitude, you know. Of course, I loved Margaret very soon. How could I help it? She was the sweetest woman I had ever seen, tender, frank, and spirited; all I had ever dreamed of and longed for. I did not speak of this, nor hope for a return, because I knew she was a hearty Unionist, and thought she only tended me from pity. But suddenly she decided to go home, and when I ventured to wish she would stay longer, she would not listen, and said, ‘I must not stay; I should have gone before.’
“No, Thorn, not right away—I'm ashamed to admit it. Let me explain how it happened. Margaret wasn’t old Bent’s daughter; she was a girl from Massachusetts visiting, and it turned out to be a long stay because she couldn’t leave until things settled down. While she waited, she helped take care of me; the kind people treated me like a baby when they realized a Rebel could also be a gentleman. I kept my mouth shut and did my best to show my gratitude, you know. Of course, I fell in love with Margaret pretty quickly. How could I not? She was the sweetest woman I’d ever seen—tender, honest, and spirited; everything I’d ever dreamed of and longed for. I didn’t mention it or hope for anything in return since I knew she was a strong Unionist and thought she was only caring for me out of pity. But then she suddenly decided to go home, and when I cautiously expressed that I wished she would stay longer, she wouldn’t hear it and said, ‘I can’t stay; I should have left earlier.’”
“The words were nothing, but as she uttered them the color came up beautifully over all her face, and her eyes filled as they looked away from mine. Then I knew that she loved me, and my secret broke out against my will. Margaret was forced to listen, for I would not let her go, but she seemed to harden herself against me, growing colder, stiller, statelier, as I went on, and when I said in my desperate way,—
“The words didn’t mean much, but as she said them, a beautiful blush spread across her face, and her eyes filled with tears as they turned away from mine. In that moment, I realized she loved me, and my secret spilled out against my wishes. Margaret had to listen, since I wouldn’t let her leave, but she seemed to build up walls, becoming colder, quieter, more distant as I kept talking, and when I said, in my desperate way,—”
“‘You should love me, for we are bid to love our enemies,’ she flashed an indignant look at me and said,—
“‘You should love me because we're instructed to love our enemies,’ she shot me an indignant look and said,—
“‘I will not love what I cannot respect! Come to me a loyal man, and see what answer I shall give you.’
“'I won't love what I can't respect! Come to me as a loyal man, and see what response I give you.'”
“Then she went away. It was the wisest thing she could have done, for absence did more to change me than an ocean of tears, a year of exhortations. Lying there, I missed her every hour of the day, recalled every gentle act, kind word, and fair example she had given me. I contrasted my own belief with hers, and found a new significance in the words honesty and honor, and, remembering her fidelity to principle, was ashamed of my own treason to God and to herself. Education, prejudice, and interest, are difficult things to overcome, and that was the hottest fight I ever passed through, for as I tell you, I was a coward. But love and loyalty won the day, and, asking no quarter, the Rebel surrendered.”
“Then she left. It was the smartest thing she could have done, because her absence changed me more than a sea of tears or a year of demands. Lying there, I missed her every single hour of the day, recalling every kind gesture, loving word, and good example she had shown me. I compared my beliefs to hers and discovered new meanings in the words honesty and honor, and, remembering her commitment to her principles, I felt ashamed of my own betrayal to God and to her. Education, prejudice, and self-interest are tough things to overcome, and that was the hardest struggle I ever went through, because, as I mentioned, I was a coward. But love and loyalty triumphed, and, asking for no mercy, the Rebel surrendered.”
“Phil Beaufort, you’re a brick!” cried Dick, with a sounding slap on his comrade’s shoulder.
“Phil Beaufort, you’re awesome!” shouted Dick, giving his friend a hearty slap on the shoulder.
“A brand snatched from the burnin’. Hallelujah!” chanted Flint, seesawing with excitement.
“A brand taken from the flames. Hallelujah!” shouted Flint, bouncing with excitement.
“Then you went to find your wife? How? Where?” asked Thorn, forgetting vigilance in interest.
“Did you go to find your wife? How? Where?” Thorn asked, losing his focus out of curiosity.
“Friend Bent hated war so heartily that he would have nothing to do with paroles, exchanges, or any martial process whatever, but bade me go when and where I liked, remembering to do by others as I had been done by. Before I was well enough to go, however, I managed, by means of Copperhead influence and returned prisoners, to send a letter to my father and receive an answer. You can imagine what both contained; and so I found myself penniless, but not poor, an outcast, but not alone. Old Bent treated me like a prodigal son, and put money in my purse; his pretty daughters loved me for Margaret’s sake, and gave me a patriotic salute all round when I left them, the humblest, happiest man in Pennsylvania. Margaret once said to me that this was the time for deeds, not words; that no man should stand idle, but serve the good cause with head, heart, and hand, no matter in what rank; for in her eyes a private fighting for liberty was nobler than a dozen generals defending slavery. I remembered that, and, not having influential friends to get me a commission, enlisted in one of her own Massachusetts regiments, knowing that no act of mine would prove my sincerity like that. You should have seen her face when I walked in upon her, as she sat alone, busied with the army work, as I’d so often seen her sitting by my bed; it showed me all she had been suffering in silence, all I should have lost had I chosen darkness instead of light. She hoped and feared so much she could not speak, neither could I, but dropped my cloak, and showed her that, through love of her, I had become a soldier of the Union. How I love the coarse blue uniform! for when she saw it, she came to me without a word and kept her promise in a month.”
“Friend Bent hated war so much that he wanted nothing to do with paroles, exchanges, or any kind of military process. He just told me to go whenever and wherever I wanted, and to treat others the way I had been treated. Before I was well enough to leave, though, I managed to send a letter to my dad and get a reply, thanks to some Copperhead influence and returning soldiers. You can guess what was in both letters. So, I found myself broke but not poor, an outcast but not alone. Old Bent treated me like a prodigal son and gave me some money; his lovely daughters liked me because of Margaret and gave me a friendly send-off when I left them, feeling like the humblest, happiest man in Pennsylvania. Margaret once told me this was a time for actions, not words; that no one should stand around idle, but should contribute to the good cause with their mind, heart, and hands, no matter their rank. In her eyes, a private fighting for freedom was more noble than a dozen generals protecting slavery. I remembered that and, since I didn’t have influential friends to get me a commission, I enlisted in one of her Massachusetts regiments, knowing that nothing would prove my sincerity like that. You should have seen her face when I walked in to see her, as she sat alone working on army tasks, just like I’d so often seen her beside my bed. It showed everything she had been suffering in silence, everything I would have lost if I had chosen darkness instead of light. She had so much hope and fear that she couldn’t speak, and neither could I, but I dropped my cloak to show her that, out of love for her, I had become a Union soldier. I love that rough blue uniform! When she saw it, she came to me without a word and kept her promise in a month.”
“Thunder! what a harnsome woman!” exclaimed Flint, as Phil, opening the golden case that held his talisman, showed them the beautiful, beloved face of which he spoke.
“Thunder! What a gorgeous woman!” exclaimed Flint, as Phil, opening the golden case that held his talisman, revealed the beautiful, beloved face he was talking about.
“Yes! and a right noble woman too. I don’t deserve her, but I will. We parted on our wedding-day, for orders to be off came suddenly, and she would not let me go until I had given her my name to keep. We were married in the morning, and at noon I had to go. Other women wept as we marched through the city, but my brave Margaret kept her tears till we were gone, smiling and waving her hand to me,—the hand that wore the wedding-ring,—till I was out of sight. That image of her is before me day and night, and day and night her last words are ringing in my ears,—
“Yes! And she's a truly noble woman too. I don’t deserve her, but I will try my best. We parted on our wedding day because I received sudden orders to leave, and she wouldn’t let me go until I gave her my name to hold onto. We got married in the morning, and by noon, I had to leave. Other women cried as we marched through the city, but my brave Margaret held back her tears until we were gone, smiling and waving at me—with the hand that wore the wedding ring—until I was out of sight. That image of her stays with me day and night, and her last words keep echoing in my ears,—”
“‘I give you freely, do your best. Better a true man’s widow than a traitor’s wife.’
“’I give this to you freely, do your best. Better to be the widow of a true man than the wife of a traitor.’”
“Boys, I’ve only stood on the right side for a month; I’ve only fought one battle, earned one honor; but I believe these poor achievements are an earnest of the long atonement I desire to make for five-and-twenty years of blind transgression. You say I fight well. Have I not cause to dare much?—for in owning many slaves, I too became a slave; in helping to make many freemen, I liberate myself. You wonder why I refused promotion. Have I any right to it yet? Are there not men who never sinned as I have done, and beside whose sacrifices mine look pitifully small? You tell me I have no ambition. I have the highest, for I desire to become God’s noblest work,—an honest man,—living, to make Margaret happy in a love that every hour grows worthier of her own,—dying to make death proud to take me.”
“Guys, I’ve only been on the right side for a month; I’ve only fought one battle and earned one honor. But I believe these small achievements are just a start to the long atonement I want to make for twenty-five years of blind wrongdoing. You say I fight well. Don’t I have good reason to take risks? — because in owning many slaves, I too became a slave; by helping to create many free people, I free myself. You’re curious why I turned down a promotion. Do I deserve it yet? Are there not men who haven’t sinned as I have, whose sacrifices make mine look pitifully small? You say I lack ambition. I have the highest ambition, because I want to become God’s greatest creation — an honest man — living to make Margaret happy in a love that grows more worthy of her every hour, and dying to make death proud to claim me.”
Phil had risen while he spoke, as if the enthusiasm of his mood lifted him into the truer manhood he aspired to attain. Straight and strong he stood up in the moonlight, his voice deepened by unwonted energy, his eye clear and steadfast, his whole face ennobled by the regenerating power of this late loyalty to country, wife, and self, and bright against the dark blue of his jacket shone the pictured face, the only medal he was proud to wear.
Phil had gotten up while he spoke, as if the excitement of his mood was elevating him into the authentic manhood he aimed to achieve. He stood tall and strong in the moonlight, his voice deeper with unexpected energy, his gaze clear and unwavering, his entire face uplifted by the renewing strength of his late dedication to his country, wife, and self. Bright against the dark blue of his jacket was the image of the only medal he was proud to wear.
Ah, brave, brief moment, cancelling years of wrong! Ah, fair and fatal decoration, serving as a mark for a hidden foe! The sharp crack of a rifle broke the stillness of the night, and with those hopeful words upon his lips, the young man sealed his purpose with his life.
Ah, brave, fleeting moment, undoing years of mistakes! Ah, beautiful and deadly ornament, a signal for a hidden enemy! The loud bang of a rifle shattered the quiet of the night, and with those hopeful words on his lips, the young man cemented his resolve with his life.
THE BARON’S GLOVES;
or,
AMY’S ROMANCE.
“All is fair in love and war.”
I.
HOW THEY WERE DISCOVERED.
“WHAT a long sigh! Are you tired, Amy?”
“Wow, that’s quite a sigh! Are you exhausted, Amy?”
“Yes, and disappointed as well. I never would have undertaken this journey if I had not thought it would be full of novelty, romance, and charming adventures.”
“Yes, and I’m disappointed too. I never would have embarked on this journey if I hadn’t believed it would be filled with new experiences, romance, and exciting adventures.”
“Well, we have had several adventures.”
“Well, we’ve had quite a few adventures.”
“Bah! losing one’s hat in the Rhine, getting left at a dirty little inn, and having our pockets picked, are not what I call adventures. I wish there were brigands in Germany—it needs something of that sort to enliven its stupidity.”
“Ugh! Losing your hat in the Rhine, getting stuck at a run-down inn, and having our pockets emptied aren’t what I consider adventures. I wish there were bandits in Germany—it needs something like that to liven up its boredom.”
“How can you call Germany stupid when you have a scene like this before you?” said Helen, with a sigh of pleasure, as she looked from the balcony which overhangs the Rhine at the hotel of the “Three Kings” at Coblentz. Ehrenbreitstein towered opposite, the broad river glittered below, and a mid-summer moon lent its enchantment to the landscape.
“How can you call Germany stupid when you have a scene like this in front of you?” said Helen, with a sigh of pleasure, as she looked from the balcony that overhangs the Rhine at the hotel of the “Three Kings” in Coblentz. Ehrenbreitstein loomed across the river, the wide river sparkled below, and a midsummer moon added its magic to the landscape.
As she spoke, her companion half rose from the low chair where she lounged, and showed the pretty, piquant face of a young girl. She seemed in a half melancholy, half petulant mood; and traces of recent illness were visible in the languor of her movements and the pallor of her cheeks.
As she talked, her companion partially got up from the low chair where she was relaxing, revealing the pretty, lively face of a young girl. She appeared to be in a mix of melancholy and irritation, and signs of a recent illness were evident in the heaviness of her movements and the pale color of her cheeks.
“Yes, it is lovely; but I want adventures and romance of some sort to make it quite perfect. I don’t care what, if something would only happen.”
“Yes, it’s lovely; but I want some sort of adventure and romance to make it truly perfect. I don’t care what it is, as long as something would just happen.”
“My dear, you are out of spirits and weary now, to-morrow you’ll be yourself again. Do not be ungrateful to uncle or unjust to yourself. Something pleasant will happen, I’ve no doubt. In fact, something has happened that you may make a little romance out of, perhaps, for lack of a more thrilling adventure.”
“My dear, you’re feeling down and exhausted right now, but tomorrow you’ll be yourself again. Don’t be ungrateful to your uncle or unfair to yourself. Something good is bound to happen, I’m sure of it. Actually, something has happened that you might turn into a bit of a romance, maybe because there aren’t any more exciting adventures around.”
“What do you mean?” and Amy’s listless face brightened.
"What do you mean?" Amy asked, her tired expression lighting up.
“Speak low; there are balconies all about us, and we may be overheard,” said Helen, drawing nearer after an upward glance.
“Speak quietly; there are balconies all around us, and we might be overheard,” said Helen, moving closer after glancing up.
“What is the beginning of a romance?” whispered Amy, eagerly.
“What starts a romance?” whispered Amy, eagerly.
“A pair of gloves. Just now, as I stood here, and you lay with your eyes shut, these dropped from the balcony overhead. Now amuse yourself by weaving a romance out of them and their owner.”
“A pair of gloves. Just now, as I stood here, and you lay with your eyes closed, these fell from the balcony above. Now entertain yourself by creating a story about them and their owner.”
Amy seized them, and stepping inside the window, examined them by the candle.
Amy grabbed them and stepped inside the window to take a closer look at them by the light of the candle.
“A gentleman’s gloves, scented with violets! Here’s a little hole fretted by a ring on the third finger. Bless me! here are the initials, ‘S. P.,’ stamped on the inside, with a coat of arms below. What a fop to get up his gloves in this style! They are exquisite, though. Such a delicate color, so little soiled, and so prettily ornamented! Handsome hands wore these. I’d like to see the man.”
“A gentleman’s gloves, scented with violets! Here’s a little hole made by a ring on the third finger. Wow! Here are the initials, ‘S. P.,’ stamped on the inside, with a coat of arms below. What a dandy to have his gloves like this! They’re stunning, though. Such a delicate color, barely dirty, and so nicely decorated! Attractive hands wore these. I’d like to see the man.”
Helen laughed at the girl’s interest, and was satisfied if any trifle amused her ennui.
Helen laughed at the girl's interest and was happy if anything small amused her ennui.
“I will send them back by the kellner, and in that way we may discover their owner,” she said.
“I'll send them back with the kellner, and that way we might find out who they belong to,” she said.
But Amy arrested her on the way to the door.
But Amy stopped her on the way to the door.
“I’ve a better plan; these waiters are so stupid you’ll get nothing out of them. Here’s the hotel book sent up for our names; let us look among the day’s arrivals and see who ‘S. P.’ is. He came to-day, I’m sure, for the man said the rooms above were just taken, so we could not have them.”
“I have a better idea; these waiters are so clueless you won’t get anything from them. Here’s the hotel register that was brought up for us to sign; let’s check the arrivals for the day and see who ‘S. P.’ is. He arrived today, I’m sure, because the guy said the rooms above were just taken, so we couldn’t have them.”
Opening the big book, Amy was soon intently poring over the long list of names, written in many hands and many languages.
Opening the big book, Amy quickly found herself engrossed in the long list of names, written in various handwriting and different languages.
“I’ve got it! Here he is—oh, Nell, he’s a baron! Isn’t that charming? ‘Sigismund von Palsdorf, Dresden.’ We must see him, for I know he’s handsome, if he wears such distracting gloves.”
“I’ve got it! Here he is—oh, Nell, he’s a baron! Isn’t that charming? ‘Sigismund von Palsdorf, Dresden.’ We must see him, because I know he’s good-looking if he wears such eye-catching gloves.”
“You’d better take them up yourself, then.”
“You should just take them up yourself, then.”
“You know I can’t do that; but I shall ask the man a few questions, just to get an idea what sort of person the baron is. Then I shall change my mind and go down to dinner; shall look well about me, and if the baron is agreeable I shall make uncle return the gloves. He will thank us, and I can say I’ve known a real baron. That will be so nice when we go home. Now, don’t be duennaish and say I’m silly, but let me do as I like, and come and dress.”
“You know I can’t do that, but I’ll ask the guy a few questions just to get a sense of what the baron is like. Then I’ll change my mind and head down to dinner; I’ll pay attention to everything around me, and if the baron is nice, I’ll have my uncle return the gloves. He’ll thank us, and I can say I’ve met a real baron. That’ll be great when we get back home. Now, please don’t be a buzzkill and say I’m being silly; just let me do what I want and come help me get ready.”
Helen submitted, and when the gong pealed through the house, Major Erskine marched into the great salle à manger, with a comely niece on each arm. The long tables were crowded, and they had to run the gauntlet of many eyes as they made their way to the head of the upper table. Before she touched her soup, Amy glanced down the line of faces opposite, and finding none that answered the slight description elicited from the waiter, she leaned a little forward to examine those on her own side of the table. Some way down sat several gentlemen, and as she bent to observe them, one did the same, and she received an admiring glance from a pair of fine black eyes. Somewhat abashed, she busied herself with her soup; but the fancy had taken possession of her, and presently she whispered to Helen,—
Helen agreed, and when the gong rang through the house, Major Erskine walked into the large salle à manger, with a lovely niece on each arm. The long tables were crowded, and they had to navigate through many eyes as they made their way to the head of the upper table. Before she touched her soup, Amy glanced down the row of faces opposite her, and not finding anyone that matched the vague description she got from the waiter, she leaned a bit forward to look at those on her side of the table. A bit further down sat several gentlemen, and as she bent to observe them, one did the same, and she caught an admiring glance from a pair of striking black eyes. Feeling a bit flustered, she focused on her soup; but the thought lingered in her mind, and soon she whispered to Helen,—
“Do you see any signs of the baron?”
“Do you see any signs of the baron?”
“On my left; look at the hands.”
“On my left; check out the hands.”
Amy looked and saw a white, shapely hand with an antique ring on the third finger. Its owner’s face was averted, but as he conversed with animation, the hand was in full play, now emphasizing an opinion, now lifting a glass, or more frequently pulling at a blond beard which adorned the face of the unknown. Amy shook her head decidedly.
Amy looked and saw a white, shapely hand with an antique ring on the third finger. The owner’s face was turned away, but as he spoke energetically, the hand was in constant motion, sometimes emphasizing a point, sometimes raising a glass, or more often tugging at a blonde beard that decorated the face of the stranger. Amy shook her head firmly.
“I hate light men, and don’t think that is the baron, for the gloves are a size too small for those hands. Lean back and look some four or five seats lower down on the right. See what sort of person the dark man with the fine eyes is.”
“I can't stand light-skinned guys, and don't assume that's the baron, because the gloves are a size too small for those hands. Lean back and check out someone four or five seats lower on the right. Take a look at the dark-skinned man with the striking eyes.”
Helen obeyed, but almost instantly bent to her plate again, smiling in spite of herself.
Helen complied, but almost immediately leaned back toward her plate, smiling despite herself.
“That is an Englishman; he stares rudely, says ‘By Jove!’ and wears no jewelry or beard.”
“That's an Englishman; he stares bluntly, says 'By Jove!' and doesn't wear any jewelry or a beard.”
“Now, I’m disappointed. Well, keep on the watch, and tell me if you make any discoveries, for I will find the baron.”
“Now, I’m let down. Well, stay alert, and let me know if you find anything because I will track down the baron.”
Being hungry, Amy devoted herself to her dinner, till dessert was on the table. She was languidly eating grapes, while Helen talked with the major, when the word “baron” caught her ear. The speakers sat at a table behind her, so that she could not see them without turning quite round, which was impossible; but she listened eagerly to the following scrap of chat:—
Being hungry, Amy focused on her dinner until dessert was served. She was lazily eating grapes while Helen chatted with the major when the word "baron" caught her attention. The speakers were sitting at a table behind her, so she couldn't see them without completely turning around, which was impossible; but she listened intently to the snippet of conversation:—
“Is the baron going on to-morrow?” asked a gay voice in French.
“Is the baron leaving tomorrow?” asked a cheerful voice in French.
“Yes, he is bound for Baden-Baden. The season is at its height, and he must make his game while the ball is rolling, or it is all up with the open-handed Sigismund,” answered a rough voice.
“Yes, he’s headed to Baden-Baden. The season is in full swing, and he needs to make his move while the opportunity’s there, or it’s all over for the generous Sigismund,” answered a gruff voice.
“Won’t his father pardon the last escapade?” asked a third, with a laugh.
“Won’t his dad forgive the last adventure?” asked a third person, laughing.
“No, and he is right. The duel was a bad affair, for the man almost died, and the baron barely managed to get out of the scrape through court influence. When is the wedding to be?”
“No, and he’s right. The duel was a terrible situation, because the man almost died, and the baron only just got out of it thanks to his connections. When is the wedding?”
“Never, Palsdorf says. There is everything but love in the bargain, and he swears he’ll not agree to it. I like that.”
“Never,” Palsdorf says. “There’s everything but love in the deal, and I swear I won’t agree to it. I like that.”
“There is much nobleness in him, spite of his vagaries. He will sow his wild oats and make a grand man in time. By the by, if we are going to the fortress, we must be off. Give Sigismund the word; he is dining at the other table with Power,” said the gay voice.
“There is a lot of nobility in him, despite his quirks. He’ll get through his rebellious phase and become a great man eventually. By the way, if we’re headed to the fortress, we need to leave. Let Sigismund know; he’s eating at the other table with Power,” said the cheerful voice.
“Take a look at the pretty English girl as you go by; it will do your eyes good, after the fat Frauleins we have seen of late,” added the rough one.
“Check out the pretty English girl as you walk by; it will be nice for your eyes, after all the plump ladies we’ve seen lately,” added the rough one.
Three gentlemen rose, and as they passed Amy stole a glance at them; but seeing several pairs of eyes fixed on herself, she turned away blushing, with the not unpleasant consciousness that “the pretty English girl” was herself. Longing to see which Sigismund was, she ventured to look after the young men, who paused behind the man with the blond beard, and also touched the dark-eyed gentleman on the shoulder. All five went down the hall and stood talking near the door.
Three gentlemen got up, and as they walked by, Amy sneaked a glance at them; but when she noticed several pairs of eyes on her, she turned away, blushing, with the not unpleasant realization that “the pretty English girl” was indeed her. Eager to see which one was Sigismund, she daringly looked back at the young men, who paused behind the man with the blond beard and also tapped the dark-eyed guy on the shoulder. All five went down the hall and stood chatting near the door.
“Uncle, I wish to go,” said Amy, whose will was law to the amiable major. Up he rose, and Amy added, as she took his arm, “I’m seized with a longing to go to Baden-Baden and see a little gambling. You are not a wild young man, so you can be trusted there.”
“Uncle, I want to go,” said Amy, whose wishes were law to the kind major. He stood up, and as she took his arm, Amy continued, “I have this urge to go to Baden-Baden and see a bit of gambling. You’re not a reckless young man, so I can count on you to behave.”
“I hope so. Now you are a sensible little woman, and we’ll do our best to have a gay time. Wait an instant till I get my hat.”
"I hope so. Now you're a smart woman, and we'll do our best to have a good time. Hold on a second while I grab my hat."
While the major searched for the missing article the girls went on, and coming to the door, Amy tried to open it. The unwieldy foreign lock resisted her efforts, and she was just giving it an impatient little shake, when a voice said behind her,—
While the major looked for the missing item, the girls continued on, and when they reached the door, Amy tried to open it. The awkward foreign lock resisted her attempts, and she was about to give it an annoyed little shake when a voice said behind her,—
“Permit me, mademoiselle;” at the same moment a handsome hand turned the latch, the flash of a diamond shone before her, and the door opened.
“Excuse me, mademoiselle;” at that moment, a handsome hand turned the latch, a flash of a diamond sparkled before her, and the door opened.
“Merci, monsieur,” she murmured, turning as she went out; but Helen was close behind her, and no one else to be seen except the massive major in the rear.
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, turning as she left; but Helen was right behind her, and the only other person in sight was the large major at the back.
“Did you see the baron?” she whispered eagerly, as they went up-stairs.
“Did you see the baron?” she whispered excitedly as they walked upstairs.
“No; where was he?”
“No; where is he?”
“He opened the door for me. I knew him by his hand and ring. He was close to you.”
“He opened the door for me. I recognized him by his hand and ring. He was close to you.”
“I did not observe him, being busy gathering up my dress. I thought the person was a waiter, and never looked at him,” said Helen, with provoking indifference.
“I didn't notice him because I was busy fixing my dress. I thought he was just a waiter and didn't even look at him,” Helen said, with a hint of annoying indifference.
“How unfortunate! Uncle, you are going to see the fortress; we don’t care for it; but I want you to take these gloves and inquire for Baron Sigismund Palsdorf. He will be there with a party of gentlemen. You can easily manage it, men are so free and easy. Mind what he is like, and come home in time to tell me all about it.”
“How unfortunate! Uncle, you’re going to see the fortress; we don’t care about it; but I want you to take these gloves and ask for Baron Sigismund Palsdorf. He’ll be there with a group of gentlemen. You can handle it easily; men are so casual. Pay attention to what he’s like, and come home in time to tell me all about it.”
Away went the major, and the cousins sat on the balcony enjoying the lovely night, admiring the picturesque scene, and indulging in the flights of fancy all girls love, for Helen, in spite of her three-and-twenty years, was as romantic as Amy at eighteen. It was past eleven when the major came, and the only greeting he received was the breathless question,—
Away went the major, and the cousins sat on the balcony enjoying the lovely night, admiring the beautiful scene, and indulging in the daydreams all girls love, for Helen, despite being twenty-three, was as romantic as Amy at eighteen. It was past eleven when the major returned, and the only greeting he received was the breathless question,—
“Did you find him?”
“Did you locate him?”
“I found something much better than any baron, a courier. I’ve wanted one ever since we started; for two young ladies and their baggage are more than one man can do his duty by. Karl Hoffman had such excellent testimonials from persons I know, that I did not hesitate to engage him, and he comes to-morrow; so henceforth I’ve nothing to do but devote myself to you.”
“I found something much better than any baron, a courier. I’ve wanted one ever since we started; two young ladies and their luggage are more than one man can handle. Karl Hoffman had such great references from people I trust that I didn’t hesitate to hire him, and he’s coming tomorrow; so from now on, I have nothing to do but focus on you.”
“How very provoking! Did you bring the gloves back?” asked Amy, still absorbed in the baron.
“How annoying! Did you bring the gloves back?” asked Amy, still focused on the baron.
The major tossed them to her, and indulged in a hearty laugh at her girlish regrets; then bade them good-night, and went away to give orders for an early start next morning.
The major threw them to her and had a good laugh at her youthful regrets; then he said goodnight and left to give instructions for an early departure the next morning.
Tired of talking, the girls lay down in the two little white beds always found in German hotels, and Amy was soon continuing in sleep the romance she had begun awake. She dreamed that the baron proved to be the owner of the fine eyes; that he wooed and won her, and they were floating down the river to the chime of wedding-bells.
Tired of chatting, the girls lay down in the two small white beds usually found in German hotels, and Amy quickly fell asleep, continuing the romance she had started while awake. She dreamed that the baron turned out to be the owner of those beautiful eyes; that he pursued and won her, and they were drifting down the river to the sound of wedding bells.
At this rapturous climax she woke to find the air full of music, and to see Helen standing tall and white in the moonlight that streamed in at the open window.
At this ecstatic moment, she woke up to find the air filled with music and saw Helen standing tall and pale in the moonlight streaming in through the open window.
“Hush, hide behind the curtains and listen; it’s a serenade,” whispered Helen, as Amy stole to her side.
“Hush, hide behind the curtains and listen; it’s a serenade,” whispered Helen, as Amy sneaked to her side.
Shrouded in the drapery, they leaned and listened till the song ended, then Amy peeped; a dark group stood below; all were bare-headed, and now seemed whispering together. Presently a single voice rose, singing an exquisite little French canzonet, the refrain of which was a passionate repetition of the word “Amie.” She thought she recognized the voice, and the sound of her own name uttered in such ardent tones made her heart beat and her color rise, for it seemed to signify that the serenade was for them. As the last melodious murmur ceased, there came a stifled laugh from below, and something fell into the balcony. Neither dared stir till the sound of departing feet reassured them; then creeping forward Amy drew in a lovely bouquet of myrtle, roses, and great German forget-me-nots, tied with a white ribbon and addressed in a dashing hand to La belle Helène.
Shrouded in the drapery, they leaned in and listened until the song ended, then Amy peeked; a dark group stood below, all bare-headed, and seemed to be whispering together now. Soon, a single voice rose, singing a beautiful little French canzonet, the refrain of which was a passionate repetition of the word “Amie.” She thought she recognized the voice, and hearing her own name spoken in such warm tones made her heart race and her color rise, as it seemed to mean the serenade was for them. As the last melodious note faded, there came a stifled laugh from below, and something fell onto the balcony. Neither dared to move until the sound of departing footsteps reassured them; then, creeping forward, Amy pulled in a lovely bouquet of myrtle, roses, and large German forget-me-nots, tied with a white ribbon and addressed in a bold hand to La belle Helène.
“Upon my life, the romance has begun in earnest,” laughed Helen, as she examined the flowers. “You are serenaded by some unknown nightingale, and I have flowers tossed up to me in the charming old style. Of course it is the baron, Amy.”
“Honestly, the romance has really started,” laughed Helen as she looked at the flowers. “You’re being serenaded by some unknown nightingale, and I have flowers thrown to me in that adorable old-fashioned way. It’s definitely the baron, Amy.”
“I hope so; but whoever it is, they are regular troubadours, and I’m delighted. I know the gloves will bring us fun of some kind. Do you take one and I’ll take the other, and see who will find the baron first. Isn’t it odd that they knew our names?”
“I hope so; but whoever they are, they're true troubadours, and I’m thrilled. I know the gloves will lead to some fun. You take one and I’ll take the other, and let’s see who finds the baron first. Isn’t it strange that they knew our names?”
“Amy, the writing on this card is very like that in the big book. I may be bewitched by this mid-summer moonlight, but it really is very like it. Come and see.”
“Amy, the writing on this card looks a lot like the one in the big book. I might be under the spell of this mid-summer moonlight, but it really does resemble it. Come and take a look.”
The two charming heads bent over the card, looking all the more charming for the dishevelled curls and braids that hung about them as the girls laughed and whispered together in the softly brilliant light that filled the room.
The two lovely heads leaned over the card, looking even more attractive with their messy curls and braids that surrounded them as the girls laughed and whispered to each other in the soft, bright light that filled the room.
“You are right; it is the same. The men who stared so at dinner are gay students perhaps, and ready for any prank. Don’t tell uncle, but let us see what will come of it. I begin to enjoy myself heartily now—don’t you?” said Amy, laying her glove carefully away.
“You're right; it's the same. The guys who were staring during dinner might be gay students and up for any prank. Don’t tell Uncle, but let’s see what happens. I'm really starting to enjoy myself now—aren't you?” said Amy, putting her glove away carefully.
“I enjoyed myself before, but I think ‘La belle Helène’ gives an added relish to life, Amie,” laughed Nell, putting her flowers in water; and then both went back to their pillows, to dream delightfully till morning.
“I had a great time before, but I think ‘La belle Helène’ adds even more enjoyment to life, Amie,” laughed Nell, placing her flowers in water; and then both returned to their pillows, ready to dream sweetly until morning.
II.
KARL, THE COURIER.
“Three days, at least, before we reach Baden. How tiresome it is that uncle won’t go faster!” said Amy, as she tied on her hat next morning, wondering as she did so if the baron would take the same boat.
Three days, at least, before we get to Baden. How annoying it is that Uncle won’t hurry up!” said Amy, as she put on her hat the next morning, wondering as she did if the baron would take the same boat.
“As adventures have begun, I feel assured that they will continue to cheer the way; so resign yourself and be ready for anything,” replied Helen, carefully arranging her bouquet in her travelling-basket.
“As the adventures start, I’m confident they will keep bringing joy along the way; so just let go and be prepared for anything,” replied Helen, carefully arranging her bouquet in her travel basket.
A tap at the door, which stood half open, made both look up. A tall, brown, gentlemanly man, in a gray suit, with a leathern bag slung over his shoulder, stood there, hat in hand, and meeting Helen’s eyes, bowed respectfully, saying in good English, but with a strong German accent,—
A knock on the half-open door made both of them look up. A tall, well-dressed man in a gray suit, carrying a leather bag over his shoulder, stood there with his hat in hand. He met Helen’s gaze, bowed respectfully, and said in clear English, but with a noticeable German accent,—
“Ladies, the major desired me to tell you the carriage waits.”
“Ladies, the gentleman asked me to let you know that the carriage is waiting.”
“Why, who—” began Amy, staring with her blue eyes full of wonder at the stranger.
“Who—” Amy started, her blue eyes wide with curiosity as she stared at the stranger.
He bowed again, and said, simply,—
He bowed again and said simply, —
“Karl Hoffman, at your service, mademoiselle.”
“Karl Hoffman, at your service, miss.”
“The courier—oh, yes! I forgot all about it. Please take these things.”
“The courier—oh, right! I completely forgot about that. Please take these things.”
And Amy began to hand him her miscellaneous collection of bags, books, shawls and cushions.
And Amy started to give him her random assortment of bags, books, shawls, and cushions.
“I’d no idea couriers were such decent creatures,” whispered Amy, as they followed him along the hall.
“I had no idea couriers were such nice people,” whispered Amy, as they followed him down the hall.
“Don’t you remember the raptures Mrs. Mortimer used to have over their Italian courier, and her funny description of him? ‘Beautiful to behold, with a night of hair, eyes full of an infinite tenderness, and a sumptuous cheek.’”
“Don’t you remember how excited Mrs. Mortimer used to get about their Italian courier, and her hilarious description of him? ‘Gorgeous to look at, with a mane of hair, eyes filled with endless kindness, and a pretty face.’”
Both girls laughed, and Amy averred that Karl’s eyes danced with merriment as he glanced over his shoulder, as the silvery peal sounded behind him.
Both girls laughed, and Amy insisted that Karl’s eyes sparkled with joy as he looked back over his shoulder, just as the silvery sound rang out behind him.
“Hush! he understands English; we must be careful,” said Helen, and neither spoke again till they reached the carriage.
“Hush! He understands English; we need to be careful,” said Helen, and they didn’t say another word until they got to the carriage.
Everything was ready, and as they drove away, the major, leaning luxuriously back, exclaimed,—
Everything was set, and as they drove off, the major, leaning back comfortably, said,—
“Now I begin to enjoy travelling, for I’m no longer worried by the thought of luggage, time-tables, trains, and the everlasting perplexity of thalers, kreutzers, and pfenniges. This man is a treasure; everything is done in the best manner, and his knowledge of matters is really amazing.”
“Now I’m starting to enjoy traveling because I’m not stressed about luggage, schedules, trains, or the constant confusion of thalers, kreutzers, and pfenniges. This guy is incredible; everything is handled perfectly, and his understanding of things is truly impressive.”
“He’s a very gentlemanly-looking person,” said Amy, eying a decidedly aristocratic foot through the front window of the carriage, for Karl sat up beside the driver.
“He looks very much like a gentleman,” said Amy, glancing at a clearly aristocratic foot through the front window of the carriage, since Karl was sitting up beside the driver.
“He is a gentleman, my dear. Many of these couriers are well born and educated, but, being poor, prefer this business to any other, as it gives them variety, and often pleasant society. I’ve had a long talk with Hoffman, and find him an excellent and accomplished fellow. He has lost his fortune, it seems, through no fault of his own, so being fond of a roving life, turned courier for a time, and we are fortunate to have secured him.”
“He is a true gentleman, my dear. Many of these couriers come from good backgrounds and have solid education, but since they're poor, they prefer this job over others because it offers them variety and often enjoyable company. I’ve had an extensive conversation with Hoffman, and I find him to be an exceptional and skilled individual. It appears he's lost his fortune through no fault of his own, so fond of adventure as he is, he decided to become a courier for a while, and we’re lucky to have him with us.”
“But one doesn’t know how to treat him,” said Helen. “I don’t like to address him as a servant, and yet it’s not pleasant to order a gentleman about.”
“But one doesn’t know how to treat him,” said Helen. “I don’t want to call him a servant, and yet it’s uncomfortable to boss a gentleman around.”
“Oh, it will be easy enough as we go on together. Just call him Hoffman, and behave as if you knew nothing about his past. He begged me not to mention it, but I thought you’d like the romance of the thing. Only don’t either of you run away with him, as Ponsonby’s daughter did with her courier, who wasn’t a gentleman, by the way.”
“Oh, it will be easy enough as we go on together. Just call him Hoffman, and act like you don’t know anything about his past. He asked me not to bring it up, but I figured you’d appreciate the drama of it all. Just don’t either of you run off with him, like Ponsonby’s daughter did with her courier, who, by the way, wasn’t a gentleman.”
“Not handsome enough,” said Amy. “I don’t like blue eyes and black hair. His manners are nice, but he looks like a gipsy, with his brown face and black beard: doesn’t he, Nell?”
“Not handsome enough,” said Amy. “I don’t like blue eyes and black hair. His manners are nice, but he looks like a gypsy, with his brown face and black beard: doesn’t he, Nell?”
“Not at all. Gipsies haven’t that style of face; they are thin, sharp, and cunning in feature as in nature. Hoffman has large, well-moulded features, and a mild, manly expression, which gives one confidence in him.”
“Not at all. Gypsies don't have that kind of face; they are thin, sharp, and sly in their looks and their nature. Hoffman has large, well-defined features and a gentle, masculine expression that inspires confidence in him.”
“He has a keen, wicked look in his blue eyes, as you will see, Nell. I mean mischievously, not malignantly wicked. He likes fun, I’m sure, for he laughed about the ‘sumptuous cheek’ till his own were red, though he dared not show it, and was as grave as an owl when we met uncle,” said Amy, smiling at the recollection.
“He has a sharp, mischievous look in his blue eyes, as you’ll see, Nell. I mean mischievously, not mean-spiritedly wicked. He clearly enjoys having fun, since he laughed about the ‘sumptuous cheek’ until his own cheeks turned red, even though he didn’t want to show it. He acted as serious as an owl when we met Uncle,” said Amy, smiling at the memory.
“We shall go by boat to Biebrich, and then by rail to Heidelberg. We shall get in late to-morrow night, but can rest a day, and then on to Baden. Here we are; now make yourselves easy, as I do, and let Karl take care of everything.”
“We'll take a boat to Biebrich and then hop on a train to Heidelberg. We'll arrive late tomorrow night, but we can take a day to rest, and then head to Baden. Here we are; now relax like I do, and let Karl handle everything.”
And putting his hands in his pockets, the major strolled about the boat, while the courier made matters comfortable for the day. So easily and well did he do his duty, that both girls enjoyed watching him after he had established them on the shady side of the boat, with camp-stools for their feet, cushions to lean on, books and bags laid commodiously at hand.
And sticking his hands in his pockets, the major wandered around the boat while the courier made things cozy for the day. He did his job so effortlessly and well that both girls enjoyed watching him after he settled them on the shady side of the boat, with camp stools for their feet, cushions to lean on, and books and bags conveniently within reach.
As they sailed up the lovely Rhine they grew more and more enthusiastic in their admiration and curiosity, and finding the meagre description of the guide-books very unsatisfactory, Amy begged her uncle to tell her all the legends of picturesque ruin, rock and river, as they passed.
As they sailed up the beautiful Rhine, their enthusiasm and curiosity grew stronger. Finding the brief descriptions in the guidebooks inadequate, Amy asked her uncle to share all the legends of the scenic ruins, rocks, and river as they went by.
“Bless me, child, I know nothing; but here’s Hoffman, a German born, who will tell you everything, I dare say. Karl, what’s that old castle up there? The young ladies want to know about it.”
“Bless me, child, I know nothing; but here’s Hoffman, a German born, who will tell you everything, I bet. Karl, what’s that old castle up there? The young ladies want to know about it.”
Leaning on the railing, Hoffman told the story so well that he was kept explaining and describing for an hour, and when he went away to order lunch, Amy declared it was as pleasant as reading fairy tales to listen to his dramatic histories and legends.
Leaning on the railing, Hoffman told the story so well that he kept explaining and describing for an hour, and when he went away to order lunch, Amy said it was as enjoyable as reading fairy tales to hear his dramatic stories and legends.
At lunch the major was charmed to find his favorite wines and dishes without any need of consulting dictionary or phrase-book beforehand, or losing his temper in vain attempts to make himself understood.
At lunch, the major was delighted to find his favorite wines and dishes without needing to consult a dictionary or phrasebook in advance or losing his patience in futile attempts to communicate.
On reaching Biebrich, tired and hungry, at nightfall, everything was ready for them, and all went to bed praising Karl, the courier, though Amy, with unusual prudence, added,—
On arriving in Biebrich, worn out and starving, as night fell, everything was prepared for them, and they all went to bed praising Karl, the courier, though Amy, with unexpected caution, added,—
“He is a new broom now; let us wait a little before we judge.”
“He's a fresh start now; let's hold off a bit before we judge.”
All went well next day till nightfall, when a most untoward accident occurred, and Helen’s adventures began in earnest. The three occupied a coupé, and being weary with long sitting, Helen got out at one of the stations where the train paused for ten minutes. A rosy sunset tempted her to the end of the platform, and there she found, what nearly all foreign railway stations possess, a charming little garden.
All went well the next day until nightfall, when a really unfortunate accident happened, and Helen’s adventures truly began. The three were in a coupé, and feeling tired from sitting for so long, Helen got out at one of the stops where the train paused for ten minutes. A beautiful sunset lured her to the end of the platform, where she discovered, like nearly all foreign train stations have, a lovely little garden.
Amy was very tired, rather cross, and passionately fond of flowers, so when an old woman offered to pull a nosegay for “the gracious lady,” Helen gladly waited for it, hoping to please the invalid. Twice the whistle warned her, and at last she ran back, but only in time to see the train move away, with her uncle gesticulating wildly to the guard, who shook his stupid German head, and refused to see the dismayed young lady imploring him to wait for her.
Amy was really tired, kind of grumpy, and loved flowers. So when an old woman offered to pick a bouquet for “the lovely lady,” Helen happily waited for it, hoping to cheer up the sick girl. Twice the whistle blew to signal departure, and finally she ran back, but only in time to see the train take off, with her uncle waving his arms wildly at the guard, who just shook his stupid German head and refused to acknowledge the panicked young lady begging him to wait for her.
Just as the train was vanishing from the station, a man leaped from a second-class carriage at the risk of his neck, and hurried back to find Helen looking pale and bewildered, as well she might, left alone and money-less at night in a strange town.
Just as the train was disappearing from the station, a man jumped from a second-class carriage, risking his neck, and rushed back to find Helen looking pale and confused, which was understandable since she was left alone and broke at night in an unfamiliar town.
“Mademoiselle, it is I; rest easy; we can soon go on; a train passes in two hours, and we can telegraph to Heidelberg that they may not fear for you.”
“Mademoiselle, it’s me; don’t worry; we’ll be leaving soon; a train comes in two hours, and we can send a telegram to Heidelberg so they won’t be concerned about you.”
“Oh, Hoffman, how kind of you to stop for me! What should I have done without you, for uncle takes care of all the money, and I have only my watch.”
“Oh, Hoffman, how nice of you to stop for me! What would I have done without you? Uncle handles all the money, and I only have my watch.”
Helen’s usual self-possession rather failed her in the flurry of the moment, and she caught Karl’s arm with a feminine little gesture of confidence very pleasant to see. Leading her to the waiting-room, he ordered supper, and put her into the care of the woman of the place, while he went to make inquiries and dispatch the telegram. In half an hour he was back again, finding Helen refreshed and cheerful, though a trace of anxiety was still visible in her watchful eyes.
Helen’s usual composure somewhat abandoned her in the chaos of the moment, and she grabbed Karl’s arm with a charming little gesture of trust that was nice to see. He led her to the waiting room, ordered dinner, and handed her over to the attention of the woman in charge, while he went to make inquiries and send the telegram. Thirty minutes later, he returned to find Helen looking refreshed and cheerful, though a hint of worry still lingered in her attentive eyes.
“All goes excellently, mademoiselle. I have sent word to several posts along the road that we are coming by the night train, so that Monsieur le Major will rest tranquil till we meet. It is best that I give you some money, lest such a mishap should again occur; it is not likely so soon; nevertheless, here is both gold and silver. With this, one can make one’s way everywhere. Now, if mademoiselle will permit me to advise, she will rest for an hour, as we must travel till dawn. I will keep guard without and watch for the train.”
“All is going great, miss. I’ve contacted several stops along the route to let them know we’re arriving on the night train, so that Mr. Major can rest easy until we meet. It’s best if I give you some money, just in case something goes wrong again; it’s unlikely to happen so soon, but here’s both gold and silver. With this, you can get anywhere. Now, if you don’t mind me suggesting, you should rest for an hour since we’ll be traveling until dawn. I’ll stay outside and keep an eye out for the train.”
He left her, and having made herself comfortable on one of the sofas, she lay watching the tall shadow pass and repass door and window, as Karl marched up and down the platform, with the tireless tramp of a sentinel on duty. A pleasant sense of security stole over her, and with a smile at Amy’s enjoyment of the adventure when it was over, Helen fell asleep.
He left her, and after getting cozy on one of the sofas, she lay there watching the tall shadow move back and forth by the door and window as Karl paced the platform like a vigilant guard on duty. A comforting feeling of safety washed over her, and with a smile at Amy’s excitement about the adventure once it was over, Helen fell asleep.
A far-off shriek half woke her, and starting up, she turned to meet the courier coming in to wake her. Up thundered the train, every carriage apparently full of sleepy passengers, and the guard in a state of sullen wrath at some delay, the consequences of which would fall heaviest on him.
A distant scream half-woke her, and sitting up, she turned to see the courier coming in to wake her. The train came thundering in, every carriage seemingly full of sleepy passengers, while the guard was in a mood of sulky anger over some delay, the consequences of which would hit him the hardest.
From carriage to carriage hurried Karl and his charge, to be met with everywhere by the cry, “All full,” in many languages, and with every aspect of inhospitality. One carriage only showed two places; the other seats were occupied by six students, who gallantly invited the lady to enter. But Helen shrunk back, saying,—
From train to train rushed Karl and his companion, only to be greeted everywhere with the shout, “All full,” in various languages, and with all kinds of unwelcoming attitudes. Only one train car had two available seats; the other spots were taken by six students, who bravely offered the lady a place to sit. But Helen hesitated, saying,—
“Is there no other place?”
"Is there no other option?"
“None, mademoiselle; this, or remain till morning,” said Karl.
“None, miss; this, or stay until morning,” said Karl.
“Where will you go if I take this place?”
“Where will you go if I take this spot?”
“Among the luggage,—anywhere; it is nothing. But we must decide at once.”
“Among the luggage—anywhere; it doesn’t matter. But we have to make a decision right now.”
“Come with me; I’m afraid to be locked in here alone,” said Helen, desperately.
“Come with me; I’m scared to be locked in here alone,” Helen said, urgently.
“Mademoiselle forgets I am her courier.”
“Mademoiselle forgets that I'm her messenger.”
“I do not forget that you are a gentleman. Pray come in; my uncle will thank you.”
“I won't forget that you’re a gentleman. Please come in; my uncle will appreciate it.”
“I will,” and with a sudden brightening of the eyes, a grateful glance, and an air of redoubled respect, Hoffman followed her into the carriage.
“I will,” and with a sudden sparkle in his eyes, a thankful look, and a renewed sense of respect, Hoffman followed her into the carriage.
They were off at once, and the thing was done before Helen had time to feel anything but the relief which the protection of his presence afforded her.
They left right away, and it was all over before Helen could feel anything other than the relief that came from having him there to protect her.
The young gentlemen stared at the veiled lady and her grim escort, joked under their breath, and looked wistfully at the suppressed cigars, but behaved with exemplary politeness till sleep overpowered them, and one after the other dropped off asleep to dream of their respective Gretchens.
The young men watched the veiled woman and her stern companion, made jokes quietly to themselves, and glanced longingly at the unlit cigars, but stayed very polite until they fell asleep, one by one, dreaming of their own Gretchens.
Helen could not sleep, and for hours sat studying the unconscious faces before her, the dim landscape flying past the windows, or forgot herself in reveries.
Helen couldn't sleep, and for hours she sat studying the unconscious faces in front of her, the blurry landscape rushing by the windows, or getting lost in her thoughts.
Hoffman remained motionless and silent, except when she addressed him, wakeful also, and assiduous in making the long night as easy as possible.
Hoffman stayed still and quiet, only speaking when she talked to him, alert and dedicated to making the long night as comfortable as possible.
It was past midnight, and Helen’s heavy eyelids were beginning to droop, when suddenly there came an awful crash, a pang of mortal fear, then utter oblivion.
It was past midnight, and Helen's eyelids were getting heavy, when suddenly there was a terrible crash, a rush of deep fear, then total darkness.
As her senses returned she found herself lying in a painful position under what had been the roof of the car; something heavy weighed down her lower limbs, and her dizzy brain rung with a wild uproar of shrieks and groans, eager voices, the crash of wood and iron, and the shrill whistle of the engine, as it rushed away for help.
As her senses came back, she realized she was lying in a painful position under what used to be the roof of the car. Something heavy was pressing down on her legs, and her spinning head was filled with a chaotic mix of screams and groans, urgent voices, the sound of breaking wood and metal, and the sharp whistle of the engine as it sped off to get help.
Through the darkness she heard the pant as of some one struggling desperately, then a cry close by her, followed by a strong voice exclaiming, in an agony of suspense,—
Through the darkness, she heard someone panting as if they were struggling desperately, then a nearby cry, followed by a strong voice exclaiming in a state of intense suspense,—
“My God, will no one come!”
“My God, is there no one coming!”
“Hoffman, are you there?” cried Helen, groping in the gloom, with a thrill of joy at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Hoffman, are you there?” Helen called out, feeling around in the darkness, filled with joy at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Thank heaven, you are safe. Lie still. I will save you. Help is coming. Have no fear!” panted the voice, with an undertone of fervent gratitude in its breathless accents.
“Thank goodness, you’re safe. Lie still. I’ll save you. Help is on the way. Don’t be afraid!” panted the voice, with a hint of deep gratitude in its breathless tone.
“What has happened? Where are the rest?”
“What happened? Where is everyone?”
“We have been thrown down an embankment. The lads are gone for help. God only knows what harm is done.”
“We have been thrown down a slope. The guys have gone for help. Only God knows what damage has been done.”
