Class. 
 
 Book_- 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
We Discover the Old Dominion 
 
IN THE CAPITOL GROUNDS, RICHMOND 
 
We Discover 
 
 The 
 
 Old Dominion 
 
 By Louise Closser Hale 
 
 Drawings by Walter Hale 
 
 New York: Dodd, Mead 
 & Company, Publishers, 1916 
 
^^ 
 
 
 COPTRIQHT, 1916, BY 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS 
 
 Copyright, 1916, bt 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. / 
 
 ©CI.A44540i f 
 
Contents 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I IN WHICH I OUGHT TO TALK ABOUT THE OLD 
 
 DOMINION— AND DON'T 
 
 II IN WHICH WE START IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION, 
 
 BUT EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON DELAY US 9 
 
 III STARTING WITH TOBY BUT ENDING WITH BAT- 
 
 TLEFIELDS 27 
 
 IV I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND, MY MARY- 
 
 LAND AND THE OLD DOMINION AT LAST . 54 
 
 ;V IN WHICH A FINE OLD STORY IS EXPLODED 
 BUT WE OFFER AS GOOD A ONE BY A DEAR 
 OLD LADY 78 
 
 VI TOO MUCH OF ME IN THIS, BUT THE TRUTH 
 ABOUT OUR TOLL-GATE PICTURE. HISTORY 
 TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 98 
 
 VII OFFICER NOONAN ALL OVER THESE PAGES, 
 AN UMBRELLA, THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY, 
 WICKED GYPSIES, AND A SHAMPOO . . .118 
 
 VIII AND HERE WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS, 
 THEN FOLD OUR TENTS AND STEAL INTO 
 MUDDY, MOUNTAINOUS ADVENTURING . .147 
 
 IX ALL ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE, WITH SOME 
 ORDINARY TEARS, THEORIES, AND A WRECK, 
 IF YOU PLEASE 170 
 
 X AND NOW A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS, MEET- 
 ING CHARMING BOYS AND UPSETTING TWO 
 LADIES, WHICH IS NOT AS BAD AS IT SOUNDS 203 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGK 
 
 XI SOMETHING BETTER THAN MY FATHER'S COUSIN 
 LAURA'S STEREOPTICONS, AFTER THAT A BAD 
 ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS— BUT READ 
 ALONG 221 
 
 XII CONTAINING A CHURCH, A DISMAL SWAMP, AND 
 THE SMELL OF THE LOW TIDE WHICH ROLLED 
 IN RELATIONS. ALSO GERMANS! . . . .249 
 
 XIII THE FEMALE NUMBER! WE LEAVE " SWEETIE " 
 
 BUT ACQUIRE WILLIAMSBURG AND A NUMBER 
 OF DATES. ALSO THE STORY OF TIMOROUS 
 MARY CARY 280 
 
 XIV JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! A LITTLE 
 
 QUARREL WITH THE ILLUSTRATOR AND OUR 
 BEST HOMAGE TO A FRENCH SOLDIER . . 302 
 
 XV LISTEN TO THIS: A DAY'S PERFECT MOTORING, 
 BUT THE DAY AFTER THAT— OH, MY WORD, 
 WHAT A ROAD! WASHINGTON FOR THE 
 JOURNEY'S END AND THE GREAT DISCOVERY 326 
 
 XVI THIS IS THE END I PROMISE YOU. IF YOU ARE 
 SORRY I AM GLAD, IF YOU ARE GLAD I AM 
 SORRY— BUT I CAN'T BLAME YOU . . .352 
 
Illustrations 
 
 ,tN THE CAPITOL GROUNDS, RICHMOND . . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 
 ' PAGE 
 
 The cou?iT HOUSE at somerville, new jersey . 6 
 
 ON THE RARITAN AT CLINTON 22 
 
 THE OLD VALLEY INN ON THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY, 
 
 NEAR YORK> PENNSYLVANIA 34 
 
 GULP'S HILL, GETTYSBURG BATTLEFIELD ... 46 
 
 ACROSS MASON AND DIXON'S LINE— CLAIRVAUX, 
 
 NEAR EMMITSBURG, MARYLAND 58 
 
 THE OLD MILL ON CARROLL CREEK, FREDERICK . 72 
 
 THE TOLL HOUSE ON SOUTH MOUNTAIN, MARYLAND 86 
 
 BURNSIDE'S BRIDGE, ANTIETAM 102 
 
 THE POTOMAC AT HARPER'S FERRY 114 
 
 A RELIC OF ANTE-BELLUM DAYS— THE TAYLOR HOTEL 
 
 AT WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA 128 
 
 THE IVY-CLAD TOWER OF TRINITY CHURCH, STAUN- 
 TON 142 
 
 THE HOTEL AT HOT SPRINGS— WIDE-WINGED AND 
 
 WARM IN COLOUR 158 
 
 THE GIANT HOSTELRY AT WHITE SLTLPHUR, DELI- 
 CATELY SHADED IN A WOOD 174 
 
 THE NATURAL BRIDGE 186 
 
 GRANT'S HEADQUARTERS (PRINCE EDWARD HOTEL), 
 
 FARMVILLE 198 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 1:he road to the east through nottoway 
 county, virginia 212 
 
 the edge of the dismal swamp 226 
 
 sea raiders interned— the "prinz eitel fried- 
 rich" and "kronprinz wilhelm" at ports- 
 MOUTH ...... i i i i . ^40 
 
 OLD ST. PAUL'S, NORFOLK 254 
 
 WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS— THE WYTHE HOUSE 
 
 ON PALACE GREEN, WILLIAMSBURG . . . .270 
 
 THE RUINED TOWER AT JAMESTOWN ..... 286 
 
 BRUTON CHURCH, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER STREET, 
 
 WILLIAMSBURG . 298 
 
 LEE'S HEADQUARTERS— SPOTTSYLVANIA COURT HOUSE 312 
 
 THE DESERTED MILL ON OCCOQUAN CREEK, VIRGINIA 322 
 
 THE WHITE HOUSE FROM THE LAWN, WASHINGTON . 336 
 
 MONUMENT STREET, BALTIMORE 354 
 
 THE TOWER OF HOLDER HALL, PRINCETON . . .366 
 
 MAP OF THE ROUTE 1 
 
We Discover the Old Dominion 
 
Map o/^ the Routi 
 "WE DISCOVER 
 
 OLD DOMINIOJf 
 
 
 , Jt*ifirtnk-ii-' 
 
 -/\'S>//oiv<^ 
 
 Jitttel 
 
 If/AtrSii Mais. 
 
WE DISCOVER 
 THE OLD DOMINION 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 In Which I Ought to Talk About the Old 
 Dominion — and Dont 
 
 Will you adventure? Will you take a chance? 
 Will you fare forth and all that sort of thing? 
 It was April and became May — ^that is the time 
 for moving. Something makes you want to move 
 — to root up your household things and be uncom- 
 fortable. I wish we could all move in motors, 
 but if we can't there are always the wagons, tired 
 women on the front seats with the glass lamp in 
 the lap — rocking chairs falling off the rear. But 
 getting somewhere, getting something new, some- 
 thing different. 
 
 I shan't be arbitrary. I don't insist upon your 
 moving. A woman said to me down South — it 
 was down South we went — that there is no pleas- 
 ure to her in a tree putting out its leaves in a 
 city. But I say a tree is a tree, and goes through 
 
ABOUT THE OLD DOMINION— AND 
 
 the same lovely processes in a virgin forest or a 
 backyard. Ergo, if you don't want to go to the 
 Old Dominion yourself, look out upon your back- 
 yard, and when you've nothing better to do read 
 this book — but I beg of you don't buy it, get it at 
 the library. I am so afraid you won't like it, and 
 will wish you hadn't spent the money. 
 
 " Do you think you will repeat? " This was 
 from W . I introduce him as quickly as pos- 
 sible. My mother once said when I took her on 
 her first expensive taxi ride which was planned to 
 please: "We'll do it and have it over with." 
 
 He has got to be in it, but I shall have to treat 
 him with more respect. It is his claim that I have 
 not been sufficiently formal in writing of him, 
 and he has been upheld by this in a number of let- 
 ters that have come to me relative to earlier " dis- 
 coveries." The letters were charming in every 
 other way, but reproachful in their tone as to my 
 treatment of a husband. And, while I believe he 
 wrote them himself, since he feels so keenly about 
 it I shall endeavour to handle him with care. I 
 shall even call him the Illustrator now and then so 
 that you won't think he was the chauffeur. Our 
 chauffeur on this trip, well — later 
 
 " Do you think you will repeat? " he said. And 
 yet he did not say it — ^he wrote it. I was away — 
 I was away for several weeks last season. And I 
 
 -?-2-i- 
 
ABOUT THE OLD DOMINION— AND 
 
 am wondering now if I should not tell you why 
 I left my roof -tree — and the roof -tree of twenty- 
 seven other families. Since I so clearly reveal 
 the Illustrator to you should I not tell The Truth 
 about myself? I don't mind your knowing, but I 
 am afraid you will cry: "Mercy! if she has 
 some other profession than writing she can't be 
 much — " and will not even get me from the 
 library. No, I shall not say yet why I was written 
 
 to by W except that it had nothing to do 
 
 with the residence for divorce. (I really don't see 
 why women get divorces. It is so character build- 
 ing to show just how long one can stick it out.) 
 
 " Do you think you will repeat? " It seems im- 
 possible to get any further than this phrase. It 
 howls in and out of my ears like a cave of the 
 winds. He was hoping very much that I would say 
 I was sure I wouldn't repeat anything I had re- 
 ferred to in our last book of travels. And while I 
 have no doubt but that I will repeat I said of course 
 not — by wire. 
 
 We both wanted to go to the Old Dominion, but 
 for different reasons. As I have admitted, the an- 
 nual desire to move was coming on and as our 
 apartment is quite comfortable it seemed better to 
 transfer my activities to another sphere of useful- 
 ness. As for W he wanted to go as he had 
 
 heard that there were some adventuresome roads 
 
 -e-3-?- 
 
ABOUT THE OLD DOMINION— AND 
 
 down there (adventuresome is polite for bad) and 
 this would give him a chance to get a new car. 
 
 As soon as he received my telegram he began 
 looking about for an automobile. It is much pleas- 
 anter to look about for a new car than, for instance, 
 a new pair of shoes. In the case of shoes you go 
 into a shop, sit an indefinite time meekly asking 
 passing clerks (who continue passing) if they are 
 busy, and when you are waited on get no enjoy- 
 ment out of your prospective purchase beyond tell- 
 ing the man that " it pinches right there." At 
 length when you find a couple seemingly mates 
 (that is, one foot not hurting more than the other) 
 the clerk plants a mirror in your way and says 
 " This is what we are selling." And you catch a 
 glimpse of two mastodons at the lower end of your 
 stockings and you wearily pay a sum for the humili- 
 ating disclosure, saying aloud to yourself all the 
 way home : " I prefer comfort to beauty." 
 
 But when you look for motors, beautiful sleek 
 creatures are driven to your house and a charming 
 young man possessed of enormous enthusiasm, 
 takes you out just for the pleasure of being with 
 you. The Illustrator confused me in his endless 
 driving about, for motoring was not new to him, 
 and there were a number of automobiles he went 
 out in that I was sure he had no thought of buying. 
 It reminded me vaguely of the mourner in the 
 
ABOUT THE OLD DOMINION— AND 
 
 funeral procession who didn't know the corpse but 
 only went for the ride. I did not get at his real rea- 
 son until he innocently revealed it in one of his daily 
 letters (yes, daily) when he concluded, just before 
 love and kisses : " Time for a car to come — Toby 
 feels it and is getting eager. " 
 
 And then I knew, knew that it was all to give 
 Toby a pleasant little airing. It grows very dull 
 for Toby when I go off on these trips of mine. I 
 am the only one in the family who will cheerfully 
 and with enthusiasm abandon all literary efforts or 
 any occupation calculated to improve my mind, to 
 go out in the park with him. He has a terrible way 
 of watching me from the moment I get up in the 
 morning until he has this trip. He is full of hope 
 in the morning, although when night comes and he 
 sees our evening clothes go on he knows there is no 
 use flattening his ears or ingratiatingly beating his 
 tail. He cannot even bring himself to go to the 
 door. It is too much suffering. 
 
 He watches me most keenly about noon, and 
 since he has been with us for some months I under- 
 stand a good deal that he says. At noon it's park 
 or downtown for me — anybody can tell by the 
 shoes. " My goodness, " says Toby, " she's puttin' 
 on her downtown shoes. My goodness, ain't she 
 goin' out in the park? Now I gotta go and stare at 
 Walter. " 
 
ABOUT THE OLD DOMINION— AND 
 
 You notice he says Walter. We hardly knew 
 what to let him call us. It would be ^\Tong to 
 give him the impression that we are his father and 
 mother, for sooner or later some of his companions 
 would tell him that we are not his real parents and 
 that would hurt his feelings. On the other hand 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hale would be too conventional. So 
 as we call him by his first name we thought it only 
 fair that he should call us by ours. 
 
 It was Toby, I imagine, who cast the deciding 
 vote for the type of roadster which took us to — and 
 away from — the Old Dominion. He was very poli- 
 tic on all of his rides. He had caught the lingo 
 from others out on free automobile trips and would 
 remark upon hopping into the car " How smoothly 
 it runs, " or " It takes the hill well " or " I'd like 
 Louise to see this. " So it was nothing that he said, 
 but just the way he sat up in the little curved seat 
 at the back with W and the good looking dem- 
 onstrator in front that clinched the bargain. And 
 more than this as the Illustrator sincerely wrote 
 me : " There will be room for you as well as Toby. " 
 
 I had to be convinced of it. In the distant city 
 I took a woman friend v/ith me to an agency that 
 we might rehearse sitting in this circular seat. She 
 was very touched at being singled out for this hon- 
 our, and I did not tell her I had chosen the widest 
 friend I knew. The agent in the show room would 
 
THE COURT HOUfeE AT 80MERVILLE, NEW JERSEY 
 
ABOUT THE OLD DOMINION— AND 
 
 no doubt have preferred Toby, for my friend, in 
 her zeal, entered the car with her umbrella carried 
 horizontally across her arms. After this we could 
 not greatly enjoy ourselves as we sat in the show 
 window (although quite a number outside the show 
 window enjoyed us) for the concentrated gaze of 
 the salesman upon the umbrella lacerated panels 
 robbed the scene of its festivity. 
 
 " Do you know, " I said to her that night, "there 
 are twenty-seven coats of paint laid on a car to 
 make it that lovely? " 
 
 " Oh, dear! " she sighed, " and I can only get on 
 one " — which incident almost reveals The Truth 
 about me. 
 
 When I came home — [that throbbing getting 
 back to New York. " Same address for the 
 trunks, " asks the property man. " Same ad- 
 dress, " we reply] — the car had been ordered and 
 
 on the big table in W 's workroom lay the white 
 
 rattly paper covered with lines that mean days of 
 joy, broken by circles that offer nights of ease. 
 Roads and towns, good and bad, all a gamble. Sun- 
 shine and rain ahead of us like the Spring itself, 
 with a wonderful thing to be found out — only I 
 didn't know it then. 
 
 I said something like this, making it as unimagi- 
 native as possible so as not to embarrass the Illus- 
 trator who is ever fearful that I may burst into 
 
ABOUT THE OLD DOMINION— AND 
 
 tears when having a good time. Even so he de- 
 tected a tremor in my voice and assumed the su- 
 perior tone that immediately robs me of all emotion. 
 
 " I wonder if you can define the Old Dominion, " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Certainly," I returned, covering my igno- 
 rance by a flippant air. " It is a steamship line." 
 
 I doubt if he knew himself, but he looked so wise 
 that I grew very uneasy about this place we were 
 going to and decided to consult my beloved public 
 library. 
 
 " Gracious," said Toby, following me to my 
 room. " Not home five minutes and puttin' on her 
 downtown shoes. " 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 In Which We Start in the Bight Direction, 
 hut Easter Flowers at Easton Delay Us 
 
 I DID not find out what states comprised the Old 
 Dominion. In the reign of Queen Ehzabeth it was 
 called Virginia, but that meant a great tract of un- 
 explored country of a new world claimed by her 
 because no one was in possession of it except the 
 Indians — who didn't count. However, as time 
 went on it was, to us, not the amount of territory 
 which made the Old Dominion a definite locality 
 but the men and women who peopled it. When it 
 became noised about that we were going South 
 these districts resolved themselves into cordial 
 provinces without state lines, full of the friends of 
 friends whom we must be sure to hunt up and who 
 would " show us a good time. " But I do not think 
 that the Southerners would stop at " showing " a 
 good time. 
 
 This vicarious hospitality was interesting, for no 
 one had urged us to surprise their friends when we 
 went into New England, although some had sug- 
 gested writing ahead to their Yankee acquaintances 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 with the idea of notifying them of our approaching 
 raid, presumably that they might get away in good 
 time. So this glad sureness that strangers would 
 be welcomed at any moment by those living in the 
 Old Dominion was, after all, the best definition of 
 what comprised Queen Elizabeth's Virginia. And 
 in my dictionary, which, like Samuel Johnson's, will 
 be largely swayed by prejudice, I shall say: " The 
 Old Dominion — a locality where a stranger, drop- 
 ping in at meal hours, can eat his head off without 
 occasioning surprise or resentment. " 
 
 The Illustrator was anxious to get away after we 
 had made this deduction, not that we would visit 
 any one, for we couldn't visit and write of people, 
 but it was pleasant feeling that we would be 
 wanted, and he urged me to overcome the natural 
 instinct to create clothes in the Spring and con- 
 centrate on history. I grew very frightened when 
 I heard of the necessity of dates again. I had made 
 a great many mistakes in my last book and my pub- 
 lishers had politely hoped I would be a little more 
 authentic. 
 
 I went gloomily down to a book store and told 
 my troubles to an intelligent young man, who has 
 all the histories of the world tamed, and he said he 
 would send me up a very nice little volume called 
 A Short History of the United States which I 
 could slip into a pocket. I don't know what kind 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 of a pocket he thinks I have. That evening my 
 maid came staggering in with a huge package and 
 I thought I had been given Washington Irving in 
 calf. But it was only the Short History of the 
 United States for my pocket. 
 
 Even so we managed to carry it in a khaki laun- 
 dry bag together with a mass of reading matter sent 
 me by my aunt. My aunt is an F. F. V. and there- 
 fore is not really my aunt but the kind that is a 
 mother's bridesmaid. She had said, in answer to 
 my expostulations, that I really couldn't escape a 
 little history but she would try to limit her offerings 
 to leaflets. As a consequence the S. H. of the U. S. 
 was squashed down firmly on the " Radio-activity 
 of Hot Springs, " " Some Presidents I Know," and 
 "How Washington Makes Us Think of the 
 Church." He did not make me think of the church 
 even after reading it. 
 
 There was another book I should have liked to 
 have taken, found in a long forgotten corner when I 
 was looking for Toby's rubber ball. It was Elsie 
 Dinsmore — ^just one of the series — the others must 
 have gone to the little nieces who were loving Elsie 
 as I loved her. With the elasticity of the Old Do- 
 minion I was, also, going into Elsie Dinsmore's 
 country, going to that region of broad avenues and 
 darkies singing happily and the gleaming " great 
 house." I was going to experience at last what was 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 as common to Elsie as verses in the Bible. Some- 
 thing of resentment came to me that I have had to 
 wait so long for what Elsie knew at birth, and I 
 resolved that I should find on my trip a great house, 
 an avenue, a flower garden, yes, even a black 
 mammy better than had ever come into Elsie's ex- 
 emplary life. With this mighty incentive I packed 
 the baggage. 
 
 We got away earlier than I had thought possible 
 
 but a day later than W wished. I could not 
 
 imagine why he was so keen about starting on the 
 nineteenth of April until I remembered that Paul 
 Revere had taken a little trip himself over a cen- 
 tury ago, and though the resemblance would cease 
 
 there W was anxious to ride " through every 
 
 Middlesex village and farm " on the identical date. 
 
 With this effort in view — rather, behind us — we 
 
 started on the twentieth, W with an ulcerated 
 
 tooth, I with my glasses broken, the new chauffeur 
 with a new cap which blew off, and Toby with the 
 shivers because he was washed for the occasion. 
 Otherwise we were all right. We slipped through 
 the park, going rapidly when there were no officers 
 and slowly as though butter wouldn't melt in our 
 mouths when we espied a bay horse. Toby un- 
 muzzled and leashless hung out and leered at them. 
 The day was pulsing with promises of blossom, 
 equally pulsing was the Illustrator's tooth. 
 
 -J-12 4- 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 I started poetically. " The hyacinths are out! " 
 I cried. 
 
 " Unghuh, " replied the distracted man, glaring 
 at the Zoo. " So are the buffalo. " 
 
 At Fifty-eighth Street we meachingly passed the 
 stern cop who scolds us so often. At Fifty-seventh 
 I sighed for the fine chap who looks like Augustus 
 Thomas, and who is there no longer. Where could 
 he have gone — do policemen die ! At Forty-second 
 Street was the one who used to laugh so much be- 
 fore he was transferred from Broadway to this 
 dread corner. He is controlled now and on his job 
 every minute. A woman of the social world who is 
 as good as she is beautiful passed with her red Chow 
 dog on the front seat. The officers all saluted her. 
 She is so kind to people and to dumb things — so 
 awake to the pain of the world. A little wave of 
 regret lapped at my heart that we were leaving 
 these familiar scenes, but we went on through mean 
 streets toward the Weehawken ferry. Mean 
 streets! Poor old New York, I can say what I 
 please of it and no one will write me a letter in its 
 defense. 
 
 When the ferry backed away from the city as 
 though leaving royalty I was glad I was going. A 
 strip of water is an absolute severing of ties. I 
 was ready, after all, to go at loose ends for a space. 
 Two years ago when we motored up the Hudson 
 
 -i-13-«- 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 for an extended trip the war was upon us, yet we 
 could not believe but that it was for the moment. 
 It was grim but passing, we felt. I do not know 
 how near it will be to the end when this bad scrib- 
 bling is set up nicely in print, but on the twentieth 
 of April I could hear the hoarse voices of the big 
 fellows who sell the five cent extras, and I was glad 
 that for a while I should be separated from news 
 hot from the cable. 
 
 More than that I was not ashamed to be glad. I 
 have found out much since this war began. I have 
 found that to preserve the balance of life happiness 
 must be somewhere. It is as vital to the world as 
 sympathy and generous giving. Generous giving? 
 This, too, had confused me. How had I a right to 
 anything when a man died for lack of bandages? 
 How could any of us buy the lovely things within 
 the shops. I spoke of this to my French milliner — 
 "a little French milliner." I said I could not buy 
 her hats that year. 
 
 " Bien, madame," she replied, " but what will I 
 do? My bills come in from the wholesale houses — 
 I must pay them. My models come from France — 
 it needs the money — I must pay them quickly. 
 Eight of my people are fighting in France, 
 and I must send your money for my hats to 
 them." 
 
 I was delighted when she said this and I bought 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 a very pretty hat. But we agreed that all of us 
 must do with a little less and give the difference 
 away. So I have a small purse and when I want 
 to go on the bus I take the subway and, saving five 
 cents, put it in the purse for the wounded. Again, 
 half the time when I want an ice cream soda I get a 
 drink of water which is quite as satisfactory, put- 
 ting ten cents in the purse " pour les blesses." But 
 half the time I have the " chocolate-ice-cream- 
 please " for what would the soda water man do, who 
 is always a nice fellow in a white coat, if we all left 
 him? 
 
 " This," said W breaking in upon my 
 
 thoughts after we had quitted the ferry house, " is 
 Jersey Heights." 
 
 I groped back in my mind and advanced the be- 
 lief that the Jersey Heights were noted for some- 
 thing. The chauffeur said, quite simply, that he 
 
 had been born there, and W strove for fame 
 
 by confessing that he used to ascend them in our 
 car of twelve years ago, going up backwards for 
 power. However, that was not the event of histori- 
 cal interest which lurks in my mind, but it does not 
 lurk at all in the S. H. of the U. S. I even gave 
 the search a trial at the library, failing miserably 
 for I can never take down a J-K-L volume with- 
 out going on to read of my dear Lincoln, so I really 
 won't know what happened on Jersey Heights 
 
 -«- 15 -»~ 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 (if it was Jersey Heights) till my publishers tell 
 me. 
 
 We went on and on through Jersey, getting it- 
 self ready for Spring. The fountains of the park 
 were being cleaned and in one a collection of stone 
 frogs stuck up on iron rods sent a thrill of satisfac- 
 tion tlu'ough me. To my mind the only good frog 
 is a stone frog. I remember a night spent in the 
 country (" Come out, dear, and have a fine sleep," 
 they telephoned me) when the bull frogs in the lake 
 were plying their suit at the top of their croaks. I 
 remember how my affection for those kind people 
 who had invited me out turned to violent hatred of 
 them before the morn, and how I took the early 
 train back to noisy New York and sank into sleep 
 lulled by the hucksters cry and the sound of the 
 hurdy-gurdy. But to be fair to the bull frogs I 
 don't suppose they care for our love music either. 
 They would probably be bored to death at La Bo- 
 heme — even if the management gave them a box. 
 
 We went by way of Newark and out of it by 
 Clinton Avenue which Mr. Samuel Pepys would 
 probably put down as " the finest avenue that ever 
 I did see." It is largely given over now to cavorting 
 jitneys. They were so varied in their destinations 
 that I am sure one could go to any point if they 
 would only start at Newark. Not that I am against 
 the jitneys. I believe in those of modest means hav- 
 
 -*-16-i- 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 ing a chance to use the most beautiful paths. Noth- 
 ing rouses me to greater ire when I am in London 
 than being refused admittance to the Hyde Park 
 Drive because I do not possess a private vehicle. It 
 is no treat to a rich man to enjoy the green things, 
 and think how cute the little donkey shays would 
 look backing into all the coroneted carriages. 
 
 There is one objection to the jitneys in this local- 
 ity : you have no excuse for not visiting your friends 
 no matter how remote their suburb. " Don't you 
 care a nickel's worth for me?" they ask over the 
 'phone. And being untruthful you have to say that 
 you do. Ah! if you had only replied as did Elsie 
 Dinsmore when she gave up the fair: "I would 
 rather stay at home than be deceitful." 
 
 We met a moving wagon fulfilling the glad mis- 
 sion which I write of so airily and refuse to enter- 
 tain. A sour looking woman with a baby was sit- 
 ting up in front, and on the wagon was a sign which 
 read " Joy Rides at All Hours." She looked at me 
 bitterly and I knew I was having the best of it and 
 felt guilty. I longed to lean out and comfort her 
 with an excerpt from Emerson! " Change is the 
 mask that all continuance wears to keep us children 
 harmlessly amused." But I knew if I did she would 
 throw the baby at me. 
 
 If Elizabeth had a better looking front to her 
 hotel we would have stopped there for lunch. I 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 know I could not run a hotel successfully, but I 
 could deceive enough people each day to keep from 
 liquidation by fresh curtains, clean windows, and a 
 few plants. This is much cheaper than the best 
 meat and active indigestion would not set in until 
 the guests were well off the premises. But the 
 Elizabeth hotel keeper did not make this dishonest 
 effort to attract. Therefore we went on, picking 
 out nice bits of architecture as probable inns and 
 finding them to be engine houses. One was in mis- 
 sion style with a belfry, and a very good style, I 
 should say, for if anything has a mission in life it is 
 the fire department. 
 
 There was something about the stucco and the 
 red clay of the vicinity which brought California to 
 me, and with it a memory of a fire engine house of 
 a very small California town where the exigencies 
 of my profession (the secret) once took me. 
 
 I recall waking up in the middle of the night by 
 loud denunciations on the part of a fireman who, it 
 seems, had kept on sleeping when the call to arms 
 summoned the others and had missed the excite- 
 ment. He was very indignant and said " he was in 
 it as much as anybody and they had a right to call 
 him." The fire chief replied in language which 
 could have caused spontaneous combustion that 
 they had something better than wait for a fireman 
 to attend a fire— that they had their DUTY. 
 
 -?-18-f- 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 "But you might o' waited," the aggrieved 
 one argued, " the fire was out when you got 
 there." 
 
 " Yes," said the chief sternly, " but that wasn't 
 our fault." 
 
 This should be the end to the story, but I am one 
 of those who always want to know what happens 
 after the end. And in case some of you enjoy this 
 unfortunate curiosity also I will say that the chief 
 concluded his speech with a stinging blow on the 
 cheek of the late sleeper. I had heard a good deal 
 of the honour of the West, quick on the trigger and 
 so forth, and I shut my eyes. But nothing hap- 
 pened. The struckee put his hand to his cheek and 
 said politely, " Don't do anything you'll regret, 
 Jake." After which they both took a chew off the 
 same tobacco. 
 
 This has nothing to do with the Old Dominion, I 
 admit it [having been asked by the Illustrator if I 
 could not confine myself within a thousand mile 
 radius] and we will now go back to Plainfield. 
 There we had luncheon. I don't remember what it 
 was — excellent beef stew, I think, seasoned by wails 
 from Toby, who for the first time in his recollection 
 was led away from us and staked down in a very 
 pleasant back yard. Poor little chap ! What ter- 
 ror there must be in a dog's heart when his people 
 leave him. We know, a child knows, that we are to 
 
 -+-19-i- 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 meet again, but a dog knows nothing except that he 
 has been abandoned. 
 
 " I am very glad," says W at this point, 
 
 peeping in upon my typist and me, " that you are 
 admitting at last that Toby is a dog." Good heav- 
 ens ! Don't you feel he is a West Highlander with 
 wiry white hair, two black eyes and a black snout in 
 a white face like a three of spades gone wrong ? 
 
 I went out and fed him the dinner he would not 
 touch while we were away, and I knew I was bind- 
 ing myself to certain slavery when I did it. I knew 
 it was the New Dominion settling down upon 
 me. One could have a master more base than a 
 dog. 
 
 The Greek bell boy, whom we addressed in Ital- 
 ian to his distress, said the road was cut up by mo- 
 tor trucks from a nearby factory. We always find 
 that a hotel is right when they admit the road is bad, 
 but wrong when it is good. Roads to a hotel man 
 are as a poor version of the little girl who had a 
 little curl right down in the middle of her forehead : 
 when they are bad they are very, very bad, and when 
 they are good they are fair. 
 
 He was right about the trucks. Each carried 
 huge stone weights giving them little outings up 
 and down the road to which pleasure they were 
 quite indifferent. How much better if they would 
 carry for their tests: " School No. 11—2,048 lbs.," 
 
 -J- 20-+- 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 for instance, or " 20 Fat Ladies of the Dorcas So- 
 ciety — 6,000 lbs. — with clothes." 
 
 We were just getting into open country when a 
 kind Board of Trade, knowing our ignorance, told 
 us on a large sign: " This is Bound Brook where 
 Washington first unfurled the Stars and Stripes." 
 That emptied us all out of the car, Toby to run in a 
 meadow shouting gratefully " I like this Washing- 
 ton," under the impression that the Commander 
 was a field and the stars and stripes a daisy new to 
 the States. 
 
 I wonder just how greatly the Arms of the 
 Washington family influenced the design of our 
 flag. Some say it was pure coincidence, but it is 
 hard to believe that a device continually used by 
 George Washington (three stars at the top of the 
 shield, horizontal stripes and bars below) did not 
 make some impression upon the Continental Con- 
 gress when this arrangement was decided upon for 
 a national emblem. Yet the design appears to be 
 a gradual development from several others that 
 were used by the various colonies, and it was not 
 until June 14, 1777, that the Continental Congress 
 resolved : " That the flag of the United States be 
 thirteen stripes, alternate red and white, that the 
 union be thirteen stars, white on a blue field, repre- 
 senting a new constellation." 
 
 And so Betsy Ross made it, as we all know, and 
 -J- 21 -J- 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 while the B. B. B. of Trade says that it was first 
 unfurled by Washington at Bound Brook, the 
 Brandywine Board of Trade would probably dis- 
 pute this. Yet Washington must have been fairly 
 well occupied at Brandywine fighting off Howe's 
 superior numbers, and when night came withdraw- 
 ing to Chester, " after burying their 1,000 dead." 
 For in those strange old fashioned times the soldier 
 received a grave. 
 
 At all events we were glad to have the country- 
 side placarded; glad, too, when the various towns 
 extended to us a welcome as we motored on, in- 
 stead of frightening us with Don'ts. It engenders 
 a pleasant feeling of- comradeship, this painted 
 greeting, and who would run fast through a com- 
 rade's domain if he asks you please not to? W 
 
 accepted Somerville's hospitality, making a sketch 
 of a remarkably fine square. I don't know how 
 the man could do it with his face swelling " wis- 
 ibly." And I hope you admire the picture for he 
 made up a conundrum as he worked. " Why is my 
 tooth like this square?" he asked. 
 
 I eased his pain a little by giving it up immedi- 
 ately. " Because it hurts to draw it," was the an- 
 swer. 
 
 Shortly after this came the White House, not as 
 a reward for cleverness, as it is within any man's 
 reach who follows the right road. It has become 
 
 -^ 22-^- 
 

 ON THE RARITAN AT CLINTON" 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 abbreviated through usage to White House, indeed 
 it is now a town, but one can imagine years ago a 
 great house gleaming white which was used as a 
 landmark — so charmingly do names develop. But 
 wouldn't it be droll if New York were called Mc- 
 Kenna's Store! However, I would rather live at 
 McKenna's Store than at Mabel, and that dread- 
 ful appellation is holding down a few shanties out 
 West. Clinton, without the originality of a Broad- 
 way comedian as to name, led us on by its persistent 
 sign posts. You weren't going to be able to escape 
 Clinton, but it sweetly took you along a brooky way 
 with spring calves much further advanced than the 
 flowers, kicking up their heels at us. 
 
 I went into the village store at Clinton and found 
 some originality there in a raspy-voiced woman who 
 was buying Easter plants for " The grave." Her 
 novelty lay in alarming truthfulness, for in answer 
 to the price put upon the flowers by a very gentle 
 old couple she exclaimed " Tain't worth it." And 
 while one may often feel that way about a grave 
 (the grave in this case is a figure of speech — ^Me- 
 tonymy it is called — container for the thing con- 
 tained) I have never heard one admit it so freely. 
 
 " She means the plant," said the gentle old couple 
 — they were quite indissoluble — when I spoke of 
 this, and I thought it was very fine of them to stand 
 up for her against my frivolities. Those who live 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 in small towns must have an endless amount of con- 
 trol. They have got to keep friends with the raspy 
 of voice. There is no escaping them, whereas in a 
 big city we can shut them out of our lives as easily 
 as we turn off a phonograph if the record is un- 
 pleasing. 
 
 " I hope you are getting on," calls the Illustrator 
 at this point. I am really trying to, but it is hard 
 when one has been bottled up in cities for a winter 
 to avoid spending a great deal of time on what may 
 be, to you, an unimportant matter. It seems wanton 
 to pass a pussywillow without giving it a little at- 
 tention, and I am always so sorry to go in and out 
 of a town that has been a century growing with- 
 out throwing it a good word. The creeping in of 
 dusk alone quiets me. It was sunset as we ap- 
 proached the New Jersey line and would shortly 
 cross the Delaware into Pennsylvania. Men were 
 going home from work, and just before we reached 
 Phillipsburg, far up against the skyline we espied 
 a lovely composition for the painter of modern life. 
 It was a hand-car on a railway carrying home its 
 load of human freight. The high embankment, the 
 lonely figures — " What is it? " I asked. 
 
 " The Angelus," W replied, and of course it 
 
 was. 
 
 Across the river lay Easton and we should have 
 gone past it but the Huntington Hotel faced the 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 open square which was commanded by a monument. 
 Around the shaft were thousands of flowering 
 plants on sale for Easter, and the colour was so 
 lovely that we wheeled the car to the door, and I 
 went in — quaking — to register. 
 
 Toby trotted along with me, for I would have no 
 misunderstanding and be turned out in the middle 
 of the night by the watchman. I would not speak 
 of the dog for the clerk might be forced into say- 
 ing they couldn't take him. But he was with me, 
 and I will say this for Toby, while obstreperous of- 
 ten, he never failed to approach a desk in any fash- 
 ion but one of extreme modesty. And he tried very 
 hard to look like a toy Japanese spaniel. 
 
 We dined (I did, the Illustrator had mush) at an 
 open window with a sale of crimson ramblers going 
 on outside. A very large rose bush nodded in on 
 us. Several young men asked the price of it but as 
 it was four dollars their young ladies received, in- 
 stead, a hyacinth or two. The meal would have 
 been unalloyed save that we mistook a certain yip in 
 the cogs of the elevator for a West Highland ter- 
 rier. Yet when I went to our rooms I found him 
 peacefully resting on one of our garments. And 
 we secured quiet from him after that, no matter 
 where we left him, by throwing down a coat to show 
 that we would return. A little dog having but one 
 coat himself believes a mortal equally limited. 
 
 -e-25-J- 
 
EASTER FLOWERS AT EASTON 
 
 The best part of motoring is walking about a 
 strange town before we go to bed. There is mys- 
 tery in the unknown street. A beautiful old church 
 with fine windows lay behind the hotel and beyond 
 that an elaborate mansion, made entirely from silk 
 I understand, and suitable for the Pare Monceau of 
 Paris. Across the way a chemist refused to tell me 
 where to get dog biscuit at night, but said to call in 
 the morning and he would " explicitly direct me." 
 
 W claimed I had made a conquest " and 
 
 worthy of it," but his compliment was but the 
 emanation of a brain numb with the consciousness 
 of pain, I fear. For, on his way to bed, he accosted 
 the steward at the restaurant door. I knew he 
 was asking for Philadelphia scrapple, but the stew- 
 ard evinced alarm, as the tortured man was demand- 
 ing for his breakfast " a little shrapnel." 
 
 26 
 
 i 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Starting with Toby but Ending with Battlefields 
 
 The buds of the tree outside my window had burst 
 their bonds and were looking in at me when I 
 awoke. But it was a lady tree, I think, and as no 
 other was so well advanced I took this as a compli- 
 ment to a stranger. 
 
 Following the fashion of the inquisitive leaves I 
 
 peeped into W 's room and while I found him 
 
 sleeping, his faithful hound was sitting up on the 
 bed looking at me reproachfully. " His tooth is 
 worse," he announced. I stared back. " We've 
 had an awful time," and, as I continued unrespon- 
 sive, " that ice pack you bought late last night — 
 when you wouldn't take me out with you — leaked 
 all over us." Although of a sweet disposition he 
 was making it plain that the ice pack would not 
 have leaked if I had taken him along. 
 
 So the morning turned out to be a busy one. It 
 strikes me that some women would be busy any- 
 where. I have often talked of the day when I 
 would rest, but no doubt I should work harder do- 
 ing that than anything else. At least there is vari- 
 
 -e-27-*- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 ety in my labours. Who would have thought that I 
 should spend Good Friday in Easton, " Pa." heat- 
 ing raisins over a candle and putting them on the 
 Illustrator's tooth? 
 
 This was the result of a visit to the dentist. His 
 
 name was Able and, thus encouraged, W was 
 
 induced to go to him. But no tortoise ever made a 
 slower toilet than did he. Now and then he 
 groaned. I reminded him of the courage of Paul 
 Revere. " ' A cry of defiance and not of fear,' " he 
 explained, following it up with a few set phrases 
 about the ease with which we can bear other peo- 
 ple's pain. 
 
 It is more than a truth. How impossible it is to 
 believe that others are suffering when the sun is 
 shining. Easter flowers are in the square, and you 
 haven't an ache. When I am ill myself I have 
 thought trained nurses a very hard set, but I sup- 
 pose they pretend sympathy as well as healthy crea- 
 tures can. 
 
 At all events the sufferer stuck to his raisins all 
 day while I made little runs about the town and 
 vast discoveries. There is one house in the square 
 with stiff lace certains at the windows which 
 brought to my mind " The Old Wives' Tale." By 
 the side of it was the butcher's, where " A Big Veal 
 Sale " was going on, also " Baby Lamb " — like a 
 fur shop. 
 
 -J- 28-*- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 It was on a Good Friday, a hundred years ago, 
 that I received a baby lamb from an adoring man 
 old enough to know better, who afterwards asked 
 me to marry him. Young girls are more cruel than 
 those battered into decency — don't tell me we grow 
 hardened with the years. I accepted that man when 
 I was sweet sixteen with the base idea of holding on 
 to him until I got a better chance. I am glad to 
 report that he finally sent me a note severing our 
 relations while I was still enjoying his buggy rides. 
 The lamb died, and he went away. It is quite like 
 " The Old Wives' Tale." End of lamb. End of 
 man. End of me ? Not yet. 
 
 I ran back to W to ask if he thought getting 
 
 him had been the punishment for my early wicked- 
 ness. He was sitting by the candle. " Never again 
 put a raisin in a pudding," he replied irrelevantly. 
 " Go to church." 
 
 The bells had been chiming " Rock of Ages," and 
 I went into the fine old church which has an apse — 
 it might be called — redecorated and lighted with a 
 sort of Russian Ballet result. It rendered the cler- 
 gyman in sober black unimportant. It made the 
 service incongruous. I kept wondering if the rev- 
 erend gentleman ever wondered himself if he was 
 being listened to, and then I grew nervous for fear 
 he would point his finger at me crying out, " No, 
 you are not listening." I was relieved to slip away, 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 and I thought the flowers in the streets with every- 
 one buying them for gifts to others quite as beauti- 
 ful a form of religious expression. Even the chem- 
 ist who gave me back my money for the ice pack 
 was making a little service all his own. I went back 
 feeling that everything was all right. And sure 
 enough it was, for the able one relieved the tooth, 
 and as soon as I could drag the astonished terrier 
 into the car we were on the way. " My goodness," 
 said Toby, " ain't this our new house? " 
 
 One thing more happened at Easton which I 
 am obliged to chronicle, although the " suspense " 
 is over when you know The Truth. It was all from 
 that fearful attribute hotel men have of remember- 
 ing people. " I don't associate you with a ma- 
 chine," he said as I paid the bill, " I keep thinking 
 of — of the theatre." And so the murder is out. 
 He remembered the snow storm, and the try-out 
 of a new play; the all night dress rehearsal, and 
 the five o'clock coffee which he had ready for 
 us when we dragged ourselves home through the 
 drifts. For a hotel is home to a player even for a 
 night. 
 
 I would not speak of this other work as I do not 
 need an engagement for next year so am making 
 no appeal to you. But I find myself strongly linked 
 with it as I travel through the country en auto. 
 There is no similarity. It is by contrast that we 
 
 -f-30-i- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 get true values. Conditions are better in hotels than 
 they once were for the stroller, but there is still a 
 vast difference between the attention paid a woman 
 who clambers down from a hotel bus and asks for a 
 rate, and the one who descends from a motor lead- 
 ing a dog. 
 
 And so — looking every man in the face — to the 
 land of the Mennonites and the Dunkards. But 
 there is ugly country before we get to the rich farm 
 region of these sober people. There is, par ex- 
 ample, the town of Nazareth. We thought Naz- 
 areth from afar was Bethlehem, so bare was the 
 landscape. But we found this to be only the shrink- 
 ing of the herbage from the dust of the huge ce- 
 ment works that keep the town prosperous. I sup- 
 pose the citizens have to enjoy themselves no matter 
 what is the unhappy name of their city, but a Naz- 
 areth road house — really, that is a little too much. 
 I should rather stay in a town named Mabel with 
 nothing but Mabel to live up to. 
 
 We jogged over a bad cement road which spoke 
 poorly of their industry, and came to Bethlehem. I 
 was prepared for something ugly but stupendous. 
 I found something ugly — and mean. This was 
 hardly the fault of the town of gentle name. The 
 engines of war are not found in their making along 
 our route. Indeed, we saw nothing but a knitting 
 works, and that is hardly one's idea of that grim 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 commodity which by a glance at the evening paper 
 wrecks a speculator for life. 
 
 It was the chauffeur — he observes almost every- 
 thing along the road except the ruts — who re- 
 marked that the streets were empty. They were 
 and I can't imagine any pleasure in staying out to 
 look at them. When we did attract a young man, 
 holding his attention by nearly running over him, 
 he was too indignant with fear and alcohol to give 
 
 us any information. He had what W called 
 
 " a hot cross bun," a possession you cannot eat, lose, 
 destroy, or give away, and a poor investment for 
 any young man's money. 
 
 Love led our feet out of Bethlehem. We made 
 the right turn for Allentown passing a piece of land 
 which a large sign urged us to " Overlook for a 
 Home," an unnecessary warning, and we bumped 
 our way on. Many passed us bumping along more 
 happily than were we, and leaving a cloud of dust 
 behind. [Query: Why does every one leave more 
 dust than we do?] I am sure people who motor 
 over these roads and know no others must think 
 rattling about is a part of travelling. 
 
 This is like a young lumberman who, many years 
 ago, took a phonographic French course. He had 
 never heard a phonograph and he had never heard 
 French and he came out of the woods at the end 
 of the Winter speaking the language with an accent 
 
 -j-32-f- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 which he took to be French but was in reality 
 phonograph. 
 
 One can have all patience with bad roads in poor 
 localities, but in Bethlehem, indeed, out of it and 
 through the rich farming country of the Pennsyl- 
 vania Dutch which lay ahead of us — well — even El- 
 sie Dinsmore could not have been so racked with- 
 out a protest. 
 
 Up a lovely old street to the Allentown Hotel, 
 out of it quickly, restrained from refreshment by a 
 " Bar Closes on Good Friday from 6 to 8." No 
 one seemed to know why these two hours were 
 chosen. It must be for the reason that one thou- 
 sand, nine hundred and sixteen years ago at this 
 time darkness fell upon the land. 
 
 Darkness came upon us quickly, great storm 
 clouds rolled up from our direction. One could 
 look far out over the countryside when the light- 
 ning rent the clouds. Women scurried along the 
 roadside flowers in their arms. To feel the awe of 
 Holy Week one must travel through a wide coun- 
 try. Even in a city we know only our own narrow 
 circle to be awake to the significance of the hour, 
 but on and on and on as we went was the same 
 flood of feeling. 
 
 The rain descended nor would we have had the 
 night different, though we made our way slowly. 
 At Kutzville we asked at an old stone inn if they 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 could give us something for supper. It was past 
 the hour but they accommodated us. And while 
 the food offered had little to recommend it, the 
 motorist in America is so pleased to find the oblig- 
 ing spirit that we had only gratitude for the effort. 
 
 We went on through the rain and blackness. I 
 
 was snug within. W had been frightened by 
 
 the coming storm into rushing up the top before I 
 was even wet. The last service of the week was 
 over. The Passion was at an end. Women were 
 coming out of the country churches along the way, 
 the wind beating their wet garments about them. 
 Our lights shone in their faces. One woman we 
 came upon suddenly — her head was uncovered, her 
 white face and brilliant eyes made a quick picture 
 upon my brain. She was smiling mysteriously, she 
 was exalted with the enormity of the hour. She was 
 enjoying the reliving of the Passion. 
 
 Strange thoughts came to me. Did " Mary the 
 wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene " and 
 jNIary the Virgin find, besides their sorrow, an 
 exquisite emotional stimulus in the death of the 
 Good Man they all knew? This would not be 
 wrong to me. It would not be dreadful to feel that 
 religion could fill every corner of a woman's lonely 
 heart. 
 
 Out of the night rose a great munition factory, 
 furnaces glowing like the pit. And again I asked 
 
^ — \ 
 
 
 THE OLD VALLEY INX ON THE LIXCOLN HIGHWAY 
 NEAR YORK, PENNSYLVANIA 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 myself if this was the only way — this killing — to 
 preserve a nation's honour. Yet in spite of the 
 precepts of Him who had — it seemed — but this day 
 died I now feel that it is. 
 
 On the outskirts of Reading a big motor full of 
 pretty girls dressed for a party offered to go out of 
 their way to lead us to the new hotel. I thought it 
 was very decent of them with their hair coming out 
 of curl every minute to make this detour — decent, 
 yes, and religious. 
 
 " My goodness," said Toby, walking into marble 
 halls. " Have we got another house? " 
 
 There are many things about the Berkshire 
 Hotel to recommend it, but I was most touched by 
 the card on my desk. It was a pleasant word of 
 welcome. It did not tell you of the things you must 
 not do as in the old days. You were not warned 
 that food carried from the table would be charged 
 extra or that you must receive company in the par- 
 lour. And stealing of towels was left to the good 
 taste of the guest. Lacking prohibition of any sort 
 we behaved ourselves extraordinarily well, and the 
 only act I committed which could be questioned 
 was the carrying off of the card itself. For which 
 I hope The Berkshire will forgive me. 
 
 I believe we are all growing honester as hotels are 
 growing more courteous. The housekeepers in the 
 linen room and the Pullman porters say that theft 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 is lessening each year, and it must be that we are 
 developing a sense of public service — which is but 
 the Golden Rule organised, enfranchised, with up 
 and down town offices. 
 
 I found myself very tremulous the next morning 
 for we should be on the threshold of the Old Do- 
 minion by nightfall and almost ready to begin this 
 book. " Start the first chapter with INIaryland and 
 Virginia," my publishers had advised me, so I said 
 I would. But you might as well want your son to 
 be born at twelve years of age. This, I believe, is 
 impossible, although to judge by the birth column 
 one would think it apt to happen. " Mrs. John Ed- 
 wards is the mother of a baby girl," the papers 
 solemnly announce, as though Mrs. John Edwards 
 might have brought into the world a young woman 
 almost ready for the altar. 
 
 It looked at one time as though Toby and I 
 would not leave Reading at all. While they were 
 putting on the luggage we ran in and out of a num- 
 ber of charming streets, lined with old brick houses 
 with the clean scrubbed stone steps that Reading's 
 big sister, Philadelphia, has always advocated. 
 Here and there was a wide gallery at the back of 
 the house which gave more promise of the Old Do- 
 minion than I am doing. We ran until we were lost 
 and didn't remember the name of the hotel, and 
 were ashamed to ask. 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 It was amusing in a way. What if we never 
 found our way back and would have to begin life 
 all over again ? I suppose that has entered the mind 
 of every woman, but not many have the courage 
 of one I knew. She was driving in an open Vic- 
 toria in the crowded streets of Paris, and her hus- 
 band who had been fairly cross with her for some 
 twenty years was cross a little bit more. There was 
 a block and his attention was held to his side of the 
 way, so she stepped out on her side and he never got 
 a trace of her again. How funny he must have felt 
 when he looked around to find her gone. " Did you 
 see my wife? " he would have to say to the cocher. 
 
 W was asking that as we came back, but not 
 
 feeling at all uneasy about me, although I have told 
 him the storj^ a number of times. His first words 
 were " I was worried about the dog." But he was 
 no more worried than Toby as he left his handsome 
 new home. He looked at me questioningly out of 
 his three of spades face. Why were we running 
 away all the time! " It ain't debts, is it, Louise? " 
 
 The Reading Automobile Club has put up a 
 novel sign telling the motorist when he has reached 
 the city limits and can speed up. It does more — it 
 points the road to Lancaster and, admitting it is the 
 State Highwaj^ leaves it up to the state to apolo- 
 gise. We had already grown nervous when a road 
 is called a pike, and I am sure judging by its usual 
 
 ,-+• 37 -i- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 poor condition that the term " piker " comes 
 directly from it. 
 
 We were immediately among the farms of the 
 Mennonites and the Dunkards. I took them to be 
 Shakers at first from their black bonnets, and I was 
 troubled to see the scandalous fashion that the 
 women were driving about with the men. But 
 these first sects marry, for the Dunkards are sim- 
 ply German Baptists, and the Mennonites a relig- 
 ious order of Protestant Dutch and German who, 
 persecuted in Catholic countries, were invited here 
 by the astute William Penn. They are generally 
 admitted as the best citizens any state ever had, and 
 that may be so, but they are certainly the worst road 
 menders. I doubt if they care for anything beyond 
 their church service and the limits of their farms, 
 and they must be having a very uncomfortable time 
 of it now for they are opposed to all war, oaths, and 
 law suits. 
 
 W got out to make a sketch of one of their 
 
 huge barns, a barn which should not have been per- 
 petuated as it was the only dirty one on the day's 
 run and was a failure as a picture. A very kindly 
 Protestant cat tried to make friends with Toby who 
 chased her about as though he were a Catholic. In 
 turn he was routed by a litter of the smallest pigs I 
 have ever seen. To our reproaches he replied that 
 Satan was within them, and I knew then why he 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 had sat up so late reading the Bible which was 
 " Placed in This Room by the Gideons." Toby is 
 like the old darky : he can read readin' but he can't 
 read writin'. 
 
 It was a very merry farmyard with white leg- 
 horns flying clear over the barn which a young man, 
 clipping a horse, said was nothing at all. I became 
 as friendly as I can with any one who takes four 
 minutes to answer a question. We discussed hens, 
 I assuming an enormous knowledge. He said they 
 didn't hatch out chickens any more, they bought 
 them, and I said we bought ours too. 
 
 " I don't see," said the Illustrator, his eraser in 
 his mouth, *' how you can be so dishonest." 
 
 " Don't we buy all our chickens," I replied to 
 him. " Do we hatch them on the fire escape? " 
 
 " Dishonest," he hissed back. You can hiss dis- 
 honest even better with an eraser in your mouth. 
 
 One thing I did not ask the young man because 
 it would take four minutes for him to say he didn't 
 understand, four more for him to ask " What 
 doors?" and four more for the reply "I didn't 
 notice it yet." 
 
 I had found that the response to my query all 
 along the way was " I didn't notice it yet." My 
 question was simple enough. I wanted to know 
 why all the great stone houses on the farms or those 
 in the neat little towns have two front doors. They 
 
 -^39^- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 have, and they lead into the same house — for I 
 looked. They have been that way for a century or 
 more, and new ones are going up in the same fash- 
 ion. There was less inclination to talk of this in the 
 towns, gleaming with fresh paint, that ran along 
 one street like a Dutch village edging a canal. The 
 road very truly stood for the canal. Ephrata which 
 called attention to itself miles in advance gave me 
 nothing to hug to my heart save the name of a piano 
 tuner: " I. List," and a hotel which was called The 
 Cocalico. Think of a stranger with a " hot cross 
 bun " trying to get back to The Cocalico. To be 
 
 sure there was a pig market in Ephrata, but W 
 
 said he would not stop and have me pretend to raise 
 pigs. I explained to him as gently as would El- 
 sie that I had to get at the people. 
 
 " You can never get at these people. They've 
 moved out here to keep you from getting at them. 
 They keep their roads this way to discourage you." 
 
 I felt, too, that it was futile, but I was permitted 
 to stop at a lovely old tavern in a little place called 
 Oregon where a village idler sat on the veranda, 
 and village idlers are reputed for their loquacity. 
 With one eye on the Illustrator I whispered to the 
 man that my people came from this locality. 
 
 "Did?" 
 
 Yes, then they went to Indiana. 
 • " Did? " 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 But they always talked of Pennsylvania. 
 
 "Did?" 
 
 Yet I could feel an idea working somewhere 
 within his head. And I waited, and at last the 
 thought was clothed in language and could go out 
 into the world. 
 
 " Why for did they go already? " 
 
 I said they went to raise extensive vocabularies. 
 They grew very well in Indiana. It was the home 
 of them. I sold mine to the New York markets. 
 
 "Did?" 
 
 The new Brunswick Hotel in Lancaster soothed 
 me a little as it had only one large door. This had 
 that revolving arrangement in it to keep out 
 draughts. (Amazing that I don't know what this 
 type of door is called !) Toby got in one of the sec- 
 tions by himself and we had to revolve him around 
 a number of times like a squirrel in a cage before 
 he would empty himself out. It created a good 
 deal of amusement on the part of the guests of the 
 
 hotel, and as we sat down to luncheon W asked 
 
 if I didn't notice that we were always attracting at- 
 tention. Don't tell me that women are conven- 
 tional. Every man, I believe, comes into the world 
 with a book of etiquette in his hand. 
 
 Through being watched carefully by him, I was 
 not able to ask the waiters why there were two 
 doors to the houses, so I managed it only once in 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 Lancaster. The question was put to a young lady 
 of whom I bought hair-nets at the jewehy counter 
 of a shop. I explained that I was from New 
 York, where we had but one front door for a 
 great many families, and I thought it rather un- 
 fair that one family should have more than its 
 share. She didn't know, but she was neither a Dun- 
 kard nor a INIennonite, and she rather intelligently 
 said " It must be for some reason, as they had a pur- 
 pose for everything." 
 
 She looked at me wistfully as I waited for my 
 change. 
 
 "New York!" she mused. "You must find 
 it very quiet here after so much excitement." I 
 tried to explain to her as the bill swept along a 
 copper wire to come back considerably reduced (so 
 has the war raised the price of hair-nets) that the 
 people I knew in New York formed such a little 
 circle that we were almost like a country town. 
 " But there must be so many calls to make," she 
 persisted. 
 
 I had forgotten that I had ever made calls. 
 Among my heathen friends there is an understand- 
 ing that we dine and go to dances but we do not 
 call upon the hostess afterward. How well I re- 
 member when I was a young girl going out on hot 
 afternoons with my pasteboards in a little case, and 
 how long I would have to wait in the parlours while 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 the unfortunate wretches dressed themselves. No 
 one would say they were not at home in Indiana. 
 Now I respond over the telephone to the boy down- 
 stairs who has announced some intrepid acquaint- 
 ance that I have just stepped out, and he delivers 
 my message without the turn of a hair — or a wool. 
 
 Once I went to Africa fortified by a single visit- 
 ing card which was to tell Arabs where to send my 
 purse if they found it. But in the course of events 
 a dancing girl asked to write her address for me 
 that I might come to see her house. I offered her 
 my card on which she scribbled her name in Arabic 
 which was of small use to me. But I tucked it 
 away, and a few weeks after that, in Rome, I was 
 granted an audience with the Holy Father. I ar- 
 rived at the Vatican looking very unhappy in a 
 black gown borrowed from a small thin lady's maid 
 and a black veil over my head which I was forced 
 to buy. At the last moment, just as I was about 
 to be ushered into the presence of that kindly white- 
 robed figure, one of the magnificent gentlemen up- 
 holstered in red tapestry demanded my card — ^my 
 only card. So the Pope has the address of the poor 
 little dancing girl — about the last creature in the 
 world who would have a chance to see — or care to 
 see — her lazy twirling about. 
 
