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Cornell University Library 
 PS 3545.A875I8 1911 
 
 It: being our individual majgneto. 
 
 3 1924 021 717 255 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/cletails/cu31924021717255 
 
BEING OUR 
 INDIVIDUAL MAGNETO 
 
 BY 
 
 Elizabeth Snowden Nichols Watrous 
 
 THE SHAKESPEARE PRESS 
 
 114-116 EAST 28TH STREET 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 1911 
 
Copyright 1911 by 
 E. S. N. Watrous. 
 
Dedicated to 
 Erickson Norman Nichols 
 
 AND 
 
 Morton Colton Nichols 
 
IT 
 
 GHAPTEE I 
 
 Back in the ranges of the Adirondack mountains 
 there are still households so primitive as to be 
 damaging to the consciences of foreign missionaries. 
 Jean was the eldest child of such a family. A log 
 house she lived in, one sifting light at many crevices 
 into a single room. Some rags there were to sleep 
 on, a crippled stove to cook on, and nothing more. 
 Outside a lean cow wandered, seeking its scant pas- 
 turage, and a roving flock of hens picked what they 
 could in daytime and flew to branches at twilight. 
 A pair of slim pigs turned the marsth soil behind 
 brush palings enclosing a clay sty. Sheep there 
 were, though rarely visible, being screened by the 
 denser growth of the mountains into which they 
 wandered for sustenance as soon as released from 
 their winter pen. To the hut once a year a baby 
 came. At such a time the father sought work at a 
 neighboring graphite mine, there to earn sufficient 
 for immediate necessity, after which effort he lapsed 
 once more into constitutional apathy. 
 
 For six short weeks the little school-house near 
 the mine was opened, and here Jean, and as many 
 of the brothers and sisters as could walk the four 
 
6 IT 
 
 miles, learned to read and add. To meet, or com- 
 pare their lot with, that of other children, there was 
 no chance ; the distance to and from their home gave 
 them no time to join their comrades before or after 
 school. As Jean grew older, the care of the increas- 
 ing family forbade any but very infrequent days at 
 school. Their cabin stood far from the high road, 
 and the children rarely saw strangers. 
 
 A few papers and magazines, used as wrappers 
 on bundles brought from the mine store, were 
 eagerly seized by Jean. Advertisements of patent 
 medicines with pictures of their factories in per- 
 spective, fashion plates from small towns, and 
 prints of curious animals, first gave Jean the idea of 
 an outside world. Other pictorials, blown across 
 the meadow from where they had been thrown from 
 woodmen's lunch baskets, stirred the girl with dim 
 cravings. The big hills, the red sunsets, the wihirr 
 of mystic night birds, had been her widest world. 
 Now there dawned the fact that something lay be- 
 yond this voiceless place. Pondering by herself, she 
 followed one day the sheep trail to where it crossed 
 a patch of linnia. Here she stretched herself full 
 length beside its pink blossoms, and dreamed of her 
 scattered pictures and the things they told. In 
 strongest contrast crowded thoughts of her family. 
 
 Must her life be always and forever as now, as 
 that of her mother and probably her mother's 
 mother? Must she marry and have a baby, always 
 another baby, and never enough to eat and never 
 enough to wear? Oh, those beautiful women in the 
 pictures! The big houses as high as the hills, the 
 
IT 7 
 
 strange looldng animals in the parks, and all the 
 curious, delightful pictures, and oh, what pretty 
 women ! Jumping up and goaded by a new desire, 
 she gathered handfuls of the long slender linnia 
 vines, twisting them in her hair, and curling them 
 about her slender body. She leaned over the bank 
 and gazed at herself in a still pool of the brook. 
 She did look nice ! and the pink in the tiny flowers 
 was just the same pink that was in her cheeks, she 
 thought, and the thought held fast. 
 
 Later that day, she pulled the crumpled paper 
 with its illustrations of pretty women, from under 
 the corn-cobs up in the garret, and compared the 
 picture of iher memory of the pool with that in her 
 hand. Where were they, these lovely wopnen, some- 
 where off over those mountains? She must see 
 them! she must go! she must be in that world — 
 be of it! 
 
 All one year Jean meditated, then finally the over- 
 whelming thing was decided. She would go to that 
 wonderful world, be near to those beautiful women, 
 see them at close range, see it all. Maybe she 
 could learn, too, how to get things like theirs. 
 Such thoughts sent the blood tingling and caused 
 something to swell inside, so that she could scarcely 
 breathe. That present conditions might have been 
 better she could not comprehend. Toward her pa- 
 rents there was no feeling of resentment. How 
 could her mother be cleaner, when there was nothing 
 cleaner to put on ! Nor was her father to blame, if 
 the soil was no good, and things would not grow. 
 Her parents, she convinced herself, were not ac- 
 
8 IT 
 
 countable for the poverty, nor the thriftlessness of 
 their life. 
 
 When Jean was ripe with her great proposition, 
 she met with little opposition, "Yes, yer can go; 
 meybe it'll be a good thing," said her mother, with 
 spent indifference. "Phoebe will help me mind 
 the children. You'll have to have a few things, I 
 presume. Your father'll trade work for cloth at 
 the mine store." 
 
 Tihe rest of the family took the parting of Jean 
 with animalistic philosophy. Beside the excitement 
 of dad's going to work for a fortnight, work that 
 didn't mean another brat, there was little flutter in 
 the monotonous, sodden life of the Oummings. Now 
 their callous farewells were over. 
 
 Jean sat on a treacherous plank by her father's 
 side, as he drove the borrowed horse and decrepit 
 wagon down to the dingy station nine miles from 
 the log cabin and pitiful farm that for sixteen years 
 had been all there was of the world to Jean. So 
 fierce did her heart beat as they jolted along, that 
 she could not talk, she could not find the words to 
 say to her father what she had planned to say, and 
 it became harder as the distance between her and 
 home lengthened. Several times since leaving she 
 had been tempted to tell him to turn the old horse 
 back, for she dared not do this scary thing alone; 
 how had she ever gotten courage to come? Finally 
 sihe spoke : 
 
 "Pa, I feel just awful here." She laid her hand 
 against her chest. 
 
IT 9 
 
 The man turned toward her and looked into her 
 shining eyes that were appealing to his, 
 
 "Jean," he said, and for a spasm something she 
 had never seen on her fatiher's face, shone there 
 now. "Jean, it had to come. I been watching you 
 quite a spell — I've seen you were growing fast, get- 
 ting big — and having thoughts — good ones. They 
 showed in your looks. You tidied up more, and two 
 or three times you said cute things. You said 
 things that made me think of the Orwell Press. 
 You're budding like buckwheat — I ain't afraid but 
 what you'll git along. Sometimes I come near be- 
 ing asihamed that I never done nothing for you 
 children; then I say to myself, no use in feeling 
 that way ; if there's something in them it will come 
 out of itself; if there isn't — they'll be like me. No 
 use losing sleep." 
 
 As this was the longest speech her father had ever 
 made, Jean took it as an affectionate outburst, and 
 in its present sensitiveness her heart was touched. 
 
 "I'll do something nice for pa yet," she thought, 
 and inwardly .brightened at the possible oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 Old Jim ambled on through the mire. The fall 
 rains 'had been incessant. They were nearing the 
 railway. 
 
 "Mighty Injun !" exclaimed her father, emerging 
 from a mental equation, "If there ain't the whistle ! 
 The train is coming through the dug-way !" 
 
 He beat upon Jim with the hazel branch, and the 
 wagon soon scraped the edge of the platform. 
 "Whoa you, Jim !" he cried. So obedient was Jim 
 
10 IT 
 
 that father and daughter were nearly precipitated 
 over the animal's haunches; instead, the plank 
 shifted, and they were both flung to the wagon's 
 side. When Mr. Oummingg had extricated himself, 
 he said, "You stay by him, and I'll go buy the 
 ticket." He sprang over the wheel. His thick boots 
 sounded hollow against the boards as he receded 
 toward the office. Scarcely had he reappeared when 
 the train rounded the curve and thundered along- 
 side the platform. 
 
 "Pa, it makes me feel just awful, I can't never 
 get aboard that noisy thing. I guess I'll have to go 
 back. I can't never stand it, Pa," she whispered 
 half in fright of the engine, ihalf in dread of herself, 
 as she waited on the platform. "Pa," and she caught 
 at his coat convulsively. 
 
 "I can't hold the train while yer visit," cried the 
 train man, shoving girl and box toward the perpen- 
 dicular car-steps. Blindly she stumbled up the 
 steps, walked through the aisle, her tear-dimmed 
 vision making note of nothing till she reached the 
 further end of the car, when a hand caught at a 
 fold of her dress. 
 
 "There's room here." A big woman drew Jean 
 into the seat by her side. The train was already in 
 motion before Jean realized that she was really 
 beyond range of the depot, and consequently could 
 not catch another glimpse of her father nor call to 
 him from this terribly noisy place. Awful! She 
 had done it ! She had left them all up there in the 
 hills and might never see them again. How could 
 she have done it? Even for the nice things! She 
 
IT 11 
 
 had never dreamed it would hurt so dreadfully in 
 her throat. Oh, if only she miglht call Pa and drive 
 back with him to the shanty! The overwrought 
 nerves broke loose, and plunging her head in her 
 hands the girl sobbed away her wretchedness. Even 
 wretdhedness has its limits, and when the sobs had 
 grown less frequent, marked only by an occasional 
 moan, some one said: 
 
 "There, you'll feel better once you've spanked the 
 baby." 
 
 The girl looked up; she did not understand; 
 and lo, there through her tears she beheld a big 
 woman, the person, no doubt, who had pulled at her 
 dress. 
 
 "That's what they say where I come from," the 
 woman explained. "Spank the baby, and your 
 troubles for the day are over." 
 
 While the woman spoke Jean was studying, as 
 far as her limited knowledge went, the mighty crea- 
 tion beside her. Here already was something more 
 remarkable even ihan the pictures hid in the corn 
 loft. On this lady's (head was pinned a hat as big 
 as the saw-wheel up to the mines, and more hen's 
 feathers circled the crown than covered the entire 
 spring brood. Growing bolder she continued her 
 observation. 
 
 Oh my! there was holes, a purpose, in the waist 
 that showed clear through to the "shimmy," and 
 she had on white leather gloves as wrinkled up as 
 a cow's dewlap. The stuff in the dress was soft; 
 she could feel it now as her hand rested on the seat 
 
12 IT 
 
 to steady herself against the jerking and dancing 
 of the cars. The woman was looking at her. 
 
 "Are you comfortable?" she asked, just as kindly 
 and pleasantly as if she, Jean, were a fine lady, and 
 wore soft things and not the coarse knit stockings, 
 the heavy flannel skirt and thick tapped shoes. 
 
 "Just shove your box under the seat further; we 
 can put our feet on it, so, it won't bother us, I 
 know just how you feel. I done it myself. You 
 have to; no good staying home with the folks all 
 your life. I made myself. I come away just the 
 same as you. It was hard. You'll be all right," 
 she added quickly, seeing a fresh outburst immi- 
 nent, "as soon as the noise and dust settles. There 
 ain't no disease one gets over quicker than 'the 
 folks at home' disease, and you must — All right, 
 Eugene; look in when you can." She had turned 
 suddenly to speak to a man who had jerked his 
 head in their direction as he passed through the car. 
 
 Jean in her nineteen years had never seen a 
 human being so superb as this man. His hair was 
 gray, to be sure, but such a dark mustache he had, 
 it made him look noble. There was a gold chain 
 hanging from his pants — ^strong enough to hold even 
 Scoot when the lambs were loose. Way down below 
 his pants and resting on his boots, and shaped and 
 strapped down so they couldn't ride up, were light 
 cloth gaiters! 
 
 Looking timidly at her friend Jean saw that she 
 too was following the man with her eyes. The 
 woman's expression was so genial that the girl 
 dared ask a bold question. 
 
IT 13 
 
 "Who is that?" 
 
 "Mr. Eugene," answered her companion, with 
 beaming face. 
 
 Jean never forgot in after life the way she said 
 "Mr. Eugene." 
 
 "Where is he going?" again asked the girl, con- 
 scious of her audacity. 
 
 "To the drawing-room car, to be sure," replied the 
 woman with an inflation of pride. Jean was un- 
 enlightened, but feared further inquiry. 
 
 "Eugene can't sit in no common car," she ex- 
 plained unsolicited, "and it ain't worth Avhile, see- 
 ing as the distance is so little, for both of us to 
 bother about it. He's handsome, aint he?" she con- 
 tinued, with another sigh of pride. 
 
 "Wonderful !" whispered the girl, more to herself 
 than to the woman, and lapsed into a mental search 
 for the reason of this man and this woman and all 
 the people in the car. Some must be going to their 
 homes, others like herself must be going from their 
 homes. But they were all rich. She had never 
 dreamed tihere could be such splendid clothes. Each 
 person seemed dressed a little richer than the next, 
 and they were not fussy about their things either — 
 didn't seem to save them any. They might have 
 taken off their hats and gloves and wrapped them 
 away from the dust. 
 
 The city must be very full when they all got in. 
 Would there be room enough for them? Many, of 
 course, must sleep on the floor; but that was not 
 so bad. How the train did hurry along, and how 
 it sang. She thought she could make out a tune. 
 
14 IT 
 
 Where?— Inhere! — Where? Oh, and then she sud- 
 denly realized that she did not know where she was, 
 where was she going once she got to the city? May- 
 be the ticket agent would tell her how she could 
 find a place to sleep. Then the rhythmic noise 
 of the train ran her thoughts along as if her 
 thoughts, too, were on rails. It would not be hard 
 to get a place or Pa would have said something 
 about it, though Pa didn't trouble about things. 
 That baby in the far seat cried just like Eex; his 
 hair was prettier and wasn't a tangle like Eex. 
 Was Eex crying for her now, maybe? For a mo- 
 ment she would have given anything just to catch 
 up Eex and smother him with kisses. Then she 
 smiled as she remembered his recent fall in the 
 sap filled boiler, and how sticky he came out. All 
 unconsciously she began quietly to sob again. 
 
 "Now you just take a mouthful of this leg and 
 you'll be a heap better," said a voice from out of 
 the mist of her dreaming. Following the direction 
 of the voice, Jean saw a drum-stick held toward 
 her. 
 
 "No, thank you, marm." 
 
 "Bosh! You just chew on this, and you won't 
 think of that farm, nor what's going to happen. 
 I wonder if Eugene has gone to the dining-car. 
 He ought to have a good meal. He didn't have no 
 time before he started, he got up so late, and it's 
 two now. I hope there'll be something nice. He 
 knows good food, Eugene does." 
 
 "Is he a friend of yours?" timidly asked Jean, 
 with recurring thoughts of the splendid man. 
 
IT 15 
 
 "Friend!" cried the woman, wiping her greasy 
 chin with the back of her cheaply jeweled hand. 
 "Why, child, he's my husband." 
 
 The information awed the girl. She gazed with 
 undisguised astonishment at her companion. 
 
 "Yes, he's mine," she answered, drawing herself 
 to greater height. 
 
 The information was too intense to be lightly 
 thought of. The bare leg of a pullet testified to the 
 length of Jean's silent meditation. A dill pickle 
 and a wedge of domestic cheese was now held temp- 
 tingly before the girl. 
 
 "Oome, get busy; it won't do you no harm," said 
 a coaxing voice. The food was again accepted in 
 grateful silence. 
 
 "I think the vittals does make me feel better," 
 she said in a half tone. "Things was so mixed up 
 at the house this morning that I guess I forgot my 
 breakfast. Thank you. I'd like some water. I'm 
 awful dry." 
 
 The woman smiled good-naturedly and pointed 
 to where she might help herself at the tin tank. 
 Of course Jean had no conception of how to manage 
 the faucet. She twisted and turned, then finally a 
 swift jet hissed outward soaking her dress. A child 
 but half Jean's size sprang to the rescue and showed 
 her how to open the valve. Jean in confusiion 
 thanked the little girl and shifted back to her seat, 
 heartily wishing she had perished of thirst rather 
 than inspire the laughter which rippled along the 
 aisle at her expense. She was at least thankful 
 that she got back to her seat before the next visit 
 
16 IT 
 
 of the wonderful man who just came into the car 
 again, 
 
 "There's Eugene !" cried his wife. He stopped by 
 their seat, told them that he had had a passable 
 luncheon, though the beer was fiat, and that he 
 was now going to the smoking-car. "You never put 
 my match-box in my vest, Sarah. Can't you never 
 think of nothing?" he said, though there was no 
 malice in his voice. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Johnny, I had so many things to 
 think of this morning. Can't you get a match in 
 the smoker?" 
 
 "Of course I can, but I want my box. All the 
 fellows haven't got as nice a one; besides, I like 
 to pass it around." The splendid vision put his 
 hands in his pockets and left the car, followed by 
 four admiring eyes. 
 
 The lady, whose face since her luncheon had 
 become purple, now contentedly stretched herself, 
 wedged a strapped shawl between the window and 
 the back of the seat, and bending her head over the 
 improvised pillow was soon audibly sleeping. 
 
 Once more Jean's thoughts flew to the comfort- 
 less 'home among the hills, a place already divested 
 of its tradition of deserved affection, for though 
 the afternoon was still young, Jean had in the 
 short time seen enough of human demands to 
 realize that her past abode was wretched indeed. 
 People who wore such dainty shoes and dresses, 
 as even the little girl who helped her with the 
 water, could never live in such mean dwellings as 
 was hers. Why, their clothes even wouldn't stand 
 
IT 17 
 
 the contact of such coarse surroundings. Dainty 
 things must be kept in dainty places out of the 
 dust. Where in her shanty was there such a place? 
 The train thundered into a town and came to a 
 stand under a great iron roof. Jean had never 
 seen brick houses, and here were whole rows of 
 them, solid, regular, like great walls. People 'hur- 
 ried. No one hurried up home. There wasn't the 
 need. If things were not done at one time, they 
 were at another; there was nothing to hurry for, 
 nothing really mattered. Here every one acted as if 
 some one were chasing them. Way down the street 
 wheeled the first closed carriage Jean had seen. 
 It sent a thrill of amusement to her very knees. 
 She wanted to laugh, but she did not dare. What 
 a funny thing it was. She had seen a hearse once ; 
 jn that the body could lie full length, but what 
 could one do with a thing like this? The trap 
 turned and came toward her, stopped at the curb, 
 and a young girl taller than herself jumped out. 
 Little did the girl alighting suspect that she had 
 created a desire, a desire that grew from that in- 
 stant to an ambition that never ceased in its de- 
 mands on the ability of Jean Cummings. 
 
 It was well after four when the train drew out 
 of Pottsville. The September sun was falling in 
 the horizon. A weary girl blinked at her sleeping 
 neighbor whose stentorious breathing was sugges- 
 tively, seductive. The heat of the car was creating 
 a contagious drowsiness, while the noise of revolv- 
 ing wheels churned a lullaby, to which most of the 
 occupants were rapidly succumbing. Their exam- 
 
18 IT 
 
 pie was overpowering. Jean joined her compajiions, 
 till the crowding of brakes jarred and jostled t;he 
 sleeping community into activity, and Jean opened 
 heavy eyes upon a new world. 
 
 The purple lady touched her shoulder. 
 
 "Don't you want to see the big city as we run 
 in? It's only six, but they've lit up." 
 
 Jean started, forgot for the moment her sur- 
 roundings, sat erect, then realized. She looked 
 through the window upon millions of lights. Won- 
 derland ! At home there was seldom even a lamp 
 lighted; in fact, they often went to bed without 
 light, and here lights were going to waste by the 
 thousand — ^vast numbers, as far as the eye could 
 reach. 
 
 "Oh !" she cried, "are they true?" 
 
 "You bet, nothing like it in all the world. Take 
 your fill; it will never look the same to you again." 
 
 The girl's eyes feasted at the window till the tun- 
 nel closed out the sight, nearly choking her with 
 its stifling air. 
 
 "Where are you going?" suddenly asked the 
 woman, her voice thickened by the close atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 "I don't know; guess I can find a place," she 
 answered, with no great concern. 
 
 "Don't know! Did you ever hear the beat of 
 that?" asked the lady of herself. "Why, you poor 
 little jackass, coming to New York City, and at 
 night, too, and not knowing wihere you're going! 
 Haven't you no place, nor no one you know?" 
 
 "No, marm," answered Jean innocently. Then 
 
IT 19 
 
 vaguely her loneliness crept upon her, and she 
 shivered with dread and fright. 
 
 "That settles it. I couldn't let a puppy shift for 
 itself coming to town for the first time. You're 
 going straight home with me. We don't live no 
 great distance from the station." 
 
 Jean was trembling from head to foot. The train 
 stopped. Jean, eagerly obedient, closely following 
 her new friend, crowded with the others, out 
 through the narrow door and hastened with the 
 throng along the flagged walk. Her heart beat 
 painfully. Her teeth chattered. This was differ- 
 ent from the station up home. Oh, the roar of it 
 all, for now they were outside, where Mr. Eugene 
 joined them, and where all manner of men were 
 crying fiercely in their faces, and all sizes of boys 
 shouted strange words that had no meaning. There 
 were railways in the street and railways in the air, 
 and the roads were full of queer carriages and 
 wagons and smooth horses, and oh, such a noise! 
 Such a noise! 
 
 The purple lady must have explained something 
 to the gentleman, for he looked at Jean, nodded 
 his head, and together all walked down several 
 streets, then mounted a stone stair and entered a 
 building whose door -was opened by a diminutive 
 maid upon a stuffy atmosphere. Lifting a stained 
 portiere, the party found themselves in a room, the 
 floor of which was littered with countless scraps 
 of dress stuffs. 
 
 "Sit there," said the lady, pointing to a humpy 
 sofa. "I'll be back soon." Then Jean was alone. 
 
20 IT 
 
 Here, in a strange house, all was done so quickly 
 that she had been left no choice. But how lucky 
 she was. These splendid people had taken a fancy 
 to her ! To her, poor Jean. They had brought her 
 to this great house and its elegant furnishings. 
 Since Jean had never seen carpet, nor sofa, nor in 
 fact any article of furniture, small wonder that she 
 could be ecstatic on that racking seat, indefinitely 
 studying the rare sight of her surroundings. She 
 made no gauge of time and was only beginning to 
 learn to classify things when the lady returned. 
 
 Said the mellow lady between her labored 
 breaths : "I been considering you — I been consider- 
 ing, if you want to stay with me I'll put you in the 
 sewing-room to work, and let you sleep on the 
 couch. I shan't pay you no big wages, but I'd want 
 you to help a bit with the housework," she ex- 
 plained with business promptitude. "You can take 
 the night to bhink it over." 
 
 To think it over? Why, what could be more 
 splendid! Had not the lovely lady been as kind 
 to her as an angel? Could any one in the wide 
 world be more lucky than she? What use to think 
 about that? She had already settled it in her mind. 
 
 "Of course I'll stay if you'll have me," she cried, 
 the tears threateningly close. 
 
 Sleep was delicious that night on the intermitting 
 sofa — an easier bed than anything Jean had ever 
 known. She wished that her family could see her. 
 "If only poor ma had such a bed!" she thought. 
 
 Here, then, Jean served her apprenticeship. Mrs. 
 Eugene, a third-rate dressmaker, was to Jean a 
 
IT 21 
 
 lofty personage. The house care was a frolic. It 
 was fun to turn up the madam's folding-bed in the 
 morning and pull it out at night; to set the screen 
 across the room that divided its other half; to 
 draw in rows the sewing-machines and to place the 
 chairs for the work-girls who came at eight. She 
 was glad of the evening work in the basement, for 
 beside the sewing allotted her, she had much to do. 
 The basement bell rang incessantly. Messengers 
 went and came frequently during the day. There 
 were so many incidentals, necessary materials had 
 to be bought immediately. Jean was glad, of 
 course, to get to the basement, because the noisy 
 chatter of the girls confused her. She was not used 
 to the coarse laughter, nor the broad jokes, nor the 
 constant shrieks of delight, as when a particularly 
 vulgar story sent the hands into riotous outbursts 
 of pleasure. It was all so still in the country, and 
 such sounds as were there made music. The 
 brook, the rain on the roof, the pines, and the dear 
 delightful birds. The scarlet tanager, how he would 
 ring when he had slaked his thirst in the spring up 
 by the yellow birch, and the chattering wood 
 squirrels. Sounds that told tales, separate stories, 
 all distinguishable. Here, in the city, one had to 
 try not to listen. It was quite terrible, such roars, 
 snch jumbles of noises. Another reason why sihe 
 preferred to be by herself was that the girls had 
 joked about her clothes. She thought her dress so 
 pretty the morning she left home. 'Ma' had cut it, 
 pinned it on her, and she and all the younger ones 
 who could had helped make it. Was it not the 
 
22 IT 
 
 Lighest priced cloth in the store? The first new 
 dress of her own ! All her previous frocks had been 
 Ma's, cut over. Now the hands laughed at this new 
 dress. Some day she would earn enough to buy 
 another, but this one must do for a long while, and 
 the thought of its homeliness in other eyes was 
 not pleasing. Down in the basement she could see 
 out of the short window, though there wasn't much 
 time to look up from iher work, yet there were mo- 
 ments when the passing of a figure would call her 
 attention and she would enjoy the novelty of these 
 new humans. So little necessity for sewing had 
 there been in the hills that the use of a needle was a 
 sore trial to the girl. The thimble was hard to 
 manage, and the needle had a trick of sometimes 
 running in her fingers, making the blood come and 
 spotting the work. Mrs. Eugene had lost her tem- 
 per over these mishaps. 
 
 "Ain't you never going to learn nothing, girl? 
 You're too awkward for patience ! If we can't get 
 that spot out, I'll have to buy a new silk. I'm 
 responsible for the goods." 
 
 So pathetic did Jean look, and so close were the 
 tears, that the compassion of one of the girls was 
 challenged. She came up to Jean, as the irate 
 Madam left the room, closing the door with a bang. 
 
 "Say, don't you worry, I can fix that. There's 
 goods enough to cut it out. Anyway, the spot comes 
 near that seam and a band of insertion goes over. 
 She won't be back before you can do it, she's got to 
 go up and help that lazy man dress. Gosh, what 
 does she see in him to work for. He's the worst 
 
IT 23 
 
 ever. Never to do a thing and she paying all the 
 bills." 
 
 Could it be possible that the girl was tialking of 
 Mr. Eugene? Why, to Jean's mind he was the 
 most splendid man in all the world. "You're not 
 talking of Mr. Eugene?" asked Jean, in wonder. 
 
 "Sure. 'Mr. Eugene!' No more Eugene than I 
 be. His name is plain Michael Kafferty. The 
 'Eugene's' part of the business. 'Rafferty' on a 
 dressmaker's sign — I don't think! 'Mada,me 
 Eugene' is a coaxer. Sounds French, looks good 
 on the belt tapes. Besides, the women who come 
 here to get dresses ain't telling the world where 
 they come to. What do you suppose we have the 
 screens for except so's the customers won't see 
 each other in this bum place?" 
 
 Jean had been in the ihouse a week, and this 
 present information was a surprising revelation. 
 The establishment an unimportant one! Mr. 
 Eugene lazy! That he did not work Avas no dis- 
 grace ! Her father didn't, except in times of neces- 
 sity, and Mr. Eugene had no necessity. Any one 
 so fine as he must be rich, though how, or why, 
 had not occurred to her. Was it possible this was 
 not a smart house? That the inmates were not of 
 the best? 
 
 "He ain't no call to work," said Jean, timidly, 
 rising in defense of 'her ideal. 
 
 "No, that's so all right, seeing as she is fool 
 enough to do it for him, great loafing hulk! But 
 she's iSO stuck on his shape she'd wear her hands 
 off to fix him up fine for people to stare at. Ever 
 
24 IT 
 
 see her watch him from the windows when he 
 leaves the house? Why, she just sucks in hunks 
 of satisfaction over the set of his coat on those 
 prize-fighting shoulders, and the straight creases 
 along those common legs. It beats me." The girl 
 heaved a sigh and turned to resume her work with 
 an air of thought dismissal, as if her revelation were 
 of little importance. Jean took a skirt from one of 
 the women, who showed her what was to be done, 
 and descended to the basement again. Pulling the 
 shade higher, she seated herself and into the stitches 
 wove thoughts new and strange. 
 
 The wonderful man was not wonderful at all! 
 Even the work hands sneered at him ! Elugene was 
 not a real name! There were customers who were 
 so fine that they did not even wish it known that 
 their clothes were made in this place! Was this, 
 then, not the finest dressmaker's in town? She had 
 not adjusted matters when a noisy moving of chairs 
 warned her of the noonday hour. Usually she was 
 glad she did not have to go out with the girls who, 
 hastily eating tlieir lunches, took a short stroll in 
 the street, to get the air and to rest their bodies from 
 the strain of the sewing position. But to-day she 
 would like to have gone ; she wanted to ask so many 
 questions, and there was so little chance to do so 
 in the work-room. Besides, she liked Agnes better 
 than the other girls. Agnes had not laughed at her 
 dress. Instead, she watched the girls leave the 
 house and saunter arm in arm down the street. 
 Eising, she set the table. A middle-aged woman 
 came every day to cook the lunch and dinner. Jean 
 
IT 25 
 
 fetched from the kitchen the hamburger steak and 
 boiled potatoes, then rang the bell. Mr. Eugene 
 seldom came down. Mrs. Eugene was a generous 
 woman, and often invited one of the hands to 
 lunch, knowing there were reasons why the girl 
 might otherwise go without. Often too busy in the 
 fitting-room, Mrs. Eugene would not get down. 
 "Shucks, it's no matter if I do miss a meal now and 
 then," she would say. "My hips are getting be- 
 yond my shoulder line. I can live a while on my 
 fat." Then Jean and the old woman would eat 
 their meal by themselves. 
 
 Today Mrs. Eiigene came down, followed by her 
 husband and two of the girls. They seated them- 
 selves in silence. The morning had been a busy 
 one, and the women were tired, but with the stimu- 
 lant of food they began to talk. 
 
 "Weren't you tickled to have Hilda Norwood 
 come in?" asked one of the girls, turning to the 
 dressmaker. 
 
 The latter smiled, "Yes, I was. She only or- 
 dered a wrapper, just a cheap thing, but I was glad 
 to have her custoin. If she stays, she can do me 
 some good." 
 
 "How did she happen to come?" asked the girl. 
 
 "She said she seen the sign 'Eugene' as she was 
 driving by, and she once played in a play of the 
 same name, and it ran good, and she believes in 
 Itick, and that I might make 'her something nice, 
 by mistake. 
 
 Mr. Eugene had just crammed 'his mouth with 
 hamburger, swallowing which he sputtered good 
 
26 IT 
 
 humoredly, "Something nice by mistake! Hilda 
 Norwood! Say, she's the real thing. If you can 
 get women like her to build clothes for, your for- 
 tune's made." 
 
 Jean was all attention. She w'as not in the habit 
 of talking much, rarely at the table. It was a 
 strain to sit at meals. Up in the mountains the 
 family never did. When they were hungry they 
 came in, got something, and went immedilately into 
 the open to eat it, where the birds sang and the 
 dragon-flies streaked swiftly by. Here there was 
 always a smell of the cooking and the hum of the 
 flies. These people would sit for hours over their 
 food if they could afford the time. They all seemed 
 glad about Hilda Norwood; who wias she? They 
 discussed her interminably. 
 
 "Yes, by gracious," continued Eugene. "I tell 
 you that little actress is coming right along. She'll 
 be top o' the heap before long." 
 
 "Do you know her, honey?" asked his wife, with 
 some pride. 
 
 "Sure, met her at Murphy's ball. Good stuff." 
 
 "I don't blame her for liking you, Michael," said 
 his wife, beaming with fond admir'ation. "You're 
 the best dressed man in town. Don't you forget 
 that for a minute, and I'd rather dress you than 
 any woman living." 
 
 Jean was impressed. An actress had been in the 
 building! She had only just become aware of the 
 existence of such a profession, and here was one 
 actually come to the house, one of those remote 
 creatures — one only heard of, like the fairies in a 
 
IT 27 
 
 wonderland. This city was surely leading her di- 
 rectly to heaven. How Mrs. Eugene loved her hus- 
 band too ! Never had she seen her mother so affec- 
 tionate to her father. As she pondered, the blood 
 mounted to her cheeks, a smile played across her 
 lips; she was really very pretty. Mr. Eugene, who 
 lost nothing where visions of beauty existed, swept 
 her an admiring glance. It was the first time a 
 man had ever taken such a privilege, and the girl, 
 not understanding, mistook it for kindliness, and 
 was more in conceit of his worth than ever. 
 
 "How is the kid there making out?" he asked of 
 his wife, pointing toward her with ihis knife. 
 
 "First rate," she answered, glancing at the girl. 
 "She tries hard, and she's willing, and that's a good 
 foundation, ain't it, Jean?" 
 
 The girl was too pleased to speak, so nodded her 
 head, the color again suffusing her smooth skin. 
 She moved awkwardly, upsetting a cup of hot tea. 
 The tea scalded her kness and the cup fell to the 
 floor and broke. 
 
 Jean in her pain cried out. The man hastened 
 to her side, and tried to dry away the tea with the 
 corner of the table cloth. Mrs. Eugene exclaimed, 
 "Gracious!" and hastened to pick up the broken 
 cup. Poor Jean was too frightened over the acci- 
 dent and in too much pain from the scalding tea, to 
 notice what the more acute sewing girls saw, that 
 the man was standing closer than was necessary 
 to wipe the hot spot from 'her sleeve. 
 
 "I'm not burned. It's all right," protested the 
 girl. "I guess I was more scared than hurt. Don't 
 
28 IT 
 
 bother," she said, suddenly realizing that the big 
 man was doing something for her, she was gen- 
 uinely pleased and embarrassed at the same time. 
 
 "If you're not boiled I'll run up stairs," laughed 
 the mistress, good-humoredly. Somehow, Mr. 
 Eiugene had gotten the girl's hand and pressed it 
 sympathetically. 
 
 Jean thought afterward how remarkable it was 
 that nothing the man ever did mattered much with 
 Mrs. Eugene. It was always how he looked, his 
 personal appearance that pleased her. 
 
 "He's really the loveliest man I believe in the 
 world," said Jean inwardly. In fact, all of Jean's 
 conceptions were roseate — ^ deeds, persons, all, 
 everything, the most delightful in the wide world. 
 
 For love of these dear people she stitched away, 
 because she would, as a good seamstress, be of 
 greater worth to them, and because she wanted 
 them to know how grateful she was for all their 
 kind doings. She wished to be a good workwoman, 
 a good seamstress, to learn all things connected 
 therewith, the cutting out of stuffs and arrange- 
 ment of trimmings. There were actresses as well 
 as other kinds of people in the world. The girls 
 upstairs knew so much about the world, so must 
 she. She began to wish she had a room to herself 
 where at night she could read the daily papers. 
 The sofa in the fitting-room afforded little chance. 
 She went to bed late of necessity, for the family 
 had only the one fitting-room in which to sit eve- 
 nings. To be sure, they were not home every night. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Eugene frequently dined out, and went 
 
IT 29 
 
 to the show after. On such evenings she could mend 
 her things and take a bath in the tub where Mrs. 
 Eugene kept the stock. It was no rapid task to 
 empty the tub of all the materials but she did not 
 mind, the water felt so refreshing, almost as pleas- 
 ant as the brook on the hot summer days, and the 
 noise of the water from the faucets brought to mind 
 the tiny waterfall back of the pond. 
 
 Jean had now been six months an inmate of the 
 Eugene establishment, observing, listening, stowing 
 away in her mind such things as she considered of 
 value for her general information. Certain things 
 and people had in the time taken on peculiarly som^ 
 ber hues, but there was always the bright side, and 
 the girl's sweet disposition prompted only the best 
 interpretations. Her mistress, usually kind and 
 generous, had days when these attributes slipped 
 off, leaving a stormy, hot-tempered, coarse-mouthed 
 woman. Jean noticed that on such days the adored 
 husband kept his room, and she surmised pretty 
 correctly that his mate was therefore troubled, be- 
 cause the world was losing an opportunity to view 
 his charms. And also Jean's suspicions were 
 aroused concerning a bottle she sometimes found 
 beneath his mattress when making his bed, which 
 might be responsible for the late hours of his rising. 
 Other incidents were puzzling. One of the girls 
 allowed a young man to kiss her when no one was 
 supposed to be watching, and often the girls had 
 used horrid words. Once, while waiting in the 
 sewing-room for a skirt she had to hem, Grace Jen- 
 kins, a sallow-skinned girl, had said: "It's time 
 
30 IT 
 
 you worked him for a new dress. Guess I wouldn't 
 be so slow if I had your looks." 
 
 Jean only half understood what the girl meant, 
 but certain lights were shining, thoughts were un- 
 folding ; matters chamelion-like were changing their 
 aspect. But there was the other side, and a very 
 lovely side it was. She was in the great city, one 
 of its lucky inmates, living in a stone house, and it 
 had all happened so easy; it was all so much 
 grander than anything she had ever imagined, and 
 she was quite happy — she could not wish for more. 
 At least, not till she was smart enough for more, 
 till she should be more like other people. So she 
 worked and dreamed. 
 
 Thursday morning, when Mr. Eiugene was sup- 
 posed to have left the house, she went to his room 
 to make the bed and straighten his things. As she 
 bent to raise and turn the mattress a dizziness over- 
 came her. She made an effort to catch the post, 
 but tumbled instead in a heap upon the edge of the 
 bed, and rolled from there on to the floor. When 
 she recovered "Mr. Eugene" was bending over her, 
 a queer glitter in his eye, 'his hands as they sought 
 to help her, trembling slightly. 
 
 She felt strangely, but managed to get to her 
 feet. 
 
 "I guess you must have fainted," said the man in 
 a low tone. 
 
 "What is that?" she asked, in a feeble voice. 
 
 "Passing away; lots of women do it. Never 
 mind," he answered cheerfully, noticing the tremor 
 on the girl's lip. "You'll get over it in no time. 
 
IT 31 
 
 I'm glad I was in," he continued with pointed 
 solicitude. "I was standing back of the door when 
 you came, and you never noticed me." 
 
 Jean turned to finish making the bed, though 
 she felt strangely ill. 
 
 "Don't bother about the bed now," said the man 
 coming close to her and patting her on the cheek. 
 "You're as pretty as a peach." He put his arm 
 about her and drew her to him. 
 
 Jean pushed herself from him and started to 
 leave the room. 
 
 "Come back, dear, I won't harm you," he said, 
 catching at her arm. But she was already 
 hurrying down the stair, a great lump making her 
 throat ache as it did the morning she left home. 
 How kindly he seemed, but she could not stand it — 
 she felt so miserable, she might cry and that would 
 be ungrateful, and he so considerate ! How could 
 she understand? 
 
 The following day Jean was ill; she could scarcely 
 get up. But she pluckily put on her clothes and 
 went about her work. It was hard to keep on, not 
 to stagger, and once she felt the horrid sensation 
 of yesterday and steadied herself against the dining- 
 table. At luncheon she ate nothing, and Mrs. 
 Eugene noticed it. 
 
 "What's the matter, child?" she asked, not un- 
 kindly. "You look blue." 
 
 "I don't feel just right," she answered, and tried 
 to smile. 
 
 "No, you don't, and it's bothered me. It's too bad, 
 just as I'm getting you broke in, but any one can 
 
32 IT 
 
 see with one eye shut that the confinement here 
 ain't right for you, coming as you have, green from 
 the country." 
 
 Jean felt the truth of the statement. She was 
 plucky, and had been determined not to complain. 
 
 "WTiat you want," continued the woman with 
 knitted brows, "is a place where you can get out 
 more," she pondered; " a place as nurse girl, or 
 something on that order — that's it." A bell rang, 
 and Mrs. Eugene had to go upstairs. 
 
 That afternoon, as Jean was leaving her finished 
 work in the sewing-room, one of the hands observing 
 her, exclaimed : "Say, honey, you look like a ghost. 
 What's the matter? In love? You're bleached like 
 the potato sprouts. Guess you've been too much 
 shut up. You'll have to hike out of this or you'll 
 be up against it." 
 
 "What can I do?" asked the girl, with a note of 
 distress. 
 
 "Get out, of course. Try something else." 
 
 "But where can I go? How can I get other work?" 
 
 "Oh, you ninny ; agencies, of course — intelligence 
 offices." 
 
 Jean shook her head. "I don't know about such 
 places; they sound hard." 
 
 "Oh say, wake up; ask for help; you'll always 
 find it. Here's some places," she said, bending her 
 head low over the work-bench and slowly writing 
 in ill-formed letters, the address of two offices. 
 
 "How good you are to me !" exclaimed Jean grate- 
 fully, and hurried off without another word, fearing 
 the treacherous tightening in her throat, her pre- 
 cious slip of paper held firmly. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 That night as she lay on the sofa-bed, tears both 
 of regret and dread trailed slowly down her cheeks. 
 Regret at that she must leave, dread of what the 
 future might bring, for there were little questions 
 daily growing larger within her, motives, causes, 
 reasons that were taking on new hues. If doubts 
 were budding against all these good people, how 
 was sihe going to trust the big outside world? 
 
 By the end of the week work had slacked down, 
 so that the dressmaker could see a way of easier 
 sparing Jean. She had become truly attached to 
 the girl, and was genuinely sorry to lose her, but 
 that the present confinement was undermining her 
 health was too obvious. Mrs. Eugene was too busy 
 for sentiment, nor was there time to indulge in 
 affectionate outbursts, so Jean was dismissed, to 
 the accompaniment of a gentle patting of approval 
 and a careless benediction from her overworked 
 employer. 
 
 Jean liked her mistress, but the atmosphere of 
 the place distressed her. Alas, these last few days 
 had opened her eyes to singular revelations — revela- 
 tions that seemed irreconcilable. For instance, the 
 big splendid man had nudged her, had looked 
 queerly out of his eyes, and had said some things 
 not at all like a father. The kind sewing-girl who 
 
34 IT 
 
 had given her the addresses had confided to her 
 neighbor in unguarded tones, that "she was glad 
 the 'kid' was going out, as she was sewing too well, 
 learning too fast and the madam thought too much 
 of her." Jean had already noticed that madam's 
 affection for her was the cause of a shrinking of 
 kindness on the part of several of the operators, 
 and Jean, her heart on her sleeve, choked over the 
 revelations. However, the girl's disposition and 
 buoyancy were fine assets. It was easier to leave 
 people you didn't quite believe in, than those you 
 did. 
 
 "You've been so good to me, I shan't never forget 
 it, and some day maybe I can do something nice 
 to show you," said Jean through her tears when 
 Monday morning Mrs. Eugene placed sixty dollars 
 in her hand, her wages for the six months. The girl 
 was very happy over this, her first earning, so was 
 the madam who had gotten so much for so little. 
 
 ^^Hien Jean was ready, one of the girls, following 
 her to the door, pointed the direction she was to 
 take to the office. 
 
 "Bye-bye, you comical kid. You're so good and 
 green — one couldn't hate you." 
 
 Jean's big eyes were grateful. She had been out 
 so seldom that she had learned but little of direc- 
 tion. Following the girl's indications as well as 
 she could, she asked further information of people 
 as she passed, and finally found the place. She 
 entered a room in which sat several ladies, and at 
 its far end a woman wrote behind a desk. Jean 
 walked to the desk. 
 
IT 35 
 
 "What kind of a situation?" asked the thin-lipped 
 individual, not raising her head to look at the girl 
 before her. 
 
 "I'd like to mind children," replied Jean mildly. 
 
 "Eecommendation," said the woman. 
 
 Jean, not knowing the word, did not answer. 
 
 After a pause of several seconds the person re- 
 peated : 
 
 "Eecoimmendation?" and looked up inquiringly. 
 
 "Are you talking to me?" asked Jean. 
 
 "I'm not talking to myself," she answered, in a 
 rasping voice. 
 
 "I don't think I understand," said Jean meekly. 
 
 "Eecommend from your last place; we don't 
 register any maids without one." 
 
 The girl looked so utterly lost, that the woman 
 broke in gruffly, "No use of that game; bring your 
 papers and we'll get you a place." 
 
 "But I have no papers," repeated the girl. "Mrs. 
 Eiugene never gave me any." 
 
 The name caught the woman's ear and she be- 
 came less brusque. 
 
 "Have you been with Eugene, dressmaker, 318 
 East 1 — Street?" she asked. 
 
 The girl's face brightened. 
 
 "Yes, I just came from there. I been there six 
 months helping, but didn't get out doors much and 
 she was afraid I might fall sick and told me to find 
 a place to care for children." 
 
 "Oh !" answered the woman, "that will do. It's 
 not customary, but we'll fix you out." She dipped 
 her pen and wrote rapidly for a few moments. 
 
36 IT 
 
 "Sign that," she said, handing the paper to Jean. 
 "One fifty." 
 
 As the girl did not understand what "one fifty" 
 meant she had to be informed by the hard-lipped 
 clerk. 
 
 Jean held out a crisp ten-dollar bill and eight 
 dollars and fifty cents was handed back over the 
 desk. Then pointing to a door the woman bade her 
 "Go in there and wait." 
 
 All that day Jean sat in the rear room of an 
 intelligence office, only leaving it as she was called 
 out to answer some applicant. It was a most un- 
 tidy place. The wall paper hung down in slanting 
 curls, the floor was dirty and the air was close. 
 Every now and then the clerk came in and narrow- 
 ing her eyes to slits, commanded in a 'husky voice : 
 "Keep quiet." What strange stories the girls told, 
 talking with as much freedom and exchange of con- 
 fidence as if they had known each other all their 
 lives. "How could they?" wondered Jean. 
 
 "Where did you get that dress?" asked a pretty 
 girl in the next seat. "You'll have a fine time trying 
 for a place with that on." 
 
 Again poor Jean's wardrobe assailed her. How 
 short-lived had been the joy of that dress! "It's 
 not very pretty," she replied apologetically, "but 
 nobody looks at me." 
 
 The girl laughed, and left her to answer a sum- 
 mons from the front room. 
 
 Jean had eaten nothing at noon and was feeling 
 tired and discouraged, when the clerk called her 
 forward. A few moments later a plainly dressed 
 
IT 37 
 
 woman wearing a long loose wrap had engaged ^her 
 to take care of a couple of children and help with 
 the housework. 
 
 As twilight settled, Jean lugged her box up four 
 flights of circular stairs to a faintly lighted landing 
 and felt vaguely for the door handle. It refused to 
 turn, and remained stubbornly shut. Jean knocked 
 several times. 
 
 There was a feeble effort to turn the handle on 
 the other side of the door, accompanied by a cooing 
 of infantile endeavor, then a grown voice arose : 
 
 "You brats will drive me crazy yet. Do get out, 
 Tony." 
 
 As Jean's new mistress jerked open the door 
 against the child, who stood too close to the handle, 
 Tony emitted a musical protest, and a lesser in- 
 fant echoed this scream from some distant crib. 
 Jean dropped her box and catching up the small 
 boy stroked his injury. So sweet was her voice, 
 so rich with promises of good nature, that a rapid 
 conquest was made, and through a tear-strained 
 voice he lisped: 
 
 "Is 'oo going to play horsey with me for ever and 
 ever?" 
 
 "Of course I am, and I'll tell you how I played 
 it with my brother Kex, who's just a little bigger 
 than you." 
 
 "Tony, be off," said his mother, "and you, what's 
 your name?" 
 
 "Jean." 
 
 "That will do, all right; come with me and I 
 
38 IT 
 
 will show you where your things belong and about 
 the work." 
 
 Jean's imagination had never created such tiny 
 spaces as were the rooms in the Jessup flat. There 
 was a bed in the kitchen for her, which filled nearly 
 the whole floor space by night and considerable of 
 the wall space by day. There was an adjoining 
 room called the sitting-room, a miniature dining- 
 room, a tiny bedroom and a toy aperture, the 
 bath-room. These, with meagre closets and the 
 slim hall that almost necessitated walking aslant, 
 were all of the terrestrial home of the new family. 
 
 Jean had never been accustomed to great space, 
 but this apartment seemed almost too tiny for 
 grown people to live in. She was immediately in 
 conceit of the mistress, who like many of her kind 
 was exceedingly gracious to the new servant. She 
 talked pleasantly, glossed gently over dangerous 
 subjects and put a rosy hue on all the necessary 
 duties of the household. "The children were dar- 
 lings and made as little trouble as any two children 
 ever did in the world." 
 
 "I'll help you so the work won't seem much, and 
 it will be much better for you than sewing, for 
 you may have to take the children out, which will 
 keep you in the open air part of the time." 
 
 Mrs. Jessup managed so shrewdly the following 
 day that Jean had but little to do, and was sent out 
 immediately after the breakfast things were put 
 away, being told not to return till twelve. Mrs. 
 Jessup would get the midday meal. 
 
IT 39 
 
 Jean enjoyed her first morning out with the chil- 
 dren. 
 
 Tony was cunning, important, and lisped family 
 secrets in manly frankness. Little Hilda, eighteen 
 months and barely toddling, had to be carried most 
 of the time, except when Jean seated herself on 
 a friendly step, and there held her charges by the 
 skirts or let them play in ecstasy with mud palaces 
 made from the street dust. Pictures of the old hills 
 returned to Jean, of her brothers and sisters build- 
 ing mud houses to their heart's content with never 
 a fear of passing vehicles, nor anything more dan- 
 gerous to threaten their safety than a thirsty cow, 
 or the mad capers of the shepherd dog in his joy 
 at having brought safely home the few poor strag- 
 gling sheep, but she was glad to be where she was, 
 to have in view all that the change in her life might 
 mean. 
 
 Jean grew rapidly fond of her charges, with their 
 quaint ways, and baby love of her. They, in turn, 
 rapidly discovered their superiority and bullied her 
 as only children can, but she liked their impositions 
 and was happy with them, besides the hours spent 
 out of doors restored the color to her cheeks. 
 There was always plenty of work. It was getting 
 harder for Mrs. Jessup to stir about. Jean knew 
 now, the same condition had been frequent at the 
 ■ cabin. Presently the event happened. Mrs. Jessup 
 went to bed ill, and the next day there was another 
 male Jessup — loud of lung and diligent of foot. 
 Then things tangled in the household. The mid- 
 wife, while she took charge of the sick room a few 
 
40 IT 
 
 hours each day, made extra work outside. For- 
 tunately the new member slept most of the time he 
 was not feeding. Much responsibility fell on Jean. 
 Overworked by day, she was too tired to sleep well 
 at night. Mr. Jessup did what he could when he 
 came home to help with the children and house- 
 hold. His wife was very ill ; he fretted much over 
 her, and his nerves wore on his patience because of 
 the noises made by the other children. Matters 
 grew harder each day, so hard that often Jean cried 
 from sheer fatigue. 
 
 "I don't want to be dressed," said Tony one 
 morning. "I's all sleepy." So Jean tucked him 
 in bed and kept Hilda with her in the kitchen. The 
 boy was still asleep when she went to him ; his face 
 was so warm that she stripped the bed clothes 
 down to a single blanket. Each time she went to 
 his little crib he was hotter and did not want to 
 stir. She said nothing to his mother, fearing that 
 his condition might harm her, but when Mr. Jessup 
 came in she hurried him to the child's bed. The 
 father laid his hand on the little chap's head, felt 
 his pulse, and sent for a doctor. He arrived, could 
 not diagnose the malady, but said he would come 
 again in the morning. 
 
 There was, on the morrow, no doubt of the trou- 
 ble — scarlet fever. 
 
 After days of ceaseless nursing, Jean was infec- 
 ted. 
 
 "We'll have to take you to the hospital," said the 
 doctor, kindly, and Jean, rolling her sick eyes up 
 to his face, murmured: 
 
IT 41 
 
 "I'd rather die now." 
 
 The doctor laughed, and answered, "You'll like 
 it; see if I'm not right," and proceeded to take her 
 immediately to the hospital. 
 
 "I seen myself in the glass," she told the doctor, 
 as he went his hospital rounds. "I mean I saw my- 
 self" — ^which correction proved that Jean was mak- 
 ing earnest endeavors to improve — "and I look like 
 Rex did the time the color came off Ma's woolen 
 skirt he was wrapped in." 
 
 "She liked the nurses with their pretty clean caps 
 and white suits, even though they made her lie 
 quiet and not "wrinkle up the bed." It was bad 
 to hear the other patients groan, but the girl's 
 nerves were steady, and early training to the sounds 
 of suffering stood her now. 
 
 There was a sun parlor, where she was allowed to 
 sit when convalescing. This was a great pleasure, 
 for she could look down on the city with its many 
 towering buildings, spires, bridges and roadways 
 and wonder at the vastness of it all. 
 
 "Isn't it grand?" said a patient in an adjoining 
 chair. 
 
 "Yes," answered Jean. "It's even grander than 
 my beautiful mountains." 
 
 Thanks to those healthy mountains of Jean's, 
 her convalescence was rapid. On the fourth day 
 after her first visit to the sun-parlor she was to 
 be discharged. The hospital was too crowded to 
 keep patients long, if they might with safety go. 
 "Oan I go out to work when I leave, nurse?" asked 
 Jean when the doctor had left the ward. 
 
42 IT 
 
 "To work! well I guess not. You've got to be 
 quiet for a couple of weeks at least." 
 
 "I don't know where to be quiet in. This city- 
 is so crammed with noises," said the patient, her 
 brows knitting thoughtfully. 
 
 "Have you any money saved up?" asked the 
 nurse, after a moment of study. 
 
 "Forty dollars from Mrs. Eugene and ten from 
 Mrs. Jessup, but, you see, I was calculating to get 
 some more things. I need a new dress, and my 
 other things don't look quite right now," she an- 
 swered with a sigh. 
 
 "Health before wealth," replied the woman with 
 a smile. "The best thing you can do it to get to 
 some little place out of town, where board is cheap 
 and you can smell the grass." 
 
 Jean's recollection of grass was not dim, and 
 she preferred the sight of stone and mortar. 
 
 "Couldn't I go somewhere up at the end of the 
 elevated road. I guess that's nearer the quiet." 
 
 "Maybe." 
 
 "I got a lady friend, Mrs. O'Hara, living in 
 Harlem," said a ward patient in the far end of 
 the room, who had been interested in the discus- 
 sion. "Perhaps she'd have you for a week or ten 
 days. She wouldn't ask much if you could help 
 her some with the house. Her husband is missing. 
 She takes in fine washing, and sometimes her cus- 
 tomers," she continued with a twinkle. "Her heart 
 is as big as a balloon, she has a sunny place, and 
 you'd be as nicely fixed there as anywhere I know." 
 
 "That sounds good. I know her too," said the 
 
IT 43 
 
 nurse. "Suppose I go up with you tomorrow. I'm 
 off duty in the afternoon." 
 
 The prospect was delightful to Jean and she 
 gladly assented. 
 
 "I could do in most any place," she answered 
 gratefully. "Four of us slept together home, the 
 two younger ones kicked awful too. I don't mind 
 being crowded." 
 
 "Mrs. O'Hara's bOy is acquainted with young 
 String, son of the undertaker on the corner. He'll 
 take a telephone message for me to the O'Hara's," 
 the nurse volunteered. Soon satisfactory terms 
 were negotiated over the wire between the nurse 
 and the future landlady. 
 
 The following day at three the nurse with Jean 
 left the hospital, and took a surface car, which ran 
 within a block of their destination. 
 
 Jean was initiated to the interior of a model tene- 
 ment. It looked cold and stern enough, to be sure, 
 but it was neat and well lighted. 
 
 "I don't believe I'll ever get used to seeing stairs 
 cut out of stone. My! it does look giddy down 
 through the banisters," she said, gazing over the 
 railing to the floors beneath. 
 
 "Guess you'd think so if you were to go to the 
 top of some of the high buildings," replied the 
 nurse amused. 
 
 "My legs feel like a frosted squash-vine; don't 
 seem as if they had any pertness," explained Jean 
 meekly. "Do you mind if I stop here a minute to 
 get my wind?" 
 
 "No, indeed; you just take it as easy as you 
 
44 IT 
 
 please. You're not strong yet, and you must re- 
 member that all the time. You don't want to have 
 a relapse." 
 
 Jean shook her head in comprehension of a word, 
 which was dreaded at the hospital. "I've got so 
 many plans that I feel in a hurry every blessed min- 
 ute. You can't never believe how little it is neces- 
 sary to know up in the mountains. It's just noth- 
 ing, and you can grow up and live and die and not 
 learn anything and it don't matter. But down here 
 the more you know the more it matters, and the 
 more it matters the more you've got to do." Jean 
 meant so much more than her words conveyed, that 
 she was quite exhausted by her effort in attempting 
 to express herself. 
 
 "That's so," replied her friend, with lack of in- 
 terest, "but we'll have to get a move on now — 
 I can't be away too long." 
 
 They began their climb again and shortly landed 
 on the top floor, and knocked at a door on which 
 was a large white number. 
 
 A fat, shapeless woman swung it back and rubbed 
 the wet from her arms upon a man's shirt fastened 
 apron-fashion about the part where her waist should 
 have been. 
 
 "Bless us, be you the sick girl? Nothing I'm 
 going to catch or put in the wash, have you? I 
 never thought to ask when I spoke over the 'phone. 
 My customers are mighty particular about disease 
 in their wash." 
 
 The nurse smiled. "No fear, Mrs. O'Hara, the 
 child is perfectly safe. Isn't she looking nice for 
 
IT 45 
 
 a patient?" she asked with professional pride, 
 raising the girl's chin. Jean smiled so sweetly 
 the woman's anxiety melted, and nodding her head 
 in approval, bade them enter. 
 
 "Aint this nice?" she asked, waving her great 
 arms about the room through which she ushered 
 them. "I don't have much time to sit in it, to be 
 sure, but it's a comfort to know it's my own. You're 
 going to sleep here," she continued, indicating a 
 small chamber as they passed into another room. 
 "It's mine, but I can use the sitting-room as long 
 as you stay. This piano pulls out. It's not real, 
 but it's a good bed." 
 
 Jean was beginning to think all city furniture 
 pulled out, and was no longer astonished. "These 
 are small quarters," she continued, indicating the 
 tiny place, "but you'll find that bed as comfortable 
 as any in the hospital. You needn't settle your- 
 self now; come in the kitchen where I'm Avashing 
 and get a cup of tea. 
 
 Her guests followed her into a kitchen littered 
 with clothes, 
 
 "You'll excuse me, nurse, for bringing you out 
 here — this is a busy day. The Poinsettes I wash 
 for had extra company, I guess from the size of 
 it. The butler must 'a put on three table-cloths 
 at once and wadded up the napkins for rat holes, 
 from the way things look, but I ain't going to let 
 you go without a cup of tea, Miss Norris, and 
 don't you forget it. Sit here, and child, what did 
 you say your name was? Never you mind about 
 your things, come just as you be and have a cup 
 
46 IT 
 
 with us," she said, as Jean made a motion to retire. 
 "You can fix up after she's gone." So genuine was 
 the hospitality of the woman, that the two new 
 arrivals, without further hesitation, took the chairs 
 offered them at the clean deal table, while their 
 hostess filled the earthen pot and set out a plate of 
 ginger-bread. 
 
 "Oh, how good it does taste!" exclaimed Miss 
 Norris, biting off a piece of the cake and half clos- 
 ing her eyes in approval. Jean, with a conva- 
 lescent's appetite, thought she had never eaten any- 
 thing more delicious, the tea was so soothing, and 
 the two women were so kind, she could have put 
 her arms about them and hugged them as if they 
 had been one of the youngsters at home; but of 
 course that would never do; these ladies were 
 much smarter and cleverer than she. How for- 
 tunate she was to get with such good people ! After 
 all, it was not half as dreadful as she had thought 
 it would be in this big city. Of course, it was un- 
 fortunate to have lost time being sick, but she was 
 well over it now, and she intended using her chance 
 to keep her eyes open and learn and get ahead as 
 guickly as she possibly could. 
 
 "I'll have to go now," said Miss Norris, rising 
 and retying the strings of her bonnet. 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. O'Hara. The tea was prime. 
 I'd like to come in again before Jean leaves you, 
 to see how you and she are doing." 
 
 "Of course, you're coming, and you'll find the 
 child like a big sunflower." 
 
 The good woman wabbled to the door with her 
 
IT 47 
 
 guest. Jean followed to take leave of the nurse, 
 who liad been so kind, even though this nurse had 
 often made her keep the bed clothes straight when 
 she wanted to thrash about in her discomfort, and 
 she had considered her at times with little love. 
 
 Miss Norris having left, Jean went to her room 
 and busied herself putting away what few posses- 
 sions she had. Presently some one shrilly whistling 
 a tune such as she had heard the street-organs play, 
 ran up the stone stairs; the whistling came nearer 
 and a key pierced the lock. A young boy, noisy, 
 alive at every joint, flung himself into the room. 
 
 "Hello, mum !" he cried, as he hurried to the 
 kitchen. 
 
 "Home already! Come here, you Small Hopes, 
 and let mammy look you over." 
 
 The youngster approached his mother, who 
 caught his face in both her wet hands and kissed 
 him squarely on the mouth. 
 
 "Gee, marm, that's a damp one!" he exclaimed, 
 rubbing his cheek with his sleeve and picking up 
 at the same time a huge slice of ginger-bread. Jean, 
 who could see the proceeding from her room, won- 
 dered why her mother had never kissed her boys. 
 
 "Now, Toddles, you pull in that clothes line for 
 me, like a good chap, then go and tidy a bit. I 
 had no idea it was so late. Guess Miss Norris 
 must have stayed longer than I suspected. You'll 
 have to help me too with the supper. Put on an 
 extra place; we got a young girl stopping with us 
 for a few days." 
 
 "Shucks, we always got some one stopping with 
 
m IT 
 
 us. When I grow up, Ma, there's only going to be 
 you and me, see ! I'll be rich and ihave a fine house 
 for you, and we won't have to take no board from 
 other people." 
 
 The sincerity of the boy's regret at housing an- 
 other boarder rang so true that Jean, having over- 
 heard, was on the point of going in and dismissing 
 herself, when the youngster began a series of hand 
 springs about the kitchen, and so ludicrous was the 
 sight that instead she burst into a loud peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 The lad heard, and straightened himself. 
 
 "Come out here, lassie," cried Mrs. O'Hara, 
 beckoning to Jean. "Here's my kid. Tommy, this 
 is Miss Cummings." 
 
 Miss ! How strange that sounded and how nice ! 
 Jean said "Miss" softly to herself and went for- 
 ward to the kitchen. 
 
 Tommy rubbed his hand across his lip, to removo 
 any crumbs of cake that may have adhered, and 
 extending his left hand shook Jean's extended right 
 heartily, her pretty face having melted all objec- 
 tions. 
 
 It did not take the two young people long to find 
 themselves. Jean, never ready to talk, was since 
 her advent in town, even more silent. DiflSdence, 
 born of new conditions, the wish not to appear igno- 
 rant, and a keen desire to learn, through observa- 
 tion, held her frequently tongue-tied. She now list- 
 ened intently, absorbed by Tommy's fine talk of 
 himself, and her mute attention was flattering. He 
 told her how he ran an elevator in the building at 
 
IT 49 
 
 West 42d Street, of funny incidents in the elevator, 
 of early morning jobs, and of his night school. 
 