Karl’s voice died in a stifled groan, and Helen cried out in alarm,—
Karl's voice faded into a muffled groan, and Helen shouted in alarm,—
“Where are you? You are hurt?”
“Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“Not much. I keep the ruins from falling in to crush us. Be quiet, they are coming.”
“Not much. I hold the ruins up so they don't collapse and crush us. Be quiet, they're coming.”
A shout answered the faint halloo he gave as if to guide them to the spot, and a moment after, five of the students were swarming about the wreck, intent on saving the three whose lives were still in danger.
A shout responded to the faint call he made as if to lead them to the location, and a moment later, five students were crowding around the wreck, focused on rescuing the three whose lives were still at risk.
A lamp torn from some demolished carriage was held through an opening, and Helen saw a sight that made her blood chill in her veins. Across her feet, crushed and bleeding, lay the youngest of the students, and kneeling close beside him was Hoffman, supporting by main strength a mass of timber, which otherwise would fall and crush them all. His face was ghastly pale, his eyes haggard with suffering and suspense, and great drops stood upon his forehead. But as she looked, he smiled with a cheery,—
A lamp pulled from a wrecked carriage was held through an opening, and Helen saw a sight that made her blood run cold. At her feet, crushed and bleeding, lay the youngest of the students, and kneeling close beside him was Hoffman, using all his strength to hold up a heavy beam that would otherwise fall and crush them all. His face was ghostly pale, his eyes worn from pain and worry, and sweat was pouring down his forehead. But as she watched, he smiled brightly—
“Bear up, dear lady, we shall soon be out of danger. Now, lads, work with a will; my strength is going fast.”
“Hang in there, dear lady, we’ll be out of danger soon. Now, guys, give it your all; I’m losing strength quickly.”
They did work like heroes, and even in her pain and peril, Helen admired the skill, energy, and courage of the young men, who, an hour ago, had seemed to have no ideas above pipes and beer. Soon Hoffman was free, the poor senseless youth lifted out, and then, as tenderly as if she were a child, they raised and set her down, faint but unhurt, in a wide meadow, already strewn with sad tokens of the wreck.
They worked like heroes, and even in her pain and danger, Helen admired the skill, energy, and bravery of the young men who, just an hour ago, seemed only interested in beer and pipes. Soon Hoffman was free, the poor unconscious young man was lifted out, and then, as gently as if she were a child, they raised her up and laid her down, faint but unhurt, in a wide meadow already scattered with sad reminders of the wreck.
Karl was taken possession of as well as herself, forced to rest a moment, drink a cordial draught from some one’s flask, and be praised, embraced, and enthusiastically blessed by the impetuous youths.
Karl was taken in just like she was, made to take a break for a moment, sip a drink from someone’s flask, and be cheered, hugged, and excitedly blessed by the energetic young guys.
“Where is the boy who was hurt? Bring him to me. I am strong now. I want to help. I have salts in my pocket, and I can bind up his wounds,” said Helen, soon herself again.
“Where is the boy who was hurt? Bring him to me. I’m strong now. I want to help. I have salts in my pocket, and I can wrap his wounds,” said Helen, feeling like herself again.
Karl and Helen soon brought back life and sense to the boy, and never had human face looked so lovely as did Helen’s to the anxious comrades when she looked up in the moonlight with a joyful smile, and softly whispered,—
Karl and Helen quickly revived the boy, and never had a human face looked so beautiful as Helen’s did to the worried friends when she looked up in the moonlight with a joyful smile and softly whispered,—
“He is alive.”
“He's alive.”
For an hour terrible confusion reigned, then the panic subsided a little, and such of the carriages as were whole were made ready to carry away as many as possible; the rest must wait till a return train could be sent for them.
For an hour, there was complete chaos, but then the panic calmed down a bit, and the carriages that were intact were prepared to take away as many people as possible; the others would have to wait until a return train could be sent for them.
A struggle of course ensued, for every one wished to go on, and fear made many selfish. The wounded, the women and children, were taken, as far as possible, and the laden train moved away, leaving many anxious watchers behind.
A struggle naturally broke out, as everyone wanted to move forward, and fear made many self-centered. The wounded, along with the women and children, were taken as far as possible, and the loaded group continued on, leaving many worried observers behind.
Helen had refused to go, and had given her place to poor Conrad, thereby overwhelming his brother and comrades with gratitude. Two went on with the wounded lad; the rest remained, and chivalrously devoted themselves to Helen as a body-guard.
Helen had turned down the invitation and offered her spot to poor Conrad, which filled his brother and friends with gratitude. Two accompanied the injured guy, while the others stayed behind, gallantly acting as Helen's bodyguards.
The moon shone clearly, the wide field was miles from any hamlet, and a desolate silence succeeded to the late uproar, as the band of waiters roamed about, longing for help and dawn.
The moon shone brightly, the expansive field was miles away from any village, and a heavy silence replaced the late noise as the team of servers wandered around, craving assistance and the morning light.
“Mademoiselle, you shiver; the dew falls, and it is damp here; we must have a fire;” and Karl was away to a neighboring hedge, intent on warming his delicate charge if he felled a forest to do it.
“Mademoiselle, you’re shivering; the dew is falling, and it’s damp here; we need a fire;” and Karl was off to a nearby hedge, determined to keep his delicate charge warm, even if it meant cutting down a whole forest to do it.
The students rushed after him, and soon returned in triumph to build a glorious fire, which drew all forlorn wanderers to its hospitable circle. A motley assemblage; but mutual danger and discomfort produced mutual sympathy and good will, and a general atmosphere of friendship pervaded the party.
The students ran after him and quickly came back in victory to create a magnificent fire that attracted all the lost wanderers to its welcoming circle. It was a diverse group; however, shared danger and discomfort fostered a sense of camaraderie and goodwill, creating an overall atmosphere of friendship among the party.
“Where is the brave Hoffman?” asked Wilhelm, the blond student, who, being in the Werther period of youth, was already madly in love with Helen, and sat at her feet catching cold in the most romantic manner.
“Where is the brave Hoffman?” asked Wilhelm, the blond student, who, being in the Werther phase of youth, was already head over heels for Helen, and sat at her feet getting cold in the most romantic way.
“Behold me! The little ones cry for hunger, so I ransack the ruins and bring away my spoils. Eat, Kinder, eat and be patient.”
“Look at me! The little ones are crying out for food, so I search through the wreckage and take what I can find. Eat, kids, eat and be patient.”
As he spoke, Karl appeared with an odd collection of baskets, bags, and bottles, and with a fatherly air that won all the mothers, he gave the children whatever first appeared, making them laugh in spite of weariness and hunger by the merry speeches which accompanied his gifts.
As he talked, Karl showed up with a strange mix of baskets, bags, and bottles. With a fatherly vibe that charmed all the moms, he handed out whatever he found first, making the kids laugh despite their tiredness and hunger with the cheerful remarks that came with his gifts.
“You too need something. Here is your own basket with the lunch I ordered you. In a sad state of confusion but still eatable. See, it is not bad,” and he deftly spread on a napkin before Helen cold chicken, sandwiches, and fruit.
“You also need something. Here's your own basket with the lunch I got for you. It's a bit messy but still edible. Look, it's not bad,” he skillfully laid out cold chicken, sandwiches, and fruit on a napkin before Helen.
His care for the little ones as well as for herself touched her and made her eyes fill, as she remembered that she owed her life to him, and recalled the sight of his face in the overturned car.
His concern for the kids and for her really moved her, making her eyes well up as she remembered that her life was saved because of him, and thought of his face in the wrecked car.
Her voice trembled a little as she thanked him, and the moonlight betrayed her wet eyes. He fancied she was worn out with excitement and fatigue, and anxious to cheer her spirits, he whispered to Wilhelm and his mates,—
Her voice shook slightly as she thanked him, and the moonlight revealed her tear-filled eyes. He thought she looked exhausted from all the excitement and fatigue, and wanting to lift her spirits, he whispered to Wilhelm and his friends,—
“Sing, then, comrades, and while away this tedious night. It is hard for all to wait so long, and the babies need a lullaby.”
“Sing, then, friends, and pass the time during this long night. It’s tough for everyone to wait so long, and the little ones need a lullaby.”
The young men laughed and sang as only German students can sing, making the night musical with blithe drinking songs, tender love-lays, battle-hymns, and Volkslieder sweeter than any songs across the water.
The young men laughed and sang like only German students can, filling the night with cheerful drinking songs, sweet love songs, battle hymns, and folk songs sweeter than any tunes across the water.
Every heart was cheered and warmed by the magic of the music, the babies fell asleep, strangers grew friendly, fear changed to courage, and the most forlorn felt the romance of that bivouac under the summer sky.
Every heart was lifted and warmed by the magic of the music, the babies drifted off to sleep, strangers became friends, fear turned into courage, and even the most hopeless felt the romance of that gathering under the summer sky.
Dawn was reddening the east when a welcome whistle broke up the camp. Every one hurried to the railway, but Helen paused to gather a handful of blue forget-me-nots, saying to Hoffman, who waited with her wraps on his arm,—
Dawn was turning red in the east when a welcome whistle sounded through the camp. Everyone rushed to the railway, but Helen stopped to pick a handful of blue forget-me-nots, saying to Hoffman, who was waiting with her wraps on his arm,—
“It has been a happy night, in spite of the danger and discomfort. I shall not soon forget it; and take these as a souvenir.”
“It’s been a great night, despite the risk and discomfort. I won’t forget it anytime soon; take these as a keepsake.”
He smiled, standing bare-headed in the chilly wind, for his hat was lost, his coat torn, hair dishevelled, and one hand carelessly bound up in his handkerchief. Helen saw these marks of the night’s labors and perils for the first time, and as soon as they were seated desired to see his hand.
He smiled, standing without a hat in the cold wind, since his hat was gone, his coat was ripped, his hair was messy, and one hand was wrapped up in a handkerchief. Helen noticed the signs of the night’s struggles and dangers for the first time, and as soon as they sat down, she wanted to see his hand.
“It is nothing,—a scratch, a mere scratch, I give you my word, mademoiselle,” he began, but Wilhelm unceremoniously removed the handkerchief, showing a torn and bleeding hand which must have been exquisitely painful.
“It’s nothing—a scratch, just a scratch, I promise you, miss,” he said, but Wilhelm rudely pulled away the handkerchief, revealing a torn and bleeding hand that must have been incredibly painful.
Helen turned pale, and with a reproachful glance skilfully bound it up again, saying, as she handed a silken scarf to Wilhelm,—
Helen went pale, and with a disapproving look, skillfully wrapped it up again, saying, as she handed a silk scarf to Wilhelm,—
“Make of that a sling, please, and put the poor hand in it. Care must be taken, or harm will come of it.”
“Please make a sling out of that and put the injured hand in it. Be careful, or it could cause more harm.”
Hoffman submitted in bashful silence, as if surprised and touched by the young lady’s interest. She saw that, and added gratefully,—
Hoffman submitted in shy silence, as if surprised and flattered by the young lady’s interest. She noticed that and added gratefully,—
“I do not forget that you saved my life, though you seem to have done so. My uncle will thank you better than I can.”
“I won’t forget that you saved my life, even if it feels like you have. My uncle will appreciate it more than I can.”
“I already have my reward, mademoiselle,” he returned, with a respectful inclination and a look she could neither understand nor forget.
“I already have my reward, miss,” he replied, with a courteous nod and a look she couldn’t quite grasp or forget.
III.
AMY’S ADVENTURE.
The excitement and suspense of the major and Amy can be imagined when news of the accident reached them. Their gratitude and relief were intense when Helen appeared next morning, with the faithful Hoffman still at his post, though no longer able to disguise the fact that he was suffering from his wound.
The excitement and tension of the major and Amy can be imagined when they heard about the accident. Their gratitude and relief were overwhelming when Helen showed up the next morning, with the loyal Hoffman still at his post, even though he could no longer hide the fact that he was in pain from his injury.
When the story had been told, Karl was put under the surgeon’s care, and all remained at Heidelberg for several days to rest and recover.
When the story was finished, Karl was placed under the surgeon’s care, and everyone stayed in Heidelberg for several days to relax and recuperate.
On the afternoon of the last day the major and young ladies drove off to the castle for a farewell view. Helen began to sketch the great stone lion’s head above the grand terrace, the major smoked and chatted with a party of English artists whom he had met, and Amy, with a little lad for a guide, explored the old castle to her heart’s content.
On the afternoon of the last day, the major and the young ladies headed to the castle for a farewell view. Helen started sketching the big stone lion's head above the grand terrace, the major smoked and chatted with a group of English artists he had met, and Amy, with a little boy for a guide, explored the old castle to her heart's content.
The sun set, and twilight began to fall when Helen put up her pencils, and the major set off to find Amy, who had been appearing and disappearing in every nook and cranny of the half-ruined castle.
The sun went down, and dusk started to settle as Helen packed away her pencils, and the major headed out to look for Amy, who had been popping in and out of every corner of the partially ruined castle.
Nowhere could he find her, and no voice answered when he called. The other visitors were gone, and the place seemed deserted, except by themselves and the old man who showed the ruins.
Nowhere could he find her, and no voice responded when he called. The other visitors were gone, and the place felt empty, except for them and the old man who was showing the ruins.
Becoming alarmed lest the girl had fallen somewhere, or lost her way among the vaults where the famous Tun lies, the major called out old Hans with his lantern, and searched high and low.
Becoming worried that the girl had fallen somewhere or lost her way among the vaults where the famous Tun is located, the major called out for old Hans with his lantern and searched everywhere.
Amy’s hat, full of flowers and ferns, was found in the Lady’s Walk, as the little terrace is called, but no other trace appeared, and Helen hurried to and fro in great distress, fearing all manner of dangers.
Amy’s hat, decorated with flowers and ferns, was found in the Lady’s Walk, as that small terrace is called, but no other signs were found, and Helen rushed back and forth in great distress, fearing all sorts of dangers.
Meanwhile Amy, having explored every other part of the castle, went to take another look at the Tun, the dwarf, and the vaults.
Meanwhile, Amy, having explored every other part of the castle, went to check out the Tun, the dwarf, and the vaults again.
Now little Anderl, her guide, had a great fear of ghosts, and legions were said to haunt the ruins after nightfall, so when Amy rambled on deeper and deeper into the gloom the boy’s courage ebbed away with every step; yet he was ashamed to own his fear, seeing that she had none.
Now little Anderl, her guide, was really afraid of ghosts, and it was said that many haunted the ruins after dark. So, as Amy wandered deeper into the shadows, the boy’s courage faded with each step; still, he was too embarrassed to admit his fear since she seemed completely unafraid.
Amy wanted to see a certain cell, where a nun was said to have pined to death because she would not listen to the Margraf’s love. The legend pleased the romantic girl, and forgetful of waning daylight, gathering damps, and Anderl’s reluctant service, she ran on, up steps and down, delighted with little arched doors, rusty chains on the walls, glimpses of sky through shattered roofs, and all manner of mysterious nooks and corners. Coming at last to a narrow cell, with a stone table, and heavy bolts on the old door, she felt sure this was poor Elfrida’s prison, and called Anderl to come on with his candle, for the boy had lighted one, for his own comfort rather than hers. Her call was unanswered, and glancing back, she saw the candle placed on the ground, but no Anderl.
Amy wanted to see a certain cell, where a nun was said to have wasted away because she wouldn’t return the Margraf’s affection. The story excited the romantic girl, and forgetting the fading light, the gathering damp, and Anderl’s unwillingness to help, she ran on, up steps and down, thrilled by little arched doorways, rusty chains on the walls, glimpses of sky through broken roofs, and all sorts of mysterious nooks and crannies. Finally arriving at a narrow cell, with a stone table and heavy bolts on the old door, she was convinced this was poor Elfrida’s prison, and called Anderl to come with his candle, since the boy had lit one for his own comfort rather than hers. Her call went unanswered, and glancing back, she saw the candle placed on the ground, but no Anderl.
“Little coward, he has run away,” she said, laughing; and having satisfied her curiosity, turned to retrace her steps,—no easy task to one ignorant of the way, for vault after vault opened on both sides, and no path was discernible. In vain she tried to recall some landmark, the gloom had deepened and nothing was clear. On she hurried, but found no opening, and really frightened, stopped at last, calling the boy in a voice that woke a hundred echoes. But Anderl had fled home, thinking the lady would find her way back, and preferring to lose his kreutzers to seeing a ghost.
“Little coward, he just ran away,” she said, laughing; and after satisfying her curiosity, she turned to head back—no easy task for someone who didn’t know the way, as vault after vault opened up on both sides, and no clear path was visible. She tried in vain to remember some landmark; the darkness had deepened, and nothing was clear. She hurried on but found no exit, and genuinely scared, she finally stopped, calling for the boy in a voice that echoed back a hundred times. But Anderl had run home, thinking the lady would find her own way back and choosing to lose his coins rather than face a ghost.
Poor Amy’s bewilderment and alarm increased with every moment’s delay, and hoping to come out somewhere, she ran on till a misstep jostled the candle from her hand and extinguished it.
Poor Amy's confusion and fear grew with every moment of delay, and hoping to find her way out, she kept running until a misstep knocked the candle from her hand and put it out.
Left in the dark, her courage deserted her, and she screamed desperately, like a lost child, and was fast getting into a state of frantic terror, when the sound of an approaching step reassured her.
Left in the dark, her courage abandoned her, and she screamed desperately, like a lost child, quickly slipping into a state of frantic fear, when the sound of an approaching step calmed her.
Holding her breath, she heard a quick tread drawing nearer, as if guided by her cries, and, straining her eyes, she caught the outline of a man’s figure in the gloom.
Holding her breath, she heard fast footsteps coming closer, almost as if they were following her cries, and, squinting her eyes, she saw the shadowy shape of a man in the dark.
A sensation of intense joy rushed over her, and she was about to spring forward, when she remembered that as she could speak no German how could she explain her plight to the stranger, if he understand neither French nor English?
A rush of intense joy washed over her, and she was about to leap forward when she realized that since she couldn't speak any German, how could she explain her situation to the stranger if he didn't understand either French or English?
Fear took possession of her at the thought of meeting some rough peasant, or some rollicking student, to whom she could make no intelligible appeal or explanation.
Fear gripped her at the thought of meeting some rough peasant or some rowdy student she couldn't communicate with or explain herself to.
Crouching close against the wall, she stood mute till the figure was very near. She was in the shadow of an angle, and the man paused, as if looking for the person who called for help.
Crouching close against the wall, she stood silent until the figure was very near. She was in the shadow of a corner, and the man paused, as if searching for the person who called for help.
“Who is lost here?” said a clear voice, in German.
“Who is lost here?” said a clear voice, in German.
Amy shrunk closer to the wall, fearing to speak, for the voice was that of a young man, and a low laugh followed the words, as if the speaker found the situation amusing.
Amy pressed against the wall, afraid to say anything, because the voice belonged to a young man, and a quiet laugh followed his words, as if he found the situation funny.
“Mortal, ghost or devil, I’ll find it,” exclaimed the voice, and stepping forward, a hand groped for and found her.
“Mortal, ghost or devil, I’ll find it,” shouted the voice, and stepping forward, a hand reached out and found her.
“Lottchen, is it thou? Little rogue, thou shalt pay dearly for leading me such a chase.”
“Lottchen, is that you? Little troublemaker, you're going to pay dearly for sending me on such a wild chase.”
As he spoke he drew the girl toward him, but with a faint cry, a vain effort to escape, Amy’s terror reached its climax, and spent with fatigue and excitement, she lost consciousness.
As he spoke, he pulled the girl closer, but with a faint cry, a hopeless attempt to get away, Amy's fear peaked, and exhausted from fatigue and excitement, she fainted.
“Who the deuce is it, then? Lottchen never faints on a frolic. Some poor little girl lost in earnest. I must get her out of this gloomy place at once, and find her party afterward.”
“Who the heck is it, then? Lottchen never faints during a fun time. Some poor little girl is genuinely lost. I need to get her out of this dark place right away and find her friends later.”
Lifting the slight figure in his arms, the young man hurried on, and soon came out through a shattered gateway into the shrubbery which surrounds the base of the castle.
Lifting the small figure in his arms, the young man rushed on and soon emerged through a broken gateway into the bushes that surround the base of the castle.
Laying her on the grass, he gently chafed her hands, eying the pale, pretty face meantime with the utmost solicitude.
Laying her on the grass, he gently rubbed her hands, watching her pale, pretty face with great care.
At his first glimpse of it he had started, smiled and made a gesture of pleasure and surprise, then gave himself entirely to the task of recovering the poor girl whom he had frightened out of her senses.
At his first look at it, he jumped, smiled, and gestured with pleasure and surprise, then fully dedicated himself to the task of comforting the poor girl he had scared out of her mind.
Very soon she looked up with dizzy eyes, and clasping her hands imploringly, cried, in English, like a bewildered child,—
Very soon she looked up, her eyes spinning, and with her hands clasped in desperation, cried out in English, like a confused child,—
“I am lost! Oh, take me to my uncle.”
“I’m lost! Please take me to my uncle.”
“I will, the moment you can walk. Upon my soul, I meant to help you when I followed; but as you did not answer, I fancied it was Lottchen, the keeper’s little girl. Pardon the fright I’ve caused you, and let me take you to your friends.”
“I will, as soon as you can walk. I swear, I intended to help you when I followed you; but since you didn’t respond, I thought it was Lottchen, the keeper’s little girl. I’m sorry for scaring you, and let me take you to your friends.”
The true English accent of the words, and the hearty tone of sincerity in the apology, reassured Amy at once, and, rising, she said, with a faint smile and a petulant tone,—
The genuine English accent of the words and the sincere tone of the apology immediately put Amy at ease, and, getting up, she said, with a faint smile and a sulky tone,—
“I was very silly, but my guide ran away, my candle went out, I lost the path, and can speak no German; so I was afraid to answer you at first; and then I lost my wits altogether, for it’s rather startling to be clutched in the dark, sir.”
“I was being really foolish, but my guide ran off, my candle went out, I lost my way, and I can’t speak any German; so I was too scared to respond to you at first; then I completely lost my mind because it’s pretty shocking to be grabbed in the dark, sir.”
“Indeed it is. I was very thoughtless, but now let me atone for it. Where is your uncle, Miss Erskine?” asked the stranger, with respectful earnestness.
“Indeed it is. I was very thoughtless, but now let me make up for it. Where is your uncle, Miss Erskine?” asked the stranger, with respectful seriousness.
“You know my name?” cried Amy in her impulsive way.
“You know my name?” Amy exclaimed impulsively.
“I have that happiness,” was the answer, with a smile.
"I have that happiness," was the reply, with a smile.
“But I don’t know you, sir;” and she peered at him, trying to see his face in the darkness, for the copse was thick, and twilight had come on rapidly.
“But I don’t know you, sir;” she said, looking at him, trying to make out his face in the dark since the trees were dense and dusk had set in quickly.
“Not yet; I live in hope. Shall we go? Your uncle will be uneasy.”
“Not yet; I’m keeping my hopes up. Should we head out? Your uncle will start to worry.”
“Where are we?” asked Amy, glad to move on, for the interview was becoming too personal even for her, and the stranger’s manner fluttered her, though she enjoyed the romance of the adventure immensely.
“Where are we?” Amy asked, happy to change the subject, as the interview was getting too personal even for her, and the stranger's manner made her nervous, although she was really enjoying the thrill of the adventure.
“We are in the park which surrounds the castle. You were near the entrance to it from the vaults when you fainted.”
“We're in the park around the castle. You were near the entrance from the vaults when you passed out.”
“I wish I had kept on a little longer, and not disgraced myself by such a panic.”
“I wish I had held on a bit longer and not embarrassed myself with such a panic.”
“Nay, that is a cruel wish, for then I should have lost the happiness of helping you.”
“No, that’s a harsh wish, because then I would have lost the joy of helping you.”
They had been walking side by side, but here were forced to pause on reaching a broken flight of steps, for Amy could not see the way before her.
They had been walking next to each other, but they were forced to stop when they reached a broken flight of steps because Amy couldn't see the path ahead of her.
“Let me lead you; it is steep and dark, but better than going a long way round through the dew,” he said, offering his hand.
“Let me guide you; it’s steep and dark, but it’s better than taking a longer route through the dew,” he said, offering his hand.
“Must we return by these dreadful vaults?” faltered Amy, shrinking back.
“Do we really have to go back through these awful tunnels?” Amy hesitated, pulling back.
“It is the shortest and safest route, I assure you.”
“It’s the quickest and safest way, I promise you.”
“Are you sure you know the way?”
“Are you sure you know how to get there?”
“Quite sure. I have lived here by the week together. Do you fear to trust me?”
“Definitely. I've lived here week after week. Are you afraid to trust me?”
“No; but it is so dark, and everything is so strange to me. Can we get down safely? I see nothing but a black pit.”
“No; but it’s so dark, and everything feels so weird to me. Can we get down safely? I can’t see anything but a black hole.”
And Amy still hesitated, with an odd mixture of fear and coquetry.
And Amy still hesitated, feeling a strange mix of fear and flirtation.
“I brought you up in safety; shall I take you down again?” asked the stranger, with a smile flickering over his face.
“I raised you to safety; should I bring you down again?” asked the stranger, a smile briefly appearing on his face.
Amy felt rather than saw it, and assuming an air of dignified displeasure, motioned him to proceed, which he did for three steps; then Amy slipped, and gladly caught by the arm extended to save her.
Amy sensed it more than she saw it, and with an air of dignified discontent, she gestured for him to continue, which he did for three steps; then Amy lost her footing and was happily caught by the arm he reached out to save her.
Without a word he took her hand and led her back through the labyrinth she had threaded in her bewilderment. A dim light filled the place, but with unerring steps her guide went on till they emerged into the courtyard.
Without saying anything, he took her hand and led her back through the maze she had navigated in her confusion. A faint light filled the area, but with confident steps, her guide continued until they reached the courtyard.
Major Erskine’s voice was audible, giving directions to the keeper, and Helen’s figure visible as she groped among the shadows of the ruined chapel for her cousin.
Major Erskine's voice could be heard, directing the keeper, and Helen was visible as she searched through the shadows of the ruined chapel for her cousin.
“There are my friends. Now I am safe. Come and let them thank you,” cried Amy, in her frank, childlike warmth of manner.
“There are my friends. Now I’m safe. Come and let them thank you,” Amy exclaimed, with her genuine, childlike warmth.
“I want no thanks—forgive me—adieu,” and hastily kissing the little hand that had lain so confidingly in his, the stranger was gone.
“I don’t want any thanks—forgive me—goodbye,” and quickly kissing the little hand that had rested so trustingly in his, the stranger was gone.
Amy rushed at once to Helen, and when the lost lamb had been welcomed, chidden, and exulted over, they drove home, listening to the very brief account which Amy gave of her adventure.
Amy quickly ran to Helen, and after the lost lamb had been welcomed, scolded, and celebrated, they headed home, listening to the short story Amy shared about her adventure.
“Naughty little gad-about, how could you go and terrify me so, wandering in vaults with mysterious strangers, like the Countess of Rudolstadt. You are as wet and dirty as if you had been digging a well, yet you look as if you liked it,” said Helen, as she led Amy into their room at the hotel.
“Naughty little wanderer, how could you go and scare me like that, exploring vaults with mysterious strangers, like the Countess of Rudolstadt? You’re as wet and dirty as if you’ve been digging a well, yet you look like you enjoyed it,” said Helen, as she brought Amy into their hotel room.
“I do,” was the decided answer, as the girl pulled a handkerchief off her head, and began to examine the corners of it. Suddenly she uttered a cry and flew to the light, exclaiming,—
“I do,” was the firm reply, as the girl took a handkerchief off her head and started to look at its corners. Suddenly, she let out a cry and rushed towards the light, exclaiming,—
“Nell, Nell, look here! The same letters, ‘S. P.’, the same coat of arms, the same perfume—it was the baron!”
“Nell, Nell, check this out! The same initials, ‘S. P.’, the same coat of arms, the same fragrance—it was the baron!”
“What? who? are you out of your mind?” said Helen, examining the large, fine cambric handkerchief, with its delicately stamped initials under the stag’s head, and three stars on a heart-shaped shield. “Where did you get it?” she added, as she inhaled the soft odor of violets shaken from its folds.
“What? Who? Are you serious?” said Helen, looking at the large, nice cambric handkerchief, with its delicately stamped initials beneath the stag’s head and three stars on a heart-shaped shield. “Where did you get this?” she added, as she breathed in the soft scent of violets released from its folds.
Amy blushed and answered shyly, “I didn’t tell you all that happened before uncle, but now I will. My hat was left behind, and when I recovered my wits after my fright, I found this tied over my head. Oh, Nell, it was very charming there in that romantic old park, and going through the vaults with him, and having my hand kissed at parting. No one ever did that before, and I like it.”
Amy blushed and replied shyly, “I didn’t tell you everything that happened before, Uncle, but now I will. I left my hat behind, and when I got my composure back after my scare, I found this tied around my head. Oh, Nell, it was so lovely in that old romantic park, exploring the vaults with him, and having my hand kissed when we said goodbye. No one has ever done that before, and I liked it.”
Amy glanced at her hand as she spoke, and stood staring at it as if struck dumb, for there on her forefinger shone a ring she had never seen before.
Amy looked at her hand while she spoke, and stood there staring at it as if she couldn't believe it, because on her forefinger was a ring she had never seen before.
“Look! look! mine is gone, and this in its place! Oh, Nell, what shall I do?” she said, looking half frightened, half pleased.
“Look! Look! mine is gone, and this is here instead! Oh, Nell, what am I going to do?” she said, looking half scared, half happy.
Helen examined the ring and shook her head, for it was far more valuable than the little pearl one which it replaced. Two tiny hands of finest gold were linked together about a diamond of great brilliancy; and on the inside appeared again the initials, “S. P.”
Helen looked at the ring and shook her head because it was way more valuable than the small pearl one it was replacing. Two tiny hands made of the best gold were clasped around a brilliantly shining diamond; and on the inside were the initials “S. P.”
“How did it happen?” she asked, rather sternly.
“How did it happen?” she asked, sounding quite serious.
“Upon my word, I don’t know, unless he put it on while I was stupidly fainting. Rude man, to take advantage of me so. But, Nell, it is splendid, and what shall I do about it?”
“Honestly, I have no idea, unless he put it on while I was fainting like an idiot. What a rude guy to take advantage of me like that. But, Nell, it’s amazing, and what should I do about it?”
“Tell uncle, find out the man and send back his things. It really is absurd, the manner in which German boys behave;” and Helen frowned, though she was strongly tempted to laugh at the whole thing.
“Tell Uncle to locate the guy and return his stuff. It's really ridiculous how German boys act;” and Helen frowned, even though she was really tempted to laugh at the whole situation.
“He was neither a German nor a boy, but an English gentleman, I’m sure,” began Amy, rather offended.
“He was neither German nor a boy, but an English gentleman, I’m sure,” Amy began, sounding a bit offended.
“But ‘S. P.’ is a baron, you know, unless there are two Richmonds in the field,” broke in Helen.
“But ‘S. P.’ is a baron, you know, unless there are two Richmonds in the mix,” interrupted Helen.
“I forgot that; never mind, it deepens the mystery; and after this performance, I’m prepared for any enormity. It’s my fate; I submit,” said Amy, tragically, as she waved her pretty hand to and fro, pleased with the flash of the ring.
“I forgot about that; it doesn’t matter, it just adds to the mystery; and after this event, I’m ready for anything. It’s my destiny; I accept it,” said Amy, dramatically, as she waved her pretty hand back and forth, pleased with the sparkle of the ring.
“Amy, I think on the whole I won’t speak to uncle. He is quick to take offence, especially where we are concerned. He doesn’t understand foreign ways, and may get into trouble. We will manage it quietly ourselves.”
“Amy, I think overall I won’t talk to Uncle. He gets offended easily, especially when it comes to us. He doesn’t understand foreign customs and might create problems. We’ll handle it ourselves discreetly.”
“How, Nell?”
"How, Nell?"
“Karl is discreet; we will merely say we found these things and wish to discover the owner. He may know this ‘S. P.,’ and, having learned his address, we can send them back. The man will understand; and as we leave to-morrow, we shall be out of the way before he can play any new prank.”
“Karl is being careful; all we’ll say is that we found these items and want to find the owner. He might know this ‘S. P.,’ and once we get his address, we can return them. The guy will get it; and since we’re leaving tomorrow, we’ll be out of the way before he can pull any new tricks.”
“Have in Karl at once, for if I wear this lovely thing long I shall not be able to let it go at all. How dared the creature take such a liberty!” and Amy pulled off the ring with an expression of great scorn.
“Bring Karl here right now, because if I keep wearing this beautiful thing for much longer, I won't be able to give it up at all. How could he take such a liberty!” and Amy removed the ring with a look of intense disdain.
“Come into the salon and see what Karl says to the matter. Let me speak, or you will say too much. One must be prudent before—”
“Come into the salon and see what Karl has to say about it. Let me talk, or you’ll end up saying too much. One needs to be careful before—”
She was going to say “servants,” but checked herself, and substituted “strangers,” remembering gratefully how much she owed this man.
She was about to say “servants,” but stopped herself and replaced it with “strangers,” feeling thankful for how much she owed this man.
Hoffman came, looking pale, and with his hand in a sling, but was as gravely devoted as ever, and listened to Helen’s brief story with serious attention.
Hoffman arrived, looking pale and with his arm in a sling, but he was as dedicated as ever and listened to Helen’s brief story with serious attention.
“I will inquire, mademoiselle, and let you know at once. It is easy to find persons if one has a clue. May I see the handkerchief?”
“I'll ask around, miss, and let you know right away. It’s easy to locate someone if you have a lead. Can I see the handkerchief?”
Helen showed it. He glanced at the initials, and laid it down with a slight smile.
Helen showed it. He looked at the initials and put it down with a slight smile.
“The coat-of-arms is English, mademoiselle.”
“The coat of arms is English, mademoiselle.”
“Are you sure?”
"Are you certain?"
“Quite so; I understand heraldry.”
"Exactly; I get heraldry."
“But the initials stand for Sigismund Palsdorf, and we know he is a German baron,” broke in Amy, forgetting prudence in eagerness.
“But the initials stand for Sigismund Palsdorf, and we know he’s a German baron,” Amy interjected, letting her excitement override her caution.
“If mademoiselle knows the name and title of this gentleman it will not be hard to find him.”
“If Miss knows this gentleman’s name and title, it won’t be difficult to locate him.”
“We only fancy it is the same because of the initials. I dare say it is a mistake, and the man is English. Inquire quietly, Hoffman, if you please, as this ring is of value, and I wish to restore it to its owner,” said Helen, rather sharply.
“We only think it's the same because of the initials. I bet it's a mistake, and the guy is English. Please check quietly, Hoffman, since this ring is valuable, and I want to return it to its owner,” Helen said, somewhat abruptly.
“I shall do so, mademoiselle,” and with his gentlemanly bow, the courier left the room.
“I will do that, miss,” and with his polite bow, the courier left the room.
“Bless me, what’s that?” cried Amy, a moment afterward, as a ringing laugh echoed through the corridor,—a laugh so full of hearty and infectious merriment that both girls smiled involuntarily, and Amy peeped out to see who the blithe personage might be.
“Wow, what was that?” Amy exclaimed a moment later, as a cheerful laugh rang out through the hallway—a laugh so full of genuine and contagious joy that both girls couldn't help but smile, and Amy peeked out to see who the cheerful person was.
An old gentleman was entering his room near by, and Karl was just about to descend the stairs. Both looked back at the girlish face peeping at them, but both were quite grave, and the peal of laughter remained a mystery, like all the rest of it.
An older man was walking into his nearby room, and Karl was just about to go down the stairs. Both of them glanced back at the youthful face looking at them, but they both appeared serious, and the sound of laughter stayed a mystery, just like everything else.
Late in the evening Hoffman returned to report that a party of young Englishmen had visited the castle that afternoon, and had left by the evening train. One of them had been named Samuel Peters, and he, doubtless, was the owner of the ring.
Late in the evening, Hoffman came back to say that a group of young Englishmen had visited the castle earlier that afternoon and had left on the evening train. One of them was named Samuel Peters, and he was probably the owner of the ring.
A humorous expression lurked in the courier’s eye as he made his report, and heard Amy exclaim, in a tone of disgust and comical despair,—
A humorous look was in the courier’s eyes as he made his report and heard Amy exclaim, in a tone of disgust and comical despair,—
“Samuel Peters! That spoils all the romance and dims the beauty of the diamond. To think that a Peters should be the hero to whom I owe my safety, and a Samuel should leave me this token of regard!”
“Samuel Peters! That ruins all the romance and takes away from the beauty of the diamond. To think that a Peters is the hero I owe my safety to, and a Samuel would leave me this token of affection!”
“Hush, Amy,” whispered Helen. “Thanks, Hoffman; we must wait now for chance to help us.”
“Hush, Amy,” whispered Helen. “Thanks, Hoffman; we have to wait now for luck to come our way.”
IV.
A Polish refugee.
“Room for one here, sir,” said the guard, as the train stopped at Carlsruhe next day, on its way from Heidelberg to Baden.
“Room for one here, sir,” said the guard as the train stopped in Karlsruhe the next day, on its way from Heidelberg to Baden.
The major put down his guide-book, Amy opened her eyes, and Helen removed her shawl from the opposite seat, as a young man, wrapped in a cloak, with a green shade over his eyes, and a general air of feebleness, got in and sank back with a sigh of weariness or pain. Evidently an invalid, for his face was thin and pale, his dark hair cropped short, and the ungloved hand attenuated and delicate as a woman’s. A sidelong glance from under the deep shade seemed to satisfy him regarding his neighbors, and drawing his cloak about him with a slight shiver, he leaned into the corner and seemed to forget that he was not alone.
The major put down his guidebook, Amy opened her eyes, and Helen took her shawl from the opposite seat as a young man, wrapped in a cloak with a green shade over his eyes and an overall air of fragility, got in and sank back with a sigh of exhaustion or discomfort. He clearly looked like an invalid, with a thin, pale face, short dark hair, and a delicate, ungloved hand that looked like a woman’s. A quick glance from beneath the deep shade seemed to satisfy him about his neighbors, and pulling his cloak tighter around him with a slight shiver, he leaned into the corner and seemed to forget that he wasn’t alone.
Helen and Amy exchanged glances of compassionate interest, for women always pity invalids, especially if young, comely and of the opposite sex. The major took one look, shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his book.
Helen and Amy shared glances of sympathetic curiosity, because women always feel sorry for the sick, especially if they’re young, attractive, and of the opposite sex. The major took one look, shrugged, and went back to his book.
Presently a hollow cough gave Helen a pretext for discovering the nationality of the new-comer.
Presently, a hollow cough gave Helen a reason to find out the nationality of the newcomer.
“Do the open windows inconvenience you, sir?” she asked, in English.
“Do the open windows bother you, sir?” she asked in English.
No answer; the question evidently unintelligible.
No answer; the question was clearly unclear.
She repeated it in French, lightly touching his cloak to arrest his attention.
She said it again in French, gently touching his cloak to get his attention.
Instantly a smile broke over the handsome mouth, and in the purest French he assured her that the fresh air was most agreeable, and begged pardon for annoying them with his troublesome cough.
Instantly, a smile spread across his handsome face, and in the clearest French, he assured her that the fresh air was very pleasant and apologized for bothering them with his annoying cough.
“Not an invalid, I hope, sir?” said the major, in his bluff yet kindly voice.
“Not someone who's not capable, I hope, sir?” said the major, in his straightforward yet friendly voice.
“They tell me I can have no other fate; that my malady is fatal; but I still hope and fight for my life; it is all I have to give my country now.”
“They tell me I have no other fate; that my illness is terminal; but I still hope and fight for my life; it’s all I have to give my country now.”
A stifled sigh and a sad emphasis on the last word roused the sympathy of the girls, the interest of the major.
A suppressed sigh and a sorrowful emphasis on the last word stirred the girls' sympathy and caught the major's interest.
He took another survey, and said, with a tone of satisfaction, as he marked the martial carriage of the young man, and caught a fiery glance of the half-hidden eyes,—
He looked around again and said, with a satisfied tone, as he noted the young man's military bearing and caught a fiery glimpse of his partly hidden eyes,—
“You are a soldier, sir?”
"Are you a soldier, sir?"
“I was; I am nothing now but an exile, for Poland is in chains.”
“I was; now I’m just an exile, because Poland is in chains.”
The words “Poland” and “exile” brought up all the pathetic stories of that unhappy country which the three listeners had ever heard, and won their interest at once.
The words “Poland” and “exile” triggered all the sad stories of that troubled country that the three listeners had ever heard, capturing their interest immediately.
“You were in the late revolution, perhaps?” asked the major, giving the unhappy outbreak the most respectful name he could use.
“You were involved in the recent revolution, maybe?” asked the major, giving the unfortunate event the most respectful title he could think of.
“From beginning to end.”
"From start to finish."
“Oh, tell us about it; we felt much sympathy for you, and longed to have you win,” cried Amy, with such genuine interest and pity in her tone, it was impossible to resist.
“Oh, tell us about it; we really felt for you and wanted you to win,” Amy exclaimed, her tone filled with such genuine interest and concern that it was impossible to resist.
Pressing both hands upon his breast, the young man bent low, with a flush of feeling on his pale cheek, and answered eagerly,—
Pressing both hands on his chest, the young man leaned down, a flush of emotion on his pale cheek, and responded eagerly,—
“Ah, you are kind; it is balm to my sore heart to hear words like these. I thank you, and tell you what you will. It is but little that I do, yet I give my life, and die a long death, instead of a quick, brave one with my comrades.”
“Ah, you’re so kind; it really comforts my aching heart to hear words like these. Thank you, and say what you want. I don’t do much, yet I give my life and endure a long, painful existence instead of a quick, brave one with my friends.”
“You are young to have borne a part in a revolution, sir,” said the major, who pricked up his ears like an old war-horse at the sound of battle.
“You're young to have played a role in a revolution, sir,” said the major, who perked up like an old warhorse at the sound of battle.
“My friends and myself left the University at Varsovie, as volunteers; we did our part, and now all lie in their graves but three.”
“My friends and I left the University in Warsaw as volunteers; we did our part, and now only three of us are still alive.”
“You were wounded, it seems?”
"Looks like you were hurt?"
“Many times. Exposure, privation, and sorrow will finish what the Russian bullets began. But it is well. I have no wish to see my country enslaved, and I can no longer help her.”
“Many times. Exposure, hardship, and sadness will finish what the Russian bullets started. But that’s okay. I don’t want to see my country enslaved, and I can’t help her anymore.”
“Let us hope that a happier future waits for you both. Poland loves liberty too well, and has suffered too much for it, to be kept long in captivity.”
“Let’s hope that a brighter future is ahead for both of you. Poland cherishes freedom too deeply and has endured too much for it to be held captive for long.”
Helen spoke warmly, and the young man listened with a brightening face.
Helen spoke warmly, and the young man listened with a brightening expression.
“It is a kind prophecy; I accept it, and take courage. God knows I need it,” he added, low to himself.
“It’s a kind prophecy; I accept it and feel encouraged. God knows I need it,” he added quietly to himself.
“Are you bound for Italy?” said the major, in a most un-English fit of curiosity.
“Are you headed to Italy?” asked the major, showing an unusual fit of curiosity for an Englishman.
“For Geneva first, Italy later, unless Montreaux is mild enough for me to winter in. I go to satisfy my friends, but doubt if it avails much.”
“For Geneva first, Italy later, unless Montreux is nice enough for me to spend the winter there. I'm going to please my friends, but I’m not sure it’ll make much difference.”
“Where is Montreaux?” asked Amy.
"Where's Montreux?" asked Amy.
“Near Clarens, where Rousseau wrote his Heloise, and Vevay, where so many English go to enjoy Chillon. The climate is divine for unfortunates like myself, and life more cheap there than in Italy.”
“Near Clarens, where Rousseau wrote his Heloise, and Vevay, where so many English people go to enjoy Chillon. The climate is amazing for people like me, and life is cheaper there than in Italy.”
Here the train stopped again, and Hoffman came to ask if the ladies desired anything.
Here the train stopped again, and Hoffman came to ask if the ladies needed anything.
At the sound of his voice the young Pole started, looked up, and exclaimed, with the vivacity of a foreigner, in German,—
At the sound of his voice, the young Pole jumped, looked up, and exclaimed, with the energy of someone from another country, in German,—
“By my life, it is Karl! Behold me, old friend, and satisfy me that it is thyself by a handshake.”
“By my life, it’s Karl! Look at me, old friend, and prove it’s really you with a handshake.”
“Casimer! What wind blows thee hither, my boy, in such sad plight?” replied Hoffman, grasping the slender hand outstretched to him.
“Casimer! What brings you here, my boy, in such a sad state?” replied Hoffman, taking the slender hand that was reached out to him.
“I fly from an enemy for the first time in my life, and, like all cowards, shall be conquered in the end. I wrote thee I was better, but the wound in the breast reopened, and nothing but a miracle will save me. I go to Switzerland; and thou?”
“I'm running away from an enemy for the first time in my life, and like all cowards, I know I’ll be defeated in the end. I told you I was doing better, but the wound in my chest has reopened, and only a miracle can save me now. I'm heading to Switzerland; what about you?”
“Where my master commands. I serve this gentleman, now.”
“Where my boss tells me to go, I serve this guy now.”
“Hard changes for both, but with health thou art king of circumstances, while I?—Ah well, the good God knows best. Karl, go thou and buy me two of those pretty baskets of grapes; I will please myself by giving them to these pitying angels. Speak they German?”
“Big changes for both of us, but with good health, you can handle anything, while I?—Oh well, God knows best. Karl, can you go buy me two of those nice baskets of grapes? I’ll enjoy giving them to those caring angels. Do they speak German?”
“One, the elder; but they understand not this rattle of ours.”
“One, the elder; but they don’t understand this noise we make.”
Karl disappeared, and Helen, who had understood the rapid dialogue, tried to seem as unconscious as Amy.
Karl vanished, and Helen, who got the quick conversation, tried to act just as unaware as Amy.
“Say a friendly word to me at times; I am so homesick and faint-hearted, my Hoffman. Thanks; they are almost worthy the lips that shall taste them.”
“Say a kind word to me sometimes; I feel so homesick and timid, my Hoffman. Thank you; they are nearly deserving of the lips that will taste them.”
Taking the two little osier baskets, laden with yellow and purple clusters, Casimer offered them, with a charming mixture of timidity and grace, to the girls, saying, like a grateful boy,—
Taking the two small wicker baskets, filled with yellow and purple clusters, Casimer offered them, with a delightful mix of shyness and charm, to the girls, saying, like a thankful boy,—
“You give me kind words and good hopes; permit that I thank you in this poor way.”
“You offer me kind words and positive hopes; please allow me to thank you in this simple way.”
“I drink success to Poland,” cried Helen, lifting a great, juicy grape to her lips, like a little purple goblet, hoping to hide her confusion under a playful air.
“I toast to Poland’s success,” shouted Helen, raising a big, juicy grape to her lips, like a little purple cup, trying to mask her embarrassment with a playful vibe.
The grapes went round, and healths were drunk with much merriment, for in travelling on the Continent it is impossible for the gruffest, primmest person to long resist the frank courtesy and vivacious chat of foreigners.
The grapes were passed around, and everyone toasted with a lot of laughter, because while traveling in Europe, even the gruffest and most uptight person can't stay unaffected by the friendly hospitality and lively conversation of locals.
The major was unusually social and inquisitive, and while the soldiers fought their battles over again the girls listened and took notes, with feminine wits on the alert to catch any personal revelations which might fall from the interesting stranger. The wrongs and sufferings of Poland were discussed so eloquently that both young ladies were moved to declare the most undying hatred of Russia, Prussia, and Austria, the most intense sympathy for “poor Pologne.” All day they travelled together, and as Baden-Baden approached, they naturally fell to talking of the gay place.
The major was unusually social and curious, and while the soldiers recounted their battles, the girls listened and took notes, their sharp instincts ready to catch any personal revelations from the interesting stranger. The injustices and suffering of Poland were discussed so passionately that both young ladies felt compelled to express their deep-seated hatred for Russia, Prussia, and Austria, along with their strong sympathy for “poor Poland.” They traveled together all day, and as they neared Baden-Baden, they naturally began talking about the lively place.
“Uncle, I must try my fortune once. I’ve set my heart upon it, and so has Nell. We want to know how gamblers feel, and to taste the fascination of the game which draws people here from all parts of Europe,” said Amy, in her half-pleading, half-imperious way.
“Uncle, I have to try my luck just once. I’m determined, and so is Nell. We want to understand what it’s like for gamblers and to experience the thrill of the game that attracts people from all over Europe,” said Amy, in her half-pleading, half-demanding tone.
“You may risk one napoleon each, as I foolishly promised you should, when I little thought you would ever have an opportunity to remind me of my promise. It’s not an amusement for respectable Englishwomen, or men either. You will agree with me there, monsieur?” and the major glanced at the Pole, who replied, with his peculiar smile:—
“You can each bet a napoleon, as I stupidly promised you could, when I never thought you'd actually get a chance to remind me of that promise. It's not really a game for respectable English women or men either. You must agree with me on that, right, monsieur?” The major looked at the Pole, who responded with his unique smile:—
“Surely, yes. It is great folly and waste of time and money; yet I have known one man who found some good in it, or, rather, brought good out of it. I have a friend who has a mania for giving. His own fortune was spent in helping needy students at the University, and poor professors. This displeased his father, and he refused supplies, except enough for his simple personal wants. Sigismund chafed at this, and being skilful at all games, as a gentleman may be in the way of amusement, he resolved to play with those whose money was wasted on frivolities, and give his winnings to his band of paupers.”
“Definitely, yes. It's a complete waste of time and money; but I did know one guy who managed to find some good in it, or rather, created good from it. I have a friend who has an obsession with giving. He spent his fortune helping needy students at the University and struggling professors. This upset his father, who cut off his allowance, only giving him enough for his basic personal needs. Sigismund got frustrated with this, and since he was skilled at games, as any gentleman should be for fun, he decided to play against those who squandered their money on trivial things and donate his winnings to his group of less fortunate friends.”
“How did it succeed, this odd fancy?” asked Helen, with an interested face, while Amy pinched her arm at the word “Sigismund.”
“How did it succeed, this strange idea?” asked Helen, with an interested look, while Amy pinched her arm at the mention of “Sigismund.”
“Excellently. My friend won often, and as his purpose became known it caused no unkind feeling, this unusual success, for fortune seemed to favor his kind object.”
“Greatly. My friend won a lot, and as his goal became clear, it didn’t create any negative feelings; this unusual success seemed to be supported by luck for his good cause.”
“Wrong, nevertheless, to do evil that good may come of it,” said the major, morally.
“It's still wrong to do evil just because good might come from it,” said the major, morally.
“It may be so; but it is not for me to censure my benefactor. He has done much for my countrymen and myself, and is so truly noble I can see no fault in him.”
“It might be true; but it’s not my place to criticize my benefactor. He has done a lot for my fellow countrymen and me, and he is so genuinely noble that I can’t see any flaws in him.”
“What an odd name! Sigismund is German, is it not?” asked Amy, in the most artless tone of interest.
“What a strange name! Sigismund is German, right?” asked Amy, in the most genuine tone of curiosity.
“Yes, mademoiselle, and Palsdorf is a true German; much courage, strength, and intellect, with the gayety and simplicity of a boy. He hates slavery of all kinds, and will be free at all costs. He is a good son, but his father is tyrannical, and asks too much. Sigismund will not submit to sell himself, and so is in disgrace for a time.”