 I forgot to say, but must in all honour, that a 
 fine road led from Oregon into Lancaster. After 
 
 -e-43-f- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 Lancaster there was a something that was better 
 even than a fine road — although it was quite excel- 
 lent — something that was painted every five hun- 
 dred yards on telegraph poles. It gave me a great 
 thrill at the first sight of it, and kept me palpitating 
 for a long while. It was the insignia of the Lin- 
 coln Highway: A band of red at the top, a broad 
 area of white below with a big blue L on the sur- 
 face, and another strip of blue at the bottom. At 
 one turn was a sign post, just as calm as you please: 
 " New York 172 miles — San Francisco 3,217 miles." 
 
 We kept thinking how proud Lincoln would be 
 of this road even if it did not bear his name. It is 
 fitting that it should be his. As a boy he knew the 
 untrod ways of the actual wilderness. Grown to 
 manhood he made a path through tracts of mental 
 desolation, created beautiful spiritual clearings, and 
 sowed with infinite wisdom the seeds of a great 
 State. For him the labour of the pioneer, for us the 
 harvest — and the long blazed trail across a country 
 for which he gave his life. 
 
 We were to leave this Lincoln Highway at Get- 
 tysburg, but we were happy that it was to lead us 
 
 to the mighty battlefield. W besought me to 
 
 keep watch for the repeated emblem in the hope 
 that I would not see the two doors in front, and 
 flounce about. " Try not to see them," he urged. 
 
 " Am I not to enlighten the public," I demanded, 
 _j. 44 4_ 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 " and isn't it awful to be vanquished by an extra 
 door?" 
 
 " I suppose," he hazarded, " they are like Sir 
 Isaac Newton's doors — one for the big cat and one 
 for the little one." 
 
 The chauffeur who had the soothing manner that 
 is very irritating, suggested that I close my eyes. I 
 did this, but he kept looking around at me — with 
 that too large interest he had in the world — and we 
 very nearly hung a string of mules on the radiator. 
 We did turn out in time, but the muleteer was most 
 ungrateful. 
 
 " Why don't you give me the road? " he roared. 
 
 W roared back that we had given it to him. 
 
 " Yes, but only half of it," grunted the greedy 
 man. 
 
 I kept my eyes open after that, for I may not be 
 much use in a car but I have always noticed that 
 something happens if I don't watch, and I should 
 most certainly have missed a delightful stone house 
 of 1697. It had hung out, on a fine new shingle, 
 the name of Valley Inn nicely flanked by pine trees, 
 with further announcements on an oak tree that 
 chicken dinners would be served. A gentleman in 
 the back yard was calling the chickens. You could 
 see that he was new to the business by the affection 
 he was showing them. No one can possibly like 
 chickens who has spent much time in their com- 
 
 -f- 45-f- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 pany. A very pretty daughter came out to greet 
 us, and corroborated this inference by saying that 
 they had just taken the inn, having come out from 
 the city. With metropoHtan vanity I thought she 
 meant New York of course, but it was York, which 
 lay a httle way ahead. 
 
 She was a very attractive girl, and made the Il- 
 lustrator wish he painted portraits of nice eyes and 
 noses and mouths instead of forever presenting 
 hard stone surfaces which increase in value as they 
 grow older and older. Since I am not a young girl 
 — not exactly — it is rather agreeable to dwell upon 
 the advantage of being an admired old stone house. 
 How nice if the world would say of a woman: 
 " Isn't she charming — she's over two hundred years 
 old," or " How beautifully she shows her age — look 
 at the cracks in her face." I suppose I should say 
 " her fa9ade," speaking architecturally. 
 
 If wrinkles were a " consummation devoutly to 
 be wished for " my bag of bottles would be much 
 less troublesome. I should like to write about these 
 various unguents that I acquired before leaving, 
 and explain how I am supposed to smatter ( I think 
 they call the process smattering) my face every 
 night. The beauty expert told me I should have 
 plenty of time while motoring, so it has a place as 
 part of an automobile tour, and while I dare not 
 now I hope to slip the process into a chapter some 
 
■> 
 
 
 !a"~ 
 
 
 y 
 
 
 •>•*. 
 
 ^ V 
 
 GULP'S HILL, GETTYSBURG BATTLEFIELD 
 
i 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 day when the Illustrator has gone to the ball 
 game. 
 
 I particularly want to talk about it here to make 
 you forget that I haven t told you why the English 
 settlers gave these towns — York and Lancaster — 
 the names of the two great houses of the Red and 
 White Rose. The settlers were funny. They came 
 over here to escape the persecution of their own 
 country, and they immediately named their new 
 towns after the old ones, and began persecuting on 
 their own hook. 
 
 In York I asked a small boy, who was trying to 
 sell me a two days' old Philadelphia paper with his 
 thumb over the date, if York and Lancaster were 
 still fighting, and he sneered "Lancaster — huh!" 
 So I infer some sort of rivalry is still going on if 
 war is only waged in print. The Susquehanna 
 River flows between the two cities with a bridge 
 over it a mile long, and I know nothing more cool- 
 ing to hot blood than a body of water. Then, too, 
 they always charge twenty-six cents to cross the 
 bridge, and you have to hate a man pretty hard 
 these days to pay twenty-six cents to go over and 
 fight him. 
 
 Visitors from the East who go to Gettysburg and 
 return, generally stay in York over night or motor 
 on to the new hotel in Lancaster. But we were to 
 make a circular tour with as little retracing as pos- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 sible, and country inns were to be our portion along 
 with the fireproof caravansaries. So on we went 
 to Gettysburg. 
 
 It became a way of toll gates which the motor- 
 ist never decries as it means good roads, except for 
 the bother of having to stop. Some very nice girls 
 wearing white Dunkard indoor caps, took our mite 
 
 occasionally. Poor W always paid the toll 
 
 very quickly, although he would have enjoyed talk- 
 ing to them, as he feared I should ask about the 
 doors. I did not want to ask young ladies about 
 doors, but I was mad to find out, without asking, if 
 these girls ever longed for the gay flower-encrusted 
 hats that many of their companions wore. I can't 
 say I found any longing in their eyes, just as I have 
 never seen in a nun's face anything but supreme 
 content. 
 
 I did speak to one boy, who took our money, 
 about this annoyance of stopping when you live in 
 the vicinity and must pass over the road every day. 
 He had deep wrinkles in his forehead either from 
 thinking hard or trying hard to think. I asked 
 him if the authorities did not arrange some way for 
 the constant passerby to pay by the year and flash a 
 ticket without going into neutral. He was very 
 positive about it. He said that such an arrange- 
 ment could not be made. At that a car rushed by, 
 the driver swiftly displaying a coloured card. I was 
 
 -e-48-i- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 severe with the boy — I said he was deceiving 
 me. 
 
 " No," said the wrinkled youth, " they pay by the 
 month." 
 
 Little chills of excitement began creeping over 
 us as we neared Gettysburg. I was surprised to ex- 
 perience this as historical events, even of our great 
 battles, have never stirred me as do dramatic inci- 
 dents of my own day. No doubt it is our present 
 close relationship to war that gives us a rich appre- 
 ciation of our own belligerent times. Now that 
 our trip is over and I can look back upon it, I still 
 feel the sensation of pride that was, till then, new 
 to me ; and I hope that you will all go to these bat- 
 tlefields of our fathers while you are quick with 
 the anguish of bleeding nations. I would not have 
 thought there could be so much emotion in a field 
 of grain with a shaft of granite by the roadside. 
 
 Our sensitiveness to the proximity of Gettysburg 
 was not, however, great enough to carry us there 
 direct. We mistook New Oxford for the little 
 town of German name and were only dissuaded 
 from disembarking our cargo by an honest hotel 
 keeper. A little later the trunk, the dressing case 
 of bottles (for smattering the wrinkles) the hat 
 box, the khaki book-case, and the dog biscuits were 
 being gallumped upstairs — gallumped is the only 
 word for it — ^to very nice rooms with a bath that 
 
 r-J- 49 -J- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 looked out upon the square. Before any one cor- 
 rects me, the bath looks out upon the square and 
 so do the rooms. 
 
 The Illustrator came up after all the work was 
 done to say he had been very busy engaging a guide 
 for the next morning. I asked him what he had to 
 do to find this man, and it seemed that the gentle- 
 man had asked him before he got out of the car if 
 he wanted a guide and he said that he did. This 
 completed the operation, proving the despatch with 
 which a man can dispose of important matters. I 
 suppose getting a guide is really the first thing you 
 do in Gettysburg. The clerk in the office congratu- 
 lated us, and said it was wonderful our picking the 
 best man in town. That he lived in the hotel, had 
 nothing to do with it, and since it turned out very 
 well, I am sure that he was the best. 
 
 Following the engaging of Mr. Sneed — that was 
 his name the Illustrator said — he and Toby went 
 out for a walk, the latter very martial and growl- 
 ing all along the way. W purchased largely, 
 
 sending home his small parcels after the elegant air 
 of a man who will not carry a collar. But it was 
 very pleasant to hear the little white bell boy pre- 
 sent his packages with an invariable formula: 
 " Missus, Mister sent you this." One was a pine- 
 apple for my sore throat, and another, to my alarm, 
 was an extra history. I regretted this as the S. H. 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 of the U. S. had sufficiently confused me already 
 with Earlys, and Ewells, and Hills — both of earth 
 and men. With a guide full of information, too, I 
 knew I should never make head or tail of the great 
 three-day fight. 
 
 The lights were twinkling in the square before 
 
 we went down to supper, and W came in as 
 
 I was enjoying the gentle scene. He pointed to a 
 building, quite near us, wonderfully near, and 
 asked me if I knew who had slept in one of those 
 upper chambers that were now dimly lighted. I 
 was so afraid that it wasn't going to turn out to be 
 Lincoln that I couldn't find any voice to ask, and 
 as I couldn't have used my voice had it been where 
 Lincoln slept the night before he made the Gettys- 
 burg speech, I kept silent. The Illustrator, seeing 
 my distress, became not certain that it was the 
 Wills house, and suggested that we ask in the din- 
 ing room. 
 
 We went down. How stupidity takes the lump 
 out of one's throat! We were late, and had most 
 of the young men and women attendants to our- 
 selves. The girls wore high white kid boots but 
 not one of them knew of the famous house in their 
 own square which had sheltered our " Brave 
 Martyred Chief." They had not heard that it 
 was the house of David Wills, who had first urged 
 that Gettysburg be made a national cemetery. I 
 
 -i- 51-i- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 didn't expect any one to know it who lived as far 
 away as New Oxford. I wasn't so sure of it myself 
 before I bought the S. H. of the U. S., but these 
 people make their living out of such home-made 
 facts. 
 
 One young waiter did offer a decent enough ex- 
 cuse — he said he came from Dalmatia. Tliis inter- 
 ested the Illustrator who has always wanted to take 
 me there, and the respect he feels for the traveller 
 came into his eyes. He remarked that it was a long 
 way off. 
 
 " Thirty-seven miles," assented the wanderer. 
 
 " I meant the Dalmatia of Europe," said W 
 
 very coldly, not looking at me. 
 
 The young man gathered up my stewed cherries. 
 " I heard there was another one." 
 
 I stood outside of the Wills house that evening 
 and watched the soda-water fountain installed on 
 the ground floor do a good " Easter-egg-sundae " 
 business. The upper room is shown to visitors, but 
 with a sore throat one is apt to be a little too emo- 
 tional so I didn't go up. I wasn't annoyed with 
 the waitresses in high kid boots any more. How 
 Lincoln would have enjoyed that story on himself. 
 
 " I must joke," he said to some of those about the 
 Executive Mansion who in their supreme conceit 
 remonstrated with him. " If I don't I shall go 
 mad." 
 
 -j-52-«- 
 
ENDING WITH BATTLEFIELDS 
 
 When we were back in our rooms W read 
 
 the speech aloud while I sipped the pineapple juice 
 and looked over to the Wills house. It is thought 
 in the hour after he left the breakfast table, before 
 rejoining his friends, he may have put those im- 
 mortal lines into final form. But it makes one very 
 happy to be told by those who have studied the sub- 
 ject that he was probably a long time arranging 
 in his orderly and rhythmical mind his almost exact 
 text. It is right that it should be this way — that a 
 great masterpiece should be turned out with the 
 care that is given every work from the shop of an 
 artist. Literature would be a cheap thing if it were 
 easy. 
 
 53 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 I Sing of Arms — Then Maryland, My Maryland 
 and the Old Dominion at Last 
 
 The three days' battling at Gettysburg is a very 
 involved piece of mathematics, but it is no more 
 intricate to work out than the blending of a full 
 cup of coffee and a full cup of milk when there is 
 no third cup at hand. 
 
 I went down to breakfast intent upon the 
 strategy of war and saying to myself, " Buford be- 
 gan it and don't forget he was a Yankee." I 
 thought if I could start right with the Generals I 
 would not be surprised when I found that the 
 North won the three days' struggle. 
 
 The coffee order put everything out of my mind. 
 We take hot milk in our coffee in spite of the ef- 
 forts of the American kitchens to force us into us- 
 ing only cream. 
 
 " You want milk? " the waitress repeats after I 
 have explained it all to her. 
 
 " Yes, hot milk." 
 
 "Hot?" 
 
 " Please. I want to mix them together." 
 
 I 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 " Half and half," going toward the kitchen. 
 
 Then she returns, as I have said, with a full cup 
 of black coffee and a full cup of hot milk. I sup- 
 pose there is some way that a juggler could throw 
 the contents of both cups into the air, and catch 
 half of each ingredient in the two cups as the flood 
 descends. But I have never been good at tricks, 
 and would probably become conscious in a public 
 dining room with coffee and milk flying around in 
 the air and all the guests getting under the tables. 
 So I ask for a third cup, an empty one, and while 
 she looks at me as though I had an unhappy passion 
 for the collecting of stone china, the order is filled. 
 
 W had breakfasted upstairs under the pre- 
 tence that he would feed Toby his wheat cakes, but 
 really that he might concentrate on the topogi-aphi- 
 cal map of Gettysburg. When I entered he had a 
 huge one spread over the counterpane and he was 
 crying aloud : " Here is the hotel, and here am I 
 facing Chambersburg Pike." 
 
 I laughed then, but I have been more sympa- 
 thetic within the last three hours. Immediately 
 after breakfast today I announced violently that I 
 was going to consult the maps and write of Gettys- 
 burg, and no one was to ask me " What's for din- 
 ner? " Since then I have called in to the Illustrator 
 a number of times, the last announcement to the ef- 
 fect that I can't get the thing straight unless I ob- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 serve the map while standing on my head. He said 
 if I would lie on the floor and hold the map horizon- 
 tally above me I would arrive at the same result and 
 not attract so much attention if any one dropped in. 
 You see, he is always afraid of causing talk. 
 
 Packing patient Mr. Sneed in with us we drove 
 through the town toward this Pike of the Illustra- 
 tor's discovery and halting on a beautiful govern- 
 ment road placarded with Don'ts, called McPher- 
 son's Ridge, our guide started in with a flow of sta- 
 tistics that set our brains whirling. We could only 
 limp along behind him, a few words to the rear, as 
 one does when listening to a language foreign to 
 him. You could see our poor lips, as he rolled off 
 Generals, forming: " Yankee General — Confeder- 
 ate General — Confederate General — no, no Yan- 
 kee," until the history of the first day's battle was 
 over. He then grasped the shallowness of our 
 minds, for, after the pause which followed his really 
 graphic description, a small voice emanating from 
 me asked, " And where were you, Mr. Sneed? " He 
 probably classed us after that as the human docu- 
 ment type and told us whatever we wished to know, 
 not of history, but of his own boyhood recollections. 
 How he was working on the railroad — which was 
 quickly put out of commission — and how there had 
 been a feeling in the air for days that something 
 was going to happen. How Early's men had come 
 
 H-56-2- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 marching through the town and gone raiding on to 
 York over the road we had used. Hill's men fol- 
 lowed him, demanding clothing and food of the un- 
 easy Burgess. How E well's men (they had been 
 Stonewall Jackson's until that fine soldier was shot 
 at Chancellorsville), who were advancing upon 
 Harrisburg, were bewildered by a sudden call to 
 return; and " Jeb " Stuart came on the third day 
 beating his exhausted horses from Carlisle. How 
 all of the roads that led like a spider's web into lit- 
 tle Gettysburg were full of marching soldiers. 
 They came on like a fog, as Richard Harding 
 Davis said of the Germans. Yes, grey fog, but a 
 ragged fog, footsore, desperate, ready to make 
 what was almost their last stand. 
 
 It is supposed that Lee in provoking the fight at 
 Gettysburg, believed that a great defeat would in- 
 duce the North to accept peace on the basis of 
 Southern independence. He felt that the North 
 was growing tired of the war, and he had beaten 
 his opponents so often that he did not recognise 
 they had failed in their attack from bad general- 
 ship, not bad soldiery — all of this gleaned, of 
 course, from the S. H. of the U. S. 
 
 What he must also have failed to foresee was the 
 use these same spider webs of roads could be put to. 
 For in turn they became filled with the blue coats 
 of the Yankees and they came from every point of 
 
 -J- 57 ■+- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 the compass, clouds and clouds and clouds of blue, 
 ninety-five thousand of the North under General 
 Meade, only seventy thousand of the Confederate 
 army. And the loss at the end of the three days 
 was equally disproportionate, for the toll was 
 twenty thousand four hundred and fifty-one Con- 
 federates killed, wounded, and captured, to twenty- 
 three thousand and thirteen Federals. A number 
 not to be held lightly even as the guns of Verdun 
 belch their eternal fires. 
 
 Mr. Sneed having finally plumbed our minds, 
 directed the chauffeur over an old covered bridge 
 which figured on that first day's fight, telling me a 
 charming little story en route of the Confederate 
 General Gordon. It was he who found on the 
 ground after the battle the Federal General Bar- 
 low, quite unattended by the First Aid of that day. 
 He dismounted and asked if he could give the 
 wounded man any help, but Barlow replied that he 
 was done for and only wished some message could 
 be sent his wife who was beyond the Yankee lines at 
 Howard's Headquarters. And in some wonderful 
 way Gordon managed a soldier with a flag of truce 
 who brought her to the wounded man. The nice 
 part of it is he didn't die. She got him to the farm 
 house which still stands beyond the covered bridge, 
 and there nursed him back to life. Years after he 
 met General Gordon at just an ordinary party. 
 
 H- 58 -^- 
 
ACROSS MASON AND DIXON'S LINE— CLAIRVAUX, NEAR 
 EMMITSBURG, MARYLAND 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 And the Confederate Veteran asked him if he was 
 related to the General who had died at Gettysburg, 
 and — well — I needn't go any further. 
 
 I thought we were being driven across the bridge 
 to see this house, but it was another residence which 
 our guide picked out. " That," said he, addressing 
 
 the chauffeur and W exclusively, " is Plank's 
 
 house." 
 
 The chauffeur who had been as quiet as a mouse 
 as we swept over the battlefields bounced at him. 
 " Eddie's house? " he asked. 
 
 "What! Eddie Plank!" exclaimed the Illus- 
 trator. 
 
 I felt very out of it. But I questioned the Illus- 
 trator and he told me to be sure and put in the book 
 that General Plank commanded a brigade on the 
 Union right during the fighting at Gulp's Hill. I 
 did try to put it in the book, although I should have 
 been warned by one of his pitifully obvious winks 
 directed at Mr. Sneed, but my publishers upon re- 
 ceiving the manuscript sent me a hurried note to 
 the effect that Eddie Plank was star pitcher of the 
 Philadelphia Athletics when they won the World 
 Championship. So this paragraph is inserted at 
 the very last moment, and I think a joke can go too 
 far. 
 
 We passed the cottage where Jennie Wade was 
 killed by a stray bullet on the third day of the fight 
 
p. 
 
 /^ 
 
 I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 for neither side fired upon the town as it sheltered 
 their wounded. She has a monument in a cemetery 
 
 nearby. " With the courage born of loyalty " 
 
 the inscription reads. I am glad she has a monu- 
 ment for women have few enough of them, but Jen- 
 nie Wade was not out ministering to the wounded, 
 or working for her country, or doing anything but 
 <f walk past the open door of the house where she was 
 Ji- visiting. And of the five hundred monuments 
 erected at Gettysburg to commemorate the deeds 
 of those intrepid days, I fear hers is the only one 
 not earned by the honest labouring for whatever 
 cause was theirs. 
 
 There was a great to-do when she was killed. 
 Mr. Sneed told me of it while the Illustrator, in- 
 stead of listening to the story of the second 
 day's battle as we stood on Gulp's Hill, was 
 making a sketch of the hairpin corner. Mr. 
 Sneed didn't mind being interrupted, he sim- 
 ply went on as far as he could: " Now Longstreet 
 — coming in from Chambersburg Pike on the night 
 of July first — had been ordered to occupy Little 
 Round Top. But he did not respect Lee's com- 
 mands " 
 
 " Mr. Sneed, have you ever noticed what a lot of 
 disobeying there was? " 
 
 And that is what amazes us both. The wars of 
 the world are vast records of discrediting a superior 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 officer, of delaying when orders were given and of 
 failing to seize the opportunity when it was pre- 
 sented. And not every country had a Lincoln 
 whose patient efforts were ceaseless to keep union 
 among his Union Generals. No wonder he an- 
 swered when some clamoured for the removal of 
 Grant; " I can't spare this man — ^he fights." 
 
 " The second day " our guide leaped in " ended 
 after furious but unsuccessful assaults upon the 
 flank of the Yankees, and to Gibbon, who had 
 charge of the Union centre, Meade said, ' They'll 
 strike at you tomorrow.' And all night — they 
 stopped fighting at night then — Meade at his cabin 
 planned the third day's battle, while Lee in his lit- 
 tle shanty — they call 'em picturesque now but they 
 must have been hot — drew up his splendid moves. 
 But that was nothing, the folks say who lived 
 around there, ' that the lights at Headquarters 
 burned all through the three nights.' " 
 
 " And could they sleep in the town, Mr. Sneed? " 
 
 " Mighty little sleep for anybody. The air was 
 full of smoke, and on the hills you could see lan- 
 terns flashing signals, and all the time the wounded 
 were being brought into the houses — Yanks and 
 Rebs the same." 
 
 "Did your people have some of them, Mr. 
 Sneed?" 
 
 " Sure. We had eight; one big fellow died, and 
 -*-61-e- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 his father from Georgia came and took him home. 
 All of 'em sent little presents back to my aunt. The 
 doctors would go in and out the houses, and the 
 men would cry ' Don't take off my arm,' but they 
 just clapped the chloroform over their faces and 
 went at it. They couldn't take any chance in those 
 days. I guess there wasn't a bed in Gettysburg 
 that didn't have a soldier in it. All of the towns- 
 folk when they could rest, would sleep on the grass. 
 You could see 'em in the yards thick." Then Mr. 
 Sneed would get on his job again: " Now Sickles 
 made a fine defence, and Slocum's second corps 
 
 " and he would go on with his wondrous talk 
 
 which so confused me. 
 
 I know if I were to blindfold Mr. Sneed and, af- 
 ter driving him about in a circle, suddenly remove 
 the bandage from his eyes and force him to stare 
 at the government road-bed he would say: " Here 
 Pickett's and Heth's Divisions deployed " 
 
 But he could well speak of the charge of Pickett 
 and Heth on that third day. From one ridge, down 
 into the soft curve of a pasture, up a steep hill fif- 
 teen thousand Southern men made an effort to 
 break the Union's centre stationed on the opposing 
 ridge. What cannon fodder they were for those in 
 blue from the height above them! They came on 
 like a plain — they went down like the waves of 
 troubled waters. Many were so terrific and persist- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 ent in their charge that they rushed into the un- 
 broken lines of the Northerners and were made 
 prisoners. Hancock, who commanded the Federal 
 forces at this point, said " I have never seen a more 
 formidable attack." 
 
 " That was about the end of the three days' 
 struggle," concluded our guide as we rounded a 
 turn on our way back, passing a little stone-encased 
 well. " That's Spangler's Spring. Both the Blue 
 and the Grey spent the night of July filling their 
 canteens one by one from that run. All feeling 
 seemed to die with sunset in those days." 
 
 W replied that it was so in the present war, 
 
 that he was last year in the trenches (I hope you 
 have all read his book) , and I, wishing to get into 
 it, repeated what an English officer had told me; 
 " Why should I dislike the Germans? I don't dis- 
 like a pheasant, but it delights me to see it fall." 
 
 I can't say that Mr. Sneed was very deeply inter- 
 ested in anything that had to do with the present 
 conflict. There was but one war to him, and one 
 battle in it — Gettysburg. 
 
 We drove about among the five hundred memo- 
 rial shafts and the one thousand tablets which 
 mark the battlefields along the ridges and in the 
 plains. Some of the marbles were very badly exe- 
 cuted. But the general effect was stupefying, and 
 there was no scribbling of names upon the surfaces 
 
 -e-63-fr- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN ]VIARYLAND 
 
 as I have seen on many a foreign memorial. W 
 
 was very much touched over his Minnesota regi- 
 ment that lost eighty per cent of its men, and I 
 found a tablet to the 27th Indiana whose colours 
 never fell to the ground, though it cost many a good 
 man. What a waste of soldiers by this drawing of 
 the enemy's fire ! Today's warfare is more economic 
 in the avoidance of their flags. 
 
 So far as I know but one monument has been 
 placed on the grounds by the Confederates, while 
 one of General Lee will be shortly unveiled. " But 
 they'll begin soon," said Mr. Sneed cheerily, 
 " they're getting on their feet." 
 
 One may observe that the name of Mr. Sneed has 
 been frequently repeated in these few inadequate 
 remarks anent a really great experience. But it is 
 not employed in the script with the frequency that 
 it was sounded upon my lips. This was because I 
 was sure of the name, and I am so seldom sure. As 
 a rule I address a strange companion at dinner with 
 a sort of hurried introduction of all the vowels and 
 as many of the consonants as I can get in, hoping 
 in this way to make a sound something like the poor 
 man's rightful appellation. It is the same with 
 faces, especially, I am happy to say, with the faces 
 of men. I can have a very good time with a face 
 new to me and go away with every lineament 
 sponged from my memory. I can remember them 
 
 -J- 64 H- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 better if they are scarred, or have a birth mark or a 
 hare Hp, and one very delightful creature who 
 knows my weakness always takes a few steps when 
 I enter a room as he has a distinguishing limp. 
 
 I suppose this is the only way of my " getting 
 back." I have spent my life explaining myself to 
 people. And I do really think we should have less 
 vanity about ourselves. Instead of saying " You 
 don't know me?" with arch looks upon greeting 
 some mystified acquaintance I think we should obli- 
 gingly hoot out our names as we enter a drawing 
 room. It is as bad over the telephone. Cousins 
 whom we have not heard of for years, much less 
 talked to, find us in the telephone book and expect 
 us to guess who they are by the sound of their 
 voices. 
 
 It was the Illustrator who told me in the last 
 chapter that the guide's name was Sneed, and I 
 don't know why he waited until I had triumphantly 
 mouthed it a hundred times before he asked why I 
 was calling a man Sneed when his name was 
 Sheads. I ask any one — is that fair? He says, at 
 this point, that I am giving more time to the sub- 
 ject than is necessary but I feel if I explain this all 
 carefully, you who visit Gettysburg in the future 
 may, out of kindness to me, atone for my unhappy 
 misunderstanding. 
 
 But don't, I beg of you, ask how Toby behaved 
 -I- 65 -J- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 on the battlefields, or how he chased a cotton tail 
 rabbit in the Devil's Den, a procedure which was 
 largely among the official Don'ts. It is not through 
 shame but from fear of a summons that we wish 
 the rabbit episode kept dark. A photographer sta- 
 tions himself in this rocky cairn, and visiting parties 
 have postal cards made of themselves standing 
 where the dead were once piled thick. And I think 
 that is just as bad taste as chasing a cotton tail. 
 
 We left Gettysburg by the Emmitsburg Road, 
 past the Peach Orchard, the Wheatfield and on 
 through fields of grain. I could not understand 
 on that first day of battlefields, why these simple 
 names that had to do with farm lands were so much 
 more dramatic in their titles than the Valley of 
 Death, the Bloody Angle or the Slaughter Pen 
 — but I arrived at something like a conclusion 
 later, which is pretty far for me to go. 
 
 W asked me if I thought I could do justice 
 
 to the scene, and the point is I haven't tried. It 
 has been well done by the able ones. It was Lin- 
 coln, with his exquisite modesty who said : 
 
 " The world will little note, nor long remember 
 what we say here, but it can never forget what they 
 did here." 
 
 A few miles along the Emmitsburg Road W 
 
 shouted, " There it is," and he fell out the 
 car to photograph a very inconsequential sign eon- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 sidering the trouble it has caused, marking the 
 Mason and Dixon Line. I don't suppose either 
 Mason or Dixon ever thought when they engineered 
 this strip marking the division between the North 
 and the South, that they should form a combination 
 stronger than any dance team known to Broadway. 
 But its yellow paint and black lettering stood for 
 the soft warm things of life. It spoke of jasmine 
 and mocking birds, turbaned slaves, old mahogany, 
 low bows and ruffled shirt fronts. I might not find 
 any of these old time sweetnesses while travelling in 
 haphazard fashion through the country, but one 
 may take away all this from the South and its choic- 
 est possession remains. The first words I ever re- 
 member an old coloured woman saying — and we 
 had some of the old ones in Indiana — were " Man- 
 ners, child, manners." And in this day when a great 
 and efficient nation finds itself out of favour with 
 the world from its lack of the graces, we cannot un- 
 derestimate the power of courtesy. 
 
 W began singing, " Maryland, My Mary- 
 land," which is anybody's privilege who knows the 
 tune, but was particularly stirring to him as we 
 were on our way to " Uncle Charlie's." When the 
 Illustrator is in New England he belongs to his 
 father's rock-ribbed race, and upon approaching 
 the South he goes over to his mother's people. I 
 would not say he chose this route that he might visit 
 
 H-67-e- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 the old homes of his kin, but he had talked a good 
 deal about Emmitsburg and kept hoping I would 
 have room to " get in it." 
 
 One could put it in a pint cup, but it would take 
 several pages to describe our satisfaction with our 
 first sleepy old Southern town which looked exactly 
 as I wanted it to look. With supreme confidence 
 that some one would know at the hotel just where 
 
 to find " Uncle Charlie's," W went up the 
 
 raggedy old steps and came down shortly after- 
 wards with a perfect Southern gentleman, soft ac- 
 cent and all, who shook me warmly by the hand, 
 although the Uncle Charlie, whom I had never seen, 
 moved away from there thirty years ago. 
 
 I could hardly keep the tears from my eyes for I 
 felt that everything in the South was going to be 
 exactly as I had expected, and strangely enough, 
 it turned out to be so. Even the trees were further 
 out than they were across the line, and a perfectly 
 good buzzard flew over our heads to set all doubts 
 at rest as to our locality. As the Illustrator re- 
 marked, buzzards are the most exclusive of all 
 Southerners. They never go beyond the Mason 
 and Di^on Line, yet they begin promptly on the 
 other side. 
 
 We turned off the highwaj^ to go to " Uncle 
 Charlie's," following an avenue of huge pear trees 
 out for Easter that must have been centuries old. 
 
 -+•68 4- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 It was good enough for the approach to Elsie Dins- 
 more's house and I feared I was going to discover 
 something better than hers right at the start. For- 
 tunately, for I did not wish to find my quest so eas- 
 ily, the house on the estate — San Marino it is called 
 — had too many gables for Elsie who, I feel, lived 
 in a mansion with a flatter roof. There were pic- 
 turesque quarters for the house slaves, though, and 
 a block where they were sold. There were daffodils 
 growing in the lawn encircling the homestead, and 
 there was a host much more cordial to strangers 
 than Elsie Dinsmore's stern father would ever have 
 been. 
 
 W , who was now speaking with a strong 
 
 Southern accent, had no fear of intruding, and the 
 host accepted us as though strangers from New 
 York motoring suddenly over his daffodils were do- 
 ing him an honour when they awoke him from his 
 afternoon nap. 
 
 We let the nephew of Uncle Charlie mooch about 
 by himself for he wanted to see where the old lake 
 had been. He once told me that there had been a 
 boat on the lake which ran by winding a clock, and 
 he thought as a boy that it was the most wonderful 
 mechanism in the world. I remember (this is ir- 
 revelant so one may skip it) his expatiating upon 
 this clock boat while a sweet little old seamstress 
 was in the room trying to " make me style," as she 
 
 -■i- 69 -J-- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 expresses it. And she joined into the conversation 
 to a mild extent. She said she was no inventor — 
 she had never had time — but she still believed that 
 an automobile could be propelled without gasoline 
 or electricity by using clock work. If you can 
 make a boat go, she argued, why not an automo- 
 bile? And, indeed, I don't know why not, except 
 that it would be very embarrassing to run down at 
 Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street when the 
 green sign told you to " Go — go," because you had 
 forgotten to wind the clock the night before. 
 
 The Illustrator was courteous but did not en- 
 courage her to abandon " making me style " for 
 higher endeavours. And she may have put that 
 down as professional jealousy for she herself had 
 painted pictures in her younger days specialising, 
 she told me, on flowers and cats. 
 
 The gentle land owner of San Marino patted a 
 beautiful collie which looked indulgently at Toby 
 growling like distant thunder — a storm that never 
 breaks — and told me of his longing as a boy to live 
 at San Marino. How he had gone West, made 
 " not a heap but a little money," enough to buy 
 the place when Uncle Charlie wanted to go away, 
 and how it was understood by all the girls and 
 boys and grandchildren of Uncle Charlie that they 
 were to come back for their honeymoons. He 
 didn't have any children of his own but he had 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 adopted two little fellows who had grown up to be 
 splendid men and, thus encouraged, he and his 
 wife were out seeking for little girls. I was 
 strongly tempted to tell him that I had adopted 
 several children, just because my sister has one, 
 and it speaks well for the truth pervading the at- 
 mosphere about the dear gentleman that I couldn't 
 choke out a baby. 
 
 Was it not an agreeable entrance into the 
 South! For the success of this man was em- 
 blematic of the spirit of these states. The farm 
 which would not prosper under the old method of 
 cultivation was now richly producing, and the 
 chalk quarries which the master of the old regime 
 had been indifferent to were yielding automobiles, 
 porcelain tubs, and other luxuries of this day. 
 
 Stung by the social bee we could not stop visit- 
 ing, but halted at the next estate on the flimsy ex- 
 cuse of admiring the architecture. We had been 
 assured of a welcome by his neighbour with that 
 hospitality-once-removed which our friends in New 
 York had offered us. We were rather surprised 
 to find our friends so right. 
 
 A black dog did not care for us but a white 
 gentleman of evident discernment restrained him, 
 and he loped over the fields to eat up a distant 
 scare-crow. He was a plain Virginia hound and 
 not the French police dog that fitted best into the 
 
 -e-71 -e- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 architecture of the house. One expects to plunge 
 immediately into ante-bellum mansions of Greek 
 design even on the fringes of the South, and this 
 chateau of many gables like an old French picture 
 of fourteenth century Gothic piqued our interest. 
 
 Our perfectly new host led us into the house and 
 we sat down in a room where we were told a ghost 
 spent many a quiet evening in company with the 
 present family. The ghost is the refugee who 
 came out at the time of the French Revolution, 
 built the house after the fashion of his old manor 
 near Clairvaux, named it after the town and lived 
 to an extraordinarily old age, dropping dead about 
 where I was sitting. 
 
 " I really don't know why he should be dissatis- 
 fied," said the gentleman whom we were outrage- 
 ously visiting. " He had a very decent time of it. 
 This is a great Catholic community and customs 
 went on about as they did in France. They stop 
 work and say the Angelus around here still. 
 You must have noticed the Catholic schools as 
 you came along. There are bishops and nuns 
 buried in the church-yard, and every darky of the 
 vicinity believes that they sit up in their graves on 
 All Souls' Day and chant the Miserere." 
 
 " Do you see the ghost? " I asked, hoping he did 
 and hoping he didn't. 
 
 " No, our old black man sees him, but I can 
 -+■72-?- 
 
THE OLD MILL ON CARROLL CREEK, FREDERICK 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 often hear him sitting down and getting up — he 
 creaks a bit. I have placed that chair for him — 
 the one you're in." 
 
 I got up — because it was time to get up — ^the 
 Illustrator would have stayed forever, and I went 
 out looking backwards at some darling old chairs 
 whose legs sloped fore and aft, a model we found 
 only in this neighbourhood. We walked toward 
 
 the car after W had finished his sketch, trying 
 
 not to step on the blue periwinkles (do peri- 
 winkles sound like fish to any one else?) and in 
 parting I went back to the ghost subject wonder- 
 ing if the old Marquis could be unhappy over the 
 present owner's sympathies in the war. Strange 
 how we cannot get away from this great fight! 
 But our host was as French in his leanings as the 
 
 gables of his house. W suggested that it 
 
 might be the method of warfare that disturbed the 
 old fellow. 
 
 " That may be it," assented the Chatelain casu- 
 ally. He was not tempestuous. He came from 
 the newspaper world and, having created sensa- 
 tions, knew their emptiness. " You saw Gettys- 
 burg — that was the warfare of the French Revolu- 
 tion — ' up to date ' they might have said. But this 
 of today is a return to the ^liddle Ages. The 
 liquid fire in present usage is the molten lead of 
 that earlier period. The Arab at the front is 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 right. Let them fight man to man, and it would 
 soon be over." 
 
 The Illustrator and I agreed when we were on 
 our way that we would not stop anywhere else 
 even if we were asked to supper. And we only did 
 stop once to photograph a very good old house. 
 We did not enter the gates, although with very 
 cordial intention a cornetist somewhere within was 
 blowing to us: " Whosoever will may come." 
 
 A sort of panic crept over me. I remembered 
 what we suffered at home when it seemed that my 
 older sister might marry a young man who always 
 brought his cornet when he came to call. He 
 would play all Sunday evening to her accompani- 
 ment, " Oh, Fair Dove, Oh, Fond Dove." My 
 mother and I would walk up to the corner and pre- 
 tend we didn't know where the noise came from 
 when the neighbours protested. He was a very re- 
 ligious young man, and, I believe, tooted his way 
 into heaven some time ago. 
 
 The only thing that surprised us about the day 
 was the magnificence of the road, and this but 
 added to our cup of happiness. Every one was en- 
 joying it, including small cars with the top up 
 although the sun was shining. We dared not look 
 at them for fear of embarrassing the young cou- 
 ples within. I besought our driver to give them 
 the road, for the young chauffeurs made no effort 
 
 -J- 74 -J- 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN JVIARYLAND 
 
 to guide their vehicles save by the feet. There was 
 no attempt at speed, they just jogged along as 
 had their ancestors when wooing, and I am sure 
 if they had occasion to stop they would instinc- 
 tively cry " Whoa ! " 
 
 There were barefooted children, log cabins, vio- 
 lets at Thurmont, and " Miss Birdie Gilbert — 
 Milliner " at Lewiston. There wasn't a hat in 
 her window, however, and they must have all been 
 on the heads of the young ladies iti the small cars 
 which were being run by the feet. I hope Miss 
 Birdie did not go into the country on an Easter 
 walk and see the angle at which her offspring were 
 being worn. It would be enough to crush the soul 
 of any millinery artist. 
 
 And so, frivolously, we came to Frederick 
 — the Frederick of clean streets, fine houses, a 
 dashing stream, and Barbara Fritchie. I never 
 thought in my young days (when, magnificently 
 impersonating Mrs. Fritchie, I attacked Stone- 
 wall Jackson so hard that one small boy burst into 
 screams) that I should ever discredit the story of 
 Barbara. I never thought when a girl that I 
 should ever go to Frederick at all. 
 
 What are the early dreams of youth made of? 
 I cannot remember. Certainly wide travelling 
 was not among my ambitions nor within my under- 
 standing. I fear that I went to sleep and woke 
 
 y 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 up with the sound of applause in my ears, the ap- 
 plause of a distant day. And while there hasn't 
 been much of that in my life, I believe, after all, 
 that the Business has been better than the Dream. 
 With all the pain of existence I believe that every 
 one will find more in the conflict than the con- 
 quest. And the conflict will never desert you — 
 not even in Frederick. 
 
 The young clerk at the desk of the pleasant City 
 Hotel was very dubious about giving us two rooms 
 after he had read our names. I didn't know why 
 
 until W went down to protest against the two 
 
 walled up interiors which were apportioned us. The 
 clerk was frank with the Illustrator. He said when 
 married couples came to the hotel in the busy sea- 
 son he could allow them but one room. 
 
 " Yes, but if they are willing to pay more," 
 queried W weakly. 
 
 " No," from the young man who was an up- 
 holder of Jeffersonian simplicity, " one is enough." 
 
 As he was a very agreeable Frederickian, one 
 need not put down his ideas on deportment as the 
 old trick of the American hotel keeper in the small I 
 town. It is not unfamiliar to the strolling actor 
 who takes his wife about with him. In many cases 
 the same price is charged for two in one room as 
 for two in two rooms. The eyes of the clerks 
 gleam when they read the guilty man's admission 
 
I SING OF ARMS— THEN MARYLAND 
 
 that he has a wife. They go into one room — or 
 they sleep in the " Op'ry House." And I have 
 known of tired husbands and wives after weeks of 
 one night stands, approach the desk as individuals, 
 register under separate names, and staring at each 
 other as though strangers, secure a glad respite 
 from a common tooth mug. 
 
 W appreciated that there lay before him a 
 
 tussle between the flesh and the spirit, with the 
 good young clerk — curiously enough — on the side 
 of the flesh. " I suppose," he said, glaring morally 
 at the dispenser of keys, " you would like to have 
 us register as did this secretive gentleman." 
 
 He pointed to the line above our names. " Mr. 
 Black and friend," was the simple admission. 
 
 " They have come for dinner," cried the young 
 man in a shocked panic — striking the bell for the 
 boy. It was improper enough to have a married 
 couple in two rooms, but the expounding of Brieux 
 ethics at his hotel desk — No! " Shoot if you must 
 this old grey head but " 
 
 " Front! Show the gentleman into 41 and 42." 
 
 77 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 In Which a Fine Old Story is Exploded hut We 
 Offer as Good a One by a Dear Old Lady 
 
 Some one will write me a letter to say Maryland 
 is not South, that it never seceded from the Union, 
 many of the natives did not believe in slavery, and 
 most of the men fought for the North. But I say 
 that there was a buzzard after the Mason and 
 Dixon Line, a Southern accent at Emmitsburg, a 
 hospitality at " Uncle Charlie's," and coloured 
 waiters at Frederick. More than this I have de- 
 layed long enough wi'iting of the Old Dominion, 
 and it begins " right hyar." 
 
 It began with me by a feeling of languor and a 
 disinclination to leave my warm room (wrested 
 from the disapproving clerk) which looked out 
 upon a pretty little court. I could see into the 
 clean kitchens opposite and watch the waiters pass- 
 ing into the dining room swaying along as only 
 blacks can sway, with their loaded trays high up 
 on the palm of the right hand, swooping around 
 each other and never colliding. I wondered how 
 a left-handed waiter would get along in the pro- 
 
 -i- 78 -«- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 cession. And I am very sorry that such a thing 
 came into my head, for it is not important, and I 
 have been looking for left-handed waiters ever 
 since when I should be attending to exports and 
 imports, or what is indigenous to the soil. 
 
 Through the dining-room windows I could see 
 Easter hyacinths upon the tables where were 
 seated many guests. I fancied they were Fred- 
 erickians who had given their maids a night off, a 
 pleasant innovation from the old " go out in 
 the pantry and get a bite if you're hungry " 
 arrangement for Sunday supper. A hum of 
 voices reached me. It had a very easy sound. 
 There was none of the restraint of the Northern 
 hotel which one finds so depressing. They were 
 having a good time and weren't ashamed to show 
 it. There is no muzzle to spontaneity in the South. 
 I think they are more like the French than any 
 other people. 
 
 And the women are like Frenchwomen. One 
 doubts if they have the executive ability of the 
 Gallic woman, but then no other race posseses 
 that. I can remember the impoverished Southern 
 ladies who came up North to visit us when I was 
 a little girl, and that oft-repeated phrase " Befo' 
 the wah I nevah buttoned mah shoes." They 
 probably didn't, but " the thing is " as my friend 
 M. W. P. says, they did button them when they 
 
 -?-79-i- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 had to. With the denial which the " frivolous " 
 Frenchwoman is showing now, the " frivolous " 
 Southerner did without servants to button shoes — 
 and shoes — and, as time went on, buttons. In the 
 terrible days of reconstruction when a Lincoln 
 was so needed, they continued to permit them- 
 selves no luxuries beyond the luxury of talking of 
 the past. Even to their own undoing they held to 
 a fierce partisanship which rendered a meal a mere 
 fashion to be done away with like an extra flounce 
 on a gown. 
 
 When I was about ten we had a young teacher 
 in the ward schools who came up from the South. 
 That was quite a while after the war, but the feel- 
 ing was still intense. It was Gertie Mossier (of 
 curly hair which I no longer envy), who threw a 
 note into my lap apprising me that " teacher was 
 a Rebel." Hot with the bitterness of which I 
 knew nothing but whose wings were still beating 
 in the air, I wrote back that if a Rebel, I hated 
 her. And this, possibly through the treachery of 
 Gertie Mossier, reached teacher's ears. 
 
 She had me up after the others had gone to ask 
 me if had written thus rudely of an instructress. 
 I had not developed my gentle art of lying to its 
 present perfection and I admitted the uncompli- 
 mentary things, instinctively sure if it came to an 
 issue that I would be upheld by the community. 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 I recall the fine flush that reddened her sallow 
 skin. I could see the colour in her scalp through 
 her thin blond hair. 
 
 " Yes, I am a Rebel," she replied, not to me but 
 looking far over the desks of the ugly school room, 
 " and I'm proud I am a Rebel. I wouldn't be this 
 scum '' 
 
 She pressed her lips together and did not con- 
 tinue, but she did not retract her dangerous cry 
 nor ask me not to repeat it. I don't know how I got 
 out of the room. With the instinct that assured 
 me I would be upheld in hating her, I knew, too, 
 that teacher's job was in the hollow of my hand. 
 For some reason I never told any one — this is the 
 first time I have ever spoken of it — so you see the 
 confidence I have in the gentle reader. She used 
 to watch me curiously, wondering, no doubt, when 
 I would speak. She was pretty brave, wasn't she, 
 for it wasn't easy for a girl to " speak out " with 
 starvation staring her in the face. 
 
 Of course, if she had gone to my dear Lincoln 
 — or had him to go to — well, that's finished! 
 Among my aunt's leaflets which were in the travel- 
 ling khaki laundry bookcase was a little story of 
 one of her kin. Miss Ann Elizabeth Summers, who 
 was probably called Miss Ann Elizabeth. She 
 had left Virginia on a visit before the state seceded, 
 and as martial law was declared she found herself 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 in Washington without funds or home. She grew 
 desperate, and was advised by a friend to apply to 
 the Treasury, " for they were hiring women until 
 the trouble blew over." 
 
 She was not encouraged when she made her ap- 
 plication, the man in charge of appointments, un- 
 sympathetic to Southerners, telling her in jest that 
 she would have to see the President for such an 
 important position. She took him at his word and 
 waited at the White House next day from eleven 
 in the morning until the sun was setting. And 
 when she was ushered into his presence the best 
 she had to say for herself was : " Mr. Lincoln, you 
 may not want to talk with me for I am a Rebel 
 from Virginia and cannot get home — but I need 
 work." 
 
 And after a little while the President sent Ann 
 Elizabeth off with a note which read : 
 
 " Secretary of Treasury, 
 
 Please give Miss A. E. Summers a position in 
 yoiu* Department. 
 
 A. Lincoln.''^ 
 
 As he handed it to her he said : " Miss Sum- 
 mers, this is as much as I have done for any one." 
 
 And, do you know, she kept the job. She kept 
 it for thirty-five years and retired on a pension. 
 
 -J- 82 -J- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 And I don't know whether the moral is to wait, or, 
 in distress, to pray for a Lincoln, or just to be a 
 Southern woman. 
 
 I have wandered far afield again, but the roads 
 in Maryland are so good that it is no trouble at all 
 to run back from Washington to Frederick. And 
 Miss Ann Elizabeth hasn't changed much from the 
 women having supper at the City Hotel. 
 
 Indeed, I became very mid- Victorian watching 
 the waiters, and trying to be annoyed because 
 
 W and Toby (who was out attacking iron 
 
 dogs on elegant steps) did not return. I had no 
 doubt but that we were going into the Old Do- 
 minion after the most topsy-turvy fashion. We 
 should have begun at Jamestown where the first 
 English settlers endured, and worked our way 
 through the earlier battles of the Civil War to Get- 
 tysburg. The Illustrator had not planned it that 
 way, doubtless in his anxiety to reach " Uncle 
 Charlie's," but ostensibly to let me see the Virginia 
 mountains in the first flush of Spring. Perhaps it 
 is just as well to progress backward slowly (if you 
 understand me) . I was already fitting myself into 
 
 the mid-Victorian period with W in a nice 
 
 black stock, but I could not jump him so quickly 
 into the long curly locks of the Jamestown 
 regime. 
 
 It was all very sweetly old-fashioned this Easter 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 night, and old songs like " Nita, Juanita," came into 
 my mind, and " Genevieve, Sweet Genevieve," 
 which my mother used to sing. I remember her very 
 softly picking them out on the piano at the old 
 Palmer House in Chicago, when we went there to 
 see the world, and my looking about hoping that 
 some one was admiring us. I touched the pale 
 blue satin furniture with awe, and heard stories of 
 the real silver dollars in the floor of that part of 
 the building where low men drank liquor. We 
 had been out on a shopping expedition that morn- 
 ing and she had looked at plaid cloth for my new 
 pelisse (it was a revival of the pelisse I want one 
 to know) . She could not decide for the cost was 
 terrifying to her, and she finally said with that as- 
 sumption of ease which deceives no one: 
 
 " I fear it is too dark for my little girl." 
 
 Then the city clerk exclaimed aloud, but en- 
 deavoured to conceal his exclamation, uttering: 
 " Is it possible that this little girl is not your sister, 
 ma'am? " 
 
 " I think I'll take that goods," replied my pretty 
 mother. 
 
 Telling these things is the best description I can 
 give of Frederick — which is no description at all — 
 but the sensation continued throughout the next 
 busy morning. The day began with a large grey 
 cat jumping on Toby in the most inhospitable 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 fashion as we passed through the lobby to go dis- 
 covering. Several old ladies who were in the of- 
 fice — refined village loungers — gathered up their 
 skirts and screamed, while the coloured bell boys 
 enjoying themselves to the limit, made tardy ef- 
 forts to remove her claws from Toby's inviting 
 long hair. 
 
 He was very much astonished, for he assured me 
 that he had not invited the attack, but he had prob- 
 ably grown a little too cocky from his success with 
 the iron dogs of the night before. He trotted along 
 with us when we gained free air, saying, every now 
 and then, " Wasn't doin' no harm, Louise," having 
 already soaked up a negro accent. One may have 
 noticed a certain inelegance in our aristocratic ter- 
 rier's speech even before he embraced this new dia- 
 lect. It comes, we think, from his devotion to the 
 funny pictures of Briggs, Fontaine Fox, Out- 
 cault and such artists as have introduced dear, 
 talking dogs to the public. I know if he were to 
 confess his highest ambition it would not be 
 " Champion West Highland Terrier Toby," (and 
 get into " Vogue ") but one of those long-eared 
 canines who go around with the fellers and have 
 such a good time laughing. 
 
 I led him up to some little boys with a view to 
 distracting him, while the Illustrator darted down 
 a wiggly road with a stream crossing it and a mill 
 
 -J-85-J- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 beyond. As soon as He decides upon a composi- 
 tion I try very hard to find something about the 
 view, in order to justify his sketching it beyond his 
 natural wilfulness. 
 
 I was in hopes his choice concerned Stonewall 
 Jackson and Barbara Fritchie, but the boys gave 
 me no encouragement. They were playing in a 
 gay, green square, opening off the main street. 
 On one side was the stream which was slipping 
 stealthily past the Illustrator that it might dash 
 through the village and see the sights. I told the 
 boys that I knew they had all the rightful informa- 
 tion about Barbara Fritchie as I could see they 
 were Scouts. And while they were not Scouts they 
 rose to the compliment, and escorted me to the 
 other side the bridge. Here a tablet read that her 
 house had once stood upon this perilous point, di- 
 rectly over the water. So I assume that it had 
 been washed away and the stream is given wider 
 bounds that it might not drown any more of his- 
 toric Frederick. 
 
 It was very disconcerting to have the house on 
 the downtown side of the creek, for Stonewall 
 Jackson could not possibly have come " up from 
 the meadows rich with corn," by way of the Illus- 
 trator's watery lane and on toward Harper's 
 Ferry if the Fritchie story were true. I almost 
 wished I had not seen the small boys who embar- 
 
 -h 86 -»- 
 

 THE TOLL HOUSE OX SOUTH MOUNTAIN, MARYLAND 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 rassed me further by asking if Toby belonged to 
 the circus. 
 
 " I seen one to a circus," argued the principal 
 embryo Boy Scout to my cold negative. 
 
 Toby nudged me. " Ask him what the dog 
 done," he said to me. 
 
 " He done nothin'," said the boy, thus inter- 
 rogated by me. 
 
 Really — I never did like young men. They 
 aren't to be trusted. I walked up the street to an 
 enchanting chemist of middle age, and bought 
 some medicine for my cough (I love to speak of 
 " my cough," it sounds so die-away) not that I 
 cough much, but I wanted to talk about Barbara 
 to him. I thought I ought to buy something first, 
 but one does not need to buy anything of a South- 
 erner if one really prefers to talk. I found that 
 out afterwards. And they would give up a good 
 sale any day to tell you of their town history. 
 
 It was very interesting to notice the skill with 
 which he skated over the thin ice of Barbara's 
 story. Out of loyalty he wouldn't deny it, and, 
 like Shaw's poet in his play, he " wallowed in the 
 honour of a gentleman." He employed a certain 
 deftness in leading one away from the subject to 
 truths which are not questioned. At least they are 
 questioned only by the Government that has been 
 trying ever since the Civil War to avoid paying 
 
 -j-87-e- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 Frederick $200,000 and interest. Each year the 
 Congressman for that district brings it up, and 
 each year it is thrown out, and each year the citi- 
 zens of Frederick pay interest to the banks who 
 loaned them the money to keep the Confederate 
 Early from destroying the town. 
 
 Frederick was sympathetic with the North, and 
 took pride in the great Union stores in their keep- 
 ing. They were stacked up, I believe, in the old 
 Baltimore and Ohio freight depot which is still 
 standing, and, speaking of relics, is the oldest rail- 
 way station in the world. Some one came dashing 
 in on horseback one night, one of those nameless 
 boys whose wild rides never got into poetry, urg- 
 ing that the stores be hidden, for General Early 
 was raiding through the country en route to an at- 
 tack upon Washington. The citizens hurried away 
 by train the rations for man and beast, and by the 
 time Early arrived, confident of food and fodder, 
 he found the depot empty. Enraged at this he 
 threatened to destroy the town if the sum of 
 $200,000 was not paid him with which to buy other 
 stores, and the good townsfolk borrowed the money 
 from the banks to save the city. But this so de- 
 layed Early that his effort to reach Wasliington 
 was of little value, and I do think it's horrid of 
 Congress not to pay Frederick that money. 
 
 The enchanting middle-aged chemist believed 
 — {- 88 •+- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 that I had forgotten all about Barbara, so indig- 
 nant I was over the shabby treatment of the town. 
 And I might have forgotten had not a very trim 
 type of corner drug store patron egged me on 
 again. I noticed him when I came in. He had al- 
 ready taken his " morning's morning," and was 
 teetering about in a dignified fashion while he 
 talked over our position in this present war. 
 Rather, his companion talked and he disapproved, 
 repeating at steady intervals: " Ain't we a powah? " 
 until his companion settled the matter by saying: 
 " No, we ain't a power," after which the trim non- 
 abstainer turned to me. 
 
 It was he who suggested my going to the 
 printer's. The printer knew All, and while All 
 might cause a good deal of uneasiness if it were 
 applied to some historic characters, I had no 
 qualms about Mrs. Fritchie. But the printer was 
 of a type (typographically speaking) new to me. 
 He did not work on Easter Monday — nor would 
 he let his machinery. Everything was as secretive 
 about the establishment as Barbara's washed-away 
 house. And I grew very discouraged, which is the 
 way to become after trying very hard, for then 
 something agreeable always happens. 
 
 I sought out the Illustrator, for no matter how 
 inefficient we feel each other to be, we always flock 
 together when things look blue. Toby and I ap- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 proached from the other side the stream by the 
 busy old mill which didn't know about Easter 
 Monday. The wagons go through the water, *' also 
 the Fords, but no automobiles," I was told, and 
 there is a tiny suspension bridge, swaying like a 
 trapeze, for foot passengers over which Toby had 
 to be teased. " A nice circus dog," I told him, 
 " can't swing on a trapeze." 
 
 To offset this cowardice he growled at a rooster 
 which was crowing at us, because the Illustrator 
 had already gone and I couldn't find out All about 
 Barbara Fritchie. An old gentleman in a back 
 yard chided him for crowing while I chided Toby 
 for growling, and in that way we became friendly. 
 He was weeding the garden, but he had words to 
 assure me that the suspension bridge had been 
 there in War Times — " sure pop " — for, though 
 a little chap, he was there himself. 
 
 " Yes, ma am, stood on it to watch the soldiers 
 wade through the water. The town was full of 
 'em, Yanks and Rebs, all the time." 
 
 I sighed. I was glad he stood on the bridge — 
 at midnight — or whenever it was. And I tried not 
 to wish that it had been Stonewall Jackson stand- 
 ing there instead. I was rewarded for my ab- 
 stemious wishing. " Yes, ma'am'* continued the 
 old gentleman shaking the dirt out of a weed. 
 " Saw General Jackson pass." He threw the weed 
 
 -^90-<- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 in one corner of the yard just as though he had 
 said nothing at all. 
 
 I put my toe in a knot hole of the fence and 
 climbed higher. " General Jackson," I told him 
 in a small fine voice, " must have come down Main 
 Street or he couldn't have passed Barbara 
 Fritchie's house." 
 