 Night school ! What a splendid thing that was ! 
 She asked him about it, and listened with eyes 
 aglow as he told her of his different studies. So 
 absorbed were both, that Jean forgot her resolu- 
 tions to help Mrs. O'Hara with the supper. But 
 that good soul, seeing her boy happy, gladly went 
 about the modest preparation for the evening meal. 
 
 "Supper's ready," she called. 
 
 "Whew, mummy, is that so?" said Tommy, glee- 
 fully, while Jean felt a twinge at her conscience. 
 "I guess I didn't help you none," she said, remorse- 
 fully. Her hostess smiled and continued : 
 
 "Sit here. Miss Jean," and drew a chair back. 
 
 "It's nice to be called 'Miss,' but you needn't," 
 said Jean, "I'm not Miss yet." 
 
 Mrs. O'Hara did not quite understand the drift 
 of the girl's thoughts, and imagined her demand 
 was an allusion to her tender age. She did not 
 know that the girl meant that some day she might 
 be more fitted for the title which in her mind 
 embodied a high social eminence. 
 
 Supper was simple, though Tommy's conversa- 
 tion was the reverse. Finally, his boyish appetite 
 appeased, he dragged his cap from his pocket, but- 
 toned his coat close about him, and going to the 
 sitting-room table took from it a couple of books 
 which he swung beneath his arm. 
 
 "Where are you going?" asked Jean, loath to lose 
 her companion. 
 
 "To school, of course," he replied, and waving his 
 
50 IT 
 
 hand toward his mother he whistled himself out of 
 the house. 
 
 "Isn't he a darling?" cried the woman when his 
 whistle was no longer heard down the hallway. 
 
 "Well, I guess!" exclaimed the girl, her hands 
 folded in her lap, her eyes still wistfully glued on 
 the door. '^I guess yes," she repeated, and accom- 
 panied the words with a forceful inclination of her 
 head. 
 
 She could have said nothing more satisfactory 
 to her landlady, who, turning up the hem of the 
 clean gown she had hastily slipped on for supper, 
 presently dismissed the girl. 
 
 "You get away to bed now, you look bleached 
 out, and you'd better be careful or you'll be back 
 in that hospital again. Don't you get up early 
 to-morrow; you just stay in that bed as long as it 
 feels good. I'll have something ready. You call 
 out a few minutes before you're dressed. Good 
 night and pleasant dreams." 
 
 Jean remonstrated, she wished to help clear away 
 the dishes, but her landlady was firm and the girl 
 was forced to obey. She was as happy when she 
 went to bed that night as she had never been in 
 her life. Her dreams were rosy indeed and bright 
 was the distant horizon. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 The next day was clear and warm, and at noon 
 Jean was sent in the sunshine. "Take your time 
 when you come up the stairs, and don't stay about 
 till you get tired," admonished Mrs. O'Hara, as she 
 turned to the tubs. "I'll be through the wash in a 
 couple of hours, and it will be nicer to sit here 
 and talk when I'm ironing." 
 
 The part of the town where Mrs. O'Hara lived 
 was quite different from that where Mrs. Eugene 
 had her establishment. The houses were, for the 
 most part lower, and open spaces of intervening 
 ground gave better light. There was no soot, 
 few carriages, and infrequent pedestrians. Some 
 of the streets were so covered with mud that the 
 sound of the teams over the pavement was dead- 
 ened. That was grateful to Jean, who had become 
 very tired of all the unusual noises. Especially 
 were iher nerves strained while in the hospital. 
 What few people passed her in the streets generally 
 turned to look at her. This was uncomfortable. 
 Jean could not at first understand why. Later a 
 couple of young girls enlightened her. 
 
 "Say, look at it, could you beat that get-up on 
 the stage?" They walked past her, giggling, casting 
 backward glances till they turned a corner. 
 
 Jean was pained, a deep color darkened her 
 pallid cheeks and a little ache crept into her heart. 
 
52 IT 
 
 "I got to get me new clothes," she thought. 
 "There's something all wrong with these, but how 
 can I when I'll have used up so much money by the 
 time I leave here." The question was a hard one, 
 but Jean's character was firm. The clothes ques- 
 tion was put away till she might have money enough 
 to buy new, and the thought that she would get 
 them eventually was consoling. Meanwhile, in the 
 days that followed, Jean seized every means of 
 improving. She had picked up some of the books 
 belonging to Tommy. Parmele's "History of Etag- 
 land," a book of natural phenomena, and a geog- 
 raphy. Jean was absorbed. Never before had such 
 books been possible. She would curl herself in a 
 sunny spot on the floor and read for hours at a 
 time. 
 
 "You'll find out as much as Totmmy knows," said 
 Mrs. O'Hara, almost jealously. "Don't think it's 
 all in those there though. All knowledge ain't in- 
 side books, but some of 'em tell you how to go 
 about getting it." 
 
 "Oh, they're so wonderful," said Jean. "Why, 
 it's just like being bom over again. I can't keep 
 away from them." 
 
 "Too much reading is wasteful," said the woman 
 (not over literally jealous), who thought Jean was 
 looking a little pale, considering she had been out 
 of the hospital ten days now. "Don't you want 
 to help me iron these corset-covers? Sometimes I 
 think there is just as much good in knowing how 
 to starch up a waist as there is knowing who sat 
 on a throne five hundred years ago. But I suppose 
 
IT 53 
 
 one must know about the world," she said, hastily, 
 in defence of Tommy. 
 
 "Yes, one must know," answered the girl smil- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Will you come now and iron a spell?" asked the 
 woman. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I'll gladly help you. I'm ashamed 
 I didn't before. I never knew much about all that 
 happened," she continued thoughtfully, referring 
 to matter she had been reading. "I'm learning lots 
 of things, Mrs. O'Hara, Avhat the books tell, makes 
 me feel tingly all over. It don't seem as if I could 
 set a book down once I've begun it. I can't read a 
 quarter as fast as Tommy, but each time I try it 
 comes easier." 
 
 "That right," nodded Mrs. O'Hara, with doubt- 
 ful interest. "Men should read and know things." 
 She reflected, but it wasn't so necessary with wo- 
 men ; she had done laundry work and made a living 
 without the necessity of knowing how to read. 
 Tommy, of course, growing into a policeman, a 
 brakeman, or engineer, must know his letters — 
 what kings ruled the land, where Ireland lays on 
 the map, how to figure up on the slate. Indeed, 
 he helped her even now with the wash account. 
 "Here's a cover," she said, suddenly, coming back 
 to the practical issue, and handing a tight damp 
 bundle to the girl. Jean's experience at ironing was 
 small. Still she was keenly observing and careful 
 not to have her irons too hot, and to scrape and 
 clean them before touching the dainty linen. They 
 were quite trying, the starchy things, but she per- 
 
54 IT 
 
 severed, and before long her progress was such 
 that the teacher was delighted with her pupil's 
 deftness. 
 
 "Say, if you do as well as that, and don't let the 
 starch stick none, you'll be as slick an ironer as I 
 be." Her praise was interrupted by a fit of cough- 
 ing. 
 
 "This asthma o' mine don't seem to get none 
 better. If it goes on catching me in the side with 
 those cramps I don't know what I shall do. I'm 
 sometimes afraid I'll have to stop altogether." The 
 thought nearly gave her another spasm. Jean hur- 
 ried to the tin box where Mrs. O'Hara kept a 
 collection of pastiles, lighted one, and held it near 
 the distressed woman. 
 
 "Them spells make my lungs feel like a busted 
 bellows," she gasped. 
 
 Jean was disturbed. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she 
 said, with feeling. 
 
 "It's bad enough having the asthma when you're 
 slight, but pumping up wind through this flesh of 
 mine is no joke, I tell you," wheezed the sufferer. 
 "Thank you, Jean, you're a good little one. Can't 
 see how they let you come away from home," she 
 whispered as she rose. 
 
 Jean's eyes glistened. 
 
 "It was the right thing to do," she answered 
 presently, "and I'm glad I done it. When I think 
 
 of it compared with this " she stopped and 
 
 sighed. "Say," she began, with eagerness, "I'm 
 going to tell you all about it up home." 
 
 "Do," said the woman. "But we'll have to go 
 
IT 55 
 
 back to the ironing now, and I can't listen near as 
 well when I'm working. Just save up and tell me 
 to-night. We'll go in the sitting-room, and you can 
 talk about yourself and about your family, and the 
 nice green grass. Wouldn't I like it for the clothes 
 though!" Mrs. O'Hara sighed at its suggesting 
 bleaching qualities when she rose painfully from 
 her chair, and both returned to their work-boards. 
 
 They ironed in silence. Mrs. O'Hara was in* 
 wardly concluding: "This would be a neat, quiet 
 girl to keep by me, and Tommy likes her too. When 
 she gets strong again she could 'help me with the 
 washing and ironing. I might afford to pay her 
 wages, as of course I could take in more washing 
 if we two were to do it." 
 
 Jean was thinking, too, but she was rehearsing 
 the recently acquired wisdom set to her mental 
 comprehension. "Water could go up hill and down, 
 and up and down no end of times if it started 
 high enough up. An apple falls to the ground be- 
 cause there's something in the earth that pulls it 
 down. A king of England changed the Bible so he 
 could marry some more wives. They sent tea out 
 to this country, charged taxes and wouldn't let the 
 people here vote, and the people here had spunk and 
 chucked the old tea overboard. Then the English 
 came over, and American history continued mer- 
 rily. "Tommy don't know much more about it all 
 than I do now. I tried him, but that's because 
 he knows so much and cares so much about horses 
 and dogs, and can't keep his mind thinking of 
 physiology and history." 
 
56 IT 
 
 "Jean !" cried Mrs. O'Hara, "it's smoking." And 
 Jean, suddenly conscious of the immediate danger , 
 snatched up the iron which fortunately had singed 
 only the ironing sheet. 
 
 "Oh, dear, I'm so sorry," she said, 
 
 "I kept you too long at it anyway; just you put 
 your hat on and go out a spell." 
 
 The girl was glad to obey, for indeed her head 
 had begun to ache, with all the things from the 
 books shifting about in her brain, beside trying to 
 learn ironing, and the change into the street would 
 be diverting. 
 
 Jean had rapidly regained her strength, and now 
 at the end of two weeks was in better health than 
 when she had left the homestead. She had carefully 
 studied the topography of her present locality, so 
 that she was not afraid of getting lost. Down the 
 street she sauntered, to where the stores were gay, 
 and gazed at the things displayed in the windows. 
 It was fascinating. She had not seen enough of 
 show windows to realize that the wares in these 
 were shabby and many of the articles faded from 
 long exposure. In a comer, standing upright, its 
 position braced by coarse articles, was a pink sun- 
 shade. Never had Jean seen anything more lovely. 
 How she would like to have it! Of course, there 
 were innumerable things that she needed sorely, 
 and she really did not need that, nor was it likely 
 that she could use such an article, being in service 
 as sue imust be, but the sun-shade created a feminine 
 craving that was not easy to overcome. She wished 
 she might see how it looked open. Dare she go 
 
IT 57 
 
 inside? More and more grew the desire as she 
 looked lovingly at the parasol. The craving grew 
 uncontrollable. She timidly opened the shop door 
 and edged up to the counter. 
 
 "Can I look at that pink sun-shade in the win- 
 dow?" she asked, hesitatingly. 
 
 The shop woman squeezed round the narrow edge 
 of the counter and reached in the window, bringing 
 out the coveted article. Opening it, she held it at 
 a tempting angle. Out of the strong light it looked 
 even prettier than in the glare. "Isn't it sweet, 
 and the handle is all one piece," said the woman 
 with cunning shop-craft extolling its defect. Never 
 had Jean been in a shop, never had she bought an 
 article of dress; the sweetness of it now overpow- 
 ered her. "How much would you sell it for?" she 
 asked, her voice quite natural. 
 
 "It's marked three dollars and fifty cents, but 
 you can have it for three," answered the woman, 
 holding her hand over a seam that was none the 
 better for its exposure to the sun. 
 
 Three dollars! It took a whole week to earn 
 that! There would only be two dollars left when 
 she had paid her bill at Mrs. O'Hara's! No, pain- 
 ful as it was to leave the store without buying it, 
 she could not afford it. Wait ! She could not af- 
 ford to buy it for herself, but dear Mrs. O'Hara! 
 No one had ever been so good to Jean. Yes, she 
 could afford to buy it for her, there was nothing too 
 nice for her landlady. How pleasant the chills 
 were that crept down her back as she counted out 
 slowly one by one the bills. 
 
58 IT 
 
 "You can wrap it up — I'm going to buy it," she 
 said proudly. She did not see the clerk's smile. 
 Once in the street, she felt she could not get home 
 fast enough. As she reached the entrance of the 
 tenement she thought of Tommy. The appetite of 
 giving was whetted. How Tommy's eyes would 
 sparkle if she bought him something ! What should 
 it be? As she stood in quandary, Miss Norris ap- 
 peared, walking toward her. 
 
 "Why, you're growing as strong as a young colt," 
 the nurse cried, delightedly. "How do you like it 
 here? No need to ask, though, you look so well and 
 bright. I wish I were a young kid," she sighed. 
 
 When Jean first caught sight of Miss Norris it 
 was her intention to beg her help find a present 
 for Tommy; on second thought she decided not. 
 She had not given her nurse a present, the thought 
 had not occurred to her, and now she had not money 
 enough to give to all three. No, she would not 
 mention the parasol, Miss Norris would probably 
 think it a parcel she had bought for herself. 
 
 "Are you coming up to see Mrs. O'Hara?" asked 
 Jean as both walked into the open passage? 
 
 "I was coming to see you," replied the nurse, 
 "and you're surely worth seeing, you look so well," 
 she said delightedly. "Yes, let us go upstairs; I 
 can't stay long, but I do like that O'Hara." 
 
 As they climbed the long flights Jean told her 
 visitor of herself and Tommy and finally of Mrs. 
 O'Hara's frequent asthmatic attacks and how se- 
 rious she thought them. Miss Norris was a good 
 listener and an optimist and knew the use of pro- 
 
IT 59 
 
 fessional balm, so Jean felt the relief of her recital. 
 
 When the three females were gathered about bhe 
 perpetual tea-pot their tongues flew fast and 
 furious. Much was talked of, till gradually the 
 subjects settled into the more sober discussion of 
 Jean's future. 
 
 "Of course I'm going in service soon," said Jean. 
 
 "How will you find work?" 
 
 "I'll try the office again." 
 
 "Not that saime one where Mrs. Jessup got you," 
 said Miss Norris. "You don't want to live with the 
 kind of people that hire girls there. Go down to 
 Miss Milds. The right sort go to her." 
 
 "Could I find my way there?" asked the girl, with 
 i^me show of alarm. 
 
 "Dear me, how I wish I might keep you here, 
 child," said Mrs. O'Hara, with feeling, "but I can't, 
 so there's an end to that. I know that you ought to 
 do better than stay here, but I shall miss you 
 mightily." 
 
 "You've been kinder than anyone in the world," 
 said Jean, with a break in her voice, "but I got to 
 do Siomething, and I ought to be at it," and she em- 
 phasized her words by tightening her fingers. Jean 
 felt more and more the desire to begin again, to 
 push on toward the vague goal that continually 
 called her. 
 
 "I'd like to commence work right off to-morrow." 
 
 "You might go down and look about to-morrow. 
 It wouldn't do you any harm to sit in an office," 
 said Miss Norris, "but I'd not take a place till the 
 beginning of the week." 
 
60 IT 
 
 "Yes," replied Jean. "I'll do that, only how in 
 the world will I find Miss Milds?" 
 
 "Tompiy can take you," said his mother. "He 
 don't have to run the elevator till one o'clock, and 
 his morning's work in the Ladies' Shoe Blacking 
 Parlors is over at noon. He can go between hours, 
 maybe they won't mind if he is a little late. There, 
 that's settled, now you eat." 
 
 Tea and crullers were pressed upon the guest, 
 who, after having picked the last crumb from about 
 her plate, took her departure back to the hospital. 
 
 The following morning Tommy, happy in the 
 privilege of escorting the girl down town, was de- 
 lightfully demonstrative. He pointed out to her the 
 most prominent landmarks, that she should make 
 no mistake in location. He drew her attention to 
 the numerous theatres and disappearing churches, 
 the big garages and towering electric plants, and 
 the height of the great office buildings. 
 
 "Say, Jenny, ain't them Heaven holders the Jim 
 dandies? If they keep on piling 'em higher I don't 
 know but they'll interfere with the manoeuvering of 
 the angels. Wouldn't you like to see one bum, 
 though?" 
 
 "It would make the old forest fires look like a 
 match going out," she answered. Jean was thought- 
 ful; then, after a pause, she said: "I presume 
 there's as many people in one of those as in the 
 whole of Warren County." 
 
 "I used to think," broke in Tommy, unheeding, 
 "that they built spires on churches so as the angels 
 could perch there and hear Avhat the people wanted, 
 
IT 61 
 
 and take the complaints up to God; but, gee, now 
 God don't have to send any messengers down, the 
 buildings are so near, He can hear them talk for 
 Himself," 
 
 "Do you know. Tommy," confided Jean, with the 
 inconsequential way of young people, "there are 
 more men and women in one single street than I 
 thought were in the whole world. You get queer 
 notions up country, and it's so still you can think 
 heaps. In this city one can only think short thinks, 
 and you have to jerk 'em in at that." 
 
 "Fudge ! Only dippies think, flip up your mind, 
 same as you would a penny, and depend on its fall 
 for your decision. Holy thunder! Here comes a 
 fire engine, and you on my hands. Hope it's a 
 false alarm, then I'll have missed nothing." 
 
 "Hope you haven't, for your sake," replied Jean. 
 "But I have to give up loads of things I'd like to 
 see." 
 
 "Girls have to; it's Adam's spite against 'em. 
 Come on, here's where we take to the roof garden," 
 and Tommy pulled Jean off the car. A victoria 
 passed, and so near was the girl, that the shoulder 
 of the nigh horse struck her sharply. 
 
 "Careful there!" cried the driver's voice, and 
 Jean, looking up, saw a fine, straight man rigidly 
 driving a dashing span, whicli disappeared quickly 
 in the opposite direction. 
 
 Miss Mild's office was in a huge edifice. The en- 
 trance, the vast hall, the attendants in livery, gave 
 Jean a new sensation. The elevator rose so quickly, 
 it went to her head; she could not measure flight 
 
62 IT 
 
 as the boy suddenly stopped it on the tenth floor. 
 Tommy pulled her by the sleeve, walked a short dis- 
 tance along the hall and pointed to a door with a 
 convincing sign upon it. "Pull yourself together," 
 he whispered close to her ear, as he felt her arm 
 tremble. 
 
 "Don't go," cried Jean, clutching at his sleeve. 
 
 "Say, you've got the jumps, all right. Here, 
 take this bit of gum, it will help gather you. You're 
 on deck, now. Kemember, the bat's lying by the 
 diamond; make a home run, or you're no good," 
 and with this admonition. Tommy thrust a pin in 
 the girl's shoulder, cried "So long," and turned on 
 his heel. The act was Tommy's idea of heroism. 
 He would much rather have kissed her and run 
 away, for he was nearing a boy's love affair. His 
 philosophic pin prick was convincing, and hurt 
 enough to work, as was his intent. Jean angrily 
 pushed the button, and was immediately admitted 
 at Miss Mild's. 
 
 How different this office was from the other! 
 Here all was order and cleanliness. Jean recog- 
 nized in a flash that Miss Mild was a woman of a 
 higher plane than any she had yet seen. Her hair 
 was tidy, and held in place by several combs. Her 
 dress fitted snugly, and had that touch which only 
 a gentlewoman can give; her voice, too, was one of 
 breeding. Circumstances, not choice, must have 
 forced the woman to the business. 
 
 As she questioned Jean, she rested her chin on 
 her hand. What beautiful nails she had ; not a bit 
 of dirt under them, and as shiny as the sparkling 
 
IT 63 
 
 spots in the rocks up home. "Where have you 
 worked, and what have you done?" she asked with 
 professional monotony, from the revolving chair 
 before her desk, her eye the while comprehensively 
 traveling from the girl's hat down to her shapeless 
 shoes. 
 
 "I worked for Mrs. Eugene." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 "A dressmaker at Ave." 
 
 "Oh ; was her's the only situation you have had?" 
 
 "I tended Mrs. Jessup's children till I got sick 
 with fever, and had to go to the hospital. I haven't 
 been any place since," said Jean, "except to board." 
 
 "Show me your references." 
 
 "I never asked for any," answered Jean, bewild- 
 ered. "I was too sick when I left Mrs. Jessup, and 
 maybe I wasn't there long enough to earn any," 
 volunteered the girl, her brow knitting in distress. 
 
 "You know," said the lady, silently measuring 
 the novice, "that in this office it is almost impossi- 
 ble to get a position unless you have recommenda- 
 tions. Ladies refuse to take untrained girls. 1 
 must know about you. I can't take a girl without 
 credentials." 
 
 Jean studied her shoes. "Yes," she concluded, 
 "I didn't think. I wonder what I had better do." 
 The girl's voice was almost inaudible; she was 
 looking very helpless and very pretty. 
 
 Miss Mild's sympathies were, from long expe- 
 rience, not apt to be on the surface, but something 
 in Jean's personality, and the deep setting of her 
 thoughtful eyes especially interested her. 
 
64 IT 
 
 "I'll take your name and address; possibly there 
 may be a suitable call." She glanced about the room 
 to see if any client were present, then leaned a bit 
 nearer the girl, and said, kindly, "I would advise 
 you to put on another hat and dress if you come 
 tomorrow. Clothes sometimes influence ladies en- 
 gaging maids. There's the waiting-room," she said, 
 indicating the door. "Something may turn up ; you 
 might stay and see." 
 
 Jean once more was seated with a lot of girls, 
 as she had been at the other office, only many of 
 these were older. She heard all manner of queer 
 tales and strange gossip, but the girls were of a 
 better class than at the first office; they were not 
 nearly so loud in their talk, nor did they use such 
 coarse language, though they made her uncomfort- 
 able by the glances they cast at her dress. Often, 
 when the door between the rooms was open, she 
 could catch sight of the ladies out there. How styl- 
 ish they were, and what a different carriage they 
 had as they moved! Two or three times she was 
 called out. The women who asked her questions 
 were all smartly dressed. Here and there upon 
 their gowns shone brilliant stones, and they spoke 
 very short, and made her feel far away from 
 them. They never talked with her after she said 
 she had no references. Nor did they smile at her 
 clothes; they had another way of making her feel 
 the discomfort of her appearance. Each time she 
 returned to the waiting-room she felt further and 
 further away from these women; she was begin- 
 ning to understand the great chasm between high 
 
IT 65 
 
 ladies and working ladies. Was it something born 
 in, or was it something that the fine clothes did? 
 There was Miss Mild, for instance. She was being 
 paid by these ladies, yet she had their big ways; 
 was she a real lady? Her dress was plain by com- 
 parison, yet there was something in the manner 
 of iher walk and speech that was just as noble as 
 that of the others. Was she born that way or had 
 she copied the others? Jean's little head had a 
 difficult problem to solve. 
 
 At five o'clock the office was empty, and Jean 
 had secured nothing. 
 
 "We close now," said Miss Mild, standing in the 
 doorway. "If you come to-morrow, do as I said 
 about the dress, and try and bring me a letter of 
 some kind; I must have references for your char- 
 acter. Good day." 
 
 Jean was the only one of all the girls in the oflfice 
 to whom Miss Mild had said "Good day." It was 
 a solace after the long, tiresome hours and her 
 .strange discouragement. 
 
 "Thank you," said Jean, timidly grateful. "I'm 
 much obliged; good-bye," and she left the oflfice, 
 closing the door quietly behind her. 
 
 "A sweet girl," mused Miss Mild, and dismissed 
 all further thought of her. 
 
 "You don't look as if you'd found nothing," said 
 Mrs. O'Hara, as Jean came in. 
 
 "No," replied the girl, dropping into a chair, 
 "and I feel more tired than if I'd done a week's 
 wash." 
 
66 IT 
 
 "It's the strangeness of it down there, and I 
 guess you had nothing to eat, and you been sick; 
 so don't take it too much to heart; next time it will 
 be different. Did Tommy get you down right? 
 Tommy's awful keen finding places. He used to 
 be on the messenger service, but I didn't like the 
 thought of craps and cigarettes and the places some 
 of them messages took him, so I talked Tommy out 
 of the 'messenger idea into the blacking parlors. 
 He likes it now, because he gets a chance to do 
 two things a day, and it pays better." 
 
 "Tommy's all right," she said, admiringly; for 
 during the reflections of the day the reason of the 
 pin stab had been convincingly revealed to her, 
 and being occupied with herself and the lessons of 
 the day, she remained silent. Mrs. O'Hara, too 
 busy counting the washing, left her to herself. 
 Jean, she knew, would tell her of her day when 
 work was over, in the quiet of the evening. 
 
 Next day Jean noticed the look of surprise as 
 Miss Mild greeted her. 
 
 Jean's perceptions were alert. 
 
 "I couldn't help it. Ma'am, I haven't got any 
 more, except the two cotton ones I work in, and I 
 can't buy another yet." 
 
 Miss Mild held out a hand. "Have you brought 
 any references?" 
 
 "Not exactly, but here is a letter from Tommyj 
 telling about me. He says it is just as a credential 
 should be." The girl unpinned a folded paper from 
 a patch pocket on her skirt and held it out. 
 
 Miss Mild read: "This pronounces Jean Cum- 
 
IT 67 
 
 mings to be of sound mind and limb. She has 
 helped in our house most two weeks, is broke and 
 docile. Has a small appetite, and willing. I am 
 pleased to recommend her. — Tom O'Hara." 
 
 Miss Mild turned her revolving chair spasmodi- 
 cally, and Jean did not see 'her convulsed face. 
 
 "I told you I had none, but Tommy, he's Mrs. 
 O'Hara's son, and he goes to night school and learns 
 a lot, he wrote the recommendation for me, and 
 said the words suited, and the style was about cor- 
 rect," hastily explained Jean, fearing from the 
 lady's silence there might be a flaw in the certi- 
 ficate. 
 
 "I'll try and make it do," said Miss Mild, turn- 
 ing about a rosy face upon the girl who stood be- 
 fore her in her naive confidence ; "It won't be easy, 
 as I said before, to get a place under the condi- 
 tions, but we'll try." 
 
 It was well toward the end of the week before 
 Jean had secured anything, and she had partially 
 engaged herself to the landlady in a high-priced 
 boarding-house. On her way home she stopped and 
 bought what it had taken her many days to con- 
 sider — the kind of a present for Tommy; she had 
 decided on a dog collar. Of course. Tommy didn't 
 have a dog, but he would have some day, and this 
 was a good way to begin. She would give the two 
 dear people the presents to-night. It was likely the 
 last she would spend with them ! Jean's thoughts 
 were varied as she rode home. The O 'Haras were 
 so kind she could not bear to leave them, yet how 
 much leaving had been done in a short time. The 
 
68 IT 
 
 home back in the mountains, all the pets there, the 
 Eugenes, the Jessups, Miss Norris the nurse, and 
 now these good people, and perhaps this changing 
 might go on for a long time. What a lot she had 
 learned! What would Mrs. Eugene look like and 
 how would her talk sound by comparison with Miss 
 Mild's? What a difference between the educated 
 doctor at the hospital and Mr. Eugene! What 
 a chance one had in this city to watch and learn! 
 The lock of the door was sprung, so Jean walked 
 in when she reached the flat, and found Mrs. 
 O'Hara had company. "Come in, Jenny," cried 
 her landlady, with as much voice as her asthma 
 permitted, "This is my sister, Dougo Flynn, you've 
 heard me speak of so much." 
 
 Jean met a bright-faced wopian, stout, to be 
 sure, but small compared with the corpulence of 
 her sister. Jean held out her hand and the visitor 
 gave it a warm crusih. "I'm pleased to meet you, 
 child. My sister has been telling me of you, and 
 how you come down from the mountains." She 
 smiled at her simile. "I think you was plucky to 
 leave fresh eggs and cheese for condensed milk and 
 lard." 
 
 "What did you do down at the office?" asked Mrs. 
 O'Hara, inwardly hoping she might still find a way 
 to keep the girl with her. 
 
 "I'm about hired to a lady in a boarding-house. 
 I don't like the idea; the best girls wouldn't want 
 to engage in such places, and there might be men 
 like Mr. Etigene, and, o^h, I don't quite know; 
 though the girls at Mrs. Eugene's told me board- 
 
IT 69 
 
 ing-houses were what hired, girls liked. I'm judg- 
 ing such help wouldn't do me any good; they're 
 not the right kind to be with, so I feel pretty mean, 
 but I got to do something soon. You know my 
 time with you was up yesterday, and I'll have to 
 owe you for today, and maybe to-morrow, and it 
 makes me unhappy." 
 
 "Nonsense," patted Mrs. O'Hara, affectionately. 
 "You can stay here with me always if you wish. 
 You know that, child." 
 
 "Oheer up," interrupted the pleasant - looking 
 guest, who had already her thinking cap on, "per- 
 haps things will come out better than you fancy." 
 
 Mrs. O'Hara persuaded her sister to stay to 
 tea; she gladly accepted, her mistress having gone 
 out to dinner. 
 
 Jean tied on one of the few ribbons she possessed, 
 Mrs. O'Hara changed her calico dress for a brown 
 woolen one with black lace trimmings, and Tommy 
 brushed into his hair a bigger knob of pomade than 
 usual. They were much dressed, these good people, 
 and quite a gala air they had, as they sat about the 
 table. The happy meal over, Jean could wait no 
 longer to offer her gifts. She had nothing for Miss 
 Dougo, she regretted, but maybe it would not mat- 
 .ter, as she was one of the family. Trembling with 
 inward excitement, she excused herself and fetched 
 from their hiding-place the treasures, the very first 
 presents she had ever given. 
 
 "See, it's for you !" cried the girl, her face aglow 
 with the novel enjoyment of giving her friend a 
 thing she herself so greatly craved. 
 
70 IT 
 
 "Tommy, look — dear Tommy — yours!" 
 
 "Oh !" exclaimed Mrs. O'Hara, as she spied the 
 color, carefully unwinding the paper. "Oh, it's del- 
 icate; wait, I must wash my hands again." Still 
 wiping them, one against the other, as she re- 
 turned, she cautiously took out the wonderful par- 
 asol and made to open it. 
 
 "Gee, mother, are you crazy?" cried Tommy, 
 "that's bad luck; you mustn't open it indoorsi. 
 Whew! that dreadful!" 
 
 "I've got to have the satisfaction of seeing it 
 open," she said, doubtingly. "Wait, I have it ; we'll 
 go out on the fire escape," and so saying she led 
 the way, all following except Tommy, who had 
 mysteriously disappeared. Out on the narrow 
 grilling which ran the length of the flat, the women 
 gathered, and there in the moonlight the pink para- 
 sol, dwarfed by her huge proportions barely cover- 
 ing the upper anatomy of the big woman as she 
 walked up and down the narrow balcony, the moon 
 casting heavy shadows beneath, while the others 
 gazed admiringly. 
 
 "Oh, you look just too sweet !" cried the delighted 
 Jean, flinging her arms about the big woman. "I'm 
 so glad it's yours!" 
 
 "Jenny, dear, it's just beautiful. I'm tickled 
 foolish, and I'll think of you when I go down to the 
 beach at Coney." 
 
 "Tommy, you've never opened yours," said Jean 
 regretfully, turning to the boy, who as mysteriously 
 had reappeared, his hands hidden behind him. 
 
 "I haven't, haven't I? Well, I guess!" Tommy 
 
IT 71 
 
 hauled tight a cord trailing in at the window, drag- 
 ging something on the end of the bit of clothes line. 
 A most miserable yellow puppy was pulled to the 
 level of the window sill, then Tommy hauled him 
 onto the platform, where the others stood. The 
 animal looked about him imploringly, and laying 
 his head back, uttered the most heartrending yelps 
 of ingratitude for the immense dog collar which 
 hung about his meagre throat. 
 
 "There warn't none other on the premises, and 
 I had to have a dog to make the collar look right. 
 It's too bad he don't fit it better; but Jenny can 
 get some idea now of how it's going to look on my 
 dog. I'm going to have one now if I have to go to 
 the pound." What Tommy might have said was 
 cut short by the agility of the pup, who suddenly 
 became desperately homesick, and in seeking re- 
 lease, got himself seriously wound up under Mrs. 
 O'Hara's petticoats. The parasol was properly 
 convenient for a frightened woman, and had not 
 Dougo came to the rescue, might have been in- 
 stantly wrecked. Tommy cut the cable, and the 
 released cur, mindful of his opportunity, escaped 
 through the window, and with one bark of freedom, 
 charged athwart the hall. Tommy flew to his ar- 
 rest, and the women hurried back as well as they 
 could scramble over the low casing, to see Tommy 
 flying down the iron stairway chasing the thief of 
 the collar, who had already dashed through the 
 partly opened door. When the excitement had 
 abated and the boy had returned with his empty 
 collar, it was time for the guest to leave. 
 
72 IT 
 
 Dongo during the evening had been watching 
 Jean, and was much taken with the girl; above all, 
 ^vith her unselfishness, and the easy way she had 
 helped about the supper. 
 
 "Mary," she whispered, drawing her sister aside. 
 "I've been bent for some time on asking the Poin- 
 settes to let me have a kitchen maid. They've so 
 much company these days and long dinners, and 
 what with serving the extra meals to the help, I'm 
 nearly used up. I'll ask the madam this blessed 
 night, and if she's willing, I'll call you up on 
 Moriarty's phone. It would be a grand chance for 
 this girl here. 
 
 Mary was thoughtful a moment, then gently 
 pressed the other's hand. "I've been thinking the 
 same," she replied. 
 
 Early next morning. Tommy's friend Tad Mori- 
 arty, the undertaker's son, came with a telephone 
 message. 
 
 Jean had been admonished meanwhile. 
 
 "The madam says to tell the girl to come and 
 try," she read, as Mrs. O'Hara handed her the note. 
 
 The girl's heart beat with anticipation, Mrs. 
 O'Hara's with regret. 
 
 "You can wait till afternoon," said Mrs. O'Hara, 
 soberly. "It's easier after the house is settled 
 down some for the day. I guess, too, Dougo would 
 rather have you come after the things is cleared up 
 a bit." 
 
 The morning wore away, then Jean hastily 
 packed her few things, but was some time absorbed 
 in writing a paper, which when finished she handed 
 
IT 73 
 
 with ceremony to Mrs. O'Hara. On it Tommy read 
 later to ihis mother the following, carefully written 
 in shaded letters: 
 
 "To Mrs. O'Hara, creditor, six dollars and fifty- 
 five cents, being sum, less three dollars, for board 
 and lodgment for Jean Cummings, debtor." 
 
 Part of this business document had been memo- 
 rized from Tommy's copy-book headings. Jean was 
 formulating business ideas. The moment of part- 
 ing had arrived. The big woman, mellowed by six 
 dollars and fifty cents and the promi^ of the bal- 
 ance when Jean should have earned it, the loss of 
 a profitable boarder, a helpmate, and a gentle com- 
 panion for her boy, was genuinely regretful, and 
 flung her arms about the girl in an affectionate 
 paroxysm. Tears flowed from both pairs of eyes, 
 then gathering her courage, Jean hurried away. 
 
 From the log shanty to the palace of the Poin- 
 settes — ^what a mount, tlhought Jean as she 
 ascended the low flight of this great house, and 
 timidly rang the front door bell. No one had in- 
 structed her to go to the basement. 
 
 Wrights, a butler, liveried and dignified, ap- 
 peared; Jean's heart beat fast. 
 
 "I came, as Miss Dougo told me. Can I see 
 her?" said the girl, barely lifting her eyes. 
 
 "Basement bell," replied the man tartly, and 
 closed the door. 
 
 For a moment the girl stood wondering, "Is it 
 a boarding-house or a fiat, after all, and do the 
 Poinsettes live in the basement; and is Miss Dougo 
 the janitor as well as cook? It's not much better 
 
74 IT 
 
 here then than at the Jessup's." The girl's heart 
 sank as she went wearily down the stairs again 
 and rang the lower bell. Dougo appeared. 
 
 "You, child! well, I'm glad; I thought maybe 
 something had happened." 
 
 "Oh !" cried Jean, her disappointment uppermost, 
 "Is this a boarding-house?" 
 
 "Law, are you dotty? the Poinsettes living in a 
 boarding-house! Why, they own this, and live all 
 over it ; and could buy others bigger if they wanted 
 to !" Dougo put down the darning needle she car- 
 ried and burst into laughter. Jean was relieved. 
 She glanced about her. How clean and beautiful 
 and bright it looked. The walls were shiny and 
 white, just like dishes, and the range had a great 
 white hood over it, and everything else looked like 
 stone, even the tables and wash-tubs. 
 
 "Now child, sit here and rest; afterward you are 
 to go up to the madam. She wants to see you. 
 Looks green enough," thought the woman to her- 
 self, suddenly filled with doubt at the girl's ill-fit- 
 ting dress. "Anyway, she's sweet in the face." 
 Dougo reached under the cupboard and produced 
 a bottle of shoe-dressing. "Clean 'em up with this," 
 she said, handing the bottle to Jean. Then she 
 fetched a pair of drab gloves and thrust them to- 
 ward the girl. "You carry these in your hand; if 
 you don't put 'em on the size won't matter. I'll call 
 Wrights to tell the madam you're here, and to show 
 you up." 
 
 "Is that the man upstairs? Oh, he's so proud, 
 he won't go with me." 
 
IT 75 
 
 Then Jean explained her experience at the front 
 door. 
 
 Dougo smiled. "That's proper. The butler has 
 to be haughty; that's part of the business; that's 
 what gives smartness to the place. Here, come 
 down and fetch this girl upstairs," called the wo- 
 man through the dumb-waiter, with no show of 
 awe of the haughty man. The man appeared, shorn 
 of his coat, his dignity ruined. 
 
 "Wrights, this is the girl going to help me as 
 kitchen maid. The Missus wants to speak with 
 her." 
 
 Ignoring any previous meeting, the man bade her 
 follow him, and slipping back into his coat, as- 
 cended the service stairs to the third floor, followed 
 by the girl. Here he traversed a wide hall richly 
 hung with tapestry stuffs, and knocked at a door 
 at the end. 
 
 "Come," cried a sweet voice from the inside, and 
 Jean found herself in the presence of Mrs. Poin- 
 sette. 
 
 The lady reclined on a couch, and over her was 
 spread some dainty feathery wrap, as soft-looking 
 as the down on newly-hatched chicks. 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette gave several directions to Wrights, 
 while Jean stood, her eyes beating about the room. 
 There were all manner of fluffy things, silver pieces 
 on the tables and gold trinkets on the bureau, and 
 the bed was hung with rich curtains, "probably to 
 keep off the flies in hot weather," thought Jean. 
 These curtains were, as far as her knowledge went, 
 the only useful things about the room; the rest was 
 
76 IT 
 
 just rich finery, such as she supposed great people 
 must have. 
 
 "You are Jean Cumming?" finally said the lady, 
 having dismissed the butler. 
 
 "Yes, madam," replied the girl, scarcely audible. 
 
 "Dougo told me about you. That she knew of 
 your friends, and that you wanted the place. I 
 don't know anything of you except what she told 
 me. You have no recommendations, and have lived 
 out but little, and I know nothing of your character 
 except what she and her sister vouch for. Do you 
 think you can do the work here? Of course, the 
 cook will have to show you, which is rather a nui- 
 sance, but she seems willing, so I don't care. Are 
 you pretty strong?" 
 
 "Yes, madam," said Jean. "I once carried the 
 calf clean across the meadow and over the brook." 
 
 There was a ^mile on Mrs. Poinsette's face. Jean 
 was glad of that. 
 
 "You have lived all your life in the country?" 
 Mrs. Poinsette's glance was now traveling amusedly 
 over the girl's clothes, ingenious creations, and 
 very, very comical in her eyes. "Did your mother 
 do your sewing?" 
 
 "Ma and me, but one don't need stylish things 
 where I come from, it's back so far in. Why the 
 younger children have scarcely anything on in sum- 
 mer, and just somthing that will tie on easy in 
 winter. We're all stout." Jean was touched with 
 a spirit of pride for her strength, and a forceful de- 
 sire to please this fairy-like lady. 
 
 "Do you know anything about cooking?" 
 
IT 77 
 
 "I cooked a sight home, there were so many to 
 eat it, but it wasn't like the way you cook here." 
 
 "I presume you were quite busy ; country people 
 are." 
 
 "You can't tell nothing about it, besides, ma had 
 a darling baby every year." 
 
 In this house Jean had seen no signs or sounds of 
 children, and in a dumb way felt sorry for the 
 woman. Unknowingly, she had touched an ache. 
 Mrs. Poinsette's childless life was her great sorrow; 
 Jean's sympathy sent a throb to the woman's heart. 
 
 "A house don't seem the sajne without children 
 running in and out," said Jean, warming with a 
 desire to talk to this charming, frail woman. 
 
 "No, it's pretty empty," she replied plaintively, 
 looking longingly at the girl, who had probably car- 
 ried infants in her young arms much of her life, 
 whose mother had. many babies, who had known 
 the pleasTire of fondling them, of pressing them to 
 her breast. How pretty this girl was, now that she 
 studied her. What dainty features, and what a 
 dear little nurse she must have been. She would 
 like to see her in something beside that horrid thing 
 she had on. 
 
 "Statia," she called impulsively, "Bring me that 
 old pink sacque." 
 
 "Put that on, child," she said. "I want to see you 
 in something bright." 
 
 Jean's heart beat high as she slipped her arms 
 through the dainty confection. Mrs. Poinsette was 
 rewarded. The girl was charming indeed ; how alto- 
 gether delightful she must 'have been as a little 
 
78 IT 
 
 mother. How extremely pretty, even aristocratic, 
 she looked now. 
 
 "You may have that; now take it off, and go 
 down to Dougo. Do the best you can, and maybe," 
 she paused, "maybe some day you'll do better — 
 than be a kitchen maid." 
 
 "Oh, thank you, ma'am," cried the girl, her voice 
 husky with emotional gratitude. She suddenly 
 dropped upon her knee, seized a corner of the soft 
 covering, kissed it lightly, and flew from the fairy 
 presence. 
 
 When Jean reached the kitchen she buried her 
 head in her hands and sobbed aloud. Dougo, natur- 
 ally supposing she had failed in her mission, hast- 
 ened to console the girl. 
 
 "Never mind, dear, there's more places in the 
 world; don't cry, something will turn up. I'll help 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, Miss, it ain't that, she's too lovely ; she's just 
 like a precious dream fairy." 
 
 "Is she going to keep you?" asked the practical 
 Dougo. 
 
 "Why, yes ; I suppose so ; she told me to go down 
 to Dougo and do the best I could; and look, she 
 gave me this beautiful thing." The girl held up the 
 sacque to the wondering eyes of the woman. • 
 
 "Law, well ; what do you think of that now, and 
 you not up there fifteen minutes. Can't have no 
 greater sign of her wanting you to stop. Lay off 
 your things here. It's too far for me to show you 
 your room now. Take this apron; sit over there 
 near the light, and cut these beans for me. See, do 
 
IT 79 
 
 them this way." Dougo drew a vegetable knife 
 lengthwise down the bean, having first carefully cut 
 and strung off the ends. 
 
 The girl took the dish and sat under a low elec- 
 tric bulb. As she dressed the vegetables she re- 
 hearsed the scene upstairs. 
 
 "But she never asked me to sit down," she 
 thought, "the other mistresses all did; why was 
 that? She was mourning, I am sure, about the 
 babies, because she had none. Why don't she have 
 babies? My, how white her face and hands were !"' 
 
 "Miss Dougo," asked Jean, after a silence, "Don't 
 maids sit down when they are talking to ladies?" 
 
 "Did you ever see pictures of queens in their 
 throne rooms, and did you ever notice that there 
 warn't no one sitting but themselves?" she an- 
 swered. "Well, now you know." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "Kid, we've got to hustle to-day," said Dougo 
 next morning whien tlie breakfast dishes were out 
 of the way. "It's the madam's bridge party, and 
 there's to be extra fixings; we'll get at those lob- 
 sters first thing." 
 
 "Ugh," cried Jean, and shuddered. "They're a 
 hundred times bigger than those up the brooks, and 
 we'd no more think of eating those than we would 
 the insides of critters such as liver and sweetbreads 
 and such things. The boys would catch craws and 
 sell them to the huntsmen for bait to fish in the 
 lake, but eat 'em ; oh, goodness !" 
 
 "Well, you'll get to like 'em; come here," said 
 the woman, already busily engaged with the red 
 creatures. She drew a sharp knife along the back 
 of the lobster, splitting it in halves. 
 
 "See; look how pretty this is," she instructed, 
 pointing with the tip of her knife to the various 
 sections of the compact meat. "You begin to look 
 at things for their prettiness, and you won't shud- 
 der no more. Now see how clean all this section 
 comes out if I break it in the right spot." The wo- 
 man handed a piece to the girl. "Taste it." 
 
 "No, please. Miss Dougo ; not now, I couldn't feel 
 but that it might claw me on its way down." 
 
 Dougo laughed, she placed a bit of the shell on 
 the stove, waited for it to burn, powdered it, and 
 
IT 81 
 
 put it in the dish with the prepared lobster. 
 
 "Does that do for the lobster what the egg shells 
 do for the coffee?" asked the girl. 
 
 "No," smiled the woman, "It's the secret that 
 makes my lobster taste better than any one else's." 
 
 A bell jangled. It seemed to Jean that a bell 
 was always jangling somewhere. 
 
 "That's the basement. It's probably Kibbons," 
 said Dougo. "You'll have to learn the different 
 bells, girl. Go to it now." 
 
 Jean hurried to the door. 
 
 "Oh !" she exclaimed, as a tall, straight man en- 
 tered. 
 
 The man looked at her, but said nothing. 
 
 "You !" she cried again, gazing up at the big fel- 
 low. 
 
 "You ! What? pretty girl." The man looked won- 
 deringly at her. 
 
 "Yes; you're the man who nearly ran over me!" 
 
 "Ean over you!" he said, with astonishment, 
 "why, child, I never ran over any one in my life." 
 
 "Well, you didn't quite run over me. But as I 
 was getting out of the car, your horse hit me on my 
 shoulder; it was black next day." 
 
 The man took off his hat as he stood beside her. 
 How nice that was of him. She did not quite 
 know why he took off his hat, but felt in some way 
 that it was because he was speaking to a "Miss." 
 How kind his eyes were. Now he spoke. 
 
 "I'm very sorry. You see, something of the kind 
 happens every day. I don't give it a thought. The 
 streets are so crowded, and the pedestrians are so 
 
82 IT 
 
 careless, and take such risks. They amble along as 
 if every vehicle were stationary; one has to keep 
 one's wits on the qui vive, or there would be an acci- 
 dent every minute." 
 
 Jean's big blue eyes measured him in wonder. 
 Why, his voice was even smoother than Mr. Eu- 
 gene's, his language as good as Mrs. Poinsette's, and 
 his clothes so very neat. 
 
 "Did you bring a parcel?" she asked, fearing she 
 had been too long at the door. "Every one who 
 comes in fetches something." 
 
 The stranger looked at her again, and laughed. 
 
 "No ; nor am I the bottle man, nor the gas-meter 
 man. I come in every morning to see Mrs. Poin- 
 sette for orders." 
 
 "Then why don't you. go to the front door?" She 
 was rejoiced at her progress. The upper door was 
 for the mistress and her friends; the lower for the 
 servants. 
 
 "Oh, you must be the green kitchen maid," he 
 smiled. "Dougo told me you had not been in the 
 city long." 
 
 A bright color mounted to the girl's face; it made 
 her very pretty, and the long lashes that hung be- 
 low her little troubled brow were irresistibly charm- 
 ing, so was the simplicity of the questioning mouth. 
 She was the sweetest, dearest thing he had ever 
 seen. 
 
 "Dougo told me to be careful who I let in, there 
 were so many strange people who came into steal 
 things, but I'd soon get to know the tradespeople." 
 
 "Let me come as far as the kitchen door and 
 
IT 83 
 
 Daug» will identify me," he said with amusement. 
 
 Jean followed him. 
 
 "Top o' the morning, your lordship, and how have 
 you made the world feel this day?" said Dougo, dip- 
 ping a mock bow as the man appeared on the thresh- 
 hold. 
 
 "Quite well, thank you, Dougo," he replied sim- 
 
 piy- 
 
 "I presume you're on your way to the missus ; it's 
 the Bridge this afternoon." 
 
 "Yes, I know, she wanted to see me about the out- 
 side carpet. It did not suit last time; she wants 
 it laid differently." 
 
 The man disappeared up the back stairway door. 
 
 "Is that a coachman?" asked Jean, low- toned. 
 
 "That's our coachman, and a 'Jim dandy' one he 
 is, too; there ain't nothing this side the Strand, so 
 they tell me, that can touch him." 
 
 Jean was silent for some time; finally she spoke 
 again. 
 
 "Miss Dougo, are coachmen different from house 
 help? Can chambermaids and maids and cooks 
 and kitchen maids get to be like that? I mean, can 
 they have the same kind of ways?" 
 
 Dougo did not answer immediately. "Well, I 
 suppose it depends how much they care about their 
 manners, and if they want to copy or not. I seen 
 some fine ladies no more polite than I be, and others 
 that was so genteel that you wanted to go on your 
 marrow bones to them. But Eibbons there has it 
 with him all the time." 
 
 "He's different from anyone I ever seen — saw," 
 
84 IT 
 
 corrected the girl quickly, and stood gazing ab- 
 stractedly at one of the blue tilesi back of the range. 
 But she could not study the tile long, for the 
 kitchen was seldom quiet. 
 
 "Tra-la-la, tra-la-la," sang Magenta, Mrs. Poin- 
 sette's maid, bounding in. "See the lovely new 
 apron she's given me for this afternoon," and she 
 held up for inspection a dainty apron of dotted 
 Swiss, with a single pocket, a double lace ruffle 
 running about the edge. 
 
 Jean examined the trifle with wide eyes. 
 
 "Oh, isn't it sweet ! It looks just as dainty as she 
 did when I spoke to her yesterday, and it smells like 
 the room," she continued, burying her nose in the 
 apron. 
 
 Magenta, seizing a couple of lobsters' claws, 
 drummed on the table with them, and was off again, 
 paying little heed to the green girl. She had merely 
 wanted to show her new finery. Mrs. Poinsette's 
 gift of the sacque to Jean had immediately aroused 
 Magenta's jealousy, and she already disliked the 
 little kitchen maid. 
 
 All that afternoon, except when her services were 
 needed by Dougo, Jean spent her time close to the 
 narrow basement window, where she could see the 
 guests arriving, and marvel at the carriages or auto- 
 mobiles, as one by one they poured forth their richly 
 dressed occupants. It was like some continuous 
 dream that might at any instant fade, never to be 
 repeated. She feared to miss the fine parade. She 
 watched Ribbons as he opened the carriage doors, 
 standing to one side when the women alighted, or 
 
IT 85 
 
 bowed in .answer to some question, and as he did 
 so, it was as if he, for the moment, became of their 
 world, so different was his manner from that of 
 the several footmen who, springing from the box 
 seat, opened the carriage doors for their own mis- 
 tresses. 
 
 Dougo called to her several times; and after 
 doing what she was bid she would return to her 
 post and observe the various grooms and chauf- 
 feurs as they stood in several groups about the en- 
 trance. She noticed that they settled in their liver- 
 ies, slouched against the area railing, and spat more 
 or less about them. Eibbons, on the contrary, kept 
 to himself, his hands slightly clasped behind him, 
 erect, dignified, powerful, silent. At last he caught 
 sight of her at the window, and took his hat off to 
 her just as she had seen gentlemen do in the streets. 
 It sent the blood to her face, tingling delightfully 
 down her back to the very end of her toes. After 
 that she went back to the kitchen and did not show 
 herself at the window again, though several times 
 she looked out at the man from the far distance of 
 the room. 
 
 Altogether, it was the most exciting day she had 
 ever had. When it grew dark there was so much in 
 the kitchen to do, and much to listen to and hear 
 from the busily flying servants. 
 
 Some one out on the sidewalk had been thinking, 
 too ; thinking of the sweet little maid in the kitchen, 
 of her timidity, her pretty eyes, her bashful, silent 
 glances; so different from the bold speeches of other 
 maids, from their loud laughter and bold swagger 
 
86 IT 
 
 and cheap coquetry. What questioning eyes she 
 had; what a firm, self-respecting mouth. He hoped 
 the servants would not make her coarse ; would not 
 cheapen her simplicity. 
 
 The last guest having gone, Dougo sat down with 
 a glad sigh to rest, and the butler joined her. They 
 were the only two in the kitchen, for Jean was back 
 with her recollections at the now dark window, and 
 the others had gone to their upstairs work. Wrights 
 and Dougo were the two trusted adherents of former 
 establishments of this family. Wrights had lived 
 with Mr.Poinsette as valet ever since the young man 
 was old enough to require a valet, had followed his 
 master and his master's bride into this house, where 
 his duties had been shifted from valet to butler. 
 Dougo, as cook for years under the regime of Mrs. 
 Poinsette's mother, had, after her mistress' death, 
 entered the kitchen of the daughter. It naturally 
 developed that these two should look upon the heads 
 of the house as their respective charges, and many 
 and long were the conferences the two held over 
 the respective characteristics of master and mis- 
 tress. It had been their dear and secret concern to 
 guard them from any gossip natural in the kitchen 
 of persons of their social prominence, and by so 
 doing protect them from the spreading of idle chat- 
 ter into other kitchens. These two people belonged 
 to a class of servitors rapidly dying out. Born with 
 the idea of serving, they asked no better privilege 
 than to live and die in the employ of those they 
 loved, and for whom they labored, whose interests 
 
IT 87 
 
 they shared, and whose ambitions and desires it 
 sufficed them to help fulfill. 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette, like many of her fashionable 
 friends, socially driven to the verge of. frenzy, and 
 unable to draw consistent lines of resistance, had 
 glided with a tide that sweeps all along in its mad, 
 insistent rush of social functions, found it necessary 
 to resort to stimulants to breast the stress of each 
 day. She was using a drug accumulative in its 
 effects, one w'hose efficacy made increased doses 
 necessary — an indulgence that must surely betray 
 her in the end. 
 
 So far her friends 'had suspected nothing, though 
 the use of her hypodermic needle was common 
 property with the servants. To-day she had gone 
 more than once to her boudoir and thrust the poison 
 into her flesh. Her guests noticed nothing more 
 than that she was particularly animated and sin- 
 gularly gracious. 
 
 Her two servants, Wrights and Dougo, now sat 
 opposite each other in the kitchen. 
 
 "I'm glad it's over; I always am," said the man 
 with a sigh. 
 
 "Did she show it?" asked the woman softly, and 
 crossed her arms. 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 Dougo shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Don't let's borrow trouble, then. Nothing has 
 happened so far, maybe nothing ever will." 
 
 "That's all right enough," said the man doubt- 
 fully, "but she's too sweet and good to deserve the 
 
88 IT 
 
 wrath of heaven on her soul. I've got to do some- 
 thing for her." 
 
 "Umph," said Dougo. "You! I guess she's as 
 much to me as to you." 
 
 "Of course she is; that's why hoth our heads 
 should be better than one. Now think it out — 
 what shall we do?" 
 
 Dougo rose, and taking down a cup, went to 
 the range, where stood a teapot perpetually steam- 
 ing forth its stale brew. She poured herself an 
 inky cup full, and sipped the boiling fluid. 
 
 "I can think clearer this very minute," she said, 
 patting the cup affectionately, and turning what 
 liquid remained into a saucer, began to study the 
 cup's convincing tracery. "Yes, here it is, two 
 dark people; a woman and a man. See, the two 
 are going to do grand things; and there's a blonde 
 lady, and traveling in far lands, and there's build- 
 ing and big places; but some one is going to come 
 and help along." 
 
 "That's it," replied the man, eagerly, that's us. 
 We must break up the doings, or this rush will kill 
 her. She must get away, traveling and rested up ; 
 and when she's stronger, maybe her own good sense 
 will set things right." 
 
 "I have it," cried Dougo. 
 
 "Out with it, then," answered the man. 
 
 "You bust the water-pipes; do it good, so it will 
 take a long while to repair them. They won't be 
 able to heat the house the rest of the winter, and 
 she'll have to leave. They'll have to break up 
 housekeeping." 
 
IT 89 
 
 "Not so bad, old girl," exclaimed her partner in 
 intrigue, "but the doing is going to be hard on me. 
 However, I'm game for anything, so long as I think 
 it's for the good of all." His face suddenly dark- 
 ened. "Suppose, after helping 'em so, and after 
 traveling, they got sick of housekeeping, as so many 
 do, quit it and go to living in hotel apartments, 
 and wouldn't take us back !" 
 
 "Who's showing the white feather now?" cried 
 the woman. "Suppose they do, if we've saved her 
 haven't we done the best thing it's given us to do?" 
 
 "You're the finest woman in this world, Dougo; 
 none better. Here's my hand on it. We'll pull to- 
 gether in this matter, come what may." 
 
 The two held hands, looked each other squarely 
 in the eye, and thus solemnized their sacrificial com- 
 pact. While standing so. Magenta entered. 
 
 "How touching!" she exclaimed disdainfully, ig- 
 noring a glance from Wrights. 
 
 "It's something between us," he exclaimed lamely. 
 
 Magenta laughed, and threw herself on a box of 
 straw wine-jackets. 
 
 "Tired?" asked the man, his eyes thoughtfully 
 abstracted. 
 
 "Tired! I should say so, as tired as a horse at 
 a woodsaw." 
 
 "How about the madam?" asked Dougo, with a 
 side glance at Wrights. 
 
 "I presume she's as tired as a camel; but she 
 don't show it. Why should she? It's such a good 
 kind of tired when you know that all the best peo- 
 ple in town have been entertained and wined in 
 
90 IT 
 
 your house. The pleasure takes out all the tired." 
 
 "Oh, Magenta; Oh, Miss!" exclaimed Jean, tim- 
 idly approaching the girl, from where she had been 
 watching in her work at the window, "Won't you 
 please tell me a little about the party? I do so 
 want to hear." 
 
 "There isn't anything especially exciting in a 
 dressing-room," she said, yawning. "I hustled as 
 usual and unfastened their things, laid each wrap 
 separately on the bed, or about on chairs, helped 
 to the powder, handed them hair-pins, rouge, any- 
 thing they asked for. They never talk to me, ex- 
 cept what I call surface talk, which they hope I'll 
 repeat to the madam, about it's 'being a lovely 
 party,' or delightful entertainment, or about the 
 house being charming. Some of them say mean 
 coated things of each other, others sweep the clothes 
 off one with a glance. It's great, the way they can 
 insult or flatter each other, without ever saying a 
 word !" 
 
 Dougo made a move of her lips. "I thought 
 maybe you'd have something more amusing or new 
 to tell; you usually have." 
 
 "Well, so I have," said Magenta, suddenly recol- 
 lecting. "I'll tell you. It isn't always those that's 
 handsomest dressed outside that have on the finest 
 clothes beneath. There was a peach here this af- 
 ternoon. Oh. say" — the girl clapped her hand over 
 her mouth and laughed. "Well, this one was boast- 
 ing how she loved to 'tub,' and take her 'steam bath' 
 and massage and change her linen and generally 
 fuss with herself. She'd scarcely got the words out 
 
IT 91 
 
 of her mouth and was leaving the room to go down 
 to the parlor when her hip pad gave way and 
 slipped to the floor behind her. Saints ! you should 
 have seen it; just crocked black. But she never 
 missed it." Magenta began to laugh again. "Well, 
 I wrapped it up with the prize she had won." Again 
 the girl was overcome with mirth. 
 
 "When the guests came back upstairs, one of 
 them wanted to see the prize this one had, and 
 asked her to open the package. Whew! Maybe 
 there wasn't a fussed woman, but she couldn't say 
 a word to me. Hadn't I done my duty?" 
 
 "If you don't get hung sooner or later, Magenta," 
 cried Dougo, "I'll eat my shoe." 
 
 "Pshaw," continued the girl. "Society women 
 are a callous lot; they're perfectly lawless, and so 
 cold-blooded they give yoti the chills. Think how 
 treacherous they are toward each other. They 
 steal each other's servants or husbands — it don't 
 matter a mite. But I wish I were one, too, with all 
 my heart. Thank heaven, I'm not like old Wrights 
 there. Always down on the smart people." ^ 
 
 Jean rubbed her brow. Magenta's creeds were 
 hard to follow. 
 
 "If society realized it would change its ideas of 
 entertaining," said Wrights, irrelevantly, following 
 a sudden train of thought. "A man or woman host 
 would consult their individual pleasure more. I 
 mean, instead of entertaining for the purpose of 
 paying off scores, or sores, they'd do it more for 
 their own proper entertainment. Invite guests to 
 amuse them, the hosts, as a part of the general 
 
92 IT 
 
 scenery, scheme, or whatever you choose to call it. 
 The old Komans had the right idea." 
 
 "What an old piece of bric-a-brac you are, 
 Wrights !" said Dougo, not without a rise of pride. 
 "Don't get put in a museum to rust out on one of 
 the high shelves, though." 
 
 Jean was too intent a listener to speak. Her won- 
 derful great new world was being torn up by the 
 roots. 
 
 Now Wrights became oracular, and when he 
 spoke, it was customary for his audience to be at- 
 tentive. 
 
 "Society, any way, is only children grown up 
 but still playing games. They don't consider the 
 foolishness of their play no more than do the chil- 
 dren. Take for example their polo— a pack of 'em 
 on horseback getting madly excited, scurrying after 
 a ball and banging the liver out of themselves with 
 bent sticks! Then look at 'em dressing up to hear 
 a lot of opera people singing. That's even worse 
 than the children. Tliey wouldn't bother listening 
 to concerts and operas, and its everlasting dress. 
 The greatest joy of all, to both men and women, 
 seems to be dressing up, and that's sure on a level 
 with children's ideas." 
 
 Jean's brow was knit. Did people then not de- 
 velop? Did they not grow wiser with their years? 
 Were they still children in thought and act, these 
 people of the city world? 
 
 WTiat's that letter you've got, girl?" asked 
 Wrights, bored by the subject, as he turned toward 
 
IT 93 
 
 Magenta, whom he had been vainly trying to 
 placate. 
 
 "Come here and I'll read it to you." 
 
 Wrights drew a chair beside Magenta's. The rest 
 busied themselves concerning the important issue 
 of society's decrees. 
 
 "It's only another of those western advertise- 
 ments," explained Magenta, as she unfolded the 
 letter before Wrights, "but they are so clever they 
 fascinate me. See here." She smoothed back the 
 sheet in her hand and read : "To Miss Magenta B. 
 You are hereby notified that in the recent drawing 
 of the prizes of the International Specific Hispano 
 Lottery for the restoration of derelicts, your name 
 appears on the list of winners. Kindly send im- 
 mediate, one dollar and fifty cents to cover ex- 
 press, and article will be forwarded. Linsey Wool- 
 sey, Sec'y of the Society of I. S. H. L., etc." 
 
