,. j^ ^^ '^yi^Y*' _^ Bide they in East or West, | Be greeting at this holy time. When swords find sheathed rest. ' And we will pledge the King and Cause i Without demur or parley, , And we will wear on loyal breasts The white rose of Prince Charlie. The rebel hordes their worst have done, God sends the varlets down ! ! Our King his triumph may not keep [ In fickle London town. \ But fair as e'er it grew of old In gardens green at Farley, We '11 wear to-day the Holy Rose, ^ ; The white rose of Prince Charlie. i ! ] We 've yet to pay for all the blood ,! That Naseby drank that day ; [ And there 's a debt of honor which, | As God lives, we shall pay ! j By right and might we '11 sweep their ranks As harvesters the barley, I Tho' loyal blood shall dye to red ' The white rose of Prince Charlie. j 1 Good Jacobites All The King shall come into his own, Reign where his father reigned ; And Church and State united sway The Kingdom new regained. So here 's to King ! And here 's to Cause ! Down on all weakling parley ! And here's the white rose proudly won, The white rose of Prince Charlie ! St. Charles' Day, January 30. 24 No Robbery NO ROBBERY SHE AND HER ROOM-MATE " 1\ yTERCY, child, hurry and find some hairpins \ I for me ! And here 's a telegram to read while I fix — Why will you buy those vicious straight wire ones that slip ? I rather think he exaggerates the ' whither thou goest I will go ' effect. ' Nothing could detain me upon receiving note.' H'm — I be- lieve we will see Cambridge together in June. Well, I only know this one Harvard man, and I 've met him four — five — six times, but there 's to-morrow afternoon, and Tuesday if I cut that Elizabethan Lit. Do you want to bet on my whereabouts for next Class-day ? Is my hair smooth now — and the rest of my raiment ? Please look at me before you say I 'm all right." HE AND SHE "And that's why things can never be the same between us any more. Did n't you ever feel that a certain day or a certain hour had made all the past useless and colorless, and the present and perhaps the future contained everything worth living for? Don't you think it a bit unkind to spoil a man's past so ? " " Heavens ! Have you a past ? Is it quite dis- creet of me to have anything to do with it ? " " Quite. But if my future never turns out a past you 'd like to have anything to do with, it 's going to 25 No Robbery be your own fault. And I don't think you care that ! " (He gazes ardently at the insane asylum in the distance.) " Not a snap of my finger ? Perhaps I care a little more than that, Billy, and perhaps even more than you think — " HE SOLUS LATER A BELL-BOY "William, shake hands with yourself. It's a very dirty ride from Boston, William, that 's true. But, William, we will go to the Junior Prom., where we shall see another lady who is quite worth all the trouble. Very creditably planned and executed, William. We congratulate ourself and drink to — Oh, is that you, Sam ? If you '11 bring four more of the same and set them on the bureau, I won't worry you any more to-night." 26 Master Francois Sings MASTER FRANgOIS SINGS A GIRL on my knee, a glass at my side, A lute to strum and a horse to ride. What can a man want more ? To lounge in the warm sun all day long. With jest and kiss and snatch of a song. To squander Youth's sweet store I Oh ! that is the life that seems best to me 5 Let Fortune frown, but a shrew is she, And life a dream that flies. But ho ! for the reign of the Provence rose. And court-yards drifted with almond snows. And Fleurette's laughing eyes. 27 A Ragamuffin Santa Claus A RAGAMUFFIN SANTA CLAUS THE Yale fullback of '94, and now a successful sheep-raiser, seared and hardened by four years of experience, was coming East on the Lake Shore Limited. " 878," with its supple line of six Wag- ners, the plate windows and the brass glistening in the sun, was humming down from Albany, never stopping and only letting down its fifty-two-mile gait for the draws and the long quarter-mile stretches of the water-troughs, heaving heavily around the curves, and with added momentum gliding down the straight- aways. Brink, the aforementioned fullback, was sit- ting on a camp-stool out on the observation platform of the rear car, watching the rails glide from under him, and then gradually slow down in the distance until they met. It seemed as if things were slipping away from him in just this way, and the phrase struck him as rather symbolic of his present state, and kept ringing in his head back where the brain and the ears meet. The first pages of his real life had slipped away, and what had he gained ? Gold that could be reckoned in four figures, and experience, and to set over against this, four prime years of manhood lived in that part of our land which lies between our two civilizations, — and another loss, that of a friendship that could not be reckoned in four figures, nor four times four. He shook off the recollection with a start and lighted a cigar. The train had rushed by 28 A Ragamuffin Santa Claus the local, side-tracked at Poughkeepsie, and then on down into the gloom of the Highlands. Twilight had fallen; from within the car the glare from the electrics called to him cheerfully, invitingly, and he answered and stepped inside the big glass door. As he did so, the " Lake Shore " calendar over the stenographer's desk caught his eye, and it suddenly dawned upon him that it was the day before Christ- mas. In the rush of flying across a continent, he had lost track of time. Travelling fast and continu- ously seems to make a cipher of it anyhow. He settled himself down into one of the big chairs, and let his thoughts travel back along the track he had come for upwards of two thousand miles. Then, after going over all he had done out West, the hard- ships and dangers where a man stands face to face with the God who made him, he naturally thought of the days before he had gone. You never strike the same mood anywhere else, as thrills your whole being when you look out of a car window into the blackness of night and see the lights go hurrying past, some big blotches, others little points, like the thoughts that rush through your brain. Those days were to Brink almost part of another existence. The recollection of them all and of Her seemed a far-away memory, almost an illusive one, — something which he had lived through once a long while ago, but whether in this life or in another world he could hardly have told. What had become of her since he had gone West, he did not know ; even as to whether she was married or not he was uncertain. He had lost all trace of her, and a pang shot through him when he remembered it was more or less his fault. If he had 29 A Ragamuffin Santa Claus only written to her as he ought to have done, there would be a pair of eyes with a light in them to wel- come him. It is more or less a mocking of fate — and princi- pally more — to spend Christmas alone. This is in accordance with a man's idea of what the day ought to be. So with Brink, He was one of those who went in for ideals, and the indulgence of this particular kind of castle-building meant more to him than to most of us. So the idea of spending the day alone at his hotel or at a club came hard to him. His father and mother had died just before he went West, but he knew what the day ought to be — what it had always been before he had gone — and the thought of his loneliness struck across his heart and staggered him as never before. He had lived days together alone in the glorious boundlessness of the plains, and had slept of nights up in the hills, looking up in his waking moments at the infinite distances of the stars, and in all that had never felt himself weighted down by a sense of loneliness. But here, with men about him, rushing along at the speed of fifty-two miles an hour, and the lights of civilization flying by, he felt and knew himself to be alone. The station at Yonkers catching his eye, broke his day-dreaming, and a few minutes later the sharp swing of the train told him they had turned ofF into the cut. It struck him as peculiar how well he remembered it all, — and then, that there was no one to remember him. Fifteen minutes later he stood outside the station on 42d Street, watching the underground electrics glide down into the tunnel, and the big heavy mail- wagons roll past with their loads for the Pan-American 30 A RagamufEn Santa Claus Limited. His ears were ringing with the mighty hum of the vast city, and he remembered how he used to stand that way five, six, and seven years ago. Each time he came home from college it thrilled him to feel for the first time the city's thundering pulsations. He used to take it in slowly, for he needed hours to get accustomed to it after the quietness of his college town. Then there used to come the first glimpse of Broadway, the street of eternal day — or eternal night — it matters not which you call it. But this time he did n't thrill to the thousands of lives around him, — he did n't feel himself drawn to them by any ties in common ; he felt alone. Usually there is a subtle something in the air at Christmas that draws people together. There 's a peculiar cheerfulness, in quality though not in intensity, to the glare from the shop windows as it strikes across the snow, and even the clang of the Broadway Cables has an unaccustomed clearness. But it all worked on Brink in just the opposite way. He was strolling slowly toward Fifth Avenue with no purpose in view, and was absent- mindedly fumbling the coins in his pocket. The noise caught the quick ear of a newsboy, and in a flash of rags and half-bare legs he was at his side. '*• Have a paper. Boss ? Sportin' extra," and then with an eye to business, and noting the out-of-town look that Brink carried with him, he held up the tempting headlines of the " World " and " Journal." " Have a ' Woild,' Mister ? " Brink looked the little fellow straight between the eyes, and got back the steady gaze of a pair that was not unlike his own. Four years in the West teach a man to judge others at sight, and Brink could read 31 A Ragamuffin Santa Claus two eyes almost as well as he could a printed page. This time he looked clear through, down to the depths of the boy, and he saw something there that another might have seen in him, — a look of loneli- ness. The kindred of these two conditions suddenly suggested a plan to his mind. " Say, young fellow, whatever your name is, how would it do for you and me to go somewhere and get some dinner ? I 'm all alone here — and I hope you 're not, but perhaps we 'd be company for each other anyhow. It 's a beastly shame for any one to eat his dinner alone the night before Christmas." The boy's eyes opened rather wide, and he crossed what remained of his left shoe over his right as he answered, — " What sort of a game are yer givin' us ? I ain't quite next." " I honestly mean it," Brink answered, with a sincerity that went right to the boy's heart. Then he added, " If you would only tell me your name, I think we could get along better." " I go by der name o' Kid around this here joint, but me name is Charlie McGinnis." " Where do you live ? " " I ain't never had no old on's, leastwise since I kin remimber, so I hang out at t'irty-t'ree East Houston. Der Gilroys wot lives there lets me sleep wid dere kids if I turn in twenty-five per, if I don't I sleeps where I kin. But say, Mister, wot 's yer name ? " " My name is Billy Brink, and I am glad to meet you, Mr. McGinnis," Brink answered. He was deep in the spirit of the thing now, and in the doing of 32 ^ A Ragamuffin Santa Claus a kindness toward another he was fast forgetting his own loneliness. " Now, Kid, we are going to have dinner some- where together, just you and I, but not till you 've had some new clothes and a mild exterior application of water." While he was talking he had been watching the boy's face. The eyes from their normal condition had slowly expanded until they reached their limit, and then the mouth followed after them. With all wide open, he asked in an awed sort of whisper, — " Say, are you ' BiiFy ' Brink, de fellar wot won der game for de Yales four years ago, when dey beat de Princetons six ter five ? " " I am that fellow, but I don't see how in the world you know anything about it," Brink answered. " Wellj say, mebbe I don't read der newspapers ! I 've been in dis here bizness seven years, an' I kin give yer der hull ting about dem cullige joints. But you 're der first guy I ever seen, and say, you 're der best one a-goin'. Don't I remember how dey had your phiz in der papers de day you done dat monkey- shine ? " Before such admiration as Brink saw on the face that was upturned to him two feet below his shoulder, he could n't say very much, only his heart thrilled through to think he had found at least one person somewhere who remembered, some link between the old days and the future. Not that he wanted hero worship ; he had become sick enough of that the last year at college. But he wanted some one who could understand him, and he found just such a one in this kid. It is good for a man once in a while to look 3 33 A Ragamuffin Santa Claus below his level for a comrade, especially if the one he finds is a child. An hour later a tall, well-built, and clean-limbed young fellow and a boy of twelve who had been tubbed, scrubbed, and dressed, and who still had that same pair of marvellous eyes, sat in a quiet corner of the Hotel Imperial Cafe. With the soft low music which floated lazily to them from the palm room, making familiar the unaccustomed luxury of it all, and the undertone of conversation pervading the whole room. Brink sat with his chin in his hands, his elbows resting on the high arms of his chair, and dreamed his dreams. There was a time when he had been used to all this, when it had been part of his life. The crowds of people, the suppers, and the theatres had seemed necessary to him. If he thought of the subject at all, it was that he should never get along without them. But life out West alters a man's way of looking at things. It gives him eyes that see and ears that hear, and Brink thanked God it had been so with him. It seemed good that he realized all this superficial way of living, and that he had learned to do without it. He had learned to live after a pattern that she would approve if she knew him now. She had always been above all this sort of thing, farther than any girl he had ever known, and that is what had first attracted him. Then they had gone out of each other's lives as two people often do, even when they are the best of friends. The miles that separate the West from the East are al- most too many to hold up a friendship for a long time. He felt as if he would give a good deal now to be able to go and see her and tell her how his 34 A Ragamuffin Santa Claus ideals had changed, and how in a way she had been the cause of it. " Say, Biffy, can't yer cut it short ? Ain't we a-goin' to eat them aisters ? " and with a leap of four years and anywhere from two to four thousand miles, Brink came back to earth. " I beg your pardon, Charles, they were certainly put here for some such purpose. But I was thinking of old times; and by the way. Kid, when you grow up, that 's one thing you want to learn to forget. If you don't, you will be sorry some day." They talked on about all the things that are under the sun, as a man and a boy will. The uncouth angles of Charlie's manner wore off as the meal grew long, and over the sirloin Brink told some of his old football experiences into two eyes that struck him as being the most sympathetic he had ever seen. Finally, when the coffee came and while Brink was watching the smoke of his cigar drift about the palms that stood at the back of their table, he asked the boy what he was going to do the next day. " Holy Moses ! " the Kid commented, sitting bolt upright in his chair, " if I ain't forgot the hull kit. There 's another layout comin' ter-morrow wot a young lady gives twelve of us fellars. She 's done it fer two Christmases, and you can jest bet yer life dere bully feeds. And say, BiiFy, if that girl ain't a corker, Hully Gee ! " " But what is her name ? " Brink asked, with a twinkle in his eye. " Jones, or Smith or — " " Ah, gowan, she ain't got no name like that. De kids all calls her Miss Helen ; but her name is Button, or leastwise it sounds like some such." 35 A Ragamuffin Santa Claus Brink took a firmer hold on his chair, as the room seemed to swim around in the soft music and the blur of the lights. But he was used to taking things coolly, and he asked in his usual way, — " You don't mean Miss Helen Denton, do you ? " " Shure ; did n't I tell you it looked like Button ? " Charlie replied. Then his eyes opened again in amazement as they had once before. " Say, BifFy, how did yer ever tumble ? " " Oh ! I used to know her," he answered quietly ; but somewhere inside him there was a tumult going on, and he felt in his chest as if it was going to burst. The wonder of it all amazed and awed him, so that he could n't reason. All he could realize was that the unexpected had happened. " So you think she 's pretty fine, do "^you ? " he said at last, after his wonder had partly gone and not knowing what he did say. " I could lick der fellar wot says she ain't." Then, " You 'd orter come too ter-morrer ; you ain't no other place ter go." "Well, Charles, I rather think I will," Brink said ; adding in an undertone, " For she 's the finest girl in the world, and I could help you, Charles, to lick the fellow that says she ain't." It was late when they said good-night, out in front of the hotel. Charles had walked off several feet when Brink called him back and looked him all over. Then he said simply, — " I want to take back what I said about forgetting the past. Don't ever let go of any memory that has a girl in it, Kid." 36 Nantucket NANTUCKET ADRIFT in taintless seas she dreaming lies, The island city, time-worn now, and gray, Her dark wharves ruinous, where once there lay Tall ships, at rest from far-sea industries. The busy hand of trade no longer plies Within her streets. In quiet court and way The grass has crept — and sun and shadows play Beneath her elms, in changing traceries ; The years have claimed her theirs, and the still peace Of wind and sun and mist, blown thick and white. Has folded her. The voices of the seas Through many a soft, bright day and brooding night Have wrought her silence, wide as they, and deep. And dreaming of the past, she waits — asleep. 37 The End of It THE END OF IT UP and down the village street the lights were fast disappearing. But the windows of the tavern were illumined with a ruddy glow, and from out the half-opened door a tipsy singing reeled and staggered into the cool night air. It was a decrep'c old building, leaning groggily backward from the street and sidewise toward the new brick milliner's shop next door, which held itself stiffly erect as if in prudish uneasiness lest her disreputable old neighbor should require assistance. And yet, for all its befuddled decrepitude, the old tavern seemed to have a con- sciousness of its own importance in village affairs and to be leering out of its bleary, steamy windows at the huddled collection of cottages around it, which shrank away into the protecting darkness. Presently a woman came out of a house a little way up the street, stood for a moment in the glaring light before the door, and then walked on with a sigh. But in a moment she turned and came back, and stood as if debating whether or not to enter. Mean- while the singing increased in loudness, and was fol- lowed by a vociferous clapping of hands and stamping of feet. A few rods away the waters of a mill- stream were pouring over a dam, and their continuous roar mingled strangely with the hilarious sounds of carousal. How doggedly imperative was the voice of the water, as if the stream were the spokesman of fate 38 The End of It itself, now exhorting, now entreating, now command- ing, now forbidding, and yet always the same monoto- nous roar. The woman shivered. Within the tavern the carouse gave no signs of coming to an end. At last the woman entered the door. After a moment or two the noise abated somewhat, and the woman's voice could be heard, urgent and persuasive, interrupted at first by whinings, then angry remonstrances, and then by imprecations. Finally there was a crash as of a falling table, followed by a scuffling of feet, and the woman appeared on the sidewalk pale and trembling. Still, she did not leave the place, but crouched in the shadow. And now again the roar of the waterfall was carried to her ears, exhorting, entreating, command- ing, forbidding as before. She arose, but stood in hesitation, listening intently. How entirely removed from her seemed the washings and ironings, cleanings and mendings, gossipings and squabblings of a few hours ago. It would be impossible to go back to that life now, — quite out of the question. The woman turned and walked listlessly in the direction whence came the sound of the stream. From their places in the distant heaven the outposts of the immortals looked down at her with aristocratic indifference. 39 Barbara BARBARA WHEN the green o' the year comes back, my dear, Comes back to the patient hills. And weary faith may keep again. True to the call of sun and rain, Spring's covenant, in daffodils, — It 's little I '11 care, though the days grow fair And time takes the April track — When the heart of Spring Is burled deep In the quiet place where you He asleep. When the green o' the year comes back. 40 " Greater Love Hath No Man " "GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN" " 1 '3 UT if you will pardon me, Colonel, this matter fl J is entirely out of your province. You have never married, you cannot understand. It is not a question of social position or of wealth. I don't see that it is at all a matter for discussion. It 's simply that I love her ; " and the younger man rose and knocked the ashes sharply from his pipe. " Yes," said the Colonel, " I believe that for the present at least you do love her, but I don't think you fully understand quite what an important step this is in your Hfe. You have n't spoken to her as yet ? " queried the elder man, anxiously. "No, not definitely, but I think we understand each other. I am to call to-night, and I hope — " " Precisely," said the Colonel, with a sigh of relief. " Now all I ask of you. Bob, is that you take time to know your own mind. Time is the only register we have of love's depth, and while you are proving your love for her you can test her love for you." " I need no proof of the one, I would not test the other except by her answer," said Wayne, proudly. The Colonel smiled, half in indulgence, half in admiration. "When your father died," he con- tinued, " he intrusted you to my care. As a boy you won the love of all your associates. Your career at college so far as I know was hke most young men of your position. You have never given 41 "Greater Love Hath No Man" me any trouble. Sometimes I have even felt that 1 was not keeping my promise to your father very well, because I let you carry out a good many notions of your own which in themselves were unwise, merely that you should come to depend on yourself. Soon you will have grown beyond me, and acting as I am trying to, for your own good, I wish you might respect this, my last wish. Wait a month, wait a year. Understand that you must love this girl better, and be willing to do more for her than you would for your own self. Understand that it means the total abandonment of your free-and-easy life. You cease to consult merely your own wishes and pleas- ures. For a while even the club will be out of the question. " Most people are selfish, and you will find it very hard to change a life to which you have been accus- tomed for almost thirty years, unless you get in re- turn the best love a woman can give. Your name, your wealth, make you a desirable husband, from a worldly standpoint alone. Miss Kent is nothing if not worldly, and you know yourself that her position in society, the training of her whole life, would lead her to marry for convenience rather than love." Wayne rose with a little gesture of despair. " It is very hard," he said quickly. " I appreciate your affection for me. I know you are looking to my best interests, and you purposely make it very hard for me to refuse you." The young man leaned on the mantelpiece and gazed out through the club window. Outside the lights were beginning to twinkle cheerfully. He stood there for some mo- ments, scowling moodily out upon the busy panorama 42 "Greater Love Hath No Man » before him. The Colonel noted his advantage and remained silent. Suddenly Wayne wheeled sharply around. " I want you to understand," he said, " that I am obeying you merely out of respect for you, and not because I admit that your course is wiser or better for me. I think you are wholly wrong." The elder man nodded. " You will have to go away," he said meditatively, " and I think — yes, it will do you good to go out and inspect your mines in Colorado. It will give you some idea of the extent of your own property and the labor you control. Your mind will be healthier when you return." The Colonel glanced at his watch. " Send your man right over to pack your trunks," he continued; "you can just comfortably make the ten o'clock limited." " And my engagement for this evening ? '* " Is the last thing I want you to keep. Send your regrets immediately. Urgent business has called you out of town. You don't expect to be back for some time." That night Wayne gazed moodily out upon the som- bre Hudson, and wondered grimly whether the Colonel had been as merciless in war. After almost a year's absence in the far West a dinner at the club is an especial luxury. So Wayne thought as he lingered over his coffee. He was feeling especially satisfied with himself in the knowl- edge of having done something and done it well, and of having conquered himself and for the time being set aside his own wishes. It did seem that "Greater Love Hath No Man" the Colonel was right, after all. His mines had interested him immensely. He had spent a good deal of labor and thought on them, and his efforts had succeeded far beyond his hopes. As for Miss Kent — well, it is harder for love to find entrance into the life of a busy man, and though absence may throw a halo about certain memories, still, memories will fade and — Wayne was musing over his cigar ; just now he was thinking how good it seemed to be back in New York, and to see his old haunts once more. He rejoiced in the possession of numerous friends who he knew cared for him and who would be glad to see him. In the cafe several women had nodded brightly to him. The pompous head waiter beamed kindly upon him. Even the soft, mellow lights around him seemed to blink a lazy welcome to him. Yet, as he sat there thinking, he grew uneasy. In spite of himself a certain face would keep appearing before his eyes. " It 's no use, old man," he said to him- self. " Might just as well stop wishing. Nobody 's in town in August." Just then Randall rushed up. " Mighty glad to see you. Bob ; we Ve missed you wonderfully. How 've you been ? No, much obliged, can't stop now. Yachting party coming up from Newport ; got to order dinner and dress. Say, can't you join us ? About nine I should say. That 's good. Helen Kent is to be there, and, of course. Sir Henry Linton. Biggest catch of the season. Well, see you later ; don't forget." Wayne sank back in his chair. " And, of course, Sir Henry Linton." The light hurt his eyes, the room seemed very close. He rose and walked slowly 44 " Greater Love Hath No Man " out of the club and down the avenue toward his rooms. Someway he longed for the plains of Colo- rado where he could see for miles and miles. For a long time he sat in his rooms looking very gravely at a picture he held in his hand, and occasionally address- ing it. As it was, he was late at the club. His face betrayed no emotion as he took his seat next Miss Kent. Their greeting was that of people who had come to know each other well in a purely worldly way. Across from them sat Sir Henry Linton, a distin- guished looking man, rather well on in years, with a kindly expression on his face which was irresistible. From time to time he smiled knowingly and rather gravely at Miss Kent. The latter was especially brilliant ; she talked of everything — anything, and the dinner was half over before Wayne had a chance to defeat her too evident purpose in so doing. Then he leaned over toward her. " You have changed," he said, " and — I am sorry, because," he continued, " I came here to-night especially to see you and to tell you something. It was a little unfinished story which has been on my mind for some time, and which I wanted you to finish. Your demeanor to-night tells me that the ending would not be a happy one, and yet I wish for my own peace of mind that I might tell it to you." " How very romantic ! " she said. " Of course you may. I will try not to disappoint your expecta- tions as to the ending." *' It is very short," he began. " A young man whom I knew intimately, grew to care very much for a certain girl, and she was especially kind to him. 45 "Greater Love Hath No Man " Finally he decided to tell her that he loved her, but one of his very best friends advised him to wait — to go away — in