 " Forded his boss right through thet air water," 
 throwing another weed, " his colyum a'streamin' 
 after him. Off to Harper's Ferry, 'n from there 
 to Antietam." 
 
 " My goodness gracious no! " 
 
 " Sure pop. You ask the cobbler's wife." 
 
 "Cobbler's wife?" 
 
 " First turn to the right and on till you see the 
 cobbler's. You ask her." 
 
 I hated to leave that lovely man who could bring 
 so much joy into a life while pulling weeds, but I 
 did so want to meet the cobbler's wife. Toby and 
 I flew around to the right. I warned him nerv- 
 ously: " Behave yourself now. Everything depends 
 upon our behaviour," and he did conduct himself 
 with the greatest decorum. If I do say it Toby is 
 the dog for a crisis. 
 
 I fear they were about to have dinner in the back 
 room, for the shoemaker had left his bench and his 
 tools were laid out as neatly as a lady's manicure 
 set. It was very warm, with the pleasant smell of 
 
 -j-91-«- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 leather, and the room had some of those lovely old 
 chairs with legs sloping fore and aft. I don't see 
 how I could notice them when I was so afraid that 
 the wife wouldn't talk to me, but I am in the habit 
 of seeing things now, and I keep on doing it even 
 though my head gets full of rubbish like an old, 
 old attic. 
 
 But she came out from the back room and he 
 and she and their daughter and I all shook hands, 
 while a growing-up grandchild who wanted his din- 
 ner looked unutterables at me from a distance. 
 
 " Well," said the gentle old lady with a twist 
 of a smile and brown eyes that still embraced the 
 world, " I guess I can tell it." She smoothed her 
 dress down over her knees. " I hardly know how 
 to begin." 
 
 " Barbara Fritchie " I encouraged. 
 
 " That was wrong," assisted the old gentleman. 
 " She was in bed." 
 
 " We think it might be politics that got her name 
 in," aided the daughter. 
 
 Politics! Shades of Jeanne d'Arc! Catherine de 
 Medici ! Diane de Poitiers ! 
 
 " You see that house across the way? " the mother 
 started again. I did; it wasn't very pretty but it 
 was old. " It was just that way exceptin' that it 
 had a railing across the steps when JNIrs. Quantrille 
 lived there." 
 
 -+•92 -J- 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 "Mrs. Quantrille?" As the Illustrator would 
 say: perfectly new stuff. 
 
 " Yessum. The one that had the flag. I was in 
 her household then. Her husband worked in Wash- 
 ington. She was a mighty smart woman and a 
 right handsome one. Everybody'd kinda look 
 at her on the street. Yessum. And she was 
 a Northerner, but we were all kinds in Fred- 
 erick." 
 
 " I fought with the South," said the shoemaker. 
 
 " He did," continued his wife, " and my brothers 
 fought for the North. The two armies used to 
 come raidin' through the town, and pickin' each 
 other off right in the street sometimes." 
 
 " Would you be scared ? " I probed. 
 
 " Scared? Why, I'd be that scared I couldn't 
 tell the colours of the uniforms. Thought I saw my 
 brothers in the front yard, and they were Rebs. 
 But they never hurt women, neither side." 
 
 " No, nobody ever hurt women in those days," 
 said the old soldier. 
 
 " But us girls used to have good times with both 
 sides. We'd joke an' laugh with the Rebs, and 
 they'd say they would come back and marry us, 
 and while that would make us hoppin' mad some 
 of 'em did come back and many us." 
 
 The old, old lady and the old, old gentleman 
 smiled at each other. 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 " This ain't tellin' her about the flag," insinuated 
 the husband. 
 
 " No 'tain't. Daughter, run up and get that pic- 
 ture of Mrs. Quantrille. You know, ma'am, we al- 
 ways felt a battle ahead, and when the orders came 
 from Lee for General Jackson — there didn't many- 
 call him Stonewall then — to march his troops 
 through the town to seize Harper's Ferry, we felt 
 something in our bones. He came by way of that 
 creek." 
 
 " Not past Mrs. Fritchie's house? " 
 
 " No'm, just this side of it. We were all on the 
 stoop watchin' for Mr. Jackson who, we had heard, 
 always rode with a Bible under his arm. There 
 was a good deal of delay along the road because you 
 know, ma'am, they wait for the commissary. The 
 Confederate band was playin' down at the drug 
 store, and it was Hill — D. H. Hill, there were two 
 in this corps — who sent for the musicians to serenade 
 Mrs. Quantrille and us girls. He had reined his 
 horse alongside of us and we were all cutting up. 
 
 " All this time Mrs. Quantrille had a little Union 
 flag in her hands. It's the rule when an army comes 
 through a town that only the flag of the army is 
 shown, so I reckon hers was about the only one 
 flying. Mrs. Fritchie was a very old lady and was 
 sick in bed that day." 
 
 " But didn't anybody protest about it? " 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 "Well, Mr. Hill said, 'Madam, you ought to 
 take that flag of yours and make an apron of it,' 
 but quick as a flash she came back ' You ought to 
 take yours, sir, and make breeches out of it.' They 
 were terribly ragged, that corps. 
 
 " Then Hill rode on and no sooner had he gone 
 than one of the privates, gettin' into line, stabbed 
 it with his bayonet, and used some language that 
 wasn't very nice. Mrs. Quantrille was as perky as 
 you please. She made a fuss about it, and said the 
 man ought to be arrested for rudeness to a lady. 
 So one of the officers rode on ahead and said he'd 
 see to it. Southern gentlemen were very particular 
 about language before a lady. I don't suppose 
 anything was ever done because there was a good 
 deal to think about just before a battle. 
 
 " But Mrs. Quantrille said, ' Girls, have any of 
 you got a flag ? ' We used to all carry Union flags 
 in the bosom of our basques, and May went into 
 the hall and took hers out. So by the time General 
 Jackson came along she was waving one again. He 
 never said a word that I can remember, and we 
 were all so excited bowin' to him that we had to 
 laugh afterwards because we forgot to look for his 
 Bible. Yessum, we did. 
 
 " It was the other Hill of Jackson's Division — I 
 always call him the Hill on the cream coloured horse 
 — who brought up the rear. And he said to Mrs. 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 Quantrille, ' You ought to be shot for wavin' that 
 flag.' His pistol was out of its holster but he didn't 
 shoot her. And Mrs. Quantrille who always had 
 the last word, said ' You'll be the one to be shot.' 
 It seemed a kind of a prophecy, for he was killed. 
 But then a good many was. And after that an- 
 other soldier, encom^aged by what Hill said, I 
 reckon, cut the second flag out of her hand and 
 trampled on it. So if the poet had got it right, 
 he'd have had two flags torn down." 
 
 " So that," I said, " is the story of Barbara 
 Fritchie." 
 
 " Yessum. They say people who write just 
 naturally can't tell the truth — excuse me." 
 
 " Money," said the shoemaker. 
 
 " Politics," insisted the daughter who had come 
 back with the photograph. 
 
 " Romance," I suggested, not daring to urge 
 " artistry." 
 
 Toby and I walked up the street, going very un- 
 easily toward Barbara Fritchie's tablet. I felt as 
 though I had been taking finger prints on a flag 
 staff. 
 
 From a distance I heard the beating of drums 
 and the sound of fifes. I thought the martial music 
 had got into my brain along with the spell of the 
 story, and that I must be dreaming. But the beat 
 grew more insistent, and I abandoned the search 
 
A FINE OLD STORY EXPLODED 
 
 for the Illustrator in the good old search for the 
 band. I looked down the little lane where Jack- 
 son's men had marched, and there, to my chilling 
 horror, saw an oncoming army. Over the swaying 
 suspension bridge they marched, not the stalwart 
 boys of Jackson's Division but a little company of 
 little darkies. The only resemblance was the fife 
 and drum, and the ragged condition of the corps. 
 They bore two banners, one to announce a baseball 
 game that afternoon and the other a painted notice 
 in uncertain lettering which read: Dance Up To- 
 night. 
 
 But a drum is a drum for all that. On they swept 
 through the town, passing Barbara Fritchie's tab- 
 let out of compliment to the good lady. A yellow 
 dog followed them proudly, and behind the yellow 
 dog came a West Highland Terrier, and a beauti- 
 ful woman with prematurely grey hair — who shall 
 be nameless. 
 
 On and on we marched as gay as linnets, until 
 a certain roadster drew up alongside and the voice 
 of the commander cried " Halt! " I spoke to him 
 sternly : 
 
 " Who touches a hair of my grey head 
 Dies like a dog." " Get in," he said. 
 
 And Toby and I under the Old Dominion of the 
 stronger sex motored on to Antietam. 
 
 97 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Too Much of Me in This, hut the Truth about 
 
 Our Toll-gate Picture. History to 
 
 Burn and — Virginia 
 
 When I was a little girl there was a room in our 
 stable with a platform at one end, used by the for- 
 mer owner for billiards. It is hard to tell why he 
 had the platform unless it was for the Look-out. 
 For many years our coachmen, varying in colour 
 from the ebony of Old Sam to the lobster hue of a 
 country boy, who was known by us as Green 
 Henry, slept there. That is, in a bed on the plat- 
 form — like a succession of kings. 
 
 I would like to talk about them but the Illustra- 
 tor is already warning me if I make this book too 
 long " it will scare them off," meaning that a thin 
 book written by me is of more value than a fat one. 
 Fat ones terrify him. When a new book of mine 
 comes out he has a way of sticking his head in at my 
 door saying: " Can't I go to bed? I've read a 
 chapter." 
 
 But Green Henry (I must say this) was brought 
 frequently to my mind the more intimately I be- 
 came acquainted with our chauffeur. To be sure 
 our present driver was New York — or at least New 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 Jersey — to the last " woid." But he had the same 
 interest in things about him that Green Henry had 
 when he came to the great city to drive our horses. 
 My mother is a timid woman and as the smallest 
 reference to what we saw along the street was ac- 
 companied by Green Henry's close attention we 
 were obliged to see and speak to no one, all of us 
 staring straight ahead in the hope that the new- 
 comer to the State Capitol would emulate us. 
 
 With the same cordiality that he embraced city 
 life so did our genial chauffeur take to himself the 
 ways of the country. He overtook them. He could 
 tell the name of any bird on the wing no matter how 
 distant; he knew the wild flowers by the wayside, 
 indeed, went so close to recognise them that we 
 feared the day would come when we would lie in 
 the ditch along with the daisies. But nothing ever 
 happened to us beyond a rather mean irritation 
 when he would cry, as he tooled us out of a hedge : 
 " Nobody can beat me on eyesight." 
 
 He was delighted with the custom of bowing to 
 each other which is still charmingly preserved on 
 Southern roads. And from an inclination of the 
 head while driving he rapidly progressed to a sa- 
 lute, a wave of the hand, and, finally, the long ex- 
 tended arm of welcome — something after the man- 
 ner of a monarch recognising his subjects. I recall 
 it was when Green Henry began cheerily lifting 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 his hat to our passing friends as they bowed to us 
 that the stern exigencies of Safety First caused us 
 to rehnquish him. He went back to the farm — car- 
 rying our good cook — and this gets me around to 
 the beginning of the chapter, for a man who " slept 
 home " took his place and the coachman's room was 
 given over to us children. 
 
 We scrubbed and aired it before it became a first 
 class theatre, but there was always a pungent trace 
 of the long line of servitors who had so fully occu- 
 pied the stage before us. And on warm days, when 
 the drama was intense, mothers and fathers were 
 known to leave even before their children made 
 their appearance. We gave several war plays, seri- 
 ous plays in their intention, and we children could 
 not understand the unseemly mirth among our el- 
 ders when this very battleground was presented 
 toward which we motored Easter Monday. 
 
 It was called " Lost His Last Chance," a title 
 to make any one think. Yet after the first lines of 
 the prologue, which I had carefully put into rhyme, 
 there was a great lack of self-control. Having writ- 
 ten the play I spoke all the good lines. I came out 
 wearing the red, white, and blue bunting used to 
 drape our front porch on the Fourth of July. I 
 was beautiful, but impeded by the twenty-two 
 yards of drapery as my mother would not allow 
 me to cut any of it up. I progressed as far as : 
 H- 100 -*- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 " Dear Friends, foul deeds and hard to beat 'em 
 
 You'll find in plays of Ant-ie-eet'em." 
 
 Then the uproar began. 
 
 " Didn't you know it was pronounced An-tee- 
 tum? " said my mother afterward. [" You see, 
 Sam," as Frank Tinney would say, I put this in 
 so that you'll all know how it is pronounced, and 
 not keep waiting for the end of the joke.] 
 
 I told this to W as we went along a most 
 
 engaging road, and while he didn't care much about 
 it I will say that the chauffeur laughed most satis- 
 factorily. W was busy looking for toll-gates. 
 
 We were agreed that the road was as good as any- 
 thing in France and it seemed only right that we 
 should pay something for it. We were just going 
 in at the tip-toppy of the Blue Ridge when we 
 found so lovely an old toll-gate ahead of us that we 
 stopped on this side for a sketch. 
 
 The chauffeur discovered the first white violets, 
 the first buttercups, and a red clover which I was 
 proud to tell him was sorrel. I spoke of the cus- 
 tom in Normandy of staking the cows in a long 
 line and making them eat with neatness and no 
 waste. Whenever we are in perfectly simple sur- 
 roundings with the birds singing in the bush, sun — 
 some clouds — and a good white road, I do not think 
 of any other part of America, but of France — or 
 Austria — or Germany. Yet not of Italy. Italy 
 H- 101 -«- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 is so vibrant with old passions, so teeming with 
 castles on grey hill tops, so hurt with the straining 
 of beasts of too great burdens. South Mountain 
 lay ahead of us and beyond that was the little creek 
 of Antietam across which the two armies fought 
 with the greatest loss of any day in the Civil War. 
 And that is France — and Austria — and Germany. 
 
 When the Illustrator had almost completed his 
 sketch and Toby had run away in fear from a piece 
 of earth moving unassisted in an even ridge — for 
 he had not learned " mole " — I went up to the toll- 
 gate lady who was working in her garden to say 
 that we ought to pay toll for the house as well as 
 the road. 
 
 " Toll? " she repeated. " Tain't a toll-gate." 
 
 I came over to her closely. I didn't want the Il- 
 lustrator to hear. " It's got to be a toll-gate. My 
 husband has been looking for a typical one and he 
 says this is perfect." 
 
 " 'Twas a toll-gate once," she admitted. " Tolled 
 the road mighty nigh a hundred years, I reckon, but 
 I plant tomatoes now. No, won't cost you a cent." 
 
 " But don't you see," I whispered excitedly, " it's 
 got to be an active toll-gate. If it isn't, he'll tear up 
 the sketch and I do so want it in." 
 
 " In? " I told her about the book. She stared 
 at me in a sort of happy daze. " This old ram- 
 shackle in a book — well, what are we coming to? " 
 
 -!-102-i- 
 
BURN SIDE'S BRIDGE, ANTIETAM 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 I saw an opening. " It's up to you. I tell you 
 what." I watched the Illustrator from afar as the 
 plan took shape. " When we come along here, you 
 just hold out your hand and say ' ten cents ' and 
 then I'll give it to you. Say fifty if you want to. 
 It's worth it." 
 
 " Land sakes! I'll get took up for it." 
 
 She wouldn't do it. That sweet, tired, honest 
 woman wouldn't do it. I kept on talking. I saw 
 large possibilities of her making more than she ever 
 would out of tomatoes. She need only hold up tour- 
 ing motors with New York numbers. *' Remember, 
 cream background and blue lettering. If they are 
 a young couple in a little car why only ask eight 
 cents, if a large rich party, not carrying my book, 
 ask a dollar. It will do them good, and they won't 
 get a better road in Europe." 
 
 She laughed and laughed at my nonsense. 
 *' Land sakes," she kept repeating. But we finally 
 effected a compromise. She went into the house 
 and picked a ten-cent piece out of her poor worn 
 purse, giving it to me. Four minutes after that as 
 our car rolled up she came out sternly, and " Ten 
 cents," she demanded, like the best actress on 
 Broadway. 
 
 Of course there is going to be a little trouble 
 about this, but at the present writing the Illustrator 
 has gone to the Lambs' Gambol, and I'll choose a 
 
 -e- 103 -i- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 time to read it out to him when he loves the world 
 — when he comes home from the Gambol for in- 
 stance ! 
 
 We stopped at Middletown to be sure that we 
 were right for Boonsboro, questioning five very 
 fat men who were sitting, quite correctly, on the 
 porch of Koogle's candy store. I wanted to ask 
 them if McClellan had marched via Boonsboro but 
 the Illustrator thought it was better not to. We 
 would be so disappointed had they gone another 
 way. If this man had three eyes and didn't know 
 it he would not consider that he had them. 
 
 So swift was our pace that we arrived and left 
 Boonsboro before we knew it and drove back a lit- 
 tle to turn sharply to the left for Antietam Creek. 
 The tablets along the country road began much 
 sooner than we had expected. It gave us a thrill 
 to see " Headquarters of the Army of the Po- 
 tomac " marking where the tents had been pitched. 
 It was a field of grain then, it is a field of grain now. 
 Between that point and the creek, the bridges of 
 which were so fiercely contested, were many mark- 
 ers, great open scrolls, which gave the divisions of 
 the Federals, told us when they were despatched to 
 the bridges, when they were relieved and by what 
 regiments. 
 
 The history of the battle is exceedingly simple 
 and I beg that I may tell a little of it. It is easier 
 
 -^ 104 -*- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 than working out a picture puzzle, and I think in 
 time you will find it more stimulating. It intro- 
 duces some of our friends at Frederick and some 
 who endured for the battle at Gettysburg three 
 years later. 
 
 On the 13th of September, 1862, McClellan com- 
 ing into Frederick from Washington was handed 
 an order found by a Yankee private, from Lee to 
 D. H. Hill. It showed that the Confederates were 
 at present divided on South Mountain — it showed 
 to McClellan that it would be a great coup to place 
 himself between them. *' Sing opportunity! " 
 
 But he did not go that night. He waited until 
 the 14th. In the meantime the Confederates had 
 consolidated, and when McClellan forced them to 
 evacuate the gaps in the mountain it was with great 
 loss of men. When Lee heard of the lost order^ 
 imagine the despair of this fine General! — he 
 hastily withdrew his forces, which were nearing 
 Hagerstown, moved to Antietam and sent for 
 Jackson who had marched from Frederick — as we 
 know — ^to Harper's Ferry. 
 
 Had McClellan followed up his first attack with- 
 out delay he might have gained the victory, so reads 
 history, but another day was lost in skirmishing, 
 and it was not until the 17th that the battle opened 
 in earnest. Jackson's men were arriving, yet things 
 were pretty shaky for the Confederates — 60,000 
 
 -!-105-i- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 men opposed to 87,000 Federals — when our friend 
 A. P. Hill, of the cream coloured horse, leading the 
 last division of Jackson's soldiers arrived from 
 Harper's Ferry. They had travelled 18 miles over 
 roads not such as we were enjoying, but they went 
 immediately into action. They went without or- 
 ders from Lee or anybody else as far as I can make 
 out. They fell upon the Union men who had taken 
 the bridges at all costs — and at such cost — and 
 drove them back to their first entrenchments. 
 
 Night came. Lee's army which was not on the 
 defensive but the offensive in this battle, moved far- 
 ther south, and McClellan, who was on the offensive 
 not the defensive let them go. For this he was re- 
 moved, and Burnside was put into command. The 
 nation, I believe, rejoiced that at least Lee's inva- 
 sion of the North had been checked, and they buried 
 the 12,470 men who had checked him. 
 
 A little company of school children with their 
 teacher came along the road, as accustomed to the 
 tablets as they were to the wild flowers, and look- 
 ing at me curiously as I sniffled. They advised us 
 to cross the ugly modern bridge ahead and go to 
 the one now known as Burnside's, for there the 
 fighting had been most furious. We went on 
 through more peaceful country, fields of May 
 wheat rich in promise, along the ridge which Lee's 
 zeal had granted him. A fine old house stood at 
 
 -^106^- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 the bottom of the hill across which the guns must 
 have thundered. We asked a scrap of a boy with 
 soft brown eyes who was swinging on the farmyard 
 gate what he had done when the shooting began and 
 he said " I don't just remember." One could 
 hardly blame him, but I was sorry I couldn't find 
 out some way or other, for it has always been a 
 mystery to me how houses are evacuated during 
 such times of stress. But he could only tell me that 
 he was Mr. Nicodemus's little boy. 
 
 The Burnside bridge over the stream is very 
 lovely. We crossed again that we might read the 
 memorials to the Northern men who had held it. 
 The Illustrator brought me a little bunch of violets 
 picked at the base of one column to unknown dead. 
 Above rose the heights which Hill's men had 
 wrested from the advancing Federals. It could 
 have been no easy task to have climbed that steep. 
 On one corner of the bridge Colonel Pope has 
 erected a granite stone to the 35th Regiment of 
 Massachusetts : 
 
 " Who crossed the bridge and went up the lane 
 and left there 214 killed and wounded. 
 
 " Gloria est pro patria mori." 
 
 So ran the inscription. 
 
 There was time to sit quietly in the sunshine and 
 think it out. I know, too, that it is glorious to die 
 for one's country. I know it now after suffering 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 from doubt and confusion for twenty-two months. 
 I know that the flesh must die that the spirit may 
 be quickened. And what can patriotism be but 
 spiritual manifestation? Why, after all, should a 
 man fight for the mere dirt on which he chanced 
 to be born unless it means man's highest expression 
 of the inner life — the life that has naught to do 
 with the love of man for woman or the material ties 
 of hearth and home? 
 
 And yet — again I am confuted — if this battling 
 for a cause is constructive and not destructive, if 
 it is a process of evolution, the following of a nat- 
 ural law, why should the young men go before the 
 old ? Why do not the old men go out to battle and 
 the younger men fill their depleted ranks? I sup- 
 pose I shall find an answer to this. One finds so 
 many answers in these days to the problems of life. 
 
 We secured at Antietam what we missed at Get- 
 tysburg: the vision of a battle. It did not come 
 from government roads, nor acres of land turned 
 into park — the former yield of the good brown 
 earth nullified. It came from the fields of grain 
 serving as they had served in war times, ful- 
 filling their mission as the soldier fulfilled his. 
 
 Not long ago a friend of ours — a woman — ex- 
 claimed over my joy in the quick return of the 
 French peasants to their scarred farms. She 
 thought a battleground should remain sacred, she 
 
 -«-108-i- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 said it would be offensive to her to eat the bread 
 of a blood-soaked earth. And I have no reply in a 
 language fitting for the theme. But here are a few 
 verses of a young American, Alan Seeger, who is 
 with a regiment in the Champagne district of 
 France. The entire poem was printed in the 
 North American Review, and Mr. Review has been 
 so good as to let me use them. 
 
 " Under the little crosses where they rise 
 
 The soldier rests. Now round him undismayed 
 The cannon thunders, and at night he lies 
 
 At peace beneath the eternal fusillade . . . 
 
 " Obscurely sacrificed, his nameless tomb. 
 Bare of the sculptor's art, the poet's lines 
 Summer shall flush with poppy-fields in bloom. 
 And Autumn yellow with maturing vines. 
 
 "There the grape-pickers at their harvesting 
 
 Shall lightly tread and load their wicker trays. 
 Blessing his memory as they toil and sing 
 In the slant sunshine of October days . . . 
 
 " I love to think that if my blood should be 
 So privileged to sink where his has sunk, 
 I shall not pass from Earth entirely. 
 
 But when the banquet rings, when healths are 
 drunk, 
 
 "And faces that the joys of living fill 
 
 Glow radiant with laughter and good cheer. 
 In beaming cups some spark of me shall still 
 Brim toward the lips that once I held so dear," 
 -^109^- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 It is all there, isn't it? I hope every one in every 
 Broadway cabaret when glasses are lifted for years 
 to come will think of this. 
 
 We stopped at Sharp sburg for luncheon, sanely 
 hungry after an emotional morning — just as it 
 should be. The hotel was getting a new coat of 
 paint and they said they never had anything to eat 
 when they painted. We were served at the Nico- 
 demus house further along by a brown-eyed young 
 girl like those of the little chap who doesn't quite 
 remember what he did during the Civil War. The 
 pretty girl was his cousin and used to live in that 
 very farm house. The three of us sat in a long dark 
 dining room while she graciously served us, talking 
 of what the Nicodemus family did when Lee lev- 
 elled his guns at the foe across the valley. " They 
 just naturally all cleared out," she told us, which 
 was a very sensible thing to do considering that the 
 thick brick walls are still encasing the lead of both 
 armies. 
 
 She was a nice girl and agreed with us, saying it 
 was mighty pretty about here. I looked for the 
 restlessness that marks the faces of so many coun- 
 try girls of the North, but she was passive. Pos- 
 sibly that very love of home — not of the wide coun- 
 try but of the small environment — is the quality 
 that made it rational for the Southern graduate 
 from West Point to cleave to his state in preference 
 
 -h 110 -J- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 to his nation when he walked in his Garden of Geth- 
 semane and made his choice. 
 
 When we arose to go and I reached for my purse 
 
 W began hissing to me: " Don't insult her — 
 
 not a single cent," like a nest of snakes. This would 
 have been surprising, for he is an honest man, and 
 had eaten a great many eggs, had I not under- 
 stood his fear that I was going to tip her. I would 
 as soon have thought of tipping the First Lady of 
 the Land as of offering anything beyond the price of 
 the meal and our thanks to pretty Miss Nicodemus. 
 
 I said as much when we got outside and W , 
 
 who had put on a grey suit that morning and for- 
 gotten his rock-ribbed forefathers, replied that you 
 could never tell what mistakes a Northerner might 
 make. 
 
 Thus varying the day with pleasant wrangles 
 we came to a new diversion, perhaps one should 
 say division, for it was the Potomac River spanned 
 by a long bridge. He went ahead to take a pic- 
 ture of it with our car magnificently crossing, but 
 he had no sooner reached the other side and begun 
 waving for us to start than the chauffeur discovered 
 a sign overhead which threatened a heavy fine if we 
 passed without paying toll. There was no one 
 about to take our money, still both of us were cau- 
 tious as to our expenditures and the enraged 
 
 -Mil-!- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 W had to return to tell us that the toll-gate 
 
 was at the far end. 
 
 A very dear old toll gentleman explained that 
 they had put up the sign as a horrible warning. " I 
 cain't always ketch 'em," he said, which was the 
 truth, as in a running contest he couldn't have 
 caught a crab going backward. We asked if any 
 one was low enough to escape tolls, and we learned 
 that there are people who make a regular business 
 of it. They have an instinct for it like pickpockets, 
 counterfeiters, or safe breakers. I thought it must 
 be very uncomfortable to be handicapped by such 
 an instinct. It would not be as lucrative a pursuit 
 as pocket picking, and the field of one's industry 
 would be limited, for he would have to spend his 
 life hanging about toll-gates whereas pockets were 
 in every part of the world. 
 
 I fear I spoke too sympathetically, but W 
 
 came up, turning the old man's attention by the de- 
 sire to know something of a monument high on 
 the bank which he had just " taken." The old man 
 told us it was put up for Rumsey who, he said, 
 " discovered steam." There is nothing like enter- 
 prise for acquiring a monument, but I looked into 
 Mr. Rumsey's past more definitely and found he 
 had applied the power to a boat, an honour shared 
 with several other discoverers. 
 
 *' It's goin' to rain," our old new friend tolled 
 -?-112-i- 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 (forgive me) as we left him, " the Baltimore Sun 
 says so." And this raised the question as to the 
 state we were in. Anybody in Maryland would be- 
 lieve the Baltimore Sun, but could its blighting 
 prognostications be taken seriously in the Vir- 
 ginias? We asked a huge black fellow guiding 
 oxen just where we were and he replied that he 
 "reckoned we was in East Virginia," then con- 
 fessed frankly as we pinned him down about this 
 state new to us, that he disremembered. 
 
 It was West Virginia, and after some driving 
 along a country lane, fields right to the motor's toes, 
 we came to Harper's Ferry. High on a bluff over- 
 looking the merging of the Shenandoah River with 
 the Potomac is a fine hotel known as the Hill Top 
 Inn. It is managed by an intelligent coloured man 
 and his wife, and that is the finest monument which 
 could be erected to the memory of John Brown. 
 
 From the bench on which the Illustrator was 
 sketching they pointed out the inconspicuous shaft 
 far below, erected to the great fanatic's memory. 
 I didn't know much about John Brown, at least I 
 " disremembered " save that " John Brown's body 
 lies mouldering in the grave, but his soul goes 
 marching on." So we listened to the two as they 
 spoke most impersonally of the man who had given 
 his life to free their people. He had come out of 
 Kansas. He had been lawless enough there to bear 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 watching, for, violently anti-slavery, he had been 
 instrumental in the deliberate killing of five slave 
 owners of that state, yet I cannot find that any 
 steps were taken to indict him for these murders. 
 
 In time he conceived a well formed plan to make 
 raids into Virginia and Maryland, seize slaves and 
 hurry them through to Canada. Some of the cooler 
 abolitionists in the Eastern States would have noth- 
 ing to do with him, but he secured funds, and with 
 eighteen followers actually captured the United 
 States arsenal at Harper's Ferry, cut the telegraph 
 wires, and entrenched in an engine house, where the 
 little shaft now rises, held all comers at bay until 
 overcome by marines. Curiously enough, two 
 United States army officers then known as Colonel 
 Robert E. Lee and Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart of 
 Gettysburg fame — but, alas, no longer under the 
 same flag — effected his arrest. 
 
 " He wasn't any more crazy than I am," said the 
 intelligent coloured proprietor of the stately inn. 
 " He showed that at the trial. But when you be- 
 lieve in only one thing and you believe in it hard 
 you seem crazy to people who don't care much. It 
 appears to me to keep your balance you got to be- 
 lieve in a heap of different things." 
 
 So John Brown, the insurrectionist, was hanged. 
 He died with dignity if he lived with violence, ad- 
 vancing his belief more in the quitting of life than 
 
THE POTOMAC AT HARPERS FERRY 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 by any fierce holding of it. He became a martyr 
 and his private prejudice grew into a sacred 
 Cause. He believed that naught could be accom- 
 plished without the shedding of blood — ^he gave 
 his own. It takes a superman for that especial 
 sacrifice. 
 
 The hotel proprietors withdrew to welcome a 
 luxurious motor, and Anna Dore with her two little 
 friends next occupied our attention. Anna Dore 
 was of a dark skinniness familiar to my youth, and 
 she was the self-elected leader in the game of roll- 
 ing coloured Easter eggs down the hill — this as- 
 sumed leadership is also familiar. Each had her 
 basket of eggs, the contents of which were rolled 
 rather gingerly, the egg getting the farthest win- 
 ning the other trophies. It was an encouraging 
 refutation of the old adage which is being continu- 
 ally applied to me by an anxious family that " A 
 rolling stone gathers no moss." 
 
 I asked them what they did with so many cracked 
 eggs — I was hoping for the present of a smashed 
 one — and Anna Dore replied that they only rolled 
 them until hunger (presumably theirs) was stilled. 
 She had another game which consisted of tapping 
 upon each other's shell to see which cracked first. 
 " Do you pick? " said Anna Dore to me very po- 
 litely. 
 
 " She does," returned the Illustrator, and as I 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 did not wish her to get a wrong idea of married life 
 I hurried on to Toby. 
 
 He had gone off with a lop-eared beagle whose 
 charm consisted in leading dogs strange to the town 
 along the perilous edges of the cliff. And no mat- 
 ter how near death the chauffeur afterwards 
 brought me, I have always been grateful to him for 
 pursuing those will-o'-the-wisps. It was not a 
 chauffeur's duty, nor was he in training for it, but 
 this is one of the penalties for taking a friendly in- 
 terest in his employers. We finally got under way, 
 Toby lunging out and barking farewell to tihe 
 beagle. " I like this Harper's Fairy," he cried, not 
 understanding at all. But it made us think for the 
 first time of the ferry and of Harper. Wliere was 
 it? Who was he? I doubt if even the coloured 
 proprietor would know. 
 
 And now — evening, with the first yellow clay of 
 Virginia prematurely beginning in West Virginia. 
 We passed through Charlestown with a memorial 
 hall — given by Charles Broadway Rouss — showing 
 a huge picture of the donor in the steeple. I don't 
 know why more millionaires who build great edi- 
 fices have not thought of this pictured fame. 
 Imagine Mr. Woolworth's face going all the way 
 down his tower — the longest face in the world ! 
 
 Sharp at the state line which bounced us into Vir- 
 ginia we struck some bad going. The road was 
 
HISTORY TO BURN AND— VIRGINIA 
 
 probably built by one of the First Families of 
 Virginia — and never touched since. It was not the 
 welcome we would have planned, although it was 
 something we feared. But we were distracted by a 
 youth ploughing the rich clay of a field. He wore a 
 dull blue shirt and his face was glowing from too 
 long a task. There were four great black horses 
 straining at the plough, but as we passed he pulled 
 them into inaction. He watched us, and I thought 
 there was a terrible despair in his face, despair that 
 he must plough of a sweet Spring evening while we 
 drove by. I longed to tell him that he made the 
 finest picture I had ever seen, and my first pic- 
 ture of Virginia. But I could only wave to him, 
 and immediately what bitterness there was left 
 him — or he was too proud and too courteous to 
 show it — he lifted his broad hat and swung it in the 
 air, then went on with his work. 
 
 And while the pike behaved itself a few yards 
 further on, I found this first experience over the 
 state line entirely Virginian. When the way is bad 
 lift your head and hear the mocking bird ; turn your 
 head and see the beauty about you. Look to the 
 people and the road will be easier by the smile they 
 give to you. It is unending — and takes no toll. 
 
 117 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Officer Noonan All Over These Pages, an Um- 
 brella, the Shenandoah Valley, Wicked 
 Gypsies, and a Shampoo 
 
 There was a progressive hotel in Winchester, 
 Virginia, which sent out advance notices of itself 
 like a well-billed play. " Hungry? " read a sign on 
 a tree with the name of the hotel underneath. 
 " Bath? " it continued further on. " Sleepy? " In- 
 deed every inducement was offered except " Dog? " 
 and for that reason we passed it when we reached 
 the old town stopping at the newer Hotel Jack, l^ 
 
 It was not until Toby and I had triumphantly 
 gained our rooms that he read out to me a notice 
 on the back of the door: " No dogs allowed." But 
 nothing was said to us at the desk, and we assume 
 that the landlord had wisely put elastic in his rules 
 which gave the motorist extra privileges. He is 
 right in this for the automobilist is willing to pay 
 for extravagances, and the possible annoyance of a 
 dog should, I think, go down on the bill. It hasn't 
 as yet, but I see no reason why the price should not 
 
 -f-118-»- i 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 be " $2.00 with bath," and " $2.50 with bath and 
 dog." 
 
 They could not accommodate the Illustrator, 
 however, with any sort of liquid refreshment less 
 soft than a down pillow. Many other towns in Vir- 
 ginia have gone distressingly dry and in November 
 the whole state will be forced into grape juice tod- 
 dies. The clerk assured W that he would be 
 
 accommodated at the club now occupying General 
 Phil Sheridan's old headquarters. " Just explain 
 the situation," he hospitably advised, and while the 
 club would no doubt have astonishingly done this, 
 the Northern man felt that by no stretch of decency 
 could he sign the visitors' book. 
 
 ' We walked up the street after an excellent meal 
 to see this fine old house which had been described 
 as opposite the new library instead of the new 
 library opposite it. Both buildings were impres- 
 sive, although we mistook the character of the more 
 
 recently built edifice. W was saying that it 
 
 looked as a library should when one of the ladies 
 of Winchester sent " daughter " in to buy " five 
 twos, three ones, and a postal card." It was just as 
 satisfactory in the character of post office and 
 across the street was the new library, excellent too, 
 but not in the Georgian style suitable for the home 
 of Elsie Dinsmore, or the books concerning her. 
 I knew that I should go into this library and find 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 out historical truths about Winchester, but I knew, 
 also, that I wasn't going to do it when it was so 
 much pleasanter walking about the streets listening 
 to what people were saying. " Daughter " had 
 come out of the post office and she went on with her 
 elders, joining in the conversation with that grown 
 up freedom which young people enjoy, yet do not 
 take advantage of in the South. They were all 
 agreed that Mrs. Kendall had right pretty hair, 
 and daughter said that whenever mother saw her 
 coming up the street " she hollers out: ' Here comes 
 Mrs. Kendall with her pretty hair ' " — as though 
 Mrs. Kendall might not have it with her every 
 day. 
 
 It was amusing to hear the child introduce " hol- 
 ler " into correct conversation. I have had to re- 
 buke an excellent Virginia maid for telling me that 
 " he is hollerin' for his breakfast," whether refer- 
 ring to W or the canary bird. I felt at the 
 
 time that she was in a state of perplexity over my 
 criticism, and having heard the word frequently 
 used down there for " call " I presume I am in a 
 position to apologise to her. 
 
 They drifted up the best street while we cut into 
 a narrow alley for no reason in the world save that 
 we could do exactly as we pleased, and came out 
 on the highway before a most beautiful old hotel. 
 It was denied its original purpose, but a small por- 
 
 H- 120 -t- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 tion of it served at the time that we were there as a 
 show room for Antique Furniture. There could be 
 no better shelter for the old mahogany of the South 
 than this splendid ante-bellum building. We stood 
 before it a long time and I went back (in the rain 
 the Baltimore Sun had sent us) later in the even- 
 ing to look up at its wide silent verandas and sad 
 unlighted windows. 
 
 More than any other form of housing for hu- 
 man beings, a hotel needs people to render it any- 
 thing but a shell. Yet one is conscious of this lack 
 rather in the closed hotels which never boasted a 
 history. How quickly all character is gone from a 
 mammoth Summer inn when the shutters go up! 
 How meaningless are the walls of a city caravan- 
 sary when it is deserted by its clientele ! A hotel is 
 not built to husband books or pictures or household 
 effects. It is a roof tree for men and women, and, 
 sometimes, if the rules are gentle, children and 
 dogs. But an ancient tavern is pervaded with 
 memories, and like a tired mortal who has richly 
 experienced the weal and woe of life, it retains 
 a quality that holds the interest of the mere pass- 
 erby. 
 
 In my case I was not a passerby. I was a lin- 
 gerer-there, and a returner-to. I was misunder- 
 stood of course. When I came back in the Balti- 
 more Suns rain late that night the Illustrator, 
 
 -i- 121 -i- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 rudely aroused from his first sleep, said I was hang- 
 ing around there in the hope that the Antique Fur- 
 niture shop might open. And while this was un- 
 true, it put a new thought in my head and I deter- 
 mined to be on hand the first thing in the morning. 
 
 The rain, set up in heavy type, continued and I 
 could get no encouragement from the coloured 
 waiter at breakfast over its possible cessation. The 
 cloud burst would not interfere with my going to 
 the Antique Furniture but it would dim the joy of 
 motoring ninety-four miles up the great and his- 
 toric Shenandoah Valley. A little girl who sat at 
 table next to me was equally discomfited because 
 — new and alarming child — she couldn't go to 
 school. " And it's French day. And I do like my 
 French. And I get good marks in my French." 
 
 " Listen to the canary bird singing so happily," 
 said the mother with an inane attempt to distract 
 her. " It doesn't want to get out of its cage." 
 
 " Let it holler," said the young person. " It 
 doesn't know how nice it is to get out, and I have 
 learned all about it." 
 
 Griefs are relative, but you can't make the ag- 
 grieved one admit it. I had wanted all my life to 
 see the Shenandoah Valley and she wanted to have 
 her French lesson yet I suppose her disappointment 
 was as great as mine. I had one advantage over 
 her: I was going just the same. The touring mo- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 torist who is stayed by rain would stop and turn 
 back at the first mud hole though the sun shone. 
 
 At least, we were going after I had visited the 
 Taylor Hotel, for that was the name of the old 
 inn. I abandoned the bills and bags to the Illustra- 
 tor and borrowed an umbrella at the office. The 
 clerk carried it down the steps for me and opened 
 it with so great a show of good manners that I went 
 off in a daze, forgetting to thank him. Once at the 
 furniture shop a man oiling an old table came for- 
 ward to say that the proprietor, an antiquarian of 
 note, was moving his effects across the street, but 
 to make myself at home. This I did, weaving my 
 way about beautiful mahogany at very low prices 
 and telling myself that I already had one side- 
 board and no dining room. I passed into the court 
 now roofed, but that had once been open ; the rooms 
 gave on galleries running about three sides of the 
 hollow square, while the stage coaches and post 
 chaises were driven in from the fourth side after 
 the fashion of old English inns. 
 
 I did not get all this by intuition but was grace- 
 fully apprised of it by Mr. Noonan. Mr. Noonan 
 appeared suddenly from nowhere with a nickel de- 
 vice of some sort on his blue cap which I took to be 
 the insignia of nothing less than a colonel. It was 
 hard to believe he was a roundsman going around, 
 hard to believe from the information he gave me 
 
 rf- 123 ■+-, 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 and his manner of delivering it. One would never 
 stop a New York policeman to ask him if the block 
 house in Central Park was put up as a protection 
 against the Indians or the English. But Officer 
 Noonan had the history of Winchester and of the 
 Taylor Hotel at his tongue's end. 
 
 It was just as good as I felt it would be — this old 
 place. It had been built in the middle of the eight- 
 eenth century when it was known as the Edward 
 McGuire Tavern. " But Doctor von Witt would 
 tell you all about that," he had a way of saying 
 when dates became a little persistent. They had 
 all been there : Washington, when he assisted Brad- 
 dock, and General Braddock himself, fighting the 
 Indians stupidly in British formation, demanding 
 it of others and going to his death. Davie Crockett 
 had stayed there. I couldn't find out why, though 
 in the report I gleaned from one history that " With 
 little education he became a noted hunter." Henry 
 Clay rested his horses on his way to White Sulphur 
 Springs; Daniel Webster in 1852 leaned over the 
 railings to address the people below. 
 
 " Thomas J. Jackson," as the general so signed 
 himself, hung his call to arms on the walls, and the 
 tavern, by that time changed in name to the Taylor 
 Hotel, was deserted for a space as the men of Win- 
 chester responded. Then came the occupation of 
 the town by whatever successful army that chanced 
 
 -J-124.-J- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 to pass through. Union troops, Confederate 
 troops, Union troops again, each side making the 
 hotel its general headquarters until it must have 
 been hard for the Southern barkeeper to know 
 whether to mix poison or honest liquor. In one day 
 the hotel changed hands five times, and if I quote 
 correctly, Winchester endured over seventy occu- 
 pations and evacuations of the two armies. 
 
 I am afraid to look this up for fear it will be 
 wrong, and I couldn't press Officer Noonan too 
 closely. It would have been as rude as asking him 
 what he had in the cigar box he was firmly carry- 
 ing. I know one thing, I never had a more lovely 
 morning, rain or shine, and Toby and I splashed 
 over to the mysterious Dr. von Witt feeling that 
 there was nothing more to be said. But there was 
 a little more. 
 
 I found the antiquarian and guide among his 
 treasures — Treasures of the Humble they might be 
 called for they were easily within one's means. But 
 there was a safe in the room, and out of it came a 
 ledger and another time- stained document for 
 which we might possibly swap our automobile if we 
 threw in Toby. 
 
 The ledger was of the Edgar McGuire Tavern of 
 1763 proving that Edward Braddock and Daniel 
 Morgan — a great Indian fighter — and George 
 Rollings worth (comrade of Lord Fairfax I think) 
 
 -^125^- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 all ate very little and drank a great deal. They 
 were particularly fond of a " bumbo " which cost 
 one shilling three pence, and judging by its steady 
 demand before a dinner must have been the cock- 
 tail of the day. 
 
 Then Dr. von Witt " because you are fond of 
 these things," took out the other document, lifted 
 it from its wrappings and displayed the neat ac- 
 count of the young surveyor George Washington. 
 The bill covered the two years from 1747 to 1749 
 when he was occupied in surveying the great estates 
 of Lord Fairfax. The whole smn rendered was 
 something under one hundred dollars and of this 
 poor little George received but thirteen dollars in 
 cash ; the rest he had eaten up, rendering faithfully 
 to my Lord Fairfax the bags of flour, flitches of 
 bacon and other commodities which go to make a 
 man the Father of his Country. 
 
 We are so accustomed to portraits of our first 
 President looking out at us benignly, with snow- 
 white hair arranged something the way I do mine, 
 that it is hard to believe he could ever have car- 
 ried the chain for so many months with such poor 
 results. But I found the story much less irritating 
 than the outrageous one of the cherry tree, and 
 more of an incentive to the young politicians of the 
 country to work with the hands and leave election- 
 eering to others. 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 Since he was not of age the acquittal had been 
 countersigned by Lawrence Washington, and to 
 my shame be it said I had forgotten that Lawrence 
 was his consumptive half-brother who died shortly 
 afterwards leaving the industrious civil engineer 
 the estate of Mount Vernon. I think the antiqua- 
 rian's faith in me was shaken by this unfortunate 
 revelation, this and the divulgence that we were mo- 
 toring on without further explorations in Winches- 
 ter. " Do you know," he said solemnly, " that this 
 town is historically second to but one other in the 
 South?" I looked out of the window fearing my 
 expression would reveal my quick wonder as to the 
 name of the first town. The old hotel looked across 
 at me. In the rain I could see the Illustrator mak- 
 ing a sketch and Officer Noonan talking to our 
 driver. No, we could not give up the car for young 
 George's bill but would, oh would Dr. von Witt 
 exchange it for the chauffeur ! 
 
 The good antiquarian's eyes followed mine, but 
 they did not seek the chauffeur. They were on the 
 old building. 
 
 "It is to be altered soon. That is why I am 
 moving out." 
 
 " Altered? For preservation? " 
 
 " No," said he bitterly, " for a five and ten cent 
 store." 
 
 And I here beg Mr. Kresge to keep the old 
 -J-127-+- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 f a9ade as it is, or may the town of Winchester once 
 more rise up and turn the invading army from its 
 door. 
 
 Since the bill was paid and the baggage strapped 
 on we were ready to start up the Valley — ready, 
 except for the umbrella. It wasn't much of an um- 
 brella and I haven't much honour, but sufficient to 
 guarantee a return of the kindly loan. For all one 
 knew it might have been left at the hotel by L. M. 
 H., the nice young man who had also forgotten the 
 collar — and a clean one — which was found in my 
 top dresser drawer. I know that his initials are L. 
 M. H., for the collar says so, and I know he is a nice 
 young man, as he had dumped into the drawer a 
 quantity of small paper flags with which he had evi- 
 dently been " tagged " on Belgium Day. So I left 
 the collar hoping that he might return — besides, it 
 didn't fit the Illustrator. 
 
 The most charming thing about Winchester was 
 the leaving of it, which sounds ungrateful but read 
 along, for Officer Noonan said he would take the 
 umbrella back himself as he continued on his 
 rounds. The last we saw of him he was wading 
 through the flood with it in one hand and the enig- 
 ma cigar box in the other. " It's just Southern 
 courtesy in a nutshell," said the Illustrator. 
 
 But I confounded him with a line of Chaucer. 
 
 " A verray parfit gentil knight," said I. 
 .-^ 128 -i- 
 

 A RELIC OF ANTP:-BELLUM DAYS— THE TAYLOR HOTEL 
 AT WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 The rain obligingly lessened as we reached the 
 first toll-gate, which suited us very well, as it is 
 pleasant to chat with the keepers and we can't ex- 
 pect them to get wet while we are asking if they 
 think it is going to clear up. Some did away with 
 all efforts to engage them in conversation by stick- 
 ing out a warming pan from the door into which we 
 dropped our ticket. At least it looked like a warm- 
 ing pan or a skillet with a long handle, the gift of a 
 hotel which lay ahead of us. A hotel evidently 
 does not read its Gideon Bibles. Not only the left 
 hand knoweth what the right hand doeth when the 
 patron gets something for nothing, but the left re- 
 peateth it in big print on the other side the article. 
 They " holler " it out so loud that you can't make a 
 gift of the thing even to a blind man. 
 
 The only way a woman can ever dispose of the 
 fans she receives at restaurants — and get some 
 credit for her generosity — will be to find a race 
 on a South Sea island who will take the lettering 
 for part of the ornamentation. I have often 
 thought how agreeable it would be to discover a 
 country like this where the inhabitants had a sense 
 a humour but had never heard a single one of the 
 fine old stories which were so much better than are 
 the new ones. Fancy hearing the best joke in the 
 world for the first time ! 
 
 We must get beyond the first toll-gate for there 
 -^129-f- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 are nineteen of them on this route. You pay for 
 the whole lot at once and it is a bargain as the long 
 slip of tickets have been reduced gradually from 
 
 $4.65 to $1.79. W , who believes in statistics so 
 
 long as other people collect them, was filled with 
 pride of me when I told him at the end of the run 
 that the tickets were collected by three old men, 
 four young men, eight old women, four young 
 women, and two whose age will receive the benefit 
 of the doubt. As the darky expressed himself con- 
 cerning the advisability of the chicken hash at 
 breakfast, they were kind of " so-so " as to their 
 years. 
 
 I think this toll-gating should really be a job for 
 old people or for crippled ones. And the control- 
 lers of the roads must agree with me for many of 
 the little houses were presided over by men without 
 an arm. If any one follows us on this route I wish 
 he could find out and let me know why such a quan- 
 tity of young men in the South have lost an arm or 
 a hand. It must be that they work in machinery 
 when they are children, doing the tasks of the elders 
 with the carelessness of youth. I could never lead 
 up to the query without giving possible offence, or, 
 as the chauffeur put it, " without stepping on their 
 toes " — which would be a mean thing to do to a man 
 not quite all there as to his extremities. 
 
 Some one in Winchester told us to ask at the 
 -i-130-f- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 second gate about the woman stationed there in 
 war times who held up and demanded toll from 
 the Union Army as they were seeking Jackson. 
 We hear very little of Stonewall Jackson in the 
 Shenandoah Valley, only of Sheridan who devas- 
 tated it so completely in 1864. But Jackson in 
 1862 seized vast stores of the Union forces under 
 Milroy, Banks, Shields, and Fremont. Sheridan 
 was not alone in recognising the advantage of 
 controlling the Shenandoah. It not only was a 
 rich granary for the Southern people, but its level 
 length furnished an easy approach to Harper's 
 Ferry, and from there to Washington and Balti- 
 more. I suppose there were many rides as dashing 
 as Sheridan's if one would only stay long enough 
 in the public library to find out about them and not 
 go off to look at hats. And I think a public library 
 should be in a remote part of town far from mil- 
 linery. 
 
 We couldn't get a word from the toll-gate lady 
 about the story so vaguely outlined at Winchester. 
 But she thrust out a warming pan just as her prede- 
 cessor might have thrust a gun, and while it is a 
 brave deed to hold up scouts — even Boy Scouts — I 
 should think that a woman at a toll-gate would, 
 from long experience at holding up, be in a state of 
 preparedness which renders her deed less remark- 
 able. 
 
 -»-131-j- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 We couldn't care much about the doubtful story 
 anj'^way as we had to concentrate our weak intel- 
 lects on Sheridan's ride up the Valley. The road 
 invited speed, although Mr. Noonan had warned 
 us there were " constibules " behind every bush to 
 discourage any pace swifter than the doughty gen- 
 eral's. [I love that word doughty and I haven't an 
 idea what it means, but as it is always applied to 
 generals it may have something to do with epau- 
 lets.] In these days of swiftly covering the ground 
 en auto it is difficult to give any credit to the feat 
 of galloping a horse almost twenty miles, but let 
 the motor break down and let the motorist walk 
 back three miles to a village or trot back with a bor- 
 rowed horse and he will have an idea of the momen- 
 tum of General Sheridan when he reached his 
 troops in two hours' time as I read somewhere. He 
 even had breath enough left to rally the disheart- 
 ened and give General Early's men the second sur- 
 prise of the morning. 
 
 In truth there were three surprises, and while I 
 say " in truth," I am feeling a little nervous about 
 it for the story was told me by an old soldier with 
 whom time has possibly juggled fact and fiction. 
 The first surprise was on the Union troops sitting 
 down to breakfast as Early's men descended upon 
 them; the second was on Phil Sheridan who had 
 spent the night at Winchester and was riding back 
 
 -J- 132 -?- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 to his command leisurely with nothing " in his 
 bones," telling him that there was havoc ahead. The 
 third sm*prise was on the Confederate soldiers, who 
 after dispersing the enemy sat down to finish up 
 the breakfast so hastily abandoned by them. And 
 there seems to be no moral in this at all, for, as every 
 one knows, women must work and men must eat 
 and General Sheridan had every right to sleep at 
 his headquarters. 
 
 The only thing I can get out of it beyond the 
 splendour of the story is the necessity of a leader. 
 There were no finer troops in the world than the 
 Union soldiers, but there must be a controlling 
 power. I can't understand how a Divinity can be 
 questioned when we recognise this great necessity 
 in all the kingdoms which make up the universe. 
 I don't care whether it is a male or a female head 
 
 ( I tell this to W often who thinks it should be 
 
 a male) but a household or an army, a nation or a 
 sphere can't go far without one. 
 
 It is all very well for me to speak lightly of these 
 armies remeeting at Cedar Creek on that day of 
 October, 1864, but there wasn't anything funny 
 about it then. It is never funny to us now when the 
 commemorating shafts of marble begin. The sun 
 was beaming as we descended at the creek, and 
 every flower of the season was lifting its head to 
 peep at the glory. Spring was in full blossom here. 
 
 -J- 133 -i-. 
 
-2^ 
 
 THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY ANJJ A SHAMPOO 
 
 We had driven out of the cold straight into the 
 heart of it as one turns undeviatingly to the splen- 
 did warmth of a friend when trouble is our portion. 
 There had been lilacs as early in the day as Stras- 
 burg, and the hills were pink and white with the 
 glowing tree which seems to have no name. But 
 on the banks of Cedar Creek was a blue flower 
 which made me catch my breath, and my brain 
 whirled a little. 
 
 I don't know, now, whether it is all a dream — my 
 seeing these blue flowers before. But I remember 
 (it's another " I remember ") one Sunday morning 
 we didn't go to church — and that was remarkable 
 enough. All of us got in the carriage with Black 
 Bess in the shafts and we drove far out into the 
 country to a creek. Flowers were blooming, blue- 
 bells they must have been, just like the flowers of 
 Cedar Creek. It was so lovely — not being in 
 church — and so lovely anyway, that I have often 
 tried to find the same spot when I have gone back 
 home. But I have never had a trace of it, and my 
 father isn't here any longer, and my mother doesn't 
 know what I am talking about. " Didn't go to 
 church? " she repeats. 
 
 Yet I had always felt that I would see it again, 
 and so I caught my breath when we came to this 
 battleground fulfilling entirely my sweet old pic- 
 ture that has faded from all memories but mine. I 
 
 -J- 134 •+- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 don't know what it " means " — if it means anything 
 — this deep longing to realise again that happy 
 landscape, and to discover its only satisfactory rep- 
 lica to be a battlefield. Unless — after many years 
 of life — I would not find complete contentment in 
 a stretch of earth which held no sorrow. I may 
 have often passed the place at home and never 
 known it, for I could no longer recognise as beauti- 
 ful — nor as mine — a nameless creek and bluebells 
 without meaning. But here I stooped and picked 
 the flowers with some small understanding of bleed- 
 ing wounds. What does old Omar say: 
 
 ''I sometimes think that never blows so red 
 The rose as where fiome buried Ccesar bled; 
 That every Hyacinth the Garden wears 
 Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely 
 Head." 
 
 There was another high shaft beyond here, yet I 
 cannot remember ex^Jtly where we passed it. " To 
 all Confederates," ran the offering. It rose from 
 out the grain with no Sheridan to trample it, and 
 again the old striving for the answers to life op- 
 pressed me. Why should God's food for His peo- 
 ple be deliberately destroyed in time of war ? Why 
 should this be if war is not destructive? Why 
 should the grain die before its purpose is fulfilled 
 or young men go before their fruition? How I 
 
 -J- 135-*- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 long to live to see the spiritual development from 
 this present-day annihilation of the body! Alas! 
 It seems that only the spirit will be left. 
 
 Some distance beyond the battleground we our- 
 selves were met by an opposing force which stood 
 valiantly in the middle of a bridge we were crossing 
 and waved for us to stop. It was a petticoat power, 
 the whole costume a glare of red, yet we all felt 
 guilty as we lessened our speed, wondering if one of 
 the constables had so disguised himself. Coming 
 nearer we found the flaring beacon to be an un- 
 usually pretty gypsy begging in broken English 
 that we assist her band. There, just beyond the 
 bridge we came upon the Romany up-to-date. 
 They were all packed into three old automobiles, 
 probably stolen since purloining little boys has gone 
 out of fashion, and not one of the cars would, as 
 the French say, " march." 
 
 I suppose they were full of water from the heavy 
 rains for we knew as much about it — and more — 
 as the gypsies themselves. A very handsome young 
 man, a woman with a baby and an old crone smok- 
 ing a pipe were pushing one car about in vain cir- 
 cles, all of them shrieking with laughter, while a fine 
 Romany patriarch looked on majestically and did 
 nothing. They spoke almost no English, the young 
 man shouting at us as though we were deaf, " Car- 
 bur-et-or no go." It would have been a very dismal 
 
 -J- 136 -J- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 situation for me, with all the bedding piled into the 
 tonneaus as wet as the magnetos evidently were, 
 
 and for the sake of old days when W and I 
 
 would spend many an hour on foreign waysides 
 looking appealingly at passing motors I impor- 
 tuned both of the men to do what they could for 
 the strangers in a strange land. 
 
 They flung themselves upon the machines, al- 
 though they appreciated that very little could be ac- 
 complished until the coil dried out, and I was im- 
 mediately surrounded by the women and children. 
 I gave the one with the baby half a dollar that I 
 might escape further grafting, and out of grati- 
 tude, so she said, the beautiful young girl began to 
 tell my fortune. I did not wish to hear anything 
 about a handsome blond man, as that might set me 
 to looking for him, but she was persistent. She was 
 persistent to the point of asking for a silver piece 
 — which she would return — the better to read my 
 palm, and I watched her with amusement as she 
 abstracted from my purse, under cover of my hand- 
 kerchief, several coins and proceeded to distribute 
 them over her person. 
 
