SJ II M iiiiiiiiiiiiii W wi H3):ii;:?i;-!!r > • WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York Copyright, 1912, By 'COLf-tER'& NAST.dwc.) Copyright, 1912, Bv DODD, MEAD Se COMPAN/ Published, October, 1912 IN MEMOR/AM ^ As on a memorable occasion in lier not dis- tant past, Miss Philura Rice leaned for- ward and gazed at the reflection of herself which looked back at her from out the somewhat dim and clouded surface of the mirror atop her shabby little bureau. The mirror in question was cracked diag- onally across its surface, the fact being hinted at by the blue ribbon pinned over the crack. Now it is a custom quite as old as the race itself to gaze at one's reflection in the looking-glass. Everyone does it ; gen- erally in private, in the solitude of one's own dressing-room, but sometimes in pub- lic catching unexpected and often discon- certing views of one's face and person in some cunningly placed mirror. For ex- ample, Jones, dining at a downtown res- [ 1 ] Mzss Philura's Wedding Gown taurant, catches sight of a fellow eating at a table near him. ** What a disagreeable-looking chap," cogitates Jones. "I don't like his nose; nor his eyebrows, nor the set of his coat, nor the way he uses his knife and fork." Then it suddenly dawns on Jones that the whole side of the restaurant is one huge mirror, and that he has been gazing at himself, Jones, and that he doesn't in the least like the looks of Jones. He tries to comfort himself by the reflection that, after all, it wasn't any sort of a looking- glass, not to be compared with the shav- ing-glass on his own dresser at home, with which morning presentment of himself he is complacently familiar; but somewhere in the back of his brain lurks the convic- tion that for once, at least, he has beheld himself as others see him, and that Jones is a commonplace, not to say disagreeable- looking fellow. [2] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown But all this is quite beside the mark, when one comes to the consideration of Miss Philura's inspection of her small per- son in the cracked mirror of her own lit- tle bedroom. Miss Philura's earnest blue eyes were not concerning themselves with the faint lines about her delicate lips, nor even with the vague mist of silver glinting the brown hair about her ears. No ; quite frankly and unaffectedly the lady was studying the effect of her dress, a world too large for her. The material was good ; there could be no question as to that. It was a satin brocade, exhibiting large, sprawling leaves of black on a pur- ple background. It was rich and lus- trous, and the unfashionable skirt swept in billowy folds about the slender figure, which continued to twist and turn from side to side before the cracked mirror. The crack curiously interrupted and diversified the view, so that Miss Philura [ 3 ] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown saw, as it were, her small person in sec- tions, like an imperfectly constructed pic- ture puzzle. But when one has used an article, however imperfect, for a matter of thirty years, one learns to make allow- ances. Nevertheless and also notwithstanding, Miss Philura presently divested herself of the black and purple gown with a pensive sigh. " If only it wasn't black — and pur- ple," she murmured, " and if the leaves weren't so large and — creepy." Miss Philura sighed a second time, as she took from the table a violet-tinted sheet of note paper, exhaling the odour of violets, both colour and perfume being particularly affected by the writer of the words scrawled in loose, fashionable char- acters across the page. " My dear Philura," — she read for the second time — " I own that I was ex- ceedingly surprised, I might almost say [ 4 ] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown shocked to learn of your contemplated marriage to the Reverend Mr. Pettibone. Had 3'ou seen fit to consult me before tak- ing so serious a step I should have advised strongly against it. Your life, passed as it has been amid humble surroundings, and with the very limited means of culture and improvement I have been able to af- ford you from time to time, during your brief stays at my home in Boston, have hardly fitted you (in my opinion) for the very grave responsibilities you appear so eager to assume. " Let me implore you, before it Is too late, to withdraw from the false position in which you find yourself. At your time of life, my dear Philura, there can be no jomantic Ideas concerning love and mar- riage, which sometimes serve as an excuse for more youthful follies. Should you, however, ignore my advice, as I fear — you will incur the very grave risk attend- ant upon marriage with an elderly wid- [ 5 ] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown ower (as I understand Mr. Pettibone to be) with your eyes open. " I am sending you with this an out- worn gown of my own, which, should you persist in rushing in where angels fear to tread, will make over into a suitable dress for the occasion of the marriage." This missive, which jNIiss Philura pe- rused with a faint frown between her child- ish brows, was signed, " I am, my dear Philura, most sincerely yours, Caroline P. Van Duser." The time had been, and that not so long since, when Miss Philura would have been utterly annihilated, crushed, beaten and routed from any position whatsoever by such a letter, signed with the authoritative name, Caroline P. Van Duser. Now she folded the sheet with brisk motions of her roughened finger-tips, returned it to its envelope with a little laugh. Then, still brisk and smiling, she hung the rus- tling brocade away in her closet. [ 6 ] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown On the way downstairs she even hummed a verse of an ancient hymn, which had clung to her memory ever since a memorable Sunday marking the beginning of the marvellous new experience which had blossomed in the bleak and barren waste of her existence. " God's purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste But sweet will be the flower^" she sang under her breath. Miss Philura's blue eyes were very bright, her thin cheeks very pink, as she proceeded to set her tiny rooms in the per- fection of cleanliness and order which re- minded one of the interior of a wave- washed shell or the heart of a morning- glory newly opened to the sun. It was a shabby little house, within and without, but the ancient furniture reflected the bright light of the November day in pol- [ 7 ] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown ished surfaces, and even the worn rag rugs on the floor exhibited rich and subtle blendings of colour, not unlike those of an eastern prajer-rug. When all was finished Miss Philura washed her hands and dried them care- fully on the roller-towel behind the kitchen door. Then she sat down by the window and glanced shyly out between the green leaves of the newly potted geraniums. The trees were swept bare of leaves in the gales of early November so that one could see, clearly silhouetted against the daz- zling blue of the sky, the slender steeple of the Presbyterian church. Next to the church, half hid in sombre evergreens, was the parsonage. Miss Philura blushed del- icately as she gazed, her thin hands clasped with the rapture of her thoughts. Only six months and what changes had come over her life. She must needs pity the Miss Philura of that unthinkable time when nobody loved her, and she had faced [ 8] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown a dreary vista of days, monotonously alike, beginning with half-hearted prayers to what she fancied a cold-hearted, criti- cal Judge, seated aloft in a distant heaven all gold and glittering gems; then had come the revelation. And after all, it had come about through Cousin Caroline Van Duser. Miss Philura recalled for the thou- sandth time the day she had made herself ready to accompany Mrs. Van Duser to the Ontological Club in Boston. She pic- tured with positive relish her shrinking self, seated meekly opposite the magnifi- cent person of Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser, wearing the ill-fitting dress of black alpaca, and the obsolete bonnet tied primly under her chin. " And my hair ! " she murmured, ad- dressing her maltese cat, who was watch- ing her with a reflective gleam in his jewel- like eyes. " Do you remember, Mortimer, how I used to fix my hair ? " [ 9 ] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown The name of Miss Philura's cat marked her one previous ebulition of what she had sadly recognised as that phase of char- acter known in theological circles as " un- regenerate human nature." But the cat had so resembled the husband of Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser, with his cold, cal- culating eyes, his feline neatness of per- son, his well-tended whiskers and the ter- rifying gaze he was wont to bestow upon her small self, when at infrequent inter- vals she appeared at his hospitable board. The inevitable meeting with that awe-in- spiring millionaire (who had the honour of calling Mrs. Caroline P. Van Duser his wife) was almost enough to deter one from seeking light and culture in the un- deniable centre of all light and culture. Mr. J. Mortimer Van Duser never ap- peared to remember her from one visit to the next, and merely growled (like a cat over a mouse, Miss Philura could not help thinking) when Mrs. Van Duser drew his [10] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gozvn inscrutable gaze upon herself, with the majestic words: " You will remember my third cousin, Philura Rice, Mortimer? I felt that it was my duty to afford Philura the oppor- tunity of attending the course of lectures on the Proper Attitude of the Masses to the Classes, which, owing to other engage- ments, I am unable to attend." So she had called her grey kitten Mor- timer in a spirit of uncharitable reprisal which made her positively afraid to say her prayers for two whole days. As for Mortimer, he had grown into a stately, dignified personage of a cat, whose green eyes frequently assumed the veritable ex- pression of the Boston millionaire, and Miss Philura continued to call him Morti- mer, as has been stated. If Mortimer remembered how Miss Phi- lura used to arrange her hair, he made no response. Instead he yawned discreetly, his pink tongue curling back between his [11] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown cruel, sharp-pointed teeth like a leaf. " I was a fright, Morty dear," quoth Miss Philura, waxing familiar and affec- tionate. " I am sure he never would have thought of — of — loving me, with my hair combed back tight and done up in a hard knot ! " Mortimer turned his back upon his mis- tress, and wound himself into a graceful coil of grey fur breathing selfish comfort. His opinion on the subject of ]\Iiss Phi- lura's coiffure he kept to himself. " If I hadn't found out," pursued Miss Philura, her wistful eyes on the parsonage roof, which peeped at her through a pair of dormer windows, " about the Encir- cling Good, I should never — " She broke off with a little laugh. " And here I am worrying — actually worrying about my wedding-dress ! " A brisk jingle of the feeble door-bell in- terrupted the little lady's further cogita- tions. She hurried to answer it, a becom- [12] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Goivn ing colour in her cheeks. One could nevei tell when Mr. Pettibone (she hadn't been able yet to bring herself to call him Silas) might call. But it wasn't the minister's tall figure which confronted her on the door-step, but a woman, clad in a heavy woolen shawl. She wore coarse blue mittens like those of a man, and a wing of snowy hair folded her rough red cheeks on either side. Miss Philura's colour faded a little as her eyes fell upon the quaint figure. " Good morning, Huldah," she said. a T J5 "Here's your butter, miss," said the. woman, thrusting a small package into Miss Philura's unwilling hand. Her black eyes snapped and she nodded her head vigorously. " It's good enough for Queen Victory, if she was livin' to eat it, an' so I guess it's good enough for you." " But, Huldah," quavered Miss Philura, [ 13 ] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown "I — I know it's good. I — never found fault with the butter." Miss Philura bethought herself that she was going to marry the minister, and drew herself up with gracious dignity as she added, " Your butter, Huldah, is excellent — excellent. But I have thought it best for • — my health to refrain from eating but- ter for the present." The butter woman fixed her bright, bird-like eyes upon Miss Philura. " Butter's fattening," she said at last. "Fattening?" echoed Miss Philura weakly. " Yes, I suppose it is." " You'd ought to eat it," pursued the butter woman, " you'd ought to eat a good an' plenty of it, three times a day." She nodded at Miss Philura, as if to defy her to prove the contrary. A delicate colour fluttered in Miss Phi- lura's cheeks. " Then you think — " she murmured. [14] Miss Philura's Wedding Gousn "They like 'em fat," said the butter woman, still defiant. " Don't I know 'em? They like 'em round and plump an' soft an' smooth.'