 Wrights placed his hand on that of the girl, and 
 smilingly commented : 
 
 "Such molasses is scarcely thick enough for this 
 little fly; but it's clever, just the same, and has 
 given many another insect toothache, I'll guaran- 
 tee." 
 
 "Umph," Statia, her mouth full of cruller, crossed 
 the room to where the couple sat. "There are other 
 flies that don't get into molasses," she said, with a 
 toss of her ihead and a sidelong glance which might 
 have meant anything. 
 
 Magenta, ignoring the girl, continued with her 
 recital of similar recent letters and advertisements 
 set for the great army of basement victims. Her 
 
94 IT 
 
 recital would have aroused the resentment of mas- 
 ters and mistresses, did the fact of the sending of 
 such letters ever reach their ears. But that deplor- 
 able desire to ignore the affairs of servants kept 
 them in ignorance, and the villainy of thousands of 
 imposters secure. 
 
 "What harm if we are occasionally caught," said 
 Magenta, "it's not wicked to play chances, and we 
 must do something, shut in as we are from the 
 world. We have to take our excitement as we can. 
 Let me see, how many different schemes have come 
 to the basement this week? Can you remember, 
 Jean; I told you to try and keep a record," said 
 Magenta, turning to the girl. 
 
 "Seventeen, I think I made it. Let me think," 
 she said, her tapered fingers pressed against her 
 forehead. "There was the Burnt Hand Guarantee, 
 The Copperas Policy, Parents' Insurance, four 
 Western prize offers, two Carbon Print agents, who 
 charged for frames only; three Compress News 
 agents with bribes for social tips, and The Divi- 
 dend Wage Promote; that's all, I think; outside 
 the album men and the Sisters of Charity." 
 
 "I'll wager you women spend more money in pro- 
 portion, for such nonsensical excitement, than 
 your employers," said Wrights. "If you could 
 learn that there's nothing in what you call having 
 things; you all spend too much money for things, 
 considering your wages." 
 
 "I don't understand," said Jean, looking up with 
 a troubled frown. "Why shouldn't one want to 
 huy things; it's delightful." 
 
IT 95 
 
 "It's this way," continued Wriglits, exhortingly, 
 "All things are really common property. When 
 the madam is out, Magenta can sit in her room, the 
 madam's, I mean; and all those pretty things are 
 as much hers as they are the madam's, for the time 
 being. The alleged possessor is merely the police- 
 man of his property ; off his beat, any one may have 
 who can." 
 
 "Gee!" cried Statia. "What a free way to have 
 things; dead easy. No one around, they're yours." 
 
 "You see," Wrights went on, "at heart we all are 
 thieves, because we covet, which is the same, in a 
 way, as thieving. A thief is merely an ordinary 
 covetor, taking, instead of just coveting." 
 
 "You are too much for me, Wrights," said Statia, 
 "but I presume you know what you mean." 
 
 "Blessed be those who reason," he continued, 
 "especially if they are in service. There's no use 
 in an everlasting stew over conditions; they mean 
 so little " 
 
 "G-o long with you for a busy brain," said Dougo, 
 yawning. "Scoot, every one of you; it's late, and 
 I'm tired." Thus did Jean's first day come to a 
 close. 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette rarely came down to the kitchen; 
 when she did, Jean never lost a word or movement. 
 How low her voice. How correct her speech. How 
 musical her intonation; how fresh and crisp her 
 gowns; how daintily she drew them from the 
 kitchen floor ! Several times she had sent for Jean 
 to come up to her room; and once, when Magenta 
 was absent, s!he had detained the girl, and had 
 
96 IT 
 
 asked her to tell her of her life, her family, and 
 the mountains; for "Oh," she said, "I want to feel 
 the fresh air, the simplicity of it all. Here every- 
 thing is so complex, so tedious at times." 
 
 Once, after a recital, Jean exclaimed: "But it's 
 beginning to seem as if all that part of me wasn't 
 true; just as if it wasn't me at all that had lived 
 up there. I'm only there if something 'happens to 
 make me feel close again. Yesterday, when I was 
 dressing the trout, I felt, for example, that I was 
 back watching them swim across the brook. I 
 thought I saw the old fellow we never could catch 
 hiding under the great boulder, that I leaned clear 
 over the rock, till I could catch 'him in my hands 
 as he darted out, and I stretched so far over that 
 I lost my hold and went sliding plump into the 
 brook; and he swam out like a streak, right be- 
 tween my bare feet. I Avas wet through, but it 
 didn't matter, for I soon dried off chasing after a 
 young brood of partridges. Did you ever see a 
 brood, ma'am?" she asked, excitedly. "They are the 
 dearest little things ever; all huddled close in the 
 brown leaves, just the same color, so you wouldn't 
 notice them, even though you might be right upon 
 them ; and as cunning and still as mice, never mov- 
 ing unless the mother squawks. Then you could see 
 them scatter, no two in the same direction; and 
 you might as well chase the stars, for all you could 
 come up with them." 
 
 "And you left aU that and came here to the noisy 
 city, where you have to stay in the house and never 
 see trees nor flowers growing through the grass?" 
 
IT 97 
 
 "Oh, but it's not always lovely there," cried the 
 girl, with spirit. "It's bitter when the snow comes 
 and everything is buried deep, and you're never 
 warm again till the sun melts it in the spring. 
 Then the water is high and covers the meadow, and 
 the lambs and cattle just look at things so sorrow- 
 fully; and the hay is low, or maybe all gone, and 
 the thin things browse round on the low bushes 
 that don't even show green. Why, one year, I re- 
 member, when the cold lasted longer than usual, 
 and the snow flew late, we children had to go out 
 and gather twigs for the cattle; they couldn't get 
 through the marsh to the hills for the mire. Old 
 Spotty, that was the cow's name, got stuck in the 
 marsh and couldn't move for two days, and we 
 threw the tops of the brush to her. My, you 
 wouldn't think she could even move, she was so 
 poor, the bones most poking through. Pa was up 
 to the mines and we youngsters had to build planks 
 down to where she was mired, wind rope about 
 her horns and get Stillman's mare to drag her 
 out." 
 
 Jean's eyes were vacant, as if in the space before 
 her she could trace the scene. Then a smile lit her 
 face. 
 
 "But it was worth being cold to have the woods 
 finally turn green, and the field fiowers bloom, was 
 it not?" asked Mrs. Poinsette. 
 
 "Yes; we children soon forgot the winter, be- 
 cause of the fiowers and all the frogs rattling at 
 sunset. Then, too, the old hens began to nest, and 
 we knew that soon there would be tiny soft chicks ; 
 
98 IT 
 
 that was the best time till the berries came. You 
 should have seen the scratches on our legs ; why you 
 couldn't lay your finger between the red marks." 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette would laugh merrily, and Jean 
 would feel proud because she had made the beauti- 
 ful lady happy. For much of the time there was 
 such a weary expression in her face it went to 
 Jean's heart. But tliose few moments with Mrs. 
 Poinsette were the most elevating events in the 
 girl's life. The faint perfumes in the room, the 
 dainty toilet articles, and silver framed pictures, 
 the soft things everywhere, created a sense of lux- 
 ury, a subtle feeling of intoxication, which the girl 
 could not analyze. Each time she had left this 
 lady and returned to the kitchen the contrast be- 
 tween the life there and that of the sensuous room 
 grew apace. Returned to the kitchen, she would 
 sit quietly over her vegetables, or whatever Dougo 
 might have set her to do, and rehearse the visit, 
 and tax her little head with long and troublesome 
 problems. 
 
 "Well, have you had the G. B.?" asked Dougo, 
 as the girl reentered the kitchen after a visit up- 
 stairs. Jean knew the letters stood for what Dougo 
 called the "Grand Bounce." She merely shook her 
 head, and wondered why the contrast between 
 Dougo and her mistress struck so painfully; why 
 Dougo still spoke so coarsely when she had lived 
 so many years with Mrs. Poinsette. Could it be 
 possible that she, Jean, would be the same; would 
 she go on living years with learned people and not 
 grow finer, more like them? Never; the fineness 
 
IT 99 
 
 was already spinning a web about her; she felt 
 it's fast weaving. 
 
 She 'had noticed that Magenta, when she was in 
 the room with Mrs. Poinsette, was low-voiced, and 
 spoke quietly; but once in the kitchen, she was so 
 different; said common things, laughed harshly. 
 Jean had yet to learn that refinement lies within. 
 Wrights was a man, it did not so much matter 
 about men's voices; yet there was a great difference 
 between Wrights and Eibbons. Wrights said very 
 smart things and true things, but he had a way of 
 preaching them; one got tired of being preached 
 to. Kibbons did not preach; he said just a few 
 things, but they held in one's mind, and worked 
 there just like yeast. 
 
 Kibbons came in every morning for orders, 
 though he seldom stopped to gossip with the help. 
 However, he always had a pleasant nod and found 
 a way of saying a word or two to Jean. That was 
 only natural, she concluded, since it was her duty 
 to open the door to let him in. There was some- 
 thing about the man the girl could not define, but 
 he seemed more on a plane with Mr. and Mrs. Poin- 
 sette; and coachman though he Avas, Jean could 
 somehow not help feeling that he might even con- 
 sort with the Poinsettes on terms as easy as any of 
 those of their smart friends. Each morning he now 
 took time to talk a little longer to Jean ; sometimes 
 there was a ray from bis eyes that went straight 
 into Jean's eyes and made them blink. Once or 
 twice he took her hand as he left, and, as he was so 
 noble in her conception, she was sensitive about 
 
100 IT 
 
 withdrawing it; besides, he never pinched her in 
 that unpleasant way Mr. Eugene did; a way which 
 made her feel contemptible. With Ribbons, she 
 felt elevated. He had never called her "Jenny," or 
 even "Jane," as the other servants did. 
 
 "Good morning," he would say; and she would 
 answer: "Good morning," after him, without add- 
 ing "Mr."; as he addressed her without the "Miss." 
 
 "Such glorious weather, I wish you might have 
 the privilege of going out," he said on this particu- 
 lar morning. 
 
 Jean's eyes glistened, but she did not reply. It 
 would indeed have been nice to go out, but it was 
 nearly as nice to have him wish her to. She would 
 equal him in her appreciation. 
 
 "I shall be shelling peas this morning, and it's 
 almost as good as going out, for I can think of 
 them on the vines, and the rest of the green things 
 growing, and make it seem as if I were out among 
 'em." 
 
 The man smiled and look at her so kindly she 
 was gratified. 
 
 "Will you let me take you out some time?" he 
 asked. "I fear we cannot get out during the day 
 time, but early some evening, if you will, I'll come 
 for you, and we can go over toward the river and 
 look across at the opposite baaks and watch the 
 lights of the ferryboats; would you like to?" 
 
 "Well, I guess;" then blushing prettily, she hung 
 her head and, correcting herself, said: "Oh, in- 
 deed, I should like to so much." 
 
IT 101 
 
 When Ribbons had gone, Jean returned to the 
 kitchen, where Wrights was expounding one of his 
 sermons. 
 
 "It's not a man's station in life that gives him his 
 reasoning power; its the way he opens the shutters 
 of his mind." 
 
 Jean was alert; this applied to Ribbons, she 
 quickly concluded. He continued: 
 
 "The air all about us is filled with facts; all we've 
 got to do is to expose the sensitive plate." 
 
 "Can't you explain your meaning a little more 
 simply, Wrights?" begged the girl, emptying a 
 quantity of peas into a pan. 
 
 "Well, I mean electricity, and radium, and vibra- 
 tions, and things with new names, that have always 
 existed, but that men haven't learned to see, to pho- 
 tograph on the brain. It's not always the best edu- 
 cated men that have the most sensitive brains." 
 
 "How can you learn to see things that you can't 
 see?" asked Jean, bewildered. 
 
 "That's just it; I don't believe I can make it 
 clear. It's to compare the things which you do see 
 with what you might imagine was there, but invisi- 
 ble. One can learn to think while shelling peas or 
 paring potatoes, or polishing silver — sort of won- 
 der things out. It's the simplest things that are the 
 hardest to comprehend; one is so apt to overlook 
 them." 
 
 "Do you like to think things out, Wrights?" 
 asked Jean. 
 
 "You bet I do ; besides, scientific and philosophic 
 
102 IT 
 
 thoughts are healthier than mulling over what one 
 can't help," and he cast a glance toward Magenta. 
 "It cures one of self-pity, a dangerous disease. The 
 more you use your head the easier thinking becomes. 
 There are some days when I want to shout, I'm so 
 exalted; I'd give a heap to explain my enlighten- 
 ments, but I realize that I couldn't make myself 
 understood; it's at such times I have to whistle." 
 
 "Your whistling is more of a chuckle," remarked 
 Dougo. 
 
 Jean was thoughtful ; finally, she said : 
 
 "If there isn't anything new, why do you call 
 them your enlightenments? Have they not been on 
 the film, as you call it, all the time?" 
 
 "Yes, but invisible until I have trained my mental 
 eye to light them up." 
 
 Wrights looked pleased — the girl was catching his 
 meaning. 
 
 "If you thought about how to improve yourself 
 as much as about those generally hard things, you'd 
 be rich, and not a butler," she volunteered. 
 
 "Is it not improving oneself? I'm cleaning these 
 knives, to be sure, but am I not improving myself if 
 I am figuring out invisible problems at the same 
 time?" 
 
 Jean shook her head. "I don't understand," she 
 said, and sighed. 
 
 "But you will yet ; there's lots of time before you 
 come to that kind of thought; but you'll need to 
 some day." 
 
 "Maybe," she said quietly. 
 
 "A mouse!" cried Magenta. "It's under my 
 
IT 103 
 
 chair." She gathered her skirts about her and flew 
 to Wrights, flinging her arm about his. Wrights 
 should not have talked so much to Jean. Only Ma- 
 genta knew, Wrights guessed, that there was no 
 mouse. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Up rose the round, glittering moon, dwarfing the 
 tall buildings as it passed them on its gradual 
 mount. Out into its splendor from a basement 
 came two figures, those of Ribbons and Jean. 
 
 Ribbons had asked Jean to go for a walk when he 
 came in at the usual hour for orders. Jean, all of a 
 flutter, had referred to Dougo. 
 
 "He wants me to go out for a walk this evening. 
 Oh, please, may I?" 
 
 "I presume you mean Ribbons," said the woman, 
 looking up from her rolling-pin. "Sure, you can. 
 You haven't been out enough, and Ribbons wouldn't 
 harm nobody." 
 
 The day passed all too slowly; the work became 
 tedious, but it was finally over. Jean ran to her 
 room, pinned on her hat and fastened her coat with 
 trembling fingers. Dougo surveyed her as she hur- 
 ried through the kitchen, called her back and, tak- 
 ing a muffler from a box beneath the dresser, 
 wrapped it about the girl. 
 
 "You must wear this, honey. You'll freeze in 
 that thin coat." 
 
 Following the girl to the door, she found Ribbons 
 waiting there. "Be thoughtful and come in early, 
 and now be off with ye," and she pushed Jean fondly 
 from her. 
 
 Down shone the moon, making feeble the glimmer 
 
IT 105 
 
 of gas jets, as two liappy people crossed the park. 
 Gray grass patches stretched into the dark, while 
 above netted branches tossed fantastic shadows, and 
 sharp rocks made weird designs. Jean drew a deep 
 breath. 
 
 "It's a make-believe wpods, isn't it?'' she said, 
 looking up at the man beside her. 
 
 "Yes, but it's the nearest thing thousands of city 
 youngsters have." 
 
 They sauntered through one of the smaller walks 
 running at right angles to the main driveway. 
 
 "Almost as still as up home, only for that strange 
 roar," she murmured. "I like the woods, and I like 
 the clearings, so you can see far off." 
 
 "Woods are beautiful. I envy wild things because 
 they can live in them. If I could, I'd spend most of 
 my time out in the woods." 
 
 The girl shook her head. "You'd get tired of it. 
 It's too still, and one day is just the same as the 
 next, and there's nothing that makes you want to 
 do things. Why you might lie under a tree all day, 
 because you could see just as much there as you 
 could if you wandered about. But all this here is 
 so different; you want to see more and more, and 
 hear things and learn about things, and everywhere 
 you go it's new." 
 
 The man smiled. "Yes, one does want to know 
 about it all. It's a great, splendid world, and there's 
 a niche for every one, if a body can find it." 
 
 They had come to the mall, with its great steps 
 leading to the lake. 
 
 "Oh, how pretty," cried the girl, seeing the moon 
 
106 IT 
 
 in the water, soft branches sweeping its shore, and 
 lazy boats swinging above black reflections. "I 
 don't understand why there are not more people 
 looking at it," she continued, gazing delightedly be- 
 fore her. 
 
 "The rich are at the theatres, and the poor are too 
 tired. So we've got it all to ourselves, just as much 
 as if We owned it." 
 
 They stood for some time looking at the pictur- 
 esque beauty of pond and bridges, dark boulders, 
 and the jagged line of distant buildings. 
 
 "Dear, but it's lovely !" she sighed. "Do look at 
 those big ducks asleep." 
 
 Again Ribbons smiled. He strode cautiously to 
 where the birds were huddled and, lifting a droop- 
 ing branch, he prodded them with it. The swans 
 opened their great wings and stretched their long 
 necks. From where he was he could hear the girl's 
 cry of surprise. 
 
 "My ! what ducks !" she laughed, as he joined her. 
 "Those necks could reach clear down in a pork bar- 
 rel." 
 
 "They are swans. Big, beautiful waterfowl, are 
 they not? Such charming outlines; see those curl- 
 ing wing featihers. It's fine, isn't it, to have all 
 these things for the people and children, and such a 
 great stretch of garden in the heart of a city? We 
 must get on now, if we are to go as far as the river. 
 I can't keep you out too long." 
 
 They walked briskly through the park, crossed 
 several streets, and came upon the glorious river. 
 
IT 107 
 
 "There !" said Ribbons, "there, to my mind, is the 
 greatest sight I know of." 
 
 The girl stood silent. Barges, with their colored 
 signals, were sailing north and south; busy trains 
 screeched by, innumerable lights sparkled along the 
 distant shores, objects floated out from the darkness 
 and back into it. The singular impulse of night life 
 prevailed as far as the eye might search. 
 
 "Well?" asked the man, after a prolonged silence, 
 a little disappointed that the girl had made no sign. 
 
 Jean sighed involuntarily, then she felt his disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 "I can't find the words I want," she said slowly, 
 "because I never saw anything like this before. I 
 can't describe it, the words I do know don't sound 
 enough. It just makes me feel shivery," and a tre- 
 more passed through Jean, from her head to her feet. 
 
 "What you haven't said is better than anything / 
 could. Yes, it does make one feel shivery when one 
 begins to consider the meaning of it, the wonder of 
 man's work, the things these boats and trains and 
 great stretches of wharves represent. The com- 
 merce, the pulse, the heart throbs of the world. One 
 is glad to be one of its motors." 
 
 What fine thoughts Ribbons had; how much bet- 
 ter he said things than other servants! 
 
 "You kind of pour ideas all over me," said Jean, 
 looking at him. 
 
 "That's what I've made up my mind to do," he re- 
 plied. "It's what I took you out for to-night." 
 
 "Do you want me to learn things?" asked Jean, 
 wonderingly. 
 
108 IT 
 
 "Yes," he answered, simply. 
 
 "Why, what a good man you are; nobody ever 
 did before," she said, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Nobody I ever met before asked such sensible 
 questions as you do. I've wondered at it ever since 
 I first saw you." 
 
 "Do you know," replied Jean, with equal confi- 
 dence, "that you use the nicest and longest words 
 of any one I ever heard talk. So I've reasoned if a 
 coachman could learn to talk that way, why I 
 could; but it's going to take a long time. Do I say 
 things, I mean do I make fewer mistakes than when 
 I first came?" 
 
 "Decidedly," answered the man. "If you won't 
 think of dresses and clothes and all the fool things 
 the girls about you do, like Statia and Magenta; if 
 you'll have higher ideas and think over them, you'll 
 make great progress. Would you like me to bring 
 you a good book now and then?" 
 
 "Oh, please," cried Jean, "if that's the way not 
 to 'have to be a kitchen maid all my life." 
 
 "It's one way," he answered. "I should like to 
 etay here as long as you wish," he continued, look- 
 ing at her, "but it's time to go." 
 
 "Must we, already? I don't feel as if I had be- 
 gun to see it. I want to look, and talk, and ask you 
 about things." 
 
 "You shall," said the man." "when Mr. and Mrs. 
 Poinsette are home evenings, I can get away. 
 You'll have plenty of time to learn." 
 
 They walked rapidly back. It would be unwise 
 
IT 109 
 
 to displease Dougo, especially when they should 
 want to go so often again. 
 
 Jean thanked Eibbons, who, at parting, held her 
 hand a moment, and lifted his hat just like a gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 The child did not sleep till very late. There were 
 so many things to remember. The beautiful park 
 and wonderful night, the river with its cargoes go- 
 ing to the world's end ; the flying trains, the second 
 city lighted in the distance, suggesting thousands 
 more of just such cities; all this marvelous night 
 life, this increasing working world. How interest- 
 ingly Eibbons had talked of it all. How delightful 
 his wanting her to know about things, and his will- 
 ingness to teach her, in his nice language, which 
 sounded so sweet, and was so easy to understand. 
 
 Why was there such a difference between him and 
 the rest? Dougo and Wrights and Statia, and all 
 of them, too, must feel it, for they were not quite 
 themselves with him, not quite as free when he occa- 
 sionally came to the kitchen. Once only had she 
 seen and been spoken to by Mr. Poinsette. Eibbons 
 was much more like Mr. Poinsette than like the ser- 
 vants. Why? 
 
 Jean did not know, and Eibbons had forgotten. 
 What? Oh, well, so be it. 
 
 "Say, Kid," Dougo yawned — it was six o'clock 
 next morning — "You talked a lot in your sleep, 
 everything was lights, and boats, and water, and 
 tall men, and books. Never heard such a mix-up 
 in my life. You can't have no pudding to-night." 
 
 The girl smiled, looked unusually bright, and not 
 
110 IT 
 
 at all as if the dreams had been unpleasant ones. 
 Dougo preceded her down the stairs. Jean fol- 
 lowed. "Eibbons is the smartest and nicest man I 
 ever saw," she avowed irrelevantly. 
 
 "You bet," answered Dougo, carelessly, as the 
 two descended. Jean thought Eibbons would not 
 Lave said, "You bet." 
 
 Jean was disappointed that Eibbons did not come 
 in as usual for orders that morning, but Mrs. Poin- 
 sette had telephoned her orders to the stable instead. 
 Jean had on a new calico dress ; it was an event, and 
 she had hoped Eibbons might see its freshness, but 
 he did not come, so the day passed slowly. There 
 was just a bit of emptiness in it. 
 
 There was emptiness in it, too, for Eibbons, who 
 sat in his neat little room opposite the stable. The 
 man had a dislike to live in the stable ; he preferred 
 this room, and the plain board, to quarters where 
 constant intercourse with stable boys was inevita- 
 ble. Here in his small sanctum he was master. 
 Here he could read or smoke or enjoy the luxury 
 of silence. He had surrounded himself with a few 
 comforts, for which 'he had paid prices in excess of 
 the warrantable outlay of his salary. An easy 
 lounging chair stood near the light, several well- 
 bound classics lay on the table, a fairly good blue- 
 and-white Canton vase, which, by the way, had been 
 picked up at auction, now held a few ferns, and a 
 silver tray displayed several mild cigars. Eibbons 
 did not like a pipe. Earely associating with other 
 coachmen, he cared less for their choice of pastime. 
 
IT 111 
 
 He was much by himself, with few indulgences be- 
 sides a mild cigar and a passion for books. 
 
 On this particular day Eibbons sat engrossed. 
 His hands were crossed upon his knees, his head was 
 bent a little forward, an intermittent smile bright- 
 ened his face; his thoughts were with Jean. He 
 would have been surprised had the exact number 
 of moments been counted, spent of late with 
 thoughts of Jean. He rehearsed now each trifling 
 event of the previous evening. How pretty she was 
 when Dougo had hidden that horrid dress with that 
 blue wrap of hers. What great shadows the moon 
 printed under her lashes, how evenly she walked, 
 one step measuring the other, like the noiseless, 
 well-spaced woodsman's gait. How unaffected and 
 musically she had laughed when he had frightened 
 the swan and she recognized a new bird, and not 
 the ducks, with which she was familiar. How un- 
 consciously she had shown relief in leaving the 
 park, which suggested her own lonely home, and 
 had brightened as her foot touched the flagging of 
 the street. What a revelation the burdened river 
 had been, and her impressions, how they played all 
 over her expressive face, though the pleasure of 
 hearing her voice had made him insistent of a re- 
 cital. Once, in her delight, she had touched him 
 with her shoulder; he could feel it now, though he 
 was aware that she was innocent of her action. Re- 
 turning through the park, she had suddenly vaulted 
 across a low railing placed, temporarily protective, 
 along an embankment. The act was so graceful, so 
 spontaneous, so child-like, so natural. That was 
 
112 IT 
 
 her charm, her perfect naturalness. Best of all, 
 her sweet nature. As long as she had been in the 
 house, he had never seen her moody or discounting 
 her grievances, as was the case with her associates. 
 Dougo he considered by far the best of any of the 
 women servants in the household, and Dougo liked 
 the girl, was growing to like her more; that he 
 could see, even though he seldom spoke with the 
 maids. Magenta was a willful coquette, there was 
 little doubt of that; he hoped her influence would 
 not be bad, for Jean was so young, there was dan- 
 ger from a woman of such loose ideas, unless the 
 finer instincts of the younger girl would shield her. 
 
 Sometimes he grew impatient that his calling 
 gave him such scant opportunity to be with Jean. 
 Having no intimates, and caring little to be longer 
 in the stable than the necessity of his lig'ht duties 
 there demanded, — for stable boys groomed and 
 washed, — it was but natural that an interest out- 
 side the lonely hours should be gladly hailed. 
 
 Eibbons lit a cigar and looked over the few vol- 
 umes on his stand. 
 
 "There's nothing here that will do — Hume, Ten- 
 nyson, Lyell, dear little 'Blue Eyes,' " he said, 
 speaking audibly tender — "I'll go find something, 
 it will be more amusing than hunting books for 
 myself." So saying, he took his hat; he had plenty 
 of time to-day, Mrs. Poinsette was not using the 
 carriage, he would go down town to the book stores 
 and search. 
 
 So he did, through every shop he had previously 
 haunted, through every second-hand store he had 
 
IT 113 
 
 seen, through many he found as he walked the 
 streets, but nothing came of it. There was noth- 
 ing in the line he wanted that was not too techni- 
 cal, or that she could understand. He had set his 
 mind on finding a light story, one that would in- 
 terest her, and at the same time have its teachings, 
 its moral. No matter, there were plenty of days 
 ahead; nothing was ever done in a hurry, besides 
 it was very pleasant, doing this thing that would 
 help her. He boarded a home-bound car. Opposite 
 him sat a bevy of school girls; laughing, gay, 
 young, inconsequential. They were full of life and 
 joy and interest. He listened, amused by their 
 chatter. 
 
 They talked of school, of games, of vacation, and 
 where they might go when that glad time arrived; 
 then of possible seaside frolics, of excursions, of 
 tennis, of boating; no one paid attention; all were 
 intent on their individual interests. One girl only 
 was not listening to her companions ; she was bend- 
 ing over a book, deaf to the chirpings of her friends. 
 The book must be interesting, he thought, for her 
 face fell or danced as she read. Eibbons leaned 
 a little forward to see the title. "Little Women." 
 The very thing! Why had he not thought of that 
 before? It was a book for girlhood; full of their 
 interests; simple, pure, saturated with wholesome 
 doings of wholesome people, unfolding lives of pur- 
 pose. He glanced at his watch. It was not late. 
 He could easily slip into a store and get the book. 
 
 How buoyant he felt as he hurried homeward, 
 
114 IT 
 
 the crisp book wrapped in its brown paper cover, 
 snugly pressed beneath his arm ! 
 
 Two days later the literary education of Jean 
 began, and Kibbons found in procuring her books 
 the most genuine pleasure he had known in many 
 a day. 
 
 "I'm glad you know enough to go out with that 
 steady old fellow," said Dougo to Jean some days 
 later, as the two sat preparing luncheon. Dougo 
 was flaying a calf's tongue, Jean chopping gelatine. 
 "I been afraid you'd want to keep company with 
 that fresh Aleck that came with this," she indi- 
 cated, with a gentle pat, the tongue before her. 
 "Most girls would have been taken with his baby 
 mustache and its curly ends. A smooth tongue has 
 that one; much like this here now; see, ain't it 
 chick?" and she raised the piece in both hands. 
 Jean was frequently amused by the way Dougo 
 fondled the things she cooked. She would rub salt 
 and mustard and different flavorings into meats as 
 if she were doing it to a real thing alive, giving the 
 piece at the same time an affectionate stroke as 
 she adjusted it in the roasting-pan. 
 
 "So you don't like butcher boy Karl, do you, 
 Jennie?" 
 
 "Why, Karl isn't any better than I am!" replied 
 Jean, deprecatingly. 
 
 "Of course not," nodded the woman, quite losing 
 Jean's shading, for Dougo's interests at present 
 were concentrated on the tongue she was decorat- 
 ing. 
 
 "Isn't that fine! now see here, I want you to 
 
I T 115 
 
 watch me. You'll have to do these things before 
 you get much older, and the sooner you begin the 
 better." Jean looked on while Dougo cut pieces 
 of truffle, sliced pimento, sorted cloves and divided 
 cherries, and placed all tastefully along the top of 
 the tongue. 
 
 "I've seen our calf when her tongue looked like 
 that, after she'd eaten a lot of trash." 
 
 Dougo laughed ; the picture of a self-ornamented 
 tongue was amusing. Then she gave a few last 
 touches to her masterpiece. 
 
 "Next to loving live things, is the pleasure of 
 fixing 'em dead. Sometimes when you are telling 
 about the lambs and hens and cows, it seems as if 
 I must just give up and go live among 'em. I 
 will, too, some day; I'll have all the live stock I 
 can handle. The more I think of it, the more the 
 want grows. I shut my eyes and see an image of 
 myself running my legs off chasing the chicks out 
 of the posy beds, fetching in the young turkeys 
 when it rains, taking pans of feed to the piggies, 
 and doing a thousand chores. Won't I have a great 
 time, though doing what you gave up." 
 
 "I hope you will, Dougo, if you like stock. Maybe 
 I'll like them again bye and bye; but I couldn't 
 give up this city life now, and all the things I'm 
 going to see and do; no, not for all the cattle and 
 running things in the world." 
 
 "That's right, too. But the world swings round, 
 and so do people. Bye and bye I'll pass you on my 
 way to the woods, as you pass me on your way to 
 the city; then maybe, we'll shift back round for 
 
116 IT 
 
 the finish. Here, put this in the ice-box." 
 
 Jean took the dish and opened the chest. "Oh, 
 dear !" she exclaimed, "the jar of cream has broken 
 and run down all over everything." 
 
 "Drat it !" cried the woman ; "it's that simpleton 
 of a Wrights. I wish he'd keep his beer in the 
 cellar; he upsets something every time he goes 
 there." Jean noticed a lack of genuine temper. 
 She had, too, a mild suspicion that there was an- 
 other culprit beside Wrights. Dougo sometimes 
 drained what was left in Wrights' stein. 
 
 The thought of Wrights brought to mind Eib- 
 bons. 
 
 "He isn't so very old, is he?" 
 
 "Is who?" asked Dougo, as they washed the re- 
 frigerator and wiped clean the cream-besmeared 
 things. 
 
 "Ribbons; I thought we had been talking about 
 him." 
 
 Dougo smiled. "Why, that depends ; he ain't old 
 for a simmer," she said, wiping the cream from a 
 slice of halibut, "but he's pretty tough for a broil." 
 
 Jean wrung out her cloth. "He told me a lot 
 of things about the city, and the railroads, and tun- 
 nels, and ferryboats; where they went, and about 
 the tremendous traffic ; and oh, ever so much about 
 the country. That that very Hudson river com- 
 mences up near our farm; in the mountains back 
 of Old Tremble, and so much about the history of 
 how it all was created." 
 
 "There's no doubt the man knows a heap," inter- 
 rupted Dougo. "I like him. The others say he's 
 
IT 117 
 
 stuck up. That's not so ; he just don't care to fool 
 with the girls, and it makes 'em mad. I like him 
 all the better for being stiff; somehow he makes 
 me think of the white of eggs, soft and tender, and 
 light and transparent; stir him up a bit and he 
 stiffens, for all the world like a platter of well- 
 beaten froth." 
 
 Jean laughed. "But it's a sweet dish," she added, 
 imitating Dougo's figures. 
 
 "There, that's done." Dougo rose to her feet. 
 "You're a good little girl, Jeanie. I've put on you 
 a purpose sometimes, and you never said a word, 
 nor made a complaint. 'Twon't be forever before 
 you can cook better than most of them getting big 
 wages." 
 
 "It's all going to help me," said the girl. "I've 
 thought it all over, and how lucky I was to get in 
 such a beautiful place, and have you and Eibbons 
 so good to me ; almost as if I belonged to you. But 
 if I stay here I must go on just as I am, being 
 kitchen maid. If I leave, I might get a place as 
 cook, but what then? I'd be so busy all the time 
 I could never sew or read, or do the things I've 
 planned in order to learn. Because, Dougo — now, 
 don't be angry, will you?" she asked affectionately, 
 placing her hand on the woman's arm. "I don't 
 always want to be a house servant. If I study 
 hard I believe I can take a higher position, and 
 see more of the world, and go up, up, up. I think 
 there's something in the blood of people who have 
 lived as I have that makes them want to be inde- 
 pendent, free; on a plane with the best, not jostled 
 
118 IT 
 
 by any and everybody. Can you understand? Sep- 
 arated, apart, as people say." 
 
 "Not quite, dear; but there are all sorts of peo- 
 ple. Mine were in service as long as I can remem- 
 ber back. I like working for people; there's more 
 solid worth in 'em. It's only when I know that I'll 
 be too old some day that I think I'd like to pull 
 off and have a little place of my own. That's why 
 I'm saving now. You don't see me spending money 
 on any clothes, like the upstairs' girls." 
 
 "Yet one does love pretty things; don't you, 
 Dougo?" 
 
 "Sure, child; though not so I'd spend every dol- 
 lar I earned, and borrow beside." 
 
 "Who does that?" 
 
 "Magenta." 
 
 Jean was silent; finally she said: "Don't you 
 suppose the reason she likes fine things better than 
 you is because she sees so many more? She is al- 
 ways handling Mrs. Poinsette's clothes, and coming 
 close to the fine things of other people; shopping 
 and all that." 
 
 "Maybe. Temptation is a monster; the Book 
 proves that. Law! there comes the coal; I hung 
 the key of the coal bins back of the flour barrel 
 there. We have to put it in twice during the sea- 
 son." 
 
 Jean took the key down and, going to the cellar, 
 unfastened the lock. An abominable sound shortly 
 followed, as the coal came shooting in. Jean, still 
 untrained to all the new racking noises, covered 
 her ears with her hands, and ran up to the kitchen. 
 
IT 119 
 
 "That's terrible," she said, entering. "We had 
 awful hail storms in the mountains ; I and the chil- 
 dren used to pat our heads under the bed clothes, 
 but it wasn't nearly as bad as this." 
 
 Dougo shrugged her shoulders. "When you've 
 lived in the city as long as I have, you won't hear 
 nothing. Besides, it's a pleasant sound to me. I 
 think of what it means. Its wealthy. If you'd 
 ever had to buy it in buckets, you'd be glad to hear 
 it pouring in by the ton." 
 
 Jean liked Dougo's double-pointed view of things 
 and was large enough to realize the woman's logic, 
 for Dougo saw both sides judiciously. Wrights was 
 like her. Perhaps that was the reason they often 
 squabbled. Though their differences were frequent, 
 his good nature harbored no lasting spleen. He 
 would end the harangue by some such adaptation 
 as, "Life's no joke; once I thought so, — now I 
 smoke," whereupon he would light a pipe, cross 
 his legs, and mend the handle of a saucepan, or 
 do some such service which a moment before he 
 had vowed he wouldn't touch. 
 
 "The cart is empty; the coal in the cellar; you'd 
 better go back and lock up," advised Dougo. Jean 
 obediently descended to the cellar, sprung the pad- 
 lock, returned the key to its hook and remounted 
 the stairs. Then a knock came to the basement 
 door. She opened it, and the waitress from the ad- 
 joining house hurried in. 
 
 "Dougo," she panted, "let me have a bottle of 
 your cooking sherry ; there's a dear. The boss went 
 off and forgot to leave one out; we've got a big 
 
120 IT 
 
 luncheon on, and the cook is wild." 
 
 "All right, Agnes, if you'll remember to bring it 
 back this very night. Jean, go down and fetch me 
 up one." 
 
 Agnes followed the girl to the cellar, took the 
 sherry and, hastily returning, passed through the 
 door, leaving it open behind her. 
 
 "Beats all the easy way some borrow," growled 
 Dougo. "That hussy won't bring that back till 
 I've been after it or sent Wrights a hundred times." 
 
 "What's that you're going to send me after?" 
 asked the man, coming into the kitchen. 
 
 "Agnes has been here after a bottle of sherry, and 
 I presume we'll not get it back till you've smiled 
 upon her. Men are scarce in that kitchen." 
 
 "I'll be switched if I go. You women are too 
 busy making me fetch and carry. You have a way 
 of lending me to each other that's not to my taste. 
 Didn't I warn you if them girls borrowed another 
 thing you'd have to go for it yourself. One woman 
 can twist a man's neck, but it takes a dozen to pull 
 his head off." 
 
 "I should judge some one was riled a trifle," re- 
 plied Dougo, looking at Wrights from over her 
 shoulder. "Has Magenta upset you again?" 
 
 "Kindly leave her out of the conversation," said 
 the man, with heat. 
 
 "I didn't take long to guess, did I," sneered 
 Dougo. 
 
 "No, she's the most aggravating woman bom," 
 and Wrights kicked his toe against the table leg 
 with suggestive violence. 
 
IT 121 
 
 Dougo treated lightly Wrights^ infatuation for 
 Magenta. The woman was wise beyond her sex. 
 She cared a lot more for the man than she liked 
 inwardly to confess. She knew that Wrights, in 
 his confirmed ideas of domesticity, would never 
 get on with so lawless a creature as Magenta. 
 Their love quarrels were therefore only amusing. 
 
 "It's too bad you two couldn't be caged to- 
 gether with a 'Happy Family' sign hanging over. 
 There'd always be a crowd around your bars." 
 
 "Better draw a crowd than be a buried mud-tur- 
 tle, such as you'd be," he growled. 
 
 "They're good to eat," said Dougo, her mind im- 
 mediately formulating the delectable possibilities 
 of crustaceans. A natural Gordon Bleu, turtles 
 and their family appealed profoundly to her culi- 
 nary sense. There was no doubt that Dougo was 
 a genius. Her love for cooking was a passion. 
 Wrights had similar instinctive tastes for his work. 
 To have the brightest silver, the best tempered 
 wines, the most perfect service, was in his mind as 
 worthy as any profession esteemed by the world 
 at large. Wrights and Dougo were two of a very 
 few of their class, who cared to dignify their labor, 
 to whom everything else was unimportant. 
 
 Jean could have no better school. That evening 
 Eibbons brought a book to her, and on the fly-leaf 
 was written: "To Jean, from Greyton." Jean's 
 first book! No one saw his present. A thrill of 
 pleasure dyed her cheeks, her mute gratitude was 
 sufficient. Kibbons was as happy over his gift as 
 was the girl who hugged it to her breast with a 
 
122 IT 
 
 sigh of delight. Her first impulse was to run and 
 show it to the others, but suddenly she thought bet- 
 ter of it. A number of reasons rushed through her 
 mind. Magenta displayed everything that was 
 given her, often waving them about, while tossing 
 her head a bit higher than usual. There was a 
 queer little feeling in Jean's heart every time Ma- 
 genta did this. Statia talked about men's giving 
 presents to girls. In fact, they all boasted about 
 themselves and their affairs. She could not do that, 
 especially of anything Eibbons had given her; her 
 big, handsome friend, who, next to Dougo, was so 
 kind to her; even though he knew so much, and 
 was so dignified. His dignity — that was best of 
 all. 
 
 Now she looked up hesitatingly. 
 
 "Would you dislike it; would it be wrong, if I 
 hid this under my apron, and did not let the others 
 see that you gave it to me?" 
 
 He watched her as she slipped the book beneath 
 her apron, just as a child might do with a coveted 
 toy. It was delightful. He mounted the stairs 
 and went to Mrs. Poinsette's room for orders. 
 
 When he came back Jean hurried to him. 
 
 "I never thanked you for it," she whispered. 
 
 "You did — ^you've forgotten," he answered, and 
 left the bouse. 
 
 "That's the dearest, sweetest character I ever 
 knew," he thought, as he walked to the stable, his 
 face aglow with pleasure. 
 
 Jean was very happy all day. When her work 
 was finished, she coiled herself beneath the corner 
 
IT 123 
 
 light, and was soon buried in her book; no one 
 would be curious, she might have brought the book 
 with her. "Little Women," the tale of those good 
 young girls, living their sweet, wholesome, practi- 
 cal lives, was a revelation of domestic felicity to 
 Jean in her slow, cherishing reading. The four 
 sisters, and their wise mother watching over them 
 and gently directing their manner of higher 
 thought, appealed strongly to her craving for con- 
 tinual progress. She could not quite forgive Amy 
 for maxrying Laurie, when all the while Joe, the 
 noblest character, loved him, and would have made 
 him a brilliant wife. Why could not she have 
 been rewarded with worldly things? She liked, in 
 the story, the unity of purpose, the harmonious do- 
 mestic action, the smooth family machinery. 
 
 When she had exhaustively finished the book she 
 discussed the story with Eibbons. He told her of 
 how Mrs. Alcott was a real person. That the story 
 was taken from life, the actual life of the Alcott 
 family. How one of the greatest men in the world, 
 a philosopher and poet by the name of Emerson, 
 was the real Lawrence of "the story. That this 
 man was a friend of the Alcott's, frequently mak- 
 ing them surreptitious presents, hiding money be- 
 neath things, where it might not be found till after 
 his departure, knowing they would have refused his 
 open gratuity. 
 
 Thus Jean began a course of reading which be- 
 came her absorbing pleasure. She learned the ex- 
 istence of public libraries. Eibbons carried the 
 books back and forth for her, suggesting new ones 
 
124 IT 
 
 and explaining for her the notes she had made as 
 she read. 
 
 They walked frequently together evenings, the 
 man pointing out new objects, or discussing places 
 that were unfamiliar. 
 
 "This night school is so much better than the 
 kind of a night school Tommy goes to. We'll call 
 it our night school, won't we?" she smiled. Sucji 
 helpful intercourse was of inestimable value to 
 Jean as the winter wore along with only the events 
 of the kitchen to change the daily monotony, though 
 incidents were continually occurring. 
 
 One day Statia came into the kitchen and de- 
 posited a heavy basket in the middle of the floor. 
 
 "Me for Christian vScience," she said decidedly. 
 "Those going to specialists and quacks, paying their 
 outlandish bills, and swallowing their endless stuff 
 gets tired of it in the end. I tell you they're a bad 
 chain — doctor, nurse druggist, undertaker and 
 monument cutter, yet people don't seem to get en- 
 lightened." 
 
 "What's ruffling your feathers, Statia?" asked 
 Dougo as the woman finished her tirade. 
 
 "Have a look, it won't cost you nothing," and she 
 pointed to the basket filled with empty and half 
 emptied medicine bottles, and a host of pill boxes 
 of all shapes and sizes. 
 
 "Suds!" exclaimed Dougo. 
 
 "All your fault, Dougo, it's the rich things you 
 give them. Just means doctors and medicine most 
 of the time." 
 
 "Poor old maid," said Dougo, under her breath, 
 
IT 125 
 
 as she scalded a pan of tomatoes. 
 
 "Who's left the scuttle chain unfastened?" cried 
 Statia, returning empty-handed from the cellar, 
 where she had deposited her bottles. 
 
 "I presume the child didn't know how to fasten it 
 after the coal men. To tell t^e truth that woman 
 coming in for the wine drove the key clear out of 
 my mind," replied Dougo. "I'll go down now and 
 lock it myself; she's up in her room mending her 
 underwear; she don't like to bring it to the kitchen, 
 there were so many running in and out," she said 
 when she returned from the cellar. 
 
 When she returned the two women sat down for 
 their cup of tea ; it was always ready, in a far corner 
 of the range, black as tar, but they liked the rank 
 beverage and it loosened their tongues. 
 
 Statia spoke. 
 
 "The more I see of smart people the thankfuller 
 I be that I'm not leading their lives. Why, Dougo, 
 half that stuff I brought down in that basket was 
 to bolster up their nerves. I've seen both of them 
 flat on their backs with fatigue, their toes and 
 fingers twitching so's they couldn't hold 'em. I'd 
 rather sweep a dozen rooms than go through one 
 of the days she does. Dressmakers and milliners, 
 boots and underclothes, clubs and luncheons, bridge 
 and teas, dinners and operas, theatres and suppers. 
 Dougo, it^ just awful, because they don't get a 
 bit of real fun out of it. Always, always, there's 
 some one else Just doing and having a little more. 
 That makes 'em envious. Did you ever notice the 
 difference when they get tired, between the look on 
 
126 IT 
 
 their faces and the tited look on the faces of the 
 help?" 
 
 "Statia, you know I think society people just 
 pitiful creatures, losing each year some of the sense 
 they were born with. You and I are content; who 
 among all of them is?" 
 
 "I've no ambition," agreed Statia, negatively, 
 shaking her head. "Let me be. I'm willing to work 
 steady, and some day, if the right farmer comes 
 along, maybe I'll take Mm." 
 
 "Farmer!" cried Dougo, jealously, "you a 
 farmer's wife! Humph, here's the pretty picture. 
 A little white farm house, you at the churn a fuss- 
 ing, your new husband just in for the dinner you've 
 forgotten to cook, owing to your trouble over the 
 butter coming so slowly. 'You look nice,' says he, 
 trying to be pleasant. 'Is it coming?' " 
 
 " 'Sure,' says you, pleased and coy, 'I can feel 
 the lumps with the dasher.' " 
 
 " 'Let's look in,' says he, putting his arm 
 around you lover-like. 'Why, it's the hog's food!' 
 he cries. 'You took the wrong bucket!' and with 
 that he flings his boots across the room. Oh, I can 
 see you a-farming it." And the good woman 
 laughed till the tears came. 
 
 Statia pouted, then busied herself over a bit of 
 newspaper, picked up where it had fallen out of 
 the basket of bottles and rubbish. 
 
 "Heaven! What under the canopy can this 
 mean? Dougo, look, what do you make out of it?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Both women, cheek by cheek, each with a hand 
 
IT 127 
 
 holding one corner of the paper, read an appalling 
 article. It concerned the failure of an insurance 
 company, a company in which both women had 
 invested the greater part of their savings. A 
 plausible agent had secured these policies with 
 glowing allurements, and both women had invested 
 without consulting those whose judgment might 
 have saved them. They were among the hundreds 
 of victims annually sacrificed to an army of base- 
 ment promoters. They now sat in mute bewilder- 
 ment till the arrival of Wrights drove them into 
 an hysterical explanation of their wrongs. 
 
 Dinner that night was bad. Mr. and Mrs. Will- 
 son, two of the best livers in town, had been asked 
 in for a favorite dish and bridge. The soup was 
 innocent of salt, the roast overdone, the souffle had 
 collapsed, and grounds floated through the coffee. 
 It was well for the Poinsettes' credit that the Will- 
 sons had dined there before. Wrights forgot the 
 oyster forks and broke a wine glass. 
 
 "What's the matter with the servants?" asked 
 Mr. Poinsette of his wife when they had gone to 
 their room. 
 
 "That's what I should like to know. I'll find 
 out in the morning," she answered, vexedly. "I 
 asked Dougo to give us one of her nice little din- 
 ners, and she knew whom we were expecting. I 
 can't imagine what has come over her. And 
 Wrights was as awkward as an ostrich." 
 
 Dougo was called to headquarters first thing in 
 the morning. 
 
 "I was mortified last night. What on earth was 
 
128 IT 
 
 the matter, Dougo?" asked her mistress as soon as 
 the woman came into the room. 
 
 "I can't tell you how bad I felt about it, ma'am." 
 
 "Mr. Poinsette was indignant. He invited the 
 Wiilsons to a good dinner, and it was awful." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," answered Dougo, hanging her 
 head. 
 
 "Are you sick?" questioned her mistress, her 
 voice moderating. 
 
 "No, ma'am," replied Dougo, then a tftir gath- 
 ered and rolled slowly down her cheek. 
 
 "Well, what on earth is the matter? I didn't 
 intend to hurt your feelings, Dougo, you know that. 
 Has anything gone wrong? Wrights was fearfully 
 clumsy, too. What is it?" 
 
 The good woman, unable longer to control her- 
 self, burst into a torrent of tears. 
 
 "The insurance, ma'am ! It's all gone. Most all 
 the wages I saved, all clean gone, and I was setting 
 such store on having a place in my old age. And 
 Statia, her's is gone too — though she didn't have as 
 much as I — and her poor mother in the old coun- 
 try depending on her. I'm awful sorry about the 
 dinner. I felt about sick over it afterward. I was 
 dreadful sorry about you and Mr. Poinsette's being 
 disappointed. The best wish I have is to please 
 you. I did feel awful. CJouldn't you have them 
 again? I'll do my best. I was so upset last niglit 
 seeing all my plans ruined, and that insurance 
 company with my money " 
 
 "What insurance? You don't explain," asked 
 
IT 129 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette, breaking in upon this breathless 
 speech. 
 
 "My life insurance, — it's failed." 
 
 The woman threw her apron over her head and 
 turned to leave the room. 
 
 "There, try and be quiet, Dougo. I'm very sorry, 
 you know I am. Perhaps its not so bad, after all. 
 They may resume and then there'll be a chance that 
 you'll get some of your money back. Now cheer 
 up," and Mrs. Poinsette patted her affectionately 
 on the shoulder. "Perhaps, too, something can be 
 done to protect you. We'll see." 
 
 Dougo pulled down her apron with the immediate 
 feeling of having unloaded her burden upon respon- 
 sible shoulders. 
 
 "Oh, I would be grateful if you could do some- 
 thing for Statia and me." A smile of relief bright- 
 ened her face. Dougo became hopeful, faith in the 
 mysterious powers of the employer over money 
 conditions made her buoyant. She left the room 
 with the conviction of the ultimate restoration of 
 her funds. 
 
 "That's the sweetest creature ever breathed," 
 said Dougo on reaching the kitchen. "She's just 
 perfect. She forgot to scold me, because she was 
 so sorry after I told her about our losses. I haven't 
 a doubt that they'll get it back for us. Statia, you 
 didn't say anything to her?" 
 
 "Of course not," replied Statia. "Who could but 
 you?" 
 
 There was a patter of finger nails on the window 
 pane. 
 
130 IT 
 
 "Mother Murphy !" cried Statia. 
 
 "Did you send for her?" 
 
 "I did, faith, she's a good one; she can tell you 
 how to get the things back, and what's happened 
 to bust the company. She's as good as a wishing 
 stone, and 's cleverer than any one in town. I'll feel 
 better after hearing her." 
 
 Statia unfastened the grill and brought in a 
 middle-aged woman of saffron skin and hollow eye. 
 
 The two women made much of their guest, help- 
 ing her off with her shawl and placing the great 
 empty basket she carried out of sight beneath the 
 tubs, where its suggestive mission as property re- 
 mover might not be too conspicuous. They pushed 
 her gently into a comfortable chair, set a cup of 
 boiling tea and buttered toast before her. After 
 having eaten and drank enough to last the rest 
 of the day, she wiped her mouth with the back of 
 her hand and fetched from a deep pocket a muti- 
 lated pack of cards, shuffled them and called on 
 Dougo to cut, then began slowly to place them in a 
 circle. 
 
 "Who's the young one?" she asked as Jean noise- 
 lessly came into the room. Without waiting for an 
 answer she called to her, "Come here, pretty one." 
 
 "Come, Jenny," echoed Dougo, "come and watch 
 Mother Murphy with the cards." 
 
 The girl moved toward the table. 
 
 "Well, Aschenproedel, and don't you want to 
 have your fortune told?" asked the woman, with a 
 disagreeable leer. 
 
IT 131 
 
 Jean did not like the woman's face; she crept 
 close to Dougo. 
 
 "What name did you call me?" she asked timidly. 
 
 "Oh, that's the German for Cinderella. Now 
 listen." 
 
 With fingers not over neat, she began an inco- 
 herent recital of numerous light and dark men, of 
 numerous light and dark ladies, of the disappear- 
 ance of money, jewels, silver; of more men and 
 women, of vapory promises and successful quests. 
 It sounded very strange to Jean, nor could she feel 
 much interest. 
 
 "Now you cut the cards," she commanded, look- 
 ing keenly at Jean. Again she arranged them, then 
 began mumbling much that was unintelligible to 
 the girl. She spoke as if her teeth were loose and 
 it was difficult for Jean to understand more than a 
 few words. There was a reference to a little house 
 far away in the woods, with its numerous children, 
 and one who had left the meager home and gone 
 afar. There were words that sounded like "sick- 
 ness," others "hard work," "hard questions," "lift- 
 ing influences," "wishes coming true," etc. When 
 the woman had finished with the cards, she looked 
 up again at Jean. "You see, its all coming your 
 way, but not right off. You're in for a spell of 
 trouble and vexation first, afterward the good 
 times will heap up. I must be off now ; your losses 
 are coming out right, girls," she nodded to the 
 others. "I'll take my basket." 
 
 Dougo hurriedly filled it with various articles 
 from the different closets, carrying it as far as the 
 
132 IT 
 
 door, where she and Statia bade the hag "good 
 day." 
 
 "She's sort of creepy, don't you feel it, Dougo?" 
 said Jean, when they had returned to the kitchen. 
 
 "She ain't handsome," explained Statia. "But 
 she's a smart old woman. Her mother was German 
 and her father Irish. The 'crossing' is what makes 
 her able to read things, so she says." 
 
 "Who is Cinderella? I saw the name in 'Little 
 Women.' " 
 
 Statia told the girl what she knew of the story. 
 About her hard life with her selfish sisters, and of 
 how the prince came, of how the sisters tried to 
 cheat him. Of his love and how finally he took her 
 away to live with him in a beautiful palace, where 
 they were happy ever after. 
 
 Jean was childishly interested. Then she asked, 
 "But what did it mean about money and dead people 
 and ships, and trouble coming to us, and then being 
 cleared up in the end, and all that mixed odd talk." 
 
 Statia tried to explain it to the girl, but her ex- 
 planation only made it harder, till Jean shook her 
 head in her vain attempt to understand. 
 
 "I can't see how people know what hasn't yet 
 happened." She sat down to meditate, trying to 
 reduce all tlie soothsayer's jargon to her comprehen- 
 sion, and finally gave the matter up as too compli- 
 cated. What a lot too the woman had carried off in 
 her basket ! Dougo did give away so much from the 
 kitchen every day, even this horrid old woman's 
 basket was full ; it worried Jean. 
 
 Jean knew that, if she so pleased, Dougo could 
 
I T 133 
 
 have saved many things — vegetables and meats that 
 were perfectly good. Jean did not find out the 
 meaning of perquisites, till she had been a long 
 time in the Poinsette's employ. Her faith in Dougo 
 suffered. Were such lavis'h donations right to her 
 employers? Not till after Dougo's plausible ex- 
 cuses did Jean realize that the significance of her 
 obliquity had never dawned on Dougo. Perquisites 
 were customary with all cooks. Dougo was a 
 favorite in the neighborhood, her reputation for 
 generosity was far spread, donations had become a 
 habit. 
 
 Silence reigned, the three women had been busy 
 with their thoughts; now Statia awoke. "I feel such 
 a lot better. I believe we're going to get our money 
 back, Dougo. Old Murphy don't make many mis- 
 takes. I think the company will pay. I've prayed 
 to St. Anthony and Murphy's been here. It will 
 surely help get the insurance." 
 
 "There's some things possible with these fortune 
 tellers, but I'm not all belief like you, Statia. If 
 they know so much why don't they keep themselves, 
 get rich and not be such poor starved looking creat- 
 ures?" inquired Dougo. 
 
 "They're too learned to care about money," re- 
 plied Statia. 
 
 "You'll need a nurse in another year," said 
 Dougo, scornfully. 
 
 "I don't care if I do so long as I. get my money 
 back," answered Statia, loftily, tying her dusting 
 cap closely over her head and retreating upstairs, 
 a much more contented looking person. 
 
132 IT 
 
 (icor, where she and Statia bade the hag "good 
 day." 
 
 "She's sort of creepy, don't you feel it, Dougo?" 
 said Jean, when they had returned to the kitchen. 
 
 "She ain't handsome," explained Statia. "But 
 she's a smart old woman. Her mother was German 
 and her father Irish. The 'crossing' is what makes 
 her able to read things, so she says." 
 
 "Who is Cinderella? I saw the name in 'Little 
 Women.' " 
 
 Statia told the girl what she knew of the story. 
 About her hard life with her selfish sisters, and of 
 how the prince came, of how the sisters tried to 
 cheat him. Of his love and how finally he took her 
 away to live with him in a beautiful palace, where 
 they were happy ever after. 
 
 Jean was childishly interested. Then she asked, 
 "But what did it mean about money and dead people 
 and ships, and trouble coming to us, and then being 
 cleared up in ihe end, and all that mixed odd talk." 
 
 Statia tried to explain it to the girl, but her ex- 
 planation only made it harder, till Jean shook her 
 head in her vain attempt to understand. 
 
 "I can't see how people know what hasn't yet 
 happened." She sat down to meditate, trying to 
 reduce all tlie soothsayer's jargon to her comprehen- 
 sion, and finally gave the matter up as too compli- 
 cated. What a lot too the woman had carried off in 
 her basket ! Dougo did give away so much from the 
 kitchen every day, even this horrid old woman's 
 basket was full ; it worried Jean. 
 
 Jean knew that, if slie so pleased, Dougo could 
 
I T 133 
 
 have saved many things — vegetables and meats that 
 were perfectly good. Jean did not find out the 
 meaning of perquisites, till she had been a long 
 time in the Poinsette's employ. Her faith in Dougo 
 suffered. Were such lavish donations right to her 
 employers? Not till after Dougo's plausible ex- 
 cuses did Jean realize that the significance of her 
 obliquity had never dawned on Dougo. Perquisites 
 were customary with all cooks. Dougo was a 
 favorite in the neighborhood, her reputation for 
 generosity was far spread, donations had become a 
 habit. 
 
 Silence reigned, the three women had been busy 
 with their thoughts ; now Statia awoke. "I feel such 
 a lot better. I believe we're going to get our money 
 back, Dougo. Old Murphy don't make many mis- 
 takes. I think the company will pay. I've prayed 
 to St. Anthony and Murphy's been here. It will 
 surely help get the insurance." 
 
 "There's some things possible with these fortune 
 tellers, but I'm not all belief like you, Statia. If 
 they know so much why don't they keep themselves, 
 get rich and not be such poor starved looking creat- 
 ures?" inquired Dougo. 
 
 "They're too learned to care about money," re- 
 plied Statia. 
 
 "You'll need a nurse in another year," said 
 Dougo, scornfully. 
 
 "I don't care if I do so long as I get my money 
 back," answered Statia, loftily, tying her dusting 
 cap closely over her head and retreating upstairs, 
 a much more contented looking person. 
 
134 IT 
 
 "I can't understand how they tell about things 
 that haven't yet happened," Jean musingly re- 
 peated. 
 
 "Well, it is strange," replied Dougo, "but there's 
 something in it all. Kibbons knows a lot about 
 things like that. You have him tell you. I won- 
 der," she continued, her mind still on her loss, "if 
 there's really the least chance of getting it again. 
 'Come hard, go easy,' says I. Law, Jean, dear, to 
 think of the hundreds of chickens I've drawn, and 
 the lobsters I've scalded, and all for nothing, as 
 you might say." 
 
 "It's too bad, Dougo, I'm so sorry." The girl 
 put her arms about the woman and for the first 
 time kissed her. It was the first kiss Dougo had 
 had in years. She was deeply touched. 
 
 "Bless your soul, darling," she cried, "that was 
 worth almost the loss of the insurance." From that 
 moment Dougo developed a profound affection for 
 Jean. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The afternoon turned stormy, 'twas a dismal 
 day, indeed. The wind blew the shutters of the 
 neighboring houses with loud reports against their 
 fastenings, the rain beat viciously against the panes, 
 and little streams trickled in under the casings. 
 Mrs. Poinsette was lunching out, so there was a 
 cold meal in the servant's hall, a feature they all 
 enjoyed, since it gave them more time for them- 
 selves. The women brought out their sewing. 
 Wrights drew a stand to the window and wrote. 
 Magenta was still busy upstairs putting Mrs. 
 Poinsette's room in order. Several new gowns lay 
 about, and two huge hat boxes proclaimed recent 
 purchases. Magenta tried on each gown and ad- 
 justed each hat. 
 
 "What a change they do make," she smiled, as 
 she surveyed herself in the glass. "She wouldn't 
 look any better than I in my clothes. How I love 
 such things! I can feel the effect of putting 'em 
 on strike in like vaccination. Oh, how I do want 
 things, how I do!" The girl fairly sobbed with 
 desire. "I will have them, I must, I can't stand 
 this sort of thing any more. There's only one way 
 for me and that's too bad. But what matter. It's 
 worth any price, just the big swelling feeling it 
 gives. Just to be up in that world with the rest of 
 them, to be the center, to be It, to have them look 
 
136 IT 
 
 at me and my clotlies, to liave them turn when I 
 pass, to lay off in my carriage, or sweep into a fine 
 restaurant, or go to a theatre and sit in a box where 
 every one could see me and my beautiful clothes! 
 Oh, the joy of it, the joy !" 
 
 Magenta, by the time she had taken off Mrsi. Poin- 
 sette's finery and hung the gowns in the closet, was 
 a thoroughly unhappy girl. "If I stay up here 
 with these things much longer I'll do something 
 mean. I'm going to get even with Ribbons any- 
 how for being nice to that baby downstairs." The 
 thought sent her to the kitchen. Entering where 
 the rest sat silently busy, and slamming the door, 
 she threw herself into a chair. 
 
 "You're all so tame, and slow, and stupid," she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Which of us is which?" asked Dougo, with an 
 odd twist of her head. 
 
 "I don't see as there's much difference," she re- 
 plied, pouting. "I wish I were miles and miles 
 away. 
 
 "So do the rest of us, when you have on one of 
 these fits. Have you been togging out in the 
 madam's new finery? That usually upsets you." 
 
 "For the love of patience," cried Statia, "do let's 
 have a quiet afternoon. We were so peaceable be- 
 fore you butted in, Magenta." 
 
 "One bad potato spoils a whole barrel," said 
 Wrights, without looking up. 
 
