THEr ROMANCE PLAIN MAN ELLEN GLASGOW 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/details/cu31924022445864 THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN ^^>^ •Tl >? THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON - CHICAGO ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY - CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN BY ELLEN GLAS'^OW AUTHOR OF " THE DELIVERA:^^" " THE VOICE OP THE PEOPLE," ISf • TStin gorfe THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1909 All riffhta reserved f^^lF fr Copyright, 1909, HE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 'TV \A electrotyped. Published May, 1909. Reprinted /J August, September, twice, igog. 1131i6B Hotiaoa)) $ceee J. B. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Go. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. PS ssisiT/Res"'"""" """^ ^iini iiffi,KS,.,9.t,. S.. .E.l.a.!n ..man / 3 1924 022 445 864 CONTENTS I. In which I APPEAR WITH PeW PRETENSIONS 1 n. The Enchanted Garden .... . 16 ni. A Pair of Ked Shoes .... . 34 IV. In WHICH I PLAY IN THE EnCHANTED GaRDBJ r . 45 V. In which I START IN LiFE . , . . 58 VI. Concerning Carrots . 72 vn. In which I mount the First Rung of the La DDER 87 vm. In which my Education Begins . 102 IX. I LEARN A Little Latin and a Great Dea L OP Life ........ . 115 X. In which I Grow Up . 127 XI. In which I ENTER SoCIETY AND GET A FaLL . 139 xn. I WALK INTO THE COUNTRY AND MEET WITl I AN Adventure . 154 xm. In which I run against Traditions . 165 XIV. In which I test my Strength . 176 XV. A Meeting in the Enchanted Garden . 189 XVI. In which Sally speaks her Mind . . 199 XVII. In which my Fortunes Rise . . 211 xvin. The Principles of Miss Matoaca . . 220 XIX. Shows the Triumph of Love . . 231 XX. In which Society receives Us . 237 XXI. I AM THE Wonder of the Hour . 247 XXII. The Man and the Class . . 259 XXIII. In which I WALK ON Thin Ice . 280 CONTENTS CHAPTER XXIV. In which I go Down . . . . XXV. Wb face the Facts and Each Other XXVI. The Red Flag at the Gate XXVII. We close the Dooe behind Us XXVIII. In which Sally Stoops . XXIX. In which we receive Visitors XXX. In which Sally Plans . XXXI. The Deepest Shadow XXXII. I COMB to the Surface . XXXTII. The Growing Distance . XXXIV. The Blow that Clears . XXXV. The Ultimate Choice . PAGE 296 306 317 331 343 358 376 391 406 430 445 459 THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN THE EOMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN CHAPTER I IN WHICH I APPEAE WITH FEW PRETENSIONS As the storm broke and a shower of hail rattled like a handful of pebbles against our little window, I choked back a sob and edged my small green-painted stool a trifle nearer the hearth. On the opposite side of the wire fender, my father kicked off his wet boots, stretched his feet, in grey yarn stockings, out on the rag carpet in front of the fire, and reached for his pipe which he had laid, still smoking, on the floor under his chair. "It's as true as the Bible, Benjy," he said, "that on the day you were born yo' brother President traded off my huntin' breeches for a yaller pup." My knuckles went to my eyes, while the smart of my mother's slap faded from the cheek I had turned to the fire. "What's become o' th' p-p-up-p?" I demanded, as I stared up at him with my mouth held half open in readiness to break out again. "Dead," responded my father solemnly, and I wept aloud. It was an October evening in my childhood, and so vivid has my later memory of it become that I can still see the sheets of water that rolled from the lead pipe on our roof, and can still hear the splash ! splash ! B I 2 THE KOMAKCE OF A PLAIN MAN with which they fell into the gutter below. For three days the clouds had hung in a grey curtain over the city, and at dawn a high wind, blowing up from the river, had driven the dead leaves from the churchyard like flocks of startled swallows into our little street. Since morning I had watched them across my mother's "prize " red geranium upon our window-sill — now whipped into deep swirls and eddies over the sunken brick pavement, now rising in sighing swarms against the closed doors of the houses, now soaring aloft until they flew almost as high as the living swallows in the belfry of old Saint John's. Then as the dusk fell, and the street lamps glimmered like blurred stars through the rain, I drew back into our little sitting-room, which glowed bright as an ember against the fierce weather outside. Half an hour earlier my father had come up from the marble yard, where he spent his days cutting lambs and doves and elaborate ivy wreaths in stone, and the smell from his great rubber coat, which hung drying be- fore the Idtchen stove, floated with the aroma of coffee through the half-open door. When I closed an eye and peeped through the crack, I could see my mother's tall shadow, shifting, not flitting, on the whitewashed wall o^ the kitchen, as she passed back and forth from the stove to the wooden cradle in which my little sister Jessy lay asleep, with the head of her rag doll in her mouth. Outside the splash ! splash ! of the rain still sounded on the brick pavement, and as I glanced through the window, I saw an old blind negro beggar groping under the street lamp at the corner. The muffled beat of his stick in the drenched leaves passed our doorstep, and I APPEAR WITH FEW PRETENSIONS 3 I heard it grow gradually fainter as he turned in the direction of the negro hovels that bordered our end of the town. Across the street, and on either side of us, there were rows of small boxlike frame houses built with narrow door-ways, which opened from the side- walk into funny little kitchens, where women, in soiled calico dresses, appeared to iron all day long. It was the poorer quarter of what is known in Richmond as "Church Hill," a portion of the city which had been left behind in the earlier fashionable progress westward. Between us and modern Richmond there were several high hills, up which the poor dripping horses panted on summer days, a railroad station, and a broad slum-like bottom vaguely described as the "Old Market." Our prosperity, with our traditions, had crumbled around us, yet there were still left the ancient church, with its shady graveyard, and an imposing mansion or two in- herited from the forgotten splendour of former days. The other Richmond — that "up-town " I heard some- times mentioned — I had never seen, for my early horizon was bounded by the green hill, by the crawl- ing salmoii-coloured James River at its foot, and by the quaint white belfry of the parish of old St. John's. Beneath that belfry I had made miniature graves on summer afternoons, and as I sat now opposite to my father, with the bright fire between us, the memory of those crumbling vaults made me hug myself in the warmth, while I edged nearer the great black kettle singing before the flames. "Pa," I asked presently, with an effort to resume the conversation along cheerful lines, "was it a he or a she pup?" 4 THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN My father turned his bright blue eyes from the fire, whUe his hand wandered, with an habitual gesture, to his coarse straw-coloured hair which stood, like mine, straight up from the forehead. "Wall, I'll be blessed if I can recollect, Benjy," he replied, and added after a moment, in which I knew that his slow wits were working over a fresh attempt at distraction, "but speaking of dawgs, it wouldn't surprise me if yo' ma was to let you have a b'iled egg for yo' supper." Again the storm was averted. He was so handsome, so soft, so eager to make everybody happy, that al- though he did not deceive even my infant mind for a minute, I felt obliged by sheer force of sympathy to step into the amiable snare he laid. "Hard or soft ? " I demanded. "Now that's a matter of ch'ice, ain't it?" he rejoined, wrinkling his forehead as if awed by the gravity of the decision; "but bein' a plain man with a taste for solids, I'd say 'hard' every time." "Hard, ma," I repeated gravely through the crack of the door to the shifting shape on the kitchen wall. Then, while he stooped over in the firelight to prod fresh tobacco into his pipe, I began again my insatiable quest for knowledge which had brought me punishment at the hand of my mother an hour before. "Pa, who named me?" "Yo' ma." "Did ma name you, too?" He shook his head, doubtfully, not negatively. Above his short growth of beard his cheeks had warmed I APPEAR "WITH FEW PRETENSIONS 5 to a clear pink, and his foolish blue eyes were as soft as the eyes of a baby. "Wall, I can't say she did that — exactly." "Then who did name you?" "I don't recollect. My ma, I reckon." "Did ma name me Ben Starr, or just Ben?" "Just Ben. You were born Starr." "Was she born Starr, too?" , "Good Lord, no, she was born Savage." "Then why warn't I born