* " I don't think I understand you, Hul- dah," said Miss Philura, very dignified in- deed, though still gracious. " Minister's ain't no different from other men, as I know of," insisted the butter woman. She waved her hand conclusively. " You ain't no fatter 'an that poker, ma'am." " It — it's quite fashionable to be slender, Huldah," said Miss Philura, al- most piteously. She gazed sidewise at the poker, stand- ing stifHy beside the fireless grate, its brazen head reflecting the light in its pol- ished surface. "I — I should dislike to be really fat, you know." The butter woman stood up, with the [15] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown air of one who has finished argument and downed dispute. She drew from under her shawl a basket, and from the basket she produced and laid upon the table, each with a defiant thump, a plump chicken, a roll of butter, and a dozen eggs in a paper bag. " Now these 'ere things," she said, in a tone which brooked no denial, " I want you should eat. Don't you go to carry- ing broth to nobody, ner yet eggs, ner yet butter." " But, Huldah, I — Oh, they look very nice, but — " " Don't I know you're gettin' ready t' be married? An' o' course you don't think o' nothin' else, momin', noon an' night. I can't give you no silver spoons fer a weddin' present, though land knows I'd like to, with your ma biiyin' butter o' me fer a matter o' ten years stiddy, an' you never missin' your half pound a week since she was laid away eight years come [16] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown April. So if you'll take a pound or two from me — it ought to be five at the very least — fer a weddin' present, why — ! " Miss Philura's blue eyes filled with sud- den tears. " How kind and good of you to have thought of it, Huldah. Thank you a thousand times ! " She took the butter woman's toil hard- ened hand in both her own and squeezed it gratefully. " There, there ! it ain't nothin' 'n' with me a churnin' twice in the week, an' chick- ens fairly under foot. I'm comin' again a week from to-day, an' I wan't t' see you a mite heavier 'an you be now." She felt Miss Philura's fragile little arm with an experienced thumb and finger, and eyed her appraisingly. " A matter o' ten pounds wouldn't do no harm," she murmured. " Well, my ad- vice t' you is, lay abed mornings, and eat es hearty es you kin. Land! I'd fatten [17] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown you, if I'd jest have you under my eye fer a while." She pinned her shawl together with an energetic stab of a black headed pin. " When's the weddin' .? " she demanded gruffly. " Why, we hope — we expect it will be on Thanksgiving Day," faltered Miss Phi- lura, trembling visibly, in view of the near approach of her great happiness. The butter woman stared past the blushing, wistful face. " On Thanksgiving Dav," she muttered. " On Thanksgiving Day." " Perhaps you think it an odd day to be married on," Miss Philura's gentle voice went on, " but Mr. Pettibone's con- gregation seemed to think that they ought all to be invited to the wedding. We should have liked it to be very quiet, but there was some feeling — Mr. Pettibone says. So we thought as the church would have to be opened and warmed on Thanks- [18] Aliss Philura's Wedding Gown giving Day — for the regular services. you know — "^hy, it might be as well to take advantage — " The butter woman did not appear to be listening. She fetched a great sigh, and shook her broad shoulders. '' Oh, well," she said, " there's no use to be harkin' back to what's past an' gone. But it's hard not to be doin' it, when the summer's over an' gone an' naught remains but dead leaves blowin' hither an' yon." " The cold weather seems to be setting in early this year," offered Miss Philura vaguely. Her thoughts had reverted once more to the purple and black brocade, hanging in her wardrobe upstairs. The butter woman was looking at her keenly, her mouth puckered into a half smile. '' Whatever you do," she said briskly, " lav abed an' eat — eat hearty betwixt [19] Mdss Philura^s Wedding Gown now an' Thanksgivin' Day, They ain't nothin' he'll like so well." Miss Philura looked puzzled. " You mean — ? " she began. The butter woman nodded, her bright eyes half hid in wrinkles of mirth. " The' ain't a man livin' as likes t' marry a livin' skelton, ner yet a bag o' bones. They like 'em nice an' fat." With which she darted down the steps, climbed into her wagon and drove away, before Miss Philura had done blushing. [20] n All the world is said to love a lover; but there are " ifs " and " buts " and sundry exceptions to this as to every other sweeping statement of a more or less gen- eral truth. For example, Miss Electa Pratt, en- gaged in wringing out her dish-cloth, with hard twists of her bony fingers, felt no soft emotions of affection welling up in her virgin bosom as she caught sight of Philura Rice hurrying past the house, her small figure bent against the roaring wind that swept the fallen leaves into miniature whirlpools, and lashed the leafless branches overhead. Miss Philura was clutching at her hat brim with one shabbily gloved hand, and it was this fact, simple and natural as it was, which brought Miss Pratt into the [21] Mdss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown maternal presence, placidly engaged in knitting out of blue wool what she was pleased to term a fascinator ; the fascina- tor in question was intended for the sole use of Electa ; but the fact did not soften the asperity of that lady's tones as she said, " If there ain't Philura Rice, a-hangin' ont' that hat o' hern for dear life." " You don't say, Lecty," observed Mrs. Pratt, to the busy tune of her needles. " Well now, I guess the wind's a-blowin' some this mornin', ain't it? I've been listenin' to it roarin' dow^n the chimbly. It reminds me of the day your pa passed away." Mrs. Pratt was considered perversely charitable by her daughter, who w^as in the habit of telling everybody that ma was failing right along, and that since her last annual attack of grippe she wasn't quite right in her mind. " I'd laugh if them feathers o' hern got [22] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown carried away," said Miss Electa vindic- tively. " It would serve her right," " Fer gettin' the minister away from you, I s'pose," said the old lady. " But land ! I don't think he'd a thought o' such a thing as marryin' you, Lecty." " There you go again, ma," cried Miss Pratt, justly incensed. " How many times have I got to tell you that I wouldn't marry Silas Pettibone, not if he was the last man on earth. Now you hear me. Ma Pratt; an' don't you das' t' say anything like that t' Mis' Puffer, if she runs in, or t' anybody else. The i-de-a! " Mrs. Pratt was counting stiches. " Knit ten ; purl five," she murmured. " Did you say you was goin' down t' th' post-office, daughter, t' git the ' Best Idea ' ? " " Yes, ma," replied Miss Electa, aware of the value of a change of thought. " If Mis' Puffer or ]\Iis' Buckthorne come in, tell 'em I won't be gone ten minutes. I'll [23] Mdss Philura's Wedding Gown bring you some pep'mints if you — " She had almost said " if you'll be good." But a glance into the meek, softly wrinkled old face deterred her somehow. " Mother's awful contrary lately," she cogitated as she hurried down the street, bent upon overtaking the wind-swept fig- ure of Miss Philura. " She's goin' t' the store ! " said Miss Pratt under her breath, and she hurried faster than before. Just why she so strongly desired to see with her own eyes what Philura Rice was about to purchase at George Trimmer's Dry-goods Emporium, doubtless with a view to her approaching marriage. Electa Pratt could not possibly have told ; but the desire was there and it urged her on. However, she was doomed to disappoint- ment ; Miss Philura emerged from the shop just as her friend. Miss Pratt, came abreast of it, serene and smiling, and car- [24] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown rying in one hand a small, a very small parcel. " Good-morning, Electa," was Miss Phi- lura's greeting. But she seemed disposed to hurry away in the opposite direction. Miss Pratt linked herself to the bride- elect with prompt decision. " My ! I haven't seen you for an age," she began. " I've been over to your house twice lately, when I was most sure you was home, an' rang an' rang." Miss Philura blushed guiltily. On one of these occasions she and Mr. Pettibone had been snugly ensconced be- hind the geraniums in her little parlour, and ]Mr. Pettibone had (she blushed a deeper pink to think of it) merely tight- ened the clasp of his arm about her waist and remarked: " It's Electa Pratt ; we don't want to see her. Let her ring ! " It had seemed almost irreligious to Miss [25] Mdss Philura^s Wedding Gown Philura. Never in her life had she dared to disobey that peremptory summons. But she had sat quite still while the bell jangled spitefully under Electa's deter- mined hand. " I was most sure I saw the minister go int' your house not ten minutes before," went on Miss Pratt. " I was over t' Mis' Buckthorne's, an' we both saw him." " M — m," murmured Miss Philura. " Perhaps I — perhaps my door-bell • — " " You needn't bother t' tell another lie t' me, Philura Rice," intoned Miss Pratt. " Another — What do you mean, Electa?" " I never said one word about it to you before," said Miss Pratt firmly, " but I'm goin' to now. Do you remember telling me you was engaged to be married last spring, just after you come back from visitin' your relations in Boston?" Miss Philura drew a deep sigh. "I — I would rather not — talk about [261 Miss Philura's Wedding Gown it, Electa. I — you wouldn't under* stand. 5J "Oh, wouldn't I?"' retorted Miss Pratt. *• Well, I can try anyhow. We was comin' out of church ; it was the Sun- day you first come out in that new suit of yours an' that hat with feathers — I shouldn't think you'd want to wear 'em out in a wind like this ; they look all frazzled out." Miss Philura straightened herself. " If these feathers are spoiled I can have others," she said. Miss Pratt cackled derision. " That's just the way you talked be- fore," she said. *' I sez t' you, ' Every- body says you've had money left to you. an' that you're goin' t' get married,' I sez. An' you sez, ' I've got all the money I need,' you sez, * an' I'm engaged t' be married.' " Miss Philura's blue eyes gazed almost defiantly into Electa Pratt's green ones. [27] Mdss Philura's Wedding Gown " Well," she said, " I know I said it. It was true 1 — every word true." A singular radiance overspread her del- icate face transfiguring it for a moment into beauty. " Do you mean to tell me you was en- gaged to be married to Mr. Pettibone when you said that to me, Philura Rice? Be careful! " " You went to see Mr. Pettibone after- ward and told him what I said," returned Miss Philura unexpectedly. " And he — " " He said it wasn't so." Miss Pratt threw up her chin aggres- sively. " An' what's more, ^^our cousin Van Duser said it wasn't so. She said you didn't have money left you and that you weren't goin' t' be married. So there! " Miss Philura pondered, her eyes upon the small paper parcel in her hand. Then she turned suddenly, almost breathlessly, upon the spinster, whose attitude and ex- [28] Miss Philura's Wedding Goivn pression reminded her irresistibly of Mor- timer's at the moment of pouncing upon an unlucky mouse. " Electa," she said tremulously, " you aren't very happy, are you? " "Happy?" echoed Miss Pratt. " Happy — me? Huh ! I'd like to know what that's got to do with your telling me — " " It's got everything to do with it," said Miss Philura. " If you'd only under- stand ; but I'm afraid you wouldn't, even if I — " " That's the second time you've said that," remarked Miss Pratt acidly. " When it comes to understanding, I guess I'm pretty near as smart as some other folks I could mention." " Oh, I know I'm not clever at all. Electa ; I didn't mean that." " Well, what did you mean? I'd really like to hear what you've got to say fer yourself. An' I ain't the only one, you'll [29] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown find. There's plenty of folks that's as much in the dark as I be." The cat-like gleam in Miss Pratt's eyes was lost upon Miss Philura, who was won- dering if she ought to lay bare the wonder- ful secret which she bore about enshrined in her inmost heart like a jewel of price. After all, was not Electa like her lonely, unhappy self of half a year ago? And had she any right to withhold the cer- tainty of happiness from Electa.? Miss Pratt licked her lips. " Don't hesitate to speak right out, Philura," she said acidly. " How any- body'd dare to say they was engaged be- fore the man proposed is what beats me." Miss Philura was gazing at her parcel. " It was because — he — he was in the Encircling Good, Electa. I knew I was going to be married because I — I he- lieved. But I didn't — I didn't know — " Miss Pratt stared. " He was in the — what ?" she de- [30] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown manded. " What in the world are you talking about ? " Miss Philura experienced a wild desire to run away. " Some other time, Electa," she mur- mured. " If you could only hear Mrs. Smart