 To quote the Illustrator this awkward thieving 
 was very " rough stuff " for a Romany, or possibly 
 the green goods men of today find opponents 
 equally keen in city folk. I have always said that 
 I would know when my pocket was being picked, 
 
 -J- 137-*- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 and I not only knew this but felt sorry for her 
 incapacity. 
 
 When she had finished telling me about the 
 blond young man who was not as distracting as 
 she had imagined he would be, I asked her to re- 
 place the money. In fact I commanded her to put 
 back the money. My blood was up. I come of 
 fighting ancestors even if I don't wear buttons and 
 badges. My language was not elegant nor could 
 she understand anything but the primeval anger 
 that lay behind it. 
 
 " Put back that quarter up your right sleeve. 
 You have a lot of cheek with my men helping your 
 men. Stop palming that half dollar in your left 
 hand. Drop it in the purse. Is this the gratitude 
 of the Zingara? And I used to sing songs about 
 you. Now that ten cent piece between your fingers. 
 No, I didn't say you could have it." I called the Il- 
 lustrator and the two men got into the car. The 
 self starter started. She stepped off the running 
 board, her face contorted with rage. " Now we're 
 going to leave you, leave you flat. And here's 
 something for you to reflect upon: Where are the 
 Rubes of yesterday? " 
 
 We went on up the Valley, the occupants of the 
 car admiring me hugely and not aware that I was as 
 scared as possible. Perhaps all the valiant ones 
 are really terrified, those who control howling 
 
 -?- 138 -h- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 mobs, calm rebellious directors' meetings, or sub- 
 due cooks on the eve of a dinner party. Perhaps 
 (since I am wedging myself into that class) they're 
 all the more valiant for entertaining fear. 
 
 One passion merges itself into another, or pos- 
 sibly all passions are the same with different 
 names. I know that I found myself hungry as we 
 approached Harrisonburg, hungry enough to eat a 
 gypsy or anything these small towns along the way 
 had to offer. It speaks well for the loveliness of 
 the broad acres, the Appalachian range on our 
 right, the Blue Ridge on our left, that we had run 
 past the dinner hour, which is a very serious mat- 
 ter in America if we wish to dine. But the villages 
 after Middletown, where there is a fine inn, had 
 little to offer beyond repeated notices of " ice cream 
 and ham." 
 
 Architecturally they are bereft of beauty. Mag- 
 nificent Georgian houses set far back from the road 
 are on either side, but they alone seemed to have 
 escaped the devastation of Phil Sheridan. That is, 
 I imagine the houses in the towns must have been 
 destroyed, and the South struggling for a new life 
 began to breathe, unfortunately, during a period 
 when architecture was at its worst. New ones are 
 going up now with mean doors, narrow windows, 
 and meagre porches. If I had a million dollars I 
 would apply some of it to the development of taste 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 among the manufacturers of stock sizes in window 
 sashes, door frames, and general ornamentation. To 
 build cheaply one must use these factory made ar- 
 ticles, and if a new householder would only take the 
 trouble, he could find in some of the work shops of 
 the Middle West these essentials built with graceful 
 proportions. (I am not getting anything for this 
 — not even to Harrisonburg for luncheon. ) 
 
 When we did get there the hotel dining room had 
 been closed fifteen minutes and Gabriel's trump 
 couldn't have opened it. I made a polite speech to 
 the proprietor. I said he advertised as catering 
 to motorists, that the arrival of this new vehicle of 
 travel brought prosperity to a community, and it 
 would create a pleasant feeling between host and 
 guest if there could be some arrangement made to 
 entertain us no matter how simply. And while it 
 made no impression upon him I am glad I made 
 this speech as it gives me the opportunity of re- 
 peating it here. 
 
 We all recognise that under the present mode of 
 running a hotel, cooks rake their fires as the dining 
 room door slams and there is no reason why they 
 should linger. Now if a hotel could only employ a 
 tweeny ! A tweeny is that little scrap of humanity 
 who lives in English houses, and does the work " be- 
 tween " the tasks not definitely belonging to the 
 graded servants. If we had her the automobilist 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 might be sure of a dish of tinned soup, cold meat, 
 and bread and butter. Also the coffee might be 
 " het up." Personally, I wouldn't entertain the 
 idea for a moment if I were a girl, as tweenies ap- 
 pear to do all the work of a vast establishment. But 
 I am very sympathetically inclined today toward 
 those who have to do housework. I shall not say 
 why, but I shall never again wonder how it can 
 take so long to wash up a few cups, nor will I let 
 the new one coming in wait until Saturday just be- 
 cause Friday means " short stay." 
 
 A friendly bell boy who mistook the chauffeur 
 for the owner, directed us to Friddle's restaurant, 
 whispering that it was all just as well. And it 
 turned out to be so, for Mr. Friddle sat on a high 
 stool and entertained us as we ate, reading out bits 
 from the Harrisonburg paper. There was a troupe 
 in town. One of them had had a dollar " frisked " 
 from him by a beautiful gypsy and couldn't get it 
 back. This put me in a glow of satisfaction and I 
 implored him to read on. 
 
 There was a great deal about the troupe in the 
 paper. They were advertising for chorus girls. 
 We asked him if he didn't think the company would 
 use this home talent only for the week as a method 
 of bringing their friends to see the performance 
 and he showed by his shocked negative that he was 
 not alive to the advertising schemes of managers. 
 
 -h 141 •+- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 He even read to us that on the last evening of the 
 show two of the company, Miss Pearl Morella and 
 Mr. Arturo Smithson would wed on the stage of 
 the opera house and the entire audience would be 
 invited to remain. It was a romance of a year's 
 standing. They would appear every night before 
 the marriage in their accustomed roles. He was 
 a nice young man, so pleased that Miss Pearl was 
 to become Mrs. Smithson that I hadn't the heart 
 to suggest they got married the last night in every 
 town with the audience invited to remain. But I 
 was glad that Mr. Friddle and his silver hadn't 
 encountered that girl of the Romany Rye. 
 
 The industrious motor bound for Warm or Hot 
 Springs makes the run from Winchester to Staun- 
 ton and from there crosses the mountains to the 
 springs in a day. But as long as we grasshopper 
 ourselves through life I don't suppose we will ever 
 make any time, or hay, or anything to keep one 
 alive when one grows old. It was late in the after- 
 noon as we neared Staunton. We had avoided an 
 alluring advertisement to visit grottoes at the left 
 on a road all " McAdam," but we had stopped to 
 photograph apple trees with small boys under them 
 and " Toby with Blue Ridge in Distance," and a 
 beautiful old red brick house which would have 
 done for Elsie Dinsmore except that there were 
 chickens in the front yard. 
 
 -J-142-*- 
 
THE IVY-CLAD TOWER OF TRINITY CHURCH, STAUNTON 
 
J 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 As we went up the ninety-four miles of this mag- 
 nificent pike I grew very uneasy over finding — ever 
 — anything better than Elsie's Roselands on ac- 
 count of these chickens and, in some instances, pigs. 
 Yet it has occurred to me that Elsie's yard may 
 have had chickens and pigs, only they were never 
 spoken of. Possibly these homely creatures may 
 be part of the equipment of a real old Southern 
 place. Personally I would not object to pigs as 
 cute as these. Their colours were neatly halved like 
 little boys in black trousers and white shirts. It is 
 only when they grow old they lose their charm, just 
 hke men and we have to accept them all the same. 
 There was a stern air about Staunton, rather, just 
 before it. Boys in grey uniforms saluted us vigor- 
 ously, trying to hide their school books as they 
 marched by in military order. This is the neighbour- 
 hood of good schools. Indeed the finest buildings 
 along the run were for schools, newly built, of ex- 
 cellent architecture and full of heads with bows of 
 ribbon on them, for we could see just so much and 
 the little girls could see even less. 
 
 Poor mites ! Except for the Child Wonder back 
 in Winchester, a school is a place of torture no mat- 
 ter how you dress it up. One can be in uniform, 
 or under the Gary plan or living the carefree ex- 
 istence of the Montessori system, but when one has 
 to be at a certain place a certain time life is pretty 
 
 -8- 143 -e- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 hard. " You are naturally prejudiced," says the Il- 
 lustrator. He knows of that shameful effort of 
 mine to pass in arithmetic when with a hundred for 
 the topmost mark, I received two. I have never 
 learned what I got right. 
 
 But here is Staunton. " Just get there anyway," 
 
 advises W . We go down a hill. The car is 
 
 looking very pretty. The chauffeur has thrust 
 sprays of the lovely pink tree into the pockets, and 
 
 it was I who asked to have the top down. W 
 
 stared at me bewildered, knowing that I had no um- 
 brella in case of little whirls of rain. Still I, too, 
 am beginning to like to " see up " as he puts it. I 
 suppose as we are growing old together we are be- 
 ginning to think alike, and while it would be much 
 better for the world if he would only think as I do, 
 failing in this I follow in his mental footsteps. 
 
 We diverge occasionally. When we reached the 
 hotel he thought I should not go in and ask the clerk 
 the name of the pink flower, whereas I thought an 
 armful of it might screen Toby. We had heard 
 of fierce anti-dog rules. He was right. The clerk 
 as he leaned over to examine the corolla or whatever 
 the thing is, spied our dear little friend hiding se- 
 renely on the lee side of the desk far away from 
 storms. So we were turned away, finding shelter 
 in the hostelry where President Wilson always 
 stops. 
 
 -h 144!-*- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 I went out into the streets for historical pur- 
 poses. The mahogany was quite expensive and 
 very Httle of it. But I particularly wanted one of 
 those old settees of painted wood which we found 
 on the porches. They were not in the shops, and I 
 feared to ask a Southern householder about the pos- 
 sibility of her disposing of them, for she might burst 
 into tears or flames, and I should be either 
 quenched or incinerated. 
 
 However there was Rollo College to distract me. 
 A Staunton gentleman and I talked a long time on 
 the hill wondering if the Rollo books could have 
 come from the school. One need never be afraid 
 to jest with a Southern gentleman. He thought I 
 was staying on to talk because I liked him but it 
 was really on account of my dismal room. Yet I 
 came home — home, I have to call it — with a bottle 
 of gasoline bought at a pharmacy. A woman can 
 travel perilously near gallons of gasoline yet cannot 
 get a pint for her hair. The young man who waited 
 on me ran to open the door. It was pitiful to hear 
 me down there responding to attentions which a 
 Southern woman would accept as a matter of 
 course. " Oh, thank you — ^you're very kind — much 
 obliged, I am sure — don't trouble — not at all," I go 
 chattering up the street. 
 
 Night came, a chilly rainy night. The windows 
 were all open in my bare room when the Illustra- 
 
 -*- 145 -«- 
 
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY AND A SHAMPOO 
 
 tor came in. He had been out " siccing " Toby on 
 the hotel opposite. My hair was over my shoulders, 
 smelling horribly. My cleaned hat was on the win- 
 dow sill. My coat collars were redolent of gasoline. 
 
 " What," demanded he, " are you doing in this 
 cold?" 
 
 " I am getting ready for Hot Springs," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 146 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 And Here We Figure Largely as a Circus, Then 
 
 Fold Our Tents and Steal into Muddy, 
 
 Mountainous Adventuring 
 
 We have always found it as difficult to leave a 
 town as to reach it, but our efforts to quit Staun- 
 ton were unusually retarded by a combination of 
 circus and art student. The art student came first, 
 urged on, I fancy, by the chauffeur who had met 
 him the night before and had added to his artistic 
 development by treating him to a moving picture 
 show. 
 
 He brought his sketches to the hotel which was 
 very hard on the Illustrator, as he wanted to say 
 they were good yet found them not promising. He 
 skated about it kindly. It is impossible to tell the 
 blunt truth, anyway, to one of artistic endeavour — 
 if not of talent. You are simply not believed. 
 There are two attributes in the student who has a 
 leaning toward the arts. He is highly sensitive, 
 yet at the same time his heart is invulnerable to 
 criticism. One need not put this down as vanity. 
 I think this pride in himself, in his work, is clearly 
 
 -^ 147 -«- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 created to offset the sufferings that most of the 
 artists go through before the door of fame is 
 opened. And if it is never opened, this compensat- 
 ing quality offsets the grief, translating the lack 
 of recognition into the opposition of ignorance or 
 jealousy. 
 
 It is amazing what an art student will suffer to 
 gain an education when such indifferent attempts 
 are made to learn a trade. If this bright boy in 
 Staunton would bend one half of his heroic ef- 
 forts to save money for the mastery of a business 
 we might find his name in big letters the next time 
 we went up the Valley. But what's the use ? They 
 said that to us once — to the Illustrator and myself 
 — and we didn't hsten. 
 
 W took him out for a drive to see how he felt 
 
 about composition while he sketched an old church, 
 and Toby and I started off to secure luncheon for 
 the sixty-four villageless miles across the moun- 
 tains. The chicken and ham sandwiches would 
 probably have grown into a very successful order 
 had not the proprietor of the cafe suddenly burst 
 at me with: " Will you tell me, ma'am, what that 
 kind of a dog is good for?" And this so embar- 
 rassed both Toby and me that we rushed out of the 
 establishment, for he knows as well as I do that 
 he is not good for anything except to be loved and 
 to love us. And that is the real reason there wasn't 
 
 -e-148-«- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 any pie or root beer or crackers and cheese or 
 green bananas when it came time to eat. 
 
 I understand now that the restaurateur mistook 
 our position in life — ^he was as the httle boys in 
 Frederick who had expressed themselves more 
 boldly concerning Toby's profession. An old col- 
 oured woman outside the door elucidated the situa- 
 tion slightly by wanting to know if "he slep in de 
 caige," but even then I didn't hitch up Toby with 
 the event occasioning the gala air of the streets. It 
 was near the Court House that we watched a long 
 file of soberly clad citizens pass by. I stood among 
 the loafers admiring the dignity of what I took to 
 be the makers of our laws and those who sit in 
 judgment on us. Eager to pay a compliment to 
 the citizens of Staunton I remarked upon their 
 excellent appearance. 
 
 " Court and jury? " I questioned politety. 
 
 " ~No, ma'am," replied the loafer. " That's the 
 insane asylum going to the circus." 
 
 We left the town shortly afterwards with our 
 position in life firmly established. Giving Toby 
 this preliminary parade sowed the wind, our head- 
 ing the procession reaped the whirlwind. We had 
 not intended to head the procession. Our car had 
 started to turn from the side street where the hotel 
 stood into the main thoroughfare before we appre- 
 ciated that the traffic had ceased and that the great 
 
 -H-149-!- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 red and gold band wagon had already passed. 
 There was a hiatus between this band wagon and 
 the elephants, and the ever courteous Southern 
 policeman seeing us with our baggage strapped on, 
 wished to speed our departure by slipping us into 
 this space. 
 
 When we were once in we could not get out. I 
 won't say that Toby and I cared to get out. This 
 circus idea had been forced upon us and we ac- 
 cepted it, but the Illustrator's face was pitiful. 
 
 " Are we going to make monkeys of ourselves 
 all our lives?" he asked me, the perspiration roll- 
 ing down his face. 
 
 " Not monkeys," I shouted, for the band had 
 struck up. " They think we're the proprietors. 
 The monkeys are in the wagons. We really ought 
 to be throwing out handbills." 
 
 "Do I look like the proprietor of a circus?" 
 he roared back as coldly as one can roar. 
 
 He had on a green plaid overcoat with a yellow 
 leather lining. " Yes, you do," I was obliged to 
 confers. 
 
 *' Oh, my Lord! When can we turn off? " 
 
 It was a long block. The band blared, the ele- 
 phants swung their trunks and the camels coughed. 
 Staunton thick along the wayside stared at us re- 
 spectfully, and Toby leaning with studied ease on 
 his elbow, stared at them. I sat back luxuriously, 
 
 -?-150-?- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 and since W had his eyes shut, bowed to the 
 
 people. The dream of my early life had been real- 
 ised — all but the spangles. 
 
 It was very dull after this to go up the hill toward 
 such a respectable place as Churchville, and we 
 were in no hurry to reach it for the good road ended 
 there as even a hotel proprietor is forced to admit. 
 A jolly old lady took our toll just outside of Staun- 
 ton. She said she'd rather starve than toll a road 
 which wasn't worth the money, but she wanted us 
 to know that her tax on us endured only to Church- 
 ville. There is no macadam encouragement to at- 
 tend divine services in the town if you come from 
 the mountains, and it speaks well for the devotion 
 of the people that they have established so many 
 houses of worship at this point. This was a great 
 Indian country, yet they met in spite of the hostile 
 natives. Danger seems to give a fillip to religion, 
 and it might be a good idea in the lax present- 
 day worshipping to more than hint that there 
 are Indians behind every lamp post on Fifth 
 Avenue. 
 
 Mud, the modern excuse in the mountains, seems 
 to have no effect upon them. They just splash 
 along in their little motor cars as though it were a 
 pleasure and pleasure lay ahead of them. Indeed I 
 have about come to the conclusion that we are the 
 " short sports " concerning motoring, not the aver- 
 
 -M51-J- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 age American who travels widely by automobile in 
 his country. Possibly it is because ("repeating" 
 here) they know nothing better, but we found the 
 great motor cars arriving at Hot Springs with their 
 full equipment of ropes, block, and tackle, what- 
 you-will for pulling themselves out of the mud and 
 feeling no particular alarm that the going was poor. 
 
 And there was mud. To be sure we were cross- 
 ing the mountains after the hardest rains the coun- 
 try had known for years, and in a renewed down- 
 pour which began promptly with the already ooz- 
 ing clay. I understand that the road is quite pass- 
 able in dry weather and it is possible at all times. 
 The grading is much better than that of the Green 
 Mountains, and part of it was engineered by 
 Claude Crozet who, after Napoleon's downfall, 
 came to Virginia, and was appointed state engineer. 
 It is rather sad to see a Napoleonic road making 
 so poor an appearance, like a fine mind which has 
 been denied cultivation. And I am sure a few thou- 
 sand dollars' worth of blue stone would largely 
 overcome the difficulties of travel. 
 
 I never admired blue stone as I did on this South- 
 ern trip. One could see patches of it far ahead on 
 the hills, rendered pallid by the wet yellow clay 
 which would preface and follow it. The water rolls 
 off it like a base prevarication off my lips when I 
 grow sympathetic — an admirable stone ! 
 
 -i-152-f- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 We stopped at Jenning's Gap to take a picture 
 because Jenning's Gap looked as it should. How 
 splendidly fitting are mountain names in Virginia: 
 Lone Fountain, Windy Cove, Panther Gap, Cow- 
 pasture River. And the thing that surprised me 
 most about the Virginia Mountains was their look- 
 ing as I had expected them to look. There was 
 the same spare growth, yellow roads, rock forma- 
 tions, the women working over big kettles in front 
 of their log houses, the tall lank men, the many 
 lean curs — all as I had imagined it. This correct 
 mental vision must have come from reading of 
 mountain life, and while I frequently skip descrip- 
 tion (as you are probably doing now) one can't 
 avoid entirely forming an impression of a true 
 background if the foreground — the he-saids and the 
 she-saids — is equally true. 
 
 A big fellow at Jenning's Gap advised us to ask 
 continually about the rivers we must ford, as the 
 streams were quite high and we might have to make 
 a detour. But we stopped to talk with a fire war- 
 den as we neared one danger spot further on in the 
 mountains, and he said the cars could get through 
 always if they would go into low speed and not do 
 too much splashing. It almost compensated for 
 bad going, this stopping along the way to advise or 
 be advised. We can all do so well without one an- 
 other when our ways in life are easy. Perhaps it is 
 
 -»- 153 -«- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 a compensation for our miseries that we get this 
 excitement from hazardous, though uncomfortable 
 experiences. 
 
 After we had forded the two rivers that were 
 seriously deep we met a large blue limousine at the 
 side of the road waiting for the occupants to eat 
 their luncheon out of a basket vulgarly capacious. 
 I was hoping something would distract the Illustra- 
 tor's attention from the lavish display, and it was 
 held by the approach of their chauffeur. He had 
 just been told by a car ahead of us marked Tour- 
 ing Information that it would be impossible for his 
 car to ford the streams. As we had just crossed 
 them he was much relieved, and we all wondered 
 how Touring Information had managed them it- 
 self if the thing couldn't be done. I did not know 
 how largely this car so marked was to enter into my 
 day, but its lively fancy appealed to me even as 
 
 W and the limousine with its mouth full of 
 
 pate de foie gras (figuratively speaking) depre- 
 cated sensationalism. 
 
 However, I agreed heartily with anything that 
 
 W said after we had left them, with the view 
 
 of blotting out the memory of the pate pasted on 
 the crisp biscuit which they ha-d been champing. 
 " Kind hearts are more than crackerettes," was a 
 plank in my platform. It might have worked had 
 not we suddenly come upon Touring Information 
 
 -i- 154 -!- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 in front of the village store at Deerfield nibbling 
 away at the best the shelves had to offer. 
 
 Touring Information was the oldest car in the 
 world containing two of the youngest inhabitants 
 of the globe. They were stamped bride and groom 
 without the addition of a white bow of ribbon any- 
 where upon the ancient rigging. " How do you 
 like it ? " called the bridegroom to us cheerily as we 
 peeped at them through the rain. 
 
 " Fierce," answered my consort. We were past 
 them in a trice, but I was not past the Illustrator. 
 " Fierce," he repeated, turning to me, " fierce that 
 every one should be eating and we have only three 
 sandwiches. Did you see that young couple, even 
 poorer than we are, having a nice lunch? " 
 
 " Nice to them," I returned, " but it wouldn't 
 be nice to us." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Why not indeed! Why should we not be born 
 ugly babies and grow more beautiful as we grow 
 older ! Why do our dispositions and digestions not 
 improve as knowledge grows in the control of them ! 
 Why should youth be the sauce to make palatable 
 the disagreeable instead of old age, which is rich 
 in a philosophy only to be acquired by growth. 
 I suppose the sense of taste is the single one that 
 does not wither and leave us, and out of gratitude 
 we " old 'uns " feel that it should be catered to. 
 
 -H-155-i- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 I was ready for the Illustrator with blandish- 
 ments. I said that the three sandwiches were for 
 stop gaps, not for luncheon. I had thought it 
 would be pleasant to dine with some of the moun- 
 tain people. 
 
 " Dine with 'em? " he repeated, just as though 
 he did not know about Southern hospitality. 
 
 " Certainly. You choose a house where you want 
 to eat and I'll go in and arrange it." 
 
 With a promptness that was disconcerting he 
 picked out the one we were going by. It was a 
 pretty little house but he gave me no chance to pre- 
 pare a speech. An old man came down the path 
 with that detached look in his eyes which took small 
 interest in food. He might have been a bride- 
 groom, and he shook his head when I importuned 
 him. 
 
 " You're hyar with your w'ite dawg, and I'm 
 hyar with my black dawg. We live alone, 
 leadin' a dawg's life, so I cain't give you nothin' 
 decent." 
 
 " Couldn't you manage six eggs? " I pressed, as 
 though he were a prize hen. 
 
 But he couldn't. He could only advise us to go 
 on to the big farm house where they would do the 
 right thing by folks that were hungry. I suppose 
 
 W was looking back at me but I kept my eyes 
 
 concentrated on the view the isinglass windows 
 
 -M56-i- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 afforded. His appearance is excellent, but there 
 is no use in staring at the man all the time. 
 
 I had my speech ready at the next house — it 
 was something about strangers and kindness of the 
 road. A fine large woman with her hair over her 
 shoulders came out on the side porch and " My 
 goodness," I said instead, " you're washing your 
 hair. 1 did mine last night." 
 
 We became as thick as thieves as I hung over the 
 gate. " I put ammonia in the water," she said, 
 " and it makes my hair so fluffy I can't do anything 
 with it." 
 
 " For days I can't do anything with mine either." 
 
 *' Ahem," said W from the car. 
 
 Millie Elizabeth, the pretty girl who helped, had, 
 also, washed her hair, but they both put on caps, 
 and, since it was long past the dinner hour, started 
 up the kitchen fire for biscuit. I went into the liv- 
 ing room with the two Httle girls, Mary Susan and 
 Annie Harriet. Annie Harriet had never liked her 
 middle name so she had changed it from " Annie 
 Haih-yet," as she pronounced it, to " Annie 
 Rooney." She had heard the song somewhere and 
 now it was written down in all her school books as 
 " Annie Runie." Their mother said there had been 
 a " right smart discussion " at the school, for 
 teacher thought it was spelled " Runey." I sang 
 the song as well as I could to Mary Susan and An- 
 
 -e-157-J- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 nie Haih-yet while the rain poured down outside, 
 and the Illustrator hung, out of the car talking to 
 Touring Information, which was through its lunch 
 and heading for Hot Springs. 
 
 I told them how I had gone to the theatre with a 
 beau when I was a young girl and heard Bessie 
 
 ? Bessie ? the name has left me. " Are 
 
 we so soon forgotten, then? " said old Rip Van 
 Winkle. I heard her sing it for the first time. 
 And I had picked out the air with one finger on the 
 piano when I reached home, awaking an irate and 
 unmusical family. 
 
 Annie Haih-yet, entertaining me in turn, told 
 me that Mary Susan never ate anything at all — 
 "Maw jes nachally don't know what to do aboot 
 it." Mary Susan enjoyed this, singling out, re- 
 peating mournfully " Not a mite, not a mite." 
 
 She took little interest in life but was very gentle 
 and sweet ( as are few grown up invalids ) save when 
 a small boy appeared with a tin pail, when she said 
 with considerable force: " Thar's thet mean Paul 
 Simmons comin' hyar for a settin' of eggs." Then 
 she looked again. " No, he's ben hyar. He ain't a 
 swingin' the pail." 
 
 It was very droll to chatter with these children 
 of nine and eleven, for they had no talk of dolls 
 and playthings. They looked from out the win- 
 dows to gossip of the doings of the road just as all 
 
 -hl58-i- 
 

 II ■ itt»kta^mmimmimatm 
 
 X' 
 
 THE HOTEL AT HOT SPRIXOS— WIDE-\MXGED AXD 
 WARM IX COLOUR 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 grov/n ups do, no matter the locality, who live in 
 the country. I asked them if they didn't each have 
 little tasks to perform but they had nothing at all 
 to do, no long seams to labour over, no beds to make. 
 It was nice to see how Mary Susan and Annie 
 Haih-yet quieted down when we were all ushered 
 into the bright dining room. I didn't hear a word 
 out of them beyond one ecstatic exclamation from 
 Annie as she discovered Toby: *' Looks like a little 
 ole wite hawg," she said. 
 
 Millie Elizabeth passed the excellent dishes while 
 our hostess sat at one side and poured the coffee. 
 She and the Illustrator discovered that they were 
 in some dim way kin to each other, which was mad- 
 dening to me as I could have been related to her if 
 i had only thought of it first. However, I spoke 
 of my ancestors coming from Holland and settling 
 in Virginia, which, after being pressed I was 
 obliged to admit was West Virginia. I do not talk 
 about my Virginia ancestors as much as I once did. 
 As a young girl I had the fever very keenly and I 
 remember asking an old family friend if these good 
 Dutchmen had not held large plantations. " No," 
 he drawled with the mistaken humour of those in 
 their nonage, " they were all slave drivers." But 
 of course I did not tell that to my hostess. 
 
 It was hard to get away. We were all having a 
 pleasant time except Toby, who after the white 
 
 -h 159 -*-; 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 hog epithet was rendered even less spirited by a 
 tortoise-shell cat. He was thoroughly cowed — if a 
 dog can be cowed by a cat — and kept asking me 
 " Where was Hot Springs at ? " as a gentle reminder. 
 
 He might well ask. One could not believe it pos- 
 sible that a cluster of fashionable hotels lay any- 
 where in these wilds. The road beyond was ad- 
 mitted by our hostess to be " right slick," and there 
 were two passes to cross as yet. When we pre- 
 pared to leave I asked if she did not care to hang up 
 a shingle as the only eating place between Staunton 
 and the Springs and let me mention her name, but 
 she said she was heavy on her feet and might not 
 be able to serve the guests if Millie Elizabeth should 
 go away. So I hope that all who read this will take 
 a great many sandwiches and leave her alone. She 
 said something else as I exclaimed over the modest 
 sum for her trouble and the outlay. It was so 
 charming in her that I hope no one will notice that 
 it was also charming about us. " Think what you 
 gave us of your table," I said. 
 
 " Think what you gave me of yourselves," she 
 replied. 
 
 This — and the food — made W very young 
 
 again and he started after Touring Information 
 with the incentive that a pacemaker always gives. 
 
 I learned from him that the car was not giving 
 information (beyond what was wrong about the 
 
 -hlQO-i- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 fords) , but getting it. The two young hearts were 
 spending their honeymoon sign-posting the best 
 way to Hot Springs for the automobile club of a 
 large city. The back of the tonneau was full of 
 neat wooden placards with the names of the town 
 painted thereon. " Danger " in red, arrows with 
 Hot Springs on them, like the banner of Excelsior, 
 and band boxes for milady's hats. 
 
 As their honeymoon was just as important as 
 sign-posting a road already very decently marked, 
 we did not deplore his lack of activity in the getting 
 out and nailing up of directions. Yet we found 
 some evidences of effort on the part of the young 
 man. The road was indeed " right slick." We had 
 not put on our chains until leaving the farm house 
 and we kept pretty well out of the ruts by careful 
 driving. But it was thrilling to see the tracks of 
 the lovers ahead of us. They were slewing, slip- 
 ping, and bouncing over their course, and at one 
 point they had stopped a while. This was where 
 we found the sign-posts, not on the trees but in a 
 mud hole. " Winchester 22 mi." had served for 
 the right wheel; " Sound klaxon," badly splintered 
 yet looking up at us as one whose cause is just, had 
 helped the left wheel of the happy pair. 
 
 There was an insouciance about the use of these 
 carefully prepared and timely hints which bred in 
 me a desire to know better the gay wreckers. Our 
 
 -*- 161 -*- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 eyes were fastened to the marks of their tires in 
 the clay. We were growing warmer. Toby grew 
 very excited and thought it was a game. " In- 
 dians! " he exclaimed, leaping out in the mud. He 
 was marched sternly back, but returned a clay dog 
 with a new and terrible inclination to sit upon my 
 chest, his fore feet planted on the Illustrator's back. 
 This mode of savage warfare so obscured my vis- 
 ion that I did not see Touring Information until 
 we had run alongside it. It had stopped completely 
 on a steep hill. 
 
 The bridegroom greeted us blithely : " I think 
 we're out of gasoline," was his preface as un- 
 concerned as if the carburetor had drunk its last 
 drop before a garage. We were ready to spare 
 him what we could, but he found out, after splitting 
 up " To White Sulphur Springs " and using it to 
 measure by, that the engine had stopped only be- 
 cause it was hot and wished to rest. 
 
 " I don't know what I'd do without a hatchet," 
 the young man had said chopping away merrily. 
 " I'd rather be without extra tires than a hatchet 
 on a long trip. Be sure the brake is set, dear heart." 
 
 Dear heart set the brake. She was a very beau- 
 tiful girl with her husband's rain coat on no doubt, 
 as he had none, her equipment as a motorist ending 
 there but continuing as a bride, for she wore pink 
 silk stockings and thin slippers. 
 
 -e-162-*- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 " Have to watch this car," said he, beginning to 
 crank it with no results. " It ran down hill yes- 
 terday and stood up on end, its nose in the ditch — 
 looked perfectly ridiculous. Dangerous? — well 
 perhaps. She wasn't in the car." 
 
 Some mules had righted the car, he told us. And 
 then between efforts at cranking and getting his 
 breath we spoke of the courtesy of the mountain 
 roads. It was not the motors which turned out for 
 us, but the wagons, the drivers with many head of 
 cattle, the sheep herder and the men with strings 
 of colts. The spirit of resentment that is occasion- 
 ally met with in the Northern farmer is not found 
 among the mountain people. It would seem that 
 those who are remote from the railway have a sense 
 of camaraderie for the fellow travelling the same 
 course. I can't say that I've noticed it on a jour- 
 ney by train. 
 
 The mud, with the landscape, grew wilder and 
 wilder. Our two cars took turn ahead, the leader 
 waiting, now and then for the other to catch up. 
 We were rather proud that we held to the road so 
 well and hesitated only momentarily in the deep 
 holes. It makes me feel very sorry for an engine 
 straining to do its level best, and I am impatient 
 when they are shut up in a garage after a hard 
 day's run without any appreciative oil or grease 
 
 -+•163 -J- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 or kerosene in the cylinders. One might as well let 
 a horse go supperless to bed. 
 
 Touring Information may have tried to do its 
 level best, but it was onty at its best on the level. 
 Yet we managed the ascents, stopping to breathe 
 when we reached the summit of Warm Springs 
 Mountain. The rain had ceased, it was almost 
 sunset and if we hadn't been so cold the view would 
 have been most engaging. There is nothing that 
 will take the beauty out of a view more thoroughly 
 than a chill in the marrow of one's bones. The 
 little bride's lips were blue, but she had taken off 
 her rain coat and was going to make the descent 
 into Hot Springs looking as a bride should if she 
 froze to death. After a fierce internal admonition 
 of myself to be generous I brought out our cher- 
 ished flask, and having given a little lecture before- 
 hand on the folly of a chauffeur drinking I offered 
 them the stimulant. The bridegroom had no 
 trouble with his chauffeur conscience but the bride 
 had to be coaxed: 
 
 " Take some, honey, you look so white." 
 
 "Ugh! Will it burn?" 
 
 " That's what it is for," I intervened snappily. 
 
 " Take a big drink, honey dear." 
 
 (" My whiskey," I thought.) 
 
 " Will it taste like that sherry I had? " 
 
 " It will taste worse," I said firmly. If she 
 -f-ie^-i- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 really didn't want the whiskey it was foolish to 
 urge it ; but he was insistent. 
 
 " Take a big swallow, darling, take two big 
 swallows." 
 
 *' Yes, do," from me. I would see it through, but 
 it was hard. Why should she be so young and 
 pretty and have all the stimulant too? 
 
 To be fair to her she was only coaxed into three 
 swallows which probably " saved her " as he told me 
 gratefully. At any rate everything grew very rosy 
 which came — I hope — from the afterglow of the 
 sunset. The young couple agreed that it was the 
 best part of the day — " everything pink when you 
 think it's all over." And while we did not wish to 
 confuse them with a personal application of this ex- 
 pression, W and I smiled at each other under- 
 
 standingly for we decrepit ones know that the " af- 
 terglow " is the best part of life as well, and they 
 will have to wait a long, long time, through years 
 of doubtful days and cold grey evenings before 
 they find it out. 
 
 There is a love of a toll-gate at the summit, pre- 
 sided over by an old man who ran to take down 
 the coats hanging on the long porch before we made 
 a photograph. He wanted the place to look nice, 
 he said. He had always hoped some one would care 
 to take it, but they had ever been in a hurry to get 
 to the Springs. This story has a bad ending, as it 
 
 H-165-+- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 was too late in the day for a successful picture, and 
 it is up to any of you travelling that way to change 
 the finis by taking a snap shot of the house and 
 sending it to him. His name is William D. Rowe 
 and he goes down the steep mountain every day for 
 chance letters. So you must mail it to Warm 
 Springs, Virginia. Now do this for Mr. Rowe who 
 may still be tramping wearily up and down for a 
 paper view of the thing he sees every day of his 
 life. 
 
 " Hot," to adopt the parlance of the Southerners, 
 lies seven miles beyond " Warm," and we might 
 have spent the night there, for the hotel was very 
 comfortably nestling at the foot of the mountain, 
 but it was not yet open. So we went on, taking 
 the right hand of a choice of ways at a fork as the 
 mark read " Both roads to Hot Springs." Noth- 
 ing could be more stupid than this sign, for the 
 road at the left we learned afterward is macadam, 
 and the one we had chosen was of mud so dire that, 
 just within sight of home, we were almost mired 
 for the first time. We could look down from a 
 height to see the young couple screaming along 
 happily on the parallel macadam instead of sign- 
 posting the only fork vital to the motorist, and 
 though we afterwards managed to reach the easy 
 going, the wallowing had slapped on the last dab of 
 clay needful to encake completely our car. Toby, 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 as I have said, was already a clay dog, and 
 owing to his gyrations acquired since he became 
 firmly of the circus I was wearing a clay effect 
 on my chest like a misapplied antiphlogistine 
 poultice. 
 
 In this manner we approached the famous Home- 
 stead Hotel, as wide winged as an aeroplane, and 
 so warm in colour that one felt from afar the wel- 
 coming rays of an unaffected hospitality. Despite 
 our dirt we hoped that we might yet be allowed to 
 rest our weary heads there. That we made our 
 entry in the most indirect fashion was due to an 
 idiosyncrasy of the Illustrator. 
 
 It has always been his idea, an idea entirely his 
 own, and deepened into a belief without encourage- 
 ment, that a hotel possesses an automobile entrance. 
 That somewhere built into a modest nook is a porte 
 cochere under which we roll and there denude the 
 car of its baggage, avoiding the cold gaze of clean 
 guests rocking in rocking chairs. For years he 
 has gone in circles around great inns looking for 
 this sheltered coach door of his dreams. He had 
 even wished to back up an alley in Staunton and 
 take off our bags at the bar of the hotel which had 
 excluded Mr. Toby. Therefore it was not surpris- 
 ing to find him motoring past the impressive front 
 and bringing up at the rear of the hotel before a 
 collection of doors without any particular character 
 
 -e-167-e- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 save that they were the kind servants went in and 
 out of. 
 
 " Why are we stopping here? " I demanded. 
 
 " Because it is the automobile entrance," he an- 
 swered firmly. 
 
 " My dear " — acidly — " these are the kitchens." 
 
 " These are the automobile entrance " He 
 
 was very tired. 
 
 We waited. I was counting to control myself 
 and he may have been doing this also, for the silence 
 was terrific. It was unfortunate that our instinct 
 would lead us to the kitchen door instead of cor- 
 rectly carrying us in a great sweep before the rock- 
 ing chairs. After a space of time a darky came out 
 of one of the automobile entrances and upheld me 
 in my contention. It was the chauffeur who had 
 asked, as W and I were engaged with numbers. 
 
 " Then," said the Illustrator triumphantly, as 
 though it was what he had wanted all along, " we 
 will turn around and go there. Though I can't un- 
 derstand why they don't have " 
 
 He never finished the sentence — which was re- 
 dundant anyway. Nor did we turn around. The 
 mud had done its work. Whereas Galatea grew 
 from clay to flesh we had turned from flesh to clay. 
 It had entered the soul of us: it had plastered the 
 steering gear. With a great deal of over-humour 
 considering the situation our chauffeur rose to 
 
 -J- 168-?- 
 
WE FIGURE LARGELY AS A CIRCUS 
 
 an unusual height. " Our name," he said, " is 
 mud." 
 
 It was Toby and I who walked around to the 
 front entrance and tracked over the pale green car- 
 pet to the desk. The guests were coming down 
 to dinner. A clean and combed West Highlander 
 was going elegantly along on a leash. The two dogs 
 met — they clinched. The din was fearful. The 
 erstwhile clean terrier was pulled away. I pre- 
 sented one more good reason for a refusal to admit 
 us as I turned to the clerk. *' I am at the kitchen 
 door," I gasped incoherently. 
 
 The clerk was wonderfully understanding. " I'll 
 send the porters. It's all right, madam. A boy 
 will take you to your rooms." 
 
 I could have put my head down on his shoulder 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 169 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 All About Fashionable Life, with Some Ordinary 
 Tears, Theories, and a Wreck, if You Please 
 
 By the morning of the second day in Hot Springs, 
 so thoroughly was I relaxed, there was no use 
 searching for the date of the month in the calen- 
 dar (provided I could find the calendar) as I didn't 
 know the day of the week. I was as one who 
 awakes from a heavy sleep forgetting his name or 
 his whereabouts, and terrified at the block of vague 
 light which turns out to be the window. It is as 
 though the spirit has gone wandering and is late 
 getting back into the suddenly waking body. 
 
 The best I could do was to ask for today's paper, 
 very insistent upon its being " today's," and, fixing 
 on the top liner, set my mental watch by it. We 
 seemed to be such a vast distance from Washing- 
 ton it was surprising to find how early the morn- 
 ing papers arrived. I suppose all of the guests had 
 come to Hot Springs for complete relaxation, yet 
 they continued avid of news. The long corridors 
 and the wide porches were lined with men and 
 women scanning the columns. 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 There is not so much quick turning from the first 
 sheet to those pages in lighter vein as there was be- 
 fore the war. Yet I wonder if others reading the 
 daily reports of the carnage do as I do : let the eyes 
 stray from the account of misery for an instant to 
 something alongside of almost no import; an item 
 concerning the killing of a mother-in-law whom we 
 do not know, or an advertisement in which we have 
 no interest. I find that I must do this, although I 
 return to the awful truth after the momentary re- 
 lief. I suppose it is one of the ways for us to keep 
 our balance. 
 
 Try not to be bored with this matter seemingly 
 extraneous to Hot Springs. It is a point in favour 
 of just such great hotels as those in the Valley of 
 healing waters. The mild playing here makes one 
 gasp when one reviews the strife of a large part of 
 the globe at present. But it has its place — it is 
 for balance. It is to get away for a little that one 
 can go back fortified to endure more sorrow. The 
 great hotel is as the advertisement in the next 
 column. 
 
 It is unfair to rail at the very rich who patronise 
 these places, for it is among the moneyed class and 
 among people of culture that the activities toward 
 the easing of many nations have gone on unceas- 
 ingly. There is little knitting of stomach bands, 
 helmets, and socks in public any more. Regular 
 
 -h 171 -i- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 classes have been organised for that now. The 
 women meet regularly — and they do meet — to con- 
 tinue a sober charity robbed of all emotionalism. 
 
 Granted that there are three classes in the United 
 States, I should say that the very rich and the very 
 poor are doing their share — and a little more. It 
 is the comfortably off who, from my observance, are 
 concerning themselves least in a suffering so far 
 removed that their imaginations do not stimulate 
 them to continual sacrifice. The rich know these 
 countries and pay an unceasing tribute to the 
 beauty the Old World has afforded them. The poor 
 know them, too — not the pleasures but the miseries. 
 They come from them, their people are on the other 
 side, and with a generosity which is stupefying they 
 give and give and give. 
 
 Ergo — at Hot Springs I did not reach the point 
 to which I generally ascend — or descend — at a 
 fashionable resort. I did not wish to rise in the 
 midst of a plenteous meal and scream to the as- 
 sembled multitude what Marie Antoinette cried to 
 her tormentors: "You are all scally-wags." No, 
 " vous-etes tous des scelerats" was not uttered even 
 
 in our rooms, which was a great relief to W , 
 
 who watches anxiously for this period of rebellion. 
 
 He was perfectly at home and happy. His Aunt 
 Mary Ann and her family had always come from 
 their old place in Norfolk to make the cure in other 
 
 -J- 172 -J- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 days, and it was right that he should be there, if not 
 making the cure at least making pictures. Her 
 visits were of the long ago when the original Home- 
 stead was standing, not this huge affair of five hun- 
 dred guest rooms, seven hundred fifty employees, 
 and thousands of acres of cultivated ground. 
 
 One is glad that she came, and that the South- 
 erners still take the waters. It may be their cheery 
 and delightful presence which avoids that mouldy 
 air of reserve characterising some of our Northern 
 country inns. Drinking the waters is, I fancy, a 
 fashion that went out with hoop skirts and has not 
 returned with them. But it is there to be drunk, or 
 to be boiled in, or to have hurled at you by enthusi- 
 astic attendants through the medium of a hose. 
 Europeans go to the cures as they keep Lent and, 
 while they can never give up eating, they abandon 
 themselves to baths alarming in their frequency. 
 Bathing is not as foreign to us as complete rest, so 
 I think the Springs serve as well on the golf course 
 as in the thermal establishment. 
 
 There is a fine swimming pool in this building, 
 largely patronised when we visited it by darling 
 little girls who were afraid to go down the chute 
 yet wanted to very much. "Is it so terrible?" 
 asked one mite after her sister had roaringly de- 
 scended. Still she was mad to accomplish the feat 
 and finally did — an instinctive adventuress. Per- 
 
 -hl73-i- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 haps we women are all instinctive adventuresses, 
 and fear, moral or physical, is our only leash. 
 
 I am talking a great deal about water. It col- 
 oured my first day at the Homestead, or I had bet- 
 ter say — and bitterly — discoloured it. As the hours 
 passed and I continued to scrub the clay off of 
 Toby, shivering in a beautiful tub, it occurred to 
 me that we had better choose the more modest 
 hotels in the future. Here I was immuned in a 
 bathroom, lathering Toby so that he could look as 
 well as that other dog had looked (before they 
 clinched) and by the time he was dry we would 
 be moving on. It was a very foolish method of 
 passing a most expensive day. From the next room 
 
 W read to me bits of information concerning 
 
 the advantages of Hot Springs. He thought I 
 ought to enjoy some of them. 
 
 " What, for instance," I growled, putting Toby 
 through the fifth rinsing. 
 
 " Well," said he, hunting out something at ran- 
 dom to quiet the approaching storm, " there are 
 mud baths." 
 
 " Oh, goody," said Toby after that. " She ain't 
 goin' to wash me no more." 
 
 The Illustrator took up the work where I left 
 off, going through a severe towelling process in 
 preference to the gruelling we read of in the courts. 
 Then we sat down at the wide windows to enjoy the 
 
 -h 174-4- 
 
THE GIANT HOSTELRY AT WHITE SULPHUR. DELICATELY 
 SHADED IX A WOOD 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 golfers appearing and disappearing like the ships 
 that "go on to their haven under the hill." The 
 band just below us on the lawn began its concert, 
 and brilliant-coloured ladies (I hope the printer 
 will put a hyphen between brilliant and coloured) 
 sat at little white tables placed about the green. 
 There was nothing eaten or drunk at these tables, 
 but the friendly board has a mission in life beyond 
 the burden of comestibles. 
 
 A circle of chairs is never provocative of good 
 talk unless there is a table in the middle. In France 
 when conversation was even more of an art than it 
 is now they never rose at the end of a meal fearing 
 to break the flow of thought with the flow of bowl. 
 " Besides," as a young man said to me, a young 
 man singularly devoid of thought, " it makes a 
 place to hide your feet." Our table was on the 
 other side the room yet we were feeling unusually 
 gay, for one of the joys of married life is the doing 
 away of all necessity to entertain. Then the band 
 swung into something, something that I had heard 
 before, away back somewhere — and I was no longer 
 gay. The Illustrator accused me of crying and 
 Toby moved up anxiously. " I've kept perfectly 
 clean, Louise." 
 
 It wasn't that. It was the pain of old music. 
 We cannot analyse it at first. We feel the pain 
 even before we hear the strain aright. Then it 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 comes back to us — the reason for this exquisite 
 grief, and always we are very sad because once we 
 were very happy. Why should not the recollection 
 of a joy be joyous too! Do we wish to hold on 
 forever to a condition that time itself would render 
 miserable ? It would be like the fatigue of dancing 
 an endless marathon, though to the finest music in 
 the world. 
 
 W gave up the question I propounded, 
 
 along with a lot of others. It is Bjorkman, is it not, 
 who speaks of "Life's refusal to explain itself"? 
 Fortunately as new tears come from old joys, to 
 such of us as know this, quick joy follows the quick 
 tears. The nice coloured boy, Hancock, who had 
 
 been assigned to valet W and give Toby his 
 
 early morning exercise, came in to talk of ways and 
 means of inducing the dog to leave the room with- 
 out awaking his master. Hancock had the word for 
 it: " I'll jes' ease him out," he said. 
 
 " That's right," agreed W , " you ease him 
 
 out." And with some such method he eased me out 
 to drive about, forgetting old scores with new 
 scenes. 
 
 With the same sort of contrariness that brought 
 us up before the kitchen door we drove first among 
 the buildings given over to the thousand or so of 
 blacks who form mainly the personnel of the vari- 
 ous establishments. They were well cared for, with 
 
 -e-176-J- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 stringent rules at each entrance as to the admission 
 of visitors, and the whole village had more the at- 
 mosphere of a military barracks than a great hotel 
 scheme. 
 
 I should think they would need a little court and 
 jury all to themselves. A most dignified waiter was 
 apportioned our table, who was as unbending as an 
 English footman in his attitude toward us, but who 
 showed a human side upon colliding with another 
 servitor. To the watchful eye of the captain all 
 was serene, but as the two circled about the serving 
 tray behind me there were " rumours of war " if 
 not actual conflict. 
 
 " Lemme get at yu'," said one waiter, his face 
 as expressionless as a custard pie. " Lemme get at 
 
 yu." 
 
 " Keep youah shirt on, bo, keep youah shirt on," 
 rumbled the other while catering to an exceedingly 
 fastidious young man who wanted the best and 
 thought that he got it. 
 
 From the abode of the humble our motor clung 
 to the macadam which took us — nearly — to Warm 
 Springs. One of our best friends who comes here 
 often told us we must surely stop at " Warm " as 
 all the lovers of the country stayed there in the 
 early Spring. I don't know where, unless it was 
 at the village store for the hotel was not open until 
 the first of June. 
 
 -«-177-J- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 There were coloured workmen about, ancient serv- 
 ants who, my fnend said, were always delighted to 
 point out Hollyhock Row, the little line of houses, 
 one of which Thomas Jefferson had occupied when 
 he went to take the cure. My eye was pleased with 
 an old chap wearing a lamb's wool beard who was 
 trundling a wheelbarrow aimlessly about, and who 
 was as delighted as she said he would be — not to 
 talk, but to put down the wheelbarrow. Yet he 
 disremembered which was Hollyhock Row, and 
 when I pressed him further for news items con- 
 cerning Thomas Jefferson he repeated (while he 
 should have scratched but did not scratch his head) : 
 " Mistah Jefferson? Mistah Jefferson? " as though 
 trying to recall his lineaments. 
 
 " He's dead," I told him. 
 
 " Daid? " He started off with his wheelbarrow. 
 " Then he don' come hyar no moh." He was a very 
 commercial old darky having no use for any one 
 who could no longer fill the coffers of " Warm." 
 
 I could have told him myself that very little 
 money was ever made out of Thomas Jefferson. 
 One will always notice that a man who writes him- 
 self down as simple is shrewd as well. Judging by 
 his manner of travelling to the Springs he was more 
 shrewd than simple. In the old Warm Springs 
 ledger there is an account of one's week's board for 
 T. Jefferson and entourage which amounted to 
 
 -j-178-e- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 thirty-five dollars. He disputed this sum and went 
 to law over a bottle of wine costing two shillings 
 and some odd pence. All of this is very simple 
 until we learn that the entourage consisted of a 
 valet, two outriders, a coachman, and eight horses — 
 when it becomes very shrewd. 
 
 I suppose the impression you leave behind is of 
 more value to the world than your own perform- 
 ance during the short span of years allotted a mor- 
 tal. " Jeffersonian simplicity " as we interpret it 
 now is the art of living without the doubtful em- 
 bellishments of ginger bread elegancies in costume, 
 decoration, manner, and thought. Whatever Jef- 
 ferson was, a stately edifice of purest Greek archi- 
 tecture rises before me when his time is brought to 
 my mind — but perhaps the reader doesn't think in 
 " pictures," and finds me unusually crazy. 
 
 There is Jeffersonian simplicity at Warm 
 Springs, and we revelled in being the only guests. 
 The spring and bath houses are much as they were 
 in his day, I imagine, and the hotel is kept severe 
 by no departure from its old form as the new wings 
 have been added. Lines of little one-room apart- 
 ments surround the main building, one of them 
 of brick with a few hollyhocks shooting up which 
 we took to be the famous Row. A white fence en- 
 closes the grounds in which the grass grew soft and 
 rich beside the little brook, and blue violets bloomed 
 
 -e-179-i- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 thickly. We occupied any apartment we wished 
 and it cost us nothing at all, which would have de- 
 lighted the heart of our third President; nor were 
 there coloured sweaters or gaudy parasols to de- 
 tract from the scene of other days. 
 
 We were forced to stop again, and for the third 
 time within twenty-four hours, to pay a quarter of 
 a dollar toll for the privilege of going over the 
 short strip of macadam between the famous water- 
 ing places. The Hot Springs Company speak 
 largely in their brochure of this road they have 
 given the guests, but omit any reference to the toll- 
 gate. However, they permit the waters to be drunk 
 by those who have not the means to stay at the 
 Homestead, and grant the privilege of the golf 
 course to all. And that is very decent of them. 
 European cures exact a tax for drinking from 
 the various sources, except that one known as the 
 Deux Reines in Aix-les-Bains, which is for the 
 
 plain people. And, as W once remarked, two 
 
 queens isn't much of a hand but it makes a very 
 good drink. 
 
 The last of the riding horses were being led away 
 by neat little grooms as we correctly reached the 
 front of the hotel. All day we had heard the pleas- 
 ant clopping of their feet upon the asphalted circle 
 of the court. The tennis and golf players were 
 swinging in; even the lovers were quitting Sunset 
 
 -?-180-e- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 Rock for the privilege of becoming more enticing 
 in evening dress. The hush that comes with the 
 dusk both in the caravansaries of country and city 
 was over the house. The tea things had gone clat- 
 tering to rest, the mighty clamour of dinner had not 
 yet begun. The clerks for the evening had already 
 come down in their dinner jackets, but they were as 
 the ticket takers in the front of the theatre before 
 the doors are open. 
 
 I felt that I could hear the voice of the stage 
 manager warning the actors with his " half hour, 
 half hour," up and down the corridors off some 
 great dim stage. Like the stage hands the bell 
 boys were laughing together. The whole building 
 was getting ready for the evening's business. But 
 it was not my business. I was impatient with the 
 idle hours which lay ahead of me. Yet, for a space, 
 I could follow out the custom of the theatre: I 
 went to my room — and made up. 
 
 Diversions went on at a great rate after dinner 
 in various parts of the hotel, with none of the con- 
 fusion of a midway plaisance. Guests sat on either 
 side the long corridor for the doubtful enjoyment 
 of looking at each other. A cinema was amusing 
 such as could not deviate from the nightly observ- 
 ance; there was dancing and a cabaret perform- 
 ance in another wing; and a lecture on the subject 
 of Preparedness easily won the greatest numbers 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 of all the attractions. We thought it significant of 
 the times that so many young people came to the 
 lecture as well as the governors, generals, and am- 
 bassadors who lent weight by their presence. We 
 sat with the lecturer for a while afterwards, as the 
 players sit over their supper, and I went to bed feel- 
 ing more comfortable than I had been at the dinner 
 hour, since I was, at least, on one side a curtain. 
 
 The next day was as the one which preceeded it, 
 which no doubt sounds eminently satisfactory to a 
 large part of the world. It was distinguished only 
 by an absence of laundry work on Toby — distin- 
 guished by that and a remoulding of the Illustra- 
 tor's earlier avowal that he could stay there for- 
 ever to an oft-uttered conviction that we must 
 either stay or go on. 
 
 The first few idle days anywhere are, to those 
 addicted to work, extremely full of hours. In a 
 little while we grow accustomed to doing nothing, 
 barely finding time to accomplish even this. It is 
 so on ship board, endless first days, swiftly moving 
 last ones with none of the letters written which we 
 had expected to get off. I don't suppose that saint 
 who spent his life on top of a column ever wanted 
 to shin down and run about a little after a month of 
 elegant leisure. As we had a circular tour to make 
 pro bono publico we did not wish to become habit- 
 uated to a column — even to a colonnade — and long 
 
 -^182-^- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 before the dancers had ceased whirling in the ball- 
 room on the second night I was packing away my 
 evening frock, taking the flowers off my hat to 
 pin them back on my dinner gown, and compress- 
 ing my thin tailor suit into the size of a homeo- 
 pathic pill. 
 
 These gowns, with my travelling costume, and a 
 black satin coat was my entire outfit. W car- 
 ried a serge suit besides his motoring and evening 
 clothes. We both had extra headgear (one h. g. 
 apiece) and with this limited wardrobe we could 
 have gone around the world — if we didn't stay too 
 long in one place. Even so we might not have been 
 able to have left the following morning had not 
 Sir Walter Scott bestirred himself. 
 
 Sir Walter was to me what Hancock was to the 
 Illustrator. He did not offer to valet me, but he 
 presented himself at my door shortly after our 
 arrival with a plea to remove the antiphlogistine 
 plaster which was curing my coat of pneumonia, 
 bring up the papers, or, since I suggested it, wi'ite 
 me a novel. I made no tax upon his literary prow- 
 ess, but he did go staggering off to " an obligin' 
 lady " with the khaki bookcase laundry bag 
 emptied of books and demoted to its original pur- 
 pose. 
 
 (To my bitter envy W used this word de- 
 mote in his book about the war. It doesn't convey 
 
 -e-183-<- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 the right meaning here but I can wait no longer to 
 employ it.) 
 
 If I have any fault to find with the Homestead 
 it is with the laundry system. During Easter 
 Week, at least, you cannot send out a great mass of 
 belligerent garments early in the morning and have 
 them come back almost before you've brushed your 
 teeth, subdued and orderly in a paper box. But 
 Sir Walter arranged that with the obliging lady. 
 And I must say they made a very good appearance 
 on her line, for we saw them as we drove by on our 
 first day among the barracks. 
 
 The matter of linen while travelling is a trouble- 
 some one. It takes so long to get your effects 
 washed in the small towns of Europe that we of 
 limited kit generally resort to the village shops, 
 
 W going about looking very feminine and I 
 
 equally masculine, everything handmade and hide- 
 ous. It is too bad women cannot be comfortable in 
 paper, with lace, like paper doilies, and ribbon like 
 confetti serpentines, while the men disport them- 
 selves in celluloid shirts which can be washed off 
 at night. 
 
 Failing in this we have decided that it is easier 
 when motoring in our own country to cut down 
 our travelling bags by sending home the used linen 
 and having fresh relays mailed to us at points des- 
 ignated ahead. I say *' mailed " for this is the day 
 
 H- 184 -i- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 of the parcel post, yet — while I do not wish to bias 
 you — it would be better to express them. I own 
 five shares of an express company and we are not 
 doing any too well. 
 
 " Why," demanded my exasperated family, " did 
 you buy express stock just as the parcel post came 
 in? " And, tracing it back, my only reason for this 
 investment was overhearing an old lady say that her 
 company had passed a dividend. So I hurried off 
 with my money under the impression that " passing 
 a dividend " was related to " cutting a melon." 
 