Savage?" ' "Because she married me an' I was born Starr." I gave it up with a sigh. "Who had the most to do with my comin' here, God or ma?" I asked after a minute. My father hesitated as if afraid of committing him- self to an heretical utterance. "I ain't so sure," he replied at last, and added immediately in a louder tone, "Yo' ma, I s'pose." "Then why don't I say my prayers to ma instead of to God?" "I wouldn't begin to worry over that at my age, if I were you," replied my father, with angelic patience, "seein' as it's near supper time an' the kettle's a-bilin'." "But I want to know, pa, why it was that I came to be named just Ben?" "To be named just Ben?" he repeated slowly, as if the fact had been brought for the first time to his attention. "Wall, I reckon 'twas because we'd had considerable trouble over the namin' of the first, which was yo' brother President. That bein' the turn of the man of the family, I calculated that as a plain Ameri- can citizen, I couldn't do better than show I hadn't 6 THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN any ill feelin' agin the Government. I don't recollect just what the name of the gentleman at the head of the Nation was, seein' 'twas goin' on sixteen years ago, but I'd made up my mind to call the infant in the cradle arter him, if he'd ever answered my letter — which he never did. It was then yo' ma an' I had words because she didn't want a child of hers named arter such a bad-mannered, stuck-up, ornary sort. President or no President. She raised a terrible squall, but I held out against her," he went on, dropping his voice, "an' I stood up for it that as long as 'twas the office an' not the man I was complimentin', I'd name him arter the office, which I did on the spot. When 'twas over an' done the notion got into my head an' kind of tickled me, an' when you came at last, arter the four others in between, that died befo' they took breath, I was a'ready to name you 'Governor' if yo' ma had been agreeable. But 'twas her turn, so she called you arter her Uncle Benjamin — " "What's become o' Uncle Benjamin?" I interrupted. "Dead," responded my father, and for the third time I wept. "I declar' that child's been goin' on like that for the last hour," remarked my mother, appearing upon the threshold. "Thar, thar, Benjy boy, stop cryin' an' I'll let you go to old Mr. Cudlip's burial to-morrow." "May I go, too, ma?" enquired President, who had come in with a lighted lamp in his hand. He was a big, heavy, overgrown boy, and his head was already on a level with his father's. "Not if I know it," responded my mother tartly, for her temper was rising and she looked tired and I APPEAR WITH FEW PEETENSIONS 7 anxious. "I'll take Benjy along because he can crowd in an' nobody'll mind." She moved a step nearer whUe her shadow loomed to gigantic proportions on the whitewashed wall. Her thin brown hair, partially streaked with grey, was brushed closely over her scalp, and this gave her profile an angularity that became positively grotesque in the shape behind her. Across her forehead there were three deep frowning wrinkles, which did not disappear even when she smiled, and her sad, flint-coloured eyes held a perplexed and anxious look, as if she were trying always to remember something which was very im- portant and which she had half forgotten. I had never seen her, except when she went to funerals, dressed otherwise than in a faded grey calico with a faded grey shawl crossed tightly over her bosom and drawn to the back of her waist, where it was secured by a safety pin of an enormous size. Beside her my father looked so young and so amiable that I had a confused impression that he had shrunk to my own age and importance. Then my mother retreated into the kitchen and he resumed immediately his natural proportions. After thirty years, when I think now of that ugly little room, with its painted pine furniture, with its coloured glass vases, filled with dried cat-tails, upon the mantelpiece, with its crude red and yellow print of a miniature David attacking a colossal Goliath, with its narrow window- panes, where beyond the "prize" red geranium the wind drove the fallen leaves over the brick pavement, with its staring whitewashed walls, and its hideous rag carpet — when I think of these vulgar details it is to find that they are softened in my memory by a 8 THE EOMANCB OF A PLAIN MAS sense of peace, of shelter, and of warm firelight shadows. My mother had just laid the supper table, over which I had watched her smooth the clean red and white cloth with her twisted fingers; President was proudly holding aloft a savoury dish of broiled herrings, and my father had pinned on my bib and drawn back the green-painted chair in which I sat for my meals — when a hurried knock at the door arrested each one of us in his separate attitude as if he had been instantly petrified by the sound. There was a second's pause, and then before my father could reach it, the door opened and shut violently, and a woman, in a dripping cloak, holding a little; girl by the hand, came from the storm outside, and ran straight to the fire, where she stood shaking the child's wet clothes before the flames. As the light fell over them, I saw that the woman was young and delicate and richly dressed, with a quantity of pale brown hair which the rain and wind had beaten flat against her small frightened face. At the time she was doubtless an unusually pretty creature to a grown-up pair of eyes, but my gaze, burning with curiosity, passed quickly over her to rest upon the little girl, who pos- sessed for me the attraction of my own age and size. She wore red shoes, I saw at my first glance, and a white cloak, which I took to be of fur, though it was probably made of some soft, fuzzy cloth I had never seen. There was a white cap on her head, held by an elastic band under her square little chin, and about her shoulders her hair lay in a profuse, drenched mass of brown, which reminded me in the firelight of the 1 APPEAE WITH PEW PRETENSIONS 9 colour of wet November leaves. She was soaked through, and yet as she stood there, with her teeth chattering in the warmth; I was struck by the courage, almost the defiance, with which she returned my gaze. Baby that she was, I felt that she would scorn to cry while my glance was upon her, though there were fresh tear marks on her flushed cheeks, and around her solemn grey eyes that were made more luminous by her broad, heavily arched black eyebrows, which gave her an intense and questioning look. The memory of this look, which was strange in so young a child, remained with me after the colour of her hair and every charming feature in her face were forgotten. Years afterwards I think I could have recognised her in a crowded street by the mingling of light with darkness, of intense black with clear grey, in her sparkling glance. "1 followed the wrong turn," said the pale little woman, breathing hard with a pitiable, frightened sound, while my mother took her dripping cloak from her shoulders, "and I could not keep on because of the rain which came up so heavily. If I could only reach the foot of the hill I might find a carriage to take me up-town." My father had sprung forward as she entered, and was vigorously stirring the fire, which blazed and crackled merrily in the open grate. She accepted thankfully my mother's efforts to relieve her of her wet wraps, but the little girl drew back haughtily when she was approached, and refused obstinately to slip out of her cloak, from which the water ran in streams to the floor. "I don't like it here, mamma, it is a common place," 10 THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN she said, in a clear childish voice, and though I hardly grasped the meaning of her words, her tone brought to me for the first time a feeling of shame for my humble surroundings. "Hush, Sally," replied her mother, "you must dry yourself. These people are very kind." "But I thought we were going to grandmama's ? " "Grandmama lives up-town, and we are going as soon as the storm has blown over. There, be a good girl and let the little boy take your wet cap." "I don't want him to take my cap. He is a common boy." In spite of the fact that she seemed to me to be the most disagreeable little girl I had ever met, the word she had used was lodged unalterably in my memory. In that puzzled instant, I think, began my struggle to rise out of the class in which I belonged by birth; and I remember that I repeated the word "common" in a whisper to myself, while I resolved that I would learn its meaning in order that I might cease to be the unknown thing that it implied. My mother, who had gone into the kitchen with the dripping cloak in her arms, returned a moment later with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a mug of hot milk in the other. "It's a mercy if you