 "You're all pretty smart, are you not?" cried 
 Magenta, resentfully. "Well, I'm ashamed of the 
 whole of you. You're willing to sit in this old rat- 
 
I T 137 
 
 hole, where you can't even look out without tip- 
 toeing to see through the window, when you might 
 all be out, at least looking in shop windows. In- 
 stead, here you sit, as contented as squirrels asleep. 
 Whew, I hate it so!" 
 
 Wrights folded his letter and put it in an en- 
 relope, slowly sealing it. "Magenta," he said when 
 he had laid the envelope down, "would you like to 
 go out? I'll take you." 
 
 "Anything, anything, that M'ill get me out of this 
 house for a while." 
 
 "You can't go out. Magenta, you know that," 
 said Dougo, quietly. 
 
 "Can't, hey. Well, watch me," and she flew from 
 the room, returning quickly, her hat already on, 
 while she slipped her arms into her coat and caught 
 up her umbrella. 
 
 "Wrights, you know better if she don't. Who's 
 to go to the door if any one comes? You know the 
 oiders." 
 
 "Statia will open it, won't you, Statia?" he 
 asked, turning to lier. "We can't none of us be 
 blamed for wanting to go out, and there's some need 
 it more than others, and it don't rain in the sub- 
 way." With which argument he took his coat from 
 a hook near the mantel and followed the girl, who 
 was already some distance from the house. 
 
 "That woman's making a fool of a good man," 
 said Statia, with a shrug. 
 
 "She couldn't make a fool of a bad man," an- 
 swered Dougo, with spirit. 
 
 "He thinks she likes him. Why, she don't care 
 
138 IT 
 
 any more for 'him than she does for that kitten 
 there, and I Imow what I'm speaking about," con- 
 tinued Statia. "She's just doing it to show off and 
 make the rest of us jealous. Me jealous, at thirty, 
 of her!" 
 
 Possibly the kitten understood, too, for she gave 
 a bound and landed in Jean's lap, and from there 
 sprang onto the table, upsetting the ink, a feait that 
 broke up for the day the sewing bee. 
 
 Next morning, as the maids sat waiting for their 
 breakfast, wliile watching Dougo's process of kero- 
 sening sodden fuel, Wrights dashed dramatically 
 into the kitcken. 
 
 "The silver's gone." 
 
 "What !" cried Dougo, springing to her feet from 
 her position before the bewitched range, a poker in 
 one hand, the pitcher of kerosene in the other, 
 "What do you say?" 
 
 Wriglits with colorless face, and hands extended, 
 repeated. "The silver, all gone !" Then he thumped 
 one hand aganst the other and strode up and down 
 the kitchen, prodding different parts of his anatomy 
 in his distress. The women stood staring in awe- 
 struck wonder; then, as if in disbelief and to better 
 prove the catastrophe, they with one accord gath- 
 ered their skirts in their hands and flew up the 
 pantry stairs. 
 
 Scarcely had they taken in the situation, the 
 empty sideboard and serving ta.ble, the missing 
 sconces, and yacht prizes, the stripped room 
 walls when a bell sounded for Magenta. With an- 
 other quick glance at the empty spaces she hastened 
 
IT 139 
 
 upstairs, closely followed by Wrights, who felt the 
 necessity of immediately announcing the robbery to 
 his employers. 
 
 "My jewels have been stolen. Magenta!" cried 
 Mrs. Poinsette in a high pitched voice to the couple 
 as they approached along the hall. 
 
 "So has the silver," echoed Wrights, excitedly. 
 "Come, please, and see." 
 
 The master of the house hurried downstairs, the 
 butler closely following. Together they searched 
 carefully, making every effort to find how the 
 thieves had gotten in, but no trace of an entrance 
 was discovered. The devastation was so entire; 
 words failed. Both men were too busy with their 
 separate mental speculations; then Mr. Poinsette 
 slowly returned to the third floor. Wrights with 
 troubled brow began to set the breakflast-tlable. 
 Would this have happened had he stayed at home? 
 
 Once in his room, Mr. Poinsette telephoned to 
 notify the police. Mrs. Poinsette sat limply 
 rocking over her lost treasures. In the middle of 
 the floor the empty jewel box was bottom upmost. 
 A chain and an old-fashioned bracelet lay as if 
 tossed hurriedly aside. Magenta with interlacing 
 fingers stood in confused thought near the sofa. 
 
 "I shall never get them again, and Mrs. Poin- 
 sette wiped her eyes with the hem of her dainty 
 negligee. "All those beautiful emeralds Althorpe 
 gave me, and mother's diamonds, and the old pnarl 
 pins. I feel as if I didn't know what to do." 
 
 "Don't cry, Natalie, we may get them back. The 
 
140 I T 
 
 police force is clever. It may take time, but we'll 
 have them yet." 
 
 "Never !" cried his wife, and lapsed back to slow- 
 dropping tears. 
 
 Two detectives arrived shortly and made a 
 thorough examination of the house, beginning at 
 the attic and searching through every room, they 
 finished with a prolonged examination on the 
 kitchen floor. When they were through, they called 
 Mr. Poinsette and were closeted with him the rest 
 of the morning. 
 
 The following week was one of strained condi- 
 tions. There was no disguising the fact that suspi- 
 cions were flitting from person to person. An in- 
 sidious doubt settled first on one and then on an- 
 other. 
 
 "Of course you know what the end of this is 
 going to be," said Wrights one evening to Dougo, 
 as they sat in the miserable mental gloom that had 
 shut down over the kitchen since the morning of 
 the loss. 
 
 "I suppose you mean that each of us has got to 
 go through an examination, just as if we were 
 criminals." 
 
 "Exactly," he answered dejectedly. "It's as mean 
 a feeling as ever was, to think there's some one 
 somewhere watching and spying on you. It makes 
 me mad clear through." 
 
 "In a way, it hurts the Poinsettes as much as it 
 does us. It can't be comfortable to suspect some- 
 one in your own household," said Dougo, with 
 splendid philosophy. 
 
IT 141 
 
 Jean, all unconscious of any possible suspicion of 
 herself, had utterly failed to realize that she being 
 unknown was, of all the servants, the one most mis- 
 judged by the employer and detective. How could 
 she know? Thieving was in her world inconceiv- 
 able, a deed incomprehensible to the primitive pos- 
 sibility of ethics. Nor had the existing suspicion 
 dawned upon her. 
 
 "I can't see," she said, "why you are all so bad. 
 Of course no one in the house took the things, if 
 they had they'd have run away. What difference 
 can a robbery make in our feelings toward each 
 other except to make a great sympathy for Mr. and 
 Mrs. Poinsette." 
 
 But when later the servants were each taken 
 separately into a room by offticers and cross-ques- 
 tioned, Jean's eyes were opened. She was gravely 
 shocked and hurt, though the detectives were more 
 considerate of her than they had been with the 
 others. Her indignant incredulity was compelling 
 even to such hardened inquisitors. Suddenly she 
 dried her eyes; Jean thought she understood. These 
 men were doing nothing to disgrace her. They 
 were merely carrying out a plan. They were doing 
 nothing they might not have had to do to the finest 
 lady in the land. The Poinsettes, even might have 
 to be questioned to help others. Eibbons had told 
 her detectives Avere men employed by the city to 
 ferret the hiding placs of criminals. Were they 
 not therefore doing their duty by the city? Of 
 course she was not guilty, so why cry? Why not 
 make it as easy as possible for them and answer 
 
142 IT 
 
 anything they might ask? They had kept her 
 longer in the room than they had the others, she 
 must therefore be more helpful. 
 
 "The coal was delivered Tuesday?" affirmed her 
 questioner. "Is that so?" 
 
 "It was Tuesday ; yes, sir," answered Jean. 
 
 "And the cook gave you the key to open the locked 
 chain?" 
 
 "She told me to take it off of the hook," an- 
 swered the girl with exactness. 
 
 "Then, what did you do?" 
 
 "I went down to the cellar, opened the padlock 
 and laid the key on the shelf there." 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 "When the coal was in and the men had left I 
 went down again and snapped the lock and hung 
 the key where Dougo keeps it." 
 
 "What man — did a man go down with you?" 
 
 "Why the coal man who shoveled the coal back." 
 
 "Ump." 
 
 "What did you say to the man?" 
 
 "I didn't speak to him," replied Jean, starting, 
 "I never speak to strange men." 
 
 "Are you quite sure you never saw him before?" 
 asked the interlocutor, coming nearer. 
 
 Jean burst into a hearty peal of laughter. "If I 
 had, I'd never have forgotten him. He had the 
 dirtiest face I ever saw. It makes me shudder now 
 when I think how he looked in that dark part of 
 the cellar." 
 
 The girl was so natural, the man felt instinctively 
 her innocence. This was sure enough the unso- 
 
IT 143 
 
 phisticated little country girl of whom he had in- 
 formed himself from the other servants. 
 
 "Are you certain?" The man looked at her with 
 piercing eyes. "His name is Jessup." 
 
 Jean started. "Jessup! Why that's the name 
 of the people I lived with when I took sick, hut I 
 never saw him, he was off traveling. Why the Jes- 
 sups wouldn't steal! They are nice people." 
 
 "Of course — they're nice," replied the officer. 
 "Only papa Jessup is the nicest " 
 
 "If that girl is guilty, with such a face and such 
 eyes I'll never believe in appearances as long as I 
 live," reflected the detctive. Aloud he said sol- 
 emnly : 
 
 "I believe you, girl, and here is my hand on it." 
 
 Jean explained further : "People don't steal where 
 I came from. They don't know what it means. They 
 never even shut their doors of a night when tbQ 
 weather is warm; it keeps the house cool. There's 
 no bolt on the doors over in our mountains." 
 
 The man smiled, made a few notes in his book, 
 and with a cordial acknowledgment dismissed her. 
 
 "That is enough ; you may go." 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Dougo, when the girl reap- 
 peared, "what has been done?" 
 
 "They asked me a lot of questions and I answered 
 them, that's all I know, and I'm not going to worry 
 over it any more," and Jean settled herself to her 
 work, picking up the scissors to trim the frayed 
 edges of a skirt. 
 
 "I wish I could shake off trouble like that. It 
 
lU IT 
 
 makes me just sick; you never know how evidence 
 can be turned against you." 
 
 "Just you cheer up, Dougo, dear. Kibbons says 
 such things happen all the time in big cities. It's 
 one of the risks one runs being a servant." 
 
 Dougo sighed. It was some days now since the 
 robbery and nothing had been cleared up. This un- 
 certainty and general suspicion was spoiling her 
 digestion, making Dougo quite unhappy. Of course 
 Jean was a dear thing, and it was hard to think 
 wrong of her, yet she, Dougo, was responsible for 
 her presence in the house. She was in comparative 
 ignorance of her life, and there was no doubt that 
 the rest of the help had ideas they were taking small 
 pains to hide from Dougo. So it was, that Jean 
 upon whom the odium was being daily more 
 strongly thrust, was in truth, the most unaffected. 
 
 The Poinsettes were convinced that their val- 
 uables were in hiding, since careful vigilance had 
 failed to locate them at any of the well known 
 "fences." 
 
 Then one day, as the skies were clearing and 
 there were rumors of an immediate revelation, offt- 
 crs appeared in the house and Jean was under 
 arrest. Even the significance of this did not seem 
 to overwhelm her. She had but slight knowledge 
 of what arrest meant. The servants gathered about, 
 humbly awed. The patrol wagon stood outside. 
 The house was blocked by a curious crowd. Two 
 policemen guarded the basement door. -Jean was 
 waiting in her hat and coat for an officer to return 
 who had gone upstairs to see Mr. Poinsette. The 
 
IT 145 
 
 two men came down together. Jean, with counten- 
 ance aglow, was beautiful in her fearlessness. 
 
 "I'm ready," she said, without a tremor in her 
 voice. 
 
 Down Dougo's face rolled two great tears, 
 Wrights twisted nervously one of the bright but- 
 tons of his livery. The two maids, Statia and Ma- 
 genta, were drawn anxiously together. An officer 
 spoke. "We're ready," and led the way to the 
 door. As Jean stepped over the threshold, Rib- 
 bons came forward. Mr. Poinsette had followed 
 the little procession as far as the area. 
 
 "If you don't mind, sir," he said, under his 
 breath, "I'm going to the court room. I'll be 
 bondsman for the girl." No one heard what they 
 were whispering, but Dougo saw her master slip a 
 roll of something in Ribbons' hand. 
 
 "We'll not have that poor little thing remain 
 in the station. I believe she's as innocent as I 
 am. Its' a damn shame that it should have come 
 to this. The whole matter might have been man- 
 aged more quietly. Yes, Ribbons, you go, and see 
 that she returns as soon as you have settled with 
 the judge. I'm provoked at this whole thing. Some 
 bungling mess of the police. So much for our per- 
 fect system." 
 
 Jean, with the heavy veil which Dougo had in- 
 sisted on tying on, stepped into the wagon, the two 
 officers jumped in beside her, and the driver, touch- 
 ing up the horses, the conveyance was soon out of 
 sight. 
 
146 I T 
 
 Ribbons, in a hired automobile, arrived at the 
 station before the rest. 
 
 "Officer," he said to the man at a desk close to 
 the entrance, "will you allow the young girl who is 
 coming here directly, to go into your room. I 
 don't want her to see the kind of people she is 
 likely to meet here. Her being brought here is 
 only a matter of form anyway, I have bonds for 
 her." 
 
 The man raised his eyes, gazed carelessly at 
 Ribbons, and with an indifferent shrug pointed to 
 where he might conduct the girl. 
 
 Owing to this forethought, Jean, during the time 
 of her detention, never saw a prisoner, nor did she 
 even suspect that people were locked in cells further 
 back in the building. After several tedious pre- 
 liminaries a big man entered. He, with the officers 
 and Ribbons, retired to the further end of the room, 
 talked for an interminable time, so it seemed to 
 Jean, before he came back to her. 
 
 "This gentleman has given bonds for you," the 
 officer informed her, but he might as well have ad- 
 dressed the wall for all the intelligence he conveyed 
 to the wondering girl. Then they plied her with in- 
 numerable questions, the purport of which were 
 vague, in their court room vernacular. There was 
 just one point on which Jean was clear. That was 
 her desire to help these polite men, who seemed so 
 intent upon getting the stolen articles back for her 
 employers — and she gladly added all she could 
 to what u) eager knowledge she had of the burglary. 
 
IT 147 
 
 never realizing how near she was to a very serious 
 situation. 
 
 Jean rode back with Ribbons in the automobile. 
 
 "You've been splendid, Jean. I'm proud of you, 
 I believe the officers are too. No one could have 
 been more brief and dignified. I know you left a 
 good impression." 
 
 The girl leaned hard against the back of the seat, 
 trembling. Prom Ribbons' manner it dawned upon 
 her that she had really been in a critical position, 
 that the worst thing had almost happened that 
 could happen to a girl in service. She had been to a 
 court house as it were. The rapidity with which it 
 had all been dispatched left her in a bewildered 
 maze. Now the whole situation, as far as she could 
 grasp it, unfurled before her. 
 
 She had been suspected and brought to a brief 
 trial for thieving ! What would people think if they 
 knew she had been suspected of theft ! What would 
 become of her if people knew that she had been 
 taken to a police station! These people who lived 
 in cities looked at things so differently. Stealing 
 was something that grew in cities. Up in the coun- 
 try one did not take what others had, and if one 
 needed something one borrowed. Would this spoil 
 her chances of ever getting work again? would the 
 Poinsettes keep her? Then, being even finer than 
 she knew, she did a strange thing, she laughed out- 
 right. Why all this was not damaging to her, it was 
 helpful, for form's sake, to prove her assertions of 
 innocence. So, philosophically settling the matter 
 then and there, being young and healthy and fully 
 
148 IT 
 
 vitalized by tiie pure frosty ozone, she again burst 
 into a merry peal of laughter, for was not riding 
 in this car the most heavenly delight imaginable ! 
 
 Eibbons mistook the outburst for an hysterical 
 emotion, his heart was wrung with pity, he reached 
 forward and covered her hand, solicitude vibrant 
 in his palm, 
 
 "I'm so sorry, little woman, so sorry," he re- 
 peated, at a loss for proper words. "But it is over 
 now, at least the worst part; you're going to be 
 brave just as you have been. If I could, I'd spare 
 you every part of it; I'd gladly take the whole thing 
 
 on my shoulders. Come, throw it behind " 
 
 But before he could finish his sentence the girl 
 looked up at him, her eyes luminous, her lips 
 pressed firmly together, her other hand tightly 
 clasping the side of the limousine. 
 
 "I have," she replied rather incoherently. "It's 
 thrown far behind, what's the use of thinking of 
 dark things in this glorious day, at this wonderful 
 pace? Oh, it's splendid and it's awful, too. Shall we 
 get 'home alive? The thing is running away. Won't 
 you help the man in front there? I'm sure he can't 
 manage the flying thing, we'll go clean through that 
 wagon, I can scarcely breathe. We'll fall off some- 
 where." 
 
 Eibbons had not realized it was the girl's first 
 ride in an automobile! Her present timidity was 
 probably a relief in contrast to the greater fear he 
 fancied her suffering. The station-house episode 
 was forgotten in her emotions of the present. 
 "Can't you help him?" she panted. 
 
IT 149 
 
 Eibbons obediently leaned forward. "Slow down 
 a little, please," he said to the chauffeur. 
 
 "Oh, that's better; seemed as if my heart was 
 choking my throat. We were going faster than the 
 train." 
 
 "It does seem so," he admitted, thoroughly grate- 
 ful that the unfamiliar conveyance was the source 
 of her bewilderment. 
 
 "It's like 'flying,' " she explained, the golden ends 
 of her hair waving behind her. The joy of gliding 
 along with other people, of being on a level with 
 their wheels, was supreme. Her young soul ex- 
 panded with an exhilaration that quickly dispelled 
 the despondency of the past hour. Jean laughed a 
 glad laugh of absolute pleasure, now that she was 
 no longer frightened, and adapted herself to the 
 new locomotion. Possessed of a philosophy that 
 was rare, she believed in the pleasures of the mo- 
 ment and refused to dwell on a past ordeal which 
 would have sobered many more tried philosophers. 
 Was she not riding down the avenue in a big car, 
 as openly the envy to others as others had been to 
 her. A chauffeur in front, a gentleman beside her. 
 It was the most absolutely delightful sensation she 
 could conceive. She closed her eyes and opened 
 them with a snap to prove to herself that it was 
 indeed real. 
 
 "Home?" cried the happy girl, "why, we haven't 
 started." And even as she spoke the car came to a 
 standstill. Eibbons helped her out. She flew to 
 the kitchen to call Dougo to witness her proud ar- 
 
150 IT 
 
 rival. The woman was eagerly watching and flew 
 to meet her from the open door. 
 
 "Oh, Dougo," she cried breathlessly, eager to 
 share her excitement, "look at me, I came back in 
 it " 
 
 "They didn't keep you!" exclaimed the woman, 
 throwing her arms about the girl, her strained 
 nerves overflowing in a flood of tears. "Oh, honey, 
 I'm so glad!" 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, Dougo?" asked Jean, 
 alarmed at the outburst. 
 
 "Why, child ! I thought they'd lock you up." 
 
 The girl broke into a hearty laugh. 
 
 "Silly Dougo, you know I wasn't guilty and if I 
 wasn't how could they keep me?" 
 
 The woman shook her head between her sobs. 
 Jean was surely a puzzle. Nothing seemed to sink 
 deep, her nature was light and frivolous. But she 
 bound her arms about the girl and drew her affec- 
 tionately back into the kitchen. "Tell me, child, 
 it don't seem as if I could wait another minute." 
 
 Jean generously dropped the exciting incident 
 of her home trip and related to the anxious listener 
 her adventure in the police station. "But I can't 
 think of it much since that ride home. The court 
 was one of the disagreeable things that must hap- 
 pen sometimes to make the nice things seem nicer," 
 argued Jean to herself. "What a lot of beautiful 
 things there are to enjoy in the world and to won- 
 der at, and I'm just going to crowd out all the 
 horrid things and not bother over them. Dougo, 
 did you ever ride in an automobile? It's just the 
 
I T 151 
 
 grandest sailing. I can feel that machine moving 
 under me now and the wind whipping in my face 
 and blowing away all the horrid worries and leav- 
 ing them far out of sight. I've taken the matter as 
 common sense suggests, and maybe its a developing 
 hint from my conscience." 
 
 Dougo rocked back and forth, her chin propped 
 upon her hand, gazing thoughtfully at the girl. 
 
 "The way your head works is astonishing. 
 'T'ain't any time since you came in this family an 
 empty-brained kid and here you be talking wiser 
 even than Wrights, it's astonishing, I say." 
 
 Jean laughed. "I'm glad if you see an improve- 
 ment. I feel it sometimes. It comes, I think, from 
 guessing about things and then watching to see if 
 they come out like the guess. The difference be- 
 tween the Poinsettes and me seemed as far as 
 around the whole world; now it is shortening up, 
 and some days I feel as if there wasn't such a great 
 stretch between us. At a distance Mr. Poinsette 
 was like a king to me, but when I got nearer the 
 reverence somehow drooped. When he is excited 
 and talks rapidly, his voice goes up and breaks 
 high like a lady's. 'Every now and then I wish he'd 
 thump the table, or make some strong gesture such 
 as men do. I wish he wouldn't keep his nails as 
 shiny as his wife's. When I first saw the Poin- 
 settes it didn't seem possible that I could ever 
 criticise them. Oh, dear, do you know what I'm 
 trying to say. I'm trying to say if you think 
 properly you shorten up the spaces between human 
 beings. Preparing vegetables is helpful, a heap 
 
152 IT 
 
 comes into one's head, and as I cut out the pota- 
 toes' eyes I seem to see all the clearer with mine." 
 
 "Potatoes' eyes may have seen sharply for you, 
 Jean, but it seems to me your own deserve some 
 credit, at any rate your sprouting is alike, and God 
 be praised that this mess is cleared up and that 
 things are not as black as they were a week sinca 
 Heigh-ho." Dougo stretched and settled herself 
 back in her rocker. 
 
 "You're tired, Dougo," said the girl, looking at 
 her companion and the lines that had formed fast 
 of late. "Just close your eyes, and let me talk. You 
 needn't listen if you don't care to, but I feel as if 
 I wanted to say a lot, and it really doesn't matter 
 if any one hears me or not. You know that I had 
 great ideas before I first came here about fine 
 people. I thought they were as far away from me 
 as the stars. That I never could reach them as 
 long as I lived. Well, now it seems sometimes if I 
 stretched out my hand I could touch them. You 
 see they eat and drink the same things I do, they 
 get tired and hungry, just as I do, and when I come 
 near them, they are human beings just as I am. 
 This robbery has made me see people differently 
 and the Poinsettes too. Mrs. Poinsette is just as 
 pretty and lovely as she can be, but she don't say 
 things any smarter than we do in the kitchen, and 
 when Wrights went out Thursday with the new 
 suit, he looked even smarter than his master. When 
 I rode from court in the automobile no one knew 
 but that I was as fine as if the macliine was mine. 
 No, Dougo, it's not such an awful stretch between 
 
IT 153 
 
 us as I supposed. I'm beginning to see that it's 
 something inside us instead of outside that makes 
 us great. I know I'm learning the deeper meaning 
 of 'it.' " 
 
 Dougo's two eyes unclosed. "And about cooking, 
 too," she said, failing to get Jean's entire signifi- 
 cance. "Never seen anything like it, never seen two 
 hands wake up so, or work with quicker motions, 
 nor a head to know just what flavoring was best 
 suited to certain dishes. You got what I call the 
 'gift.' You never make mistakes about combina- 
 tions. There's some who can't seem to realize the 
 chemistry part. They'll put eggs and sugar to- 
 gether and let them set till the eggs is cooked. No 
 ideas of the properties of saleratus and cream o' tar- 
 tar, nor the susceptibleness of cream and butter. 
 Jean, there's no one can beat you conceiving a gela- 
 tine. Why, you don't realize what a cook you are, 
 nor how much of it you have really been doing and 
 I a-shirking a purpose. I've made one of the best 
 chefs in town." 
 
 "Oh, Dougo, you dear thing !" cried the girl joy- 
 fully, "and it has all been so simple." Jean was 
 alert in the deeper sense. "What makes me feel 
 gladdest is that if I can do cooking easily, why I 
 can other things, and I want to do everything I set 
 my hands to." 
 
 "You are all to the good, Jean, and now that this 
 bothersome robbery is cleared and we are in still 
 waters again, I feel as if I could not be too good to 
 you, for you have acted grandly and there's not one 
 among us who is not proud of the way you held 
 
154 IT 
 
 yourself through the whole thing. Maybe Magenta 
 wouldn't have been delighted if something could 
 have been proved against you. She's dead sore that 
 Ribbons is so nice to you, and not to her, but don't 
 you mind her." 
 
 Jean walked away to the window and looked out. 
 It was all right for Dougo and the rest to discuss 
 each other, but why did she hate to have Ribbons 
 coupled with the help? Out there on the sidewalk 
 was the place she had seen him stand the day of 
 the bridge party. There, too, she noticed the differ- 
 ence between him and the other serving-men. Even 
 then he had worn that far-away, thoughtful look 
 he did when he was by himself. What a sight he 
 knew ! How <;onld he remain here as a coachman 
 when he was smart enough to keep a hotel? Where 
 was the ambition that Magenta talked about? The 
 ambition that even she felt growing each day. If 
 she were as old as Ribbons, she would be a bigger 
 man. It would be she who would ring bells for 
 others to answer. Could Ribbons ever be more 
 than a coachman if he didn't care more? But sup- 
 pose he did take it into his head to get a better 
 position, why then he would have to leave and she, 
 how could she stand the loss of him? She could not 
 have him to bring her books, to tell her things about 
 the world, to recite beautiful poetry, while he looked 
 at her with his round brown eyes, or drew her arm 
 through his as they crossed the streets, as he did 
 each time she went out with him. 
 
 "Oh, Ribbons," she whispered, "I should miss 
 you dreadfully. What would become of me? But 
 
IT 155 
 
 I should try to stand it if you were doing better 
 things for yourself." 
 
 The basement bell rang and Jean answered it. 
 String, the undertaker's son, had a note for Dougo. 
 Jean led him to the kitchen. 
 
 Dougo snatched the note, tore open the envelope 
 with nervous fingers — letters were to her a rarity — 
 and read its contents under the light. 
 
 "Oh, my! oh, my!" she cried and sank weeping 
 to the top of an inverted clothes boiler. 
 
 "What is it, Dougo? Can't I help you?" asked 
 Jean with distress. 
 
 "Look once, child. Ain't it awful?" and rising 
 from the boiler she thrust the note toward the girl 
 and pressed her hands over her face. 
 
 Jean read: "Dear auntie, mamma is took bad. 
 The doctor says if you don't want to wait till she's 
 dead, to come right along. Stringy will bring you. 
 Your dutiful Tom." 
 
 "Poor Mrs. O'Hara," cried Jean, "how dreadful ! 
 It must be one of those bad coughing spells of hers. 
 Poor, poor woman, what will you do? can you think, 
 Dougo?" 
 
 "I'd do something now, and think later," said 
 Stringy, uneasily shifting his feet. "I'd want to get 
 there, if I were you, before Pa does. There'll be 
 nothing doing for her or you once he calls." 
 
 "Ah, law!" A shudder went through Dougo; she 
 was unable to think. 
 
 "Go tell Mrs. Poinsette, Dougo," commanded 
 Jean, officiously. "Tell her that I will do the cook- 
 ing, if she'll let me, till you come back. I'll pack 
 
156 IT 
 
 for you. Now hurry— every moment may mean a 
 lot." 
 
 Dougo went blindly up the stairs. Jean fol- 
 loAved her, and Stringy sat himself down after hav- 
 ing first inspected the cake box, from which 
 Dougo had always in the past rewarded him. The 
 boy now busied himself with speculations of how 
 his friend Tommy would act in this, his young 
 obligation. 
 
 "I wonder," he thought, as he munched a gen- 
 erous slice of chocolate cake, "if Tommy will choose 
 a black or violet one. The lavender velvets are 
 fancier on the outside, but the satin lining in the 
 black clotihs cost twice the price of the others. 
 Tommy's going to miss his mamma like fun ; so will 
 I. She owes me ten cents for the last basket I car- 
 ried. I'll tell Pa to put that in the bill with the rest. 
 Maybe Tommy will want her in a shroud, too. We 
 got a lot of new stylish ones in last week. Tommy 
 is the real thing. He'll do it up good, even if he 
 has to spend all the money he's saved for the pup." 
 
 Dougo returned. Jean followed with a bag. 
 
 "Now hurry, Dougo," she said and gently pushed 
 her toward the front door. "Stringy, if you can 
 buy a bunch of flowers for me and just give Tommy 
 this hug," and she threw her arms around the boy, 
 then dashed back into the kitchen, that Dougo might 
 not witness the hot tears that were falling down her 
 cheeks. 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 DoiTGO reached her sister before she closed her 
 eyes upon a world that had given her about what 
 it owed her, and of whom she asked nothing more. 
 "Take my Tommy," she murmured, drew her sister's 
 head and that of her son close to her lips, gave a 
 little gratified sigh and relinguished her earthly 
 tenement. 
 
 That Tommy might not lose too much time from 
 his work, nor Dougo from her's, and to satisfy a 
 pardonable vanity, the services were held at night. 
 The help from the Poinsettes attended the cere- 
 mony. People of such standing gave credit to a 
 mortuary gathering which subsequently became the 
 memorable funeral of the neighborhood. 
 
 When Dougo's fresh grief had subsided, she was 
 met with an embarrassing problem. Tommy! 
 Dougo had had a fond, even passionate love for her 
 sister, her only relative on earth. Alas, that this 
 one relation should have caused honest Dougo keen 
 pangs of pride. Though of lowly birth, Dougo pos- 
 sessed high ideas of morals which her sister had 
 violated. Tommy was without pedigree. Dougo's 
 modesty and principles had been stunned. Forgive- 
 ness had been only negotiated at the price of eternal 
 secrecy. The boy must never know. Now this boy, 
 whose existence was in Dougo's mind a blot on the 
 earth, was suddenly thrust upon her maternal pro- 
 
158 IT 
 
 tection. Dreadful ! Her sister must have died a pur- 
 pose to teach her humility. Her discipline was at 
 hand; she had much to arrange at once. The dis- 
 posal of flat and furniture, and the distasteful 
 problem of Tommy's future. His present place was 
 too far from her watchful eyes. Dougo spent a 
 whole night over the matter and by morning had 
 decided. 
 
 Next day Dougo, together with Wrights, sought 
 the presence of Mrs. Poinsette. 
 
 "Would you be willing to keep a buttons, 
 ma'am?" Dougo put the question. "My poor sister 
 has left her boy in my charge. He hasn't a relative 
 but me in the world and no home to go to, and 
 if you could make up your mind to have him I'm 
 sure you would find the boy of great service. He 
 could do your errands, tend the door, and help 
 Wrights a sight when you've company." 
 
 "It would give me more time for the table and 
 silver," put in Wrights. "I know him to be a steady 
 boy and perfectly honest. It would make the house 
 smarter, too," added the crafty man. 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette demurred. "I'll speak to Mr. 
 Poinsette." 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," said Dougo, a perceptible 
 quiver about her lips. 
 
 "He's a good boy," reaffirmed the butler, then both 
 with proper deference left the room. 
 
 The next week a suit of many buttons came, to the 
 care of Dougo, and Tommy was installed, having 
 been allotted a room in the stable. Certainly the 
 Poinsettes were kind people. Tommy's new suit 
 
IT 159 
 
 was sufficient bliss for immediate distraction, be- 
 sides his aunt taught him that a certain respect was 
 due his mother and therefore it was unseemly to 
 want to go out and see his old friends, particularly 
 Stringy. It would be better, too, now that he had 
 left the upper part of town, to make new friends 
 where he was. She hoped that, as he grew older, 
 he would feel a sense of responsibility, would give 
 up his boyish games and become serious. 
 
 Propinquity renewed Tommy's allegiance to Jean 
 and the two became fast friends. "Aunty's all right 
 enough," he confided to her, "but she ain't on to 
 boys. Her judgment is only fit for girls. Ma 
 knew boys better." His eyes filled. "But you're a 
 brick, Jenny, and we're going to be solid, you bet." 
 
 The boy now stood in his shirt sleeves, Jean was 
 sewing on one of the many buttons that had tricks 
 of catching in the door jambs when he slid round 
 them to save time in answering the bell. 
 
 It was necessary for him, being, a boy, to have 
 something to torment, and Tommy soon acquired 
 two things on which to sharpen his propensities. 
 Jean was one and a yellow mongrel pup that had 
 succeeded to the place of the fine one he intended 
 buying, had it not been for the tribute of the white 
 shroud. The pup was kept in the stable and fed by 
 every one of the boy's friends, an over solicitude 
 that caused the pup to become as wide as he was 
 long. The best part of this dog was his beautiful 
 collar which taxed his strength to carry. Tommy 
 decided that his doggie should be a wise one, and 
 spent the greater part of his spare hours in canine 
 
160 IT 
 
 instruction, with tlie result that puppy could walk 
 backward and forward and wrong end up, besides 
 balancing himself on numerous points of Tommy's 
 anatomy. 
 
 Of course a dog of such talent excited the admira- 
 tion of the neighborhood, and the Poinsette stable 
 became the favorite lounging resort of all the stable 
 boys within many blocks. After a while, on the 
 roof of the building. Tommy built him a temporary 
 stage, lighted for evening performances by a loco- 
 motive headlight, secured from a friendly employee 
 of the railroad, who had borrowed the lamp from 
 the company's junk heap. 
 
 Here, on Saturday evenings when the lad was 
 free, he gave impromptu performances which grew 
 in favor at such a rate that the showman was 
 prompted finally to charge the modest admission of 
 five cents. Several features being subsequently 
 added, it became the chief attraction of the district. 
 
 Tommy would tell of his pets and their feats in 
 the kitchen, amid admiring audiences. Jean helped 
 with suggestions. She had once trained a rooster 
 to crow at a certain signal, and to jump a hurdle; 
 why couldn't she help teach another for Tommy's 
 benefit? There was now much levity below stairs. 
 The quiet place knew its old somberness no longer. 
 
 Jean frequently asked questions of Tommy. 
 "Does Eibbons like your performances, or does he 
 object to them? Is he fond of puppy and animals? 
 Do you talk much together?" 
 
 "You bet he is good. He says it keeps the boys 
 out of bad places and as long as they are orderly 
 
IT 161 
 
 he wants 'em. He likes the pup, and puppy will do 
 everything he knows for him. Sometimes he goes 
 up and watches our performances, but he's not 
 around much where the fellows are. He had rather 
 go up of an afternoon, and sit in the shadow the 
 chimney casts to smoke, and watch his pigeons, than 
 come up evenings when we are training the animals. 
 But he's told me lots of stunts and invented some 
 of the performance. Eibbons is the bulliest ever. 
 The boys like him a heap, too, only they wish he 
 would be keener on the chum. They say he 'feels 
 his oats too much.' " 
 
 "What do they mean by that?" asked the girl 
 smilingly. 
 
 "Prancing too tight in his collar, head back, chin 
 up, a little too high strung to mate with cows, you 
 know." 
 
 Jean laughed. The lad suddenly turned a cart 
 wheel, landing with his heels against the wainscot, 
 where he held himself balanced on his head for sev- 
 eral minutes. 
 
 "Excuse me, Jenny," he said in a muffled voice, 
 owing to his inverted position, "I've a lot of prac- 
 ticing to do now ; I'm clown part of the time. They 
 have to be the cleverest men, you know. I've got 
 a pile of stunts I've learned, and have to keep at it 
 or my muscles will stiffen." 
 
 "Look out ! look out !" cried the girl, running to 
 him and dexterously adjusting his feet that their 
 return to earth might not come upon the china 
 closet. "That was splendid," she exclaimed, as the 
 boy straightened before her, his face the color of a 
 
162 IT 
 
 raw steak. "How long can you stand on your 
 head?" 
 
 "Till my nose bleeds. But I don't like to do it 
 tliat long at the performance, it don't look pro- 
 fessional. Gosh, I clean forgot, Eibbons can't come 
 in this evening and he told me to hand you this." 
 Tommy dug into his pockets and drew forth a paper 
 of Ridley's mixed candy sticks, which, alas! owing 
 to the activity of Tommy's gymnastics, were much 
 broken and a bit sticky. 
 
 "Oh, how good of him." Jean took the soggy 
 package, tried to peal off the outside paper, found 
 a bit of detached peppermint in the mass and 
 handed the rest back to the boy. 
 
 "Here, you needn't say how warm it got, just 
 you eat it up. I'll take this so I can tell him I had 
 it." 
 
 "You're lucky to have Ribbons take notice of you, 
 Jenny. Why, he don't have nothing to do with 
 other girls and he won't talk about them like the 
 others, but he'll listen all day if I speak of you to 
 him. You're a nice girl, Jenny, but you're a long 
 way from him. He's a thoroughbred, don't you 
 make any mistake. I know them when I see them, 
 you bet. He's just bully toward those he thinks is 
 up against it and he knows you ain't got no money 
 nor family to speak of, and he's sorry for you and 
 that's why he treats you so square." 
 
 "No family? I've got a big family. Maybe I 
 haven't a family that's like the people in this city, 
 but I've got as nice brothers and sisters as lives," 
 ^he said resentfully. Suddenly a mental illumina- 
 
IT 163 
 
 tion blazed upon those mountain children. "Have 
 I? Are they?" It flashed on her at the moment as 
 it had not before. Maybe Tommy was right. If he 
 meant that there were no grand ancestors he was 
 right, but if desire was as deep in them as it was 
 in her to improve, she would not fear for them. 
 They might in time make great ancestors; her philo- 
 sophic solace was ever ready. 
 
 "I'm going to do what I can for my family," she 
 continued, "and those that want, can make a name 
 that the next generation will be proud of. It's never 
 too late to start a fine line of ancestors," she finished 
 with spirit. 
 
 "I've told you often you're all to the good, Jenny, 
 but you've no quality like Ribbons. But I'm not for 
 showy talk. Mine for doing, not everlasting chat- 
 ter." 
 
 "But you have to think about things before you 
 do them. Tommy." 
 
 "Of course you have, but what's the use of think- 
 ing out loud? Men don't, they keep most of their 
 business to themselves. They only tell little things 
 that don't amount to nothing. Girls babble all the 
 time. What's the use of it?" 
 
 "When I planned out my circus, I didn't go and 
 tattle io every Johnny in the place. I just kept 
 things to myself, if I hadn't there'd been a circus 
 opened before mine." 
 
 Wrights called down the dumb waiter for Tommy. 
 
 "On deck," piped back the boy and sprang up the 
 stairs two steps at a time. 
 
164 IT 
 
 Jean stood thoughtfully rehearsing what Tommy 
 had said. Was it true that all Ribbons cared for 
 her was out of his general kindness, the kindness 
 he had for every one? Had he no interest in her, 
 except her lonely condition, and her courage in com- 
 ing to town by herself, an act that she had since 
 learned was among country girls no rarity? She 
 drew a dish of artichokes toward her and pro- 
 ceeded to cut off the irregular knobs. Did Ribbons 
 care more for her than he did for others? Of course 
 he did, had he not told her himself that he did not 
 care for women? Certainly he did not like Magenta. 
 He never said much to Statia even when she spoke 
 to 'him and tried to be pleasant. And Dougo ! The 
 thought was funny; he might like Dougo as one 
 would any good square soul, but Dougo was too old 
 to like anyway ; she must be all of thirty-five ! He 
 made no visits, for he was always in his room when 
 he was not driving for the family or taking his long 
 walks, which she knew he frequently did to hunt 
 up things to show her or search for sights of in- 
 terest to talk about when they came together. Rapid 
 thoughts crowded in upon Jean. Why should she 
 mind if Ribbonis did care about other girls? Why 
 should he not like them? She was so young, she 
 knew so little. Ah, perhaps that was the reason. 
 Had he only taken all that trouble about the robbery 
 just because she had no one else to 'help her? And, 
 she, did she like him more than Wrights? Would 
 she be lonely, would she miss him if lie went away? 
 Oh, yes, yes, she would miss him sorely. He was 
 the very best thing in her life. That would be 
 
165 
 
 dreadful! Forgetful of the lapful of peelings, 
 which fell and curled about the floor, she rose 
 hastily and went to the servant's room, where there 
 was a little mirror and stood before it. Dougo was 
 in the room sorting raisins ; she glanced at the girl 
 and smiled, but said nothing. Suddenly Jean turned 
 to her. 
 
 "Dougo, am I pretty?" she asked with a little 
 tremulous twitch at the corners of her mouth. 
 
 Dougo suppressed a smile. 
 
 "Oome here in the light w'here I can see," she 
 replied with mock gravity. Jean stood under the 
 oval window. 
 
 "I'm no great judge of beauty, but looking at you 
 now I should say you were passable. Your hair is 
 the same yellow as the sunflower, your eyes, well, 
 they've got the velvety look of a milch cow, your 
 skin might be compared to frosting, your cheeks are 
 as red as a radish, and your lips make me think of a 
 cock's comb. If it wasn't for them rubber gloves 
 you wear w'hen you wash the dishes, your hands 
 might be as hard and brown as mine, but they're 
 not, they're as white and smooth as a sweetbread. 
 Yes, Jenny, I should call you pretty enough to eat." 
 
 To Dougo's intense surprise the girl threw her 
 arms around her neck and kissed her hard upon the 
 cheek, then slipped back to lier vegetables. 
 
 "What's the kid got into her head now, I wonder," 
 thought the woman to herself, "I don't believe in 
 them everlasting books she's reading. Maybe she's* 
 stage struck. They get thinking about their looks 
 when that bee crawls in their bonnets. I hope if 
 
166 IT 
 
 her thoughts are turning in that direction she'll 
 not influence my Tommy. His fool circus on the 
 roof gives me trouble enough. A circus ain't no 
 great distance from a theatre. The same itch works 
 for both. Besides I'm in mortal terror every minute 
 that he'll fall off the place and break his neck and 
 disgrace the whole family. Don't seem right that 
 children should keep one in such everlasting flut- 
 ter from morning till night." 
 
 In the depths of her heart Dougo knew that all 
 the "flutter" weighed as nothing against the ma- 
 ternal love that had gradually and surely grown 
 in her 'heart for that same Tommy. She could 
 scarcely credit the great maternal passion that was 
 always uppermost now. He was her first thought 
 in the morning, her last at night. She loved the boy 
 passionately in spite of the paternal equation. Her 
 stirring thoughts were those of Tommy's future. 
 The 'height of her ambition would be reached when 
 he became the head of a racing stable. She was 
 sorry there was no vacancy in the Poinsette's stable 
 for him, where he might be learning the care and 
 valuation of horses. In the meantime his training 
 under her eye and that of Wrights and the associa- 
 tion with Eibbons, who was the most splendid horse- 
 man she knew, was gratefully compensating. While 
 Ribbons was at the head of the Poinsettes' stable 
 the boy would have the highest example of a gentle- 
 manly coadhman, and be thrown with one who 
 knew more about the animals than anyone in town 
 — even the grooms acknowledged that. So she had 
 encouraged his frequenting the place. She intended 
 
IT 167 
 
 to buy a farm some day with paddocks near the 
 house, where she could watch Tommy train and 
 exercise horses that would by and by make the 
 great records of the world. Such pictures absorbed 
 the good woman by the hour. Haying worked her- 
 self into a state of mental exhilaration, she poured 
 for herself at the range a cupful of "soul's rest," 
 as she named the long-brewed tea. 
 
 Wrights came into the kitchen while she sat sip- 
 ping her beverage. 
 
 "I guess we won't have to bust up the pipes after 
 all. Things is shaping by themselves. The Poin- 
 settes is rolling high — I mean, everything is coming 
 their way since finding the stolen property. They're 
 getting richer, soaking in prosperity; I hear them 
 talking it over at the table. They're going to build. 
 It's to be a big house high up on the avenue," he 
 enlightened her, as he put down the basket of silver 
 he had brought to polish as he talked. 
 
 "Law! You don't say," exclaimed the woman, 
 "will she keep us, do you think?" 
 
 "I guess they've not come to that yet; they're 
 going to Europe to buy things they can't in this 
 country. The place is to be a palace I tell you. 
 Magenta will like it, won't she?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Dougo, thoughtfully, the idea 
 forming that if the girl went abroad she would not 
 return as Mrs. Poinsette's maid, but she kept her 
 thought to herself. 
 
 "Sometimes I think Magenta rightly named," 
 said Wrights, frowning. "The color is a muddy 
 one, like claret gone sour." 
 
168 IT 
 
 "Tut, tut, man," chirped the woman, soothingly. 
 "The color, like claret, stains all right, but all stains 
 will come out for you if you know what to use." 
 
 Wrights polished in silence. 
 
 Dougo continued : "A big house will come harder 
 on the help, but I presume they'll double the number 
 of servants." 
 
 "Who?" called Statia, coming in and placing her- 
 self beneath the light where she could count her 
 crochet stitches. 
 
 "The boss. There's to be great doings. They're 
 going to build. New house, white marble extension 
 front and all that." 
 
 "Whew ! I'll be glad, won't you, Dougo?" 
 
 "Hardly," answered the sage with compressed 
 lips. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Don't be a donkey, Statia. Can't you see all the 
 extra work it means?" 
 
 "Oh, there's to be a double set of servants then, 
 servant's servants. Hurrah ! I'll know what it is 
 to boss, I'll hurl a dozen orders at once at 'em just 
 to hear their legs rattle. It'll be grand," and Statia 
 made a majestic motion in mock imitation of how 
 she would wave her orders to a cringing lot of un- 
 derlings. 
 
 The basement bell rang. Statia answered it, and 
 gave the whining beggar, who had rung, ten cents 
 as freely as if she were possessor of unlimited 
 means. 
 
 "Who was it, Statia?" asked Weights. 
 
 "Poor woman." 
 
I T 169 
 
 "Beggars, soldiers and. ministers have to be cared 
 for," he answered with humor. 
 
 "You're forever preaching, Wrights," said Statia. 
 "But I suppose brains need massage," she laughed, 
 wetting with her finger the starched edges of her 
 collar, "else they'll get flabby, like double chins." 
 
 "There's the second time the front door bell has 
 rung. Where is that young rascal?" asked Wrights 
 with displeasure, thoroughly annoyed at Tommy's 
 inattention. "I'll go up and see, you women are 
 not particularly entertaining," and he ran up to the 
 next floor, but Tommy had heard. The visitor was 
 already in the drawing room, so filling his arms 
 with more silver from the sideboard he closed him- 
 self in the pantry to rub away his grievance over 
 Magenta. 
 
 "Oh, gee, but I had fun. Slick goods she was!" 
 
 After a while Tommy strode into the kitchen. 
 
 Jean, intent in her book, now looked up. She 
 had grown so quiet of late that the others took little 
 notice of her presence. 
 
 "What do you mean, Tom?" she asked. 
 
 "Well, you see, I was thinking of a new trick for 
 puppy, so I didn't quite hear the first ring, but I 
 was 'Johnny on the spot' when it rang a second 
 time. A showy specimen I let in. 'Is Mrs. Poin- 
 sette at home?' The boy imitated the caller in her 
 high nasal voice. 'I'll see, ma'am,' said I, pulling 
 aside the hanging to show her in the drawing-room. 
 The light fell just right on her face to see her eye 
 and her mean mouth. I've no use for her sort. I'm 
 always on the watch-out — you can't tell who you're 
 
170 I T 
 
 letting in and there's no end to sneak thieves — even 
 women in fine togs is slick. Then I made as if I 
 went upstairs; instead, I ran around to the curtain 
 at the back of the room where I could watch what 
 she might do. Well, she rubbers till her neck 
 stretches out like chewing gum; I thought she'd 
 break it in the middle. Then she listens and walks 
 about. She spots the basin of cards, whisp, and in 
 a jiffy she has several quickly passed to her pocket- 
 book. Say, what do you think of that ! Well now ! 
 I hurries upstairs for appearances, find the madam 
 out and hurries back to the entrance door, and says 
 I was sorry to keep her, but found the madam 
 wasn't in as I supposed." 
 
 "It was right your being watchful, Tommy," re- 
 plied Dougo approvingly. 
 
 "Yes, I must have something doing or bust. 
 Housework is no place for a boy, but wait till I 
 finish. Just as she steps to the door I give the rug 
 a jerk, she stumbles on the slippery floor and drops 
 her purse, it flies open and out come the cards she 
 had only closed in between the flaps. I picks 'em 
 up, respectful, glancing at each one, and looks hes 
 square in the eyes as I hands 'em back to her. I bet 
 you heard her slam the carriage door clear down 
 here. I ain't going to have her fill her receiver with 
 our smart people's pasteboard." 
 
 There was an audible silence when Tommy had 
 finished. Something serious might Tesult from his 
 impertinence. The servants were troubled. But 
 Jean caught the boy's eye,, and Tommy knew he had 
 
IT 171 
 
 at least one approving friend sitting in the kitclien 
 corner. 
 
 "You may have gotten yourself into a fine mess," 
 exclaimed Wrights and Dougo simultaneously. 
 
 "Not on your life !" protested the boy. "Wouldn't 
 it be a heap worse for her nor me if it came out?" 
 
 "What was her name?" interrupted Statia. 
 
 " 'Mrs. P. O. Hatch' was printed on her card, 
 unless she got it same as she did those others," re- 
 plied the boy contemptuously. 
 
 "Whew, I know her well," recollected Statia; 
 "listen, Dougo, why she's the climbing Hatch. I 
 lived with her sister's family, remember. These 
 Hatches were from New Mexico, just ordinary min- 
 ers, but they struck a claim and made money to beat 
 the band. The children were towed to Europe to 
 polish off. When they shone bright enough they 
 returned to New York, hired a social promoter, and 
 I tell you skidded into society fast. It's all rubbish 
 about people having to be born to fill social posi- 
 tions. Jingo! look at that other case, the Mani- 
 fests !" 
 
 Jean's head emerged from her book; it was use- 
 less trying to read. She closed the book over her 
 finger and listened. 
 
 "Do you mean the family who dined here last 
 night?" 
 
 "I do. The very same, pay attention now. Five 
 years ago this Mrs. Manifest, number two, was cook 
 for Manifest number one. Number one having got a 
 permit from St. Peter for new lodgings." Jean laid 
 her book on the table. 
 
1T2 IT 
 
 "Bully for you, Statia," broke in Tommy, "you've 
 got the heavenly slang, like a man." 
 
 "Hold your tongue, Tom," cried his aunt. 
 
 "Well," resumed Statia, "number two stepped 
 lightly into number one's shoes with no false senti- 
 ment. Shouldn't wonder if she used the identical 
 shoes. It didn't take her long to catch on ; she soon 
 tossed her head at the proper angle, bought clothes 
 in the right places and talked bridge slang as glibly 
 as the rest of 'em." 
 
 "No doubt," muttered Dougo. "It comes easier 
 to the women than to the men, bless 'em." 
 
 Jean, intensely interested, had crept to the back 
 of Dougo's chair. 
 
 "Why, then," she exclaimed eagerly, "men must 
 be born gentlemen to be gentlemen, while women 
 easily assume, is that it?" 
 
 "Sure, honey," answered Dougo. "It's easier to 
 beat eggs into shape than men." 
 
 Jean thoughtfully returned to her seat. Eibbons 
 and his thoroughbred personality were perplexing. 
 
 "Say, cooky." Tommy's voice was muffled, his 
 mouth being full of gum. 
 
 "Don't dare call me 'cooky,' you disrespectful 
 youngster," reproached his guardian. 
 
 "Then give me a cooky, cook," he cried, impishly, 
 turning at the same time a handspring back into 
 the open space before them. 
 
 So sudden and so comical was the proceeding 
 that all laughed, and Tommy, of course, got his 
 cake and lost his scolding. 
 
 "You're fit for nothing," said Wrights, coming in 
 
IT 173 
 
 after his silver chamois, "I have to do all the work 
 myself — ^you couldn't more than blow a coach- 
 horn." 
 
 "I can only use a shoe-horn now," answered the 
 boy, with dancing eyes, his mouth unduly full. 
 
 "Pert kid !" insisted Statia. "If you was my boy, 
 I'd find fault with everything you did, instead of 
 coddling you, and making you think you was 
 Julius Caesar." 
 
 "Them that speaks loudest acts softest," replied 
 Dougo with good-natured resentment. "You ain't 
 as vicious as you pretend, Statia." 
 
 The basement door was ajar, Magenta came in 
 without waiting — a duplicate presentment of her 
 mistress, being decked out in her lady's cast-off 
 clothes. 
 
 "You look fly," said the incorrigible Tommy. 
 "Guess I'll engage you for the lion tamer in my 
 circus." 
 
 Magenta tossed her head irritably. 
 
 "Joking aside, why don't you join a circus, Ma- 
 genta? I should think you'd be on the bum as a 
 lady's maid. Why don't you hire to a show for a 
 trick act? Managers are crazy for stunt riskers. 
 They play to a clear ring^ too. Then you'd be the 
 only pebble on. The eyes of the audience all yours. 
 You like stage centres, now there's your cue." 
 
 "One can't be a big gun all in a minute, it takes 
 a long time to learn tricks," she replied. Magenta 
 was tempted. 
 
 "There's where you slip your trolley. All you 
 have to do these days is to have nerve. Grit does 
 
174 IT 
 
 the business. Grind your teeth and hold hard." 
 
 "Umph!" murmured Dougo, inwardly trembling 
 at the boy's proficiency in the dreaded profession. 
 "Where did you learn all that?" 
 
 "Nerve and grit, ladies," he repeated with tor- 
 menting cunning, thrusting his hands deep in his 
 trousers. 
 
 "The child gives me an idea," murmured Magenta. 
 
 "Me too," whispered Jean to herself. 
 
 "What! you're not dreaming of being a stage 
 actor, are you, sonny boy?" asked Dougo after a 
 silence, genuine trouble making 'her voice unsteady. 
 
 "Not on your life ! I'm going to get my reputation 
 on the track. I'll be a jockey, earn a heap, save up 
 the long green and when I'm too heavy to ride I'll 
 have dough enough to buy the finest stud in the 
 country." 
 
 Dougo went over and patted the youngster's 
 cheek. A weight had been lifted from her troubled 
 mind. 
 
 "Don't you fret, Ma Dougo. I'll never bum, nor 
 get the big head. Eibbons has me steered. I want 
 to be like him. The way he handles things, oh, he's 
 great ! He says a chap can be a jockey, or for that 
 matter anything he likes, and yet be a gentleman. 
 He has me claimed for a gent sure." 
 
 "Hear him!" cried Magenta, scornfully. "That 
 Ribbons is too high and mighty; he'll have a fall 
 some day." 
 
 "Never," cried his champion. "He's the real 
 thing clear through, rib and hide. No bluster or 
 swagger to what he does ! Never heard him lift his 
 
IT 175 
 
 voice in the stable, thougli when he ain't suited he 
 can say things that cut in hard. You should have 
 seen him yesterday when Peter was shy about band- 
 aging old Bobbin's feet. Pete ain't got much sand 
 and ain't never going to be much round horses. 
 Well, sir, Pete got a look that would wither a cab- 
 bage. 'We don't want women round horses!' said 
 he, contemptuous, then he took the bandage cloths 
 out of Pete's hands, knelt down, and did the pret- 
 tiest piece of bandaging you could even see in a 
 vet's hands." 
 
 Magenta shrugged her shoulders and left the 
 room. Tommy studied her narrowly. Tommy had 
 psychic instincts. 
 
 A big joyous feeling arose in Jean, she could.have 
 hugged the boy for what he said of Eibbons. In- 
 stead, she straightened the things that lay about the 
 kitchen. She had heard enough for one day. When 
 she had finished she went into the front room, 
 turned on the light, for it was dusk, closed the door 
 and looked long at herself in the mirror. 
 
 There was little sleep for her that night. Ribbons 
 had asked her to go to the theatre the following 
 evening. Mr. and Mrs. Poinsette were joining 
 friends for the same play and would not be using 
 their carriage. Jean's delight over the coming event 
 was too great to waste in sleep, she therefore passed 
 the best part of the night in delirious anticipation. 
 
 Years ago a traveling show had passed over the 
 mountain. There was in it only a poor limp dog, 
 two small goats and a monkey, a man with a red 
 sash tied round his middle and showing below his 
 
176 IT 
 
 coat, and a young girl whose head was bound in a 
 bright handkerchief and who carried a round box 
 with brass circles that rattled musically when she 
 shook it. It was a tiny and forlorn procession, but 
 the joy of seeing it after running a mile or more 
 across meadows to head it off was still fresh in her 
 memory. This was her one glimpse of theatrical 
 people. Now she was actually going to a theatre. 
 A big fine one, not the little cheap exhibitions of 
 which Tommy had told her he sometimes went and 
 which only cost ten cents ! 
 
 When finally the girl did sleep, there came visions 
 of all conceivable tableaux mixed with lights and 
 flowers and angels whirling in delightful impossible 
 panorama. 
 
 Friday dragged, except when a hand organ played 
 rag-time symphonies, then despite her gravest reso- 
 lutions to be sane till theatre time, with dish towel 
 waving she danced about the kitchen in childish 
 abandon, smashing an electric bulb and causing a 
 big platter to skid the length of the dresser. 
 
 "Are you clean crazy, child?" cried Dougo. "You 
 make me think of one of those great dusty millers 
 that flap about the lamp of a summer's evening." 
 
 "Oh, Dougo, Dougo, I can't help it ! I'm going tc 
 the theatre, the theatre, and I'm one clear tremble 
 from my head to my feet and my breath seems as if 
 it would stop short in my neck. Look, look, dear, 
 at my hand, see it shake, I can't help it a bit, and I 
 don't want to. It's going over me in streams, it's in 
 my knees and up and down my back, and tingles 
 everywhere." 
 
CHAPTBE VIII. 
 
 jEAN^S outing variously affected the other serv- 
 ants, Dougo was graciously indulgent. Magenta 
 was moody all day. She had several times in the 
 past asked Eibbons to take her to the theatre, but 
 she had never succeeded in pursuading him to go; 
 now he invited this uninteresting green thing from 
 the country of his own free will ! It certainly was 
 exasperating. Statia, with good-natured Irish gener- 
 osity, was glad the nice little girl was going to have 
 a happy evening. She would see a story, too, with- 
 out having to read about it. Tommy was quite 
 superior. In his eyes, it was of no great moment to . 
 go to a theatre, he had been so many times. Girls 
 were giddy, of course, but there wasn't enough in a 
 theatre to make one behave like an idiot. The best 
 thing about it, in his mind, was the fact that Jean 
 was going with Eibbons, who would probably ex- 
 plain to her all about the play, he knew so much. 
 In Tommjy's eyes Eibbons was perfect, for which 
 reason a girl was fortunate indeed who could be 
 with him, or of whom he would take notice. 
 
 That evening Statia helped Jean with her dress, 
 the new blue one, the one the girl had made herself. 
 It buttoned up in the back, and there was a bit of 
 trimming about the square-cut neck. 
 
 "It's a pity you haven't a nice hat to match. 
 
180 IT 
 
 Tliey entered the brightly lighted vestibule of the 
 playhouse. Eibbons gave up his tickets to a man 
 at the gate and got two torn bits of them in return. 
 Great doors opened into an astonishingly comfort- 
 able space carpeted and lined with long hanging 
 tapestries. A boy, smaller even than Tommy, 
 handed Ribbons two programmes. What were they, 
 she wondered! They mounted the stairs and de- 
 scended quite an incline to their places, guided by 
 a man in evening dress, who pushed down the chairs 
 for them. Jean was being waited on! Scarcely 
 were they seated when the music struck up and 
 Jean heard for the first time an orchestra. A man 
 close to the stage kept time with a stick, though 
 none of the musicians seemed to look at him. Be- 
 tween her and the musicians a countless mass of 
 people talked in loud voices. Before the band had 
 played half long enough the light went out and the 
 curtain rose. The sudden hush of voices sent a 
 thrill through Jean. Over a row of lamps in the 
 stage now appeared the imitation of a drawing- 
 room more splendid even than that of the Poin- 
 settes'. Very dazzling were the lights, made more 
 so because of the sudden darkness. She could not 
 adjust herself at once to the glare and the stage 
 filled with actors. There was too much to look at. 
 Soldiers and ladies and gentlemen and girls moved 
 about, gliding wonderfully light, and when one 
 spoke, you heard the words distinctly even away up 
 where she sat. She could not take in the sense of 
 the play and was obliged to ask Eibbons several 
 times in a whisper to explain. However, once she 
 
IT 181 
 
 began to get the thread of the play she became so 
 absorbed in following the story that her surround- 
 ings were forgotten. 
 
 When the curtain went down and the lights 
 flashed up, she drew a deep breath, clasped her 
 hands and pressed them hard against each other. 
 The eloquence of her face was very gratifying to her 
 escort. Kibbons watched her. Questions he knew 
 would follow, when she had adjusted the thoughts 
 now uppermost. He busied himself in tiding to lo- 
 cate the Poinsettes, and at last discovered them in 
 the left-hand proscenium box. 
 
 "Look down and see the audience, Jean," he 
 said. 
 
 At the sound of his voice the girl started. "Oh !" 
 she exclaimed, a sigh of delight escaping her as she 
 came to herself. "It was so much lovelier than I 
 could guess ! Did you ask me to do something?" 
 
 "I merely asked you to look at the audience. 
 There are so many of the best people in town here." 
 
 Jean did as she was bid, gazed at row after row of 
 men and women, the latter in their bright toilettes, 
 here and there one saw the bare nape of their necks. 
 How handsome their many heads looked with the 
 shining combs and aigrettes. They talked, laughed, 
 nodded to acquaintances, or looked at those further 
 off, while a great human hum filled the auditorium. 
 
 Suddenly the girl's eyes caught sight of Mrs. 
 Poinsette sitting in the front of their box. She 
 grasped Eibbons' arm. 
 
 "See!" she whispered, and pointed in the direc- 
 tion. "They're there! Oh, isn't she lovely?" 
 
182 IT 
 
 Her companion nodded amusedly and Jean's eyes 
 returned to her mistress, whose every gesture she 
 watched, silently fascinated, till the object of her 
 absorption withdrew to the rear of the box and be- 
 yond the reach of the girl's eyes. 
 
 "AJnd I here, too," she mused, half audibly, with 
 supremely contented calculation. Then gradually 
 she again searched the house with its throng. What 
 a lot of people there were who could come to the 
 theatre as often as they wished, who had pretty 
 things to wear, who laughed and talked so gaily! 
 How their jewels sparkled, how smart the men 
 looked in their evening clothes, what easy manners 
 theirs of sauntering up and down the aisles, just as 
 if they felt at home and didn't mind the others 
 watching them. How far, far removed from her 
 life they were! Still, was she not there! In the 
 same house with them, sitting by the side of a lady, 
 possibly just as fine as her mistress, Mrs. Poin- 
 sette ! This very lady might even have conjectures 
 of her, Jean. Might not others in the audience 
 think her a lady too ! Had she not a pretty comb 
 in her hair and a sweet bunch of violets at her 
 breast like those women in the box. 
 
 A wave of infinite content surged over her. If 
 she had all the money in the world, the finest social 
 position, she would probably appear to those who 
 did not know her no different than she did now. 
 The thought was too delicious to let pass; it pos- 
 sessed her even as the curtain went up a second 
 time. 
 