short, to test the girl's love. So the young man went away, much against his wishes ; and when he returned several things told him that the girl did not love him, in fact had grown to care for another man. Now — " " It seems to me," she broke in, " that your friend is rather too weak and impossible to be the hero of a story. As I knew him, he played a very different role, especially towards the end. Shall I tell you what I know of him ? " He nodded silently. " Mine is not a pretty story," she began, " and it is especially hard for me to tell it to you. A girl who had lived always in the whirl of a social life, and who had been taught that friendships were merely maintained in so far as they were a means to an end, and that all life was but a game of give and take, of which a strict account must be kept ; in short, a girl who had never been taught to consider her heart, came to know and to like a certain man. " She liked him because he was so unselfish — because he cared for her, for herself alone. He was a man whom any girl could love, and he was very devoted. There could be only one result. Then, just as their friendship was budding into love — just as the world began to take on a new and happy light for her — he went away. " For some time she continued to believe in him, then, as month after month went by, she learned that he was only one of a great many young men who have been bred to look down upon that which is low and vulgar, and who turn for their amusement to 46 " Greater Love Hath No Man » girls of their own class, and gain favors and privileges from these girls by promises they never expect to keep — by all manner of w^hite society lies — w^hose greatest pleasure is in overcoming some girl, in spoil- ing w^hat few good ideals she has, and then leav- ing her for fields untried, unconquered." She had spoken impulsively and very earnestly ; but when she paused there was a little droop about her mouth, and a look almost of helplessness in her eyes. " Is that all ? " said Wayne, harshly. She threw her head back, then let it fall wearily forward. " No," she said softly. " No, a man came who offered her everything, everything but love, and in place of that honor and devotion." " And she took it ? " he said dully. " May God forgive her, yes," she answered. They rose from the table ; seemingly no one had noticed them, yet Sir Henry was no longer smiling* Wayne's face was set and expressionless. He made his way through the diners out on to one of the little balconies overlooking the park. He saw the happy little lights strung so regularly along the avenues — of his past life ; then he turned, and in the gloomy vistas of the park he saw his future. She had slipped on a long white cloak. " I came," she said, " to say good-night, and perhaps — " " Good-night," he said. Her eyes filled with tears. " Have you no mercy ? " she said ; " I spoke hastily to-night. I was unjust to you and to myself, and I have come to say that I am sorry." She paused, but Wayne was still silent. She raised her head with an effort. " If I must go I 47 " Greater Love Hath No Man '* want always to think of you as a very dear friend. I have wronged you. Say you forgive me." She stretched out her arms toward him. " Don't," he said fiercely. " I can't hear you blame yourself." He took her hands impulsively in his. In another moment she was sobbing like a child in his arms. Unnoticed by them a third figure had stepped through the window. It was Sir Henry. He stopped abruptly, with one hand on the casement ; the other hand closed slowly and his shoulders straightened. Twice he started to speak. " Pardon me," he said. Wayne drew back, but kept his arm defiantly about Miss Kent. Then slowly his hands sank to his sides. But Sir Henry was not looking at him. He spoke slowly. " Is this the other man you told me of. Miss Kent ? " She nodded silently. " And — and do you love him ? " Her only answer was a sob. For some few moments Sir Henry was silent, looking first at Wayne and then at her. His face was very white. " Yes, it is best," he said softly. " I am growing old, and she loves him." Then aloud : " Life itself is too full of tragedies for people of your age to be making them. There have been several in my Hfe, although never one just like this, but it is better that I should bear it than you." Gently, like a father, he stooped and kissed her. "Good-night," he said. "May the best of this life be yours always." " I can't — you must n't," broke in Wayne. 48 " Greater Love Hath No Man" " It is not for you," said Sir Henry, coldly ; and then before they could stop him he had stepped through the window and was gone. Going through the lobby, they met the Colonel, who immediately and forcibly remarked that he 'd be damned ; which remark, even as events turned out, was undoubtedly true. 49 On Board the ** Golden Swallow'' ON BOARD THE « GOLDEN SWALLOW " A. D. 17 NOT two days out from the Spanish Isles, With the wind a-beam and fast, Skimmed the " Golden Swallow," plunder-piled, And the Black Flag at her mast. Young Joris climbed to a rum-cask high — In the midst of the lounging throng. Flashed a smile through his bearded lips, And trolled a catch of a song. " Ho ! for the path that the gray gull flies, The wake o'er the western sea — - Up with the anchor and trim the sails And out to the open free ! '' And here to harry, and there to spoil Of booty, of gems or gold. No palace so strong nor fortress stanch As to daunt the pirates bold ! " The weakling lords in their moated halls Grow suddenly pale for fear, Madre de Dios ! their good wine flows In pledge to the buccaneer ! SO On Board the " Golden Swallow " " There *s naught so sweet as a young maid's lip ! Or better than good old rum, Wine, maids and gold, for the pirate bold, A fig for the Kingdom Come ! " And out to the west from the Spanish Isles, With the wind a-beam and fast. Skimmed the " Golden Swallow " plunder-piled And the Black Flag at her mast ! 51 A Stampede A STAMPEDE FOR several weeks the cowboys making up the " Double X " outfit had been gathering three- year-old steers for the fall market. The results were as pretty a bunch of cattle as could be found in Texas; four thousand five hundred of them, and every one fat and in perfect condition. The wagon was camped for the night in the valley of White Deer Creek, two miles from the bluffs along the Canadian. Three more days would see the bunch safely packed in trains on their way to the Chicago market, so that it was most important that they should be kept from running an ounce of fat oft in stampede. So far they had been handled as easily as sheep, and the outfit was proud of itself. The men had finished the evening pork and beans, and were saddling and staking out their horses for night guard. Over the buttes back of the Canadian, a bank of black clouds was rapidly covering the whole western horizon. Like the distant roaring of an old bull preparing for battle, angry mutterings of thunder could be heard, while the fitful lightning flashes showed the yellow flood of the great river lashed into white caps. All the signs pointed to a nasty night, and Cal Merchant, the foreman of the outfit, gathered his men together at the tail of the wagon, where the sweep of the wind was broken. 52 A Stampede *' Boys," said he, " there 's trouble ahead of us. We 're in for a hell of a storm, and I want you all to remember that the bunch of red beauties out there has got to be held together if it tal^es every horse and every man in the outfit to do it. As soon as they break loose, there 's eighty thousand dollars gone to the devil, 'cause every one of 'em will run over the bluffs into the Canadian. Remember, turn em' into the sand hills if they start to run. We '11 double the guard so that every man stands twice for an hour at a time. First guard had better go out now." As the crowd was breaking up, Joe, the horse wrangler, commonly known as "The Kid," timidly said : " Cal, ain't you goin' to let me help hold 'em ? I 've got Pinto saddled, and I reckon he can run around any steer in the Panhandle." "All right. Kid," was the reply, " if you 're so keen to try, turn out with the third guard." The promised storm came, and came with a fury that bent the cottonwoods along the creek bottom almost flat, and blew the embers of the dying fire in a long, red stream up the valley. After the wind, came the rain hissing through the dried buffalo grass, which cringed and writhed like a monster cowering under the stinging blows from some giant's hand. The cattle stood huddled together with heads to the ground, all facing away from the storm, only held from drifting with it by the shouts and yells of the men who rode up and down before the line of sullen, lowered horns. In this fashion the hours dragged slowly by till the third guard came on. Each moment the cattle be- came more and more restless. Occasionally some 53 A Stampede steer would make a dash through the line for free- dom, only to be turned in again after a mad run of a hundred yards. By this time every man in the outfit was on his horse riding around the bunch. It was the Kid's first experience with " snaky " cattle, and as he climbed on to Pinto, a white and pink spindle-legged Mexican pony, and settled him- self deep in the saddle, he resolved to show the boys that he was as good a cowpuncher as any of them. Taking his place in the circle next to Cal, he rode slowly up and down the restless, ever-changing line. It was cold work after the first glow of excitement died away, and his hands grew so numb from the lashing of the rain that he could hardly keep his grasp on the bridle. After what seemed to him an infinite age of waiting came the long expected. A bolt of lightning crashed its way from the blackness above. Ripping down through a cottonwood, it disappeared into the trembling earth. Almost before the Kid could gather his reeling senses, came a hoarse, wild shout from Cal, " They 're loose, boys ! Get after 'em ! " The whole herd of cattle, stark mad from fear, was flying down the valley towards the bluffs and to certain destruction. A fierce, deep excitement took hold of the Kid. Forgetting the dangers from the uneven ground and the grinding hoofs, he gave Pinto quirk and spur, urging him to the front of the flying column. Cal had told him to turn them from the bluff, and turn them he would, if Pinto's legs could do it. He lost all fear as he raced along by the stampeding cattle. Pinto seemed to skim the earth as he settled into his long racing stride, and the Kid, trusting all things to 54 A Stampede his horse, threw away the reins. He was barely con- scious of bogs and gullies jumped in the wild race ; of other men who shouted to him as he flew by, words which blurred senselessly in his brain. The glaring eyes and tossing sea of horns so close to his left hand had no terror for him, all his thought was to reach and turn the leaders in time to save them. Behind him beat the merciless hoofs as, on a long diagonal, he cut in before the herd ; ahead were the jagged bluffs of the Canadian. Now he was almost even with the leaders, but he could hear above the thunder of the galloping cattle, the roar of the Cana- dian on its rocks. Slowly, slowly, however, the leaders were turning to the left into the sand hills. The sight of the hatless, yelling devil on a white pony ahead of them was worse than the unknown terror behind. • ••■•••• The men of the Double X outfit don't care to talk of the stampede on White Deer, for they all liked the Kid. They found him next day under Pinto, at the bottom of a crevasse leading to the river. He had saved the herd by the narrow margin of twenty yards, but Pinto was running free and did not turn with the cattle. The company, however, paid its usual five per cent dividend that fall. 5S Cervera at Annapolis CERVERA AT ANNAPOLIS ^ THEY crowded round to see him, great and small, i The conquered admiral of a conquered fleet, j Shorn of his glories, thrown from his high seat, ' Great by the very greatness of his fall. J Hope, fortune, honor, lost beyond recall, 1 Gray-haired and bitter-hearted ; doomed to meet 1 His country's censure, sharper than defeat, 'i His foeman's pity — that was worst of all. .'" \ He heard them faintly, as one hears, amuse, i Amid his vision voices far away j That call him from sad dreams to sadder day ; 1 ft For he was where he would be could he choose, J At peace beneath the waters of the bay it Where all his ships lay silent, with their crews. ;) 56 Advice ADVICE SOME one gave Tommy a nice, shiny dime. Lollipop visions floated through Tommy's head. " Tommy, you must put the money the kind gen- tleman gave you in your new bank," said Tommy's Aunt Jemima. Duty, that Dread Power, began chasing out the visions, as Aunt Jemima did the hens with her broom from the front garden. And they came back just as the hens always did when Aunt Jemima's back was turned. Nature in her lesser creations sets the poor moral animal a shocking example. But the dime slipped through the slot — rather slowly — Aunt Jemima superintending. This did not end the battle necessarily. Duty usually won the first skirmish. There was a way — a skilful inversion of the bank — by which the dime might be brought back again under the laws of supply and demand ; it had been tried before in cases of ex- treme pressure and great financial stringency. But detection was sure sooner or later. So, really, the conflict was but just begun. On one side there were the visions aforementioned ever increasing in their sugary seductiveness ; and on the other side, supplementing the Dread Power, whose prestige began to wane when her earthly representa- tive was no longer at hand, other visions — confine- 57 Advice ment to the society of one's bedchamber furniture for twenty-four hours; and then, perhaps more remote, a midnight call from the family physician with the con- comitant unpleasantness — for a dime, if expended in a candy shop with the thrifty prudence (I speak ad- visedly) of seven years old, can do wonders. I do not know which side carried off the laurels. A cynical person might say that it mattered little, there being something to be gained and something to be lost in either case. But you can read as much of a moral, or of an immoral, into this as you choose. I merely relate the situation as one capable of being reflected upon. S8 Sacrament SACRAMENT GOWL'D deep in mist the great hills kneeled, While on the East's high-altar bright, The Host of Dawn lay, full revealed. In the clear monstrance of the Light. 59 His Son's Enemies HIS SON'S ENEMIES AT a small table in a cafe of a low order, on one of the many side streets that lead down to the Seine, near the morgue, sat Jean Coqulard. His body was slouched forward, and his long muscular hands clasped before him, in what a careless passer-by might call an attitude of prayer. But his eyes looked straight ahead in a peculiar, hard, vacant stare. Few, if any, noticed him, and if they did, probably judged him from his dress to be an old habitue of the place, and there more on sufferance than anything else. The room was thick with cheap tobacco smoke, which the wind, when the street door was opened, carried across the place in little whirlwinds. The lights from many cigarettes showed dimly like glow- worms in the dense air. At the other end of the room some one was playing a mandolin and singing in a maudlin voice. The kerosene lamps had begun to smoke at this late hour, and the people passing in and out seemed out of proportion, and like the fantastic shadows cast on the roadside at night by the side lamps of a dog- cart. Jean saw none of these things. He was think- ing of the journey he had just taken to the great prison outside the city walls, where low malefactors were confined for short terms and worse ones received a five or six years' sentence. Jean's son was one of the latter. For repeated small crimes he had at last been sentenced for four 60 His Son's Enemies years, and his father had seen him enter the great iron-barred gates of the prison, very much as he would see him enter his workshop in the morning, knowing that a certain time must elapse, a necessary evil, before the evening would free him to wander once more in his old haunts. His sentence expired that evening, and he had gone to get him, but was in- formed that on the day before his son had died of some disease, whose unfamiliar name he could not remember, and that a Mass had been said for the repose of his soul, and he was now number 4761 in the prison graveyard. The warden actually congratu- lated Jean on his good fortune. " No one like that, that son of yours, ever comes to any good. I have been here twelve years and can tell. A fellow of his particular stamp never reforms. Perhaps Monsieur has other better sons ? Yes ? " But Jean did not answer him, but walked back to the cafe like one in a dream. So his son was dead, his little Henri, who was such a fine fellow, no better company than he ; and now he was dead. He could imagine how he had died, there in the prison, alone, with none of his friends around him, looking out longingly, perhaps, out of the little iron-barred window, out over the plain where the soldiers drilled, to the walls of the city, where the lights twinkled, and where the great Eiffel Tower rose straight and slim, like a great exclamation point out of the flat page of the city. He sat and thought and lived over again their lives which had been so entwined, thought how as a little fellow he had carried him in his arms of a Sunday to the Bois to see the crowd, or gone with him on one of the little steamers that go up and down the Seine, and 61 His Son*s Enemies when he was older how often they had spent the even- ing together in some place of amusement. Yes, how often at that cafe and at that very table. But Henri had a weakness, — was always taking little things that were not his, and repeated offences had finally gotten him this last sentence. Each time he had promised to reform, but as often slipped from his good intentions. The old story. A great wave of anger overcame Jean; an un- reasonable rage that longed to cry out, to bite, to tear with the hands. What right had the officials to take his son from him, to kill him like a rat in a trap out there beyond the city walls ? He seized the bottle of cognac that stood before him on the table, and drank the remaining half without stopping. He smiled ; a feeling of warmth came over him, and a numbness so that the people talking round him seemed a great way off. He rose, saying to himself: "Now I know the way. Now all will go well." He went out and walked toward the Seine, which ran black and oily at the lower end of the street. He came to the edge and, leaning over the low railing, looked into the water where the ripples made the reflection of the gas-lamp above him waver and seem to beckon to him. He heard a step approaching; a gendarme gorgeous in his blue and red uniform was making his rounds, a comelv young fellow, who whistled softly to himself as he looked out over the water, thinking perhaps of his mother in her little home in the Prov- inces, to whom he was to send half his pay when he received it at the end of the month. Jean watched him and, as he did, the wave of anger came over him again. So this was one of the ^ 62 His Son's Enemies crew that had taken his son to that place to die. This was one of those who had robbed him of his little Henri. Well, he would show them. He — Two days later, far down the Seine, where the fishing-boats from Havre anchor by the shores fringed with tall Lombardy poplars, something red and blue floated in mid-stream, face downwards. And an old man jibbered and gnawed at his hands in a cell, from the windows of which could be seen the plain where the soldiers drill, stretching away to the walls of the city, where the lights twinkled and the great tower rose dimly through the darkness. For Jean Coqulard was mad. 63 Nox Christ! NOX CHRISTI A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY PERSONS. Mater, Josephus, Pastor Primus, Pastor Secundus, Angeli Scene. — The Stable in Bethlehem. Mater, — THE winter night is bleak and wild, Yet one great star burns clear. What aileth thee, my little child, Thus crying out in fear, What aileth thee, that thou shouldst weep? See ! I will sing, and thou wilt sleep. [Here shall she sing : What gift shall the great ones bring ? What gift for their new-born king ? Red, red gold their gift shall be, Fine tried gold for royalty. What gift shall the maidens bring ? What gift for their new-born king ? Richly wrought embroideries Of golden thread on peacock dyes. What gift shall the people bring ? What gift for their new-born king ? [ The child wails again, 64 Nox Christi Mater, Thy Mother watches, little child, And safe upon her breast Fear thou no hurtful thing or wild, But sleep and take thy rest; My Royal One, my Holy One, Thou child of God, my little son ! \Here shall enter JosEPHUS. yosephus. The inn is full, we must abide Within this stable-place. Ah ! What is this lies at thy side ? It is the child of grace ! \ITe worships. Hail ! Thou of angels' prophecy, Hail ! Christ-child born our king to be ! ^Angeli heard as afar off, Angeli, In terra pax et hominibus voluntas! Josephus, Lord, is it thus Thou com'st to reign In such humility ? On cushions soft Thou shouldst have lain, Be clothed with majesty. Mater, Rough swaddling-clothes must be Thy wear, Josephus, Thy throne, this manger rude and bare. Angeli, HosANNA ! HosANNA ! Amen ! \Here shall he heard without^ Pastores, Pastores, Star-led come we o'er weald and wold, We may not stop nor stay. We seek the king so long foretold. His star hath led the way. 5 6s Nox Christi Primus, See, it hath stopped ! Here hath it led ! Secundus. What ! Here, our king ? This stable-shed ! ^Here shall enter Pastores, They stand amazed. We find no king, but gently laid Midst soft-eyed kine and mild, We see a simple mother-maid Smile o'er a little child. A little child ! It cannot be That he hath come to set us free ! Angeli, HosANNA \ Hosanna ! In excelsis, gloria ! Primus, Kneel, brother, kneel ! For this is He ; We have not sought in vain. Secundus, When angels worship, shall not we ? O Little King, long reign ! Both, The Angels* song we raise again. Sing, In excelsis, gloria. ^And here subjolneth all. Amen ! ^6 An Obscure Heroine AN OBSCURE HEROINE THEY were dining at Parker's, It was elevea o'clock, and the Boy was trying not to appear sleepy. The big plumes of the actress' hat drooped be- tween her eyes and the light that fell from many little chandeliers. But in the seclusion of the shadow her gaze was even more lustrous than before, and the Boy, as he looked, dreamed that they were the eyes of a leopard. Soft feathers and long eyelashes make an intricate labyrinth and a very mazy jungle. Making an effort, the Boy straightened up. *' Julie," he said. " Mm — hm ? " said the actress, lifting her brows. " You have beautiful eyes." " Mm — hm." The brows descended. After a pause : " Julie." " Mm — hm ? " toying with her champagne glass. " I wish — I wish you would n't — would n't wear that costume any more." The actress pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders. " Business," she said. " But," objected the Boy, " don't you see how it is ? that it 's different with us — that we 've met so often — that — hang it, Julie, that I love you ? " The hat plumes rose and showed hungry eyes. 67 An Obscure Heroine (C Say that again," she whispered fiercely. " I love you," repeated the Boy, more firmly. " I Ve got a ranch out in Texas, twenty thousand head of cattle and all that — whole outfit, you know. The Gov'nor gave it to me last Christmas.'* He leaned forward with both elbows on the table, his head between his palms. " Say you '11 go," he whispered. But the actress was silent, and the nodding plumes concealed twin tears. " Say you '11 go," reiterated the Boy. " I '11 go," she said, looking up. " But it is early. Order another bottle." And because she spoke so, the Boy was blind and could not see that there was Self-Denial in her face, and that the twin tears were no longer those of Joy. He turned to the waiter. The actress reached out over his half-empty glass. There fell from a locket on her wrist a little pellet, which fizzed and dissolved. They clinked glasses and drank. Presently the Boy mumbled dizzily : " Why don't we go ? I '11 order the cab." " Yes — do so," said the actress. But his eyes were heavy — closed. She smiled and rose. " Take him to the Union Club when he wakes up," she said to the attendant at the door. And her face was radiant as she passed out into the noise and electric glare of the street, and the twin tears twinkled like two stars. 6S They Say her Face is Passing Fair THEY SAY HER FACE IS PASSING FAIR THEY say her face is passing fair — And this her soul exemplifies — But, blinded by some passion's snare, I looked — and only saw her eyes. They say her eyes are ocean's blue, Nor fain would I their words condemn. For never have I marked their hue — But only saw herself in them. 69 The Shadow of the God THE SHADOW OF THE GOD WHITMAN sat on the veranda and looked vacantly ofF toward the dull glow in the west. Twilight in (Yucatan is no time to discuss mathematics, and, with a young lady in a great arm- chair only a few feet away, it is sacrilege. Still, that was the subject of the conversation. " How absurd ! So you really think women are poor mathematicians ? " It was a hard question, but Whitman was not the man to flinch. He had sedulously avoided girls ever since he could remember, and could speak to them with a frankness which the average person might envy. If he was sitting only four yards away from one now, the Fates knew it was n't his fault. Two months before, at the invitation of Senor Cortez, he had come down to gather data for his father's great work on " The Ancient Ruins of Yucatan," and no one had been more surprised than he to find that the hospitable household already entertained Tom Wakely, of college memories, and Tom's uncle and fair cousin. Tom was gunning, his uncle was entomologizing, and Miss Ethel — girls seem to have no serious purpose in life anyway. All this explains how he could say bravely that mathematics seemed to be for men and poetry for women, fo The Shadow of the God This was too much, and Miss Ethel spoke out impatiently : " Poetry ! pshaw ! Some day I think I can show you that it 's just the other way round." Just then Tom, who sat ofF in a corner, with his chair tilted at a most remarkable angle, broke in with : " Oh, let up on this ; " — the mathematics had never been kind to him — " day after to-morrow we are going to leave Will here, digging around in the ruins, and you '11 probably never see him again ; don't get him all worked up. By the way, I 've made all the arrangements for our visit to the temple of Huetzilopochtli to-morrow — " " Mercy ! " interrupted Miss Ethel, hands at ears. " — and also," he continued, " I have learned all about it from the Don. You wanted to know about those Edgar Allan Poe human sacrifices they used to have. Here 's the story. People from all around the country used to go there, and a good many of course were of the very pious kind, who hung around in the temple, worshipping like sixty till all of a sudden they found that the water was beginning to rise. This used to take place about supper-time, and by that time a big obelisk outside had thrown a shadow clear across the doorway. Well, this shadow was a consecrated shadow — some sun-god business — and to cross it was a horrible sacrilege. But the people inside did n't know anything about the shadow, ten to one; and if they did, it was n't any use; they had stayed so late. Out they would rush, and the priests tended to the rest. In that way they satisfied Maya scruples and Aztec requirements. About a hundred years ago the Don lost an ancestor that way, and the old place has since been sacked, 71 The Shadow of the God and gone to rack and ruin ; but no one has been down there for a century, and it would be nineteenth- century enterprise to go down, count skeletons, and bring away the temple in our pockets, with some good lies and kodak-pictures." The old Spanish clock downstairs was striking eleven when Whitman retired that night ; but the incessant clatter of the countless insects which make hideous a tropic night, was more conducive to reverie than to sleep. Airy visions floated in through the window, and he was annoyed to see that every one contained the graceful, girlish form he knew so well. Probably it was because she was going away so soon, but he felt that it was unworthy of his manly heart. Still, she was a remarkable girl and had sailed through Vassar in a halo of mathematical glory, with the special commendation of Maria Mitchell ; and he had a soft place in his heart for any one who courted the mathematics. On the whole, he was ashamed of such weakness and tried to imagine the phantom forms less fair; and, failing in this, began to long for potassium bromide, and ended up by counting sheep jumping over a stile. It was no use; it was n't possible to get to sleep that way ; and, be- sides, there was a sheep who proved to be Monte- zuma, last emperor of the Aztecs ; and he wished to extract his young friend's heart in the good old Aztec fashion; for as far as he — Montezuma — could see, he had no use for it. Then Miss Ethel — for