lecture — you might do that, you know. I can't explain. " If you don't want me to think you're raving crazy, Philura Rice, you'll explain, as you call it, this minute! " Miss Philura turned her face away from her inquisitor. It appeared more and more impossible to tell Electa Pratt about the All-encircling Good. And yet it was her duty. She had been brought face to face with it. She was almost ashamed to remember at that moment a verse about pearls and swine. " You are not — " One acquires the habit of thinking aloud during years of solitude. She had almost said, " You are not a swine, Electa." [31] Mhs TJizlurd's Wedding Gown ' I'm nobody's fool, if that's what you iri. i.ii, Philura," Miss Pratt observed ap- poiiitely. " I know you're not, Electa," Miss Phi- lura agreed eagerly. Then she gathered courage. " When I was in Boston, I went with Cousin Caroline Van Duser to hear a lec- ture at the Ontological Club, and — " " Uh-huh ! " sniffed Miss Pratt. " It was all about the Encircling Good - — God, ' All is God, God is all,' " quoted Miss Philura. " I had never thought of such a thing, Electa. It always seemed to me God was up high — somewhere, and that He was always displeased with everything I did. But in the lecture I found out that I was mistaken. God is so kind — so generous. If we just ask Him for w^hat we want, and then believe that we have; why, it is ours already." " And you believed all that stuff, Phi- [32] Miss Philura's Wedding Gozun lura Rice, and you a church-member? " " It's in the Bible," said Miss Philura stoutly. " It's true — all true." Miss Pratt was engaged in the purely rational process of putting two and two together. She arrived presently at the correct result. " I begin to see," she observed, with carefully veiled sarcasm. " You thought you'd like some fine new clothes and a — husband. So you — " " Oh, Electa, I'm so glad I told you ! You do understand; don't you' It's so beautiful — so wonderful." Miss Pratt snorted with mingled rage and amazement. " Quite wonderful, I should remark — and so simple. But I don't see yet how you caught the parson." Miss Philura looked up swiftly. " You — you're making fun of — God," she said brokenly. " Oh, I wish I hadn't told you ! " [33] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown Miss Pratt burst into a short, dry laugh. " I never heard o' such nonsense in all my life," she cried. " It's downright wicked ; that's what it is. You'd ought t' be put out o' the church instead of settin' up as a minister's wife. The i-de-a of talkin' such stuff, an' actually believin' it." " It's in the Bible," said Miss Philura weakly, and the wind snatched the words and carried them away like dead leaves. " There's nothin' about silk petticoats an' ostridge feathers an' gettin' engaged in my Bible," retorted Miss Pratt, her reddened nose uplifted in chaste protest to an outraged heaven. " I'm sure I don't know what Elder Trimmer an' Deacon Scrimger an' Mis' Deaconess Buckthorne an' — I was goin' t' say our pastor — Does he know what you heard in that wicked club ? " Miss Philura was not a very astute [34] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown person; but for once she could not help seeing the drift of Electa Pratt's remarks. " Mr. Pettlbone," she said firmly, " is not in any way responsible for my inter- pretations of the Bible." Then having reached her own corner, she parted from Miss Pratt with an air of dignity and decision, which only partly hid her real perturbation of spirit. The grey cat, Mortimer, arose from the door-step, where he had been awaiting her return, and stretched his sinewy fur-clad limbs. His green eyes grew greedily wide, as he spied the parcel in his mis- tress' hand. " No, Morty dear," said Miss Philura ; " it isn't meat." Then her anxious face brightened, as she remembered the plump chicken, the eggs and butter reposing in the kitchen cupboard. " It was only yesterday," she mur- mured, "that I was wondering — no [35} Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown thinking about our dinner, Morty, and I — mentioned it to God — just mentioned it, because, you know, our Father knoweth that we have need of all these things." She lifted the big cat in her thin little arms. " You shall have a chicken wing to-day, Morty," she whispered in his furry ear. Mortimer purred loudly, quite as if he understood. Then it was that Miss Phi- lura noticed the bunch of white chrys- anthemums laid against the door. She lifted them, a wistful pink staining her cheeks. Nowhere except in the par- sonage garden did chrysanthemums grow in such snowy perfection. " He has been here," was her unspoken thought, a swift wonder crowding her re- gret, as she remembered that it was Satur- day, a day the minister always spent alone in his study. When she had arranged her flowers in water, she sat down by the table and gazed [36] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown Sit them almost breathlessly. No one in^ Innisfield, not even the misister, suspected the shy, still current of poetic feeling in Miss Philura's nature. She could not possibly have put it into words ; but some- thing in the ivory white of the curving petals, lapped softly one above another, hiding a heart of gold, spoke to her of her- self. All summer long, while rose and hollyhock and a host of lesser blooms had flaunted gaily in the sunshine, the chrysan- themums had spread their dark foliage in: an obscure corner, with no hint of bloom ; but now — She leaned forward and touched the flowers with her lips. " They are beautiful, even if it is al- most winter," she murmured. Then she opened the paper bag she had brought from the Trimmer Em- porium, and took out four spools of white silk thread and set them in a row before the flowers. [37] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown "Why shouldn't I? " she asked of the surrounding silence. Then diligently, like the woman in the parable, she searched the nooks and cor- ners of her memory for the exact words she had heard at the Ontological Club. " ' The unseen Good surrounds us on every side ' " she said aloud. " ' It presses upon us, more limitless, more in- exhaustible than the air we breathe — In the Encircling Good is already pro- vided a lavish abundance — a lavish ahv/ii'- dance! * " Miss Philura paused to take breath. " ' Of everything one can possibly want. Desire itself is God — Good — Love knocking at the door of your understand- ing. It is impossible for you to desire anything that is not already your own ! ' " Yet like every other wondrous mystery in all the world this unseen Abundance — this All-encircling Good — must be sought in the one right way. It was a magic [38] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown door, requiring the magic key for its un- locking. Miss Philura gazed at the four white spools, and the white flowers, so lately emerged from the Unseen into exquisite visibility. " Oh, God," she prayed, " I should like a white wedding-dress — white like the chrysanthemums ! " After a breathless little pause she added : " Thank you, God ! " With closed eyes she beheld the as yet invisible wedding garment, white with the creamy whiteness of flower petals closing softly over a heart of gold. Very simple it was, — yet rich and smooth, textured like the blossoms that come just before the snow. That evening, when the Rev. Silas Pettibone — having conscientiously com- pleted two discourses treating respectively of Sanctification by Faith and the State of the Lost after Death — came to call [39] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown upon Miss Philura, as was his right and privilege ; he found that little lady deep in the task of ripping the black and purple gown. *' What do you intend to do with that — er — brocade ? " asked Mr. Pettibone, searching successfully in a disused corner of his theological mind for a proper name for the stuff which lay in heavy folds across Miss Philura's lap. The Rev. Silas Pettibone had kind, though very tired looking brown eyes, and the dark hair above his forehead was streaked with grey. Miss Philura se- cretly considered him the very acme of masculine good looks, a hint of her opinion shone in her demure face as she made answer. " Cousin Van Duser sent it to me for a wedding dress; do you think it pretty? " Mr. Pettibone surveyed the stuff with a new interest. He took a fold of it be- tween an inexperienced thumb and finger. [40] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown " It appears," he said cautiously, " to be very — er — durable." " Yes," agreed Miss Philura, " I thinrk it will wear for a long time, and it is lined with beautiful black taffeta. I can make two dresses and a coat out of it." " Hum-m," murmured the minister non- committally, gazing at the large black leaves on their purple background, and striving in his imperfect masculine way to picture to himself the small figure of Miss Philura panoplied in such a vesture. " It was — er — very kind of Mrs. Van Duser to provide for the — " he began, in somewhat laboured fashion. But Miss Philura interrupted him. " Do you think it is pretty ? " she de- manded, her head on one side, an unsus- pected ghost of a dimple peeping at him from one comer of her lips. " Does it look like me? " Mr. Pettibone gazed tranquilly at Miss Philura. He thought her very sweet and [41] Mus Fhilura's Wedding Gown good, and he was glad she was coming to live in the desolate parsonage. Gladder, indeed, than he had ever hoped to be in his bereaved life. "Does it?" repeated Miss Philura. " How," inquired the minister, with his deep, wise smile, " could any sort of a gown look like you? " He paused to survey once more Mrs. Van Duser's out-worn gown, so munifi- cently bestowed upon the dearest little woman in the world. Then he smote his knee with a convincing gesture. " Certainly not ! " he said decidedly. " By no means. It is too — er — dark and — heavy, and — no ; I don't like it." He looked appealingly at Miss Philura. What did she want him to say, he won- dered. And had he blundered into the wrong thing. " I confess my opinion in matters of woman's dress is of very little value," he began apologetically. " Perhaps now — '^ [42] Do yon. know," she said, that is exactly what I thouiiht about it " Miss Philura's Wedding Govjn Miss Philura had dropped her shining scissors in her lap. " Do jou know," she said, with the air of one who has just made a dehghtful dis- covery, " that i-: exactly what I thought about it. I couldn't bear black and pur- ple for a wedding dress ; though I dare say I shan't mind wearing it to church and Ladies' Aid — afterward." She blushed a delicious maidenly blush under his observant eyes. Then she leaned forward and touched his hand. " I want to ask you," she said breath- lessly. " Do you think God — is — is — - interested in clothes.^ " [43] Ill Mr. Pettibone gazed at Miss Philura in puzzled silence for the space of a minute. The under shepherd of the Innisfield Pres- byterian church, as Mrs. Van Duser had once called him, was not blessed with a very keen sense of humour. He strove un- successfully to imagine the theological concept of deity to which he had been taught to pray in carefully constructed sentences, as interested in the black and purple brocade. He shook his head. Then he took Miss Philura's toil-worn hand is his own and patted it gently. " Do I think — God — is interested in ' — clothes ? " he repeated. " Why — er — really — " Somehow or other a certain pregnant saying concerning a mill-stone and the [44] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown deep sea flashed across his troubled mind. " Our Lord in his various discourses certainly mentioned garments — ah — more than once," he went on presently. ]Miss Philura's blue eyes sparkled. " I knew you'd say so ! " she murmured happily. " The wedding garment in the parable," pursued the minister, referring to his men- tal concordance of Scripture texts. * The — ah — robe of state which was brought forth for the returned prodigal, and — " " The lilies of the field," suggested Miss Philura timidly. " Jesus said that ' even Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these.' " She glanced sidewise at the chrysan- themums which glistened in their bridal snows beneath the yellow light of the lamp. " True," said the minister. He gazed thoughtfully at the rather shabby clothes he was wearing. They [45] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown were his " preaching clothes " of three years before last. Mr. Pettibone always wore " preaching clothes " of different de- grees of shabbiness, for the very good reason that he could afford no others. He even wore a very ancient and disrepu- table long-tailed frock-coat and black trousers dating back into obscurity, when working about the garden and in the cel- lar. He called these garments " his working togs " and wore them cheerfully, but down deep in some half smothered bit of consciousness lurked a carnal weak- ness for masculine purple and fine linen. He had once met an eminent Boston divine clad in a worldly suit of tweeds, enlivened still further by a cravat of deep red. Mr. Pettibone attired as usual in his third best preaching clothes (devoted to pastoral calls and other week-day duties) was con- scious of an almost sinful admiration of Dr. Bentley's spruce person, though he [*6J Miss Philura's Wedding Gown told himself that he could never approve worldliness and the appearance of pomp and fashion in " a man of God." That expression " a man of God," had taken great hold upon Silas Pettibone, from his youth up. Almost unconsciously he had pictured this ideal personage as solemnly and decorously attired in more or less rusty black of the long-tailed vari- ety. " True," said the minister, after men- tally reviewing his wardrobe filled with graded suits of ministerial cut. Then he sighed. " Solomon in all his glory must have had some splendid clothes," continued Miss Philura, taking up her scissors again to attack a long seam of the black and purple dress. " Red, maybe, and pink and blue and — and white." Her brown head drooped over the som- bre stuff she was ripping. She did not [47] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown even glance at Mr. Pettibone's third best preaching suit. " And Jesus said," went on the hestita- ting, sweet voice, " He said, ' how much ' more shall he clothe you.' " " ' Oh, ye of little faith,' " added the minister, finishing the quotation almost mechanically and from force of habit. " And that must mean that if we only had faith enough God would give us all the clothes we needed," cried IMiss Philura jubilantly. " Er — quite possibly," admitted the minister. " Prettier clothes than Solomon's," per- sisted Miss Philura, casting a black and purple strip upon the floor ; " because, you know, lilies of the field are more beautiful than silk or satin." " And so," inferred the minister logic- ally, " you don't intend to wear a dress of this — ah — material on the occasion of our marriage.'