haven't caught your death with an inner chUl," she observed in a brisk, kindly tone. "'Twas the way old Mr. Cudlip, whose funeral I'm going to to-morrow, came to his end, and he was as hale, red-faced a body as you ever laid eyes on." The woman received the cup gratefully, and I could see her poor thin hands tremble as she raised it to her lips. I APPEAR WITH FEW PRETENSIONS 11 "Drink the warm milk, dear," she said pleadingly to the disagreeable little girl, who shook her head and drew back with a stiff childish gesture. "I'm not hungry, thank you," she replied to my mother in her sweet, clear treble. To all further en- treaties she returned the same answer, standing there a haughty, though drenched and battered infant, in her soiled white cloak and her red shoes, holding her mop of a muff tightly in both hands. "I'm not hungry, thank you," she repeated, adding presently in a manner of chUl politeness, "give it to the boy." But the boy was not hungry either, and when my mother, finally taking her at her word, turned, in ex- asperation, and offered the mug to me, I declined it, also, and stood nervously shifting from one foot to the other, while my hands caught and twisted the fringe of the table-cloth at my back. The big grey eyes of the little girl looked straight into mine, but there was no hint in them that she was aware of my existence. Though her teeth were chattering, and she knew I heard them, she did not relax for an instant from her scornful attitude. "We were just about to take a mouthful of supper, mum, an' we'd be proud if you an' the little gal would jine us," remarked my father, with an eager hospitality. "I thank you," replied the woman in her pretty, grateful manner, "but the coffee has restored my strength, and if you will direct me to the hUl, I shall be quite able to go on again." •A step passed close to the door on the pavement outside, and I saw her start and clutch the child to her 12 THE KOMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN bosom with trembling hands. As she stood there in her shaking terror, I remembered a white kitten I had once seen chased by boys into the area of a de- serted house. "If — if anyone should come to enquire after me, will you be so good as to say nothing of my having been here?" she asked. "To be sure I will, with all the pleasure in life," responded my father, who, it was evident even to me, had become a victim to her distressed loveliness. Emboldened by the effusive politeness of my parent, I went up to the little girl and shyly offered her a blos- som from my mother's geranium upon the window-sill. A scrap of a hand, as cold as ice when it touched mine, closed over the stem of the flower, and without looking at me, she stood, very erect, with the scarlet geranium grasped stiffly between her fingers. "I'll take you to the bottom of the hill myself,'^ protested my father, "but I wish you could persuade yourself to try a bite of food befo' you set out in the rain." "It is important that I should lose no time," an- swered the woman, drawing her breath quickly through her small white teeth, , "but I fear that I am taking you away from your supper?" "Not at all, you will not deprive me in the least," stammered my father, blushing up to his ears, while his straight flaxen hair appeared literally to rise with embarrassment. "I — I — the fact is I'm not an eater, mum." For an instant, remembering the story of Ananias I had heard in Sunday-school, I looked round in terror, I APPEAK WITH FEW PRETENSIONS 13 half expecting to hear the dreadful feet of the young men on the pavement. But he passed scathless for the hour at least, and our visitor had turned to re- ceive her half-dried cloak from my mother's hands, when her face changed suddenly to a more deadly pallor, and seizing the little girl by the shoulder, she fled, like a small frightened animal, across the thresh- old into the kitchen. My father's hand had barely reached the knob of the street door, when it opened and a man in a rubber coat entered, and stopped short in the centre of the room, where he stood blinking rapidly in the lamplight. I heard the rain drip with a soft pattering sound from his coat to the floor, and when he wheeled about, after an instant in which his glance searched the room, I saw that his face was flushed and his eyes swimming and bloodshot. There was in his look, as I remember it now, something of the inflamed yet bridled cruelty of a bird of prey. "Have you noticed a lady with a little girl go by?" he enquired. At his question my father fell back a step or two until he stood squarely planted before the door into the kitchen. Though he was a big man, he was not so big as the other, who towered above the dried cat-tails in a china vase on the mantelpiece. "Are you sure they did not pass here?" asked the stranger, and as he turned his head the dried pollen was loosened from the cat-tails and drifted in an ashen dust to the hearth. "No, I'll stake my word on that. They ain't passed here yet," replied my father. 14 THE ROMANCE OP A PLAIN MAN With an angry gesture the other shook his rubber coat over our bright little carpet, and passed out again, slamming the door violently behind him. Running to the window, I lifted the green shade, and watched his big black figure splashing recklessly through the heavy puddles under the faint yellowish glimmer of the street lamp at the corner. The light flickered feebly on his rubber coat and appeared to go out in the streams of water that fell from his shoulders. When I looked round I saw that the woman had come back into the room, stUl grasping the little girl by the hand. "No, no, I must go at once. It is necessary that I should go at once," she repeated breathlessly, looking up in a dazed way into my mother's face. "If you must you must, an' what ain't my business ain't," replied my mother a trifle sharply, whfle she wrapped a grey woollen comforter of her own closely over the head and shoulders of the little girl, "but if you'd take my advice, which you won't, you'd turn this minute an' walk straight back home to yo' husband." But the woman only shook her head with its drenched mass of soft brown hair. "We must go, Sally, mustn't we?" she said to the child. "Yes, we must go, mamma," answered the little girl, still grasping the stem of the red geranium between her fingers. "That bein' the case, I'll get into my coat with all the pleasure in life an' see you safe," remarked my father, with a manner that impressed me as little short of the magnificent. I APPEAR WITH FEW PEETENSIONS 15 "But I hate to take you away from home on such a terrible night." "Oh, don't mention the weather," responded my gallant parent, while he struggled into his rubber shoes ; and he added quite handsomely, after a flourish which appeared to set the elements at defiance, "arter all, weather is only weather, mum." As nobody, not even my mother, was found to challenge the truth of this statement, the child was warmly wrapped up in an old blanket shawl, and my father lifted her in his arms, while the three set out under a big cotton umbrella for the brow of the hill. President and I peered after them from the window, screening our eyes with our hollowed palms, and flattening our noses against the icy panes ; but in spite of our efforts we could only discern dimly the shape of the umbrella rising like a miniature black mountain out of the white blur of the fog. The long empty street with the wind-drifts of dead leaves, the pale glimmer of the solitary light at the far corner, the steady splash ! splash ! of the rain as it fell on the brick pavement, the bitter draught that blew in over the shivering geranium upon the sill — all these brought a lump to my throat, and I turned back quickly into our cheerful little room, where my untasted supper awaited me. CHAPTER II THE ENCHANTED GARDEN The funeral was not until nine o'clock, but at seven my mother served us a cold breakfast in order, as she said, that she might get the dishes washed and the house tidied before we started. Gathering about the bare table, we ate our dismal meal in a depressed silence, while she bustled back and forth from the kitchen in her holiday attire, which consisted of a stiff black bombazine dress and the long rustling crape veU she had first put on at the death of her uncle Benjamin, some twenty years before. As her only outings were those occasioned by the deaths of her neighbours, I suppose her costume was quite as appropriate as it seemed to my chUdish eyes. Certainly, as she appe3,red before me in her hard, shiny, very full bombazine skirt and attenuated bodice, I regarded her with a reverence which her everyday calico had never inspired. "I ain't et a mouthful an' I doubt if I'll have time to befo' we start," she was saying in an irritable voice, as I settled into my bib and my chair. "Anybody might have