it was she — said the square on the hypothe- nuse was a circle — It was six when he awoke, and the horses were ready. It was a fine cold winter day, with prospect of the thermometer stop- 72 The Shadow of the God ping at seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit. The old Spaniard was to escort them the first mile, and he rode off ahead with Miss Ethel. The dew sent tiny javelins of light hither and thither, and the perfume of the forest was a whole Arabia and Cathay. If there is one thing rarer than a day in June, it is a day in Yucatan. " Fine old fellow," quoth Thomas, nodding ahead at the old Spaniard. " So she is," answered Whit- man, showing that his thoughts were not on temples, which in most languages are of anything but femi- nine gender. " You 'd better drop the ' s,' old man. You know you once said the nineteenth letter of the English alphabet was a barbarous superfluity. She is n't old, you know ; why, only — well, log 2.30 1 030, which is the same as not telling you." " The characteristic is characteristic of you ; make it 3." " She won't thank you for that, and I '11 tell." "'She' be hanged!" " Hope not, William. She likes you Immensely, only you 're such an old mathematical fossil. To be grave, here 's a piece of sound advice. Be a fossil all you want, only, when the time comes to act don't stand like a stump as most fossils do. Other- wise — good-by to the ladies. Really, unless you sober down from your sines and cosines, she can never — " Here the old Spaniard came riding back, and a tournament was prevented. They had now turned into a by-path, remarkably well defined considering that it led only to a disused temple and had been barely saved from complete erasion by the nature of 73 The Shadow of the God the ground. Great bars of sunlight streamed through the trees here and there, and stood out against the woodland shadows like veins of silver in a coal- measure. Hither and thither darted humming-birds and orioles, and once a magnificent trogon swept across the sunlight, trailing its gorgeous rainbow behind it. A mottled snake writhed across the path, and everywhere were abundant life and the glory of early morning. It was well on in the day when they trotted out on the plateau where the temple lay, sleeping in the sun; for it is not wise to hurry in latitude twenty degrees, even in winter. At the end of a long street, lined on either side by great rough monoliths, was the temple, a conical hill, hewn into terraces, and overgrown with the radiant leaves of the yucca. All underneath was the great cavern, with carved and painted walls, and mighty altars long since cold. A broad stone porch, high as a man's shoulders, and furnished at both sides with a parapet, stood out from the front of the temple ; and on the western parapet to their right stood a short pillar like an inverted Egyptian obelisk minus its apex. The whole west face of the structure rose straight from the sombre waters of a little lake, in whose depths the pillar was mirrored clear and bright. The doorway opened out on the great porch, and was so low that it scarce gave passage for a man on hands and knees. Grotesque sculptures appeared on every hand ; one being especially noticeable where a king wearing a crown which would have floored such men as live in our days, poured holy water over a 74 The Shadow of the God dead cat, — an occult ceremony which must have stirred the holy enthusiasm of many a pious heart, " Well," said "Whitman, " it's easy to believe Tom's story now. That lake is plainly an intermit- tent spring, and any one can see that the shadow from that pillar will lie almost directly across the door- way to-night. The man who tarried too long in there tarried till the vultures were satisfied out here ; " and he looked at a great bird soaring a thousand feet above them. Miss Ethel shivered, and would not sit in the shade of the eastern pylon ; so, as soon as they had looked around, and had ascertained that the entrance passage plunged steeply down into the hill, they went off to sit by the lake-side. It was a weird spot in that hoary sepulchre of an ancient faith, but Tom was irrepressible. " Great old building ; humph ! Eleven o'clock ; at three I am going to explore the whole thing inside. It 's as big as all creation, and will take the afternoon ; besides, I haven't seen any skeletons." '' You '11 get lost, sir ; it 's a regular labyrinth inside," objected Ethel. ''There are hands cut in the rock at every cross- roads to show the way, and look at all these candles." " But the old priests — " " Dead and gone a century." " But some of them might — " "None of them do. You're nervous, miss." She flushed, and said something about intuition of women. " Stops up at the Rio Grande." 75 The Shadow of the God Such logic was invincible, and yet she seemed dissatisfied. At length she got him to promise to come out before the shadow reached the door ; and as she seemed very worried and anxious, the conces- sion was made — and Tom was careful to keep his promises. But here a diiEculty arose. Little was known of the temple interior, but by common report it was a small edition of the Mammoth Cave. How could one inside know when the shadow reached the door ? It had been taken for granted that Whitm.an should stay out with Miss Ethel, for she would never consent to enter, even if it were feasible. He might go in and give warning, but the chances of his finding Tom were ridiculously small, and Tom could n't keep running back to the entrance to find out. " I '11 tell you," said Tom, " work it out by mathematics ; that will be sport. Make Ethel do it. There, my dear, is a chance to show that men are poets, and women mathematicians." She started at having her words thrown up at her so soon, and colored deeply, but she felt that the reputation of her sex rested upon her. She threw her head back and a little to one side, defiantly, as women will when combative, and accepted the challenge. Out came Whitman's long lead-pencil and mathe- matical tables, and Tom brought forth a dilapidated note-book. Whitman's omnipresent tape-measure on the end of a stick showed the height of the pillar above the terrace to be fifteen feet. How long would it take the shadow to block a doorway forty- nine feet distant ? This was child's play for a 76 The Shadow of the God Vassar girl. Find the angle which the sun made with the summit of the pillar j divide by ninety degrees, and multiply the number of hours between noon and sunset by this proper fraction. Now the sun was setting at forty minutes past five to-night ; so there were all the data, " Don't forget the refraction," said Whitman, with a laugh. Now refraction would have altered the result some three minutes, but Miss Ethel was thrown into consternation ; for all she knew, it might make the difference of an hour. She bit thoughtfully at the pencil, and the point broke. Whitman shar- pened it for her. Just then she saw a table of re- fraction coefficients ; thank Heaven, she knew how to use them ! It v/as all on page twenty-seven ; she remembered it all by heart. The amount of mathe- matics a young lady can get by rote is amazing. She uttered a sigh of relief; she realized now how frightened she had been, for the figures gyrated in all directions, and ciphers and decimal points kept dis- appearing; she must be careful, or she would get something down wrong. Whitman should never know how near he had come to catching her, and the mathematical reputation of her sex was preserved in its integrity, so far as she was concerned. There, the problem was done; at 5.01 p.m., precisely, the shadow would reach the doorway. Tom was to allow five minutes lee-way, and come out at 4.56. As it came on toward three o'clock, they strolled up to the terrace. The sun did not strike the rock so blindingly now, and they started, as they saw on the lintel of the door, the bloody imprint of a human 77 The Shadow of the God hand. But it was only that strange symbol puzzle of the antiquarian, which peers out from tangled underbrush and yawning cavern throughout the land of the ancient Aztec. " I shall stay my whole time," declared Tom, as he went down on his hands and knees at the en- trance ; and they could hear him remonstrating with the narrow passage till his voice was lost in the distance. Two hours to while away in that graveyard of the centuries. It was very quiet, and even the lap- ping of the lake against the stones was no longer discernible. The silence was oppressive, and Whit- man proposed a ride in the woods. A pink haze rose from a neighboring swamp, and, as the sun sank lower and lower, the profound silence, as of a tomb, grew more and more depressing. At last, to break the spell. Whitman ventured to recite the first lines of Shelley's " Naples," — ** I stood within the city disinterred. And heard the autumnal leaves like light foot-falls of spirits, passing through the streets.'* Ethel looked at him queerly, as if, perhaps, he were something more than a calculating machine, after all. It was her turn, now, to relieve the monotony : " By the way, what do you think of that for trigo- nometry ? " and she gayly handed him the paper con- taining her computations of the afternoon. He thought she seemed a little ill at ease, as if she began to doubt her work, in the awesome quiet of the woods. 78 The Shadow of the God He smiled, and glanced at the figures carelessly, then started, and began to figure rapidly. Silence, deep and unbroken. " Well, what 's the matter, sir ? " she broke in, impatiently. " Why, the refraction coefficient of vacuum to air is 1.00029, not 1.0294, ^^^ 7^^ bring the answer out twenty-six minutes too high. Taking out the five minutes, Tom will come out twenty-one minutes too late." They turned their horses' heads, he with knitted brow, she with ashen face, and the rapid hoof-beats were not too quick to be a threnody in their ears. Suddenly he reined up with a loud laugh. " Fools — er — excuse me, I am — what harm will it do if he does cross the shadow ? There we were taking it for granted that the priesthood still existed j it must have been this devilish silence." The color came back to her face, and she laughed a little. They rode out upon the plateau ; it was 4.40, and the shadow must be well across the opening. And then Whitman leaped half out of his saddle, and gave a choking cry ; while his companion drooped forward on the horse's neck, and the world swam round and round and round. On the summit of the temple, clad in Aztec garb, stood a white-haired priest, and six others, armed with the iztli knife, clustered around the doorway. The girl clapped her hands to her face and burst into tears, crying that she had killed her cousin, and all for pride, and that she knew nothing about mathe- 79 The Shadow of the God matlcs at all. She seemed scarcely able to sit on her horse. Whitman only stared blankly before him. So the old priesthood was not all gone. After all, it was not so strange in that great unknown peninsula. " Why don't you save him ? " cried Ethel ; and there was a fine light in her eyes, and her hands were clenched now. Whitman felt that any other girl would have fainted long ago, and a wave of admiration swept over him. " Oh, if you were only a man, and not a fossil " — it sounded ludicrous at such a time — "I am going up myself. Poor old Tom ! " He had the presence of mind to seize her bridle- rein. Parabolas, hyperbolas, — what not darted through his head, poor aids at such a time. After all, calculus was a small thing to know when human life hung in the balance and quick wit might tip the scale. He knew now that the good opinion of this young lady was not so undesirable. He would give a good deal for it at this moment. " And can't you save him ? " she cried in piteous tones. He was thinking clearly now, at any rate : the water, the priests, and the shadow ; the shadow, the priests, and the water ; which could be eliminated from that network of death ? He leaped with delight as a thought dawned on him, and he was never prouder in his life than when he wheeled on the shivering girl. " I can ! " he said, while his eyes danced with that battle-fire which lurks in every true man, — " but you must go home." She looked at him with rebellious eyes; but he 80 The Shadow of the God gazed steadily back, and it was the man now and not the mathematician. She turned her horse, with never a word, and rode ofF, looking back only once with wistful glance — subdued, yet perhaps subduer. Silence again, and the dreamy air ; fleeting shadows and the peace of the sleeping woods ! But it was a time for most vigorous action. That shadow could be lifted in just one way. The stone must go. The shadow gone, the scrupulous priests could no longer claim their victim. It would be a complete rescue. In a few minutes Tom would be out and the work must be fast. The pillar was larger at top than bottom, and the centre of gravity high. A sharp blow well up would overthrow it ; for the ancient builders used no cement. He was ofF his horse im- mediately and running toward the terrace. The priests looked on with patient, wondering eyes. They had naught to do with him. He sprang upon the parapet and thus gained four out of the fifteen feet ; eight feet high can a tall man strike with effect, and it would fall out just right here. The two-foot coping seemed narrower than the dread Al Sirat, but it was wide enough for one blow of a desperate man ; there could not be another. Eight feet up he struck, and in a glance he caught the faint markings on the pillar. Then stone and sky and all flashed out of sight ; and the water flew up and smote him, and seethed and bubbled over his head. He saw where the great foundations of the temple-wall sank into the bright sand ; and then the whole calm water- world green and waving, rose before his eyes, with startled fish and long-bending water-grasses. He gained the shore at last, with his left wrist all 6 8i The Shadow of the God bent In a Collie's fracture, and dashed away the water which dripped from his hair Into his eyes. Then he sat down, sick to vomiting, and looked around. The temple was pillarless now as the great black Kaaba of Mecca ; but he hardly noticed that. There, strung along the water-terrace and looking down Into the silent lake, stood the seven priests of the great war- god ; and, as they stood, they chanted the Maya- death-song. Death and the Yucatan Indian are brethren, and the latter lives only to long for some excuse for entering Into that last fraternal embrace. These seven, standing over the total wreck of the crumbling faith, looking down Into the depths whither the light of their eyes had gone, had nothing to live for, and It was a joyful farewell to those long deso- late halls. The Maya-death-song Is the weirdest strain which ever touched human ear; and the hushed voices of legions of departed spirits breathe In the not Inharmonious notes. Lengthening shadows, and the cool of approaching evening, and never a cry ! The water whitened with foam, and the bub- bles rose, and the circles eddied to the lily-pads off In the woods ; but the brown hands clung In tiger-grip and water grasses are tenacious. Whitman and Tom rode home in the dark, and lights were twinkling all about the house as they came up. Some one said, as they passed through the door, " You 're not a fossil ; " and perhaps It was meant for Tom. There were two who walked by the brook-side at evening. The departure, which had been postponed a day, was set for to-morrow. 82 The Shadow of the God It was Whitman who spoke, and the width of the path was between them. He was earnest enough now. "Miss Ethel," — they always called her that, — " do you mean, can you mean that I may have any hope of — er — well, solving your problems for you — er — all the rest of your life ? " He waited a long time. " I suppose you think I need some one after yes- terday," she said faintly. "And may I be that one ? " The universe stood still to hear the answer, but only a final letter was audible. After all, the nineteenth letter of the English alpha- bet has its uses. S3 The Cuirassier i THE CUIRASSIER WITH a hearty dash and a sabre's clash, With a thousand gleams and a double flash Of the brightened steel that knows no fear, What say ye, lads, as our horses rear ? Who is there equals a cuirassier ? With a bold, brave air and a winning smile, With a stolen kiss that 's won by guile. And a swagger known full many a mile. What say ye, lassies, as we appear ? Was there ever the like of a cuirassier ? A flagon, then, of the rich, red wine. And a toast for the foot, the men of the line, To the sapper, the lancer, the cannoneer. But first to the man who owns no peer. Come, drink ye, men, " To the cuirassier ! " i 1 84 \ Herb o' Grace HERB O' GRACE ** You must wear your rue with a difference.'* Persons Principally Concerned Rev. Ernest Bellamy, aged 40, the Rector of St. Luke's in the Woods. Cicely, aged 20, who plays **Lady Bountiful'' under the Rector's direction j and Mike, the Rector's terrier. THE scene is Bellamy's study in bachelor dis- order. At one side is a tea-table and opposite a desk. At the back are windows and a glass door. Through these one gets a glimpse of a garden in the full sunshine of a late spring afternoon. At the desk sits Bellamy smoking a pipe and writing j near him lies Mike, the terrier. Bellamy (writing). Finally, my brethren (gazes out of the window). Finally, my brethren (^takes out his watch). Why, it 's four o'clock. Bellamy, my boy, let the finally go to — some other time. You deserve a rest. {Walks over to the doorway^ Ah, what a day it is ! These spring days are much too fine to cage oneself up in a room. No wonder a man can't keep his mind on his work. No wonder. Bah ! What 's the sense of lying to myself this way ? When I know that the only reason I have loafed away the best part of a Saturday afternoon with my sermon unwritten, is because I have been Herb o' Grace much more Intent on wondering If it were not almost time for Cicely to come. And she is coming, and very soon now ! Come over here, Mike, you lazy beast ! I am going to tell you something. (Mike rises^ stretches himself lazily, and comes over to Bellamy, who sits down in a big chair and takes him on his knees.) Possibly you may not have guessed the fact, so I '11 tell you — whisper — {whispers in the dog*s ear) — Yes, really ! There 's no use In my trying to hide it or disguise or lie out of it. Now, if you could, my worthy friend, I suppose you 'd croak and ask me — very naturally — what a middle-aged, compara- tively sane country parson had to do with a thing of that sort, and I would n't have a thing to say in my defence, Mike, not a thing. I am ashamed of myself, and yet — and yet I was never so happy In my life before. And I '11 tell you why, and it 's a greater secret than the other — it 's because — the conceited Idiot that I am — I think she cares just a little bit for me! And, something more — and this the greatest secret of all — I'm going to ask her ! What do you think of that ? Why don't you show some signs of surprise ? Of all the unsympathetic confidants ! There, get down now, for I must put the room to rights, for Cicely 's coming. Mike ! Cicely 's coming ! And maybe she '11 make tea for us, and perhaps — But we must wait and see. {Be- gins to clear up the room.) Now, these can go In here {tucks old newspapers behind the bookcase)^ and these In here {brushes some scraps under the rug). Now, I wonder If there are any burnt matches in the teacups this time. {Looks.) No, not one — Why, there are n't any flowers. Cicely won't like that ! 86 Herb o' Grace Never mind, we can go out and get some together — Look at that picture over the mantel — I must straighten that. (Pulls chair up and stands on it^ straightening the picture^ {Enter Cicely with a basket on her arm. She laughs?^ Cicely (from the doorway^ I am afraid that I am interrupting you, Mr. Bellamy. Bell, (turning and seeing her^ Oh, there you are. Cicely, come in. I was just straightening that picture. I had been writing, but, er — I 'm resting now. (Gets down from chair^ Cic. I 'm glad of that. You must get so tired. I 've just been down with jelly for old Mrs. Tudor, and am on my way to Mrs. Wilkins', if you will give me those copies of " The Church Militant " you promised her. Bell. Certainly, I have them right here ; but you have not got to go this very minute, have you ? Cic. Oh, no ! Besides, I have a lot of things to say to you about poor Mrs. Tudor. Bell, (aside), Mrs. Tudor be bothered ! {To Cicely) All right, but meanwhile won't you be charitable to me and make me some tea ? Cic. That will be doing myself a kindness ; I love to make tea. But I thought old Margaret made it for you ! Bell. She does, but I would much rather have you. Cic. Of course I will, then. Bell. That will be splendid. Here, I beg your pardon ! let me relieve you. Cic. Thank you (giving him the basket). Be very careful not to drop that ; there 's a bowl of soup and some wine in it for Mrs. Grimes — I made the soup all myself! 87 Herb o* Grace Bell, {aside), I wish I were Mrs. Grimes ! Cic. {giving him a bunch of herbs). These are for her too — Bell. What odd-looking flowers ! Cic. They 're not flowers at all, they 're herbs. The poor old thing puts great faith in them, so I got them for her. She wanted sweet marjoram and Johns- wort, but I could get only rue. {She sits down at the tea-table and busies herself with the tea things.) Bell. Rue ! That 's for remembrance, is n't it ? Cic. Oh, you 're thinking of rosemary. Rue means bitterness. Bell. Sometimes it 's the same thing, I 'm afraid. Cic. It ought not to be. You know rue's other name is herb o' grace. This water 's fine and hot. Oh ! I 've put three lumps in your cup. You like sugar, don't you ? Bell. Yes, oh yes ; {aside) but I never take more than one lump. Cic. And cream ? {Pours it in,) Bell. N — that is, yes ! {Aside) I hate cream in my tea. Cic. There ! Now, do say you like it. Bell, {sipping), Delicious ! Quite the best I ever tasted. Cic. I 'm so glad. Now some for myself — Here, Mike, here 's a lump of sugar for you. There, sir ! — The last time I made tea for you you kept your tobacco in the tea-caddy. Do you remember ? Bell. Yes, it was a capital place for it. But there is n't any there now. Cic. No, everything is in very good order. Mar- garet takes good care of you, I think, 88 Herb o' Grace Bell, (indifferently). Oh yes, she does everything well enough. Cic. Mr. Bellamy, you are n't half grateful enough. For my part, I think Margaret does everything for your comfort. Bell. She tries to ; but there is so much a servant can't do, after all, Miss Cicely. Cic. How odd it sounds to have you say " Miss " to me ! I wish you would n't. Why, you 've called me Cicely ever since I was a little girl, and I should no more think of having you call me " Miss " than I should of calling you Ernest. Well, Mr. Bellamy, I will give some advice, may I ? The only thing for you to do is to find a wife. Bell. I 'm afraid it is easier to find her than to win her. Cic. Why do you say that ? I assure you, girls aren't so foolish as you seem to think. Bell. But they would be wise in this case. Why, what would they have to do with an old man like me ? Cic. But you are n't old, at least not very. I 'm sure you don't look as old as papa — and even if — you were — old — Bell. Well, what ? Ah, but put yourself in her place. Suppose I should come to you. Cicely, and say, " Here I am in autumn, you in mid-spring. Will you take what there is left of my life, worn and old, and give me yours, fresh and sweet and un- broken, in exchange — for I love you ; will you take my heart, that has grown tired with aching for lost hope, and weary with yearning for impossible ideals, and give me yours, tremulous with new life, because 89 Herb o' Grace I love you ? " Suppose I should ask you, Cicely, what would you say ? The chimes strike the hour. Cic. I think, Mr. Bellamy, I would say " yes," if I loved you. [She rises.) But I must go now. I promised Bob I would come at five, and he 's waiting for me. Bell. Bob ? What, has Bob come back ? Cic. Yes,he came yesterday. [She turns away shyly.) And oh, Mr. Bellamy, perhaps it is too soon to tell any one, but I feel I must tell you, you have been so kind to me always and are such a friend of papa's. Bob says he does care for me, and I — I — Bell. I understand. I am glad you have told me so soon, Cicely, for I would want to be one of the first to wish you happiness. And I do, my dear, with all my heart. Cic. Thank you, Mr. Bellamy ! And now, about that foolish girl. If you will only send her home, well, I think I can show her what a mistake she is making. Bell. I don't believe you will have to attempt as much as that. We 're better off as bachelors, Mike and I. I am afraid that we 've gotten selfish and settled and could not adapt ourselves to new ways easily. But you will come to make tea for us sometimes ? Just as you have to-day, so we sha'n't forget our manners ? And you '11 think of us now and then, won't you ? For we sha'n't forget you. Cic. Indeed, indeed, I will. Bell. Thank you. But I am keeping you, and I have no right to do that — now, you know ! Cic. Yes, I must run along. There are " The 90 Herb o* Grace Church Militants." Good-by, Mr. Bellamy. The tea was very nice ! Bell. Good-by, Cicely ! (^He puts his hand softly on her hair.) Good-by, and God bless and keep you — always ! Cicely goes out. Bellamy stands in the doorway looking after her. He smiles, and bows, and says good-by. The lights in the garden die away. The sound of an organ playing the Intermezzo comes as from a distance. Bell, (at the door). Good-by ! (^He comes in and sits in the big chair.) Dear little Cicely ! I wonder if she knows, strolling under the apple blossoms with her lover, that she has just killed youth and heaven for some one. No. She cannot know, and she must never know. It would break her tender little heart. And after all, why should she ? It was my fault, in mistaking friendliness, perhaps a little pity — for — something more. That 's what we get for wanting too much, Mike, my boy. Perhaps I ought to have taken your advice. It was foolish for me even to dream that she could ever care for me in that way ! Foolish ! it was mad ! And yet if it only could have been ! Dear God, I can't think of that ! I must not think of it ! only perhaps, now and then, of what was, never what might have been ! (J pause.) Well, Mike, you won't go back on me, will you, old boy ? No, you are faithful from the end of that Irish nose of yours to the tip of your stubby tail ! And we '11 just have to settle down to the old order of things, and must not think of afternoon tea and some one pretty and dainty to be waiting for us when we come home tired — and — things of that sort — 91 Herb o' Grace any more. They 're not for the likes of you and me. But we must just make up our minds to having the house as quiet and lonely as it used to be, and set ourselves to doing our duty and trying to enjoy it — • and — that reminds me, I might begin by writing the '^ finally " — that I postponed. {Js he goes to his desk^ he sees a sprig of rue on the floor. He picks it up.) Cicely must have dropped it. " There 's me for you " — No, not that. I like its other name better — Herb o' Grace ! (^He raises it to his lipSy and the curtain falls.) 92 At Saint Fortune AT SAINT FORTUNfi j AT old Saint Fortune the sea j Creeps up to clasp the gray old town, ; The dreaming skies bend tenderly i And round about stretch dune and down. j The wind-racked houses on the shore j With dim old eyes gaze 'cross the bay, ] For gallant ships that come no more Again to old Saint Fortune. ' ,i With marigolds the gardens gleam, ;i And in the doors, when work is done, ] Stand girls with happy eyes a-dream, i And old men dozing in the sun. i Great peace broods o*er Saint Fortune, | Born of the sunshine and the sea,' I From time far ofF and long dead day ; That was and nevermore shall be. | And when the waiting west is bright j With all the sunset's gleam and glow, j And safely settled for the night, I The town sleeps, then the sea croons low : \ *' Be not downcast, O hearts ashore, \ When waves mount high and great winds chafe, ! For all thy sons who come no more, ! Deep in my heart are waiting safe ! " 93 Fable FABLE HERE and there through the wheat glowed the red poppy blossoms, like great passionate, palpitating stars in a pale green, unfeeling sky. The winds swept over the field, and the wheat- stalks bowed humbly before them. But of the pop- pies no such humility was required ; the winds rather played about them, alternately teasing and caressing them, and laughing softly at the pretty coquetry of their petulance. Of one blood-red bloom, deeper in color and finer in texture, perhaps, than its fellows, the winds never tired; nor indeed was it averse to their flattering attentions. Finally, a stolid burgher wheat-stalk felt it its duty to interpose and to expostulate with the thoughtless flower upon the unseemliness of its conduct. " Have you never considered," it began, " what a useless thing you are ? What right have you to be happy ? Do you not see all about you these thousands of industrious wheat-stalks, each of whom, like myself, is at vi^ork creating and bringing to maturity a fruit which is some day to be of the greatest value to the world ? You are an intruder here in this busy community. We shall be grain some day ; is that not a noble ambition ? And you, what can you hope for or aspire to ? You flaunt and prink yourself for a time before every coxcomb 94 Fable breeze, and then you die and are forgotten; that is your fate." The flower shrank under the bitterness of the re- proof. Mutely it protested against all that the wheat- stalk had said, but what manner of defence was it possible to make ? Uselessness has no argument against the iron logic of utility. Henceforth the breezes wooed in vain. As the July sun sank behind the horizon, a youth and a maiden walked together through the field, part- ing the wheat. The youth stooped, and picking the sorrowing poppy, gave it to his companion. As the girl's fingers pressed its stem, the flower gave one timid glance upward, and saw in the face above it a color scarcely less deep than its own. The poppy died on the breast of the girl, forgetting entirely in its rapture the wheat-stalk's bitter words. The wheat-stalk must needs moralize on the event, remarking sarcastically to a neighbor, that the poppy had come to a pretty end. " How far," it inquired, " would a thousand such go toward feeding one hungry child ? " The wheat-stalk was a faithful servant, and of a surety did not lack its reward. 