^ " [48] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown And he waved a rhetorical hand toward the crumpled heap to which Mrs. J. Mor- timer Van Duser's erstwhile robe of state had become reduced. Miss Philura looked up at him shyly. He was smiling at her almost humorously. " Oh, no," she said, with the girlish blush he had noticed before flitting across her face. " And what then is the wedding gar- ment to be?" pursued the minister, "if I am not overstepping the bounds to in- quire." She paused, hesitated, then bent toward him almost beseechingly. " You don't think I'm too — too old to wear white? " " Too old? '^ repeated the minister won- deringly. It was impossible to think of little IMiss Philura as of anything which the passing years had used unkindly. " You are not too old," he said with [*9] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown decision, " to wear any beautiful robe, and you never will be." " Electa Pratt will say I am," mur- mured Miss Philura, with a suppressed sigh, " and so, I'm afraid, will everybody else. But — if you don't think so — " " I shall love to see you in a white dress," he assured her quietly. " It will be," he added firmly, " entirely suitable and becoming." [50] IV " Out of the mouths of babes," quoted the Rev. Silas Pettibone to himself as he walked home beneath the mild radiance of the stars. He "vvas referring to Miss Phi- lura, " a babe in Christ," as he scrip- turally termed her. Surely no grown man or woman of his acquaintance possessed so rare and simple a faith. " Miss Philura," he told himself with a pleasant feeling of warmth about a heart chilled with loneliness and his own stern concepts of the dealings of what he was pleased to term " Divine Providence," " Miss Philura is — ah — one woman in ten thousand, — er — and altogether lovely." Mr. Pettibone found himself thinking of Miss Philura's wedding gown with par- donable enthusiasm. He was glad it was [51] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown to be white. White, he told himself, was the one proper garb for so fair, so pure, so sweet a woman. Angels wore white continuously, he had been led to believe. Then, quite simply and gravely — even in his thoughts this good man was always simple and grave — he thought of his dead wife. She had been gone from him many years, and a wreath of memories lay against the closed door in his heart which bore the name Mary. It was another life he looked back upon from this crest of the years. He saw himself as he had been in those first years of his ministry. And Mary — ? No, he had not forgotten ; he could never forget. But the road was long and very, very lonely. Surely she would not grudge him the solace of com- panionship — she who was safe folded behind the jasper walls of a distant para- dise. The parsonage gate clanged behind him ; Deacon Scrimger's dog barked vocif- [52] Mdss Pkilura's Wedding Gown erously from his kennel. The minister, . pausing upon his own door-step, looked up into the sky, sparkling with stars between the leafless branches of the elms. " I hope I'm doing right," he mur- mured humbly. " We're both alone, you know." In the bright light of morning, stream- ing through the windows of his study, the Rev. Silas Pettibone changed the subject of his evening discourse to " The State of the Saved after Death." His morning sermon on " Sanctification by Faith," took on a practical turn, which astonished the members of his congregation. Miss Philura, still pilloried in the sing- ers' seat behind the pulpit, listened with a secret rapture which she was not alto- gether successful in hiding. She could not help hearing the stealthy rustle of Electa Pratt's taffeta petticoat beside her. It was a disapproving rustle, she felt, so was the lavish display of highly scented [ 53 ] Mm Fhilura's Wedding Gown pocket-handkerchief, with which Miss Pratt chafed the tip of her reddened nose. Electa's nose always reddened when she was angry, like the wattles of a turkey. " Sounds to me like Christian Science" was Miss Pratt's biting comment, as the two ladies descended from the choir loft. " The i-de-a of tellin' about a man's askin' the Lord for a barrel o' potatoes! You needn't tell me you haven't been try- in' to fill him up with the stuff you heard in Boston." "It's in the Bible," said Miss Philura tremulously. " Philura Rice ! You know very well the word potato isn't in the Bible at all. How dare you say such a thing? " " I didn't mean potatoes — I meant faith. That's in the Bible, and it's for ' — for potatoes, or — anything people need." " Yes, 'n' feathers 'n' clo'es 'n' en- gagement rings, maybe," scoffed Miss [64] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown Pratt, who had of late observed the glitter of a modest ring on Miss Philura's finger. " Good-morning, Electa ; good-morning, Philura," intoned a majestic voice. " Are you discussing the sermon? It will bear discussion, it seems to me." Miss Philura glanced up into the for- bidding eyes of the tall, massive lady, who had joined them at the foot of the stair, " Good-morning, Mrs. Buckthorn," she said weakly. "Yes, what did you think of it?'' chim.ed in Miss Pratt. " I was just tell- ing Philura I thought it sounded like Christian Science. But of course Phi- lura — " " Oh, I trust not," exclaimed Mrs. Buckthorn, wagging her head, which wag surmounted by a lofty structure of black and white, pinnacled by a tuft of dispirited looking feathers. She had the air of one who successfully denies the world, the flesh and the devil. [55] Miss Philura^s Wedding Gown " Christian Science, my dear Electa, is , neither Christian nor Scientific, as I have always said. Really, it frightens me to hear you mention it in connection with our pastor. No — no ! " Mrs. Buckthorn shook her head, with closed eyes. Presently she opened them with a snap. '" I was grieved to hear that you've been drawed away from the truth of late, Philura." Miss Philura's lips parted, but she did not speak. Instead she glanced reproach- fully at Electa Pratt. " You've been in my Sabbath School class for more than ten years, Philura," pursued Mrs. Buckthorn, " an' I'm sure you never learned to pray for silk petti- coats from 7W^." " No," admitted Miss Philura, " I never did." " I've invited the minister to dinner to- day, for the express purpose of holding [56] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown holy converse or the subject of this morn- ing's sermon." Mrs. Buckthorn said mournfully. " We should not forget that there is a great gulf fixed between the church and the world. I shall pray for you, Philura." " Thank — you," murmured Miss Phi- lura, in a small, faint voice. " * Whom the Lord loveth he chas- teneth,' " quoted Mrs. Buckthorn sourly. " I fear you have not been under the rod of late, judging from what I hear." The lad}' closed her eyes, and drew a sibilant sigh from the depths of her being. *' Pilgrims in this vale of tears should not indulge in pleasure," she said in a hol- low voice, " nor follow the foolish and fleet- ing fashions of worldlings." Miss Philura could not help noticing that ]Mrs. Buckthorn's silk gown, while cut after a fashion entirely unbecoming to her stout figure, made undoubted conces- sions to the prevailing mode. [57] Mhs Fhilura's Wedding Gown " What do you propose to be married in? " inquired Mrs. Buckthorn in a hollow tone. " My wedding dress is to be white," said Miss Philura almost defiantly. "White?" echoed Mrs. Buckthorn in an unbelieving tone. " Surely, not white." "White!" cried Miss Electa Pratt. " Well, I declare 1 " Then she giggled disagreeably. " I s'pose you'll wear a veil an' carry a shower bouquet? " Miss Philura reflected a moment. " No, I think not," she said calmly. " I shall wear chrysanthemums — white ones." Mrs. Buckthorn shook her head. " Think better of it, Philura," she ad- vised compassionately. " At your time of life — " " Yes, an' marryin' a widower at that ! " shrilled Miss Electa. " My, I wouldn't [58] Miss Pkilura's Wedding Gown think of such a thing for a moment ! " " A nice drab alapaca," said Mrs. Buckthorn antiphonally. " Trimmed with bias folds," added Miss Pratt. Mrs. Buckthorn nodded approval. " Bias folds are always in good taste. You will be glad jou took my advice later on:' Whereat Miss Electa laughed aloud, and Mrs. Buckthorn looked shocked. " You should remem.ber where you are^ my dear Electa," she chided. " Philura never takes anybody's ad- vice," sniffed Miss Pratt. " I had t' laugh at the very idea! " " Then she'll never do for a minister's wife," was Mrs. Buckthorn's well-founded opinion. But Miss Philura had drawn her skirts away from the rain-washed steps and was literally fleeing from the wrath to come. [59] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown That afternoon when the Rev. Mr. Pet- tibone had with difficulty escaped from the heart to heart conversation which followed what was known as " our Sabbath repast " in the Buckthorn family, and which invar- iably consisted of cold roast mutton and pallid pie, flanked by pickles of an exceed- ingly acid sort, the reverend gentleman was in a particularly thoughtful frame of mind. It had been borne in upon him that in marrying Miss Philura he was not merely securing to himself a help-meet to com- panion his solitude, but also — and more particularly — he was providing his par- ish with that useful, indeed almost indis- pensable adjunct, a minister's wife. " We've been hoping that you'd marry again, Mr. Pettibone," said Mrs. Buck- thorn majestically; "but I confess that I was never more surprised than when I heard of your engagement to Philura Rice.'