 The music had ceased. She could follow the plot 
 
IT 183 
 
 now with greater ease than in the first act. It was 
 like a novel made real. There was the hero and the 
 heroine, and the wicked man mixing things up and 
 making it so bad for all the rest. Tears ran down 
 her face. Her hands were tightly clasped and her 
 lips trembled. Once her hands went fast against 
 the violets, then she quickly looked up at Eibbons, 
 smiled through her tears and returned her interest 
 eagerly toward the stage. For the sake of a younger 
 sister, the heroine, after an affecting incident, gave 
 up her lover and essayed, amid new surroundings, 
 to forget him. 
 
 All unconsciously, Jean slid her hand to that of 
 Eibbons, where it rested till the reappearance of 
 the hero. Jean was not aware of her act, but it 
 sent a dear thrill through the man. 
 
 Finally the play was over, and Jean and Eibbons 
 were moving slowly with the crowd downstairs. In 
 the lobby they came close upon the Poinsettes, who 
 were directly in front of them. If Jean was still 
 capable of another emotion that evening, it came 
 now. She, the little kitchen maid, and Mrs. Poin- 
 sette, her employer, were closely quartered, were 
 in the gay, beautiful, wonderful world together, for 
 the moment, on an apparent social level! Oh, how 
 she had wished for this very experience ; now, with- 
 out warning, it had occurred. The indulgence was 
 a delight, its realization intoxicating. Jean felt 
 that the change in Eibbons and her better clothes 
 was a protection against recognition in the risks of 
 this close encounter. In her excitement, she pressed 
 Eibbons' arm, just a delightful little pressure of 
 
184 IT 
 
 satisfaction. "Isn't it delicious to be so close to 
 them?" she whispered radiantly. 
 
 Her escort smiled indulgently, and the girl con- 
 tinued in her absorption. 
 
 Silently they turned homeward. When they 
 had walked part way, Kibbons asked with studied 
 carelessness : 
 
 "Well, Jean, was it as good as you expected?" 
 
 "Oh, don't !" replied the girl in a low voice. "I 
 can't talk about it. Would you mind, Eibbons, if 
 I didn't thank you tonight? I'm so tired now I 
 couldn't say it the way I want to." 
 
 When they had reached the house Eibbons 
 opened the lower door with Wrights' pass key. 
 
 "Will you give me one of your violets, Jean?" 
 begged Ribbons, and his voice was very low. 
 
 Jean looked up quickly, surprised. "They're not 
 pretty now ; see how faded they are." 
 
 "No matter," replied the man, and held out his 
 hand. 
 
 The girl drew forth several flowers from the 
 knot at her waist and handed them to Ribbons. 
 He lifted his hat as she held them toward him, the 
 hall light fell upon his face and from his eyes that 
 looked down into hers there passed a light that 
 went straight through her like electricity down to 
 the ground beneath her very feet. 
 
 "Good night," she faltered and ran upstairs. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "DotJGO," said Mrs. Poinsette from the corner of 
 her lounge, after having given the orders for the 
 day. "We shall not go to All-Bloom this summer, 
 we expect to go abroad. It is the first time I have 
 broken up the establishment, as you know, since I 
 married. Mr. Poinsette has bought a lot up town 
 and we have begun to build. We are going to 
 Europe to pick up furnishings for the new house 
 and may not be back till late in the fall. It is only 
 right that I should tell you now, so that if you wish 
 to take another place for the summer, though I shall 
 allow you your wages just the same. You have time 
 to look about. Of course I hope that you will live 
 with me the rest of your life, for I care for you as 
 fondly as mother did. You must know you have a 
 good home and that I am proud of your cooking 
 and the way you keep it up-to-date. Now do as you 
 like, rest during the summer, or take a place and 
 return when I come back. I will give you full 
 wages; I'll give the others half." 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette smoothed her hair back from her 
 forehead. She had broken the dreaded ice. It was 
 not pleasant to tell servants of innovations. You 
 never knew how they might take them. 
 
 "I'm more than grateful, ma'am. And if I suit 
 you I'll try to do so as long as I live," replied 
 Dougo. She hesitated, then boldly charged the 
 
186 IT 
 
 vital question, "would there be new servants in the 
 new house? It will be quite a change, won't it, to 
 shift all around and to have new girls? I suppose 
 there'll have to be extra help if the house is bigger?" 
 
 "Yes, Dougo," answered her mistress. "We ex- 
 pect to have a big house and to do a lot of entertain- 
 ing. So of course we shall have more servants !" 
 
 "Do all the old ones stay on, ma'am?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, if they wish. By the way, how do 
 you like the little kitchen maid? Does she please 
 you? Is she learning?" 
 
 "She's the smartest thing you ever saw, ma'am," 
 answered Dougo with a toss of pride. "Didn't you 
 have good dinners when I was off to my poor sis- 
 ter's funeral?" 
 
 "Excellent, but I supposed the others took a hand 
 at it. Statia and Wrights can cook I know." 
 
 "Not a bit of it, ma'am. The girl did it every 
 scrap herself, and all learned since she came here. 
 Never seen no one to learn as fast as she does in 
 my life." 
 
 "That's good, and I'm glad for your sake that she 
 has been such an apt pupil. We'll have to promote 
 all hands in the new house," continued Mrs. Poin- 
 sette, smiling. "If she's too good for a kitchen maid 
 we'll have her for assistant cook — she's too young 
 to take the responsibilities of big dinners. Now, 
 Dougo, would you prefer to continue cooking or 
 would you like to be my housekeeper, tell me." 
 
 "Faith, it's all so sudden I couldn't decide this 
 minute. Is there any great hurry. Won't it do 
 when you get back?" 
 
I T 187 
 
 "Perfectly," answered her mistress. "You may 
 go now, and you may tell the others," and she 
 smiled pleasantly. 
 
 "The beautiful smile her mother left her," ex- 
 plained Dougo, as she told the great news to the 
 servants, who, except Tommy, were all in the 
 kitchen. It was the hour of daily conference, their 
 noon luncheon. Magenta had finished and was 
 stretching out a piece of Irish lace she had just 
 washed. 
 
 "I shall have the best of it," said Magenta. "She 
 will take me to Europe. I've been crazy to go. I'll 
 have plenty of chances to meet new people, now." 
 
 Wrights looked up quickly, fastened his eyes 
 upon the girl for several minutes and sighed. The 
 girl was discontented. She might not return. 
 What should he do if she left? 
 
 "What's the use of acting as if we was all going 
 to a funeral?" asked Statia, with a fugitive look 
 at the man. "It's grand, that's what it is. No 
 summer work for me, thank you. I'll hike to the 
 country and wallow among the growing things. I'm 
 all for quiet, there's no stuffy city for mine. Now, 
 what does your royal nibs?" she asked, drumming 
 on the table with her knuckles. 
 
 "If I don't take automobile lessons, I think I'll 
 trot after Jenny, and see what she does," he re- 
 plied with a cunning yawn, his glance sweeping 
 Magenta. 
 
 "Indeed, you'll do nothing of the kind," replied 
 Dougo, hotly turning with ladle in hand. "You're 
 tired and you'll just go to some quiet seaside place 
 
188 IT 
 
 and perhaps open oysters for your board. You're 
 going to think a little of yourself, if I have any- 
 thing to say about it." 
 
 Jean laughed outright. 
 
 "Well, say, we clean forgot the kid yonder. Come 
 now, Jenny, what shall we plan for you?" asked 
 Dougo kindly. 
 
 "I have my plans pretty nearly fixed, but I'd 
 rather say nothing at present," answered the girl 
 quietly. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of that!" cried the 
 others in unison. 
 
 "Some kind of a bee is buzzing in your pate, 
 child, out with it !" commanded Dougo cheerily. 
 
 "If I had only just heard of the change I perhaps 
 should jump at anything," said Jean brightly. 
 "But I have known something was going to hap- 
 pen for some time. Ribbons told me. He drives 
 Mr. Poinsette up town quite often, you know, to 
 where they are building." 
 
 Jean saw by the expression on the faces of the 
 rest that she made a mistake in betraying Ribbons' 
 confidence — though which was after all, merely a 
 supposition on his part, since Mr. Poinsette had not 
 revealed the fact that the building was his. Jean 
 hastened to Ribbons' defense. 
 
 "He never told me in so many words. He only 
 said that Mr. Poinsette went up town often to see 
 a house that was being built, and that he must have 
 a first interest in it to go so often, and / thought 
 out the rest." 
 
IT 189 
 
 " Ton my word !" exclaimed Statia. "What a 
 long nose our kitten has !" 
 
 A noise sounded behind them, and Tommy 
 emerged from the cellar, bits of finely whittled 
 wood sticking to his trousers. Next best to an 
 air-gun was a sling, and Tommy was proficient in 
 their manufacture. "There be too many spar- 
 rows," he affirmed. "Guns, but I'm famished. 
 When are we going to eat?" he questioned. 
 
 Preoccupied by the momentous question in hand, 
 all sat silently speculating about the future around 
 an empty table, and Tommy had been overlooked. 
 What should each do? The time had arrived when 
 a change was imminent. Should they remain in the 
 Poinsettes' service, provided they were re-engaged? 
 Would they be? If not, should they continue to 
 follow their present occupations or choose others? 
 Would the new house promote their interests? 
 Thus their minds worked in rapid circles, till 
 Tommjy, whose youthful stomach demanded atten- 
 tion, sang forth : 
 
 "Is this dinner, or church?" 
 
 Then Dougo, rising, satisfied the young savage. 
 
 Tommy, true to his principles, had asked no ques- 
 tions, but had absorbed much information concern- 
 ing coming events, and had done considerable think- 
 ing for 'himself. Finally he gave vent to his con- 
 clusions. 
 
 "Aunt — Mammie, you've got to make up your 
 mind that I'm not going to do housework next win- 
 ter; I can't stand the confinement." He coughed — 
 
190 IT 
 
 a suggestion of tubercular affliction that was not 
 lost on his companion, who smiled at the imp. 
 
 "You'll do as I wish, see, honey," said Dougo, 
 giving the youngster an affectionate cuffing. 
 Tommy scowled indulgently at his tyrant, and 
 she continued: "I've known all along the house 
 was no place for you, but one can't fix things in a 
 minute. I've been planning to get you on the Sims- 
 bury farm. There you can exercise horses to your 
 heart's content. But if you don't get out of bed 
 earlier in the mornings, and mind what you are 
 told, they'll bustle you back in no time. And if 
 that happens, then I guess there'll be no more 
 favors from me." 
 
 "Touched! touched, and by the buUiest aunt 
 alive !" cried the delighted urchin, flinging his arms 
 around Dougo. "Hustle me back ! Gee ! I wouldn't 
 spoil my chances on a stock farm, not for all the 
 beds in the world. How are you going to fix it, 
 Aunty?" 
 
 His aunt's pleasure showed itself in a broad 
 smile. "Never you mind, sonny. You be a good 
 boy — tliat's all we'll ask of you." 
 
 "Aunty, you're a brick. You're a whole heap of 
 bricks! Now watch me get ready, quick." 
 
 The boy threw himself sprawling on the floor 
 and began a series of peculiar movements. "Les- 
 sons in First Aid-to-the-Injured," he explained. An 
 indispensable practice, according to Tommy, in the 
 education of a iockety. But the suggestion of acci- 
 dents did not please his aunt. 
 
IT 191 
 
 "Stop, sir, you make me sick," she cried, shutting 
 out with her hands the boy's antics. 
 
 Tommy paused. "We're all provided for, seems 
 to me, except you, Jenny." He turned to Jean. 
 "Now don't be stubborn, tell a fellow what you in- 
 tend doing." 
 
 Jean shook her head. "I've not made up my mind 
 fully, and unless I had, I'm afraid you might per- 
 suade me to change it, or perhaps Dougo might 
 want me to go and look after you. Tommy," she re' 
 plied with a merry gleam. 
 
 "If this is the end of the news, I'd better get up 
 to my cleaning," said Statia, seizing the sweeper 
 and calling upon Wrights to help her empty it and 
 readjust the brush. "I can settle what / want to 
 do with my summer and winter. I don't have to 
 sit to think, for I can think and sweep, too, can't 
 you, Wrights?" 
 
 "Depends on the sweeper," answered the man, 
 with a twinkle. 
 
 "Come, Magenta." Statia knew the girl resented 
 Wrights assisting others. "Come, let's go up." 
 
 The two girls left the kitchen, followed by 
 Wrights, who, from an understanding of Magenta's 
 eye, knew that there was another difficulty to settle. 
 
 Dougo and Jean, left alone, silently busied them- 
 selves over their work. A; dozen squabs were 
 dressed, their stringy necks disposed of, their toes 
 tucked modestly against their sides and neat little 
 blankets of pork tied properly over their breasts. 
 Tightly curled potato shavings were taken from 
 their icy bath, dried in towels and plunged into 
 
192 IT 
 
 pots of hot tat. Long strings of spaghetti were 
 wound against the sides of a mould and held in 
 place by well-seasoned slices of tomato and egg- 
 plant. Many deft motions of fingers were made 
 and many steps taken, the love-labor of an in- 
 terested cook and the love-learning of a clever little 
 maid. At last they had finished. Dougo looked at 
 the clock. 
 
 "Umph, child, we've not done so badly ! Through, 
 and barely three. Bless my soul I There's that let- 
 ter for Eibbons, I clean forgot to give it to him." 
 She reached up and took down the envelope that 
 rested against the clock. "Say, dear, won't you slip 
 on your hat and run over with it to him? It may 
 be important that he should have it." 
 
 Jean put out her hand eagerly, then withdrew it. 
 She had not seen Eibbons for two days. They had 
 gone to the theatre Thursday, now it was Saturday. 
 She had purposely avoided him, for over and above 
 the desire to talk with him, to discuss the play, to 
 ask him a myriad of questions, was the strange dif- 
 fidence that last look of his had created, the look 
 that even now sent the blood surging through her 
 body. He had several times sought her at the 
 house, and each time she made an excuse to be away. 
 
 During these two days Jean had been trying to 
 analyze her feeling toward Ribbons, but she could 
 make nothing out of herself. She had promised to 
 thank him for the theatre and to tell him of her 
 impression. Now she was delaying and some way 
 she couldn't help it. It seemed strange to her that 
 their growing intimacy, instead of making things 
 
IT 193 
 
 easy to say, was making them harder. Perhaps it 
 was the contrast between them, his vast superiority. 
 How strange it was that it had not distressed her 
 before, maybe that was because she had been more 
 indifferent, more careless, but now there were times 
 when she realized that she had thoughts as worthy 
 even as his. He seemed to be satisfied with his 
 thoughts and his life as it was. She was not. The 
 play had been a great lesson. There in that world 
 were dressmakers, actresses, teachers and writers, 
 all leading their independent lives being some- 
 bodies. Many of them had been poor girls ! 
 
 Ribbons read so much and saw so much of the 
 world, why was he content to be a coachman? He 
 was though — he had as much as said so, and he was 
 eternally explaining that contentment was consti- 
 tutional, and that all these busy^ smart people were 
 no happier than he and she in the doing of their 
 daily work. It was an odd streak in Eibbons, she 
 could not understand it. Prominence meant best, 
 and were not the prominent, the richest people, the 
 best ! But in spite of his lack of ambition she did 
 like Eibbons more than any one in the world, better 
 even than any of her family, including the baby. It 
 was a delicious feeling, only it was too bad that 
 Eibbons had looked at her so deep down that it 
 made her feel shy. The shyness was growing, too, 
 and this was strange, for by right the more she 
 saw him the less shy she would be, and yet it was 
 just the reverse. She wished ^e could at that very 
 minute throw her arms around him and tell him 
 
194 IT 
 
 all the things in her mind, just as she could Tommy 
 — Tommy who was like a big brother. 
 
 "Well, have you made up your mind yet? How 
 much longer are you going to keep me here holding 
 this thing?" said Dougo, a smile on her lips. For 
 Dougo was suspecting things of which Jean was 
 wholly ignorant, enjoying a situation she realized 
 though Jean did not. 
 
 "Won't it do when he comes in to-morrow morn- 
 ing?" asked Jean, a shade of her embarrassment in 
 her voice. 
 
 "Mebbe," replied Dougo, a trace of disappoint- 
 ment in hers, "but I thought you would like to run 
 over. The air will do you good and you've never 
 seen the stable." 
 
 "All right," said Jean quickly, for she was losing 
 patience with herself and could not understand. 
 The idea suddenly flashed to Jean's mind that she 
 could hasten to the stable, give the note to a stable- 
 boy and hurry back without Eibbons seeing her. 
 Taking the letter, she put on her hat and flew out 
 of the door, followed by a comprehensive glance 
 from Dougo. 
 
 Jean dashed from the house and sped toward the 
 avenue. She knew that the stable was No. 145 — 
 three blocks east on the upper side of the street, and 
 she supposed Eibbons' room was on the same side, 
 so she kept on the opposite side, running fast. She 
 had not run since she had left the mountains, and 
 the sensation was delightful. 
 
 Suddenly a voice as from the clouds stopped the 
 heart beats. 
 
IT 195 
 
 "Why, Jean, where are you going?" Looking up 
 she saw Eibbons leaning far out of a window. 
 "Hold on," he cried, "I'll come down." 
 
 For a moment every drop of blood seemed to leave 
 her body, then surge blindingly back. There was 
 no help for it; she could think of no excuse for 
 "Hold on," he cried, "I'll come down." 
 
 In a moment Ribbons was at her side. She 
 breathed fast, partly from her speed, partly from 
 a queer feeling that was new and quite unnatural. 
 
 "Is anything wrong, child?" asked the man 
 quickly. 
 
 "No, nothing. This letter came to the house. 
 Dougo thought it might be important and asked 
 me to fetch it over to you," she said confusedly. 
 
 Eibbons glanced at the address, indifferently 
 thrust the letter in his pocket while his eyes sought 
 Jean and the clear pink color that came and went 
 in rapid waves across her sweetly pretty face. 
 
 "I'm so glad to see you again," said Eibbons 
 naturally. "You've been busy in your room each 
 time I was at the house," he added, unconscious of 
 her gratuitous absence. 
 
 "I sew a good deal," she suggested evasively. 
 
 "And what pretty dresses you make ! Those you 
 wear now don't look much like the old one you 
 had on when you came, do they?" 
 
 "Oh, wasn't that a fright?" assented the girl 
 laughing. "It seems as if I never could have liked 
 that one, but I did. I thought it was lovely when 
 I got it. How quickly one changes!" Jean looked 
 
196 IT 
 
 off toward the distant water. A streaK of the sound 
 was visible from where she stood. 
 
 "What's the color of the dress you are making 
 now?" asked Ribbons with gracious tact. A tender 
 tact Which he had considerably indulged from the 
 beginning of his acquaintance with Jean, a begin- 
 ning of what, there was no doubt in his mind, his 
 feeling toward the unusual girl. No, there had 
 been no doubt from the first minute she opened the 
 door of the basement for him, and greeted him so 
 simply the morning after her arrival. Had there 
 been, these last two days when he had so sadly 
 missed her, would have definitely defined his doubt. 
 The girl was very 'young, thoughtful beyond her 
 years, and deeply emotional — not for the life of 
 him, would he hurt the tender sensibilities, inno- 
 cent of the blessed awakening, an awakening he 
 would wait for with divine patience — and this 
 awakened it would be his privilege to guard the 
 remainder of all his life. Therefore he crowded 
 back any glance that might embarrass her, as he 
 listened to the description of her gown. 
 
 "It's blue, almost the same color as the other," 
 she asserted timidly, — gaining courage she pro- 
 ceeded — "like the one I went to the theatre in — 
 only it's a house dress, a gingham. I love blue, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, it's my favorite color." 
 
 "It's cut square and it's got just a tiny bit of edg- 
 ing about the neck," and Jean lapsed into silence, 
 inwardly gloating over the embryo wardrobe she 
 had in view. How sweet the new material was, and 
 
I T 197 
 
 the several dainty trifles she had gotten ! Eibbons 
 would like them, she was sure. 
 
 Eibbons became impatient of her absorption. 
 
 "Look up there, Jean," said he. "That is my 
 window; isn't it pleasant? Won't you come in a 
 moment and see where I spend most of my time?" 
 
 "I should like to," answered the girl, and fol' 
 lowed Eibbons' swift ascent. 
 
 He opened with a pass key the door at the end of 
 the hall. 
 
 The sun was pouring into a room, which bore 
 the personality of a man of taste and comfort, and 
 unusual order. 
 
 "Oh ! what a nice room for a coachman !" 
 
 Eibbons laughed. "What's wrong with coach- 
 men?" he asked, an amused look on his face. 
 
 "Why, I thought they just had a little bedroom 
 and a tiny rug on a bare floor, and scarcely any- 
 thing in their rooms, and what they had was in a 
 heap." 
 
 "This doesn't quite fill your ideas then?" 
 
 "This is lovely, and as clean as can be." The 
 girl now rapidly visited one thing after another. 
 She felt the upholstered chair, touched the bit of 
 antique velour that hung from a comer of the 
 mantle, and gently lifted the Swiss curtain. On 
 the bureau, among primly arranged toilet articles 
 was a gold pencil and knife, a pair of E'nglish 
 brushes and a miniature, the portrait of a lady, its 
 little frame set in pearls. "Are these yours?" she 
 questioned with wide open eyes. Alas, it was then 
 with Eibbons as with other men — he did have a 
 
198 IT 
 
 lady friend. The other objects counted as noth- 
 ing. Something went thump inside. This lady 
 was very beautiful and young, and how costly the 
 frame must have been! 
 
 "They belong to a friend," he answered, in- 
 tuitively guessing the trend of her silence. 
 
 "I thought they were not yours. He must be a 
 gentleman — coachmen don't have such things," she 
 exclaimed with ill-concealed relief. 
 
 "Why not? Does being a coachman forfeit every 
 right to nice things? Is there no dignity in my 
 office? Does driving horses preclude me from all 
 good friendships?" 
 
 Jean turned, unheeding his defense. A sudden 
 suspicion was aroused; he had taken things for 
 appearances. How horrid! The thought died as 
 quickly as it was born. She felt that Eibbons 
 would not steal, would not tell her an untruth. 
 Ribbons must have a friend then who owned this 
 beautiful picture of the lady, and he must be a 
 very fine friend. She was so thankful for Eibbons' 
 sake. "He is rich, is he not?" she asked, still in- 
 tent upon the miniature. 
 
 "I presume he was," he answered, quietly. "I 
 can't remember now." 
 
 Till Eibbons had rented his present quarters, 
 he had carried this portrait in his pocket. Why, 
 or how he came by it he did not remember, oh, that 
 was his great distress, he could not remember any- 
 thing concerning himself, but some day, somehow 
 his mind might clear. He was very sensitive about 
 
IT 199 
 
 his misfortune and avoided any. allusion to himself 
 beyond the last few years. He turned the subject. 
 
 "Here are some of my other best friends." He 
 lifted a book from the centre table. "I want you 
 to know them." 
 
 Jean looked over his arm. He opened a fine 
 edition of Milton, turning several pages, and re- 
 placing the volume with a booklover's caress. There 
 were two or three other books with heavy covers 
 and many illustrations, which he handled fondly, a 
 touch that was not lost on the girl, as he returned 
 them to the table and laid them beside an ivory 
 box containing numerous briar pipes handsomely 
 mounted. 
 
 "I thought you didn't smoke a pipe,'' she said. 
 
 "I don't," he laughed, "but these belonged to the 
 same friend. I'm keeping them for him." 
 
 Again the girl shot a quick glance at him and 
 at the room, this time observing the neat bed and 
 electric stand that stood inside the draped recess. 
 
 "So you think a man can't be a gentleman and a 
 coachman too," he smiled. "Why, child, there's as 
 much dignity in doing mjy work well as in running 
 a bank, qr presiding at the White House. The 
 gentleman is indestructive. I am as much of a 
 gentleman as Mr. Poinsette, or I may be more — fit's 
 the money spender who creates the line of caste in 
 the eyes of the public." 
 
 •Jean shook her head. "I can't always under- 
 stand you," she said with a sigh. 
 
 "You will some day," he replied cheerily. "Come. 
 
200 IT 
 
 This is all I have to show you here. Don't you 
 want to go across the way and see the horses?" 
 
 "Indeed I do; I wonder why I've not been over 
 to look at them before." 
 
 "Because you like sewing better," he answered 
 merrily. 
 
 He walked to the door, opened it and held it 
 gallantly ajar. She stepped lightly by. Once on 
 the sidewalk he moved ahead of her, crossed the 
 street and pressed the stable bell. A bo^y opened 
 the sliding door and Jean found herself in a large 
 carriage house, a row of vehicles lined against the 
 wall. 
 
 "Why, this is as handsome as a house. And, oh, 
 look at the way it's fixed under the carriages. Who 
 makes those pretty pictures in the sand? They'll 
 be spoiled the moment the carriage is moved," she 
 cried in surprise. 
 
 Eibbons explained how the floor was sanded, that 
 a crib was fixed in place and the sand poured upon 
 a kind of stencil, various colors used to fill in. He 
 showed her the washing platform and the various 
 carriage appurtenances, then he took her to the 
 rear, where six polished horses stood in their straw- 
 trimmed stalls. The girl was speechless. Could 
 it be possible that a barn was as beautiful as this! 
 The walls were tiled much like those in the kitchen, 
 and a stable-boy showed her how easily they could 
 be washed down with a hose. Eibbons ordered 
 another boy to bring out one of the horses and strip 
 off his blanket. The beautiful animal stretched his 
 legs in an attitude of exhibition. Eibbons ran his 
 
IT 201 
 
 hand down the animal's quarters with a foud stroks 
 of admiration. '^ 
 
 "You darling, beautiful, glossy thing !" exclaimed 
 Jean, suddenly laying her cheek against the horse's 
 neck. "I could just love you to pieces," and she 
 pressed her lips convincingly against its coat. 
 Lightly she ran her fingers through the spruce 
 mane. "Too bad I didn't bring some sugar for you 
 — I should have thought of it." 
 
 "Here it is." Ribbons smiled and handed her a 
 lump of sugar. She looked up quickly. He was, 
 she thought, the gentlest, kindest man in the wide 
 world. She took the lump eagerly, placing it in the 
 straightened palm of her hand and held it beneath 
 the animal's mouth. 
 
 "There's mighty few ladies as holds their hands 
 properly when feeding horses," exclaimed Smally, 
 the stable-boy, admiringly. "Is there?" he ques- 
 tioned, turning to Ribbons. 
 
 "Miss Oummings does most things well," replied 
 the man with a gleam of pleasure. 
 
 The girl was thrilled. Ribbons had called her 
 "Miss Cummings" to the boy ! 
 
 Peter, the second boy, who had been secretly ad- 
 miring the pretty girl, and the prettier picture she 
 made as she stood fondling the horse, now sprang 
 into the stall and unfastened the halter rope. 
 
 "What funny names!" she laughed as she read 
 over each stall the words "Belladonna, Nuxvomica, 
 Arnica, Pulsatilla, Stibium, Sodium." 
 
 "Yes," answered Ribbons. "An original idea. 
 You see most every noun has been exhausted on 
 
202 IT 
 
 horses. This is a fancy of his. All his horses are 
 named for medicines. Mr. Poinsette says it's a 
 pleasant way to take medicine." 
 
 Jean laughed heartily. She had little idea that 
 her master possessed humor. "He don't look like a 
 funny man," she reflected, "his clothes fit too well." 
 
 Eibbons was amused at the girl's interpretation 
 that fine clothes meant a lack of humor. 
 
 "So one can't look neat and be funny too?" he 
 smiled. 
 
 The girl shook her head. "It's not usual," she 
 answered thoughtfully. "The better one dresses 
 the more stately one has to be." 
 
 "Not always," he laughed. "You don't know Mr. 
 Poinsette. He's a character, takes life as a joke 
 most of the time, and knows how to turn the com- 
 ical side out." 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Jean, paying little attention to 
 the value of Mr. Poinsette's characteristics, having 
 espied the cases of harness. "How fine those har- 
 nesses are!" 
 
 "They are," replied the man following her gaze. 
 "Oome, let me show them to you; there's quite a 
 collection, you see." 
 
 The girl walked to the centre of a huge closetlike 
 room and stood silently admiring case after case. 
 About the sides of the room big glass compart- 
 ments contained numerous harnesses, their silver 
 or brass mountings shining as brilliantly as human 
 hands could polish. 
 
 "Here are the double sets," explained her com- 
 panion, as he slid back a heavy glass door. 
 
IT 203 
 
 "And they're just as bright as new," she com- 
 mented. 
 
 "Of course, but these are the fine weather ones, 
 the bad weather sets are not so shiny, thely're over 
 yonder, no plated buckles; see, they're leather-cov- 
 ered, so as not to tarnish by the wet." He moved 
 along and opening another partition drew forth 
 the heavy traces of a coaching set. "Feel the weight 
 of these." 
 
 Jean held out her hands to take the heavy collar ; 
 as she did so, she caught the reflections of herself 
 and Eibbons narrowly drawn along the oval of the 
 shining hames. The man saw the same picture 
 and suddenly lifting his hand he pressed the girl's 
 cheek against his own. 
 
 "Oh, my little love," he whispered passionately, 
 "let me see you close to me, like that, all the rest 
 of my life. Jean, be my love, my help, .my wife." 
 
 The heavy piece of harness slipped from the girl'iS 
 hand, she trembled, her lips quivered. A gust of 
 wind blew the door of the room to and they were 
 alone. 
 
 "Love me, Jean, I can't stand it any longer." 
 
 "Oh, Kibbons!" she cried, fighting against the 
 great affection that almost from her first sight of 
 Eibbons had been gradually overpowering her, 
 though she could not define the trouble. The great, 
 splendid love and masterful passion of the man be- 
 side her had been vibrating about her, though she 
 had not understood. She lifted her face and looked 
 into the deepest, truest eyes that ever devoured a 
 
204 IT 
 
 woman. For a moment, with quivering lips and 
 clinched hands the girl stood mute, then lifting her 
 swimming eyes and extending her slim young arms, 
 she tottered against his breast. 
 
 "Oh, Ribbons!" 
 
 "Jean," he murmured hoarsely, folding himself 
 protectively about her. 
 
 She lay as he held her, one delicious moment, 
 then struggling from him aglow, a strange new pas- 
 sion alive that quickened every thought. 
 
 "I can't. You don't know me. I'm Jean Cum- 
 mings, Jean from back in the mountains. Why 
 only a few months ago I ran wild with the children. 
 This very moment. Ma " 
 
 But she did not finish her sentence, the man had 
 drawn her hard against him. 
 
 "Hush," he muttered, "you're my Jean, now and 
 for ever and ever." 
 
 "It won't do," she whispered, "I'm not finished 
 enough for you." Wrenching from his embrace she 
 threw herself toward the door and tore it open. 
 The man followed her. She flew toward the street. 
 
 "Jean," he cried, hastily joining her as she 
 reached the pavement, "Jean, do love me," he en- 
 treated. He was trembling as he gained her side. 
 He was afraid. She was but a child after all. 
 
 "Oh, Eibbons, can't you feel I do?" she breathed 
 with ready tears. 
 
 "God bless you, child," he replied. "It is enough." 
 
 More swiftly even than she had come, the girl 
 returned to the house. A new world, a new life, a 
 new creation about her. How marvelous that such 
 
IT 205 
 
 great things could happen so easily, so unexpect- 
 edly. She did not feel the pavement beneath her, 
 the houses, the street, the world had vanished and 
 she was alone in her terrible happiness, her incom- 
 prehensible exaltation. Could there be arms to fold 
 so sweetly, so gently about a lonely girl, a voice 
 together so soft, so caressing, so masterful, so 
 thoroughbred ! In the mad delight of her intoxica- 
 tion she flew up the front steps of the Poinsettes' 
 house, an act which she could never account for 
 except that a momentary subconscious prompting 
 had suddenly developed a patrician impulse. Mr. 
 Poinsette, coming that moment from the house, saw 
 the most beautiful girl, so it seemed to him, that he 
 had ever seen in all his life. Astonished, he stood 
 aside and allowed her to hurry past him into the 
 hall. As absently, as involuntarily as she had 
 rushed up the front stairs, did she now hasten 
 along the hall. 
 
 Mr. Poinsette, making his way down town, was 
 haunted by the striking beautltf of the girl's face. 
 The identity of the little transformed kitchen maid 
 had gradually dawned upon him. Naturally he 
 was unaware that part of this loveliness was the 
 print from a soul just come to life expressing itself 
 through a radiating face. As in a trance, she 
 glided through the hall, into the pantry where 
 Wrights, stirring a mayonaise, looked up aston- 
 ished to meet the spirit print on a girl's face, and 
 forbore curious questioning. Jean plunged from 
 the pantry to the kitchen, somnambulistic in the 
 vagueness of all but the beautiful, beautiful thing 
 
206 IT 
 
 that had happened to her. In the oneness of her 
 ecstacy things and people faded to insignificance. 
 She did not see Dougo, but Dougo saw her and im- 
 mediately drew a sane conclusion. Dougo was wise, 
 very, for a woman so many of whose hours were 
 spent in a kitchen, 
 
 "Bless the critter," she thought. "It's come to a 
 head. He's sure said something to her out there 
 in the stable. She ain't happy none. Oh, my !" 
 
 The good woman heaved a sigh, felt how lovely it 
 was to be young and how good not to be too old, 
 especially when there was such a possibility alive 
 as, — well, as one she knew might some day speak 
 to her. 
 
 Jean went to the front room, put up her hand 
 as if to remove her hat, put it down again and 
 leaning against the window sill, looked into a 
 heaven, the existence of which she had never cal- 
 culated. Down the street there, in a stable, a splen- 
 did, great man had just asked her to marry him! 
 Had told her how he loved her, how he could not 
 live without her ! Was it possible ! Could it only 
 be a few short months since sTie ran barefooted over 
 the fields and hills with her younger brothers and 
 sisters, as wild almost as the deer on the mountains, 
 with never a thought beyond those hills and pas- 
 tures, with never a sense of the great existing world, 
 and more wonderful wonder, ignorant of love? 
 Young, emotional thing that she was, she reveled 
 in the tliought of her new joy. Eibbons some way 
 faded from the immediate; her love became imper- 
 sonal. She bathed in her absorbing ecstacy. Oh, the 
 
IT 207 
 
 exquisite rapture of this new possession. She could 
 have opened her arms and sailed forth on the ether 
 of happiness, as it were; she folded the mantle of 
 her delight about her and held it close. Then 
 gently, the sweet passion overwhelmed her, and 
 tears of joy fell unheeded, coursing down her cheeks 
 till her gown was moist. 
 
 "Onions to pare," cried a voice from the kitchen. 
 Dougo had unwittingly seen the tears from the door 
 as she came to call the girl back to her work. She 
 turned her back as Jean approached, having with 
 quick-witted cunning placed a pan of the lachry- 
 mose vegetable on the table. 
 
 "I should say they were," answered the girl, wip- 
 ing her eyes and smiling through the new disguise 
 of tears. 
 
 "Well," thought Gougo. "It's nothing that has 
 gone wrong with her at any rate." And subsequent 
 proceedings proved her a good judge. 
 
 The weeks sped on quickly, quietly, deliciousljy. 
 Jean was so happy in this beautiful world. Such 
 a great, magnificent world, so different from the 
 one she lived in before the momentous visit to the 
 stable. Each breath now was a delight, and Eib- 
 bons, happy in his happiness and that of his little 
 girl, drifted along with her in their new world. 
 Neither of them had confided in their companions, 
 but it was taken for granted that Ribbons was keep- 
 ing "steady company," though he came no oftener 
 to the house than before. 
 
 "I'm uncomfortable when the others are about 
 us, Jean," he would explain. "They are of such dif- 
 
208 IT 
 
 ferent moulds. Don't ask me to come. We are 
 living in a beautiful ideal, is it not well so?" 
 
 In consequence of these prejudices many were 
 the walks they took and many were the things he 
 taught her, and apt indeed was his pupil. "Little 
 Women" had given place to "The Queens of Eng- 
 land," to "Hypatia," to Lyall, to the scientists. And 
 as he taught her, Jean's love and admiration grew 
 for the man who knew so much and still wanted her 
 little ignorant self as a lifemate. But she was per- 
 suading herself gradually of the possibility of being 
 a worthy companion, a possibility that bade fair of 
 fulfillment. If Ribbons had done so much for him- 
 self, why could not she? True he had probably had 
 the advantage of good schools and books, though he 
 could not tell of his boyhood, his recollections were 
 so vague, but he, too, must have had to earn his liv- 
 ing since he was quite young and now even as coach- 
 man he still wished to improve himself, and what a 
 lot of information he had managed to stow away! 
 "Women," he had told her, "could learn twice as 
 quickly as men, and as for their power of concen- 
 tration, it was far in advance of that of men. What 
 you want to do you can," he said often. The assur- 
 ance was a powerful stimulant. She realized how 
 fast her progress was with Ribbons to encourage, 
 to fire her with further ambition. She would learn, 
 and she would know, and she would succeed. This 
 assertion she repeated to herself many times a day 
 
OHAPTEE X. 
 
 In the park bungling bees burrowed in the wis- 
 teria, tender foliage fluttered with the gathering of 
 birds, rhododendrons opened their pyramids of 
 cone-shaped flower masses, even to the terminal 
 buds. Spring was rioting ! A procession and reces- 
 sion of gay automobiles and occasional carriages 
 with smartly gowned women and well-groomed 
 men, rolled solemnly and seriously past each other. 
 These were taking their outing, as they took all 
 other pleasures, dutifully. Eimotional happiness 
 had long since been eliminated from their pastimes. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Poinsette, as they sat back in their 
 faultlessly appointed trap, wore perhaps the most 
 contented faces of any of their confreres. Ribbons, 
 with pride in his team and love in his heart, would 
 not have changed places with the most lordly. The 
 delight of handling the reins over his matchless 
 horses, the beaut|y of the fresh leaves and sweet 
 grass, his understanding of nature and his great 
 new love, made him a royal personage indeed. 
 When they had driven the length of the Riverside 
 and had twice circled the park, Mr. Poinsette lifted 
 his chin slightly and in a low voice to the groom 
 commanded, "Home." 
 
 A't the house, he assisted his wife to alight, 
 ascended the few steps, then bidding her pleasantly 
 "farewell," with the assurance that he would be 
 
210 IT 
 
 home in full time to dress, ordered the rigid groom 
 to drive to the Metropolis. 
 
 "Wait for me," he said, as he stepped from the 
 carriage and disappeared through the high arch of 
 the doorway of the clubhouse. 
 
 Ribbons drove his team further down the curb 
 and gave them a free rein to ease their necks. He 
 abhorred a check. 
 
 Mr. Poinsette received his mail, and from the seat 
 of a deep chair skimmed it hastily, then mounted 
 to the card-room, where several men were in the 
 habit of playing a rubber or so before their respec- 
 tive dining hours. Ais he neared the small room he 
 heard low voices of altercation. One, a lounger 
 back of the card table, turned to his companion as 
 Mr. Poinsette entered and said : 
 
 "Eonald, you're wrong. Is he not, Alfred?" he 
 continued, addressing the man next him; then not 
 waiting for an answer, he went on: "Doumas was 
 sired by Master-Chief. I know positively; I'll go 
 you a hundred I'm right. Ah, here's Poinsette, he 
 knows. That's right, isn't it, old man? Doumas was 
 foaled by Diana and sired by Master-Chief?" The 
 players put down their hands and looked up at the 
 men whose bad manners disturbed their game. 
 
 Mr. Poinsette went to the window, the light was 
 fading in the curtained angle. He thrust his hand 
 in his inner coat-pocket and searched there for some 
 papers which he evidently did not find. EeflectfuHly 
 he ran his fingers along the back of his collar, then 
 replied : 
 
 "You're right, Martin, as far as I can remember, 
 
IT 211 
 
 I thought I had a memorandum in my pocket, hut 
 ray man Eibbons is as good authority as a stud- 
 book. He'll know positively; we'll have him in." 
 He rose and rang for a hall boy. "My trap is out- 
 side; go tell my coachman to come here to me," he 
 said as the boy appeared. 
 
 The boy found the carriage and gave the message 
 to Eibbons, who, climbing down from the box, 
 handed the reins to the groom and followed the 
 boy into the club. As he passed through the hall 
 he gazed strangely about him with puzzled eyes. He 
 wiped his hand across his knitted brow. Before him 
 hung the life-sized portrait of the club's president. 
 He started. Below this picture, and standing well 
 out from the wainscot, was a heroic marble figure of 
 Victory. He lifted his eyes again to the portrait 
 with a troubled frown. As he did so his boot 
 slipped on the tiling. He stretched out his hand 
 to save himself against the pedestal, but failing, fell 
 with his full weight against the sharply beveled 
 comer of the bronze base, and collapsed in a limp 
 mass to the floor. Blood flowed from a deep cut 
 in his temple. The unusual disturbance drew the 
 members from their various nooks ; even the bridge 
 players, a story above, dropped their hands and 
 hastened down the long flight. The member called 
 EonaJd had hurried ahead of the others and now 
 bent over the prostrate form, and with professional 
 ease turned the injured man on his back. When the 
 man's lifeless face was revealed it gave those who 
 gazed upon it a premonitory feeling of disaster. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Mr. Poinsette, ner- 
 
212 IT 
 
 rously, impatieut at the plight of his man, whose 
 curious accident suggested the awkwardness of in- 
 temperance. 
 
 "The heel of his boot slipped on the floor, sir," 
 quickly answered the hall boy, in justification of a 
 fellow servant. "See, the nails are a bit wore," he 
 explained, examining the sole of the man's boot. 
 
 Hastily unbuttoning his livery, the man Eonald, 
 by profession a surgeon, made a rapid examination, 
 crossing and recroissing with expert passes the; 
 man's breast, then withdrew his hand and again felt 
 his pulse. The next minute he dexterously unfast- 
 ened the stock, tore off the collar and opened the 
 shirt. An older man watching by his side started, 
 gasped and cried aloud, "My God, the burn, 
 
 its " then closed his lips firmly, tottered, and he 
 
 too would have fallen but that his neighbor seized a 
 chair and thrust it under him. Astonishment was 
 profound, such an outcry from one whose self-pos- 
 session and dignity had elected him president of the 
 first club in town was incomprehensible. Quickly 
 recovering, the elder man threw himself beside the 
 stricken figure, tenderly raised him to his knee, 
 croning over him as a mother might over an injured 
 child, while the doctor continued his examination. 
 But Eibbons did not regain consciousness, and 
 the men who were gathered about, having prof- 
 fered their services, withdrew from a scene of do- 
 mestic delicacy, a scene to be respected under the 
 club's code of guarding affairs. It was painful to 
 witness old Madison either in his dotage or gone 
 demented. 
 
IT 213 
 
 Mr. Poinsette remained with his man. The doc- 
 tor spoke to a hall-boy: 
 
 "Is there a stretcher in the house? He must be 
 taken to my room." 
 
 The messenger standing nearest hurried off, fol- 
 lowed by the other hall boys. 
 
 "Come, sir," he said, touching the old man sympa- 
 thetically when the boys had left, "we'll get him up- 
 stairs. He'll have quiet in my room. Don't worry." 
 
 The man scarcely heard, still cooing tenderly over 
 the injured head. "We'll have to put him to bed," 
 continued the doctor, "his fall was nasty, but he'll 
 come around soon." The messengers returned 
 with an improvised stretcher. Then the physician, 
 with trained ease, moved the patient dexterously 
 to the mattress, tactfully ordering the old man 
 to assist at the other side of the stretcher. 
 Obediently the president grasped one handle and 
 moved with the others to the elevator. Arriving 
 at the proper floor, they bore their burden into a 
 spacious square bedroom with windows looking 
 out at right angles. Deftly the man was undressed 
 and put into bed, then the servants were dismissed. 
 
 "Doctor, is he going to live?" asked the elder 
 man as soon as the others were gone, tremulously 
 searching with compressed lips the white face upon 
 the pillow. 
 
 "Of course he is," answered the other cheerfully. 
 "It's only the result of a very heavy fall. • He'^ 
 suffering, too, from shock. We'll have him around 
 in a day or so," professionally interpreting the 
 other's obvious solicitude. He knew humanity and 
 
214 IT 
 
 guessed that such demonstration meant interest of 
 no usual sort. Such excesses toward a coachman, 
 from one of the foremost men of the day, could ex- 
 plain but two probabilities — ^^that of relationship 
 or insanity. Sooner or later the mystery would be 
 revealed. At present it was sufficiently evident 
 that the elder man had reasons for secrecy. Great 
 beating welts at his temples showed the tension of 
 his solicitude, while his straining interlaced hands 
 were eloquent of his mute distress. The doctor, ap- 
 parently unobserving, busied himself with his pa- 
 tient. He bathed and examined with infinite care 
 the wound, sewed and bandaged with an occasional 
 tactful demand of assistance from the other man. 
 When he had finished, his companion dropped 
 heavily upon the sofa and buried his face in his 
 hand, a procedure not lost on the physician as he 
 arranged the bed. On the other hand, he had been 
 admiring, as he worked over him, the patient's 
 splendid physique, his massive limbs and firm 
 white flesh, and wondered at the perfect linen of 
 which he had stripped him, as faultless in make 
 and finish as his own. Surely a great contrast from 
 that of the usual servant ! What in thunder did it 
 mean? Who was he? What was he? Absorbed in 
 his speculation he was scarcely aware that the 
 older man was standing by him, and looked up 
 with a start. 
 
 "Doctor Konalds," he said, his voice husky with 
 emotion, "I want to tell you something. Can you 
 spare the time? It won't take long." 
 
 The old man made a supreme effort and without 
 
IT 215 
 
 waiting for a reply, continued: "That boy is my 
 son." He wiped away the beads of perspiration that 
 stood upon his forehead, and in labored sentences 
 resumed : "Five years ago he went away. I had two 
 letters from him in Mexico. I never had another. 
 I thought him dead. The livery you have taken off 
 tells its tale. He has gone to the devil." Again he 
 wiped his forehead. "Well, perhaps, perhaps, we 
 can save him yet. I don't want the world to know 
 his plight, will you keep this revelation of his con- 
 dition secret, will you?" he asked in a voice tense 
 with nervous dread. 
 
 "My dear sir," replied the physician, "family 
 trusts are as much a part of our profession as heal- 
 ing. Don't be anxious; the affair is safe with me." 
 
 The elder man grasped the physician's hand, held 
 it in a trembling clasp, then dropping it stood a 
 moment silent. "We'll do all we can for him, all 
 that lies within your power and mine. We'll cure 
 
 him if possible, after ," he sighed. "As for an 
 
 explanation of his solicitude to the club members, 
 we'll manage a plausible reason between ourselves. 
 Now to business. I'll have him removed to a private 
 hospital." 
 
 "Tut, tut, Madison," replied the doctor gener- 
 ously, "it will be but a matter of a day or so. He 
 shall remain here. The adjoining room is vacant, 
 I'll take it for him. There's much more chance of 
 keeping all quiet here." 
 
 "Bless you for that," replied the elder man. "It 
 would be the greatest possible relief to me — if I 
 
216 IT 
 
 could keep him here till my head clears, till I can 
 think." 
 
 "Why bother?" interrupted the physician. "Let 
 the matter drift. It will arrange itself, you see." 
 
 "Andrew must " 
 
 As Mr. Madison pronounced the name, the in- 
 jured man moaned and moved slightly. Instantly 
 the physician was by his side. 
 
 "We'll have him round in a few minutes," he 
 said cheerfully as he held the man's wrists, counting 
 the pulse. "The room must be quiet now. Here's a 
 good cigar, smoke in here," he continued, walking 
 back to the door connecting the adjoining room and 
 throwing it open to his guest. "I'll call you as 
 soon as he becomes conscious. You can convince 
 yourself of his being all right, but I wouldn't talk 
 much if I were you. He'll be very weak." 
 
 Mr. Madison refused the cigar and sat himself in 
 an armchair before a window overlooking green 
 tree tops. There was a stir in the other room and 
 the doctor hastened back. 
 
 Twilight was studded with electric lights when 
 the doctor finally aroused Mr. Madison and beck- 
 oned him to follow him to the dimmer room beyond. 
 
 With conflicting emotions the elder man walked 
 unsteadily to the bedside of his son, whom he once 
 had mourned as dead, whom he now feared as living. 
 
 The injured man glanced wearily at the intruder 
 and turning on his side asked for a drink of water. 
 The doctor, with a significant nod, handed a tum- 
 bler to Mr. Madison, who in turn held it to the 
 patient's lips. 
 
IT 217 
 
 It was eagerly caught and drained; then the pa- 
 tient tried to rise. 
 
 "Not yet," said Mr. Madison, with as gentle a 
 tone as he could assume. 
 
 "Mr. Poinsette sent for me — ^I must ," said 
 
 the sick man impatiently. 
 
 The doctor, realizing that an explanation was 
 necessary, came to the bedside and in a few low 
 words told the injured man of his accident, how 
 Mr. Poinsette had sent for him to settle a discussion 
 on the pedigree of a race horse, how he had fallen 
 and hurt his head, and how Mr. Poinsette had left, 
 his groom driving him home. He emphasized the 
 fact that he must be quiet and patient for a day or 
 so, and that meanwhile everything should be done 
 for his comfort. 
 
 "This is the club, is it not?" he asked weakly. "It's 
 no place for me; can't I be sent to my own room?" 
 
 "You're all right here," assured the doctor, "bet- 
 ter not try and move." Then he made a sign to the 
 elder man to speak, turning the light up full. 
 
 "Andrew," said Mr. Madison, bending over the 
 bed, his voice trembling low, "Andrew, you've come 
 to this. You a coachman! Why have you never 
 given any sign of ijour existence, my boy, why have 
 you made me suffer all these years only to find you 
 now in this deplorable position? Oh, my boy !" and 
 the speaker's voice broke. 
 
 The man on the bed with his bandaged head, 
 blinked comically and closed his eyes. The docto? 
 looked on interestedly. The old man came closer 
 
218 IT 
 
 and placed his hand lightly on the patient. "An- 
 drew," he whispered, "won't you speak to me?" 
 
 Andrew tipped his forehead in coachman fashion 
 — ^and remained silent. 
 
 "Don't," exclaimed the other and drew back with 
 an involuntary shudder. "Why do you pretend you 
 do not know me?" 
 
 Eibbons opened and closed his eyes again, pressed 
 his palm against his forehead and sighed. 
 
 "I guess I'm badly hurt," he murmured, turning 
 on his side ; "I see and hear things " 
 
 The doctor caught his hand. "Look at me, Madi- 
 son," he said. "You see me, do you not?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," he answered again, tipping his finger. 
 
 "And do you see this man by my side?" 
 
 "I do, sir," he repeated. 
 
 "You know him, do you not?" 
 
 "Never saw him before in my life," he replied 
 wearily. "Is he all right?" he questioned, signing 
 toward his head. 
 
 "Don't, Andrew," sobbed the old man, now thor- 
 oughly overcome. "Don't hurt me any more, see I'll 
 forgive you, I'll try and forget these years of suf- 
 fering. Be frank, don't keep up this farce " 
 
 "That man's head is more cracked than mine," 
 said Eibbons with humor. "I'm sleepy, doctor," he 
 added, and turned over on his side. 
 
 Mr. Madison's misery was pitiful. The doctor 
 led him gently from the bed. 
 
 "He's not quite himself — ^he'U sleep it off; after 
 that he'll be clearer. He had a nasty blow, there's 
 no doubt of that. Go home ; no, stay, stretch your- 
 
IT 219 
 
 self out on the bed in the other room, take a nap, 
 and dine with me. By that time he will probably 
 be himself again. There's nothing like sleep for 
 contusion." 
 
 Comforted in part by the doctor's words, Mr. 
 Madison did as he was bid, threw himself on the 
 bed. The doctor spread a coverlet over him, dark- 
 ened the room and returned to his patient, who 
 was already sleeping quietly, then he sat himself 
 down to a very brown study. 
 
 "Bless me," he thought, "there's a snag here some- 
 where. The old man has made a mistake or Madi- 
 son, if he really is the old man's son, has his own 
 good reasons for not wishing to claim a parent. It's 
 just possible his head is not clear, but his pulse 
 was normal and his eye bright. The chap has his 
 own reasons for secrecy, there's small doubt of that. 
 Hard on the old fellow though, deucedly hard, with 
 pride like his to have a son knocking about the 
 world as coachman. Strange enough, a Madison 
 driving for a Poinsette! Queer mix-up — if the 
 fellow is really the old man's son — 'twould have 
 been considerate to have died — and saved the old 
 boy's feelings. It will go hard with his indigo 
 blood. Must regret the scene in the hall. Probably 
 is wishing now he'd held his horses in a bit longer 
 and not given way to impulse. Strange chap that 
 son; wonder what crime he's hiding? Pretty evi- 
 dent he don't want the recognition of dad. Never 
 knew Madison had a son. The trouble must have 
 happened before I came east." 
 
 A movement from the bed ended his reverie. He 
 
220 IT 
 
 consulted his watch, found it nearing seven, re- 
 membered an evening engagement, and hastened to 
 the telephone. Calling up a number, he made pro- 
 fessional excuses for failing to keep his engage- 
 ment, glanced at his patient, who was apparently 
 asleep, and then dressed for dinner. When ready 
 he went to fetch his guest, who was dozing rest- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Thank you, doctor," said the latter, lightly 
 awakening and rising slowly to a sitting posture. 
 "I'd rather not go down. I'm not hungry." 
 
 The younger man understood. "What's the mat- 
 ter with having a nice little bite served up here?" 
 he asked heartily. The other nodded consent, and 
 the doctor, ringing for a valet, gave the order. 
 
 "May I go in there and see Andrew?" asked Mr. 
 Madison, inclining his head toward the bedroom. 
 
 "Wait till after we've dined," he answered. "He's 
 sleeping quietly. It's what he needs most, then, 
 when he's had something to eat, you'll find him a 
 new man." The physician was temporizing. 
 
 After dinner, which Mr. Madison scarcely 
 touched, he again nervously questioned his son, to 
 find, him, however, no clearer, nor any more willing 
 to possess a parent. Thoroughly discouraged, he 
 rose laboriously and with the doctor descended to 
 the lower floor, where they called him a cab. The 
 doctor shook hands cheerfully and bade him good 
 night over the coupe door, ran lightly up the steps 
 and taking the lift was again with his patient. 
 
 Entering he found him sitting on the side of the 
 
IT 221 
 
 bed, botli hands pressed to his head, his feet swing- 
 ing to and fro free of the floor. 
 
 "Hurts like blazes, don't it?" asked the doctor 
 lightly. 
 
 "Feels pretty tight, sir," answered the man re- 
 spectfully. 
 
 "Sorry. You'll be better in the morning." 
 
 "Can't I go home this evening, sir?" 
 
 "No ; you're better off here." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. It's kind, I'm sure, giving up 
 your room. Is the old gentleman any better, sir? 
 He was worse off than I. He was quite out of his 
 head, was he not, sir?" Ribbons had been ponder- 
 ing over the singular insistence of the other, con- 
 cluding the old man must also be a patient. 
 
 "Do you mean the gentleman who was here with 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He was not hurt, but he was quite broken up by 
 your accident," replied the physician, regarding the 
 other closely. 
 
 "Odd old gentleman ; called me his son. Perhaps 
 he'd been drinking?" 
 
 "Madison is a gentleman," said the other a little 
 sharply, narrowing his eyes as he purposely empha- 
 sized the name. 
 
 "Beg your pardon, sir ; couldn't help being inter- 
 ested. 
 
 There was a silence, finally Ribbons spoke. He 
 could easily dismiss the solicitous old man, but 
 dismissal was not so easy with a nearer interest. 
 
 "You think I had better not go home to-night?" 
 
222 IT 
 
 he asked wistfully, for Jean's anxiety was worry- 
 ing him. His heart beat with the thought of her dis- 
 tress, for the report of his injury would be greatly 
 magnified. 
 
 "Better stick it out here," answered the doctor, 
 kindly. "I think if you rest well to-night you'll be 
 able to go back in a day or so. Don't fuss. Re- 
 member, quiet is absolutely necessary." 
 
 "Might I send a line to the house?" Ribbons 
 asked, hesitatingly. 
 
 The doctor rang the bell, and returning to the 
 bedside handed his patient his pen and his prescrip- 
 tion pad. 
 
 Ribbons wrote a few lines, his face flushing, 
 sealed it, and handed it to the messenger who stood 
 waiting. His head feeling like a charged soda 
 fountain, he gladly lay down. Then shortly the 
 regular rising and falling of the bed covering was 
 guarantee of the fulfillment of the doctor's pre- 
 scribed resting process. 
 
 The following morning Ribbons' head was care- 
 fully redressed. He wondered at the long examina- 
 tion, and especially was he impatient over what he 
 deemed an unnecessary fumbling around the wound. 
 Why was it doctors seemed to take particular de- 
 light in torturing one, probing about spots that 
 were as tender as an exposed nerve? But he gritted 
 his teeth and bore the pain bravely. When the 
 "beastly" job was over, he was given a swallow of 
 brandy, tucked comfortably in an armchair and an 
 appetizing breakfast set before him. 
 
 The doctor was a very clever observer. His criti- 
 
I T 223 
 
 cal eyes had never let an expression of his patient 
 escape. He was becoming assured that the man 
 was not acting ; he was sure, too, he had not recog- 
 nized Mr. Madison, and he was besides profession- 
 ally elated. He had discovered a singular condi- 
 tion of the patient's skull below the wound. 
 Guardedly he put a few questions. 
 
 "How long have you been with the Poinsettes?" 
 he inquired indifferently, sweeping an ash with his 
 little finger from a cigarette. 
 
 "About three years," replied the man shortly. 
 
 Again there was a pause. 
 
 "Have you been driving long?" he resumed, when 
 his cigarette was out. "I mean, have you always 
 been a coachman?" 
 
 "Only for Mr. Poinsette. His was my first place. 
 You see, I've not been many years in the city." 
 
 The doctor was busy fingering a book, turning 
 the leaves searchingly. "England?" he questioned, 
 if only half aware the other had spoken. 
 
 "No, I came from Vera Cruz." 
 
 The doctor glanced quickly in the speaker's direc- 
 tion. "Oh, I see, contract work," and he smiled 
 comprehendingly. 
 
 "No," answered his patient, "I was sick there. 
 They said it was my head, but I don't seem to re- 
 member. I know m(y one idea was to get to the 
 north, so I shipped as sailor by the first vessel I 
 could find sailing in this direction." 
 
 "Like it down there?" again questioned the doc- 
 tor, as if he were merely carrying on the conversa- 
 tion for the edification of his patient. 
 
224 IT 
 
 "I can't seem to remember that either." The 
 man was a long time silent, then he spoke. The 
 doctor made as if he had not noticed the other's 
 pause. "Doctor, I've been terribly bothered. Some- 
 times I feel as if I couldn't stand it another day — 
 I can't for the life of me remember a thing beyond 
 that sailing, beyond getting away from a miserable 
 hut and coming here on an awful boat. I live, 
 hoping from day to day that things back there will 
 grow clearer. But they don't seem to. It's just as 
 if my life were chopped off four years ago and 
 there's nothing I can remember previous to that 
 chop — I mean nothing before that squalid hut." 
 He rose hastily from his chair and walked rapidly 
 several times back and forth in the room, then 
 staggered dizzily back to his seat. 
 
 "Not quite as firm as you thought, hdy?" smiled 
 the doctor. 
 
 Kibbons feebly shook his head. "It's so asinine," 
 he said, disregarding his weakness, "to be but four 
 years old, for that is virtually my age. What has 
 become of the other years, and how many were 
 there? It's the damndest situation. How is it I 
 can remember my letters, can read and can't re- 
 member other things? Occasionally there's a streak 
 before my eyes filled with familiar scenes, then it 
 fades before I make sense of it. It's rotten. If I 
 were not counting on the return of my memory 
 from day to day, I'd not like to face the future." 
 
 The listener had been strictly attentive. In this 
 latter outburst Eibbons' manner had become one of 
 social equality with the surgeon. 
 
IT 225 
 
 "Mighty interesting," he answered. "Of course, 
 there's a reason. If you could get at that, there'd 
 be something to begin with. You can't remember 
 about any illness, anything that happened while you 
 were south?" 
 
 "Yes. I was laid up in a miserable village. A 
 native family gave me a pallet in a corner of their 
 shanty, but as soon as I could, I took French leave 
 and never even asked them what ailed me; I doubt 
 if they knew or cared. But I was as weak as a jelly- 
 fish and had terrible pains in my head. All I 
 wanted was to get away from the place." 
 
 "Then jyou came up here?" asked the doctor, his 
 thoughts occupied with Mr. Madison's revelations 
 of the previous day. "And that's all you can re- 
 member? You can't think how you got south, or 
 when, or why — or of anything that happened before 
 that time?" 
 
 "No; that's the deuce of it." 
 
 "Interesting," replied the listener with knitted 
 brow. 
 
 "Can you make anything out of it?" asked Eib- 
 bons, intently studying his neighbor. 
 
 The doctor examined his flattened hands, and bit 
 the lining of his lips, then looking directly toward 
 his patient, he said slowly, cautiously, "I've a 
 theory." 
 
 Ribbons started forward, a mute question in his 
 look. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
226 IT 
 
 "As I dressed your head this morning I found 
 something that may help us out. Beside the wound 
 made by your fall yesterday, I found quite a de- 
 pression. Careful examination showed me an area 
 where the bone has been splintered; there is un- 
 doubtedly a pressure which might .easily account 
 for the present condition of your memory. In fact 
 I am quite sure your trouble is there. Can you not 
 remember having a blow of some kind?" As he 
 asked the question he stamped heavily and jarred 
 the floor. 
 
 "The wall!" cried Eibbons, "jump!" then he 
 waved his hand across his forehead, shook his head 
 sadly. "It's gone," he sighed; "for an instant I 
 thought I saw a stone falling — but it was like the 
 other visions, nebulous." 
 
 A pleased expression passed over the physician's 
 face. "You see, there are pictures, there is mind, 
 there is memory." 
 
 Kibbons sat silent. The other did not disturb 
 him. After several minutes Eibbons broke out 
 afresh : 
 
 "An operation. That's what you have in mind, 
 is it not?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "What chances?" asked the patient shortly. 
 
 "The chances are all in your favor. I can see 
 no reason why, after the pressure has been removed, 
 you should not be given back to yourself." 
 
 Eibbons laughed. 
 
 "I'll have it done," he cried excitedly, "and with 
 as little delay as possible. The sooner the better." 
 
IT 227 
 
 Ribbons ground his teeth determinedly. He must 
 have himself and what belonged to him. Favorable 
 or unfavorable revelations, he was man enough to 
 accept the inevitable. His mind traveled with rapid 
 strides along the many possibilities of his identity. 
 What was he, who was he, what had be been? It 
 was no new reverie, only time had whittled away 
 the keen sensitiveness that at first existed. Hun- 
 dreds of times he had run the gamut of speculation. 
 Then he had given the subject a final dismissal, 
 and with commendable philosophy, had taken up 
 his new life and was accepting its fares. 
 