“Yes, miss, and Palsdorf is a true German; full of courage, strength, and intelligence, combined with the joy and straightforwardness of a boy. He despises all forms of slavery and is determined to be free at any cost. He is a good son, but his father is oppressive and demands too much. Sigismund won't agree to sell himself, and because of that, he’s been in disgrace for a while.”
“Palsdorf!—was not that the name of the count or baron we heard them talking of at Coblentz?” said Helen to Amy, with a well-feigned air of uncertainty.
“Palsdorf!—was that the name of the count or baron we heard them talking about in Coblentz?” Helen said to Amy, pretending to be unsure.
“Yes; I heard something of a duel and a broken betrothal, I think. The people seemed to consider the baron a wild young man, so it could not have been your friend, sir,” was Amy’s demure reply, as she glanced at Helen with mirthful eyes, as if to say, “How our baron haunts us!”
“Yes; I heard something about a duel and a broken engagement, I think. People seemed to think the baron was a reckless young man, so it couldn’t have been your friend, sir,” was Amy’s modest reply, as she glanced at Helen with playful eyes, as if to say, “How our baron keeps popping up!”
“It is the same, doubtless. Many consider him wild, because he is original, and dares act for himself. As it is well known, I may tell you the truth of the duel and the betrothal, if you care to hear a little romance.”
“It’s the same, for sure. Many see him as wild because he’s unique and isn’t afraid to act on his own. As you probably know, I can share the real story of the duel and the engagement if you’re interested in hearing a bit of romance.”
Casimer looked eager to defend his friend, and as the girls were longing to hear the romance, permission was given.
Casimer looked excited to defend his friend, and since the girls were eager to hear the story, permission was granted.
“In Germany, you know, the young people are often betrothed in childhood by the parents, and sometimes never meet till they are grown. Usually all goes well; but not always, for love cannot come at command. Sigismund was plighted, when a boy of fifteen, to his young cousin, and then sent away to the University till of age. On returning, he was to travel a year or two, and then marry. He gladly went away, and with increasing disquiet saw the time draw near when he must keep his troth-plight.”
“In Germany, you know, young people are often engaged in childhood by their parents, and sometimes they don’t meet until they’re grown. Usually, everything goes well; but not always, because love can’t be forced. Sigismund was promised to his young cousin when he was fifteen and then sent away to the university until he came of age. When he returned, he was supposed to travel for a year or two and then get married. He happily went away, but as the time approached when he had to fulfill his promise, he became increasingly uneasy.”
“Hum! loved some one else. Very unfortunate to be sure,” murmured the major with a sigh.
“Hum! loved someone else. Quite unfortunate, for sure,” murmured the major with a sigh.
“Not so; he only loved his liberty, and pretty Minna was less dear than a life of perfect freedom. He went back at the appointed time, saw his cousin, tried to do his duty and love her; found it impossible, and, discovering that Minna loved another, vowed he would never make her unhappiness as well as his own. The old baron stormed, but the young one was firm, and would not listen to a marriage without love; but pleaded for Minna, wished his rival success, and set out again on his travels.”
“Not at all; he only loved his freedom, and pretty Minna meant less to him than a life of complete independence. He returned at the agreed time, met his cousin, attempted to fulfill his duty and love her; found it impossible, and, realizing that Minna loved someone else, promised he would never add to her unhappiness as well as his own. The old baron was furious, but the young one stood his ground and wouldn’t agree to a marriage without love; instead, he advocated for Minna, wished his rival well, and set off again on his travels.”
“And the duel?” asked the major, who took less interest in love than war.
“And the duel?” asked the major, who cared more about war than love.
“That was as characteristic as the other act. A son of one high in office at Berlin circulated false reports of the cause of Palsdorf’s refusal of the alliance—reports injurious to Minna. Sigismund settled the matter in the most effectual manner, by challenging and wounding the man. But for court influence it would have gone hardly with my friend. The storm, however, has blown over; Minna will be happy with her lover, and Sigismund with his liberty, till he tires of it.”
“That was just as typical as the other act. A son of someone important in Berlin spread false rumors about why Palsdorf refused the alliance—rumors that harmed Minna’s reputation. Sigismund resolved the issue in the most effective way by challenging and wounding the guy. If it weren't for court influence, my friend would have been in real trouble. However, the storm has passed; Minna will be happy with her lover, and Sigismund will enjoy his freedom until he gets bored with it.”
“Is he handsome, this hero of yours?” said Amy, feeling the ring under her glove, for in spite of Helen’s advice, she insisted on wearing it, that it might be at hand to return at any moment, should chance again bring the baron in their way.
“Is he good-looking, this hero of yours?” Amy asked, feeling the ring beneath her glove. Despite Helen's advice, she couldn't resist wearing it, so it would be ready to return at any moment if fate brought the baron back into their lives.
“A true German of the old type; blond and blue-eyed, tall and strong. My hero in good truth—brave and loyal, tender and true,” was the enthusiastic answer.
“A true German of the old type; blond and blue-eyed, tall and strong. My hero for real—brave and loyal, caring and sincere,” was the enthusiastic answer.
“I hate fair men,” pouted Amy, under her breath, as the major asked some question about hotels.
“I can’t stand fair men,” Amy muttered quietly, as the major asked some question about hotels.
“Take a new hero, then; nothing can be more romantic than that,” whispered Helen, glancing at the pale, dark-haired figure wrapped in the military cloak opposite.
“Choose a new hero, then; nothing is more romantic than that,” whispered Helen, glancing at the pale, dark-haired figure draped in the military cloak across from her.
“I will, and leave the baron to you;” said Amy, with a stifled laugh.
“I will, and leave the baron to you,” Amy said, stifling a laugh.
“Hush! Here are Baden and Karl,” replied Helen, thankful for the interruption.
“Hush! Here are Baden and Karl,” replied Helen, relieved by the interruption.
All was bustle in a moment, and taking leave of them with an air of reluctance, the Pole walked away, leaving Amy looking after him wistfully, quite unconscious that she stood in everybody’s way, and that her uncle was beckoning impatiently from the carriage door.
All was chaotic for a moment, and after saying goodbye with a reluctant air, the Pole walked away, leaving Amy watching him longingly, completely unaware that she was blocking everyone’s path and that her uncle was waving impatiently from the carriage door.
“Poor boy! I wish he had some one to take care of him,” she sighed, half aloud.
“Poor boy! I wish he had someone to take care of him,” she sighed, half aloud.
“Mademoiselle, the major waits;” and Karl came up, hat in hand, just in time to hear her and glance after Casimer, with an odd expression.
“Mademoiselle, the major is waiting,” Karl said, approaching with his hat in hand, just in time to hear her and look after Casimer with a strange expression.
V.
LUDMILLA.
“I wonder what that young man’s name was. Did he mention it, Helen?” said the major, pausing in his march up and down the room, as if the question was suggested by the sight of the little baskets, which the girls had kept.
“I'm curious what that young man’s name was. Did he mention it, Helen?” the major said, stopping his stride in the room, as if the question was prompted by the sight of the little baskets that the girls had kept.
“No, uncle; but you can easily ask Hoffman,” replied Helen.
“No, uncle; but you can easily ask Hoffman,” Helen replied.
“By the way, Karl, who was the Polish gentleman who came on with us?” asked the major a moment afterward, as the courier came in with newspapers.
“By the way, Karl, who was that Polish guy who joined us?” asked the major a moment later, as the courier walked in with the newspapers.
“Casimer Teblinski, sir.”
"Casimer Teblinski, sir."
“A baron?” asked Amy, who was decidedly a young lady of one idea just then.
“A baron?” asked Amy, who was clearly focused on just one thing at that moment.
“No, mademoiselle, but of a noble family, as the ‘ski’ denotes, for that is to Polish and Russian names what ‘von’ is to German and ‘de’ to French.”
“No, miss, but from a noble family, as the ‘ski’ indicates, because that is to Polish and Russian names what ‘von’ is to German and ‘de’ is to French.”
“I was rather interested in him. Where did you pick him up, Hoffman?” said the major.
“I was pretty interested in him. Where did you find him, Hoffman?” said the major.
“In Paris, where he was with fellow-exiles.”
“In Paris, where he was with other exiles.”
“He is what he seems, is he?—no impostor, or anything of that sort? One is often deceived, you know.”
“He is what he seems, right?—not an impostor or anything like that? People can be easily deceived, you know.”
“On my honor, sir, he is a gentleman, and as brave as he is accomplished and excellent.”
“On my honor, sir, he is a gentleman, and just as brave as he is skilled and remarkable.”
“Will he die?” asked Amy, pathetically.
“Is he going to die?” Amy asked, sounding helpless.
“With care he would recover, I think; but there is no one to nurse him, so the poor lad must take his chance and trust in heaven for help.”
“With care he will recover, I believe; but there's no one to take care of him, so the poor guy has to take his chances and hope for help from above.”
“How sad! I wish we were going his way, so that we might do something for him—at least give him the society of his friend.”
“How sad! I wish we were heading his way so we could do something for him—at least keep him company with his friend.”
Helen glanced at Hoffman, feeling that if he were not already engaged by them, he would devote himself to the invalid without any thought of payment.
Helen looked at Hoffman, sensing that if he weren't already involved with them, he would dedicate himself to the patient without expecting any payment.
“Perhaps we are. You want to see the Lake of Geneva, Chillon, and that neighborhood. Why not go now, instead of later?”
“Maybe we are. You want to check out Lake Geneva, Chillon, and that area. Why not go now instead of later?”
“Will you, uncle? That’s capital! We need say nothing, but go on and help the poor boy, if we can.”
“Will you, uncle? That’s great! We don’t need to say anything, just go on and help the poor kid, if we can.”
Helen spoke like a matron of forty, and looked as full of maternal kindness as if the Pole were not out of his teens.
Helen spoke like a woman in her forties and looked as warm and nurturing as if the guy wasn't still in his teens.
The courier bowed, the major laughed behind his paper, and Amy gave a sentimental sigh to the memory of the baron, in whom her interest was failing.
The courier bowed, the major chuckled behind his newspaper, and Amy let out a wistful sigh at the thought of the baron, in whom her interest was dwindling.
They only caught a glimpse of the Pole that evening at the Kursaal, but next morning they met, and he was invited to join their party for a little expedition.
They only caught a glimpse of the Pole that evening at the Kursaal, but the next morning they met, and he was invited to join their group for a little trip.
The major was in fine spirits, and Helen assumed her maternal air toward both invalids, for the sound of that hollow cough always brought a shadow over her face, recalling the brother she had lost.
The major was in good spirits, and Helen took on a nurturing attitude toward both patients, since the sound of that dry cough always cast a shadow on her face, reminding her of the brother she had lost.
Amy was particularly merry and charming, and kept the whole party laughing at her comical efforts to learn Polish and teach English as they drove up the mountainside to the old Schloss.
Amy was especially cheerful and delightful, and she kept everyone at the party laughing with her funny attempts to learn Polish and teach English as they drove up the mountain to the old castle.
“I’m not equal to mounting all those steps for a view I’ve seen a dozen times; but pray take care of the child, Nell, or she’ll get lost again, as at Heidelberg,” said the major, when they had roamed about the lower part of the place; for a cool seat in the courtyard and a glass of beer were more tempting than turrets and prospects to the stout gentleman.
“I’m not up for climbing all those steps for a view I’ve seen a dozen times; but please look after the child, Nell, or she’ll get lost again like she did in Heidelberg,” said the major, after they had wandered around the lower part of the place; because a cool spot in the courtyard and a glass of beer were more appealing than towers and views to the stout gentleman.
“She shall not be lost; I am her body-guard. It is steep—permit that I lead you, mademoiselle;” Casimer offered his hand to Amy, and they began their winding way. As she took the hand, the girl blushed and half smiled, remembering the vaults and the baron.
“She won’t get lost; I'm her bodyguard. It’s steep—let me lead you, mademoiselle;” Casimer offered his hand to Amy, and they started their winding path. As she took his hand, the girl blushed and smiled shyly, recalling the vaults and the baron.
“I like this better,” she said to herself, as they climbed step by step, often pausing to rest in the embrasures of the loopholes, where the sun glanced in, the balmy wind blew, and vines peeped from without, making a pretty picture of the girl, as she sat with rosy color on her usually pale cheeks, brown curls fluttering about her forehead, laughing lips, and bright eyes full of pleasant changes. Leaning opposite in the narrow stairway, Casimer had time to study the little tableau in many lights, and in spite of the dark glasses, to convey warm glances of admiration, of which, however, the young coquette seemed utterly unconscious.
“I like this better,” she thought to herself as they climbed step by step, often stopping to rest in the gaps of the walls, where the sun shone in, the warm breeze blew, and vines peeked through from outside, creating a lovely scene with the girl sitting there, her usually pale cheeks flushed with color, brown curls dancing around her forehead, laughing lips, and bright eyes full of joy. Leaning against the narrow stairway, Casimer had time to take in the little picture from different angles and, despite his dark glasses, convey warm looks of admiration that the young flirt seemed completely unaware of.
Helen came leisurely after, and Hoffman followed with a telescope, wishing, as he went, that his countrywomen possessed such dainty feet as those going on before him, for which masculine iniquity he will be pardoned by all who have seen the foot of a German Fraulein.
Helen strolled along leisurely, and Hoffman trailed behind with a telescope, wishing as he walked that the women of his country had such delicate feet as the ones ahead of him. Any man who has seen a German Fraulein's foot will forgive him for this thought.
It was worth the long ascent, that wide-spread landscape basking in the August glow.
It was worth the long climb, that expansive scenery soaking up the August sunlight.
Sitting on a fallen block of stone, while Casimer held a sun-umbrella over her, Amy had raptures at her ease; while Helen sketched and asked questions of Hoffman, who stood beside her, watching her progress with interest. Once when, after repeated efforts to catch a curious effect of light and shade, she uttered an impatient little exclamation, Karl made a gesture as if to take the pencil and show her, but seemed to recollect himself and drew back with a hasty, “Pardon, mademoiselle.” Helen glanced up and saw the expression of his face, which plainly betrayed that for a moment the gentleman had forgotten he was a courier. She was glad of it, for it was a daily trial to her to order this man about; and following the womanly impulse, she smiled and offered the pencil, saying simply,—
Sitting on a fallen stone block, with Casimer holding a sun umbrella over her, Amy was completely relaxed; while Helen sketched and asked questions to Hoffman, who stood beside her, watching with interest. Once, after several attempts to capture a curious interplay of light and shadow, she let out an impatient little exclamation. Karl made a motion as if he intended to take the pencil and show her, but seemed to remember himself and quickly stepped back with a hasty, “Pardon, mademoiselle.” Helen looked up and noticed the expression on his face, which clearly showed that for a moment he had forgotten he was just a courier. She felt relieved because it was a daily struggle for her to boss him around; and following her instinct, she smiled and offered the pencil, simply saying,—
“I felt sure you understood it; please show me.”
“I’m sure you get it; please show me.”
He did so, and a few masterly strokes gave the sketch what it needed. As he bent near her to do this, Helen stole a glance at the grave, dark face, and suddenly a disturbed look dawned in the eyes fixed on the glossy black locks pushed off the courier’s forehead, for he had removed his hat when she spoke to him. He seemed to feel that something was amiss, shot a quick glance at her, returned the pencil and rose erect, with an almost defiant air, yet something of shame in his eye, as his lips moved as if to speak impetuously. But not a word did he utter, for Helen touched her forehead significantly, and said in a low tone,—
He did that, and a few expert strokes gave the sketch exactly what it needed. As he leaned closer to her to do this, Helen glanced at his serious, dark face, and suddenly a troubled expression appeared in her eyes as she focused on the shiny black hair pushed off the courier’s forehead, since he had taken off his hat when she spoke to him. He seemed to sense that something was wrong, shot a quick look at her, handed back the pencil, and stood up straight, with an almost defiant attitude, yet a hint of shame in his gaze, as his lips moved as if he wanted to speak impulsively. But he didn't say anything, because Helen touched her forehead meaningfully and said in a soft voice,—
“I am an artist; let me recommend Vandyke brown, which is not affected by heat.”
“I’m an artist; let me suggest Vandyke brown, which is not impacted by heat.”
Hoffman looked over his shoulder at the other pair, but Amy was making an ivy wreath for her hat, and the Pole pulling sprays for the absorbing work. Speaking rapidly, Karl said, with a peculiar blending of merriment, humility, and anxiety in his tone,—
Hoffman glanced back at the other couple, but Amy was weaving an ivy wreath for her hat, and the Pole was gathering sprays for the engaging task. Speaking quickly, Karl said, with a strange mix of cheerfulness, humility, and nervousness in his voice,—
“Mademoiselle, you are quick to discover my disguise; will you also be kind in concealing? I have enemies as well as friends, whom I desire to escape; I would earn my bread unknown; Monsieur le Major keeps my foolish secret; may I hope for equal goodness from yourself?”
“Mademoiselle, you're fast to see through my disguise; will you also be generous enough to keep it a secret? I have both enemies and friends that I want to avoid; I’d like to make a living without being recognized. Monsieur le Major knows my foolish secret; can I expect the same kindness from you?”
“You may, I do not forget that I owe my life to you, nor that you are a gentleman. Trust me, I never will betray you.”
“You know I won’t forget that I owe my life to you, and that you’re a gentleman. Believe me, I will never betray you.”
“Thanks, thanks! there will come a time when I may confess the truth and be myself, but not yet,” and his regretful tone was emphasized by an impatient gesture, as if concealment was irksome.
“Thanks, thanks! There will come a time when I can admit the truth and be myself, but not yet,” and his regretful tone was highlighted by an impatient gesture, as if hiding who he was was frustrating.
“Nell, come down to lunch; uncle is signalling as if he’d gone mad. No, monsieur, it is quite impossible; you cannot reach the harebells without risking too much; come away and forget that I wanted them.”
“Nell, come down for lunch; uncle is waving like he's lost his mind. No, sir, it's completely impossible; you can't get to the harebells without taking too many risks; come back and forget that I wanted them.”
Amy led the way, and all went down more quietly than they came up, especially Helen and Hoffman. An excellent lunch waited on one of the tables in front of the old gateway, and having done justice to it, the major made himself comfortable with a cigar, bidding the girls keep near, for they must be off in half an hour. Hoffman went to see to the horses, Casimer strolled away with him, and the young ladies went to gather wild flowers at the foot of the tower.
Amy took the lead, and everyone descended more quietly than they had climbed up, especially Helen and Hoffman. A great lunch was ready on one of the tables in front of the old gateway, and after enjoying it, the major settled in with a cigar, telling the girls to stay close since they had to leave in half an hour. Hoffman went to check on the horses, Casimer wandered off with him, and the young ladies went to pick wildflowers at the base of the tower.
“Not a harebell here; isn’t it provoking, when they grow in tufts up there, where one can’t reach them. Mercy, what’s that? Run, Nell, the old wall is coming down!”
“Not a harebell here; isn’t it frustrating when they grow in clusters up there, where you can’t get to them. Oh no, what’s that? Run, Nell, the old wall is falling down!”
Both had been grubbing in a damp nook, where ferns and mosses grew luxuriantly; the fall of a bit of stone and a rending sound above made them fly back to the path and look up.
Both had been digging around in a damp spot, where ferns and moss thrived; the sound of a falling stone and a ripping noise above made them rush back to the path and look up.
Amy covered her eyes, and Helen grew pale, for part way down the crumbling tower, clinging like a bird to the thick ivy stems, hung Casimer, coolly gathering harebells from the clefts of the wall.
Amy covered her eyes, and Helen went pale, because halfway down the crumbling tower, hanging like a bird on the thick ivy stems, was Casimer, casually picking harebells from the cracks in the wall.
“Hush; don’t cry out or speak; it may startle him. Crazy boy! Let us see what he will do,” whispered Helen.
“Hush; don’t yell or say anything; it might scare him. Crazy boy! Let’s see what he’ll do,” whispered Helen.
“He can’t go back, the vines are so torn and weak; and how will he get down the lower wall? for you see the ivy grows up from that ledge, and there is nothing below. How could he do it? I was only joking when I lamented that there were no knights now, ready to leap into a lion’s den for a lady’s glove,” returned Amy, half angry.
“He can’t go back, the vines are so torn and weak; and how will he get down the lower wall? You see, the ivy grows up from that ledge, and there’s nothing below. How could he do it? I was just joking when I complained that there are no knights these days, ready to jump into a lion’s den for a lady’s glove,” Amy replied, partly annoyed.
In breathless silence they watched the climber till his cap was full of flowers, and taking it between his teeth, he rapidly swung down to the wide ledge, from which there appeared to be no way of escape but a reckless leap of many feet on to the turf below.
In breathless silence, they watched the climber until his cap was full of flowers. Taking it between his teeth, he quickly swung down to the wide ledge, from which it seemed there was no way to escape except for a risky jump of several feet onto the grass below.
The girls stood in the shadow of an old gateway, unperceived, and waited anxiously what should follow.
The girls stood in the shadow of an old gateway, unnoticed, and waited nervously for what would happen next.
Lightly folding and fastening the cap together, he dropped it down, and, leaning forward, tried to catch the top of a young birch rustling close by the wall. Twice he missed it; the first time he frowned, but the second he uttered an emphatic, “Deuce take it!”
Lightly folding and securing the cap, he threw it down and, leaning forward, tried to grab the top of a young birch rustling near the wall. He missed it twice; the first time he frowned, but the second time he exclaimed, “Damn it!”
Helen and Amy looked at each other with a mutual smile and exclamation,—
Helen and Amy exchanged smiles and excited exclamations,—
“He knows some English, then!”
“He knows a bit of English, then!”
There was time for no more—a violent rustle, a boyish laugh, and down swung the slender tree, with the young man clinging to the top.
There was no time left—a sudden rustle, a playful laugh, and down came the slender tree, with the young man holding on to the top.
As he landed safely, Helen cried, “Bravo!” and Amy rushed out, exclaiming reproachfully, yet admiringly,—
As he landed safely, Helen shouted, “Bravo!” and Amy ran out, saying disapprovingly but with admiration,—
“How could you do it and frighten us so? I shall never express a wish before you again, for if I wanted the moon you’d rashly try to get it, I know.”
“How could you do that and scare us so much? I’ll never say what I want in front of you again, because if I asked for the moon, I know you would recklessly try to get it.”
“Certainement, mademoiselle,” was the smiling reply, Casimer presented the flowers, as if the exploit was a mere trifle.
“Of course, miss,” was the smiling reply. Casimer handed over the flowers, as if the achievement was a mere trifle.
“Now I shall go and press them at once in uncle’s guide-book. Come and help me, else you will be in mischief again.” And Amy led the way to the major with her flowers and their giver.
“Now I’m going to go and check them right away in uncle’s guidebook. Come help me, or you’ll get into trouble again.” And Amy headed to the major with her flowers and the person who gave them.
Helen roamed into one of the ruined courts for a last look at a fountain which pleased her eye. A sort of cloister ran round the court, open on both sides, and standing in one of these arched nooks, she saw Hoffman and a young girl talking animatedly. The girl was pretty, well dressed, and seemed refusing something for which the other pleaded eagerly. His arm was about her, and she leaned affectionately upon him, with a white hand now and then caressing his face, which was full of sparkle and vivacity now. They seemed about to part as Helen looked, for the maiden standing on tiptoe, laughingly offered her blooming cheek, and as Karl kissed it warmly, he said in German, so audibly Helen heard every word,—
Helen wandered into one of the ruined courtyards for a last look at a fountain that caught her eye. A sort of cloister surrounded the courtyard, open on both sides, and standing in one of these arched alcoves, she saw Hoffman and a young girl talking animatedly. The girl was pretty, well-dressed, and seemed to be turning down something that Hoffman was eagerly pleading for. His arm was around her, and she leaned affectionately on him, occasionally caressing his face with her delicate white hand, which was full of energy and liveliness. They looked like they were about to say goodbye when Helen noticed the girl, standing on her tiptoes, playfully offered her rosy cheek, and as Karl kissed it warmly, he said in German, loudly enough for Helen to hear every word,—
“Farewell, my Ludmilla. Keep silent and I shall soon be with you. Embrace the little one, and do not let him forget me.”
“Goodbye, my Ludmilla. Stay quiet and I’ll be with you soon. Give the little one a hug for me, and don’t let him forget me.”
Both left the place as they spoke, each going a different way, and Helen slowly returned to her party, saying to herself in a troubled tone,—
Both left the place as they talked, each going their separate ways, and Helen slowly returned to her group, murmuring to herself in a troubled tone,—
“‘Ludmilla’ and ‘the little one’ are his wife and child, doubtless. I wonder if uncle knows that.”
“‘Ludmilla’ and ‘the little one’ are definitely his wife and child. I wonder if my uncle knows that.”
When Hoffman next appeared she could not resist looking at him; but the accustomed gravity was resumed, and nothing remained of the glow and brightness he had worn when with Ludmilla in the cloister.
When Hoffman showed up again, she couldn't help but look at him; but the familiar seriousness returned, and all the warmth and light he had when he was with Ludmilla in the cloister were gone.
VI.
CHATEAU DE LA TOUR.
Helen looked serious and Amy indignant when their uncle joined them, ready to set out by the afternoon train, all having dined and rested after the morning’s excursion.
Helen looked serious and Amy looked upset when their uncle joined them, ready to head out on the afternoon train, all having eaten and relaxed after the morning's trip.
“Well, little girls, what’s the matter now?” he asked, paternally, for the excellent man adored his nieces.
“Well, girls, what's wrong now?” he asked, affectionately, because the wonderful man adored his nieces.
“Helen says it’s not best to go on with the Pole, and is perfectly nonsensical, uncle,” began Amy, petulantly, and not very coherently.
“Helen says it’s not a good idea to keep going with the Pole, and it’s completely ridiculous, uncle,” Amy started, sounding whiny and a bit unclear.
“Better be silly now than sorry by and by. I only suggested that, being interesting, and Amy romantic, she might find this young man too charming, if we see too much of him,” said Helen.
“It's better to be silly now than regret it later. I just suggested that since she's interesting and Amy is romantic, she might find this young man too charming if we hang out with him too much,” said Helen.
“Bless my soul, what an idea!” cried the major. “Why, Nell, he’s an invalid, a Catholic, and a foreigner, any one of which objections are enough to settle that matter. Little Amy isn’t so foolish as to be in danger of losing her heart to a person so entirely out of the question as this poor lad, is she?”
“Wow, what an idea!” exclaimed the major. “Well, Nell, he’s an invalid, a Catholic, and a foreigner; any one of those reasons is enough to put an end to this. Little Amy isn’t naive enough to risk falling for someone completely out of the question like this poor guy, is she?”
“Of course not. You do me justice, uncle. Nell thinks she may pity and pet any one she likes because she is five years older than I, and entirely forgets that she is a great deal more attractive than a feeble thing like me. I should as soon think of losing my heart to Hoffman as to the Pole, even if he wasn’t what he is. One may surely be kind to a dying man, without being accused of coquetry;” and Amy sobbed in the most heart-rending manner.
“Of course not. You understand me, uncle. Nell thinks she can pity and coddle anyone she wants just because she's five years older than I am, completely forgetting that she's a lot more appealing than someone as weak as me. I’d sooner fall for Hoffman than the Pole, even if he weren't who he is. One can definitely be kind to a dying man without being accused of flirting;” and Amy cried in the most heartbreaking way.
Helen comforted her by withdrawing all objections, and promising to leave the matter in the major’s hands. But she shook her head privately when she saw the ill-disguised eagerness with which her cousin glanced up and down the platform after they were in the train, and she whispered to her uncle, unobserved,—
Helen reassured her by dropping all objections and promising to let the major handle things. But she quietly shook her head when she noticed how obviously eager her cousin was looking up and down the platform after they got on the train, and she whispered to her uncle, unnoticed,—
“Leave future meetings to chance, and don’t ask the Pole in, if you can help it.”
“Let future meetings happen by chance, and avoid inviting the Pole in if you can.”
“Nonsense, my dear. You are as particular as your aunt. The lad amuses me, and you can’t deny you like to nurse sick heroes,” was all the answer she got, as the major, with true masculine perversity, put his head out of the window and hailed Casimer as he was passing with a bow.
“Nonsense, my dear. You’re just as picky as your aunt. The guy entertains me, and you can’t deny that you enjoy taking care of sick heroes,” was all she got in response, as the major, with typical masculine stubbornness, leaned out of the window and called out to Casimer as he walked by with a bow.
“Here, Teblinski, my good fellow, don’t desert us. We’ve always a spare seat for you, if you haven’t pleasanter quarters.”
“Hey, Teblinski, my good friend, don’t leave us hanging. We always have a spare seat for you if you don't have more comfortable digs.”
With a flush of pleasure the young man came up, but hesitated to accept the invitation till Helen seconded it with a smile of welcome.
With a rush of happiness, the young man approached, but he hesitated to accept the invitation until Helen reinforced it with a welcoming smile.
Amy was in an injured mood, and, shrouded in a great blue veil, pensively reclined in her corner as if indifferent to everything about her. But soon the cloud passed, and she emerged in a radiant state of good humor, which lasted unbroken until the journey ended.
Amy was in a bad mood, and wrapped in a big blue blanket, she sat in her corner, looking like she didn't care about anything around her. But soon the gloom lifted, and she became cheerful, staying in that good mood until the journey was over.
For two days they went on together, a very happy party, for the major called in Hoffman to see his friend and describe the places through which they passed. An arrangement very agreeable to all, as Karl was a favorite, and every one missed him when away.
For two days, they traveled together, a really happy group, because the major invited Hoffman to meet his friend and share stories about the places they were passing through. This arrangement suited everyone well, as Karl was a favorite, and everyone missed him when he was gone.
At Lausanne they waited while he crossed the lake to secure rooms at Vevay. On his return he reported that all the hotels and pensions were full, but that at La Tour he had secured rooms for a few weeks in a quaint old chateau on the banks of the lake.
At Lausanne, they waited while he crossed the lake to book rooms in Vevay. When he came back, he said that all the hotels and pensions were full, but that at La Tour, he had reserved rooms for a few weeks in a charming old chateau by the lake.
“Count Severin is absent in Egypt, and the housekeeper has permission to let the apartments to transient visitors. The suite of rooms I speak of were engaged to a party who are detained by sickness—they are cheap, pleasant, and comfortable. A salon and four bed-rooms. I engaged them all, thinking that Teblinski might like a room there till he finds lodgings at Montreaux. We can enter at once, and I am sure the ladies will approve of the picturesque place.”
“Count Severin is away in Egypt, and the housekeeper has permission to rent out the apartments to temporary guests. The suite of rooms I'm talking about has been reserved for a group that is delayed due to illness—they're affordable, nice, and cozy. It has a salon and four bedrooms. I booked them all, thinking that Teblinski might appreciate having a room there until he finds a place to stay in Montreaux. We can move in right away, and I'm sure the ladies will like this charming spot.”
“Well done, Hoffman; off we go without delay, for I really long to rest my old bones in something like a home, after this long trip,” said the major, who always kept his little troop in light marching order.
“Well done, Hoffman; let’s get moving without wasting any time, since I really want to rest my tired bones in a place that feels like home after this long journey,” said the major, who always kept his small group ready for light marching.
The sail across that loveliest of lakes prepared the new-comers to be charmed with all they saw; and when, entering by the old stone gate, they were led into a large saloon, quaintly furnished and opening into a terrace-garden overhanging the water, with Chillon and the Alps in sight, Amy declared nothing could be more perfect, and Helen’s face proved her satisfaction.
The sail across that beautiful lake got the newcomers ready to be amazed by everything they experienced; and when they passed through the old stone gate into a spacious salon, tastefully decorated and leading out to a terrace garden overlooking the water, with Chillon and the Alps in view, Amy declared that nothing could be more perfect, and Helen’s expression showed her contentment.
An English widow and two quiet old German professors on a vacation were the only inmates besides themselves and the buxom Swiss housekeeper and her maids.
An English widow and two reserved old German professors on vacation were the only guests besides them and the cheerful Swiss housekeeper and her maids.
It was late when our party arrived, and there was only time for a hasty survey of their rooms and a stroll in the garden before dinner.
It was late when our group arrived, and there was only time for a quick look at their rooms and a walk in the garden before dinner.
The great chamber, with its shadowy bed, dark mirrors, ghostly wainscot-doors and narrow windows, had not been brightened for a long time by such a charming little apparition as Amy when she shook out her airy muslins, smoothed her curls, and assumed all manner of distracting devices for the captivation of mankind. Even Helen, though not much given to personal vanity, found herself putting flowers in her hair, and studying the effect of bracelets on her handsome arms, as if there was some especial need of looking her best on this occasion.
The big room, with its dim bed, dark mirrors, ghostly-paneled doors, and narrow windows, hadn’t been brightened for a long time by such a lovely little sight as Amy when she fluffed out her light fabrics, fixed her curls, and tried on all kinds of alluring accessories to catch people’s attention. Even Helen, who didn’t usually care much about looking good, found herself putting flowers in her hair and checking how bracelets looked on her beautiful arms, as if there was a special reason to look her best this time.
Both were certainly great ornaments to the drawing-room that evening, as the old professors agreed while they sat blinking at them, like a pair of benign owls. Casimer surprised them by his skill in music, for, though forbidden to sing on account of his weak lungs, he played as if inspired. Amy hovered about him like a moth; the major cultivated the acquaintance of the plump widow; and Helen stood at the window, enjoying the lovely night and music, till something happened which destroyed her pleasure in both.
Both were definitely great additions to the drawing room that evening, as the old professors agreed while they sat watching them, like a couple of friendly owls. Casimer amazed them with his musical talent because, although he wasn’t allowed to sing due to his weak lungs, he played as if he were inspired. Amy flitted around him like a moth; the major struck up a friendship with the plump widow; and Helen stood by the window, enjoying the beautiful night and the music, until something occurred that ruined her enjoyment of both.
The window was open, and, leaning from it, she was watching the lake, when the sound of a heavy sigh caught her ear. There was no moon, but through the starlight she saw a man’s figure among the shrubs below, sitting with bent head and hidden face in the forlorn attitude of one shut out from the music, light, and gayety that reigned within.
The window was open, and as she leaned out, she was watching the lake when she heard a heavy sigh. There was no moon, but she could see a man's figure among the bushes below, sitting with his head down and face hidden, looking dejected like someone excluded from the music, light, and joy that were happening inside.
“It is Karl,” she thought, and was about to speak, when, as if startled by some sound she did not hear, he rose and vanished in the gloom of the garden.
“It’s Karl,” she thought, and was about to speak, when, as if startled by some sound she couldn’t hear, he stood up and disappeared into the darkness of the garden.
“Poor man! he thought of his wife and child, perhaps, sitting here alone while all the rest make merry, with no care for him. Uncle must see to this;” and Helen fell into a reverie till Amy came to propose retiring.
“Poor man!” he thought of his wife and child, who might be sitting here alone while everyone else was celebrating, not thinking about him. Uncle must take care of this;” and Helen drifted off into a daydream until Amy came to suggest heading to bed.
“I meant to have seen where all these doors led, but was so busy dressing I had no time, so must leave it for my amusement to-morrow. Uncle says it’s a very Radcliffian place. How like an angel that man did play!” chattered Amy, and lulled herself to sleep by humming the last air Casimer had given them.
“I wanted to see where all these doors led, but I was so busy getting ready that I didn't have time, so I'll have to save it for my fun tomorrow. Uncle says it’s a really Radcliffian place. That guy played like an angel!” Amy chattered, and lulled herself to sleep by humming the last tune Casimer had given them.
Helen could not sleep, for the lonely figure in the garden haunted her, and she wearied herself with conjectures about Hoffman and his mystery. Hour after hour rung from the cuckoo-clock in the hall, but still she lay awake, watching the curious shadows in the room, and exciting herself with recalling the tales of German goblins with which the courier had amused them the day before.
Helen couldn’t sleep because the lonely figure in the garden troubled her, and she exhausted herself with guesses about Hoffman and his mystery. Hour after hour chimed from the cuckoo clock in the hall, but she still lay awake, observing the strange shadows in the room and getting worked up by recalling the stories of German goblins that the courier had entertained them with the day before.
“It is close and musty here, with all this old tapestry and stuff about; I’ll open the other window,” she thought; and, noiselessly slipping from Amy’s side, she threw on wrapper and slippers, lighted her candle and tried to unbolt the tall, diamond-paned lattice. It was rusty and would not yield, and, giving it up, she glanced about to see whence air could be admitted. There were four doors in the room, all low and arched, with clumsy locks and heavy handles. One opened into a closet, one into the passage; the third was locked, but the fourth opened easily, and, lifting her light, she peeped into a small octagon room, full of all manner of curiosities. What they were she had no time to see, for her startled eyes were riveted on an object that turned her faint and cold with terror.
“It’s stuffy and musty in here with all this old tapestry and stuff around; I’ll open the other window,” she thought. Silently slipping away from Amy’s side, she threw on a robe and slippers, lit her candle, and tried to unlock the tall, diamond-paned window. It was rusty and wouldn’t budge, so she gave up and looked around for some way to let in fresh air. There were four doors in the room, all low and arched, with awkward locks and heavy handles. One led to a closet, another to the hallway; the third was locked, but the fourth opened easily. Lifting her light, she peeked into a small octagonal room filled with all sorts of curiosities. She didn’t have time to see what they were because her startled eyes were glued to an object that made her feel faint and cold with fear.
A heavy table stood in the middle of the room, and seated at it, with some kind of weapon before him, was a man who looked over his shoulder, with a ghastly face half hidden by hair and beard, and fierce black eyes as full of malignant menace as was the clinched hand holding the pistol. One instant Helen looked, the next flung to the door, bolted it and dropped into a chair, trembling in every limb. The noise did not wake Amy, and a moment’s thought showed Helen the wisdom of keeping her in ignorance of this affair. She knew the major was close by, and possessing much courage, she resolved to wait a little before rousing the house.
A heavy table stood in the middle of the room, and seated at it was a man with some kind of weapon in front of him. He looked over his shoulder, his ghastly face partly covered by hair and beard, with fierce black eyes full of malicious threat, just like the clenched hand gripping the pistol. For a moment, Helen glanced at him, then darted to the door, locked it, and collapsed into a chair, trembling all over. The noise didn’t wake Amy, and a quick thought made Helen realize it was best to keep her unaware of this situation. She knew the major was nearby, and feeling brave, she decided to wait a bit before alerting the rest of the house.
Hardly had she collected herself, when steps were heard moving softly in the octagon room. Her light had gone out as she closed the door, and sitting close by in the dark, she heard the sound of some one breathing as he listened at the key-hole. Then a careful hand tried the door, so noiselessly that no sleeper would have been awakened; and as if to guard against a second surprise, the unknown person drew two bolts across the door and stole away.
Hardly had she gathered herself when she heard soft footsteps in the octagon room. Her light went out as she shut the door, and sitting nearby in the dark, she heard someone breathing while listening at the keyhole. Then, a careful hand tested the door, so quietly that no one sleeping would have woken up; and as if to prevent a second surprise, the unknown person slid two bolts across the door and slipped away.
“Safe for a time; but I’ll not pass another night under this roof, unless this is satisfactorily cleared up,” thought Helen, now feeling more angry than frightened.
“Safe for now; but I won’t spend another night under this roof unless this is sorted out,” thought Helen, feeling more angry than scared.
The last hour that struck was three, and soon the summer dawn reddened the sky. Dressing herself, Helen sat by Amy, a sleepless guard, till she woke, smiling and rosy as a child. Saying nothing of her last night’s alarm, Helen went down to breakfast a little paler than usual, but otherwise unchanged. The major never liked to be disturbed till he had broken his fast, and the moment they rose from the table he exclaimed,—
The last hour that struck was three, and soon the summer dawn reddened the sky. Getting dressed, Helen sat by Amy, a sleepless guard, until she woke, smiling and rosy like a child. Not mentioning her alarm from the previous night, Helen went down to breakfast a little paler than usual, but otherwise unchanged. The major never liked to be disturbed until he had eaten, and the moment they rose from the table he exclaimed,—
“Now, girls, come and see the mysteries of Udolpho.”
“Now, girls, come and check out the mysteries of Udolpho.”
“I’ll say nothing, yet,” thought Helen, feeling braver by daylight, yet troubled by her secret, for Hoffman might be a traitor, and this charming chateau a den of thieves. Such things had been, and she was in a mood to believe anything.
“I’ll say nothing for now,” thought Helen, feeling braver in the daylight but still uneasy about her secret, since Hoffman could be a traitor and this beautiful chateau might be a hideout for thieves. Such things had happened, and she was in a mindset to believe anything.
The upper story was a perfect museum of antique relics, very entertaining to examine. Having finished these, Hoffman, who acted as guide, led them into a little gloomy room containing a straw pallet, a stone table with a loaf and pitcher on it, and, kneeling before a crucifix, where the light from a single slit in the wall fell on him, was the figure of a monk. The waxen mask was life-like, the attitude effective, and the cell excellently arranged. Amy cried out when she first saw it, but a second glance reassured her, and she patted the bald head approvingly, as Karl explained,—
The upper floor was like a perfect museum of vintage items, really interesting to look at. After they finished with those, Hoffman, who was acting as their guide, took them into a small, dim room that had a straw mattress, a stone table with a loaf of bread and a pitcher on it, and kneeling in front of a crucifix, where light from a small opening in the wall shone on him, was a statue of a monk. The wax mask looked so realistic, the pose was striking, and the room was set up nicely. Amy gasped when she first saw it, but a second look calmed her down, and she gently patted the bald head approvingly as Karl explained,—
“Count Severin is an antiquarian, and amuses himself with things of this sort. In old times there really was a hermit here, and this is his effigy. Come down these narrow stairs, if you please, and see the rest of the mummery.”
“Count Severin is an antique buff and entertains himself with things like this. In the past, there was actually a hermit here, and this is his statue. Come down these narrow stairs, if you don’t mind, and check out the rest of the show.”
Down they went, and the instant Helen looked about her, she burst into a hysterical laugh, for there sat her ruffian, exactly as she saw him, glaring over his shoulder with threatening eyes, and one hand on the pistol. They all looked at her, for she was pale, and her merriment unnatural; so, feeling she had excited curiosity, she gratified it by narrating her night’s adventure. Hoffman looked much concerned.
Down they went, and as soon as Helen looked around, she broke into a hysterical laugh, because there was her thug, just like she remembered, glaring over his shoulder with menacing eyes and one hand on the pistol. Everyone turned to her, since she was pale and her laughter seemed off. Realizing she had piqued their interest, she satisfied it by recounting her night’s adventure. Hoffman looked quite worried.
“Pardon, mademoiselle, the door should have been bolted on this side. It usually is, but that room being unused, it was forgotten. I remembered it, and having risen early, crept up to make sure that you did not come upon this ugly thing unexpectedly. But I was too late, it seems; you have suffered, to my sorrow.”
“Sorry, miss, the door should have been locked from this side. It usually is, but since that room isn’t used, it was overlooked. I remembered it, and after waking up early, I quietly came up to make sure you didn’t stumble upon this ugly thing by surprise. But it looks like I was too late; you’ve been hurt, which makes me really sorry.”
“Dear Nell, and that was why I found you so pale and cold and quiet, sitting by me when I woke, guarding me faithfully as you promised you would. How brave and kind you were!”
“Dear Nell, that’s why I noticed how pale, cold, and quiet you were, sitting beside me when I woke up, faithfully watching over me like you promised. You were so brave and kind!”
“Villain! I should much like to fire your own pistols at you for this prank of yours.”
“Villain! I would love to turn your own guns on you for this prank of yours.”
And Casimer laughingly filliped the image on its absurdly aquiline nose.
And Casimer jokingly flicked the image on its ridiculously hooked nose.
“What in the name of common sense is this goblin here for?” demanded the major, testily.
“What on earth is this goblin doing here?” the major asked, irritably.
“There is a legend that once the owner of the chateau amused himself by decoying travellers here, putting them to sleep in that room, and by various devices alluring them thither. Here, one step beyond the threshold of the door, was a trap, down which the unfortunates were precipitated to the dungeon at the bottom of the tower, there to die and be cast into the lake through a water-gate, still to be seen. Severin keeps this flattering likeness of the rascal, as he does the monk above, to amuse visitors by daylight, not at night, mademoiselle.”
“There’s a legend that the owner of the chateau once entertained himself by luring travelers here, putting them to sleep in that room, and using various tricks to draw them in. Just beyond the door's threshold was a trapdoor, through which the unfortunate ones fell into the dungeon at the bottom of the tower, where they would die and be thrown into the lake through a water-gate, still visible today. Severin keeps this flattering portrait of the scoundrel, just like the monk above, to entertain visitors during the day, not at night, mademoiselle.”
And Hoffman looked wrathfully at the image, as if he would much enjoy sending it down the trap.
And Hoffman glared angrily at the image, as if he would really enjoy sending it down the trap.
“How ridiculous! I shall not go about this place alone, for fear of lighting upon some horror of this sort. I’ve had enough; come away into the garden; it’s full of roses, and we may have as many as we like.”
“How ridiculous! I won’t wander around this place by myself, afraid of stumbling upon some horror like this. I’ve had enough; let’s head to the garden; it’s full of roses, and we can pick as many as we want.”
As she spoke Amy involuntarily put out her hand for Casimer to lead her down the steep stone steps, and he pressed the little hand with a tender look which caused it to be hastily withdrawn.
As she spoke, Amy instinctively reached out her hand for Casimer to guide her down the steep stone steps, and he squeezed her small hand with a gentle look that made her quickly pull it back.
“Here are your roses. Pretty flower; I know its meaning in English, for it is the same with us. To give a bud to a lady is to confess the beginning of love, a half open one tells of its growth, and a full-blown one is to declare one’s passion. Do you have that custom in your land, mademoiselle?”
“Here are your roses. Beautiful flowers; I understand their meaning in English, as it's the same for us. Giving a bud to a lady signifies the start of love, a half-open one represents its development, and a fully bloomed one conveys one’s passion. Is that custom something you have in your country, mademoiselle?”
He had gathered the three as he spoke, and held the bud separately while looking at his companion wistfully.
He had brought the three together as he talked, and held the bud apart while glancing at his companion with a hint of longing.
“No, we are not poetical, like your people, but it is a pretty fancy,” and Amy settled her bouquet with an absorbed expression, though inwardly wondering what he would do with his flowers.
“No, we’re not poetic like your people, but it’s a nice thought,” Amy said as she adjusted her bouquet with a thoughtful look, though she was secretly curious about what he would do with his flowers.
He stood silent a moment, with a sudden flush sweeping across his face, then flung all three into the lake with a gesture that made the girl start, and muttered between his teeth.
He stood silent for a moment, a sudden flush spreading across his face, then threw all three into the lake with a gesture that made the girl jump, and muttered under his breath.
“No, no: for me it is too late.”
“No, no: for me, it’s too late.”
She affected not to hear, but making up a second bouquet, she gave it to him, with no touch of coquetry in compassionate eyes or gentle voice.
She pretended not to hear, but then she made another bouquet and handed it to him, without any hint of flirtation in her compassionate eyes or gentle voice.
“Make your room bright with these. When one is ill nothing is so cheering as the sight of flowers.”
“Brighten up your room with these. When someone is sick, nothing lifts their spirits like seeing flowers.”
Meantime the others had descended and gone their separate ways.
Meantime, the others had gone down and taken their separate paths.
As Karl crossed the courtyard a little child ran to meet him with outstretched arms and a shout of satisfaction. He caught it up and carried it away on his shoulder, like one used to caress and be caressed by children.
As Karl walked through the courtyard, a little child ran up to him with open arms and a joyful shout. He picked the child up and carried them on his shoulder, like someone who is familiar with giving and receiving affection from kids.
Helen, waiting at the door of the tower while the major dusted his coat, saw this, and said, suddenly, directing his attention to man and child,—
Helen, standing at the tower door while the major brushed off his coat, noticed this and suddenly said, directing his attention to the man and child,—
“He seems fond of little people. I wonder if he has any of his own.”
“He seems to like kids. I wonder if he has any of his own.”
“Hoffman? No, my dear; he’s not married; I asked him that when I engaged him.”
“Hoffman? No, darling; he’s not married; I asked him that when I hired him.”
“And he said he was not?”
“And he said he wasn’t?”
“Yes; he’s not more than five or six-and-twenty, and fond of a wandering life, so what should he want of a wife and a flock of bantlings?”
“Yes; he’s no more than twenty-five or twenty-six, and he enjoys a wandering life, so why would he want a wife and a bunch of kids?”
“He seems sad and sober sometimes, and I fancied he might have some domestic trouble to harass him. Don’t you think there is something peculiar about him?” asked Helen, remembering Hoffman’s hint that her uncle knew his wish to travel incognito, and wondering if he would throw any light upon the matter. But the major’s face was impenetrable and his answer unsatisfactory.
“He seems sad and serious sometimes, and I thought he might have some personal issues bothering him. Don’t you think there’s something odd about him?” asked Helen, recalling Hoffman’s suggestion that her uncle was aware of his desire to travel incognito, and wondering if he would shed any light on the situation. But the major’s expression was unreadable, and his response was disappointing.
“Well, I don’t know. Every one has some worry or other, and as for being peculiar, all foreigners seem more or less so to us, they are so unreserved and demonstrative. I like Hoffman more and more every day, and shall be sorry when I part with him.”
“Well, I don’t know. Everyone has their own worries, and when it comes to being different, all foreigners seem a bit odd to us since they’re so open and expressive. I like Hoffman more and more every day, and I’ll be sad when I have to say goodbye to him.”
“Ludmilla is his sister, then, or he didn’t tell uncle the truth. It is no concern of mine; but I wish I knew,” thought Helen anxiously, and then wondered why she should care.
“Ludmilla is his sister, then, or he didn’t tell Uncle the truth. It’s not my business; but I wish I knew,” thought Helen anxiously, and then wondered why she should care.
A feeling of distrust had taken possession of her and she determined to be on the watch, for the unsuspicious major would be easily duped, and Helen trusted more to her own quick and keen eye than to his experience. She tried to show nothing of the change in her manner; but Hoffman perceived it, and bore it with a proud patience which often touched her heart, but never altered her purpose.
A feeling of distrust had taken over her, and she decided to keep an eye out, because the unsuspecting major could be easily fooled, and Helen relied more on her own sharp instincts than on his experience. She tried to hide the change in her behavior, but Hoffman noticed it and dealt with it with a proud patience that often moved her, but never changed her mind.
VII.
At fault.
Four weeks went by so rapidly that every one refused to believe it when the major stated the fact at the breakfast-table, for all had enjoyed themselves so heartily that they had been unconscious of the lapse of time.
Four weeks went by so quickly that everyone refused to believe it when the major mentioned it at the breakfast table, as they had all had such a good time that they hadn’t noticed the passage of time.
“You are not going away, uncle?” cried Amy, with a panic-stricken look.
“You're not leaving, are you, uncle?” Amy shouted, her face full of panic.
“Next week, my dear; we must be off, for we’ve much to do yet, and I promised mamma to bring you back by the end of October.”
“Next week, my dear; we need to go, because we still have a lot to do, and I told mom I would bring you back by the end of October.”
“Never mind Paris and the rest of it; this is pleasanter. I’d rather stay here—”
“Forget about Paris and all that; this is nicer. I’d rather stay here—”
There Amy checked herself and tried to hide her face behind her coffee-cup, for Casimer looked up in a way that made her heart flutter and her cheeks burn.