thought I'd be allowed to attend a funeral in peace, but I shan't be, — no, not even when it comes to my own." "Thar's plenty of time yet, Susan," returned my father cheerfully, while he sawed at the cold corn- le THE ENCHANTED GARDEN 17 bread on the table. "You've got a good hour an' mo' befo' you." "An' the things to wash up an' the house to tidy in my veil and bonnet. Thar ain't many women, I reckon, that would wash up china in a crape veil, but I've done it befo' an' I'm used to it." "Why don't you lay off yo' black things till you're through?" His suggestion was made innocently enough, but it appeared, as he uttered it, to be the one thing needed to sharpen the edge of my mother's temper. The three frowning lines deepened across her forehead, and she stared straight before her with her perplexed and anxious look under her rustling crape. "Yes, I'll take 'em off an' lay 'em away an' git back to work," she rejoined. "It did seem as if I might have taken a holiday at a time like this — my next do' neighbour, too, an' I'd al'ays promised him I'd see him laid safe in the earth. But, no, I can't do it. I'll go take off my veU an' bonnet an' stay at home." Before this attack my father grew so depressed that I half expected to see tears fall into his cup of coffee, as they had into mine. His handsome gayety dropped from him, and he looked as downcast as was, possible for a face composed of so many flagrantly cheerful features. "I declar, Susan, I wa'nt thinkin' of that," he re- turned apologetically, "it just seemed to me that you'd be mo' comfortable without that sheet of crape floatin' down yo' back." "I've never been comfortable in my life," retorted my mother, "an' I don't expect to begin when I dress 18 THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN myself to go to a funeral. It's got to be, I reckon, an' it's what I'm used to ; but if thar's a man alive that would stand over a stove with a crape veil on his head, I'd be obliged to him if he'd step up an' show his face." At this point the half-grown girl who had promised to look after the baby arrived, and with her assistance, my mother set about putting the house in order, while my father, as soon as his luncheon basket was packed, wished us a pleasant drive, and started for old Timothy Ball's marble yard, where he worked. At the sink in the kitchen my mother, with her crape veil pinned back, and her bombazine sleeves rolled up, stood with her arms deep in soapsuds. "Ma," I asked, going up to her and turning my back while she unfastened my bib with one soapy hand, "did you ever hear anybody call you common?" "Call me what?" "Common. What does it mean when anybody calls you common?" "It means generally that anybody is a fool." "Then ami, ma?" "Air you what?" "Am I common?" "For the Lord's sake, Benjy, stop yo' pesterin'. What on earth has gone an' set that idee workin' in- side yo' head?" "Is pa common?" She meditated an instant. "Wall, he wa'nt born a Savage, but I'd never have called him common — exactly," she answered. "Then perhaps you are?" THE ENCHANTED GARDEN 19 "You talk like a fool! Haven't I told you that I wa'nt?" she snapped. "Then if you ain't an' pa ain't exactly, how can I be?" I concluded with triumph. "Whoever said you were? Show me the person." "It wa'nt a person. It was a little girl." "A little girl? You mean the half-drowned brat I wrapped up in yo' grandma's old blanket shawl I set the mufSn dough under? To think of my sendin' yp' po' tired pa splashin' out with 'em into the rain. So she called you common?" But the sound of a carriage turning the corner fell on my ears, and running hastily into the sitting-room, I opened the door and looked out eagerly for signs of the approaching funeral. A bright morning had followed the storm, and the burnished leaves, so restless the day before, lay now wet and still under the sunshine. I had stepped joyously over the threshold, to the sunken brick pave- ment, when my mother, moved by a sudden anxiety for my health, called me back, and in spite of my protestations, wrapped me in a grey blanket shawl, which she fastened at my throat with the enormous safety-pin she had taken from her own waist. Much embarrassed by this garment, which dragged after me as I walked, I followed her sullenly out of the house and as far as our neighbour's doorstep, where I was ordered to sit down and wait until the service was ' over. As the stir of her . crape passed into the little hall, I seated myself obediently on the single step which ^ed straight from the street, and made faces, during the long wait, at the merry driver of the hearse 20 THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN — a decrepit negro of ancient days, who grinned pro- vokingly at the figure I cut in my blanket shawl. "Hi! honey, is you got on swaddlin' close er a windin' sheet?" he enquired. "I'se a-gittin' near bline en I cyarn mek out." "You jest wait till I'm bigger an' I'll show you," was my peaceable rejoinder. "Wat's dat you gwine sho' me, boy? I reckon I'se done seed mo' curus things den you in my lifetime." I looked up defiantly. Between the aristocratic, if fallen, negro and myself there was all the instinctive antagonism that existed in the Virginia of that period between the "quality" and the "poor white trash." "If you don't lemme alone you'll see mo'n you wanter." "Whew! I reckon you gwine tu'n out sump'im' moughty outlandish, boy. I'se a-lookin' wid all my eyes an I cyarn see nuttin' at all." "Wait till I'm bigger an' you'll see it," I answered. "I'se sho'ly gwine ter wait, caze ef'n hits mo' curus den you is en dat ar windin' sheet, hit's a sight dat I'se erbleeged ter lay eyes on. Wat's yo' name, suh?" he enquired, with a mocking salute. "I am Ben Starr," I replied promptly, "an' if you wait till I get bigger, I'll bus' you open." "Hi! hi! wat you wanter bus' me open fur, boy? Is you got a pa?" "He's Thomas Starr, an' he cuts lambs and doves on tombstones. I've seen 'em, an' I'm goin' to learn to cut 'em, too, when I grow up. I like lambs." The door behind me opened suddenly without warn- ing, and as I scrambled from the doorstep, my enemy. THE ENCHANTED GARDEN 21 the merry driver, backed his creaking vehicle to the sidewalk across which the slow procession of mourners filed. A minute later I was caught up by my mother's hand, and borne into a carriage, where I sat tightly wedged between two sombre females. "So you've brought yo' little boy along, Mrs. Starr," remarked a third from the opposite seat, in an aggres- sive voice. "Yes, he had a cold an' I thought the air might do him good," replied my mother with her society manner. "Wall, I've nine an' not one of 'em has ever been to a funeral," returned the questioner. "I've al'ays been set dead against 'em for children, ain't you, Mrs. Boxley?" Mrs. Boxley, a placid elderly woman, who had already begun to doze in her corner, opened her eyes and smiled on me in a pleasant and friendly way. "To tell the truth I ain't never been able really to enjoy a child's funeral," she replied. "I'm sure we're all mighty glad to have him along, Mrs. Starr," observed the fourth woman, who was soft and peaceable and very fat. "He's a fine, strong boy now, ain't he, ma'am?" "Middlin' strong. I hope he ain't crowdin' you. Edge closer to me, Benjy." I edged closer until her harsh bombazine sleeve seemed to scratch the skin from my cheek. Mrs. Boxley had dozed again, arid sinking lower on the seat, I had just prepared myself to follow her example, when a change in the conversation brought my wan- dering wits instantly together, and I sat bolt upr^ht 22 THE KOMANCE OP A PLAIN MAN while my eyes remained fixed on the small, straggling houses we were passing. "Yes, she would go, rain or no rain," my mother was saying, and I knew that in that second's snatch of sleep she had related the story of our last evening's adventure. "To be sure she may have been all she ought to be, but I must say I can't help mistrustin' that little, palaverin' kind of a woman with eyes like a scared rabbit." "If it was Sarah Mickleborough, an' I think it was, she had reason enough to look scared, po' thing," observed Mrs. Kidd, the soft fat woman, who sat on my left side. "They've only lived over here in the old Adams house for three months, but the neigh- bours say he's almost killed her* twice since they moved in. She came of mighty set up, high falutin' folks, you know, an' when they wouldn't hear of the marriage, she ran off with him one night about ten years ago just after he came home out of the army. He looked fine, they say, in uniform, on his big black horse, but after the war ended he took to drink and then from drink, as is natchel, he took to beatin' her. It's strange — ain't it ? — how easily ' a man's hand turns against a woman once he's gone out of his head?" "Ah, I could see that she was the sort that's