* [60] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown ** Hm — m," murmured the minister noncommittally. " If it had been Electa Pratt, now, — she's such a capable person — or the Widow Green. She's very pious, and could lead the female prayer meetings ; but Philura — As I told Mr. Buck- thorn, you could have knocked me over with a feather ! " This, in view of Mrs. Buckthorn's mas- sive proportions, was a forceful state- ment. The minister showed his apprecia- tion of it by moving uneasily in his chair, and by the quick nervous gesture with which he rumpled his iron grey hair. *' Ah — um, really," he murmured vaguely. Then, as Mrs. Buckthorn still regarded him fixedly, in obvious expectation of a re- ply, he expressed himself in handsome terms as being grateful for his parishion- er's kind interest in his welfare. " But — ah — I think you will find the [611 Miss Fhilura's IVedding Gown future Mrs. Pettibone quite equal to any duties which may fall to her lot," he con- cluded forcefully. Mrs. Buckthorn hoped so^ with the air and manner of a person who expresses be- lief in the millennium. It was shortly after this that the min- ister had taken leave of his hostess, with a dignity and decision which admitted of no further conversation. Mrs. Buckthorn had, indeed, followed him quite to the verge of the threshold, intending to ex- press her views on the subject of the wed- ding. But Mr. Pettibone had taken his hat from the rack, had put it on his head and was half way down the front walk be- fore the excellent lady had time to more than mention the all-important subject of Miss Philura's wedding dress, which burned for eloquent utterance. " Yes — yes, indeed," the minister had said hastily, " Verhum sap., you know ! Thank you very much. Good-bye ! " [62] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown " What on earth did he mean by men- tioning sap to me, I'd Hke to know," Mrs, Buckthorn inquired acidly of her spouse, who was, as might have been expected, a small, meek, generally voiceless person. "Sap?" echoed Mr. Buckthorn, blink- ing pacifically at his consort. " Sap? Well now, I've heard of such a thing as a sap-head ; mebbe he meant — " " Benjamin Buckthorn," intoned the lady, " do you suppose for a minute that any man would dare to apply such an epi- thet to me? " " No — no — no, Lizzie, 'course not.. I only started t' say — " But Mr. Buckthorn rarely finished what he had to say. He did not on this occa- sion, for usual and entirely sufficient reasons. Mr. Pettibone, by now arrived at the parsonage, did not at once apply himself to meditations suited to the further devel- opment of his evening's discourse. In- [63] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown stead he walked about the ministerial domicile, gazing at all that he saw with unaccustomed eyes. His recent conversa- tion with Miss Philura on the subject of the wedding dress, added to Mrs. Buck- thorn's pungent remarks of the afternoon, had served to bring the fact of his ap- proaching nuptials very clearly before Mr. Pettibone's mind. It had seemed a very simple and natural arrangement to the minister. Two lonely persons living heretofore under two roofs would hence- forth dwell under one, to the great com- fort and mutual advantage of the lonely persons. It was apparent, even to the minister, that to Miss Philura the change was to be a very grave one. She would be ruthlessly uprooted from the quiet nook where she had dwelt as unobserved as a violet under a leaf, and set in the full glare of a public opinion more pitiless and scorching than the fiery eye of the sun in mid-summer. He wondered if Miss [64] Mzss Pkilura's Wedding Gown Philura realised this, as he was beginning to do. He wondered, too, if he would be able to shelter her from the harsh criti- cisms which he foresaw would fall to her lot ; could he solace her bruised spirit ; was it, in short, going to be worth while for Miss Philura? The minister was a modest man, and quite unaware as jet of the real state of Miss Philura's sentiments toward him- self, so he passed a very bad quarter of an hour, during which he arraigned himself severely for a variety of misdeeds and short-comings, chief among which was his own carnal selfishness in venturing to covet Miss Philura's affections and the solace of her companionship. Such meditations are apt to be short- lived with the most altruistic of mankind. In the end the Rev. Silas Pettibone, by a series of logical arguments, had succeeded in convincing himself of the truth : namely, ^at Miss Philura needed him, as much as [65] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown he needed her. Also, he metaphorically snapped his fingers in the general direc- tion of Electa Pratt, the Widow Green — and Mrs. Deaconess Buckthorn. He, Si- las Pettibone, was the pastor of the Innisfield Presbyterian Church, and he meant to perform the duties of his posi- tion in the future as in the past, with un- swerving fidelity, not to say painful con- scientiousness, hut — and he smote the blotting pad on his study table with foren- sic force and suddenness — he was also a man, and entitled by all the primal pre- rogatives of his sex to select his own mate. Mentally, he defied the Ladies' Aid So- ciety, the Session of the church, the par- ish and the world at large, singly and col- lectively. He would wed Miss Philura, and defend her peace and happiness against all comers. Having arrived at this soul-satisfying conclusion, the minister arose from his chair and again began pacing the floor, [66] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown What a wonderful little woman Miss Philura was (he always called her Miss Philura in his musings) and how illumina- ting were her interpretations of Scripture. Really, he had never adequately apprecia- ted the matter of King Solomon's apparel. He allowed his mind to wander vaguely among the presumably gorgeous vest- ments of that long defunct monarch. Pink, she had specified, and red, and gold, and blue. Undoubtedly she was right, and he sighed as he recalled the many well-worn long-tailed frock coats, which constituted his own wardrobe. Then, quite naturally, it would seem, he began to take dubious note of the con- dition of the room in which he had passed so many studious hours. It was, come to look at it, in the strong afternoon light, an exceedingly shabby place. The wall- paper, for example — Mr. Pettibone jerked the window-shades to the top of the casement with an impatient hand. [67] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown " Really," he murmured, " I didn't realise how dilapidated everything is." He recalled now that Jane Stiles, his house-keeper, had drawn his attention to the roof of the back kitchen, which leaked all over her clean floor every time it rained, and to the lack of paint on the kitchen cupboards. He had mentioned the subject of necessary repairs on the parsonage to Elder Trimmer, the presi- dent of the board of trustees, and had been told that lack of funds would prevent any expenditures of the sort. He had told Jane Stiles of this adverse decision, and she had sniffed a comprehen- sive disbelief. " I guess they'll find their parsonage a- tumblin' about their years, if they leave it be long enough," was her unasked opin- ion. Mr. Pettibone making a leisurely sur- vey of the ministerial residence on this occasion was forced to concur in Miss [68] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown Stiles' verdict. The parsonage needed fresh paint, paper and plenishings. Mr. Pettibone recalled once more Miss Philura's unquestioning faith in the All- encircling Good. Mr. Pettibone's God, while not afar off, had never appeared to him to be " closer than breathing; nearer than hands or feet." He thought of his God habitually as '^ inhabiting eternity," which he conceived to be a state very far removed from earthly life. It had ap- peared a species of irreligion to acquaint this exalted deity with any of the sordid details of one's pilgrimage through a vale of tears. The state of one's individual soul, and of the souls of the parish had lain heavy on Mr. Pettibone's heart. So had the condition of the heathen in foreign lands. He frequently besought his God with eloquence and fervour in behalf of the President of the United States and for all legislative bodies now convened; but it had not heretofore occurred to him to [69] Miss Fhilurds Wedding Gown Tnention before what he habitually alluded to as " the throne of Grace " the arrears in his salary, his pressing need of a new preaching suit, or the dilapidated condi- tion of the parsonage. He dropped into his study chair and opened his Bible. " Ye have not because ye ask not," stared accusingly at him from the page. [■70] Mr. George Trimmer, known on week days and in secular circles as the proprie- tor of Trimmer's Dry Goods Emporium, and on Sundays and prayer-meeting even- ings as " our good brother, Elder Trim- mer," was actively engaged in the Em- porium on the Monday morning immedi- ately ensuing. The business being ordi- narily small, since most of the Innisfield ladies after the immemorial custom of sub- urbanites did their shopping in Boston, Mr. Trimmer employed but one assistant except at the holiday season, when the trade briskened. In view of what Mr. Trimmer character- ised as the Christmas rush he had engaged and was now duly instructing a new clerk. This young man had come from Boston, bringing excellent testimonials as Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown to his general good character and ability. He was a very personable young fellow, and his alert good looks were set off by a smart business suit. He had said that his name was Milton Gregory; this Mr. Trimmer promptly shortened to " Milt," as being a more convenient form of ad- dress as well as marking the subordinate position of the fashionably dressed young man. Mr. Trimmer was of two minds regard- ing his clerk. His general get-up put his employer's baggy old clothes to the blush, if such an expression may be applied to the worn and ancient garb affected by Mr. Trimmer on week days. On the other hand the smart young man would adver- tise his business and attract trade. There would be a general desire on the part of the young women of Innisfield to buy a yard of ribbon or a skein of embroidery silk, Mr. Trimmer shrewdly opined. But he intended, as he told himself, " to put [72] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown the dude's nose right down on the grind- stone," and he was busy with this at- tractive program when the door of the shop opened and the Rev. Mr. Pettibone came in. The preliminary greetings over, Mr. Pettibone entered at once upon the busi- ness which had brought him to the Trim- mer Emporium. He first purchased three pairs of black cotton socks with white feet, and a wash- able cravat of the sort he always wore. While Mr. Trimmer was wrapping up these purchases with his customary show of good will, which, after all, costs noth- ing and often helps trade, Mr. Pettibone cleared his throat rather nervously. " — Er — I wanted to have a word with you, Brother Trimmer," he began. " Certainly, certainly," permitted Brother Trimmer : but his mouth tight- ened. " You may recall that I spoke to you [73] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown some weeks ago — ah — with regard to necessary repairs upon the parsonage." " M-m-m," murmured Mr. Trimmer. " And I told you — " " You said, as treasurer of the Board of Trustees, that there were no funds." " Exactly," smiled Mr. Trimmer. " No funds." He shook his head. " Sorry ; but it can't be helped, you see." " That's precisely what I wish to in- quire into. As you are aware, my salary is behind ; and the arrears increase rather than diminish with each year. There is now something like five hundred dollars owing me." " Oh, m}^ my ! I hope not," deprecated Mr. Trimmer, looking past the minister out of the window. " Five hundred dol- lars sounds pretty big — eh? " " It does to me," admitted the minister ruefully. " I haven't urged the matter [74] Mdss Fhilura's Wedding Gown because I've been quite alone in the world, and my expenses are not large. But — " Mr. Trimmer coughed deprecatingly. " A thrifty wife is from the Lord," he misquoted. " She'll save you quite a bit of money in the long run. Miss Philura's economical; she's had to be." The minister stiffened slightly. " It was not to discuss my future house- hold affairs that I came to see you," he said, " though I shall not attempt to deny that in view of my approaching marriage I must insist upon having all arrears of salary paid in full. And as for the par- sonage — let me urge upon you the ad- visability of appointing a committee to look the property over. It is certainly false economy to permit the house to fall into complete ruin for lack of proper and necessary repairs." The minister spoke with warmth; Brother Trimmer opposed his pastor's eager look and gesture with a stony calm. [75] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown "Insist?" he inquired with uplifted brows. " I believe you said — " " I did say insist, and why not? Don't you insist, when people owe you money which they can but won't pay? " Mr. Trimmer was secretly astonished by the vehemence of the minister's tone. Moreover, he considered heat and temper entirely unbecoming in a man of God, such as he conceived the Rev. Silas Petti- bone to be. " A minister of the Gospel," he said sourly, " will hardly apply the hard and fast rules of the business world to — er — the stipend he receives as a free-will of- fering from the church." " But my salary isn't a free-will offer- ing," contradicted Mr. Pettibone. " It is a regular stated amount, offered by the church and accepted by myself, when I became the pastor of this church. Do you think you can collect the amount due me by Saturday evening? " [76] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown Elder Trimmer could hardly believe his ears. He shook his head, with a sniff of de- rision. " It can't be done," he said with more sharpness than he was in the habit of us- ing toward his cash customers. " No, in- deed. Sorry, but it's impossible." " With God all things are possible," quoted the minister with just a shade of significant emphasis on the introductory preposition. Mr. Trimmer shifted from his left foot to his right ; then back again. He was growing impatient. " But not with man," he said dryly. " We ain't got the money. That's all there is about it." But his eyes avoided the minister's gaze. "Won't you try to get it? " " You mean collect — eh.? Couldn't do it ; no, sir ; not at this season of the year. Christmas, you know. Folks won't pay [77] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown up back pew-rents at Christmas. You couldn't expect it." The minister slowly drew on his gloves and reached for his parcel. " I've been to see Deacon Scrimger," he observed mildly. Mr. Trimmer smiled his tight smile. " I guess he didn't