There, Amy checked herself and tried to hide her face behind her coffee cup, because Casimer looked up in a way that made her heart flutter and her cheeks flush.
“Sorry for it, Amy; but go we must, so enjoy your last week with all your might, and come again next year.”
“Sorry about this, Amy; but we have to go, so enjoy your last week as much as you can and come back next year.”
“It will never be again what it is now,” sighed Amy; and Casimer echoed the words “next year,” as if sadly wondering if the present year would not be his last.
“It will never be the same as it is now,” sighed Amy; and Casimer repeated the words “next year,” as if sadly wondering if this year would be his last.
Helen rose silently and went into the garden, for of late she had fallen into the way of reading and working in the little pavilion which stood in an angle of the wall, overlooking lake and mountains.
Helen quietly got up and went into the garden because lately she had taken to reading and working in the small pavilion that was nestled in the corner of the wall, with a view of the lake and mountains.
A seat at the opposite end of the walk was Amy’s haunt, for she liked the sun, and within a week or two something like constraint had existed between the cousins. Each seemed happier apart, and each was intent on her own affairs. Helen watched over Amy’s health, but no longer offered advice or asked confidence. She often looked anxious, and once or twice urged the major to go, as if conscious of some danger.
A spot at the far end of the path was Amy’s favorite place because she enjoyed the sun, and within a week or two, there seemed to be some tension between the cousins. Each appeared happier alone, focused on her own life. Helen kept an eye on Amy’s health, but she stopped giving advice or seeking her trust. She often looked worried and once or twice encouraged the major to leave, as if aware of some potential danger.
But the worthy man seemed to have been bewitched as well as the young folks, and was quite happy sitting by the plump, placid widow, or leisurely walking with her to the chapel on the hillside.
But the respectable man seemed to be under a spell just like the young people, and he was quite content sitting next to the cheerful, easygoing widow or taking a stroll with her to the chapel on the hillside.
All seemed waiting for something to break up the party, and no one had the courage to do it. The major’s decision took every one by surprise, and Amy and Casimer looked as if they had fallen from the clouds.
All seemed to be waiting for something to interrupt the party, and no one had the guts to do it. The major’s decision caught everyone off guard, and Amy and Casimer looked like they had just descended from the clouds.
The persistency with which the English lessons had gone on was amazing, for Amy usually tired of everything in a day or two. Now, however, she was a devoted teacher, and her pupil did her great credit by the rapidity with which he caught the language. It looked like pleasant play, sitting among the roses day after day, Amy affecting to embroider while she taught, Casimer marching to and fro on the wide, low wall, below which lay the lake, while he learned his lesson; then standing before her to recite, or lounging on the turf in frequent fits of idleness, both talking and laughing a great deal, and generally forgetting everything but the pleasure of being together. They wrote little notes as exercises—Amy in French, Casimer in English, and each corrected the other’s.
The dedication with which the English lessons continued was incredible, as Amy usually lost interest in things within a day or two. However, she had become a committed teacher, and her student impressed her with how quickly he grasped the language. It felt like enjoyable play, sitting among the roses day after day, with Amy pretending to embroider while she taught, Casimer pacing back and forth on the wide, low wall that overlooked the lake as he learned his lesson; then he would stand in front of her to recite or lounge on the grass in frequent moments of laziness, both talking and laughing a lot, often forgetting everything except the joy of being together. They wrote little notes as exercises—Amy in French, Casimer in English, and each corrected the other’s.
All very well for a time; but as the notes increased the corrections decreased, and at last nothing was said of ungrammatical French or comical English, and the little notes were exchanged in silence.
All good for a while; but as the notes piled up, the corrections dwindled, and eventually nothing was mentioned about ungrammatical French or funny English, and the little notes were passed in silence.
As Amy took her place that day she looked forlorn, and when her pupil came her only welcome was a reproachful—
As Amy took her spot that day, she looked sad, and when her student arrived, her only greeting was a disapproving—
“You are very late, sir.”
"You're really late, sir."
“It is fifteen of minutes yet to ten clocks,” was Casimer’s reply, in his best English.
“It’s fifteen minutes until ten,” was Casimer’s reply, in his best English.
“Ten o’clock, and leave out ‘of’ before minutes. How many times must I tell you that?” said Amy, severely, to cover her first mistake.
“Ten o’clock, and leave out ‘of’ before minutes. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Amy said, sternly, to hide her initial mistake.
“Ah, not many times; soon all goes to finish, and I have none person to make this charming English go in my so stupide head.”
“Ah, not many times; soon everything will be over, and I have no one to make this charming English stick in my dumb head.”
“What will you do then?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I jeter myself into the lake.”
“I jump into the lake.”
“Don’t be foolish; I’m dull to-day, and want to be cheered up; suicide isn’t a pleasant subject.”
“Don’t be silly; I’m feeling blah today, and I want to be lifted up; suicide isn’t a fun topic.”
“Good! See here, then—a little plaisanterie—what you call joke. Can you will to see it?” and he laid a little pink cocked-hat note on her lap, looking like a mischievous boy as he did so.
“Good! Check this out—a little plaisanterie—what you call a joke. Can you manage to see it?” he said, placing a small pink cocked-hat note on her lap, resembling a playful boy as he did so.
“‘Mon Casimer Teblinski;’ I see no joke;” and Amy was about to tear it up, when he caught it from destruction, and holding it out of reach, said, laughing wickedly,—
“‘Mon Casimer Teblinski;’ I see no joke;” and Amy was about to rip it up when he snatched it away from destruction, holding it out of reach and laughing mischievously,—
“The ‘mon’ is one abbreviation of ‘monsieur,’ but you put no little—how do you say?—period at the end of him; it goes now in English—‘My Casimer Teblinski,’ and that is of the most charming address.”
“The ‘mon’ is an abbreviation of ‘monsieur,’ but you don’t put any—what do you call it?—period at the end; it now goes in English—‘My Casimer Teblinski,’ and that’s such a charming way to address someone.”
Amy colored, but had her return shot ready.
Amy colored, but had her shot ready to go.
“Don’t exult; that was only an oversight, not a deliberate deception like that you put upon me. It was very wrong and rude, and I shall not forgive it.”
“Don’t celebrate; that was just a mistake, not the intentional deceit you used on me. It was very wrong and disrespectful, and I won't forgive it.”
“Mon Dieu! where have I gone in sinning? I am a polisson, as I say each day, but not a villain, I swear to you. Say to me that which I have made of wrong, and I will do penance.”
“My God! Where have I gone wrong? I am a rascal, as I say every day, but not a bad person, I promise you. Tell me what I have done wrong, and I will make amends.”
“You told me ‘Ma drogha’ was the Polish for ‘My pupil,’ and let me call you so a long time; I am wiser now,” replied Amy, with great dignity.
“You told me ‘Ma drogha’ meant ‘My pupil’ in Polish, and I let myself call you that for a long time; I've learned better now,” Amy replied, with great dignity.
“Who has said stupidities to you, that you doubt me?” and Casimer assumed an injured look, though his eyes danced with merriment.
“Who has said ridiculous things to you that make you doubt me?" Casimer said, feigning an offended expression, even though his eyes sparkled with amusement.
“I heard Hoffman singing a Polish song to little Roserl, the burden of which was, ‘Ma drogha, Ma drogha,’ and when I asked him to translate it, those two words meant, ‘My darling.’ How dare you do it, ungrateful creature that you are!”
“I heard Hoffman singing a Polish song to little Roserl, and the repeated line was, ‘Ma drogha, Ma drogha.’ When I asked him to translate it, he told me those two words meant, ‘My darling.’ How could you do that, you ungrateful creature?”
As Amy spoke, half-confusedly, half-angrily, Casimer went down upon his knees, with folded hands and penitent face, exclaiming, in good English,—
As Amy spoke, part confused and part angry, Casimer dropped to his knees, hands clasped and with a remorseful expression, exclaiming, in clear English,—
“Be merciful to me a sinner. I was tempted, and I could not resist.”
“Have mercy on me, a sinner. I was tempted, and I couldn't resist.”
“Get up this instant, and stop laughing. Say your lesson, for this will be your last,” was the stern reply, though Amy’s face dimpled all over with suppressed merriment.
“Get up right now and stop laughing. Recite your lesson, because this will be your last chance,” was the serious response, even though Amy’s face was filled with suppressed amusement.
He rose meekly, but made such sad work with the verb “To love,” that his teacher was glad to put an end to it, by proposing to read her French to him. It was “Thaddeus of Warsaw,” a musty little translation which she had found in the house, and begun for her own amusement. Casimer read a little, seemed interested, and suggested that they read it together, so that he might correct her accent. Amy agreed, and they were in the heart of the sentimental romance, finding it more interesting than most modern readers, for the girl had an improved Thaddeus before her, and the Pole a fairer, kinder Mary Beaufort.
He got up quietly, but struggled so much with the verb "to love" that his teacher was happy to change the subject and suggested they read some French together. It was “Thaddeus of Warsaw,” an old translation she had found in the house and started for her own enjoyment. Casimer read a bit, seemed interested, and proposed they read it together so he could help her with her accent. Amy agreed, and they got into the heart of the sentimental romance, finding it more engaging than most modern readers would, since the girl had an improved Thaddeus in front of her, and the Pole had a nicer, kinder Mary Beaufort.
Dangerous times for both, but therein lay the charm; for, though Amy said to herself each night, “Sick, Catholic, and a foreigner,—it can never be,” yet each morning she felt, with increasing force, how blank her day would be without him. And Casimer, honorably restraining every word of love, yet looked volumes, and in spite of the glasses, the girl felt the eloquence of the fine eyes they could not entirely conceal.
Dangerous times for both, but that's what made it intriguing; because, even though Amy told herself every night, “Sick, Catholic, and a foreigner—it can never happen,” each morning she felt more and more how empty her day would be without him. And Casimer, holding back every word of love, still conveyed a lot just with his looks, and despite the glasses, she felt the deep emotion in those expressive eyes they couldn’t completely hide.
To-day, as she read, he listened with his head leaning on his hand, and though she never had read worse, he made no correction, but sat so motionless, she fancied at last that he had actually fallen asleep. Thinking to rouse him, she said, in French,—
To day, as she read, he listened with his head resting on his hand, and even though she had never read worse, he didn’t correct her, but sat so still that she eventually thought he had actually fallen asleep. Trying to wake him up, she said, in French,—
“Poor Thaddeus! don’t you pity him?—alone, poor, sick, and afraid to own his love.”
“Poor Thaddeus! Don’t you feel sorry for him?—alone, broke, sick, and too scared to admit his love.”
“No, I hate him, the absurd imbecile, with his fine boots and plumes, and tragedy airs. He was not to be pitied, for he recovered health, he found a fortune, he won his Marie. His sufferings were nothing; there was no fatal blight on him, and he had time and power to conquer his misfortunes, while I—”
“No, I hate him, that ridiculous fool, with his fancy boots and feathers, and dramatic attitude. He didn’t deserve sympathy, because he got his health back, found wealth, and won his Marie. His pain was nothing; there was no real curse on him, and he had the time and ability to overcome his troubles, while I—”
Casimer spoke with sudden passion, and pausing abruptly, turned his face away, as if to hide some emotion he was too proud to show.
Casimer spoke with unexpected intensity, and after a sudden pause, he turned his face away, as if he were trying to hide an emotion he was too proud to reveal.
Amy’s heart ached, and her eyes filled, but her voice was sweet and steady, as she said, putting by the book, like one weary of it,—
Amy’s heart hurt, and her eyes filled with tears, but her voice was calm and steady as she set the book aside, like someone who was tired of it,—
“Are you suffering to-day? Can we do anything for you? Please let us, if we may.”
“Are you in pain today? Is there anything we can do for you? Please let us know if we can help.”
“You give me all I can receive; no one can help my pain yet; but a time will come when something may be done for me; then I will speak.”
“You give me everything I can take; no one can ease my pain right now; but eventually, a time will come when something can be done for me; then I’ll talk.”
And, to her great surprise, he rose and left her, without another word.
And, to her great surprise, he got up and left her, without saying anything else.
She saw him no more till evening; then he looked excited, played stormily, and would sing in defiance of danger. The trouble in Amy’s face seemed reflected in Helen’s, though not a word had passed between them. She kept her eye on Casimer, with an intentness that worried Amy, and even when he was at the instrument Helen stood near him, as if fascinated, watching the slender hands chase one another up and down the keys with untiring strength and skill.
She didn't see him again until evening; then he seemed excited, played fiercely, and sang boldly, ignoring danger. The worry on Amy’s face seemed mirrored in Helen’s, even though they hadn't said a word to each other. Helen kept her gaze on Casimer with a focus that concerned Amy, and even when he was at the piano, Helen stood close to him, as if mesmerized, watching his slender hands move effortlessly up and down the keys with endless strength and skill.
Suddenly she left the room and did not return. Amy was so nervous by that time, she could restrain herself no longer, and slipping out, found her cousin in their chamber, poring over a glove.
Suddenly, she left the room and didn’t come back. By then, Amy was so anxious that she could no longer hold herself back, and slipping out, she found her cousin in their room, focused on a glove.
“Oh, Nell, what is it? You are so odd to-night I can’t understand you. The music excites me, and I’m miserable, and I want to know what has happened,” she said, tearfully.
“Oh, Nell, what's going on? You're acting so strangely tonight that I can’t figure you out. The music is getting to me, and I feel so miserable, and I need to know what happened,” she said, tearfully.
“I’ve found him!” whispered Helen, eagerly, holding up the glove with a gesture of triumph.
“I found him!” whispered Helen excitedly, holding up the glove in a triumphant gesture.
“Who?” asked Amy, blinded by her tears.
“Who?” asked Amy, her eyes filled with tears.
“The baron.”
“The Baron.”
“Where?—when?” cried the girl, amazed.
“Where?—when?” yelled the girl, amazed.
“Here, and now.”
"Here and now."
“Don’t take my breath away; tell me quick, or I shall get hysterical.”
“Don't leave me breathless; just tell me quickly, or I'm going to lose it.”
“Casimer is Sigismund Palsdorf, and no more a Pole than I am,” was Helen’s answer.
“Casimer is Sigismund Palsdorf, and he's no more a Pole than I am,” was Helen’s response.
Amy dropped in a heap on the floor, not fainting, but so amazed she had neither strength nor breath left. Sitting by her, Helen rapidly went on,—
Amy collapsed on the floor, not unconscious, but so shocked that she had lost all her strength and breath. Sitting next to her, Helen quickly continued,—
“I had a feeling as if something was wrong, and began to watch. The feeling grew, but I discovered nothing till to-day. It will make you laugh, it was so unromantic. As I looked over uncle’s things when the laundress brought them this afternoon, I found a collar that was not his. It was marked ‘S. P.,’ and I at once felt a great desire to know who owned it. The woman was waiting for her money, and I asked her. ‘Monsieur Pologne,’ she said, for his name is too much for her. She took it into his room, and that was the end of it.”
“I had a feeling that something was off, so I started paying attention. That feeling intensified, but I didn't find anything until today. It’s kind of funny how unromantic it turned out to be. While I was going through my uncle’s things when the laundress dropped them off this afternoon, I came across a collar that didn’t belong to him. It was labeled ‘S. P.,’ and I immediately wanted to know who it belonged to. The woman was waiting for her payment, so I asked her. ‘Monsieur Pologne,’ she replied, since his name is too much for her. She took it into his room, and that was that.”
“But it may be another name; the initials only a coincidence,” faltered Amy, looking frightened.
“But it could be a different name; the initials might just be a coincidence,” Amy stammered, looking scared.
“No, dear, it isn’t; there is more to come. Little Roserl came crying through the hall an hour ago, and I asked what the trouble was. She showed me a prettily-bound prayer-book which she had taken from the Pole’s room to play with, and had been ordered by her mother to carry back. I looked into it; no name, but the same coat-of-arms as the glove and the handkerchief. To-night as he played I examined his hands; they are peculiar, and some of the peculiarities have left traces on the glove. I am sure it is he, for on looking back many things confirm the idea. He says he is a polisson, a rogue, fond of jokes, and clever at playing them. The Germans are famous for masquerading and practical jokes; this is one, I am sure, and uncle will be terribly angry if he discovers it.”
“No, darling, it’s not over; there’s more to come. Little Roserl came crying through the hall an hour ago, and I asked her what was wrong. She showed me a nicely-bound prayer book that she had taken from the Pole’s room to play with, but her mother had told her to return it. I looked inside; no name, but it had the same coat-of-arms as the glove and the handkerchief. Tonight, while he was playing, I examined his hands; they are unusual, and some of those peculiarities have left marks on the glove. I’m sure it’s him, because looking back, many things support that idea. He calls himself a polisson, a rogue, who enjoys jokes and is good at playing them. Germans are known for their disguises and practical jokes; this is definitely one, and I’m sure uncle will be really angry if he finds out.”
“But why all this concealment?” cried Amy. “Why play jokes on us? You look so worried I know you have not told me all you know or fear.”
“But why all this hiding?” Amy exclaimed. “Why play tricks on us? You look so stressed; I can tell you haven’t told me everything you know or are scared of.”
“I confess I do fear that these men are political plotters as well as exiles. There are many such, and they make tools of rich and ignorant foreigners to further their ends. Uncle is rich, generous, and unsuspicious; and I fear that while apparently serving and enjoying us they are using him.”
“I admit I’m worried that these men are not just exiles but also political schemers. There are plenty like them, and they manipulate wealthy and naive foreigners to achieve their goals. Uncle is wealthy, generous, and unsuspecting; I’m afraid that while they seem to be serving and enjoying our company, they are actually taking advantage of him.”
“Heavens, it may be! and that would account for the change we see in him. I thought he was in love with the widow, but that may be only a cloak to hide darker designs. Karl brought us here, and I dare say it is a den of conspirators!” cried Amy, feeling as if she were getting more of an adventure than she had bargained for.
“Heavens, it could be! That would explain the change we see in him. I thought he was in love with the widow, but that might just be a cover for something more sinister. Karl brought us here, and I wouldn't be surprised if this is a nest of conspirators!” Amy exclaimed, feeling like she was getting into more of an adventure than she had expected.
“Don’t be alarmed! I am on the watch, and mean to demand an explanation from uncle, or take you away on my own responsibility, if I can.”
“Don’t worry! I’m keeping an eye on things, and I plan to get an explanation from Uncle or take you with me on my own if I can.”
Here a maid tapped to say that tea was served.
Here, a maid knocked to announce that tea was ready.
“We must go down, or some one will suspect trouble. Plead headache to excuse your paleness, and I’ll keep people away. We will manage the affair and be off as soon as possible,” said Helen, as Amy followed her, too bewildered to answer.
“We need to go down, or someone will think something's wrong. Say you have a headache to explain your pale face, and I’ll keep everyone away. We’ll handle this and leave as soon as we can,” said Helen, as Amy followed her, too confused to respond.
Casimer was not in the room, the major and Mrs. Cumberland were sipping tea side by side, and the professors roaming vaguely about. To leave Amy in peace, Helen engaged them both in a lively chat, and her cousin sat by the window trying to collect her thoughts. Some one was pacing up and down the garden, hatless, in the dew.
Casimer wasn't in the room; the major and Mrs. Cumberland were sitting together, sipping tea, while the professors wandered around aimlessly. To give Amy some space, Helen struck up a lively conversation with them, and her cousin sat by the window, trying to gather her thoughts. Someone was walking back and forth in the garden, hatless, in the dew.
Amy forgot everything but the danger of such exposure to her reckless friend. His cloak and hat lay on a chair; she caught them up and glided unperceived from the long window.
Amy forgot everything except the risk of exposing herself to her reckless friend. His cloak and hat were on a chair; she grabbed them and slipped away unnoticed from the long window.
“You are so imprudent I fear for you, and bring your things,” said a timid voice, as the little white figure approached the tall black one, striding down the path tempestuously.
“You're so careless I worry about you, and bring your things,” said a soft voice, as the small white figure walked up to the tall black one, moving down the path with urgency.
“You to think of me, forgetful of yourself! Little angel of kindness, why do you take such care of me?” cried Casimer, eagerly taking not only the cloak, but the hands that held it.
“Do you really think of me, forgetting about yourself? Sweet little angel of kindness, why are you so attentive to me?” Casimer exclaimed, eagerly taking not just the cloak, but also the hands that were holding it.
“I pitied you because you were ill and lonely. You do not deserve my pity, but I forgive that, and would not see you suffer,” was the reproachful answer, as Amy turned away.
“I felt sorry for you because you were sick and alone. You don’t deserve my sympathy, but I’ll overlook that, and I wouldn’t want to see you in pain,” was the hurtful reply as Amy walked away.
But he held her fast, saying earnestly,—
But he held her tightly, saying sincerely,—
“What have I done? You are angry. Tell me my fault and I will amend.”
“What have I done? You’re upset. Tell me what I did wrong, and I’ll fix it.”
“You have deceived me.”
"You've tricked me."
“How?”
“How so?”
“Will you own the truth?” and in her eagerness to set her fears at rest, Amy forgot Helen.
“Will you face the truth?” and in her eagerness to calm her fears, Amy forgot about Helen.
“I will.”
"Sure thing."
She could not see his face, but his voice was steady and his manner earnest.
She couldn't see his face, but his voice was steady and his demeanor was serious.
“Tell me, then, is not your true name Sigismund Palsdorf?”
“Tell me, then, is your real name Sigismund Palsdorf?”
He started, but answered instantly,—
He started but replied instantly—
“It is not.”
"Nope."
“You are not the baron?” cried Amy.
“You're not the baron?” Amy shouted.
“No; I will swear it if you wish.”
“No; I’ll swear it if you want.”
“Who, then, are you?”
“Who are you, then?”
“Shall I confess?”
"Should I confess?"
“Yes, I entreat you.”
“Yes, I beg you.”
“Remember, you command me to speak.”
“Remember, you asked me to speak.”
“I do. Who are you?”
"I do. Who are you?"
“Your lover.”
"Your partner."
The words were breathed into her ear as softly as ardently, but they startled her so much she could find no reply, and, throwing himself down before her, Casimer poured out his passion with an impetuosity that held her breathless.
The words were whispered in her ear gently yet passionately, but they shocked her so much that she couldn't respond, and, throwing himself down in front of her, Casimer expressed his feelings with a forcefulness that left her breathless.
“Yes, I love you, and I tell it, vain and dishonorable as it is in one like me. I try to hide it. I say ‘it cannot be.’ I plan to go away. But you keep me; you are angel-good to me; you take my heart, you care for me, teach me, pity me, and I can only love and die. I know it is folly; I ask nothing; I pray to God to bless you always, and I say, Go, go, before it is too late for you, as now for me!”
“Yes, I love you, and I admit it, even though it’s foolish and dishonorable for someone like me. I try to hide it. I tell myself ‘it can’t be.’ I plan to leave. But you hold me back; you’re so good to me; you take my heart, you care for me, teach me, and pity me, and all I can do is love you and suffer. I know it’s silly; I want nothing; I pray to God to always bless you, and I say, Go, go, before it’s too late for you, just like it is for me!”
“Yes, I must go—it is all wrong. Forgive me. I have been very selfish. Oh, forget me and be happy,” faltered Amy, feeling that her only safety was in flight.
“Yes, I have to leave—it’s all messed up. Forgive me. I’ve been really selfish. Oh, forget about me and be happy,” Amy stammered, realizing that her only way out was to run away.
“Go! go!” he cried, in a heart-broken tone, yet still kissed and clung to her hands till she tore them away and fled into the house.
“Go! Go!” he yelled, in a heartbroken tone, yet still kissed and held onto her hands until she pulled them away and rushed into the house.
Helen missed her soon after she went, but could not follow for several minutes; then went to their chamber and there found Amy drowned in tears, and terribly agitated.
Helen missed her soon after she left, but couldn't follow her for several minutes; then she went to their room and found Amy crying uncontrollably and extremely upset.
Soon the story was told with sobs and moans, and despairing lamentations fit to touch a heart of stone.
Soon the story was shared with sobs and cries, and heartbreaking laments that could move even the toughest heart.
“I do love him—oh, I do; but I didn’t know it till he was so unhappy, and now I’ve done this dreadful harm. He’ll die, and I can’t help him, see him, or be anything to him. Oh, I’ve been a wicked, wicked girl, and never can be happy any more.”
“I do love him—oh, I really do; but I didn’t realize it until he was so unhappy, and now I’ve caused this terrible harm. He’s going to die, and I can’t help him, see him, or be anything to him. Oh, I’ve been a terrible, terrible girl, and I’ll never be happy again.”
Angry, perplexed, and conscience-stricken, for what now seemed blind and unwise submission to the major, Helen devoted herself to calming Amy, and when at last the poor, broken-hearted little soul fell asleep in her arms, she pondered half the night upon the still unsolved enigma of the Baron Sigismund.
Angry, confused, and feeling guilty for what now seemed like foolish obedience to the major, Helen focused on comforting Amy. When the poor, heartbroken little girl finally fell asleep in her arms, Helen spent half the night thinking about the still unsolved mystery of Baron Sigismund.
VIII.
MORE MYSTERY.
“Uncle, can I speak to you a moment?” said Helen, very gravely, as they left the breakfast-room next morning.
“Uncle, can I talk to you for a minute?” said Helen, very seriously, as they left the breakfast room the next morning.
“Not now, my dear, I’m busy,” was the hasty reply, as the major shawled Mrs. Cumberland for an early promenade.
“Not now, my dear, I’m busy,” was the quick response, as the major wrapped a shawl around Mrs. Cumberland for an early stroll.
Helen knit her brows irefully, for this answer had been given her half a dozen times lately when she asked for an interview. It was evident he wished to avoid all lectures, remonstrances, and explanations; and it was also evident that he was in love with the widow.
Helen furrowed her brows in frustration, as she had received this same answer half a dozen times lately when she requested a meeting. It was clear he wanted to dodge any lectures, objections, or explanations; and it was also clear that he was in love with the widow.
“Lovers are worse than lunatics to manage, so it is vain to try to get any help from him,” sighed Helen, adding, as her uncle was gallantly leading his stout divinity away into the garden: “Amy has a bad headache, and I shall stay to take care of her, so we can’t join your party to Chillon, sir. We have been there once, so you needn’t postpone it for us.”
“Lovers are harder to handle than crazy people, so it's pointless to expect any help from him,” sighed Helen, adding, as her uncle was nobly escorting his hefty partner into the garden: “Amy has a terrible headache, and I’m going to stay and take care of her, so we can’t join your trip to Chillon, sir. We’ve been there once, so you don’t need to delay it for us.”
“Very well, my dear,” and the major walked away, looking much relieved.
“Alright, my dear,” and the major walked away, looking much relieved.
As Helen was about to leave the salon Casimer appeared. A single glance at her face assured him that she knew all, and instantly assuming a confiding, persuasive air that was irresistible, he said, meekly,—
As Helen was about to leave the salon, Casimer showed up. A quick look at her face confirmed that she was aware of everything, and immediately adopting a trusting, charming demeanor that was hard to resist, he said gently,—
“Mademoiselle, I do not deserve a word from you, but it desolates me to know that I have grieved the little angel who is too dear to me. For her sake, pardon that I spoke my heart in spite of prudence, and permit me to send her this.”
“Mademoiselle, I know I don't deserve a word from you, but it pains me to think that I've hurt the little angel who means so much to me. For her sake, please forgive me for speaking my heart regardless of what I should have done, and let me send this to her.”
Helen glanced from the flowers he held to his beseeching face, and her own softened. He looked so penitent and anxious, she had not the heart to reproach him.
Helen looked from the flowers he was holding to his pleading face, and her own expression softened. He appeared so remorseful and worried that she couldn't bring herself to scold him.
“I will forgive you and carry your gift to Amy on one condition,” she said, gravely.
“I'll forgive you and take your gift to Amy on one condition,” she said seriously.
“Ah, you are kind! Name, then, the condition, I implore you, and I will agree.”
“Ah, you’re so kind! Please, just tell me the terms, and I’ll agree.”
“Tell me, then, on your honor as a gentleman, are you not Baron Palsdorf?”
“Tell me, then, on your word as a gentleman, aren’t you Baron Palsdorf?”
“On my honor as a gentleman, I swear to you I am not.”
“On my honor as a gentleman, I swear to you I’m not.”
“Are you, in truth, what you profess to be?”
“Are you really what you say you are?”
“I am, in truth, Amy’s lover, your devoted servant, and a most unhappy man, with but a little while to live. Believe this and pity me, dearest Mademoiselle Helène.”
“I am, truly, Amy’s lover, your loyal servant, and a very unhappy man, with only a short time to live. Believe this and feel sorry for me, dearest Mademoiselle Helène.”
She did pity him, her eyes betrayed that, and her voice was very kind, as she said,—
She felt sorry for him; her eyes showed it, and her voice was very gentle as she said,—
“Pardon my doubts. I trust you now, and wish with all my heart that it was possible to make you happy. You know it is not, therefore I am sure you will be wise and generous, and spare Amy further grief by avoiding her for the little time we stay. Promise me this, Casimer.”
“Please excuse my doubts. I trust you now and truly wish that it was possible to make you happy. You know it's not, so I’m sure you’ll be wise and kind and spare Amy any more pain by staying away from her for the little time we have left. Promise me this, Casimer.”
“I may see her if I am dumb? Do not deny me this. I will not speak, but I must look at my little and dear angel when she is near.”
“I can see her if I stay quiet? Don’t take that away from me. I won’t say anything, but I have to look at my little and beloved angel when she’s close.”
He pleaded so ardently with lips and hands, and eager eyes, that Helen could not deny him, and when he had poured out his thanks she left him, feeling very tender toward the unhappy young lover, whose passion was so hopeless, yet so warm.
He begged so passionately with his words and gestures, and with eager eyes, that Helen couldn’t refuse him. After he expressed his gratitude, she walked away, feeling very sympathetic toward the unfortunate young lover, whose love was so desperate, yet so intense.
Amy was at breakfast in her room, sobbing and sipping, moaning and munching, for, though her grief was great, her appetite was good, and she was in no mood to see anything comical in cracking eggshells while she bewailed her broken heart, or in eating honey in the act of lamenting the bitterness of her fate.
Amy was having breakfast in her room, crying and sipping, moaning and munching, because even though she was really upset, she still had a good appetite, and she wasn’t ready to find anything funny about cracking eggshells while she mourned her broken heart, or in eating honey while lamenting the bitterness of her fate.
Casimer would have become desperate had he seen her in the little blue wrapper, with her bright hair loose on her shoulders, and her pretty face wet with tears, as she dropped her spoon to seize his flowers,—three dewy roses, one a bud, one half and the other fully blown, making a fragrant record and avowal of the love which she must renounce.
Casimer would have been desperate if he had seen her in the little blue wrap, with her bright hair down on her shoulders and her pretty face wet with tears, as she dropped her spoon to grab his flowers—three dewy roses, one a bud, one half-open, and the other fully bloomed, creating a fragrant reminder and declaration of the love she had to give up.
“Oh, my dear boy! how can I give him up, when he is so fond, and I am all he has? Helen, uncle must let me write or go to mamma. She shall decide; I can’t; and no one else has a right to part us,” sobbed Amy, over her roses.
“Oh, my dear boy! How can I give him up when he cares so much and I’m all he has? Helen, Uncle has to let me write or go to Mom. She’ll decide; I can’t, and no one else has the right to separate us,” Amy sobbed, over her roses.
“Casimer will not marry, dear; he is too generous to ask such a sacrifice,” began Helen, but Amy cried indignantly,—
“Casimer isn’t going to marry, dear; he’s too generous to ask for such a sacrifice,” Helen started, but Amy interrupted angrily,—
“It is no sacrifice; I’m rich. What do I care for his poverty?”
“It’s no sacrifice; I’m wealthy. What do I care about his struggles?”
“His religion!” hinted Helen, anxiously.
"His faith!" hinted Helen, anxiously.
“It need not part us; we can believe what we will. He is good; why mind whether he is Catholic or Protestant.”
“It doesn’t have to separate us; we can believe what we want. He’s a good person; why should it matter if he’s Catholic or Protestant?”
“But a Pole, Amy, so different in tastes, habits, character, and beliefs. It is a great risk to marry a foreigner; races are so unlike.”
“But a Pole, Amy, is so different in tastes, habits, character, and beliefs. Marrying a foreigner is a big risk; cultures are so different.”
“I don’t care if he is a Tartar, a Calmuck, or any of the other wild tribes; I love him, he loves me, and no one need object if I don’t.”
“I don’t care if he’s a Tartar, a Calmuck, or any of those other wild tribes; I love him, he loves me, and no one has the right to object if I don’t.”
“But, dear, the great and sad objection still remains—his health. He just said he had but a little while to live.”
“But, dear, the big and upsetting issue still stands—his health. He just said he only has a little time left to live.”
Amy’s angry eyes grew dim, but she answered, with soft earnestness,—
Amy's angry eyes faded, but she replied with a gentle sincerity,—
“So much the more need of me to make that little while happy. Think how much he has suffered and done for others; surely I may do something for him. Oh, Nell, can I let him die alone and in exile, when I have both heart and home to give him?”
“So much more reason for me to make that short time happy. Think about how much he has suffered and done for others; surely I can do something for him. Oh, Nell, can I let him die alone and in exile when I have both heart and home to offer him?”
Helen could say no more; she kissed and comforted the faithful little soul, feeling all the while such sympathy and tenderness that she wondered at herself, for with this interest in the love of another came a sad sense of loneliness, as if she was denied the sweet experience that every woman longs to know.
Helen couldn’t say anything else; she kissed and comforted the loyal little soul, feeling such sympathy and tenderness that she surprised herself, for with this interest in another’s love came a deep sense of loneliness, as if she was missing out on the sweet experience that every woman yearns to have.
Amy never could remain long under a cloud, and seeing Helen’s tears, began to cheer both her cousin and herself.
Amy could never stay down for long, and when she saw Helen crying, she started to lift both her cousin's spirits and her own.
“Hoffman said he might live with care, don’t you remember? and Hoffman knows the case better than we. Let us ask him if Casimer is worse. You do it; I can’t without betraying myself.”
“Hoffman said he might manage with care, don’t you remember? And Hoffman understands the situation better than we do. Let’s ask him if Casimer is doing worse. You can do it; I can’t without giving myself away.”
“I will,” and Helen felt grateful for any pretext to address a friendly word to Karl, who had looked sad of late, and had been less with them since the major became absorbed in Mrs. Cumberland.
“I will,” and Helen felt thankful for any reason to say a friendly word to Karl, who had seemed down lately and had spent less time with them since the major became wrapped up in Mrs. Cumberland.
Leaving Amy to compose herself, Helen went away to find Hoffman. It was never difficult, for he seemed to divine her wishes and appear uncalled the moment he was wanted. Hardly had she reached her favorite nook in the garden when he approached with letters, and asked with respectful anxiety, as she glanced at and threw them by with an impatient sigh,—
Leaving Amy to gather herself, Helen went off to find Hoffman. It was never hard to locate him, as he seemed to sense her needs and show up uninvited right when she needed him. She had hardly arrived at her favorite spot in the garden when he came over with letters. He asked with concerned respect, as she looked at them and tossed them aside with an impatient sigh,—
“Has mademoiselle any orders? Will the ladies drive, sail, or make a little expedition? It is fine, and mademoiselle looks as if the air would refresh her. Pardon that I make the suggestion.”
“Does miss have any plans? Are the ladies going to drive, sail, or go on a little trip? It's nice out, and miss looks like the fresh air would do her good. Sorry for bringing it up.”
“No, Hoffman, I don’t like the air of this place, and intend to leave as soon as possible.” And Helen knit her delicate dark brows with an expression of great determination. “Switzerland is the refuge of political exiles, and I hate plots and disguises; I feel oppressed by some mystery, and mean to solve or break away from it at once.”
“No, Hoffman, I don’t like the vibe of this place, and I plan to leave as soon as I can.” Helen frowned with a strong sense of determination. “Switzerland is a haven for political exiles, and I can’t stand schemes and disguises; I feel weighed down by some mystery, and I’m determined to figure it out or escape it immediately.”
She stopped abruptly, longing to ask his help, yet withheld by a sudden sense of shyness in approaching the subject, though she had decided to speak to Karl of the Pole.
She stopped suddenly, wanting to ask for his help, but held back by a sudden wave of shyness about bringing it up, even though she had decided to talk to Karl about the Pole.
“Can I serve you, mademoiselle? If so, pray command me,” he said, eagerly, coming a step nearer.
“Can I help you, miss? If so, please let me know what you need,” he said eagerly, taking a step closer.
“You can, and I intend to ask your advice, for there can be nothing amiss in doing so, since you are a friend of Casimer’s.”
“You can, and I plan to ask for your advice, because there’s nothing wrong with that, since you’re a friend of Casimer’s.”
“I am both friend and confidant, mademoiselle,” he answered, as if anxious to let her understand that he knew all, without the embarrassment of words. She looked up quickly, relieved, yet troubled.
“I am both a friend and a confidant, mademoiselle,” he replied, eager to let her know that he understood everything, without the awkwardness of saying it out loud. She glanced up quickly, feeling relieved but also uneasy.
“He has told you, then?”
"Did he tell you?"
“Everything, mademoiselle. Pardon me if this afflicts you; I am his only friend here, and the poor lad sorely needed comfort.”
“Everything, miss. Sorry if this bothers you; I’m his only friend here, and the poor guy really needed some support.”
“He did. I am not annoyed; I am glad, for I know you will sustain him. Now I may speak freely, and be equally frank. Please tell me if he is indeed fatally ill?”
“He did. I’m not annoyed; I’m glad because I know you will support him. Now I can speak freely and be just as honest. Please let me know if he is really fatally ill?”
“It was thought so some months ago; now I hope. Happiness cures many ills, and since he has loved, he has improved. I always thought care would save him; he is worth it.”
“It was believed a few months ago; now I have hope. Happiness heals many problems, and since he has loved, he has changed for the better. I always believed that care would help him; he deserves it.”
Hoffman paused, as if fearful of venturing too far; but Helen seemed to confide freely in him, and said, softly,—
Hoffman paused, as if scared to go too far; but Helen appeared to trust him completely and said softly,—
“Ah, if it were only wise to let him be happy. It is so bitter to deny love.”
“Ah, if it were only wise to let him be happy. It is so painful to deny love.”
“God knows it is!”
“God knows it is!”
The exclamation broke from Hoffman as if an irrepressible impulse wrung it from him.
The exclamation escaped from Hoffman as if an uncontrollable urge forced it out of him.
Helen started, and for a moment neither spoke. She collected herself soonest, and without turning, said, quietly,—
Helen flinched, and for a moment neither of them said a word. She regained her composure first, and without looking back, said quietly,—
“I have been troubled by a strong impression that Casimer is not what he seems. Till he denied it on his honor I believed him to be Baron Palsdorf. Did he speak the truth when he said he was not?”
“I have been bothered by a strong feeling that Casimer isn’t what he appears to be. Until he denied it on his honor, I believed he was Baron Palsdorf. Did he tell the truth when he said he wasn’t?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
"Yes, miss."
“Then, Casimer Teblinski is his real name?”
“Then, Casimer Teblinski is actually his real name?”
No answer.
No response.
She turned sharply, and added,—
She turned sharply and added—
“For my cousin’s sake, I must know the truth. Several curious coincidences make me strongly suspect that he is passing under an assumed name.”
“For my cousin’s sake, I need to find out the truth. Several strange coincidences make me seriously suspect that he is using a fake name.”
Not a word said Hoffman, but looked on the ground, as motionless and expressionless as a statue.
Not a word escaped Hoffman's lips, but he stared at the ground, as still and blank as a statue.
Helen lost patience, and in order to show how much she had discovered, rapidly told the story of the gloves, ring, handkerchief, prayer-book and collar, omitting all hint of the girlish romance they had woven about these things.
Helen lost her patience and, wanting to show how much she had figured out, quickly recounted the tale of the gloves, ring, handkerchief, prayer book, and collar, leaving out any hint of the girlish romance they had surrounded these items with.
As she ended, Hoffman looked up with a curious expression, in which confusion, amusement, admiration and annoyance seemed to contend.
As she finished, Hoffman looked up with a curious expression, where confusion, amusement, admiration, and annoyance seemed to clash.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, gravely, “I am about to prove to you that I feel honored by the confidence you place in me. I cannot break my word, but I will confess to you that Casimer does not bear his own name.”
“Mademoiselle,” he said seriously, “I’m about to show you that I’m honored by the trust you’ve put in me. I can’t go back on my word, but I’ll admit that Casimer does not use his real name.”
“I knew it!” said Helen, with a flash of triumph in her eyes. “He is the baron, and no Pole. You Germans love masquerades and jokes. This is one, but I must spoil it before it is played out.”
“I knew it!” said Helen, her eyes shining with triumph. “He is the baron, and not a Pole. You Germans love masquerades and jokes. This is one, but I have to ruin it before it goes too far.”
“Pardon; mademoiselle is keen, but in this she is mistaken. Casimer is not the baron; he did fight for Poland, and his name is known and honored there. Of this I solemnly assure you.”
“Excuse me; miss is sharp, but she's wrong about this. Casimer is not the baron; he did fight for Poland, and his name is well-known and respected there. I assure you of this sincerely.”
She stood up and looked him straight in the face. He met her eye to eye, and never wavered till her own fell.
She stood up and looked him right in the face. He stared back at her without flinching until her gaze dropped.
She mused a few minutes, entirely forgetful of herself in her eagerness to solve the mystery.
She thought for a few minutes, completely lost in her excitement to figure out the mystery.
Hoffman stood so near that her dress touched him, and the wind blew her scarf against his hand; and as she thought he watched her while his eyes kindled, his color rose, and once he opened his lips to speak, but she moved at the instant, and exclaimed,—
Hoffman stood so close that her dress brushed against him, and the wind blew her scarf onto his hand; as she felt he was watching her, his eyes sparkled, his cheeks flushed, and once he opened his mouth to say something, but she moved at that moment and exclaimed,—
“I have it!”
"I've got it!"
“Now for it,” he muttered, as if preparing for some new surprise or attack.
“Here we go,” he muttered, as if getting ready for some new surprise or attack.
“When uncle used to talk about the Polish revolution, there was, I remember a gallant young Pole who did something brave. The name just flashed on me, and it clears up my doubts. Stanislas Prakora—‘S. P.’—and Casimer is the man.”
“When my uncle used to talk about the Polish revolution, I remember there was a brave young Pole who did something heroic. The name just came to me, and it clears up my doubts. Stanislas Prakora—‘S. P.’—and Casimer is the guy.”
Helen spoke with an eager, bright face, as if sure of the truth now; but, to her surprise, Hoffman laughed, a short, irrepressible laugh, full of hearty but brief merriment. He sobered in a breath, and with an entire change of countenance said, in an embarrassed tone,—
Helen spoke with an eager, bright face, as if she was sure of the truth now; but, to her surprise, Hoffman laughed, a short, uncontrollable laugh, full of genuine but brief joy. He quickly became serious and, with a complete change of expression, said in an awkward tone,—
“Pardon my rudeness; mademoiselle’s acuteness threw me off my guard. I can say nothing till released from my promise; but mademoiselle may rest assured that Casimer Teblinski is as good and brave a man as Stanislas Prakora.”
“Sorry for my bluntness; your sharpness caught me off guard. I can't say anything until I'm free from my promise; but you can be sure that Casimer Teblinski is as good and brave a man as Stanislas Prakora.”
Helen’s eyes sparkled, for in this reluctant reply she read confirmation of her suspicion, and thought that Amy would rejoice to learn that her lover was a hero.
Helen’s eyes sparkled because in this hesitant response, she saw proof of her suspicion and believed that Amy would be thrilled to find out that her lover was a hero.
“You are exiles but, still hope and plot, and never relinquish your heart’s desire?”
“You are exiles, but you still hope and plan, and never give up on your heart’s desire?”
“Never, mademoiselle!”
"Not a chance, miss!"
“You are in danger?”
"Are you in danger?"
“In daily peril of losing all we most love and long for,” answered Karl, with such passion that Helen found patriotism a lovely and inspiring thing.
“In the constant risk of losing everything we cherish and desire,” replied Karl, with such intensity that Helen saw patriotism as a beautiful and motivating thing.
“You have enemies?” she asked, unable to control her interest, and feeling the charm of these confidences.
"You have enemies?" she asked, unable to hide her curiosity, captivated by the allure of these secrets.
“Alas! yes,” was the mournful reply, as Karl dropped his eyes to hide the curious expression of mirth which he could not banish from them.
“Unfortunately, yes,” was the sad reply, as Karl lowered his eyes to conceal the amused look he couldn't shake off.
“Can you not conquer them, or escape the danger they place you in?”
“Can you not defeat them, or get away from the danger they put you in?”
“We hope to conquer, we cannot escape.”
“We hope to win, we can’t run away.”
“This accounts for your disguise and Casimer’s false name?”
“This explains your disguise and Casimer’s fake name?”
“Yes. We beg that mademoiselle will pardon us the anxiety and perplexity we have caused her, and hope that a time will soon arrive when we may be ourselves. I fear the romantic interest with which the ladies have honored us will be much lessened, but we shall still remain their most humble and devoted servants.”
“Yes. We sincerely ask for mademoiselle's forgiveness for the worry and confusion we've caused her, and we hope that a time will come soon when we can truly be ourselves. I worry that the romantic interest the ladies have shown us might fade, but we will still remain their most humble and devoted servants.”
Something in his tone nettled Helen, and she said sharply,—
Something in his tone annoyed Helen, and she replied sharply,—
“All this may be amusing to you, but it spoils my confidence in others to know they wear masks. Is your name also false?”
“All this might be entertaining for you, but it makes me lose trust in others knowing they wear masks. Is your name also fake?”
“I am Karl Hoffman, as surely as the sun shines, mademoiselle. Do not wound me by a doubt,” he said, eagerly.
“I am Karl Hoffman, just as the sun shines, mademoiselle. Please don’t hurt me with a doubt,” he said eagerly.
“And nothing more?”
"And that's it?"
She smiled as she spoke, and glanced at his darkened skin with a shake of the head.
She smiled as she spoke and shook her head while glancing at his dark skin.
“I dare not answer that.”
“I can’t answer that.”
“No matter; I hate titles, and value people for their own worth, not for their rank.”
“No matter; I dislike titles and appreciate people for who they are, not for their status.”
Helen spoke impulsively, and, as if carried away by her words and manner, Hoffman caught her hand and pressed his lips to it ardently, dropped it, and was gone, as if fearing to trust himself a moment longer.
Helen spoke impulsively, and, as if swept away by her words and demeanor, Hoffman took her hand and kissed it passionately, then let it go and left, as if afraid to allow himself to linger any longer.
Helen stood where he left her, thinking, with a shy glance from her hand to the spot where he had stood,—
Helen stood where he left her, lost in thought, casting a shy glance from her hand to the spot where he had been,—
“It is pleasant to have one’s hand kissed, as Amy said. Poor Karl, his fate is almost as hard as Casimer’s.”
“It is nice to have your hand kissed, as Amy said. Poor Karl, his situation is almost as tough as Casimer’s.”
Some subtile power seemed to make the four young people shun one another carefully, though all longed to be together. The major appeared to share the secret disquiet that made the rest roam listlessly about, till little Roserl came to invite them to a fête in honor of the vintage. All were glad to go, hoping in the novelty and excitement to recover their composure.
Some subtle power seemed to make the four young people avoid each other carefully, even though they all wanted to be together. The major appeared to feel the same secret unease that caused the others to wander aimlessly until little Roserl came to invite them to a fête in honor of the vintage. Everyone was happy to go, hoping that the new experience and excitement would help them regain their composure.
The vineyard sloped up from the chateau, and on the hillside was a small plateau of level sward, shadowed by a venerable oak now hung with garlands, while underneath danced the chateau servants with their families, to the music of a pipe played by little Freidel. As the gentlefolk approached, the revel stopped, but the major, who was in an antic mood and disposed to be gracious, bade Freidel play on, and as Mrs. Cumberland refused his hand with a glance at her weeds, the major turned to the Count’s buxom housekeeper, and besought her to waltz with him. She assented, and away they went as nimbly as the best. Amy laughed, but stopped to blush, as Casimer came up with an imploring glance, and whispered,—
The vineyard sloped up from the chateau, and on the hillside was a small flat area, shaded by an old oak now decorated with garlands, while underneath, the chateau staff danced with their families to the music of a pipe played by little Freidel. When the gentlemen and ladies approached, the celebration paused, but the major, feeling playful and generous, encouraged Freidel to keep playing. When Mrs. Cumberland turned him down with a glance at her mourning attire, the major turned to the Count’s cheerful housekeeper and asked her to dance with him. She agreed, and off they went as lively as the best dancers. Amy laughed but then blushed as Casimer approached with a pleading look and whispered,—
“Is it possible that I may enjoy one divine waltz with you before I go?”
“Could I have just one beautiful waltz with you before I leave?”
Amy gave him her hand with a glad assent, and Helen was left alone. Every one was dancing but herself and Hoffman, who stood near by, apparently unconscious of the fact. He glanced covertly at her, and saw that she was beating time with foot and hand, that her eyes shone, her lips smiled. He seemed to take courage at this, for, walking straight up to her, he said, as coolly as if a crown-prince,—
Amy offered him her hand with a cheerful agreement, leaving Helen by herself. Everyone was dancing except her and Hoffman, who stood close by, seemingly unaware of the situation. He sneakily looked at her and noticed that she was keeping time with her foot and hand, that her eyes sparkled, her lips smiled. This appeared to give him confidence, as he walked straight up to her and said, as casually as if he were a prince,—
“Mademoiselle, may I have the honor?”
“Mademoiselle, may I have the honor?”
A flash of surprise passed over her face, but there was no anger, pride, or hesitation in her manner, as she leaned toward him with a quiet “Thanks, monsieur.”
A look of surprise crossed her face, but there was no anger, pride, or hesitation in her demeanor as she leaned in toward him and said quietly, “Thanks, mister.”
A look of triumph was in his eyes as he swept her away to dance, as she had never danced before, for a German waltz is full of life and spirit, wonderfully captivating to English girls, and German gentlemen make it a memorable experience when they please. As they circled round the rustic ball-room, Hoffman never took his eyes off Helen’s, and, as if fascinated, she looked up at him, half conscious that he was reading her heart as she read his. He said not a word, but his face grew very tender, very beautiful in her sight, as she forgot everything except that he had saved her life and she loved him. When they paused, she was breathless and pale; he also; and seating her he went away to bring her a glass of wine. As her dizzy eyes grew clear, she saw a little case at her feet, and taking it up, opened it. A worn paper, containing some faded forget-me-nots and these words, fell out,—
A look of triumph was in his eyes as he swept her away to dance, as she had never danced before, because a German waltz is full of life and energy, wonderfully captivating to English girls, and German gentlemen make it a memorable experience when they want to. As they circled around the rustic ballroom, Hoffman never took his eyes off Helen’s, and, as if spellbound, she looked up at him, half aware that he was reading her heart just as she read his. He didn’t say a word, but his face became very tender, very beautiful in her sight, as she forgot everything except that he had saved her life and she loved him. When they paused, she was breathless and pale; he was too; and after seating her, he went away to get her a glass of wine. As her dizzy eyes cleared, she noticed a small case at her feet, and picking it up, she opened it. A worn piece of paper, containing some faded forget-me-nots and these words, fell out,—
“Gathered where Helen sat on the night of August 10th.”
“Gathered where Helen was sitting on the night of August 10th.”