95 From Helolse to Abelard FROM HfiLOISE TO ABELARD IN the dim church at Vesper-time last night, Amid the surge of canticle and prayer And ecstasies of adoration, there With the great cross high in the tapers* light, I crouched where all the nuns knelt, hushed and white. Those still, pure women ! Have they aught to share With hearts that yearn, and mad desires that dare To barter Heaven for earthly touch and sight? Across the singing came a dream to me — Lo, it was April and we twain a-stray Down drifted orchard-paths in that old place My heart has folded safe in memory. Do you remember. Dear, that sweet spring day ? Ah, pity, Lord ! Let me forget its grace ! 96 Applied Mathematics APPLIED MATHEMATICS THE court mathematician's pupil was sitting dejectedly on a rustic seat in the beautiful gardens which surrounded the royal palace of Nunvalia. But it would be an error to call him the pupil of the court mathematician, for such he was no longer; neither was he, as a few short hours before, the accepted suitor of Angelina, the court mathematician's lovely daughter : hence the cause of his woe. This is how it all happened. The court mathe- matician and his pupil had been working together on a mathematical problem of huge dimensions, and they had differed as to the result of one of their computations. It was a small point indeed, but when professional honor is involved there is no such thing as agreeing to disagree, as ordinary people may, even on a very insignificant point. " The square of the cube root of the logarithm of the sine of 45° is 1.973 1," ^^^^ ^^^ court mathema- tician, firmly. " The square of the cube root of the logarithm of the sine of 45° is 1.9732," replied his pupil, with equal decision. " I said one ten-thousandth," retorted the court mathematician, warmly. " Pardon me, two ten-thousandths," answered the pupil. 7 97 Applied Mathematics The court mathematician glared at his pupil, and his pupil glared back in return. " One," almost shouted the court mathematician ; " and what is more, I command you not to contra- dict me." His pupil was silent, but held up two fingers. I will not describe how the anger of the court mathematician became a passion, and the passion a fury, and how in the latter state he ordered his pupil to leave the house and never dare to come there again ; nor how he remained obdurate in his decision, in spite of all the supplications of his daughter, who even went so far as to throw herself on the floor and clasp his unrelenting knees. So now Ferdinand — such was the name of the court mathematician's pupil that was — sat discon- solate and sweetheartless under the trees of the royal gardens, bemoaning his hard fate ; naturally he fell into figures of speech suggested by his early training. " Ah ! she is the locus of all good traits," he murmured with a sigh. "Yes, her life is the curve toward which my own has been tending from the first. Once I believed mine to be the tangent to hers at finite distance ; woe is me that I should find that it is an asymptote." While Ferdinand was thus complaining, the Prin- cess Elsa, the third and youngest daughter of King Adolphus of Nunvalia, who was strolling idly through the royal gardens, chanced to come that way, and hearing the young man's voice came a bit closer and peered through the shrubbery that surrounded the rustic seat, to see from whom the doleful sounds were coming. 98 Applied Mathematics The required course In mathematics for princesses in Nunvalia at that time did not include analytics, and hence the Princess Elsa did not understand a word that the ex-pupil had uttered, but being a woman as well as a princess she was able to interpret pretty well the young man's sighs and woebegone countenance. Now the princess was tender-hearted, and a bit frolicsome too ; so she determined to address this good-looking young man and inquire the cause of his grief; which she did accordingly. It was an unwritten law at the court of Nunvalia that no man should express love for another woman in the presence of any of the ladies of the royal family ; yet for all this Ferdinand need not have answered the princess just as he did, and thereby cause her to drop her eyes to the ground ; perhaps he felt just a bit flattered by the sympathy of a princess. That night the Princess Elsa related to her lady in waiting her conversation with the silly youth in the garden, and both mistress and maid laughed heartily over the story. Then they talked together ^ in low voices — and if I should say what they said, i it would spoil my story. -/ But if the princess thought of Ferdinand that evening, no vestige of remembrance of the princess remained in the mind of the court mathematician's ex-pupil ; for it was on that evening that he had arranged a secret meeting with his Angelina, at an hour when the court mathematician would be sure to be lost in his calculations. And at the same time that the playful princess and her maid were maliciously plotting in the royal palace, out under the trees before 99 Applied Mathematics the court mathematician's house the two lovers were also contriving a plot from which, to judge from the beatific faces that the moonlight revealed, they ex- pected the happiest outcome. " Can you love me enough for that ? " asked the court mathematician's ex-pupil anxiously, as the time drew near when they must leave each other. " Yes, when you have won the ruby," answered Angelina, prudently. " Ah, where is the paper ? " he asked eagerly. In answer the girl took from her bosom a bit of paper and handed it to him. They read it together in the moonlight. " And one ten-thousandth," murmured Angelina, laughingly. " Two, though," the ex-pupil answered doggedly. "For my sake, one," she pleaded, putting her arms about his neck. " Yes, for our sakes, one ; " and he kissed her. It will be necessary before going any further to make a digression and speak of certain affairs of state in the kingdom of Nunvalia. King Adolphus of Nunvalia, like many another king, had found it frequently very difficult to collect the taxes due him from his subjects. He had tried imprisonment and even beheading as punishments for non-payment, but for all that many of his people had continued to spend all their money just before the tax-collector came to them, and then what was to be done ? In this dilemma the king called to him his court economist and asked his advice. As a result, two years later there appeared an exhaustive treatise on 100 Applied Mathematics " Taxation " in fourteen volumes, written by the court economist, copies of which are still to be seen among the Nunvalian archives. The gist of the treatise was as follows : First, that it is very hard to take money out of a man's pocket when the man is looking — and especially when there is none there. " This," wrote the court economist, " is the difficulty in the system prevailing in Nunvalia." Second, it is easier to take money from a man's pocket when he is not looking. And third, it is easier still to do so when one makes a pretence of giving something in return. " What pretence would you suggest ? " asked the king when the court economist had explained to him what there was in his fourteen volumes and what it meant. " Theoretically," replied the court economist, cau- tiously, " it is not possible to get something in return for nothing; but considering that constant element in human nature which, for want of a better term, may be called the 'eternally gullible,* I think the result could be obtained approximately by means of a lottery." But King Adolphus objected to a lottery. '' The court moral and social philosopher," he said, "tells me that lotteries tend to cause a deterioration in public morality, and that is a thing I should like to avoid in the kingdom of Nunvalia." But then a brilliant idea occurred to him. " I have it," he cried. " I will raise my taxes by means of a guessing game, the moral objections to which will be more than balanced by the educational advan- tages. This year I will have my people guess how lOI Applied Mathematics many beans there are in a bottle" (this game was then very popular in Nunvalia,) " each citizen paying so much for the privilege of guessing, and the one coming the nearest to the correct number receiving the valuable prize which I shall offer. Every year I shall have a new problem devised, and thus make revenue raising in my kingdom a great instrument for popular education." The scheme was tried, and worked to perfection. The populace, who had heard what the problem was to be, got bottles of all shapes and sizes, and practised estimating their contents — measured in beans — until they became so accurate that when it came to the contest the guessing was very close indeed, and the very number guessed in fact, it being 11,989^, one bean having been split and the other half lost in the process of filling the jar. This happened several years before the events of our story, and so pleased was King Adolphus with the results of his scheme that he continued it year after year. This particular year it was announced that a mathematical problem would be given in the annual contest ; whereupon, to the king's great joy, all his people began to hunt up and study their old arithmetics. Furthermore the king announced that the prize would be nothing less than the third finest jewel of his crown, which, as was understood by all, was a very beautiful ruby of great size and value. The problem was to be devised by the court math- ematician. " It will give him something to do at last," said the king, delightedly. Heretofore the court mathematician's sole duty had been to ride in state processions, he being allowed at other times to 102 Applied Mathematics go triangulating among the stars at will, in the hope that in this way the stars might be discovered to be at some time of importance to the kingdom of Nunvalia. Now on the paper which Angelina had given her lover was written the problem whose correct solution meant the possession of the ruby, itself a princely fortune. The day of the contest came at last, and a vast multitude was assembled in the public square of the capital, some to try for the prize, others as mere onlookers. A throne had been raised at one side of the square for the king, who was to preside in person ; and around him were seats where, nearest to the king, sat the members of the royal family, and on either side of these the courtiers with their wives and daughters. The king arose and called the first name on his list. A young man pale with the studying of all the old arithmetic books he could find, stepped forward before the throne. Then the king read slowly the following : " What is the square of the cube root of the loga- rithm of the sine of 45° ? " The pale young man looked paler still and trembled visibly. He knew what a square was ; he thought he knew what a cube root was ; he remembered indistinctly having heard once of a logarithm ; but a sine — " Twenty-five," he cried in desperation. " Wrong," answered the king sternly, and called upon the next contestant. The next man knew nothing about any of these 103 Applied Mathematics terms, but thinking that the pale youth was apt to know a little more than he, said twenty-six. The next answered twenty-four, and the fourth, seeing that his predecessors were evidently not on the track at all, guessed one thousand. And thus it went for three long weary hours, at the end of which the king and the spectators were showing evident signs of weariness. — At last the king called the name of the court mathematician's ex-pupil. Just a moment before this, however, a messenger in the royal livery, who had been sent the previous day to search for a young man answering to the description of the court mathematician's ex-pupil, aiid who had forgotten all about his commission until a few minutes before, hastened up to the young man and gave him a note written on delicate, violet- scented paper. Ferdinand had just glanced at it when he heard his name called. This is what he had read : — Stupid youth, do you not understand what is meant by the third finest jewel in King Adolphus' crown ? What else but his third daughter, the most unfortunate Elsa ? If the words you spoke in the garden were not utterly false, you will be at the little postern gate on the east wing of the palace to-night at midnight. E. Ferdinand, dazzled by the contents of the note, stepped forward mechanically, and made the custom- ary obeisance before the throne. The time of the meeting proposed by Princess Elsa had passed, but he did not think of that. He only thought of the power he had to gain the prize that King Adolphus 104 Applied Mathematics had offered. To be the husband of a princess, son- in-law of a king — this lay in his power! Then he throught of Angelina and how she had put her arms about his neck, and he thanked the princess for her information. He was brought to his senses by hearing the wearied voice of King Adolphus, who was thoroughly tired of the whole proceeding and about come to the point of telling the next contestant to give the correct answer or be beheaded, droning for the hundred and fifty-fourth time, "What is the square of the cube root of the logarithm of the sine of 45° ?" The ex-pupil of the court mathematician looked at the Princess Elsa, who, all unconscious of the mischief she was causing, returned his glance with a well- affected look of reproach and supplication. " One and nine thousand seven hundred and thirty — " He paused and looked at Angelina, whose soft gray eyes were fixed intently upon him ; " two ten-thousandths," he finished doggedly. " Wrong ! " cried the king angrily, and called the next name. " One and nine thousand seven hundred and thirty- three ten-thousandths," answered the next man, shrewdly. "Wrong again," cried the king, still more petu- lantly. " You did n't come as near to it as he did." The next contestant did not know the difference between mathematics and geology, yet, strange to say, he replied without hesitation, " One and nine thou- sand seven hundred and thirty-one ten-thousandths." " Right at last ! " cried the king, gleefully. " Kneel, my friend, and receive your prize ; " and the man 105 Applied Mathematics knelt on the steps of the throne, while the wearied multitude applauded wildly. Now, as Ferdinand knew, the successful contestant was a middle-aged man with a wife and seven chil- dren, and he smiled, in spite of the bitterness of his disappointment, to think of the disposition he would make of his prize, — for it was a capital offence in Nunvalia to refuse the gift of the king. Imagine then his surprise and rage when he saw in King Adolphus' extended hand the ruby. For a moment he stood confounded. Then he pushed his way through the throng, and throwing him- self before the throne, cried that he had a boon to ask. " State it," said the king good-naturedlly, and with- drawing his hand. " Your majesty, I dispute the computation of the court mathematician, and maintain that the square of the cube root of the logarithm of the sine of 45° is 1-9732." The king frowned. " Listen, your highness," continued Ferdinand. " I do not wish to regain the ruby. But I love the court mathematician's daughter. Grant that if I can prove him in error he shall give her to me in marriage, and if I am shown to be wrong I promise to pay for my boldness with my head." The king gladly consented to this proposal. The prospect of enjoying a beheading, a luxury which his advanced notions of the function of a king had not allowed him for a long time, appealed very strongly to his not yet entirely civilized and moralized nature. He therefore called forth the court mathematician, and the discussion began. 106 Applied Mathematics But the king soon repented of his action. For he could not understand a word which either disputant uttered ; nor could his wise men nor any of his court any better than he j neither indeed could the court mathematician understand his pupil, nor on the other hand could the pupil understand the court mathemati- cian ; and therefore the discussion went on for almost an hour, now purely argumentatively, and now be- coming heated almost to the point of personal recrim- ination and blows, and now again subsiding into the persuasive ; until at last the king, being able to stand it no longer, jumped to his feet and was about to cry, " To the block with both of them." Just then his youngest daughter, the Princess Elsa, laid her hand on his sleeve. Now the Princess Elsa, who was a tender-hearted maid in spite of her occasional pranks, had seen the mischief that she had unwittingly done, and had de- termined to make amends for it if possible. When King Adolphus saw her standing at his side, he put off uttering his dire command, and leaned over to hear what she had to say. Then gradually the stern look on his face became mollified, and bid- ding the princess be seated, he thus addressed the court mathematician and his ex-pupil, — " It is evident that this point cannot be settled by dispute, and that it will be necessary for each to give away a little to the other. This is the compromise which the Princess Elsa, my daughter, suggests, and which I now command to be carried out. You " (addressing the ex-pupil) " shall acknowledge that the square of the cube root of the logarithm of the sine of 45° is 1. 9731 j this will satisfy the court mathe- 107 Applied Mathematics matician, and being a young man you ought to know that you must be wrong anyway. And you " (address- ing the court mathematician) " shall give your daugh- ter to your former pupil ; and I will say that being an old man you should have known better than to try to hinder the course of true love. Thus will we follow our old maxim which says, ' Honor shall be given to old age, and to the youth his sweetheart.* And,'* added the enlightened king of Nunvalia, smil- ing, "since it is impossible to tell. just what is the square of the cube root of the logarithm of the sine of 45°, I will keep the ruby myself, and have it reset in my crown." That night, as Ferdinand was wending his way through the royal gardens toward the place of rendez- vous with his beloved, he was stopped by a man who gave into his hands a packet and then hastened away. Ferdinand opened the packet, and within found a beautiful little casket of gold and mother-of-pearl, and inside the casket a ruby, — none other than the one which had been the third jewel in worth in the crown of the king of Nunvalia. And he found in the casket also a little bit of pasteboard, upon which was written, in the same hand as was the note he had received in the afternoon, these words : "If you love a girl, look upon no other, serve no other, trust no other." The ruby the ex-pupil of the court mathematician afterward sold, and he and his beautiful wife lived on the proceeds of its sale all their life long. The cas- ket he gave to Angelina that very evening. But the card — he did not. 1 08 As Toll AS TOLL LOVELY Mabel, were you dreaming ? Glad the day you said to me, Dancing eyes so brightly beaming, " Give my love to dear Marie ! " What a strange exhilaration To be bearer of your heart. What a wonderful temptation For a part. For I have not tried to find her Since you sent your love by me ; Day by day I think I 'm blinder, — - Fruitless search, as you might see. I wonder, if in sending. If you chose your slave by chance. What that twinkle was portending In your glance ? Tell me, when I bear the treasure. Would you very angry be Should I keep a trifling measure That was hardly meant for me ? For it 's common in commissions Some percentage of the whole To extract from you patricians Just for toll. 109 At Monte Carlo AT MONTE CARLO 1WAS seated at one of the tables of the Cafe de Paris, and was waiting for the time to come when the crowd would return. The place was de- serted, or at least practically so; the only persons present were the leader of the orchestra, who was leaning on the edge of the piano, with a cigarette be- tween his lips, and the waiter with whom he was discussing a political question. From time to time he removed the cigarette from his lips, and made passes in the air with it, which gave him an advantage over the gar^on whose arms were full of empty beer- glasses, and so had to depend solely on his lips ; which, as every one knows, was a distinct drawback. The old woman was putting the chairs back in place around the little tables, and the chef talked with the cashier at her little desk at the back. It was quiet, and the only sounds were an occasional whistle from an engine about to enter the short tun- nel at Villefranche, which seemed to have a petulant note about it as if the engine objected to entering the dark hole with its red lights, its smoke, and its noise. The towers of the Casino rose above the palms, and began to take more definite form as some one lighted one by one the little oil lamps with colored globes that followed the lines of the building. The first group of guests arrived. It consisted of a man and two women, the former a type of the no At Monte Carlo Frenchman of the Boulevards. He wore the straight- brimmed cylindrical silk hat so offensive to the Amer- ican eye, and the tight-fitting evening coat, and the embroidered shirt-front and black gloves were in accordance with it. The women were also typical, loud of voice, vivacious of manner, and with that peculiar something that marks at once the born and bred Parisienne. The white light of the arc lamp above them accentuated the pencilling of the brows, and the vermilion line of the lips. A fourth mem- ber of the party I forgot to mention. A white poodle cut to represent a lion followed in their wake. Seated at one of the tables over long glasses of absinthe, to which the arc light gave the color of beryl, they dis- cussed the events of the day and plans for the even- ing; nor was the poodle forgotten, for a lump of sugar or sweet cracker now and then fell to his lot. The man was as vivacious as the women, and all talked at once, and about nothing, — a trait peculiar to the nation to which they belonged. An Englishman now entered, at once making a contrast between him- self and the group at the table. Tall, broad of shoul- der, blond, and athletic, with a strongly marked face and quiet manner, he too was a type of the race from which he came, and the old proverb that " An Eng- lishman can whip three Frenchmen " came to my mind as I looked across to where the scented gesticu- lating son of France sat and grimaced over his ab- sinthe and oranges. It had grown dark, and the towers of the Casino were entirely outlined by the lit- tle colored globes, and between the trunks of the palm-trees I could see the entrance like the door of a huge furnace sending its light in a broad pathway, and III At Monte Carlo seeming to swallow the many people that crossed its threshold, for every one seemed to go in, and none to come out. Another group entered, — two young fel- lows in evening dress followed by a third marked by his very lack of personality. Tall and dressed in gray, with stooping shoulders, his scanty and sandy-colored hair carefully parted, he looked about him with watery blue eyes in a vacant way, as when a torch is sud- denly brought before the eyes of an owl. He was the sort of a man you see on ocean steamers who never seems to know any one, and drinks champagne for lunch j you might also see him at a racecourse, but always alone. They came and went, this light or heavy minded throng, came in and drank, and listened to the orches- tra, and went out again into the night, and if you chose to follow any of them, you would generally see them swallowed by the great glowing maw of the Casino. All sorts and conditions of men ; the coach- man went in beside the count whose ancestors had worn the red cross and died in the Holy Land, for the love of money makes the whole world kin. And so the crowd came and went in the cafe, and every one was happy or pretended to be, and the lights from the Casino seemed to grow brighter as the night advanced. Why this was a red-letter day to me I do not know, only that I have never for- gotten it. 112 The Song of the Cavaliers THE SONG OF THE CAVALIERS WHEN our sabres rattle merrily against our lance's butt, And our bugles ring out clearly in the coolness of the dawn, You can see the guidons waving as the ranks begin to shut. And the morning sun beams forth on the sabres that are drawn. Then the bits begin to jangle and our horses paw the air. When we vault into the saddle and we grasp the bridle-rein. Of danger we are fearless, and for death we do not care. For we fight for good Don Carlos and the grim grandees of Spain. So to horse and away At the break of day ^ With never a thought of fears ^ For Spain and the right We 7/ die or we Ul fight ^ Sing Ho ^ for the Cavalier s» As we gallop through the villages or through the sylvan glades. Merry maid and buxom matron smile and wave as we ride by ; 8 113 The Song of the Cavaliers There are broken hearts behind us, as well as broken blades, For the cavaliers are gallants till the war notes rend the sky. But when summer breezes waver and grow cold with news of war, We gird our good swords closer and we arm us for the fight, Maid and winecup fade behind us, lance and helmet to the fore. And we wheel into our battle line for Carlos and the right. So to horse and away ^ At break of day ^ With never a thought of fears <^ We 'II die or we HI fight For Spain and the right^ Sing Ho^for the Cavaliers* When at last the brazen bugles ripple out the ring- ing charge. We rise up in our stirrups and we wave our swords on high. The dust clouds rise beneath us, and the demons seem at large. The cavaliers are charging in to conquer or to die. Grim death may claim his victims from out our whirling ranks. Our plumes may be down-trodden in the grinning, bloody sod. The Cavaliers will meet their fate without a word of thanks, 114 . The Song of the Cavaliers But they've died for good Don Carlos, for old Spain, and for their God. So to horse and away ^ At break of day ^ With never a thought offears^ We 7/ die or we Ul fight For Spain and the right^ Sing Ho ^ for the Cavaliers* "5 <( Which Passeth All Understanding *' "WHICH PASSETH ALL UNDERSTANDING'* IT was reflected in every face. Men's eyes looked kinder and happier, and the singing of thousands and thousands of hearts filled the air with a full- voiced, happy murmur, which rose and fell vaiyingly over the great city. Down town the shops sent out a cheerful glow early in the gray of the afternoon, and the crowds surging restlessly back and forth under the brilliantly lighted windows swelled the murmur till it rose to an indistinct buzz. On the up-town avenues it was quieter, but the long lines of well-groomed men and beautifully gowned women had changed their usual self-complacent saunter to a brisker pace, and were hurrying about the many little errands which must be done before Christmas. The tapering rows of arc lights were beginning to shine brightly over against the growing dusk of the park as Wilton swung rapidly along, his blood tingling in response to the keen cold of the wind. Wilton was six feet and good-natured, and did most things with an unconcern which was marvellous. He fell in love with Miss Wainwright quite as uncon- cernedly as he did anything, and was on his way to see her now. Much more wonderful, he was think- ing deeply. It has been omitted to say that at times Wilton rose to occasions. He turned sharply into the broad side street, and went up the steps of the ii6 c< Which Passeth All Understanding " big brownstone two at a time, nodded brightly to the maid, — who was of all maids the daintiest and sweetest, ^ — and towered behind her to Miss Wain- wright's study. This was a privilege which he shared alone. He stood aimlessly in the centre of the room for a moment, with the first flush of awe that a man sometimes feels in surroundings exclu- sively feminine. " I forgive your lateness," said a voice from the window. " Look ! " She pointed over to the west, where the palisades rose straight and black against the dull red of the setting sun. Below, the street was filled with stylish traps, returning home after their hour in the park. The subdued rumble of many wheels, and the jingle of tossing lip-chains came to them faintly. " But it 's so bleak," said Miss Wainwright. '' I 've been lonely to-day," she went on, " and some way I Ve been thinking of those still, warm nights last summer, — you remember ? — when there were only little baby swells on the water, and the moon's reflection reminded us of big silver dollars coming up from the bottom," " Sentimental twilight," agreed Wilton. " I can picture just how bleak and cold and windy it is out there now," he continued. " The buoys are leaning way over with the wind, and the schooners are shouldering their way stubbornly against the heavy roll- ers, and the little white yachts at anchor in the harbor are turning their noses up into the wind and dipping their bright lights defiantly out to sea, and the sea is rolling in, strong and restless, and churning itself white over against Little Captain's reef, and — I am glad to be here," he ended with a smile. 