tell you nothing dif- ferent? " " No. And he said furthermore that if any effort was made to collect pledges and pew-rents people would go to the Metho- dist Church rather than pay up." " I guess that's straight goods," agreed Mr. Trimmer appropriately. " I also interviewed some of the ladies of the congregation — er — Mrs. Buck- thorn and Miss Day and — " "What'd they say?" " They agreed with you in thinking the Christmas season a bad one for attempting to make any collections. Mrs. Buck- thorn proposed giving a donation party [78] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown at the parsonage the Friday following the week of prayer." " That might be done," approved Mr. Trimmer. " Brings the young folks to- gether ; provides a pleasant social occa- sion. I'll vote for that." *' But I won't," said the minister de- cidedly. " I don't approve of donations. I refuse absolutely. I told the ladies so." " Well, then, I guess — 1 " It is evident to me," the minister went on, ignoring Mr. Trimmer's obvious con- clusion, " that this church is in a very bad way — a very bad way. It is in an in- solvent condition, and its leading members and officers refuse to take proper steps to pay their honest debts. This I consider even more alarming than the debt itself. I shall take steps — " « Er — What? " interjected Mr. Trim- mer. " I blame myself for permitting the Lord's business to fall into such con- Miss Philura's Wedding Gown fusion," continued the minister earnestly. " I even conceived that I was doing you all a kindness in permitting my salary to go unpaid. I had thought of cancelling the debt, and thus contributing — to be exact — the sum of four hundred, ninety- seven dollars and fifty cents toward my own support." " If you'd do that mebbe we c'd manage to paper the parlour an' fix the kitchen roof," suggested Mr. Trimmer. " We should appreciate it very much. Yes, in- deed." " But I'm not going to do it," the min- ister spoke sternly. " The Lord has shown me my duty. Unless half the amount due me is paid to me by Saturday night of this week, I shall be compelled to lay the matter before Presbytery. I shall also ask you to read a full report on Sun- day, and immediately thereafter call a special meeting for prayer. ' Ye have not because ye ask not.' This church [80] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown must humble itself before God. It must beg forgiveness for its shortcomings. It must pay its debts." Elder Trimmer's jaw fell. " Wait till the week of prayer," he begged. " It would — er — hurt busi- ness. It would indeed, just at the Christ- mas season — " <( Man, man ! " cried the minister, " have you forgotten what we celebrate at the Christmas season? " Then, abruptly he turned and went out. Mr. Trimmer roused from a state bor- dering on stupefaction to find his newly engaged clerk at his elbow. " Say, but he's a hummer ! " exclaimed the young man. " You'll have to get busy, Mr. Trimmer, or he'll show you up in great shape. If you don't mind, I'd like to subscribe my first month's salary to the fund." " You ain't earned it yet," snapped Mr. Trimmer, " and there ain't no fund." [ 81 ] VI Miss Malvina Bennett paused in the act of sweeping her front stoop to look about her. Miss Bennett's moments in the open air were few, because she was nearly al- ways bending over her sewing near the draughty little window of the front room upstairs. A damp snow had fallen during the night, clinging wherever it touched, so that the world at which Miss Bennett gazed with faded, lack-lustre eyes was curiously transformed. Every tree and bush appeared loaded with white blos- soms and a pink sun struggling through a veil of light grey clouds shone faint and marvellous between the snowy branches. " My ! " murmured Miss Bennett. " It certainly is handsome ! " Then she pulled the little knitted shawl [82] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown closer about her head and shoulders and resumed her sweeping. A pile of unfin- ished garments awaited her busy needle, and she must not waste time in gazing at the winter miracle. As she was bestowing a final flap upon the broom, preparatory to entering the house, she saw a small figure coming toward her across the vacant lot. The pink sun had climbed higher by now and the tall, jewelled weeds on each side of the narrow, deep-trodden path blazed with sudden splendour of blue and scarlet and fiery rose. " I thought 'twas you, Philura," said Miss Bennett as the hurrying figure drew near. " My eyesight's gettin' s' poor lately I can't hardly see anybody at a dis- tance." " I want to look over your fashion books, Malvina," Miss Philura said, " and see if I can get some ideas." " I've got all the December magazines,'' [83] Miss Philura^s Wedding Gown Miss Bennett told her eagerly. " Come right in an' I'll get 'em all out for you." As they went upstairs together Miss Bennett said, " I guess you've heard me speak of my sister-in-law's niece, Genevieve Parsons? Her folks live in Boston ; she's a sweet, pretty girl, and a real neat sewer. She's stayin' with me for awhile." She threw open the door of the sewing room and Miss Philura saw^ a young girl seated by the window, her blond head drooped over the unfinished garment in her lap. " Fer goodness' sake, Genevieve," ejacu- lated Miss Bennett, " you ain't tryin' to put them milliner's folds on that waist of Miss Day's, are you? I wouldn't das' t' trust the Angel Gabriel with them folds, an' Miss Day that fussy an' pertic'lar." Thus rebuked the girl meekly yielded the black waist. " I thought you said I was to do it." [84] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown There was a dreary note in her young voice. Miss Philura noticed that the girl's eye- lids were slightly reddened, as if from re- cent tears. But she smiled pleasantly when Miss Bennett made them acquainted. " Miss Philura's goin' t' marry the min- ister," explained Miss Bennett briskly. " An' she wants t' look over the fashion books." The girl glanced at Miss Philura from under her long lashes. There was a naive curiosity and wonderment in her brown eyes. \ATiy, she was asking herself with a kind of youthful arrogance, should anyone so small and faded as Miss Philura care about fashions.? And how extraordinary to think she was going to be married. The girl sighed deeply. She was tall and held herself stiffly, as if not quite over her surprise at finding her lovely head so far above her mother's. [85] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown " Here, Jennie, you c'n sew the hooks 'n' eyes on this waist," said Miss Bennett cheerfully. " Or, if you're tired settin' you c'n go down an' feed the hens. The' 's a plate o' scrapin's on th' kitchen table." The girl went slowly out of the room, her head with its heavy plaits of pale brown hair drooped a little to one side. Miss Philura looked up from the pic- ture of a preposterously long limbed lady clad in a bewildering gown of black and purple. " I've got some silk in these shades," she said rather vaguely. Then she added abruptly, " Is she sick? " " Who ? Genevieve ? No ; she ain't sick. But I dunno but what she will be, if she keeps worritin'. I'm keepin' her busy, an' that 'ad ought t' take her mind off, if anythin' will." " Take her mind off? " repeated Miss Philura, gazing at the simpering counte- [86] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown nance of the lady in the picture, who looked as if she never had any mind to take off or put on. *• Genevieve's been crossed in love," said Miss Bennett in a sibilant whisper. " I don't mind tellin' you, Philura ; but don't for goodness' sake let anybody else know. She's related t' the Peabcdys an' th' Win- throps on her pa's side. He's been dead since she was little. But I c'n tell you she's jest 's proud 's anybody, an' when his folks objected, why she made up her mind she wouldn't m.arry him — not if he was a dcok and askin' her on his bended knee. So she come here t' me." Miss Bennett paused to listen, nex head on one side. " He don't know where she is," she fin- ished triumphantly. " I tell you she's got spunk ! " Then the two looked at each other guilt- ily, at sound of her light step on the stair. " Now this 'ere style 'd be real becomin' [87] Mzss Fhilura's Wedding Gown t' you, Philura," Miss Bennett was say- ing, when Genevieve came in. " An' it's s' narrer an' skimpy it don't take no goods t' speak of." " Oh, I've got plenty of goods," Miss Philura said, but she couldn't for the life of her help a compassionate glance in the direction of the girl. " I've got a real stylish skirt pattern," pursued the dressmaker ; " you c'n take it jus' 's well 's not, 'tain't no work at all. I'll pin it on t' you t' see how much it'll want takin' in." " Thank you, Malvina," Miss Philura said gratefully. But she was thinking with almost pain- ful sympathy of the tall, pale girl who by this time was sewing hooks and eyes down the back of a maroon coloured waist of ample proportions. " Don't put 'em more 'n half an inch apart, Jennie," cautioned Miss Bennett, with her mouth full of pins. " That's [88] Mzss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown Mis' Buckthorn's waist, an' she's s' fleshy you have t' be extry careful with plackets an' openin's of all sorts. For all she's s' holy she's awful hard t' suit. I mos' died over the set o' that waist. She wanted t' look slim like the picture. "'Mis' Buckthorn,' I sez, 'the Lord didn't make you up that way,' 'n' she tol' me I wasn't t' take the name of the Lord my God in vain. ' We're frail children of dust,' she sa^^s, reprovin' like. " * Frail? ' I sez, an' teeheed right out. An' Genevieve she laughed too. But Mis' Buckthorn said she'd pray for me. She always says that when she wants to set down hard on anybody. An' I will say it takes the tuck right out o' me every time. The's somethin' about the idea that goes agin the grain. An' yet I don't s'pose it'd do any real Jiarm.'^ Miss Bennett stood up to observe Miss Philura's small person invested with the brown paper pattern. [89] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown "There!" she exclaimed, "that'll be real pretty on you. Ef you was only a mite taller now; but as I toP Mis' Buck- thorn, we can't b' thinkin' change one cubic. Now I'll jes' trace off that pat- tern. 'Twon't take a minute." When the two women went downstairs Genevieve Parsons let two big tears splash on the front of Mrs. Buckthorn's maroon- coloured waist. Her young heart was in a tumult of rebellion against the dull pat- tern of her life, — how she hated the jar- gon of the dress-making shop: pins, pip- ings, patterns, plackets ; the everlasting taking in and letting out. The painful strivings after beauty by the hopelessly ugly ; the small mean economies ; the end- less monotony of the narrow treadmill be- tween the sewing-machine and the chair by the window. Her mother, an excellent but wholly un- imaginative person, had chosen Genevieve's career for her when she was a little girl, [90] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Go-usn , sewing dolls' frocks. She was to take a course in dress-making when she had graduated from the high school. They were poor, and the girl had always thought of herself as earning money. She had even looked forward to the time when she should have a shop of her own. This had been the pinnacle of Mrs. Parson's am- bition for her, and the girl had accepted it without question. Then she had met him, and everything was changed. All had been just as her mother had planned it up to that point. Genevieve had graduated in a white muslin gown of her own making. Then she had gone to the Art School and learned dress-making in a course of twenty lessons. After that she sewed for Miss Popham, who some- times went out by the day, with an assist- ant, to make gowns for people who im- ported their best things from Paris. This was an exceptional opportunity, Miss Popham impressed upon the girl, of [91] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown whom she demanded the maximum of work at the minimum of wages. But Genevieve was satisfied. In these great dull houses one generally worked in the third storyi back room, and ate a meagre lunch brought up on a tray by a supercilious maid; but there were occasional glimpses to be had of the unknown world, snatches of music, bits of conversation. Even the fittings, conducted by Miss Popham in the state bedroom below stairs, where Gene- vieve was sometimes called to assist — even on these occasions when she played the part of an animated pin-cushion, there was food for the imagination. It was a rainy night in December when the psychological instant had arrived, quite unexpectedly. Only the girl never referred to it as pyschological ; she only thought of it as " the first time I saw him." Miss Popham had just completed a mas- terly copy of a Paris gown (at a fifth of [92] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown its cost) and was crawling about the floor on her hands and knees, intent on the " hang " of the skirt on the majestic per- son of her employer. Genevieve was handing pins, as usual, when the door opened and a young m.an came in. He had apparently just arrived from