There was just time to restore its contents to the case, when Hoffman returned, saw it, and looked intensely annoyed as he asked, quickly,—
There was just enough time to put everything back in the case when Hoffman came back, saw it, and looked really annoyed as he asked quickly,—
“Did you read the name on it?”
“Did you see the name on it?”
“I saw only the flowers;” and Helen colored beautifully as she spoke.
“I only saw the flowers;” and Helen blushed beautifully as she spoke.
“And read them?” he asked, with a look she could not meet.
“And read them?” he asked, with a gaze she couldn’t hold.
She was spared an answer, for just then a lad came up, saying, as he offered a note,—
She didn't get a response, because just then a young guy came over, saying, as he handed her a note,—
“Monsieur Hoffman, madame, at the hotel, sends you this, and begs you to come at once.”
“Mr. Hoffman, ma'am, at the hotel, sends you this and asks you to come immediately.”
As he impatiently opened it, the wind blew the paper into Helen’s lap. She restored it, and in the act, her quick eye caught the signature, “Thine ever, Ludmilla.”
As he eagerly opened it, the wind whipped the paper into Helen’s lap. She picked it up and, in the process, her sharp eye noticed the signature, “Thine ever, Ludmilla.”
A slight shadow passed over her face, leaving it very cold and quiet. Hoffman saw the change, and smiled, as if well pleased, but assuming suddenly his usual manner, said deferentially,—
A brief shadow crossed her face, making it feel cold and still. Hoffman noticed the shift and smiled, appearing quite pleased, but quickly returning to his usual demeanor, said respectfully,—
“Will mademoiselle permit me to visit my friend for an hour?—she is expecting me.”
“Will you allow me to visit my friend for an hour? She’s expecting me.”
“Go, then, we do not need you,” was the brief reply, in a careless tone, as if his absence was a thing of no interest to any one.
“Go ahead, we don’t need you,” was the short response, said in a casual tone, as if his absence didn’t matter to anyone.
“Thanks; I shall not be long away;” and giving her a glance that made her turn scarlet with anger at its undisguised admiration, he walked away, humming gayly to himself Goethe’s lines,—
“Thanks; I won’t be gone long;” and giving her a look that made her blush with anger at its obvious admiration, he walked away, cheerfully humming Goethe’s lines,—
IX.
“S. P.” AND THE BARON.
Dinner was over, and the salon deserted by all but the two young ladies, who sat apart, apparently absorbed in novels, while each was privately longing for somebody to come, and with the charming inconsistency of the fair sex, planning to fly if certain somebodies did appear.
Dinner was over, and the salon was empty except for the two young women, who sat separately, seemingly engrossed in their novels, while each secretly wished for someone to arrive, yet with the delightful contradiction of their gender, schemed to leave if certain individuals did show up.
Steps approached; both buried themselves in their books; both held their breath and felt their hearts flutter as they never had done before at the step of mortal man. The door opened; neither looked up, yet each was conscious of mingled disappointment and relief when the major said, in a grave tone, “Girls, I’ve something to tell you.”
Steps came closer; they both buried themselves in their books, holding their breath and feeling their hearts race like never before at the approach of a mortal man. The door opened; neither looked up, but each felt a mix of disappointment and relief when the major said, in a serious tone, “Girls, I have something to tell you.”
“We know what it is, sir,” returned Helen, coolly.
“We know what it is, sir,” Helen replied calmly.
“I beg your pardon, but you don’t, my dear, as I will prove in five minutes, if you will give me your attention.”
“I’m sorry, but you actually don’t, my dear, and I’ll show you in five minutes if you just pay attention.”
The major looked as if braced up to some momentous undertaking; and planting himself before the two young ladies, dashed bravely into the subject.
The major looked like he was ready for some big event; and standing in front of the two young ladies, he boldly jumped into the conversation.
“Girls, I’ve played a bold game, but I’ve won it, and will take the consequences.”
“Girls, I took a big risk, but I came out on top, and I’ll accept the consequences.”
“They will fall heaviest on you, uncle,” said Helen, thinking he was about to declare his love for the widow.
“They will hit you the hardest, uncle,” said Helen, thinking he was about to confess his love for the widow.
The major laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and answered, stoutly,—
The major laughed, shrugged, and said confidently,—
“I’ll bear them; but you are quite wrong, my dear, in your surmises, as you will soon see. Helen is my ward, and accountable to me alone. Amy’s mother gave her into my charge, and won’t reproach me for anything that has passed when I explain matters. As to the lads they must take care of themselves.”
“I’ll take care of them; but you’re totally mistaken, my dear, in your assumptions, as you will soon see. Helen is my responsibility, and answerable only to me. Amy’s mother entrusted her to my care, and she won’t blame me for anything that happened once I explain the situation. As for the boys, they’ll need to handle things on their own.”
Suddenly both girls colored, fluttered, and became intensely interested. The major’s eyes twinkled as he assumed a perfectly impassive expression, and rapidly delivered himself of the following thunderbolt,—
Suddenly, both girls blushed, fidgeted, and became very interested. The major’s eyes sparkled as he took on a completely emotionless expression and quickly delivered the following shocking statement,—
“Girls, you have been deceived, and the young men you love are impostors.”
“Girls, you’ve been fooled, and the young men you love are fakes.”
“I thought so,” muttered Helen, grimly.
“I thought so,” Helen said under her breath, grimly.
“Oh, uncle, don’t, don’t say that!” cried Amy, despairingly.
“Oh, uncle, please don’t say that!” Amy cried, feeling desperate.
“It’s true, my dears; and the worst of it is, I knew the truth all the time. Now, don’t have hysterics, but listen and enjoy the joke as I do. At Coblentz, when you sat in the balcony, two young men overheard Amy sigh for adventures, and Helen advise making a romance out of the gloves one of the lads had dropped. They had seen you by day; both admired you, and being idle, gay young fellows, they resolved to devote their vacation to gratifying your wishes and enjoying themselves. We met at the Fortress; I knew one of them, and liked the other immensely; so when they confided their scheme to me I agreed to help them carry it out, as I had perfect confidence in both, and thought a little adventure or two would do you good.”
“It’s true, my dears; and the worst part is, I knew the truth all along. Now, don’t freak out, but listen and enjoy the joke like I do. At Coblentz, when you were sitting in the balcony, two young men overheard Amy sighing for adventures, and Helen suggesting making a romance out of the gloves one of the guys had dropped. They had seen you during the day; both admired you, and being carefree, fun-loving young men, they decided to spend their vacation fulfilling your wishes and having a good time. We met at the Fortress; I knew one of them, and really liked the other; so when they shared their plan with me, I agreed to help them carry it out, as I had complete faith in both, and thought a little adventure or two would be good for you.”
“Uncle, you were mad,” said Helen; and Amy added, tragically,—
“Uncle, you were crazy,” said Helen; and Amy added, sadly,—
“You don’t know what trouble has come of it.”
“You don’t know what trouble has come from it.”
“Perhaps I was; that remains to be proved. I do know everything, and fail to see any trouble, so don’t cry, little girl,” briskly replied the inexplicable major, “Well, we had a merry time planning our prank. One of the lads insisted on playing courier, though I objected. He’d done it before, liked the part, and would have his way. The other couldn’t decide, being younger and more in love; so we left him to come into the comedy when he was ready. Karl did capitally, as you will allow; and I am much attached to him, for in all respects he has been true to his word. He began at Coblentz; the other, after doing the mysterious at Heidelberg, appeared as an exile, and made quick work with the prejudices of my well-beloved nieces—hey, Amy?”
“Maybe I was; that’s yet to be seen. I know everything and can’t find any trouble, so don’t cry, little girl,” replied the enigmatic major cheerfully. “We had a great time planning our prank. One of the guys insisted on being the messenger, even though I disagreed. He had done it before, enjoyed it, and got his way. The other couldn’t decide, being younger and more in love, so we let him join in when he was ready. Karl did wonderfully, as you’ll agree; and I’m quite fond of him because he has always kept his promises. He started at Coblentz; the other, after being mysterious at Heidelberg, showed up as an outsider and quickly won over the prejudices of my dear nieces—right, Amy?”
“Go on; who are they?” cried both girls, breathlessly.
“Go on; who are they?” both girls exclaimed, out of breath.
“Wait a bit; I’m not bound to expose the poor fellows to your scorn and anger. No; if you are going to be high and haughty, to forget their love, refuse to forgive their frolic, and rend their hearts with reproaches, better let them remain unknown.”
“Wait a moment; I’m not obligated to subject those poor guys to your scorn and anger. No, if you’re going to be arrogant, forget their affection, refuse to forgive their mischief, and break their hearts with accusations, it’s better to leave them unknown.”
“No, no; we will forget and forgive, only speak!” was the command of both.
“No, no; we’ll forget and forgive, just speak!” was the command of both.
“You promise to be lenient and mild, to let them confess their motives, and to award a gentle penance for their sins?”
“You promise to be understanding and kind, to let them share their reasons, and to give a light punishment for their wrongs?”
“Yes, we promise!”
"Yes, we promise!"
“Then, come in, my lads, and plead for your lives.”
“Then, come in, guys, and ask for your lives.”
As he spoke the major threw open the door, and two gentlemen entered the room—one, slight and dark, with brilliant black eyes; the other tall and large, with blond hair and beard. Angry, bewildered, and shame-stricken as they were, feminine curiosity overpowered all other feelings for the moment, and the girls sat looking at the culprits with eager eyes, full of instant recognition; for though the disguise was off, and neither had seen them in their true characters but once, they felt no doubt, and involuntarily exclaimed,—
As he spoke, the major opened the door, and two men came into the room—one was slim and dark, with striking black eyes; the other was tall and big, with blond hair and a beard. Even though they were angry, confused, and embarrassed, the girls' curiosity took over all their other feelings for a moment, and they stared at the men with eager eyes, instantly recognizing them; because even though the disguise was gone, and they had only seen them in their true form once before, they had no doubt and couldn’t help but exclaim,—
“Karl!”
“Karl!”
“Casimer.”
“Casimir.”
“No, young ladies; the courier and exile are defunct, and from their ashes rise Baron Sigismund Palsdorf, my friend, and Sidney Power, my nephew. I give you one hour to settle the matter; then I shall return to bestow my blessing or to banish these scapegraces forever.”
“No, young ladies; the messenger and outcast are gone, and from their ashes rise Baron Sigismund Palsdorf, my friend, and Sidney Power, my nephew. I give you one hour to sort this out; then I will return to either give my blessing or send these troublemakers away for good.”
And, having fired his last shot, the major prudently retreated, without waiting to see its effect.
And after taking his last shot, the major wisely pulled back without sticking around to see what happened next.
It was tremendous, for it carried confusion into the fair enemy’s camp; and gave the besiegers a momentary advantage of which they were not slow to avail themselves.
It was huge, as it caused chaos in the beautiful enemy’s camp; and it gave the besiegers a brief advantage that they quickly took advantage of.
For a moment the four remained mute and motionless: then Amy, like all timid things, took refuge in flight, and Sidney followed her into the garden, glad to see the allies separated. Helen, with the courage of her nature, tried to face and repulse the foe; but love was stronger than pride, maiden shame overcame anger, and, finding it vain to meet and bear down the steady, tender glance of the blue eyes fixed upon her, she drooped her head into her hands and sat before him, like one conquered but too proud to cry “Quarter.” Her lover watched her till she hid her face, then drew near, knelt down before her, and said, with an undertone of deep feeling below the mirthful malice of his words,—
For a moment, the four of them stayed silent and still. Then Amy, like all shy people, chose to run away, and Sidney followed her into the garden, happy to see them separated. Helen, with her natural bravery, tried to confront and push back the opponent, but love was more powerful than pride. Her embarrassment overtook her anger, and realizing it was useless to face the steady, gentle gaze of the blue eyes on her, she dropped her head into her hands and sat before him, like someone defeated but too proud to cry for mercy. Her lover watched her until she hid her face, then moved closer, knelt down before her, and said, with a deep emotion beneath the playful mockery of his words,—
“Mademoiselle, pardon me that I am a foolish baron, and dare to offer you the title that you hate. I have served you faithfully for a month, and, presumptuous as it is, I ask to be allowed to serve you all my life. Helen, say you forgive the deceit for love’s sake.”
“Mademoiselle, I apologize for being a foolish baron and for daring to offer you a title that you despise. I’ve served you loyally for a month, and as presumptuous as it may be, I ask to be allowed to serve you for the rest of my life. Helen, please say you forgive the deception for the sake of love.”
“No; you are false and forsworn. How can I believe that anything is true?”
“No; you are deceitful and untrustworthy. How can I believe that anything is real?”
And Helen drew away the hand of which he had taken possession.
And Helen pulled her hand away from his grip.
“Heart’s dearest, you trusted me in spite of my disguise; trust me still, and I will prove that I am neither false nor forsworn. Catechise me, and see if I was not true in spite of all my seeming deception.”
“Darling, you believed in me even though I was pretending; trust me now, and I will show you that I'm not lying or betraying you. Ask me anything, and you'll see I was honest despite all my appearances.”
“You said your name was Karl Hoffman,” began Helen, glad to gain a little time to calm herself before the momentous question came.
“You said your name was Karl Hoffman,” Helen started, relieved to buy herself a bit of time to steady her nerves before the important question arrived.
“It is; I have many, and my family choose to call me Sigismund,” was the laughing answer.
“It is; I have many, and my family calls me Sigismund,” was the laughing response.
“I’ll never call you so; you shall be Karl, the courier, all your life to me,” cried Helen, still unable to meet the ardent eyes before her.
“I’ll never call you that; you’ll always be Karl, the courier, for as long as I live,” cried Helen, still unable to meet the intense eyes looking at her.
“Good; I like that well; for it assures me that all my life I shall be something to you, my heart. What next?”
“Great; I really like that; it assures me that throughout my life, I will mean something to you, my love. What’s next?”
“When I asked if you were the baron, you denied it.”
“When I asked if you were the baron, you said no.”
“Pardon! I simply said my name was Hoffman. You did not ask me point blank if I was the baron; had you done so, I think I should have confessed all, for it was very hard to restrain myself this morning.”
“Excuse me! I just mentioned that my name is Hoffman. You didn’t directly ask me if I was the baron; if you had, I think I would have admitted everything, because it was really hard to hold back this morning.”
“No, not yet; I have more questions;” and Helen warned him away, as it became evident that he no longer considered restraint necessary.
“No, not yet; I have more questions,” Helen said, pushing him away as it became clear that he no longer felt the need to hold back.
“Who is Ludmilla?” she said, sharply.
“Who is Ludmilla?” she asked sharply.
“My faith, that is superb!” exclaimed the baron, with a triumphant smile at her betrayal of jealousy. “How if she is a former love?” he asked, with a sly look at her changing face.
“My faith, that’s amazing!” exclaimed the baron, with a triumphant smile at her reveal of jealousy. “What if she’s a past love?” he asked, with a sly look at her shifting expression.
“It would cause me no surprise; I am prepared for anything.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me at all; I’m ready for anything.”
“How if she is my dearest sister, for whom I sent, that she might welcome you and bring the greetings of my parents to their new daughter?”
“How about if she is my beloved sister, whom I sent so that she could welcome you and deliver my parents’ greetings to their new daughter?”
“Is it, indeed, so?”
"Is it really so?"
And Helen’s eyes dimmed as the thought of parents, home and love filled her heart with tenderest gratitude, for she had long been an orphan.
And Helen's eyes clouded over as memories of her parents, home, and love filled her heart with deep gratitude, because she had been an orphan for a long time.
“Leibchen, it is true; to-morrow you shall see and know how dear you already are to them, for I write often and they wait eagerly to receive you.”
“Leibchen, it’s true; tomorrow you will see and understand how much they already care about you, because I write to them often and they eagerly wait to hear from you.”
Helen felt herself going very fast, and made an effort to harden her heart, less too easy victory should reward this audacious lover.
Helen felt herself going really fast and tried to toughen her heart, so that an easy victory wouldn’t reward this bold lover.
“I may not go; I also have friends, and in England we are not won in this wild way. I will yet prove you false; it will console me for being so duped if I can call you traitor. You said Casimer had fought in Poland.”
“I might not go; I have friends too, and in England, we don’t get swept away like this. I'll still prove you wrong; it will ease my disappointment if I can label you a traitor. You claimed Casimer fought in Poland.”
“Cruelest of women, he did, but under his own name, Sidney Power.”
“Most ruthless of women, he did, but under his own name, Sidney Power.”
“Then, he was not the brave Stanislas?—and there is no charming Casimer?”
“Then, he wasn’t the brave Stanislas?—and there’s no charming Casimer?”
“Yes, there are both,—his and my friends, in Paris; true Poles, and when we go there you shall see them.”
“Yes, we have friends there—his and mine, in Paris; true Poles, and when we go there you’ll meet them.”
“But his illness was a ruse?”
“But his sickness was just a trick?”
“No; he was wounded in the war and has been ill since. Not of a fatal malady, I own; his cough misled you, and he has no scruples in fabling to any extent. I am not to bear the burden of his sins.”
“No; he was injured in the war and has been sick ever since. It’s not a life-threatening illness, I admit; his cough misled you, and he doesn’t hesitate to embellish things as much as he wants. I’m not going to carry the weight of his wrongdoings.”
“Then, the romances he told us about your charity, your virtues, and—your love of liberty were false?” said Helen, with a keen glance, for these tales had done much to interest her in the unknown baron.
“Then, the stories he shared about your kindness, your goodness, and—your love of freedom were lies?” said Helen, with a sharp look, because these tales had really captivated her interest in the mysterious baron.
Sudden color rose to his forehead, and for the first time his eyes fell before hers,—not in shame, but with a modest man’s annoyance at hearing himself praised.
Sudden color appeared in his cheeks, and for the first time, he looked away from her gaze—not out of shame, but due to a modest guy’s irritation at being complimented.
“Sidney is enthusiastic in his friendship, and speaks too well for me. The facts are true, but he doubtless glorified the simplest by his way of telling it. Will you forgive my follies, and believe me when I promise to play and duel no more?”
“Sidney is really enthusiastic about our friendship and talks about me way too nicely. The things he says are true, but he probably makes even the simplest things sound better just by how he tells them. Will you forgive my mistakes and trust me when I say I won't play around or fight anymore?”
“Yes.”
“Yep.”
She yielded her hand now, and her eyes were full of happiness, yet she added, wistfully,—
She let go of his hand now, and her eyes sparkled with happiness, yet she added, with a hint of sadness,—
“And the betrothed, your cousin, Minna,—is she, in truth, not dear to you?”
“And your cousin Minna, the one you’re engaged to—is she really not important to you?”
“Very dear, but less so than another; for I could not learn of her in years what I learned in a day when I met you. Helen, this was begun in jest,—it ends in solemn earnest, for I love my liberty, and I have lost it, utterly and forever. Yet I am glad; look in my face and tell me you believe it.”
“Very dear, but not as much as someone else; because I couldn’t learn about her in years what I understood in a day when I met you. Helen, this started as a joke, but it’s become serious because I love my freedom, and I’ve lost it completely and forever. Yet I’m glad; look at my face and tell me you believe that.”
He spoke now as seriously as fervently, and with no shadow on her own, Helen brushed back the blond hair and looked into her lover’s face. Truth, tenderness, power, and candor were written there in characters that could not lie; and with her heart upon her lips, she answered, as he drew her close,—
He talked now with as much seriousness as passion, and with no doubt in her own feelings, Helen pushed back her blonde hair and gazed into her lover’s face. Truth, warmth, strength, and honesty were obvious there in a way that couldn't be fake; and with her heart on her sleeve, she replied as he pulled her close,—
“I do believe, do love you, Sigismund!”
“I really do believe in you, Sigismund!”
Meanwhile another scene was passing in the garden. Sidney, presuming upon his cousinship, took possession of Amy, bidding her “strike but hear him.” Of course she listened with the usual accompaniment of tears and smiles, reproaches and exclamations, varied by cruel exultations and coquettish commands to go away and never dare approach her again.
Meanwhile, another scene was unfolding in the garden. Sidney, taking advantage of their cousin relationship, claimed Amy, telling her to “just listen.” Naturally, she listened with her typical mix of tears and smiles, accusations and outbursts, interspersed with spiteful triumphs and playful demands for him to leave and never come near her again.
“Ma drogha, listen and be appeased. Years ago you and I played together as babies, and our fond mammas vowed we should one day mate. When I was a youth of fourteen and you a mite of seven I went away to India with my father, and at our parting promised to come back and marry you. Being in a fret because you couldn’t go also, you haughtily declined the honor, and when I offered a farewell kiss, struck me with this very little hand. Do you remember it?”
“My dear, listen and be calm. Years ago, you and I played together as little kids, and our loving moms promised that we would one day get married. When I was fourteen and you were just seven, I left for India with my dad, and before I left, I promised to come back and marry you. You were upset because you couldn’t come with me, so you proudly turned down the offer, and when I offered a goodbye kiss, you hit me with that tiny hand of yours. Do you remember that?”
“Not I. Too young for such nonsense.”
“Not me. I’m too young for that kind of nonsense.”
“I do, and I also remember that in my boyish way I resolved to keep my word sooner or later, and I’ve done it.”
“I do, and I also remember that in my youthful way I decided to keep my promise eventually, and I’ve done it.”
“We shall see, sir,” cried Amy, strongly tempted to repeat her part of the childish scene as well as her cousin, but her hand was not free, and he got the kiss without the blow.
“We’ll see, sir,” Amy exclaimed, really wanting to join in on the playful moment just like her cousin, but her hand was occupied, so he got the kiss without the hit.
“For eleven years we never met. You forgot me entirely, and ‘Cousin Sidney’ remained an empty name. I was in India till four years ago; since then I’ve been flying about Germany and fighting in Poland, where I nearly got my quietus.”
“For eleven years we never met. You completely forgot me, and ‘Cousin Sidney’ was just an empty name. I was in India until four years ago; since then I’ve been traveling around Germany and fighting in Poland, where I almost lost my life.”
“My dear boy, were you wounded?”
“My dear boy, were you hurt?”
“Bless you, yes; and very proud of it I am. I’ll show you my scars some day; but never mind that now. A little while ago I went to England, seized with a sudden desire to find my wife.”
“Bless you, yes; and I’m very proud of it. I’ll show you my scars someday; but let’s not focus on that right now. A little while ago, I went to England, driven by a sudden urge to find my wife.”
“I admire your patience in waiting; so flattering to me, you know,” was the sharp answer.
“I really appreciate your patience in waiting; it’s so flattering to me, you know,” was the quick reply.
“It looks like neglect, I confess; but I’d heard reports of your flirtations, and twice of your being engaged, so I kept away till my work was done. Was it true?”
“It seems like I was ignoring you, I admit; but I’d heard rumors about your flings, and twice about your getting engaged, so I stayed away until my work was finished. Was that true?”
“I never flirt, Sidney, and I was only engaged a little bit once or twice. I didn’t like it, and never mean to do so any more.”
"I never flirt, Sidney, and I was only a little engaged once or twice. I didn't enjoy it and don't plan to do it again."
“I shall see that you don’t flirt; but you are very much engaged now, so put on your ring and make no romances about any ‘S. P.’ but myself.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t flirt; but you’re very much taken now, so put on your ring and don’t make any stories about ‘S. P.’ except for me.”
“I shall wait till you clear your character; I’m not going to care for a deceitful impostor. What made you think of this prank?”
“I’ll wait until you prove your integrity; I’m not going to care about a deceitful fake. What made you think of this prank?”
“You did.”
"You did."
“I? How?”
“Me? How?”
“When in England I saw your picture, though you were many a mile away, and fell in love with it. Your mother told me much about you, and I saw she would not frown upon my suit. I begged her not to tell you I had come, but let me find you and make myself known when I liked. You were in Switzerland, and I went after you. At Coblentz I met Sigismund, and told him my case; he is full of romance, and when we overheard you in the balcony we were glad of the hint. Sigismund was with me when you came, and admired Helen immensely, so he was wild to have a part in the frolic. I let him begin, and followed you unseen to Heidelberg, meaning to personate an artist. Meeting you at the castle, I made a good beginning with the vaults and the ring, and meant to follow it up by acting the baron, you were so bent on finding him, but Sigismund forbade it. Turning over a trunk of things left there the year before, I came upon my old Polish uniform, and decided to be a Thaddeus.”
“When I was in England, I saw your picture, even though you were miles away, and I fell in love with it. Your mother told me a lot about you, and I could tell she wouldn’t mind my interest in you. I asked her not to mention to you that I had come, but instead to let me find you and introduce myself when I was ready. You were in Switzerland, so I went after you. In Coblentz, I met Sigismund and explained my situation to him; he’s full of romance, and when we overheard you on the balcony, we were excited by the opportunity. Sigismund was with me when you arrived and was really impressed by Helen, so he was eager to join in on the fun. I let him take the lead, and I followed you to Heidelberg without being noticed, planning to pretend to be an artist. When I met you at the castle, I started off with the vaults and the ring, and I intended to continue by playing the baron since you were so determined to find him, but Sigismund stopped me. While going through a trunk of things left there the previous year, I found my old Polish uniform and decided to be a Thaddeus.”
“How well you did it! Wasn’t it hard to act all the time?” asked Amy, wonderingly.
“How well you did it! Wasn’t it tough to act all the time?” Amy asked, amazed.
“Very hard with Helen, she is so keen, but not a bit so with you, for you are such a confiding soul any one could cheat you. I’ve betrayed myself a dozen times, and you never saw it. Ah, it was capital fun to play the forlorn exile, study English, and flirt with my cousin.”
“Really tough with Helen; she’s so eager, but not at all with you because you’re such a trusting person that anyone could deceive you. I’ve let myself down a dozen times, and you never noticed. Ah, it was a great time pretending to be a sad exile, studying English, and flirting with my cousin.”
“It was very base. I should think you’d be devoured with remorse. Aren’t you sorry?”
“It was really low. I would think you’d be consumed with regret. Don’t you feel sorry?”
“For one thing. I cropped my head lest you should know me. I was proud of my curls, but I sacrificed them all to you.”
“For one thing, I cut my hair so you wouldn't recognize me. I was proud of my curls, but I gave them all up for you.”
“Peacock! Did you think that one glimpse of your black eyes and fine hair would make such an impression that I should recognize you again?”
“Peacock! Did you really think that just one look at your dark eyes and pretty hair would be enough for me to remember you?”
“I did, and for that reason disfigured my head, put on a mustache, and assumed hideous spectacles. Did you never suspect my disguise, Amy?”
“I did, and for that reason I messed up my hair, put on a mustache, and wore ugly glasses. Did you never suspect my disguise, Amy?”
“No. Helen used to say that she felt something was wrong, but I never did till the other night.”
“No. Helen always said she felt something was off, but I never did until the other night.”
“Didn’t I do that well? I give you my word it was all done on the spur of the minute. I meant to speak soon, but had not decided how, when you came out so sweetly with that confounded old cloak, of which I’d no more need than an African has of a blanket. Then a scene I’d read in a novel came into my head, and I just repeated it con amore. Was I very pathetic and tragical, Amy?”
“Didn’t I do that well? I promise it was all done on the spur of the moment. I intended to speak up soon, but I hadn’t figured out how, when you came out so nicely with that annoying old cloak, which I had no more use for than an African has for a blanket. Then a scene I’d read in a novel popped into my head, and I just repeated it con amore. Was I very pathetic and dramatic, Amy?”
“I thought so then. It strikes me as ridiculous now, and I can’t help feeling sorry that I wasted so much pity on a man who—”
“I thought so back then. It seems ridiculous to me now, and I can't help but feel sorry that I wasted so much sympathy on a guy who—”
“Loves you with all his heart and soul. Did you cry and grieve over me, dear little tender thing? and do you think now that I am a heartless fellow, bent only on amusing myself at the expense of others? It’s not so; and you shall see how true and good and steady I can be when I have any one to love and care for me. I’ve been alone so long it’s new and beautiful to be petted, confided in, and looked up to by an angel like you.”
“Loves you with all his heart and soul. Did you cry and mourn for me, my dear little tender thing? Do you think now that I’m just a heartless guy, only looking to have fun at others' expense? That’s not true; and you’ll see how genuine, kind, and reliable I can be when I have someone to love and care for me. I’ve been alone for so long that it feels new and wonderful to be cherished, trusted, and admired by an angel like you.”
He was in earnest now; she felt it, and her anger melted away like dew before the sun.
He was serious now; she could feel it, and her anger faded away like dew in the sunlight.
“Poor boy! You will go home with us now, and let us take care of you in quiet England. You’ll play no more pranks, but go soberly to work and do something that shall make me proud to be your cousin, won’t you?”
“Poor boy! You’re coming home with us now, and we’ll take care of you in quiet England. No more pranks; you’ll get to work seriously and do something that will make me proud to be your cousin, okay?”
“If you’ll change ‘cousin’ to ‘wife’ I’ll be and do whatever you please. Amy, when I was a poor, dying, Catholic foreigner you loved me and would have married me in spite of everything. Now that I’m your well, rich, Protestant cousin, who adores you as that Pole never could, you turn cold and cruel. Is it because the romance is gone, or because your love was only a girl’s fancy, after all?”
“If you change ‘cousin’ to ‘wife,’ I’ll be and do whatever you want. Amy, when I was a poor, dying Catholic immigrant, you loved me and would have married me despite everything. Now that I’m your wealthy Protestant cousin, who adores you like that Pole never could, you’ve turned cold and cruel. Is it because the romance is gone, or was your love just a fleeting crush after all?”
“You deceived me and I can’t forget it; but I’ll try,” was the soft answer to his reproaches.
“You lied to me, and I can't get over it; but I'll try,” was the gentle reply to his accusations.
“Are you disappointed that I’m not a baron?”
“Are you disappointed that I’m not a baron?”
“A little bit.”
"Just a little."
“Shall I be a count? They gave me a title in Poland, a barren honor, but all they had to offer, poor souls, in return for a little blood. Will you be Countess Zytomar and get laughed at for your pains, or plain Mrs. Power, with a good old English name?”
“Should I be a count? They gave me a title in Poland, a worthless honor, but it was all they could offer, poor souls, in exchange for a little blood. Will you be Countess Zytomar and get mocked for your troubles, or just Mrs. Power, with a good old English name?”
“Neither, thank you; it’s only a girlish fancy, which will soon be forgotten. Does the baron love Helen?” asked Amy, abruptly.
“Neither, thanks; it’s just a silly crush that will fade away soon. Does the baron love Helen?” Amy asked suddenly.
“Desperately, and she?”
"Desperately, what about her?"
“I think he will be happy; she is not one to make confidantes, but I know by her tenderness with me, her sadness lately, and something in her way of brightening when he comes, that she thinks much of him and loves Karl Hoffman. How it will be with the baron I cannot say.”
“I think he’ll be happy; she’s not someone who trusts easily, but I can tell by her kindness towards me, her recent sadness, and how she lights up when he’s around, that she cares a lot for him and loves Karl Hoffman. I can’t say how it will go with the baron.”
“No fear of him; he wins his way everywhere. I wish I were as fortunate;” and the gay young gentleman heaved an artful sigh and coughed the cough that always brought such pity to the girl’s soft eyes.
“No fear of him; he gets his way everywhere. I wish I were as lucky;” and the charming young man let out a clever sigh and coughed the cough that always drew such sympathy from the girl’s gentle eyes.
She glanced at him as he leaned pensively on the low wall, looking down into the lake, with the level rays of sunshine on his comely face and figure. Something softer than pity stole into her eye, as she said, anxiously,—
She looked at him as he leaned thoughtfully on the low wall, gazing down at the lake, with the gentle rays of sunshine on his handsome face and body. Something deeper than pity entered her gaze as she said, nervously,—
“You are not really ill, Sidney?”
"You're not really sick, Sidney?"
“I have been, and still need care, else I may have a relapse,” was the reply of this treacherous youth, whose constitution was as sound as a bell.
“I have been, and still need care, or I might have a relapse,” was the response of this deceitful young man, whose health was perfectly fine.
Amy clasped her hands, as if in a transport of gratitude, exclaiming, fervently,—
Amy clasped her hands, as if overwhelmed with gratitude, exclaiming, passionately,—
“What a relief it is to know that you are not doomed to—”
“What a relief it is to know that you are not stuck to—”
She paused with a shiver, as if the word were too hard to utter, and Sidney turned to her with a beaming face, which changed to one of mingled pain and anger, as she added, with a wicked glance,—
She paused with a shiver, as if the word were too hard to say, and Sidney turned to her with a bright smile, which shifted to a mix of pain and anger as she added, with a sly look,—
“Wear spectacles.”
"Use glasses."
“Amy, you’ve got no heart!” he cried, in a tone that banished her last doubt of his love and made her whisper tenderly, as she clung to his arm,—
“Amy, you’re heartless!” he exclaimed, in a tone that erased her final doubt about his love and made her whisper affectionately, as she held onto his arm,—
“No, dear; I’ve given it all to you.”
“No, sweetheart; I’ve given it all to you.”
Punctual to the minute, Major Erskine marched into the salon, with Mrs. Cumberland on his arm, exclaiming, as he eyed the four young people together again,—
Punctual to the minute, Major Erskine marched into the salon, with Mrs. Cumberland on his arm, exclaiming, as he looked at the four young people together again,—
“Now, ladies, is it to be ‘Paradise Lost’ or ‘Regained’ for the prisoners at the bar?”
“Now, ladies, is it going to be ‘Paradise Lost’ or ‘Regained’ for the defendants at the bar?”
At this point the astonished gentleman found himself taken possession of by four excited individuals, for the girls embraced and kissed him, the young men wrung his hand and thanked him, and all seemed bent on assuring him that they were intensely happy, grateful and affectionate.
At this point, the surprised gentleman was surrounded by four eager individuals. The girls hugged and kissed him, the young men shook his hand and thanked him, and everyone seemed determined to show him just how happy, grateful, and affectionate they were.
From this assault he emerged flushed and breathless, but beaming with satisfaction, and saying paternally,—
From this attack, he came out red-faced and out of breath, but smiling with satisfaction and saying in a fatherly tone,—
“Bless you, my children, bless you. I hoped and worked for this, and to prove how well I practise what I preach, let me present to you—my wife.”
“Bless you, my children, bless you. I hoped and worked for this, and to show you how well I practice what I preach, let me introduce you to—my wife.”
As he drew forward the plump widow with a face full of smiles and tears, a second rush was made, and congratulations, salutes, exclamations and embraces were indulged in to every one’s satisfaction.
As he brought the cheerful widow, whose face was a mix of smiles and tears, closer, there was another surge of excitement, and everyone exchanged congratulations, greetings, exclamations, and hugs to their heart's content.
As the excitement subsided the major said, simply,—
As the excitement faded, the major said, simply,—
“We were married yesterday at Montreaux. Let me hope that you will prove as faithful as I have been, as happy as I am, as blest as I shall be. I loved this lady in my youth, have waited many years, and am rewarded at last, for love never comes too late.”
“We got married yesterday in Montreux. I hope you will be as faithful as I have been, as happy as I am, and as blessed as I will be. I loved this woman when I was younger, waited many years, and finally got my reward because love never comes too late.”
The falter in his cheery voice, the dimness of his eyes, the smile on his lips, and the gesture with which he returned the pressure of the hand upon his arm, told the little romance of the good major’s life more eloquently than pages of fine writing, and touched the hearts of those who loved him.
The wobble in his cheerful voice, the dullness in his eyes, the smile on his face, and the way he squeezed the hand on his arm revealed the small love story of the good major’s life more powerfully than pages of elegant writing, and moved the hearts of those who cared about him.
“I have been faithful for eleven years. Give me my reward soon, won’t you, dear?” whispered Sidney.
“I’ve been loyal for eleven years. Could you give me my reward soon, please, dear?” whispered Sidney.
“Don’t marry me to-morrow, and if mamma is willing I’ll think about it by and by,” answered Amy.
“Don’t marry me tomorrow, and if mom is okay with it, I’ll think about it later,” replied Amy.
“It is beautiful! let us go and do likewise,” said Sigismund to his betrothed.
“It’s beautiful! Let’s go and do the same,” said Sigismund to his fiancée.
But Helen, anxious to turn the thoughts of all from emotions too deep for words, drew from her pocket a small pearl-colored object, which she gave to Amy with mock solemnity, as she said, turning to lay her hand again in her lover’s,—
But Helen, eager to shift everyone's focus away from feelings too intense to express, pulled out a small pearl-colored object from her pocket and handed it to Amy with a playful seriousness, saying as she turned to place her hand once more in her lover’s,—
“Amy, our search is over. You may keep the gloves; I have the baron.”
“Amy, our search is done. You can keep the gloves; I have the baron.”
MY RED CAP.
"Someone who works well shouldn't be afraid to ask for their pay."
I.
IT was under a blue cap that I first saw the honest face of Joe Collins. In the third year of the late war a Maine regiment was passing through Boston, on its way to Washington. The Common was all alive with troops and the spectators who clustered round them to say God-speed, as the brave fellows marched away to meet danger and death for our sakes.
IT was under a blue cap that I first saw the genuine face of Joe Collins. In the third year of the recent war, a Maine regiment was passing through Boston on its way to Washington. The Common was buzzing with troops and the spectators who gathered around them to wish them well as the brave soldiers marched off to face danger and death for us.
Every one was eager to do something; and, as the men stood at ease, the people mingled freely with them, offering gifts, hearty grips of the hand, and hopeful prophecies of victory in the end. Irresistibly attracted, my boy Tom and I drew near, and soon, becoming excited by the scene, ravaged the fruit-stands in our neighborhood for tokens of our regard, mingling candy and congratulations, peanuts and prayers, apples and applause, in one enthusiastic jumble.
Everyone was eager to do something, and as the men relaxed, the crowd mingled with them, offering gifts, warm handshakes, and optimistic predictions of victory in the end. Drawn in by the excitement, my friend Tom and I moved closer and, getting caught up in the atmosphere, raided the nearby fruit stands for tokens of our appreciation, mixing candy and congratulations, peanuts and wishes, apples and cheers in one enthusiastic mix.
While Tom was off on his third raid, my attention was attracted by a man who stood a little apart, looking as if his thoughts were far away. All the men were fine, stalwart fellows, as Maine men usually are; but this one over-topped his comrades, standing straight and tall as a Norway pine, with a face full of the mingled shrewdness, sobriety, and self-possession of the typical New Englander. I liked the look of him; and, seeing that he seemed solitary, even in a crowd, I offered him my last apple with a word of interest. The keen blue eyes met mine gratefully, and the apple began to vanish in vigorous bites as we talked; for no one thought of ceremony at such a time.
While Tom was away on his third raid, I noticed a man who stood a little off to the side, looking like his mind was elsewhere. All the guys were strong, tough men, as Maine men usually are; but this one towered over his peers, standing tall and straight like a Norway pine, with a face that showed the mix of sharpness, seriousness, and calm typical of New Englanders. I liked how he looked; and since he seemed a bit alone even in a crowd, I offered him my last apple with a friendly word. His sharp blue eyes met mine with appreciation, and the apple quickly disappeared in hearty bites as we chatted; no one was concerned with formalities at that moment.
“Where are you from?”
“Where are you from?”
“Woolidge, ma’am.”
"Woolidge, ma'am."
“Are you glad to go?”
“Are you happy to go?”
“Wal, there’s two sides to that question. I calk’late to do my duty, and do it hearty; but it is rough on a feller leavin’ his folks, for good, maybe.”
"Well, there are two sides to that question. I expect to do my duty and do it wholeheartedly; but it is tough for a guy to leave his family, possibly for good."
There was a sudden huskiness in the man’s voice that was not apple-skins, though he tried to make believe that it was. I knew a word about home would comfort him, so I went on with my questions.
There was a sudden roughness in the man's voice that wasn't from apple peels, even though he tried to pretend it was. I knew that mentioning home would make him feel better, so I kept asking my questions.
“It is very hard. Do you leave a family?”
“It’s really tough. Are you leaving your family?”
“My old mother, a sick brother,—and Lucindy.”
“My elderly mother, a sick brother—and Lucindy.”
The last word was uttered in a tone of intense regret, and his brown cheek reddened as he added hastily, to hide some embarrassment,—
The last word was spoken with a deep sense of regret, and his brown cheek flushed as he quickly added, trying to cover up his embarrassment,—
“You see, Jim went last year, and got pretty well used up; so I felt as if I’d ought to take my turn now. Mother was a regular old hero about it and I dropped everything, and come off. Lucindy didn’t think it was my duty; and that made it awful hard, I tell you.”
“You see, Jim went last year and really got worn out, so I felt like it was my turn now. Mom was incredibly supportive about it, and I dropped everything to come. Lucindy didn’t think it was my responsibility, and that made it really tough, I’m telling you.”
“Wives are less patriotic than mothers,” I began; but he would not hear Lucindy blamed, and said quickly,—
“Wives are less patriotic than mothers,” I started; but he wouldn’t let me blame Lucindy and quickly said,—
“She ain’t my wife yet, but we calk’lated to be married in a month or so; and it was wus for her than for me, women lot so on not being disappointed. I couldn’t shirk, and here I be. When I git to work, I shall be all right: the first wrench is the tryin’ part.”
“She isn’t my wife yet, but we plan to get married in a month or so; and it’s worse for her than for me, women really hate being let down. I can’t back out, and here I am. When I get to work, I’ll be fine: the first step is the toughest part.”
Here he straightened his broad shoulders, and turned his face toward the flags fluttering far in front, as if no backward look should betray the longing of his heart for mother, home, and wife. I liked that little glimpse of character; and when Tom returned with empty hands, reporting that every stall was exhausted, I told him to find out what the man would like best, then run across the street and get it.
Here, he straightened his broad shoulders and turned his face toward the flags waving in the distance, as if he didn't want to look back and reveal the yearning in his heart for his mother, home, and wife. I appreciated that little glimpse into his character; when Tom returned empty-handed, saying that every stall was out of supplies, I told him to figure out what the man would want the most and then run across the street to get it.
“I know without asking. Give us your purse, and I’ll make him as happy as a king,” said the boy, laughing, as he looked up admiringly at our tall friend, who looked down on him with an elder-brotherly air pleasant to see. While Tom was gone, I found out Joe’s name and business, promised to write and tell his mother how finely the regiment went off, and was just expressing a hope that we might meet again, for I too was going to the war as nurse, when the order to “Fall in!” came rolling down the ranks, and the talk was over. Fearing Tom would miss our man in the confusion, I kept my eye on him till the boy came rushing up with a packet of tobacco in one hand and a good supply of cigars in the other. Not a romantic offering, certainly, but a very acceptable one, as Joe’s face proved, as we scrambled these treasures into his pockets, all laughing at the flurry, while less fortunate comrades helped us, with an eye to a share of these fragrant luxuries by and by. There was just time for this, a hearty shake of the big hand, and a grateful “Good-by, ma’am;” then the word was given, and they were off. Bent on seeing the last of them, Tom and I took a short cut, and came out on the wide street down which so many troops marched that year; and, mounting some high steps, we watched for our man, as we already called him.
“I know without asking. Just give us your purse, and I’ll make him as happy as a king,” the boy said, laughing as he looked up admiringly at our tall friend, who looked down at him with a nice big-brother vibe. While Tom was away, I found out Joe’s name and what he did, promised to write and tell his mom how well the regiment left, and was just hoping we could meet again, since I was also going to the war as a nurse, when the order to “Fall in!” echoed down the ranks, and our conversation ended. Worried that Tom would lose track of our guy in the chaos, I kept my eye on him until the boy ran up with a packet of tobacco in one hand and a good supply of cigars in the other. Not the most romantic gift, for sure, but a very welcome one, as Joe’s face showed when we stuffed those treasures into his pockets, all of us laughing at the excitement, while less lucky comrades helped us out, hoping for a share of those fragrant luxuries later. There was just enough time for this, a hearty handshake, and a grateful “Goodbye, ma’am;” then the command was given, and they were off. Eager to catch a last glimpse of them, Tom and I took a shortcut and ended up on the wide street where so many troops marched that year; climbing some high steps, we watched for our man, as we had started calling him.
As the inspiring music, the grand tramp, drew near, the old thrill went through the crowd, the old cheer broke out. But it was a different scene now than in the first enthusiastic, hopeful days. Young men and ardent boys filled the ranks then, brave by instinct, burning with loyal zeal, and blissfully unconscious of all that lay before them. Now the blue coats were worn by mature men, some gray, all grave and resolute: husbands and fathers, with the memory of wives and children tugging at their heart-strings; homes left desolate behind them, and before them the grim certainty of danger, hardship, and perhaps the life-long helplessness worse than death. Little of the glamour of romance about the war now: they saw it as it was, a long, hard task; and here were the men to do it well. Even the lookers-on were different now. Once all was wild enthusiasm and glad uproar; now men’s lips were set, and women’s smileless as they cheered; fewer handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyes needed them; and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their stillness, followed the acclamations of the crowd. All watched with quickened breath and brave souls that living wave, blue below, and bright with a steely glitter above, as it flowed down the street and away to distant battle-fields already stained with precious blood.
As the inspiring music and the grand march approached, an old thrill ran through the crowd, and the familiar cheer erupted. But this scene was different now compared to those early, hopeful days. Back then, young men and eager boys filled the ranks, instinctively brave, ignited with loyalty, and blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. Now, the blue uniforms were worn by older men, some with gray hair, all serious and determined: husbands and fathers, with memories of their wives and children pulling at their hearts; homes left empty behind them, and ahead of them, the harsh reality of danger, struggle, and the possibility of a lasting helplessness worse than death. The romance of war had faded: they saw it for what it truly was, a long, hard challenge; and here were the men ready to face it head-on. Even the onlookers were different now. Once, there had been wild enthusiasm and joyful noise; now, men’s expressions were set, and women cheered without smiles; fewer handkerchiefs waved in the air, as tearful eyes needed them; and sudden silences, almost solemn in their stillness, followed the crowd's cheers. All watched with bated breath and brave hearts that living wave, blue below and shining with a steely gleam above, as it flowed down the street and away to the far-off battlefields already stained with precious blood.
“There he is! The outside man, and tallest of the lot. Give him a cheer, auntie: he sees us, and remembers!” cried Tom, nearly tumbling off his perch, as he waved his hat, and pointed out Joe Collins.
“There he is! The guy outside, and the tallest of them all. Give him a cheer, auntie: he can see us, and remembers!” shouted Tom, almost falling off his spot, as he waved his hat and pointed at Joe Collins.
Yes, there he was, looking up, with a smile on his brave brown face, my little nosegay in his button-hole, a suspicious bulge in the pocket close by, and doubtless a comfortable quid in his mouth, to cheer the weary march. How like an old friend he looked, though we had only met fifteen minutes ago; how glad we were to be there to smile back at him, and send him on his way feeling that, even in a strange city, there was some one to say, “God bless you, Joe!” We watched the tallest blue cap till it vanished, and then went home in a glow of patriotism,—Tom to long for his turn to come, I to sew vigorously on the gray gown the new nurse burned to wear as soon as possible, and both of us to think and speak often of poor Joe Collins and his Lucindy. All this happened long ago; but it is well to recall those stirring times,—to keep fresh the memory of sacrifices made for us by men like these; to see to it that the debt we owe them is honestly, gladly paid; and, while we decorate the graves of those who died, to remember also those who still live to deserve our grateful care.
Yes, there he was, looking up with a smile on his brave brown face, my little bouquet in his buttonhole, a suspicious bulge in the pocket nearby, and probably a comforting chew in his mouth to help get through the long walk. He looked so much like an old friend, even though we had only met fifteen minutes ago; how happy we were to be there to smile back at him and send him on his way feeling that, even in a strange city, there was someone to say, “God bless you, Joe!” We watched the tallest blue cap until it disappeared, and then we went home filled with patriotism—Tom longing for his turn to come, and I sewing vigorously on the gray gown that the new nurse was eager to wear as soon as possible, and both of us thinking and talking often about poor Joe Collins and his Lucindy. All of this happened a long time ago; but it’s good to remember those stirring times—to keep fresh the memory of the sacrifices made for us by men like these; to ensure that the debt we owe them is paid honestly and gladly; and, while we decorate the graves of those who died, to also remember those who are still alive and deserve our grateful care.
II.
I never expected to see Joe again; but, six months later, we did meet in a Washington hospital one winter’s night. A train of ambulances had left their sad freight at our door, and we were hurrying to get the poor fellows into much-needed beds, after a week of hunger, cold, and unavoidable neglect. All forms of pain were in my ward that night, and all borne with the pathetic patience which was a daily marvel to those who saw it.
I never expected to see Joe again; but, six months later, we ran into each other in a Washington hospital one winter night. A line of ambulances had dropped off their unfortunate passengers at our door, and we were rushing to get the poor guys into much-needed beds after a week of hunger, cold, and unavoidable neglect. Every kind of pain was present in my ward that night, and all of it was endured with the heartbreaking patience that was a daily wonder to those who witnessed it.
Trying to bring order out of chaos, I was rushing up and down the narrow aisle between the rows of rapidly filling beds, and, after brushing several times against a pair of the largest and muddiest boots I ever saw, I paused at last to inquire why they were impeding the passage-way. I found they belonged to a very tall man who seemed to be already asleep or dead, so white and still and utterly worn out he looked as he lay there, without a coat, a great patch on his forehead, and the right arm rudely bundled up. Stooping to cover him, I saw that he was unconscious, and, whipping out my brandy-bottle and salts, soon brought him round, for it was only exhaustion.
Trying to bring order to the chaos, I was rushing up and down the narrow aisle between the rows of quickly filling beds. After bumping several times against a pair of the biggest and muddiest boots I’d ever seen, I finally stopped to ask why they were blocking the passageway. I discovered they belonged to a very tall man who looked like he was already asleep or possibly dead—so pale, still, and completely worn out he appeared as he lay there, without a coat, with a large bruise on his forehead and his right arm awkwardly bandaged. Leaning down to cover him, I saw that he was unconscious, and pulling out my brandy bottle and salts, I quickly revived him, as it was just exhaustion.
“Can you eat?” I asked, as he said, “Thanky, ma’am,” after a long draught of water and a dizzy stare.
“Can you eat?” I asked, as he replied, “Thank you, ma’am,” after a long drink of water and a dazed look.
“Eat! I’m starvin’!” he answered, with such a ravenous glance at a fat nurse who happened to be passing, that I trembled for her, and hastened to take a bowl of soup from her tray.
“Eat! I’m starving!” he replied, with such a hungry look at a plump nurse who was walking by, that I felt worried for her and quickly grabbed a bowl of soup from her tray.
As I fed him, his gaunt, weather-beaten face had a familiar look; but so many such faces had passed before me that winter, I did not recall this one till the ward-master came to put up the cards with the new-comers’ names above their beds. My man seemed absorbed in his food; but I naturally glanced at the card, and there was the name “Joseph Collins” to give me an additional interest in my new patient.
As I fed him, his thin, weathered face looked familiar; but so many faces like that had come and gone during that winter, I didn’t recognize this one until the ward-master came to put up the cards with the newcomers’ names above their beds. My patient seemed focused on his food; but I naturally looked at the card, and there was the name “Joseph Collins,” which added more interest in my new patient.
“Why, Joe! is it really you?” I exclaimed, pouring the last spoonful of soup down his throat so hastily that I choked him.
“Why, Joe! Is it really you?” I said, pouring the last spoonful of soup down his throat so quickly that I almost choked him.
“All that’s left of me. Wal, ain’t this luck, now?” gasped Joe, as gratefully as if that hospital-cot was a bed of roses.
“All that’s left of me. Well, isn’t this lucky, huh?” gasped Joe, as gratefully as if that hospital bed was a bed of roses.