 Be that as it may, Sir Walter Scott returned with 
 the laundry, and the Illustrator and I parted from 
 him and Hancock the next morning with real re- 
 gret. They were such uncommonly nice darkies 
 down there that I am reminded of the performance 
 of The Cavalier, a play of Julie Marlowe's. I was 
 within hearing of Mark Twain at a performance, 
 the delightful man drawling out that he didn't see 
 why Miss Marlowe was taking on so over her loss of 
 the wicked villain in the drama when a nice old 
 darky, quite the finest man in the piece, was as 
 constant as ever. 
 
 Just such a magnificent character served our last 
 breakfast in our rooms. He actually brought back 
 a five dollar bill which, with the negligence of the 
 artistic, we had inadvertently put down on the 
 breakfast tray, and refused a quarter tip which the 
 
 H- 185 -f- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 Illustrator tendered him because I had already 
 
 given him one. As W said : " Let us get away 
 
 from here before we wake up — or before they do." 
 We did get away before all of the guests were 
 awake, although the horses had begun clopping up 
 the asphalt ere the self-starter had thought of 
 starting. They stretched their necks and sniffed 
 at the car as though to say: "If you can get up 
 earlier or go to bed later than a Hot Springs pleas- 
 ure horse you are some automobile." 
 
 I like to think they like it — this ceaseless canter- 
 ing over the country. An Englishman who is fond 
 of " huntin' " assures me that the foxes like it. Al- 
 though as one of our own wise judges said recently 
 as he fined a man with the same argument for 
 pulling hair out of a horse's tail: " I'd rather hear 
 from the horse." 
 
 One can greatly doubt this vicarious enjoyment 
 in life. My heart goes out to the women wearily 
 turning the hurdy-gurdy. How entirely unselfish 
 they are! Do they get any glow from the airs 
 they give, the modern dances, the old songs? 
 " Don't you remember we heard it at the Knicker- 
 bocker," we say, or " My mother used to sing that," 
 and drop in a penny. I have a feeling that I always 
 write better after wrapping up a cent or two in an 
 envelope to throw it down on " Tipperary " or 
 some other matutinal offering. And there is one 
 
 H-186-e- 
 
THE NATURAL BRIDGE 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 shrewd old fellow playing tunes out of tune who 
 must be quite aware of my superstition, for he 
 comes around regularly at ten to force me into of- 
 fering libations to this strange literary god. 
 
 And, while I know we should be getting on to 
 White Sulphur, I do throw them something if they 
 play after dark. It is because they haven't had a 
 good day that they stay out late. Long after they 
 have passed your window and you have finished 
 your dinner they are pulling their musica through 
 squalid streets to leave their earnings with the Pa- 
 drone before they can rest. Also (positively the 
 last interlude) did you ever try to play a hand or- 
 gan? A great actress once — but, no, I will keep 
 my word. 
 
 We are on the road to White Sulphur Springs! 
 It was so good to be going on again, even though 
 we left our quarter's worth of macadam very 
 shortly and plunged into mud moderated by the 
 sun's rays. It seemed that every bird in the valley 
 had come out to greet us, and they do have a won- 
 derful way of piping up when they catch the hum 
 of the engine. It was as incongruous as a canary 
 which always begins to sing during a family quarrel 
 {one's family quarrel, not yours or mine) . I think 
 it is very generous in them to respond with their 
 best notes to such unlovely ones, for a motor while 
 lovely to us could not be to them, nor, surely, fam- 
 
 .-«- 187 -i- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 ily bickering. Possibly birds are more conventional 
 than we think, and wish to cover all unpleasantness 
 with a social air, like nervous hostesses when hosts 
 are grumpy. 
 
 There was a great stir among little things along 
 the way. Chipmunks, rabbits, and weavy lizards 
 coming out to tantalise Toby, the mighty hunter. 
 All of this not on account of our advent, but super- 
 induced by the new green which was much further 
 along in this valley of Falling Springs than that of 
 Warm Springs. Falling Springs is the name of 
 the valley through which we ran to Covington, al- 
 though I don't know how anything can spring and 
 fall at the same time. Cures of milder fame but 
 quite as lovely were at every hand. The Romans 
 would have died happy with all these baths, and, 
 dying, would have left a marvellous housing for the 
 waters and fine roads leading to them. 
 
 We descended from the car frequently, attracted 
 by the verdure and glad to note by our boot heels 
 that the soilure was less. ( Soilure is as good a word 
 as demote any day. It is employed constantly by 
 some of our newest wi'iters and I have managed to 
 get it in before the Illustrator has even heard of 
 it.) We should not have done this as we wished 
 to lunch at White Sulphur. Forty miles is a mere 
 nothing to the hotel clerk, but the name of the val- 
 ley coupled with the condition of the roads very 
 
 -?-188-«- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 delicately reminded us of the probability of fall- 
 ing springs if our pace were too swift. After hav- 
 ing made this good resolution we immediately 
 broke it, as though it were the second of January, 
 to investigate a series of little ponds, like those in a 
 sunken garden, with a sort of green fluff over them. 
 
 The chauffeur promptly said the fluff was water 
 cress. He was a man of wide knowledge. We 
 could not blame him for lacking any great familiar- 
 ity with an automobile as one cannot know every- 
 thing. And he was always right — about the other 
 things. Although disputed by me it was water 
 cress. 
 
 This fact made less absurd the actions of a num- 
 ber of men who were wading out in the ponds and 
 slicing off the fluff with long knives. It was the 
 Falling Springs Cress Company as a very agree- 
 able Mr. Reed told us. The cress grows the year 
 round, for the spring waters which feed the little 
 lakes are warm, and thousands of barrels are sent 
 away to the city markets. I can't imagine any 
 pleasanter method of making a living than to go 
 out in rubber boots and slice off a few barrels 
 every morning, cutting your bread and butter as it 
 were. 
 
 One (if I am the one) always thinks of water 
 cress as growing in polluted brooks, and given away 
 in a haphazard fashion to the grocer. It never oc- 
 
 -i- 189 -*- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 cui'red to me that everything which supplies the 
 vast markets of today must be an incorporated in- 
 dustry. And despite the scandals frequently aired 
 concerning corporations, one finds that they are 
 cleanly organisations who wash their hands before 
 going to work — or wear white gloves on them 
 anyway. I have eaten water cress ever since in the 
 hope that I may have a complexion like Mrs. Reed. 
 She came out to talk to us also, and assured me it 
 was her steady diet, never " smattering " her 
 wrinkles at all. I have bought no shares in this en- 
 terprise so it is nothing to me, but I beg that you 
 will insist for the sake of your health upon Falling 
 Springs cress. 
 
 Before reaching Covington where the turn is 
 made for White Sulphur, one sees the Falling 
 Springs Run, which sounds like a new and wild 
 dance step but is really the little run coming from 
 the springs and, tripping over a rock, falls two hun- 
 dred feet. A guide book urges you to go down 
 and look up at it, more than inferring that Thomas 
 Jefferson, when he became enraged at Warm 
 Springs prices and went on to " White," did this. 
 But I don't suppose any one ever did " get down 
 and look under " unless he fell over. 
 
 I was reading in Jefferson's Notes on Virginia 
 one day, reading as well as I could with my lor- 
 gnon at home (I have those beautiful near sighted 
 
 -«-190-i- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 brown eyes one reads about in novels) and he him- 
 self insinuated that he had been down under the 
 falls, just as the guide book pretends that it has 
 been there also; just as I might say I had gone if 
 
 I were not more honest than W thinks I am. 
 
 How disconcerting it would be to those who have 
 printed " There is a space between the falling wa- 
 ter and the rock wide enough for one to pass," if 
 I said in this book, " There is a pleasant Louis 
 Quinze salon behind the falls replete with gold 
 chairs." Each panicky guide book which has been 
 getting information from earlier and yet earlier 
 guides would cry, *' She has been there, she has been 
 there! " and run down to the printer's. 
 
 We were quite satisfied with our view from a 
 height. A river wound about below as serpent like 
 as a Spanish dancer. It was a thick mineralish 
 (made up word) stream with poplar trees on either 
 side looking from above like a Holland canal. Af- 
 ter we had successfully encountered and escaped 
 Covington we found it to be something of a brawler 
 at times, like a placid woman with gusts of temper. 
 It has not a lady's name. It is Jackson's River, 
 so says Mr. Jefferson, and although it doesn't know 
 it when it springs and runs and falls, the stream 
 becomes the great historic James further on, and, 
 after Seeing Virginia First, empties into the ocean 
 and goes to Europe. 
 
 -*-191-e- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 There are many places of interest on the twenty- 
 miles between Covington and White Sulphur, 
 and, stimulated by the guide book, I was going to 
 pay close attention to them, but we had not gone 
 far before we overtook a tired looking pedestrian 
 with several awkward parcels in his arms, and a 
 checked gingham cap that had already burst its 
 paper bag and was literally on the man's hands to 
 his great discomfiture. We took the tall moun- 
 taineer on the running board, and were glad that 
 we did for he was one of those inept, tragic-eyed 
 creatures who are put down by their neighbours as 
 " not worth a darn." But he had walked ten miles 
 to put flowers on " mah little grave," and was walk- 
 ing ten miles back. It was to be Children's Day 
 soon and all the " folks raound aboot " there fixed 
 up the little graves while the little live children had 
 games and marches and cakes. 
 
 W held the parcels, which poked him in the 
 
 eye ungratefully, while the man hung on, making 
 an effort to entertain us in exchange for the ride. 
 There were trout in the brooks, yes, ma am, moun- 
 tain trout, that's the speckled kind and rainbow 
 trout, like rainbow, eighteen inches or two feet 
 long. He spoke very often of the dimensions of 
 these trout, never varying as to their measurements, 
 and it is the only fish story I ever heard that didn't 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 grow with repetition. Possibly it had already 
 grown as long as it decently could. 
 
 His friends passed, greeting him with the good- 
 humoured contempt that is always apportioned the 
 gentle ones in life. 
 
 "See yuh got a new machine, Jeb." 
 
 " What'd yuh trade foh it, Jeb, one of them 
 chil'ren? " 
 
 Jeb only smiled. " We'all got ten chil'ren and 
 the one in the little grave," he explained to us. 
 " But I wouldn't swap nariest one of 'em foh yer 
 machine — though it's almighty purty," he added 
 hastily. 
 
 A large portion of the ten children were waiting 
 at a scraggly lane for him, and he was so eager to 
 show them what he had that there was no exchange 
 of good-byes at all. He had unwrapped his pur- 
 chases before a bend in the road hid him from us. 
 The uncompromising parcel which had hacked 
 at the Illustrator's features resolved itself into 
 banners for Children's Day. Flags for those 
 so eagerly living — flowers for the little quiet 
 one. 
 
 There is a residence on or near the route to 
 " White " which I had determined to see. It was 
 built by Lord Milton and was, very Englishly, 
 named Oak Hall. " Tommy loves a lord," and so 
 does every one else, yet it was not the aristocratic 
 
 -e-193-e- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 owner that made the estate precious to me, but a 
 belief that I should find Oak Hall as noble as El- 
 sie's Roselands, or, at least, as impressive as Mr. 
 Travilla's mansion. 
 
 You may recall that Mr. Travilla married Elsie 
 — in time — meaning by that when she grew up. It 
 was her father who was obliged to venture a re- 
 proof in the course of their honeymoon as Elsie had 
 flippantly addressed her husband by his first name. 
 I don't remember whether or not she ever worked 
 around to it again after that " calling down." But 
 he remained in my mind from the instant I read 
 of her breach of etiquette, as Mr. Travilla. I was 
 always in terror of Horace Dinsmore and I knew 
 that he wished the readers to follow in Elsie's foot- 
 steps. 
 
 I never got a sniff at Oak Hall. No sooner had 
 we put down the mountaineer than we took on an 
 ancient coloured man clad in a green-black Prince 
 Albert and brown derby. I did not rebel at this, 
 although it passed through my mind that a con- 
 centration on Lord Milton's estate would have been 
 a better preparation for the proud and haughty 
 Greenbrier. I was entirely wrong. The darky had 
 come from one of the very best families in Vir- 
 ginia. " We wuz own by one fahm'ly, we wuz 
 nevah sole away from 'em, and we hev wukked fo 
 'em evah sense," he said. To be the best of your 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 kind is just about as fine a type of aristocrat as 
 we have in America. 
 
 He was in high feather. On Sundays he was a 
 preacher and he had recently bought a church at a 
 bargain. He had demanded of them the very low- 
 est price and they said five hundred dollars cash, 
 and afterward three hundred dollars cash, then two 
 hundred dollars. So the bargain was concluded. 
 
 " And you paid him two hundred dollars down? " 
 asked W eyeing him respectfully. 
 
 " No, suh. Ah done pay 'em twenty-five dollars 
 down, and hev lef ' de res' to mah congregation an' 
 mah Gawd." 
 
 White Sulphur comes upon the traveller of the 
 road so suddenly that our arrival might have been 
 as great a fiasco as at Hot Springs. One can 
 imagine nothing more stimulating to the guests 
 than bringing up before the very white structure 
 of the Greenbrier Hotel with a very black man en- 
 joying the ride with us. It was the old fellow him- 
 self who asked to be put down, for no one is more 
 observant of the proprieties than one who serves, 
 and, unimpeded, we swung past the iron gates, and 
 drove through the lovely wood to the great circular 
 steps. 
 
 Toby descended with the bored air a long pedi- 
 gree granted him. He might have humiliated us in 
 Staunton but he knew that he lent dignity to his 
 
 -*- 195 -J- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 owners at White Sulphur. We passed through the 
 entrance into the fine hall of Italian aspect. It 
 was like a Roman palazzo made entirely habitable. 
 The supreme elegance of country hotel life was 
 ours. As a woman we knew had said of rapidly 
 climbing friends, " They have arrived. They have 
 gone from Warm to Hot to White." 
 
 If one should ask why we stayed two nights in 
 Hot Springs and only lunched at White Sulphur, 
 let me remind him of Sir Walter Scott's obliging 
 lady whose spirit, while willing, was hampered by 
 flesh too weak to wash and iron in a day. We re- 
 gretted this for our plan was to give one night to 
 each place, making a circular tour of eighteen days, 
 or less to the automobile not carrying a " sketch ar- 
 tist." It is difficult to form a definite idea of a lo- 
 cation unless a night is spent there. The hours of 
 Eros strangely enough make the solvent which ren- 
 ders into crystals the true value of the experiences 
 of the day. To put it more vulgarly we get a bead 
 on it, which, I believe, has something to do with 
 beer and is in no way a figurative expression deal- 
 ing with a laboratory. 
 
 Still the motorist must form his impression as he 
 makes his flight. Motoring discoveries are not made 
 by taking a house for the Summer and getting 
 acquainted with the natives. His indignation might 
 be allayed if he knew why certain towns were 
 
 -^196^- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 smoky; his pen stayed if he was assured by the se- 
 lectmen that the apple crop had precluded mend- 
 ing the road that year; his heart softened toward 
 the urchins who stone his car if told that their 
 mother was ill of a fever. But in failing to record 
 these incidents of travel he would be as dishonest 
 as a worm insisting upon writing up a bird's-eye 
 view of the earth. He must tell what he sees, grant- 
 ing that, as his trip is a flight, his impressions are 
 equally fleeting. While I do not wish to go so far 
 as to suggest that the automobile has a place in the 
 Bible, it is well for those along a motor route to 
 watch and keep clean for no one knows when we 
 are coming along. As you see: " The devil can 
 cite scripture for his purpose." 
 
 All this not to preface any attack upon White 
 Sulphur, for I am sure if we had stayed longer we 
 would have found it not less but more lovely. I 
 only regret that I can but scratch on the surface 
 charms of the old springs. Since we admire " Hot " 
 we were relieved that they were too dissimilar for 
 comparison of any sort. The buildings were white, 
 white as the servants who waited upon us. The 
 enclosed wood as intimate if not as beautiful as that 
 of Del Monte. It was a sheltered place, and there 
 were probably many subtle social bars which I had 
 no opportunity to notice. 
 
 There was one circle, however, open to all comers. 
 -f-197-+- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 A room was set aside for the making of band- 
 ages, and a certain number of hours was given each 
 day to such as have found ceaseless effort part of 
 their lives as long as bandages are needed. It was 
 closed when we arrived, and I had to concentrate 
 my effort on securing rainbow trout " eighteen 
 inches or two feet long " instead of three metre 
 gauze strips with a little lap-over for the forceps. 
 The trout, as the waiter kindly and elegantly ex- 
 pressed it, was " unavailable," but our luncheon 
 was at once excellent and modest in price. 
 
 It was late but there were people about, and 
 so long as there are people — any kind of people — 
 the interest of life is sustained. A newly married 
 pair sat next to us, looking so alarmingly alike that 
 they must have been the vainest couple in the world 
 to stick so closely each to his own type. I shudder 
 to think of their Albino progeny. We knew they 
 were not brother and sister by the restrained but 
 amused interest of the guests as they passed 
 through the hall. " Here comes the bride and 
 groom," went the murmur. If I were a plain girl 
 (plainer girl) or an unattractive man I would keep 
 getting married all the time, for a honeymoon is 
 the one period when the dullest couple never fails 
 to attract. I am sure " here comes the bride and 
 groom " must be an idiomatic phrase in every lan- 
 guage of the world. 
 
 -J- 198 +- 
 
p-' 
 
 M* - ^ f J. ■ - i J J^"'?^ a sa <'-'»■'■■. - U ' ■-' 
 
 ^ ,~.-^ 
 
 A;^ 
 
 ^<> 
 
 
 
 GRANT'S HEADQUARTERS (PRINCE EDWARD HOTEL), 
 FARMVILLE 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 Unless we are that wondrous pair we do not come 
 in for as much observation as we think we do. I 
 was a long time finding that out, and I wish every 
 self-conscious creature who dreads walking a long 
 dining room would appreciate that two noses on 
 one face, even, would be as nothing in value to a 
 mouthful of guinea hen. 
 
 We asked one of the clerks who was the decorator 
 of the Greenbrier and he looked at us rather hazily. 
 We knew who had done the house, so charmingly 
 but we were curious to see if he did. There is no 
 credit given the decorator or the architect of pub- 
 lic buildings in the United States as a rule. Al- 
 though there is no more rightful tribute than that 
 carved in stone over the Forty-second Street en- 
 trance to the Grand Central Station: " To all those 
 who with head, heart, and hand toiled in the con- 
 struction of this monument to the public service, 
 this is inscribed." 
 
 One can hardly expect an acknowledgment of a 
 decorator when the sculptor leaves no name upon 
 his marble. In all of the monuments at Gettys- 
 burg, or throughout our trip, we could not learn 
 of the men who had moulded the wet clay and put 
 into it a part of his own self. A great many of 
 them ought to be glad to live on unrecognised by 
 their badly conceived designs, but if some one 
 would let me know who did the darling wolf peep- 
 
 -i-199-h- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 ing over the spring in Morningside Park I promise 
 to send the sculptor my best typewritten praise. 
 
 I walked about the grounds as W sat him- 
 self down to sketch unhampered by crowds for 
 every one is too well bred to hang about the artist 
 in this pleasant wood. Beyond the Thermal Estab- 
 lishment is the White Hotel. " White of White " 
 I think it would be called, where the Southerners 
 go in Summer; and in a semi-circle about the 
 grounds like little Greek temples to inconsequential 
 gods are many " semi-detached villas." They are 
 generally apportioned to unmarried men, I believe ; 
 at least they are known as Bachelors' Row, deli- 
 cately suggesting that bachelors while detached are 
 not entirely — or eternally — so. There is one villa 
 of greater antiquity — and height — than the others, 
 where the French photographer told me " Leeve 
 the Presidonz." No one could tell me just what 
 Presidents have stayed there, although a great deal 
 of screaming went on between his wife and himself 
 on the subject — an altercation which I ended by 
 suggesting that it would be better not to know as it 
 might be some of them I didn't like. 
 
 "You don' like the Presidonz?" he asked in 
 awed fashion. He was of a republic, but he still 
 held his rulers in respect — which is not to be a bad 
 idea for some of us. 
 
 As W wisely said when we got into the car, 
 
 -?- 200 -*- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 " It was just this time yesterday," which was not to 
 be disputed. But we had a longer way to go on 
 our return to Covington than over the primrose 
 path of macadam from " Warm " to " Hot." For 
 the third time that day I determined to concen- 
 trate on points of interest, but I find in my note- 
 book : " We went under the railway a number of 
 times," which seems to be as important as Mark 
 Twain's " got up, washed and went to bed," or the 
 Illustrators' diary when he was a little fellow which 
 reads mainly: " Am well." 
 
 We were to spend the night in Covington, far 
 removed from luxury, snatching such sleep as we 
 could in a hotel along the railway track. I had been 
 warned that it would be fearfully stupid, but any 
 transition is agreeable — besides we always man- 
 aged something. This time it was a wreck of 
 freight trains directly in front of our windows. 
 Now I ask you, could anything more unusual be 
 prepared for a stranger than a wreck without leav- 
 ing his room to enjoy it? We watched the whole 
 procedure — the lifting of the cars — the beating 
 back of the curious citizens — the flashing of signals 
 and swinging of lanterns. And I am glad to say, 
 I mean that I try to be glad to say, no one was 
 hurt. By the time the night express thundered 
 through the track was cleared, and Covington went 
 to bed without having visited a single movie. We 
 
 -j-201-f- 
 
ABOUT FASHIONABLE LIFE 
 
 found ourselves so tremendously tired that I re- 
 membered calling in to W : 
 
 " Did I tuck you in or did I kiss you good 
 night?" 
 
 I don't know yet which I did as I fell asleep be- 
 fore he answered. 
 
 202 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 And Now a Picnic in the Mountains, Meeting 
 
 Charming Boys and Upsetting Two Ladies, 
 
 Which Is Not as Bad as It Sounds 
 
 " And pepper and salt, pepper and sa-a-a-lt ! " 
 
 It was W ordering our lunch for the day 
 
 who awakened me, the seasoning being an after- 
 thought and called through the open transom as 
 the negro made his way down the hall. Possibly it 
 was to humiliate me that the burden of the com- 
 missary was assumed by him. I must admit that 
 he filled the luncheon basket with remarkable ease. 
 When I see men cooking better than women, and 
 sweeping cleaner, and dusting more thoroughly, as 
 well as ably conducting various business enterprises 
 a terrible fear comes over me that they are really 
 more capable than we are at anything they under- 
 take. Then I go look at my yellow buttons which 
 have decorated me as I have marched resolutely up 
 Fifth Avenue, and I say, " We ought to have it 
 anyway," which means the vote, of course, and I 
 never tell the Illustrator what has been passing 
 through my mind. 
 
 -i-203-«- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 For the last few years we have enjoyed the su- 
 premacy in one direction, at least. But with all 
 this men's talk of preparation and this demonstrat- 
 ing to fife and drum that they want it, even our bi- 
 yearly walk up Fifth Avenue may be minimised. 
 " Take my advice," I said to W on Prepared- 
 ness Day as he was about to sally forth, " get near 
 the band. You know I march oftener than you 
 do " 
 
 I shouldn't have told him. He has been march- 
 ing steadily ever since to catch up. But I wondered 
 as we ate his luncheon at the summit of North 
 Mountain if " out-doing " is not among the attri- 
 butes that go to make men more generally able than 
 women. One fears that " to do better than others " 
 is more of an incentive to mankind than "to do 
 your best." 
 
 This was to be another day among the moun- 
 tains, and the hard boiled egg industry was heavily 
 taxed before we started. It made a delay, which 
 pleased me greatly as my three sandwiches had 
 been ready far in advance. There was a great deal 
 of running up and down stairs and opening of 
 doors, one young man at the Hotel Collins gladly 
 speeding my departure. I walked into his room 
 three times in twenty minutes, varying my third 
 apology by an attack upon him for not locking 
 his door. The absurdity of my grievance swept 
 
 -J- 204 -i- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 over me, and I made a faint attempt at being hu- 
 morous which was most ill-timed. " The only thing 
 to do is to bar me out," I said, very embarrassed 
 but trying to be gay. And while he made no re- 
 ply he was evidently terrified for I heard him bar- 
 ricading the entrance with a table, probably lack- 
 ing a lock and a key. 
 
 I was so afraid of overturning the table that I 
 led Toby into a churchyard feeling that I could 
 do no harm there, and let him run around with a 
 few religious dogs while I sat on the steps mus- 
 ing on churches in general. I had not ceased to 
 envy the old black man of the day before who had a 
 church all his own, and could say anything he 
 pleased from the pulpit. It would be so agreeable 
 to buy an edifice where all would have to come to 
 hear me expound or they wouldn't go to heaven 
 when they died. Now, I cannot make any one read 
 this book — entirely too full of my opinions and too 
 lacking in the history of the Old Dominion — and 
 yet, a new thought strikes me, since there is a re- 
 ward for all effort perhaps I shall be right in prom- 
 ising a safe crossing of the Jordan to those who 
 make a reader's pilgrimage from cover to cover. 
 
 I was not able in the short time I sat on the 
 church steps to decide what I should say to my 
 flock. But I did make a mental resolve that I 
 would not take a mean advantage of them just 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 because they couldn't get away. How we all love 
 to talk down! I have sat on some Sunday night 
 platforms where lecturers were provided out of 
 the generosity of various philanthropists, and I 
 never knew one of those philanthropists who could 
 refrain from getting up before the real event of the 
 evening, to make a speech of his own. They didn't 
 do it well and speech-making was not their busi- 
 ness, but they'd paid for the hall, and they knew 
 the mean bedrooms of the young men and women 
 gathered there were too cold to go back to until it 
 was bedtime. 
 
 W came along in time to rescue Toby from 
 
 one of the religious hounds — the purchaser of the 
 church no doubt — who, I regret to say, vanquished 
 our blooded canine without effort. It was deeply 
 humiliating to all of us, Toby repeating as he went 
 along: "He was bigger'n me, Walter," as indeed 
 he was. And neither Toby nor I agreed with the 
 Illustrator who wished that the hound, if he had to 
 bite, had taken off three inches of his tail. You 
 may observe in the pictures that our dog's tail is 
 of the correct length. This is either artistic license 
 or the delineator's vanity over his pet. As a matter 
 of fact the tail is too long, and as one who can 
 preach sermons only out of a book I am obliged to 
 speak of it. 
 
 (Toby is sitting by my side very mortified over 
 -f-206-+- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 the divulgence of the incorrect tail. " You ain't 
 goin' to put that in the book, are you? " he asks.) 
 
 Still it was a merry morning. We followed a 
 stream which must have been Jackson's River with 
 all its serenity gone and exercising like a gymnastic 
 class. The cedars and firs were wearing the new 
 green that seems to catch the sun's rays of a day 
 less cloudy and were now generously shedding them 
 again. I spoke of this, which evidently piqued the 
 sun for it said very brightly, "I'll do my own shin- 
 ing," and remained with us all day. I sometimes 
 think if Sun Worshipping had not been abandoned 
 we could make better terms with its majesty on pic- 
 nic and fete days. Could you imagine the Sun Wor- 
 shippers' Annual Outing to Coney Island marred 
 by a rainstorm? 
 
 It was a floral way. The fallen leaves of last 
 year, having served their purpose as Winter " com- 
 fortables " for the new little things, were now 
 pushed aside by the ungrateful blossoms who were 
 striving to peep out. May apples were sitting se- 
 renely under their green umbrellas made, quite 
 fashionably, for rain or shine ; and overhead a small 
 yellow dogwood varied the colour scheme of the 
 pink and white trees of the Shenandoah. 
 
 There was also a tree hung with bleeding hearts, 
 or what I called bleeding hearts, although our ever- 
 right chauffeur did not think they grew that way. 
 
 -e- 207 -i- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 But I don't see why not. One finds them most un- 
 expectedly in life, and as often in the country as 
 in the strife of the city. Besides, why not bleeding 
 hearts on trees? A man who knew much more of 
 nature than even the chauffeur discovered three 
 hundred years ago : 
 
 " — tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
 
 We passed through Clifton Forge as a whistle 
 warned us that we had fooled away our time until 
 it was high noon. I don't know how hastily Clifton 
 Forge goes to work but it stops labouring in the 
 most businesslike fashion. Although a small town 
 the streets were as full of people as on circus day at 
 Staunton. The railway tracks were crowded with 
 coal cars, an express train thundered up, a local 
 drew in and the travellers, each preferring the other 
 train, tore back and forth. It was almost impos- 
 sible for us to keep from flying out and " changing 
 cars " with some one, leaving our nice new automo- 
 bile and taking a small affair with bent mud 
 guards. 
 
 We breathed more freely when we ran into the 
 fields again, the Illustrator promising me quiet, 
 away from a vast city's din, until we reached Long- 
 dale Furnace. The landscape would suggest peace 
 
 -j-208-!- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 and serenity. We were running along a mild river 
 with wagon wheels branching off the highway and 
 inviting us down to the water's edge as much as to 
 say, " Aw come on in," in the lingo of dear Skinny 
 on the funny page. But we would not go in for 
 fear we'd get wet — like the boy who minds his 
 mother. The mother in this instance was, or were, 
 two men in a buckboard who said the fords were 
 too deep for machines, then flipped over themselves 
 like fat dragon flies. 
 
 There was a reward for minding mother: we 
 " got to go " anyway. At the next enticing little 
 set of ruts we were hailed from across the way by 
 an agonised voice crying, " Stop, Look, Listen." 
 We could not believe this to be a railroad crossing 
 come to life, and it was not the place for a comic 
 opera of some such modern name. But we did all 
 three things while the blond young man who had 
 hailed us came to the edge of the bank opposite. 
 " I had to say something quick," he explained. 
 "I've tried making a polite start and they've all 
 gone on." 
 
 We looked interested. "It's just this," he con- 
 tinued, " we've come from Lewisburg and are go- 
 ing on to Lexington for the Washington and Lee 
 track." 
 
 " Oh, yes," I encouraged, feeling that I had 
 found a writer of travel stories in this solitude, 
 
 -?-209-J- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 " ' On the Track of Washington and Lee/ you call 
 the article? " 
 
 " Ma'am? " said the blond young man. 
 
 The Illustrator turned to me severely. " Wash- 
 ington and Lee is a big college at Lexington. It's 
 their day for track sports. Hush." Then he 
 turned to the boy deferentially. " Go on. She un- 
 derstands now." 
 
 She! The " unexpressive she" of Mr. Shake- 
 speare I suppose. 
 
 The young man went on quite as foolish in his 
 way as I was in mine, and greatly endearing him- 
 self to me. He had forded his car across the stream 
 and he had got stuck for his carbui'etor was low, so 
 that horses had to pull him out. And now it 
 wouldn't go. In the most charming and apologetic 
 fashion he began to wonder — he took a long breath 
 — if he waded across to us and then stood up along- 
 side our carburetor, in this manner measuring the 
 water's cruel height on his trousers with the height 
 of our carburetor, and if our carburetor was higher 
 than the high- water mark on his trousers would we 
 then ford the stream so as to find out why his car 
 didn't go. " Because," completed the delightful 
 college youth, " we 'all are perfect greenhorns 
 about a c'yar." 
 
 We took a chance and motored over, reaching 
 the other side without horses, though with a high- 
 
 -j-210-e- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 water mark of our own. There were four boys. 
 The intrepid barker was not the owner at all, but 
 simply a guest rendered desperate in his anxiety to 
 get on the track of Washington and Lee. They 
 had all driven cars of their own, however, and they 
 knew no more about their insides than I do about 
 physiology — another one of my studies in which I 
 achieved almost supreme failure at examinations. 
 
 All coats were off including a large part of 
 Toby's as I sat on the roadside and firmly combed 
 him. I suppose I should have been " smattering " 
 my wi'inkles. While the beauty expert had said I 
 would find plenty of time on a motor trip, this was 
 the first moment of complete idleness that had been 
 ticked off my watch. But I really could not get out 
 that baby pancake turner and begin beating my 
 face into a pulp before those nice boys. I was dis- 
 tressed that I was too modest to do this. Not that 
 I mind being modest but an anxiety to appear well 
 before young men is a sign of increasing years in a 
 woman. 
 
 Putting the car through its simple tests was a 
 forlorn hope speedily abandoned. Like the ve- 
 hicles of the gypsies the magneto was undoubtedly 
 wet, and there was little to do beyond wheeling the 
 car about where the kindly sun would dry it out in 
 time. Not in time for the meet, I fear, for we did 
 not see them again. Our chauffeur would take no 
 
 -e-211-i- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 money from the boys so we all shook hands, the 
 barker urging us to visit him in Lewisbm'g where 
 we must go right to the bank. 
 
 It was the first time we had ever ingratiated 
 ourselves with a bank — at least to the extent of 
 staying over night — and we deeply resent each 
 other's forgetting the pleasant boy's name and the 
 business abode of his father. We might be taken 
 for motor bandits if we suddenly appeared at the 
 wi-ong bank with our bags in hand as though ready 
 for the specie; and even if we never get there I 
 trust some one of his companions will send me his 
 real name so that I may say in my Johnsonian dic- 
 tionary: friendly type of Americana found in Ap- 
 palachian Range, frequently at water's edge, or on 
 (in — at) the bank. 
 
 We were nerving ourselves up for the city tur- 
 moil of Longdale Furnace. If a mere ford could 
 so teem with activity think of the hectic possibilities 
 of a furnace. The approach was very piano, pre- 
 luded by melancholy, and we entered a deserted vil- 
 lage which had cast its shadow before. There were 
 long rows of workingmen's cottages unoccupied, 
 unusually good houses which the wives must have 
 left with sorrow. I thought of the moving fever 
 which had seized me earlier in the season. I sup- 
 pose it would not be so attractive if we moved from 
 the necessity of living, hunger, the wolf, following 
 
 -»-212-e- 
 
THE ROAD TO THE EAST THROUGH NOTTOWAY COUNTY, 
 VIRGINIA 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 our footsteps as we pursued labour, the will-o'-the- 
 wisp. We heard somewhere that these iron works 
 had been closed down because the owner had found 
 the country lonely. I don't believe it, but if it is 
 so I trust the ore workers sealed him up in one of 
 his furnaces before they left their homes. 
 
 As soon as we turned to the right after Longdale 
 Furnace we began the six mile ascent of North 
 Mountain. We approached it with a good deal of 
 curiosity for we had been variously advised as to 
 this climb over the highest and the steepest of the 
 Virginia mountains. In garages, where talk is lim- 
 ited to the feats of the motor car, preferably the 
 car of the talker, there was such diverse informa- 
 tion that one would have to make the ascent if only 
 to find out for himself. We were told that the road 
 was perfect — there was no road — it was all mud — 
 no, all stone — a child's velocipede could do it — no 
 motor could make it — ad libitum, ad infinitum, and 
 all those other things. 
 
 We found on this trip through the South that 
 the most reliable information came from the owners 
 of automobiles who sent out parties in their cars. 
 They have no axe to grind as you do not want to 
 rent a car, they are not hotel men whose motoring 
 is limited to the desk, and their automobiles, com- 
 ing and going constantly, are familiar with the 
 general condition of the roads. The one in Hot 
 
 -H-213-?- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 Springs told us to go ahead, and I shouldn't have 
 missed it for a wilderness of springs and tires. 
 
 The valleys in this part of the mountains are 
 much richer in growth than those between Hot 
 Springs and Staunton, and at every twist of the 
 steep way our eyes were turned from the poor road 
 bed to the softly breathing country beneath us. 
 Higher and higher we climbed, winding back and 
 forth like the lacets of the Alps, and more and more 
 abundantly the earth spread itself to our vision, i 
 No wonder great men are benevolent in their view 
 toward mankind. From their height they see ! 
 clearly our little mental farms, know the poor j 
 ground from the rich soil, recognise those who toil | 
 unceasingly and the lazy pompous ones sleeping in I 
 a shade which lavish nature has unworthily be- 
 stowed upon them. • 
 
 We were nearly to the timber line when we 
 reached the summit, stopping at a little spring on 
 the descent to eat our luncheon. Here we found I 
 late trailing arbutus which I had never seen before 
 except in round hard bunches on the trays of the t 
 city vendors, bringing to us promise of a new en- | 
 casing for our weary spirits. The blossoms were |' 
 our only table decorations and we did not uproot I 
 them, but ate alongside the floral display something 
 after the fashion of Mahomet going to the moun- 
 tain. The bottle of buttermilk was cooled in the 
 
 -?-214-f- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 spring and drunk out of the squashy paper cups 
 which preclude any greediness in drinking by flying 
 their contents all over you. It was a very satisfac- 
 tory picnic — lacking ants in the cake. Even Toby 
 had a bone which he remarkably refused to eat in 
 such elevated surroundings. A bone in a kitchen, 
 yes, a bone under the bed or on the best rug, yes, 
 but not — though the stomach yearns — a bone on 
 trailing arbutus. 
 
 Now and then he barked challenges to unseen 
 foes. The silence may have alarmed him. There 
 is, to me, more an element of remoteness in these 
 mountains than in the greater ones of the North- 
 west. It is hard to believe that during the French 
 and Indian War in 1755 there was a continual 
 marching of troops over these paths, that the coun- 
 try was settled before that time by the fathers of 
 men who grew to be the heroes dear to all boys: 
 Indian fighters. Near White Sulphur is a tomb- 
 stone which bears the date of 1662. The grave it- 
 self is no more mysterious than the lonely soul who 
 chiselled the year upon the stone, for there is no 
 record of a white man's settlement in this part of 
 the country at so early a time. The chauffeur sug- 
 gested that it was put up as a joke, I don't know 
 on whom, but if any one makes me out a century 
 older than I am I shall find a method of getting 
 back to earth. 
 
 -J-215-*- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 His pleasantry was not advanced in the moun- 
 tain, but after we had reached the plain again when 
 one is relaxed and folly is normal. I could /never 
 live continually on the heights. It would be like 
 sitting at breakfast opposite some profoundly deep 
 thinker, or even some very brilliant person shooting 
 off epigrams as one squirts grape juice. To sit 
 opposite any one at breakfast is hard enough. My 
 only companion is the canary bird who thinks cof- 
 fee is bad for me and, perching on the edge of the 
 cup, fights every swallow I take. 
 
 ("You ain't goin' to put that canary in, are 
 you? " asks a certain jealous dog.) 
 
 We were now in the far reaches of the Shenan- 
 doah Valley sliding away from the Appalachian 
 Range (which my typist so hates to spell) and slip- 
 ping toward the Blue Ridge. Between the two lies 
 Lexington, containing not only the track but the 
 University of Washington and Lee, or Washington 
 College as it was called before General Lee was 
 made its president after the war. If I do say it I 
 am something of a connoisseur on Lexingtons. I 
 have passed through (praise be) those of Missouri 
 and Nebraska. Friends have shown me their Min- 
 ute Men and some very nice ones of more recent 
 date in the Lexington of Massachusetts, and I 
 played in that muddy, horsy town of the same name 
 in Kentucky during my first year " on the boards." 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 The scene of the play was laid in Kentucky, and 
 the villain was patterned, so far as outward make- 
 up was concerned, after a most exemplary black- 
 haired citizen who took an unhappy pride in the 
 doubtful compliment of the playwright. The char- 
 acter in the drama was the meanest villain I have 
 ever met with. I played adventuresses in my ex- 
 treme youth, as my hair was black, too, so the bad 
 man of the play was generally my father and I am 
 in a position to know as much about villains as I 
 do about Lexingtons. Every night the good man 
 of the horsy town sat in a box so that all could see 
 the resemblance between his black beard and the 
 black beard of the bad man on the stage, and the 
 more the actor threw bombs and poisoned horses 
 the prouder the original bearded one became. It 
 wouldn't surprise me at all if I were to learn that 
 he finally went on the stage to play the role him- 
 self, and was featured by the management as ap- 
 pearing every night in real Kentucky whiskers. 
 
 While we were too late for the track of Wash- 
 ington and Lee I found the Lexington of Virginia 
 more to my taste than any of the other towns (ad- 
 mitting that I am unfamiliar with Lexington Junc- 
 tion, " Mo.") . To be sure there was a contest, not 
 of the day's sports, but between the Illustrator and 
 myself over a choice of composition. He wanted 
 to do the church where Stonewall Jackson taught 
 
 -J- 217 -^- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 his darky Sunday School class, and I wanted the 
 back of Doctor White's house. I thought it should 
 go down to posterity, as the back door is even 
 lovelier than the front, like a fine soul in an ugly 
 body. 
 
 I do not know Doctor White ; all this was told me 
 by a student, who also said that the nagroes (he 
 elegantly pronounced it so) were taught by Gen- 
 eral Jackson. The pronouncer of nagro said he 
 lived in Greenwich Village of New York City, but 
 when I challenged his accent admitted that he was 
 born in Georgia. He conducted us on a little pil- 
 grimage to the grave of Robert E. Lee, who rests 
 with the Lee family. 
 
 The slight detour wasn't much of a compliment 
 to pay the great strategist, but it was all we had to 
 give except an increasing heartache for him and the 
 shabby band he led. The Civil War was closing in 
 on us. Appomattox lay but a day ahead where 
 the Confederate and the Federal Generals met, Lee 
 to offer his sword. Grant to refuse it. As we left 
 the town we passed the cemetery where Jackson 
 is buried, his monument rising above the others. 
 
 " You won't have to stop," suggested the stu- 
 dent. " You can just peep in and say you've been 
 there." 
 
 " What are you going to be when you grow up ? " 
 I demanded of him. 
 
 -^218^- 
 
 
 » 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 " I am going to be a writer." He had one of the 
 requisites. 
 
 We achieved Natural Bridge with but one in- 
 cident which might have been an accident. It was 
 all owing to a buggy ahead trying to make up its 
 mind which side to give us. The Illustrator of- 
 fered to wager a large sum of money that a woman 
 was driving, which was not entirely true as two 
 women were driving, one rein in the hands of each. 
 They finally brought up in a ditch on the wrong 
 side. Although they were wrong we righted them, 
 the chauffeur very honestly restoring a purse which 
 they did not deserve, while the ladies admitted that 
 they just couldn't quite decide. One meets with 
 very little of this foolish driving in Virginia, al- 
 though the further South we went the more fright- 
 ened the horses became, and there was a good deal 
 of hopping out on our part to lead the poor beasts 
 past our terrifying engine of war. 
 
 There was no sign of a Natural Bridge when we 
 arrived there, only an unnatural hotel, charmingly 
 situated, which didn't take dogs. One of the women 
 guests pleaded that he be allowed to remain, and 
 upon Toby promising that he would not steal the 
 towels we were all accommodated. 
 
 This was real country again, the doors of the 
 rooms opening directly upon a long veranda on the 
 ground floor. I should say it was the safest hotel 
 
 -h 219 -f- 
 
A PICNIC IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 in the world for a large sign in the Illustrator's 
 room read, " Fire escape on back porch." One 
 hopes no nervous women like those of the buggy 
 will ever read this and be found clinging to it when 
 they could comfortably walk down the steps. 
 
 " Lilacks am right nice," said the waiter as he 
 placed the blossoms on our supper table, and it was 
 all very nice indeed until we thought we would 
 take one look at the Natural Bridge before going 
 
 to bed. I bounced in on W as he and Toby 
 
 were getting ready to view the marvel of nature by 
 moonlight. 
 
 " It costs a dollar a head to see the bridge be 
 
 natural," I shouted. They sat down again, W 
 
 to begin a series of thinking which resulted in: 
 
 " The French Government open to the public the 
 greatest natural bridge in the world, that of Con- 
 stantine in North Africa. The Spaniards offer 
 the Alhambra without fees; the Forum in Rome 
 is for the people. But in America we had to pay 
 for a ridiculous length of length to view Niagara 
 Falls, and the enjoyment of an arch of rock still 
 costs us a dollar. Five francs — five lire — five 
 pesetas — four marks or four shillings. Think what 
 we could get for the equivalent of a dollar in 
 France, Italy, Spain, Germany, or England." 
 
 " Fire escape on back porch," I read aloud, not 
 that it was a very funny speech but I didn't want 
 the Illustrator to begin and end this chapter. 
 
 -j-220-?- 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Something Better than My Father's Cousin 
 
 Lauras Stereopticons , After That a Bad Road 
 
 Sprinkled with Kindness — hut Read Along 
 
 We are like all Americans: we grumble at im- 
 positions — and accept them. After we had made 
 ready the baggage the next morning we swelled the 
 coffers of the gentleman who farms Natural Bridge 
 and went to see it. 
 
 There was some difficulty in getting a porter 
 to our rooms as the electric button couldn't be 
 found, and was discovered only by working from 
 the floor up, and pushing everything from the wall 
 paper design to early moths impressed upon the 
 freshly painted woodwork. It reminded me of a 
 dinner guest of ours who was discovered ten min- 
 utes after he had taken leave still waiting for the 
 elevator with his thumb pressed on the ornamental 
 iron flower, mistaking it for the bell. What ? No, 
 he was a temperate man. 
 
 We paid a dollar each to a ticket taker who 
 charged nothing for Toby or for his own ( the ticket 
 
 taker's) good manners. W said green goods 
 
 men were always polite, yet after we passed 
 
 -i-221-«- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 through the glen and came to the arch we decided 
 that dealers in green goods of this sort were in a 
 very decent business. 
 
 I never saw such radiance as that May morning ! 
 The rock must have got wind of our diatribe 
 against it, the Illustrator's voice borne on the wind 
 perhaps, and had spent the night festooning itself 
 with pink blossoms and filling every crevice with 
 the newest thing in green. I don't know whj^ wo- 
 men of advanced age look so ridiculous in the 
 clothes of a debutante when such array is so becom- 
 ing to an old rock. I had a very definite picture 
 in my mind of Natural Bridge, due to my father's 
 Cousin Laura's stereopticon views with which I was 
 always entertained in my youth when our family 
 took Sunday night tea with her. These views 
 formed my taste for scenery, setting a sort of stand- 
 ard. Since then I have visited many of the mar- 
 vels of nature, but so excellent were her pictures to 
 my child's mind that I have frequently been obliged 
 to say to the mystified guide: "Not so good as 
 my father's Cousin Laura's." 
 
 However Natural Bridge with its glory of young 
 colour was admitted without question as " better 
 than my father's Cousin Laura's," and I suppose if 
 anything is better at thirty-seven than it was at 
 seven it is worth a dollar. (Note: I'm older than 
 thirty-seven but I did want to work in a seven for 
 
 -!-222-<- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 the value of the repeated word, and I couldn't say 
 forty-seven which would be too far from the truth. ) 
 
 W made a sketch while I stretched my neck 
 
 to the snapping point to see who went over the 
 bridge at the top. There must be a road over it, 
 but I could get no definite information, probably 
 for the reason that a nmnber of dollars could be 
 saved if one were to hang over and take a real bird's- 
 eye view. Birds never pay anything for the finest 
 
 scenery in the world. W said I was hoping 
 
 some one would jump over, which was not true, al- 
 though the one time I visited Niagara Falls a man 
 had attempted to commit suicide which rendered 
 the sight-seeing expedition memorable. 
 
 I was not annoyed that no one jumped over; the 
 only thing that made me peevish was the horrible 
 Don'ts defacing the landscape. Don't pick the wild 
 
 flowers, vines, moss ! This remote spot is 
 
 hardly the place for vandalism. Central Park is 
 made hideous by policemen's whistles warning Toby 
 and me that whatever we are doing we are doing 
 wrong. I think we will have to move to Chicago 
 to secure peace. There the green grass is to be 
 walked upon. "It is for the people," as a city 
 father once told me, " and when it wears out we 
 put down more." A most intelligent city! 
 
 I had hoped to go over the bridge as we left for 
 Lynchburg but we never got a snip of it, reach- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 ing Glasgow only to get lost in the smallest of all 
 hamlets. It was hard to believe that the main road 
 over the last of our mountains could run along a 
 towpath of a disused canal. There were log cabins 
 along the canal with negroes emerging from the 
 shacks correctly dressed for church in frock coats 
 and the admired brown derbies. One wonders 
 where the good clothes could be kept on week days 
 in these single-roomed domiciles so generously 
 shared with the chickens and pigs. 
 
 White folk live in these cabins, too, which are 
 quite as charming as the Elsie type of mansion, but 
 there is an inclination now to clap-board over them, 
 keeping out the beauty with the cold. Possibly 
 " Uncle Tom's Cabin " has impressed the country- 
 men with the idea that quality mustn't live in a 
 house of logs, and there would be no use in telling 
 them of the trouble and expense New Yorkers in- 
 cur to build just such artistic lodges in the Adiron- 
 dacks. 
 
 The main road to Lynchburg becomes more re- 
 markable as it starts over the mountains. The tow- 
 path is abandoned and, entering a farm yard, the 
 rocky way begins directly behind a pig sty. We 
 could not believe this, and had no one to ask as all 
 of the family had gone to church with only the live 
 stock in the front yard eating up the peonies. But 
 a weary looking automobile issued from the pass 
 
 -*-224<H- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 and told us to go on but to look out. We did " look 
 out," which was the only way to forget a narrow, 
 tortuous road harrowed by gullies that made Toby 
 
 seasick. The view was so lovely that W made 
 
 a sketch of the conjunction of rivers which now 
 firmly became the historic James. The James is 
 majestic at the start, like a royal child, and as I 
 watched the picture grow my thoughts swerved 
 from the battlefields of the Civil War, from fash- 
 ionable cm-es and simple mountaineers to the days 
 of Queen Elizabeth and King James, when adven- 
 turesome spirits sailed their little boats up the wide 
 mouth of the river — more like a greedy maw than 
 they did know — " to seek the pearl and gold." 
 Between Tide-water Virginia and our present lofty 
 perch lay the flat lands of the South, unbeautiful, 
 as we had been warned, but to be visited as part of 
 the country which found its " pearl and gold " 
 mainly in the furrowed field. 
 
 Somehow or other we got over those fearful 
 mountains. We even crossed a car coming our way 
 which we had said couldn't be done. There must 
 be a special providence for good automobiles — one 
 will notice that the dreaded meeting of a narrow 
 way is generally made at a turn where the width is 
 sufficient. The cars stopped to exchange sympa- 
 thies, we loaning the stranger our small tin 
 " growler " which the chauffeur had wisely stolen 
 
 -j-225-i- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 from a garage to pour cold water into the 
 engine. 
 
 One is pleased to grant him this forethought but 
 regrets that it did not extend sufficiently forward 
 to have filled his tank that morning. Never, never, 
 never leave for a day's run without a full tank. If 
 the shops are closed demand a key, break in, or 
 don't go on. Unlike a mortal, an engine runs bet- 
 ter on a full stomach. Our car, which travels on the 
 flat nineteen miles to a gallon, drank up its canteen 
 as would any thirsty soldier on a forced march. 
 
 We " looked out," staring about for oil wells like 
 manna in the wilderness. There were promises of 
 rhododendrons, crocuses were as purple as the eyes 
 of heroines, but no habitations sprang up to help us 
 out. With a view to distracting, the chauffeur dis- 
 covered a pink honeysuckle which was not wel- 
 comed as it should have been. " Look in, not out," 
 rumbled the Illustrator as though he were a mental 
 scientist. At one point it would seem that we 
 could go no further anyway for a huge pine had 
 fallen across the road. Yet we managed it, as some 
 forerunner with a hatchet, possibly Touring Infor- 
 mation of the eighth chapter, had hacked off enough 
 branches to permit a car to go under the Natural 
 Bridge — without charge. I suppose it will stay 
 there forever and become a beauty spot. 
 
 In time we achieved the clearings where little 
 -+• 226 -i- 
 

 THE EDGE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 stores were irregularly placed, although one can't 
 imagine who buys of them. They were shut on the 
 Lord's day, but at every back door the family were 
 eating. At Noala Mr. Cheatham asked us to sit 
 down with them and I would have done so but the 
 Illustrator felt that the engine should be fed before 
 us. We compromised on a photograph as a slight 
 return for their kindness, which I must put into an 
 envelope and send off this moment. Such pretty, 
 well-dressed girls; such a good lookhig Mrs. 
 Cheatham! all artistically living in a log cabin em- 
 porium. These stores sold everything but gasoline. 
 If our car could drink Lemon-nola it could have 
 been nourished, if it could use Vick's Croup and 
 Pneumonia Salve we might have struggled on to 
 Lynchburg, or even a setting of eggs from " im- 
 proved hens." It was a pleasure to read of this 
 kind of a hen; considering the service they render 
 us it is a worthy reform to be taken up by every 
 social worker, yet it made no appeal to the motor. 
 We went on begging our way like a charity ba- 
 zaar until a kind Mr. Rea at Pedlar's Mills for 
 whom we made a slight detour, accommodated us 
 from his own private stock. Feeling that he should 
 be repaid in some other way than monej^ and 
 thanks I struck up a relationship with him before 
 
 W could get around to it. I am almost related 
 
 to the Reas as I have an uncle by marriage whose 
 
 -e-227-«- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 brother is in a business firm with a Mr. Rea — and a 
 very stingy man he is too. 
 
 Lynchburg lay twenty miles ahead, the road 
 finely macadamised and heavily tolled by armless 
 men who said my branch of rhododendron was ivy. 
 The engine was inclined to whiz but the chassis 
 was inclined to sag, although this was disputed with 
 cheery optimism by our driver. Optimism is like a 
 certain religious belief : it cannot mend a bone. Nor 
 can it mend a spring whose leaves are undoubtedly 
 snapped. " Broken, I thought it," said the Illus- 
 trator coldly as we reached the Carroll Hotel in 
 Lynchburg. It is curious in what contempt a pro- 
 fessional chauffeur will hold an amateur one. And 
 for a man to make pictures and make a car go too — 
 oh, not at all, not at all ! 
 
 I had the best of it. The clerk at the Carroll, 
 hearing we would be delayed until a spring, found 
 at a garage, was put on, offered me a comfortable 
 room and bath, and refused compensation beyond 
 the modest price of a Sunday dinner. How warm- 
 ing to the heart are such courtesies! How far 
 reaching the results ! It is my belief that every gra- 
 cious deed prompts two, and on the good work goes 
 like an endless chain, but, as they say in their beg- 
 ging letters, " do not break the link." The old 
 waiter at dinner carried me far down the room that 
 I might see the view from the window. There was 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 a lovely hill to look at with an old white house high 
 up on it, and, higher still, a huge painted advertise- 
 ment urging one to " Get it at Almond's." 
 
 I don't know as Lynchburg felt as I did about 
 the disfigurement, for the city has become, in pro- 
 portion to its size, one of the richest in America. 
 If one sees a green hill from the rear of the Carroll 
 House, one finds at the front window a sky scraper 
 quite as successfully soaring. The streets were full 
 of well dressed citizens, and the lobby was teeming 
 with young men. I never saw so many fine boys. 
 It may have been my frank admiration of them that 
 occasioned the loan of a room and bath. 
 
 I tried to stay in the lobby long enough to buy 
 some illustrated postal cards of the old houses in 
 the vicinity, but the news dealer said that they had 
 no stock any more and his customers of late had 
 developed " just a natural distaste for them." Pos- 
 sibly the distaste is good taste, for there is nothing 
 more crude than the average illustrated card. And 
 some day when the Illustrator and I have time for 
 it, we are going into the business ourselves making 
 beautiful pictures for little money. It may be that 
 a postal card even with an old church on it no 
 longer placates wives left at home. One of the very 
 young men in the lobby who I didn't think could 
 have a girl, much less be married, went out with 
 
 W to send a night letter to his wife. 
 
 -H-229-<- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 W was sending a night letter also, not to his 
 
 wife or, I hope, to the wife of any one else but — 
 much more melancholy business — to a motor agency 
 for another spring. The botanical chauffeur had 
 put on the new one without measuring it, and since 
 it didn't fit the process of putting on reverted into 
 pulling off. " The King of France with forty thou- 
 sand men marched up the hill and then marched 
 down again." The old spring was replaced and a 
 rubber buffer applied that we might at least limp 
 on over the red roads among the green pines to 
 sleep — Somewhere in Virginia. 
 
 With luck Farmville would be our resting-place 
 for the night. The chauffeur, whose spirits were 
 as elastic as the rubber buffer, felt that we did not 
 even need luck since we had this new appliance. 
 He had gone miles — months with them. " Why," 
 he continued, breezily giving himself away, " I 
 went around New York with three springs broken 
 on the last car I drove, and nobody found it out 
 for a long while." Unfortunately for us the rub- 
 ber effect was of even less endurance than his own 
 resiliency. Before we reached Appomattox we 
 were sagging again, and as night was coming on 
 Farmville was but a dream and any hotel in any 
 town a mere mirage. 
 
 While I did not tell those of a mechanical turn 
 of mind I was glad that we began sagging before 
 
 -J- 230 -i- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 Appomattox as I wanted to spend the night there. 
 I wished to see the McLean house where Grant 
 met Lee. But the town itself was discouraging. 
 The Whites stood on one side of the street and the 
 Blacks on another as though the old feud might 
 break out at any moment. It was the only place 
 in the South where I felt, without any historical 
 justification for the feeling, a resentment of wrongs 
 not yet adjusted. I could see in my mind's eye the 
 fathers of these idle black men running through 
 the little town with blazing torches and the white 
 folk hiding in the cellars. I could see the long pale 
 garments of the Ku Klux, the draped horses; and 
 something more dreadful in a mob of white men 
 about a blazing post. 
 
 Perhaps it was the red sunset tingeing the street 
 with a thirsty glow that occasioned these hallucina- 
 tions, but that is what I saw as we stopped for a 
 moment, saw it that once — and never again in the 
 South. It was well that we stopped to ask more 
 definitely of the McLean house. Since I had found 
 a postal card of it at Lynchburg I might have 
 written very touchingly of a visit to the old place, 
 and of carrying away some jasmine or a magnolia 
 blossom. A very respectable coloured man told me 
 that the house had burned down some time ago and 
 there was very little to see. 
 
 The negroes of the present day are of two kinds. 
 -«- 231 H- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 If both reply in the affirmative should you ask a 
 question, one says " yessah," and the other " sure." 
 I don't know why a negro hasn't as much right as 
 a white man to answer " sure," but one finds that 
 those replying " yessah " are more useful and in- 
 telligent citizens, more willing to work and more 
 capable. 
 