 What Ribbons could not recollect was that some 
 years previous his head had been hurt, since which 
 accident he was lost to himself, could recall noth- 
 ing of the fact, that having left college with honors 
 he had begged of an aristocratic father the privilege' 
 of traveling around the world, partly as distraction 
 after a strenuous course,, and partly to gratify a 
 craving for archteological grubbing. His father 
 granted the request on conditions. The parent's 
 vast fortune had floated from him in the trough of 
 a Wall Street wave, there was barely sufficient left 
 in the flotsam for the son's prospective trip and 
 his own moderate maintenance. The conditions 
 were now made plain. The father desired the mar- 
 riage of his son to a Miss Laura Reed, a buxom 
 beauty of no lineage and the richest heiress in town. 
 Being of the world most worldly, the parent had 
 already taken discreet steps to secure the consent 
 of the bride-elect, whose social ambitions outbal- 
 anced her millions. 
 
228 IT 
 
 Angered by his father's officiousness, impetuous 
 with youth's impatience at being thwarted, the son 
 consented to the terms of intrigue, proposed to the 
 girl one evening, and left the following day with a 
 mutual understanding that the engagement be kept 
 secret till his return. He sailed away to seek and 
 classify prehistoric relics dug from beneath some 
 adored Oyzicus ruins; traveled then on a sim- 
 ilar mission down through the Orient and finally 
 retraced his direction, richly freighted with be- 
 longings of forgotten generations. Having bark- 
 ened to the golden recitals of a plausible promoter, 
 he arrived in Central America, there to invest his 
 small remaining capital in a date and rice planta- 
 tion. 
 
 While clearing the wastes for irrigation he came 
 upon most interesting masonry. His archaeolog- 
 ical enthusiasm goaded him to immediate investi- 
 gation. Fiercely, eagerly, he crowded the work, so 
 that his men in their haste carelessly undermined 
 one of the structural buttresses. The part fell, a 
 bit of the wall striking him on the head. So badly 
 was he injured that the home papers reported his 
 death. The heiress was free, and after a suitable 
 arrangement with her conscience married a prom- 
 ising young physician. 
 
 The injured man, having endured all manner of 
 hardships owing to his fractures and consequent 
 loss of identity, finally found his way back to New 
 York, scant in pocket and void of memory. His sub- 
 consciousness dictated subsequent procedure. 
 
I T 229 
 
 Next to his books, Eibbons loved horses. His 
 poverty prohibited ownership; he did the wisest 
 thing, he drove and handled those that belonged 
 to someone else. He enjoyed a pleasure for which 
 another was paying the bills, and his philosophy 
 made him content. But now another phase had 
 arisen. He was in love, and he believed in its 
 return. When he could, he would marry her, but 
 he owed her at least his identity, if he had one. 
 And surely if there were a chance of recovering 
 it, the sooner the better it would be. As the doctor 
 had put it : "Give him back to himself." 
 
 His thoughts were interrupted. 
 
 A hall boy knocked and delivered a message in 
 a low voice to the doctor, who answered the door. 
 With a nod to his patient, he added : 
 
 "There's some books there, help yourself. I'll 
 be back shortly." 
 
 Two eager men met the physician in the library, 
 Madison and Poinsette. 
 
 "Couldn't be doing better," said the doctor, ad- 
 vancing and replying to their unspoken queries; 
 and as he answered them he led them to the small 
 reception-room, having seen other members advanc- 
 ing toward them and wis'hing to avoid the neces- 
 sity of parrying the flood of questions the incident 
 of the previous day would incur. Once in the little 
 room he closed the door. 
 
 "The patient is doing splendidly, had a good 
 night's rest. I wanted to consult you both before 
 you saw him." 
 
230 IT 
 
 "Does he remember me?" asked Madison im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "No, and he can't, because he don't know you; 
 his memory has been impaired; he's been injured 
 some way years ago. But," continued the doctor 
 with elation, "I'm going to restore your son to you, 
 if he is your son, though Poinsette will be short 
 of " he hesitated. Madison was a sensitive man. 
 
 "The best man who ever held reins over horses," 
 finished Poinsette, with delicate appreciation. 
 
 The three men sat down and the doctor delivered 
 himself of his ideas concerning his patient's con- 
 dition and the remedies he proposed for his res- 
 toration. 
 
 "Of course there must be a consultation of the best 
 surgeons, then with the patient's consent and yours, 
 sir," he smiled, addressing the elder man, "an oper- 
 ation, the success of which I feel assured." 
 
 When the doctor had finished with his suggestion 
 and various minor details were arranged, all three 
 went up to the patient's room. 
 
 "Just for reasons of my own," the doctor ex- 
 plained on the way up, "I should advise you, Mr. 
 Madison, not to question him further. I merely 
 want him to see you face to face now, and, Poin- 
 sette, you had better keep the entire matter quiet 
 for the present." 
 
 Once in the patient's room, the operation was 
 further discussed, to which Kibbons listened with 
 respectful impatience. 
 
 He was allowed to return to his quarters that 
 afternoon. 
 
IT 231 
 
 Not many minutes after his arrival, Jean, breath- 
 less with running, knocked at his door, and once 
 behind it, lived through one of the dearest episodes 
 in her life, seated by the side of this, the most be- 
 loved man on earth. When she was back again in 
 the street she pressed against her cheek the dear 
 palm that Eibbons had held in his while he had 
 told her of his accident, of how dizzy it made him 
 feel, how kind the doctor had been in giving up 
 his room, and about the queer old man who mistook 
 him for his son. "Such an aristocratic old cock 
 with such mountains of pride one could not but 
 feel sorry for his mental disturbance." 
 
 He spoke lightly of the impending operation, but 
 dwelt at some length on the comfort of his club 
 surroundings and hoped he would soon be able to 
 get back to his work as a means now of better 
 things, and he looked very wistfully at the girl. 
 Jean had little realization of the gravity of trepan- 
 ning. If she felt any alarm for him it was over- 
 weighed by the delight of his suggestion that after 
 the experiment he might remember things that 
 had happened before he was Mr. Poinsette's coach- 
 man. This memory, too, might be the solvent to a 
 rankling conundrum, the mysterious miniature, for 
 at heart Jean was quite humanly feminine. Fur- 
 ther than these simple reasons, she was uncon- 
 cerned. Eibbons' past mattered not to her. He 
 must always have been a great, splendid, brave 
 fellow. Such men did fine things ; therefore she had 
 no doubt of his past, or that his standards were 
 ever inferior. 
 
232 IT 
 
 Jean was fast developing, fast becoming a womanj 
 thoughtful and wide far beyond thousands of 
 women twice her age. She had come to understand 
 the great possibilities within us which can be devel- 
 open, provided the knowledge of procedure has been 
 awakened. She knew she should not see Ribboaa 
 again for some time, for he was to be taken the 
 following morning to the hospital. She now bravely 
 tried to encourage, making as light as possible 
 of the coming event, while he with consummate 
 pluck bade her "help the surgeon, and with con- 
 stant thoughts of my final recovery and the con- 
 sequent welfare of both you and myself, Jean. 
 Create all the curative thoughts you can. As soon 
 as the doctors permit, you shall be sent for, dear 
 love. A new man will be waiting impatiently to 
 embrace you, my Jean." 
 
 Eibbons had so thoroughly imbued the girl with 
 the belief of the immeasurable assistance of pro- 
 jected faith that she was an ardent advocate of the 
 power of thought. She was demonstrating her 
 schooling and was now even more purposely 
 buoyant than he had ever known her, beside she 
 was filled with a new delight; she had a surprise 
 in store on his getting well. She was learning 
 French! She had already committed to memory 
 much of La Fontaine, and several fugitive classic 
 verses. Magenta had a friend across the street, a 
 French governess, who had taken a great fancy to 
 Jean, and had given her what help she could with 
 her accent. It was frequently easy to slip in and 
 correct her pupil as she read the pages carefully 
 
I T 233 
 
 prepared for her teacher. Of course, Magenta was 
 indignant, the other maids smiled, and Tommy 
 laughed outright, but it mattered not to Jean. 
 Did. not Mrs. Poinsette read and speak French, and 
 did not many of her friends, and did they not go 
 frequently to Europe, where the language would be 
 useful? She was going to marry Eibbons; true 
 he was only a coachman, but there were always 
 chances for betterment, and some day they, too, 
 might travel. There were positions as traveling 
 agents, and she might possibly secure a position 
 that would benefit both. If by her flight into 
 languages she could impress Eibbons with an am- 
 bition beyond that of being a coachman she would 
 have not studied in vain. He was so splendid, so 
 far above the coarse men in his position — for she 
 was ever on the alert to discover other drivers of 
 any refinement — ^that she was more and more mys- 
 tified at his willingness to remain in a humble 
 position when in her judgment there was no chance 
 of growth. But he was ever of one mind. He 
 would listen patiently and kindly to her outbursts 
 of remonstrance and smile at her tactful sugges- 
 tions, but when she had finished he would laugh 
 good-'humoredly and repeat over and over again 
 that he was far happier as coachman, driving the 
 blooded horses of others, with plenty of time to 
 read and study, than he could be in the "higher 
 positions," as she called them, though from his 
 point of view there were no degrees of position. 
 If degree there was, it lay in the dignity with 
 which a position was filled, a dignity far in ex- 
 
234 IT 
 
 cess of the false sentiment of menial work as un- 
 derstood in the sham world in which the Poinsettes 
 toiled and worried. There was nothing in that 
 world and never could be. For her sake he wished 
 he had more money. But his salary was now 
 greater than many clerks and college professors, 
 his hours easy, and he was much out of doors, 
 which made his head feel clearer. Then he would 
 laugh again and, patting her cheek, continue : 
 
 "And think of all the social affairs I attend, 
 operas, dinners, theatres, dances, and never have 
 to be bored being polite to the host, but can sit 
 calmly and smoke my pipe on the box, while the 
 poor hot dancing men have to sneak out to the 
 street and take a few stolen puffs of their cigar- 
 ettes, which they frequently light at my segar." 
 
 Then Jean would toss her pretty head, sigh 
 charmingly and reply : 
 
 "I'm afraid I can never make you understand 
 my value of things." And he would answer : 
 
 "I understand, but I'm wiser than any little 
 girl." 
 
 So in her happy rehearsal she reached the house. 
 Dougo, as usual, stood sentinel. 
 
 "Is the poor soul disfigured bad? Is his beau- 
 tiful face spoiled?" moaned the woman as Jean 
 entered. 
 
 To Congo's surprise, the girl laughed. 
 
 "Why, bless you, no. There's not a scratch on 
 his face. The cut was at his temple, and he says 
 the scar won't show because it's just under the 
 hair." 
 
1 T 235 
 
 She told Dougo that the patient was to be taken 
 the following morning to the hospital because he 
 would have better attendance. This explanation 
 Ribbons had suggested, since he preferred, for rea- 
 sons of his own, to hide the true nature of the im- 
 pending operation. 
 
 "Did Eibbons let you see the spot where his 
 head's busted?" cried Tommy, flying down from 
 the pantry two steps at a time. 
 
 "It was bandaged — no one can see," she replied. 
 
 Tommy spread his legs and reflected aloud : "It's 
 always the good ones get hurt. There's something 
 bad in me, for I can't get sick, though I'm always 
 trying, and there's a nice side to being sick. You 
 have bully things to eat, honey and pancakes, cooked 
 a purpose, and girls coming to see you," he added, 
 with a mischieyous wink. 
 
 "Come here, Tommy," commanded Jean, with 
 amused authority. She preferred not to discuss 
 Eibbons with the boy, and, too, she had among 
 other duties elected herself his inspector. It now 
 afforded an opportunity to deflect his curiosity. 
 
 The boy arrived slowly. "I did brush 'em, Jean, 
 look," and he drew back his lips, showing two very 
 regular and clean rows of teeth. 
 
 Jean examined the double tier critically, then 
 took his hands in hers, scanned his finger nails and 
 patted him approvingly on the shoulder. "Good fel- 
 low. As soon as my work is done you shall be re- 
 warded; we'll go on with Midshipman Easy. But 
 you've got to read one whole chapter yourself, re- 
 member." 
 
236 IT 
 
 Thus Jean, with the care of Tommy on her mind, 
 the kitchen work, her reading, studying and sew- 
 ing, found her hands busy and obviously her little 
 head so full of the daily duties that she conscien- 
 tiously dwelt as little as possible on thoughts of the 
 hospital where the best in life lay convalescing. She 
 managed to get a daily bulletin, but the full report 
 of how long Eibbons had been in a really dangerous 
 condition, or the fact that for twenty-four hours 
 there had seemed little chance, she did not hear. 
 
 Mr. Madison and Mr. Poinsette had gone with 
 Eibbons when the doctor held their consultation. 
 The physician had purposely kept Mr. Madison as 
 much as possible with his patient, but never once 
 had there been from the eyes of the patient any 
 sign or revelation that Mr. Madison was more than 
 a recent acquaintance, whose eccentricity, love for 
 surgery, and scientific curiosity, had led the old 
 man to Eibbons' side. So matters stood to within 
 the time the patient was wheeled to the operating 
 room. Then there were long tedious weeks when 
 no one but the doctor and nurses were permitted 
 in the sick room. 
 
 When finally the doctors were satisfied of the suc- 
 cess of the operation and the patient was again sit- 
 ting in his easy chair, finishing, with hearty relish, 
 the last mouthful of a larded sweetbread, some one 
 knocked at his door. 
 
 "Oome in," he mumbled lustily through his 
 mouthful. A fine old man entered. 
 
 "Dad !" he shouted, flinging his tray crashing to 
 the floor as he sprang to meet him. 
 
IT 237 
 
 "Andrew!" cried the newcomer, and took the 
 patient in his arms. 
 
 The doctors, three of them, watching expect- 
 antly in the recess of the alcove, forcefully shook 
 each other's hands and waited a few moments in 
 silence, for the tears of an old pair of eyes to dry, 
 and the trembling of a young pair of hands to 
 cease. Then they filtered forward to congratulate 
 a recreated father and reclaimed son. There was 
 triumph for the surgeons, joy for a parent, wonder 
 (or a son, and genuine regret for a certain club 
 man in the prospective loss of as fine a driver as 
 ever handled a stable full of spirited horses. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 When Madison was sufficiently recovered so that 
 the excitement of a visitor would not be injurious, 
 he was allowed to see Jean. 
 
 She came to him full of solicitude, of pretty 
 anxiety, of timid affection, fearful of expressing her 
 love lest it retard the speedy recovery for which 
 she had prayed so earnestly each day, for which at 
 night she remained long upon her knees. No detail 
 of her appearance or her emotions escaped her ob- 
 servant lover. Her dress, though inexpensive, was 
 exquisite and faultless in its fit and fashion, her 
 hair with its golden waves was massed carefully, 
 becomingly, beneath a broad-brimmed hat which 
 accentuated the shadows of her long lashes; her 
 gloves were new, and not too tight and her eyes 
 brimmed with the lovelight she thought to have 
 hidden. To Madison, she was the daintiest, the 
 most ideal creature he had ever seen. Purposely 
 nothing had been told her of the change in his cir- 
 cumstances. It would be time enough, he thought, 
 when he was once in his home, the home to which 
 his father each day longed to bring him, though to 
 which the doctor would not consent till there should 
 be no possible chance of relapse. 
 
 The patient had begged of all who saw him, hi« 
 father, Poinsette, and the surgeon, not to reveal his 
 identity, till he might himself meet his friends, re- 
 
IT 239 
 
 enter his world, and share with it the joys of his 
 reinstating. 
 
 Now he could scarcely resist taking this beautiful 
 girl in his arms and telling her of his wonderful 
 fortune. He wanted immediately to divide with her 
 his happiness. Who among his smart acquaintances, 
 he asked himself, gazing critically at her, would 
 not be proud in the possession of so alluringly 
 lovely a creature, so creditably gowned, so wonder- 
 fully poised. All the world would envy him. As 
 she bent over him, love-hallowed, exquisitely dainty, 
 he could have cried aloud in his ecstasy to all this 
 world, "Come and see my treasure, come and rejoice 
 with me in my love, in my love of €his dear girl, this 
 girl who has promised to be mine for ever and ever, 
 to the very end." 
 
 Instead he could say nothing, he could only ex- 
 tend his hand, take hers and hold it tremblingly 
 against his cheek which had become as white as 
 her own, while the soft tears of unspeakable joy 
 coursed slowly down to the pillow. 
 
 "Oh, Eibbons, dear!" she cried in gentle alarm. 
 "Don't. I should not have come, you are not fit 
 to see me, you are so weak, dear." 
 
 But he only held her hand the firmer and shook 
 his head in blissful denial, for any words of re- 
 monstrance he might say had stopped at his throat. 
 The tumbling, whirling thoughts that surged 
 against his heart overmastered his speech. 
 
 She dropped to her knees by his bedside, in the 
 room that had been purposely emptied to the lovers, 
 and pressing her lips upon his, let her tears that 
 
240 IT 
 
 had also sprung to her eyes flow with his along 
 their path down his face. 
 
 "My little girl," he murmured, "my little love." 
 
 Her hand stole to his bruised head. With sur- 
 passing tenderness she turned his dark hair from 
 his forehead and touched the swathing bandages. 
 
 "Has it cleared?" she asked in a breathless 
 whisper. "Can you remember?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," he replied drawing her head again 
 toward his. "Aind, oh, my girl, there is so much 
 to tell you, so much to go over, but we will wait, 
 will we not? Our moments are precious, I can't 
 even spare them to tell you what has come. I can't 
 spare the time for anything but you." 
 
 Suddenly he all but collapsed at an insistence of 
 suspicion. Suppose his real social eminence were 
 too swift a flight for the girl? Suppose she take 
 fright and refuse to mount with him to his present 
 height. What should he do, for there was no ques- 
 tion that without her he would not care to live. 
 
 He had been so long free of luxurious environ- 
 ment that it would have been no hardship to con- 
 tinue his vocation as coachman. Now, however, all 
 had been changed. For her sake he had been glad- 
 dest. She would be his, she would follow him to 
 whatever destination he might lead her. Would 
 she? He held her hand as in a vise. His voice 
 became stringent, his sentences simple. "No mat- 
 ter what my condition has been you'll be my little 
 love, will you not? There'll be nothing that can 
 change that, will there?" His voice was husky. 
 
IT 241 
 
 For the moment Jean misinterpreted. There was 
 in the past then something that he feared. There 
 was then a mystery. The miniature ! Had her mis- 
 erable surmise any justification? Was it possible 
 that Eibbons was a bad man? Nevet. Every dear 
 trait of his banished such doubt. He might halve 
 done things he regretted, most men have, but to have 
 done anything wrong, the doubt was disgraceful. 
 There had never been, from master or servant, any 
 word but that of praise. He could not have changed 
 Ms nature, his principles, no, no matter what 
 might have occurred, what accident might have rob- 
 bed him of memory. Why was she hesitating then, 
 what did it mean? She spoke now fearlessly. 
 
 "Nothing can change me, Eibbons, dear. If you 
 wish, you may keep the past a secret; it does not 
 matter much. You are you to me. I am satisfied. 
 The future is in our hands, together we'll make it 
 splendid. We want to be somebody, don't we? You 
 are not afraid, are you?" she asked, her soul in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Eibbons smiled indulgently. He would not 
 worry; there was so much to rely upon in such a 
 character. "All these days I've been trying, dear, 
 to look at the world with your eyes, with your de- 
 sires. I believe in you, and in something else," he 
 smiled. "Together we will win out. Since you 
 have set your important little head to be a great 
 and good lady in our lan^d, I'll do my best to place 
 
 you there, I'll " 
 
 A rapid knock sounded at the door, which opened 
 noiselessly. 
 
242 IT 
 
 "Well, dear madam, ' 'Time is up,' as they say to 
 the prisoners," cooed the doctor, entering lightly, 
 "and you don't want to keep this young man an 
 invalid any longer than possible." 
 
 Jean rose from her knees, a pretty blush suffusing 
 her face. 
 
 "Keggie," began Ribbons, then bit his tongue in 
 vexation, as he caught the girl's surprised look. 
 "Doctor, this is Jean Cummings, my fiance," he 
 finished simply. The doctor hastily covered his 
 surprise. 
 
 "I heartily congratulate you, Miss Cummings," 
 returned ihe physician, grasping Jean's hand. The 
 girl glanced at him wistfully. She was thinking 
 only of her lover's illness, "You've got a fine 
 fellow and a soldier. I wish you might have seen 
 the way he stood the operation. Few women have 
 chosen as wisely," he added looking at her critically, 
 for he was wise, and found her very pretty, very 
 serious and absurdly young. 
 
 ''None have chosen as well," she replied with 
 sweet dignity, emphasizing the word as she drew 
 herself up an inch higher in her tiny shoes. He 
 should not patronze the fiance of a coachman! 
 Then she turned to the patient. "Good-bye, Eib- 
 bons," she said, in quite a different tone, bending 
 and kissing his two hands, which she gathered in 
 hers by a gesture infinitely tender and womanly 
 and unaffected. "You'll let me come to-morrow, 
 doctor?" she asked, looking at him full with her 
 calm questioning eyes. 
 
 Madison exchanged a confederate's signal. 
 
IT 243 
 
 "Not to-morrow, Miss Cummings, but by the end 
 of the week. We are going to move him once more. 
 A friend of mine, a Mr. Madison, has kindly offered 
 my patient his house. The greater comforts of the 
 place will be a helpful factor in his recovery. He 
 must have rest after the excitement of moving, but 
 by the week's end he will be in fine trim. You will 
 be quite safe in seeing him then. Here is the num- 
 ber and name you must ask for," he said in a busi- 
 ness-like fashion, writing the name and address on 
 his prescription pad with a slightly tremulous hand. 
 The spirited girl affected him singularly, she seemed 
 to look him through and through. Jean took the 
 card extended toward her, and without examining it 
 slipped it in her purse. She turned again to Rib- 
 bons, looked at him with eyes threateningly full 
 then passed out, accompanied by the doctor. 
 
 Madison's hungry eyes followed the couple, and 
 hung thoughtfully for seconds on the door that had 
 shut them from his sight. Finally, deliciously ex- 
 hausted, he turned with a sigh of infinite content 
 upon his side, closed his eyes and was soon fast 
 asleep. 
 
 Jean's emotions were too deep for conversation. 
 She did not speak again to the doctor, who escorted 
 her to the trolley and lifted his hat as she stepped 
 on the platform. "By the end of the week," she 
 heard him say. The noise of the car drowned any- 
 thing he may have added. 
 
 That afternoon a smart brougham wheeled from 
 the hospital two very happy men and dropped them 
 
244 IT 
 
 before a broad Colonial house in the lower end of 
 the city. A lackey in short clothes hastened to the 
 carriage and helped the younger man into the home 
 he had not known for many years. 
 
OHAPTEE XII. 
 
 Friday was to be a day of memorable joy. An- 
 drew would tell of his engagement! Father and 
 son were reunited. The separation of years had 
 soothed the fine friction that was subtly insistent at 
 the time they had last seen each other. Subsequent 
 readjustment had alleviated the distress of Mr. 
 Madison's imminent financial ruin. The parent 
 had recovered many times over what his son had lost 
 through his unfulfilled matrimonial promise. No 
 expenditures now seemed sufficient to allay the loss 
 of the intervening years of his boy's absence. He 
 hovered about his son, with a mother's flutterings 
 of happy solicitude. Flowers and delicacies per- 
 fumed his room and tempted his palate. Noiseless 
 servants waited his minutest demands. The novelty 
 of Madison's rapid exchange of position had its 
 intoxication. As long as he lived this day was vivid 
 in its contrasting moods. Being strictly healthy 
 the man drank to the full this delicious new sense 
 of luxury. 
 
 "Father," he said that evening of evenings, "you 
 can't begin to know how happy I am to have found 
 you, and the dear old home, and to bring to you 
 in recognition of my appreciation, the sweetest 
 little woman on earth who has promised to marry 
 me as soon as I am well." 
 
246 IT 
 
 Then with a lovers' selfish enthusiasm, Madison 
 told his father all about the girl. How he had met 
 her at the Poinsettes, how intelligent, how beautiful 
 she was, and above all, how eager she was to learn, 
 as he had, to know the things he did, to read the 
 same books with a view to some day being an equal 
 and helpmate to him in all ways. True, she had 
 no idea of his present position, no more than had he 
 when he began to love her. But her desire for 
 knowledge wag so genuine that she could, he knew, 
 overcome all obstacles, and grow to be his equal 
 mentally. She was an American, born in the north- 
 ern hills, innocent of any but the raw necessities of 
 existence. With ill-concealed impatience his father 
 had, at the beginning of his tale, left his chair and 
 walked up and down the room a prey to the hardest 
 demands that had yet been put upon him. With 
 greater fortitude than he expected of himself, he 
 made no reply to his son's affectionate description. 
 The patrician blood beat hotly as he held himself, 
 bravely trying to overcome the hurts his son was 
 piling upon him. But he bore the confession, in- 
 Avardly convinced that the boy was still ill and 
 weak. Once himself, he would easily persuade him 
 — he had in the past — of the folly of a match with 
 a little beggar who was even worse than penniless, 
 for was she not an obscure hussy in the lowest 
 menial service, a kitchen maid ! No Madison could, 
 in his right mind, stoop so low. There was still, it 
 seemed, work for the doctor. So, controlling with 
 more strength than he would a few days since have 
 credited himself with, he managed to hold his peace. 
 
I T 247 
 
 At five the following day, Jean rang the bell of 
 No. 17, a larger house by far than that of the Poin- 
 settes. A boarding house, she thought. Eibbons 
 had such expensive tastes! But perhaps the club 
 man who had befriended him would pay the bills. 
 A servant in plush opened the door. She had never 
 beheld a showier apparition. 
 
 "May I see Mr. Madison?" she asked, with what 
 dignity she could quickly summon. 
 
 "Mr. James or Mr. Andrew?" he questioned, not 
 ungraciously, for the girl was beautiful and the 
 second man was human, "both are at home." 
 
 "At home!" Was the earth dropping from be- 
 neath her? She caught at the bronze gate. She 
 must have been careless, she must have rung the 
 wrong bell. Eapidly she scanned the casing. No, 
 there were no other bells; it was a private house, 
 then. Yes, she must have made a mistake, besides 
 what other Madison was there. Ribbons had no 
 brother, he had told her so. Her lovely eyes in 
 their bewilderment looked beseechingly toward the 
 austere lacky. Oh, he meant, merely that some one 
 was in. 
 
 "If you'll step in the drawing room, Miss, I will 
 tell the gentlemen. They will probably know. They 
 are both in the library." 
 
 He drew the tapestry and stepped aside. For the 
 moment she fancied herself transported to some 
 setting from romance, so richly royal were her sur- 
 roundings. With what composure she could muster 
 amid this splendor she chose an inviting chair where 
 she might collect the senses she felt were deserting 
 
248 IT 
 
 her, and awaited the return of the plush lackey to 
 confirm her mistake. So interested was she in the 
 specification of her environment, the soft light, the 
 deep-toned damask, the heavy rugs, the crystal 
 sconces and the delicious sinking and encircling of 
 her chair, that she did not immediately note the fact 
 that sounds rose just beyond the velvet drapery 
 that hung between the mahogany doors connecting 
 the adjoining room. Through this curtain she was 
 now aware of voices. There were two, one pitched 
 to a high key, stringently excited, the other low, 
 mellow, and calm. Ah! there could be no doubt 
 of that voice, there was only one in the whole world. 
 That in the high key, beat itself into a still higher 
 tone. 
 
 "Not while I live, not while there is a muscle in 
 my body left to fight against this absurdity, this 
 insanity. A low-born girl, a scullery maid, a 
 Madison and a kitchen scullery! Damn it. Have 
 you come to home and reason to drive me mad? 
 Wait. Where's my check-book, she'll take that, any 
 of them will. I'll " 
 
 "Father!" There was a sound as if a heavy book 
 was dropped to the floor, a slight knock sounded at 
 the door of the curtained room, the servant was 
 announcing her by the hall door of the library. 
 Jean had risen to her feet, every drop of blood had 
 gone from her body and was tearing at her heart, 
 its beating would surely burst through her bosom. 
 
 "Miss Cummings," she heard the serving man an- 
 nounce. 
 
 "Put her out," commanded the hoarse voice. 
 
IT 249 
 
 But Jean had already parted the curtains and 
 stood before the men, a beautiful white spectre. 
 
 "Mr. Madison," she said turning her face full 
 upon the elder man, "a Oummings will not marry a 
 Madison. It would take a Madison generations to 
 get to the height of a Oummings. The Oummings 
 love mankind. You are a patrician. Thank God, I 
 have learned the value of their nobility." She took 
 a step nearer the younger man. "Eibbons, it has 
 been my misfortune to love you. I regret my mis- 
 fortune," she could barely articulate, "for your 
 father's salte." Her head dropped upon her chest, 
 she groped blindly for the hanging. 
 
 Madison sprang toward her. "Jean," he cried in 
 a transport of agony. 
 
 "No, I shall not faint," she said, the blood rushing 
 back to her face, suffusing it with rare beauty. 
 "When you are well, with your father's consent, you 
 may come and say 'good-bye.' " She held her hand 
 warningly toward her lover, separated the curtains 
 and walked with majesty through their folds. 
 
 Madison, dazed for a moment, stood where she 
 had left him, then rushed after her. She was al- 
 ready closing the great street door behind her when 
 suddenly she reconsidered. She re-entered. Mr. 
 Madison hastened to his son. Jean glided swiftly to 
 the elder man. 
 
 "It would indeed be worthy the manners of some 
 kitchen maids, if I left your house thus. You are 
 my host. I am your guest. Kindly hold the door 
 for me." Drawing her little figure up till she 
 seemed majestic, she turned toward her lover. "On 
 
250 IT 
 
 second thought," she said, her bravery suddenly 
 threatened, "you must not come to see me; the 
 kitchen is no place ; we can say good-bye here. Some 
 day your father will feel differently." Her throat 
 contracted, her sentences were of necessity short. 
 "Then come. You will find me somehow." She held 
 out her hand. "God bless you — both." 
 
 "Jean!" cried Andrew, his heartbreak seared 
 upon his face. "You shan't go." 
 
 She drew herself free, glanced commandingly for 
 the elder man to open the door, signaled a pass- 
 ing cab — Iher quick subtle tribute to her lover's 
 position — she had never been in a cab before — ^and 
 whirled beyond sight, while two wondering men 
 stood speechlessly by the door. 
 
 The drive to the Poinsettes was merely a matter 
 of several minutes but in those minutes a girl had 
 grown to womanhood for she had suffered the agony 
 of those knouts which goad to great attainment. 
 Scarcely had she alighted when a panting horse was 
 drawn suddenly to curb, Andrew Madison with his 
 bandaged head bounded to her side. 
 
 "Jean, Jean," he called and followed her to the 
 area. 
 
 "Oh, Eibbons !" she exclaimed. "Your head, I'm 
 frightened." 
 
 "God bless the fright then," he murmured fer- 
 vently and drew her hand to his hot lips. In a few 
 fleet moments the two said much to each other, but 
 Jean never wavered. She had made up her mind, 
 she had recognized the tremendous span that sepia- 
 rated them socially, she had thrown herself to the 
 
IT 251 
 
 parent's side of the problem and there from his side 
 had measured with him. 
 
 "I shall always love you, always love you, dear, 
 always, but I can never marry you, no, not unless 
 your father apologizes, not till he begs me to come. 
 I promise you shall know of my whereabouts. 
 Don't try to see me, it will be useless." And Eib- 
 bons gazing into her deep eyes knew that against 
 her will he was powerless. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Owing to the rigid guarding of codes, not an em- 
 ployee in all the vast concern of Lightwing knew 
 that Agisto Poinsette and Eichard Lightwing were 
 identical. In the millinery community Eichard 
 Lightwing was a great person, a greater artist, per- 
 haps none greater. What better proof of his prow- 
 ess could there be, than that hundreds of woven 
 trade-marks, bearing the names of foreign makers, 
 were stitched in various linings of his homemade 
 hats? 
 
 It was no business of the many weary toilers 
 of the sewing-rooms, nor was it wise for sales- 
 women to commit treason to ferret into the social 
 standing, or domestic life of their principal. After 
 all, who cared? If the hats were pretty enough, and 
 chic enough, many of them, to pass as foreign make, 
 was that not a sufficiently clever indication that 
 Lightwing had craft — could if he chose do anything 
 to hide even his family degree? 
 
 A neighboring spire rang out the hour of nine. 
 Business did not begin early in this smart establish- 
 ment. Charwomen were at work upon their knees. 
 Boys polished at the brass finishings, others cleaned 
 the huge plate glass, making great sweeps with 
 their long-stemmed chamois balls. Eugs and heavy 
 tapestries were hoisted to the roof and shaken. In 
 the show window a sub-saleswoman draped back the 
 
IT 253 
 
 fillet curtains and replaced the hats and bonnets, 
 aigrettes and stoles and all the various finery that 
 was to tempt the feminine passions of women 
 promenading the street at later hours. Other sales- 
 women, busy with their stoct, rehearsed scenes of 
 the previous day, settled vexed questions according 
 to their various dispositions. 
 
 The whir and buzz of the practical pervaded the 
 room, still charged with joy or malice, content or 
 discontent of the eternal feminines who had formed 
 the recessional of the day before. In the rear of the 
 place, cut off by sliding screen, two young girls were 
 surreptitiously trying on hats. 
 
 "Look once! Hetty, wouldn't you take me for 
 the real thing? Ain't I a peach? Ain't I It?" 
 cried the little messenger of the firm, as she minced 
 up and down before the huge mirror, one of the 
 "Very Latest Importations" perched jauntily upon 
 a frowsy head, whose hair viciously projected its 
 loose ends in multiple directions, though that very 
 frowsel adapted itself excellently to the filling pro- 
 cess necessary to fashionable adjustment of becom- 
 ing headgear. 
 
 "My, Lotta, you're grand! Hold till I put this 
 stole about you ; there, did you ever see the like !" 
 exclaimed her companion, stepping back to survey 
 the apparition before her. 
 
 "Gosh, if only I was grand ! Do you know, Hetty, 
 sometimes I'm almost tempted to steal to get fine 
 things, it's awful — I feel I must have them, the 
 craving just strangles me." 
 
il54 I T 
 
 "Hash, Lotta, you talk fierce, and you with, a 
 dying mother. One would think, with the risk she's 
 running of the other world, that you would have a 
 mouth full of decency at any rate." 
 
 "Maybe I would, if I had it soft like the grand 
 ones. It's easy enough to be good when there ain't 
 no cause to be bad. Why, Het, do you know there's 
 times when I could jerk a trinket off those fine ones, 
 just for the sake of doing something desperate, and 
 seeing what the consequences would be, just because 
 my life seems so deadly slow and hopeless." 
 
 "I'm proudly ashamed of you, kid, but it ain't you 
 really talking, you're half sick anyhow and the 
 home work is too much on you. Are you still tak- 
 ing your cod liver oil?" 
 
 "Oil, rats, Het. What would oil-courage do when 
 everything is going to the devil as it is with me?" 
 
 "If things got as bad as that, I'd begin to suspect 
 the trouble was in myself," answered the other girl. 
 
 Lotta suddenly looked up, all the blood had left 
 her face, unsteady and not over cleanly fingers dug 
 at her eyes and with no further warning the young 
 girl sank, bonnet, stole, and all, in a heap on the 
 floor and gave vent to a paroxysm of tears. In the 
 midst of which the door opened and Miss Ohadwick, 
 the head saleswoman, with her pair of cold grey 
 pyes, pierced the convulsed mound on the carpet. 
 
 "Can I believe my senses? Get up this minute, 
 miss, taJje off those things, do you hear, insolent! 
 Then, yoti walk out of this place just as fast as 
 your legs can carry you, and never put your face 
 inside of this ^hop again." 
 
IT 255 
 
 The heap did not stir. The sobs ceased, however. 
 A pair of little fists tightened and two lips closed 
 defiantly. 
 
 "Get up and go, do you hear me? Leave this 
 place at once, go." 
 
 "Go where?" asked the bewildered girl. 
 
 "Leave this place ! You can stop at the desk, and 
 tell Mr. Sanford to give you your money. This is 
 the second time I have had to find fault with you, 
 and it's to be the last. Now go." 
 
 "Would you?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "If I discharged you as you have me?" she asked, 
 her voice aquiver. 
 
 "I've no more to say to you; you're an impudent 
 girl." 
 
 "Not impudent, only dead beat." 
 
 The woman stood defiant, her arms folded tightly, 
 imperious by right of small authority. 
 
 "Go," and she pointed toward the clerk's desk. 
 
 "Treat me as you would like to be treated. I've 
 done wrong, but give me reasonable notice. I ain't 
 done nothing more than what I've seen you do hun- 
 dreds of times." 
 
 "Comparisons, hey, hussy !" snarled the outraged 
 woman, "the cheek of you to compare me with you?" 
 
 "Why not? The only difference is our size." 
 
 Angered beyond control, the woman bent over the 
 prostrate girl and shook her with a vehemence that 
 threatened the ruin of the stock's finery. 
 
 The door opened once more. Poinsette entered. 
 
256 IT 
 
 "What is all this about?" he asked, with genuine 
 displeasure. 
 
 "Have you not yet learned my rules, Miss Chad- 
 wick. Do you not know that I will not allow vulgar 
 disputes among my employees?" 
 
 The child had hastily risen to her feet, a comical 
 sight indeed, arra.yed as she was in the richest finery 
 of the spring opening over her meager clothes. In- 
 tuitively she discounted her advantage in the mo- 
 mentary tableau. "Miss Ohadwick has just dis- 
 charged me, sir. She caught me in these things, 
 and was angry because I said I had seen her try- 
 ing on things on the sly, too. I'm sorry I did it. 
 Its the crisscross inside me that does it. Ma's 
 sick. Don't send me away just now, Mr. Light- 
 wing." 
 
 "Hand me those things," he said with dignity, 
 "and go down to the packing department. I will 
 see Mr. Mark and explain matters to him." Thus, 
 apparently punished, — in the administering of 
 which none were wiser than the head of this firm, 
 Lightwing was in reality promoting Lotta Loft. 
 Not for her breach of trust, but because he knew 
 her deserving, and a promotion coming at such a 
 moment might be an incentive to more faithful ser- 
 vice. Turning to Miss Chadwick he continued, 
 "Kindly remember that I do not consider loud dis- 
 putes necessary in my establishment and I will not 
 have them. Bring me the samples mailed from 
 Paris, please," he added, as further dismissal of the 
 incident. 
 
IT 257 
 
 The woman disappeared, an angry beam in her 
 eye. She could not trust herself to the use of words 
 that might place her in as precarious a position as 
 was that of Lotta's only a moment since. 
 
 Lightwing, after assorting various samples, en- 
 tered the elevator and was taken to the top floor, 
 where he alighted and swiftly crossed the arcade 
 to his work-room, closing the door to secure himself 
 from interruption. He hurriedly donned a long 
 white satin jumper as protection against shreads 
 and naps, the offensive and fugitive telltales of the 
 proximity of textiles against which he safeguarded 
 himself with scrupulous care. 
 
 Before a great baized table he now examined, 
 measured and arranged boxes of feathers, ribbons, 
 flowers and aigrettes, massing various combinations 
 to consider them with critical eye. Lightwing's 
 mode of procedure was slow. An idea, suggested 
 by tree, or sky, or maybe florist window was noted 
 and registered in his adjustmnet of a rose, a feather 
 or a bit of lace pinned at modish angles to a canvas 
 frame, which grew day by day till the model was 
 completed, and the salesroom registered its success 
 or failure. Wax dummies with dark, light and 
 ruddy hair, smirking lips and painted cheeks lined 
 the walls. Upon these the man at times in mirthful 
 recreation placed bonnets while the wax present- 
 ments listened in mute tolerance to his humorous 
 criticism of their personations. 
 
 "Mrs. Owlrich, your faded eyes should be shaded 
 by a wide-brimmed hat, instead you continually 
 choose tiny toques that emphasize your plebeian 
 
258 II 
 
 features. Don't, dear Madame Easture, wear pink 
 with your red hair. Try this black velvet and ivy. 
 See, are you not already in love with yourself? 
 Never, never. Miss Peanut, not over that little pert 
 nose. Soft wavy lines that melt and blend and call 
 no attention to any single feature." And thus he 
 worked and talked and as the walls did not repeat, 
 much wit and wisdom on personal adornment has 
 been lost to the world. Lightwing, during a few 
 short morning hours, was a laborious toiler, not 
 considering the degree of his work provided the 
 results were satisfactory. 
 
 As Lightwing never came in contact with his cus- 
 tomers, and as his customers would have as easily 
 conceived the identity of their milliner as that of his 
 Plutonic Majesty in disguise, his metier was safe. 
 The possibility of discovery was inconceivable. 
 Poinsette and his hobby was secure, lost as he was 
 to customers and employees alike. Whence he came 
 or whither, after office hours, he went, no one knew, 
 nor had it ever occurred to any to ask. Poinsette 
 was only one of many thousand among the fashion- 
 ables whose primary interests are as obscure as the 
 natural laws. Mrs. Poinsette alone knew, but with 
 her the secret was the sacred skeleton she would 
 shield with her last breath. Under such conditions 
 the fad was safe at home and abroad. 
 
 By noon Lightwing's was congested with a flow 
 of fashionable women, hungrily tempted by the 
 millinery seductions of Eastertide. With breed- 
 ing, alas, not uncommon in their world, they un- 
 civilly jostled each other in their savage desire for 
 
I T 259 
 
 personal attention. Tlie cultivated tact of the 
 saleswomen was taxed to its limit. What cares a 
 selfish customer if, under the veneer of practiced 
 smiles, the passions of the serving woman beat as 
 madly as her own unbridled ones? It never occurs 
 to her that she is one of many who have screwed 
 the nerves of the waiting woman in the inquisition 
 of unconscionable demand. Alas, for our points of 
 view! 
 
 "I should think that, after waiting on me so 
 often, you might put me on something a little less 
 trying than that abomination," a customer, not 
 over young, was saying, as petulantly, she threw 
 with no gentle fingers, the offending toque upon 
 the low console. 
 
 "But this is one of our best selling models, 
 madam. This is so different from the one you have 
 been wearing that you are not used to the lines. 
 Won't you let me try it on you once again? I'm 
 sure you will grow to like it." 
 
 "Never," cried the irate woman. "Fetch me that 
 green bird-nest looking thing." 
 
 "Very good, madam." 
 
 "Horrors, worse still, you haven't a decent look- 
 ing toque in the place; frights all." 
 
 With a defiant swing she started on an inspec- 
 tion of her own, having satisfied herself that the 
 saleswoman was vile natured and wouldn't take 
 the pains to look over the stock. After her volun- 
 teer voyage she returned, her arms laden with hats 
 which she held with such venom as to have made 
 the stuffed birds cry out could they have done so, 
 
260 IT 
 
 all to prove to the irritating saleswoman that there 
 were numbers of pretty hats did she but care to 
 make an effort. One by one she tried on successive 
 bonnets, flinging each down with increased con- 
 tempt. Suddenly she caught in one of the great 
 pier glasses the reflection of Mrs. Poinsette in 
 the very toque she had condemned. 
 
 "Bring me that hat," she cried excitedly. 
 
 "I can't, madam ; it's just been sold." 
 
 "By what right? It was my hat, I will have it! 
 You can make her another." 
 
 "I'll copy it as near as I can, madam, but that 
 is the imported model, and we cannot duplicate 
 the straw." 
 
 The now thoroughly angry customer replaced her 
 own hat with a peevish toss, jabbed a pin viciously 
 through the brim, did not stop to adjust her veil, 
 but seizing her chain of golden trinkets hurried 
 from the establishment. In another moment the 
 door was flung open again and she called back in a 
 voice tremulous with rage, "Make me that toque 
 and send it up this evening." 
 
 Why the purchase of women's finery generally 
 ends in sparring bouts must continually remain a 
 mystery. 
 
 The saleswoman is already busy with another 
 customer. 
 
 "I can't take off another dollar, madam, that is 
 the very lowest figure. This is a particular favorite 
 and we are selling them as fast as we make them 
 up." 
 
I T 261 
 
 "That's enough for me. I won't go dressed like 
 the rest of the sheep. My maid will bring down 
 my own feathers and lace, you can make me an 
 Encroyable. I'll send the print, copy it exactly, 
 and, mind you, I've measured the lace. Good day." 
 
 Up in the work-room two girls sitting side by 
 side are talking inaudibly. 
 
 "Confound it, Ida, this is the third time I've 
 faced this cussed thing. The stuff slips so and 
 fulls every time I get the second stitching round," 
 whispered Delia in a strained voice, strung to a 
 high nervous tension. 
 
 Ida carefully inventoried the room, noted the 
 preoccupation of the overseer and made a rapid ex- 
 change of work. The difficulty was overcome, both 
 girls' fingers flew, and soon a re-exchange of work 
 had taken place before the ogre's eyes lighted upon 
 them. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, dear, I should have screamed 
 aloud in another minute." 
 
 The other smiled kindly and continued her con- 
 versation. 
 
 "Delia, don't you love to wonder about the people 
 who wear these things?" 
 
 "Naw, I've wonders enough of my own, I ain't for 
 the fine world any more than it is for me." 
 
 "And I want to know all about it." 
 
 "So did Adam, and a fine reward he got for his 
 pains." 
 
 "For shame, Delia, don't be blasphemous." 
 
 "I'm not. Why is every one asliamed to speak 
 of him as a man, and he the greatest democrat ever 
 
262 IT 
 
 lived." The girl's thread knotted. Impatiently she 
 jerked it, breaking the strands and at the same 
 time tearing away a delicate galloon, while twitch- 
 ing the material in a manner threatening its entire 
 destruction. 
 
 "Careful, careful, Delia! I wouldn't give two 
 cents for your place if her ladyship spies you." 
 
 "Cuss the silly things anyway ! Why do women 
 want to make scarecrows of themselves. It must 
 amuse the angels ! Jerusalem, when I think of the 
 mush of this world it makes me sick." 
 
 "Put all your thoughts on your work, if any 
 should escape, make nice dreams and you'll be a 
 whole lot happier." 
 
 "So do I, but the dreams turn to live thoughts." 
 
 "What are live thoughts?" 
 
 "Oh, the live thoughts are the ones that make 
 your spine run chilly and sit on top of you at night 
 and loom up while you are eating and snap at you 
 most of the time." 
 
 "Pshaw, all of us have those, but you head them 
 o£f and each time you snub them, it counts to your 
 credit." 
 
 "May be, but I've got in an awful state. Then, 
 when I go home, besides mother, there's crippled 
 grandmother. What's to become of us if she goes 
 before I was born. Oh, dear! what a long time 
 on living is a question no more settled than it was 
 I've got to be old too !" 
 
 "Say, kid, wait till the time comes." 
 
 "I can't. Who cares how long we are dead, but 
 some one must care how long we are old. My 
 
I T 263 
 
 mother and grandmother have been old for nineteen 
 years and there has been a baby for every seven 
 years I've been alive. And dad can't walk." 
 
 Her companion nodded in sympathy. "It's just 
 choking, I know, if one lets it, but brooding don't 
 help ; just switch your thoughts. Suppose now this 
 bonnet was coming home to you, that it meant a 
 carriage, a reception, and a dinner in one of those 
 glassy uptown restaurants, all mirrors and green 
 bushes, white chesty waiters and sparkling people, 
 wouldn't you feel fine?" Ida dexterously twisted 
 a chiffon crown over a series of reeds, and by an 
 expert motion of her fingers the whole snapped 
 into place. 
 
 "You bet I would, and I'd look happier than they 
 do, too." 
 
 "We don't agree there. They have big trials to 
 fit them to their big way, you know nothing about. 
 I think they put a pretty good face on things, con- 
 sidering." 
 
 "Oh, gings! That's only because they are better 
 actors than we." 
 
 "I guess you've hit it there, beside they have to 
 cover a lot of envy; that's a big part of their game." 
 
 "All the same, I'd like a wedge of their life." 
 
 "Nonsense ; you only talk to please yourself, Ida." 
 
 "Eaise that brim a little on this side and flatten it 
 there," said the forewoman coming to Delia with 
 a large blue straw in her hand, "she's worn it but it 
 don't quite suit her. Hurry now, the lady is wait- 
 
264 IT 
 
 ing," and she walked away to the further end of the 
 room. 
 
 "Smell it," said the girl, holding it toward her 
 friend. "Ain't it lovely perfume? She must look 
 too pretty for anything in this. Wouldn't you like 
 to see her?" 
 
 "Well I guess. Let's try imagine what she's 
 like." 
 
 "I think," said Ida, "she has golden hair. Yes, 
 here's a tiny one sticking to the lining — first guess 
 right. Then I believe she lives in a grand house, 
 drives two horses, a black and a brown one, two 
 men on the box with bearskin hats in winter and 
 glossy ones in summer. When she walks she wears 
 a Japanese dog under her arm and a maid in the 
 rear, takes tea every da,y at five, skates at the rink, 
 and can buy most anything she sets her eyes on." 
 
 "Aren't you skipping about considerable? Why 
 not finish her up and have her do one thing at a 
 time?" 
 
 "Oh ! because I see her fioating so fast from place 
 to place. In Europe, in the South, on top of moun- 
 tains, sailing the seas, skimming everywhere, my 
 mind seems to chase her in seven league boots., but 
 she gets ahead of me all the time." 
 
 "Is the hat ready?" asked the forewoman return- 
 ing to the work bench. 
 
 Delia looked up, an overwhelming yearning in 
 her eyes, then as she rose with the hat, holding it 
 toward the forewoman she begged with an inten- 
 sity not to be resisted. 
 
IT 265 
 
 "Oh, Miss Ohadwick, please tell me, please," she 
 pleaded, "what the girl is like who has brought iu 
 this thing. Is she young, is she beautiful, is she 
 rich? Oh, do tell." 
 
 The woman curled her lips. "Rich! why she's 
 poor, and old, wears a yellow wig, is a cripple and 
 has to be wheeled in a chair when she comes here. 
 She has a Christmas present each year from a 
 wealthy friend, which she spends each spring on a 
 hat, her one pleasure. No, I guess she's not what 
 you imagine." 
 
 "So much for your smart guessing," laughed 
 Delia, as the woman disappeared through the door. 
 "And what becomes of those spring bonnets, do you 
 think? Are they hung on pegs along her room to 
 mark off a yearly happiness, or does she give them 
 away, or does she pull them to pieces, to trim 
 others, or axe they sold for groceries?" 
 
 The twain pondered the stern realities of the 
 customer in particular and the condition of that 
 outside world in general. So then, all the women 
 who came in the salesroom had not beautiful exist- 
 ences. For many minutes the two companions sat 
 silently busy. 
 
 "Oh, Ida, what chance is there for us? Suppose 
 something happened to us now on this very day 
 on our way home? Why, we've nothing left — just 
 the Island or the poor house !" 
 
 Ida put her hand on her friend's shoulder. 
 "Stop," she said under her breath, as soothingly as 
 was possible. 
 
266 IT 
 
 "Don't talk to me so; don't be kind to me. You 
 make me desperate. I can't stand this here much 
 longer, the wages is too low. I've got to pull out 
 and find something else. It's getting worse at home ; 
 I can see them growing thinner and thinner." 
 
 "Poor thing!" exclaimed Ida, "I didn't suppose 
 matters had got down like that, you've said noth- 
 ing about it all of late." 
 
 "Well, they have, and I'm going to make a great 
 jump." 
 
 "Where? What for? If you've made up your 
 mind to jump the worst half is over, it's deciding 
 things that's hard." 
 
 "I have," she replied excitedly, "put your head 
 over here, I'll whisper, I don't want the rest to hear, 
 I'm going to be an actress. I want to be dressed in 
 shiny spangles all over and lead a troop of girls 
 not quite so sparkling as myself down to the foot- 
 lights, where a gorgeous limelight will make me 
 wonderful. Then, as I stand there I want hundreds 
 of people to applaud and cheer till the whole build- 
 ing roars with sound. Oh, Ida, it seems to me when 
 I think of it, that I should like to die right there 
 with the splendidness all soaking into my heart." 
 
 Her friend was alarmed, so vehement had Delia 
 become that two bright round spots burned in either 
 cheek, her lips quivered, and her eyes on an imagin- 
 ary audience, glistened singularly. Her hands were 
 purple and her breath came short and irregular. 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Ida, "you pitiful dear!" She 
 gazed with sympathetic awe at her companion. 
 
 "Why do you call me that?" asked the other. 
 
IT 267 
 
 "Because, because," and she hesitated. "Oh, 
 darling, because I know so much more about it than 
 you." 
 
 The other looked at her narrowly, then seizing her 
 with impulsive fingers that pressed hard into her 
 flesh she cried, "Were you ever on the stage?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered softly. 
 
 "You, Ida! tell me, tell me," she cried, and her 
 breath was quick, "Oh, how could you ever have 
 left such glory when once you had entered it?" 
 
 "I thought too much of myself. I couldn't come 
 
 in close range with such dreadfulness, besides ," 
 
 she hesitated. 
 
 Her friend's hand upon her arm was making a 
 sore place. 
 
 "I couldn't be a toy for a lot of people I consid- 
 ered lower than me, and worse things, much worse. 
 It's awful. It eats in and you can't sleep for the 
 thought of it; it's unbearable." 
 
 "But why think of the dreadful things? Why not 
 think of the mass of people, the music and lights 
 and applause, and that they're all, all for you?" 
 
 "Those same people would shout just as loud if 
 they saw a bull killed." 
 
 "Wait," cried the girl, her hand catching hastily 
 at her breast, she rose quickly and left the room. 
 Ida's eyes followed her to the closing door ; then she 
 sighed, and dropped her head over her work. "Poor 
 little Delia; how much she has to learn! I sup- 
 pose she's gone out to cry." 
 
 Presently a young girl hurried to Ida's side and 
 bent close to her ear. 
 
268 IT 
 
 "Delia is lying in a faint in the cloak-room. You'd 
 better slip out to her. Miss Qhadwick has gone 
 down to the sales-room and won't see you. You're 
 safe, go." 
 
 Ida dropped her work and hurried to the little 
 closet where the work girls hung their wraps. There 
 on the board floor lay her friend. She lifted her hot 
 head gently to her lap, and as she did so, a limp 
 hand dropped and revealed a blood-soaked hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 "What's happened?" she asked, painfully trying 
 to rise, at the same time catching sight of the dyed 
 handkerchief. "Oh, that. You didn't know, did 
 you? I've had it some time. You won't tell them 
 here, will you, promise." Her friend could scarcely 
 restrain her sobs. 
 
 "What are you two doing here?" asked Miss 
 Ohadwick, breaking into the dressing-room with 
 ferret instinct. "No more tired fakes, please," she 
 said with little elegance. "Get back to your work, 
 both of you, or you'll know better next time," and 
 she slammed the door behind her. 
 
 Fainting turns are so common among the work- 
 ing class, little comment is made, and in fact at- 
 tacks are covered with such loyalty by companions 
 that the principals are kept in ignorance. Besides, 
 is not reputed delicate health a stigma against all 
 work hands? Ida led her insistent friend back to 
 the work-room. A telegraphic look of enlightenj 
 ment was sufficient to band the whole room as a 
 protectorate. Times innumerable the work of an 
 
IT 269 
 
 ill girl had been passed surreptitiously beneath the 
 benches to be finished by sympathetic champions. 
 
 "Ida," said the forewoman, coming to her side 
 while she tied the strings of a box, "take this to 
 Mrs. Poinsette; she must have it immediately, the 
 messengers are all out. After you have delivered 
 it, you may go home, it will be too late to return 
 to-day." 
 
 Ida obediently took the box. 
 
 "Good-bye, Delia," she whispered tenderly to her 
 companion as she rose to obey, "I'll come in this 
 evening to see you. Good-bye." 
 
 That evening when Ida arrived at the attic where 
 Delia and her family lived, she was already too 
 late. The girl's young spirit had passed along. 
 
 Alas, there is little time for the indulgence of 
 sentiment among the laboring. Once Ida's tears 
 were dried and her sobs hushed so that she might 
 trust herself to the street, she hastened home, for 
 there was now work for her to do before she might 
 crawl to her narrow bed to cry herself to sleep. 
 
 There was still more to do on the hat, for Mrs. 
 Poinsette, after again trying on the toque, had not 
 been satisfied with a certain knot of ribbon and 
 had instructed the messenger that she must take 
 it back. As it was Ida's particular duty to change 
 the knot she took the box to her own home, where 
 she could make the simple alteration without the 
 necessity of returning it to the shop, and leave it at 
 Mrs. Poinsette's on her way the next morning. It 
 was early morning when Ida arrived at the Poin- 
 settes with her box. Instead of going to the front 
 
270 IT 
 
 door she rang the basement bell, Jean opened the 
 door, and saw Ida for the first time. Something 
 in their attuned vibrations harmonized. They im- 
 mediately became intimate, as frequently do those 
 who are sore at heart. ' 
 
 When they had exchanged numerous girlish con- 
 fidences, Jean asked, "And do you like millinery?" 
 
 "I just love it. Why don't you try it?" 
 
 An inspiration suddenly seized the girl. "Do you 
 suppose it would be possible for me to get a place 
 in your shop ?" she panted. The fervency of Jean's 
 question was overpowering. 
 
 At first Ida shook her head. She had for the 
 moment forgotten, in another second the ready 
 tears flowed, and between her sobs she related the 
 sudden and pathetic demise of her young friend. 
 "You might possibly get her place if you tried for it 
 right away. You'd have to come along with me 
 though, there'll be a string of hands applying as 
 soon as they advertise. I've got to hurry away now 
 — it's nearly eight." 
 
 "Wait," commanded Jean feverishly, and flew 
 to Dougo. "Please, please, Dougo, deary," she 
 pleaded, "let me off this morning for a little while, 
 I'll be back as soon as I possibly can come. I'll tell 
 you why and all about it when I return." The girl 
 was already pinning on her hat. Dougo would 
 have done anything on earth for Jean; the good 
 woman was pained beyond telling for the poor 
 child whose troubles she made her own. Her wise 
 head was pretty accurate in her surmises; she al- 
 most guessed Jean's purpose. She had been greatly 
 
IT 271 . 
 
 alarmed at the girl's grief, knowing that no sorrow 
 was going to slip easily from her noble little heart. 
 She consented freely, as she would have consented 
 to anything Jean might have asked her. 
 
 "Sure honey, the oatmeal is on and the bro- 
 chettes is skewered; begone with ye." 
 
 Jean was back within the hour, her cheeks still 
 haggard, as they had been since her return in the 
 cab, when she had seen Ribbons, but there was a 
 relieved expression that touched the tender heart 
 of the woman. All the "elastic," as Dougo called 
 it, had gone out of Jean, and in its place had come 
 a settled look of misery, so poignant that even the 
 rest of the servants, with characteristic delicacy, 
 showed respect for her trouble. One and all had 
 instinctively realized that Jean was of unusual 
 clay, and were now genuinely sorry for the refine- 
 ment of her distress which sought so heroically to 
 justify the apparent neglect of her lover. 
 
 "Can't you tell me yet," asked Dougo, her pity 
 bubbling from her eyes, "has Ribbons since his 
 fall " 
 
 "His fall!" echoed Jean. "Oh, Dougo! his rise! 
 Don't you know, don't they all know?" 
 
 But the woman showed no enlightenment. 
 
 "Wlhy," cried the excited girl, then suddenly 
 growing crimson, with an effort she controlled her- 
 self. It was not known then! If not, it was his 
 wish, his secret, he must have reasons, and she who 
 loved him so that she could give him up, she was on 
 the verge of revealing his secret, his identity ! She 
 choked back her dismay and with diflScuIty spoke. 
 
272 IT 
 
 "No, Dougo, dear, I can't tell even you. I'm all 
 hurt inside, but it wasn't his fault, not that way, 
 not the way you think. Ribbons is the best man 
 living. Nothing can ever change that," 
 
 In a moment or two she resumed : 
 
 "Dougo," she said, with as great dignity as Mrs. 
 Poinsette might assume, "the mountains have risen 
 again before me. These new ones are higher far 
 than those up north, but I'm going to climb them. 
 I'm going to get to the very top of every mountain 
 before me. When I have satisfied myself that there 
 is no mountain too high for me to climb I'll be 
 satisfied with myself, and if I am ever satisfied with 
 myself, I shall be ab|e to satisfy others." 
 
 Her hand trembled so violently as it rested on 
 the table, that she was obliged to take a chair for 
 support. 
 
 "Bless your heart," began Dougo, wrung by the 
 girl's singular suffering. "I " 
 
 "Stop, Dougo, I must finish." Then she rapidly 
 told the woman how she had gone to Lightwing's 
 and had been engaged as liner. "I've got to be there 
 early to-morrow morning, and I'm not even going 
 to see Mrs. Poinsette to discharge myself. I shall 
 write her a note and apologize as well as I know 
 how, but, oh, Dougo, dear," she cried, flinging her- 
 self upon her friend's bosom, "I can't go up into 
 her beautiful room yet, for, oh, Dougo, I've been 
 so ambitious, so crazy to have it all, all the things 
 she has, but you see, dear, I do not know enough. 
 I was very ignorant, I had so little knowledge of 
 requirements. Up in the mountaiusi we have no 
 
IT 273 
 
 way of judging social proportions. We are born 
 so simple, so free that each one of us feels as good 
 as our neighbor. The one who works the hardest 
 gets the biggest farm. It's only a matter of persever- 
 ance and health. But down here it's different. A 
 queer twist gets in the brain and makes one see 
 crooked, and if one don't see as the rest do, why one 
 don't understand, Dougo dear, and it makes trouble 
 and almost breaks one's heart in the learning. All 
 of us who serve have hearts and feelings, just as if, 
 — ^just as if we were not servants, and I can't see, 
 Dougo dear, why it makes us any the worse because 
 we are servants. Does it not make us all the better? 
 Does it not teach us a thousand things that we are 
 the richer for knowing? Have we not practical 
 knowledge that we would never otherwise have, that 
 those we work for never have? Are we not more 
 unselfish? Do we not learn the worth of subjection 
 and all the qualities that make perfect beings? I 
 can't, I can't understand it all." 
 
 "No more can I, girlie, when I look at it as you 
 do. God put His Son through the ordeal of serving 
 and it didn't hurt Him none, He talked to the rich 
 and poor alike, He went into their homes and was 
 as good to one as the other, there were no sets for 
 Him. When we're all heaped up heads and tails, as 
 we be in accidents, all corpses is alike." 
 
 Jean remained silent. 
 
 Dougo resumed. "But, honey, it ain't right for 
 you to go so sudden and not give notice. It will 
 count against your recommendation. It will be 
 hard for you to get another place." 
 
274 IT 
 
 "I have one already, Dougo," said Jean, kissing 
 her friend, "and you would not be a real friend if 
 you couldn't do me a service and take the brunt of 
 my offence on your own shoulders." Jean kissed 
 her again and went slowly upstairs to remove her 
 things and Dougo shook her devoted head. The 
 kitchen that evening was very solemn. Wrights, 
 Dougo and Statia were depressed. They one and 
 all were fond of Jean, beyond their liking for the 
 girl, she affected them with a sense of unusual 
 worth, which in some way put her on a separate 
 footing. They felt in her a superiority which they 
 could not well define. But she was disappointing 
 them now. One and all disapproved her sudden 
 departure. 
 