obliged to be beaten sooner or later if thar was anybody handy around to do it," remarked my mother. "Some women are made so that they're never happy except when they're hurt, an' she's one of 'em. Why, they can't so much as look at a man without invitin' him to ill-treat 'em." THE ENCHANTED GAEDEN 23 "Thar ain't many women that know how to deal with a husband as well as you an' Mrs. Cudlip," re- marked Mrs. Kidd, with delicate flattery. "Po' Mrs. Cudlip. I hope she is bearin' up," sighed my mother. "'Twas the leg he lost at Seven Pines — wasn't it? — that supported her?" "That an' the cheers he bottomed. The last work he did, po' man, was for Mrs. Mickleborough of whom we were speakin'. I used to hear of her befo' the war when she was pretty Miss Sarah Bland, in a white poke bonnet with pink roses." "An' now never a day passes, they say, that Harry Mickleborough doesn't threaten to turn her an' the child out into the street." "Are her folks stUl livin'? Why doesn't she go back to them?" "Her father died six months after the marriage, an' the rest of 'em live up-town somewhar. The only thing that's stuck to her is her coloured mammy, Aunt Euphronasia, an' they tell me that that old woman has mo' influence over Harry Mickleborough than anybody livin'. When he gets drunk an' goes into one of his tantrums she walks right up to him an' humours him like a child." As we drove on their voices grew gradually muffled and thin in my ears, and after a minute, in which I clung desperately to my eluding consciousness, my head dropped with a soft thud upon Mrs. Kidd's inviting bosom. The next instant I was jerked vio- lently erect by my mother and ordered sternly to "keep my place an' not to make myself a nuisance by spreadin' about." With this admonition in my ears, 24 THE EOMAJSJ-GE OF A PLAIN MAN I pinclied my leg and sat staring with heavy eyes out upon the quiet street, where the rolling of the slow wheels over the fallen leaves was the only sound that disturbed the silence. After ten bitter years the city was still bound by the terrible lethargy which had immediately succeeded the war; and on Church Hill it seemed almost as if we had been forgotten like the breastworks and the battle-fields in the march of progress. The grip of poverty, which was fiercer than the grip of armies, still held us, and the few stately houses showed tenantless and abandoned in the midst of their ruined gardens. Sometimes I saw an old negress in a coloured turban come out upon one of the long porches and stare after us, her pipe in her mouth and her hollowed palm screening her eyes ; and once a noisy group of young mulattoes emerged from an aUey and followed us curiously for a few blocks along the sidewalk. Withdrawing my gaze from the window, I looked enviously at Mrs. Boxley, who snored gently in her corner. Then for the second time sleep overpowered me, and in spite of my struggles, I sank again on Mrs. Kidd's bosom. "Thar, now, don't think of disturbin' Mm, Mrs. Starr. He ain't the least bit in my way. I can look right over his head," I heard murmured over me as I slid blissfully into unconsciousness. What happened after this I was never able to remember, for when I came clearly awake again, we had reached our door, and my mother was shaking me in the effort to make me stand on my feet. "He's gone and slept through the whole thing,'^ she THE ENCHANTED GAEDEN 25 remarked irritably to President, while I stumbled after them across the pavement, with the fringed ends of my blanket shawl rustling the leaves. "He's too little. You might have let me go, ma," replied President, as he dragged me, sleepy eyes, ruffled flaxen hair, and trailing shawl over the door- step. "An' you're too big," retorted my mother, removing . the long black pins from her veil, and holding them in her mouth while she carefully smoothed and folded the lengths of crape. "You could never have squeezed in between us, an' as it was Mrs. Kidd almost overlaid Benjy, But you didn't miss much," she hastened to assure him, "I declar' I thought at one time we'd never get on it all went so slowly." Having placed her bonnet and veil in the tall white bandbox upon the table, she hurried off to prepare our dinner, while President urged me in an undertone to "sham sick" that afternoon so that he wouldn't have to take me out for an airing on the hill. "But I want to go," I responded selfishly, wide awake at the prospect. "I want to see the old Adams house where the little girl lives." "If you go I can't play checkers, an' it's downright mean. What do you care about little girls? They ain't any good." "But this little girl has got a drunken father." "Well, you won't see him anyway, so what is the use?" "She lives in a big house an' it's got a big garden — as big as that!" I streched out my arms in a vain attempt to impress his imagination, but he merely 26 THE EOMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN looked scornful and swore a mighty vow that he'd "be jiggered if he'd keep on playin' nurse-girl to a muff." At the time he put my pleading sternly aside, but a couple of hours later, when the afternoon was already waning, he relented sufl&ciently to take me out on the ragged hill, which was covered thickly with poke- berry, yarrow, and stunted sumach. Before our feet the ground sank gradually to the sparkling river, and farther away I could see the silhouette of an anchored vessel etched boldly against the rosy clouds of the sunset. As I stood there, holding fast to his hand, in the high wind that blew up from the river, a stout gentle- man, leaning heavily on a black walking-stick, with a big gold knob at the top, came panting up the slope and paused beside us, with his eyes on the western sky. He was hale, handsome, and ruddy-faced, with a bunch of iron-grey whiskers on either cheek, and a vivacious and merry eye which seemed to catch at a twinkle whenever it met mine. His rounded stomach was spanned by a massive gold watch-chain, from which dangled a bunch of seals that delighted my childish gaze. "It's a fine view," he observed pleasantly, patting my shoulder as if I were in some way responsible for the river, the anchored vessel, and the rosy sunset. "I moved up-town as soon as the war ended, but I still manage to crawl back once in a while to watch the afterglow." "Where does the sun go," I asked, "when it slips way down there on the other side of the river?" The gentleman smiled benignly, and I saw from his THE ENCHANTED GAEDEN 27 merry glance that he did not share my mother's hos- tility to the enquiring mind. "Well, I shouldn't be surprised if it went to the wrong side of the world for little boys and girls over there to get up by," he replied. "May I go there, too, when I'm big?" "To the wrong side of the world? You may, who knows?" "Have you ever been there? What is it like?" "Not yet, not yet, but there's no telling. I've been across the ocean, though, and that's pretty far. I went once in a ship that ran through the blockade and brought in a cargo of Bibles." "What did you want with so many Bibles? We've got one. It has gilt clasps." ' "Want with the Bibles ! Why, every one of these Bibles, my boy, may have saved a soul." "Has our Bible saved a soul? An' whose soul was it ? It stays on our centre table, an' my name's in it. I've seen it." , "Indeed! and what may your name be?" "Ben Starr. That's my name. What is yours? Is yo' name in the Bible? Does everybody's name have to be in the Bible if they're to be saved? Who put them in there ? Was it God or the angels ? If I blot my name out can I still go to heaven? An' if yours isn't in there will you have to be damned? Have you ever been damned an' what does it feel like?" "Shut up, Benjy, or ma'U wallop you," growled President, squeezing my hand so hard that I cried aloud. 