117 " Which Passeth All Understanding '* She nodded silently to the cigarette in his hand. "See," she said, "these are my Christmas presents. Don't you think this will please Jack ? " and she held up a tobacco pouch, which, as such, was mani- festly impossible. " I copied this for papa," she con- tinued. " Is n't it appropriate ? " Mr. Pipp was being convinced that a European trip was necessary. " And I have something very nice for a big, careless boy I know ; something to remind him — " But Wilton was staring out the window unheed- ingly. He was smoking rapidly, blowing the smoke nervously far in front of him, as men will when they think. A keen woman remarks this shortly. Miss Wainwright sat down and folded her hands. " Tell me," she said simply. " But it 's so positively foolish, and you would n't take it seriously, and — " " I have yet to dress for the Assembly," remarked Miss Wainwright, pointedly. Wilton wheeled sharply around. " You have noticed," he said, " that there is an intoxication about a dance." " Music and men," she answered, " comes after you remove your gloves." " Music and women," he corrected, " comes after your second collar. It is furthered," he went on, " by the ride home in the half shadow. Close prox- imity to a being whose individuality is lost in the soft, warm, perfumed fluffiness of an immense opera cloak is not conducive to sobriety." Miss Wainwright was laughing at him frankly. " Yes ? " she smiled. " Well, to drop the general and hold to the con- ii8 « Which Passeth All Understanding '* ditlons. He and she used to be excellent friends, and she had been away for a year. It was perhaps natural that he should stop at her home after the dance. It was natural that he should toast her return in what, for obvious reasons, he called the queen's drink. " She held the glass before the light, and smiled to herself, and spoke of it as ' my influential friend.' And later, of all places, she stopped him in the inky blackness of the library to ask when he was to call. Now, if not indisputable, at least it is a fact which can be proved, that in a dark room, between two people who are — who are — well, let us say — merely the dance and the home-toast, you understand — politely intoxicated, there is a mutual attraction. And so" — Wilton paused to relight his cigarette — '' it was the intoxication of the surroundings — that, pure and simple. In nine cases out of ten, the matter, foolish as it was, would in the end merely have strengthened a friendship like theirs. But in this case the girl happened to take it seriously, and he happened to have a peculiar motto on his coat of arms, Kfyp Trysty or something like that, which means keep faith. He also had ideas about family honor which were peculiar, and was of course in love with another girl at the time." Wilton stopped abruptly, and un- clasping his watch-fob, handed it to her silently. Stamped in old Scottish beneath the crest were the words Kfyp Tryst. She fingered it thought- fully. Wilton leaned toward her over the back of a chair. " Alice," he said, " we drove tandem the other morning in the park, and since then I 've been think- 119 €i Which Passeth All Understanding" ing just how much it would mean to me — just how good it would be — if we might start sometime early in the new year and do the rest of life tandem. It 's all come over me with a sort of rush, and even now it 's hard for me to realize myself just how much I love you, and now," he went on slowly, " there 's that ; " and he pointed to the crest in her hand. " Not so long ago I relished just such affairs. At worst I called them ridiculous. This one seems — wretched. It 's mine, all my doing," he went on, " but I know that it 's your nature to be kind and for- giving, and so I 'm allowing myself to hope." He straightened himself. " Do you think, Alice — " She rose abruptly. "There is a time for think- ing, and a time for dressing," she said. " You realjy must go. You require considerable forgiveness," she went on ; " but — " The smile in her eyes was hardly defiant, and always Wilton did things uncon- cernedly. The pretty little maid lifted her hands and gasped, at a sound which she had grown to associate exclusively with herself. But a new bank- note crinkled in the pretty maid's bosom, and xVIiss Wainwright sang softly to herself, while the pretty maid dressed her. " Even to the changing of a motto," she said. And later, as she went downstairs she was still holding an odd-looking crest that was lettered in Scotch, and saying something to herself about a big, foolish, splendid boy. And the footman held the door open absent-mindedly so long, while she was pulling on her gloves, that the long white cloak blew off one shoulder, and a cold, tiny snow- flake drifted in and settled on the warm neck, and was quickly covered up and smothered for its im- I20 « Which Passeth All Understanding " pertinence. But at Christmas thousands of hearts are singing, and all mankind is happy, and even a footman may be pardoned if his mind be filled with thoughts of the Yule-tide and bright wood-fires and savory roast turkey. 121 At the Dawn AT THE DAWN PALING stars and a waking breeze ; Then softly, faintly heard, Across the dewy silences, Drowsy and sweet — a bird. While the Dawn's banners deck the sky And dark trees sigh and stir, I pray God's dearest gift may lie In this new day for Her. 12? The Leper THE LEPER « 'r\OMINE^ Domine^ Domine ! " I was wont to £ J say, over and over, till my tongue was numb and my lips near to bleeding, but God never heard. " Domine^ Domine^ Save the white people ! Save us^ save us ! " Is Heaven so far, then, that God cannot see that my flesh is white and rotten and stinking ? Can he not know that my blood is turned to milk ? I have shaken the wooden clapper of my bell, and made a great noise that He might take notice of me. But God — the God of the Red People, we say — did not hear. It was in the old days when I had a left foot which was white, indeed, but nearly whole, that I prayed thus to the God of the Red Folk. In that time I fell into frenzies and tore the scabs from my legs with my nails, till I was covered with blood — but the blood was more horrible than the flesh. I knew a leper then who was a priest aforetime — but he became white like us, and joined our lodge, the Order of the White Brethren. When he was new to us, he carved the crucifix on his bell, and a crown, which I do not rightly remember ; but after- ward he scrawled over them, and cut images which were not decent. When he was new, he wrote a litany for us, all in monks' Latin, full of " Domine^ Domine^ Domine ! " that one could say in rhythm with the strokes of the bell on his neck. " Lord God^ save 123 The Leper us ! Save us from death forever who are now dead in Vife ! Save us^ Lord^ save us ! " Afterward he spat out at the church, because it would not help him ; and he wrote the litany anew, full of blasphemy and uncleanness. I learned that, too, in my own course, though I had never quite known the other, and we would repeat it together, when he was not laughing to himself or praying to the fiends in hell. He was a gaunt man, this Aucassin, with gray hair that was thicker where the tonsure had been. And he died — I do not remember — a hound bit his throat and he died. That was in the south of the land, where we followed a great train of men in shirts of mail, with many banners, and long lines of men with steel knives that dazzled our eyes in the sun. And in the train was much refuse, so that some of us followed for weeks, not heeding our companions the dogs, who had fear of us. There were other followers, too, who, although afraid, would yet pelt us from behind shelter. But it happened that Aucassin followed one into a marsh, and there- after we were free of these beggars. Once, too, there came men from the rear camp, clad in yellow jerkins, who were drunk, and who would have cut us with their swords. But we did not run, and Aucassin laughed at them, so that they were astonished ; and, finally, when they saw what manner of men we were, they fled and left their weapons behind them. So that our white robes seemed a greater defence than coats of mail — like the angels in the holy writings, Aucassin told me. But I could not see wherein we were like the holy angels — the angels. 124 The Leper There are two parts in the time of our life ; I do not know which is the worse, yet they are unlike. When we are not long lepers, or young, so that the sound of our bells is yet hateful in our ears and the color of our bodies sickens us, we cry out and maim ourselves vainly, and we wish to crush whatever we look upon, just as a snake whose back is broken bites at twigs. Some of the white brothers kill themselves, but these are not many. In these days we are full of the desires of the Red People, so that we are nearly akin to them. I have heard that those others, when life goes ill with them, seek adventure. So do we, I think ; but I am not sure, for it is so long and the desire of adventure does not live long, because what- ever may be to do, there is no one to see. After, we are quieter, but we are less alike. Some, like Aucassin, go about with their lips mouthing words, without ceasing, whether prayers to Satan, or words learned and forgotten, whose meaning is yet forgotten. And some draw their cowls over their heads and do not speak, even as I have not spoken since the last harvest. It is one in the end, when the eyes go, and the feet and hands. I can remember when I hated the Red People so that I waited behind trees on the highway that I might frighten them — women and little children. The men I feared more than they feared me. And then they . . . there is another happening which I remember also, of a monk. He rode a jennet that was weighted down with heavy saddle panniers, and under the three knots of his girdle was the neck of a bottle. When I came into the road and laid my hand on the bridle of his 125 The Leper beast, he fell and lay in the dust trembling. And when I left the beast and approached him, out of malice, he made great use of what strength fear had left in him, and clambered into the saddle and rode away, throwing away his goods that he might be carried the faster. Part of the burden was of coin, and I threw gold ducats at him, striking him in the head and cutting him so that the blood ran down his bald scalp. But his blood was red, and that threw me into a frenzy, and I followed after him ; but I could not overtake him. I do not know why I remember these things. While I was still young, so that my thoughts were as the thoughts of those others, I hid in a forest that was beyond the town of La Tourin. In the day I lay in the leaves in the wood, but at night I ventured to the edge of the town that I might see the yellov/ lights in the windows, and haply children at a fire, and, when I grew bold, sometimes men at a tavern table. In those days I had not forgotten the others and the ways of their life. By the edge of the forest, so near that I could lie in the wood and see the smoke of the chimney and the sun on the tiles, stood a cottage, and because of its nearness I learned to watch it by day. When it was evening, I could see through an opening, where sat an old man, yellow and thin, near to dying, and often with him sat his daughter. I had learned to be more quiet than the leaves wherein I lay, and though I came and hid in a young tree near the door, they never heard me. The girl had yellow hair and a face red as the berries which grow in the forests in the winter for the White Brethren. And because of the ruddiness of 126 The Leper her skin, and her body, firm and clean like a young tree, a great desire rose in my flesh, and not only in my flesh, but my heart, if the kind God had left me that. Therefore I made myself strong in the purpose to go there no more, the virtues of the others not being yet dead in me. But because the appetites of the Red People were no less living in my flesh, I could not. Wherefore I washed my body in the brook, and dried it with leaves whenever I went down to the town. And as I came more often, so much greater grew the desire in my flesh — the flesh which I began to understand in all its foulness — and I grew daily fiercer and more like the wild beasts. Once I saw a young man sitting at the fire, fair and ruddy also, and strong of limb ; whereat I grew so angry that I went back to the wood and thought how I should kill him — and worse. That came to nothing, because I never saw him again. In those days when I began to feel the evil that lay in me, I called unto all the saints whose names I knew. Could they not see that I was not like the others? Even all the squirrels in the wood knew that, and were afraid. Therefore why should I feel the same desires as the others, and the same pain ? But Aucassin said that Heaven was very far ofF, and there they cannot hear us, save we be in a church. And how was I, of the white people, to enter a church ? After that, upon a day when the air was sweet like spring-water, as I lay in the leaves in the forest, I saw the girl walking through the trees alone. I grasped the trunk of a sapling and lay shaking as with an ague, so that the leaves rustled, until she passed 127 The Leper on, not seeing me. And again after that, she came often to the wood, so that I learned where to wait for her. And day by day it was harder to keep silence. It grew in my mind then that if I showed myself, she would not see that I was different — if I should throw away my bell and pull back my cowl. I do not know why these strange thoughts were in my brain, — haply because I had eaten no fit food for many days. Thus one day when she stopped in the wood, I came out from behind a tree and stood be- fore her. I had forgotten that even vermin would not come near me. She did not speak to me when I waited there for her, but cried out, and fell back as if she were dead. And a great eagerness filled me, and I ran forward. But before I reached her I stopped, with the same impulses that the others feel fighting in me, so that I went no nearer, but stopped, too far away to touch the hem of her dress, and stood thus biting my lips till the teeth met. But in the end I turned my back upon her, as she lay there with the red color gone from her face, and ran through the forest crying, " Leper^ leper ! " and shaking my bell until my feet gave way under me, and I sank down, I do not know where. I do not know why I remember this. Yesterday I did not know that I had not always been of the white people, and to-morrow I should not recognize the woman if I should see her. But to-day I know. Since then I have shunned the white people as the others shun me, and live alone in the forest, talking to myself of I do not know what. I do not know. But my limbs are almost gone now, and I cannot tell 328 The Leper what will happen then. I only know that the fire of i hell will burn my flesh till it is charred and almost ! clean like the others. That is what Aucassin said. ; Therefore I am waiting until then, — for the fire i of hell. I 129 A Song for Seafarers A SONG FOR SEAFARERS J i HOW may he know the haven's peace i Who never fared a-sea ? i Little recks he who bides on shore \ What tides and winds may be, — \ How the blue days drop down the sky, i And nights creep stealthily. j Little recks he the joy that comes J When 'gainst the sunset sky \ Dark headlands and the gray old town ^j In waiting welcome lie, ^ While harbor-lights a greeting flash j And homing sea-birds cry. j These be for him who far hath fared ; j For him alone they be. ! (Oh ! welcome waiting lights ! and oh ! fi Her dear eyes' watch for me ! ) ^ Well may I know the haven's peace, I For I have fared the sea. ] 130 Principle PRINCIPLE " 1'T is a most convenient institution, that 'cafe- J^ terion,' " said the broker, " not only because it 's in the basement, ten steps from the elevator. Have you never had a lunch there before? Then you see the simplicity of the system. And, except an occasional well-dressed tramp, I 've never heard of anything 's not being paid for — " Indeed it is. If one is to ruin one 's digestion with a mixture of coffee and lamb-pie, eaten in three minutes and digested in ten, it's at least a comfort not to spend ten minutes more waiting for checks. About paying ? I thought you saw. Why, you pick up a menu at the door, and check each dish as you get it. "When you come out, there's no one to watch you — just a cashier at a desk, and you present the card with whatever — " " Twelve, going up ! " intoned the elevator boy, with that graphic rising inflection which masters of elevating use. " With whatever — Well, by Gad ! Yes, you know what I said of the well-dressed tramp. Right past, and the check in my hand ! They can't count on absent-mindedness; still, one rarely gets too far to save one 's self-respect. I wonder if the boy 's in the office. Tim ! Tim ! let the ticker go, and take this check, and this, and pay the restaurant downstairs. And shut the door. Sharp now ! 131 Principle " Yes, they are here, as I left them. The deed *s in a separate package. Here. What ? Yes, that was the trouble; it was utterly impossible to alter it, my man said. So I had Clifton make a new one. Unpleasant, decidedly, but quite safe, I 'm sure, and necessary — necessary. You 'd best destroy that original." 132 To a Dreamer TO A DREAMER THINK not by dreaming to regain Hopes blasted by dull years of pain. Up, laggard, let thy sword flash outj Scatter the shadows by thy shout. 133 A Letter and a Postscript A LETTER AND A POSTSCRIPT "]%yTURCHISON." A man elbowed his way through the crowd that surrounded a fat little Englishman who was conducting an impromptu distribution of the bi-monthly mail, and took his letter. He was the only one in all this motley crew of South African miners who seemed worthy a second glance. Something about his mouth when he smiled seemed to hint that he had been cheated of his youth and had begun life midway. A man seemingly capable of the tenderest devotion and the bitterest hate, and one in whom silence, strength, and loneliness were personified. As he looked at the delicately penned address, his eyes recalled to one a half-forgotten memory of a morning when, from the dark shadows of the foot- hills, one saw the sun touch the stern mountain- peaks with its soft first light. Murchison left the noisy, good-natured crowd and went to another part of the store to read his letter. It began : — Dearest Husband, — It is such a long time since I have heard from you, lost in your terrible Africa. ... I have been so lonely, so very lonely, since our little Mabel left us, — Mabel, whom you never saw. What would I not give if you might have known her. . . . And you are coming home, let me see, why, so soon my poor little letter 134 A Letter and a Postscript may not reach you before you start. And you are rich, John ? Really it is all so odd. It seems as though I can hardly wait for the days when we shall be together again. You have been away for such a long time. ... I am much better, I think. I walked several blocks this after- noon, and the fresh air seemed to make me stronger. Cousin Annie is kinder to me each day, if that is possible. Perhaps I shall want to add something in the morning, so I shall not seal my letter now. Good-night, my dear hus- band, and good-by for a little while. Meg. And below this, in another hand : — Meg died early this morning. She was conscious almost to the last, and in no pain. I have only time to write these words as the postman waits. God help you. Annie. The man's face became livid. He clutched blindly at the air, and would have fallen but for the wall at his back. Presently he staggered out of the store, down the little street and out among the hills. He wandered on for hours, stumbling over half-buried rocks and tripping on the long, tough bunches of grass that lay in his path. He knew nothing of this ; only knew that the woman for whom he had tolled and struggled and prayed, was dead, and that he would never see her face again, never take her slight form into his arms, as he would a child's, never gaze into the depths of her dear eyes, nor stroke her soft hair again. H^e was sick and faint and weak, his eyes were blinded, his feet like lead ; yet he did not stop, but struggled on. At last he could go no farther. He fell exhausted, but lay quiet for only a moment. He 135 A Letter and a Postscript must up and away; away from this terrible night- mare — anywhere, but he must go. He struggled to his feet, staggered on for a few steps, and fell again. This time he did not try to rise, but lay panting, as some wild beast, dog-driven until it is unable to go farther, falls and lies in mute agony awaiting its end. As Murchison lay there, his senses became more and more confused, and presently he fell into a sort of half sleep, but he could not forget himself entirely, and so, though not asleep, he feared to waken. The cool evening wind bathed his fevered face, and at last its chilly breath roused him from his stupor. He sat up and looked about, wondering. For the moment he had forgotten, but now the revelation of the day's events came back to him with crushing force. A demon seemed to possess him, and liquid fire to run in his veins. He cursed heaven, his Maker, himself, the mother who bore him. Cursed, not with the blind, unreasoning rage of a less intense nature but in low-spoken sentences, every word of which was fully measured before it was uttered. Then presently the idea of self-destruction took hold on him. There was nothing to live for now, and he would die. Surely this was the simplest way out of his misery. Yes, he would die. Now he felt more calm. He was on the border- land between this life and the next, and he would pause for a few moments. How sweet and still everything about him seemed ! He wondered if there were ever before as beautiful a night. The soft, caressing breeze, the dark sky with its innumer- able dots of light, and the great, solemn mountain 13^ A Letter and a Postscript over yonder. This last seemed like a friend to him. The half-light from the rising moon showed its deep scars, marks of conflicts long since ended. How grand it seemed standing there alone, utterly alone, yet so much nobler than the smooth, grassy hills among which he lay ! How much purer was the light that fell on its lofty peak, shedding upon its snowy summit a soft halo, than that which reached the plain below. And was he, a man endowed with an intellect, to be put to shame by a mere mass of earth and rock ? And she was surely watching over him now, — what would she say to this cowardice ? He must not, he could not die so. There was surely something for which to live. By God's help men should see in him the lesson he had found in the mountain, and perhaps some might learn as he had. All this took hours. As the east was turning pink, weary and faint he reached the little mining village again, and that same day, upon the wagon which had borne his letter to him, he went out into the world. 137 My Lady Goes to the Play MY LADY GOES TO THE PLAY WITH the link-boys running on before To light her on her way, A-lounging in her sedan goes Belinda to the play. In patch and powder, puiF and frill, From satin shoe to hair, Of all the maids in London town I wot there 's none so fair ! From Mayfair down along the Strand To Covent Garden's light, Where Master David Garrick acts In a new role to-night. The swinging sedan takes its way. And with expectant air Belinda fans, arid wonders who To-night there will be there. Sir Charles, perhaps, or, happy thought, Flushing thro' her powder. He might come in — beneath her stays She feels her heart beat louder. 138 My Lady Goes to the Play ; . ' The place, at last ! The flunkies set | Their dainty burden down. ] " Lud, what a crowd ! " My Lady frowns i And gathers up her gown. j ENVOY ] Alack for human loveliness { And for its little span ! i Where 's Belinda ? Here, quite fresh, \ Are still her gown and fan ! ; 139 At a Music Hall AT A MUSIC HALL "X^OU Ve never been here before, have you?" asked Conway, as they stepped from the elevator of the Gayety Roof Garden. " No," answered Wendall ; " and it 's queer, too, for I 've visited New York quite a number of times. What a crowd there is ! " " I 'm afraid we 're too late to get a seat," said Conway. " No, we 're in luck, there 's an empty table. Let 's hurry up and take it." " What kind of a place is this ? " asked Wendall, as they seated themselves. " Why, it 's rather a fashionable sort of theatre," replied his companion, " a little above the average music hall, I should say. That is, the vaudeville is no worse than you '11 find at most places during the summer, and the beer is excellent, which reminds me — Waiter ! " he called to a white-aproned individual who was hurrying past, " two steins and a couple of cigars." " Yes, sir," answered the man deferentially, and vanished in the .direction of the bar. "We've missed most of the numbers, I guess," continued Conway, " but this next ought to be good." Wendall glanced at the stage, where two little boys in lavender court suits were putting into the bulletin boards large cardboard placards with the name " Mamie Devereaux" printed conspicuously on them. " Who is Mamie Devereaux ? " he inquired. 140 At a Music Hall " Why, I *ve never seen her myself," said Conway, "but they say she is the drawing card here. She sings and dances, I believe, or some such stunt. However, you can see for yourself in a minute." A murmur of satisfaction swept through the audi- ence, which changed into noisy clappings as Miss Devereaux danced on the stage and kissed her hands knowingly to the front row. Evidently she was a favorite with the patrons of " The Gayety." She was rather a tall girl, of the usual variety star type, and would have been pretty if her cheeks had been less aggressively red. After she had fin- ished her salutations to the house, she nodded to the orchestra, danced a few preparatory steps, and began to sing. People said afterwards that Mamie was a little worse than usual that night. There is no use describing the song ; it was somewhat beyond the average man's powers of description even if he wanted to try, and the worst of it all was that she really had a beautiful voice. Her frank indecency affected even the dulled sensibilities of the audience. Most of the women blushed or looked down, and their escorts listened with a shamefaced sort of attention which did not pre- vent them from joining in the enthusiastic applause, as Mamie, after five startling verses, kissed her hands again and danced lightly behind the wings. " 1 thought you told me this was a respectable theatre," remarked Wendall, after a short silence. " I beg your pardon," answered Conway, with the ready cynicism of twenty-two, " I said it was fashion- able. Now, for heaven's sake. Bob, don't begin to discuss the degeneracy of the stage, because it *s too 141 At a Music Hall hot, and, besides, Mamie 's coming back again. No, by Jove, she is n't ! It 's some one else." A good many in the audience thought the same thing ; but it was Mamie, though at first it did n't seem possible. She had slipped a long, soft-colored cloak over the tawdriness of her former costume, and somehow it softened the lines of her face until she was almost beautiful. But it was n't only the dress ; the whole woman was changed ; her manner, her expressions, her gestures, everything. She stood somewhat back on the stage, out of the glare of the footlights, and then the orchestra began a little simple lullaby, and she sang it. There were those in the house that night who confessed afterwards that they cried, and no one who had been there laughed at them. It may have been only acting, but if so it was certainly the best acting in the world. She did n't sing the song exactly ; she was the song. Her voice touched the commonplace words and made them beautiful. She sang as a young mother sings to her first-born, and the men who listened were surprised out of their worldliness and thought of their own mothers purely and tenderly, as even the worst of us think of our mothers, thank God ! The tune lost itself in a flood of golden sound, that faltered and softened with yearning love, and then rang out again with all the passionate tenderness of maternity — and all its purity. There was no applause when the first verse ended ; only a little sound, as though the people were impa- tient at the pause. Then the violins crooned through the interlude and she began to sing again. 