 It was a breach of their code that lay beneath 
 their high conception of her character, and they 
 were grieved that she should in this instance fall 
 short, and yet somehow there was an underlying 
 sense that anything she might do was right. To 
 Magenta the girl was gall and wormwood. She illy 
 concealed her satisfaction in the unusual manner 
 and fact of the girl's departure. She would at that 
 moment have liked to go to her mistress and tell 
 her of the girl's leaving. 
 
 "But your wages, child, you've got to ask for 
 them," said Dougo as final persuasion. 
 
 "No," replied Jean, with tightening lips, "I can't 
 do it, I should break down. Mrs. Poinsette has been 
 so lovely. I shall write her a note and mail it." 
 She could not explain to them her changed mental 
 attitude. 
 
IT 275 
 
 Then bravely putting her ache to one side she 
 summoned what courage she had left and did her 
 best to cheer the good people who had been her 
 world for so many months. She told them amusing 
 anecdotes of her mountain life, of cunning habits of 
 the wood creatures, and finally bade them "good- 
 bye" with as much light-heartedness as she could 
 muster, promising to come often to see them and 
 that they would always be her first thoughts. Next 
 morning in the place of a girl scarce buried, Jean 
 sat sewing, her pretty head bent low over her work 
 that galling tears almost obscured. 
 
 "Pull yourself together if you can," whispered 
 Ida at her side. "We dasn't cry — ^it might spot the 
 work." 
 
 That day was the most trying in all Jean's life. 
 Her thoughts surged about her in wilful waves. 
 Frequently the room seemed to fall, fall with her 
 down through space. When, after weary, unlimit- 
 able hours, the day was finally ended, Jean went 
 with Ida to the tenement where she lived. Her new 
 friend offered to share her room, but Jean could not 
 bring herself to occupy a bed with this comparative 
 stranger and took instead for a modest sum a tiny 
 bedroom adjoining Ida's. With strict economy the 
 two girls managed to exist. All deprivation was 
 trifling as compared to the heartbreaking separation 
 from Eibbons. How she longed to hear, how she 
 hungered for a line from him. But she had forbid- 
 den him all communication. Several times, she had 
 learned of messages sent to her, but a rigid law of 
 the establishment prohibited all outside communica- 
 
276 IT 
 
 tion with the working girls. Jean was secure in her 
 chosen hiding. 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette had sent her her wages with a 
 word of reproof at the manner of her departure. 
 She forgave her only because of her inexperience in 
 the ways of mistress and maid . She had an affec- 
 tion for her, and hoped for her ultimate success. 
 So the tenor of Jean's life flowed monotonously, but 
 always there was the craving for sight of Kibbons, 
 though down deep in her heart she allowed to linger 
 the sweet trust that sooner or later things would 
 right themselves, and that the righting depended 
 mostly on herself — an incentive that bore her up 
 when hours were longest, hours now grown to 
 weeks. 
 
 The deft handling of her needle, her excellent 
 taste and frequent original suggestions as to the 
 adjusting of feathers and flowers soon won her an 
 enviable name in the workroom. Often work was 
 transferred from other hands to hers, and because 
 of her tactful self-effacement, never did any of all 
 the girls openly resent these tributes to her skill. 
 Though secretly pleased and pardonably elated, 
 no one would ever have suspected that the girl 
 passionately interpreted this present prowess as a 
 promise of greater acquirements. 
 
 "Who posed this feather and knotted this rib- 
 bon?" A man's voice sounded with startling effect 
 down the room, a man in silken gown holding in 
 his right hand a large Leghorn from which drooped 
 a long gray plume. Jean looked up, her body sud- 
 denly frozen. Mr. Poinsette stood within a few 
 
IT 277 
 
 inches of her, gazing searchingly across the room. 
 What did it mean? Her heart beat so that she 
 knew others must hear it. The man repeated his 
 question. "Who posed this feather?" 
 
 A heavy silence prevailed. The big clock ticked 
 hard. A scissors fell to the floor. 
 
 "Well?" he questioned, good humoredly, and for 
 the first time in the memory of any of his hands, 
 he smiled. The smile was encouraging; a bright- 
 eyed girl at the further end of the room pointed 
 to Jean. 
 
 "Her, sir; Jean Cummings." 
 
 Distressed by the discovery of Mr. Poinsette, 
 vibrating from head to foot, Jean dropped her 
 head. 
 
 "Do you mean this girl?" he asked of his in- 
 formant, lightly touching Jean upon the shoulder. 
 Jean trembled beneath his hand. 
 
 "Miss Cummings," he said, and the tenure of 
 his voice commanded attention. 
 
 Jean summoned all her courage and lifted her 
 eyes to the man above her. Instantly her aston- 
 ishment became Poinsette's, who stood bewildered. 
 He saw her face for the first time, and this same 
 beautiful face had dashed past him in his own 
 hall. 
 
 Fortunately he was man enough of the world to 
 cover his embarrassment on the moment. He be- 
 came importantly grave. 
 
 "Miss Cummings," he said, "the girl who did 
 this is cleverer than I. You have chic. I commend 
 you. I will speak to you later. Kindly step to 
 
278 IT 
 
 my room at noon." He gave a direction or two 
 to the head workwoman, nodded kindly to the 
 hands in general, and strode from the room with 
 even greater hauteur than usual. 
 
 The door was scarcely closed when a hum of 
 stringent voices broke into pleased or envious pro- 
 fessions. There was now reason for unbridled envy 
 and jealousy. 
 
 "Gee, but some dogs are lucky !" 
 
 "There's that pin-feathered goslin gone and done 
 something that any of us might have, only it just 
 happened to be Jier good luck to have him notice 
 it." 
 
 But Jean was too much absorbed in momentous 
 things to notice how readily human passions arise, 
 how .quickly kindness turns to hate. 
 
 "Then why didn't you smarties do it?" asked 
 another girl, who was secretly enamoured of the 
 sweet new Jean. 
 
 "What will he do to her, do you think, at noon?" 
 
 "Kiss her, or chuck her," vulgarly retorted a 
 squint-eyed girl. 
 
 "Quiet in the work-room," called Miss Chadwick, 
 entering with a theatre toque for which a customer 
 was waiting. 
 
 The room subsided into a low wave of gossip, 
 the subject of which it was easy to conceive. And 
 Jean! Was it a hallucination? Had she really 
 •seen her old employer? or was the constant pain 
 she bore affecting her mind? Occupied with a 
 thousand bewildering thoughts, the noon hour 
 came all too soon. The ordeal was at hand, had 
 
IT 279 
 
 to be met. Courage. Here was one of the many 
 difficult situations she must face, if she lived down 
 all the seamy places that would be constantly 
 cropping up. 
 
 Jean had to knock twice. No one could have 
 heard the first knock. An agreeable Voice an- 
 swered, and Jean, before she could run, as she now 
 mshed most fervently to do", was instead inside the 
 great sanctuary. 
 
 Mr. Poinsette rose to meet her and drew a chair 
 foward. She thanked him, but stood resting her 
 well shaped arm against it. 
 
 Not a detail of the girl's neat and perfectly 
 fitting dress was lost on the man, nor certain 
 quaint artistic touches in its adjustment. 
 
 "You have great ability," he began. After a con- 
 siderable pause he continued: "Were you my 
 kitchen maid? Were you the girl who ran through 
 the hall the day T went to the club, the day my 
 coachman was injured?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," she replied, her eyes sightless upon 
 certain scraps that littered the floor. 
 
 "Did you know I owned this place?" he ques- 
 tioned further, his anxiety not escaping her. 
 
 "No, sir," she again replied. "Do you?" with 
 some astonishment. 
 
 He was silent, his thoughts running like a mill- 
 race. Finally he made his decision. 
 
 "I am Lightwing," he confessed. "No one knows 
 him in my 'house, none of my servants, no one at 
 my club." 
 
280 I T 
 
 "I understand," murmured Jean, scarcely above 
 a whisper. 
 
 Again the room was silent. Then very simply 
 he said: 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 In quite a different key he resumed. I am 
 greatly pleased with the arrangement of that 
 feather. There is no doubt of your taste. You 
 have the divine aflatus. I want such a person in 
 my salesroom. Will you please return to-morrow 
 morning in that capacity?" 
 
 "Oh, sir ! Oh, Mr. Lightwing !" she exclaimed, her 
 eloquent eyes expressing at that moment what the 
 exasperating, halting words would not. 
 
 Ignoring her thanks, with business-like brevity, 
 he explained to her certain professional qualities 
 necessary for the salesroom. 
 
 "The rest," he concluded, "I leave to your in- 
 tuition. You are reliable ; I am not often mistaken 
 in my choice. Go home and make what prepar- 
 ations your new office requires. I perfer that my 
 saleswomen wear long skirts, the length gives bet- 
 ter proportion to the hats, and it is often desirable 
 for saleswomen to try them on. I allow twenty- 
 five dollars for skirts, anything over and above 
 that must be paid out of your salary." ' "' 
 
 He held his hand toward her. "I will not ques- 
 tion you concerning your hasty departure from my 
 house; you possibly had your reasons; I shall re- 
 spect them. There is now a different bond between 
 us. You must be on duty in the morning. Good- 
 bye." 
 
IT 281 
 
 Aside from the ecstasy of this phenomenal promo- 
 tion was the exquisite delight in the purchase of 
 that her first long dress. Jean was still sufficiently 
 the girl to be highly wrought over the excite- 
 ment of its choice. She found a fine remnant at 
 a bargain and so was able to get a good silk for 
 what she fancied she must give for a cheaper ma- 
 terial. She sat up most of the night at work. It 
 was finished by morning, and no one in the sales- 
 room displayed a neater nor trimmer figure than 
 Jean in her long dull dress. 
 
 Jean's rapid sucess was unparalleled. Customers 
 would wait till she could serve them. She made 
 many friends among these customers and enemies 
 among the jealous employees; but she was content, 
 for she realized that she was now on the royal 
 road that was eventually to lead to greater, higher 
 opportunties. Oh, the blessing of the work now! 
 How else could she have stood the incessant long- 
 ing, the constant thoughts of "Eibbons," as she 
 still liked to think of him. As soon as the press- 
 ing hours of the day were over, back would flood 
 this dearest thought with overwhelming intensity. 
 Was he quite recovered? Did he still wear the 
 black patch? Was his father as tyrannical as 
 ever? Then would mount her pride of Eibbons, 
 of his manhood, and she would stand his cham- 
 pion. Only as far as he considered it his duty 
 would he submit to his father — of that she was cer- 
 tain; then he would assert himself. Oh, how mas- 
 terful he could be! 
 
282 IT 
 
 In golden succession the hundred happy hours 
 they had spent together unfurled. His teachings, 
 his cleverness, and all she had profited through 
 him was realized with passionate delight. She 
 bought a paper each day and scanned the social 
 columns to see what he did, to find traces of his 
 occupation, his doings, his whereabouts, and often 
 her search was rewarded, for among the smartest 
 people, the finest houses in town, she found his 
 name. Time and time again fashionable women 
 who came in of a morning to buy hats had been his 
 hostesses, possibly only the evening previous. Oh, 
 how she wished she dared ask them of him ! How 
 she cried out in her hungry heart for word of him, 
 yet for all the world she would make no sign; 
 he should be free to do and go as he chose. All 
 the bitterness in her that had welled up when the 
 old man had insulted her, now for the sake of 
 Eibbons, for the love within her, had melted, and 
 instead, she found herself trying to accept the old 
 man's views, seeing from his standpoint, measur- 
 ing his ambitions. Being able to reason thus, Jean 
 was content. 
 
IT 283 
 
 OHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 When Jean begged her lover to leave her and 
 go back to his home, he did so because he loved 
 her better than himself. But the fierce battle had 
 been an injury. He was ordered back to bed, there 
 to remain, else, as the doctor scolded, "we'll have 
 all our work undone." 
 
 Days followed of troubled thought. Madison 
 had to meet and decide momentous questions. His 
 father made no secret of his dominant social am- 
 bitions. It was the old, old story again — of pa- 
 rental obsession. Was he right? Was a son of 
 wealth and position under bonds? 
 
 Madison rehearsed all his parent's arguments, 
 and came out from the rehearsal as simple-minded 
 as when he plunged into the quandary. He viewed 
 the situation with sanity, recognizing his parent's 
 legitimate desire for a brilliant match, especially 
 for offspring whose veins should carry the coun- 
 try's bluest blood. Was it not best to enter the 
 world of fashion again and test himself for Jean's 
 sake, for his father's, for his sake? 
 
 The status of a coachman and that of an eligible 
 were two different planes. Five years ago he was 
 little better than a boy with untested temptations, 
 now the world might have allurements. There was 
 not the slightest doubt of his love, his passion, for 
 Jean. It was, however, wise to carve down to its 
 finest edge this attachment of two persons untried 
 
284 IT 
 
 by social comparisons. Could they both stand the 
 test of that leveling process? Jean of the kitchen, 
 Jean gliding after dark through the streets, her 
 pretty face a few inches away from his, might be 
 quite a different Jean when brought into the blaze 
 and glare of social footlights. Was his father right 
 in wishing to compromise? He wanted his son 
 to wait, to see all there was of life. Surely that 
 was not too much to ask in exchange for the en- 
 viable family lineage, the great fortune that 'had 
 fortunately turned its tide in their favor. It was 
 as if he must begin again his social career, since 
 memory had blotted away the years. 
 
 Madison listened with laudable patience to his 
 father's insistence, tried faithfully to throw him- 
 self in the older man's schemes, and as he listened 
 he could not but feel the justice of 'his father's 
 words. When left, however, to his own opinions, 
 he became impatient. Then the temptation grew 
 strong to make off with Jean and so end all doubt. 
 And why not? For as yet no one knew he was 
 Madison returned. 
 
 His father desired to make the announcement 
 himself at a club dinner which he intended giving 
 in his son's honor. The incident at the club was 
 already a forgotten incident, if in fact any one of 
 the members cared to remember. The president 
 they knew was emotional and his unwonted feeling 
 over the injured coachman was pardonable in a 
 man already nearing desuetude. Possibly Poin- 
 sette's coachman did strikingly resemble his lost 
 son. There was no accounting for the vagaries of 
 
IT 285 
 
 old men. Several times Madison was on the ex- 
 treme verge of decided action. He would marry 
 Jean and no one in his set be the wiser. It would 
 hurt the old man, but then, had he not been hurt 
 by his father's selfishness years ago? Then his 
 strong resistance would give way; an overwhelm- 
 longing to heap upon Jean all this present luxury, 
 this wealth and family prestige that was his to con- 
 fer. Then back would wave the possibilities of her 
 deficiencies. He was like a fisherman lost in the 
 fog, and a throb in his head would warn him that 
 the matter was becoming threateningly dangerous 
 for the recovery he so heartily prayed for. "The 
 only way out is to put ourselves to the test," he de- 
 cided, and so the matter rested. 
 
 At the first consent from the doctor, Madison 
 jumped into a cab, dismissed it within a block of 
 the Poinsettes', and rang the basement bell. It 
 was answered by Dougo, whom fortunately he 
 found alone. Madison held the woman's hand, in- 
 credulously listening. 
 
 "And it's true. Ribbons, it's true; I don't know 
 where she has gone. It would make me sick," she 
 added quickly, for this intelligence had driven 
 Ribbons to a chair for support — "only for Jean 
 being so level-headed. She promised to let me know 
 in time. Jean will do the right thing, and if for 
 some reason I don't know, she wants to keep her 
 place a secret; I ain't no right to torment her." 
 
 But Madison's ethics were impetuous. It was 
 conceivable enough that the servants should not 
 
286 I T 
 
 know Jean's whereabouts, but it was a different 
 matter to him. Suppose she were sick, or in a 
 place where she was ill treated ! The thought was 
 maddening. He would find her or perish. Dougo 
 admired such spirit. What he did, he promised 
 her, should be done with delicacy. This delicacy he 
 immediately put to the test. Dougo unravelled 
 under his cunning questioning all unconsciously 
 to herself. Jean's disappearance was simultaneous 
 with the appearance of a girl who brought Mrs. 
 Poinsette's hats. 
 
 Madison had his clue. He found an excuse to 
 remain till Magenta should come to the kitchen. 
 Therefore, without the slightest suspicion of either 
 of the two women having revealed anything, before 
 Madison departed he knew that Mrs. Poinsette had 
 recently bought a hat at Lightwing's. 
 
 "Girls," he said gaily, as he took his leave, "you 
 are going to hear of me soon, and you'll be sur- 
 prised. Mr. Poinsette filled my place the day after 
 my accident. You knew I was not coming back. 
 I have another place," he chuckled. "I shan't say 
 'good-bye,' for I shall see you both again." 
 
 Magenta caught him by the sleeve and followed 
 him to the door. Her mind worked rapidly; she 
 would make a final effort to fascinate this hand- 
 some man who was now something better than a 
 coachman, though she knew not what. He saw 
 she expected some tribute. 
 
 "What lovely eyes you have. Magenta." 
 
 "The same I've always had," she replied, slant- 
 
IT 287 
 
 ing them to their corners, "only you make them 
 sparkle more than any one else." 
 
 He laughed, waved his hand, and disappeared, 
 followed by an angry gleam from those same orbs, 
 that now looked particularly dangerous. 
 
 Magenta was forgotten as soon as the pavement 
 was reached, for Madison was very busy consider- 
 ing a course of action. He had promised Jean not 
 to follow her, but he could not live in ignorance of 
 her whereabouts. He therefore straightway went 
 back to his house and busied himself the remainder 
 of the day in planning how he should see Jean and 
 do so without her knowledge. 
 
 At six that evening he posted himself in a nearby 
 doorway and watched the throng of girls as they 
 left the side entrance of Lightwing's. He was fin- 
 ally rewarded. Jean issued from the narrow open- 
 ing in company with a girl he heard her call "Ida." 
 When at a safe distance, Madison followed and 
 satisfied himself at least she was not living alone, 
 for her friend accompanied her into a respectable 
 looking tenement. 
 
 Had Madison suspected the identity of the pro- 
 prietor of Lightwing's, or in fact that a man pre- 
 sided over this establishment of hats, his course 
 would have been easy, but Madison was not in- 
 telligent in the history of shops, or of their manage- 
 ment, so he did probably as wise a thing as if he 
 had known. He set about gaining the collusion 
 of the girl called "Ida." His purpose was easily 
 attained. What girl does not welcome a love plot? 
 Jean's romance was a delightful adventure, and as 
 
288 IT 
 
 Ida was genuinely interested in the welfare of her 
 new friend, the task was supremely exciting, its 
 nervous chills better than any written novel. So 
 the two plotters worked well and secretly, and little 
 else mattered to Madison in the comfort of his 
 security and knowledge of all that was happening 
 in the life of Jean, who had placed him under the 
 most sacred promises of yielding to her wishes till 
 the time came, if ever, when she might release him. 
 
 The great dinner was finally given at which 
 Mr. Madison announced the return of his son. AH 
 the world knew that Andrew was restored to his 
 father. The few members who remembered the 
 incident in the club hall were under bonds of se- 
 crecy concerning the incident of the commanding 
 coachman who had driven the Poinsettes' turnouts. 
 
 Now succeeded a round of fetes. Father and 
 son were wined and feasted. No entertainments 
 amounted to much with designing mammas, at 
 which Madison did not deign to appear. Women's 
 eyes grew brighter when he spoke to them, girls' 
 cheeks blushed rosier, and smart men filled their 
 lungs fuller if he tapped them on the back. So 
 popular was he, so bright, so interested, that his 
 father once more took courage, congratulating him- 
 self on his diplomacy, on his successfully working 
 schemes. It was not going, after all, to be so dif- 
 ficult to marry him to a girl he himself should 
 choose, a girl already in his mind's eye, one who 
 would adorn a palace, who would preside over this 
 enviable dynasty with all the grace and dignity of 
 an empress. Thus in feasting and pleasures did a 
 
IT 289 
 
 wliole year roll by, and when again the spring broke 
 matters stood, much the same. Mothers still hope- 
 fully gracious welcomed him as eagerly as ever. 
 
 The days were again growing warm, the jonquils 
 in the park had faded and given place to formal 
 beds about the cafes. From hot-houses specimen 
 plants were plunged in the shady parts to rest. 
 Week-end parties were gathered at the summer 
 homes prior to hasty trips abroad. 
 
 "Would you like to run over for July and Au- 
 gust?" asked Mr. Madison of his son one sultry 
 evening as they sat in the little glass terrace at 
 the rear of the big dining-room. 
 
 Andrew started. He had been so comfortable 
 serenely drifting along these renewed and pleas- 
 antly smooth paths he desired no further change. 
 He had been as fresh and easily entertained as 
 a college boy. The contrast of the past few years 
 made the present a delicious realization. He was 
 the pet of his world, boyishly acquiescent to all it 
 offered him, and best of all Jean he might see any 
 day, and every day at six without her suspicion, 
 like the prince of the fairy book. Now came a 
 proposition that was like an icy douche in his face. 
 
 "I hadn't thought of it," he responded with a 
 lazy yawn. "It's been so bully to be with you 
 again, dad, and have all the good things once more^ 
 Let me think." He rose somewhat hastily and 
 gazed off across the wide square, his thoughts im- 
 mediately occupied with Jean. 
 
 The little girl had forbidden him to seek her, had 
 refused to see him, but had promised he should 
 
290 IT 
 
 know of her whereabouts. Her pride had been 
 grievously wounded, but aside from all that he 
 knew was the revelation of his identity holding 
 him at bay. His position frightened her. The reali- 
 zation of the chasm, his present position, placed 
 between them was, he realized, an overwhelming 
 obstacle. How different he would seem to her, 
 trained as he was to the companionship of smart 
 women ! How far, far away must he of a sudden 
 have become. Madison read her thoughts as legibly 
 as if she had cried them aloud. With all the 
 womanly sacrifice of which she was capable, she 
 would give him the benefit of all doubts of her as 
 a fitting life companion. She would weigh with 
 consummate nicety the heights to which she was 
 not yet ascended, not yet polished to that rounded 
 perfection of the women on the planes where Madi- 
 son walked. He knew that there were nights of 
 sleepless consternation, of unselfish willingness to 
 relinquish him, if it were for his good. She would 
 break her heart for sake of him, and devotedly 
 resign all the dearest hopes that had made her 
 life so full, so wonderfully happy. It was because 
 of his knowledge of her that he acquiesced so long 
 to her wishes, that he had done as she would have 
 him. For this reason he had taken up with his 
 old world friends, that she might hear of him as a 
 social light and be proud that such a one had been 
 her lover, that she had won where others had failed. 
 He understood her feminine side. On the other 
 hand, would it not be well to measure his own 
 frailty by her standards? Perhaps he had not 
 
IT 291 
 
 rightly calculated the strength of his love as againsi 
 the allurements of wealth and caste. So he had 
 entered the lists, all to no avail, for the quests had 
 only proved the depth of his affection. Jean still 
 held his heart against all the women he met. 
 
 He had to keep himself in hiding from her. 
 therefore he felt no qualms because of the glimpse 
 he had of her each day, nor his secret knowledge, 
 through Ida, of her welfare. Now suddenly, in 
 this wholly delightful existence, came an uncal- 
 culated proposition. His father wished him to go 
 abroad! It would place the ocean between them. 
 Dreadful! He could not and would not suffer 
 that. As he pictured the steamer's widening the 
 distances between himself and Jean, his heart sank 
 within him. The feeling was unbearable. He must 
 find some plausible 'excuse, else put his father off 
 without arousing his suspicion. Even now at times 
 he felt his parent's half distrust ; perhaps this pro- 
 posed trip was an active sign, though the old patri- 
 cian dignity forbade all questioning. Madison's 
 brain reeled. He mentally ran the gamut of all 
 ingenious invention, of plausible subterfuges, but 
 all to little purpose. He recognized the futility. 
 The old man was testing the situation. He decided 
 to see Jean at all hazards. Nothing under the 
 firmament could drag him from the city's asphalt 
 while she remained at Lightwing's. He grew des- 
 perate as he weighed the possibilities of separation, 
 and as he weighed, so did his affection and pride 
 of her increase. All the belles in the world might 
 go hang, there was nothing to equal the soft sweet 
 
292 IT 
 
 womanly charm of his little love. He was a man; 
 it was hard to understand at times her patience. 
 The old man might storm, might order him away, 
 might even disinherit. Well, so be it. His two 
 hands he had, and all his strength; he could face 
 the world again as he had before ; and with love and 
 Jean to help him work, to accomplish, to arrive, the 
 striving would be a dear toil. He had pledged 
 himself to suffer purgatory rather than disobey 
 Jean. Now by a clever plan his parent had out- 
 witted him. SuflSce it, he would not place him- 
 self in the light of a coward, at least not with her. 
 He would go to her, cast himself on her mercy and 
 beg her to marry him, then hand in hand they'd 
 meet the world together, conquer it and hold it for 
 their own. 
 
 If Jean was passing through troubled waters, 
 surely they were piling high against her lover! 
 
 He sprang to Ms feet. It was no longer possible 
 to remain -inactive. He would hunt up Ida; she had 
 at least her blunt instinct. Her common sense 
 might help him. His pulse beat hard, his hands 
 shook, his head whirled. 
 
 "Orease," he said to his valet, as the man handed 
 him his gloves and cane, "have all my clothes out 
 when I return; the shelves and chests are full, 
 they've not been overhauled in years. I want to 
 go over them. I presume there'll be a lot of stuff to 
 get rid of." 
 
 "Very good, sir," answered the man in a respect- 
 ful whisper, as he held the door wide for his master. 
 
IT 293 
 
 Driving hastily uptown, he waited in his usual 
 place for Ida, and as he waited the scene between 
 his father, Jean and himself recurred to him as it 
 had hundreds of times before. It came to him 
 now with singular vividness. How magnificent she 
 had been when she returned to his father and with 
 the dignity of a queen had placed him on a lower 
 level than her own by commanding him to open 
 the door. He regretted he had not done as he 
 should have done, forced his parent to his knees 
 and asked him there and then to beg her pardon, 
 but he had done as he knew she would have him 
 do, and for her sake he had submitted to both. 
 
 Ida emerged from a narrow door as his cab 
 stopped at the curb. He hastily sought the por^ 
 tecting corner of a show-case, where they were in 
 the habit of meeting for their scant interviews. 
 The girl saw him and hurried forward; she had 
 news of great moment. With a quick motion she 
 drew him unceremoniously into a friendly passage- 
 way. Madison grew suddenly dizzy, for there was 
 Jean, and with Jean was a particularly smart- 
 looking young man. Madison had never considered 
 the present contingency. The sight of a man with 
 her contracted the muscles of his hands; involun- 
 tarily they doubled; he would have reduced this 
 man to pulp without further hesitation. Ida lifted 
 a guarding hand in time. 
 
 "Don't you be no idiot. He's stuck on her all 
 right, but she wouldn't give a switch for him. He's 
 just the bookkeeper." 
 
 Madison's lips relaxed. 
 
294 IT 
 
 "Mercy me, men is only scum to her. They're 
 bound to buzz around her; she's too pretty to go 
 unnoticed. But she ain't taking stock in no honey 
 words; she's just polite and ladylike to all of 'em, 
 while underneath her smiles it's just as if she had 
 a pair of tongs handy to shove 'em off if they 
 come closer than pleases her. Jean's awful high 
 up. All of us feel it. It's something inside her. 
 It don't make you mad; you only wish you could 
 be like her. It's a kind of loftiness you don't want 
 to swat." 
 
 A visible smile relaxed Madison's lips. 
 
 "We've a half holiday. Jean's going to see Dougo. 
 She's got big news for her; besides, there's that 
 French girl at Poinsette's. Jean thinks she'd like 
 the bookkeeper, so she's taking him along. Jean 
 is comical; there's heaps of fun in her. She ain't 
 always thinking of herself; most everything she 
 does is right. The saleswomen are awful jealous 
 of her, but she has a way that is different from 
 any one else, and down in their hearts they admire 
 her a sight. I wish more girls and men were like 
 her." 
 
 "Amen !" breathed Madison. 
 
 Madison did not ask the questions that were 
 burning on his lips; he could learn more by listen- 
 ing. Besides, Ida had her moods. The girl looked 
 significantly at the tall man beside her. "I was 
 going to tell you something big in the news line, 
 but I guess maybe it had better come from some one 
 else. Jenny, the head woman, would finish me with 
 those doe eyes of hers. It's a tremendous secret," 
 
IT 295 
 
 she continued with visible signs of wishing to reveal 
 the news; "maybe Jenny has reasons for keeping it, 
 though." 
 
 "I've got to see Jean," said Madison with a little 
 eager choke in his voice. "How shall we manage it, 
 Ida?" 
 
 "I can't think in a minute. Jean has such lofty 
 ways, just like a countess, you can't never use the 
 same ways as you can with other people." 
 
 Both were silent. Ida broke the silence first; she 
 had been taxing her none too active mind. 
 
 "I guess maybe the best way would be for you to 
 go right up to her and have it out," she replied 
 with primitive bluntness, for this fine young man 
 was still a doubtful mystery to Ida. She did not 
 yet quite know how to take him. With all the 
 thrills of managing a love affair there was still the 
 suspicion of smartly dressed young men who fol- 
 lowed shop girls. She had never been quite at her 
 ease with Madison. The men she knew did not have 
 to dodge their sweethearts, nor appeal to other 
 girls to help them through their romances. On the 
 other hand, Andrew appeared so genuine, there wa^ 
 something so real in his manner, that she was at her 
 wits' end to know just how to act, just what was 
 best for Jean in this strange, this most unusual 
 lovemaking. 
 
 "Thank you, Ida," he said thoughtfully, "your 
 way is perhaps better than mine. I'll go back and 
 think it over." 
 
 So saying, he lifted his hat politely, re-entered 
 his cab and drove back, his mind in a whirl. 
 
296 IT 
 
 "Your things are laid out," said his valet quietly, 
 as he took the hat his master handed him and hung 
 it in the hall closet. 
 
 Madison went to his room, which was littered 
 with a man's paraphernalia, piles of clothes that 
 had been put in closets and chests at the time when 
 years ago he had left home to take his maiden trip. 
 Hampers of college trinkets, belongings of a smart 
 young society man and the modest decorations of 
 a room opposite a stable, were strewn about the 
 room. As he surmised, there was a big accumula- 
 tion to get rid of. Down somewhere in Kivington 
 Street, he remembered, was a settlement house, 
 his old things might be of use there. He set to work 
 with a will. The task would occupy his distracted 
 thoughts and clear them for the greater matter at 
 heart. His valet stood waiting. 
 
 "Where shall I begin, sir?" 
 
 "You needn't begin. Crease. Take the afternoon 
 for yourself. I'll attend to this stuff." 
 
 His man looked his surpise, then closed, with- 
 out further question, the door softly behind him, as 
 a well-trained servant should. Madison strode to 
 his bureau. 
 
 "Mother," he said, taking the miniature up and 
 holding it tenderly before him, while a gentle moist- 
 ure blurred his eyes. "Mother, you must know 
 how I love J.ean. Nothing else seems to matter. 
 She's worthy of your love, too, mother. She will 
 fill the place you would wish. I'm taking leave of 
 all the old things to-day ; I'm going to begin a new 
 life, dear, with her by my side." 
 
IT 297 
 
 He replaced the picture and turned toward the 
 mound of confusion, beginning with the old college 
 things. He lifted a checked coat of boisterous plaid 
 and smiled at the peevish taste that had selected it. 
 Memory was serving him. There on the sleeve of 
 the left arm was the burnt spot where the students 
 had branded him in his freshman year. Oh, the 
 joy of those healthy boyhood hours, care free and 
 fancy whole, with nothing more serious than the 
 event of each hour. Several sweaters were faded, 
 sweaters that had been pulled on over wet rowing 
 shirts after glor).ous victories. He could remember 
 how his chums had carried him on their shoulders 
 after that soul-trying strain of his last race. There 
 lay the crimson toga he had worn in the gymkhana 
 games at Newport the summer of his senior year. It 
 was delicious, this slow unfurling of his past. How 
 vosj the world had seemed then. He could even 
 now hear his boastful boyis:h confession of all he 
 would do with his life. Here was the first evening 
 suit he had ordered in London the year he left 
 college. How coarse its lines were in contrast to 
 the fine finish of his home tailor, but what satisfac- 
 tion there had been in the pjassession of this same 
 coat ! And this suit which he now impatiently lifted, 
 what disillusions it had covered ! In its lapel still 
 hung the ribbon Laura had tied there the evening 
 of their engagement. Laura, what had become of 
 her? Laura, and his engagement to her, his first 
 tribute to the tyranny of social entail. How vain it 
 all was, this tithe to social recognition ! 
 
298 IT 
 
 Laura, who would have married him for the social 
 place he could give her in exchange for her money ! 
 He threw the suit impatiently on the floor and 
 moved along to where on the bed lay the few clothes 
 brought from the little room opposite the stable. 
 There was a gap in the tales of his wardrobe. Noth- 
 ing remained to tell of that foreign trip. He could 
 only try to rehearse it mentally. The wonders of 
 the continent, of the Orient, the uncomfortable voy- 
 age to South America, the tedious trip through the 
 tropics, the ruins at Yucatan, and finally the Mexi- 
 can experience, all was fairly clear except that day 
 when he was hurt. Strange that with the slow re- 
 turn of his memory there was just that one day 
 that was obscured. Other things loomed but nebu- 
 lously, singular hazardous mountain trails, great 
 desert ranges, vast agave plantations, interminable 
 wastes ! One plantation in particular stretched be- 
 fore his memory, a great tract waiting the develop- 
 ment of irrigation. A little swarthy man there 
 was ; he could almost hear him speaking now in his 
 excited emphasis concerning the property and its 
 possibilities for raising cotton, rice, pineapples, 
 was it? Ah, here it was; he recalled it now, dates! 
 Clear at last! He remembered! He had wanted 
 to buy the property because of the moneyed possibil- 
 ities in growing dates, but more especially because 
 of the remarkable Aztec ruin on the property. Had 
 he bought it? He could not remember, for it was 
 the day of his accident. He stood pondering. 
 He recollected that he had had several thou- 
 sand in his letter of credit, but he had had no 
 
IT 299 
 
 letter when he crawled from the wretched Mexican 
 hospital and stole awaijr in his delirium. He 
 wiped his brow, sighed heavily and returned to his 
 occupation. He gathered the clothes he had worn 
 during his service, the most genuinely contented 
 years of his life. There had been the splendid horses 
 of Poinsette's, which were in reality his, for he had 
 the handling of them and could drive them with no 
 greater effort than an order to the stable boys. Then 
 his cozy quarters, where of an evening he might, 
 when not out writh his master or mistress, read to 
 his heart's content! And then, and then, had not 
 Jean come into his life! She, too, was a working 
 girl, and could anything be sweeter, more sensible, 
 more desirable than the lives of both? What a 
 strange, meaningless phantom was society, fashion, 
 degree! Had he not tasted all? Did he not know 
 whereof he spoke? Yet all the world, even to his 
 little girl, craved the false social phantom, would 
 barter their souls in exchange. He sighed again 
 heavily and tossed the stable suit from him. As he 
 did so a little red wallet fell upon the rug. He 
 stooped to pick it up ! it was Jean's. She had given 
 it to him to carry one cold evening when he had told 
 her to muffle her hands in her sleeves. They had 
 both forgotten it since. Jean's little red wallet! 
 He pressed it to his lips, and something fluttered 
 down from it. 
 
 "There's nothing in it, Eibbons," she had said, 
 looking up archly, "only I like to carry it because 
 it holds a picture of the beautiful lady who first 
 made we want to go away." 
 
300 IT 
 
 Madison caught the paper as it zigzagged to the 
 carpet. He unfolded it, opening the creases that 
 were almost worn through. A daily paper had been 
 neatly cut along four columns, and in the middle 
 was a picture of Laura Reed ! Below was printed, 
 "Miss Eeed, the reigning belle of the season." 
 Strange coincidence. He gazed long and thought- 
 fully at the photogravure, though there was no sen- 
 timent in his gaze. What a pity, what a mistake it 
 would have been ! He sighed and started to refold 
 the picture; there was another piece of tissue paper 
 beneath it. He undid the rustling sheet, and lo, in 
 his hand he held the deed of a Mexican tract with 
 his signature attached ! Was he dreaming, or was 
 his head playing him false tricks? What did it all 
 mean? How came these things in Jean's pocket- 
 book? Bewildered, he stood at the foot of his bed, 
 where lay the discarded clothes. Now very grad- 
 ually returned the chain of links between the broken 
 memory and preceding events, with much of the 
 detail of his Southern experience. His enthusiasm 
 over an Aztec ruin, a man's over possible crops, 
 and his subsequent purchase of the property. A 
 picture of a certain hacienda, the witnessing of the 
 deed, the stowing of it in his pocket with intent 
 to ride the following day and put it with his effects 
 at the hotel. A singular accident, a ruin, and 
 then oblivion. But how had the document come in 
 Jean's possession? Well, there was no need to tire 
 himself further; time would unravel the tangle. 
 Madison was a confirmed believer in the final adjust- 
 ment of all things. He gazed again at the papers 
 
I T 301 
 
 in his hand, then placed them carefully in his strong 
 box. A resolution was formed. He ordered the 
 brougham, and when it was announced he shoul- 
 dered a great pile of his effects, bundled them into 
 the trap and rode to Eivington street. It was not 
 difficult to find the superintendent's room ; a posted 
 card indicated the spot; he entered without knock- 
 ing. The place at the desk was empty, but a lady 
 sat at the further end of the room in a shadow. 
 Scarcely had Madison removed his hat when th^ 
 lady sprang from her seat and exclaimed, 
 "Andrew!" Andrew, looking up, cried, "Laura!" 
 Was everything to focus this day! 
 
 "Present," answered a silvery voice, while an eye 
 danced with a merry twinkle, and a heavy, over- 
 dressed woman came toward him. "I've suspected 
 all along that it was you." The woman's cheeks 
 grew rosy, "The minute Eeggie told me about your 
 illness. There's one woman who can keep quiet, 
 you see," she laughed. "It was only fair that you 
 should return to see how kind it was of you to die." 
 
 Madison laughed, too. "The same Laura," he an- 
 swered ; "all head ," he was embarrassed. 
 
 She replied lightly, "And no heart you wer6 going 
 to say. Scarcely. Ail heart and no head. What 
 better proof do you want than finding me here? I'm 
 a slave. Trapp who works me to the bone." Then 
 she told Madison of her interest in the charity and 
 what she was doing in its behalf. "I've changed a 
 whole lot in five years, Andrew. Once I thought my 
 money could buy even you ; now I'm glad it couldn't, 
 for then I should have done nothing but excite the 
 
302 IT 
 
 envy of my rivals; now I am finding the true in- 
 wardness of things," and she nodded significantly 
 toward the empty desk. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it, Laura. I'm glad you are 
 busy, glad you are doing good work ! it's splendid !" 
 
 "And I'm glad that I meet with your approval," 
 she replied archly. 
 
 "I did not know you had turned so good, and 
 I caji never repay your husband," he went on, a 
 tremolo of gratitude in his voice. "Eeggie has re- 
 stored me to myself. I might still be " 
 
 "Yes," she interrupted, "I know all about it, but 
 your secret is asfe with me. Every one knows that 
 you are back to your own, but only three of us know 
 you were Poinsette's coachman." 
 
 "I shouldn't care a hang if all the world knew," 
 he answered vehemently. "It's only for Dad's sake. 
 The old gentlemen has a whole lot of false pride. 
 He's too old to change or be changed, I fear," he 
 said, as he wiped his fingers across his brow. He 
 was thinking how he'd like to change him. 
 
 Their confidences were interrupted. Trapp en- 
 tered. Mrs. "Eeggie" briefiy stated to him certain 
 routine work for the day, with the old-time loud and 
 boisterous voice, the golden junk at her wrist rat- 
 tling as she rose to go, haying finished her business 
 with Trapp. 
 
 "Come and see me when you can, Andrew. Eeggie 
 has taken a singular interest in your case." She 
 held her hand toward him, and he escorted her to 
 her carriage. 
 
IT "303 
 
 Madison, returning, briefly told his errand, and 
 the superintendent sent a boy to fetch the things 
 from the waiting cab. The youngster staggered 
 back, his arms scarcely meeting across the great 
 pile of clothes. Madison asked a few questions con- 
 cerning the charity. The superintendent was pro- 
 fuse in his description, effusive in his thanks, and 
 lengthy in his praise of Mrs. "Eeggie." Madison 
 bowed an impatient farewell, and hastened to his 
 cab, and gave the driver an address. 
 
 Sitting well forward, his hand on the window 
 sill, Madison was apparently deeply interested in 
 the flap of the driver's coat as they moved up town 
 through the throng of drays and laboring horses. 
 His bridges were burnt, he was thinking. His 
 father could bully him no longer. There was the 
 new world in the South. A future of great promise 
 waited him. What a fool he was, not to assert his 
 manhood, not to overcome Jean's young prejudices. 
 It was the man's fault if he could not get the 
 woman he wished. He would have no more compro- 
 mise. How unworthy in him to let others influence 
 his life. His world was opened. Jean was in it. 
 Why should they waste more time? The trap had 
 stopped some moments before Madison realized that 
 he was in front of Poinsette's house. When he had 
 gathered himself together he left the carriage, wa."* 
 about to pull the basement bell, but noticing that 
 the door was ajar, entered without further cere- 
 mony. The kitchen was empty except for two 
 people who seemed greatly occupied in each other. 
 Magenta was looking up at the same young man 
 
304 I T 
 
 he had seen walking with Jean. All Magenta's 
 French extraction was focused in her eyes, and the 
 young man was apparently hypnotized by the ex- 
 traction. At the sound of footsteps the maiden 
 glanced carelessly upon the intruder with faint 
 recognition, gave an ignominious toss of her chin, 
 and continued her low conversation as if no one 
 were in the room but the twain. 
 
 "Where is Dougo?" he asked, quite unabashed. 
 
 "Dunno," replied her sharp feminine voice, and 
 she turned her back. 
 
 The reception did not embarrass Madison, who 
 possessed himself of a chair and calmly sat therein, 
 having borrowed the manners of his companions. 
 It was not long before Dougo's flat Juliettes came 
 pattering down the back stairs. Spying Madison, 
 she gave a little shrill exclamation and threw up 
 both hands. 
 
 "To think of your coming down here, and you 
 what you are !" she cried, conducting him past the 
 whispering couple to the front sitting room. "Won't 
 you sit down, sir?" 
 
 The new tone struck Madison as very amusing. 
 "What's the matter, Dougo?" he asked, refusing the 
 chair. 
 
 "We're so proud about it. I mean we servants, 
 sir. Now you are Mr. Madison, the big Madison. 
 And you here among us, all so simple and never no 
 airs. We'll never tell; we servants can be dead 
 loyal. I'm so glad I could hug the boiler. I always 
 knew that you wasn't you," she confessed with na- 
 tive accuracy. "You never could hang up your 
 
IT 305 
 
 hat ; always held it in your hand, same as the great 
 folks. Oh, but " 
 
 "See here, Dougo," broke in her guest, "I don't 
 care a hill of beans who knows and who don't. I've 
 nothing to be ashamed of; all I am ashamed of is 
 my coming here and putting my troubles on you, 
 instead of shouldering them myself." 
 
 "Don't abuse yourself, sir," cried Dougo, indig- 
 nantly. "What fault is it of yours? You can't 
 tell me no such nonsense as that. Ain't you a lover, 
 and what common sense do they have? You've just 
 given up to that old father and that young hussy, 
 and each of you is in the wrong. You should never 
 have let that chit of a child boss you. If you begin 
 with a woman that way, what chances have either 
 of you? If you'd just feel as you looked up on the 
 box, a-handling the team, you'd be more self-respect^ 
 ing. Now, I've given you the hint, I'll see what 
 comes of it." 
 
 "Don't stop, Dougo. You're a good tonic. I've 
 been docile so long I've no snap in me." 
 
 "Just as if a fine man like you couldn't manage 
 an old father, or an inexperienced girl! Eubbish! 
 First thing you know, the fat will be in the fire. 
 She's going to Paris." 
 
 Andrew dashed his hat on the table. 
 
 "What !" he cried, his head throbbing. 
 
 "Pshaw ! now I've done it !" said Dougo, and bury- 
 ing her face in her hands, she sank upon the lounge. 
 
 Madison walked to the door, closed it with deter- 
 mination and came back to where the womau rocked 
 in a distress of conscience. 
 
306 IT 
 
 He drew a chair in front of her, sat himself upon 
 its edge, and took both her wrinkled hands in his. 
 
 "Dougo, my father is a wealthy man; no one 
 stands higher in this city than he — no one has a 
 finer prospect than I. Well, it all means nothing 
 more to me now than its purchasing quality for 
 Jean. Do you suppose, with every thought of mine 
 centered on her, with no sacrifice too great to make 
 for her, that I am going to do simple things, that I 
 am going to let her or my father make me miserable 
 any longer because they both have silly prejudices? 
 No! I'm about through temporizing. They will 
 both have to come to my way of thinking. Under- 
 stand? I'll manage matters myself. Now then, 
 Dougo, instead of my going to Jean as you would 
 have me, instead of my going away from her as my 
 father would have me, I am going to have my way, 
 and you are going to be my good angel and help- 
 mate." 
 
 His companion had taken away from his grasp 
 her trembling fingers and was looking at him in 
 wide-mouthed wonde*. 
 
 "Blood is thicker than beer," she murmured to 
 herself. Out loud she said, "I don't think I under- 
 stand yet, sir." 
 
 The corners of her mouth quivered nervously. 
 
 "What more can I say, Dougo? I'm going to over- 
 come everything and marry Jean." 
 
 "Marry her!" screamed the woman springing to 
 her feet, "marry Jean! Oh, God be praised! I 
 thought all the time — I mean since you was a gen- 
 
IT 307 
 
 tleman that, that you only wanted her for a play- 
 thing, for " 
 
 It was Madison's turn to spring to his feet, throw- 
 ing over his chair with a loud report. 
 
 "Dougo!" he shouted, and seized the woman's 
 wrists as in a vise. Dougo sank upon her knees, 
 while towering above her stood the man, his hands 
 still grasping hers, his face pale and working with 
 emotion. 
 
 "Oh," she called pitifully, "let me go, I couldn't 
 be blamed. That's always the way when they're 
 grand, they just buy them, they don't marry them. 
 I love her and I liked you, and it was all such a 
 worry and now it ain't no worry, only a God's 
 blessing," and the overwrought woman collapsed in 
 a huddle on the floor. 
 
 But Madison was liberal and was quick to gauge 
 the woman's standard of morals as understood from 
 her outlook, so with ready revulsion of feeling, he 
 stooped, lifted Dougo and placed her on the nearby 
 chair. "Now pull yourself together, please," he 
 said. "You don't quite comprehend that in me you 
 are dealing with a different sort. I am a gentle- 
 man, I love Jean and respect her feelings more than 
 I do my own, else I never would have yielded to her 
 wishes for over a year. I have done so because I 
 have been able to keep her in my sight all this time. 
 Now you tell me she is leaving the country. So it 
 is right that I assert myself, that I take measures 
 for her protection. You must tell me when and 
 by what steamer she is sailing, and you must also 
 promise to keep my asking secret." 
 
308 IT 
 
 Choking back in bewildered relief her paroxysm 
 of hysteria, Dougo related as well as her disjointed 
 thought would allow, the tale of Jean's proposed 
 trip. Lightwing had been so pleased with her a;bil- 
 ity, her taste and common sense, that he was send- 
 ing her abroad to buy and copy models for the com- 
 ing season! "Oh, sir," she pleaded, "you can't 
 know how remarkable that girl is. When she comes 
 to see me now I can no more think of her as that 
 forlorn green thing than I can that she might be 
 Mrs. Poinsette herself. Her clothes are as stylish, 
 her Toice is as low, but the way she walks is even 
 finer, just like an Empress, yet she is as sweet and 
 kind as she was when she was paring the potatoes 
 for me, and now here they're sending her clear 
 across the ocean and all her expenses paid and to 
 be gone a couple of months, just as if she were an 
 old hand at the business. Miss Oroisette, the French 
 governess across the street, says she speaks French 
 better than most society girls and that she's so wise 
 and clever for one so young and its all singular be- 
 cause she is so pretty there is no need of her kno-^- 
 ing so much. The woman is just cracked over her." 
 
 Madison's face was radiant. "My little Jean," he 
 murmured to himself. 
 
 "And," continued Dougo, encouraged by the mute 
 tribute of her listener, "she's so plucky. Never in 
 all her trials, and she's had lots, has she ever com- 
 plained, and when I asked her how she could go 
 about in a strange city by herself, and if she was not 
 afraid of the foreign country or the great steamer, 
 she replied just what you might know she would. 
 
IT 309 
 
 'I've got a tongue in my head, Dougo, and as for 
 fears, there's nothing to fear but one's self, my cour- 
 age is in my own holding.' She grows grander 
 every day, sir, she's growing way beyond the rest 
 of us, yet for all that, the ways of the world are 
 hard and its so slow for those who crawl, the 
 temptation to take an express is mighty alluring," 
 she finished with just the faintest smile. Her 
 listener sighed and walked rapidly up and down the 
 kitchen for several minutes, then finally came and 
 stood before Dougo. 
 
 "I know its hard as few others do, for have I not 
 been 'high up' as you call it, and low down — if 
 being a coachman is low down, — and none knew 
 the world better than I. There are temptations and 
 nobility and as much human nature on one level as 
 on another. My Jean has created a level of her 
 own and it makes the women on the so-called high 
 levels look like insignificant ants by copaparison. 
 Jean is my ideal, my idol, my love, and I am going 
 to marry her and protect her from further tempta- 
 tions. Now do you believe in me, now do we under- 
 stand each other?" 
 
 The woman laced and interlaced her fingers. "I'm 
 that happy I'm tonguetied," she replied brokenly. 
 "God bless you, God bless you both. I hear some- 
 one coming. Go, and angels guard you." Poor 
 Dougo, her sub-conscious precaution yet showed the 
 slow acceptance of Andrew's honorable intentions, 
 his social plane was so superior it made credulity a 
 laggard. She watched the man as he entered hi? 
 
310 IT 
 
 cab and followed it wistfully with tear-dimmed 
 eyes till it was out of sight. Then suddenly she 
 believed. 
 
 "If God made more of his kind on earth, there'd 
 be no need of heaven," she murmured, "and to think 
 of all the sleep I've lost over the two of them, think- 
 ing they was both agoing down to Purgatory and in- 
 stead of sizzling, they've been moulding out halos." 
 
 "Moulding what?" asked Wrights, his gingham 
 apron flapping about his legs as he entered the 
 kitchen, whittling to fit the candelabra, a pink 
 candle that must match the satin lining of the 
 tablecloth. 
 
 "Oh, wherra, wherra, darling!" cried the thor- 
 oughly unstrung woman as she sank on the aston- 
 ished man's shoulder, "your sex is the most glor- 
 ious sex altogether." 
 
IT 311 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The steamer bunted into the fog. The bunted 
 fog settled directly aft the steamer only to roll for- 
 ward again into kidney-shaped spheres against 
 masts, stack and deckhouses, shrouding them in 
 its impenetrable convolutions. Passengers, as they 
 strode the deck, made entrances and exits into its 
 opacity. A heavy ground swell would have flung 
 the chairs about, had they not been lashed. The 
 incessant groan of the foghorn rasped the nerves 
 of most of the women and a surprising percentage 
 of the men. But fog, nor swell, nor horn could 
 stir the contented soul of an elderly man com- 
 fortably tucked in his steamer chair. He was satis- 
 fled with himself, with the vessel, with the world. 
 A man in this condition is an enviable male. Foi 
 some months there had existed in the region of his 
 ambitions an annoying sore spot, the irritating 
 kind of a spot a carbuncle studded opposite the 
 collar button might be, such a sore as is calculated 
 to keep one advised of its existence. Only in this 
 case the sore spot was in reality a spot measuring 
 flve feet five and weighing at a rough guess one 
 hundred and twenty-flve pounds. Rather a big 
 spot one might add. It had, moreover, two large 
 eyes, that spoke without making a sound, but when 
 once they had affected you, you were so irretriev- 
 ably hypnotized that their impression could not be 
 
312 IT 
 
 blotted out, but would haunt you night and day. 
 The first thing in the early morning hours were 
 those eyes, getting the upper hand with such tre- 
 mendous hold that they marred your entire day, 
 and the following day their mystic, tenacious ten- 
 drils wound about you again and again. The strain 
 finally became unbearable because of their peculiar 
 hypnotic insistency. Now this same haunted man, 
 with consummate policy, had fancied to put these 
 venomous phantoms where they could not reach 
 him. He was leaving them on land to their own 
 disintegration. The sea was even now widening 
 between them. Once on the other side, the singular 
 current would short circuit, would burn itself out. 
 If he, with his age and years of experience, had suf- 
 fered through the machinations of those two un- 
 canny eyes, what could be expected of one of half 
 his years and quarter his experience. Propinquity 
 was dangerous. Blood flowed rapidly in youthful 
 veins. There had been, while in town, a great risk 
 of possible and probable encounters. Young peo- 
 ple's promises were flimsy fabric when temptation 
 was imminent; now temptation was overcome. 
 Since he had come abroad, Madison had been a 
 different parent. He was gentle, tactful, consider- 
 ate, affectionate, as are tyrants when triumphant. 
 
 "I don't mind the fog a bit," he said, turning his 
 head toward the adjoining chair in which sat 
 Andrew. "It shuts one in with one's own thoughts 
 for a while at least. One gets awfully tired of the 
 world." After a moment of consideration he added, 
 "in the spring." 
 
IT 313 
 
 "Quite so," agreed his son, which somewhat ir- 
 relevant answer marked the fact that he was not 
 shut absolutely free of the world, since his mind 
 was at that very moment quite actively settling a 
 momentous question born from out that tiresome 
 world which his father, for the length of an ocean 
 trip, had renounced. 
 
 There's a wise little adage about fooling others 
 provided we be not fooled ourselves ! A fool's para- 
 dise is a transient abode. Here was an instance of 
 two men inwardly chuckling over the same subject, 
 only the chuckle was at opposite poles. 
 
 "There's a nice looking set of people aboard," 
 expounded the elder man. 
 
 "I've not bothered with the list. It's better not 
 to have any duties hanging over one. If you know 
 whose sailing you've got to be civil," replied his 
 son. 
 
 "I'm glad we'll have deck rooms, one can take 
 stock of passengers without their being the wiser,' 
 continued his father. 
 
 "He fancies I don't read him like a book," smiled 
 Andrew to himself, and continued his delightful 
 reverie, for, was not she on board, she, Jean, on 
 this very vessel ! 
 
 Aye, Jean was aboard and quite innocent of who 
 her fellow passengers might be. She knew nothing 
 of a passenger list, nor would it interest her to have 
 consulted it, for who was there among all those 
 people in whom she could possibly be concerned? 
 She was sufladently occupied with the strangeness 
 
31i I T 
 
 of her surroundings, and she was not used to the 
 unpleasant motion of the vessel, and had therefore 
 kept her room, the quiet and peace of which was 
 truly welcome. She wanted to take a "long breath" 
 as it were, to go piece by piece over the significant 
 two years, which now seemed a very lifetime, an 
 eventful lifetime, in which fanciful and hallowed 
 emotion had been warring upon each other. She 
 wished to "strip to the bone" for a summary of her 
 standing with herself. To begin with her awaken- 
 ing back there in the mountain hollow, where the 
 migration of birds had first taught ber there were 
 other woods and glens, since every fall the birds 
 flew ofif to nest, no doubt, in warmer woods, and 
 shrubs, and fields. The few school books had con- 
 firmed the thought, and, as she learned to read, the 
 great wide world had unfolded. Then followed the 
 yearning desire to get to it, to see it, to live with 
 it in its vast splendors; the contest between right 
 and wrong to herself, to her family, the final deci- 
 sion and heartrending parting, the awfulness of 
 which no one guessed; the constant unremitting 
 study of herself and the gratifying development of 
 that self; the wonderful realization that had 
 brooked no doubts, of a burning centre that created 
 all desires and propelled them to accomplishment. 
 She had tried to gather the best of herself and con- 
 centrate it to the wisest purpose. The results so 
 far, as vouched for by those she served, had been 
 most satisfactory. All, all these points were con- 
 soling, were good to think about. She had been 
 successful far beyond her wildest hopes in what 
 
IT 315 
 
 she had undertaken, in all but the love test between 
 herself and Eibbons! Was she right in that? She 
 had spent countless nights in the agony of self- 
 questioning. Had she been just to him, to herself? 
 Surely if self-negation counted, if every fervent 
 heart-throb for his welfare, for her own uplifting 
 weighed, she must have found herself full worthy 
 her own approval. Measuring h€r loyalty, young 
 as she was, she knew to a certainty the strength of 
 her constancy. No other man existed or ever would 
 for her. If she were becoming the thing she in- 
 tended, she would be a fit mate for Mr. Madison, a 
 mate of whom he might be proud, if he still wanted 
 her. Did he? There had been no signs that he 
 cared; but was that not her fault, had she not 
 forbidden his seeking her? Yet in the depth of her 
 there was a delicious conviction that this very 
 silence was best proof of his continued affection. 
 Yet she was heartsore at leaving without a sight of 
 him, there were so many possibilities in absences. 
 She had learned that he was well and had dropped 
 in the mail box the morning she left, a little note 
 telling of her intended trip and the assurance of 
 her welfara But was it quite fair to him, thus 
 running away, as it were. Would it not have hurt 
 her that he done the same thing? Oh, would it! 
 It would have nearly broken her heart. Alas, 
 misery never came single-handed. She picked up 
 a letter that had been remailed by Wrights to her 
 on the steamer. It bore tales of trouble from the 
 mountains. Her thoughts grew too depressing, she 
 could stand the emptiness of her cabin no longer. 
 
316 IT 
 
 The porthole was one white blurr and the miserable 
 foghorn kept up an incessant bellow. She dressed, 
 and went on deck to see what an ocean fog was 
 like. Going to the rail she looked out into nothing- 
 ness as bewildering as her thoughts, as bewildering 
 as the long rows of misty dummies wrapped 
 mummy fashion in steamer chairs. She took out 
 her letter and again scanned its memorized lines. 
 
 "And Jean is on' this very vessel," thought An- 
 drew, "and father unenlightened ; would he remain 
 so long? Ah, it was delicious, all of his own doing 
 too, and he so satisfied in his cleverness, his clever- 
 ness in hoodwinking his own son." Andrew was 
 uncommunicative. The old gentleman grew rest- 
 less. They had been sitting still since luncheon. 
 The fog lifted the least bit. Andrew noticed a 
 graceful figure outlined against the rail. The figure 
 had been standing there some time. It was only 
 dimly visible in the misty pall. A white sheet of 
 paper was held at arm's length over the rolling 
 water. It must have contained bad news, for 
 Andrew watching, thought he saw a tremulous 
 heaving of the shoulders. 
 
 Madison senior threw his rug impatiently to one 
 side and rose to stretch his legs. He walked short 
 distances to and fro, eadh time glancing studiously 
 at the figure by the rail as he passed it none too 
 steadily on the slanting deck. It had on an impene- 
 trable veil, but a soft little chin was visible below 
 its hem. Earely had Mr. Madison seen such an 
 adorable chin with its tiny dimple, its little upward 
 curve, its soft texture. From the velvety chin down 
 
IT 317 
 
 to the small shapely feet the lines were equally 
 pleasing, as was the modish traveling suit in the best 
 possible taste. He became quite persistent in his 
 glances, in fact was so obviously interested that the 
 chin turned finally from him with an unmistakable 
 shrug of annoyance. Andrew, viewing the little 
 comedy from his chair, might have become pro- 
 voked with- the freedom of his parent, had he not 
 known to whom the chin belonged, or that his 
 father must be bordering toward dotage since he 
 was doipg a thing that was beneath the code of his 
 habitual good breeding. Ajs the old man turned 
 once more, a particularly large wave struck the 
 steamer on the forward port side, she keeled badly, 
 and the old gentleman, losing his footing, was sent 
 with much lack of dignity, hard against the guard 
 rail close to the feet of the young lady. The young 
 lady uttered a frightened exclamation and stooped 
 to help him to his feet. The young man sprang to 
 her assistance, at the identical moment another 
 wave quickly following upon the first unsettled the 
 balance of both young lady and young man and 
 their heads bumped painfully together. 
 
 "Oh !" cried the young lady in an intonation won- 
 derfully familiar to the young man. She did not 
 recognize him, but hastily bending tried to raise the 
 prostrate man at her feet. To her consternation he 
 merely groaned and made no efifort to assist him- 
 self. Then the young man added his strength to 
 the young lady's and together they lifted the man 
 who moaned again even more audibly than before. 
 
 "Are you hurt, dad?" 
 
318 IT 
 
 The voice made the young lady dizzy, she grasped 
 the lower rail and breathlessly ejaculated, "Rib- 
 bons!" 
 
 The young man lifting his face looked at her 
 with the love in him gone to his eyes, but made no 
 answer, and Jean understood his silence. ' He again 
 attempted to raise his father. 
 
 "You hurt, Andrew, steady," murmured the old 
 man. "Its broken." 
 
 And it was, just above the ankles, both bones, as 
 it turned out. A number of passengers were already 
 gathered. Between them they carried him to his 
 stateroom and sent for the doctor. 
 
 "We have no trained nurse aboard," said the 
 surgeon addressing Jean when the patient was put 
 to bed, "and if you are willing to sit with Mr. Madi- 
 son an hour or so each day till we land it will be a 
 a vast help to the patient, so much depends on keep- 
 ing him cheerful." 
 
 Jean glanced up and caught the pleading in 
 Andrew's eyes. 
 
 "It's not as if you would have any professional 
 nursing to do," continued the surgeon. "Mr. Madi- 
 son has his valet." 
 
 Andrew stood near the girl where he might 
 whisper a few words without fear of detection from 
 his father who had again closed his eyes. 
 
 "Will you not put yourself aside and help him, 
 help me, Jean?" 
 
 The girl smiled questioningly. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Andrew, seeing the tell-tale 
 expression and not guessing its interpretation. 
 
IT 319 
 
 "I was only thinking I had. been doing that for 
 some time," she said looking off toward the gulls, 
 who dove expectantly about the ship's stern. Then 
 regretting the tactlessness of a speech prompted by 
 wounded feelings hastily added, "Forgive me; yes, 
 I'll sit with your father provided he has not recog- 
 nized me, otherwise it would be impossible." Her 
 lover thanked her with beaming eyes as he surveyed 
 her in gratified delight. Time had indeed wrought 
 a great improvement. Her appearance was sing- 
 ularly perfect. That old-time low-knotted hair, 
 with its straight white parting, had given place to a 
 high circling crown. The new coiffure was most 
 becoming, so was the fashionably cut dress, marking 
 the long graceful lines which in the past had been 
 hidden under more girlish drapery. Andrew gazed 
 as one enchanted at the perfection of the glowing 
 woman before him. 
 