28 THE BOMANOE OF A PLAIN MAN "Ah, he's a fine boy, a promising boy, a remarkable boy," observed the gentleman, with one finger in his waistcoat pocket. "Wouldn't you like to grow up and be President, my enquiring young friend?" "No, sir, I'd rather be God," I replied, shaking my head. All the gentleman's merry grey eyes seemed to run to sparkles. "Ah, there's nothing, after all, like the true Ameri- can spirit," he said, patting my shoulder. Then he laughed so heartily that his gold-rimmed eye-glasses fell from his eyes and dangled in the air at the end of a silk cord. "I'm afraid your aspiration is too lofty for my help," he said, "but if you should happen to grow less ambitious as you grow older, then remem- ber, please, that my name is General Bolingbroke." "Why, you're the president of the Great South Midland and Atlantic Railroad, sir !" exclaimed Presi- dent, admiring and embarrassed. The General sighed, though even I could see that this simple tribute to his fame had not left him un- moved. "Ten years ago I was the man who tried to save Johnston's army, and to-day I am only a railroad president," he answered, half to himself; "times change and fames change almost as quickly. When all is said, however, there may be more lasting honour in building a country's trade than in winning a battle. I'll have a tombstone some day and I want written on it, 'He brought help to the sick land and made the cotton flower to bloom anew.' My name is General Bolingbroke," he added, with his genial and charming smile. "You will not forget it?" THE ENCHANTED GARDEN 29 I assured him that I should not, and that if it could be done, I'd try to have it written in our Bible with gilt clasps, at which he thanked me gravely as he shook my hand. "An' I think now I'd rather be president of the Great South Midland and Atlantic Railroad, sir," I concluded. "Young man, I fear you're with the wind," he said, laughing, and added, "I've a nephew just about your age and at least a head shorter, what do you think of that?" "Has he a kite?" I enquired eagerly. "I have, an' a top an' ten checkers an' a big balloon." "Have you, indeed? Well, my poor boy is not so well off, I regret to say. But don't you think your prosperity is excessive considering the impoverished condition of the country?" The big words left me gasping, and fearing that I had been too boastful for politeness, I hastened to in- form him that "although the balloon was very big, it was also bu'sted, which made a difference." "Ah, it is, is it? Well, that does make a difference." "If your boy hasn't any checkers I'll give him half of mine," I added with a gulp. With an elaborate flourish the General drew out a stiffly starched pocket handkerchief and blew his nose. "That's a handsome offer and I'll repeat it without fail," he said. Then he shook hands again and marched down the hill with his gold-headed stick tapping the ground. "Now you'll come and trot home, I reckon," said President, when he had disappeared. 30 THE KOMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN" But the spirit of revolt had lifted its head within me, for through a cleft in the future, I saw myself already as the president of the Great South Midland and Atlantic Railroad, with a jingling bunch of seals and a gold-headed stick. "I ain't goin' that way," I said, "I'm goin' home by the old Adams house where the little girl lives." "No, you ain't either. I'll tell ma on you." "I don't care. If you don't take me home by the old Adams house, you'll have to carry me every step of the way, an' I'll make myself heavy." For a long minute President wrinkled his brows and thought hard in silence. Then an idea appeared to penetrate his slow mind, and he grasped me by the shoulder and shook me until I begged him to stop. "If I take you home that way will you promise to sham sick to-morrow, so I shan't have to bring you out?" The price was high, but swallowing my disappoint-- ment I met it squarely. "I wUl if you'll lift me an' let me look over the wall." "Hope you may die?" "Hope I may die." "Wall, it ain't anything to see but jest a house," remarked President, as I held out my hand, "an' girls ain't worth the lookin' at." "She called me common," I said, soberly. "Oh, shucks!" retorted President, with fine scorn, and we said no more. Clinging tightly to his hand I trudged the short blocks in silence. As I was little, and he was very large for his years, it was with difficulty that I kept THE ENCHANTED GAEDEN 31 pace with him ; but by taking two quick steps to his single slow one, I managed to cover the same distance in almost the same number of minutes. He was a tall, overgrown boy, very fat for his age, with a foolish, large-featured face which continued to look sheepishly amiable even when he got into a temper. "Is it far, President?" I enquired at last between panting breaths. "There 'tis," he answered, pointing with his free hand to a fine old mansion, with a broad and hos- pitable front, from which the curved iron railing bent in a bright bow to the pavement. It was the one great house on the hill, with its spreading wings, its stuccoed offices, its massive white columns at the rear, which presided solemnly over the terraced hill- side. A moment later he led me up to the high, spiked wall, and swung me from the ground to a secure perch on his shoulder. With my hands cling- ing to the iron nails that studded the wall, I looked over, and then caught my breath sharply at the thought that I was gazing upon an enchanted garden. Through the interlacing elm boughs the rosy light of the afterglow fell on the magnolias and laburnums, on the rose squares, and on the tall latticed arbours, where amid a glossy bower of foliage, a few pale microphylla roses bloomed out of season. Overhead the wind stirred, and one by one the small yellow leaves drifted, like wounded butterflies, down on the box hedges and the terraced walks. "You've got to come down now — you're too heavy," said President from below, breathing hard as he held me up. 32 THE KOMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN It ■ 'Jest a minute — give me a minute longer an' I'll let you eat my blackberry jam at supper." "An' you've promised on yo' life to sham sick to- morrow?" "I'll sham sick an' I'll let you eat my jam, too, if you'll hold me a little longer." He lifted me still higher, and clutching desperately to the iron spikes, I hung there quivering, breathless, with a thumping heart. A glimmer of white flitted between the box rows on a lower terrace, and I saw that the princess of the enchanted garden was none other than my little girl of the evening before. She was playing quietly by herself in a bower of box, buUding small houses of moss and stones, which she erected with infinite patience. So engrossed was she in her play that she seemed perfectly oblivious of the fading light and of the birds and squirrels that ran past her to their homes in the latticed arbours. Higher and higher rose her houses of moss and stones, while she knelt there, patient and silent, in the terrace walk with the small, yellow leaves falling around her. "That's a square deal now," said President, drop- ping me suddenly to earth. "You'd better come along and trot home or you'll get a lamming." My enchanted garden had vanished, the spiked wall rose over my head, and before me, as I turned home- ward, spread all the familiar commonplaceness of Church HiU. "How long will it be befo' I can climb up by my- self?" I asked. "When you grow up. You're nothin' but a kid." "An' when'll I grow up if I keep on fast?" THE ENCHANTED GAKDEN 33 t> "Oh, in ten or fifteen years, I reckon.' "Shan't I be big enough to climb up befo' then?" "Look here, you shut up ! I'm tired answerin' questions," shouted my elder brother, and grasping his hand I trotted in a depressed silence back to our little home. CHAPTER III A PAIR OF RED SHOES I AWOKE the next morning a changed creature from the one who had fallen asleep in my trundle-bed. In a single hour I had awakened to the sharp sense of contrast, to the knowledge that all ways of life were not confined to the sordid circle in which I lived. Outside the poverty, the ugliness, the narrow streets, rose the spiked waU of the enchanted garden ; and when I shut my eyes tight, I could see still the half-bared elms arching against the sunset, and the old house beyond, with its stuccoed wings and its grave white columns, which looked down on the magnolias and laburnums just emerging from the twilight on the lower terrace. In the midst of this garden I saw always the little girl patiently building her houses of moss and stones, and it seemed to me that I could hardly live through the days until I grew strong enough to leap the barriers and play beside her in the bower of box. "Ma," I asked, measuring myself against the red and white cloth on the table, "does it look to you as if I were growin' up ?" The air was strong with the odour of frying bacon, and when my mother turned to answer me, she held a smoking skillet extended like a votive offering in her right hand. She was busy preparing breakfast for 34 A PAIR OF RED SHOES 35 Mrs. Cudlip, whose husband's funeral we had attended the day before, and as usual when any charitable mis- sion was under way, her manner to my father and myself had taken a biting edge. "Don't talk foolishness, Benjy," she replied, stopping to push back a loosened wiry lock of hair; "it's time to think about growin' up when you ain't been but two years in breeches. Here, if you're through break- fast, I want you to step with this plate of muffins to Mrs. Cudlip. Tell her I sent 'em an' that I hope she is bearin' up." "That you sent 'em an' that you hope she is bearin' up," I repeated. "That's it now. Don't forget what ,1 told you befo' you're there. Thomas, have you buttered that batch of muffins?" My father handed me the plate, which was neatly covered with a red-bordered napkin. "Did