“What is the matter? A wound in the head and arm?” I asked, feeling sure that no slight affliction had brought Joe there.
“What’s wrong? A head and arm injury?” I asked, certain that something serious had brought Joe here.
“Right arm gone. Shot off as slick as a whistle. I tell you, it’s a sing’lar kind of a feelin’ to see a piece of your own body go flyin’ away, with no prospect of ever coming back again,” said Joe, trying to make light of one of the greatest misfortunes a man can suffer.
“Right arm gone. Shot off just like that. I tell you, it’s a strange feeling to see a part of your own body go flying away, with no chance of ever getting it back,” said Joe, trying to make light of one of the worst things that can happen to a person.
“That is bad, but it might have been worse. Keep up your spirits, Joe; and we will soon have you fitted out with a new arm almost as good as new.”
"That’s unfortunate, but it could have been worse. Stay positive, Joe; and soon we’ll get you set up with a new arm that’s nearly as good as new."
“I guess it won’t do much lumberin’, so that trade is done for. I s’pose there’s things left-handed fellers can do, and I must learn ’em as soon as possible, since my fightin’ days are over,” and Joe looked at his one arm with a sigh that was almost a groan, helplessness is such a trial to a manly man,—and he was eminently so.
“I guess there won’t be much lumbering, so that job is over. I suppose there are things left-handed guys can do, and I need to learn them as quickly as I can since my fighting days are over,” Joe said, looking at his one arm with a sigh that was almost a groan; helplessness is such a struggle for a manly man—and he was definitely that.
“What can I do to comfort you most, Joe? I’ll send my good Ben to help you to bed, and will be here myself when the surgeon goes his rounds. Is there anything else that would make you more easy?”
“What can I do to comfort you the most, Joe? I’ll send my good Ben to help you to bed, and I’ll be here myself when the surgeon does his rounds. Is there anything else that would make you feel more comfortable?”
“If you could just drop a line to mother to let her know I’m alive, it would be a sight of comfort to both of us. I guess I’m in for a long spell of hospital, and I’d lay easier if I knew mother and Lucindy warn’t frettin’ about me.”
“If you could just send a quick message to Mom to let her know I’m okay, it would really reassure both of us. I think I’ll be in the hospital for a while, and I'd feel better if I knew Mom and Lucindy weren't worrying about me.”
He must have been suffering terribly, but he thought of the women who loved him before himself, and, busy as I was, I snatched a moment to send a few words of hope to the old mother. Then I left him “layin’ easy,” though the prospect of some months of wearing pain would have daunted most men. If I had needed anything to increase my regard for Joe, it would have been the courage with which he bore a very bad quarter of an hour with the surgeons; for his arm was in a dangerous state, the wound in the head feverish for want of care; and a heavy cold on the lungs suggested pneumonia as an added trial to his list of ills.
He must have been in so much pain, but he thought of the women who cared about him before thinking of himself. Even though I was busy, I took a moment to send a few words of hope to his mother. Then I left him “lying easy,” even though the thought of months of ongoing pain would have intimidated most people. If I needed anything to increase my admiration for Joe, it was the courage he showed during a really tough fifteen minutes with the surgeons; his arm was in a serious condition, the wound on his head was becoming infected due to lack of care, and a bad cold in his lungs hinted at pneumonia as yet another challenge he faced.
“He will have a hard time of it, but I think he will pull through, as he is a temperate fellow, with a splendid constitution,” was the doctor’s verdict, as he left us for the next man, who was past help, with a bullet through his lungs.
“He's going to struggle, but I believe he’ll make it, since he’s a level-headed guy with a strong constitution,” was the doctor’s verdict as he left us for the next patient, who was beyond saving, with a bullet in his lungs.
“I don’no as I hanker to live, and be a burden. If Jim was able to do for mother, I feel as if I wouldn’t mind steppin’ out now I’m so fur along. As he ain’t, I s’pose I must brace up, and do the best I can,” said Joe, as I wiped the drops from his forehead, and tried to look as if his prospect was a bright one.
“I don’t know if I want to keep living and be a burden. If Jim could take care of mom, I feel like I wouldn’t mind stepping out now that I’m so far along. Since he can’t, I guess I should toughen up and do the best I can,” said Joe, as I wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to look like his future was a bright one.
“You will have Lucindy to help you, you know; and that will make things easier for all.”
“You’ll have Lucindy to help you, you know; and that will make everything easier for everyone.”
“Think so? ’Pears to me I couldn’t ask her to take care of three invalids for my sake. She ain’t no folks of her own, nor much means, and ought to marry a man who can make things easy for her. Guess I’ll have to wait a spell longer before I say anything to Lucindy about marryin’ now;” and a look of resolute resignation settled on Joe’s haggard face as he gave up his dearest hope.
“Think so? It seems to me I can’t ask her to take care of three sick people for my sake. She doesn’t have any family of her own or much money, and she should marry someone who can make things easier for her. I guess I’ll have to wait a while longer before I say anything to Lucindy about getting married now;” and a look of determined acceptance settled on Joe’s tired face as he let go of his biggest hope.
“I think Lucindy will have something to say, if she is like most women, and you will find the burdens much lighter, for sharing them between you. Don’t worry about that, but get well, and go home as soon as you can.”
“I think Lucindy will have something to say, if she’s like most women, and you’ll find the burdens a lot lighter when you share them. Don’t worry about that, just focus on getting better and go home as soon as you can.”
“All right, ma’am;” and Joe proved himself a good soldier by obeying orders, and falling asleep like a tired child, as the first step toward recovery.
“All right, ma’am;” and Joe showed he was a good soldier by following orders and falling asleep like a tired child, taking the first step toward recovery.
For two months I saw Joe daily, and learned to like him very much, he was so honest, genuine, and kind-hearted. So did his mates, for he made friends with them all by sharing such small luxuries as came to him, for he was a favorite; and, better still, he made sunshine in that sad place by the brave patience with which he bore his own troubles, the cheerful consolation he always gave to others. A droll fellow was Joe at times, for under his sobriety lay much humor; and I soon discovered that a visit from him was more efficacious than other cordials in cases of despondency and discontent. Roars of laughter sometimes greeted me as I went into his ward, and Joe’s jokes were passed round as eagerly as the water-pitcher.
For two months, I saw Joe every day and grew to really like him. He was so honest, genuine, and kind-hearted. His friends felt the same way because he built friendships with everyone by sharing the little luxuries he received, as he was a favorite. Even better, he brought a sense of joy to that gloomy place with the brave patience he showed while dealing with his own problems, and the cheerful support he always offered to others. Joe could be quite funny at times; beneath his serious demeanor, he had a lot of humor. I quickly realized that a visit from him was more effective than other pick-me-ups for dealing with sadness and dissatisfaction. Roars of laughter often welcomed me as I entered his ward, and Joe’s jokes were shared as eagerly as the water pitcher.
Yet he had much to try him, not only in the ills that vexed his flesh, but the cares that tried his spirit, and the future that lay before him, full of anxieties and responsibilities which seemed so heavy now when the strong right arm, that had cleared all obstacles away before, was gone. The letters I wrote for him, and those he received, told the little story very plainly; for he read them to me, and found much comfort in talking over his affairs, as most men do when illness makes them dependent on a woman. Jim was evidently sick and selfish. Lucindy, to judge from the photograph cherished so tenderly under Joe’s pillow, was a pretty, weak sort of a girl, with little character or courage to help poor Joe with his burdens. The old mother was very like her son, and stood by him “like a hero,” as he said, but was evidently failing, and begged him to come home as soon as he was able, that she might see him comfortably settled before she must leave him. Her courage sustained his, and the longing to see her hastened his departure as soon as it was safe to let him go; for Lucindy’s letters were always of a dismal sort, and made him anxious to put his shoulder to the wheel.
Yet he had a lot to deal with, not just the physical pains that troubled him, but also the worries that weighed on his mind and the future ahead, full of anxieties and responsibilities that felt so heavy now that his strong right arm, which had cleared all obstacles before, was gone. The letters I wrote for him, and those he received, clearly told the little story; he read them to me and found a lot of comfort in discussing his situation, like most men do when illness makes them reliant on a woman. Jim was clearly sick and a bit selfish. Lucindy, judging by the photograph he cherished so dearly under Joe’s pillow, was a pretty, fragile girl, lacking the character or strength to help poor Joe with his burdens. The old mother resembled her son and stood by him “like a hero,” as he said, but was clearly fading and urged him to come home as soon as he could, so she could see him settled before she had to leave him. Her courage supported his, and the desire to see her sped up his departure as soon as it was safe to let him go; because Lucindy’s letters were always gloomy, and they made him anxious to pitch in and help.
“She always set consider’ble by me, mother did, bein’ the oldest; and I wouldn’t miss makin’ her last days happy, not if it cost me all the arms and legs I’ve got,” said Joe, as he awkwardly struggled into the big boots an hour after leave to go home was given him.
“She always meant a lot to me, my mom did, being the oldest; and I wouldn’t miss making her last days happy, not if it cost me all the arms and legs I have,” said Joe, as he awkwardly put on the big boots an hour after he was given leave to go home.
It was pleasant to see his comrades gather round him with such hearty adieus that his one hand must have tingled; to hear the good wishes and the thanks called after him by pale creatures in their beds; and to find tears in many eyes beside my own when he was gone, and nothing was left of him but the empty cot, the old gray wrapper, and the name upon the wall.
It was nice to see his friends gather around him with such heartfelt goodbyes that his one hand must have felt tingly; to hear the well-wishes and thanks shouted after him by weak figures in their beds; and to notice tears in many eyes besides my own when he was gone, leaving nothing behind but the empty bed, the old gray blanket, and the name on the wall.
I kept that card among my other relics, and hoped to meet Joe again somewhere in the world. He sent me one or two letters, then I went home; the war ended soon after, time passed, and the little story of my Maine lumberman was laid away with many other experiences which made that part of my life a very memorable one.
I held onto that card with my other keepsakes, hoping to see Joe again somewhere in the world. He sent me a couple of letters, then I went home; the war wrapped up shortly after, time went on, and the brief tale of my Maine lumberman was tucked away with many other experiences that made that time in my life truly memorable.
III.
Some years later, as I looked out of my window one dull November day, the only cheerful thing I saw was the red cap of a messenger who was examining the slate that hung on a wall opposite my hotel. A tall man with gray hair and beard, one arm, and a blue army-coat. I always salute, figuratively at least, when I see that familiar blue, especially if one sleeve of the coat is empty; so I watched the messenger with interest as he trudged away on some new errand, wishing he had a better day and a thicker pair of boots. He was an unusually large, well-made man, and reminded me of a fine building going to ruin before its time; for the broad shoulders were bent, there was a stiffness about the long legs suggestive of wounds or rheumatism, and the curly hair looked as if snow had fallen on it too soon. Sitting at work in my window, I fell into the way of watching my Red Cap, as I called him, with more interest than I did the fat doves on the roof opposite, or the pert sparrows hopping in the mud below. I liked the steady way in which he plodded on through fair weather or foul, as if intent on doing well the one small service he had found to do. I liked his cheerful whistle as he stood waiting for a job under the porch of the public building where his slate hung, watching the luxurious carriages roll by, and the well-to-do gentlemen who daily passed him to their comfortable homes, with a steady, patient sort of face, as if wondering at the inequalities of fortune, yet neither melancholy nor morose over the small share of prosperity which had fallen to his lot.
Some years later, as I looked out of my window on a dreary November day, the only bright spot I noticed was the red cap of a messenger checking the slate on the wall opposite my hotel. He was a tall man with gray hair and a beard, one arm, and a blue army coat. I always give a nod, at least in spirit, when I see that familiar blue, especially when one sleeve of the coat is empty; so I watched the messenger with interest as he trudged away on another errand, hoping he had a better day and sturdier boots. He was an unusually large, well-built guy, and he reminded me of a fine building falling into disrepair too soon; his broad shoulders were slumped, there was a stiffness in his long legs that hinted at injuries or arthritis, and his curly hair looked like it had been dusted with snow too early. As I worked at my window, I found myself watching my Red Cap, as I called him, with more interest than the fat pigeons on the roof opposite or the cheeky sparrows hopping in the mud below. I appreciated the steady way he pushed through whatever the weather threw at him, as if focused on doing the small task he had found for himself. I liked his cheerful whistle as he stood waiting for a job under the porch of the public building where his slate hung, watching the fancy carriages pass by and the well-off gentlemen who walked by him daily toward their comfortable homes, with a calm, patient expression, as if pondering the unfairness of fate, yet not feeling sad or bitter about the little bit of prosperity that had come his way.
I often planned to give him a job, that I might see him nearer; but I had few errands, and little Bob, the hall-boy, depended on doing those: so the winter was nearly over before I found out that my Red Cap was an old friend.
I often intended to give him a job so I could see him more often, but I had few tasks to handle, and little Bob, the hall-boy, relied on taking care of those. So, by the time winter was almost over, I discovered that my Red Cap was actually an old friend.
A parcel came for me one day, and bidding the man wait for an answer, I sat down to write it, while the messenger stood just inside the door like a sentinel on duty. When I looked up to give my note and directions, I found the man staring at me with a beaming yet bashful face, as he nodded, saying heartily,—
A package arrived for me one day, and after asking the delivery guy to wait for my response, I sat down to write a note while he stood just inside the door like a guard on patrol. When I looked up to hand him my note and instructions, I found him looking at me with a bright yet shy expression, nodding and saying enthusiastically,—
“I mistrusted it was you, ma’am, soon’s I see the name on the bundle, and I guess I ain’t wrong. It’s a number of years sence we met, and you don’t remember Joe Collins as well as he does you, I reckon?”
“I had a feeling it was you, ma’am, as soon as I saw the name on the package, and I guess I wasn’t wrong. It’s been a few years since we met, and I suppose you don’t remember Joe Collins as well as he remembers you, right?”
“Why, how you have changed! I’ve been seeing you every day all winter, and never knew you,” I said, shaking hands with my old patient, and very glad to see him.
“Wow, you’ve really changed! I’ve been seeing you every day this winter and never realized it,” I said, shaking hands with my old patient and feeling very glad to see him.
“Nigh on to twenty years makes consid’able of a change in folks, ’specially if they have a pretty hard row to hoe.”
“Nineteen years brings a significant change in people, especially if they've had a pretty tough time.”
“Sit down and warm yourself while you tell me all about it; there is no hurry for this answer, and I’ll pay for your time.”
“Sit down and warm up while you tell me all about it; take your time with the answer, and I’ll pay for your time.”
Joe laughed as if that was a good joke, and sat down as if the fire was quite as welcome as the friend.
Joe laughed like it was a great joke and sat down as if the fire was just as welcomed as the friend.
“How are they all at home?” I asked, as he sat turning his cap round, not quite knowing where to begin.
“How's everyone at home?” I asked, as he sat there fiddling with his cap, unsure of where to start.
“I haven’t got any home nor any folks neither;” and the melancholy words banished the brightness from his rough face like a cloud. “Mother died soon after I got back. Suddin’, but she was ready, and I was there, so she was happy. Jim lived a number of years, and was a sight of care, poor feller; but we managed to rub along, though we had to sell the farm: for I couldn’t do much with one arm, and doctor’s bills right along stiddy take a heap of money. He was as comfortable as he could be; and, when he was gone, it wasn’t no great matter, for there was only me, and I don’t mind roughin’ it.”
“I don’t have a home or any family either,” and the sad words wiped the smile off his rough face like a passing cloud. “My mom died soon after I got back. Sudden, but she was ready, and I was there, so she was happy. Jim lived for several years, and he was a lot of work, poor guy; but we managed to get by, even though we had to sell the farm, since I couldn’t do much with one arm, and the doctor’s bills kept piling up. He was as comfortable as he could be; and when he passed, it wasn’t a big deal, because it was just me, and I don’t mind toughing it out.”
“But Lucindy, where was she?” I asked very naturally.
“But Lucindy, where is she?” I asked casually.
“Oh! she married another man long ago. Couldn’t expect her to take me and my misfortins. She’s doin’ well, I hear, and that’s a comfort anyway.”
“Oh! she married another guy a long time ago. I couldn’t expect her to take me and my bad luck. I hear she’s doing well, and that’s a relief, at least.”
There was a look on Joe’s face, a tone in Joe’s voice as he spoke, that plainly showed how much he had needed comfort when left to bear his misfortunes all alone. But he made no complaint, uttered no reproach, and loyally excused Lucindy’s desertion with a simple sort of dignity that made it impossible to express pity or condemnation.
There was an expression on Joe’s face and a tone in his voice as he spoke that clearly showed how much he needed comfort when he was left to face his troubles all alone. But he didn’t complain, didn’t blame anyone, and gracefully accepted Lucindy’s abandonment with a kind of dignity that made it hard to feel sorry for him or criticize him.
“How came you here, Joe?” I asked, making a sudden leap from past to present.
“How did you get here, Joe?” I asked, suddenly jumping from the past to the present.
“I had to scratch for a livin’, and can’t do much; so, after tryin’ a number of things, I found this. My old wounds pester me a good deal, and rheumatism is bad winters; but, while my legs hold out, I can git on. A man can’t set down and starve; so I keep waggin’ as long as I can. When I can’t do no more, I s’pose there’s almshouse and hospital ready for me.”
“I had to scrape by to make a living, and I can’t do much; so, after trying a few things, I found this. My old injuries bother me quite a bit, and the rheumatism gets really bad in the winter; but as long as my legs hold up, I can manage. A person can’t just sit around and starve; so I keep going as long as I can. When I can’t do it anymore, I guess there’s an almshouse and a hospital waiting for me.”
“That is a dismal prospect, Joe. There ought to be a comfortable place for such as you to spend your last days in. I am sure you have earned it.”
“That’s a grim outlook, Joe. There should be a nice place for someone like you to spend your final days. I’m sure you deserve it.”
“Wal, it does seem ruther hard on us when we’ve give all we had, and give it free and hearty, to be left to knock about in our old age. But there’s so many poor folks to be took care of, we don’t get much of a chance, for we ain’t the beggin’ sort,” said Joe, with a wistful look at the wintry world outside, as if it would be better to lie quiet under the snow, than to drag out his last painful years, friendless and forgotten, in some refuge of the poor.
“Well, it does seem pretty unfair to us when we've given everything we had, and given it gladly, to be left to wander around in our old age. But there are so many needy people that need taking care of, we don’t get much of a chance, because we aren’t the begging type,” said Joe, with a longing look at the cold world outside, as if it would be better to lie still under the snow than to drag out his last painful years, alone and forgotten, in some poorhouse.
“Some kind people have been talking of a home for soldiers, and I hope the plan will be carried out. It will take time; but, if it comes to pass, you shall be one of the first men to enter that home, Joe, if I can get you there.”
“Some kind-hearted people have been discussing a home for soldiers, and I really hope the plan gets put into action. It will take some time, but if it happens, you will be one of the first to enter that home, Joe, if I can get you there.”
“That sounds mighty cheerin’ and comfortable, thanky, ma’am. Idleness is dreadful tryin’ to me, and I’d ruther wear out than rust out; so I guess I can weather it a spell longer. But it will be pleasant to look forrard to a snug harbor byme-by. I feel a sight better just hearin’ tell about it.” He certainly looked so, faint as the hope was; for the melancholy eyes brightened as if they already saw a happier refuge in the future than almshouse, hospital, or grave, and, when he trudged away upon my errand, he went as briskly as if every step took him nearer to the promised home.
"That sounds really comforting, thank you, ma’am. Doing nothing is really tough for me, and I’d rather wear out than just sit around and rust away; so I guess I can manage it for a little while longer. But it will be nice to look forward to a cozy place someday. I feel a lot better just hearing about it." He definitely looked better, however faint the hope was; his sad eyes lit up as if they already saw a happier refuge in the future than a shelter, hospital, or grave. And when he set off on my errand, he walked as briskly as if every step brought him closer to that promised home.
After that day it was all up with Bob, for I told my neighbors Joe’s story, and we kept him trotting busily, adding little gifts, and taking the sort of interest in him that comforted the lonely fellow, and made him feel that he had not outlived his usefulness. I never looked out when he was at his post that he did not smile back at me; I never passed him in the street that the red cap was not touched with a military flourish; and, when any of us beckoned to him, no twinge of rheumatism was too sharp to keep him from hurrying to do our errands, as if he had Mercury’s winged feet.
After that day, it was all over for Bob because I shared Joe’s story with my neighbors. We kept Joe busy, giving him little gifts and showing him the kind of attention that made him feel comforted and reminded him that he still mattered. Every time I looked out when he was at his post, he smiled back at me; I never walked past him in the street without seeing him give a military salute with his red cap. And whenever any of us called for him, no amount of rheumatism pain could stop him from rushing to run our errands, as if he had Mercury’s winged feet.
Now and then he came in for a chat, and always asked how the Soldiers’ Home was prospering; expressing his opinion that “Boston was the charitablest city under the sun, and he was sure he and his mates would be took care of somehow.”
Now and then he came in to chat and always asked how the Soldiers’ Home was doing, expressing his belief that “Boston was the most charitable city in the world, and he was sure he and his buddies would be taken care of somehow.”
When we parted in the spring, I told him things looked hopeful, bade him be ready for a good long rest as soon as the hospitable doors were open, and left him nodding cheerfully.
When we said goodbye in the spring, I told him things seemed promising, encouraged him to get ready for a nice long break as soon as the welcoming doors were open, and left him smiling happily.
IV.
But in the autumn I looked in vain for Joe. The slate was in its old place, and a messenger came and went on his beat; but a strange face was under the red cap, and this man had two arms and one eye. I asked for Collins, but the new-comer had only a vague idea that he was dead; and the same answer was given me at headquarters, though none of the busy people seemed to know when or where he died. So I mourned for Joe, and felt that it was very hard he could not have lived to enjoy the promised refuge; for, relying upon the charity that never fails, the Home was an actual fact now, just beginning its beneficent career. People were waking up to this duty, money was coming in, meetings were being held, and already a few poor fellows were in the refuge, feeling themselves no longer paupers, but invalid soldiers honorably supported by the State they had served. Talking it over one day with a friend, who spent her life working for the Associated Charities, she said,—
But in the fall, I looked everywhere for Joe. The slate was in its usual spot, and a messenger came and went on his route; but a stranger was wearing the red cap, and this guy had two arms and one eye. I asked about Collins, but the newcomer only vaguely thought he was dead; and I got the same response at headquarters, even though none of the busy staff seemed to know when or where he passed away. So, I mourned for Joe, feeling it was really tough that he couldn't live to enjoy the promised refuge. Trusting in the charity that never fails, the Home was now a reality, just starting its helpful journey. People were realizing this responsibility, money was coming in, meetings were being held, and already a few struggling guys were in the refuge, seeing themselves not as beggars, but as wounded soldiers honorably supported by the State they had served. While discussing it one day with a friend who dedicated her life to the Associated Charities, she said,—
“By the way, there is a man boarding with one of my poor women, who ought to be got into the Home, if he will go. I don’t know much about him, except that he was in the army, has been very ill with rheumatic fever, and is friendless. I asked Mrs. Flanagin how she managed to keep him, and she said she had help while he was sick, and now he is able to hobble about, he takes care of the children, so she is able to go out to work. He won’t go to his own town, because there is nothing for him there but the almshouse, and he dreads a hospital; so struggles along, trying to earn his bread tending babies with his one arm. A sad case, and in your line; I wish you’d look into it.”
"By the way, there’s a man staying with one of my poor women who really should be admitted to the Home if he’s willing. I don’t know much about him, except that he was in the army, has been very sick with rheumatic fever, and has no friends. I asked Mrs. Flanagin how she managed to take care of him, and she said she had some help while he was ill, and now that he can move around a bit, he looks after the kids, allowing her to go out to work. He won’t return to his own town because the only option there is the almshouse, and he’s afraid of going to a hospital; instead, he struggles to make a living taking care of babies with his one arm. It’s a sad situation, which falls under your area of expertise; I wish you’d take a look at it."
“That sounds like my Joe, one arm and all. I’ll go and see him; I’ve a weakness for soldiers, sick or well.”
"That sounds just like my Joe, one arm and all. I’ll go see him; I’ve got a soft spot for soldiers, whether they're sick or healthy."
I went, and never shall forget the pathetic little tableau I saw as I opened Mrs. Flanagin’s dingy door; for she was out, and no one heard my tap. The room was redolent of suds, and in a grove of damp clothes hung on lines sat a man with a crying baby laid across his lap, while he fed three small children standing at his knee with bread and molasses. How he managed with one arm to keep the baby from squirming on to the floor, the plate from upsetting, and to feed the hungry urchins who stood in a row with open mouths, like young birds, was past my comprehension. But he did, trotting baby gently, dealing out sweet morsels patiently, and whistling to himself, as if to beguile his labors cheerfully.
I went in and I’ll never forget the sad little scene I saw as I opened Mrs. Flanagin’s grimy door; she was out, and no one heard me knock. The room smelled of soap, and in a cluster of damp clothes hanging on lines sat a man with a crying baby across his lap, while he fed three small children standing at his knees with bread and molasses. I couldn’t understand how he managed to use one arm to keep the baby from falling to the floor, prevent the plate from tipping over, and feed the hungry little ones who stood in a line with their mouths open, like baby birds. But he did, gently rocking the baby, patiently handing out tasty bites, and whistling to himself, as if to make his work more enjoyable.
The broad back, the long legs, the faded coat, the low whistle were all familiar; and, dodging a wet sheet, I faced the man to find it was indeed my Joe! A mere shadow of his former self, after months of suffering that had crippled him for life, but brave and patient still; trying to help himself, and slow to ask aid though brought so low.
The broad back, the long legs, the worn coat, the low whistle were all familiar; and, dodging a wet sheet, I turned to face the man to discover it was indeed my Joe! A mere shadow of his former self, after months of suffering that had left him crippled for life, but still brave and patient; trying to help himself, and hesitant to ask for help even though he had been brought so low.
For an instant I could not speak to him, and, encumbered with baby, dish, spoon, and children, he could only stare at me with a sudden brightening of the altered face that made it full of welcome before a word was uttered.
For a moment, I couldn't talk to him, and, weighed down with the baby, dish, spoon, and kids, he could only look at me with a sudden brightening of his changed expression that instantly made it welcoming before a single word was spoken.
“They told me you were dead, and I only heard of you by accident, not knowing I should find my old friend alive, but not well, I’m afraid?”
“They said you were dead, and I only found out about you by chance, not realizing I would discover my old friend alive, but not in good shape, I’m afraid?”
“There ain’t much left of me but bones and pain, ma’am. I’m powerful glad to see you all the same. Dust off a chair, Patsey, and let the lady set down. You go in the corner, and take turns lickin’ the dish, while I see company,” said Joe, disbanding his small troop, and shouldering the baby as if presenting arms in honor of his guest.
“There isn’t much left of me but bones and pain, ma’am. I’m really glad to see you all the same. Dust off a chair, Patsey, and let the lady sit down. You go to the corner and take turns licking the dish, while I entertain the guest,” said Joe, disbanding his small group and shouldering the baby as if presenting arms in honor of his guest.
“Why didn’t you let me know how sick you were? And how came they to think you dead?” I asked, as he festooned the wet linen out of the way, and prepared to enjoy himself as best he could.
“Why didn’t you let me know how sick you were? And how did they think you were dead?” I asked, as he moved the wet linen out of the way and got ready to enjoy himself as best he could.
“I did send once, when things was at the wust; but you hadn’t got back, and then somehow I thought I was goin’ to be mustered out for good, and so wouldn’t trouble nobody. But my orders ain’t come yet, and I am doing the fust thing that come along. It ain’t much, but the good soul stood by me, and I ain’t ashamed to pay my debts this way, sence I can’t do it in no other;” and Joe cradled the chubby baby in his one arm as tenderly as if it had been his own, though little Biddy was not an inviting infant.
“I did send a message once, when things were at their worst; but you didn’t respond, and then for some reason I thought I was going to be discharged for good, so I wouldn’t bother anyone. But my orders haven’t come yet, and I’m doing the first thing that came along. It isn’t much, but the good soul supported me, and I’m not ashamed to settle my debts this way, since I can’t do it any other way;” and Joe cradled the chubby baby in his one arm as gently as if it had been his own, even though little Biddy was not exactly a charming infant.
“That is very beautiful and right, Joe, and I honor you for it; but you were not meant to tend babies, so sing your last lullabies, and be ready to go to the Home as soon as I can get you there.”
“That is really beautiful and true, Joe, and I respect you for it; but you weren’t meant to take care of babies, so sing your last lullabies, and be ready to go to the Home as soon as I can get you there.”
“Really, ma’am? I used to lay and kind of dream about it when I couldn’t stir without yellin’ out; but I never thought it would ever come to happen. I see a piece in the paper describing it, and it sounded dreadful nice. Shouldn’t wonder if I found some of my mates there. They were a good lot, and deservin’ of all that could be done for ’em,” said Joe, trotting the baby briskly, as if the prospect excited him, as well it might, for the change from that damp nursery to the comfortable quarters prepared for him would be like going from Purgatory to Paradise.
“Really, ma’am? I used to lie there and sort of dream about it when I couldn’t move without yelling out; but I never thought it would actually happen. I saw an article in the paper describing it, and it sounded really nice. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found some of my friends there. They were a good bunch and deserve everything that can be done for them,” said Joe, bouncing the baby cheerfully, as if the idea excited him, and it definitely would, because the shift from that damp nursery to the cozy living space set up for him would feel like going from Purgatory to Paradise.
“I don’t wonder you don’t get well living in such a place, Joe. You should have gone home to Woolwich, and let your friends help you,” I said, feeling provoked with him for hiding himself.
“I don’t blame you for not getting better living in a place like this, Joe. You should have gone back home to Woolwich and let your friends help you,” I said, feeling frustrated with him for isolating himself.
“No, ma’am!” he answered, with a look I never shall forget, it was so full of mingled patience, pride, and pain. “I haven’t a relation in the world but a couple of poor old aunts, and they couldn’t do any thing for me. As for asking help of folks I used to know, I couldn’t do it; and if you think I’d go to Lucindy, though she is wal off, you don’t know Joe Collins. I’d die fust! If she was poor and I rich, I’d do for her like a brother; but I couldn’t ask no favors of her, not if I begged my vittles in the street, or starved. I forgive, but I don’t forgit in a hurry; and the woman that stood by me when I was down is the woman I believe in, and can take my bread from without shame. Hooray for Biddy Flanagin! God bless her!” and, as if to find a vent for the emotion that filled his eyes with grateful tears, Joe led off the cheer, which the children shrilly echoed, and I joined heartily.
“No, ma’am!” he replied, with a look I’ll never forget, it was so full of mixed patience, pride, and pain. “I don’t have any family in the world except for a couple of poor old aunts, and they can’t help me. As for asking anyone I used to know for help, I just can’t do it; and if you think I’d go to Lucindy, even though she’s well-off, you don’t know Joe Collins. I’d rather die first! If she were poor and I were rich, I would help her like a brother; but I couldn’t ask her for favors, not even if I begged for food in the street or starved. I forgive, but I don’t forget quickly; and the woman who stood by me when I was down is the woman I believe in, and I can take help from her without shame. Hooray for Biddy Flanagin! God bless her!” And, as if to find a way to express the emotion that filled his eyes with grateful tears, Joe started the cheer, which the children loudly echoed, and I joined in wholeheartedly.
“I shall come for you in a few days; so cuddle the baby and make much of the children before you part. It won’t take you long to pack up, will it?” I asked, as we subsided with a general laugh.
“I’ll come for you in a few days, so spend some time with the baby and enjoy the kids before you leave. It won’t take you long to pack, will it?” I asked, as we all settled down with a collective laugh.
“I reckon not as I don’t own any clothes but what I set in, except a couple of old shirts and them socks. My hat’s stoppin’ up the winder, and my old coat is my bed-cover. I’m awful shabby, ma’am, and that’s one reason I don’t go out more. I can hobble some, but I ain’t got used to bein’ a scarecrow yet,” and Joe glanced from the hose without heels that hung on the line to the ragged suit he wore, with a resigned expression that made me long to rush out and buy up half the contents of Oak Hall on the spot.
“I guess not, since I don't have any clothes except for what I'm wearing, and a couple of old shirts and those socks. My hat's blocking the window, and my old coat is my blanket. I'm really shabby, ma’am, and that's one reason I don't go out more. I can walk a bit, but I haven't gotten used to being a scarecrow yet,” and Joe glanced from the heel-less shoes hanging on the line to the ragged suit he was wearing, with a resigned expression that made me want to rush out and buy half the stuff from Oak Hall right then and there.
Curbing this wild impulse I presently departed with promises of speedy transportation for Joe, and unlimited oranges to assuage the pangs of parting for the young Flanagins, who escorted me to the door, while Joe waved the baby like a triumphal banner till I got round the corner.
Curbing this wild impulse, I left with promises of quick rides for Joe and as many oranges as needed to ease the pain of parting for the young Flanagins, who walked me to the door, while Joe waved the baby like a victory flag until I turned the corner.
There was such a beautiful absence of red tape about the new institution that it only needed a word in the right ear to set things going; and then, with a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, Joe Collins was taken up and safely landed in the Home he so much needed and so well deserved.
There was such a refreshing lack of bureaucracy around the new institution that it only took a word in the right ear to get things moving; and then, with a strong effort, a coordinated effort, Joe Collins was taken in and safely settled in the Home he desperately needed and truly deserved.
A happier man or a more grateful one it would be hard to find, and if a visitor wants an enthusiastic guide about the place, Joe is the one to take, for all is comfort, sunshine, and good-will to him; and he unconsciously shows how great the need of this refuge is, as he hobbles about on his lame feet, pointing out its beauties, conveniences, and delights with his one arm, while his face shines, and his voice quavers a little as he says gratefully,—
A happier or more grateful person would be hard to find, and if a visitor needs an enthusiastic guide to the place, Joe is the one to choose. To him, everything is comfort, sunshine, and goodwill. He unknowingly demonstrates how important this refuge is as he moves around on his injured feet, highlighting its beauty, conveniences, and joys with his one arm, while his face lights up and his voice shakes a little as he says gratefully,—
“The State don’t forget us, you see, and this is a Home wuth havin’. Long life to it!”
“The State doesn’t forget us, you see, and this is a home worth having. Long live it!”
WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAID.
"Bells call others to church, but they don't go in themselves."
NO one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the old steeple at midnight on Christmas Eve. Six quaint figures, each wrapped in a shadowy cloak and wearing a bell-shaped cap. All were gray-headed, for they were among the oldest bell-spirits of the city, and “the light of other days” shone in their thoughtful eyes. Silently they sat, looking down on the snow-covered roofs glittering in the moonlight, and the quiet streets deserted by all but the watchmen on their chilly rounds, and such poor souls as wandered shelterless in the winter night. Presently one of the spirits said, in a tone, which, low as it was, filled the belfry with reverberating echoes,—
NO one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the old steeple at midnight on Christmas Eve. Six quirky figures, each wrapped in a shadowy cloak and wearing a bell-shaped cap. All were gray-haired, for they were among the oldest bell spirits of the city, and “the light of other days” shone in their thoughtful eyes. Silently they sat, looking down on the snow-covered roofs glittering in the moonlight, and the quiet streets deserted by all but the watchmen on their chilly rounds, and the few poor souls who wandered shelterless in the winter night. Eventually, one of the spirits spoke up, and even though his voice was low, it filled the belfry with deep echoes,—
“Well, brothers, are your reports ready of the year that now lies dying?”
“Well, brothers, are your reports ready for the year that's coming to an end?”
All bowed their heads, and one of the oldest answered in a sonorous voice:—
All bowed their heads, and one of the oldest replied in a deep voice:—
“My report isn’t all I could wish. You know I look down on the commercial part of our city and have fine opportunities for seeing what goes on there. It’s my business to watch the business men, and upon my word I’m heartily ashamed of them sometimes. During the war they did nobly, giving their time and money, their sons and selves to the good cause, and I was proud of them. But now too many of them have fallen back into the old ways, and their motto seems to be, ‘Every one for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.’ Cheating, lying and stealing are hard words, and I don’t mean to apply them to all who swarm about below there like ants on an ant-hill—they have other names for these things, but I’m old-fashioned and use plain words. There’s a deal too much dishonesty in the world, and business seems to have become a game of hazard in which luck, not labor, wins the prize. When I was young, men were years making moderate fortunes, and were satisfied with them. They built them on sure foundations, knew how to enjoy them while they lived, and to leave a good name behind them when they died.
“My report isn’t exactly what I’d hoped for. You know I look down on the commercial part of our city and have plenty of chances to see what happens there. It’s my job to keep an eye on the business people, and honestly, I’m often embarrassed by them. During the war, they stepped up, giving their time and money, their sons and themselves to the good cause, and I was proud of them. But now too many have slipped back into their old habits, and their motto seems to be, ‘Every man for himself, and to hell with the rest.’ Cheating, lying, and stealing are strong words, and I don’t intend to label all those bustling below like ants on an ant hill with them—they have other names for these things, but I’m old-fashioned and stick to plain language. There’s way too much dishonesty in the world, and business seems to have turned into a game of chance where luck, not hard work, gets the rewards. When I was younger, it took men years to build moderate fortunes, and they were content with that. They built on solid foundations, knew how to enjoy what they had while they were alive, and left a good reputation behind when they passed away.”
“Now it’s anything for money; health, happiness, honor, life itself, are flung down on that great gaming-table, and they forget everything else in the excitement of success or the desperation of defeat. Nobody seems satisfied either, for those who win have little time or taste to enjoy their prosperity, and those who lose have little courage or patience to support them in adversity. They don’t even fail as they used to. In my day when a merchant found himself embarrassed he didn’t ruin others in order to save himself, but honestly confessed the truth, gave up everything, and began again. But now-a-days after all manner of dishonorable shifts there comes a grand crash; many suffer, but by some hocus-pocus the merchant saves enough to retire upon and live comfortably here or abroad. It’s very evident that honor and honesty don’t mean now what they used to mean in the days of old May, Higginson and Lawrence.
“Now it’s all about money; health, happiness, honor, and even life are tossed onto that big gambling table, and people forget everything else in the thrill of winning or the despair of losing. Nobody seems satisfied either, because those who win don’t have the time or desire to enjoy their success, and those who lose lack the courage or patience to handle their struggles. They don’t even fail the same way anymore. Back in my day, when a merchant found himself in trouble, he didn’t ruin others to save himself; he honestly admitted the truth, gave up everything, and started over. But nowadays, after all sorts of dishonorable tricks, there’s a big crash; many suffer, but somehow the merchant manages to save enough to retire and live comfortably, whether here or abroad. It’s clear that honor and honesty don’t mean what they used to in the days of old May, Higginson, and Lawrence.”
“They preach below here, and very well too sometimes, for I often slide down the rope to peep and listen during service. But, bless you! they don’t seem to lay either sermon, psalm or prayer to heart, for while the minister is doing his best, the congregation, tired with the breathless hurry of the week, sleep peacefully, calculate their chances for the morrow, or wonder which of their neighbors will lose or win in the great game. Don’t tell me! I’ve seen them do it, and if I dared I’d have startled every soul of them with a rousing peal. Ah, they don’t dream whose eye is on them, they never guess what secrets the telegraph wires tell as the messages fly by, and little know what a report I give to the winds of heaven as I ring out above them morning, noon, and night.” And the old spirit shook his head till the tassel on his cap jangled like a little bell.
"They preach down there, and sometimes they do a really good job, because I often slide down the rope to peek and listen during the service. But, you know what? It seems like they don’t really take any of the sermons, psalms, or prayers to heart. While the minister is doing his best, the congregation, exhausted from the hectic pace of the week, sleeps peacefully, thinks about their chances for tomorrow, or wonders which of their neighbors will win or lose in the big game. Don’t tell me! I’ve seen them do it, and if I had the courage, I’d startle every one of them with a loud jingle. Ah, they have no idea whose eyes are on them, they never realize what secrets the telegraph wires share as the messages zip by, and they have no clue what a report I give to the winds of heaven as I ring out above them morning, noon, and night." And the old spirit shook his head until the tassel on his cap jingled like a little bell.
“There are some, however, whom I love and honor,” he said, in a benignant tone, “who honestly earn their bread, who deserve all the success that comes to them, and always keep a warm corner in their noble hearts for those less blest than they. These are the men who serve the city in times of peace, save it in times of war, deserve the highest honors in its gift, and leave behind them a record that keeps their memories green. For such an one we lately tolled a knell, my brothers; and as our united voices pealed over the city, in all grateful hearts, sweeter and more solemn than any chime, rung the words that made him so beloved,—
“There are some people, though, whom I love and respect,” he said in a kind tone, “who genuinely earn their living, who deserve every bit of success that comes their way, and who always have a warm place in their noble hearts for those less fortunate than they are. These are the individuals who serve the city in peaceful times, protect it in times of war, deserve the highest honors it can bestow, and leave behind a legacy that keeps their memories alive. For one such person, we recently rang a bell, my brothers; and as our united voices echoed over the city, in all grateful hearts, sweeter and more meaningful than any chime, resonated the words that made him so loved,—
“‘Treat our dead boys tenderly, and send them home to me.’”
“‘Take care of our fallen boys and bring them back home to me.’”
He ceased, and all the spirits reverently uncovered their gray heads as a strain of music floated up from the sleeping city and died among the stars.
He stopped, and all the spirits respectfully removed their gray hoods as a melody drifted up from the sleeping city and faded among the stars.
“Like yours, my report is not satisfactory in all respects,” began the second spirit, who wore a very pointed cap and a finely-ornamented cloak. But, though his dress was fresh and youthful, his face was old, and he had nodded several times during his brother’s speech. “My greatest affliction during the past year has been the terrible extravagance which prevails. My post, as you know, is at the court end of the city, and I see all the fashionable vices and follies. It is a marvel to me how so many of these immortal creatures, with such opportunities for usefulness, self-improvement and genuine happiness can be content to go round and round in one narrow circle of unprofitable and unsatisfactory pursuits. I do my best to warn them; Sunday after Sunday I chime in their ears the beautiful old hymns that sweetly chide or cheer the hearts that truly listen and believe; Sunday after Sunday I look down on them as they pass in, hoping to see that my words have not fallen upon deaf ears; and Sunday after Sunday they listen to words that should teach them much, yet seem to go by them like the wind. They are told to love their neighbor, yet too many hate him because he possesses more of this world’s goods or honors than they; they are told that a rich man cannot enter the kingdom of heaven, yet they go on laying up perishable wealth, and though often warned that moth and rust will corrupt, they fail to believe it till the worm that destroys enters and mars their own chapel of ease. Being a spirit, I see below external splendor and find much poverty of heart and soul under the velvet and the ermine which should cover rich and royal natures. Our city saints walk abroad in threadbare suits, and under quiet bonnets shine the eyes that make sunshine in the shady places. Often as I watch the glittering procession passing to and fro below me, I wonder if, with all our progress, there is to-day as much real piety as in the times when our fathers, poorly clad, with weapon in one hand and Bible in the other, came weary distances to worship in the wilderness with fervent faith unquenched by danger, suffering and solitude.
“Like yours, my report isn't satisfactory in every way,” began the second spirit, who wore a very pointed cap and a beautifully decorated cloak. However, even though his outfit looked fresh and youthful, his face was old, and he had nodded a few times during his brother’s speech. “My biggest disappointment over the past year has been the awful extravagance that’s everywhere. As you know, my position is at the upscale part of the city, and I see all the trendy vices and foolishness. It amazes me how so many of these immortal beings, with such chances for usefulness, self-improvement, and real happiness, can be satisfied to just go around in a tight circle of unproductive and unfulfilling pursuits. I do my best to warn them; Sunday after Sunday I ring in their ears the beautiful old hymns that gently reprimand or uplift the hearts that truly listen and believe; Sunday after Sunday I look down on them as they come in, hoping to see that my words haven’t fallen on deaf ears; and Sunday after Sunday they hear messages that should teach them a lot, yet they seem to pass by like the wind. They’re told to love their neighbor, yet too many hate him because he has more worldly possessions or honors than they do; they’re told that a rich person cannot enter the kingdom of heaven, yet they keep accumulating temporary wealth, and though often warned that moth and rust will corrupt, they don’t believe it until the worm that destroys comes and tarnishes their own place of comfort. Being a spirit, I can see beneath the external glamour and discover much poverty of heart and soul beneath the velvet and ermine that should cover rich and noble beings. Our city saints wander around in worn-out clothes, and under modest bonnets shine the eyes that bring light to the dark places. Often, as I watch the glittering parade passing back and forth below me, I wonder if, with all our progress, there’s as much genuine piety today as there was in the times when our forefathers, poorly dressed, with a weapon in one hand and a Bible in the other, traveled long distances to worship in the wilderness with fervent faith unbroken by danger, suffering, and solitude.
“Yet in spite of my fault-finding I love my children, as I call them, for all are not butterflies. Many find wealth no temptation to forgetfulness of duty or hardness of heart. Many give freely of their abundance, pity the poor, comfort the afflicted, and make our city loved and honored in other lands as in our own. They have their cares, losses, and heartaches as well as the poor; it isn’t all sunshine with them, and they learn, poor souls, that
“Yet despite my criticisms, I love my children, as I call them, because not everyone is carefree. Many people don’t let wealth distract them from their responsibilities or make them callous. Many generously share their wealth, empathize with the less fortunate, support those in distress, and make our city respected and cherished in other places just as much as in our own. They face their own worries, losses, and heartbreaks just like those who are poor; life isn’t all bright for them either, and they understand, poor souls, that”
“But I’ve hopes of them, and lately they have had a teacher so genial, so gifted, so well-beloved that all who listen to him must be better for the lessons of charity, good-will and cheerfulness which he brings home to them by the magic of tears and smiles. We know him, we love him, we always remember him as the year comes round, and the blithest song our brazen tongues utter is a Christmas carol to the Father of ‘The Chimes!’”
“But I have high hopes for them, and recently they've had a teacher who is so kind, so talented, and so loved that everyone who listens to him must be better off for the lessons of kindness, goodwill, and happiness that he shares with them through his moving words and joyful expressions. We know him, we love him, and we always remember him as the year goes by, and the happiest song we sing is a Christmas carol to the Father of ‘The Chimes!’”
As the spirit spoke his voice grew cheery, his old face shone, and in a burst of hearty enthusiasm he flung up his cap and cheered like a boy. So did the others, and as the fairy shout echoed through the belfry a troop of shadowy figures, with faces lovely or grotesque, tragical or gay, sailed by on the wings of the wintry wind and waved their hands to the spirits of the bells.
As the spirit spoke, his voice became cheerful, his wrinkled face brightened, and in a rush of genuine excitement, he threw up his cap and cheered like a kid. The others joined in, and as their joyful shouts rang through the belfry, a group of shadowy figures, with faces that were beautiful or strange, dramatic or playful, glided by on the chill winter wind and waved to the spirits of the bells.
As the excitement subsided and the spirits reseated themselves, looking ten years younger for that burst, another spoke. A venerable brother in a dingy mantle, with a tuneful voice, and eyes that seemed to have grown sad with looking on much misery.
As the excitement faded and the spirits calmed down, appearing ten years younger from that surge of energy, another person spoke. An older man in a worn cloak, with a melodic voice and eyes that seemed to have become sad from witnessing a lot of suffering.
“He loves the poor, the man we’ve just hurrahed for, and he makes others love and remember them, bless him!” said the spirit. “I hope he’ll touch the hearts of those who listen to him here and beguile them to open their hands to my unhappy children over yonder. If I could set some of the forlorn souls in my parish beside the happier creatures who weep over imaginary woes as they are painted by his eloquent lips, that brilliant scene would be better than any sermon. Day and night I look down on lives as full of sin, self-sacrifice and suffering as any in those famous books. Day and night I try to comfort the poor by my cheery voice, and to make their wants known by proclaiming them with all my might. But people seem to be so intent on business, pleasure or home duties that they have no time to hear and answer my appeal. There’s a deal of charity in this good city, and when the people do wake up they work with a will; but I can’t help thinking that if some of the money lavished on luxuries was spent on necessaries for the poor, there would be fewer tragedies like that which ended yesterday. It’s a short story, easy to tell, though long and hard to live; listen to it.
“He loves the poor, the man we just cheered for, and he inspires others to love and remember them, bless him!” said the spirit. “I hope he’ll touch the hearts of those who hear him here and encourage them to open their hands to my unfortunate children over there. If I could place some of the lost souls in my area next to the happier people who mourn over made-up troubles as described by his eloquent words, that vivid scene would be better than any sermon. Day and night I look down on lives filled with sin, self-sacrifice, and suffering, just like the stories in those famous books. Day and night I try to comfort the poor with my cheerful voice and to make their needs known by shouting them out with all my might. But people seem so focused on work, fun, or household responsibilities that they have no time to hear and respond to my plea. There’s a lot of charity in this great city, and when people do wake up, they work hard; but I can’t help thinking that if some of the money spent on luxuries was used for the necessities of the poor, there would be fewer tragedies like the one that happened yesterday. It’s a short story, easy to tell, but long and hard to live; listen to it.
“Down yonder in the garret of one of the squalid houses at the foot of my tower, a little girl has lived for a year, fighting silently and single-handed a good fight against poverty and sin. I saw her when she first came, a hopeful, cheerful, brave-hearted little soul, alone, yet not afraid. She used to sit all day sewing at her window, and her lamp burnt far into the night, for she was very poor, and all she earned would barely give her food and shelter. I watched her feed the doves, who seemed to be her only friends; she never forgot them, and daily gave them the few crumbs that fell from her meagre table. But there was no kind hand to feed and foster the little human dove, and so she starved.
“Down there in the attic of one of the rundown houses at the base of my tower, a little girl has been living for a year, quietly and single-handedly fighting a good battle against poverty and sin. I saw her when she first arrived, a hopeful, cheerful, brave little soul, alone but not scared. She would sit all day sewing at her window, and her lamp burned late into the night because she was very poor, and all she earned could barely cover her food and shelter. I watched her feed the doves, who seemed to be her only friends; she never forgot them and every day gave them the few crumbs that fell from her meager table. But there was no caring hand to feed and nurture the little human dove, and so she starved.
“For a while she worked bravely, but the poor three dollars a week would not clothe and feed and warm her, though the things her busy fingers made sold for enough to keep her comfortably if she had received it. I saw the pretty color fade from her cheeks; her eyes grew hollow, her voice lost its cheery ring, her step its elasticity, and her face began to wear the haggard, anxious look that made its youth doubly pathetic. Her poor little gowns grew shabby, her shawl so thin she shivered when the pitiless wind smote her, and her feet were almost bare. Rain and snow beat on the patient little figure going to and fro, each morning with hope and courage faintly shining, each evening with the shadow of despair gathering darker round her. It was a hard time for all, desperately hard for her, and in her poverty, sin and pleasure tempted her. She resisted, but as another bitter winter came she feared that in her misery she might yield, for body and soul were weakened now by the long struggle. She knew not where to turn for help; there seemed to be no place for her at any safe and happy fireside; life’s hard aspect daunted her, and she turned to death, saying confidingly, ‘Take me while I’m innocent and not afraid to go.’