some- where, for he carried a suit-case and um- brella. " Hello, mother," he said with boyish eagerness. Then he planted a kiss on the lady's plump florid cheek. " Oh, my dear ! " protested the matron. " Don't you see I'm having a fitting? " " You're always having something," grumbled the boy. " Last time I came home it was a reception, and the time be- fore that — " " You had best dress for dinner," his mother interrupted coldly, " and, pray, give Rogers your bag when you come in." The intruder turned, his ruddy good looks clouded by a frown. He muttered [93] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown something under his breath, and then — Genevieve Parsons drew a sharp breath, — and then it just happened that he glanced about the room and chanced to see her, — it was the merest chance, of course ; but it was strangely like the meet- ing of old friends. She was sure she didn't know how it ever came about ; but in less than a month he had managed to convince Genevieve's mother that he was a " real nice young man." Beyond that Mrs. Parsons, for one, was never known to go. He drank tea with them on Sunday nights, and praised Mrs. Parson's biscuit and raspberry jam, which he said was the best he ever ate. Once he invited Genevieve to go with him to a foot-ball game ; she wore her prettiest clothes, which by this time had taken on an air quite Parisienne, carried a Harvard flag, and was as happy as a girl may be at the great spectacle of youth. The crowds, the shouting and the victory for [94] ]\Iiss Philura's Wedding Gown the Crimson warmed her somewhat cold and timid beauty into a loveliness so strik- ing that numbers of his college friends crowded about eager to be introduced to the pretty Boston girl. That night he told her that he loved her, quite simply and boyishly, and she had allowed him to kiss her. He would gradu- ate in June, he said, and they would be married directly afterward. Well, it was November now and they were parted — for ever, she told herself. It was his mother, as anyone but a little goose like Genevieve might have expected. She actually came to see Genevieve, in her limousine, attended by a footman in but- tons, and wearing one of Miss Popham's French gowns. The Parsons lived in a very small, very shabby little house, one of a long row of shabby little houses, all drearily alike, and very far removed from Beacon Street. It was quite the proper environment for " the [95] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown masses " (since they were to be found there in such numbers), but it had not up to the present moment occurred to Gene- vieve Parsons that she was a part of that great general division of humanity. His mother was very kind. She did not, as she might have done, reproach Genevieve. There was something so piteous, so de- spairing in the young face, that even the great lady in the Popham French gown was touched by it. But she made her understand how impossible — how utterly, entirely, absurdly impossible it all was. She spoke of her son as that foolish boy, and reproached herself for neglect- ing him. When Mrs. Parsons had attempted to interfere with strident protests to the ef- fect that she guessed her Genevieve was " just as good as anybody else," adding further relevant information pertaining to the Peabody and Winthrop connection, the great lady had merely stared at her [96] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown through her lorgnette, with a perfectly appropriate remark which appeared to cut the interview ofF short, like a length of ribbon under a pair of sharp scissors. Thereupon she had swept out to her limousine : the door had been neatly shut by the footman in buttons ; and the whole shining vision had disappeared in a cloud of East Boston dust, which hung dis- piritedly in the air before settling on the grimy little houses. She saw him once more to say good-bye. He had protested hotly, vainly. He would be of age in a month. He would marry whom he chose. His mother had no right — not a vestige of a right to spoil his happiness. What did Genevieve care what anyone said, as long as he loved her? But the Peabody and Winthrop pride was alive and dominant in this humble descendant. « It breaks my heart," she had sobbed, ^ [97] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown " but I p-promised your mother that I — I wouldn't — " "You promised my mother? " he cried. " But you promised me first." In the end he had gone away — only to come again the next day and the next. Then in despair the girl had sworn her mother to secrecy and taken flight to Mal- vina Bennett's upper front room, where it appeared she must remain for un- counted years, sewing on hooks and eyes and learning to lay milliner's folds. [98] VII Below stairs ]\lalvlna Bennett was say- ing good-bye to her neighbour. They had been talking together for a matter of twenty minutes in the halL Now Miss Philura had advanced as far as the front door. She laid her hand upon the knob. " I must be going," she said, " I know you are very busy, Malvina." " Yes ; I be," responded the dress- maker, " — turrible busy, what with get- tin' Mis' Buckthorn's waist done — she wants it to wear t' your weddin'. An' that reminds me, you ain't told me yet what you're goin' t' be married in." " I'm going to be married in a white dress, Malvina," Miss Philura said, and a soft radiance overspread her face, as she remembered the chrysanthemums in the snow. After a pause she added timidly, [99] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown " Mr. Pettibone likes white. He thinks white would be most becoming and — and suitable." Almost breathlessly she waited for the dressmaker's verdict. It came without delay. " I dunno's I should have thought of it, first off," mused Miss Bennett. " So many folks think of gettin' wear out of their weddin' dresses afterward. But seems t' me seein' mos' folks don't get mar- ried more'n three times at the outside, 's though they c'd afford a special dress. I know I should. 'N' I d'clare I'd be mar- ried in white, if I was a hundred, — any- way ef it was the first time. 'Course it don't matter about his bein' a widower." Miss Philura turned the knob and opened the door. " Did you git it ready-made ? " in- quired Miss Bennett, in an aggrieved voice. " I'd kind o' thought mebbe you'd let me make it for you, seein' we've been [100] Miss Fhtlura's Wedding Gown neighbours s' many years, and you a-goin* t' marry the minister." It had been on the tip of her V>ngue to say that she had made the first Mrs. Pettibone's shroud; but she thoughtfully forbore. Miss Philura shook her head. " No," she said, " I haven't bought the dress." " Have you got the goods? " " Not yet. I have the silk thread, though, and the button-hole twist. It's cream white." " That's good. I don't like dead white, nor oyster white, neither. It looks kind o' cold an' dead t' me. Will you let me make it, Philura? I'd admire t' do it. An' I won' take a cent fer it." Miss Philura's eyes shone with grati- tude; a deep happiness filled her breast. The wedding-dress was still in the Encir- cling Good, but she had the silk thread, and Malvina would make it. [101] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown " You needn't bother about findln's either," pursued Miss Bennett eagerly. " I've got some real han'some paz'mentry, with pearl beads I saved bfF ma's weddin'- dress. It's the latest style now ; 'n' I know just the prettiest way to make the skirt." " How good you are, Malvina," mur- mured Miss Philura, joyously adding the white passementerie to the visible portion of the invisible wedding garment. " Well, I guess I ain't forgot how good you was to me last winter when I was all crippled up with rheumatism. I'll come in the evenin' an' help you cut out the bro- cade you've got. An', say, wouldn't you like t' have Genevieve for a day or two t' help make it up? The change'd do her good." " Well, I — I'd like it very much ; only — " " She wouldn't expect no pay from 3^ou. She's workin' fer me b' the month. An' [102] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown I'd like t' get rid of her fer a few days. It's awful worritin' t' hev anybody about that's been crossed in love. You c'n feel it ail through your bones like an east wind." Miss Philura thoughtfully closed the front door, through which a keen wind had begun to draw. " I must be going," she said gently. " Well, good-bye, Philura ; I'll send Genevieve over early t'morrow." Miss Philura was thinking about the girl as she went down the path to the front gate. She hoped she would talk to her about her unhappy love affair. In the All-encircling Good was happiness, she was sure, and balm for bruised spir- its. " There is an abundance of every- thing," she reminded herself, " — a lav- ish abundance of everything — for every- body ! " She drew a deep breath of ecstasy ; the [103] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown blood danced through her veins bringing back her youth, which, after all, had never been lost, but only softly overlaid with years, like a chrysanthemum under the snow. The butter-woman's wagon was tied in front of Miss Philura's door, and Huldah herself confronted her as she opened the gate. " I didn't das t' leave anything on the stoop for fear of the cat," said the but- ter-woman, " so I dumb int' the kitchen window an' put the things on the table. Mind you eat 'em all. 'Tain't any too much if you expect t' get any fat ont' your bones b' Thanksgivin'." She gazed critically at Miss Philura, her head on one side. " Seems t' me you're a mite fleshier than you was las' time I was here. Any way, you ain't near s' peaked-lookin' an' you've got a shine in your eyes — " " It's because I'm so happy," said Miss [104] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown Philura truthfully. "Everybody is so good — so kind ! " The Encircling Good seemed very near. It shone in the bright dark eyes of the butter-woman. She had seen it in Mal- vina Bennett's worn face, when she had of- fered to make the wedding-dress. " Did yoii mind what I said — 'n' eat up every thin' I brought you.'^ " the but- ter-woman was inquiring. Miss Philura blushed. "I — I only took two or three fresh eggs to old Mrs. Davis; her hens have stopped laying ; and a bit of the — only a small piece of the chicken to — " The butter-woman laughed, a deep, mellow laugh. " 'Course you did," she said. " You couldn't no more help givin' things away 'an a bird c'n help singin'. I knew you would. You'll make a firstrate minister's wife; but I'll bet you'll never git real fat." [105] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown " I'm sure I hope not," said Miss Phi- lura fervently. The butter-woman was looking at her keenly. "'Tain't but two weeks t' Thanks- givin'," she said slowly. " I remember once — a long time ago — " Her voice trailed into silence. Then she shook herself, very much after the fashion of a big shaggy animal. "It's kind o' wintry; ain't it? " she said loudly ; " I like it though. An' my hens is layin' right along. I keep 'em warm an' give 'em plenty t' eat." She started briskly forward. " Did you ever see anythin' like that horse o' mine? Joshua, he c'n go t' sleep on two legs, kind o' kitty-cornered. D' you see? " She climbed into her wagon. " Good-bye ! " she called out. " I'll be here next week." IVliss Philura went slowly into the [106] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown house, thinking of the butter-woman. She knew what it was to live alone — just to live, without any particular inter- est to enliven the dull monotony of the passing days. Now for her a door had opened suddenly into a wonderful garden, full of bright hued flowers. That is the way it looked to Miss Philura. She had never thought of the parsonage as an ugly, old-fashioned house, very much in need of fresh paint and paper, nor of the minister as a middle-aged widower. The parsonage was his home, and she was go- ing to live there with him. She was to be permitted to love him, to cook for him, to mend his stockings and sew the buttons on his preaching clothes. This was hap- piness — joy, and it was only two weeks fromi Thursday. She wondered if the butter-woman was happy. From her own warm heart she sent a great wave of love after the strong, broad-shouldered figure perched on the seat of the jolting wagon, [107] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown already up the first steep slope of the hill behind the town. The butter-woman was whistling through her closed teeth as she drove on- ward through the fairy world which was slowly coming back to its common, every- day aspect under the bright noonday. There was a subdued jingle of silver in the pocket of her stout woollen dress. A pound of coffee gave forth its subtle fra- grance from the basket under the seat. She owed nothing to anyone in the world, and there was a slow-growing fund in the savings bank. Huldah Johnson saw other people's lives from their back door-steps, on Tues- days and Thursdays. She never asked questions nor spied curiously into the kitchens opened to her decisive knock, and yet her shrewd eyes saw much that the owners of the kitchens supposed to be con- cealed from the