142 At a Music Hall Oh, the pathos of that second verse ! It was no longer the mother song, though the words were still those of the lullaby. The words were forgotten in the music ; people did n't hear them. Only they heard the starved soul of the woman pleading for that which she had not — which now she could never have. And in a vague, clumsy sort of way, they understood, and pleaded with her. Then back to the first verse. And again she held the child in her arms and sang to it, quietly, tenderly, and oh, how sweetly ! cuddling it close to her with little ripples of soft, happy laughter. And while the audience held their breath and leaned forward as if they feared to lose one note of that perfect song, her voice died gently into silence, and she slipped from the stage so quickly that, before they had time to recover themselves and applaud, she was gone, and the little boys in lavender court suits were slipping another name into the bulletin boards. " Two steins, sir ! " cried the waiter. Both men were rather glad of the interruption; your Anglo-Saxon hates to be caught off his guard emotionally. They lit their cigars, and then Wen- dail turned to his companion. "Just as a matter of curiosity, Fred," said he, " v/hich do you think was the real woman ? " " Neither, of course," answered Conway, " but she 's a mighty good actress." Wendall shook his head. " You may be right," he said doubtfully, " prob- ably you are ; but I think on the whole I should say both." 143 Dead Folks' Hour DEAD FOLKS' HOUR HOARY the grass in the churchyard still ; A round, red moon peers over the hill. A cricket cries like a soul in fear, No other sound of live thing near. The white frost shines ; the dead wind sighs ; The cold stars gleam in the silent skies ; A hand-like cloud blinds the moon's eye red; Out from their graves peer the sheeted dead ! Then up from their narrow cells they pass To keep the hour of the Hallow mass. Strange is the company huddled there, The old, the young, the foul, and the fair. Warm and sweet seems the frost wind's breath To the icy dampness underneath. They smooth their shrouds, and talk and jest, For silence reigns in the earth's wide breast. All too soon do the minutes pass Of the Dead Folks' hour of Hallow mass. One o'clock ! Their time is done ! Back to his grave creeps every one. But one begged God in vain to stay — A mother, buried but yesterday. The night wind sighs through the churchyard still, And the red moon sinks behind the hill. 144 Not without Precedent NOT WITHOUT PRECEDENT THE Christmas tree stood despoiled of its gaudy adornment of tinsel and bonbons, with only here and there a few as yet unextinguished tapers that sputtered aimless protests against the fate that was soon to overtake them. The younger members of the cousinhood, after bidding affectionate farewell to their hobby horses, their newly obtained families of dolls, and the other fascinating acquisitions of the evening, had been led off reluctantly to bed, there to be the prey of con- flicting forces — drowsiness, with its seductive invita- tion on the one hand, versus the glittering allurements of the real world on the other. There were only two persons in the room now — a tall young fellow of twenty and a girl of about the same age. They were sitting, looking into the fire — where else can one look when there is a fire ? — which had softened its boisterously cheerful mood of a few minutes before to one of reverie; the memory of former Christmas eves, sweet, though fraught, per- haps, with melancholy, having succeeded its whole- souled participation in present festivities. The boy was speaking. " I read a story to-day," he said musingly, " and I 'm going to tell it to you. It was about a man who, when he was strolling through a field once upon a time, saw a very beauti- ful flower, the most beautiful he had ever seen, the ^o 145 Not without Precedent only one of the kind, so he firmly believed, in the world. ' If I could only have this flower, I would be perfectly happy,' he said to himself; which might have seemed strange to some, since he had never cared much for flowers before. So great was his desire to get the flower for his very own that he determined to transplant it to the little plot of ground before his own house. But then he reflected that, having had no garden up to that time the plant would probably die before he could prepare the ground for its reception. Therefore he returned to his cottage, worked hard for a time, and then came to dig up his wonderful plant. But this time so struck was he with its marvellous beauty that he cried out, ' What a shame it is to put such a miracle of Nature in so mean a little garden plot as mine is ! It would die of very shame, even if the hardships of wind and weather, to which it must be exposed, did not cause some day its death. Rather, I will abandon my mean cottage and have a beautiful mansion erected with a conservatory, which will at once pro- tect and afford a suitable dwelling-place for my price- less flower.* All of which he did ; but when he returned again to the field where the flower had bloomed, it was no longer there." " What a foolish man ! " said the girl, lightly. The young man looked in her face earnestly. " Do you think so ? " he asked. " Yes, if he could have the flower for the taking," she answered. " Don't you ? " "You are laughing at me," said the young man, half offended. The girl looked at him gravely, but with just a 146 Not without Precedent faint suggestion of smiling In her eyes. "Why at you, Fred ? I was only laughing at the silly hero of your story." The young man looked rather disconcerted, and fingered the poker nervously for a moment. Then he commenced doggedly, " You may be only joking with me, but I am going to take you at your word." He drew a bit nearer, and began speaking in a lower voice, but hurriedly and earnestly. The girl's cheek became flushed, perhaps because she had bent over a little nearer to the fire. 147 In the Hills IN THE HILLS IN pomp of scarlet and a-gleam with gold, The Hills, like kings besieged, await the bands Of Winter's host grown great with power, and bold, Whose path was ruin 'cross the Summer lands. The tyrant's will the Northwind's sword fulfils ; The henchman. Frost, in pity will not spare. In trampled scarlet stand the conquered hills, Shorn of their glory, of their beauty bare. Yet they are monarchs still, and when the Night Has drawn the splendid curtains of the west, She brings them purple, with the sunset light Gold on their brows, their kingship's manifest. m3 The Other Man's Wife THE OTHER MAN'S WIFE MRS. BENTON and Mrs. Wheeler no longer spoke to each other. Their husbands, bound together by mutual affliction, were staying at the club, waiting resignedly for the clouds of domes- tic trouble to blow over. It had all come about through the cursed similarity between the two halves of a double house. Benton and Wheeler had been friends for years, and each choosing a wife at the same time, they had decided to keep up the intimacy by renting the ad- joining halves of a double house. The arrangement worked beautifully. Their wives developed a great fondness, even to the point of matching samples for each other at bargain sales ; and many were the excit- ing rubbers of whist fought out during long winter evenings. The only trace of their prenuptial freedom which remained was the monthly club smokes, where they found old friends and much pleasure of a kind different from that of their own firesides. Punctually at one, they would always drive home together, simultaneously unlatch their doors, with a '' Jolly evening, was n't it, old man ? " and decorously mount to their conjugal partners. On a certain night, however, the unruffled staid- ness of the gathering at the club was violently dis- turbed. Dicky Asquith, the most popular and well- loved man of the brotherhood, returned to New York 149 The Other Man's Wife after a year's absence on his yacht in the Mediterra- nean. In his honor had the fatted calf been killed. A'lany an old bottle had been ruthlessly torn from its dusty retreat on cool shelves to contribute its little to the conviviality of the occasion. When, at one o'clock, the two benedicts rose unsteadily and reluctantly to take their sorrowful departure, the whole room cried out vehementlv, with many shouts of " Shysters," " Wife's apron- strings." Asquith himself, climbing down from the piano on which he had been perched as toastmaster, v/ith tears in his eyes begged them not to leave him so soon, when he had just got back. They hesi- tated, and were lost. At three the meeting broke up. Sleepy waiters assisted the helpless into cabs. In many cases the blind led the blind. Long-suffering cabbies tucked away obstreperous arms and legs, picked up wander- ing hats, and asked patiently where to go. Save for the rattle of the dispersing cabs, the city was silent. The bumping over the cobbles, as they turned into a cross street, awakened Benton and Wheeler to the fact that they were almost home. Painfully they extracted themselves from the common knot into w^hich they had slipped. Bracing themselves for the ordeal about to come, they endeavored to straighten rumpled ties and hats. From the second story of each house a light burned dimly. The cabman, being paid, drove off, leaving them to their fate. No railing separated the doors, and with arms locked for mutual support they mounted the steps. After much searching, the two latchkeys were pro- duced. Then Benton dropped his, and both men ISO The Other Man's Wife searched on their knees, with many matches, to recover it. This made no little noise ; neither was the quest for the keyholes inaudible. At last both doors stood open. The men turned, fervently wished each other " God-speed," and entered each the other's house. Strange was the similarity of scenes within. At the foot of each staircase sat a man with fumbling fingers unlacing his shoes. At the top stood a stiff figure draped in white, upon whose face was an expression of stern and freezing contempt. With- out perceiving their awaiting fates, each man, grasp- ing firmly the banister, commenced the weary climb. "John," said Mrs. Wheeler, when the toiling figure had nearly reached her, " you are intoxicated." Too much surprised to speak, Benton looked up at her with open mouth. Then only did Mrs. Wheeler see her mistake. Clasping her draperies close around her, with a horrified shriek she fled into the echoing darkness. Simultaneously from the next house came a similar sound. Half falling, Benton clattered downstairs, and collided violently with Wheeler, outside the door. For a moment each man leaned against the wall, recovering. " John," said Benton, gravely, " your wife 's wait- in' for you." " So 's yours, James." Then silence. " John, s'pose we could get into the club as late as this ? " " Less try, James." With arms locked for mutual support, the two descended the step into enveloping blackness. 151 Captives CAPTIVES MY brain is like a prison cage, Its thronging thoughts like birds. Captives are they, who may not find The outer air — in words. They were not born for narrow place — God's own free singing things ! And 'gainst the bars of Silence, they Beat ever with fierce wings. Some day — who knows ? — at last will end Their bondage — kept so long. And from the opened cage they '11 gain Their liberty of Song. 152 The Other Life THE OTHER LIFE PRECISELY how it happened the Elder Tramp could not imagine. He had never heard of such a thing before. There lay the Kid, stretched out on the snow, motionless — the Kid, whom he had toted all the way from Chicago. He had showed him how to lie most easily on the truck journals and to hold on to the brake-rod above his head where the steam-pipe keeps it warm in winter; had slept with him in freight cars, and served thirty days with him on a charge of vagrancy. The Elder Tramp ran his hand through his griz- zled hair and looked up at the starry sky. Then he listened to the noise of the river on the other side of the embankment. " Clean gone," he muttered in a dazed way. " His arm clean gone. He M 'a' bled to death, if I had n't tied up the stump with a twisted rag. But he's hurted inside, too — must be — don't see why he was n't all hashed up. He must 'a' dozed — he 's only a kid — an' to be on the road two weeks steady. But 'e said he must get home. Yes, he must ha' dozed — with the wheels o' thirty cars waitin' to chew 'im up, dozed and got 'is arm caught in the wheel. 'E must 'a' laid between the rails. There 's where I found 'im. 'E 's goin' pretty fast." The Elder Tramp went ofF to a little distance, and came back with his hands full of snow. With it he began to rub the pale face. 153 The Other Life '' This ain't so full o* cinders," he said softly. Presently there was a rumbling sound in the distance. The Tramp jumped up, shouting : '' A passenger train. There 's a chance then." He rushed to a pile of new ties near by, and began to strip off the fringes of bark. The train was swiftly approaching. Now he had an armful and deposited it in the middle of the track. He struck a match. The train was a quarter of a mile away, and the gleam of its headlight already on the rails. He shielded the flame and applied it. A feeble fire sprang up. It grew. Now the wind would not extinguish it. Still he shielded it. The train was fifty yards away. Still he squatted there, gazing curiously at the eye of the advancing engine. Now he held up his arm with an imperious repellent ges- ture. But the pilot of the engine dashed it aside. The wheels of eight brilliantly lighted cars drew their thunder from the ground and flashed by in a whirlwind. The engine had thrown up from the stack a par- ticularly large and brilliant spark. It descended in a graceful, illuminated curve and fell by the form of the Kid. Hissing and sputtering, it melted a little hollow into the snow, and seemed to glow with greater intensity before it became black. At that instant the Kid's heart beat with a fierce spasm. Then it fluttered — stopped. The snow of the world had chilled out the last fire in its core. 154 The Autumn Call THE AUTUMN CALL *< O heart, my heart, the world is weary-wise. My only resting-place is your deep eyes.** THERE 's a sobbing in the valley. There 's a moaning on the peak. And the myriad winds still dally, Summoning the heart they seek. Still the myriad winds are calling Out from all the quarters round, And the russet leaves are falling Broken-hearted, to the ground. II Then open the places of heaven's last bounding, And let the wild rivers run down to the sea ; Stretch open your ears to the trumpet peal sounding. Give heed to the ever eternal " to be." The hill gates are open, the bronzed leaves are falling. The season is nearing that bids us away ; Farewell to thee, home-haunts, the mad world is calling, And stern is the mandate and brooks no delay. Still feckless are we to the call that goes ringing From river to ocean, from valley to crown 5 155 The Autumn Call The music of billow, the bird-throated singing, The world-hazes cover and world-hummings drown. All down through the mazes of Nature's adorning The keen winds are shrilling their pitiless cry. And we must be off on the wings of the morning, So hail to thee, wild winds, and home-haunts, good-by. Oh ! taste of the meadow ! Oh ! scent of high places. That tempers the nerving salt sting of the sea ! The mad world will pilfer the tan from our faces, — The mad world that harps its eternal " to be." Farewell to the salt seas that ring the fair harbor. Farewell to the brook that hangs white on the hill 5 Farewell to the slope climbing green to the arbor, Farewell to the love that no farewell can kill. The hills are behind us, the seas are behind us. The dismantled schooner lies hull down to lee ; And soon we will be where the past cannot find us, A long way from hill and from sorrowing sea. Then let the campfires die down to dull grayness, Abandon the embers by forest and trail. And cry with a sob and a pretence of gayness, " All hail to thee, mad world, and once more, all haU 1 " III Then hark to the wind songs, The myriad wind songs. Give heed to their call, and throw open the gate ; Farewell to thee, river. And haste thee, a-quiver. Far down to the sea, for the hour grows late. 156 The Autumn Call The wind songs are humming, Their voices are summing The clans of the Faithful from mountain to plain ; Then heed ye the wind songs, The myriad wind songs, And haste ye away to the mad world again. 157 White Roses WHITE ROSES THE music came to them faintly, out there under the trees. The warm darkness seemed to have grown sensuously tender with it. From where they were sitting they could see the yellow lights of the house blaze out into the night, and sometimes over the wail of the violins came the crowded sound of the chatter of many voices. The little girl in the white gown had taken off her long gloves, and had laid them limply across her knees. She bent forward, smoothing the wrinkles out of them with a kind of nervous indifference. The light of a fairy lamp hung in the leaves above her, fell on her soft hair, and caressed the smooth, babyish round- ness of her throat and breast. Lorrimer, leaning back in the shadow, regarded her with a sort of pity- ing admiration — " Poor little thing ! " he thought. As he watched her, he felt himself suddenly feeling very old. He envied the little girl in an amused, careless way. " Would you mind if I lit a cigar- ette ? " he inquired. He did n't care about smoking, but he felt the conversational blank must be filled somehow. The girl turned to him quickly. " Why are you so formal ? Have I ever cared ? Have I ever stopped you doing anything you wanted ? " Lorrimer smiled indulgently. It was his theory that a man should always indulge women as long as 158 White Roses it did not give him too much trouble. There was a moment's silence. The sob of the waltz-music thrilled the night, and made it pulsate with answering rap- ture. " Youth ! Youth ! " the violins seemed to be sighing. " So soon lost ! So soon lost ! Love and youth ! Love and youth ! " The music caught at the girl's heart convulsively. She crushed the soft gloves between her hands. " It is always this way," she said with hurried vehemence. " I do all the car- ing, and you — " " Is this apropos of cigarettes or of noth- ing ? " Lorrimer asked lazily. He wanted to avert the melodrama if possible. The girl did not hear him. "Look," she went on. "You are older than I. You know the world and people. Perhaps I am not like all the others. Maybe I amuse you. Perhaps you have never realized it, but you have made me love you. Do you understand, love you ? I know I have n't any decency or I would n't tell this to you. I don't care for decency or anything else. I love you ! " Her voice shrilled softly with the defiance of desperation. Lorrimer threw his half-smoked cigarette away. He was enough of a man to be more sorry than flattered by what he had heard. He would have given much to have known the right thing to say ; a feeling of shame came over him, and a wordless tenderness. The other had covered her face, and was crying softly and brokenly. Lorrimer drew away one of the little cold hands, still wet with her tears. " Don't cry," he said with gentle firmness. " You 159 White Roses really must n't, you know. How are we to go back and face all those people if you do ? There ! Now we can talk it all over quietly, and perhaps we can understand each other better. You say you love me. Can you tell me why, — at first, I mean ? " She had straightened up, and had stopped crying, although her lips were still working tremulously. There were white roses pinned to her gown and tak- ing one, she began to tear it to pieces, petal by petal. After a little pause she answered him. " It was your dancing at first, and then — then other things. And then I knew that you were my ideal." Lorrimer could have laughed there in the shadow, but the pathos of the little fluttering hands deterred him. "And I am that now, and you want to marry me ? " He asked the question quite simply. The girl looked up and met his eyes bravely. " Yes," she said. " You are the best and finest and — " " Wait ! " Lorrimer said. " Wait ! You don't know me yet." He had decided that she should know. " I suppose that if I were to tell you that V m none of these good things, you would n't believe me. The girl shook her head, smiling faintly. " No," she said. " I won't — " " Of course not. We never believe anything evil about our ideals, until we have ceased to have them. Nevertheless, it 's not true — I 'm very far from being even respectably virtuous, and certainly I 'm not fine in any way. There is really no reason why you should make anything more of me than of the i6o White Roses twenty-odd other men who ask you to dance, and send you flowers occasionally." "Ah! But I know you too well to believe you now. You are n't like any of those others — not like any one else in the whole world. How can you be ? I don't love any of them, and I do love you." Her eyes were shining like stars, and leaning forward, she rested her hand on his knee. Lorrimer saw that another method of procedure was necessary. " My dear," he said, " will you allow me to talk to you just as your father might — I 'm almost old enough to be — or at least your older brother ? " " Yes," assented the girl quietly. " Go on." " Do you know you don't really love this — er — person we have been talking about ? He is n't your ' ideal ' at all. He merely happened to step into your life when you were in need of a figure to wear the costume your imagination had made, and masquerade as your ideal. Very soon you would have seen for yourself how badly the costume fitted — and then you would have blamed him for being an impostor. It 's not me you 're loving, dear, but your idea of me, and if I let you go on thinking as you do, it would merely hurt us both." " Why do you talk to me in this way ? " she broke out passionately. " Because you are a sweet, simple little girl, and I care for you too much to let you think you love me, and that your heart is broken because I can't feel for you in the same way." " If it is not love — what is it, then ? " she asked, almost harshly. "Just a part of your youth, little one," he an- " i6i White Roses swered gravely. " Just a part of the moonlight, and roses, and white frocks, and waltz-music. A very sweet and beautiful part, and something you '11 re- member some day very tenderly — but no more love than those lights in there where they 're dancing are the sun. Can you believe me ? " His tone had be- come very earnest. " Yes," she answered listlessly, " I believe you — anything, always." They sat silent again until she had pulled the last petal from the rose in her hand j then she asked, very quietly and slowly : " Do you think I '11 ever know this other — love — now ? " Lorrimer raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it, " I can ask no greater happiness for my dear friend than that, some time, she may," he said. Some one came through the trees behind them just then. " Oh, here you are ! " said the new-comer. *' They 're just going to begin the cotillion, and I 've been looking for you everywhere." The girl stood up, sweeping the white rose petals from her lap as she did so. " I 'm all ready," she said. " I 'm sorry you had such a bother to find me. Mr. Lorrimer has just been teaching me a new game. Good-by, Mr. Lorrimer," she said to him, " thank you so much for the lesson. I 'm afraid I was very stupid at first, but — I — I — understand perfectly now ; " and she laughed. When they had gone, Lorrimer settled back in his old seat again. " I 'm glad she laughed," he said, half aloud. " When a woman laughs, because she is afraid she will cry if she does n't, she has learned how to take care of herself." His eye fell on the 162 White Roses flowerless rose-stem on the seat beside him. He took it into his hand for a moment. " Poor little rose," he said softly. " I am sorry it had to be pulled to pieces ; it was so pretty — too pretty to last," he added under his breath. 163 Pagan to Priest PAGAN TO PRIEST AYE ; very fair the place you tell — The Holy Hosts, the changeless light, The rush of song, the sweep of wings — All glorified, all pure, all white. But I — I wonder if perchance, '\ Sometimes, when all is done, is said, \ My heart would long for sight again Of one hot pulsing bit of red. ^ If more than all the lights and psalms That will be time that has no end, I 'd crave the clasp of one warm hand, The sound of one voice saying " Friend.' I am not wise in holy things, I only know that youth is fleet — I ask no far stars, white and cold. While skies are warm and love is sweet. 164 Friendship above Par FRIENDSHIP ABOVE PAR MARGARET and Randall when they were nine and ten, respectively, had enough originality and imagination to supply several grown up persons, and yet leave an amount over that would make them more than ordinary children. It was Randall who had the originality, and Margaret the imagination. As a proof of his originality, he in- vented a system by which every one was given a definite numerical valuation, but which like stocks was liable to rise and fall. He started by assigning to every new acquaintance five hundred, then for all sins of omission and commission he subtracted cer- tain definite sums, and for every little act of kindness or generosity he added. Every virtue and every vice had its minus or plus value. What he did when any one got to absolute zero, he never told ; very probably he dropped their acquaintance. Margery, when he met her, went through this same valuation. They were visiting neighbors, and after an introduction made and strengthened over a picture- book, they saw each other frequently. In the first week Margery's stock valuation had gone up to six hun- dred and twenty-five, and during the next week, be- cause she could throw a ball almost as well as Randall, she went up sixty-four more points. All this without a fall. This was unparalleled in Randall's experience. Never had any one's value risen without receiving I6S Friendship above Par occasional set-backs, for so far he had met no one perfect. So it was already a case of love at first sight, and love, you know, has broken down more complicated systems than this. And it was love on both sides too. For, after all, originality and imagination are very much of the same, and Margaret found that with his gift of originality he could invent more stories about the pictures in the book than she could with her im- agination. So immediately she fell captive, and took no pains to hide the fact. Before the book was finished she even allowed him to wipe his fingers on her hand- kerchief. " You have forgotten yours," she said. " Boys never have them," he explained. She thought the matter over for several minutes, and then she said, " You can always borrow mine." This was so delicately put that with the obtuseness of his sex he quite overlooked its meaning. It was Margaret's complete and unconditional surrender. It would be a long story to follow their companion- ship through the days that followed. Margaret de- serted the others with whom she had played before, and learned to storm block forts with colored marbles, that were at one moment cavalry and the next can- non balls ; to make siege guns out of the elderberry bush, and to lay out a cemetery for the soldiers, using dominoes for headstones. The game of im- prisoned princess followed this, and brought about their only quarrel, as to whether the prince ought to die or not, after rescuing the princess from the fury of ten dragons. Randall thought that he ought to live ; Margaret thought he ought to die of his wounds. They finally compromised by having him die every fourth time they played. i66 Friendship above Par All this time they had both worked the evaluation system, but separately, for Randall had explained it fully to Margaret. At the end of each week Ran- dall would make public Margaret's value, and Mar- garet, Randall's. You can readily see the result. Imagine yourself in love with some one, and every week calmly calculating how much she has risen or fallen in your estimation. In such a case Cupid has a way of adding by multiplication. By the middle of the summer they were both up in the thousands, and even in the quarrel over the princess game they only dropped ten points apiece. " Of course she 'd want him to die for her," said Randall, by way of excusing her. " It 's only right that he should live after doing so much," said Margaret. Finally, when the numbers became so large that they were difficult to handle, they agreed to stop. " You see when we get married we can commence again," Randall said. " For after that there will be as much going down as going up." When they stopped Margaret's score was three thousand five hundred and eighty-one, and Randall's three thousand five hundred and eighty. The difference was insisted upon by Randall out of politeness. At last the day for departure came. Margaret gave him her finest handkerchief with her monogram worked in pale blue silk, her photograph, and a promise