 Regretfully we left Appomattox, not that beauty 
 held us, but that we had not enjoyed the sensa- 
 tion for which we had long been preparing. There 
 was no sensation at all except to find a hotel before 
 the axle became permanently bent. We were now 
 in a country without sign-posts and with more forks 
 in the road than were ever laid on a table. The 
 moon came up, a soft sweet wind blew in our faces, 
 and a bed of pine needles was not a discouraging 
 reflection. Still we searched for a town to find a 
 blacksmith for our car. There might be bleeding 
 hearts upon trees but there are no smithies in a pine 
 cone. In time we came to Pamplin, a village of 
 two hundred inhabitants possibly, most of them 
 coloured people going to church. We could see the 
 oil lamps hanging in the vestibules and the gay 
 dresses of the girls as they hung about with the 
 boys just as young people do of any race. 
 
 A very promising darky — promising to weigh 
 about three hundred when she was of age — told us 
 the hotel was the " grea' big house on yondah," 
 
 -«-232-f- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 which was so encouraging that the throttle was 
 opened with an idea of sweeping up very stylishly 
 to the automobile entrance. In two minutes we 
 were firmly in the open country again, all three of 
 us with our hearts cleansed of broken springs and 
 full of the humour of the situation. A perfectly 
 strange gentleman then appeared from nowhere, 
 and stepping on the running board offered to take 
 us back to the grea' big house which we had missed. 
 He said he would do his best to see that we were ac- 
 commodated for he owned the place and the one 
 next to it and the one next to that. But if ever 
 three travellers, to say nothing of the dog, had ar- 
 rived importunely we were that party. 
 
 The furnishings of the hotel had been auctioned 
 off on Saturday and the trophies carried away. The 
 new proprietor had taken possession fifteen min- 
 utes before our arrival, and our appearance had 
 unfortunately been made a day before that of the 
 new proprietor's furniture. I shudder to think 
 what would have happened to us in a Northern 
 town under such circumstances. But the lady who 
 was going out and the lady who was going in put 
 their heads together and the result was two beds in 
 an empty room with staring unshaded windows for 
 
 W and me, and half a bed for the chauffeur in 
 
 Mr. Fells's room. That is all I can tell you of Mr. 
 Fells. We never had a chance to thank him, for 
 
 -e-233-e- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 he came home from church late and went to work 
 early, and we never saw again the mysterious gen- 
 tleman who owned the town. So a little bunch of 
 appreciation is waiting to be sent him post prepaid 
 when I can secure his name. 
 
 We sat on the long dark porch watching the 
 white blotch of Toby gambolling about the yard, 
 while the old chatelaine and her daughter went rus- 
 tling off to service and the new lady of the house, 
 still wearing her hat, prepared supper. They had 
 brought something from the farm with them when 
 they came in on the " eight o'clock." There was a 
 delay in both instances as the beau of the young 
 lady was late in calling to take them to church and 
 was greeted as " slow poke." But we were too 
 grateful to address any one as " slow poke " who 
 was getting our supper. In time we all drew 
 around the board, father, mother, and daughter of 
 the new regime, drinking bowls of black coffee with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Since the most important event in the world to 
 them was the running of their first hotel we talked 
 of nothing else. The host had but one regret: he 
 had installed an acetylene plant on his farm and 
 he must leave it. " You just turn on the gas and 
 there you are," he told us softly and often. " I 
 shall certainly miss my acetylene." While we 
 didn't say so, we wondered how this moving into a 
 
 -j-234-f- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 town of such minute proportions could be a gain in 
 any way, and we fear there is a tragedy behind the 
 abandoning of the farm with the gas. But as there 
 was only a gentle complacency in the eyes of the 
 man so there was only resolution in those of his 
 pretty wife, and in the eyes of the daughter a lively 
 interest in whatever lay before her. How wonder- 
 ful to be seventeen with all life bottled up and wait- 
 ing for us on a far high shelf! How terrible if we 
 knew at seventeen the contents of the bottle! 
 
 Having purloined two chairs from the dining 
 room, made a carpet of the Lynchburg newspaper, 
 and a short window curtain of maps we retired by 
 the light of our electric lantern and stayed awake 
 from the light of the moon. I never thought be- 
 fore that one could get too much moon, and I be- 
 lieve if boys and girls who walk out in it and stay 
 too long were obliged to stay out in it some time 
 longer they might develop " just a natural dis- 
 taste " for it. The French call a sleepless night 
 une nuit blanche, meaning that they must turn on 
 the light, but this white night transcended even the 
 glow of our host's farm. It enraged me that I 
 could lend myself so poorly to the discomforts of 
 life, and I think every one of us should go into camp 
 each year from a reason no more patriotic than a 
 gratitude for whatever home is ours when the camp 
 is broken. 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 I thought I didn't sleep at all but I must have 
 
 for I was awakened by W asking if it was the 
 
 sun or the moon shining in on us. " It is the lark 
 and not the nightingale," I made answer, and as 
 he knew his birds and poets he set out shortly for 
 the blacksmith. But the man who was proficient 
 in springs was recovering from pneumonia, crawl- 
 ing over to the hotel to show us all how pale he 
 was, and advising Farmville where there was an 
 obliging smith who would do anything to keep 
 travellers from delaying in the town, a more kindly 
 intention than the phrasing would suggest. 
 
 We ate at the second breakfast, after the day 
 boarders from the railway had gone. There was 
 cold pork, fried eggs, hot biscuit, jam and conver- 
 sation at the next table. The daughters of the past 
 and present menage were comparing notes on life. 
 They were crisply dressed girls with no country airs 
 about them but almost pathetically naive. 
 
 In confiding their ambitions to each other, the de- 
 parting one admitted that hers was to play golf. 
 She didn't know why, as she had never seen a golf 
 game or a golf ball. " Though of course I would 
 know a golfer by his golf bag." It was a poor way 
 of recognising a golf player, but this thought only 
 dipped into my mind. Occupying all my cerebral 
 faculties was the deep admiration for this girl bred 
 so far from the dalliance of life that she has never 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 heard the chck nor whirr of the soaring ball, yet her 
 manner possessed the unostentatious assurance of 
 an old civilisation. 
 
 The other girl's ambition was to keep on as well 
 as they had begun with the hotel, which was so un- 
 selfish of her that I did not regret my moonlit 
 couch since it was plain that we were the beginning. 
 The soft-voiced landlord walked down to the gate 
 with us as we made our way to the car, looking back 
 continually at the shabby old house. " But it will 
 be right nice some day. I'll put in acetylene — just 
 turn it on and there you are." I wondered what 
 superhuman power had assisted him in establish- 
 ing the innovation on the farm. 
 
 We lost ourselves going among the pines to 
 Farmville. The only landmarks given us were 
 churches, and as there were more of these than 
 Brooklyn ever could hope for, we found them as 
 confusing as the forks on the road. It was not dif- 
 ficult to recognise the coloured churches for they 
 were as gaily decorated as coloured churches should 
 be, the little steeples resembling the flags of all na- 
 tions. It was hard to be concerned over the leaves 
 in a spring when they were only steel strips under 
 an automobile and not pleasant new ones making a 
 much needed shade for this warm day. 
 
 If we had not lost ourselves we would never have 
 found Hampden- Sidney. It is a college of unusual 
 
 -e-237-e- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 colonial beauty with an old church across the way 
 proud of its hundred and twenty-five years of pil- 
 lared strength. Boys in white flannels were go- 
 ing in and out of the building just as boys do in the 
 larger universities, whistling, singing, and watching 
 us out of the tails of their eyes. I don't know 
 whether it is the white flannelling or youth that 
 makes boys so much alike. There was youth in the 
 woods too, avenues of brilliant white dogwood 
 among the old pines, shedding an unconscious 
 beauty. And this to me is the charm of the young — 
 not that inexperience is lovely, but we older ones 
 know that with experience this iridescence must 
 fade and no powder or patches can take its place. 
 
 I don't know whether the warm friend I made 
 at Farmville was a chauffeur or the rich young man 
 of the town. It is hard to tell in the South where 
 they are all so well mannered. Besides it is almost 
 as fashionable for a Southern gentleman to work at 
 a trade in these days as it is in England. This one 
 went with me up the street after we had left the car 
 with the accommodating smithy to see if a certain 
 kind of a map could be found. The Virginian 
 speaks entirely of localities by counties, yet no road 
 maps designate county lines. 
 
 We went into a clothing store to get the map and 
 the proprietor said he would run home and bring 
 his for me to look at, but he doubted if I could buy 
 
 -i-238-i- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 one this side of Richmond. As I didn't wish to see 
 a Southern gentleman run but liked very much to 
 hear him talk, I persuaded him to remain by the 
 ribbon counter. Here, of all places in the world I 
 learned that Farmville was as historic, Civilly War 
 speaking, as any place we would visit, and that 
 right over the present show window was still the 
 small cannon ball which had been fired at General 
 Grant. 
 
 General Grant had not been in buying ribbon 
 but was next door at the Hotel Prince Edward 
 (named after the county) viewing through his 
 glasses the remnant of Lee's scarred troops en- 
 camped outside the city. Though they were starv- 
 ing thej^ had a cannon ball left, and Grant missed 
 it by ten feet. 
 
 This hurried me into the hotel to be introduced 
 by my strange new friend to tlie proprietor, Mr. 
 Chick. And in that way I found myself soon after- 
 wards in a large upper room writing at a table 
 where Grant had written, where he planned his last 
 strategical move before he rode on to face Lee at 
 Appomattox. So, after all, the sensation was mine 
 of which I had been robbed by the burning of the 
 McLean house. Both armies were making for 
 Lynchburg, but the Union men were encircling the 
 enfeebled Southern troops and at Appomattox 
 they could go no further. 
 
 -h 239 -ir- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 Mr. Chick was sorry that he wasn't older, which 
 was most gallant even for a Virginian, but he did 
 not remember Grant at all, although his old clerk 
 who came on at night could tell the whole story. I 
 moved to the window restlessly. The Illustrator 
 was obligingly drawing this side of the fine old inn 
 that he might include the four windows of Grant's 
 room which ran along the second story of the main 
 building. There was no use importuning him to 
 stay if his sketch was finished, but if the sun would 
 go under a cloud — he was a stubborn man and 
 would wait all day for shadows. The sun blazed 
 on and I returned to the depths of the quiet room. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, just as it was," said Mr. Chick, 
 " except, of course, the bathtub." 
 
 " What did Grant do when the cannon shot was 
 fired at him? " 
 
 " He went downstairs most as quick as the shot 
 and smoked his cigar on the lower porch. He knew 
 it was the end, though, for them — not for him. He 
 reflected an almighty lot, my old clerk says, and 
 was right sad." 
 
 The old waiter at dinner could have told us more 
 I am sure but he was so deaf that I feared to rouse 
 the peaceable citizens at the little tables by stirring 
 up old wounds. I did ask once if he remembered 
 Grant, but he replied that it was hard to get the 
 chicken livers as they were used for the gravy, and 
 
 -J- 24)0 -i- 
 
SEA RAIDERS INTERNED— THE "PRINZ EITEL FRIEDRICH" 
 AND "KRONPRINZ WILHELM'" AT PORTSMOUTH 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 as some of the citizens snickered I wasn't going to 
 gather any more data if nobody buys the book. 
 
 We had corn pone for dinner, a fearfully heavy 
 bread of curious shape. I received a religious pic- 
 ture once — for knowing my Bible verses — which 
 consisted of a grove of trees with manna hanging 
 on them. I thought they were sheep's tails then, 
 but I know now they were corn pone, possibly two 
 of the original ones being apportioned to us at the 
 Prince Edward. The dinner was of the best, how- 
 ever, chicken in large quantities appearing for the 
 first time. We had not met with it before except 
 under the motor's wheels, and we wonder if all the 
 genuine old-fashioned fried chicken cooks are in the 
 taverns along the New England roads; also — why 
 is Northern cooking never advertised in the South ? 
 
 Mr. Chick accompanied me to the automobile and 
 we both looked up at the shot meant for Grant. 
 " Yes, ma'am. Then they went on to Appomattox, 
 but a lot of the boys had dropped off already, go- 
 ing to their homes, too heartsick to see the end, I 
 reckon. General Lee had on a fine uniform they 
 said, but Grant wore an old business suit with epau- 
 lets sewed on it. Nobody knows just what passed 
 between them — so many stories have been told. But 
 the Southern boys were fed right off, and Grant 
 made a great hit with us all when he told the officers 
 to keep their side arms and horses. Then Lee hesi- 
 
 -e-241 -J- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 tated, for he was proud and didn't want to ask too 
 much, or to give away their extremity but at length 
 he up and said a lot of the privates had brought 
 their own horses to use for the cavalry and artillery. 
 And Grant answered direct and abrupt as he al- 
 ways did : ' Let the boys keep 'em for the Spring 
 ploughing.' Then they went home — to begin all 
 over again." 
 
 Farmville was quite a blur until we had entirely 
 left it. Then I was jolted into conscious resent- 
 ment, for nothing dries up the eyes like indignation. 
 I sat tight or as tight as I could and looked about 
 me. We were now firmly among the Southern 
 farms and I could not write my mother encourag- 
 ingly of the crops. Wheat was once a great prod- 
 uct of Virginia but the vast agricultural companies 
 of the West have robbed that of lucrativeness ; to- 
 bacco they have decided grows best on the lee side 
 of the hills in the Northern part: it is not the cli- 
 mate for cotton, and I didn't know where the mys- 
 terious plants covered with white sheets were do- 
 ing well or not. 
 
 Those white sheets bade fair to tease me as much 
 as the two doors of the Pennsylvania Dutch. When 
 there were sheets about there was no one to ask of 
 them, and when people were about there were no 
 sheets, those interrogated replying that it was wash 
 day. The lovely woods also drove me frantic, for 
 
 -e- 242 -r- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 they now carried a sign of " Posted " on the trees as 
 though the forest were a bad club member, its re- 
 missness exposed to the world. 
 
 We finally asked " Henry Hobson " about 
 Posted. He was a very old darky driving an ox to 
 
 a cart, and as W wished to sketch him I was 
 
 so hurried into asking him a question that I could 
 plunge upon nothing but " Posted," although he 
 would have been the very man for " Sheets " of 
 which I did not think. But Henry Hobson pos- 
 sessed a fund of general information telling us that 
 the sign meant " cain't do no huntin'." His real 
 lack in knowledge was his home address. He didn't 
 know where he lived, at least he couldn't decide 
 when we asked for his post office address that we 
 might send him what he admitted to be his first 
 picture. 
 
 He finally hit upon some place where a letter 
 would be likely to reach him, but for once the dia- 
 lect baffled us. We had to call upon a white woman 
 who knew immediately that Henry was saying 
 Jenning's Ordinary. This remote spot is going to 
 cost us a great deal of money as we shall now have 
 to buy a county map so much needed in Virginia 
 and of so little use in New York City, to find out 
 where Jenning's Ordinary is. It had never oc- 
 curred to me before that darky dialect was difficult 
 to understand. I remember in London looking at 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 an Englishwoman with veiled contempt who re- 
 marked after hearing a young American girl in 
 plantation songs : " I don't get a word she says and 
 I presume she is singing in the negro language." 
 And now I am as a Briton! 
 
 It was late afternoon when we came to Peters- 
 burg. Petersburg that Grant failed to surprise. 
 Petersburg of the bloody Crater, where action fol- 
 lowed by inaction occasioned the useless sacri- 
 fice of thousands of lives. Inversely it surprised us. 
 We had but a few moments ago left the ox carts 
 of the road, the strings of mules and the horses 
 three abreast to a cart guided by a postilion. We 
 came to a town of paved streets with a something 
 at the crossings under a canopy of khaki, a some- 
 thing in a uniform on a little throne, like a king on a 
 dais, who turned a lever and behold the traffic 
 was told to " Go! Go! " while those at right angles 
 were urged to " Stop! Stop! " It was a Southern 
 traffic cop secure from sunstroke, controlling the 
 little army of North and South as opposed to those 
 of East and West, 
 
 We went the length of the town, for the hotels 
 cluster lovingly about the Union Railway Station. 
 It afforded us the chance to look up cool sprinkled 
 streets, the residents of which were already seating 
 themselves on the stoops of the fine old houses, full 
 of exclamations over the heat of the day. But 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 there was still a little country for us in the trees 
 of the hotel backyard, the green branches more wel- 
 come than the odours of the kitchen which came to 
 greet us also. Why are several cooked dishes nau- 
 seating when the smell of one is tickling to the nos- 
 trils ? There might be an awful warning in this too- 
 much-of-a-good-thing idea if I had time to clothe it 
 in figurative dress. 
 
 I had barely time to dress myself after so much 
 splashing in the two bath rooms allotted us that the 
 chambermaid was declaring to goodness that the 
 tank am ran over. She was a knowing one in other 
 directions. When I asked for some plain white 
 soap, ostensibly waving a soiled chiffon scarf, she 
 was not at all deceived, but returned with a lump 
 of indigo, as well, which she said was mighty good 
 for bluing them wite dawgs. We left Toby all 
 but starched and stiff to go to the grill below. 
 
 A grill has a gay sound. This was evidently 
 the gathering place of the gilded youth, one being 
 gathered up and put out of the establishment as 
 we were entering. I did my best to add to the 
 spirit of the scene, ordering a Tango salad and 
 while I am no rounder, I think I was better than a 
 phonograph which stood in a balcony all by itself 
 crying to go back to Tennessee. I kept looking up 
 at it all through dinner, until the creature, full of 
 so many voices, became an animate thing in a little 
 
 -^ 245 -^ 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 golden-oak jail, and I wondered where all those 
 voices would fly to if they were let out. 
 
 How those who sing into these machines would 
 hate the surroundings where they send their lovely 
 notes! It must be that they think first (first after 
 the money) of the happiness their music has 
 brought to the shut-ins and to the far waste spaces. 
 And one is told that a taste has been cultivated for 
 the best by this opportunity of listening to a class of 
 music which would have been denied them two dec- 
 ades ago. So much for the phonograph, but what 
 has become of the girls who used to play the piano 
 for dancing class before the phonograph came in? 
 I asked W that, wishing to arouse his sym- 
 pathies. It didn't. He said they were doing one of 
 two things: either accompanying those who were 
 singing in the phonographs, or playing for the 
 movies with a chance to look at the pictures for 
 nothing. 
 
 We went out with our blue dog to wire my maid 
 for more shirts. The maid was from Virginia and 
 I didn't want to tell her we had broken a spring on 
 account of the uneven disposition of her roads, yet 
 it was a night letter and I had ten words unused 
 even with " Love from Toby." The Illustrator had 
 sent a second pleading telegram to have his spring 
 waiting for him in Norfolk and had gone on up 
 the street to a drug store which had bespoken 
 
 -f-246-?- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 itself in advance advertising as we neared Peters- 
 burg. 
 
 Its most important sign was that of a life-sized 
 young lady with a gentleman on either side of her, 
 all three of them looking very angry and resolute 
 with the caption underneath: " Going to Chilling- 
 ford's Drug Store." One could not tell from their 
 faces what they were going there for, but I thought 
 the gentleman on her right (her right, not yours) 
 had just caught up with them as the other two had 
 started off for soda water, and as it would be im- 
 possible to shake him the whole evening was spoiled. 
 
 At all events I lingered at the telegraph office 
 and the courteous Southern clerk let me have the 
 message back twice while I added: " Better clean if 
 not cleaned," and, later, " Tie box with strong 
 string." So I used all the words, and as the Illus- 
 trator bounced back from the drug store with: " It 
 wasn't for soda water, there isn't any," I was so 
 startled I nearly put that in too, forgetting about 
 the advertisement. 
 
 The hotel was still alive before we were gladly 
 abed. I doubt if it is ever quiet for Petersburg is 
 more like a mining town than one of southernmost 
 Virginia. It is not under siege, yet the stir of the 
 street is still from men to whom powder is no 
 stranger. But they do not ram it down old flint 
 locks or pack it into muskets of heavy bore and 
 
 -■J- 247 -J- 
 
A BAD ROAD SPRINKLED WITH KINDNESS 
 
 long barrel. They make it, thirty thousand strong, 
 in a town not far away. In two years' time this 
 town grew from fields of buttercups to thirty thou- 
 sand souls. All the shops of Petersburg express a 
 willingness in the windows to cash Dupont checks, 
 and from beyond the doors of every gin mill 
 brawlers were availing themselves of the offer. 
 There is no sweetness in the main street at all, only 
 prosperity. 
 
 And the name of this new strange town where 
 gun cotton is made for gasping nations is Hope- 
 well. 
 
 248 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Containing a Church, a Dismal Swamp, and the 
 
 Smell of the Low Tide, Which Rolled in 
 
 Relations. Also Germans! 
 
 We had a fifty-dollar bill to change before we 
 could discharge our indebtedness at the Petersburg 
 hotel, and while one boy was out collecting very old 
 and filthy money, and another was whisking dust- 
 less dust off of W for an extra dime, the pro- 
 prietor was " registering " surprise at our going 
 over the Jerusalem Plank Road to Norfolk when 
 we could so easily run up to Richmond, and from 
 there take the James River boat down. 
 
 If he had been in England he would probably 
 have said our choice was quaint, and I would have 
 returned that he was quaint to think we would take 
 a boat when we could take a motor. However this 
 route can be adopted, and Toby hearing that the 
 road was only passable was distinctly for Rich- 
 mond. Even Suffolk, the home of the peanut of 
 which he is extremely fond, left him cold, and I 
 did not dare mention the great battlefield on the 
 edge of Petersburg that is known as the Crater, for 
 
 -j-249-}- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 he is a peaceable dog (in time of war) and had 
 thought it was all over at Appomattox. 
 
 Before we reached the Crater we found the most 
 interesting church in all Virginia — Old Blandford. 
 It is worth reading the history of a religious house 
 if only to make one feel how much less heavily the 
 parishioner is now taxed by strawberry festivals 
 and fairs, and how much of that is of his own 
 volition. When it was decided by the General 
 Assembly of Virginia in 1734 that a church in 
 this vicinity was needed, 25,000 pounds of tobacco 
 was levied upon the nearby parish for the cost 
 of building. From what I can make out there 
 was a good deal of fuss about it, but the Gov- 
 ernor finally sustained the vestry and the edict went 
 forth, the specifications ending with the time al- 
 lowed them for completing the edifice. Also 
 at the very tail end: " Stone Steps to each door 
 Suitable." 
 
 The vestrymen continued severe. If town halls 
 are built out of motor fines today anti-Revolution- 
 ary churches were sustained by just such levies. 
 I noted that profane swearing was valued at five 
 shillings, the same amount " for not going to 
 church," five pounds for gaming, and only one 
 pound for selling " Oats by false measure at ye 
 Bridge." This makes having a church all your own 
 the more delectable ; but apart from that I wonder 
 
 H-250-*- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 what the churches would have done if every one had 
 behaved himself, and how the town halls would be 
 built if there were no scorching! 
 
 Old Blandf ord, gleamingly restored, is now serv- 
 ing as a Confederate Memorial Chapel. Every 
 state of the Confederacy is represented by a win- 
 dow in glass. As I stole about reading the inscrip- 
 tions it occurred to me that nothing could be more 
 fitting for the emblem of a soldier than these deep 
 reds, glorious purples and soft, pallid shades of 
 death defying a substance that can shatter, can 
 splinter, can be crushed into atoms but cannot be 
 utterly destroyed. 
 
 The trend of the dedications catches the fire of 
 the ruby glass. All speak of their men " who fought 
 for the right." One can find nothing to resent in 
 that ; it makes little difference for what you are con- 
 tending if you honestly believe your Cause is just. 
 But it was strange to find in that quiet little church, 
 its burial ground sheltering so many Revolutionary 
 patriots who fought for one nation, the flame of a 
 resentment that we do not recognise in the streets, 
 in the shops, in the speech of the people. 
 
 There is a little tablet to those men who fell in 
 the Revolution when the church was young and 
 there was no North and South. It must have felt 
 very old fashioned and out of place when all those 
 burning windows were put in telling the story of 
 
 -J-251-?- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 strife, brother against brother. But now, I believe, it 
 is at home again. On the other side of the pulpit is 
 a verse lettered on stone written by Tyrone Power, 
 a great Irish comedian, the great-grandfather (I 
 think) of the present actor of that name. He went 
 down on the steamship President about 1844, one 
 of that great fleet which left no story beyond the 
 fragments of their wreckage. The apostrophe is 
 not in very good verse, and I am a little uneasy 
 over what might be the punishment for those who 
 try to write and are strolling players also. 
 
 The old custodian, who did not bother us at all, 
 said there were still bullets found in the church- 
 yard, relics of the severe fighting in the effort to 
 seize Petersburg. Lee finally evacuated the town 
 but it was never taken by assault, although Grant 
 lost 10,000 lives in this effort. A few yards beyond 
 rise the earth works of the two opposing armies. 
 To quote exactly from the volume which is now my 
 closest friend, the S. H. of the U. S. : " July 30th a 
 great mine was sprung under the Confederate 
 works, and for a moment an open road existed into 
 the rear of their positions; but here also was mis- 
 management. The troops which ought to have 
 poured through hesitated, probably through fault 
 of their division commander, and the Confederates, 
 rallying, were able to drive back with great slaugh- 
 ter the assaulting colmnn. This bloody affair of 
 
 -^ 252 -«- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 ' the Crater ' cost Grant 4,000 lives without any 
 compensating advantage." 
 
 The Crater is now softly covered with green, 
 Time's healing hand for the torn earth. We can 
 only grow philosophy for the wounds of the heart. 
 I wonder if generals ever think of the men they 
 have sacrificed by a strategy which they admit to 
 be an error afterwards. Possibly they do grieve 
 and go on because they must. Lincoln suffered 
 intensely through the war, yet when the nation 
 pleaded for an exchange of prisoners that they 
 might get their sick, ill-nourished boys home again, 
 he refused to send back the well-fed Southerners, 
 imprisoned North, to fill the depleted ranks of the 
 Secessionists. " I will not exchange good men for 
 scarecrows," he said. What it must have cost him 
 to say it! For Lincoln, it is my belief, was of the 
 " army of heaven." 
 
 I have allowed myself to talk a great deal about 
 Old Blandford church and the Crater because I am 
 going to say very little about the road as I wish you 
 all to have a good chapter. The garage keeper in 
 Petersburg said we could travel over it as fast as 
 we pleased, which was a safe statement as it 
 couldn't possibly please any one to go very fast. 
 Yet the small automobiles of this environment went 
 bouncing in and out of the holes full of dust with 
 the same abandonment that their fathers dashed 
 
 -J- 253 -*- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 along on horseback — true dare devils of the road. 
 The planks had long been extracted from the road 
 to Jerusalem, like an old dog rendered less danger- 
 ous with the pulling of his teeth. The landscape 
 had many of the elements which one must see be- 
 fore leaving Virginia: fine farms worked by ne- 
 groes, real swamps, and patches of magnificent 
 pine. The cultivated fields would be entirely sur- 
 rounding these forests, and they stood like soldiers 
 of a lost legion making their last stand against the 
 encroachment of an insidious little enemy which 
 worked toward them like relentless headsmen, axe 
 in hand. 
 
 Firmly in the middle of the road at one point 
 we came to a gate which we opened and closed with- 
 out any sign importuning us to do so. The mystery 
 piqued us, and W walked up a long path lead- 
 ing to a farmhouse to ask why it was there. He 
 addressed several coloured ladies at the right of the 
 house who didn't pay the smallest attention to him, 
 but went on with their work as though recompensed 
 by the piece. Another woman on the other side 
 the house responded to him, however, although — ^to 
 my far off embarrassment — he did not look at her, 
 finally thanking those so extraordinarily labouring, 
 and returning still under the impression that he had 
 carried on a conversation with them. Our driver 
 said it seemed sort of uncanny, and the coloured 
 

 
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CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 lady who had replied must have thought him stiff- 
 necked if not unregenerate, but it was really the 
 effect of quinine which had made him deaf in one ear 
 so that he could not locate sounds. 
 
 The quinine was probably superinduced by no- 
 tices which the Virginia Health Department has 
 tacked upon the trees like Orlando's love letters. 
 They give some grim statistics about tuberculosis 
 with so easy a preventive that one would think the 
 natives could keep their windows open. Yet ( I can 
 argue on both sides with perfect ease) it's all very 
 nice to have your windows open if you are well 
 covered, but consumption of the future seems much 
 less uncomfortable than the immediate possession 
 of a shivering body. I have two ideas of eternal 
 punishment both of which keep me as good as I can 
 possibly manage. One is eating at a restaurant in 
 a basement full of smoke, noise and a big band 
 above which you have to be entertaining to pay for 
 your supper; and the other is to " sleep cold." 
 
 The Health Department also tells the habitant 
 how to avoid malaria and how to fight mosquitoes, 
 and there are some suggestions as to the care of 
 cattle which the Illustrator didn't read, although 
 the quinine showed the effect of the chills and fever 
 warning. The advice is couched in simple language 
 so that the people may understand, and there is no 
 excuse for these remedies not getting about even 
 
 -?- 255 -«- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 though the elders, like Henry Hobson, do not read, 
 for I never saw more country schools, and most of 
 them built for lively little darkies. We found the 
 pupils tractable about keeping out of the road, as 
 are all coloured children. And I wish to ask, in 
 passing, if any one ever saw a coloured baby cry ? 
 
 All through Virginia, both by the many Agri- 
 cultural Stations and by the many placards there 
 shows a fine disposition on the part of the state to 
 take care of its children, old and young, and if the 
 children themselves didn't have such a " natural 
 distaste " for keeping up the roads this atmosphere 
 of good- will which continually surrounded us would 
 make it a motoring paradise. But here Toby sug- 
 gests, " Ain't told about the gate." He seldom 
 leaves me now for fear I am not going to get him 
 in often enough, and I will put in here that he 
 behaved abominably this day, inventing a new 
 scheme of leaning out as far as possible while I 
 held on to his tail. He knew he was taking the 
 basest advantage of me for I would hold on rather 
 than lose him no matter how exhausted I was, and 
 it afforded me but slight comfort to think that at 
 last some good use was made of an appendage too 
 long to mark him as a perfectly bred West High- 
 lander. 
 
 I am getting back to the gate with what might 
 be called a languorous ease befitting the locality. 
 
 -^- 256 -i- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 It was put up by a county that had fences so that 
 the cattle could not stray from the next one which 
 did not possess them. I wish all the counties had 
 gates, then we could talk as learnedly as the natives 
 of going from Frederick to Amherst, on to Ap- 
 pomattox, Prince Edward and " All points East." 
 But that was the only one we ran across, and we 
 continued in the " fence county " until we reached 
 Courtland. Here we found a new sign forbidding 
 us to turn corners any faster than eight miles an 
 hour. How few of us have given thought to the 
 rapidity of our turning corners both in motoring 
 and in life! 
 
 Fearful of whizzing around too rapidly we held 
 to a straight line until we reached a hotel. It was 
 past the lunch hour, but I walked through to the 
 dining room and found two ladies, vague sort of 
 hostesses, still talking it over. The Southerners 
 have the magnificent hospitality of the peasant and 
 the grandee : if you will take what is there you are 
 welcome to it. They sat with us through luncheon 
 which a coloured boy, scenting a quarter from afar, 
 appeared in time to serve, and the fattest of the 
 fat ladies said that her kin had gone to Richmond 
 by automobile in two hours. They always say this, 
 and no doubt they always do it. Our motor alone 
 seems to limp through life. 
 
 I walked across to the jail yard which lay across 
 -e-257-J- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 the street. They were having a very pleasant time 
 in the jail where we could hear loud black laughter, 
 meaning the laughter of blacks, but a man who 
 was making a house next door said they were only 
 just pretending, as nobody was ever really happy 
 in jail. He ought to know for he had spent the 
 night there, and was set to work upon his return 
 to the world through the philanthropy of a builder 
 who was short handed. This I learned from our 
 driver of whom he had tried to borrow the price of 
 a drink for the reason that both of them were from 
 the North. He knew little of Courtland as he had 
 fallen off a freight train, and, presumably, the 
 water wagon at the same time. 
 
 He should have looked from his jail window to 
 enjoy the cannon that was installed there alongside 
 a monument to the Confederacy. It, too, was a 
 Northerner and had also fallen off a train while 
 going further South with Union troops during the 
 Civil War. But I can imagine it receiving a 
 warmer welcome than had the hobo-carpenter. The 
 little shaft of marble bears the list of companies 
 who had gone from that neighbourhood — a gallant 
 number of soldiers to be mustered from such a 
 slightly peopled community. And it is hard to tell 
 why the inscription, set below what seems to be a 
 bas relief of fighting gladiators, should run " Sic 
 semper tyrannis." Although the motto of Vir- 
 
 -J-258-J- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 ginia, it is hardly a fitting memorial to their 
 dead. 
 
 My arms burned through my coat sleeves that af- 
 ternoon and at Holland where we all stopped for 
 grape juice, Toby declined to re-enter the car. 
 " Holland for me," he said ably upheld by the citi- 
 zens who had taken a shine to him. " What's the 
 fare to New York? " he kept asking impersonally, 
 like many a disgruntled actor who has no thought 
 of leaving. Although peanuts in Suffolk finally 
 teased him on, he forgot them as we waited there 
 for a freight train to make up its mind. It is un- 
 kind to a coquette to liken her to a freight train, 
 but I don't suppose the freight objects to being lik- 
 ened to a woman. If it does object there is simply 
 no pleasing it. But the way they both giggle and 
 cough, run one way then the other, and always so 
 the whole town can see it — back and forth across 
 Main Street — is enough to start a scandal. The 
 freight train, I believe, has time called on it and 
 must clear the way by order of the selectmen, but 
 no men, select or otherwise, would tell a coquette 
 she is getting a bit tiresome. One may rightly in- 
 fer by this that I was not a flirt in my youth, al- 
 though I probably longed to be one instead of that 
 unfortunate type of girl called " bright." 
 
 The Illustrator would not encourage the ogling 
 cars by even looking at them (an attitude which I 
 
 -f- 259 -J- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 trust he maintains when coquettes are blocking his 
 way) , but went down in a cellar after Toby who 
 had gone off with a select circle of Suffolk dogs. I 
 hurried away to send surreptitiously a telegram 
 concerning his slippers (the master's slippers, not 
 Toby's, which I had left behind in Petersburg) , and 
 the chauffeur solemnly exchanged cards with a 
 likely looking coloured boy who wished to come to 
 New York to be a chauffeur. He had no training 
 for the job beyond the mastery of shoe blacking, but 
 he thought it would be mighty nice to ride around. 
 
 One often ponders over the taxi-cab drivers, 
 especially as they whiz about corners somewhat 
 faster than eight miles an hour. Do they receive 
 a " call " to be chauffeurs, is it a mechanical talent 
 striving for expression, or is it from a desire just 
 to ride around ? The negroes are not good drivers, 
 and I wish more of them would stay in the South 
 to work the farms, for they seem to have a real 
 talent for making the ground smile and the cattle 
 thrive, but the lure of the city takes no cognizance 
 of race, creed, or colour. 
 
 The young men I would most warmly welcome 
 to the chauffeur's seat are those whose weak lungs 
 threaten complete giving out if they remain behind 
 counters or desks. I became very friendly with a 
 taxi-cab driver one night as he put on a tire in the 
 heart of Central Park; his intelligence while driv- 
 
 -^260-^- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 ing and his excellence of speech while talking set 
 me to questioning him. I found that he had been a 
 newspaper editor with a family to support, and no 
 means to carry him to Arizona when he became 
 tubercular. So he slept on the roof of his apart- 
 ment house and kept in the open air by driving a 
 cab, and his physician had already pronounced him 
 well out of danger. 
 
 Somewhere along this way W made a 
 
 sketch of the upper end of the Great Dismal 
 Swamp while I fought off small embryo chills and 
 fever which were trying to bite him. The mosqui- 
 toes come early in Virginia, although the hotels 
 were so well screened that the guest is not troubled 
 with them. They were eerie swamps through which 
 one could paddle for forty miles or more, the trees 
 having a sort of elephantiasis of the trunks, which 
 isn't so remarkable for trunks, considering the ani- 
 mal most addicted to them. The water was clear, 
 and it could not be stagnant for a planing mill 
 was always somewhere on the edge reducing the 
 great pine trees into timber for the ugly new habi- 
 tations of this neighbourhood. 
 
 It must cause a fine tree much suffering to be 
 turned into an ungraceful house. While I know 
 it would terrify a carpenter, the most conventional 
 of men, to ask him to build you a dwelling some- 
 thing on the lines of a tree he might strive to make 
 
 -?-261-e- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 it as beautiful in one form as it was in the other. 
 After all, Gothic architecture was suggested by the 
 arching of tree tops, and the top of the Corinthian 
 column created from the growing up of acanthus 
 leaves about a jar set upon the ground, and I don't 
 know why, with a little perseverance, we shouldn't 
 have houses of arborial shape. 
 
 I am hurrying on to something very interesting 
 now so that you will stop wondering if there is any 
 
 such word as arborial. W had been expecting 
 
 the novelty which greeted us, but I felt no reason 
 for the sudden appearance of some slight advice — 
 which was probably no * iken. It was not the ad- 
 vice which was important, but the name of the ad- 
 visor who had put up the sign. It read: Tide- 
 water Automobile Association, and received three 
 honks of our horn. It blew like a cool breeze from 
 the ocean upon far prairies, for the character of the 
 plantation was still most evident. It filled us with 
 delight, and once more we thanked the ingenuity of 
 man which made the self-propelled vehicle a prac- 
 tical machine for the swift embracing of many 
 climes. 
 
 Last Summer we took a drive behind that pre- 
 historic animal, the horse, and I found myself so 
 impatient with the pace that I fear we ourselves 
 have developed into machines — of less endurance, 
 perhaps, than the previous generation, but tuned 
 
 -?-262-i- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 to go as long as we hold together at something 
 faster than a trot. This troubled me, and out of 
 compliment to the horse I went to the races this 
 year. We all called " Come on! " as the lovely- 
 creatures neared the finish, but most of us may not 
 have been exhorting our favourites to a successful 
 finish, rather were annoyed by the old fashioned 
 leisure with which they were swinging around the 
 track. 
 
 We came upon Tidewater shortly afterwards, 
 represented by a spur of the James River which 
 had made a short cut through Virginia to greet us 
 expansively at the sea level. Between this point 
 and Norfolk is an interesting section of the coun- 
 try to those who like early vegetables. Most of 
 those we get in the New York markets come from 
 here ; early peas on the night of the second of May 
 were being shipped from the vines to reach your 
 table May fourth. We found something very per- 
 sonal in this and wished to pin a note on one of the 
 pods to see if it reached any of our friends. 
 
 There are miles of these truck gardens worked 
 both by negroes and white men. They cannot spare 
 an inch for beauty beyond the lovely orderliness 
 of nurtured green things. The little houses stand 
 squarely in the middle of the fields without flowers 
 or trees — only the luxuries of other people to look 
 out upon. We were bidden by one gardener to 
 
 -?-263-e- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 ask of the turn when we reached the Masonic Lodge 
 for coloured people whose emblems we would recog- 
 nise. We found this easily enough, although the 
 building possessed a more striking guiding mark. 
 The basement was a place of worship which some 
 laboured chalking on a blackboard admitted to be: 
 " Church of God and Saints of Christ." 
 
 Several very ebony saints were sitting on the 
 steps, chanting melodiously. It was a shame to 
 stop them to ask for anything so trivial as Ports- 
 mouth, but they stopped of their own volition, not 
 so much to tell us of the way but for the reason 
 that a piercing and more lovely note than even their 
 sweet voices cleft the air. We were all very still 
 in this lonesome little settlement, the darkies with 
 their heads uplifted while they whispered, " Sho' 
 enuff — huccome that bird hyah so soon! " 
 
 And " sho' enuff " it was the first nightingale 
 of the season which had also managed to give us a 
 welcome to Tidewater Virginia. I suppose it is 
 really the mocking bird, this Southern songster, 
 with some very fine foreign notes which it must 
 have acquired by hearing that popular phonograph 
 record of the Italian nightingale. But it brought 
 me back to a Winter spent in an orange grove in 
 Florida when I was eighteen and the world was be- 
 fore me. I can see now the black blotches that the 
 little round trees made when the moon was full. 
 
 -f-264-?- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 The tall pines rose like a frowning wall around 
 the homestead; a little lake glimmered at the foot 
 of the grove. The scent of the orange blossoms 
 rendered my simple room as exotic as a perfumed 
 bedchamber of the Alhambra. The mocking birds 
 sang the livelong night, the alligators snored, and 
 the pines mourned in the wind because they were 
 out of the garden. I planned my life in the moon- 
 light. I would not do this — and I would do that. 
 Such a thing was out of the question — no, cer- 
 tainly not. I'd be the greatest in the world — noth- 
 ing else. A king at the door ? Oh, well, let him 
 
 come in. It was all wonderful. . I was too old to 
 go to sleep — ^too young to stay awake. 
 
 When we reached Portsmouth where we must 
 ferry across a smaller river known as Elizabeth to 
 Norfolk, a man ran after us to say we would find 
 an asphalted street if we took a turn to the right. 
 Of course we wanted to burst into tears at his kind- 
 ness, feehng very sympathetically with our 
 chauffeur who repeated all through the South: 
 " Never saw anything like them — never saw any- 
 thing like them." 
 
 W was especially enthusiastic over Norfolk 
 
 as his Aunt Mary Ann had lived her kind and use- 
 ful life there, and a number of kin were still about 
 with whom he was remarkably friendly. He said 
 it was no trouble at all to like Southern relations, 
 
 -e-265-e- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 but I have found out something more remarkable 
 than that: it is no trouble at all to like your hus- 
 band's relations both North and South. A woman 
 may feel a little lonely by this strange affection. 
 She will have nothing to talk about with her other 
 married friends, but the dazed appreciation of the 
 relatives themselves will make up for any loss of 
 social prestige. 
 
 W was liking everybody. On the ferry 
 
 boat he felt that he had nothing but friends in the 
 crowd about him — if not second cousins. He stirred 
 up a conversation with two soft spoken passengers 
 over the calamity that was to settle on Virginia 
 when it went " dry " in November. He assumed 
 that his new acquaintances, since they were Nor- 
 folkites, or at least Portsmouthians, would feel as 
 he did, and it was not until he had finished his pre- 
 diction of the doom of the fair state that both of the 
 men admitted they had voted " dry " themselves. 
 
 It never occurred to him that any one he would 
 ever talk to could be on the other side. We all 
 feel that a measure is so impossible if we do not 
 approve of it, and the thought doesn't come to us 
 that the vote would not have gone that way if more 
 had not wanted the measure than had voted against 
 it. I remember when the party that was not my 
 father's came into power, and his waking up the 
 family to tell us of the election at some terrible 
 
 -?-266-<- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 late hour — eleven o'clock or even midnight. My 
 older sister, a seer of twelve, was very positive as 
 to our finish. She said the country would go to the 
 dogs immediately, and I watched furtively for the 
 dogs, losing a little faith in her but enjoying an 
 immense relief when we continued on without so 
 much as the baying of hounds. 
 
 It was not the Illustrator's only disappointment 
 of the evening. It was prefaced by triumph for he 
 drove to the Monticello Hotel without asking a 
 question, and a question to a man is a confession of 
 weakness. He was sure of his streets although new 
 car lines going to new suburbs might have con- 
 fused him, and tall sky scrapers had replaced many 
 of the buildings of his aunt's day. He steered by 
 the harbour lights like a true mariner, and, reaching 
 port, was greeted by the bell boys as " Cap " as 
 though they recognised his early ambition to sail 
 up Aunt Mary Ann's creek and take Norfolk by 
 storm. 
 
 We did not dine in the hotel for he wished to 
 take me out to a magnificent restaurant which he 
 had visited when a lad, where the fish were the 
 finest in the world and the people assembled there 
 the cream of the city. I got into my dinner dress 
 fearful that it wasn't good enough, and we walked 
 past the old Court House where I found a nice yard 
 evidently built for hotel dogs. The cafe of his 
 
 .-^ 267 -f- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 youth was not as far off from here as he had ex- 
 pected it to be, nor was it as large nor in as wide a 
 street. And the patrons assembled there I should 
 not call the flower of Virginia. 
 
 They were not eating the fish of Chesapeake Bay 
 for there was none on the menu, but they had some 
 lobsters from Maine, clams from Little Neck, and a 
 boiled New England dinner. I ordered cold sal- 
 mon which was tinned, and the Illustrator had 
 Delaware River shad more full of bones than usual. 
 
 " It's changed," he kept repeating, " it's 
 changed." I doubt if it was ever any better — it 
 was just youngness, although I cannot think that 
 the blindness of youth is preferable to the keen 
 eye of experienced years. 
 
 Toby and I left him after dinner looking from 
 the windows of his room upon the harbour. The sea 
 has moods, but it keeps up its standard amazingly 
 well even to weary spirits. But Toby and I were 
 for the white lights of the thoroughfare. Up a side 
 street jolly Jack Tars were drifting, and we drifted 
 along with them. They turned into the fine build- 
 ing of the Naval Y. M. C. A. and as they allow 
 smoking nowadays they probably allow dogs, but I 
 was not eligible. Soon we girls may get in, for a 
 band was playing dance music and it was very 
 agreeable even standing on the pavement. 
 
 The sailors moved respectfully out of my path 
 -J- 268 -J- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 as we sauntered up and down, and I thought with 
 a lump of gratification in my throat that of all the 
 men of Uncle Sam whom I have encountered in all 
 parts of the country at every hour of the night, I 
 have never met one with an inclination to make a 
 gentlewoman uncomfortable. " Underneath the 
 Stars " played the band, and underneath the stars 
 of our country's flag those nice boys worked, and 
 underneath the stars Toby and I walked, feeling 
 that everything was all right. A few years ago a 
 young man of our touring company was not 
 granted permission to enter the Y. M. C. A. of a 
 great city because he was an actor. Now the stroll- 
 ers come and go with the other young men, and 
 the association fulfils more and more completely 
 the beautiful significance of the word which modi- 
 fies it. 
 
 I did not sleep at first, kept awake not so much 
 by the clamour of trolleys as by a high, thin, con- 
 stant note which I recognised as familiar but could 
 not define. Just as I was growing nervous about 
 it the Illustrator flung open my door to exclaim: 
 " You forgot to look for Suffolk's greatest ex- 
 port!" 
 
 " Of course," I answered oracularly, " it's the 
 whistle of a peanut stand," and went to sleep. 
 
 Norfolk is such a fine old city, newly decorated, 
 that I should give its history instead of taking space 
 
 -J- 269-*- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 to admit that our first morning there began with a 
 dog fight. Yet it throws a side hght on the charac- 
 ter of the citizens to say that they enjoyed the fight, 
 and had to scrape up their gallantry with an effort 
 to save the lady's dog. 
 
 It was an Airedale who licked him this time. No 
 doubt my dog was to blame, he had become more 
 and more aggressive as his stay in Virginia had 
 lengthened, growing particularly quarrelsome 
 when on a leash and being pulled safely into the 
 car. As he was still a puppy he had not met every 
 breed of dog, and knew nothing of the celerity with 
 which an Airedale accepts an invitation. I can't 
 say that I came out very well myself for I stood 
 screaming at the top of my lungs, " Are there no 
 men of honour? " or something like that, culled 
 from " The Two Orphans." 
 
 As I said, the men became honourable with a 
 
 struggle, and Toby and W went off to have his 
 
 v/ounds dressed, he very astonished at the quick- 
 ness on the trigger of his opponent, saying every 
 now and then to himself " Mercy! Can't a feller 
 growl! " He had given up his Southern accent af- 
 ter the heat of the day before and was now strongly 
 neutral. But it was commendable that in all his 
 excitement he used only the sweetest of little 
 swears, which ought to have been, but was not, an 
 example for his master to follow. 
 
 -!-270-f- 
 
WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS— THE WYTHE HOUSE 
 ON PALACE GREEN. WILLIAMSBURG 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 We walked in the little park before the old Court 
 House after two pleasant young men who had a 
 dog shop nearby fixed him up. Our vanity was re- 
 stored by an exceptionally intelligent fireman who 
 stopped to admire him. In return I admired the 
 fireman's city, which, I learned, has many oysters 
 but few conflagrations, to the fireman's regret, as 
 he was fond of them — and didn't like oysters. I 
 hoped he would turn out to be a relative, but he did 
 not seize the opportunity which was offered, al- 
 though he knew the old Hall where Aunt Mary 
 Ann had lived, and poorly suppressed a wish that 
 it would burn up rather than fall into disuse. I 
 replied politely that if it did catch on fire I was 
 sure he would put it out, and I left him struggling 
 between aestheticism and duty. 
 
 The Illustrator had gone off with one of his 
 family when I returned, and I was relieved to learn 
 that the cousin had no Airedale with him when he 
 called. A canine Capulet and Montagu situation 
 would have been too hard to treat diplomatically 
 no matter how much one may like a husband's rela- 
 tives. There was a note left for me — not beginning 
 with darling or anything, just: " Send out wash. 
 Spring hasn't come." This was a phrase which I 
 at first took as referring to a season fully arrived 
 in Norfolk ; then I recalled our fallen leaves, which 
 more resembled an Autumnal condition. He looked 
 
 -+-2T1-J- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 rather Autumnal upon his return, although a large 
 part of the city's business has been suspended while 
 the inhabitants went Spring hunting among the ex- 
 press offices. 
 
 Luncheon restored him to his rightful heritage 
 of years. We ate in the hotel restaurant which 
 looks out over the water from the windows of the 
 eighth floor. I am always happy when eating up 
 in the air. I know the kitchens are equally sunlit, 
 and for the life of me I don't see why all hotel 
 kitchens are not on the roof instead of in a coal hole. 
 The top floor is seldom used except for storage, 
 and if there must be a main floor cafe, food would 
 not cool any more going down on elevators than 
 going up. 
 
 It was not only sun-cooked food that cheered 
 us, but the behaviour of the personnel after a very 
 inebriated patron had gathered up all of his change, 
 piece by piece, while his waiter's face kept lengthen- 
 ing like a day in June. As usual we were near 
 a serving table. It is not a valued position to many 
 women, but at the risk of soup and gravy I sit as 
 close to it as possible, gathering conversation with 
 grease spots. Abetted by the Illustrator the 
 waiters worked themselves into a state of hysteria 
 over their comrade's loss of his tip, ending in the 
 sudden shower of a dish of small oyster crackers 
 on the floor about me. In a snickering panic they 
 
 .-+ 272 -«- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 attempted to scoop them up as the burly figure of 
 the captain darkened the horizon, and to my sur- 
 prise (a surprise instantly controlled) the dish was 
 placed at my elbow with a patient smile as though I 
 had knocked them off myself. 
 
 There is only one incident of quickwittedness 
 more magnificent than this, the wits being exercised 
 by a very bacchanalian gentleman whom the Illus- 
 trator was visiting. It was the Illustrator's aim 
 to get him past his wife's door without exciting sus- 
 picion, but the man fell full length in front of the 
 severe hostess's portal. Yet though the legs fal- 
 tered the mind continued active. Even as he lay 
 sprawling he exclaimed sternly: ''Walter, I am 
 surprised at you, get up." 
 
 They were not dancing on the cleared space in 
 the restaurant, but there were many pretty girls 
 having luncheon and ready to flit over the floor with 
 that detached air which makes one feel dancing is 
 to them not an occasion for waltzing with men but a 
 natural rhythmic expression. A placard on the 
 wall positively forbade : " Breaking," and we im- 
 portuned the bar waiter as he was the gayest per- 
 son about, to give us the meaning of the word. It 
 must be that there are more young men in Norfolk 
 than girls for the Lochinvars have developed a cus- 
 tom of breaking in on a couple, stealing the lady 
 and dancing off with her. The bar waiter said the 
 
 -J-273-J- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 management didn't like it. I asked him if the 
 yomig ladies liked it, and he was of the opinion 
 most young ladies like to be " wrastled foh." 
 
 The Illustrator made a great to do over the re- 
 luctant spring, but I don't know how we could have 
 stayed a shorter time in Norfolk and not offended 
 cousin this or cousin that. It was just by chance 
 we met one of the dearest of them, by chance and 
 my boasting of his connections. The boasting was 
 not to a fireman this time but to a very competent 
 lady who came out of the parish house of old St. 
 Paul's as we entered the churchyard. There was a 
 placard in the graveyard also forbidding " break- 
 ing," but so old that it must have had to do with 
 flowers and vines and not the new dance obsession. 
 
 She walked with me into the old church while 
 W ran away as far as possible fearful of learn- 
 ing something historical. She djd not oppress me 
 '^'ith legends, and was not shocked when I asked her 
 if old pew doors like these banged during service. 
 She said if the children had their way it would 
 be like the slanmiing doors of railway carriages 
 when a European train drew out of the station. 
 That carried us on to talk of modern travel as 
 we stood in the empty church, and, later, walked 
 among the graves of the seventeenth century. Xow 
 that European motoring is at an end for many 
 years to come she agreed with me that this 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 was America's opportunity — Virginia's opportu- 
 nity. 
 
 With some of the vigour that her predecessors 
 had applied to the levying of church tithes on delin- 
 quents, she arraigned her state while she yet loved 
 it for its poorly-built roads, expressing what I have 
 longed to say, but have kept silent out of defer- 
 ence to the gentle hosts along the way. " Good 
 roads," said this practical church woman, " open up 
 a country. They bring prosperity to the farmer 
 for his produce is in demand. They re-establish the 
 inns fallen into decay, and offer an income to many 
 a poor woman from the sale of cakes and tea and 
 milk. A lady I know in New England has paid off 
 her mortgage with braided rugs, but we can't get 
 our people to recognise their chance and I wish you 
 would put what I'm saying in your book." So here 
 it is " in," and I hope the legislators will read it. 
 
 If this were fiction she would have turned out to 
 be a cousin, but the next best thing to such a de- 
 nouement was her finding the dearly loved relation 
 for us in the parish house, working among her 
 mother's poor as Aunt Mary Ann had worked for 
 so many years. We both thought their alertness 
 significant of the times, and as good an asset for 
 the continuance of the church spirit as any pos- 
 sessed by vestry or clergy. 
 
 When we reached the hotel that night the Illus- 
 -i-275-i- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 trator charged me with having neglected to look 
 among the glared bricks for the cannon ball which 
 Lord Dunmore had fired from the Frigate Liver- 
 pool when he destroyed all of the town save the 
 old church walls. I didn't see the ball, although it 
 is somewhere in the Illustrator's sketch like a pic- 
 ture puzzle, but I should like to know if the last 
 Colonial Governor did not feel as though he were 
 shelling his own baby when he turned against the 
 state he had fathered. 
 
 It was war again that day, not any reliving of the 
 Civil War, but an actual living of the present 
 struggle. We drove over to Portsmouth to pay our 
 compliments to a friend at the Navy Yard, and, ac- 
 companied by an officer, went over to the bare point 
 beyond the great shops and the shining officers' 
 quarters, where the two interned German raiders 
 were anchored. I had formed no picture whatever 
 in my mind of the appearance of this cloistered 
 community of a thousand souls. But my wildest 
 imagining could have conjured up nothing as fanci- 
 ful as what was presented to us. The two former 
 passenger ships stood high out of the water, the 
 grey of their war paint worn down to a sort of red 
 rust; between the water's edge and the circle of 
 American marines, armed with short muskets, who 
 mounted guard over these aliens on a strip of 
 waste land. 
 
 -J-276-J- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 Perhaps I should say it had been waste land — 
 the scrap heap of the yards. But the United States 
 Commandant had given the men permission to go 
 ashore upon this dreary strip, to do what they 
 pleased with it, to use — since they singularly 
 begged for the privilege — the bits of wreckage, old 
 sail cloth, old barrel hoops, old timbers which added 
 to the mournfulness of the scene. 
 
 And now a Spotless Town stands on the re- 
 claimed land, a little town for children to play in — 
 which children never see — built by those able hands 
 which cannot keep unemployed. There were 
 streets and streets of little houses, not much higher 
 than a man's head, made of frame, covered with 
 canvas and painted on the exterior after the fashion 
 of their fatherland. Red canvas chimneys rise from 
 each house, wooden storks stand upon the roof trees 
 or sit upon painted wooden nests. Each house has 
 a little yard, and the wooden storks look down upon 
 live ducks swimming in miniature lakes, upon strut- 
 ting cocks, upon goats carefully tethered from the 
 flowering plants. Und die Gdnse! Ach Gott, die 
 Gdnse! standing in front of the motor and hissing 
 at us as they had hissed on German roads. 
 
 The barrel hoops were used to make formal gar- 
 dens, the flowers bloomed out of the desert, and a 
 tiny public park with a fountain was under con- 
 struction when we were there. The officers' wives 
 
 -H- 277 -J- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 who come over from Norfolk daily were plant- 
 ing little trees in the park, assisted by the sailoi:s 
 during their recreation hours. A windmill was but 
 just completed, making its first revolution as we 
 were watching it. The sailors laughed and cheered 
 as shipwrecked men on a desert island must laugh 
 and cheer when a sail is sighted. Some of them 
 stopped to talk with us in our tongue, for they had 
 been stewards when the huge ships of the North 
 German Lloyd carried Americans from one 
 friendly shore to another. 
 
 It was all like the dream of a little Gretchen — 
 then we looked at the massive inert vessels again. 
 These simple men of the Kronprinz Wilhelm, who 
 with their companions of the Prinz Eitel Friedrich, 
 were making the gardens, had slipped out of New 
 York harbour on a foggy night, furiously laid on 
 the grey paint of war, brought guns from their hid- 
 ing places, and swept the seas of their enemy be- 
 fore they returned to the dull incarceration that' 
 awaited them. Eight of them broke their parole 
 and swam across to Norfolk. Since then our gov- 
 ernment boats guard them from the water side, and 
 since the Kronprinz stole out of New York harbour 
 the United States has spent thousands of dollars 
 in the maintenance of patrol boats near Sandy 
 Hook. They are costing us a great deal of money 
 — these makers of doll houses. 
 
 -j-278-?- 
 
CONTAINING A CHURCH 
 
 As we repassed through the navy yards our flags 
 slid down at half mast. We stopped to inquire and 
 learned that one of the strangers in a strange land 
 had just died in our naval hospital. Something 
 more than an appreciation of expenditure possessed 
 us as we turned our backs upon the Germans. 
 They were costing us an unexpected sympathy. 
 
 279 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 The Female Number! We Leave " Sweetie " but 
 
 Acquire Williamsburg and a Number of Dates. 
 
 Also the Story of Timorous Mary Cary 
 
 We left Norfolk the next afternoon after a full 
 evening the night before — relatively, not alcohol- 
 ically speaking. A very lovely distant kith and kin 
 called " Sweetie " came to see us off. " I don't 
 
 know her married name," I said to W in a 
 
 panic, but he answered that " Sweetie " was suffi- 
 cient. He said it so enthusiastically that I imagine 
 she was no relative at all, and I could not blame him 
 if he had urged her to become one before I crossed 
 his path. 
 