you tell me to lay a slice of middlin' along side of 'em, Susan?" he humbly enquired. Without replying to him in words, my mother seized the plate from me, and lifting the napkin, removed the offending piece of bacon, which she replaced in the dish. "I thought even you, Thomas, would have had mo' feelin' than to send middlin' to a widow the day arter she has buried her husband — even a one-legged one ! Middlin' indeed ! One egg an' that soft boiled, will be as near a solid as she'll touch for a week. Keep along, Benjy, an' be sure to say just what I told you." I did my errand quickly, and returning, asked eagerly 36 THE KOMANCB OF A PLAIN MAN if I might go out all by myself an' play for an hour. "I'll stay close in the churchyard if you'll lemme go," I entreated. "Run along then for a little while, but if you go out of the churchyard, you'll get a whippin'," replied my mother. With this threat ringing like a bell in my ears, I left the house and walked quickly along the narrow pavement to where, across the wide street, I discerned the white tower and belfry which had been added by a later century to the parish church of Saint John. Overhead there was a bright blue sky, and the October sunshine, j<ering through the bronzed network of sycamore and poplar, steeped the flat tombstones and the crumbling brick vaults in a clear golden light. The church stood upon a moderate elevation above the street, and I entered it now by a short flight of steps, which led to a grassy walk that did not end at the closed door, but continued to the brow of the hill, where a few scattered slabs stood erect as sentinels over the river banks. For a moment I stood among them, watching the blue haze of the opposite shore; then turning away I rolled over on my back and lay at full length in the periwinkle that covered the ground. From beyond the church I could hear Uncle Methusalah, the negro caretaker, raking the dead leaves from the graves, and here and there among the dark boles of the trees there appeared presently thin bluish spirals of smoke. The old negro's figure was still hidden, but- as his rake stirred the smouldering piles, I could smell the sharp sweet odour of the burning leaves. Some- times a wren or a sparrow fluttered in and out of A PAIR OF RED SHOES 37 the periwinkle, and once a small green lizard glided like the shadow of a moving leaf over a tombstone. One sleeper among them I came to regard, as I grew somewhat older, almost with affection — not only be- cause he was young and a soldier, but because the tall marble slab implored me to "tread lightly upon his ashes." Not once during the many hours when I played in the churchyard, did I forget myself and run over the sunken grave where he lay. The sound of the moving rake passed the church door and drew nearer, and the grey head of Uncle Methusalah appeared suddenly from behind an ivied tree trunk. Sitting up in the periwinkle, I watched him heap the coloured leaves around me into a brilliant pile, and then bending over hold a small flame close to the curling ends. The leaves, still moist from the rain, caught slowly, and smouldered in a scented cloud under the trees. "Dis yer trash ain' gwine ter bu'n twel hit's smoked out," he remarked in a querulous voice. "Uncle Methusalah," I asked, springing up, "how old are you?" With a leisurely movement, he dragged his rake over the walk, and then bringing it to rest at his feet, leaned his clasped hands on the end of it, and looked at me over the burning leaves. He wore an old, tightly fitting army coat of Union blue, bearing tar- nished gold epaulets upon the shoulders, and around his throat a red bandanna handkerchief was wrapped closely to keep out the "chills." "Gaud-a-moughty, honey!" he replied, "I'se so ole dat I'se done clean furgit ter count." 38 THE EOMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN "I reckon you knew almost everybody that's buried here, didn't you?" "Mos' un um, chile, but I ain't knowed near ez many ez my ole Marster. He done shuck hans w'en he wuz live wid um great en small. I'se done hyerh 'im tell in my time how he shuck de han' er ole Marse Henry right over dar in dat ar church." "Who was ole Marse Henry?" I enquired. "I dunno, honey, caze he died afo' my day, but he mus' hev done a powerful heap er talkin' whUe he wuz 'live." "Whom did he talk to, Uncle Methusalah?" "Ter hisself mostly, I reckon, caze you know folks ain' got time al'ays ter be lisen'in'. But hit wuz en dish yer church dat he stood up en ax 'em please ter gin 'im liberty er ter gin 'im deaf." "An' which did they give him, Uncle?" "Wall, honey, ez fur ez I recollect de story dey gun 'im bofe." Bending over in his old blue army coat with the tarnished epaulets, he prodded the pile of leaves, where the scented smoke hung low in a cloud. The wind stirred softly in the grass, and a small flame ran along a bent twig of maple to a single scarlet leaf at the end. "Did they give 'em to him because he talked too much?" I asked. "I ain' never hyern ner better reason, chile. Folks cyarn' stan' too much er de gab nohow, en' dey sez dat he 'ouldn't let up, but kep' up sech a racket dat dey couldn't git ner sleep. Den at las' ole King George over dar in England sent de hull army clear across de water jes' ter shet his mouf." A PAIE OF EED SHOES 39 "An' did he shut it?" "Dat's all er hit dat I ever hyern tell, boy, but ef'n you don' quit axin' folks questions day in en day out, he'll send all de way over yer agin' jes' ter shet yourn." He went off, gathering the leaves into another pile at a little distance, and after a moment I followed him and stood with my back against a high brick vault. "Is there any way. Uncle Methusalah, that you can grow up befo' yo' time?" I asked. "Dar 'tis agin!" exclaimed the old negro, but he added kindly enough, "Dey tell me you kin do hit by stretchin', chile, but I ain' never seed hit wid my eyes, en w'at I ain' seed wid my eyes I ain' set much sto' by." His scepticism, however, honest as it was, did not prevent my seizing upon the faint hope he offered, and I had just begun to stretch myself violently against the vault, when a voice speaking at my back brought my heels suddenly to the safe earth again. "Boy," said the voice, "do you want a dog?" Turning quickly I found myself face to face with the princess of the enchanted garden. She wore a fresh white coat and a furry white cap and a pair of red shoes that danced up and down. In her hand she carried a dirty twine string, the other end of which was tied about the neck of a miserable grey and white naongrel puppy. "Do you want a dog, boy?" she repeated, as proudly as if she offered a canine prize. The puppy was ugly, ill-bred, and dirty, but not an instant did I hesitate in the response I made. 40 THE EOMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN "Yes, I want a dog," I answered as gravely as she had spoken. She held out the string and my fist closed tightly over it. "I found him in the gutter," she explained, ','and I gave him a plate of bread and milk because he is so young. Grandmama wouldn't let me keep him, as I have three others. I think it was very cruel of grandmama." "I may keep him," I responded, "I ain't got any grandmama. I'll let him sleep in my bed." "You must give him a bath first," she said, "and put him by the fire to dry. They wouldn't let me bring him into our house, but yours is such a little one that it will hardly matter." At this my pride dropped low, "You live in the great big house with the high wall around the garden," I returned wistfully. She nodded, drawing back a step or two with a quaint little air of dignity, and twisting a tassel on her coat in and out of her fingers, which were encased in white crocheted mittens. The only touch of colour about her was made hy her small red shoes, "I haven't lived there long, and I remember where we came from — way — away from here, over yonder •across the river." She lifted her hand and pointed across the brick vault to the distant blue on the op- posite shore of the James. "I liked it over there because it was the country and we lived by ourselves, mamma and I. She taught me to knit and I knitted a whole shawl — as big as that — for grandmama. Then papa came and took us away, but now he has gone and left us again, and I am glad. I hope he will A PAIE OF KED SHOES 41 never come back because he is so very bad and I don't like him. Mamma likes him, but I don't." "May I play with you in your garden?" I asked when she had finished; "I'd like to play with you an' I know ever so many nice ways to play that I made up out of my head." She looked at me gravely and, I thought, regretfully. "You can't because you're common," she answered. "It's a great pity. I don't really mind it myself," she added gently, seeing my downcast face, "I'd just every bit as lief play with you as not — a little bit — — but grandmama wouldn't — " "But I don't want to play with your grandmama," I returned, on the point of tears. "Well, you might come sometimes — not very often," she said at last, with a sympathetic touch on my sleeve, "an' you must come to the side gate where grandmama won't see you, I'll let you in an' mamma will not mind. But you mustn't come often," she concluded in a sterner tone, "only once or twice, so that there won't be any danger of my growin' like you. It would hurt grandmama dreadfully if I were ever to grow like you." She paused a moment, and then began dancing up and down in her red shoes over the coloured leaves. "I'd like to play — play — play all the time!" she sang, whirling, a vivid little figure, around the crum- bling vault. The next minute she caught up the puppy in her arms and hugged him passionately before she turned away. "His name is Samuel!" she called back over her shoulder as she ran out of the churchyard. 