to write every day. Randall gave to Mar- garet — nobody but themselves knows what. And her mother still wonders why Margaret turned her left cheek always for the good-night kiss. • •••••• 167 Friendship above Par Fifteen years later, a man who had gone through school and college, surveyed railroads and built bridges in the West, and whose name was Randall Easton, was crossing the continent on the Overland Limited with Miss Margaret Sutton. They had known each other for nearly a year, so Easton sup- posed ; but Miss Sutton, adding two and two together, concluded otherwise. It was the morning of the last day, and they were eating breakfast together in the dining-car. At noon they were due in San Francisco, and a week later Easton was to sail for Japan. Over his second cup of coffee he asked a question, one so commonplace that it is asked every hour somewhere in the world. It was a peculiar place to ask such a question, the dining car of an Overland Limited, but perhaps the conventionality of the question excused the commonplace surroundings. At any rate, it was answered in a most unconven- tional way. Miss Sutton glanced across at Easton and said slowly, "Aren't you afraid my valuation will fall too rapidly from three thousand five hundred and eighty-one ? " i68 In the Dark IN THE DARK HAVE you ever been a-walkin' on the grim old hills at night, When the stars go twinkle-twinkle, and the moon is not in sight, And the big trees in the forest seem to keep out all the light ? You hear a noise behind you and you start, you don't know why. And somethin' in the darkness seems to moan and pass you by, And the blackness, gettin' blacker, shuts you off from all the sky. Our ancestors were foolish to believe in sprite or fay. Or in ghosts that love the darkest night and always shun the day. And that spirits of the dead still walk in their mysterious way. Yet, though it 's kind o' childish, I sometimes feel as though They were n't so wrong as we believe, and maybe here below There 's more around us in the dark than any of us know. 169 A Reverie A REVERIE THE gas was turned low, and the soft reddish glow of a dying wood fire filled the richly furnished room, giving an added lustre to the costly wine-set of Hungarian ware on the table and tingeing with a warm light the marble statuette half hiding in a corner. In strange contrast to this luxuriance was the occupant of the room, a little deformed figure, hardly more than half the height of an ordinary man, sunk deep in a great thickly upholstered armchair, which seemed to be holding him in its embrace and protecting him from the scorn — real though unex- pressed — that the world feels for the weaker ones of its great family. He had been reading a review, cutting the leaves with a beautiful little pearl-hilted dagger — some souvenir of foreign travel, no doubt — but the oil in the piano lamp beside him, which had served to light his page, had become exhausted and the magazine had fallen from his hand and lay sprawling on the hearth- rug by his chair. Yet he still sat before the fire, toying with the dainty little weapon and watching the firelight as it gleamed on the eager] quivering blade. Presently he took up from the table beside him a bit of crumpled paper and smoothed it out with his thin white hands. It was the programme of an amateur theatrical entertainment, and he had taken it up and smoothed it out in the same way 170 A Reverie several times before since his return that evening; each time the same look of pain had overspread his features. Yet in spite of all he could do, his mind persisted in reverting to it, with the memory it called up. As he read over the paper, his eyes turned instinc- tively to the photograph of a girl on the table, which she had given him in pity, he thought, — pity, the rose with the bitterest thorns of all. How perfect she had looked that evening ! Yes, perfect, that was the word j perfect in herself physically, first of all, and then perfect in accord with the life setting wherein fate had placed her. He went over in his musing the different scenes of the little play in which she had appeared — and of another scene to which he had been by chance an unseen audience of one. After the entertainment was over he had stepped behind the improvised scenery to wait for a friend who was divesting himself of his make-up, and as he did so he saw her standing with a tall young man amid the confusion of the dim-lit stage. The man had been congratulating her on her success. " I 'm afraid you did n't have the best of support," he said. " I confess I was terribly afraid." " You were a little too conscious," the girl an- swered with candor, " especially in the love scenes. But you '11 improve in time," she added lightly. Then the young man had leaned toward her, saying something in a low voice, and the watcher in the wing had become aware that he was eavesdropping and turned away. He could not say that a hope had been destroyed for him, for he had never had the remotest hope in 171 A Reverie that respect 5 yet, for all that, it was a bitter experi- ence. He slowly crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it into the fire, and then sat watching it flame up, redden, and finally lose its identity among the glowing embers — and all the while he held the little dagger in one hand, now and then pressing its needle-like point into the other till he almost cried out with pain. What a strange turn his thought was taking ! At last he rose wearily and laid the weapon on the table. " In another century and another land I might have done it," he thought, — " when most likely I should have been dressed in motley and served as the plaything of royalty, — but now one can do nothing but become cynical and rail against all the first-born of Egypt." J7« A Song of Sport A SONG OF SPORT WHAT ho, my boys, for the leafless woods. On a crisp November day. When the west wind sings through the moss-hung oaks A merry roundelay. The partridge whirrs and the quail lie close ; Our dogs work fast and free. Sing ho, my boys, for the cracking guns And a day of jollity ! What ho, my boys, for a baying pack And a coat of crimson hue. With champing studs and fair, hard pulls With Reynard full in view. The clear horn rings on the cool sweet air, The fences fly below. The brush shall swing at our belt to-night. Sing ho, for the chase, sing ho ! What ho, my boys, for a narrow trail That leads to a placid lake, Where lilies float in quietude And hares play in the brake. The hounds give voice on the mountain side, The woods re-echo again. And we grasp the rifle with firm, strong hands. Sing ho, for a stag of ten ! ^73 A Song of Sport What ho, for sport, whatever it be, Wherever our pleasure calls, Be it gun, or horse, or field, or hounds, Or rod 'neath the mist-hung falls. Come, fill us a brimming bumper now, And drain it deep and low. A toast to sport, a toast to luck, Sing ho, sing ho, sing ho ! 174 Duets DUETS THE Sage had grown weary of solving problems in celestial mechanics. Their utter simpli- city annoyed him, and so, rising from his seat, he walked out into the cool, sweet garden. There, alone, gazing at the countless stars above, he tried to solve another problem, — Eternity. And afterward four of the King's guard bore him away to the madhouse. Two met on a highway. " Go no farther," said one. " Know you not who I am ? " said the other. " I go where I list ; I am Love." " You can go no farther," said the first. " I am Death." Two lovers quarrelled and parted, each claiming the other was in the wrong. The woman married a man she did not love ; the other drank himself to death. So each was avenged. " I WILL grant you two desires," said Life to the youth. " What would you ? " " I am blind," said the youth. " Open my eyes." And Life did so. " Now what is the other wish ? " asked Life. " Make me blind again," answered the youth. 175 Duets " I HAVE found the secret of the universe," said one. " And I, too," said the other. " But you are only a lover," said the first. " And you are only a scientist," answered the second. Life once cast away, as useless, a block of white marble ; but Sorrow, finding the block, began to labor upon it. "Your work will be vain," said Life, contempt- ously. " Wait and see," Sorrow replied. And after many years Life saw that Sorrow from the useless marble had carved out the figure of a strong man. 176 An Epitaph AN EPITAPH \ CLOSE-FOLDED to the mountain's heart i Let him sleep well, sleep long. i The voices of a thousand pines \ Be for his slumber song. j i 9 O'er him shall ferny greennesses , ^ A dauntless verdure set ' To comfort him till warm rains wake ■I April's first violet. ; Here to the tired child of change, Through days that shall not fail, Shall come the summer's last Farewell, I The steadfast spring's All hail ! j '< And he shall fear no evil thing \ When warrior winds awake ; | I think their mighty hosts will pass | More gently for his sake. ' I if So, girt by list'ning forests, And hushed by breathless song, 1 Still dreaming down the pilgrim years, He shall sleep well and long. \ His was the wand'rer's wild heart \ That loved not bonds and bars — Wildness to wildness ! Rest ! while burn \ The watch-lights of the stars. j 12 177 ! Founded on Fact FOUNDED ON FACT THE Woman of the World sat at the piano. The Boy stood beside her, bending down to her. The Woman of the World was playing Schumann. Her throat and arms gleamed like warm marble in the soft candlelight, and the effect against the shadow was very lovely. Possibly the Woman of the World knew this. At any rate, she ought n't to have allowed the Boy to stand there. Being a woman, she continued to allow him ; but from a similar reason she compromised with her conscience and changed abruptly from the Schumann to a passion- less jingling two-step. The sacrifice was heroic. " Why do you play that thing ? " asked the Boy. The Woman of the World made some answer. She wished she had no conscience, and did not really like the Boy. He was big and muscular, with a face suggestive of all the Cardinal Virtues and Pears' soap. Lately there had come into his eyes a look that made her a little sorry. For she liked him, as has been said previously. The blow came before she had a chance to avert it. " Claudia," the Boy said, — it was the first time he had ever called her bv her Christian name, and he said it with a bashful tenderness, — "I love you — will you marry me ? " The Boy bent very low, almost touching her hair with his lips. 178 Founded on Fact There is always one subject that a man may be sure will interest a woman. There is always one statement that will not grow commonplace through frequent repetition. The love scenes are really the only ones in the comedy of life that most women enjoy acting for their own sake. But Claudia liked the Boy ; in fact, she liked him so well that she would have preferred putting her face on the cold white keys and crying : women are nothing if not illogical. Instead of such a bit of melodramatic bad taste, she laughed softly without looking up. " How absurd ! " she said, as if he had made quite a clever remark — for a boy. " My dear child," her tone was motherly, " I am ages older than you — quite five years. You would never cease regretting that you had married me. I should be old and worn before you were in your prime. No, you must find some one else, who will adore you and make you perfectly happy, and I will come to see you to lend the dignity of age to your marriage." ''You are heartless," said the Boy, between his teeth. " Am I ? Well, I don't agree with you, and in a year you and she will thank me." " I can never love any one else." " Quite the conventional remark under the circum- stances. I should have felt quite hurt had you not said it. But it 's nonsense all the same. Besides, I care for — some one else." She told the lie with no apparent struggle. He left her there in the shadow still playing the noisy, blatantly cheerful two-step. He went 179 Founded on Fact too quickly to hear the music stop with a sudden crash, and to see her turn with wide-stretched arms, with her eyes Hke dewy stars shining through her tears. And perhaps it was well for him that he did not. i8o The Amorous Scientist THE AMOROUS SCIENTIST A SCIENTIST, with learning vain, j Who thought all things he could explain By means of nerve cells in the brain And molecules and motion, | Once fell a prey to Cupid's dart, ; And to the maid who stole his heart . I He thus attempted to impart , His passionate emotion : i i " My lobes occipital are wrecked, i (Their every cell thou dost affect), | Their vaso-motor process checked J By the mere concept of you. " Do yours respond likewise to me ? " j " Pray, sir, what do you mean ? " quoth she. " Why, only — simply," stammered he, I " In other words — I love you." i >t Ah, Science, all thy technique vain. Thy knowledge vast of world and brain, i Can ne'er the simple worth attain '| Of these three words, " I love you." I i8i A Song of Other Days A SONG OF OTHER DAYS HE was an old man, bent and gray ; she was a young girl hardly yet grown to womanhood. She sat on the arm of his chair, gently stroking the thin gray hair, and watching the dancing blaze in the fireplace. The fire cast fantastic shadows about the room, lighting up the dark corners for a moment, then leaving them to greater gloom. For a long time neither of the two spoke. Gradually the flames ceased trooping over the logs, and the gray sparks took shorter journeys chimney-ward. " Play to me," the old man said. The girl rose and took her violin from the table where it lay. For a moment was heard only the thrumming of strings ; then she played to him. It was a simple air, — one of the old ones that are always best, — and as the old man gazed into the glowing coals, he forgot the music and the girl and himself, and felt only the sweet thrill of another day, years gone. It was spring and they two were maying. They wandered through woodland and meadow, chasing the few early butterflies they saw, and gathering flowers here and there. Her face was hot and flushed and happy under her great white sunbonnet. A bit of curl had broken loose from its bonds and struggled out beneath her hat, and he begged her to give it to him. He smiled now as he thought of her scornful refusal, 182 A Song of Other Days She wanted some violets that grew on the other side of the brook, and he was helping her over the stepping-stones. In the most unsteady part he stopped and refused to go on until she had answered something he asked her. Blushing, with eyes cast down, she replied so softly that none but a lover might have heard. And afterward, weaiying of the birds and the flowers and the butterflies, they sat down on the flower-strewn bank, and with the fragrance of sweet- fern all about, she sang to him. It was the same song that the young girl had played to-night. The old man had rested his head in his hands, and as he gazed into the glowing embers, a dreamy half-smile upon his face, in the light of the dying fire he looked young again. When the music ceased, he did not move, and so, softly replacing her violin, the young girl stole away. 183 In Bohemia IN BOHEMIA «< Dans un grenler, qu'on est bien a vingt ans! *' A BOOK — in French — yellow covered, The smoke of a cigarette — On the divan by the windows It seems that I see you yet. Outside the roofs steeped in sunshine, 'Neath a faint spring sky of blue. Below us the city's tumult — Above in our nest — we two. I was young — with all before me, You, too — with something behind, You told me one day, half crying ; I kissed you — and did n't mind. Vive la Follet ! and we pledged her In clear golden veuve cliquot (I 'd sold a sketch, I remember. How bad — then I did not know). A banquet ! a box our table. Other things claimed it as well — Fruit from the stand on the comer And bread served — au natureL 184 In Bohemia Your gowns are designed by Worth now, Perfection of style and tone j I go to a London tailor (Mine and H. B. H.'s own!) — Yet, if Fate choice should grant me ' Twixt these and the days gone by, I M take the crust and the laughter In that bare room 'neath the sky ! j8s i That Babington Affair THAT BABINGTON AFFAIR " "^^OU will pardon my being so abominably per- 1 sonal," I said to my friend Reeves in a burst of confidence, as we sat smoking before the open fire, talking over our summer at Babington. '' But did I ever tell you the little stunt that happened to Miss Marston and me on the links last summer? " He moved rather uneasily at the mention of that name, I thought, but listened with interest. " Well," I continued, " you know that, thanks to your exploiting of my peculiarities and a natural diffi- dence which I must admit, I got a reputation with those girls for being the most bashful thing there ; I don't think she seriously believed it, though. " It was the afternoon that you were feeling rather rocky from meeting those Yale people the night be- fore. I was much flattered when she accepted my services as instructor, and with a few remarks as to the uselessness of engaging a caddy, I proudly took an armful of clubs and we started. " You are also aware that the Babington golf course was not laid out with a view to pleasing the novice. Those apple orchards and swamps that diversify the landscape and the omnipresent Sackett brook, so dangerously near, are very trying. But that is neither here nor there. " Miss Marston progressed rapidly under my com- petent tuition. Going through Profanity Lane, we i86 That Bablngton Affair chatted about Farmington, and upon my remarking that I should probably see Alice Walker in August, she exclaimed : ' Why, really ? Do give Alice my best love ! ' " ' May I keep it until I see her ? ' I asked, rather clumsily, trying your favorite bon mot. But just then the lusty Mrs. Wrenn-Smith (you remember seeing her avoirdupois galloping over the links) cried ' Fore ! ' about twenty yards behind us, and we turned around inopportunely to see a large area of turf lose its connection. So my maiden effort was lost. " We passed ' Sleepy Hollow ' and ' Despair ' easily, but in approaching the eighth green a long mashie shot sent the ball across the brook, where it poised defiantly. I admit I was up a tree. " ' Thunder ! ' I think she said — some forbidding word of two syllables. ' How can I cross ? there does n't seem to be a sign of a bridge. And I so wanted to make this my record.' " ' A toppy lie, and you had such a good show for the bogy ! Won't you allow me to carry you over ? ' I suggested, and I swear I saw mischief in her look as she smiled at me and then turned in the direction of Mrs. Wrenn-Smith, — a friendly hill had already managed to conceal that lady." Reeves had removed his feet from the mantel early in the narrative, and now he clutched his chair ner- vously. I refused to notice this agitation and went on : " I imagine Miss Marston was surprised when she found herself speedily transferred to the other side. Anyway, she played the stroke in silence. We recrossed as before. 187 That Babington Affair " There was rather a long pause as we walked up. Finally she could n't refrain from laughing : ' Are you the Mr. Jackson they spoke of at the hotel as being so unfortunately — ' " I supplied, ' Such a bashful fool ? ' and assured her the accusation was entirely just. "Later, as we were seated on the club-house porch with several others, I alluded to our experi- ence : ' You know, Miss Marston and I had such an amusing adventure to-day,' I began. " ' Yes, and we only lost two strokes by it,' she deftly interposed, and commenced a discussion on the use of the niblech in putting. " My reputation for diffidence continued as good as ever — except with one person, and on the whole I am glad it is that way, as she is the only girl — " Reeves leaned forward eagerly : " Eh ! You don't mean that you and she — But Ethel Marston was a corking girl — quite the queen at Babington. I have some pleasant memories of her myself." Reeves did not seem to care particularly for my story. I confess I was too dense to see why at the time, but four months later their engagement was announced. I am planning a trip around the world — after graduation. Conviction CONVICTION 1 ARRIAGE is a failure, ^ I at least divine — j Bachelors support me j In this claim of mine. ■' I hate a man that 's lovesick, Always looking sore, 'S though he thought he ought tq Drink and smoke no more. I I 'm too young to marry, ij Like too well my fun ; And that ancient saying : \ " Go it while you 're young." \ Love and fame can never j Live together long ; | I shall choose the latter — j Love 's not worth a song. i . . . . • 'S J Helen gets here Sunday ? i Coming early ? Why, ] Think I '11 stay till Monday " Just to say good-by. ; 189 The Prince of Greater New York THE PRINCE OF GREATER NEW YORK MARCUS WILLOUGHBY was smoking a cigarette in his apartment on the fourth floor of Mrs. Elder's boarding-house on Somethingeth Street. Outside, a Sabbath calmness reigned over the usually clattering streets. Within was the fading aroma of Mrs. Elder's Sabbath dinner, of which Marcus Wil- loughby had just partaken. Marcus was lying on the sofa amid the wreck of a sixty-page Sunday paper which had engaged him during the morning hours. He was watching the little curl of smoke that wriggled out of the end of his cigarette. " And you are one of the competing princes ? " asked the old man, slowly. " Frankly, I would ad- vise you not to try it. It 's too risky, and the game is not worth the candle. To be sure, the Princess is a very beautiful princess and a great prize if you succeed, but there are plenty of princesses to be had almost as beautiful and for less trouble." The old man was sitting at his cottage doorstep. Before them a road wound over the hills. In the west the setting sun gilded the roofs and towers of the palace. It looked very fine, this palace in the distance with the green fields in front of it and be- yond the ruddy sky. But it was very disconcerting, and so was the old gentleman with his talk about princes and princesses. A moment ago Marcus was lying on his back looking at the faded design of Mrs. 190 The Prince of Greater New York Elder^s ceiling paper through a cloud of tobacco smoke. Well, it is proverbial that life is full of changes. " Really, my dear sir," Marcus began, " I am afraid I shall have to ask you to explain." " Then you are n't one of the competing princes ? " asked the old man. Marcus was forced to reply that he was not. " But you must be a prince ? " It was evident from the old gentleman's tone that it would be necessary to concede him this point. Marcus's curiosity was aroused. " Oh, of course I am a prince," he said non- chalantly. The old man looked relieved. " Merely in search of adventure, I suppose," he said. " In that case I would advise you to go to the next kingdom. Things are dead here since the Princess met with that little accident — decidedly dead. Of course, if you want, you can try to get into the palace over yonder, as the others have done. It's the only thing in the shape of adventure that this country can offer. But I would advise you not to try it, as I said before. It 's too dangerous. The underbrush is something awful — not been touched, you know, for about a century. The last man came to grief who tried it — scratched his eyes out." Marcus felt that he was beginning to get oriented. " But he scratched them in again, didn't he ? " he suggested, a little doubtfully. " No," said the old man, contemptuously ; " that's his side of the story, but he did nothing of the sort. It 's preposterous to think so." 191 The Prince of Greater New York Marcus felt decidedly crushed. " Ah, but he was a queer one ! " the old man chuckled, regaining his good nature at the recollec- tion. '^ The old duffer said to me very solemnly, ' I do not undertake this enterprise with matrimonial intentions, but in the interests of science. I am especially delegated by the " Society for the Advance- ment of Disillusion " to make a careful examination of the whole matter and to report the result of my investigation to the society. We have doubts, in fact, about there being any princess at all.* And then the fellow went into the thicket a few yards, scratched out his eyes, and came back fully persuaded that there was no princess. He did not get as far as the others ; they never came back at all." " Well, I think I must be going," said Marcus. " It will be dark soon." " You think you will try it, then," said the old man. " Well, the best of good luck to you, and don't worry about the time of day. It has been sun- set here for about a hundred years now, more or less, and it 's likely to stay so for a while, I guess." Marcus followed the road along for quite a bit. Presently he saw on ahead the thicket which sur- rounded the palace. It certainly looked formidable. But as he approached nearer, it underwent a curious change. The thorn bushes at the edge became trans- formed into flowering plants, which of their own accord bent aside and let him pass through ; and, more curiously still, this transformation continued as he advanced till he found himself before the palace gate. Marcus entered. The warden was sitting asleep in his box. He walked through the courtyard. The 192 The Prince of Greater New York dogs were sleeping in their kennels, and the guards leaning on their pikes. Farther he went, into the main hall, where the king and queen were asleep on their thrones. It was a very fine room, this main hall, but Marcus did not stop there. He followed a long passage and ascended a little winding stairway at the end of it that led into a turret chamber. There was the Princess lying on the floor, with just the least speck of blood on her palm. " O, poor misguided representative of the Soci- ety for the Advancement of Disillusion ! " thought Marcus. And they lived happily ever after ? Unfortunately not. Hand in hand Marcus and the Princess stood at the window looking out over the garden of roses and lilies, which had once been a frightful thicket. Mar- cus had just told the Princess of the many kings' sons who had tried to reach the palace and been held fast by the cruel thorn bushes till wild beasts had come and eaten them up. This had made the Prin- cess pensive. " H'm ! " coughed some one behind them. It was the King and his spouse, who had just entered the chamber. Marcus turned and made obeisance before them. " You are the scion of some noble house, I trust, young man, or you would not have ventured to take this liberty," said the King, rather crossly. " Yes, may it please your majesty, of the house of Butts & Tugaway, New York. No better house in the country — you can look them up in Bradstreet." Marcus was a little confused. 13 193 The Prince of Greater New York These were terms new to his majesty's heraldry. " What may your title be ? " he asked. Marcus regained his presence of mind and assum- ing a haughty tone, replied, " Your Highness, I am the Prince of Greater New York." The occasion demanded a decisive stand. "Then let the marriage ceremony take place at once," cried the King. The great hall of the palace was crowded with the King's retainers all dressed in their best. The King himself, with his consort, sat on their thrones arrayed in their robes of state. Before them stood Marcus and the Princess, the latter in organdie, or tulle, or something else ravishing and appropriate to the occasion, and surrounded by her bridesmaids. From a bower of palms a mandolin orchestra was playing the last strains of the Wedding March. The cere- mony was about to take place. Just then Marcus saw enter the room, unan- nounced, but no less confidently on that account, a figure he knew very well. It was Mr. George Daniel Butts, of Butts & Tugaway, New York. He came striding up through the hall, his hands in his trousers' pockets, his great seals dangling over the brow of his portly paunch, his silk hat tipped on the back of his head, and that irritated, contemptuous look on his face that Marcus had noticed there before when there had been something wrong with his balance sheet. Mr. Butts came right up before the throne. " Look here, you old fool," he cried, addressing his astonished majesty, " what are you doing ? Marry- ing your daughter to this rascal here ! He 's no 194 The Prince of Greater New York prince, nor anything like it. He 's my clerk, whom I pay twenty dollars a week to, and make sit on a stool nine hours a day and six days in the week, try- ing to earn it. He 's swindled you. He has n't a red cent in the world, to say nothing about being a prince. Do you know what kind of an es- tablishment he could provide for his wife ? A four-room flat in Harlem, where her cook and her housemaids and her hairdresser and her ladies in waiting, if she had any, would have to be her own hands." The King glared all kinds of fury at Marcus. " To prison with him ! " he shouted, and his guards carried out the order. Marcus was lying on a pallet of straw in his dungeon. The sun had gone down, and the moon was well up in the sky. A gleam of it came through the window away up above Marcus's head and lighted up the opposite wall. It was almost mid- night. The guard outside was asleep from the sound of his snoring, but as Marcus was chained to a big ring in the wall, it did not matter. He had almost gone to sleep himself when the door was opened softly, and there stood the Princess. She had a big bunch of keys in her hand. " I have come to set you free," she said. Marcus said nothing because he felt so much ashamed for having told them all that he was a prince when he was not. But then it seemed as if he v/as at the time. Marcus watched the Princess in silence, as she unfastened his fetters. When she had finished he followed her past the sleeping guard and down a 19s The Prince of Greater New York long passageway till they both emerged on the broad terrace before the palace. " Thank you," he said, kneeling and kissing her hand. The Princess watched him as he turned to leave her. " Are you going — without me ? " she said. Marcus looked back sadly. " It is true that I am no prince at all," he answered, *' and the rest that he said too." " Oh, I don't care for that," cried the Princess. " I don't need Gretchen to do my hair — or the others. We will go together and live in a — what did he call it ? — in Harlem." Marcus found himself in his room on the fourth floor of Mrs. Elder's boarding-house on Somethingeth Street. He was alone, for the Princess had stayed behind in that land where princesses are still to be gained by the adventurous. Unfortunately one cannot live there happily ever after. 