 We were going on to Williamsburg still spring- 
 less, as the Farmville smith's clamp held. A bank 
 president had taken up the matter of reforwarding 
 the spring to Richmond where I was also hoping 
 to find the Illustrator's slippers. Owing to his ac- 
 tivities he had not as yet missed them. AATiile a 
 bank president got us started a girl driving a big 
 car kept us going. She found us mooning about 
 the beautiful "new part of Norfolk, which might 
 
 -?-280-i~ 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 have been Detroit or Cleveland for all the Elsie 
 Dinsmore houses it possessed. 
 
 This was my only disappointment in Norfolk. I 
 had abandoned the search for estates like Roselands 
 among the southernmost regions, feeling that a 
 greater triumph awaited me if I could discover the 
 Illustrator's blood in something better than hers. 
 But the Hall where they had lived, whose front 
 door was never locked for fear of barring out a 
 friend in need, was now surrounded by mean 
 cabins. The inlet of the river at the back of the 
 garden where the children once fished for crabs, 
 was filled in, and the family at present fumed in 
 what I thought to be over-large apartments, but 
 where they felt " smothered." 
 
 The young girl driving the big car said we must 
 make a detour to reach Sewell's Point where we 
 took the ferry for Newport News, and while this 
 was in flat contradiction to what a motoring expert 
 told us at the hotel, she was gloriously right. We 
 made a detour but missed the ferry, and I took 
 off my hat, as we waited for another boat, to trim 
 it with new flowers purchased at a five- and ten-cent 
 store for twenty-five cents a bunch. 
 
 An old lady in the ferry house admired the posies 
 and talked of the poor prices that must be paid the 
 flower makers of such inexpensive goods. But she 
 said it was the way unskilled workers had to learn, 
 
 -{-281 -J- 
 
THE FEIVIALE NUMBER 
 
 and she always found that good labour could com- 
 mand good prices. It made me feel much more 
 comfortable over my modestly-priced decorations, 
 and when they faded from rose to grey in an after- 
 noon I lost all compunction over the investment. 
 
 When the ferry came she went into the negro 
 cabin. I had thought her a tanned farmer's wife, 
 which I trust will give no offence to the Southerner 
 of quality for she was very, very white. I grew 
 quite cold on the boat thinking of the unintentional 
 resentment that I might arouse by some of the 
 things I was going to write, and I get so cold now 
 conjuring up the contempt with which my laboured 
 dialect will be received that I want to go shopping 
 and never try to be a scribe again. I have always 
 said that every one of my literary efforts should be 
 prefaced with " Please remember she is an actress." 
 And on every program of the plays in which I ap- 
 pear should run the pleading: "Be merciful, she is 
 a writer." 
 
 " Stick in the negro dialect, if you must, but 
 leave the Southern accent alone," comments the Il- 
 lustrator, after a horrid silence as he finishes each 
 chapter. Just as if poor coloured folks couldn't 
 have their feelings hurt tool 
 
 There was sufficient distraction on the boat, 
 above it rather, for aeroplanes and hydroplanes 
 were dipping all around us, and I felt suddenly 
 
 -«- 282 -f- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 guilty as though the ferry were an enemy to them. 
 The Curtiss Flying School is near the ferry slip in 
 Newport News. I had not seen one since we visited 
 the Farman and Voisin schools at Mourmelon eight 
 years ago — the Mourmelon that has been shattered 
 by the German guns. It was so gay there then. 
 Flying was a sport, as fashionable as a new dance 
 step and as dangerously enticing as a fair, wicked 
 woman. At Newport News that day every stac- 
 cato stab of the engines above us was as the beat of 
 a martial drum. 
 
 The turn at the right for Fortress Monroe and 
 Old Point Comfort carried us through Hampton 
 where there is a church which every one should see 
 and to which we paid no attention. " There are 
 some churches ahead you know," remarked the Il- 
 lustrator when I weakly suggested stopping. It 
 reminded me of a miserable American husband I 
 overheard in a Paris agency who was asking his 
 wife why they were going on some complex excur- 
 sion. " A church is there," she answered severely. 
 " Great Scott, Daisy," groaned the tired business 
 man, " this is all wrong. I'm a Baptist." 
 
 In Tidewater Virginia revolutionary churches 
 were nothing to us. In rapid historical retrogres- 
 sion (as far as years were concerned) we had 
 passed from ante helium days through the revolu- 
 tionary period to that early time dating from 1600 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 when Virginia was but a cradle for struggling, em- 
 bryo Americans. 
 
 The peninsula over which we were travelling is 
 the same pleasant green land that met the straining 
 eyes of the London Company when Captain New- 
 port of England made his way up the broad river, 
 and founded the first settlement that endured. He 
 called it James-Towne, after his King; the great 
 river, known by the Indians as the Powhatan, was 
 changed to his sovereign's name. Capes Henry and 
 Charles, flanking Chesapeake Bay received their 
 titles from the two Princes, while James's daugh- 
 ter, Elizabeth, drew the subsidiary river at Nor- 
 folk. It remained for John Smith — who, I have 
 read, entered this new country in shackles — ^to dub 
 the strip of land adjacent to our present Fortress 
 Monroe, Old Point Comfort. But this last chris- 
 tening was in 1608 after he got out of irons and 
 began making things hum in the Colony. 
 
 The point of land couldn't have brought him 
 much comfort at the time, but a discoverer must be 
 gifted with a vision far beyond his century. He 
 must have foreseen what a comfort it was going to 
 be to those running down by boat from New York, 
 or up by boat from the Southern points, and what 
 a delight as well, to the young girls with all the 
 officers coming over from the fort to attend the 
 dances. 
 
 -*-284-J- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 The Chamberlin is the only hotel standing now, 
 a highly satisfactory building one should judge by 
 the contented expression of the fat ladies on the 
 verandas. I refused to stay in it long enough for 
 a cup of tea, but was drawn out on the wharf to 
 examine hundreds of barrels of crab meat going 
 up to New York. I didn't know there could be so 
 much in the world, but the dealers can do away 
 with one order less for I heard a young woman not 
 long ago talking to another on the top of a bus. 
 She said she wasn't going to be bored by him any 
 longer — that a supper wasn't worth it. " No," she 
 reiterated, " his crab meat isn't good enough for 
 me," which I thought was a very fine title for a 
 popular song, and admired her as a surprising 
 young lady. We must arrive at full years as a rule 
 before we prefer the contented dinner of herbs to 
 the stalled ox. 
 
 This far end of the peninsula is under military 
 rule, a condition which did not fill me with horror 
 as it always does in Germany. A sway under brass 
 buttons assures the visitor in America a pure glass 
 of water, proper sanitation and a certain brilliant 
 order which has nothing to do with Don'ts. We 
 drove about the interior of the fort, the Illustrator 
 pointing out little rooms in the old fortifications 
 where he had dined at the officers' mess. (An 
 awful name — ^mess, in common parlance, but ren- 
 
 -e-285-<- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 dered neat when applied to the mihtary, as though 
 their discipHne could " red " up even a table 
 d'hote.) Some of the quarters were also in these 
 snake-like mounds, the people living under the sod 
 as though buried alive. The little windows look- 
 ing out on the water side may have once served for 
 the Garagantuan mouth of cannon. On high stone 
 masomy were the great new guns deadly enough 
 for any enemy, it would seem, although the enemy 
 by this time is probably trying to develop weapons 
 even more defying, so steady is the progression of 
 artillery. 
 
 Not until we again reached Newport News were 
 we out of military atmosphere and the salt of the 
 sea stayed deliciously with us. Troops of horse 
 were clattering along the fine road, not cavalry but 
 artillery men, I imagine. At one time the choice 
 regiments were the horsemen, but the present 
 world's war which has dealt so largely in great field 
 pieces, may develop a preference to motoring on 
 gun carriages instead of sweeping along on horse- 
 back. 
 
 It was a piscatorial afternoon for our compan- 
 ions of the road. We were constantly passing men 
 and women with shining bunches of fish at their 
 side like silver chatelaines. It seemed most unfash- 
 ionable to be without fish, and we determined to 
 have some at Williamsburg, although we would not 
 
 -j-286-f- 
 
THE RUINED TOWER AT JAMESTOWX 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 be carrying them about so noticeably. Supper at 
 Williamsburg was not as predominant in our minds 
 as was Yorktown. This may have been for the rea- 
 son that we were not as yet hungry, but we put it 
 down to patriotism — something like Toby's cour- 
 age in time of peace. At all events we were deter- 
 mined to run down from Hallstead's Point to see 
 where Cornwallis sent his sword to General Wash- 
 ington. Unlike Lee he did not feel well enough 
 to offer it personally; unlike. Grant, Washington 
 accepted the sword through General Lincoln, but, 
 later, sent it back by the officer who had borne it 
 to Patriot Headquarters. 
 
 At Hallstead's Point where we made the turn, 
 a shopkeeper became related to W by ad- 
 dressing him as " brother " and warning him of a 
 storm. But it occurred to us if 11,200 Americans 
 and 7,800 French Regulars had courageously ad- 
 vanced on Yorktown, there was no reason why we 
 should not do it — especially as we were shut up 
 in an isinglass show case. The old town could have 
 made little resistance even if our mild machine had 
 advanced upon it. McClellan at the time of the 
 Civil War, largely destroyed what was left of the 
 revolutionary houses. Only the Custom House re- 
 mains, one of a gentle line of old buildings, to show 
 that prior to the Revolution it was the largest port 
 of Virginia. 
 
 -^-287-^- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 The storming done that day was by the elements 
 which prevented a sketch, although we received the 
 attack with soldierly fortitude. I like to " put up " 
 with discomforts nowadays. I like to " grin and 
 bear it " when pain creeps over me. I like to " sit 
 tight " when melancholy shows a desire to render 
 my philosophy mere sophistry. So many other peo- 
 ple in the world are having a much drearier time 
 of it. 
 
 When we find that our funds and our patience 
 are a little exhausted with well doing, let us read 
 the history of Yorktown where more French were 
 killed than Americans; read of Beaumarchais in 
 Paris who ran so joyfully to tell King Louis of 
 the defeat of Burgoyne that he dislocated his arm; 
 read — if we are swollen with pride of birth — of the 
 rich farmers in Pennsylvania who let the soldiers 
 of Valley Forge starve since the army possessed 
 only American notes, and sold their produce to the 
 British in Philadelphia for English currency. It 
 was at the lowest tide of this bitter Winter that 
 the public mind was raised by the news that French 
 money and French ships and French men were 
 coming over to help. We have raised few shafts 
 of marble to France but we are tardily building 
 our appreciative columns now — not in stone, but 
 in little cars for wounded men, little kits for the 
 soldiers of France, and by those Americans — men 
 
 -J- 288 -e- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 and women — who cross the water, steel instru- 
 ments in their hands, red crosses upon their arms, 
 and a mighty purpose in their hearts. 
 
 It grew darker as we returned to Hallstead's 
 Point, the Illustrator's " brother " congratulating 
 us that we had evidently missed a well-known hole 
 in the road. We must have escaped it, he said, 
 
 since we got out of it. W replied that if we 
 
 missed a hole in Virginia this was the only one, but 
 " Keep on, brother," called our cheery acquaintance, 
 " you'll never be lonesome in Virginia for lack of 
 ruts — or friends." And that is the conclusion of 
 the whole matter. 
 
 Williamsburg was so dimly lighted that we 
 might have taken it for a firefly and gone past, but 
 a mysterious voice as welcome as Elijah's ravens, 
 called out to go to the left, which we did, passing 
 down a broad street with meadows flowering up 
 to the wheel tracks. The old Colonial Hotel was 
 at supper and it was difficult to get it on its feet 
 to show us our rooms. I sat in a long drawing room, 
 full of magnificent English Sheraton, while a boy 
 in white socks talked it all over with the pro- 
 prietor. 
 
 To our horror we learned that there was a 
 " boom " in Williamsburg, that powder works were 
 going up somewhere near and the builders and en- 
 gineers had all the best rooms, so that we could be 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 apportioned only the poorest ones. It was not the 
 poor rooms which depressed us but the fact that a 
 settlement of the first London Company, the Capi- 
 tol during the reign of the first Colonial governors, 
 and the home of a college established by William 
 and Mary was about to burst out into ugly pine 
 houses. 
 
 I flounced about a good deal over it until our 
 host, advancing to our table to apologise for the 
 rooms, assured me that the old town would not 
 be affected by the powder works — beyond what ef- 
 fect the engineers' board had upon the hotel. Our 
 host was as pleased as I over Williamsburg re- 
 maining intact which was most unselfish of him 
 for we learned afterwards that his father, " in 
 slave days," farmed 1,300 acres of land about here, 
 and one would think selling it off in town lots 
 would make some appeal to him. 
 
 I cannot say too often that you must not miss 
 Williamsburg no matter what rooms you get. I be- 
 lieve it was the merriest, wisest stay of our merry, 
 wise trip, and I hope that every effort will be made 
 to provide you with the octogenarian darky who 
 served us at table. " Only Kemble could draw him, 
 
 only Kemble," murmured W each time the old 
 
 man approached. His approach was part of his 
 charm. It was stealthy, it was personal. He was 
 not content to come close — he came closer. There 
 
 -h 290 -i- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 was a tremendous potent pause before he delivered 
 in the smallest of voices the array of viands. He 
 never rattled off the list, the choice was offered to us 
 in strict order. He had a way of looking all about 
 him and then, very close, in his reedy voice: 
 " Would you lak a little Smiffield ham? " 
 
 The Smithfield ham was from the table of our 
 host who was giving a party, but as they had de- 
 parted we gratefully ate the crumbs which fell 
 from the rich man's table. " Would you lak a 
 little pineapple ice?" confided he questioningly. 
 We were torn between satisfaction and despair that 
 for three meals we would have this strange creature 
 to enjoy yet must suffer from internal laughter. I 
 suppose if one could say " You're awfully funny, 
 let me laugh," one wouldn't care to laugh at all. 
 " He's not funny, he's not funny," I kept repeat- 
 ing to myself. Then he would creep up to me, 
 look around the room and whisper " Would you lak 
 a little cup of coffee? " and I would choke on the 
 fish bone of the fish we didn't have. 
 
 I went to sleep with the bell of Bruton church 
 chiming a decently early hour, a lovely bell into 
 whose casting must have gone the hatful of silver 
 which Queen Anne is said to have contributed to- 
 ward its making. Some time in the night the en- 
 gineers came clumping up to their rooms. Once 
 before, in a wild mountain town of Sicily, I had 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 slept with my door unlocked, failing on that night 
 as on this one at Williamsburg to have a key, and 
 on both occasions bewildered gentlemen have 
 " made to enter." Each time I bitterly reproached 
 them and each time the gentlemen have run hur- 
 riedly away, but in Tidewater Virginia there was 
 no cry of " Scusa, Signora, scusa," as they hastily 
 " beat it." Through all this, Toby the watchdog 
 slept peacefully, although both he and the Illustra- 
 tor complained of a bad night, fighting battles of 
 Yorktown for beautiful ladies. 
 
 I awoke with the sun in my eyes and the fair view 
 of the Court Green spread out before me. In the 
 middle of it was the Court House of 1769, said to 
 have been designed by Sir Christopher Wren. But- 
 tercups daringly offered their gold to the honest 
 jurors within; the blossoms beckoned us out and 
 rose in yellow waves about Toby who leaped 
 
 through the alluring bath like a flying fish. W 
 
 made sketches with our host obligingly standing in 
 the picture for " scale." It makes little difference 
 what you draw in Williamsburg for every house is 
 historic and every one is a composition. If an artist 
 is doing the old Powder Horn from which Lord 
 Dunmore purloined the powder that blew the can- 
 non ball into St. Paul's of Norfolk, he is fearing 
 he had better hasten to the old Wythe house where 
 Washington once lived. If he begins on the Wythe 
 
 H-292-J- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 house he is itching to get at Bruton church next 
 door, and while he works upon Bruton he prays 
 the creator of good architecture to keep the Poor 
 Debtors' Prison from faUing into dust before he 
 gets around to it. Wilhamsburg is so full of old 
 things that one may neglect to look at the monu- 
 ment to the Confederate dead, the first I have ever 
 seen to bear an inscription of modern poetry. It 
 is for all time, this prayer: 
 
 " Lord God of hosts, be with us yet. 
 Lest we forget, lest we forget/' 
 
 Old Bruton church faces this Green, restored to 
 its form of 1715. The great churches of Europe 
 were frequently built on the site of a Greek temple 
 which gave place, as the centuries rolled on, to a 
 mosque, and with the growth and power of Chris- 
 tianitjT^ to a place of worship for our present simple 
 religion. In America the buildings have gone 
 through many metamorphoses, but from logs to 
 frame, from bricks to stone they have been from 
 the first the church of the belief of our fathers. 
 These churches of four centuries bring to me a 
 feeling of permanency in the religion itself, a re- 
 ligion which may change its form, its dogma, and 
 its method of expression but remains as much a part 
 of the earth as the site of the old and still older 
 Houses of God. 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 It is interesting to note the difference between 
 the rich character of those Virginia churches estab- 
 hshed by the London Company — and their succes- 
 sors — and the severe ones of the Puritans and those 
 corporations whose departure from England was 
 coincident with the boats saihng to Virginia. To 
 the South they brought the customs of England, 
 indeed are clinging to them now. In New Eng- 
 land they abandoned all hint of court life as quickly 
 as possible. It may have been the influence of cli- 
 mate for the settlements of both localities endured 
 through incredible hardships. But I should like 
 to have seen how the Puritans would have disported 
 themselves had they gone to the lotus eating coun- 
 try instead of a land with a diet of rocks. 
 
 England must have kept a soft spot in her heart 
 for the Southern Virginia apportioned by James I 
 — that bounteous dispenser of land which was not 
 his — to the London Company. This included all 
 the territory between the Carolinas and the mouth 
 of the Potomac, while the Plymouth Company 
 were granted the other part of Virginia extending 
 north as far as Nova Scotia. Gifts of value were 
 made the church at Williamsburg. Yet it may be 
 the lofty Governor's pew, raised a little above the 
 plain people, with its fine canopy of crimson vel- 
 vet which enriches Bruton church. The word Gov- 
 ernor is very high sounding in itself. On the can- 
 
 -+•294^- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 opy is now emblazoned the name of Spottswoode, 
 as the present church was built under his adminis- 
 * tration. 
 
 The old slave gallery has been torn down, but 
 the one at the rear is still, according to mandate, 
 " assigned for the use of the College Youth," to 
 which there is to be " put a door with a lock and 
 key, the sexton to keep the key." I don't know 
 whether it was to lock the students in or out, but 
 they carved their initials on the wood of the pews 
 in front of them with the vandalism of youth, and, 
 doubtless, watched the minister shift the pages of 
 his sermon from one side to another, until, oh fear- 
 ful joy! there were more on the finished side than 
 on the stack yet to be thundered aloud. 
 
 Lord Dunmore also sat in that gallery as the 
 revolutionary storm gathered and the Governor's 
 big square pew became an uncomfortable resting- 
 place for a man who was undoubtedly plotting 
 against the parishioners as he listened to the Good 
 Word. As a family who served its country well, 
 our hotel landlord's name is on a bronze tablet of 
 Jie pew next to the Governor's, and while I should 
 appreciate the honour of occupying one of these 
 conspicuous boxes, I should prefer Lord Dun- 
 more's latter place among the gallery gods for com- 
 fort. These seats of the mighty face the congrega- 
 tion, and it would be impossible to take forty winks 
 
 -i-295-i- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 without rendering myself liable to a fine of five 
 shillings for " sleeping in ye Church." 
 
 The old churchyard encourages slumber, and 
 when I go on my last little excursion, to return no 
 more, I trust it will be to some such quiet country 
 place. These great graveyards about New York 
 with all one's friends passing them for week-ends 
 in Westchester County would not be conducive to 
 the serene spirit. There are all kinds of men and 
 women in Bruton churchyard : lords and ladies, be- 
 loved wives and lamented husbands, some of 
 George Washington's people, and on the monu- 
 ment of the Semple family an inscription to 
 " Mammy Sarah. Devoted Servant of the Fam- 
 ily." So with this Catholicism perhaps I would be 
 let in. 
 
 At the far end of Duke of Gloucester Street 
 stands William and Mary College, the second old- 
 est institution of learning in America, from which 
 such able men have been graduated that it is hard 
 to believe they were ever boys like those of today, 
 going about the grounds with or without white flan- 
 nel trousers (you understand me, of course). I 
 viewed them respectfully. " Presidents? " I asked 
 myself. If they had understood and returned " No, 
 good mechanics," it would have been quite as im- 
 pressive an answer. We stared at William and 
 Mary College most thoroughly for we were feeling 
 
 -?-296-i- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 guilty over not seeing Charlottesville where is sit- 
 uated the University of Virginia. The roads were 
 not promising for this trip, and when one writes a 
 book for motorists I suppose their interests should 
 be considered. 
 
 If I fail in disclosing a motor tour I had better 
 close the shop for it is impossible to please the 
 reader when I burst into history. Either I am never 
 right or the other histories are always wrong. I 
 am often taxed very sharply for it, but I should 
 think the fault finders would be glad to discover 
 how much more they know than I do. The most 
 cherished history of my recollection is a serious vol- 
 ume that has a Confederate General fighting three 
 years after it has killed him. I always breathe a 
 sigh of relief — and I am sure the reader must also 
 — when I have hurdled ovei; the dates and am lop- 
 ing easily along the road of personal incident. 
 
 Even though I was happy on Williamsburg 
 Greens (there are a number of them) I was anxious 
 to get back to luncheon to have another peep at the . 
 cautious and confidential servitor whose years were 
 too many to remember even if one were told them. 
 Possibly I would have had more control at lunch- 
 eon if our host had not mixed us what was known 
 as a " sideboard toddy." I can say nothing of it, 
 like the charm of a woman it cannot be analysed, 
 but I know that you get it at the sideboard, al- 
 
 -i-297-<- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 though you do not leave it there. It goes into the 
 dining room with you and makes you laugh at the 
 waiter while you pretend you are laughing because 
 your husband eats so much. " Have you a green 
 vegetable?" asked the Illustrator. The ebony an- 
 tique crept close, looked about, tucked down his 
 head and confided that he had — it was spaghetti. 
 I left before he asked if I would " lak a little piece 
 of pie," although the cooking was so excellent that 
 I wanted it. 
 
 I hunted up the landlord to make sure that 
 George Washington had wooed the Widow Custis 
 in Williamsburg. The hospital now stands on the 
 place known as the Six Chimney Lot where he is 
 supposed to have been formally accepted. One 
 cannot blame him for proposing with all those 
 chimneys about and few of us women are able to 
 hold out against the sympathy of a brick fireplace 
 — not the kind with a Japanese fan in the grate, 
 but one with glowing logs and a clean swept hearth 
 to assure the gentleman that you are tidy. 
 
 I did not find the proprietor making up our ac- 
 count, as the hotel very amiably took care of itself. 
 He was .standing at an old desk in a room where 
 the young people had been dancing the night be- 
 fore. A litterateur should call on the old desk at 
 this point and ask what it thought of the new going 
 about in a circle, heart to heart, but I reach a stage 
 
 -i-298-«- 
 
BRUTON CHURCH, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER STREET, 
 WILLIAMSBURG 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 in writing when a figure of speech becomes nauseat- 
 ing. Why say " she was like a soft bird," when the 
 heroine in no way resembles a bird ; why insist that 
 the sea " was like a hungry monster," when this 
 large body of water is like no rapacious beast of 
 our acquaintance or imagination? Why should I 
 apostrophise this piece of furniture, shouting out 
 " Old desk, what do you think of the tm-key trot? " 
 when it has never thought anything and never will. 
 Here is something for the reader to think of in- 
 stead : granted that the old desk ever had eyes and 
 had witnessed only a minuet in its best days, who 
 was the dancing man who first put his arm about a 
 woman and galloped off with her? Where did he 
 live? What did they do with him? Did all the 
 respectable old desks hurl themselves upon him and 
 crush out his life for this indelicacy? How did 
 round dancing become the fashion? This is really 
 something to answer. 
 
 To get back to my story as fast as the memory of 
 the sideboard toddy will permit, my host not only 
 verified the story of the Six Chimney Lot, but 
 claimed that Williamsburg witnessed George 
 Washington's other hotly plied suit. I stopped 
 him. One can never believe that his or her father 
 has ever asked any woman but his or her mother 
 to be his wife, and short on history as I am, I had 
 not heard that the father of our country had loved 
 
 -h 299 -J- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 or thought of loving any one but Mistress Custis. 
 I was shocked. One-half of me urged that I go 
 away but the sideboard toddy half insisted upon 
 my remaining. 
 
 " Yes," continued our landlord, rubbing up the 
 mahogany a bit, " he may have made love at this 
 very desk." 
 
 With great control I held my sideboard toddy 
 breath. " Was it his desk? " I asked. 
 
 " No, it was Mary Gary's." 
 
 Now I didn't know who Mary Gary was, but it 
 was the dearest of names and I wished to hear more 
 of her. I took up a little piece of chamois and 
 rubbed away at my side of the desk too, and a glow 
 came to the surface which, if I had not been so sick 
 of metaphor, I would have said was " like a blush." 
 For Mary Gary was a lovely girl when Washing- 
 ton came visiting to Williamsburg, and she had 
 other articles beside the desk, for they were a proud 
 family of name and wealth. They were so proud 
 that Mary Gary didn't think much of a Washing- 
 ton named George offering his hand in marriage. 
 He was a young man, a surveyor, very nicely con- 
 nected, still — not a Gary. 
 
 So George went away leaving Mary alone with 
 her desk. But one day he came back, only this time 
 he was not surveying anything, not even his chances 
 at Mistress Gary's hand. He wore a three cornered 
 
 -j-300-!- 
 
THE FEMALE NUMBER 
 
 hat, and a brave uniform, and he was riding at the 
 head of his men — ^his country's men and his. Mary 
 Gary was standing in the crowd. She had not ex- 
 pected him. She had not thought of the surveyor 
 and the brilhant young officer as the same man. 
 Possibly she did not ever wear her best gown. And 
 then I asked our host what she did when she saw 
 him. 
 
 There was only one thing for her to do under the 
 circumstances. You may not agree with me. You 
 may think that her manner of showing her emotion 
 would have been more fitted to women of the Middle 
 Ages or more graceful in the period, and costume, 
 of young Queen Victoria, but I feel that there was 
 just one thing for Mary Gary to have done. I 
 feared it would happen to me myself if he didn't 
 answer as I expected. But the most excellent 
 Southern gentleman did not fail me. He told me 
 when she saw her lost lover going by in all his splen- 
 dour, all his promise — 
 
 " Mary Gary swooned away." 
 
 301 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Jamestown — Then Northward Ho! A Little 
 
 Quarrel with the Illustrator and Our Best 
 
 Homage to a French Soldier 
 
 The luggage was put on immediately after the 
 noon meal with the idea of running over to James- 
 town, retracing oui' steps and going on to Rich- 
 mond — a simpler process for reaching the settle- 
 ment than was employed in 1607. I had said some- 
 thing casual about remaining in Jamestown if we 
 liked it to the young man in white socks (another 
 pair, I am sure) , but he was too polite to show how 
 much he despised me. 
 
 Through lack of any advance preparation from 
 a guide book I had thought Jamestown was still a 
 village, dull in Winter, perhaps, but where people 
 might go in the Summer. The Illustrator said 
 (after he had seen it) he knew all the time that 
 there were only several monuments, a custodian, 
 and a church tower to represent the planting of 
 the F. F. Vs. He said I ought to have " sensed " 
 it. But the only thing I sensed in advance was 
 the possible disadvantage of spending the Summer 
 
 -J- 302 -J- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 in any vicinity that the first white man would 
 choose for a settlement. Since the early settlers 
 had no compunction about doing away with the In- 
 dians I should think they would have located in 
 the villages they devastated. The Indian lodges 
 were ever the healthiest points of a countryside, and 
 the victor could always bury the Indians murdered 
 in their tepees, if they were found objectionable. 
 
 But, no, it is hard to tell white men anything. 
 They did not fear mosquitoes, and they drank the 
 salty water of the James for two years before they 
 dug a well, but they dreaded the Spaniards, and 
 they moved further and further up the river to this 
 marshy spot. Here they settled because, among 
 other reasons, a natural moat was found where a 
 castle could be built. I think that was very British. 
 But there were no castles erected, and after years 
 of sickness, and replenishing of human stock, some 
 of the emigrants moved inland to what was known 
 as the Middle Plantation, and is now healthy Will- 
 iamsburg with the enchanting old negro to wait on 
 the newcomer. 
 
 The run of seven miles has a sort of end of the 
 road air which should have suggested the discon- 
 tinuance of life in Jamestown. Produce wagons 
 were all going in one direction — to Williamsburg — 
 as though the chief care of the country was to keep 
 the students of William and Mary fed, and there 
 
 -J- 303 -J- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 was in this trafficless region a feeling of antiquity 
 which I was putting down to my own weight of 
 years. But Jamestown is a very good place to go 
 if you care to feel young by contrast. That is, if 
 you do not count the chapel which has been joined 
 recently to the old church tower. 
 
 The A. P. V. A. put it up, which would sound 
 like a Fenian society if the V. were out, but tran- 
 spired to be mostly ladies who had formed them- 
 selves into an Association for the Preservation of 
 Virginia Antiquities. Still the chapel with its new 
 bricks glazed after an old fashion is not disturbing, 
 
 and W sat himself down to make a sketch 
 
 under the impression — I think — that John Smith 
 had carried the bricks from England. A mocking 
 bird sang for him, and a lady walking ti^^m^^h the 
 buttercups from one country house to another said 
 that when she gets to heaven she hopes the streets 
 will be paved with just such gold. It made me envy 
 her a little, so many people are just as sure of 
 heaven as I am uneasy over acquiring another 
 place where I will eat in a noisy cellar and sleep 
 cold. 
 
 There are two fine monuments in Jamestown. 
 One is a statue of John Smith. It may not re- 
 semble him but it is looking as he ought to have 
 looked anyway. It is a glowing thought that this 
 sturdy captain of the plain people forged ahead of 
 
 -^304!^- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 his aristocratic mates by sheer merit. He is our 
 most consistent American as we measure a man in 
 this day. Across the field rises the obelisk the 
 United States has erected in commemoration of this 
 settlement. With the exception of the Washington 
 monument and that of Bennington, Vermont, it is 
 more satisfactory — to me at least — than any in this 
 country. The shield of the United States is the 
 only form of decoration. We are spared allegorical 
 sculpturing around the base; wounded soldiers, 
 loyal Indians, weeping mothers, and comforting 
 babies are withheld. We do not need heroic figures 
 in stone to exemplify the history of our country. 
 They live in our hearts, and they are living now in 
 the flesh. John Smiths are still among us, homely 
 men of humble birth, unappreciated during their 
 lifetime, perhaps, as was the John Smith at James- 
 town, but giving strength to a nation that is most 
 fittingly represented by a tall shaft of undecorated 
 stone. 
 
 After a half hour of Jamestown as it is, one can- 
 not countenance the thought of a present existence 
 in any other form. A moving picture house op- 
 posite John Smith's statue would have been too 
 dreadful to entertain. This deserted fragment of 
 land on the edge of the wide river served its time 
 and its purpose. The settlement dug its toes into 
 the soil of America and held on. The tide of the 
 
 -i-305-i- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 James rolled in with more and more boats as the 
 century grew, and the first Virginians, having se- 
 cured foothold, found the land to be firm beneath 
 them, and marched onward and inward. 
 
 We ourselves were about to march upward — not 
 heavenward, I lay no claim to that, but, after 
 Jamestown, the nose of our engine was to sniff the 
 breath of Boreas until it drew up before our apart- 
 ment correctly facing west — or the policeman 
 would get it. If I had not seen Jamestown I would 
 have felt that our tour of inspection (dealing with 
 the beginning and the struggle, but, thank the 
 powers, not the end of American life) would not 
 have been complete. Richmond and the larger 
 cities, which are the crystallised worth of a coun- 
 try, lay ahead. 
 
 I reseated myself in the automobile and spoke to 
 the Illustrator nearby. He was sketching busily, 
 too much of an artist to lend but half an ear, too 
 much of a mechanic to interpret correctly what the 
 ear received. " It's a lovely tower, isn't it? " I said, 
 paying a last tribute to the Jamestown relic. To 
 which he answered, " It uses mighty little gaso- 
 lene," for the Illustrator meant his car. 
 
 "Skoal to the Northward Skoal!" Yet the 
 Southern sands on the way to Richmond paid us the 
 graceful compliment of attempting to retard our 
 departure. We were slewing around in the midst 
 
 -J- 306 -f-. 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 of it when we met another car which we were pass- 
 ing without any great exchange of confidence until 
 each party discovered simultaneously the other's 
 New York number. Then we burst into speech as 
 though we had never seen a New York number be- 
 fore, telling things that I am sure we would never 
 have given away had we not been reduced to com- 
 plete friendliness by the Southern examples all 
 about us. They said the road grew from better to 
 best, as though bent on reform, and as we could as- 
 sure them of something finer than a good road the 
 exchange of news items was a fair one. 
 
 They passed and we continued northward. Lit- 
 tle tingles of longing for I knew not what were en- 
 gendered by that cream background and blue let- 
 tering. Yet it saddened me to realise that we were 
 seeing the last of the ox teams, the last of the pos- 
 tilions — of the mule strings. The smoke houses 
 for the pigs had disappeared. There were no more 
 sheets tacked down over what I learned at Will- 
 iamsburg had been little private stocks of tobacco 
 plants. The dogwood was still blooming among 
 the old pine trees like children at a grown up party. 
 Blue forget-me-nots — a very pretty " pour prendre 
 conge " — made their appeal unnecessarily, and 
 young holly with its prickles all soft green re- 
 minded us that the South would again be with us 
 at the snowy holiday time. 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 Promptly at Sistersville the road, under their 
 gentle influence, mended its way — as they would 
 say in vaudeville it was a very good Sister Act. We 
 moved on so quickly to Seven Pines that we might 
 not have recognised the great battleground had not 
 the tiny hamlet of that name actually possessed 
 seven pines which were too magnificent to pass un- 
 noticed. How seldom do places of the present day 
 live up to their original nomenclature. There are 
 no Indians in Indianapolis, no Minnies in Minne- 
 apolis and no sisters in Sistersville possibly. But 
 here the seven pines are as sentinels before the great 
 National Cemetery. The battlegrounds are at the 
 left of the road as we go toward Richmond, but one 
 need not dig for relics as there is a small exhibit by 
 the town pump, presided over by no one, contain- 
 ing everything that the souvenir hunter may 
 desire. 
 
 Only the honest man may enter this shop. A 
 small sign above the coin box is displayed on which 
 the visitor is told that he must put in five or ten 
 cents or he can't look at the relics. I don't know 
 how he is to be prevented since there is no caretaker 
 about, unless he is stricken by blindness for his diso- 
 bedience. I was fishing for five cents, thinking I 
 would look a nickel's worth, and if I liked it put in 
 another five cents and look some more, when my 
 eyes fell upon a set of false teeth. So I dropped in 
 
 ->-308-f- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 a penny as they were not very good false teeth and 
 beat a retreat. 
 
 It is characteristic of life that we had our first 
 puncture while sailing along on a perfect road at the 
 edge of Richmond. We went into a small grocery 
 store to telephone about the spring — which was 
 awaiting us by the way. This arrival of the spring 
 was not " by the way to" W or the chauf- 
 feur, but very much so to me at the time, for there 
 was a condition of affairs in the grocery store that 
 I had met with more than once among the poor 
 whites in the Old Dominion. The condition has 
 greatly puzzled me. The proprietress divided her 
 attention between customers and her baby whom 
 she " minded " with an industry and a sweetness 
 that is the invariable attribute of the Southern 
 mother. 
 
 Her fine skin shone with soap, her lovely hair, 
 too white for one so young, was neatly dressed, her 
 children were equally decent. Yet the chaos of her 
 surroundings was unbelievable. Now a New Eng- 
 land woman would not be able to endure the dust of 
 her surroundings, or if she endured it she herself 
 would be a slattern. She is more apt to err in the 
 other direction and sacrifice her own appearance to 
 keep her house clean. 
 
 I know that the women from the upper strata 
 of the Southern States are magnificent house- 
 
 -j-309-*- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 keepers, but I write this down because I have hon- 
 est days. And I have felt so nervous since I have 
 written it that I have looked in the ice chest twice 
 and am none too satisfied with my own house- 
 keeping. 
 
 The entrance to the city of Richmond is like the 
 entree to its fashionable life — heights to climb, then 
 a wide extending welcome. Unfortunately the Jef- 
 ferson Hotel remains conservative no matter what 
 letters of introduction you may carry. You may 
 have a crest on every piece of silver and a First 
 Family on your right and on your left, but if you 
 have a dog on a leash you will have to move on. 
 The Illustrator advised my trying to " breeze 
 through," but I could breeze no further than our 
 names on the register. It was uncomfortable as 
 his shirts had been sent there. Even as they were 
 vigorously erasing our infamous appellations I was 
 asking timidly for a parcel. 
 
 It was handed to me ! The strong string which 
 I had advised by night letter had been employed, 
 but the box, owing to the brutality of the Parcel 
 Post, had almost entirely disappeared. Sleeves and 
 shirt tails floated in the wind that my rapid exit 
 created, and the patterns seemed gaudier and nois- 
 ier than fancy could conceive. I felt as though I 
 were carrying a brass band in my arms while it 
 played the '' Washington Post." 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 " Here is your laundry," I said to W throw- 
 ing it at him. " If these shirts had come by my 
 express company I wouldn't have been so humili- 
 ated. And here is your dog." I always called Toby 
 his dog when things went wrong. 
 
 The Illustrator was perfectly undisturbed as he 
 found all the shirts there, liking their designs, and 
 asked where were the letters. I had forgotten to 
 ask for the letters. I was inclined to reply that 
 there weren't any, but bethought me to advise him 
 to " breeze through " himself and see how he liked 
 it. He did this, the lofty air with which he must 
 have approached the desk still sticking to him upon 
 his reappearance like a coat of shellac. He said 
 they were very courteous to hirrij and at this I 
 roared back if they were so courteous he could re- 
 turn to the desk once more to ask for the slippers 
 which I had wired to have forwarded from Peters- 
 burg. Then all the courage went out of his eyes. 
 He said it was an imposition to the hotel. He said 
 he never liked the slippers anyway. 
 
 The chauffeur finally went after them. I haven't 
 said very much about the chauffeur of late as he 
 was a young man and I have been dealing chiefly 
 with antiquities. But we had found as time went 
 on that there was an advantage in possessing a 
 driver who was more emotional than mechanical. 
 If he had not recognised the wild flowers, the birds, 
 
 r^ 311 -i-. 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 the people, and the weather signs he would have 
 been unconscious of the emotional storm which 
 threatened to dampen the spirits of his employers. 
 With maddening sweetness he went for tl>e slip- 
 pers, remaining away so long that we both had time 
 to regret our bad manners. As often before, I de- 
 plored the free airing we give our grievances 
 in the presence of those who are serving us, while 
 they keep their affairs from us like a sealed 
 book. 
 
 He returned with the slippers and a great deal of 
 information about the Jefferson Hotel gleaned in 
 his cheery way from the clerk who was erasing our 
 names. The hostelry can afford to be independent 
 for it is endowed, a sum settled no doubt by a dog 
 hater or at least by one who felt that dogs and 
 women should be " in the home." But this unusual 
 inn had rather a wise objection to canines. It was 
 not that they greased the carpet with their food, but 
 that they frightened the servants, and prevented 
 the strict order of their duties. I know if I were a 
 chambermaid entering a room with my pass key 
 and hearing ever so small a dog growling under 
 the bed, I should cease to be a chambermaid in- 
 stanter. 
 
 The maids at " Murphy's " are brave, however, 
 and as the rooms were good, the embarrassing shirts 
 still clean ; as there were three checks in two letters, 
 
 '-^ 312 -h- 
 
LEE'S HEADQUARTERS— SPOTTSYLVANIA COURT HOUSE 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 and the spring had come we found Richmond as 
 absorbing as it had always been. We were to put 
 it to a new test. We were to see it this time without 
 a circle of soft-voiced friends surrounding us. We 
 could not see them and the monuments. Like all 
 citizens they believe in but do not visit their show 
 places — leaving that to the trippers. Some day I 
 am going to take a sight-seeing wagon in New 
 York and find out Who Is Who on Fifth Avenue, 
 also the history of the statue I heard a barker call 
 " Jane dark " who rides so beautiful a horse on 
 Riverside Drive. 
 
 Possibly it was the arrival of both of the springs, 
 vernal and steel, that rendered the city as friendly 
 without acquaintances as with them, but we found 
 ourselves well employed and unlonesome. I am not 
 so sure that a Northern city can so extend intan- 
 gible rays of hospitality to a stranger. With a con- 
 trol that was mighty the Illustrator kept away from 
 a certain famous club in a wide Colonial mansion, 
 and it was very comfortable for me to know when 
 he went out that he would undoubtedly return. I 
 limited myself to walking past a fine old house 
 where my friends were sitting on the front steps 
 after the manner of the South and the West. A 
 mellow voice reached me, the owner of it talking 
 away airily as I had first heard him from a steamer 
 chair next to mine a long time ago. I remember 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 he was telling some one of his mother taking the en- 
 tire family of children to London, and of the atten- 
 tion they commanded in Hyde Park as they walked 
 with their old coloured mammy. He was a big 
 enough boy to recall but not to understand the 
 severe expression of the Londoners when the old 
 black nurse, upon interrogation as to her charges, 
 would admit proudly : " Dey am Miss Ellen's 
 chil'ren." 
 
 W came back before midnight having spent 
 
 his time with the owner of the garage, who was a 
 member of the aristocratic club and who had, like 
 many of the English, gone into trade and lost noth- 
 ing by it. A late moon hung over the city, outlin- 
 ing its soft hills which rise from the James River. 
 The many tall buildings now render these heights 
 less consequential, but Rome on her seven hills 
 never held out a sturdier defence than did this be- 
 sieged city during the Civil War. It was evacuated 
 finally, but, as we all know, never taken by assault. 
 
 The history of the earliest effort to reach Rich- 
 mond, which resulted in the first encounter at Bull 
 Run, is worth the reading in this hour of our pres- 
 ent parlous times. Here Northern volunteers 
 fought bravely, but they were not sufficiently sea- 
 soned to hold out against rumours of the augmented 
 army of their foe. The encounter served, for to 
 quote directly from my S. H. of the U. S.: " Both 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 sides realised the need of long and patient drill in 
 order to make soldiers out of the volunteers." 
 
 It served also to make a romantic figure out of 
 Thomas J. Jackson. At a moment of the Southern 
 troops' uncertainty General Bee — another Confed- 
 erate — pointed to Jackson's brigade and ex- 
 claimed : " Look at Jackson ! There he stands like 
 a stone wall." The sobriquet remained, although 
 Jackson did not remain a stone wall many minutes 
 after the compliment, as McDowell drove him, for 
 a time at least, from his position. I was glad to 
 find out who coined the metaphor, and I think it 
 was very heroic of General Bee when he could 
 probably have started the same rumour about 
 himself, becoming an idolised Stonewall Bee. I 
 suppose he was called the Busy Bee — and 
 hated it. 
 
 We did not bound away on our new spring until 
 early afternoon of the next day, and then to take 
 only preliminary spins to do some sight-seeing that 
 was near our hearts. The delay was a good deal 
 like the old days in Europe, for the baggage was 
 " descended," the bill paid, the servants tipped, and 
 Toby and I wandered about keeking in (as he says, 
 being a Scotch dog) at the garage every now and 
 then to see how they were getting on. In the old 
 days we would hand over the unruly car to a 
 mechanic, then run freely about, for there is a pe- 
 
 -*- 315 -H 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 riod of complete detachment between the paying of 
 a bill and the quitting of a town. 
 
 In Richmond we walked in the State House 
 grounds, not asking to enter the Capitol, as we 
 feared another rebuff from this second endowed in- 
 stitution. The outside is good enough for any one. 
 The buildings were after the style of the Maison 
 Carree at Nimes. I write this out because Bae- 
 deker says it is so. From my recollection of the 
 Roman temple, the Capitol at Richmond, sitting on 
 its little hill of Indian name, is much more lovely. 
 Richmond is on the site of Chief Powhatan's home. 
 And while I don't wish to " repeat," you may re- 
 member what I said in the last chapter about the 
 advisability of killing off the Indians and settling 
 on their wisely chosen ground. 
 
 When we were in the car we drove first to St. 
 John's church, where Patrick Henry asked to be 
 given liberty or death. It should have been a seri- 
 ous mission but it was not. It was very relieving 
 to run up and down the wrong hills without fear of 
 " sagging." It was very jolly to stop bystanders 
 — granted you can stop anything that is standing 
 — ^to ask of the church, for the bystanders them- 
 selves were in a holiday mood. Once as a street car 
 whizzed by I thought I saw a costume stranger 
 than anything we are wearing in this day, which is 
 saying a great deal; a something in brilliant green 
 
 -+■316 -J- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 brocade with a pointed bodice and a hat of pearl. 
 But the chauffeur said he had noticed nothing re- 
 markable, and if the chauffeur while motoring 
 through traffic, over cobble stones, and among nets 
 of trolleys did not notice the green dress it evi- 
 dently wasn't there. 
 
 I dismissed the matter when we arrived at the 
 old white frame church and passed through the 
 graveyard to hunt up the custodian. " To hunt up 
 the custodian " is the most astounding phrase in 
 this book. If I had written, " to run from him," it 
 need not call for comment, but for us to seek one 
 out deliberately, to compliment him into activity, to 
 beg him to accompany us into the church was a 
 crazy eventuality of this crazy day. 
 
 He had just eaten his dinner. This was unfortu- 
 nate. It seems when you just eat your dinner it is 
 very hard to go into the church and deliver Patrick 
 Henry's speech. He said he always prepared for 
 the speech when he orated before conventions — ^he 
 had an egg in the morning. I sympathised with 
 him. I said I was a very famous actress and I 
 never dined before playing — I spent the day in 
 prayer and fasting. He did not ask me who I was, 
 and I was glad of that as I should have had to 
 become Miss Julia Marlowe or Miss Maude 
 Adams, which would have been hard on them. He 
 went on about himself — like a true artist. 
 
 -«- 317 -J- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 He said the speech was four feet long, ten inches 
 wide — in pencil but small writing. We asked him 
 if he had committed it and he withered us. It 
 seems an oration necessitating both hands free for 
 gestures (he was of Italian extraction) was always 
 learned by heart. I said I learned all my speeches 
 too — but he did not pay any attention to me. The 
 Illustrator, wishing to get into it also, now said 
 something about the lecture he gave at Hunting- 
 ton, Long Island, last Winter, on France in war 
 time. He was trying to urge the guide to recite, 
 not through the employment of my sympathetic 
 tactics, but by opposition. He said he had been 
 obliged on that rare occasion in Huntington to eat 
 a large dinner beforehand or offend the hostess. 
 They all ate so much in fact that they were very 
 late for the lecture, yet he got through all right — 
 not to say very well indeed. 
 
 His entering the arena drew the custodian's at- 
 tention. At least he looked at him and then re- 
 marked to me that it was too long a recitation, 
 dinner or no dinner, to be expended on just one per- 
 son. I have never referred to this before, and I 
 presume the Illustrator still thinks he was the one. 
 Indissolubly, however, we went into the church, the 
 endinnered one going with us, telling of the men 
 who had shed tears over his speech — and women, 
 too, when they were allowed to come. 
 
 -?-318-e- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 " I shed tears when I hear good speeches," I 
 
 hurried in, conscious of our opportunity. W 
 
 admitted that he cried like a baby. It was too 
 much for the dear old orator. " Get into Patrick 
 Henry's pew," he said briefly. We got. " Sit 
 down." We sat. " I'll give you the end of it." 
 
 There was no lack of tears as he generously 
 plunged in. I believe he was gratified. We did 
 the best we could under the circumstances, and I 
 am sure the intelligent readers of books from such 
 redoubtable houses as our publishers' will appreci- 
 ate that the situation was a delicate one. You see, 
 if by any chance this should fall into his hands, I 
 want him to know how kind I thought him to give 
 us of his best. In a great peroration of elocution- 
 ary art he licked into the end of it : 
 
 " I know not what course others may take, but 
 as for me give me liberty or give me death. I 
 shouldn't a'et my dinner." 
 
 The three of us went out to sit upon the steps of 
 the church, all a little exhausted, and after he got 
 his breath he talked of Italy's present war. He 
 was disinterested in it for he had come over when 
 a little boy, and the Civil War was his, and will 
 always be the only one to him. His mind harked 
 back to the siege of Richmond. He told us 
 some incidents of the battle of Seven Pines which 
 we had passed the day before — some horrors that 
 
 -e-319-e- 
 
 it. 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 I would rather not have known, only it is more 
 thrilling to hear these stories from the lips of an 
 old man than to read the most graphic war litera- 
 ture. And it is my admired Galsworthy who says 
 we must keep with us always the consciousness of 
 the misery of others. 
 
 It reads to me as though it had been a wasted 
 battle, for the Confederates were forced back to 
 their original positions in the course of the day, and 
 it is hard for a woman to believe that there is prog- 
 ress in the grim depletion of troops. On the first 
 day of June the little Italian had gone out with 
 two older boys to seek such relics as were to be 
 seen nowadays by honest men for " five or ten 
 cents " at the curio shop. 
 
 The soldiers were piled up thick, he said, but he 
 didn't appreciate they were dead, just sleeping, 
 and in no need of the buttons which he cut from 
 off the uniforms. Wounded men were everywhere, 
 too, and there didn't seem to be any Red Cross — 
 everything was a mixup. They were leaning 
 against trees crying " Water, water," for a wounded 
 man gets mighty thirsty. Only nobody gave them 
 any water. Sometimes they would fall down " ker- 
 plunk " and not get up again. Union soldiers were 
 raiding around for food, and the women in the 
 houses outside the Confederate lines would throw 
 them out the keys from the upper windows, too 
 
 -i- 320 -i- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 scared to go down. And then the Yanks would 
 get their fill. 
 
 " Did the men of the North or South ever hurt 
 women? " I asked. 
 
 " Never," said the old custodian. *' That ain't 
 war. That ain't real war. They don't need to do 
 that to fight." 
 
 The boy ran across some Rebs finally who told 
 him to " git," and he ran away but he never saw 
 his two older companions again. " Nabbed 'em, I 
 guess," said our old friend. " In those days if they 
 caught a fellow it was * hold up this gun,' and if 
 the boy's arm didn't waver holding out the heavy 
 musket he went into the army. He was old 
 enough to fight." 
 
 Pleased with our rapt attention to his story, he 
 started to declaim an epitaph from one of the old 
 grave stones, but we checked him. He did not 
 know why. He did not know that in the oration of 
 his own making, told us as we sat upon the steps, 
 he had reached his climax. 
 
 While recrossing the city on our second mission, 
 my strange discovery on a street car was admitted 
 by my two companions to have been something 
 more than a vision. They worked this out by find- 
 ing a phenomenon even more remarkable coming 
 out of a saloon and wiping its mouth. It had 
 pushed up a tin face mask to do this which I have 
 
 -J- 321-*- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 no doubt stood for a visor. It was a knight in ar- 
 mour getting a beer. At the corner was an open 
 air soda fountain, and here two Greek girls with 
 Caius Brutus and Cassius were having a chocolate 
 sundae. I am sure one of them was Cassius for he 
 had a lean and hungry look and was eating a sand- 
 wich. The citizens dressed like ourselves were not 
 paying the smallest attention to them, perhaps for 
 the reason that all those soberly clad were escorting 
 one or more creatures fantastically equipped, with 
 eyes only for their charges. 
 
 The madness of Richmond continued in the resi- 
 dence portion. Along quiet Grace Street cavaliers 
 in Elizabethan capes were fuming with ladies from 
 Verona for keeping them waiting. The ghost of 
 Hamlet's father driving an automobile scorched 
 ahead of King Lear in a low racer. On Monument 
 Street, instead of closely inspecting the magnificent 
 pieces of sculptured art, we tried to assuage the 
 grief of an almost nude fairy who had lost her way. 
 A householder came down her steps and offered to 
 take the fairy along with her just as soon as she 
 could catch " that Falstaff " — and spank him for 
 going off on his velocipede. The miniature Fal- 
 staff pedalled around the corner at this moment, 
 his cushioned stomach firmly wedged in between the 
 handle bars. It necessitated a nurse maid to pry 
 him out, which delay gave us the opportunity 
 
THE DESERTED MILL ON OCCOQUAN CREEK, VIRGINIA 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 of asking the lady what in time it was all 
 about. 
 
 "Time?" she repeated briskly, "Shakespeare's 
 time. We are having our pageant today. Every- 
 body is in it — high and low. The whole town is 
 looney — just perfectly looney." She turned to 
 her young hopeful — " Brother, get into that ma- 
 chine and don't keep twitching at your stomach — 
 it will fall off." 
 
 We followed them up the street as far as the 
 new boulevard, passing the monuments to Lee, J. 
 E, B. Stuart, and Jefferson Davis, whose time, like 
 that of Shakespeare's is not forgotten in Richmond. 
 I think that the prayer of Rudyard Kipling needs 
 no engraving on stone in Virginia to keep its great 
 men in mind. The answer to our quest, which was 
 sending us to the boulevard, would prove the senti- 
 ment that present-day Virginia entertained toward 
 present-day heroes. 
 
 There stands on this boulevard a great grey 
 building of stone, known by the people as Battle 
 Abbey, which is to serve as a museum and a 
 memorial to the Confederacy. It has been nobly 
 conceived and ably executed. It rises among cul- 
 tivated gardens inviting to the public. It is fin- 
 ished. Yet the great bronze doors are closed, and 
 an old Confederate soldier bars the entrance with 
 more of dignity than of strength. 
 
 -«- 323 -J- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 We told our story and made our plea for en- 
 trance. We said that we knew the young French 
 painter, Charles Hoff bauer, who was working upon 
 the mural decorations when the war broke out. I 
 had been one of the guests at his dinner the night 
 before he sailed on the SanV Anna — almost two 
 years ago. He was very jubilant then. He had 
 dropped his work in Richmond at the first call, 
 " but he would soon return." By a strange chance 
 
 W met him at the Front a year after that — one 
 
 year ago. He no longer said that he would soon 
 return. " If I live to return," was then his preface 
 to all his future plans. 
 
 The veteran told us that the Lieutenant Gov- 
 ernor had ordered the doors closed to the public 
 fearing they might not understand the rough car- 
 toons upon the wall, or recognise the value of the 
 little sketches of the Virginia countryside which 
 the young Frenchman had made to help him in his 
 background. So the doors were closed until 
 
 " Until " is not a momentous word in ordinary 
 usage, but it caused a singing in our hearts. It 
 was a painter in Paris who had wondered if the 
 completion of a great building would really await 
 the return of the mural decorator — if the builders 
 would not be forced to secure another artist. This 
 had aroused the Illustrator's one half of Southern 
 blood. " It wouldn't be Virginia," he repeated to 
 
 -^324-^- 
 
JAMESTOWN— THEN NORTHWARD HO! 
 
 me as we were seeking the memorial on the day 
 of pageantry in Richmond. " The Virginians have 
 sentiment, and if they do not applaud the abnega- 
 tion of a man who left his work for his country 
 then — then I'm a German." 
 
 The old grey-coated soldier did not complete his 
 phrase. He swung open the door that we might 
 pass through. The rooms stand as on the day Hoff- 
 bauer left them. Daubs of colour schemes, rough 
 drafts held by thumb tacks to the wall, and a huge 
 military decoration almost completed, which ought 
 to have satisfied the multitude that the soldier — 
 now reserved by his government as an official war 
 painter — knew his job whether fighting battles or 
 recording them. When the veteran learned that we 
 hoped to see him over there this year and that we 
 would tell him of our pilgrimage he took fum- 
 blingly from the wall a piece of cardboard to carry 
 to him. It is large and unwieldy but it is going to 
 France just the same. The emotions of a Southern 
 state go with it, for on the cardboard is this legend : 
 
 The interior of this building 
 will he completed when the 
 French Artist, who was called 
 to his colours, returns from, 
 Europe to finish his work of 
 painting the military panels. 
 -i-325-*- 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 Listen to This: a Day's Perfect Motoring, but 
 
 the Day After That— Oh, My Word, What 
 
 a Road! Washington for the Journey's 
 
 End and the Great Discovery 
 
 We drove from Richmond to Fredericksburg in 
 the late afternoon over a road so perfect that I can 
 remember nothing about it. That is the penalty of 
 unflawed going: the mind gets smoothed out like 
 the way and as blank as a piece of paper. Toby 
 leaned out on his elbow as does an engineer from 
 his cab. The wind blew through his young white 
 hairs. " This is the life," he said. 
 
 By continuing straight on to Fredericksburg we 
 were missing Chancellorsville, the Wilderness, Bull 
 Run and many of the great battlefields of the Civil 
 War. And I was glad to do this. I was feeling 
 the weight of the dead. We are all conscious of 
 this burden today, but I was losing my balance over 
 these chronicled losses in our books of reference. 
 I was too far on the other side. As we left Rich- 
 mond we passed the spot where that splendid cav- 
 alry man, " Jeb " Stuart, was killed. I had fol- 
 
 -e- 326 -e- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 lowed him all through our trip. He had beaten 
 his horse on from Carlisle, you will remember, when 
 we were at Gettysburg, and I personally felt his 
 loss. By holding to the main road at Spottsyl- 
 vania Court House we would miss the woods where 
 Stonewall Jackson was accidentally shot by his own 
 sentinels as he rode along the rear of his enemy's 
 lines in the evening. " We have shot General Jack- 
 son," ran an awed whisper as he was carried back 
 to the hospital where he died. I did not want to 
 see that place. 
 