42 THE ROMAITOE OF A PLAIN MAN When she had gone down the short flight of steps and into the wide street, I tucked Samuel under my arm, and lugged him, not without inward misgivings, into the kitchen, where my mother stood at the ironing- board, with one foot on the rocker of Jessy's cradle. "Ma," I began in a faltering and yet stubborn voice, "I've got a pup." My mother's foot left the rocker, and she turned squarely on me, with a smoking iron half poised above the garment she had just sprinkled on the board. "Whar did he come from?" she demanded, and moistened the iron with the thumb of her free hand. "I got him in the churchyard. His name is Samuel." For a moment she stared at the two of us in a stony silence. Then her face twitched as if with pain, the perplexed and anxious look appeared in her eyes, and her mouth relaxed. "Wall, he's ugly enough to be named Satan," she said, "but I reckon if you want to you may put him in a box in the back yard. Give him that cold sheep's liver in the safe and then you come straight in and comb yo' head. It looks for all the world like a tou- sled straw stack." All the afternoon I sat in our little sitting-room, and faithful to my promise, shammed sickness, while Samuel lay in his box in the back yard and howled. "I'll have that dog taken up the first thing in the mornin', " declared my mother furiously, as she cleared the supper table. "I reckon he's lonely out thar, Susan," urged my father, observing my trembling mouth, and eager, as usual, to put a pacific face on the moment. A PAIR OF EED SHOES 43 "Lonely, indeed! I'm lonely in here, but I don't set up a howlin'. Thar're mighty few folks, be they dogs or humans, that get all the company they want in life." Once I crept out into the darkness, and hugging Samuel around his dirty stomach besought him, with tears, to endure his lot in silence ; but though he licked my face rapturously at the time, I had no sooner entered the house than his voice was lifted anew. "To think of po' Mrs. Cudlip havin' to mourn in all that noise," commented my mother, as I undressed and got into my trundle-bed. My pillow was quite moist before I went to sleep, while my mother's loud threats against Samuel sounded from the other side of the room with each separate garment that she laid on the chair at the foot of her bed. In sheer desperation at last I pulled the cover over my ears in an effort to shut out her thin, querulous tones. At the instant I felt that I was wicked enough to wish that I had been born without any mother, and I asked myself how she would like it if I raised as great a fuss about baby Jessy's crying as she did about Samuel's — who didn't make one-half the noise. Here the light went out, and I fell asleep, to awaken an hour or two later because of the candle flash in my eyes. In the centre of the room my mother was stand- ing in her grey dressing-gown, with a shawl over her head and the rapturously wriggling body of Samuel in her arms. Too amazed to utter an exclamation, I watched her silently whUe she made a bed with an old flannel petticoat before the waning fire. Then I saw her bend over and pat the head of the puppy with 44 THE EOMANOE OF A PLAIN MAN her knotted hand before she crept noiselessly back to bed- At this day I see her figure as distinctly as I saw it that instant by the candle flame — - her soiled grey wrapper clutched oyer her flat bosom j her sallow, ^harp-featured facej with bluish hollows in the temples over which her sparse hair strayed in locks ; her thin, stooping ghoulders under the knitted shawl ; her sad, flint-coloured eyes, holding always that anxious look as if she were trying to remember some important thing which eh? had half forgotten. So she appeared to my startled gaze for a single minute. Then the light went out, she faded into the darkness, and I fell asleep. CHAPTER IV IN WHICH I PLAY IN THE ENCHANTED GAEDEN For the next two years, when my mother sent me on errands to McKenney's grocery store, or for a pitcher of milk to old Mrs. Trifiit's, who kept a fascinating green parrot hanging under an arbOUr of musk cluster roses, it was my habit to run five or &.it blocks out of my way, and measure my growing height against the Wall of the enchanted garden. On the worn brieks, unless they have crumbled away, there may still be seen the scratches from my penknife, by which 1 tried to persuade myself that each rapidly passing week marked a visible increase in my stature. Though I was a big boy for my age, the top of toy Straw-coloUred hair reached barely halfway up the Spiked wall ; and standing on my tiptoes my hands still came far beloW the grim iron teeth at the top. Yet I Continued to measure myself, week by week, against the barrier, until at last the zigzag scratches from my knife began to cover the bricks. It was on a warm morning in spring during toy ninth year, that, while I stood vigorously scraping the wall over my head, I heard a voice speaking in in- dignant tones at my back. "You bad boy, what are you doing?" it said. Wheeling about, I stood again face to face With the 46 46 THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN little girl of the red shoes and the dancing feet. Except for her shoes she was dressed all in white just as I had last seen her, and this time, I saw with disgust, she held a whining and sickly kitten clasped to her breast. "I know you are doing something you ought not to," she repeated, "what is it?" "Nothink," I responded, and stared at her red shoes like one possessed. "Then why were you crawling so close along the wall to keep me from seeing you?" "I wa'nt." "You wa'nt what?" "I wa'nt crawlin' along the wall; I was just tryin' to look in," I answered defiantly. An old negro "mammy," in a snowy kerchief and apron, appeared suddenly around the corner near which we stood, and made a grab at the child's shoulder. "You jes let 'im alont, honey, en he ain' gwine hu't you," she said. "He won't hurt me anyway," replied the little girl, as if I were a suspicious strange dog, "I'm not afraid of him." Then she made a step forward and held the whining grey kitten toward me. "Don't you want a cat, boy ?" she asked, in a coaxing tone. My hands flew to my back, and the only reason I did not retreat before her determined advance was that I could hardly retreat into a brick wall. "I've just found it in the alley a minute ago," she explained. "It's very little. I'd like to keep it, only I've got six already." IN WHICH I PLAY IN THE GARDEN 47 "I don't like cats," I replied stubbornly, shaking my head. "I saw Peter Finn's dog kill one. He shook it by the neck till it was dead. I'm goin' to train my dog to kill 'em, too." Raising herself on the toes of her red shoes, she bent upon me a look so scorching that it might have burned a passage straight through me into the bricks. "I knew you were a horrid bad boy. You looked it!" she cried. At this I saw in my imagination the closed gate of the enchanted garden, and my budding sportsman's proclivities withered in the white blaze of her wrath. "I don't reckon I'll train him to catch 'em by the back of thar necks," I hastened to add. At this she turned toward me again, her whole vivid little face with its red mouth and arched black eyebrows inspired by a solemn purpose. "If you'll promise never, never to kill a cat, I'll let you come into the garden — for a minute," she said. I hesitated for an instant, dazzled by the prospect and yet bargaining for better terms. "Will you let me walk under the arbours and down all the box-bordered paths?" She nodded. "Just once," she responded gravely. "An' may I play under the trees on the terrace where you built yo' houses of moss and stones?" "For a little while. But I can't play with you, be- cause — because you don't look clean." My heart sank like lead to my .waist line, and I looked down ashamed at my dirty hands. 'I — I'd rather play with you," I faltered.