 Jean wondered at his silence. 
 "I repeat," she said, "if your father does not rec- 
 ognize me I will do what I can for him, if " 
 
 "Never any more doubts," whispered Madison 
 with passion, hastily catching and pressing her 
 hand, which she as hastily withdrew. 
 
 "Now then," said the doctor, rising from his ex- 
 amination and beckoning the young people to him, 
 "if this lady will help me I think we can make Mr. 
 Madison comfortable. The leg is at present too 
 swollen to put in plaster, we'll rest it in a Thatcher 
 box, the carpenter will make one." The box was 
 finally brought in and the leg relieved, as they ar- 
 ranged the pillows so as to ease the weight of the 
 
320 IT 
 
 foot. The patient bore the handling with Spartan 
 courage, though the grinding of his teeth was 
 audible and a furrow crossing and recrossing his 
 temple showed the pain he was enduring. They 
 watched him in silent sympathy, hoping from mo- 
 ment to moment he might get relief. He suddenly 
 opened his eyes and looked searchingly at Jean. 
 "Who are you, what is your name?" he questioned 
 with an old man's insolence. Jean hesitated, 
 glanced swiftly toward Andrew and slowly an- 
 swered, "I am Miss — jGoing." 
 
 "I wish you would stay with me." He muttered 
 something else unintelligible, moaned and wearily 
 closed his eyes. The doctor gave him an opiate, then 
 when he was well under its effect Andrew and Jean 
 quietly left the room. In the passage way between 
 the smoking and tea rooms Madison turned upon 
 Jean. "There is a great natural law, dear, that 
 adjusts things in spite of ourselves. See what has 
 happened for us. Oh, my Jean, my little love, you 
 won't keep me away any longer, you mustn't, it is 
 cruel. I will do anything you wish of me but you 
 must let me see you, surely that is not much to ask. 
 I can't stand this thing any longer." 
 
 The girl could feel his intensity burning down 
 upon her. She smiled miserably, she would have 
 given worlds to speak her heart out. Instead, with 
 wonderful strength of purpose, she replied, "Ah, 
 Ribbons, your father's words still ring in my ears. 
 The first hurt is gone but the lesson remains. You 
 do not want a woman who would be less just to your 
 interests, your welfare than your father. He was 
 
IT 321 
 
 terribly hard to me but he was right to you." There 
 was a quaver in her voice as she finished. ' 
 
 Madison impatiently drew her arm in his, Jean 
 attempted to withdraw it, but, oh, how good it was 
 to feel it there ! She would have liked at that mo- 
 ment to have thrown herself upon the big man and 
 to give way to all the pent emotions of the long past, 
 the weary longings that had been consuming her, to 
 realize those hundred calls that had gone from her 
 to him, if only she might bury her head on that dear 
 great chest and sob away the loneliness of all those 
 past months; she must tear herself free from the 
 emotions that were flooding her. Her lover divined 
 her distress and at risk of being seen he hastily 
 bound his arms about her. 
 
 "Don't, Ribbons, dear," she whispered; to her 
 wounded heart the name "Ribbons" appealed as 
 Andrew could not. She looked up at him as she 
 drew herself away. "Don't make it any harder. 
 God knows I have been trying to do what was wisest 
 for us both." 
 
 He would have interrupted her but she silenced 
 him. "This accident has obliged me to act quickly. 
 I will do anything I can to help him if the surgeon 
 thinks what little attention I can give your father 
 will aid his recovery, but it is his desire, remember, 
 not mine, you hekrd him ask me to stay." Andrew 
 was so endhanted to be near the girl that he did not 
 interrupt, in fact her words meant less than the 
 joy of her presence. "But," she continued, "the 
 conditions between us must remain the same. I will 
 not see you except in your father's stateroom. I 
 
322 IT 
 
 will do nothing that would excite his displeasure. 
 
 If ever ," but she could not finish, tears were 
 
 too near the surface to trust herself further. Madi- 
 son reading aright was blissfully happy. She did 
 care, and since she did care for him, the future was 
 in his own handling, he would gratify any little 
 foolish desires she might still have concerning 
 the manner of their meeting. 
 
 "It shall be as you wish," he answered. There 
 was in him a great joyous wave; something in the 
 girl's tremulous voice was unmistakable as she left 
 him. On the morrow Jean saw fche patient for a few 
 moments only. He had to be kept quiet. Two days 
 later, however, the leg being then in plaster band- 
 age, the patient admitted the girl. A slight knock 
 signaled her arrival. The valet answered it. Jean 
 stood before him, and the patient catching sight of 
 her bade her enter. Mr. Madison could hardly have 
 recognized the girl w'ho had trespassed on his an- 
 cestral hearth in the splendid woman who now stood 
 by his bed so graciously offering him her services. 
 
 "I have brought you something to read, or if you 
 prefer, I will gladly read to you. How are you this 
 morning?" she questioned with kindly concern 
 touching his forehead lightly and slipping her hand 
 rapidly to his wrist. 
 
 "Quite nice, and cool, and even," she continued 
 lightly, drawing as she spoke, a chair to his bedside. 
 Mr. Madison turned his head toward the girl, he 
 could not move his body. A smile lit his face. 
 
 "Are you going to read to me? that will be de- 
 lightful, let me see what you have got." He reached 
 
IT 323 
 
 out his arm to take one of the books from her. 
 "Pshaw!" he exclaimed impatiently, "I have not 
 my glasses. No matter, what books have you?" 
 
 "I have several, Churchill's 'Crossing,' Kipling's 
 last, an amusing little yarn by Julian Street and 
 'Pecheur D'Islande,' by Pierre Loti," she replied. 
 
 "Is Loti's in the original?" he commented critic- 
 ally. Her eyes being on the title page, s'he did not 
 see the quick glance of surprise he shot her. Jean 
 benb over him, rearranged the pillows at his head 
 and with almost professional facility eased the 
 cushion beneath his heel. 
 
 "Eead the Kipling," he said. She drew the 
 chair closer to the bed and began to read. Her 
 voice was melodious, rising and falling with the 
 various situations as they were unfolded in the tale, 
 its cadence so sympathetic that at times her hearer 
 caught his breath or ismiled in his absorbed atten- 
 tion. Andrew was absent. She wished it. Be- 
 sides he had a purpose. His father would study 
 the girl he knew as he would not if he were present. 
 Jean too was glad. It was hard to keep the telltale 
 look from her eyes, starved for sight of Andrew as 
 they had been these long months. Hold herself in 
 hand as she might, she was constantly fearful, by, 
 some unguarded word or action, to spoil a dear 
 though trying experience. 
 
 An hour slipped quickly by, another was slipping 
 when a Shadow crossed the page. Jean looked up 
 hastily and saw passing the window a woman. She 
 gave a little cry of surprise. Andrew at the same 
 
324 IT 
 
 moment, thinking Jean might be tired, came in the 
 stateroom. 
 
 "To think," exclaimed Jean, her eyes still glued 
 to where ^he had seen the figure. 
 
 "To think what?" asked both men at the same 
 time. 
 
 "That I should actually see her, the wonderful 
 woman !" 
 
 Andrew understood "the wonderful woman" was 
 an allusion to the photograph of the woman Jean 
 had so long carried with her, but his father gazed 
 reflectively at the girl who had grown pale with 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Mrs. Reed, father," exclaimed his son laughing. 
 "Miss Going must have seen her before somewhere. 
 She is on board with the Longreens. I met them 
 this morning in the saloon. Laura, they said, had 
 been ill and remained below, ^he has not been on 
 deck till to-day." 
 
 Jean was, as Andrew had calculated she should, 
 recovering from her astonishment. 
 
 "Well," repeated the patient, "you have not told 
 me yet why you were so surprised to see that lady." 
 
 Turning to reply she was startled to see how Mr. 
 Madison was fixing her with his eyes. 
 
 "I saw her picture in a paper years ago, when I 
 was a child, and it made a great impression on me. 
 I wanted to look like her. The picture fired my 
 desires. I owe a lot to that picture," she explained 
 simply. As slie thought of the print she suddenly 
 remembered that she had no longer her little red 
 purse in Which she had kept it, what had become 
 of it? She could not remember what she had done 
 
IT 325 
 
 with the little red thing. She was still puzzling 
 over its whereabouts when Mr. Madison senior 
 ejaculated, "humph ! you don't owe much to her, I 
 should say." 
 
 "Why so?" exclaimed the girl, resenting the dis- 
 paragement in the elder man's voice. 
 
 "Why? Why, because she is coarse and loud and 
 swaggers and is not a bit feminine." 
 
 Jean remained in mute astonishment, while 
 Andrew bit his lip to hide his amusement. So much 
 for the consistency of parents. 
 
 Silence settled on the trio. After some time, in 
 which each were busily occupied with their own 
 thoughts, the patient spoke. 
 
 "I'm glad you don't swagger," he said. 
 
 "I might," replied Jean, amused. "If it were in 
 me to swagger. You see I have a theory that re- 
 finement and all its sister attributes must self -ger- 
 minate, nice qualities are there or they are not, and 
 birth and lineage have nothing much to do with 
 it. Of course, environment and example make a 
 difference, but," she continued as if talking to her- 
 vself, "all that polish, all that birth, all that advan- 
 tages can give won't do it if it isn't in one. The 
 Social world sneers at the Serving world, but there 
 is much they could learn of them, the space between 
 employer and employee is not so great." 
 
 The room remained silent for some time after she 
 had spoken. The patient's eyes had been closed. 
 
 "Are you going to be with friends in Paris?" he 
 asked, irrelevantly. 
 
326 IT 
 
 Jean starting from her reverie had no answer 
 ready. She blundered, "Mr. Poinsebte gave me at 
 the store the address of a good pension." 
 
 "Mr. Poinsette!" cried Andrew with well-feigned 
 surprise, dropping his book to the floor. 
 
 Jean ran cold to her feet. "Yes," she replied 
 courageously, "I know them slightly." 
 
 Oh, what had she done ! Nearly exposed a man's 
 secret! Nearly jeopardized a man's social status! 
 Quite white she rose and hastily consulting a tiny 
 watch lamely excused herself on the plea of its 
 being luncheon hour, praying the while that Mr. 
 Andrew had not noticed her unfortunate allusion. 
 
 "You'll come back this afternoon?" questioned 
 her patient, gently taking the tips of her fingers 
 that hung near the bed. "I'm a selfish old brute to 
 ask you for so much of your time, but you won't 
 grudge it, will you, when you know the good you 
 are doing me?" 
 
 "And the misery you are mating me," thought the 
 girl, "what will my wretched tongue do next!" 
 Aloud she answered, "Of course I'll come if you 
 really wish." Then she glided from the room. 
 
 A book la;y on the floor. Andrew picked it up. 
 "Is this her's?" he asked, partly because of a dry- 
 ness in his throat and to cover any embarrassing 
 allusions his father might make. Dear Jean had 
 nearly unset things. 
 
 "I suppose it must be, she's been reading it to 
 me," explained his father, whose eyes happened to 
 be glued at that minute on a certain rivet in the 
 flooring. 
 
IT 327 
 
 "It's in French !" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Well, what of that? Can't women read French; 
 most all of them do." 
 
 "Are you comfortable, dad?" asked his son, gently 
 trying in a man's awkward way, to soften the pil- 
 lows. It was necessary thus to hide the wonder in 
 him, the wonder of Jean. 
 
 "No," he replied pettishly. "I'm damned uncom- 
 fortable, but immensely entertained. Send Crease 
 here and go down and get your luncheon." 
 
 Andrew did not eat much luncheon. He had 
 hoped to see Jean, waylay her even against her 
 wishes. Troubled thoughts racked him ; old people 
 were shrewd. But Jean came not, and he was 
 obliged to take his luncheon without sight of her. 
 
 "Hello ! I just learn," said Laura Eeed, back of 
 him, as he reascended the companionway, "that 
 your father has had a fall and broken his leg. Too 
 bad, too bad, poor man. I thought maybe that he 
 would like to have me go in and cheer him up. It 
 must be pretty tedious to lie there and steady him- 
 self against this horrid pitching." 
 
 "Come along," said Andrew with forced cheerful- 
 ness. "Dad likes you a whole lot. He'll be de- 
 lighted to see you, I am sure." In his present men- 
 tal attitude he maliciously welcomed tlie prospect 
 of Laura's assuming to "cheer" his father. Away 
 down deep was a conviction that his dad would not 
 be heartily cheered. He was becoming morally cer- 
 tain that his parent's taste in women was changing. 
 He hailed with inward glee this opportunity for 
 comparison between the old and new taste. 
 
328 IT 
 
 Together they ascended to the deck room. Madi- 
 son knocked and entered with his companion. "Mrs. 
 Reed wanted to cheer you up, dad," he explained 
 as the couple entered the cripple's presence. 
 
 His father with old time civility rose on his elbow 
 to greet his visitor ; his quizzical expression did not 
 escape the critical glance of his son. 
 
 "Isn't this accident the hardest luck ever? You 
 poor dear man, to have such a thing happen and 
 you off for a summer lark! Dear me, such 
 weather," she prattled, loudly plunging her big 
 body into the easy chair by the bedside. "My hair 
 won't stay in crimp, I can't eat, and I'm just bored 
 stiff. Another year I'll send my maid out for my 
 clothes. She ought to know my taste. Ugh! how 
 nasty!" she exclaimed at a sudden lurch. 
 
 Mr. Madison assumed that he had as much to con- 
 demn in the trip as she. "And it's hard on Andrew," 
 he finished, rolling his eyes in his son's direction. 
 
 "It's beastly, you laid up, and Andrew as bored as 
 an owl in mid-day," she affirmed, regardless of 
 the indelicate consideration toward the patient. 
 "There's not a good-looking girl aboard. Yes, just 
 one," she corrected herself, "I saw her once or twice 
 only. She slips in late and leaves the saloon after 
 the rest of us have gone. I don't know who she is. 
 She may have an invalid relation about somewhere, 
 I presume she has. Poor creature, it must be slow 
 for her. Have you noticed her, Andrew? She's slim 
 and sleek and groomed to a. silken finish," she con- 
 tinued, turning to the young man, who was lighting 
 a cigar at the centre table. 
 
IT 329 
 
 "There is a pretty girl aboard answering a bit to 
 your description, who was standing near father 
 when he fell," said the young man with commend- 
 able innocence, "she was very kind, and at his re- 
 quest has been in several times to see him. She read 
 to him this morning." 
 
 "She's a love," cried Mr. Madison enthusiastic- 
 ally. "Joining friends in Paris, I think she said. 
 It's her first trip across, and from what I can gather 
 she is quite self-reliant, and a fine character gen- 
 erally." 
 
 "Rather dangerous, isn't it, taking up strange 
 women!" she laughed, "but then there are two of 
 you, it doesn't so much matter, men are licensed 
 anyway." 
 
 Andrew winced, but she did not notice, as women 
 are seldom seriously interested in other women. 
 Mrs. Reed changed the subject and talked of her- 
 self. "She's no more competent than other women 
 have to be. You've just got to be independent if 
 you marry a doctor. They're never able to go with 
 you, never can depend on them for a second. I'm 
 going over with the Longreens. We'll stop for 
 clothes in Paris and go on for the baths. It's a 
 beastly nuisance to have to cover one's self every six 
 months with new fashions, boil out for another six 
 weeks, and then begin all over again." 
 
 "I wonder if she wouldn't like to go as far as 
 Paris with you," said the injured man as one who 
 had been inwardly calculating a puzzling question 
 and was quite oblivious of the chatter of his guest. 
 
330 IT 
 
 "Dad's got a crush," laughed the lady, shaking a 
 knowing finger threateningly at the man in bed. 
 "Introduce me to your father's latest," she con- 
 tinued addressing Andrew. "If she's not too dread- 
 ful," she added, pondering, "and shows the proper 
 disposition I shan't mind chaperoning her as far as 
 that." 
 
 Andrew was standing by the partly open window 
 that gave on to the promenade deck. 
 
 "Miss Going, may I present you to Mrs. Keed," 
 said he to a young lady who was hastily passing the 
 opening. 
 
 Jean stopped, she was still chill from the morn- 
 ing's narrow experience, but she bent her head in at 
 the open casing and nodded gracefully to the 
 woman inside. 
 
 "Won't you come in and join us?" asked Mrs. 
 Reed, "I'm sure Mr. Madison wants you, too," she 
 laughed. The girl on the deck hesitated, she was at 
 a loss. In Mr. Madison's cabin sat her beautiful 
 lady, the wonderful woman of the magazine. She 
 recognized her immediately, although she was 
 grown much stouter. How she would like to know 
 her, to come close to the being who had so greatly 
 influenced her life. What an unexpected event! 
 The lady was actually waiting to speak to her, Jean ! 
 On the other hand, there was Andrew ; she was doing 
 all she could to avoid him, yet here was this wonder- 
 ful opportunity. It was the first time she had been 
 brought in competition with a woman of the smart- 
 set, his set. Well, why not? She must be very 
 guarded, she must not be discovered, to that hard 
 
IT 331 
 
 high-born father who would never forgive himself 
 or her for this blunder. The fact that she had again 
 intruded on the tenor of his august dignity, would 
 forever jeopardize an apology to one who had so 
 overstepped the boundaries of social ethics. It was 
 torture to be near Andrew under the present sit- 
 uation, it was equally difficult to be forced into Mr. 
 Madison's presence. 
 
 "Come in, do," again cried Mrs. Eeed seeing the 
 girl'is indecision, "Mr. Madison is calling you." 
 
 Jean retraced her steps and going to the lee side 
 of the stateroom entered it by the sheltered door. 
 
 "I'm a selfish old bear," said the patient smiling, 
 while extending his hand, "and should be satisfied 
 with one girl at a time. You see I ignore Andrew's 
 attractions." 
 
 Jean with a little catch at her heart went to the 
 bed, lightly touched the hand extended, then drew 
 up the blanket in isemi-professional authority. 
 
 "They have elected me assistant nurse," she said 
 by way of explanation, turning brightly to the other 
 woman and gracefully indicating that she resume 
 her seat by the bedside. 
 
 "Won't you sit here, too?" asked Andrew, offer- 
 ing Jean another chair, but she thanked him and 
 remained standing. 
 
 "Where have I seen you before?" asked the 
 woman by the bed, intently studying the girl's face. 
 "Where?" 
 
 "I'm sure I can't imagine," replied Jean with no 
 misgivings, but Andrew had his suspicions. Jean's 
 face was unusual, and women who buy hats some- 
 
332 IT 
 
 times remember saleswomen. He dreaded lest the 
 impulsive big woman should. He threw himself in 
 the breach. He talked of himself, of his travels, of 
 books, of w^hat he wanted to see abroad. Mrs. Eeed 
 was charmed, his father proud and Jean felt the 
 old, dear old presence of her Eibbons. 
 
 The afternoon passed all too quickly. Then 
 finally the doctor coming in, good-naturedly ordered 
 them all off, and his patient to rest. 
 
 Two days later, the ocean having assumed its best 
 behavior, Mr. Madison's chair was rolled to the 
 window, which was low enough to permit of his see- 
 ing the waterline over his damaged ankle. Mrs. 
 Reed and his son sat near him. Several steamers 
 were passing with the usual excitement of specula- 
 tion, and the exchange of wireless messages. Jean, 
 glad of an excuse to fly from an atmosphere that 
 was hourly becoming more trying, had left the room 
 on a trivial excuse. The two men and their guest 
 were discussing their plans which must, since the 
 accident, of necessity be changed. 
 
 "Why can't we all go on to Paris together, there's 
 more to entertain you there in your present con- 
 dition than any city in the world," advised Mrs. 
 Reed. The patient said nothing, Andrew was 
 equally uncommunicative. 
 
 "I'll gladly chaperone Miss Going. She's fine. 
 I've taken a whole lot to her. She's an ace spot all 
 right. Have you heard her sing, Andrew?" she 
 asked, addressing him. 
 
 "Sing," cried that young man, "why she don't 
 sing." Then he nearly bit his tongue in two. 
 
IT 333 
 
 "Don't she thougli ! Oil, but I forgot, you do not 
 come to the saloon, naturally, having your dinner 
 with your father. Well she does, like a lark. The 
 men are crazy about her. But they've not met her 
 because she has no one to introduce her. She should 
 go slap bang and have her voice trained the moment 
 she reaches Paris. She says she doesn't know one 
 note from another, signs by ear, has never had 
 any opportunity, nothing but the old piano in her 
 friend's apartment with whom she lives. Has she 
 told you anything about herself?" Then without 
 waiting for his answer, she continued gossiping 
 "She must be all right. She says she knows the 
 Poinsettes, that's sufficient endorsement. I'll bet 
 her veins are filled with blue blood. One can usu- 
 ally trace the Mayflower crew, though the imitators 
 are getting numerous." Andrew was a bit amused, 
 Laura's father had been a soapmaker. "The Stein- 
 ers and Allbergs and Lightwings will be at the top 
 in another generation. All the trades people are 
 soaring, many of them, no doubt will swear to being 
 instruments at the Boston Tea Party," said Mrs. 
 Keed instructively. 
 
 The patient tried with a groan to ease his ex- 
 tended leg. "But it shows," he reaffirmed, when he 
 was comforta;ble, "that the girl has spirit to do 
 things in spite of the odds against her," which 
 singular irrelevant assertion proved that his 
 thoughts had been elsewhere. "Wish she were here 
 this minute. She's as strong as a young lioness. 
 She and the doctor lifted me to this chair as easily 
 as if I were a chicken." 
 
334 IT 
 
 Andrew went to his father's assistance, but the 
 patient was uncomfortably stiff and a bit tired and 
 crossly ordered him off. 
 
 "I'd rather this infernal weight would pull me 
 through the deck than have you bungle me," he 
 answered petulantly. "If it wasn't for the assist- 
 ance that girl is, I'd kick the cussed plaster thing 
 through the sihip's side." 
 
 The man and woman laug'hed. It was the first 
 good sign of convalescence and there was yet pros- 
 pect of much further irritability. They must learn 
 to humor him. 
 
 "Maybe, dad, you'd like to be left alone for a 
 while," suggested his son. 
 
 "I would," he answered, with an old man's priv- 
 ilege of bluntness. "You two go out and take a 
 reckoning. The sun's bright," he chuckled, then he 
 closed his eyes in dismisisal. 
 
 Andrew reached for his cap and signaling to 
 Crease, in the adjoining cabin, to watch his father, 
 went with his companion out on the hurricane deck. 
 
 "Ain't you afraid the old man's taking too much 
 interest in this girl?" asked Mrs. Eeggie as they 
 gazed over the ship's quarter after a long and 
 almost silent promenade. 
 
 Andrew didn't know if he were afraid or not; in 
 fact it didn't matter much what his father or any 
 one else thought, he was miserably restless. He had 
 imagined that during the voyage there would at 
 least have been many opportunities when he and 
 Jean could have had moments together. There was 
 so much he wanted to say, so much he must say. 
 
IT 335 
 
 They were witMn thirty-six hours of landing 
 and never for more thaji a few seconds had he seen 
 Jean alone. When his father was first injured, he 
 suddenly saw glorious opportunities opening for 
 secret interviews. How differently it had turned 
 out! Jean was much in the cabin with his father 
 and T^^hen there, he was obliged to leave by his 
 father's order, and if Jean was not in attendance, 
 he had to replace her at the invalid's side. How cir- 
 cumstances had outwitted him! 
 
 "What's the matter with you anyway, Andrew? 
 If I did not know you pretty well I should think you 
 were in love, too. You mope like an owl in daylight. 
 Do smile, or say something amusing ; don't be such 
 a dummy ; you are positively stupid," ishe declared 
 with good-natured frankness. 
 
 "Worried about dad," he prevaricated. 
 
 "Pshaw, men don't worry about dads. There's 
 something in the wind. I can't guess what. Is it 
 money? Have it out like a good fellow and feel 
 better after." 
 
 Andrew laughed. "If I'm such a dummy give me 
 a lift, heave me overboard if you choose." 
 
 Evidently something was the matter, but Laura 
 had tact. "Come, let's walk," she insisted, "you've 
 been in that stuffy room too long." 
 
 Catching his arm ligihtly in hers she drew him' 
 gently along the deck. But Laura was unrewarded, 
 and after several futile efforts she found an excuse 
 to leave him. He was not ungrateful for his liberty 
 for he was in no mood for any but his own un- 
 settled thougths. Jean would not marry him with- 
 
336 IT 
 
 out the isanction of his father, possibly because of 
 his money. If his father cut him off he need 
 never go back to his former occupation, besides 
 he knew Jean's prejudice to that. He could help 
 her condition, he would give her the deed of 
 his southern property, the deed he had found in her 
 little red purse. The land was very valuable, it 
 would make a home for both, but if she were not 
 willing to share a home with him, why then he 
 would give it to her just the same. She should 
 never go back to the shops, she should not have to 
 earn her own living, he cared for her too much to 
 permit that. How had she so cleverly managed to 
 elude him day after day? What a fool he had been 
 not to show more spirit, yet "v^hat else could he have 
 done, his father's condition had so complicated all 
 his plans. To-morrow would be the last day aboard, 
 the ship was due at Oherberg at noon next day. He 
 would put off matters a little longer, then father 
 or no father, he would 'settle things. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The afternoon faded into a long and wonderful 
 twilight, its oranges and purples exchanging places, 
 elusive lights shimmered about the sky from 
 whence the sun had set till overtaken by dusky greys 
 that finally coaxed out the stars. One by one the 
 passengers had left the deck to pack. Jean not 
 wishing to lose first sight of land in the early morn- 
 ing had gone to her room to finish with her boxes so 
 that the morning might be free to do as she chose. 
 She was not through packing, and glancing at her 
 watch found it lacked a quarter of ten, it was not 
 too late to go on deck for a short stroll. Slipping 
 on a wrap she mounted the companion stairs to the 
 deck. Not for a moment would she acknowledge to 
 herself, that stronger far than her love of the splen- 
 did night, was the desire to steal near the deck room 
 where she fancied her lover already slept. Just to 
 be near the dear man again, it would be the last 
 time, for wiho knew how much longer. It would be 
 an unspeakable comfort to offer a prayer for his 
 well-being. She realized how hard it had been for 
 him to endure her presence under her stipulation 
 and the anxiety of his father's accident. She was 
 sorry for him, grieved for his father, and tormented 
 beyond expression over herself. She leaned against 
 a corner of the Madison's deck saloon oblivious to 
 night and sky and stars, just throbbing with love's 
 
338 IT 
 
 momentous doubts and falterings. A railing sepa- 
 rating the second cabin on the lower deck crossed 
 within a few feet of her, some of the passengers 
 there still walked restlessly to and fro. A per- 
 pendicular iron ladder served the crew as quick 
 access to the upper deck. Up this ladder hurriedly 
 climbed a heavy figure, threw a leg over the rail 
 and swung himself to the deck close beside Jean. 
 
 "Been trying to catch your "eye ever since I seen 
 you aboard." 
 
 The girl turned sharply, "Mr. Elugene!" 
 
 "The same, and you, who'd a thought it," he com- 
 mented, "and scarcely two years back a country 
 hayseed. Can't blame you none. First cabin, too ! 
 Wish I was the fortunate gent, handsome enough 
 by thunder, to have anything you want. His taste 
 is good. I'd be a fool not to trespass a little my- 
 self," he continued, and throwing one of his power- 
 ful arms about her, he planted a heavy kiss squarely 
 on her lips. 
 
 A frightened cry escaped her. "You low down 
 wretch," she gasped, wrenching herself from his 
 grasp. "Honors are easy," he mocked, reaching 
 toward /her, but a sudden fist from somew'here out 
 of the dark, struck the point of his chin and the 
 man tumbled backward with a coarse oath and 
 lay still against the deckhouse. 
 
 As is usually the case, even when but few people 
 are visible, a number of passengers gathered, all 
 asking questions which no one answered. 
 
 "Go to your room, Jean," said Madison under 
 his breath, hiding his swelling hand which had come 
 
IT 339 
 
 in contact with ttie ruffian's chin. "No one must 
 suspect what has really happened," he whispered. 
 
 Perhaps it is poor policy to try and hush matters 
 up. They are more apt to be magnified in the minds 
 of the unenlightened, assuming proportions far 
 beyond the possibilities of actual events. The sur- 
 rounding wise heads now fiercely speculated over an 
 incident in which two big men and the pretty girl 
 whom everyone admired, were involved. It was a 
 rare chance for some of the busybodies to secure 
 capital, which they greedily stored for such con- 
 venient use as the future might suggest. 
 
 The window was down in the Madison cabin, and 
 Mr. Madison (senior, whose ears were particularly 
 acute, heard all that ihad transpired. He also saw 
 Andrew's precipitate exit through the self-same 
 window, he also heard a curious thud on the deck. 
 It did not require a strain of intelligence to fathom 
 what had really happened, trained, as he was, to the 
 tones of Jean's voice. Therefore he made no com- 
 ment, when much later, his son stole softly back to 
 his room. The invalid lay a couple of hours in 
 deep meditation. Jean had been insulted. Alone, 
 as she was, such things were liable to be repeated, 
 the prevention of reoccurrences was in his hands. 
 Being now better able to turn himself, he adjusted 
 bis uncomfortable limb, closed his eyes, and fell off 
 into the most refreshing sleep he had enjoyed for 
 several mooUxS. 
 
 Andrew, on the contrary, passed a wretched 
 night. If Jean had been insulted once, she would 
 be again, for her marked beauty was sufficient lure 
 
340 IT 
 
 to tempt scrupulous men, what might she not suf- 
 fer from men of coarser fibre? Why, wihy had he 
 not spoken as he intended? What was it that kept 
 him day after day from easing his mind and appeal- 
 ing, as he should, to her sense of justice. A bright 
 thought occurred to him. He would give her the 
 deed the very first thing in the morning. Once 
 possessed of the valuable property she would be 
 independent of his father, she would be her own 
 mistress. His father's unreasonableness would 
 then no longer afifect her. Of course there would be 
 no chance of speaking with her on the subject, for 
 they were landing early; besides the Longreens 
 and Laura Eeed would be of the party. He was 
 still wide awake when the first morning's rays 
 glimmered across the casing, but he was of easier 
 mind, for he had come to a decision. Once his 
 father was comfortably quartered in Paris, he 
 would appeal to Jean, put the case practically be- 
 fore her, then, if need be, marry her on the spot. 
 It was a man's way of doing, the only way. 
 
 The morning was a busy one in the Madison 
 cabin. The patient was slowly dressed. Orease had 
 his hands full, for his master was singularly par- 
 ticular concerning his appearance on this morning, 
 having several opinions regarding his suits, nor was 
 it an easy matter to dress the stiff member. 
 Andrew, ungraciously dutiful, was packing, that 
 Crease might give his undivided attention to his 
 disabled master. The morning was well along be- 
 fore father and son were dressed and had break- 
 fasted. Pushing the chair from the little table, the 
 
IT 341 
 
 invalid whispered something in his yalet's ear, 
 w'ho straightway left the room. Not many minutes 
 later a light tapping was heard on the door. 
 Andrew opened it. 
 
 "Oome here, Jean Oummings," cried Mr. Madison, 
 rising upon his new crutches, as the astounded girl 
 caught at the hanging for support. 
 
 "Can you forgive the biggest old jackass God ever 
 made?" and he held out two trembling hands brac- 
 ing himself awkwardly. "See, I cannot go down 
 on my knees and ask you to forgive me, but if you 
 have it in your heart to forget the stupid vanity of 
 a silly old man, I beg you fetch Andrew there and 
 come here to me." 
 
 The heavy traveling bag his son held, fell with a 
 dangerous crackle suggestive of breaking bottles, to 
 the floor. Andrew seized Jean in his arms. 
 
 "God, dad, how did you know?" he cried, a sob in 
 his voice. Then he did something the world might 
 call unmanly, though opinions may differ as to the 
 manliness of such an act, he broke into hysterical 
 weeping. Sud(^enly there was a lacing of three pairs 
 of arms, while three heads braced against each 
 other, and the same number of hearts beat rap- 
 turously in as many breasts. 
 
 "There !" breathlessly exclaimed the elder freeing 
 himself, "that's good enough to repeat indefinitely. 
 We will, too, by and by, at present I've a few mat- 
 ters to disclose before the inspectors and general 
 hosts fall upon us. Now you two be as sensible ajs 
 you can. It would be wise not to let any of the 
 ps^rty suspect the condition of things until after we 
 
342 IT 
 
 are settled at the Eitz. This girl," he smiled, pinch- 
 ing her cheeks for the sheer pleasure of seeing her 
 confusion and the glorious color come and go, "will 
 go to her quarters at the pension as originally 
 planned. Laura Eeed and the Longreens are to be 
 at the same hotel with us, and if both of you were 
 not clever enough to keep an unsuspecting old 
 father in the dark, what chance have you against the 
 cunning sagacity of those astute women? My, hOw 
 that Reed woman gets on my nerves," he finished 
 peevishly. 
 
 "You are forgetting, father," said Andrew, with 
 a twinkle, his two hands folding over Jean's little 
 ones. "She might have " 
 
 "There," interrupted the elder man irritably, "no 
 more of that ; don't you dare allude to that again ; 
 don't dare twit me with being a fool more than 
 once. It makes the ends of these two bones fairly 
 sing when I think what that woman Laura might 
 have been to me, and all because she was the rage 
 and had — but no matter." And he sank wearily 
 back into his chair. Jean, in the new tenderness 
 of her great joy, dropped to iher knees beside him. 
 Mr. Madison lifted her chin and gazed fondly into 
 her face. 
 
 "So you really forgive me, little Jean?" he asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 The girl's face grew radiant, in fact a radiance 
 which the old gentleman, recurring to it in later 
 years, maintained illuminated her whole figure with 
 a glorious light. 
 
IT 343 
 
 "Forgive you! Why, dear sir, I have nothing 
 to forgive, unless you do not forgive yourself. It 
 was you who hurt yourself, not I. I did nothing. 
 I loved Ribbons the coachman, not Andrew your 
 son. A scullery maid may marry a coachman," she 
 laug&ed mischievously, "and when it comes to an 
 accounting, why, a society maid depends largely 
 upon the scullery maid." 
 
 "Bless you, Jean, with your little logical mind. 
 You are vriser at twenty than I at seventy. But, 
 child, my broken bones have given me a mental 
 jog. My accident has put matters in a light as 
 never before. I came near losing in my prejudiced 
 blindness a great prize. Andrew, come here," he 
 commanded. "This is a remarkable woman, son, 
 be good to her." 
 
 "Good to her!" Andrew repeated in a smothered 
 voice, as he reverently pressed his lips to Jean's 
 forehead. 
 
 "Amen," whispered his father. 
 
 Out of the mist a young aggressive tug, beat 
 against the side of the ship, scores of passengers 
 were shortly tumbled and tossed across the Channel. 
 
 At the quay, swarms of diminutive, jabbering 
 Frenchmen caught the lighter luggage and hurried 
 in toward the train. Once in the car, Jean in her 
 ecstacy became oblivious to the chatter of the rest 
 of the party and yielded herself completely to the 
 fascination of the fast flying scenery. She had 
 seen no country since she had left her Northern 
 hills. Here now was a second Central Park, only 
 limitless. In this land there were no unkempt 
 
344 IT 
 
 fields, no scraggling underbrush, no careless fences, 
 instead, hedgerows of trimmed greenery, miles and 
 miles of it. Long terminals of slim poplars, vanish- 
 ingly criss-crossed the plains, blazing patches of 
 scarlet poppies and skyblue cornflowers plaided 
 the fields. Far in the distance, against the rising 
 slopes, woolly tufts of sheep and sleek dun cattle 
 grazed contentedly. As she looked, the picture 
 slowly evolved into a far different one. It became 
 a gray old shanty, with adjacent stys and tumbling 
 sheds, and in the far stretches of underbrush, ill 
 fed lambs cropped the twigs. Children, half clad, 
 in savage unconcern, ran as unobservingly as the 
 cattle. And oh, the pitiful happenings amid the 
 surroundings that had recently occurred with as 
 rapid succession as had the events in her own event- 
 ful career. So rapid, in fact, she had had no oppor- 
 tunity to hasten to their relief. 
 
 Owing to a worthless father's inertia, and a pol- 
 luted water supply, the ravages, of typhoid ihad car- 
 ried off all but the miserable father. A new con- 
 finement at the time of the epidemic had been too 
 great a tax upon the vitality of the much worn 
 mother. The family had been buried by public 
 subscription, raised among the miners, and all was 
 over long before the letter had found its way to 
 Jean on the morning of her sailing. Now nothing 
 but piping bats inhabited the deserted home where 
 the door swung at will of the wind on its insecure 
 hinges. Th^ man, insane with the instinct of self- 
 preservation, had fled, leaving no trace of his 
 whereabouts. 'Such w^holesale calamity had numbed 
 
I T 345 
 
 Jean; but 'her affections, be it remembered, bad 
 only awakened witb ber growtb, a growtb tbat bad 
 developed since tbe departure from tbat desperate 
 bome. Tbe probable loss of ber lover bad been tbe 
 greater trial. It was petfbaps salvation that tbe two 
 evils bad come at a time wiben one would offset tbe 
 otber. So tbere was, during tlie few bours between 
 Oberberg and Paris, mucb to occupy tbe tbougMs 
 and eyes of Jean Oummings. Her meditation was 
 interrupted. 
 
 "Tbere sbe is! Dear old Paris. Tbe smoke and 
 spires and tbe trees of St. Oloud away in tbe dis- 
 tance," cried Mrs. Longreen. Sbe witb ber bus- 
 band and tbe others had been playing bridge all 
 day in tbe end of tbe compartment. 
 
 To Jean, tbe new city at this distance was not 
 as beautiful as the dignified city she had left, witb 
 its slender buildings tbat soared seemingly from 
 pavement to clouds. Before she could realize the 
 imminence of Paris, they were already steaming 
 into the station, being jostled by a mass of expec- 
 tant friends and pushed by an excitable army of 
 facteurs. 
 
 Seated in ber pretty room that evening, Jean 
 could scarcely remember bow the farewells had been 
 made, how she had bid goodnight to Andrew at 
 the street door of the hotel, or what in truth bad 
 become of the rest of ber fellow travelers. TheS 
 distraction of it all became a delightful melee. 
 The day had been too full, her happiness too ex- 
 alted, the future too bright; no wonder tbe girl 
 threw herself upon her big downy bed witb the most 
 
346 IT 
 
 ecstatic sigh of joy that had ever escaped a woman's 
 lips and was soon lost in another equally blissful 
 dreamland. 
 
 Next morning, at the Kitz, Andrew and his father 
 exchanged, with the intimate prattle of his early 
 life as he walked from room to room busy with his 
 toilet, their plans for Jean and themselves. 
 
 "And by the time her commissions are filled," 
 said Mr. Madison, "I shall be well enough to junket 
 about with you all. We'll hire a couple of cars and 
 run about the country. I, too, want to enjoy Jean 
 and her young enthusiasm; for you, you dog," he 
 ejaculated, with a dry punch at his son's ribs, "will 
 be running away with her and getting married." 
 
 "Naturally," answered Andrew complacently, ty- 
 ing his cravat as he walked with boyish exuber- 
 ance about his father's room. "Wouldn't you do 
 the same thing, dad?" 
 
 "Of course I would," agreed Mr. Madison se- 
 riously. "Because, it will save complications. You 
 see, there would be the question of her extra ex- 
 penses. She can't well afford to travel with the 
 rest of us, can she? But once married, the matter 
 is settled." 
 
 No sooner had they finished their coffee than 
 some one beat a tattoo on the sitting-room door; 
 then without waiting for an answer, the familiar 
 voice of Laura Reed cried out: "We're all here; 
 hurry up, you slow coaches; it's too good a day to 
 lose." And in she filed with the Longreens and a 
 couple of new-found friends. 
 
 "Oars waiting, boys, and luncheon ordered, and 
 
IT 347 
 
 we've got a nice little arrangement in the automo- 
 bile so that your foot can rest easy," exclaimed 
 Mr. Longreen. 
 
 "All right," assented Mr. Madison iheartily, the 
 spirit of the occasion taking possession of him. 
 
 Wraps were fastened, veils adjusted, gloves 
 tucked snugly into the sleeves and the party were 
 on their way to call for Jean, who would not have 
 confessed for the life of her that she had been ready 
 and pacing the floor in trembling excitement for the 
 last half hour. 
 
 What an ideal day it was! What a marvelous 
 country! Such parks, such estates, wonders and 
 wonders all the way. It was noon when they ar- 
 rived at a tiny inn under blossoming chestnuts. 
 
 Was there ever such juicy chickens ! Such peas ! 
 Did any one ever taste such an omelet ! with its de- 
 licious aroma and its circle of fire ! When it was all 
 eaten, every bit of it, the men tilted back their 
 chairs, sipped their cognac and smoked their fat 
 segars. Andrew, with a Masonic sign to Jean, fol- 
 lowered her with a lover's credulity of the safety of 
 his secret. Silently the two sauntered along a little 
 winding path, when Jean, under a great spreading 
 oak, turned to see the wonderful city stretched at 
 their feet, the Seine threading its way beneath his- 
 toric bridges, Andrew's forbearance left him. 
 
 "My little Jean, my love," he murmured, and 
 caught her passionately to him. "I can't help it, 
 you've kept me too long away." 
 
 Jean, lifting both hands, flung them about her 
 lover and looked up with swimming eyes. "Oh, 
 
348 IT 
 
 Andrew," she whispered, the new name for the first 
 time on her lips, "you've been so good, so patient, 
 so manly, were I a, fairy princess you could not 
 have been more considerate. I am so happy, so 
 happy," and breaking dowa, she buried her head 
 upon his shoulder. 
 
 Thus they stood, while the inconsiderate minutes 
 flew. Finally Andrew, being in isome respects no 
 more wonderful than other men, interrupted the 
 delicious moment. 
 
 "May I tell our friends when I go back?" 
 
 Jean did not answer, but her lover, taking her 
 unresisting little hands, drew them to his lips, and 
 understood. 
 
 An ovation awaited them when they returned. 
 Mr. Madison's methods were peculiar. He had as- 
 sumed a responsibility. He felt an infinite satis- 
 faction, a sort of atonement. "I'm giving a dinner 
 to my son's fiancee next Thursday." This had been 
 his manner of making an announcement when the 
 lovers had wandered off. 
 
 Of course Laura was not in the least surprised. 
 "The duplicity of some women," thought Mr. Madi- 
 son, quietly chuckling to himself. But in the 
 bosom of Mrs. Longreen there was a sharp dis- 
 appointment. At Geneva a daughter was finishing 
 her education. This daugihter's social entree was 
 scheduled for the following winter, and her mother 
 had had some schemes of her own. Who could cen- 
 sure her involuntary sigh? 
 
 Jean's engagement did not prevent her giving 
 her undivided time to the work she had in hand. 
 
IT 349 
 
 For slie commented, "Mr. Lightwing is paying for 
 my services and. my best is due the finn." 
 
 "You understand, Andrew, and you would not 
 wish it otherwise; I must be conscientious to the 
 core." 
 
 Whatever Andrew ma,y have thought, he kept 
 manfully to himself ; but he lost no opportunity to 
 accompany her as often as sihe would permit him, 
 as she went from one modiste to the other, 
 casting about her for new ideais and new creations. 
 It was quite delicious to sit beside the beautiful 
 girl, whose grace was already exercising the ad- 
 miration of this most critical city. Besides, had 
 he not been on unreasonable short commons of 
 late ! And now the American-French world, on the 
 advent of the Madisons, immediately cast their bait 
 to the new arrivals, and Jean, as the betrothed of 
 the very rich young man, was the most entertained 
 and popular belle in the community, and thought 
 the worldly ones, the Madisons are among the most 
 desirable people in America and their home a good 
 one to visit. 
 
 "People," remarked Jean, observingly, "like you 
 for what you can do for them." 
 
 Andrew laughed. "Only you must pretend you 
 don't suspect," he answered. 
 
 "Why are we visiting so many Americans?" she 
 asked again one day. "There are plenty of them 
 at home, why not visit French families?" 
 
 "The French don't like most Americans," 
 
 "But you and Andrew are not most Americans," 
 she answered, pride dancing in her eyes. 
 
CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 Father and son declined all further invitations, 
 except those of a few of the old French menages 
 as cordially entertained them for their own per- 
 sonality. Les meres cast approving glances at 
 Jean, whose frank alertness soon won their 
 hearts; such naturalness was an excellent example 
 to their own offspring, and French mammas could 
 be gracious to an engaged girl. The men gloated 
 over her beauty, and as Jean's innocent young heart 
 could not read beneath the surface, she enjoyed 
 with no arier pense their delightful compliments 
 and laughed with genuine enthusiasm over their, 
 polite overtures to her wit and grace. Andrew, 
 with a lover's humility, exulted in these tributes to 
 his sweet Jean. "Oh the delight of you, darling, 
 the delight of you," and he would crush her hands 
 against his breast and bless his soul that she was 
 his, and the girl would murmur, "My Eibbons !" 
 
 "There's something I wanted to speak to you 
 about," he said to her one afternoon as they drove 
 slowly through the Bois. He drew from his pocket 
 a plush purse. 
 
 "Oih, you darling little purse!" exclaimed the girl, 
 making as if to seize the pocketbook. "Where did 
 you find it, Andrew?" 
 
 "You handed it to me, have you forgotten?" he 
 asked, his glance fixed searchingly upon her. "We 
 
IT 351 
 
 were walking," he continued, wMle his eyes watched 
 her face intently. "It was cold; I told you to let 
 me put it in my pocket and for you to wrap your 
 hands in your coat sleeves. I forgot it when we 
 reached the house. It must have escaped your mem- 
 ory, too, for you did not ask for it after." 
 
 She held out her hand to take the purse, but 
 Andrew retained it firmly in his, slowly opening 
 it to take out first the printed picture of Laura, 
 then the deed. Jean hurriedly caught at the print, 
 ignoring the thinner paper which dropped to the 
 floor of the vehicle. She studied the picture with 
 intense interest. 
 
 "I've seen you, know you," she said to herself, 
 "and you're no more wonderful than hundreds of 
 others! no, most ordinary. What has become of 
 the angel I thought you? What a difference it 
 all makes at short range? The first great wonder 
 changes, and a second, a very different wonder 
 comes, the wonder at one's wonder. Heroines do 
 the identical things other people do; they're not 
 at all the remarkable creations we thought them, 
 not fairies in the least," she concluded with a sigh. 
 
 Andrew stooped and picked up the thin rustling 
 paper; evidently she had little regard for it, she 
 did not know then! Why had she kept it? This 
 was in the purse, too," he said simply, showing her 
 the paper. Jean took it in her hand. 
 
 "Dear me, Andrew, what a baby I must have 
 been," she laughed aloud. "Do you know, my boy, 
 I found this thing one day up by the brook. Some 
 men had been prospecting. I suppose one of them 
 
352 IT 
 
 dropped it. See, I tore a part away, because I 
 only wanted the seals; they were pretty red wax, 
 I had never seen anything like them, so I wrapped 
 my sweet fairy lady's picture in the sealed paper 
 and hid it under my bed clothes." 
 
 Andrew drew Jean's hand to his breast. "Dear 
 love," he murmured, "this is one of the most sing- 
 ular coincidents imaginable. This paper from 
 wihich you have torn the heading is the deed of 
 my property, my date tract, my date fields! Of 
 course the duplicate is on file, but to think that you, 
 my Jean, should have found this document and 
 that through you it has come back to me again !" 
 
 She replied with only as much interest as she 
 might have had in any trifie that concerned him, 
 because with her temperament the physiological 
 problem she was studying seemed of far greater 
 importance. 
 
 "It has been my one desire, dear heart, since 
 finding the deed, that you and I should go there 
 and study how we may best develop the property, 
 because," he hesitated, "because, sweetheart, I have 
 given the place to you. It is my betrothal gift." 
 
 Jean looked at her lover with beaming eyes. 
 "You blessed, blessed fellow," she whispered, thrust- 
 ing the paper back into his hand, "you have alreadj 
 given me more than I know how to take. I am rich 
 beyond what acres can make. If the deed is yours 
 and through me you got it back, through me you 
 must hold it." With a delicious little moue she 
 continued archly, in strict imitation of his tone, 
 
IT 353 
 
 "Andrew, dear, take this as a wedding gift from 
 me." 
 
 The afternoon was shading to twilight, both 
 lovers leaning against the cushions of their taxicab, 
 were wrapped in delicious realms. Jean's fancies 
 flitted like a butterfly from one sweet thought blos- 
 som to another. Verily she had been turned by 
 some gentle fairy, into a wonder-princess; and was 
 it not all because she had early in life discovered 
 the little "It," the atom that will do miracles for 
 us if we learn the secret of its helpfulness? 
 
 So she went over and over the precious attain- 
 ment, gloating that she was awake to this, the 
 most valuable of all possessions. Andrew, too, was 
 thoughtful, wais profoundly absorbed, was, trying to 
 unravel the mystery of how the deed to his south- 
 em property should have come to Jean's mountains, 
 into the very hands of the woman he loved. Of 
 course the Mexican under whose roof he had con- 
 valesced ihad stolen the deed, and it was a Mexican 
 who had been drowned w'hile in a drunken torpor in 
 the brook that skirted t^e woods close to Jean's 
 cabin. There had been, she told him at the time, 
 great excitement at the finding of his body partly 
 submerged in the water, though the death of a 
 tramp was of small importance to the miners^ who 
 often fell upon each other in drunken brawls. 
 Numerous graves, dug after dark in the hollow back 
 of the ore dump, testified to such frequent trage- 
 dies. 
 
 Scores of tiny spangles twinkled from the sky 
 before Andrew aroused himself from his reverieis. 
 
354 IT 
 
 Then a soft glove stole into the man's hand and a 
 sweet voice admonished: 
 
 "Andrew, won't your father be waiting?" 
 
 "By jove!" ejaculated Andrew, "and we've got 
 to pick father up ; we are dining out, are we not?" 
 
 Jean nodded, concerned; it was later than they 
 had imagined. 
 
 Arriving at the hotel, Crease met them at the 
 door. 
 
 "Mr. Madison wishes to see both you and the 
 young lady immediately." 
 
 "Has anything happened?" asked Andrew with 
 rapid alarm, for of late his nerves were tricky. 
 "Has he hurt himself?" 
 
 The valet shook his head. "No, sir." 
 
 "Come, Jean," called Andrew, with apparent re- 
 lief, extending his hand to Jean. 
 
 "Well, you young partridges," expostulated Mr. 
 Madison, as the couple opened his door. "I thought 
 you had eloped. Let me see, you have been gone," 
 and he consulted his watch thoughtfully, "since 
 three o'clock; just five hours and fifteen minutes." 
 
 Two young individuals looked quite conscience 
 stricken. 
 
 "This telegram came a short time after you left," 
 he explained in a different key, "and I've been itch- 
 ing to know about it." Mr. Madison handed his son 
 a cablegram with all the insistent curiosity of the 
 aged. 
 
 Andrew tried the lap, it opened suspiciously free. 
 
 A smile escaped him as he shook his finger 
 threateningly at his parent. 
 
I T 355 
 
 "So you did!" 
 
 His father replied with color: "Well, I suppose 
 I did; you were gone so long, and I thought I might 
 be able to answer it for you, but I can't understand 
 a word of it." 
 
 Andrew read and understood. He whistled 
 sharply, thrust his hands in his pockets, strutted 
 once up and down the room, then with tantalizing 
 deliberation replied: 
 
 "It concerns her," and placed the message in 
 Jean's hand. 
 
 Jean took the paper, holding it firmly and read 
 aloud : 
 
 "Will you take two millions for Chiqua? Answer 
 immediately. Rideau Madrez." 
 
 The girl at the mention of the enormous sum, 
 let the message flutter to the floor, but Andrew 
 with a wild whoop of delight, caught her force- 
 fully aibout the waist and waltzed her through the 
 length of the apartment. 
 
 "Are you two crazy?" demanded Mr. Madison, 
 with no great indulgence. His curiosity, together 
 with his hunger, made him decidedly peevish. 
 
 "Daddy dear, daddy," sang his irresponsible son, 
 dancing about him, "daddy dear, can't you under- 
 stand, it's an offer for my Mexican tract, my prop- 
 erty which I have just turned over to her. I am 
 going to marry an heiress; daddy, give your con- 
 sent to an immediate ceremony. Misis Cummings 
 is owner of rich fields adjoining the Chiqua oil 
 wells, and can't you see what has happened?" 
 
 Then Pere Madison, too, whistled aloud. He 
 
356 IT 
 
 knew of Andrew's purchase, but had not approved. 
 The reputation of these new borings was unknown 
 to him. 
 
 Andrew with mock solemnity continued: "Well, 
 Miss Cummings, Madrez is waiting for your an- 
 swer, remember." 
 
 A bright color swept across Jean's face. ^'I've 
 nothing that is not yours, Andrew, and never shall 
 have. You are generous beyond belief in wishing 
 me to take this property, but you are the owner, the 
 spokesman. If the company becomes a joint one," 
 she smiled archly, "all partners should consult 
 each other." Then, drawing herself up with mock 
 gravitjy, she advised: "If this offer is genuine, 
 they will be willing to give even more, unless you 
 wish to keep it yourself; you had better hold off 
 for a better offer. There, now, is that not a 
 womanly point of view?" She laughed, "and we, 
 the advisors, elect you chief manager. I, for one, 
 being a woman, remain silent partner." She smiled 
 at her simile. 
 
 "Very well, woman 'silent partner,' shall we ac- 
 cept the offer?" 
 
 "I should suggest we look at what you own first." 
 
 "Bravo!" shouted Mr. Madison, who could keep 
 quiet no longer, but taking the pair in his arms he 
 performed the same peculiar co-operative hug he 
 had invented on the steamer. "You're a fit coun- 
 sellor for my wealthy son," he jested, giving her 
 at the same time an affectionate pat of approbation. 
 Then in consideration of his exacting appetite, the 
 momentous cablegram was further discussed in the 
 
1 T 357 
 
 Cafe de Paris, where dinner had already been wait- 
 ing overtime. 
 
 "I've a line from Poinsette," said Andrew to his 
 father, several mornings later. "His wife, he writes, 
 is not at all well ; they are coming over under doc- 
 tor's advice, they will be in Paris Saturday." 
 
 "So," assented Mr. Madison, sipping his coffee, 
 while he fingered a bunch of hothouse grapes, think- 
 ing hard the while. 
 
 "Did you hear what I said, dad?" demanded his 
 son, after a dutiful pause. 
 
 "I did," answered his parent shortly, then more 
 gently. "Son," he continued, his brow drawn into 
 thoughtful lines, "why not take this opportunity, 
 I mean the presence of the Poinsettes, to be quietly 
 married ; it will be an advantage having them here, 
 and a marriage will be the solution of the present 
 problem. Mexico ""s some distance, to be sure, but 
 not too far for a honeymoon," he smiled dryly. 
 
 "You old sinner, you darling plotter," protested 
 his son. "Just the same, you are the finest dad 
 living. We'll do it." And he pressed his cheek on 
 the elder head where the part was widening. 
 
 Thus it came about that Jean Oummings, a week 
 later, was sitting by the side of her former mistress 
 intimately discussing the important feat of a hastily 
 purchased trousseau. But over and above the ques- 
 tion of clothes was the ever-recurring thought by 
 Jean of what the two short years had brought 
 about! Could greater magic be conceived! Here 
 she was on familiar terms with the "lady" who 
 on that day when she first entered her emplo;y, 
 
358 IT 
 
 was as far beyond her as were the nebulae of the 
 milky way. The former scullery maid, actually 
 seated in social intimacy on the very same sofa with 
 her former mistress, and — and Mr. Poinsette's 
 coachman was at that very moment playing pool 
 with his former master at the club! How fragile 
 an institution was society, how fine the hair on 
 which it swung! Yet the whole world was willing 
 to swing from the frail hair, yea, even barter its 
 soul for the privilege of swinging! But she dared 
 spend no more thought at present on the wonder of 
 the past; the days, even the moments, now were 
 numbered, and there was so much to do, so many 
 questions to ask about Dougo, about Wrights and 
 Tommy and Magenta; how were they and "what 
 arrangements have you made with them?" she asked 
 solicitously. Mrs. Poinsette sighed, then settled 
 herself more comfortably to answer Jean. 
 
 "There's a lot to tell, but first, dear, I am going 
 to slip this bracelet on your wrist ; it was one of my 
 wedding presents, I want it to be one of yours." 
 
 "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the girl, breathless 
 at its magnificence; then with a little gasp she coIq- 
 tinued, "But your 'wedding gift!' I thought your 
 jewelry had all been stolen !" 
 
 "So it had been, dear, and most of our silver too, 
 but its nearly all back now. And it was Jessup 
 who took it, but because of you, you young witch," 
 and she gave the girl a love-pinch on her crimson- 
 ing cheek." Mr. Poinsette managed to have the sen- 
 tence suspended, not a difficult task owing to the 
 pitiful condition of his family." 
 
IT 359 
 
 Jean pressed her hand against her heart; her 
 face had grown very white, "Oh my ideals, my 
 simple people, how tliey have fallen, how much I 
 have had to unlearn !" 
 
 After an eloquent pause, Jean righted herself, 
 "Well, please go on," she bade, "I want to hear of 
 everything." 
 
 "I shall never be as happy in the new house as 
 I was in the old, I fear," she replied. "In fact, I 
 dread to open it again. All the old servants have 
 left me. Dougo, the sly woman, informed me at the 
 last moment that she had bought a farm. 'There 
 is only the farmer to get now,' she added when 
 she had told me, though her face was a marvel of 
 happiness. A little later that same day, Wrights 
 asked permission to go out, he wanted 'to buy some 
 things, to learn about Dougo, about Wrights and 
 wedding clothes,' and that's the way they an- 
 nounced their intentions. What a dear odd old pair 
 they are, Jean." 
 
 "So they are going to be married! Oh, I'm so 
 glad !" exclaimed Jean, hugging her arms in delight. 
 "Dougo did so love him." 
 
 "How do you know?" asked Mrs. Poinsette, 
 amused at the flush her question had caused. The 
 not distant association between this well groomed, 
 self-poised girl, and her own servants, having for 
 the moment entirely precluded the past situation; 
 but Jean was fully mindful, as her change of 
 countenance proclaimed, then without further em- 
 barrassment, she replied : "Because she used to talk 
 lip other girls to him; is that not sufiScient proof?" 
 
360 IT 
 
 Mrs. Poineette marveled at the fine courage of 
 the girl now. How analytic she was ! 
 
 Jean's hands were folded in her lap, though her 
 fingers worked nervously, a betrayal that the next 
 question was costing her something. 
 
 "And Magenta?" she murmured, while she 
 studied the distant spires of Notre Dame, just vis- 
 ible through the parted curtains. 
 
 Mrs. Poinsette shook her head. 
 
 "I don't know where Magenta is," she replied. 
 "So much happened at the house toward the last, 
 it was as if some one had pressed a button, and 
 presto! everything was changed. I had expected 
 to lose her, anyway. It seemed there was a certain 
 
 young bookkeeper ^' Here for reasons which 
 
 Jean quickly interpreted, Mrs. Poinsette scanned 
 her companion's face, and then continued: "A 
 young Sanford in the employ of Lightwing, who 
 had been coming for quite a time to see her; we 
 fancied she would marry him, but some weeks be- 
 fore we sailed she ran away with a man by the 
 name of Eugene." 
 
 Jean turned pale, her hand caught at the chair- 
 arm, she said nothing, though her teeth bit hard 
 against her lip. It could not be possible, she 
 thought; there were other Eugenes. Besides, had 
 not her 'Mr. Eugene' been on the very steamer 
 with her? Surely it was merely a coincidence, yet 
 down deep was conviction. It made her sick at 
 heart. Poor, poor Mrs. Eugene! 
 
 "Well, child !" exclaimed her hostess, "where has 
 your thinking cap been wandering." 
 
IT 361 
 
 The girl pulled herself together. She would not 
 expose her thoughts, Mrs. Eugene had been her 
 benefactress, she would guard against her betrayal.' 
 
 "I was thinking of poor foolish Magenta," and 
 she brushed back a tear. 
 
 "How the girl craved the things of thiis world, 
 how she envied all who had them, what a bitter 
 within she had, how she ignored, what I call the 
 'It' of her." Jean closed her eyes tightly for a few 
 minutes ; she had met a new mental equation before 
 she had opened them again. Magenta and all the 
 unpleasant incidents were relegated to the far back- 
 ground of her life ; all must now be clear and bright 
 and delightful, 
 
 "Well?" she questioned, in quite a different key, 
 "tell me about Tommy." 
 
 "Tommy," echoed Mrs. Poinsette, smiling kindly, 
 "why, the boy, I presume, is the happiest boy in all 
 creation, or will be till he has a broken rib to his 
 
 credit. Agisto " It was the first time she had 
 
 spoken of her husband in the intimate term to Jean. 
 The two women had, with quick feminine adaptive- 
 ness, fallen as smoothly and easily into their present 
 relations, as if there never had been a difference of 
 conditions. "Agisto has promised to make him his 
 trainer." 
 
 "If the rascal don't break his neck in the mean- 
 time," interrupted Mr. Poinsette, entering at that 
 moment, followed by Laura and "Eeggie." 
 
 The intimate tete-a-tete was at an end, the 
 intruders brought in a new and different atmos- 
 phere. Laura was radiant and so was "Reggie," for 
 
362 IT 
 
 he had just come oyer as a pleasant surprise for his 
 wife and incidentally to be of professional service to 
 the Poinsettes. Jean rose to greet the doctor; then 
 at the recollection of their last meeting, a crimson 
 flush covered her face. The handsome, graceful 
 girl who stood with outstretched hand was quite a 
 different individual from the timid little apparition 
 "Eeggie" remembered some two years previous in 
 the sick-room. The ph,ysician's bewilderment was 
 most apparent as he brushed off an imaginary fly 
 to regain his self-composnre. Mr. Poinsette came 
 to his relief. "You didn't think you were talking 
 to Andrew's future wife, did you, 'Eeggie,' when you 
 first met her in the hospital?" The doctor hastily 
 regained his poise. 
 
 "Not exactly, but there was that in the young 
 lady that made me want to see more of her; she 
 sweetened the whole place, there was something 
 electrically forceful," he answered with sincerity. 
 
 "Here, here, Reggie," cried his wife, in mimic 
 jealousy. "You too. Brute. All you men are in 
 love with her; well, let it be known to you, we 
 women are, too," and his big, good-natured wife 
 flung her arms affectionately about the willowy girl 
 in whose eyes a tender light was glistening. 
 
 It was now Tuesday evening; Jean and Andrew 
 were to be married next day. Because of the im- 
 minence of the event, three people sat side by side 
 on a wide lounge. Jean, between father and lover, 
 held in hers a hand of each ; it was the interlocking 
 of a mutual understanding, the dumb eloquence of 
 thoughts beyond audible expression. Jean first 
 
IT 363 
 
 broke the impressive silence. 
 
 "How wonderful," she murmured. "How very 
 wonderful what can be done if one have faith of 
 the force within, if one discover the 'It,' the source 
 of my growth, my love, my wonderland !" Priceless 
 tears coursed down her cheeks, she slipped to her 
 knees, and throwing her arms about the two men, 
 whispered : 
 
 "I was very young when I discovered my 'It.' " 
 
 END 
 
ii ! wil