“For a while, she worked hard, but the meager three dollars a week couldn’t provide enough for clothes, food, and warmth, even though the things her busy hands made sold for enough to keep her comfortable if she had actually received it. I watched the pretty color fade from her cheeks; her eyes became hollow, her voice lost its cheerful tone, her step lacked its bounce, and her face started to show the haggard, worried look that made her youth even more tragic. Her worn-out little dresses became shabby, her shawl was so thin that she shivered when the relentless wind hit her, and her feet were almost bare. Rain and snow battered the patient little figure making her daily trips, each morning with hope and courage barely glimmering, and each evening with the shadow of despair growing heavier around her. It was a tough time for everyone, but especially hard for her, and in her poverty, sin and temptation lurked. She resisted, but as another harsh winter approached, she feared that in her suffering she might give in, for her body and soul were now worn down by the long fight. She didn’t know where to turn for help; it felt like there was no place for her at any safe and happy home; the harsh realities of life overwhelmed her, and she began to think of death, saying softly, ‘Take me while I’m innocent and not afraid to go.’”
“I saw it all! I saw how she sold everything that would bring money and paid her little debts to the utmost penny; how she set her poor room in order for the last time; how she tenderly bade the doves good-by, and lay down on her bed to die. At nine o’clock last night as my bell rang over the city, I tried to tell what was going on in the garret where the light was dying out so fast. I cried to them with all my strength,—
“I saw everything! I saw how she sold everything that would make money and paid off her little debts to the very last penny; how she organized her tiny room for the last time; how she gently said goodbye to the doves, and lay down on her bed to die. At nine o’clock last night, as my bell rang over the city, I tried to describe what was happening in the attic where the light was fading so quickly. I shouted to them with all my strength,—
“‘Kind souls, below there! a fellow-creature is perishing for lack of charity! Oh, help her before it is too late! Mothers, with little daughters on your knees, stretch out your hands and take her in! Happy women, in the safe shelter of home, think of her desolation! Rich men, who grind the faces of the poor, remember that this soul will one day be required of you! Dear Lord, let not this little sparrow fall to the ground! Help, Christian men and women, in the name of Him whose birthday blessed the world!’
“‘Kind people down there! Someone is suffering from a lack of kindness! Please, help her before it’s too late! Mothers with your little girls in your laps, reach out and take her in! Happy women, safe at home, think about her misery! Wealthy men, who take advantage of the poor, remember that one day you’ll be held accountable for this soul! Dear Lord, don’t let this little sparrow fall to the ground! Help, Christian men and women, in the name of Him whose birthday brought joy to the world!’”
“Ah me! I rang, and clashed, and cried in vain. The passers-by only said, as they hurried home, laden with Christmas cheer: ‘The old bell is merry to-night, as it should be at this blithe season, bless it!’
“Ah me! I rang, and clashed, and cried in vain. The people walking by just said, as they rushed home, carrying Christmas cheer: ‘The old bell is cheerful tonight, as it should be during this joyful season, bless it!’”
“As the clocks struck ten, the poor child lay down, saying, as she drank the last bitter draught life could give her, ‘It’s very cold, but soon I shall not feel it;’ and with her quiet eyes fixed on the cross that glimmered in the moonlight above me, she lay waiting for the sleep that needs no lullaby.
“As the clocks struck ten, the poor child lay down, saying, as she drank the last bitter sip life could give her, ‘It’s really cold, but soon I won’t feel it;’ and with her calm eyes fixed on the cross that shone in the moonlight above me, she lay waiting for the sleep that doesn’t need a lullaby.”
“As the clock struck eleven, pain and poverty for her were over. It was bitter cold, but she no longer felt it. She lay serenely sleeping, with tired heart and hands, at rest forever. As the clocks struck twelve, the dear Lord remembered her, and with fatherly hand led her into the home where there is room for all. To-day I rung her knell, and though my heart was heavy, yet my soul was glad; for in spite of all her human woe and weakness, I am sure that little girl will keep a joyful Christmas up in heaven.”
“As the clock hit eleven, her pain and poverty came to an end. It was bitterly cold, but she no longer felt it. She lay peacefully asleep, with tired heart and hands, at rest forever. When the clock struck twelve, the dear Lord remembered her and, with a fatherly hand, led her into the home where there’s room for everyone. Today I rang her bell, and even though my heart was heavy, my soul felt glad; because despite all her human suffering and weakness, I know that little girl will have a joyful Christmas up in heaven.”
In the silence which the spirits for a moment kept, a breath of softer air than any from the snowy world below swept through the steeple and seemed to whisper, “Yes!”
In the moment of silence that the spirits held, a breath of warmer air than anything from the snowy world below flowed through the steeple and seemed to whisper, “Yes!”
“Avast there! fond as I am of salt water, I don’t like this kind,” cried the breezy voice of the fourth spirit, who had a tiny ship instead of a tassel on his cap, and who wiped his wet eyes with the sleeve of his rough blue cloak. “It won’t take me long to spin my yarn; for things are pretty taut and ship-shape aboard our craft. Captain Taylor is an experienced sailor, and has brought many a ship safely into port in spite of wind and tide, and the devil’s own whirlpools and hurricanes. If you want to see earnestness come aboard some Sunday when the Captain’s on the quarter-deck, and take an observation. No danger of falling asleep there, no more than there is up aloft, ‘when the stormy winds do blow.’ Consciences get raked fore and aft, sins are blown clean out of the water, false colors are hauled down and true ones run up to the masthead, and many an immortal soul is warned to steer off in time from the pirates, rocks and quicksands of temptation. He’s a regular revolving light, is the Captain,—a beacon always burning and saying plainly, ‘Here are life-boats, ready to put off in all weathers and bring the shipwrecked into quiet waters.’ He comes but seldom now, being laid up in the home dock, tranquilly waiting till his turn comes to go out with the tide and safely ride at anchor in the great harbor of the Lord. Our crew varies a good deal. Some of ’em have rather rough voyages, and come into port pretty well battered; land-sharks full foul of a good many, and do a deal of damage; but most of ’em carry brave and tender hearts under the blue jackets, for their rough nurse, the sea, manages to keep something of the child alive in the grayest old tar that makes the world his picture-book. We try to supply ’em with life-preservers while at sea, and make ’em feel sure of a hearty welcome when ashore, and I believe the year ’67 will sail away into eternity with a satisfactory cargo. Brother North-End made me pipe my eye; so I’ll make him laugh to pay for it, by telling a clerical joke I heard the other day. Bell-ows didn’t make it, though he might have done so, as he’s a connection of ours, and knows how to use his tongue as well as any of us. Speaking of the bells of a certain town, a reverend gentleman affirmed that each bell uttered an appropriate remark so plainly, that the words were audible to all. The Baptist bell cried, briskly, ‘Come up and be dipped! come up and be dipped!’ The Episcopal bell slowly said, ‘Apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion! apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion!’ The Orthodox bell solemnly pronounced, ‘Eternal damnation! eternal damnation!’ and the Methodist shouted, invitingly, ‘Room for all! room for all!’”
“Hey there! As much as I love the ocean, I’m not a fan of this kind,” shouted the lively voice of the fourth spirit, who had a little ship instead of a tassel on his cap, and who wiped his watery eyes with the sleeve of his rough blue cloak. “It won’t take me long to tell my story; things are in pretty good shape on our ship. Captain Taylor is a skilled sailor and has safely guided many ships to port, despite strong winds, tides, and all sorts of whirlpools and hurricanes. If you want to see seriousness, come aboard some Sunday when the Captain is on the quarter-deck, and take a look for yourself. There’s no chance of falling asleep there, just like there isn’t when you’re up high, ‘when the stormy winds do blow.’ Consciences get cleaned out, sins are blown away, false flags come down and true ones go up to the masthead, and many a soul gets warned to steer clear of the pirates, rocks, and quicksands of temptation. The Captain is like a rotating lighthouse—an ever-burning beacon saying clearly, ‘Here are life-boats, ready to head out in any weather and bring the shipwrecked to safety.’ He doesn’t come around much anymore, as he’s been resting in the home dock, calmly waiting for his turn to go out with the tide and safely anchor in the great harbor of the Lord. Our crew changes quite a bit. Some of them have had pretty rough trips and come into port a bit beaten up; land-sharks have caused a lot of trouble; but most of them have brave and tender hearts under their blue jackets, because the sea, their tough nurse, manages to keep a bit of the child alive in even the grayest old sailor who sees the world as his storybook. We try to provide them with life-preservers while at sea, and make them feel welcome when they come ashore, and I believe the year ’67 will leave behind a satisfactory haul. Brother North-End got me a bit teary, so I’ll make him laugh in return by sharing a church joke I heard the other day. It wasn't Bellows who said it, though he could have since he’s a connection of ours and knows how to speak just as well as the rest of us. Speaking of the bells of a certain town, a reverend guy claimed that each bell said something appropriate so clearly that everyone could hear the words. The Baptist bell called out cheerfully, ‘Come up and be dipped! come up and be dipped!’ The Episcopal bell slowly proclaimed, ‘Apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion! apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion!’ The Orthodox bell solemnly declared, ‘Eternal damnation! eternal damnation!’ and the Methodist shouted invitingly, ‘Room for all! room for all!’”
As the spirit imitated the various calls, as only a jovial bell-sprite could, the others gave him a chime of laughter, and vowed they would each adopt some tune-ful summons, which should reach human ears and draw human feet more willingly to church.
As the spirit mimicked the different sounds, just like a cheerful bell sprite would, the others burst into laughter and promised to each create a catchy tune that would catch people's attention and encourage them to come to church more willingly.
“Faith, brother, you’ve kept your word and got the laugh out of us,” cried a stout, sleek spirit, with a kindly face, and a row of little saints round his cap and a rosary at his side. “It’s very well we are doing this year; the cathedral is full, the flock increasing, and the true faith holding its own entirely. Ye may shake your heads if you will and fear there’ll be trouble, but I doubt it. We’ve warm hearts of our own, and the best of us don’t forget that when we were starving, America—the saints bless the jewel!—sent us bread; when we were dying for lack of work, America opened her arms and took us in, and now helps us to build churches, homes and schools by giving us a share of the riches all men work for and win. It’s a generous nation ye are, and a brave one, and we showed our gratitude by fighting for ye in the day of trouble and giving ye our Phil, and many another broth of a boy. The land is wide enough for us both, and while we work and fight and grow together, each may learn something from the other. I’m free to confess that your religion looks a bit cold and hard to me, even here in the good city where each man may ride his own hobby to death, and hoot at his neighbors as much as he will. You seem to keep your piety shut up all the week in your bare, white churches, and only let it out on Sundays, just a trifle musty with disuse. You set your rich, warm and soft to the fore, and leave the poor shivering at the door. You give your people bare walls to look upon, commonplace music to listen to, dull sermons to put them asleep, and then wonder why they stay away, or take no interest when they come.
“Look, brother, you’ve kept your word and made us laugh,” exclaimed a stout, neat spirit with a kind face, a row of little saints around his cap, and a rosary by his side. “Things are going well this year; the cathedral is full, the congregation is growing, and the true faith is holding strong. You can shake your heads and worry about trouble, but I doubt it. We have warm hearts, and we don’t forget that when we were starving, America—bless that gem!—sent us bread; when we were dying for work, America welcomed us and now helps us build churches, homes, and schools by sharing the wealth that everyone strives for and earns. You are a generous nation, and a brave one, and we showed our gratitude by fighting for you in tough times and giving you our Phil, along with many other great boys. There’s enough room for both of us, and as we work, fight, and grow together, we can learn from each other. I’ll admit, your religion seems a bit cold and stiff to me, even here in this good city where everyone can follow their own passions and mock their neighbors as much as they want. It looks like you keep your faith locked away all week in your bare, white churches and only bring it out on Sundays, a bit musty from neglect. You put your wealth and comfort front and center, leaving the poor out in the cold. You give your people plain walls to look at, ordinary music to hear, and dull sermons that put them to sleep, then wonder why they stay away or show no interest when they do come.”
“We leave our doors open day and night; our lamps are always burning, and we may come into our Father’s house at any hour. We let rich and poor kneel together, all being equal there. With us abroad you’ll see prince and peasant side by side, school-boy and bishop, market-woman and noble lady, saint and sinner, praying to the Holy Mary, whose motherly arms are open to high and low. We make our churches inviting with immortal music, pictures by the world’s great masters, and rites that are splendid symbols of the faith we hold. Call it mummery if ye like, but let me ask you why so many of your sheep stray into our fold? It’s because they miss the warmth, the hearty, the maternal tenderness which all souls love and long for, and fail to find in your stern, Puritanical belief. By Saint Peter! I’ve seen many a lukewarm worshipper, who for years has nodded in your cushioned pews, wake and glow with something akin to genuine piety while kneeling on the stone pavement of one of our cathedrals, with Raphael’s angels before his eyes, with strains of magnificent music in his ears, and all about him, in shapes of power or beauty, the saints and martyrs who have saved the world, and whose presence inspires him to follow their divine example. It’s not complaining of ye I am, but just reminding ye that men are but children after all, and need more tempting to virtue than they do to vice, which last comes easy to ’em since the Fall. Do your best in your own ways to get the poor souls into bliss, and good luck to ye. But remember, there’s room in the Holy Mother Church for all, and when your own priests send ye to the divil, come straight to us and we’ll take ye in.”
“We keep our doors open day and night; our lights are always on, and we can enter our Father’s house at any hour. We allow the rich and the poor to kneel together, as everyone is equal there. You’ll see princes and peasants side by side, schoolboys and bishops, market women and noble ladies, saints and sinners, all praying to Holy Mary, whose motherly arms are open to everyone. We make our churches welcoming with beautiful music, art by the world’s great masters, and rituals that are splendid symbols of our faith. Call it whatever you want, but let me ask you why so many of your people wander into our fold? It’s because they’re looking for the warmth, the heartfelt, motherly tenderness that all souls crave but don’t find in your strict, Puritan beliefs. By Saint Peter! I've seen many lukewarm worshippers, who have nodded off in your comfortable pews for years, awaken and feel a genuine sense of faith while kneeling on the stone floor of one of our cathedrals, with Raphael’s angels in view, magnificent music in their ears, and around them, the powerful and beautiful forms of the saints and martyrs who have saved the world, inspiring them to follow their divine example. I'm not complaining about you, just reminding you that people are still children at heart and need more encouragement toward goodness than they do toward wrongdoing, which comes easily to them since the Fall. Do your best in your own ways to guide the lost souls to happiness, and good luck to you. But remember, there’s room in the Holy Mother Church for everyone, and when your own priests send you to the devil, come straight to us and we’ll welcome you in.”
“A truly Catholic welcome, bull and all,” said the sixth spirit, who, in spite of his old-fashioned garments, had a youthful face, earnest, fearless eyes, and an energetic voice that woke the echoes with its vigorous tones. “I’ve a hopeful report, brothers, for the reforms of the day are wheeling into rank and marching on. The war isn’t over nor rebeldom conquered yet, but the Old Guard has been ‘up and at ’em’ through the year. There has been some hard fighting, rivers of ink have flowed, and the Washington dawdlers have signalized themselves by a ‘masterly inactivity.’ The political campaign has been an anxious one; some of the leaders have deserted; some been mustered out; some have fallen gallantly, and as yet have received no monuments. But at the Grand Review the Cross of the Legion of Honor will surely shine on many a brave breast that won no decoration but its virtue here; for the world’s fanatics make heaven’s heroes, poets say.
“A truly Catholic welcome, bull and all,” said the sixth spirit, who, despite his old-fashioned clothes, had a youthful face, earnest, fearless eyes, and a strong voice that echoed with its powerful tones. “I’ve got some hopeful news, brothers, because the reforms of today are coming together and moving forward. The war isn’t over and the rebels aren’t defeated yet, but the Old Guard has been ‘up and at ’em’ all year. There has been some tough fighting, rivers of ink have flowed, and the Washington procrastinators have shown themselves to be ‘masterly inactive.’ The political campaign has been a stressful one; some of the leaders have left; some have been discharged; some have fallen honorably, and so far have received no monuments. But at the Grand Review, the Cross of the Legion of Honor will surely shine on many a brave chest that earned no decoration but its virtue here; for the world’s fanatics create heaven’s heroes, poets say.
“The flock of Nightingales that flew South during the ‘winter of our discontent’ are all at home again, some here and some in Heaven. But the music of their womanly heroism still lingers in the nation’s memory, and makes a tender minor-chord in the battle-hymn of freedom.
“The group of Nightingales that headed South during the ‘winter of our discontent’ are all back home now, some here and some in Heaven. But the memory of their courageous spirit still resonates in the nation’s memory, adding a soft minor note to the anthem of freedom.”
“The reform in literature isn’t as vigorous as I could wish; but a sharp attack of mental and moral dyspepsia will soon teach our people that French confectionery and the bad pastry of Wood, Braddon, Yates & Co. is not the best diet for the rising generation.
“The changes in literature aren’t as strong as I’d like; but a serious bout of mental and moral discomfort will soon show our people that French sweets and the poor quality writing of Wood, Braddon, Yates & Co. are not the best food for the next generation.”
“Speaking of the rising generation reminds me of the schools. They are doing well; they always are, and we are justly proud of them. There may be a slight tendency toward placing too much value upon book-learning; too little upon home culture. Our girls are acknowledged to be uncommonly pretty, witty and wise, but some of us wish they had more health and less excitement, more domestic accomplishments and fewer ologies and isms, and were contented with simple pleasures and the old-fashioned virtues, and not quite so fond of the fast, frivolous life that makes them old so soon. I am fond of our girls and boys. I love to ring for their christenings and marriages, to toll proudly for the brave lads in blue, and tenderly for the innocent creatures whose seats are empty under my old roof. I want to see them anxious to make Young America a model of virtue, strength and beauty, and I believe they will in time.
“Speaking of the younger generation reminds me of the schools. They’re doing well; they always do, and we’re rightly proud of them. There might be a slight tendency to place too much emphasis on book learning and not enough on home life. Our girls are widely recognized as exceptionally pretty, clever, and wise, but some of us wish they had better health and less excitement, more practical skills and fewer theories and trends, and were happier with simple joys and traditional values, rather than being so drawn to the fast-paced, superficial lifestyle that ages them quickly. I care about our girls and boys. I love to celebrate their baptisms and weddings, to honor with pride the brave young men in uniform, and to mourn tenderly for the innocent ones whose places are empty under my old roof. I want to see them eager to make Young America a shining example of virtue, strength, and beauty, and I believe they will in time.”
“There have been some important revivals in religion; for the world won’t stand still, and we must keep pace or be left behind to fossilize. A free nation must have a religion broad enough to embrace all mankind, deep enough to fathom and fill the human soul, high enough to reach the source of all love and wisdom, and pure enough to satisfy the wisest and the best. Alarm bells have been rung, anathemas pronounced, and Christians, forgetful of their creed, have abused one another heartily. But the truth always triumphs in the end, and whoever sincerely believes, works and waits for it, by whatever name he calls it, will surely find his own faith blessed to him in proportion to his charity for the faith of others.
“There have been some important revivals in religion; the world won’t stand still, and we must keep up or be left behind to fade away. A free nation needs a religion that is broad enough to include everyone, deep enough to understand and fulfill the human soul, high enough to connect with the source of all love and wisdom, and pure enough to satisfy the wisest and the best. Alarm bells have been sounded, condemnations issued, and Christians, forgetting their beliefs, have harshly criticized one another. But the truth always wins in the end, and anyone who sincerely believes, works, and waits for it—regardless of what they call it—will undoubtedly find their faith rewarded in relation to their kindness towards the faith of others.
“But look!—the first red streaks of dawn are in the East. Our vigil is over, and we must fly home to welcome in the holidays. Before we part, join with me, brothers, in resolving that through the coming year we will with all our hearts and tongues,—
“But look!—the first red streaks of dawn are in the East. Our watch is over, and we need to head home to celebrate the holidays. Before we go our separate ways, let’s make a promise, brothers, that throughout the coming year we will with all our hearts and voices,—
Then hand in hand the spirits of the bells floated away, singing in the hush of dawn the sweet song the stars sung over Bethlehem,—“Peace on earth, good will to men.”
Then hand in hand, the spirits of the bells floated away, singing in the quiet of dawn the sweet song that the stars sang over Bethlehem—“Peace on earth, goodwill to men.”
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–– Clara Vaughan. Revised Edition, 6s.
Clara Vaughan. Revised Edition, 6s.
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Blossoms from the King’s Garden: Sermons for Children. By the Rev. C. Bosanquet. 2nd Edition, small post 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Blossoms from the King’s Garden: Sermons for Children. By the Rev. C. Bosanquet. 2nd Edition, small post 8vo, extra cloth, 6s.
Blue Banner (The); or, The Adventures of a Mussulman, a Christian, and a Pagan, in the time of the Crusades and Mongol Conquest. Translated from the French of Leon Cahun. With Seventy-six Wood Engravings. Imperial 16mo, cloth, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, 5s.
Blue Banner (The); or, The Adventures of a Muslim, a Christian, and a Pagan, during the time of the Crusades and Mongol Conquest. Translated from the French of Leon Cahun. With Seventy-six Wood Engravings. Imperial 16mo, cloth, gilt edges, 7sh. 6d.; plainer binding, 5sh.
Bock (Carl). The Head Hunters of Borneo: Up the Mahakkam, and Down the Barita; also Journeyings in Sumatra. 1 vol., super-royal 8vo, 32 Coloured Plates, cloth extra, 36s.
Bock (Carl). The Head Hunters of Borneo: Up the Mahakkam, and Down the Barita; also Travels in Sumatra. 1 vol., super-royal 8vo, 32 Color Plates, cloth extra, 36s.
Book of the Play. By Dutton Cook. New and Revised Edition. 1 vol., cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Book of the Play. By Dutton Chef. New and Updated Edition. 1 vol., extra cloth, 7sh. 6d.
Boy’s Froissart (The). 7s. 6d. See “Froissart.”
The Boy's Froissart. 7s. 6d. See "Froissart."
Boy’s King Arthur (The). With very fine Illustrations. Square crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 7s. 6d. Edited by Sidney Lanier, Editor of “The Boy’s Froissart.”
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Boy’s Mabinogion (The): being the Original Welsh Legends of King Arthur. Edited for Boys, with an Introduction by Sidney Lanier. With numerous very graphic Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.
The Boy's Mabinogion: the Original Welsh Legends of King Arthur. Edited for Boys, with an Introduction by Sidney Lanier. Featuring many vivid illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, £7.50.
Breton Folk: An Artistic Tour in Brittany. By Henry Blackburn, Author of “Artists and Arabs,” “Normandy Picturesque,” &c. With 171 Illustrations by Randolph Caldecott. Imperial 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 21s.
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British Goblins: Welsh Folk-Lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends, and Traditions. By Wirt Sikes, United States Consul for Wales, Author of “Rambles and Studies in Old South Wales.” Second Edition. 8vo, 18s.
British Goblins: Welsh Folk-Lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends, and Traditions. By Wirt Sykes, U.S. Consul for Wales, Author of “Rambles and Studies in Old South Wales.” Second Edition. 8vo, 18s.
Burnaby (Capt.). See “On Horseback.”
Burnaby (Capt.). See "On Horseback."
Burnham Beeches (Heath, F. G.). With numerous Illustrations and a Map. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 6d. Second Edition.
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“A pretty description of the Beeches.”—Daily News.
“A beautiful description of the Beeches.” —Daily News.
“A charming little volume.”—Globe.
“A charming little book.”—Globe.
Burroughs (John). Pepacton: A Summer Voyage, and other Essays. Small post 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d.
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Butler (W. F.) The Great Lone Land; an Account of the Red River Expedition, 1869-70. With Illustrations and Map. Fifth and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
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–– The Wild North Land; the Story of a Winter Journey with Dogs across Northern North America. Demy 8vo, cloth, with numerous Woodcuts and a Map, 4th Edition, 18s. Cr. 8vo, 7s. 6d.
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CADOGAN (Lady A.) Illustrated Games of Patience. Twenty-four Diagrams in Colours, with Descriptive Text. Foolscap 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, 3rd Edition, 12s. 6d.
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Cambridge Trifles; or, Splutterings from an Undergraduate Pen. By the Author of “A Day of my Life at Eton,” &c. 16mo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
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Changed Cross (The), and other Religious Poems. 16mo, 2s. 6d.
Changed Cross (The), and other Religious Poems. 16mo, £2.06.
Child of the Cavern (The); or, Strange Doings Underground. By Jules Verne. Translated by W. H. G. Kingston. Numerous Illustrations. Sq. cr. 8vo, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; cl., plain edges, 5s.
Child of the Cavern (The); or, Strange Doings Underground. By Jules Verne. Translated by W. H. G. Kingston. Many Illustrations. Square, crown 8vo, gilt edges, £7.6; cloth, plain edges, £5.
Child’s Play, with 16 Coloured Drawings by E. V. B. Printed on thick paper, with tints, 7s. 6d.
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–– New. By E. V. B. Similar to the above. See New.
–– New. By E. V. B. Similar to the above. See New.
—— A New and Cheap Edition of the two above, containing 48 Illustrations by E. V. B., printed in tint, handsomely bound, 3s. 6d.
—— A new and affordable edition of the two above, featuring 48 illustrations by E. V. B., printed in color, nicely bound, 3s. 6d.
Choice Editions of Choice Books. 2s. 6d. each. Illustrated by C. W. Cope, R.A., T. Creswick, R.A., E. Duncan, Birket Foster, J. C. Horsley, A.R.A., G. Hicks, R. Redgrave, R.A., C. Stonehouse, F. Tayler, G. Thomas, H. J. Townshend, E. H. Wehnert, Harrison Weir, &c.
Choice Editions of Choice Books. 2s. 6d. each. Illustrated by C.W. Cope, R.A., T. Creswick, R.A., E. Duncan, Birket Foster, J.C. Horsley, A.R.A., G. Hicks, R. Redgrave, R.A., C. Stonehouse, F. Tayler, G. Thomas, H.J. Townshend, E.H. Wehnert, Harrison Weir, & others.
“Such works are a glorious beatification for a poet.”—Athenæum.
“Such works are a wonderful recognition for a poet.”—Athenæum.
Christ in Song. By Dr. Philip Schaff. A New Edition, Revised, cloth, gilt edges, 6s.
Christ in Song. By Dr. Philip Schaff. A New Edition, revised, hardcover, gold edges, £6.
Confessions of a Frivolous Girl (The). A Novel of Fashionable Life. Edited by Robert Grant. Crown 8vo, 6s.
Confessions of a Frivolous Girl (The). A Novel of Fashionable Life. Edited by Robert Grant. Crown 8vo, 6s.
Cornet of Horse (The): A Story for Boys. By G. A. Henty. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, numerous graphic Illustrations, 5s.
Cornet of Horse (The): A Story for Boys. By G.A. Henty. Crown 8vo, extra cloth, gilded edges, numerous graphic illustrations, 5s.
Cripps the Carrier. 3rd Edition, 6s. See Blackmore.
Cripps the Carrier. 3rd Edition, 6s. See Blackmore.
Cruise of H.M.S. “Challenger” (The). By W. J. J. Spry, R.N. With Route Map and many Illustrations. 6th Edition, demy 8vo, cloth, 18s. Cheap Edition, crown 8vo, some of the Illustrations, 7s. 6d.
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Cruise of the Walnut Shell (The). An instructive and amusing Story, told in Rhyme, for Children. With 32 Coloured Plates. Square fancy boards, 5s.
Cruise of the Walnut Shell (The). An entertaining and educational story, shared in rhyme, for kids. Featuring 32 colorful illustrations. Square decorative boards, 5s.
Curious Adventures of a Field Cricket. By Dr. Ernest Candèze. Translated by N. D’Anvers. With numerous fine Illustrations. Crown 8vo, gilt, 7s. 6d.; plain binding and edges, 5s.
Curious Adventures of a Field Cricket. By Dr. Ernest Candèze. Translated by N. D’Anvers. With many beautiful illustrations. Crown 8vo, gilt, 7£ 6p; plain binding and edges, 5£
DANA (R. H.) Two Years before the Mast and Twenty-Four years After. Revised Edition, with Notes, 12mo, 6s.
DANA (R. H.) Two Years before the Mast and Twenty-Four years After. Revised Edition, with Notes, 12mo, 6s.
Daughter (A) of Heth. By W. Black. Crown 8vo, 6s.
Daughter (A) of Heth. By W. Black. Crown 8vo, £6.
Day of My Life (A); or, Every Day Experiences at Eton. By an Eton Boy, Author of “About Some Fellows.” 16mo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d. 6th Thousand.
Day of My Life (A); or, Everyday Experiences at Eton. By an Eton Student, Author of “About Some Guys.” 16mo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d. 6th Thousand.
Diane. By Mrs. Macquoid. Crown 8vo, 6s.
Diane. By Mrs. Macquoid. Crown 8vo, £6.
Dick Cheveley: his Fortunes and Misfortunes. By W. H. G. Kingston. 350 pp., square 16mo, and 22 full-page Illustrations. Cloth, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, plain edges, 5s.
Dick Cheveley: his Fortunes and Misfortunes. By W.H.G. Kingston. 350 pages, square 16mo, and 22 full-page illustrations. Cloth with gilt edges, £7.6; simpler binding with plain edges, £5.
Dick Sands, the Boy Captain. By Jules Verne. With nearly 100 Illustrations, cloth, gilt, 10s. 6d.; plain binding and plain edges, 5s.
Dick Sands, the Boy Captain. By Jules Verne. Featuring almost 100 illustrations, hardcover, gold lettering, 10s. 6d.; simple binding and plain edges, 5s.
Eight Cousins. See Alcott.
Eight Cousins. See Alcott.
Elementary History (An) of Art. Comprising Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, and the Applied Arts. By N. D’Anvers, Author of “Science Ladders.” With a Preface by Professor Roger Smith. New Edition, illustrated with upwards of 200 Wood Engravings. Crown 8vo, strongly bound in cloth, price 8s. 6d.
Elementary History of Art. Covering Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, and the Applied Arts. By N. D’Anvers, Author of “Science Ladders.” With a Preface by Professor Roger Smith. New Edition, illustrated with over 200 Wood Engravings. Crown 8vo, strongly bound in cloth, price 8s. 6d.
Elementary History (An) of Music. Edited by Owen J. Dullea. Including Music among the Ancient Nations; Music in the Middle Ages; Music in Italy in the Sixteenth, Seventeenth, and Eighteenth Centuries; Music in Germany, France, and England. Illustrated with Portraits of the most eminent Composers, and Engravings of the Musical Instruments of many Nations. Crown 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth, price 3s. 6d.
Elementary History of Music. Edited by Owen J. Dullea. Covering Music in Ancient Civilizations; Music During the Middle Ages; Music in Italy in the 16th, 17th, and 18th Centuries; Music in Germany, France, and England. Includes Portraits of the most notable Composers, and Images of Musical Instruments from various Countries. Crown 8vo, attractively bound in cloth, priced at 3s. 6d.
Elinor Dryden. By Mrs. Macquoid. Crown 8vo, 6s.
Elinor Dryden. By Mrs. Macquoid. Crown 8vo, £6.
Embroidery (Handbook of). By L. Higgin. Edited by Lady Marian Alford, and published by authority of the Royal School of Art Needlework. With 16 page Illustrations, Designs for Borders, &c. Crown 8vo, 5s.
Embroidery (Handbook of). By L. Higgin. Edited by Lady Marian Alford, and published with the approval of the Royal School of Art Needlework. Includes 16 page illustrations, designs for borders, etc. Crown 8vo, £5.
Enchiridion of Epictetus; and the Golden Verses of Pythagoras. Translated into English, Prose and Verse; with Notes and Scriptural References, together with some original Poems. By the Hon. Thos. Talbot. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s.
Enchiridion of Epictetus; and the Golden Verses of Pythagoras. Translated into English, Prose and Verse; with Notes and Scripture References, along with some original Poems. By the Hon. Tom Talbot. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s.
English Philosophers. Edited by Iwan Muller, M.A., New College, Oxon. A Series of Volumes containing short biographies of the most celebrated English Philosophers, to each of whom is assigned a separate volume, giving as comprehensive and detailed a statement of his views and contributions to Philosophy as possible, explanatory rather than critical, opening with a brief biographical sketch, and concluding with a short general summary, and a bibliographical appendix. Each Volume contains about 200 pp. Sq. 16mo, 3s. 6d. each.
English Philosophers. Edited by Iwan Muller, M.A., New College, Oxon. This series includes short biographies of the most famous English philosophers, with each philosopher featured in a separate volume. Each volume aims to provide a thorough and detailed overview of their views and contributions to philosophy, focusing on explanations rather than critiques. It starts with a brief biography and ends with a concise summary and a bibliographical appendix. Each volume contains about 200 pages, square 16mo, priced at 3s. 6d. each.
Arrangements are in progress for volumes on Locke, Hume, Paley, Reid, &c.
Plans are underway for books on Locke, Hume, Paley, Reid, & others.
Episodes of French History. Edited, with Notes, Genealogical, Historical, and other Tables, by Gustave Masson, B.A.
Episodes of French History. Edited, with Notes, Genealogical, Historical, and other Tables, by Gustave Masson, B.A.
The above Series is based upon M. Guizot’s “History of France.” Each volume choicely Illustrated, with Maps, 2s. 6d.
The above Series is based on M. Guizot’s “History of France.” Each volume is beautifully illustrated, with maps, 2s. 6d.
Erema; or, My Father’s Sin. See Blackmore.
Erema; or, My Dad's Sin. See Blackmore.
Etcher (The). Containing 36 Examples of the Original Etched-work of Celebrated Artists, amongst others: Birket Foster, J. E. Hodgson, R.A., Colin Hunter, J. P. Heseltine, Robert W. Macbeth, R. S. Chattock, &c. Vol. for 1881, imperial 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, 2l. 12s. 6d. Monthly, 3s. 6d.
Etcher (The). Featuring 36 examples of original etched works by celebrated artists, including: Birket Foster, J.E. Hodgson, R.A., Colin Hunter, J.P. Heseltine, Robert W. Macbeth, R.S. Chattock, etc. Volume for 1881, imperial 4to, extra cloth, gilt edges, £2 12s. 6d. Monthly, 3s. 6d.
Eton. See “Day of my Life,” “Out of School,” “About Some Fellows.”
Eton. See “Day of my Life,” “Out of School,” “About Some Fellows.”
Farm Ballads. By Will Carleton. Boards, 1s.; cloth, gilt edges, 1s. 6d.
Farm Ballads. By Will Carleton. Paperback, £1; hardcover, gold edges, £1.50
Farm Festivals. By the same Author. Uniform with above.
Farm Festivals. By the same Author. Consistent with the one above.
Farm Legends. By the same Author. See above.
Farm Legends. By the same Author. See above.
Felkin (R. W.) and Wilson (Rev. C. T.) Uganda and the Egyptian Soudan. An Account of Travel in Eastern and Equatorial Africa; including a Residence of Two Years at the Court of King Mtesa, and a Description of the Slave Districts of Bahr-el-Ghazel and Darfour. With a New Map of 1200 miles in these Provinces; numerous Illustrations, and Anthropological, Meteorological, and Geographical Notes. By R. W. Felkin, F.R.G.S., Member of the Anthropological Institute, &c., &c.; and the Rev. C. T. Wilson, M.A. Oxon., F.R.G.S., Member of the Society of Arts, Hon. Fellow of the Cairo Geographical Society. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 28s.
Felkin (R. W.) and Wilson (Rev. C. T.) Uganda and the Egyptian Soudan. A Travel Account in Eastern and Equatorial Africa; including Two Years Living at King Mtesa's Court, and a Description of the Slave Regions of Bahr-el-Ghazel and Darfour. Featuring a New 1200-Mile Map of these Areas; numerous Illustrations, along with Anthropological, Meteorological, and Geographical Notes. By R.W. Felkin, F.R.G.S., Member of the Anthropological Institute, etc., etc.; and the Rev. C. T. Wilson, M.A. Oxon., F.R.G.S., Member of the Society of Arts, Hon. Fellow of the Cairo Geographical Society. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 28s.
Fern Paradise (The): A Plea for the Culture of Ferns. By F. G. Heath. New Edition, entirely Rewritten, Illustrated by Eighteen full-page, and numerous other Woodcuts, including 8 Plates of Ferns and Four Photographs, large post 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, 12s. 6d. Sixth Edition.
Fern Paradise (The): A Plea for the Culture of Ferns. By F. G. Heath. New Edition, completely rewritten, illustrated with eighteen full-page images and several other woodcuts, including eight plates of ferns and four photographs, large post 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, 12s. 6d. Sixth Edition.
“All lovers of ferns will be delighted with the illustrated edition of Mr. Heath’s ‘Fern Paradise’”—Saturday Review.
"All fern lovers will be thrilled with the illustrated edition of Mr. Heath's 'Fern Paradise.'" —Saturday Review.
Fern World (The). By F. G. Heath. Illustrated by Twelve Coloured Plates, giving complete Figures (Sixty-four in all) of every Species of British Fern, printed from Nature; by several full-page and other Engravings. Cloth, gilt edges, 6th Edition, 12s. 6d.
Fern World (The). By F.G. Heath. Illustrated with twelve color plates, featuring complete figures (64 total) of every species of British fern, printed from nature; along with several full-page and other engravings. Cloth, gilt edges, 6th edition, 12s. 6d.
Few (A) Hints on Proving Wills. Enlarged Edition, 1s.
Some (A) Tips on Proving Wills. Expanded Edition, 1s.
First Steps in Conversational French Grammar. By F. Julien. Being an Introduction to “Petites Leçons de Conversation et de Grammaire,” by the same Author. Fcap. 8vo, 128 pp., 1s.
First Steps in Conversational French Grammar. By F. Julien. An Introduction to “Petites Leçons de Conversation et de Grammaire,” by the same Author. Fcap. 8vo, 128 pp., 1s.
Four Lectures on Electric Induction. Delivered at the Royal Institution, 1878-9. By J. E. H. Gordon, B.A. Cantab. With numerous Illustrations. Cloth limp, square 16mo, 3s.
Four Lectures on Electric Induction. Given at the Royal Institution, 1878-9. By J.E.H. Gordon, B.A. Cantab. With many Illustrations. Softcover, square 16mo, 3s.
Foreign Countries and the British Colonies. Edited by F. S. Pulling, M.A., Lecturer at Queen’s College, Oxford, and formerly Professor at the Yorkshire College, Leeds. A Series of small Volumes descriptive of the principal Countries of the World by well-known Authors, each Country being treated of by a Writer who from Personal Knowledge is qualified to speak with authority on the Subject. The Volumes average 180 crown 8vo pages each, contain 2 Maps and Illustrations, crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.
Foreign Countries and the British Colonies. Edited by F. S. Pulling, M.A., a lecturer at Queen’s College, Oxford, and formerly a professor at Yorkshire College, Leeds. This is a series of small volumes that describe the main countries of the world, written by well-known authors. Each country is covered by a writer who has personal knowledge and is qualified to speak with authority on the subject. The volumes average 180 pages each, include 2 maps and illustrations, and are priced at 3s. 6d.
Denmark and Iceland. By E. C. Otté, Author of “Scandinavian History,” &c.
Denmark and Iceland. By E.C. Otté, Author of “Scandinavian History,” etc.
Greece. By L. Sergeant, B.A., Knight of the Hellenic Order of the Saviour, Author of “New Greece.”
Greece. By Sgt. L., B.A., Knight of the Hellenic Order of the Saviour, Author of “New Greece.”
Switzerland. By W. A. P. Coolidge, M.A., Fellow of Magdalen College, Editor of The Alpine Journal.
Switzerland. By W.A.P. Coolidge, M.A., Fellow of Magdalen College, Editor of The Alpine Journal.
Austria. By D. Kay, F.R.G.S.
Austria. By D. Kay, F.R.G.S.
Russia. By W. R. Morfill, M.A., Oriel College, Oxford, Lecturer on the Ilchester Foundation, &c.
Russia. By W.R. Morfill, M.A., Oriel College, Oxford, Lecturer on the Ilchester Foundation, etc.
Persia. By Major-Gen. Sir F. J. Goldsmid, K.C.S.I., Author of “Telegraph and Travel,” &c.
Persia. By Major-Gen. Sir F. J. Goldsmid, K.C.S.I., Author of “Telegraph and Travel,” etc.
Japan. By S. Mossman, Author of “New Japan,” &c.
Japan. By S. Mossman, Author of “New Japan,” etc.
Peru. By Clements H. Markham, M.A., C.B.
Peru. By Clements H. Markham, M.A., C.B.
Canada. By W. Fraser Rae, Author of “Westward by Rail,” “From Newfoundland to Manitoba,” &c.
Canada. By W. Fraser Rae, Author of “Westward by Rail,” “From Newfoundland to Manitoba,” etc.
Sweden and Norway. By the Rev. F. H. Woods, M.A., Fellow of St. John’s College, Oxford.
Sweden and Norway. By Rev. F.H. Woods, M.A., Fellow of St. John’s College, Oxford.
The West Indies. By C. H. Eden, F.R.G.S., Author of “Frozen Asia,” &c.
The West Indies. By C. H. Eden, F.R.G.S., Author of “Frozen Asia,” etc.
New Zealand.
New Zealand.
France. By M. Roberts, Author of “The Atelier du Lys,” &c.
France. By M. Roberts, Author of “The Atelier du Lys,” etc.
Egypt. By S. Lane Poole, B.A., Author of “Life of E. Lane,” &c.
Egypt. By S. Lane Poole, B.A., Author of “Life of E. Lane,” etc.
Spain. By the Rev. Wentworth Webster, M.A.
Spain. By Rev. Wentworth Webster, M.A.
Turkey-in-Asia. By J. C. McCoan, M.P.
Turkey in Asia. By J. C. McCoan, M.P.
Australia. By J. F. Vesey Fitzgerald, late Premier of New South Wales.
Australia. By J.F. Vesey Fitzgerald, former Premier of New South Wales.
Holland. By R. L. Poole.
Holland. By R. L. Poole.
Franc (Maude Jeane). The following form one Series, small post 8vo, in uniform cloth bindings, with gilt edges:—
Franc (Maude Jeane). The following make up a series, small post 8vo, in matching cloth covers, with gilt edges:—
Francis (F.) War, Waves, and Wanderings, including a Cruise in the “Lancashire Witch.” 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 24s.
Francis (F.) War, Waves, and Wanderings, including a Cruise in the “Lancashire Witch.” 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 24s.
French Revolution (The Great). Letters written from Paris during the Progress of the Great French Revolution, by Madame J—— to her Husband and Son. Edited by her Great-grandson, M. Edouard Lockroy. From the French. Crown 8vo, cloth, 10s. 6d.
French Revolution (The Great). Letters written from Paris during the Progress of the Great French Revolution, by Madame J—— to her Husband and Son. Edited by her Great-grandson, M. Edouard Lockroy. From the French. Crown 8vo, cloth, £10.6.
Froissart (The Boy’s). Selected from the Chronicles of England, France, Spain, &c. By Sidney Lanier. The Volume is fully Illustrated, and uniform with “The Boy’s King Arthur.” Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d.
Froissart (The Boy’s). Selected from the Chronicles of England, France, Spain, etc. By Sidney Lanier. This volume is fully illustrated and matches “The Boy’s King Arthur.” Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d.
From Newfoundland to Manitoba; a Guide through Canada’s Maritime, Mining, and Prairie Provinces. By W. Fraser Rae. Crown 8vo, with several Maps, 6s.
From Newfoundland to Manitoba; a Guide through Canada’s Maritime, Mining, and Prairie Provinces. By W. Fraser Rae. Crown 8vo, with several maps, £6.
Games of Patience. See Cadogan.
Games of Patience. See Cadogan.
Gentle Life (Queen Edition). 2 vols. in 1, small 4to, 10s. 6d.
Gentle Life (Queen Edition). 2 volumes in 1, small 4to, £10.6.
The Gentle Life. Essays in aid of the Formation of Character of Gentlemen and Gentlewomen. 21st Edition.
The Gentle Life. Essays to Help Shape the Character of Gentlemen and Gentlewomen. 21st Edition.
About in the World. Essays by Author of “The Gentle Life.”
About in the World. Essays by the author of “The Gentle Life.”
Like unto Christ. A New Translation of Thomas à Kempis “De Imitatione Christi.” 2nd Edition.
Like Christ. A New Translation of Thomas à Kempis “Of the Imitation of Christ.” 2nd Edition.
Familiar Words. An Index Verborum, or Quotation Handbook. Affording an immediate Reference to Phrases and Sentences that have become embedded in the English language. 6s.
Familiar Words. An Index of Words, or Quotation Handbook. Providing quick access to phrases and sentences that have become a part of the English language. 6 s.
Essays by Montaigne. Edited and Annotated by the Author of “The Gentle Life.” With Portrait. 2nd Edition.
Essays by Montaigne. Edited and Annotated by the Author of “The Gentle Life.” With Portrait. 2nd Edition.
The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia. Written by Sir Philip Sidney. Edited with Notes by Author of “The Gentle Life.” 7s. 6d.
The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia. Written by Sir Philip Sidney. Edited with Notes by the author of “The Gentle Life.” 7s. 6d.
The Gentle Life. 2nd Series, 8th Edition.
The Gentle Life. 2nd Series, 8th Edition.
The Silent Hour: Essays, Original and Selected. By the Author of “The Gentle Life.” 3rd Edition.
The Silent Hour: Essays, Original and Selected. By the Author of “The Gentle Life.” 3rd Edition.
Half-Length Portraits. Short Studies of Notable Persons. By J. Hain Friswell.
Half-Length Portraits. Short Studies of Notable People. By J. Hain Friswell.
Essays on English Writers, for the Self-improvement of Students in English Literature.
Essays on English Writers, for the Self-Improvement of Students in English Literature.
Other People’s Windows. By J. Hain Friswell. 3rd Edition.
Other People’s Windows. By J. Hain Friswell. 3rd Edition.
A Man’s Thoughts. By J. Hain Friswell.
A Man's Thoughts. By J. Hain Friswell.
German Primer. Being an Introduction to First Steps in German. By M. T. Preu. 2s. 6d.
German Primer. An Introduction to Basic German. By M.T. Preu. £2.6.
Getting On in the World; or, Hints on Success in Life. By W. Mathews, LL.D. Small post 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.; gilt edges, 3s. 6d.
Getting On in the World; or, Hints on Success in Life. By W. Mathews, LL.D. Small post 8vo, cloth, 2£ 6p; gilt edges, 3£ 6p
Gilpin’s Forest Scenery. Edited by F. G. Heath. Large post 8vo, with numerous Illustrations. Uniform with “The Fern World,” 12s. 6d. “Deserves to be a favourite in the boudoir as well as in the library.”—Saturday Review. “One of the most delightful works ever written.”—Globe.
Gilpin’s Forest Scenery. Edited by F.G. Heath. Large post 8vo, with many illustrations. Matches “The Fern World,” 12s. 6d. “Deserves to be a favorite in the boudoir as well as in the library.”—Saturday Review. “One of the most enjoyable works ever written.”—Globe.
Gordon (J. E. H.). See “Four Lectures on Electric Induction,” “Physical Treatise on Electricity,” &c.
Gordon (J. E. H.). See “Four Lectures on Electric Induction,” “Physical Treatise on Electricity,” etc.
Gouffé. The Royal Cookery Book. By Jules Gouffé; translated and adapted for English use by Alphonse Gouffé, Head Pastrycook to her Majesty the Queen. Illustrated with large plates printed in colours. 161 Woodcuts, 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 2l. 2s.
Gouffé. The Royal Cookery Book. By Jules Gouffé; translated and adapted for English readers by Alphonse Gouffé, Head Pastry Chef to Her Majesty the Queen. Illustrated with large color plates. 161 illustrations, 8vo, extra cloth, gilt edges, £2 2s.
—— Domestic Edition, half-bound, 10s. 6d. “By far the ablest and most complete work on cookery that has ever been submitted to the gastronomical world.”—Pall Mall Gazette.
—— Domestic Edition, half-bound, 10s. 6d. “Without a doubt, the most skilled and comprehensive cookbook that has ever been presented to the culinary world.”—Pall Mall Gazette.
Great Artists. See “Biographies.”
Great Artists. View “Biographies.”
Great Historic Galleries of England (The). Edited by Lord Ronald Gower, F.S.A., Trustee of the National Portrait Gallery. Illustrated by 24 large and carefully-executed permanent Photographs of some of the most celebrated Pictures by the Great Masters. Vol. I., imperial 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, 36s. Vol. II., with 36 large permanent photographs, £2 12s. 6d.
Great Historic Galleries of England (The). Edited by Lord Ronald Gower, F.S.A., Trustee of the National Portrait Gallery. Illustrated with 24 large, high-quality permanent photographs of some of the most famous paintings by the Great Masters. Vol. I., imperial 4to, extra cloth, gilt edges, 36s. Vol. II., with 36 large permanent photographs, £2 12s. 6d.
Great Musicians (The). A Series of Biographies of the Great Musicians. Edited by F. Hueffer.
Great Musicians (The). A Series of Biographies of the Great Musicians. Edited by F. Hueffer.
⸪ Dr. Hiller and other distinguished writers, both English and Foreign, have promised contributions. Each Volume is complete in itself. Small post 8vo, cloth extra, 3s.
⸪ Dr. Hiller and other notable authors, both from England and abroad, have agreed to write for us. Each volume stands alone. Small post 8vo, extra cloth, 3s.
Guizot’s History of France. Translated by Robert Black. Super-royal 8vo, very numerous full-page and other Illustrations. In 8 vols., cloth extra, gilt, each 24s. This work is re-issued in cheaper Monthly Volumes, at 10s. 6d. each, commencing Nov. 1, 1881. Subscription to the set, £4 4s. “It supplies a want which has long been felt, and ought to be in the hands of all students of history.”—Times.
Guizot’s History of France. Translated by Robert Black. Super-royal 8vo, with many full-page and other illustrations. In 8 volumes, extra cloth, gilt, each 24s. This work is being re-issued in more affordable monthly volumes, at 10s. 6d. each, starting Nov. 1, 1881. Subscription for the complete set is £4 4s. “It fills a need that has been long recognized and should be in the hands of all history students.” —Times.
—— ———— Masson’s School Edition. The History of France from the Earliest Times to the Outbreak of the Revolution; abridged from the Translation by Robert Black, M.A., with Chronological Index, Historical and Genealogical Tables, &c. By Professor Gustave Masson, B.A., Assistant Master at Harrow School. With 24 full-page Portraits, and many other Illustrations. 1 vol., demy 8vo, 600 pp., cloth extra, 10s. 6d.
—— ———— Masson’s School Edition. The History of France from the Earliest Times to the Outbreak of the Revolution; shortened from the Translation by Robert Black, M.A., with Chronological Index, Historical and Genealogical Tables, etc. By Professor Gustave Masson, B.A., Assistant Master at Harrow School. With 24 full-page Portraits and many other Illustrations. 1 vol., demy 8vo, 600 pp., cloth extra, 10s. 6d.
Guizot’s History of England. In 3 vols. of about 500 pp. each, containing 60 to 70 Full-page and other Illustrations, cloth extra, gilt, 24s. each. “For luxury of typography, plainness of print, and beauty of illustration, these volumes, of which but one has as yet appeared in English, will hold their own against any production of an age so luxurious as our own in everything, typography not excepted.”—Times.
Guizot’s History of England. In 3 volumes of about 500 pages each, containing 60 to 70 full-page and other illustrations, extra cloth, gilt, 24s. each. “For the quality of typography, clarity of print, and beauty of illustrations, these volumes, of which only one has been published in English so far, can compete with any creation from an age as opulent as ours in every aspect, including typography.” —Times.
Guyon (Mde.) Life. By Upham. 6th Edition, crown 8vo, 6s.
Guyon (Mde.) Life. By Upham. 6th Edition, crown 8vo, 6s.