196 A Relic A RELIC i j Museum — ■ 1 » SUCH a dainty thing you 'd hardly guess ' j The evil it could do, j With hilt impearled and slender blade I Of softly mottled blue. i \ And yet, one night, in a man's hot clasp, \ To mar and to destroy, j Paying shame's debt to jealousy . J It went as death's envoy. | :| You know the place ; 'twixt the throat and ear, ^ Where the hair 's fine and light, .| And swelling veins show tenderly J Soft purple through the whiter i I Dear God ! how it leaped to drink its fill i Of the red, cloy'd warm and wet ! ] Its steely heart at the memory i Must thrill with rapture yet ! i i You 'd hardly guess — ah, the wreck it wrought ! ■ And then, its tongue withdrawn, J The awful thing is left to meet i The wan, gaunt face of dawn. i I 197 I A Bargain A BARGAIN THE painter's wife had come all the way up to the studio ; her soft hair and quiet unobtru- sive little face looked pale and monotonous in the gray north light from above. The painter softened his brushes in a tin of turpentine and laid them away. He glanced across the big bare room at the slender figure and raised his eyebrows. "I came up to get you, Jim, — if — if you are coming home to supper," she said. " I 'm sorry you took that trouble," he answered. " I 'm dining out. I thought I told you." " I know, Jim, but I was so lonesome. I read till I was tired — I was reading ' Tess,' you know — and I got nervous and fidgety, and I went to see Mrs. Taylor on the floor below, and — and — I won- dered whether you would n't have supper home to- night. You have n't for four days. Why, Jimmy, your model sees more of you than I." " You have given yourself rather a needless journey, then, because I am promised for this evening. I 'm glad you satisfied your suspicions, though. I sent her home an hour ago — if you care to take my word, that is." " Oh, oh ! How can you say such nasty things ! I only wanted to have you home this one evening. You are n't very good to me now, Jim, I think. And I have such a nice hot supper and that salad you like. You used to say — " 198 A Bargain " Spare us the description, please, Nellie. I am really very sorry." He took off his working blouse. " There 's nothing else, is there ? If you '11 excuse me, I will clean up." "I 'm going in a minute, Jim. I did n't mean to interrupt you. I am afraid I spoiled a sitting yester- day, coming in. No, don't bother to come with me. I know the stairs. Good-by." She closed her lips firmly and went carefully down the flights of narrow stairs into the street crowded with home-going shop- people. Three months later she went away with another man who said he cared for her. He died, it seems, and no one has heard of her since. However, such pictures as Jimmy's cannot be had for nothing. For my part, since I have seen " The Harvesters," and that study of a " Girl in Gray," and " The Greatest of These is Charity," — the last and finest of all (I saw that at the Metropolitan with its salon number fresh in the corner), I can only think the v/orld had all the best of the bargain. 199 A Ballad of Dorothy A BALLAD OF DOROTHY IT 's " Dorothy ! Where 's Dorothy ? " From morn to even fall, There 's not a lad on Cowslip Farm Who joins not in the call. It 's Dolly here and Dolly there, Where can the maiden be ? No wench in all the countryside 's So fine as Dorothy. With tucked-up gown and shining pail. Before the day is bright, Down dewy lanes she singing goes Among the hawthorns white. Perchance her roses need her care, She tends them faithfully. There 's not a rose in all the world As fresh and sweet as she ! With morning sunshine in her hair A-churning Dolly stands ; Oh, happy churn, I envy it. Held close between her hands. And when the crescent moon hangs bright Athwart the soft night sky, Down shady paths we strolling go. Just Dorothy and L 200 A Ballad of Dorothy As true of heart as sweet of face, With gay and girlish air, The painted belles of citydom Are not a whit as fair. Come Michaelmas the parish chimes Will ring out merrily. Who is the bride I lead to church ? Why, who but Dorothy ? 201 An Affair of the Heart AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART ONCE there was a man with whom Chance had a very desperate flirtation. Now Chance is a very fickle goddess, whose affections are a bit less stable than her poise on the wheel which the sculptors put under her foot. But you know as well as I, if you have seen her, — in marble as the sculptors re- member her, or as you know her yourself, when you look through a grate fire from the depths of a high-backed chair, — that she is a very beautiful and gracious and alluring person, albeit cruel and indiffer- ent when she has a will. After the manner of womankind, she fell in love with a man who had little need of her, and, to say the truth, thought little good of her (for some of her escapades had been not a little daring, and there are busybodies to speak ill of us all). My lady was fairly taken aback at this, for her admirers aforetime had never been slow to respond to her smile — indeed, all the fault she found was that the stupid fellows did not- know when she was tired of them. But this man was already not ill-settled with the good things in life, had no particular lack of the favors at Chance's bestowal, and seemed quite content. All the others had been fortune-hunters, said Chance. Thereupon she completed her most bewitching toilet, which consisted of tying her hair in a new knot ; and she managed to show her profile pretty often because 202 An Affair of the Heart she thought it better than her full face; and she shook her cornucopia over him till it was fairly- ragged. But the man was not in haste to come at her beck, nor did he ever allow her to feel sure of him ; for his speeches had a ring to them neither false nor true, and he never showed his trust in Chance, as the others had done. The others were young for the most part, and had told her their trials and ambitions, and had plighted themselves eternally, as young men feel bound to do; while he was older and a little more cynical and far too wise to do anything of that kind. Chance did her prettiest, and was kinder than ever before — especially when she heard her last ad- mirer was still attentive to Opportunity and Ability (these were steadier ladies, but, to quote hearsay, old flames of his). When, after all these efforts. Chance saw that he was still as smilingly half-hearted and content, she left him in a huff. And that was after a very trying little scene, I assure you. She wished him more ill- luck, and cursed him more heartily than any of the others (for she always abandoned them when they seemed abject enough, like the vicious little coquette she was). The man laughed at her malevolence, and went calmly back to his more serious friendships of former years — and it seemed that he mourned Chance not at all. But the bigger gods at the back of things seemed to enjoy her discomfiture. 203 Noel NOEL EACH star gleams like an Altar-light, The great winds chaunting pass. The earth hath donned her vestments fair To keep the Holy Mass. Now, who are these who wend the fields To hill-top Bethlehem ? The night grows late — the inn is full, There is no room for them. They may not bide within the inn, But in the stable-place Amid the kine she lays her down, Our Lady full of grace. Each star gleams like an Altar-light, The great winds chaunting pass. The earth hath donned her vestments fair To keep the Holy Mass. Lo, she hath put her Baby down Within the soft sweet hay. The vaulted skies are quick with lights Of the first Christmas Day. Across the world of glistening snow It dawneth now as then, And Christian hearts are glad to sing Of God's good grace to men. 204 Noel Each star gleams like an Altar-light, The great winds chaunting pass. The earth hath donned her vestments fair To keep the Holy Mass. 205 Three Pipes THREE PIPES THE hallway on the top floor of a Fifth Avenue apartment house ended in two rooms which made the bachelor quarters of Henry Forel. In front of the door of the larger room Forel was now jan- gling at his chain for the latchkey. The hall was dark, or Forel's hand unsteady, for he botched about in vain for the key-hole. " D — that porter ! " he muttered doggedly through tight lips, as he at last rammed the key home, and flung the door back against the rubber stop, making it shiver painfully on its hinges. Without more words he shuffled his way between the furniture to the gas-jet, fumbled after a match, found one, and broke it against the sole of his shoe. He rubbed another along the seat of his trousers. There was no head on it, and he hurled it in the direction of the grate. A third flared off against his finger. " D — these matches ! " was all he chose to remark. Then he pulled off his coat, drew on a house jacket, and dragging a large chair up to the fireplace, sat down in it with a grunt of profound disgust. Near him stood a smoking-table on which a pipe rested beside a paper of " Old Gold." Mechanically he took up the pipe and began stuffing it. Then, remembering that he had not crumbled the tobacco, he knocked it out, and milled it in the palm of his 206 Three Pipes hand. Filling the pipe once more, he lighted it, fol- lowing a chain of habit. For five minutes or so the smoke wreathed and eddied about his head. The narcotic began to tell, and his body and limbs relaxed. A long and rather tremulous sigh came between two puffs of smoke. Presently he put the pipe aside on the table, rose, v/ent into his bedroom, and came back with a photograph in his hand. This he put on the table, leaning it against a candlestick, and sat quietly con- fronting it. At last he took up the photograph again and kept it close in front of his face. He did not know that he was holding his breath till the air forced a way all at once through his lips. " I love her," he said, and sank back in his chair. The hand which held the photograph fell down at his side. II It was two o'clock and Forel had not come in. A gusty gas-jet dodged to and fro in the hall of the upper story. The house was asleep. Then the front door slammed far below, and an irregular clatter of light shoes wound up the stairs. It was Forel, in evening dress, and wrapped chin-deep in an opera coat. The key went straight home, the first match struck brightly, and the lamp shone warmly through the room. Forel took the chair by the hearth, care- fully kneaded his tobacco, filled and lighted his pipe. " I will have a little blaze," he said, and stooping, set fire to the paper under the irons. " There," he added as he settled deep between the arms of the chair, " there, that 's just what I wanted." 207 Three Pipes By and by, when the pipe had slowly yielded up its ghost, he brought the photograph again and set it where he could look at it while his head rested back on the cushion. What were his thoughts ? " Fool that I am ! " he blurted out, and sprang to his full height, every tendon in his body taut as cords. " Fool that I am ! I should have known." He strode to the window, threw it up violently, and breathed hard, looking out into the pale black of the sky about him. Ill Steps came slowly but steadily up the winding flights to Forel's door. It was Forel himself. He went in, and with deft, easy movements set the room to rights. A minute more and he was sitting in the usual chair puffing at a pipe. He glanced at a calendar on the mantelpiece. " Five years ago to-night," he said with a light sigh, "and," he added, looking at his watch, "just about this time." He kept rubbing the face of the watch with his thumb, and stared with wide eyelids — at nothing. Then the light of thought crept into his face again. " It will do no harm," he argued with some inner voice, " I have n't let myself since then." Rising and going to a cabinet, he brought thence a portfolio which he laid open on his knees. " Here it is," he murmured, as he drew from within a photograph. He held it close to his face and gazed at it eagerly for a long, long time. All at once he looked up with a start. He shook him- 20S Three Pipes self and slipped the photograph hastily back between the leather flaps. " No more of this," he exclaimed ; " what 's the use ? " and going again to the cabinet, he locked the portfolio into its drawer and returned to the fire. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he stared into the logs. And for a long time he scarcely moved but to breathe, staring into the logs. 14 209 Ninety-nine Class Poem NINETY-NINE CLASS POEM /N" the hush of the early summer^ * Neath the smile of the soft fune sky^ We^ who have lived together^ Gather to say good-hy. And now^ with our labor ended^ And the hours we may linger few ^ We kneel for our mother'' s blessings As is our right to do. Stately and tall is our mother^ Tender and strong and wise ; With the light of infinite knowledge In the depths of her steadfast eyes. And as we kneel before her^ Her voice rings clear and slow^ As she speaks the words of the blessing That she gives to her sons^ ere they go. II " Sons of my four years' nurture, Ye who have eaten my bread, Pause ere you take your journey Down the wide roads ahead ! Listen ! that I may tell you In simple speech and plain, 2IO Ninety-nine Class Poem How from the debt that ye owe me Ye may quit yourselves again ! The wisdom of generations I have spread for your delight ; And the truths that men have died for Ye may claim as your simple right. Heirs of the hoarding ages, How use ye your legacy ? Masters of many talents Render account to me ! Ill " Are ye puffed with the pride of learning ? Are ye pleased with the praise of fools ? Have your minds grown cramped and narrow With the lore that ye learned in schools ? Has your knowledge made you slothful, And your culture made you vain. That ye think to gain without labor What another must toil to gain ? Then are your years here wasted As pearls that are cast to swine ! Then are ye servants of servants. And no true sons of mine ! For they who began behind you Shall pass you in the race j And untaught men shall shame you In the open market-place ! IV " From the quiet heart of the mountains Ye must take journey, down 211 Ninety-nine Class Poem To the world, that Is ever careless Of the skirts of a scholar's gown. And the sheltered life of college Ye must leave behind you then, And bear your parts in the battle Where men fight hard with men. There there is naught to help you But your wit and strength of limb. There every man is your master Until you have mastered him. For a great law governs the fighting And all are ruled thereby — ' He that is strong shall conquer ! He that is weak must die ! ' " Therefore, that ye may merit Men's praise when your heads are gray. Cling to the good ye have gathered From my teaching that ends to-day. Ye have learned many true sayings And many wise maxims heard, For some ye know the reason. And for some ye must take my word. But, though ye forget the others, These two hold firm and clear : The first Is — ' He that would win must work^ The second — ' Thou shalt not fear I * For the vices of a strong man Are pardoned in the end ; But he that is born a coward Hath neither foe nor friend ! 212 Ninety-nine Class Poem VI " Be tender, and quick to pity ' At the sight of another's wrong, ! Humble before a weaker. Cringing not to the strong. ; Paying each service twofold, ;: Nor counting the debt clear then ; ^ Keeping your faith with women, ! Speaking the truth to men. i: 'I VII j " High in the purple mountains, } Where the world's strife cannot come, ^ Ringed by the iron cordon ' ^ Of the hills that guard my home, j I gather my sons about me | And teach them at my knee, \ And when they have learned their lessons, ' My sons go forth from me. Over the world they wander, j In sunshine and wind and storm, j But I sit here in the quiet room And keep the hearthstone warm ; Watching and listening and waiting ; For their footsteps at the door, i Till one by one as the years go by i My sons come home once more. Then I fling wide the portal j And welcome them to the hall. With praise for the strong, and pity ; For the weak, and love for all, ! 213 ! Ninety-nine Class Poem And the welcome that I give them Is reward for those that win ; And they who are spent with fighting Find a new strength therein. And when they have told their stories, And rested a little space, They rise, and get them forth again Each man to his own place ; To take the task that waits him, And labor to the end. That he may win a living For wife and child and friend. Careless of sneers and frowning From curs that cringe and shirk, Asking no greater pleasure Than the sight of his finished work. VIII "Ye who to-day must follow Whither your fates shall lead. These are your elder brothers ! Prove yourselves of the breed ! See that ye count as shameful No work your hands can do ; And when ye are spent, come back to me. That I may comfort you. Now, through the open portal, Rise, and go forth to-day ! And a mother's blessing go with you, To help you on your way." WiLLiAMSTOWN, June 20, 1899. 214 (( The Blind Receive their Sight" "THE BLIND RECEIVE THEIR SIGHT" f^^ LORY to Allah ! Love is but a hieroglyph to me, and I know not what it means." A student stared through a blue-flamed fire into a phantom world, while outside the city clocks struck three. The fire was bright, but everything else seemed to be a pall. To tell the truth, a man can't always afFord to let two and a half college years slip away in idleness ; for, when it becomes advisable to seize the trailing threads, lo, it is too late. So the student was about to receive his quietus at the hands of the great university, and a regiment of tutors could n't have " whipped him into line " for the exams. Now the father of Her^ whose photograph was in his pocket, in the fire-flame, and burned deepest in his brain, was the old ex-judge ; and the ex-judge had fished off a log with bent pins fifty years ago, with his father. He would hear how the university " dropped " the delinquent, and would remark, " So that 's the kind of a boy he is ! " and, seeing his daughter very friendly with the young reprobate, away he would snatch her to foreign capitals ; — and what girl ever looked through Parisian streets, and over three thousand miles of rolling Atlantic, but her girlhood memories faded and her old acquaintanceship became almost as if it had not been ? Then he thought of her sitting on a 215 "The Blind Receive their Sight" hotel veranda and holding a dozen admirers at bay, while she prays that night or something would come to relieve her ; for of all created things, men are the most unmitigated bores. " Well ? " asked the student of the wearer of the faded tennis cap just across the fireplace, " have you solved my problem for me ? " " Let me see that picture again," said the other. He took the photograph and held it at arm's length ; then he placed it on the shelf and inspected it at two yards' range ; after that he made a microscopic examination at close quarters, and ended by turning up his soles to the fire and his face to the ceiling. " If she looks anything like that^'' — he spoke im- pressively and seemed to be emotionally aff'ected, — " go pretty blamed quick and enlist for the war." It was a perfect solution. Who would know of the disgraceful standing, and the student could enter next year a class lower, — and there would be no more loafing — not by a long shot. And the next morning H. H. Brown, collegian, enlisted for the Spanish War. .•■••••• On the night of July i the ex-judge's daughter could not sleep, so she threw a shawl about her shoulders and sat by the window. " What a silly boy ! " she muttered anxiously, and meant something else. Then she looked deep into the unsoundable heaven-dome, and saw visions that no girl but an army nurse should ever see. All ni2;ht they brought in the wounded to Siboney — men who would be helpless as babes forevermore, 216 "The Blind Receive their Sight" men whose light was setting in black eclipse. A boy, with his fair hair bedraggled with mud and dust, was received by the surgeons with a deprecating smile, which meant that those overworked machines could not bother with those who needed only a spade and a wooden cross. " The kid wants the photograph sent to that address,^' said a bearer, thumbing a blood- stained portrait of a young girl with a long jagged groove in the card right across the eyes. " Write on the back, ' I was never worth using, anyhow.' " " I was never worthy of you, anyway,'* corrected the quick-witted Red Cross helper who undertook the mission, looking down at the pale, fine face of the boy and guessing a romance. And then they laid him away in a stately row over by the trees, where many had already entered upon the long, dawnless night. He tossed wearily and babbled of brooks and springs, and then this battered, blood-stained specimen of humanity began a wonderful song in prose about some fair young face which had no more business to be dragged into such a grim scene than a violet in a coal-mine ; after that he wanted a drink of water, and asked for his mother, and then — off into a great, swimming, shadow world of flitting void and airy nothingness. The great scheme had worked beautifully — the university record had been com- pletely wiped out, and incidentally something else seemed to be wiped out too ; — most problems in life have two solutions, and occasionally the wrong one will turn up. On the morning of the second of July three of that band of hopeless cases were still alive, and even gaining. " What t'ell are ye puttin' me with these 217 " The Blind Receive their Sight " dead men for ? " asked one. " Give me a drink of the genewine stufF," said No. 2. The third was the boy, and he talked about ice and Her and Her and ice, and politely requested the surgeon to go climb a tree, which that dignitary strangely decHned to do. • •*..... Now some parts of Lat. 42° N. are pleasant for summer resorts. The home of Brown Senior was fanned by the hotel-keepers' " salubrious breezes." It was just the right altitude above sea-level for the ex-judge's disease with a Greek name, and he straight- way took a cottage for that season. The ex-judge's daughter was everywhere, — upon the old hills, and down in the woody ravines ; she floated in a canoe on the blue lake, and spoiled camera films by the score. But all of a sudden the camera company ceased to receive mutilated pictures and double ex- posures ; all of a sudden she ceased the long twilights out on the unruifled lake ; all of a sudden she stopped reading Kipling, and laughed and cried over a pho- tograph minus the eyes. " So it was n't just admira- tion, and he really did care ever so much, and he was n't just hanging around because he did n't have anything better to do, and so funny that I was so blind, — blind as this picture, and he was blind too." And then she looked over to the far blue hills and the white, sun-streaked river, and saw ever so much farther, — people can occasionally see a long distance when they look that way, — quite consider- ably beyond the bounds of this little world v/ith its girdle of twenty-five thousand miles. And then one day there came a stretcher, and an- other day a girl stood at the door and wanted to see 218 ** The Blind Receive their Sight " the patient. " He may not know you, miss," said the nurse ; " sometimes he *s ofF, for a little time." But she entered. '' Huh ! " exclaimed the invalid. " You come to nurse too ? By the way, you 're about the homeliest I 've seen yet — not a bit like Her J'* "Who's that ? " she asked gently, but trembling. " Who 's she ? " — impatiently. " Why, the one with the eyes taken out by a bullet. I had three in me. So she 's blind — blind, blind, blind. She '11 be blind till some Russian count comes along ; then her eyes '11 open. Why, I did it all for her." " Did what ? " u Why, I would have flunked out at the university, and I knew her father would break off everything then, and I would n't even, get a chance to assassi- nate the Russian count. So I went to the war. Heroic, was n't it ? " " Yes, and you went up the hill ahead of the whole company, after being shot twice," she said, coloring. It seemed like talking to a lunatic, but a lunatic with a glorious record. He smiled. " I was thinking of Her ; thought She was looking on. To tell the truth, if I 'd been in my senses, I 'd have been behind a tree. They 're made for sensible men." " Thought of me^ thought / was looking on," she said dreamily. " Ton ! who said you ? " he exclaimed gruffly, looking hard — and he began to brush cobwebs from his eyes. " I do believe — no — delirium again." " It 's only I," she said. " Only ! Why, I 've been seeing you for a month 219 "The Blind Receive their Sight" back. You 're a phantasm, you know. You must n't talk so clearly ; phantasms don't." She walked quietly up and laid her hand on his hot cheek. " It is n't delirium this time." He pondered, and the world seemed to drift back j or rather he seemed to drift back into the world. " It is n't," he said soberly ; " but it 's worse. You 've heard all I 've said and will go and laugh over it." " — And cry over it." " Why ? " " Oh, because." He looked at her solemnly. " I '11 tell you frankly, since you 've heard all," he said. " My v/hole world has always been within three feet radius of you. You never saw it. But now I 'm only an old, battered hulk, with three bullet-holes, and it '11 be months, even, before I 'm around, and a year before I get back my strength. I surrender ; I 'm out of the race. But you were worth it," looking at her ad- miringly. " And now, I suppose, I must say good- by — forever — forever, of course, considering that I 'm not plucky at all on such things. My little scheme did n't work, you see. I did n't bargain for all this." He was making a gallant effort to tide over the season of embarrassment. " That photograph had her eyes torn out. She was blind ; and you think I 'm blind too," she mused. " Oh, it 's all right. I 'm a mere wreck," he protested, not knowing what she was driving at. Her eyes were on him with that old look of mys- tery. It 's a pretty good thing to be a wreck some- 220 " The Blind Receive their Sight " times. A .276-inch perforation can now and then sweep away a cloud of misunderstanding very quickly, and a mute, inanimate Mauser ball disentangle what is beyond human ingenuity. I imagine the girl looked clear through the eternities that time, as she sank on her knees by the bedside, and, resting one hand on his, whispered to him that secret. And, as she touched her cheek to his, the revelation broke fully, and he laid his other hand on hers, and the sky split, and he saw into the seventh heaven, and into the seventh of the seventh — which is the forty-ninth — and — But, alas ! I understand not such things ; and, praise be to Allah and the Prophet, all love and senti- ment are to me but a sealed book, and my life is far removed from them all, now and evermore. Amen and Amen. 221 At the End AT THE END I WONDER did you understand, Or if you ever knew That all these little halting songs Were made for you ? A message 'cross a world of change, And weary leagues of space From one who might not take your hands. Nor see your face. Would I might meeter service do. And fairer tribute bring — Than these poor faltering waifs of time From love and spring. These records, fashioned here and there Along a winding way ; These dying echoes of a past. Half sad, half gay. All broken music — faint and thin. Ah, might I give instead The lyrics that my heart has sung In words unsaid ! Yet take them, Dear, — for good or ill, To you they all belong. Who are the singing's very soul. Heart of the sono;! 222 HIO 89 \ .-^o^ o • * • A -^ r^^. I o Q Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proc( Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide w ''*#*> 4 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 ' ' ^^^ PreservationTechnologi A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVAT 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 > - s • • %*^^*/ V^^"*o'' \.*^-'\/ °^" % • H ^^c.^' .^^^ 'bV * -ft.' ... ... .. ^ -^^^^ '^0^ i* ^^ .^ r^9^ ^>i-.