 When we arrived at Spottsylvania it was sug- 
 gested by the old inn keeper that he accompany 
 us to the " Bloody Angle " to tell us of the dread- 
 ful slaughter, but I was so distressed that the Illus- 
 trator rescued me. We had come upon the old 
 gentleman very agreeably. I was going around to 
 the side door of his beautiful old hotel for I knew 
 it had a history, and there is more history at the 
 side door than the front — like the inside of people's 
 lives. The old gentleman was inviting a solitary 
 chick into the Summer kitchen for its evening meal. 
 Now I come to think of it he was the third or fourth 
 nice person I met who was looking after poultry — 
 if poultry can be a single chick. 
 
 He admitted that it had been headquarters, 
 *' his " headquarters while he had planned the bat- 
 tles of this vicinity ; he had slept in one of the great 
 
 H- 327 -i- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 rooms above. I knew that he meant Lee, of course. 
 The old gentleman wasn't running the hotel then. 
 He was only sixteen and he was carrying a musket 
 at the Bloody Angle. He had stayed with his 
 mother for a while but he couldn't endure it. They 
 lived in the country that Sheridan raided, and af- 
 ter he swept past them the boy went into the army. 
 
 " When we heard the Yanks were across coun- 
 try," he told me as he gently mixed meal for the 
 little chick, " I took the mules and my mare to the 
 swamp. The raiders come along mighty close to 
 us and I thought we were lost. Mules are inquisi- 
 tive creatures and I was scared they'd crackle the 
 underbrush trying to see who was going by, but 
 they never moved a muscle till the troop was out of 
 ear shot — they was Southern mules. I tethered 'em 
 and went back to the house. My poor mother — 
 they had been there. Hurt her ? Lord, no, ma'am, 
 just broke up housekeeping. Nobody attacked 
 women in those days. 
 
 " I'd had a feeling the night before that we were 
 in for it, so I had taken the bacon and the ham and 
 the flour upstairs to the garret. There was a big 
 space between the floor and the ceiling of the room 
 below so I got every mite of it hid away. The 
 Yanks walked all over that food and never smelled 
 it. My mother said if she hadn't been so upset over 
 her broken dishes she'd 'a' laughed right out." 
 
 -h 328 -?- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 I felt it was time to say something and I mut- 
 tered feebly about the demands of war. We had 
 passed through the wide hall to sit on the old front 
 porch with the bullet holes in the brick all around 
 us. The old man let himself down heavily on a 
 bench, and shook his head. " That ain't war, 
 breakin' a woman's crockery. They caught the but- 
 ter dish on the end of a bayonet and sent it crash- 
 ing. They swept off the pair of vases on the chim- 
 bley piece. Grant fought our men hard — fought 
 'em night and day. At old Harbour the wounded 
 lay between the lines four days and nights, Yanks 
 and Rebs, and he wouldn't stop long enough to get 
 'em a canteen of water. But he fought. Lincoln 
 knew. ' I can't spare this man — he fights,' he said. 
 Grant didn't go round breakin' a woman's china." 
 
 He paused. I was silent. Some negroes laughed 
 in the little " calaboose " opposite. An order was 
 painted over the jail door: "No talking with 
 prisoners allowed under penalty of law." Children 
 passed in a farm wagon with jingling bells at the 
 mules' heads. " He's gassing about the war," one 
 of the girls said. They knew his weakness — or 
 mine. 
 
 " No, when a man died in battle the enemy who 
 killed him took an equal chance. There ain't no 
 bitterness afterwards. But when your mother's 
 house is sacked or your wife's little keepsakes 
 
 -J- 329-*- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 pitched out as though they was dirt a fire burns in 
 
 you that is a long time dying down Grant 
 
 was the South's best friend — him and Lincoln." 
 
 A half hour later we descended Marye's Heights 
 into Fredericksburg, the Princess Anne's Inn of- 
 fering us comfortable rooms with as lovely a view of 
 rooftrees as one can ask for. When the dinner 
 proved excellent I suggested that we remain over 
 
 Sunday. But W , although liking the hotel 
 
 pickles to the verge of tears (pickles which were 
 made by a " private coloured man," so the waiter 
 told us), wanted to get it over with. By " it " I 
 knew he meant the strip of bog through which we 
 must toil to reach the ambition of every American : 
 Washington, D. C. It loomed ahead of him like 
 Christian's Slough of Despond, yet, like Christian, 
 he knew that he must go through it. As a pilgrim 
 of meaner metal I should have remained in Freder- 
 icksburg hoping that fair weather would dry up 
 the slough — a cheery theory which never occurred 
 to Christian. 
 
 My aunt had told me of many things to do at 
 Fredericksburg, and I rejoiced that everything his- 
 torical was shut up this Saturday evening not to 
 be opened again until Monday morning. I had 
 visited a number of places which she had warned 
 me were important, and in view of the pleasant 
 Saturday night do-nothingness which was creeping 
 
 -^330^- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 over me, I felt that my duty to my husband should 
 come first. He had no ambitions beyond taking 
 Toby out for a walk and discovering the house of 
 Washington's mother. This he did four times, 
 never picking a winner, like an unlucky horseman 
 at a race. In despair I sank down upon an ordi- 
 nary stone which was not ordinary at all, as a small 
 boy said, with great solemnity, " You are sitting on 
 the slave block." 
 
 I leaped hastily home although no one seemed 
 to make a bid for me, and gained what I thought 
 would be the deep seclusion of my room. But a 
 voice came through the fourth story window as 
 close to me as though Peter Pan were in the 
 branches of the great tree outside. It was so near 
 that I thought I must be under observance as well 
 and regretted the loosening of my hair. The voice 
 bade me " Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! The second act 
 will soon begin. Pretty girls, latest songs, high 
 kicking, and funny comedians." 
 
 The possibility of a comedian who was funny car- 
 ried me to the window. Over the treetops, beyond 
 the respectable church towers, I could see the old 
 theatre on Main Street with the little balcony on 
 which the manager was haranguing through a 
 megaphone. "Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!" went on 
 the mandate; "pretty girls, lots of pretty girls." 
 No one seemed to be heeding him and I wondered if 
 
 H- 331 -{- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 the girls were looking through the curtain (al- 
 though it is bad luck to peep) to see if enough 
 money was coming into the house to pay their board 
 that week. 
 
 " Don't miss it, gentlemen. Pretty girls, high 
 kicking," the man babbled on. How the auctioneer 
 would have enjoyed a megaphone while a black 
 woman stood on the slave block! How easily he 
 could have dwelt upon her points. Was it very 
 different, after all, this man on the theatre balcony 
 and the auctioneer who stood beside the slave block 
 calling his wares ? I have always thought how dis- 
 agreeable it must be to depend largely upon good 
 looks for whatever occupation is yours. It must 
 be acute suffering for a plain girl to be pushed to 
 the back row of a chorus, no matter how well she 
 sings, while a fluffier one is brought forward. Did 
 the slaves, I wonder, take pride in fetching a good 
 price? If so what despair they must have enter- 
 tained in their hearts as their strength and fitness 
 left them and their value slipped away. 
 
 I heard the next morning that the troop had so 
 successfully managed to " Hurry, Hurry, Hurry," 
 that they got off without paying their board, and I 
 couldn't help being relieved. It speaks well for the 
 citizens of Fredericksburg who were not lured by 
 the megaphone recital. Now if the manager had 
 only barked the marriage of a Miss Pearl to a Mr. 
 
 -h 332 -h- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 Arturo the town would probably have lent them 
 the light of its countenance. All this from the col- 
 oured bell boy who clung to our running board 
 while he showed us Fredericksburg. 
 
 I refused to pass through the National Cemetery 
 where lie 15,000 Union soldiers or to visit those 
 many graves of the Confederates. One need not 
 go to Marye's Heights to stand upon a battlefield. 
 The fierce engagement between Burnside's and 
 Lee's troops was fought across this lovely town. 
 The Confederates upon the heights held the superior 
 position, yet in spite of this Burnside ordered Sum- 
 ner's brigade across the plain six times, with enor- 
 mous loss. It is said that Hooker urged Burnside 
 to withdraw our Northern troops, but the Com- 
 mander (who you may recall had but recently suc- 
 ceeded McClellan after Antietam) held stead- 
 fastly to his plan of attack until 12,653 Federals 
 gave their lives to the day's unsuccessful battling as 
 opposed to 5,377 slain Confederates. What was in 
 the mind of Burnside it would be hard to say, but 
 history shows that he was stunned with grief after- 
 ward, offering his resignation which was accepted, 
 and Hooker, his chief critic, placed in command. 
 
 Fredericksburg shows no shadow of its old trage- 
 dies. Modestly appreciative of the fame which cir- 
 cumstances have bestowed upon it, the old town 
 keeps itself for the visitor. Privet hedges divide 
 
 -h 333 -i- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 the lawns, many of the houses are painted pale yel- 
 low with roofs and shutters of a lovely green, and, 
 lacking a coloured boy upon the running board, the 
 citizens gladly point out the way. The house where 
 Washington's mother died was finally achieved. 
 He had urged her to come in from her country 
 place during the French and Indian Wars, here he 
 visited her and the building still stands where he 
 was made a Mason. 
 
 Our coloured guide felt our ignorance and en- 
 joyed it — which was a great relief. He brought us 
 to the shaft of stone erected in her honour. 
 " Mary's," he said respectfully, " the mother of 
 George." He told us that this monument may not 
 be the onliest one put up for a lady, but it am the 
 highest, and that it was placed fairly remotely from 
 the town because she often visited this spot. " She 
 did not meditate on this hyah spot becase it am call 
 Meditation Rock, but it am call Meditation Rock 
 becase she done meditate hyar." We were all quite 
 confused after this, but I carried awaj^ a clear re- 
 gret that we do not have a rock in every New York 
 apartment where we can go to think. I suppose I 
 
 would not be alone even there, W coming to 
 
 the rock room to ask suspiciously what I was think- 
 ing about in the fear that I was planning a divorce, 
 or wanting to come in and lean on the rock and 
 think, too. 
 
 -j-334-f- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 In the complexities of getting away — I may say 
 
 the anxieties, for W was deep in conference 
 
 with automobilists over the road — he forgot to take 
 his pickles ordered from the private coloured man, 
 although a lunch was put up and delivered to us 
 with chilling ceremony as though it was the last 
 meal of condemned men. It had been the concen- 
 sus that we pass over the strip of bad road without 
 an attempt at the detour, as the detour was now 
 worse than the road for which the detour is made. 
 
 We listened to the autoists rather indulgently as 
 they told us of farmhouses where we would find 
 chains if we lacked the essentials for pulling our- 
 selves out of the clay. We had seen some bad roads 
 before and had managed them very nicely, and it 
 was difficult to believe that a highway leading to 
 Washington, and one in constant use for two cen- 
 turies by the grandees of Virginia would hold any- 
 thing of terror for seasoned motorists. We had 
 been vaccinated by the Blue Ridge passes, the virus 
 was excellent, and we felt as immune as an inocu- 
 lated soldier. We had forgotten that there are no 
 bacilli to protect one from the dangers of a devas- 
 tating bomb. I did not recall until later that it was 
 Sunday, and that such mishaps as have befallen us 
 have generally occurred on the Sabbath day. I be- 
 lieve now that motor cars are deeply religious. One 
 may observe in the Monday morning papers the 
 
 -j-335-e- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 harvest of accidents of the day before. It must be 
 very painful to a highly moral motor car to carry 
 around a lot of joy riders who ought to be in church 
 growing better. I suppose when the occupants be- 
 come too joyful for the day, the car bucks and 
 throws them out. " Steering gear goes wrong," 
 reads the newspapers — but the other motors know! 
 
 It would have been difficult to have gone wrong 
 any quicker than we did, although the steering gear 
 remained ethically correct. The only thing I can 
 make out that we did rightly after crossing the 
 Rappahannock was to pay toll for a good road 
 which the motor would not let us long enjoy. At 
 Garrisonville it wilfully carried us away from the 
 fine highway, although we vigorously protested that 
 our path couldn't be the right one. One would 
 think an engine, even a fanatic on religion, would 
 not care to do this, and I suppose the chassis puts 
 such tricks up to the poor creature and then lets it 
 pant and puff to pull him along — a chassis is mas- 
 culine, I am sure. 
 
 We brought up at a farm called Pleasant View. 
 It was a very pleasant view, indeed, the gentleman 
 farmer pointing out to us a nice but distant pros- 
 pect of the fine highway from which we had 
 strayed. He said it was no trouble to get back to it, 
 just take a tiny (almost unborn) road back of his 
 barn. We thanked him, not having seen the se- 
 
 -h 336 -i- 
 
THE WHITE HOUSE FROM THE LAWX. WASHINGTON 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 lected itinerary until we got behind the barn. We 
 did not meet with his household again, and I sup- 
 pose they thought we were skimming along on the 
 highway while we were still two hundred feet away 
 from them behind the large house for their kine, 
 shovelling the mud off the running board. It never 
 entered the head of the cordial proprietor of Pleas- 
 ant View that this road was bad enough for even a 
 mild cautioning, and as we made our way out 
 
 W delivered what I suppose is a problem: " If 
 
 a Virginian does not consider this cowpath some- 
 thing awful, how awful will be the way ahead of 
 us which all Virginians admit is well-nigh impass- 
 able?" 
 
 But that was while we were still behind the barn. 
 As soon as we had reached the thoroughfare again 
 dangers ahead lessened in their import. I found 
 this significant in my general resume of the run. 
 The whole day was significant, for it was our last 
 one in the Old Dominion — if the reader insists, 
 as the Virginian does, that this state and no other 
 is really the territory which we went forth to dis- 
 cover. And Washington was the end of the run, 
 the goal for all Americans, whose achievement is 
 possible for such as take the bad going with the 
 good. 
 
 I like to think that the bog, which presently con- 
 fronted us, stands for the despair through which 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 we must all struggle before we reach the winning 
 post of our high desires. I believe that the roads 
 over which we travelled represent more perfectly 
 the progress of life than my first metaphorical illu- 
 sions in this book predicted. Socially, politically, 
 man takes to the road. He finds it easy, he finds it 
 rough. He finds it rough where he would have 
 thought it easy, he strikes good going when he was 
 preparing to be ditched. Although railing against 
 figures of speech in a preceding chapter, I find 
 myself now deep in them again. It seems impos- 
 sible to avoid them. And perhaps that is another 
 thing we discoverd: all progress in life — mental, 
 spiritual, or just going along a road — is analogous 
 each to the other. 
 
 Certainly I was a poor pilgrim when we reached 
 the swamp. The way suddenly revealed itself to 
 us. It was not a way, it was not a swamp. It was 
 like the extinct crater of a volcano or a deserted 
 trench after the curtain of fire. Broad, solitary, it 
 seemingly stretched inimitably ahead of us, al- 
 though there is but six miles of it. The ruts were 
 
 axle deep and the mud holes bottomless. W 
 
 got out to walk ahead and direct the driver, keep- 
 ing him out of the wheel tracks, and as much as 
 possible on the ridges between the gullies. I got 
 out to walk ahead, too cowardly to look back upon 
 the tugging engine but straining with my spine as 
 
 -i-338-i- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 meagre assistance. There may have been wild 
 flowers to brighten our path but I didn't notice 
 them, and I think if the chauffeur had cried out 
 
 " briar rose " or " humming bird "! W would 
 
 have buried him deep in a mud hole. 
 
 The murdered man would not have been with- 
 out articles as foreign to the bog as himself. Tin 
 gasoline cans were in these holes, rocks dragged 
 from a distance, madly uprooted pine trees, and bits 
 of chain which had undoubtedly groaned, then, 
 snapping, unfulfilled their mission. Frayed ropes 
 were tied to the trees which told of the resorting 
 to " Dutch windmills," and an empty flask now and 
 then spoke eloquently of the last resort of the dis- 
 tracted motorist. Thanks to the carefully picked 
 route of the Illustrator's and to a light car with a 
 good engine we did not sink so deep but that our 
 own power carried us out, and just as I felt that 
 there was no end at all we saw the end ahead. 
 
 The greatest trial was yet to come for another 
 strip of ground, admitted by the Virginians as 
 quite impassable, was before us, and we had been 
 told that this time a detour was necessary. We 
 must not miss this deviation — the whole Princess 
 Anne Hotel had been very certain about that. But 
 the Princess Anne went further, she said we 
 couldn't miss it. I don't know why she said that, 
 it aroused all that was antagonistic both in motor 
 
 -h3S9-i- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 and man. We could miss anything — especially a 
 good turn on a Sunday. Not being Indians — not 
 recognised Indians — I think, myself, that the 
 marks in the woods by which we were to be guided 
 were a little vague. I suppose an Indian could 
 smell the right turn. Even I thought that we had 
 reached it too soon, but I said so in a small voice 
 as it would be rather awful to advise a wrong turn 
 
 during such anxious moments. W said it must 
 
 be the turn as there was an A. A. A. sign nailed to 
 a tree and that was one of our guiding marks. And 
 while I had a number of intelligent replies regard- 
 ing the number of trees and the number of A. A. A. 
 signs in this world I told them only to Toby. 
 
 This new perambulation held only the gloomiest 
 prospects. After twenty yards it grew worse than 
 our first boggy wading. It grew unbelievably 
 worse. It was so wide and yawning. A fallen wire 
 nearly cut off our heads. I marvelled that a white 
 man could ever have been in that locality to string 
 it up in the first place. Yet we saw the beautiful 
 faces of two white men before we had quite gone 
 around the globe — time and space were immeasur- 
 able, you understand. And yet, again, I would 
 rather not have seen those faces. They were not 
 murderous or sodden with vice. They were ordi- 
 nary faces with moustaches, their eyes sticking out 
 rather queerly from the gloom of a canopied auto- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 mobile, looking no doubt as ours did. My distaste 
 for their countenances was their familiarity. I had 
 seen them somewhere before. I had seen them — 
 the two cars continued rocking, plunging, skidding 
 toward each other, but ere we were abreast I asked 
 them from whence they came. 
 
 And they were coming from Fredericksburg! I 
 had seen them in the hotel. They had chosen the 
 detour which we had avoided. We were going back 
 over the greater of two evils to the place from which 
 we had started — they told us we had almost covered 
 the detour. At this point one can employ all the 
 similes at one's command. To find ourselves in 
 life going backward after we have struggled so 
 bravely to go forward! To have to turn about, be 
 it ever so difficult to turn, and do it over again. 
 To travel, in this painful retracing, without the 
 spirit of adventure, for we know the road to hold no 
 pleasant deviation. To hate it and hate it but to go 
 through with it — the far city of ambitions for our 
 striving point rather than any mean slumping to 
 the small town of our beginnings which lies so near. 
 To know that this wrong turn is of our own choos- 
 ing, for we cannot pick our way as yet through the 
 paths of life with any sureness of instinct. And, 
 blackest terror! the consciousness that w6 must 
 keep on bungling until the vague sign-postings read 
 themselves clear. 
 
 -J- 341-!- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 In this fashion — unlamenting — we lurched again 
 toward Washington. The second detour was so 
 amiable in its construction — by comparison — that 
 we found a disguised blessing in earlier trials. 
 And that, too, can be twisted into metaphorical 
 fancyings. For the last time we ate our luncheon 
 under the shade of trees with a brook to cool the 
 motor's wheels, frightening the trout from out their 
 rocky castles and leaving them apologetic bread 
 crumbs for their return. 
 
 At Occoquan we were politely received by a road 
 so excellent that we felt our troubles to be over, 
 and with something of the assurance of the man 
 who has made his fortune we took time for the 
 enjoyment of the town. The mills along the water's 
 edge had gone to ruin picturesquely. What is in 
 the Illustrator's sketch as attractive desolation 
 from the water side was, at the top of the high bank 
 along which ran the main street, a neat little gar- 
 age for small cars. The town was very busy as 
 time, tide, and fish wait for no man. A great school 
 of godless herring had gone with the tide on a Sun- 
 day excursion up Occoquan Creek, and with doubt- 
 ful hospitality the citizens had prevented their de- 
 parture with alluring nets. They were now em- 
 ployed sitting along the stream skinning the vis- 
 itors. On the whole our punishment had been less 
 
 '-^ 342 -(- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 severe and I am certain ancient Occoquan would 
 ** skin " no journeying motorist. 
 
 We made vigorous efforts to clean each other up 
 as we became part of a long line of automobiles 
 running safely and surely over the pike. Many 
 of them bore the number of the District of Colum- 
 bia. Washington was theirs, with attendant strug- 
 gles like our own, perhaps, or by accident of birth 
 like babies who first see the world with silver spoons 
 in their mouths. Drunk with pride of conquest 
 we now felt that, aesthetically, it would be incom- 
 plete to enter Washington without first paying our 
 respects to Mount Vernon. It would be a swift 
 run of two miles off the highway and a swift return. 
 Poor, trusting children of the road that we were, 
 encouraged by a few miles of macadam into believ- 
 ing that the paved streets of heaven were ours 
 forever. 
 
 Since Virginia had not seen fit in two centuries 
 of travel over the main road to adopt some measure 
 of filling up that swamp we might have expected a 
 highway no more impressive leading to the house 
 of the Father of our Country. Yet we found our- 
 selves surprised when we sank into a mud hole just 
 before Mount Vernon and for the first time on our 
 trip could not muster the power to get out of it. 
 The way to the posts of honour is not easily gained I 
 I committed my only indiscretion of the run as I 
 
 .-^ 343 -?- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 sat in the smoking car with wheels whirring help- 
 lessly. " It's Sunday," I said, " what should we 
 expect? ' Had I but served my God with half the 
 
 zeal I serve my king, he would ' " I got no 
 
 further. 
 
 "Great Scott!" shouted the Illustrator excit- 
 edly. " Sitting there chanting Shakespeare, and 
 what we need is a chain and a team. Even the Bible 
 justifies pulling a dumb animal out of a ditch on 
 the Sabbath day." 
 
 But neither of us was taking the situation with 
 any degree of tortured anxiety for the inexplicable 
 reason that we were enjoying it! As I started 
 briskly up a side path to seek a farmhouse I re- 
 flected on this sensation of exhilaration which — if 
 we only admit it — frequently attends a catastrophe. 
 I believe if all of us were to analyse our emotions 
 over the little accidents in life we would find that 
 we were getting out of the event as much amuse- 
 ment as annoyance. " Am I not enjoying this, am 
 I not? " ask yourself, and then it may not seem so 
 bad. 
 
 I was certainly amused when I reached the 
 farmer's. He saw me from a distance swinging 
 my motor hat and goggles at him for there was a 
 surrey in front of the house and I feared he might 
 go off in it before my arrival. He did go off upon 
 discovering my advent, disappearing behind the 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 house to return before I had explained my mission 
 to his wife. He was dragging several feet of chain. 
 " Which one? " was all he asked as we climbed into 
 the surrey. It developed that it was the second 
 one. The cars generally stuck in the first mud hole 
 which we had manipulated without any great effort. 
 The farmers had thought of making up a purse 
 themselves and filling in the holes, and it would 
 surely be done by the Washington Automobile 
 Club shortly if Virginia continued to neglect her 
 duty. I thought him a very honest gentleman when 
 he must make a considerable sum of money pulling 
 out cars, and I wondered if any baser soul in other 
 days had created this lucrative demand for horses 
 and chains by digging deep late o' nights. We have 
 since learned that these bottomless pits are on a part 
 of the estate once comprising Mount Vernon, very 
 aptly designated on the map Washington made 
 himself as Muddy Hole Farm. Possibly, the Asso- 
 ciation for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities 
 has kept the land as it was, preventing any restora- 
 tion so that the holes may remain in their quaint 
 old colonial form. We were very friendly by the 
 time we had surreyed to the second mud hole, and 
 I was feeling sorry for the Illustrator who was not 
 enjoying the drive with Mr. Campbell and his nice 
 family as was I. Yet we found him agreeably en- 
 gaged with Mr. INIann and family who had also 
 
 -i- 345 -*- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 ventured " like little wanton boys that swim on 
 bladders," and were halting their huge car until 
 we could get out of the Virginia antiquity so that 
 they could get into it. Small cars had also joined 
 the fray, companions in distress, for we stood be- 
 tween them and Mount Vernon like dogs in the 
 manger. It was Mr. Campbell who dealt us our 
 last blow for Sabbath breaking. Mount Vernon, he 
 told us, was never opened on the Lord's day. So 
 it was all for nothing save the making of new 
 friends. 
 
 Mr. Campbell furnished the chains and Mr. 
 Mann's big car pulled us out backward, pulled us 
 away from Mount Vernon and its quagmires for 
 the unregenerate. It was easily done as we knew it 
 would be. We all shook hands. The surrey de- 
 parted in the direction of the highway, the big mo- 
 tor backed up the road also, the little cars flopped 
 in and out of the mud and went home. With care 
 we retraced our steps as well, and in two minutes 
 we came upon the big car again (surrounded by the 
 little cars, attended by the surrey), itself deep in 
 the mire! Again the chains, again the fluttering 
 of the little cars, again the applause as our car 
 pulled Mr. Mann's car from out mud hole number 
 one. 
 
 The situation was Virginian to the end. Mr. 
 Campbell refused any gift beyond the gift of 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 thanks. Even though we broke his chain he ac- 
 cepted it as gracefully as though he had courted 
 this loosening of his shackles. " Ships that pass in 
 the night," murmured the Illustrator when we were 
 alone. " A real friend-ship," I suggested in a thin 
 voice fearing it wouldn't go very well. It didn't. 
 But our final encounter with the mud of Virginia 
 and this quick gathering of her people to offset the 
 mud is the last needed bit of material for the 
 modelling of my figure of speech. The imagery is 
 complete. Whether it is Sunday or washday, 
 prayer-meeting night or fish night, it is my 
 sincere belief that he who sinks in the mire will 
 find those to lift him out if he cares to make the 
 struggle. 
 
 I shall promise no more metaphor, none of my 
 own poor building at least. Realities began crowd- 
 ing upon us. A brand new car with a brand new 
 driver pinched us off the road as we were about to 
 pass; we were intent upon the warnings of the 
 traffic cops; we grew nervous over the possibility 
 of carrying a number of the District of Columbia 
 — the responsibilities of an involved living were 
 settling down upon us. City influences were felt. 
 Even before we reached the bridge across the Po- 
 tomac the Washington monument beckoned us on. 
 We steered by it and found its permanence satisfy- 
 ing to the mariner. We bumped upon the bridge 
 
 -+• 347 -*- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 which took us out of the Old Dominion 
 with the same vigour that we bumped into the 
 state. 
 
 " Good-bye, Virginia," sang the Illustrator, 
 " with all thy ruts I love thee still! " 
 
 We approached the Shoreham Hotel through 
 Elysian fields, pierced by the high walls of Amer- 
 ica's real bulwarks — the sky-scraping business 
 blocks. For the second time Toby and I ap- 
 proached the desk of a great hotel as members in 
 good standing of " Sons and Daughters of the 
 Soil." We were permitted to stay on two condi- 
 tions : one that we would depart the following day, 
 the other that Toby would allow himself to be car- 
 ried up and down in the elevators. I was feel- 
 ing very untidy, and as though my money was not 
 real. The band was playing, scented ladies sat 
 about on throne chairs, men of might chatted 
 around me, a glittering servant approached the 
 desk bearing the huge cream envelope of a foreign 
 embassy. It was for W . 
 
 We were still obliged to leave on the morrow but 
 Toby was granted the run of the lift. Porters be- 
 gan carrying our clay-encrusted luggage to our 
 rooms. A motor hat box lends an air of importance 
 to any woman no matter how travel-stained. The 
 
 valet who recognised W from previous visits 
 
 straightened him out while he retailed the small talk 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 of the town. He knew the great talk as well, I 
 imagine, from his round of visits, but he was dis- 
 creet. We scrubbed Toby; we dressed; we dined. 
 A little table had been reserved for us in the midst 
 of the gay company. Great names were paged. 
 Plain women, badly gowned, sipped water nerv- 
 ously. A Congressman demanded a high chair for 
 his baby. From all the roads that lead to Washing- 
 ton they had come. I began to " shake down " into 
 place. The lobby, a second time traversed, was no 
 longer strange to me. The atmosphere had ceased 
 to be exotic. This was the pot-pourri of the coun- 
 try. Field flowers were blended with gardenias. 
 Put me down as one of the wall-flowers in the jar, 
 for I was " at home " again. 
 
 The three of us went for a walk with the aim- 
 less strolling of those whose tasks are done. The 
 Illustrator was more than satisfied, but I was still 
 uneasy for I had not found my heart's quest. I had 
 found no mansion as satisfactory as Elsie Dins- 
 more's. And yet I had not lost my faith that some- 
 where was a great house gleaming white, with gar- 
 dens and an avenue, and darkies singing happily, 
 which would fill the vision of mj'^ youth. " You 
 
 will find it," said W placidly, " if I have to 
 
 draw it for you on white cardboard." He halted 
 as he spoke, pricking up the ear that the chills 
 and fever warning had left in working order. 
 
 -{- 349 ■+- 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 " Listen," he consoled, " it's the darkies singing 
 happily." 
 
 It was not the magic of moonlight which lent 
 enchantment to the little circle standing under an 
 electric light to sing because they could walk no 
 further without singing. They wore high collars 
 and pointed shoes, " nobby " checked suits and car- 
 ried canes. Their hats were on the back of their 
 heads — Panamas, not the brown derbies of their 
 Southern kin. They sang " Good-bye, Girls, Good- 
 bye," but their voices were of the plantation. 
 
 We lined up at the curb for they were opposite, 
 and as I placed myself in a position to see them 
 plainly I saw past them. I saw their back drop. 
 It was a great house in a great park, with an ave- 
 nue, and gardens profusely distributed about. The 
 house was of the desired colonial architecture. The 
 roof was flat, and there were pillars, and it was big 
 enough. Under the brilliant lights carriages were 
 drawing up before the wide door. Servitors as- 
 sisted the visitors to descend. They mounted the 
 steps of the porte cochere — the enormous porte 
 cochere — and passed within the mansion. It was 
 better than Elsie's, more purely Greek than Elsie's, 
 more richly encircled than Elsie's. I had found it 
 at last. I had found it at the end of the road. The 
 end of all material desires, visions of the soul, ambi- 
 tions of the mind. Yet in the confusion of new 
 
WASHINGTON FOR THE JOURNEY'S END 
 
 buildings since my last visit to Washington the 
 mansion was strange to me. It was humiliating but 
 I turned to him to learn whose house this was — be- 
 fore I took it for my own. 
 
 " It's just the house it should be," said W . 
 
 " It's the White House." 
 
 351 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 This Is the End, I Promise You. If You Are 
 
 Sorry I Am Glad, if You Are Glad I 
 
 Am Sorry — hut I Cant Blame You 
 
 " Psychologically," I said, choking slightly, " I 
 am through. There shouldn't be another chapter." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the Illustrator. "Leave 
 them flat?" 
 
 And I was delighted with this encouragement to 
 go on, for I wish to tell you not only how to get 
 home, but of his new purple tie purchased for the 
 French Embassy. I don't know why this man buys 
 a purple tie whenever he is in touch with the Gaul. 
 In Paris he ever returns from a shopping expedi- 
 tion with stockings all the wrong size, as feet over 
 there seem to be without numbers, and one purple 
 tie. 
 
 I suppose such effervescent equipment is our ef- 
 fort to capture and assume the spirit of France — 
 as though it went on like a shirt. We thought it 
 was clothes for a long time which made the man 
 over there; now we know their braided vest- 
 ments, pointed shoes, and waxed moustachios to be 
 as the Sunday holiday in the Bois or the stroll up 
 
 -J-352-J- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 the boulevards every afternoon : merely " trim- 
 mings," in no way an essential to French life. 
 
 W and the chauffeur came back very for- 
 eign and gallant in their manner toward me. I 
 think a little interview now and then with a French 
 Ambassador would do a great deal of good to a great 
 many American husbands. I suppose you could 
 even hit a lady charmingly and diplomatically after 
 a study of the system. His gloves were already in 
 his pocket as we started on toward Baltimore, and 
 I didn't ask him if he wore them in the drawing 
 room or ripped them off hastily at the last moment 
 for I too was feeling the reflected lustre of di- 
 plomacy. 
 
 One could travel very well over the road to Balti- 
 more dressed in tulle, for there was no dust and the 
 smoothness of the way invited us to a forbidden 
 speed. We were to have this sort of a dancing 
 floor from Washington on. Many will enjoy just 
 such motoring, asking for no other thrilling de- 
 nouement than that of reaching a given point with 
 as much ease as possible. I like it myself. But you 
 will notice that things do not " happen " when the 
 road is very good, and in the peopled, well-paved 
 country you will be something of a cipher no mat- 
 ter how luxurious your car. You will no longer be 
 an event. You will not add to your experiences or 
 to those of others — but you will be comfortable. 
 
 -J- 353 -t- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 That is, you will be comfortable until you strike 
 the cobble stones of Baltimore. They appear to 
 rise up and hit you with the same violence exer- 
 cised when they were thrown by the Baltimore mob 
 at the Federal troops. If Maryland was on the 
 side of the North its greatest city was largely 
 Southern in its sympathies, and it has remained so 
 even to the paving. We saw its towers from a dis- 
 tance in a late sun, and, as always before when ap- 
 proaching the city, I thought of Rome. There is no 
 reason for this, and the association of the two must 
 be an intangible religious influence, for Rome is to 
 Europe what Baltimore is to our States. 
 
 The great closed mansions of Monument Street 
 are as the palaces of Rome, especially those noble 
 houses which were so passionately for the Pope that 
 the courtyards were barred to all society from the 
 day that the Holy Father became a prisoner at the 
 Vatican. The mansions of JMonument Street have 
 not the tolerance of the real nobles. In Italy the 
 grand palazzi arises from squalourous districts; 
 pretty children, olive skinned by nature and circum- 
 stance, play at the feet of the Major Domo who 
 guards the gates, and the tired citizen finds a rest- 
 ing-place on the sills of the lower windows. 
 
 There are no benches placed along the strip of 
 green which divides Monument Street. The foun- 
 tains play and one must stand to enjoy them. The 
 
 -!- 354 -*- 
 
MONUMENT STREET, BALTIMORE 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 flowers bloom but you must not kneel upon the 
 grass to sniff their fragrance. " Dogs are not al- 
 lowed except in leash." Charles Street, however, 
 which intersects Monument, the two becoming 
 Mount Vernon Place for a square either way, is 
 more generous to that portion of the public who 
 would most appreciate the beauty of a green open 
 space. The splendid shaft to Washington is sur- 
 mounted by his graven image. I don't remember 
 which way he is looking, but I hope that it is not 
 up snobby Monument Street but down bonnie 
 Charles where the people sit under the shade of 
 the trees, with lovers always going up and down 
 the stone steps which break the slope. And the 
 fountain is so inviting that straightway one thinks 
 of soda water and pleasant modern things. 
 
 We did not need a bench after dinner for we sat 
 upon a graded scaffolding in the wide circle about 
 the statue which was being built for a flower mart 
 shortly to be held. We enjoyed our perch, al- 
 though not looking as well as hydrangeas probably, 
 and I cannot speak too highly of the honesty of 
 
 Baltimoreans for W left his war book on the 
 
 improvised bench while we went prowling off for 
 soda water and did not return for an hour. It was 
 still there, which troubled the author, as he was 
 glad he found it, but regretted that no one would 
 steal it. 
 
 -+•355 -J- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 I beg to add, so that he may continue modest in 
 your eyes, that carrying it around was not his habit. 
 Some one in the hotel had sent the copy to him for 
 his signature, and while this may never get in (this 
 wot's coming now) as we have different publishers, 
 I promise you that he will autograph any book free 
 of charge, or if he won't I will do it myself in his 
 own best handwriting. I am very good at this. A 
 United States President lived across the street from 
 us when I was a little girl, and, possessing one of 
 his signatures, I manufactured dozens just as good 
 and sent them around to all my far-off relatives. I 
 am less steeped in crime than I was in my youth 
 (leading the simple life of an actress) and when- 
 ever I enter their homes to see framed and auto- 
 graphed pictures of our illustrious neighbour, I 
 wonder if my greater punishment will be for the 
 sins of my childhood or those of maturer years. 
 
 There was some difficulty in finding the ice cream 
 soda, although the more we heard the chalice-like 
 fountain splash the more frantic we became for the 
 desired chocolate flavour. The search grew so vital 
 to us that we felt suddenly as young as when an ice 
 cream soda meant a good deal in one's life. The 
 most remarkable part of this hunt for the nectar of 
 the gods was its taste when we at last hunted it to its 
 fizzly source. It was as good as we had expected, 
 and this had nothing to do with the flavour, rather 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 could it be traced to the chief reason for including 
 Baltimore as part of our itinerary. 
 
 Some years ago we had gone to Baltimore on 
 our wedding journey, and stopped at the Stafford 
 Hotel where we were staying now. We had walked 
 in Mount Vernon Place just as we were doing in 
 this year of our Lord, and we had found the ice 
 cream soda second to no other. Think of all that 
 distinguishes Baltimore: the Holy Church, the 
 monuments, the beauties, and the whiskey, and yet 
 I remember it most affectionately for the softest 
 of drinks. I asked an old porter who had been at 
 the hotel forever if he remembered a large envelope 
 arriving at this caravansary, covered with red 
 hearts and addressed to me, and of its being pushed 
 under the door by sniggering bell boys. Of course 
 he didn't remember it. I knew he wouldn't, but I 
 thought then that all the city must know of the 
 missive from over-humorous cousins. It surprised 
 me on this previous visit to see the modest length 
 of the hotel lobby. After the red hearts arrived I 
 found the front doors evilly withdrawing from me 
 as I walked and walked and walked to reach them. 
 All eyes were upon me I was sure. They were smil- 
 ing behind their hands I feared. And now the 
 porter has forgotten the cataclysm, and I — I am 
 boasting of it ! 
 
 " Did you see the cathedral this time? " asked the 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 Illustrator when we were well under way the next 
 day. Then we both laughed for we know now that 
 we will never visit the cathedral in Baltimore, and 
 yet I could go on writing of the city's beauty for a 
 reason no more tangible to you than the excellence 
 of its soda water. Possibly it is drawn from the 
 eternal fountain of youth, and that possession 
 should distinguish any habitation of man. 
 
 But hats off to Maryland. It bowed us in and 
 bowed us out without a jar. Some day we will go 
 over all of its highways to do a " Maryland, My 
 Maryland " story. The state exercises a beautiful 
 intelligence in working on its highways continually. 
 Gangs of men such as we see in Europe are ever 
 patching up the poor places, and, after the Euro- 
 pean fashion, they do but one side of the road at a 
 time so that no detour is made. At least that was 
 our experience, but we were disposed to take life 
 kindly on that splendid run to New York, and we 
 may have confounded our own condition of mind 
 with the predisposition of the world. It doesn't 
 make much difference how shabbily we are treated 
 if we don't know it — " Don't have sense enough 
 to know it," as the Illustrator once estimated him- 
 self after an unexpected blow at his scheme of life. 
 But I still think he was ahead of the one who de- 
 livered the blow. 
 
 He sat up so happily on this brilliant May morn- 
 -j-358~J- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 ing that Toby found me dull by contrast and in- 
 sinuated himself by every wile known to dog into 
 the front seat. Then the two, with the chauffeur, 
 beamed over the wind shield, dismissing questions 
 which confused them like three very simple children 
 — or three wise men. It was the driver who found 
 German lettering on the surface of the houses as we 
 left Baltimore. Men of Teutonic features were 
 coming in from the country byways and I would 
 very much have enjoyed a run off the highway to 
 call upon our janitor's father. He is one of a body 
 of Bohemian farmers who were invited over to re- 
 claim a tract of worn-out land which they have 
 made to blossom like the rose, or at least like the 
 tobacco plant. A living derived from this leaf is 
 as precarious as gambling at Monte Carlo, but 
 as profitable to the farmer when the yield is 
 good as the long-sought system for breaking the 
 bank. 
 
 I showed the janitor some photographs when we 
 got back and he was so good as to recognise grate- 
 fully every hilltop and every cow grazing on it. 
 Considering the languid interest which the aver- 
 age friend shows for any snapshot not taken by 
 himself, or without himself in it, I recommend 
 travellers to confine their photographic display to 
 those " below stairs." Unless you have a picture of 
 yourself covered with mud while your car lies in the 
 
 ■-h 359 -«- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 ditch they would rather not know anything about 
 your trip. 
 
 But to go back to the janitor (which is not mat- 
 ter foreign to motoring as I am trying to " ease " 
 you toward your domicile and the cares which await 
 you) he told me of his first dreadful week over 
 here when he started as a waiter in an obscure res- 
 taurant. He described how he strained and strained 
 to understand our language so that the patrons 
 would not complain and the proprietor replace him 
 with another boy of greater linguistic attainments. 
 He cried for seven nights after he went to bed, cried 
 with discouragement and fatigue and heimweh. 
 But at the end of the week he began to grasp little 
 phrases of speech: " Coffeenrolls," and " eggsn- 
 toastquick," and at the end of a year he spoke our 
 language. I looked at him admiringly. One year ! 
 And we Americans putter every season about a 
 foreign country without a past or a future tense at 
 our command. And for the subjunctive! Oh, well! 
 who of us would know an English subjunctive even 
 if we met it in broad daylight walking up the 
 avenue ? 
 
 Before the janitor had finished putting up the 
 awnings (I am getting you as far as preparations 
 for the Summer now so that you will soon be ac- 
 customed to the prospects of the same bed every 
 night) I asked him why his people came over 
 
 -i-360-?- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 here if they were all so homesick. He was about 
 to hang out perilously again as he manipulated the 
 Summer shelter, and I thought I had better get 
 what I could from him before it was too late. 
 " Why does anybody go anywhere? " he returned, 
 leaning out over the window sill so that I couldn't 
 talk back. 
 
 But why do we go anywhere? What peculiar 
 quality is it that sends gallants and beaux far from 
 court life to discover strange and hostile and un- 
 healthy lands ? Why did more go after them when 
 the toll of death was so great among the first ad- 
 venturers? Since the North and South Poles have 
 been discovered with such a tragic penalty what is 
 the incentive that sends other men in to freeze their 
 fingers and their toes and sit upon ice floes until 
 rescued? And why do I put the question marks 
 into this paragraph when they might as well be 
 periods? For I know that the very same driving 
 qualities which send you and me out upon our little 
 motoring expeditions actuated those greater ex- 
 plorations. Vastly different one would say — the 
 early Puritans with their English spinning wheels, 
 the modern emigrant with his pack upon his back, 
 the motorist with his bristling maps, and the house- 
 wife moving from one flat to another. Yet the 
 spirit is identical. 
 
 With no obligation to " hunt up " we hunted 
 -h 361 •+- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 vigorously for the birthplace of Edwin Booth, tak- 
 ing photographs of Bel Air only to find that he 
 had lived some distance on at Fountain Green. 
 The proprietor of the Kenmore Inn assured us that 
 the school children along the way would know, and 
 as it had more to do with tradition than education 
 they did even stop their ball game by the roadside 
 to swing wide a farm gate. We drove in and out 
 with no one to molest us save several conventional 
 calves who bawled to their mothers that some one 
 had come to take a picture of them — such is the van- 
 ity of the very young. The birthplace is very good 
 and the estate most impressive, for the average 
 actor boasts no such pretentious beginning. But 
 this makes little difference. It is fitting that Foun- 
 tain Green is the name of the locality which shel- 
 tered the youth who gave to our country an ever 
 verdant art. 
 
 We rushed on through a country wisely marked 
 at the dangerous turns by a skull and cross bones 
 painted on high white fences, and our speed, con- 
 trolled at times by these visions of a future state, 
 brought us to Havre de Grace for early luncheon. 
 We stopped there, for we were loath to quit Mary- 
 land, and the inn on the river was so soothing to the 
 exterior man that we thought the interior individual 
 might take a chance at a bad meal. But our dinner 
 was both decorative to the eye and satisfying to that 
 
 -J- 862-^ 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 side of us which, having a restricted view of life, 
 takes small interest in the beauties of nature unless 
 they are well cooked. 
 
 There were fresh green peas and asparagus, and 
 each expression of gratification from us was re- 
 peated in a loud voice by the handmaiden as soon 
 as she got beyond the swinging door into the 
 kitchen. " They like the sparrowgrass," she an- 
 nounced, " but he don't eat no veal." The other 
 guests grew very quiet in the dining room as the re- 
 port of our doings continued. " They keep askin' 
 about their dog," she shouted. " Take him round to 
 the bapk door, Katie, and feed him till he busts." 
 And at the end of the meal: " He ain't got enough 
 money an's asked her for some. They come in a 
 machine too." 
 
 The Illustrator hastened out to hunt up the 
 chauffeur who had taken advantage of the assur- 
 ance across the street that here were sold " sand- 
 witches." The landlady came in when I was alone 
 apologising to me for everything as though we were 
 at an old-fashioned country tea party, where, if I 
 remember rightly, it was the fashion for the hostess 
 to deprecate her table. I recall the heavy effort to 
 be enthusiastic and to quiet her pretended alarm, 
 and how the wearisome repetition of our repletion 
 took away our appetite before we were actually sat- 
 isfied. We don't do so much of that nowadays and 
 
 -H-363-J- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 one finds a casual hostess very much of an 
 aperitif. 
 
 The landlady said with a weary sigh that she was 
 housecleaning (here I begin working, not " easing " 
 you up to your apartment door) and I admitted 
 that I had wired " clean if not cleaned " while I 
 was far away in Petersburg. She looked at me 
 earnestly with her lips pursed up. " Do you think 
 she'll do it as well as you? " 
 
 I replied that " she " would probably do it bet- 
 ter. And I don't know why " she " shouldn't when 
 it is her specialty and not mine. Nor do I see why 
 a woman is less housewifely for paying others who 
 need the small sum to do what she can ill afford to 
 spend time upon. I can write stories and get money 
 for them (although you'll probably doubt this) and 
 I won't spend hours sewing on buttons when I 
 could make enough in that time to employ a mod- 
 erate sized Dorcas Society of needy needle-women. 
 
 As for the darning bag the Illustrator says I 
 never get it out unless we are expecting an inter- 
 viewer. But I defy any reporter to catch me so 
 selfishly at work. I'd rather do without satin slip- 
 pers which wear out so easily. Yes, and I do do 
 without them. The next time you see me wearing 
 kid ones at a party remember that a sewing woman 
 has a day's work off of each foot — which is confus- 
 ing but I know you'll understand. 
 
 -j-364<-<- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 Or will you? Have the previous chapters full of 
 meandering thoughts left you opposed to the theory 
 that I should keep out of the kitchen. Do you want 
 to cry, " Try darning socks! " Believe me I have 
 tried. I have tried many things in life and failed. 
 After that what is there for us to do but tell of our 
 many failures, and if a reader can get any consola- 
 tion out of them perhaps we haven't been such fear- 
 ful failures after all. 
 
 You see I should be closing this chapter now, but 
 I write on hoping that I may improve my style — 
 like suddenly learning a trick — so that you may say 
 " the end was good " — which can mean two things. 
 A last chapter is terrible, for a writer wishes to take 
 back every word she has said that is confusing or 
 incorrect or displeasing. It is like sending for a 
 priest at the close of a wilful life. I wish I didn't 
 know when it was to be the last chapter and that I 
 could wake up some morning to find that the manu- 
 script, now a sturdy and complete child, had walked 
 itself down to the publishers. But see how I make 
 into " one-night-stands " a run that was swiftly ac- 
 complished. If I can just get across the Sus- 
 quehanna, over one of the long bridges to which the 
 river is addicted, and reach the Delaware state line 
 I am sure all Southern languor will leave me, and I 
 can roll you by the power of words quickly to the 
 Quaker City. 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 One could tell Delaware by the abrupt leaving of 
 the perfect road, yet it was a good " home " road — 
 I mean by that as " home cooking " is good, 
 which is never quite what we pretend it to be. The 
 buzzards left us as promptly as they had begun 
 way over at the western end of IMaryland, but Co- 
 lonial beauties in architecture were still ours. As 
 engaging a church as we saw in the South was that 
 of St. James's near Staunton, Delaware. It is so 
 curiously built that we hung about the churchyard 
 for a long time hoping some one would come along 
 to explain its unusual design. But it was off by it- 
 self in the country with no service for five days 
 ahead, and that would mean almost another book 
 if we waited for the history. One may notice that 
 it takes little time to relate facts but I find it difii- 
 cult to lead up to them from a long avoidance of 
 the truth. 
 
 Between this point and the discovery of the best 
 Southern inn on the run through a Northern state 
 lay Wilmington, a town of lovely old houses which 
 I never saw before, although I can tell all about 
 the hotels and the theatres. The strolling player 
 of today does very little strolling beyond cover- 
 ing the distance between his workshop and his 
 bed. 
 
 But such are the benefits of motoring that we 
 find the best of a town as often as we do the worst 
 
 -H-366H- 
 
^ 
 
 .'ivlf'i'"'.t ••(51 
 
 if 'ir-si 
 
 
 
 
 \\^-'ky''- 
 
 
 ^' "" ^--*-,-' 
 
 
 THE TOWER OF HOLDER HALL, PRINCETON 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 of it, and as a rule under gentler skies than does 
 the weary mummer. A number of us experienced 
 Wilmington during a hot spell one September, 
 however, that made us think affectionately of wad- 
 ing through snow drifts to catch early morning 
 trains. From my excellent room I could look out 
 upon the Delaware River, and I beg you to waste 
 no further pity on " Washington Crossing the 
 Delaware " when you are confronted by that large 
 steel engraving. I did not believe during my torrid 
 stay in Wilmington that the Delaware could ever 
 freeze over, but if it did George Washington was 
 enjoying it. 
 
 The river kept to our right (or we kept to its 
 left as the river would say if it were writing this 
 book) all the way to Philadelphia showing by its 
 industries in ships, munitions, and other methods 
 of destruction that it was very much in the mode. 
 Before we reached Chester we found as charming 
 an ornament as man could make and sit upon a 
 little hill to view the stream. It is an inn known 
 as " Naamans " after an Indian chief of that dis- 
 trict. It is low with thick protecting pillars and 
 wide inviting wings. At one end is a block house 
 which the Swedes built for protection against the 
 Indians in 1638. But the poor Norsemen needed 
 more than block houses to withstand the violence of 
 Governor Peter Stuyvesant. He drove them out 
 
 -i-367-*- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 with small cannon balls — one was found absurdly- 
 hiding in the crotch of an old tree and now rests 
 upon the hall mantelshelf. The block house is used 
 for the braiding of the most lovely rugs imaginable, 
 and if you see me wearing to the opera this Winter 
 a circular effect in dull blues I will pretend that it 
 is a coat but it is really one of the rugs purchased 
 at Naamans. 
 
 The hostess and I were enthusiastically discuss- 
 ing the merits of the rare mahogany in the bedrooms 
 
 when W said that it was too dark to make a 
 
 sketch and so — " Ahem! " That is the male way 
 of saying " As I have nothing to do here remaining 
 is not important." Once I fed a little monkey and 
 when the hand-organ man pulled him away he went 
 hopping backwards with his arms stretched out ap- 
 pealingly to me. And in that manner I hopped 
 away from Naamans, but some day a letter will 
 come to Claymont, Delaware, which is the address 
 of the inn, bidding them prepare the block house 
 and I shall inhabit it for a while, shooting any one 
 who asks me " What's for dinner? " or " Where is 
 my left patent leather pump ? " 
 
 It was a pleasant sign that on the last run of both 
 our trips in America we have come across particu- 
 larly interesting taverns. They are like little ten- 
 drils which hold you to your love of the road, prom- 
 ising comfort with charm if you will come back 
 
 -i-368-?- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 and not forget what the broad highway has to 
 offer. 
 
 Upon the outskirts of Philadelphia we plunged 
 into domesticity so heavily that it looked as though 
 no one on the globe was living in hotels or flats or 
 boarding houses. Thousands of neat little homes 
 attended us on either side the streets, millions of 
 front steps led to rocking chairs on porches equally 
 numerous. I immediately became a housekeeper 
 and hinted to the Illustrator of a long night run to 
 New York. But this was not encouraged and the 
 best that I could do was to arrange mentally the 
 furniture in these little houses: " The couch must 
 be there — the lamp by the window — ^two bookcases 
 
 on either side of the chimney and " W 
 
 turned to look at me quizzically. " You've stopped 
 looking about," he said. It was true. I had 
 stopped regarding the road in the arranging of 
 furniture. I was nearly " home." 
 
 We did none of the things in Philadelphia that 
 I hope you will accomplish. In preference to a 
 lecture on foreign travel we went to the theatre — 
 a bus man's holiday — to see an indifferently acted 
 play. At supper afterwards one of the actresses 
 stopped at the table which we were sharing with 
 friends. She admitted that they were tired of the 
 " road." I listened to this complacently for I knew 
 that they would rest for a while, then a longing to 
 
 -^369^- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 get back again would come twitching at their 
 hearts. They too are of that band of explorers who 
 know the wanderlust. 
 
 What haste W felt about reaching New 
 
 York he did not crystallise into speech, but he was 
 fairly acrid for an amiable man when I was very 
 late ordering down the bags. I had been running 
 up and down the most delightful feature of Phila- 
 delphia: its little back streets, chasing Mr. Toby. 
 He had given up all thought of ever staying more 
 than a night in one place and had accommodated 
 himself to it, but an extra morning's scrub was a 
 little hifalutin, and for the first time in his life he 
 ran away, lured on by a few dogs urging him to 
 join the union against baths. I would have pur- 
 sued him to the world's end, and may the creator 
 of all animals soften the heart of the passerby who 
 meets the lost dog wearing a muzzle. Catch him 
 if only to send for the wagon which carries his kind 
 to a more peaceful finish than will be our fortune. 
 But don't let him starve behind that mouse trap. 
 
 The parkway which Philadelphia has given the 
 traveller of the New York road is the most majestic 
 of my experience. Some day we are going to make 
 the run from New York just for the pleasure of 
 being conducted through lovely paved processes up 
 to the heart of Philadelphia. It is quite symbolic, 
 however, that we should have passed, upon entering 
 
 ■H-370-i- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 the city, the little houses whose prosperity made pos- 
 sible the building of these boulevards. Motor griev- 
 ances are not enduring humps. They are ironed 
 out by quiet running, and before we had reached 
 New Jersey Toby's anxious eyes grew peaceful. 
 " They're all right, everything's all right," said he, 
 which I have thought so often that he must have 
 borrowed it from me. 
 
 We turned off the road through the wilfulness 
 of the motor before we reached Princeton which 
 was done, I hope, to atone for other less welcome 
 misleadings. It took us along an old canal with 
 the drawbridge open while a long string of animals 
 pulled so heavy a cargo that I could not believe it 
 was only chalk. I was occupied until we discovered 
 the far towers of Princeton figuring what they 
 could do with all that chalk. The public need it 
 — as far as I know — only for school children, un- 
 becoming face powder, and grease spots. The pic- 
 turesque reward was worth the wrong turn and the 
 unusual approach to Princeton was as English as 
 a landscape could be and remain New Jersey. A 
 line of grey towers commanded green treetops, and 
 Mr. Carnegie's lake was as good as the Thames any 
 day. 
 
 We lunched at the Princeton Inn, a far cry from 
 the noon meal of the day before, or of our outdoor 
 spread in the swamps, of the farmhouse in the Vir- 
 
 -*- 371 -J- 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 ginia mountains, or Friddle's restaurant in the val- 
 ley of the Shenandoah. Yet this dignified eating 
 place was no mark of progression beyond the 
 further enriching of our experiences. Let it be a 
 healing thought to such of us as find the creature 
 comforts of life decreasing with the advance of 
 years that, in the steady march of time, never for 
 one instant is our horizon narrowing. 
 
 I watched some of the older of the University 
 men at table — seniors, a little tinged with the seri- 
 ousness of life. They had shot above the limit of 
 the school boy's mental stature. They were brave 
 enough and sure enough to be simple. But, even 
 so, I thought of the long road ahead of them and 
 their discoveries along the way. A young man 
 wrote me last year and spoke of his mental state 
 a few months previous. " I was in transit then," 
 he wrote, " now my principles and my philosophy 
 are established. I see big and fine things ahead. 
 It's a great relief. I shall have no more mental 
 roving." 
 
 Ah, poor young man! Even now he may have 
 found that he must take out his map of life and alter 
 his pleasing itinerary. And he will travel far on his 
 mental rovings nor cease until the map has blown 
 from his withered hands by a wind too rude. We 
 are in transit from the moment we come crying into 
 the world until such time as we quietly close our 
 
THIS IS THE END 
 
 eyes upon it. And that is. another reason we feel 
 the highroad to be as much our home when we are 
 restless as are the enfolding walls when tranquillity 
 is ours. 
 
 We crossed to Staten Island from Perth Amboy 
 and from there on the Metropolitan aura made it- 
 self felt by a sort of nimbus of New York trucks 
 and town cars all around us. But the wrappings of 
 the country did not leave my spirit as it has often 
 done before. I wondered if I had been inocu- 
 lated with the brown earth, or had my sympathies 
 made me one with it — we were near to the ground 
 in the Old Dominion. And then in the haziest fash- 
 ion, even as we were making for the ferry amidst 
 the great drays, there came to me the memory of 
 the Greek story of the deluge. Faintly I remem- 
 bered Deucalion and his wife, Pyrrha (who were 
 the Mr. and Mrs. Noah of mythology) praying be- 
 fort the altar for a way of quickly renewing the 
 race. The oracle spoke and bade them cast behind 
 them the bones of their mother. This was sacrilege 
 to a Greek, but Deucalion found an interpretation 
 for the command. It was not the human mother — 
 which would be desecration — but the earth which, 
 as Deucalion said, " is the great parent of all. The 
 stones are her bones ; these we may cast behind us." 
 So they picked up the rocks along the way and as 
 they walked they cast them over their shoulders. 
 
 -^ 373 -e- 
 
i. 1 '1 7 y 
 
 THIS IS THE END ^ te :/ 
 
 *' The stones began to grow soft, and assume shape. 
 By degrees they put on a rude resemblance to the 
 human form, like a block half finished in the hands 
 of the sculptor. The moisture that was about them 
 became flesh; the stony part bone; the veins re- 
 mained veins, only changing their use. Those 
 thrown by the hand of the man became men, and 
 those by the woman became women." 
 
 So you see it would be very stupid in us not to 
 love the road, for if you are a good Greek you will 
 believe that you are not only on it but of it. And 
 that is the last of the metaphor for this is the end 
 of the book. 
 
 When we reached our apartment Toby was 
 amazed over our complete dismounting of the bag- 
 gage. " Is this our home? " he asked. 
 
 " Until the road calls again," we answered. 
 
 374 
 
 C(v^'-^n