Handbook to the Charities of London. See Low’s.
Handbook to the Charities of London. See Low’s.
–– of Embroidery; which see.
–– of Embroidery; refer to it.
Hall (W. W.) How to Live Long; or, 1408 Health Maxims, Physical, Mental, and Moral. By W. W. Hall, A.M., M.D. Small post 8vo, cloth, 2s. 2nd Edition.
Hall (W. W.) How to Live Long; or, 1408 Health Maxims, Physical, Mental, and Moral. By W. W. Hall, A.M., M.D. Small post 8vo, cloth, £2. 2nd Edition.
Harper’s Monthly Magazine. Published Monthly. 160 pages, fully Illustrated. 1s. With two Serial Novels by celebrated Authors.
Harper’s Monthly Magazine. Published Monthly. 160 pages, fully Illustrated. £1. With two Serial Novels by well-known Authors.
Each cloth extra, with 400 magnificent illustrations, 8s. 6d.
Each cloth extra, with 400 gorgeous illustrations, £8.6.
“‘Harper’s Magazine’ is so thickly sown with excellent illustrations that to count them would be a work of time; not that it is a picture magazine, for the engravings illustrate the text after the manner seen in some of our choicest editions de luxe.”—St. James’s Gazette.
“‘Harper’s Magazine’ is packed with amazing illustrations that counting them would take a long time; it's not just a picture magazine, because the engravings complement the text like in some of our finest editions de luxe.”—St. James’s Gazette.
“It is so pretty, so big, and so cheap.... An extraordinary shillingsworth—160 large octavo pages, with over a score of articles, and more than three times as many illustrations.”—Edinburgh Daily Review.
“It is so beautiful, so large, and so affordable.... An amazing value—160 big octavo pages, with over twenty articles, and more than three times as many illustrations.” —Edinburgh Daily Review.
“An amazing shillingsworth ... combining choice literature of both nations.”—Nonconformist.
“An amazing deal ... combining the best literature from both countries.” —Nonconformist.
Heart of Africa. Three Years’ Travels and Adventures in the Unexplored Regions of Central Africa, from 1868 to 1871. By Dr. Georg Schweinfurth. Numerous Illustrations, and large Map. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 15s.
Heart of Africa. Three Years of Travel and Adventure in the Unexplored Regions of Central Africa, from 1868 to 1871. By Dr. Georg Schweinfurth. Many Illustrations and a Large Map. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 15s.
Heath (Francis George). See “Autumnal Leaves,” “Burnham Beeches,” “Fern Paradise,” “Fern World,” “Gilpin’s Forest Scenery,” “Our Woodland Trees,” “Peasant Life,” “Sylvan Spring,” “Trees and Ferns,” “Where to Find Ferns.”
Heath (Francis George). See “Autumn Leaves,” “Burnham Beeches,” “Fern Paradise,” “Fern World,” “Gilpin’s Forest Scenery,” “Our Forest Trees,” “Rural Life,” “Woodland Spring,” “Trees and Ferns,” “Where to Find Ferns.”
Heber’s (Bishop) Illustrated Edition of Hymns. With upwards of 100 beautiful Engravings. Small 4to, handsomely bound, 7s. 6d. Morocco, 18s. 6d. and 21s. New and Cheaper Edition, cloth, 3s. 6d.
Heber’s (Bishop) Illustrated Edition of Hymns. With over 100 beautiful engravings. Small 4to, nicely bound, £0.37. Morocco, £0.93 and £1.05. New and cheaper edition, cloth, £0.15.
Heir of Kilfinnan (The). New Story by W. H. G. Kingston, Author of “Snow Shoes and Canoes,” &c. With Illustrations. Cloth, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, plain edges, 5s.
Heir of Kilfinnan (The). New Story by W. H. G. Kingston, Author of “Snow Shoes and Canoes,” etc. With Illustrations. Cloth, gilt edges, 7£ 6d; plainer binding, plain edges, 5£.
History of a Crime (The); Deposition of an Eye-witness. The Story of the Coup d’État. By Victor Hugo. Crown 8vo, 6s.
History of a Crime (The); Deposition of an Eye-witness. The Story of the Coup d’État. By Victor Hugo. Crown 8vo, £6.
–– Ancient Art. Translated from the German of John Winckelmann, by John Lodge, M.D. With very numerous Plates and Illustrations. 2 vols., 8vo, 36s.
–– Ancient Art. Translated from the German by John Winckelmann, translated by John Lodge, M.D. Featuring many plates and illustrations. 2 volumes, 8vo, £36.
–– England. See Guizot.
–– England. Check out Guizot.
–– France. See Guizot.
–– France. Check out Guizot.
–– of Russia. See Rambaud.
–– of Russia. See Rambaud.
–– Merchant Shipping. See Lindsay.
–– Merchant Shipping. See Lindsay.
–– United States. See Bryant.
–– United States. See Bryant.
History and Principles of Weaving by Hand and by Power. With several hundred Illustrations. By Alfred Barlow. Royal 8vo, cloth extra, 1l. 5s. Second Edition.
History and Principles of Weaving by Hand and by Power. With several hundred illustrations. By Alfred Barlow. Royal 8vo, extra cloth, £1 5s. Second Edition.
Holmes (O. W.) The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes. In 2 vols., 18mo, exquisitely printed, and chastely bound in limp cloth, gilt tops, 10s. 6d.
Holmes (O. W.) The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes. In 2 volumes, 18mo, beautifully printed and elegantly bound in soft cloth, with gilt tops, £10.6.
How I Crossed Africa: from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean, Through Unknown Countries; Discovery of the Great Zambesi Affluents, &c.—Vol I., The King’s Rifle. Vol. II., The Coillard Family. By Major Serpa Pinto. With 24 full-page and 118 half-page and smaller Illustrations, 13 small Maps, and 1 large one. 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, 42s.
How I Crossed Africa: from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean, Through Unknown Countries; Discovery of the Great Zambesi Affluents, &c.—Vol I., The King’s Rifle. Vol. II., The Coillard Family. By Major Serpa Pinto. With 24 full-page and 118 half-page and smaller Illustrations, 13 small Maps, and 1 large one. 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, 42s.
How to Live Long. See Hall.
How to Live Long. Check out Hall.
How to get Strong and how to Stay so. By William Blaikie. A Manual of Rational, Physical, Gymnastic, and other Exercises. With Illustrations, small post 8vo, 5s.
How to Get Strong and How to Stay That Way. By William Blaikie. A Guide to Smart, Physical, Gymnastic, and Other Exercises. With Illustrations, small post 8vo, 5s.
Hugo (Victor) “Ninety-Three.” Illustrated. Crown 8vo, 6s.
Hugo (Victor) “Ninety-Three.” Illustrated. Crown 8vo, 6s.
–– Toilers of the Sea. Crown 8vo. Illustrated, 6s.; fancy boards, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d.; On large paper with all the original Illustrations, 10s. 6d.
–– Toilers of the Sea. Crown 8vo. Illustrated, £6; fancy boards, £2; cloth, £2.50; On large paper with all the original illustrations, £10.50
–– and his Times. Translated from the French of A. Barbou by Ellen E. Frewer. 120 Illustrations, many of them from designs by Victor Hugo himself. Super-royal 8vo, cloth extra, 24s.
–– and his Times. Translated from the French of A. Barbou by Ellen E. Frewer. 120 illustrations, many of them from designs by Victor Hugo himself. Super-royal 8vo, extra cloth, 24s.
—— See “History of a Crime,” “Victor Hugo and his Times.”
—— See “History of a Crime,” “Victor Hugo and His Times.”
Hundred Greatest Men (The). 8 portfolios, 21s. each, or 4 vols., half morocco, gilt edges, 12 guineas, containing 15 to 20 Portraits each. See below.
Hundred Greatest Men (The). 8 portfolios, 21s. each, or 4 vols., half morocco, gilt edges, 12 guineas, containing 15 to 20 Portraits each. See below.
“Messrs. Sampson Low & Co. are about to issue an important ‘International’ work, entitled, ‘THE HUNDRED GREATEST MEN;’ being the Lives and Portraits of the 100 Greatest Men of History, divided into Eight Classes, each Class to form a Monthly Quarto Volume. The Introductions to the volumes are to be written by recognized authorities on the different subjects, the English contributors being Dean Stanley, Mr. Matthew Arnold, Mr. Froude, and Professor Max Müller: in Germany, Professor Helmholtz; in France, MM. Taine and Renan; and in America, Mr. Emerson. The Portraits are to be Reproductions from fine and rare Steel Engravings.”—Academy.
“Messrs. Sampson Low & Co. are set to release an important ‘International’ work titled ‘THE HUNDRED GREATEST MEN,’ featuring the Lives and Portraits of the 100 Greatest Men in History. This will be divided into Eight Classes, with each class comprising a Monthly Quarto Volume. The introductions to the volumes will be written by recognized experts on the various subjects, including English contributors like Dean Stanley, Mr. Matthew Arnold, Mr. Froude, and Professor Max Müller; from Germany, Professor Helmholtz; from France, MM. Taine and Renan; and from America, Mr. Emerson. The portraits will be reproductions from exquisite and rare Steel Engravings.” —Academy.
Hygiene and Public Health (A Treatise on). Edited by A. H. Buck, M.D. Illustrated by numerous Wood Engravings. In 2 royal 8vo vols., cloth, one guinea each.
Hygiene and Public Health (A Treatise on). Edited by A.H. Buck, M.D. Illustrated with many wood engravings. In 2 royal 8vo volumes, cloth, one guinea each.
Hymnal Companion to Book of Common Prayer. See Bickersteth.
Hymnal Companion to Book of Common Prayer. See Bickersteth.
ILLUSTRATED Text-Books of Art-Education. Edited by Edward J. Poynter, R.A. Each Volume contains numerous Illustrations, and is strongly bound for the use of Students, price 5s. The Volumes now ready are:—
ILLUSTRATED Text-Books of Art-Education. Edited by Edward J. Poynter, R.A. Each volume includes many illustrations and is well-bound for student use, priced at 5s. The volumes currently available are:—
Classic and Early Christian. Gothic and Renaissance. By T. Roger Smith. With 50 Illustrations, 5s.
Classic and Early Christian. Gothic and Renaissance. By T. Roger Smith. With 50 Illustrations, 5s.
Antique: Egyptian and Greek. & Renaissance and Modern.
Ancient: Egyptian and Greek. & Renaissance and Contemporary.
Decoration in Colour. & Architectural Ornament.
Color Decoration. & Architectural Design.
Illustrations of China and its People. By J. Thompson, F.R.G.S. Four Volumes, imperial 4to, each 3l. 3s.
Illustrations of China and its People. By J. Thompson, F.R.G.S. Four Volumes, large 4to, each £3 3s.
Illustrated Dictionary (An) of Words used in Art and Archæology. Explaining Terms frequently used in Works on Architecture, Arms, Bronzes, Christian Art, Colour, Costume, Decoration, Devices, Emblems, Heraldry, Lace, Personal Ornaments, Pottery, Painting, Sculpture, &c., with their Derivations. By J. W. Mollett, B.A., Officier de l’Instruction Publique (France); Author of “Life of Rembrandt,” &c. Illustrated with 600 Wood Engravings. Small 4to, strongly bound in cloth, 12s. 6d.
Illustrated Dictionary of Words Used in Art and Archaeology. Explaining terms commonly found in works on architecture, arms, bronzes, Christian art, color, costume, decoration, devices, emblems, heraldry, lace, personal ornaments, pottery, painting, sculpture, etc., along with their origins. By J.W. Mollett, B.A., Officer of Public Instruction (France); Author of “Life of Rembrandt,” etc. Illustrated with 600 wood engravings. Small 4to, sturdily bound in cloth, 12s. 6d.
In my Indian Garden. By Phil Robinson, Author of “Under the Punkah.” With a Preface by Edwin Arnold, M.A., C.S.I., &c. Crown 8vo, limp cloth, 3s. 6d.
In my Indian Garden. By Phil Robinson, Author of “Under the Punkah.” With a Preface by Edwin Arnold, M.A., C.S.I., etc. Crown 8vo, soft cover, 3s. 6d.
Involuntary Voyage (An). Showing how a Frenchman who abhorred the Sea was most unwillingly and by a series of accidents driven round the World. Numerous Illustrations. Square crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, plain edges, 5s.
Involuntary Voyage (An). This tells the story of a Frenchman who hated the sea and was reluctantly taken on a journey around the world due to a series of unfortunate events. It includes numerous illustrations. Square crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, plain edges, 5s.
Irving (Washington). Complete Library Edition of his Works in 27 Vols., Copyright, Unabridged, and with the Author’s Latest Revisions, called the “Geoffrey Crayon” Edition, handsomely printed in large square 8vo, on superfine laid paper, and each volume, of about 500 pages, will be fully Illustrated. 12s. 6d. per vol. See also “Little Britain.”
Irving (Washington). Complete Library Edition of his Works in 27 Vols., Copyright, Unabridged, and with the Author’s Latest Revisions, known as the “Geoffrey Crayon” Edition, beautifully printed in large square 8vo, on high-quality laid paper, and each volume, containing about 500 pages, will be fully Illustrated. 12s. 6d. per vol. See also “Little Britain.”
Jack and Jill. By Miss Alcott. Small post 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, 5s. With numerous Illustrations.
Jack and Jill. By Miss Alcott. Small post 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, 5shillings. With numerous illustrations.
John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. By W. Clarke Russell, Author of “Wreck of the Grosvenor.” Crown 8vo, 6s.
John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. By W. Clarke Russell, Author of “Wreck of the Grosvenor.” Crown 8vo, 6s.
KINGSTON (W. H. G.). See “Snow-Shoes,” “Child of the Cavern,” “Two Supercargoes,” “With Axe and Rifle,” “Begum’s Fortune,” “Heir of Kilfinnan,” “Dick Cheveley.” Each vol., with very numerous Illustrations, square crown 16mo, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, plain edges, 5s.
KINGSTON (W. H. G.). See “Snow-Shoes,” “Child of the Cavern,” “Two Supercargoes,” “With Axe and Rifle,” “Begum’s Fortune,” “Heir of Kilfinnan,” “Dick Cheveley.” Each volume comes with a lot of illustrations, square crown 16mo, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; simpler binding, plain edges, 5s.
LADY Silverdale’s Sweetheart. 6s. See Black.
LADY Silverdale’s Sweetheart. 6s. See Black.
Lectures on Architecture. By E. Viollet-le-Duc. Translated by Benjamin Bucknall, Architect. With 33 Steel Plates and 200 Wood Engravings. Super-royal 8vo, leather back, gilt top, with complete Index, 2 vols., 3l. 3s.
Lectures on Architecture. By E. Viollet-le-Duc. Translated by Benjamin Bucknall, Architect. With 33 Steel Plates and 200 Wood Engravings. Super-royal 8vo, leather back, gold top, with complete Index, 2 vols., 3l. 3s.
Lenten Meditations. In Two Series, each complete in itself. By the Rev. Claude Bosanquet, Author of “Blossoms from the King’s Garden.” 16mo, cloth, First Series, 1s. 6d.; Second Series, 2s.
Lenten Meditations. In Two Series, each complete on its own. By the Rev. Claude Bosanquet, Author of “Blossoms from the King's Garden.” 16mo, cloth, First Series, £1.6; Second Series, £2.
Library of Religious Poetry. A Collection of the Best Poems of all Ages and Tongues. With Biographical and Literary Notes. Edited by Philip Schaff, D.D., LL.D., and Arthur Gilman, M.A. Royal 8vo, pp. 1036, cloth extra, gilt edges, 21s.
Library of Religious Poetry. A Collection of the Best Poems from all Times and Languages. With Biographical and Literary Notes. Edited by Philip Schaff, D.D., LL.D., and Arthur Gilman, M.A. Royal 8vo, pp. 1036, extra cloth, gilt edges, 21s.
Lindsay (W. S.) History of Merchant Shipping and Ancient Commerce. Over 150 Illustrations, Maps, and Charts. In 4 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra. Vols. 1 and 2, 21s.; vols. 3 and 4, 24s. each.
Lindsay (W. S.) History of Merchant Shipping and Ancient Commerce. Over 150 Illustrations, Maps, and Charts. In 4 volumes, demy 8vo, extra cloth. Volumes 1 and 2, 21sh.; volumes 3 and 4, 24sh. each.
Little Britain; together with The Spectre Bridegroom, and A Legend of Sleepy Hollow. By Washington Irving. An entirely New Edition de luxe, specially suitable for Presentation. Illustrated by 120 very fine Engravings on Wood, by Mr. J. D. Cooper. Designed by Mr. Charles O. Murray. Square crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 10s. 6d.
Little Britain; along with The Spectre Bridegroom and A Legend of Sleepy Hollow. By Washington Irving. An entirely New Deluxe Edition, specially designed for Presentation. Illustrated with 120 high-quality Wood Engravings by Mr. J.D. Cooper. Designed by Mr. Charles O. Murray. Square crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 10sh. 6d.
Low’s Select Novelets. Small post 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
Low’s Select Novelets. Small post 8vo, extra cloth, 3£ 6d each.
Friends: a Duet. By E. S. Phelps, Author of “The Gates Ajar.” “‘Friends’ is a graceful story ... it loses nothing in the telling.”—Athenæum.
Friends: a Duet. By E.S. Phelps, Author of “The Gates Ajar.” “‘Friends’ is a beautifully told story ... it doesn’t lose any impact in the telling.”—Athenæum.
Baby Rue: Her Adventures and Misadventures, her Friends and her Enemies. By Charles M. Clay.
Baby Rue: Her Adventures and Misadventures, Her Friends and Her Enemies. By Charles M. Clay.
The Story of Helen Troy. “A pleasant book.”—Truth.
The Story of Helen Troy. “A great read.”—Truth.
The Clients of Dr. Bernagius. From the French of Lucien Biart, by Mrs. Cashel Hoey.
The Clients of Dr. Bernagius. From the French of Lucien Biart, by Mrs. Cashel Hoey.
The Undiscovered Country. By W. D. Howells.
The Undiscovered Country. By W. D. Howells.
A Gentleman of Leisure. By Edgar Fawcett. “An amazingly clever book.”—Boston Transcript.
A Gentleman of Leisure. By Edgar Fawcett. “An incredibly smart book.”—Boston Transcript.
Low’s Standard Library of Travel and Adventure. Crown 8vo, bound uniformly in cloth extra, price 7s. 6d.
Low’s Standard Library of Travel and Adventure. Crown 8vo, uniformly bound in extra cloth, price 7s. 6d.
Low’s Standard Novels. Crown 8vo, 6s. each, cloth extra.
Low’s Standard Novels. Crown 8vo, £6 each, extra cloth.
Low’s Handbook to the Charities of London. Edited and revised to date by C. Mackeson, F.S.S., Editor of “A Guide to the Churches of London and its Suburbs,” &c. Paper, 1s.; cloth, 1s. 6d.
Low’s Handbook to the Charities of London. Edited and updated by C. Mackeson, F.S.S., Editor of “A Guide to the Churches of London and its Suburbs,” etc. Paper, 1s.; cloth, 1s. 6d.
MACGREGOR (John) “Rob Roy” on the Baltic. 3rd Edition, small post 8vo, 2s. 6d.; cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 6d.
MACGREGOR (John) “Rob Roy” on the Baltic. 3rd Edition, small post 8vo, 2shillings 6pence; cloth, gilt edges, 3shillings 6pence
–– A Thousand Miles in the “Rob Roy” Canoe. 11th Edition, small post 8vo, 2s. 6d.; cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 6d.
–– A Thousand Miles in the “Rob Roy” Canoe. 11th Edition, small post 8vo, £2.50; cloth, gold edges, £3.50
Macgregor (John) Description of the “Rob Roy” Canoe, with Plans, &c., 1s.
Macgregor (John) Description of the “Rob Roy” Canoe, with Plans, & etc., 1s.
–– The Voyage Alone in the Yawl “Rob Roy.” New Edition, thoroughly revised, with additions, small post 8vo, 5s.; boards, 2s. 6d.
–– The Voyage Alone in the Yawl “Rob Roy.” New Edition, completely updated, with extras, small post 8vo, 5s.; paperback, 2s. 6d.
Macquoid (Mrs.) Elinor Dryden. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Macquoid (Mrs.) Elinor Dryden. Crown 8vo, cloth, £6.
–– Diane. Crown 8vo, 6s.
–– Diane. Crown 8vo, £6.
Magazine. See Harper, Union Jack, The Etcher, Men of Mark.
Magazine. See Harper, Union Jack, The Etcher, Men of Mark.
Magyarland. A Narrative of Travels through the Snowy Carpathians, and Great Alföld of the Magyar. By a Fellow of the Carpathian Society (Diploma of 1881), and Author of “The Indian Alps.” 2 vols., 8vo, cloth extra, with about 120 Woodcuts from the Author’s own sketches and drawings, 42s.
Magyarland. A Narrative of Travels through the Snowy Carpathians, and Great Alföld of the Magyar. By a Member of the Carpathian Society (Diploma of 1881), and Author of “The Indian Alps.” 2 vols., 8vo, cloth extra, with around 120 illustrations from the Author’s own sketches and drawings, 42s.
Manitoba: its History, Growth, and Present Position. By the Rev. Professor Bryce, Principal of Manitoba College, Winnipeg. Crown 8vo, with Illustrations and Maps, 7s. 6d.
Manitoba: its History, Growth, and Present Position. By the Rev. Professor Bryce, Principal of Manitoba College, Winnipeg. Crown 8vo, with Illustrations and Maps, £7.50.
Markham (C. R.) The Threshold of the Unknown Region. Crown 8vo, with Four Maps, 4th Edition. Cloth extra, 10s. 6d.
Markham (C. R.) The Threshold of the Unknown Region. Crown 8vo, with Four Maps, 4th Edition. Extra cloth, £10.6.
Maury (Commander) Physical Geography of the Sea, and its Meteorology. Being a Reconstruction and Enlargement of his former Work, with Charts and Diagrams. New Edition, crown 8vo, 6s.
Maury (Commander) Physical Geography of the Sea, and its Meteorology. This is a revised and expanded version of his earlier work, complete with charts and diagrams. New edition, crown 8vo, 6s.
Memoirs of Count Miot de Melito, Minister, Ambassador, Councillor of State, and Member of the Institute of France, between the years 1788 and 1815. Edited by General Fleischmann. From the French by Mrs. Cashel Hoey and Mr. John Lillie. 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, 36s.
Memoirs of Count Miot de Melito, Minister, Ambassador, Councillor of State, and Member of the Institute of France, spanning the years 1788 to 1815. Edited by General Fleischmann. Translated from the French by Mrs. Cashel Hoey and Mr. John Lillie. 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, 36s.
Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat, 1802-1808. By her Grandson, M. Paul de Rémusat, Senator. Translated by Mrs. Cashel Hoey and Mr. John Lillie. 4th Edition, cloth extra. This work was written by Madame de Rémusat during the time she was living on the most intimate terms with the Empress Josephine, and is full of revelations respecting the private life of Bonaparte, and of men and politics of the first years of the century. Revelations which have already created a great sensation in Paris. 8vo, 2 vols., 32s.
Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat, 1802-1808. By her Grandson, M. Paul de Rémusat, Senator. Translated by Mrs. Cashel Hoey and Mr. John Lillie. 4th Edition, extra cloth. This work was written by Madame de Rémusat while she was living closely with Empress Josephine, and it is full of insights into Bonaparte's private life as well as the people and politics of the early years of the century. These insights have already caused quite a stir in Paris. 8vo, 2 vols., 32s.
—— See also “Selection.”
—— See also “Choice.”
Menus (366, one for each day of the year). Translated from the French of Count Brisse, by Mrs. Matthew Clarke. Crown 8vo, 10s. 6d.
Menus (366, one for each day of the year). Translated from the French of Count Brisse, by Mrs. Matthew Clarke. Crown 8vo, 10s. 6d.
Men of Mark: a Gallery of Contemporary Portraits of the most Eminent Men of the Day taken from Life, especially for this publication, price 1s. 6d. monthly. Vols. I. to VI., handsomely bound, cloth, gilt edges, 25s. each.
Men of Mark: a Gallery of Contemporary Portraits of the most Eminent Men of the Day taken from Life, especially for this publication, price £1.50 monthly. Vols. I. to VI., beautifully bound, cloth, gold edges, £25 each.
Mendelssohn Family (The), 1729-1847. From Letters and Journals. Translated from the German of Sebastian Hensel. 2 vols., demy 8vo, 30s.
Mendelssohn Family (The), 1729-1847. From Letters and Journals. Translated from the German of Sebastian Hensel. 2 vols., demy 8vo, 30s.
Michael Strogoff. 10s. 6d. and 5s. See Verne.
Michael Strogoff. 10s. 6d. and 5s. See Verne.
Mitford (Miss). See “Our Village.”
Mitford (Miss). See “Our Neighborhood.”
Music. See “Great Musicians.”
Music. See “Top Artists.”
My Lady Greensleeves. By Helen Mathers, Authoress of “Comin’ through the Rye,” “Cherry Ripe,” &c. 1 vol. edition, crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
My Lady Greensleeves. By Helen Mathers, Author of “Comin’ through the Rye,” “Cherry Ripe,” etc. 1 vol. edition, crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Mysterious Island. By Jules Verne. 3 vols., imperial 16mo. 150 Illustrations, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. each; elaborately bound, gilt edges, 7s. 6d. each. Cheap Edition, with some of the Illustrations, cloth, gilt, 2s.; paper, 1s. each.
Mysterious Island. By Jules Verne. 3 volumes, imperial 16mo. 150 illustrations, cloth with gold lettering, 3s. 6d. each; elegantly bound, with gilded edges, 7s. 6d. each. Budget edition, featuring some of the illustrations, cloth, gold lettering, 2s.; paper, 1s. each.
NARRATIVES of State Trials in the Nineteenth Century. First Period: From the Union with Ireland to the Death of George IV., 1801-1830. By G. Lathom Browne, of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 24s.
NARRATIVES of State Trials in the Nineteenth Century. First Period: From the Union with Ireland to the Death of George IV., 1801-1830. By G. Lathom Browne, of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 24shillings.
Nature and Functions of Art (The); and more especially of Architecture. By Leopold Eidlitz. Medium 8vo, cloth, 21s.
Nature and Functions of Art (The); and more especially of Architecture. By Leopold Eidlitz. Medium 8vo, cloth, 21s.
Naval Brigade in South Africa (The). By Henry F. Norbury, C.B., R.N. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 10s. 6d.
Naval Brigade in South Africa (The). By Henry F. Norbury, C.B., R.N. Crown 8vo, extra cloth, £10.6.
New Child’s Play (A). Sixteen Drawings by E. V. B. Beautifully printed in colours, 4to, cloth extra, 12s. 6d.
New Child’s Play (A). Sixteen Drawings by E. V. B. Beautifully printed in colors, 4to, extra cloth, 12s. 6d.
New Guinea: What I did and what I saw. By L. M. D’Albertis, Officer of the Order of the Crown of Italy, Honorary Member and Gold Medallist of the I.R.G.S., C.M.Z.S., &c., &c. In 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, with Maps, Coloured Plates, and numerous very fine Woodcut Illustrations, 42s.
New Guinea: What I did and what I saw. By L. M. D'Albertis, Officer of the Order of the Crown of Italy, Honorary Member and Gold Medallist of the I.R.G.S., C.M.Z.S., etc. In 2 volumes, large 8vo, extra cloth, with maps, colored plates, and numerous high-quality woodcut illustrations, 42s.
New Ireland. By A. M. Sullivan, M.P. for Louth. 2 vols., demy 8vo, 30s. Cheaper Edition, 1 vol., crown 8vo, 8s. 6d.
New Ireland. By A. M. Sullivan, M.P. for Louth. 2 volumes, demy 8vo, 30s. Cheaper Edition, 1 volume, crown 8vo, 8s. 6d.
New Novels. Crown 8vo, cloth, 10s. 6d. per vol.:—
New Novels. Crown 8vo, cloth, £10.6 per vol.:—
Nice and Her Neighbours. By the Rev. Canon Hole, Author of “A Book about Roses,” “A Little Tour in Ireland,” &c. Small 4to, with numerous choice Illustrations, 12s. 6d.
Nice and Her Neighbours. By the Rev. Canon Hole, Author of “A Book about Roses,” “A Little Tour in Ireland,” etc. Small 4to, with many beautiful illustrations, 12s. 6d.
Noah’s Ark. A Contribution to the Study of Unnatural History. By Phil Robinson, Author of “In my Indian Garden,” “Under the Punkah,” &c., &c. 2 vols. Small post 8vo, 12s. 6d.
Noah’s Ark: A Contribution to the Study of Unnatural History. By Phil Robinson, Author of “In My Indian Garden,” “Under the Punkah,” etc., etc. 2 vols. Small post 8vo, 12s. 6d.
Noble Words and Noble Deeds. From the French of E. Muller. Containing many Full-page Illustrations by Philippoteaux. Square imperial 16mo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, plain edges, 5s.
Noble Words and Noble Deeds. From the French of E. Muller. Featuring several full-page illustrations by Philippoteaux. Square imperial 16mo, extra cloth, 7s. 6d.; simpler binding, plain edges, 5s.
Nordenskiöld’s Voyage around Asia and Europe. A Popular Account of the North-East Passage of the “Vega.” By Lieut. A. Hovgaard, of the Royal Danish Navy, and member of the “Vega” Expedition. Demy 8vo, cloth, with about 50 Illustrations and 3 Maps, 21s.
Nordenskiöld’s Voyage around Asia and Europe. A Popular Account of the North-East Passage of the “Vega.” By Lieut. Hovgaard, of the Royal Danish Navy, and member of the “Vega” Expedition. Demy 8vo, cloth, with about 50 Illustrations and 3 Maps, £21.
North American Review (The). Monthly, price 2s. 6d.
North American Review (The). Monthly, price £2.6.
Nothing to Wear; and Two Millions. By W. A. Butler. New Edition. Small post 8vo, in stiff coloured wrapper, 1s.
Nothing to Wear; and Two Millions. By W.A. Butler. New Edition. Small post 8vo, in a stiff colored wrapper, 1s.
Nursery Playmates (Prince of). 217 Coloured Pictures for Children by eminent Artists. Folio, in coloured boards, 6s.
Nursery Playmates (Prince of). 217 Colorful Pictures for Kids by renowned Artists. Folio, in colorful boards, 6s.
OFF to the Wilds: A Story for Boys. By G. Manville Fenn. Most richly and profusely Illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
OFF to the Wilds: A Story for Boys. By G. Manville Fenn. Beautifully illustrated throughout. Crown 8vo, extra cloth binding, 7sh. 6d.
Old-Fashioned Girl. See Alcott.
Old-Fashioned Girl. See Alcott.
On Horseback through Asia Minor. By Capt. Fred Burnaby, Royal Horse Guards, Author of “A Ride to Khiva.” 2 vols., 8vo, with three Maps and Portrait of Author, 6th Edition, 38s.; Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 10s. 6d.
On Horseback through Asia Minor. By Capt. Fred Burnaby, Royal Horse Guards, Author of “A Ride to Khiva.” 2 vols., 8vo, with three Maps and Portrait of Author, 6th Edition, 38s.; Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 10s. 6d.
Our Little Ones in Heaven. Edited by the Rev. H. Robbins. With Frontispiece after Sir Joshua Reynolds. Fcap., cloth extra, New Edition—the 3rd, with Illustrations, 5s.
Our Little Ones in Heaven. Edited by Rev. H. Robbins. With Frontispiece after Sir Joshua Reynolds. Fcap., cloth extra, New Edition—the 3rd, with Illustrations, 5s.
Our Village. By Mary Russell Mitford. Illustrated with Frontispiece Steel Engraving, and 12 full-page and 157 smaller Cuts. Crown 4to, cloth, gilt edges, 21s.; cheaper binding, 10s. 6d.
Our Village. By Mary Russell Mitford. Illustrated with a frontispiece steel engraving and 12 full-page illustrations and 157 smaller cuts. Crown 4to, cloth, gilt edges, £21; cheaper binding, £10.6.
Our Woodland Trees. By F. G. Heath. Large post 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, uniform with “Fern World” and “Fern Paradise,” by the same Author. 8 Coloured Plates (showing leaves of every British Tree) and 20 Woodcuts, cloth, gilt edges, 12s. 6d. Third Edition. About 600 pages.
Our Woodland Trees. By F.G. Heath. Large post 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, matching “Fern World” and “Fern Paradise,” by the same author. 8 Colored Plates (showing leaves of every British Tree) and 20 Illustrations, cloth, gilt edges, 12s. 6d. Third Edition. About 600 pages.
Outlines of Ornament in all Styles. A Work of Reference for the Architect, Art Manufacturer, Decorative Artist, and Practical Painter. By W. and G. A. Audsley, Fellows of the Royal Institute of British Architects. Only a limited number have been printed and the stones destroyed. Small folio, 60 plates, with introductory text, cloth gilt, 31s. 6d.
Outlines of Ornament in all Styles. A Reference Guide for the Architect, Art Maker, Decorative Artist, and Practical Painter. By W. and G.A. Audsley, Fellows of the Royal Institute of British Architects. Only a limited number have been printed, and the plates have been destroyed. Small folio, 60 plates, with introductory text, cloth gilt, £31 6s.
PAINTERS of All Schools. By Louis Viardot, and other Writers. 500 pp., super-royal 8vo, 20 Full-page and 70 smaller Engravings, cloth extra, 25s. A New Edition is issued in Half-crown parts, with fifty additional portraits, cloth, gilt edges, 31s. 6d.
PAINTERS of All Schools. By Louis Viardot and other Writers. 500 pages, oversized 8vo, 20 full-page and 70 smaller engravings, extra cloth, £25. A new edition is available in half-crown parts, with fifty additional portraits, cloth, gilt edges, £31.6.
Painting (A Short History of the British School of). By Geo. H. Shepherd. Post 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d.
Painting (A Short History of the British School of). By Geo. H. Shepherd. Post 8vo, cloth, £3.50.
Palliser (Mrs.) A History of Lace, from the Earliest Period. A New and Revised Edition, with additional cuts and text, upwards of 100 Illustrations and coloured Designs. 1 vol., 8vo, 1l. 1s.
Palliser (Mrs.) A History of Lace, from the Earliest Period. A New and Revised Edition, with additional images and text, over 100 illustrations and colored designs. 1 vol., 8vo, £1 1s.
–– Historic Devices, Badges, and War Cries. 8vo, 1l. 1s.
–– Historic Devices, Badges, and War Cries. 8vo, 1l. 1s.
–– The China Collector’s Pocket Companion. With upwards of 1000 Illustrations of Marks and Monograms. 2nd Edition, with Additions. Small post 8vo, limp cloth, 5s.
–– The China Collector’s Pocket Companion. Featuring over 1000 illustrations of marks and monograms. 2nd Edition, with updates. Small post 8vo, soft cover, £5.
Parliamentary History of the Irish Land Question (The). From 1829 to 1869, and the Origin and Results of the Ulster Custom. By R. Barry O’Brien, Barrister-at-Law, Author of “The Irish Land Question and English Public Opinion.” 3rd Edition, corrected and revised, with additional matter. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Parliamentary History of the Irish Land Question (The). From 1829 to 1869, and the Origin and Results of the Ulster Custom. By R. Barry O'Brien, Lawyer, Author of “The Irish Land Question and English Public Opinion.” 3rd Edition, corrected and revised, with additional content. Post 8vo, extra cloth, 6s.
Pathways of Palestine: a Descriptive Tour through the Holy Land. By the Rev. Canon Tristram. Illustrated with 44 permanent Photographs. (The Photographs are large, and most perfect Specimens of the Art.) Published in 22 Monthly Parts, 4to, in Wrapper, 2s. 6d. each. Vol. I., containing 12 parts, 24 Illustrations, cloth, gilt edges, 31s. 6d.
Pathways of Palestine: a Descriptive Tour through the Holy Land. By the Rev. Canon Tristram. Illustrated with 44 high-quality photographs. (The photographs are large and showcase excellent craftsmanship.) Published in 22 monthly issues, 4to, in wrappers, 2s. 6d. each. Vol. I, containing 12 issues, 24 illustrations, cloth, gilt edges, 31s. 6d.
Peasant Life in the West of England. By Francis George Heath, Author of “Sylvan Spring,” “The Fern World.” Crown 8vo, 400 pp. (with Autograph Letter of seven pages from Lord Beaconsfield to the Author, written December 28, 1880), 10s. 6d.
Peasant Life in the West of England. By Francis G. Heath, Author of “Sylvan Spring,” “The Fern World.” Crown 8vo, 400 pp. (with an autograph letter of seven pages from Lord Beaconsfield to the author, written December 28, 1880), £10.6.
Petites Leçons de Conversation et de Grammaire: Oral and Conversational Method; being Lessons introducing the most Useful Topics of Conversation, upon an entirely new principle, &c. By F. Julien, French Master at King Edward the Sixth’s School, Birmingham. Author of “The Student’s French Examiner,” “First Steps in Conversational French Grammar,” which see.
Petites Leçons de Conversation et de Grammaire: Oral and Conversational Method; these are lessons introducing the most useful topics of conversation, based on a completely new approach, etc. By F. Julien, French teacher at King Edward the Sixth’s School, Birmingham. Author of “The Student’s French Examiner,” “First Steps in Conversational French Grammar,” which see.
Photography (History and Handbook of). See Tissandier.
Photography: History and Handbook. See Tissandier.
Physical Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism. By J. E. H. Gordon, B.A. With about 200 coloured, full-page, and other Illustrations. In respect to the number and beauty of the Illustrations, the work is quite unique. 2 vols., 8vo, 36s.
Physical Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism. By J.E.H. Gordon, B.A. Featuring around 200 colored, full-page, and other illustrations. The number and quality of the illustrations make this work truly one of a kind. 2 vols., 8vo, 36s.
Poems of the Inner Life. A New Edition, Revised, with many additional Poems. Small post 8vo, cloth, 5s.
Poems of the Inner Life. A New Edition, Revised, with many additional Poems. Small post 8vo, cloth, 5s.
Poganuc People: their Loves and Lives. By Mrs. Beecher Stowe. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Poganuc People: their Loves and Lives. By Mrs. Beecher Stowe. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Polar Expeditions. See Koldewey, Markham, MacGahan, Nares, and Nordenskiöld.
Polar Expeditions. See Koldewey, Markham, MacGahan, Nares, and Nordenskiöld.
Poynter (Edward J., R.A.). See “Illustrated Text-books.”
Poynter (Edward J., R.A.). See “Illustrated Textbooks.”
Publishers’ Circular (The), and General Record of British and Foreign Literature. Published on the 1st and 15th of every Month, 3d.
Publishers’ Circular (The), and General Record of British and Foreign Literature. Published on the 1st and 15th of every month, 3d.
Pyrenees (The). By Henry Blackburn. With 100 Illustrations by Gustave Doré, a New Map of Routes, and Information for Travellers, corrected to 1881. With a description of Lourdes in 1880. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Pyrenees (The). By Henry Blackburn. With 100 illustrations by Gustave Doré, a new map of routes, and updated information for travelers, revised to 1881. Includes a description of Lourdes in 1880. Crown 8vo, extra cloth, 7s. 6d.
RAMBAUD (Alfred). History of Russia, from its Origin to the Year 1877. With Six Maps. Translated by Mrs. L. B. Lane. 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, 38s.
RAMBAUD (Alfred). A History of Russia, from its Origins to 1877. Including Six Maps. Translated by Mrs. L. B. Lane. 2 volumes, large 8vo, extra cloth, 38s.
Recollections of Writers. By Charles and Mary Cowden Clarke. Authors of “The Concordance to Shakespeare,” &c.; with Letters of Charles Lamb, Leigh Hunt, Douglas Jerrold, and Charles Dickens; and a Preface by Mary Cowden Clarke. Crown 8vo, cloth, 10s. 6d.
Recollections of Writers. By Charles and Mary Cowden Clarke. Authors of “The Concordance to Shakespeare,” etc.; with letters from Charles Lamb, Leigh Hunt, Douglas Jerrold, and Charles Dickens; and a preface by Mary Cowden Clarke. Crown 8vo, cloth, 10sh. 6d.
Rémusat (Madame de). See “Memoirs of,” “Selection.”
Rémusat (Madame de). See “Memoirs of,” “Selection.”
Richter (Jean Paul). The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci. Containing his Writings on Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, his Philosophical Maxims, Humorous Writings, and Miscellaneous Notes on Personal Events, on his Contemporaries, on Literature, &c.; for the first time published from Autograph Manuscripts. By J. P. Richter, Ph.Dr., Hon. Member of the Royal and Imperial Academy of Rome, &c. 2 vols., imperial 8vo, containing about 200 Drawings in Autotype Reproductions, and numerous other Illustrations. Price Eight Guineas to Subscribers. After publication the price will be Ten Guineas.
Richter (Jean Paul). The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci. This collection includes his writings on painting, sculpture, and architecture, his philosophical maxims, humorous pieces, and various notes on his personal life, his contemporaries, literature, etc.; published for the first time from original manuscripts. By J.P. Richter, Ph.D., Honorary Member of the Royal and Imperial Academy of Rome, etc. 2 volumes, imperial 8vo, featuring about 200 drawings in autotype reproductions and many other illustrations. Price is Eight Guineas for subscribers. After publication, the price will be Ten Guineas.
Robinson (Phil). See “In my Indian Garden,” “Under the Punkah,” “Noah’s Ark.”
Robinson (Phil). See “In my Indian Garden,” “Under the Punkah,” “Noah’s Ark.”
Rochefoucauld’s Reflections. Bayard Series, 2s. 6d.
Rochefoucauld’s Reflections. Bayard Series, 2nd. 6th.
Rogers (S.) Pleasures of Memory. See “Choice Editions of Choice Books.” 2s. 6d.
Rogers (S.) Pleasures of Memory. See “Choice Editions of Choice Books.” 2s. 6d.
Rose in Bloom. See Alcott.
Rose in Bloom. Check it out Alcott.
Rose Library (The). Popular Literature of all Countries. Each volume, 1s.; cloth, 2s. 6d. Many of the Volumes are Illustrated—
Rose Library (The). Popular Literature of all Countries. Each volume, 1s.; cloth, 2s. 6d. Many of the volumes are illustrated—
Round the Yule Log: Norwegian Folk and Fairy Tales. Translated from the Norwegian of P. Chr. Asbjörnsen. with 100 Illustrations. Imperial 16mo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.
Round the Yule Log: Norwegian Folk and Fairy Tales. Translated from the Norwegian of P. Chr. Asbjørnsen, with 100 Illustrations. Imperial 16mo, extra cloth, gilt edges, 7£ 6d.
Russell (W. Clarke). See “A Sailor’s Sweetheart,” 3 vols., 31s. 6d.; “Wreck of the Grosvenor”, 6s.; “John Holdsworth (Chief Mate),” 6s.
Russell (W. Clarke). See “A Sailor’s Sweetheart,” 3 vols., 31shillings 6pence; “Wreck of the Grosvenor,” 6shillings; “John Holdsworth (Chief Mate),” 6shillings
Russell (W. H., LL.D.) Hesperothen: Notes from the Western world. A record of a Ramble through part of the United States, Canada, and the Far West, in the Spring and Summer of 1881. By W. H. Russell, LL.D. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 24s.
Russell (W. H., LL.D.) Hesperothen: Notes from the Western world. A record of a journey through parts of the United States, Canada, and the Far West, in the Spring and Summer of 1881. By W.H. Russell, LL.D. 2 volumes, crown 8vo, cloth, 24s.
–– The Tour of the Prince of Wales in India. By W. H. Russell, LL.D. Fully Illustrated by Sydney P. Hall, M.A. super-royal 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 52s. 6d.; Large Paper Edition, 84s.
–– The Tour of the Prince of Wales in India. By W. H. Russell, LL.D. Fully Illustrated by Sydney P. Hall, M.A. super-royal 8vo, deluxe cloth, gold edges, 52s. 6d.; Large Paper Edition, 84s.
SAINTS and their Symbols: A Companion in the Churches and Picture Galleries of Europe. With Illustrations. Royal 16mo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
SAINTS and their Symbols: A Companion in the Churches and Picture Galleries of Europe. With Illustrations. Royal 16mo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
Science Ladders. Fcap. 8vo, stiff covers, 6d. each.
Science Ladders. Fcap. 8vo, stiff covers, 6d. each.
Schuyler (Eugène). The Life of Peter the Great. By Eugène Schuyler, Author of “Turkestan.” 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra.
Schuyler (Eugène). The Life of Peter the Great. By Eugène Schuyler, author of “Turkestan.” 2 volumes, large 8vo, extra cloth.
Selection from the Letters of Madame de Rémusat to her Husband and son, from 1804 to 1813. From the French, by Mrs. Cashel Hoey and Mr. John Lillie. In 1 vol, demy 8vo (uniform with the “Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat,” 2 vols.), cloth extra, 16s.
Selection from the Letters of Madame de Rémusat to her Husband and Son, from 1804 to 1813. Translated from the French by Mrs. Cashel Hoey and Mr. John Lillie. In 1 volume, demy 8vo (matching the “Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat,” 2 volumes), cloth extra, 16s.
Seonee: Sporting in the Satpura Range of Central India, and in the Valley of the Nerbudda. By R. A. Sterndale, F.R.G.S. 8vo, with numerous Illustrations, 21s.
Seonee: Hunting in the Satpura Range of Central India and the Valley of the Nerbudda. By R.A. Sterndale, F.R.G.S. 8vo, with lots of illustrations, 21s.
Seven Years in South Africa: Travels, Researches, and Hunting Adventures between the Diamond-fields and the Zambesi (1872-1879). By Dr. Emil Holub. With over 100 Original Illustrations and 4 Maps. In 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, 42s.
Seven Years in South Africa: Travels, Researches, and Hunting Adventures between the Diamond-fields and the Zambesi (1872-1879). By Dr. Emil Holub. With over 100 Original Illustrations and 4 Maps. In 2 volumes, standard 8vo, extra cloth, 42s.
Serpent Charmer (The): a Tale of the Indian Mutiny. From the French of Louis Rousselet. Numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, 5s.
Serpent Charmer (The): a Tale of the Indian Mutiny. From the French of Louis Rousselet. Featuring many illustrations. Crown 8vo, extra cloth, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; simpler binding, 5s.
Shadbolt (S.) The Afghan Campaigns of 1878-1880. By Sydney Shadbolt, Joint Author of “The South African Campaign of 1879.” Dedicated by permission to Major-General Sir Frederick Roberts, G.C.B., V.C., &c. 2 vols., royal quarto, cloth extra; to subscribers before publication, 2l. 10s.; to non-subscribers, 3l.
Shadbolt (S.) The Afghan Campaigns of 1878-1880. By Sydney Shadbolt, Co-Author of “The South African Campaign of 1879.” Dedicated with permission to Major-General Sir Frederick Roberts, G.C.B., V.C., etc. 2 volumes, royal quarto, premium cloth; for subscribers before release, £2 10s; for non-subscribers, £3
Shooting: its Appliances, Practice, and Purpose. By James Dalziel Dougall, F.S.A., F.Z.A., Author of “Scottish Field Sports,” &c. New Edition, revised with additions. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. “The book is admirable in every way.... We wish it every success.”—Globe. “A very complete treatise.... Likely to take high rank as an authority on shooting.”—Daily News.
Shooting: Its Tools, Techniques, and Purpose. By James Dalziel Dougall, F.S.A., F.Z.A., Author of “Scottish Field Sports,” etc. New Edition, revised with updates. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7£ 6d. “The book is excellent in every way.... We wish it all the best.”—Globe. “A very thorough guide.... Likely to become a top reference on shooting.”—Daily News.
Sikes (Wirt). Rambles and Studies in Old South Wales. With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 18s. By Wirt Sikes, Author of “British Goblins,” which see.
Sikes (Wirt). Rambles and Studies in Old South Wales. With numerous illustrations. Demy 8vo, extra cloth, 18s. By Wirt Sykes, author of “British Goblins,” which you can check out.
Silent Hour (The). See “Gentle Life Series.”
Silent Hour. See “Gentle Life Series.”
Silver Sockets (The); and other Shadows of Redemption. Eighteen Sermons preached in Christ Church, Hampstead, by the Rev. C. H. Waller. Small post 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Silver Sockets (The); and other Shadows of Redemption. Eighteen sermons delivered at Christ Church, Hampstead, by the Rev. C. H. Waller. Small post 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Smith (G.) Assyrian Explorations and Discoveries. By the late George Smith. Illustrated by Photographs and Woodcuts. Demy 8vo, 6th Edition, 18s.
Smith (G.) Assyrian Explorations and Discoveries. By the late George Smith. Illustrated with photographs and woodcuts. Demy 8vo, 6th Edition, 18s.
–– The Chaldean Account of Genesis. By the late G. Smith, of the Department of Oriental Antiquities, British Museum. With many Illustrations. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 6th Edition, 16s. An entirely New Edition, completely revised and re-written by the Rev. Professor Sayce, Queen’s College, Oxford. Demy 8vo, 18s.
–– The Chaldean Account of Genesis. By the late G. Smith, from the Department of Oriental Antiquities, British Museum. With many Illustrations. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 6th Edition, 16s. A completely New Edition, fully revised and rewritten by the Rev. Prof. Sayce, Queen’s College, Oxford. Demy 8vo, 18s.
Snow-Shoes and Canoes; or, the Adventures of a Fur-Hunter in the Hudson’s Bay Territory. By W. H. G. Kingston. 2nd Edition. With numerous Illustrations. Square crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; plainer binding, 5s.
Snow-Shoes and Canoes; or, the Adventures of a Fur-Hunter in the Hudson’s Bay Territory. By W.H.G. Kingston. 2nd Edition. With many Illustrations. Square crown 8vo, extra cloth, gilt edges, 7£. 6d; simpler binding, 5£.
South African Campaign, 1879 (The). Compiled by J. P. Mackinnon (formerly 72nd Highlanders), and S. H. Shadbolt; and dedicated, by permission, to Field-Marshal H.R.H. The Duke of Cambridge. 4to, handsomely bound in cloth extra, 2l. 10s.
South African Campaign, 1879 (The). Compiled by J.P. Mackinnon (formerly 72nd Highlanders), and S.H. Shadbolt; and dedicated, by permission, to Field-Marshal H.R.H. The Duke of Cambridge. 4to, elegantly bound in extra cloth, £2 10s.
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Union Jack (The). Every Boy’s Paper. Edited by G. A. Henty. One Penny Weekly, Monthly 6d. Vol. III. commences with the Part for November, 1881, and contains the first Chapters of Three Serial Stories by G. Manville Fenn, Louis Rousselet, and W. H. G. Kingston, from the French of “Landelle.” Illustrated by the Best Artists. With the first Part is presented a Photograph of Jules Verne, and a Coloured Plate, “Rounding the Lightship,” a Yachting Incident; and this Volume will also contain New Stories by Col. Butler, Author of “The Great Lone Land,” Jules Verne, an Historical Story by the Editor, &c., &c. Volume II. for 1881, beautifully bound in red cloth (royal 4to), 7s. 6d., gilt edges, 8s. Beautifully Illustrated with over 400 Illustrations, including 52 full-page Engravings, 8 Steel ditto, 7 Coloured Plates, and Photograph of the Editor.
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- Transcriber’s Notes:
- Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
- This book was written at a time when both American and English spelling of some words were acceptable. The author’s usages weren't changed.
- Typographical errors were silently corrected.
- Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.
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