world. She knew who would haggle with her over the price of [108] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown her new-laid eggs, and the rolls of fresh butter. It was a pleasure which Huldah never denied herself to enter into heated argument with certain women, who never- theless paid the hard silver into her hard palm when the petty strife was ended. Huldah demanded and got more for her farm products than the village stores asked for like commodities brought from a distance. It was little she knew con- cerning cold storage or preservatives, and she cared less. Her eggs were always fresh, her butter fragrant and her chick- ens plump and neatly dressed. " If you don't want 'em at my price you don't have t' take 'em," was her final dictum. Perhaps Huldah had grown a trifle hard and cynical during her solitary life ; she had reasons. There were people even in Innisfield who never found fault with her prices, who were always ready to take what she had. But they would pay next [109] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown time, — or could she, perhaps, change a twenty dollar bill ? Unexpectedly Huldah said " yes," on one such occasion. When the woman blushed, stammered, and finally said she had really forgotten, but that very morning her husband had borrowed the money until evening. After fifteen years of observing life from Innisfield kitchen doors Huldah knew her narrow world far better than the min- ister, and quite as well as the butcher and the grocer, whose knowledge of human kind is sure to become wide and deep. And so Huldah often whistled through her closed teeth as her patient old horse climbed the steep hill behind the town, while she thought over the experiences of the morning. There was always food for thought in what she had seen and heard. On the whole, Huldah was singularly con- tent, as she turned her back upon the clustered houses, where people were get- ting ready to be married, were bringing [ 110] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown children into the world, or were dying — and continually struggling to pay what life cost them. It always appeared to cost cruelly, even at its beginning and end. when for the most part other people were obliged to pay. It was lonely but peaceful up on the crest of the hill, and the weather-beaten little house seemed far removed from the toil and struggle of the valley. The furry and feathered creatures which fur- nished her livelihood lived tranquilly and died (when she so decreed it) without pro- test. Huldah drove into her own yard, wel- comed by the cackle of fowls and the joy- ous bark of a watchful collie. She put up her horse with the usual care, gave the fowls some grain, then unlocked the back door and entered the warm, silent kitchen. The kitchen in Huldah's house was large and two windows looked toward the south. There was a shining cook-stove, braided [111] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown mats on the yellow painted floor, where the sun lay in golden squares, and a calla lily unfolding its first white sheath amid leaves of brilliant green. On the back of the stove a brown earthenware tea-pot simmered in the heat. Huldah liked her tea brewed long and strong. She poured a cup of the steaming liquid and drank it clear; then she cut two thick slices of bread and a slab of cheese and sat down to warm her feet in the oven. " I guess," she said aloud between bites of the bread and cheese, " that it's better as it is." She had said this to herself many times before, and at last she had come to believe it. " S'pose he'd come back," she went on, stroking the striped kitten that had jumped to her knee, intent upon the crumbs of cheese, " just s'posen he had, 'n' I'd 'a' married him. I might 'a' been dead long ago, with a baby in m' arms, [112] Mus Fhilura's Wedding Gown like that poor little thing they took me in t' see this morning. I might 'a', who knows. Or I might 'a' lived t' stan' b' his grave with a row of hungry children at my back, like Mrs. Peter Snell. Land! I guess I wasn't made fer it. It's a heap easier 's 'tis." She stretched her broad, muscular hands to the heat of the stove and sur- veyed them intently, " The' ain't nothin' I can't do fer m'self," she said defiantly. " An' I ain't lonesome — not a mite. No, ma'am ! " She arose presently, shook the crumbs from her skirt, poked the fire noisily, then tramped across the floor to the window, her heavy shoes echoing loudly in the quiet house. " I tell you I ain't lonesome," she mut- tered. " I don't want nothin' different from what it is. Why, land ! I don't have no trouble compared with most folks. Look at 'em ; then look at me. I'm strong [113] Mdss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown an' healthy, an' I've got money laid up an' — an' the' ain't nobody t' bother me ! " Then suddenly her strong features be- came convlused, and she beat the window sill with her fists. " Oh, Tom — Tom ! " she moaned. " It's an awful long time, — an' me all alone since father died." She buried her face in her arms, and so was silent for a time, while a whining wind crept stealthily about the house, and the clock ticked solemnly from its corner. Somewhere a great way off a cock crowed, announcing the hour of noon. It was echoed from Huldah's barnyard, twice, thrice. Then all was still once more, only the whining wind stole into the chimney and moaned there, like an impris- oned thing. In the long look behind, which the but- ter-woman in the midst of her bustling ac- tivities had paused to take, she saw the self that had been and the self that might [114] Mzss Philura's Wedding Gown have been. Then stepping softly, hke one In the presence of the dead, she moved across the floor to where a battered chest stood against the walL It had been painted a dull blue, and on its top worked out in brass headed nails was a device of crossed anchors and a name, Thomas Bowles. She lifted the lid and looked in. Then one by one she took out the articles within and laid them on the floor beside the chest, a seaman's blouse, a huge shell, pink and white, like a baby's palm ; other smaller shells, alive with the iridescent mystery of the sea ; many-hued corals, a string of curious dark beads, exhaling the odour of spices. All of these things the butter-woman re- moved : then crouched beside the chest she leaned her chin upon her rough, red hands and stared down at the one thing which remained therein. It was an oblong box of shining wood, inlaid with many-coloured [115] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Gozun bits of shell in a design of flowers and, leaves. It had not grown old, she was thinking. It would never grow old. For an instant she saw it, as she had first seen it years before, through an aching blur of tears. Then she took it in her lap, and sitting flat on the floor opened it. A faint odour of roses crept from the box and stole through the room, like a gentle ghost of the long ago. There were folds of tissue paper within. The woman touched them, her rough hands grown suddenly tremulous. Then she de- liberately lifted the paper and gazed at what it hid — for a long minute. [1161 vin When Mr. George Trimmer entered his store on the Wednesday morning im- mediately succeeding the Monday, on which his pastor had issued his bold ulti- matum, he was obviously in a very bad temper. Mr. Adelbert Small, regularly employed in the Emporium for a matter of ten years back, knew the signs and cautiously retreated to his desk in the rear of the store, where during certain hours of each day he was engaged in the book- keeping end of the business. Mr. Small was an undersized man, with what is known as a sandy complexion and rather watery blue eyes, rimmed with red — the red being a consequence of a too strenuous application to figures in the semi-darkness which prevailed in the rear of the Emporium. He had been talking with the new clerk when both men caught rini Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown sight of the spare, stoop-shouldered figure of their employer through the plate glass window at the front of the store. Mr. Trimmer was twenty minutes after his usual time, a fact which Adelbert Small had already commented upon. " Gee ! " murmured the experienced clerk, " there'll be a hot time in th' ol' town, if I ain't mistaken in the weather signs." He climbed nimbly to his stool and was deep in figures when the door closed be- hind Mr. Trimmer. " Good-morning, sir," said Milton Gregory, with perfect propriety of tone and manner. There are occasions when a smiling po- liteness acts as a species of mental mus- tard plaster. It is a tacit rebuke to ruf- fled tempers, and suggests a certain smug superiority quite maddening to per- sons of an irritable disposition. Mr. Trimmer merely growled as he [118] Miss Philura's Wedding Gozvn hung up his shabby overcoat and topped it with a shabbier hat. '•What you fellows been doin'?" he demanded, as he removed the arctic over- shoes he wore at all seasons except mid- summer. " We got t' do more business than we have so far this week, or I'll have t' discharge both of you." Adelbert Small wriggled uneasily upon his stool. He had heard this threat many times before : but it never failed to arouse his apprehensions. Mr. Small was a fam- ily man, with a sickly wife and two chil- dren, " small by name and small all over," to quote their father's frequently uttered aphorism concerning them. Therefore his " job " as he called it, was of the ut- most importance. He was in the habit of prefacing most of his modest plans with the words " If I don't lose my job," or " If I c'n hold down that job of mine awhile longer, I'll — " and so forth. This was very depressing to Mrs. Small, who de- [119] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown clared she suffered from an access of nerv- ousness every Saturday afternoon, for fear Adelbert would come home without his job. As for the little Smalls, they frolicked, as it were, upon the brink of a jobless future. Therefore it was that Adelbert blinked his watery eyes over the columns of figures he was adding, and nervously curled his toes behind the rung of his stool and was silent. The new clerk, however, answered with great cheerfulness. "Doing?" he echoed. " WTiy, we've swept the store, uncovered the stock, and I've arranged the windows, in the way I spoke of yesterday. Did you notice them, sir?" Mr. Trimmer had noticed the windows, dressed in a manner which would have done credit to a city shop. But he merely grunted. " I thought trade was pretty brisk, [120] jj Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown continued the young man, with admirable aplomb. " We had quite a run on hand- kerchiefs yesterday." "Oh, we did — heh.? An' you think trade is pretty brisk — huh.? Well, you're a very smart young man — very smart an' knowin'. But you'll find your- self out of a job some o' these fine days along with your smartness. Then mebbe you'll set up in business for ^^ourself. I guess you're a leetle too smart for me." " Do 3^ou want me to leave to-day, sir ? " inquired Milton Gregory, with what Mr. Trimmer set down as " an impident smile " at his employer. Then he glanced toward the corner where his own hat and coat were bestowed, with a purposeful air. " When I want you t' quit I'll let you know," snapped Mr. Trimmer. " There's a customer comin' in. Git busy 1 " It was Miss Philura Rice in quest of a spool of silk. She was quite intent upon [121] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown a scrap of brocade whose colour she wished to match, but when the young man came forward with his pleasant smile, she gazed at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. "Why — why! What — " she stam- mered. " You are surprised to see me? " he in- quired. " Don't you think it's time I went to work? " " But — but — " " Do you want purple or black? " asked the young man ; he had taken the scrap of silk and was turning it over in his strong brown fingers with a smile. " Purple, I think, a ten cent spool. When did you — come ? " " Last week," he said, holding a spool for her inspection. " Is that about right? I'm coming to call soon, if I may." He smiled down into her agitated face with great good humour. " It was such a surprise," said Miss [122] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown Philura. " I'm sure I never — I never should have expected — " She was fumbling in her purse and he could not help seeing how shabby and how nearly empty it was. " You haven't told me whether I mav come to see you," he reminded her, as he handed her the change from a quarter of a dollar. " Oh, of course. I do hope you will. And I haven't inquired — is everyone quite well — your dear mother and — " " I have heard nothing to the con- trary," he told her, with what a more astute observer might have set down as a slight bitterness in his voice. Then he smiled down at her reassur- ingly. " I'm here on — er — business," he went on. " I'll be glad to explain when I see you. Might I come to-night?" Miss Philura hesitated for the fraction of a minute ; Mr. Pettibone was in the [123] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown habit of dropping in of a Wednesday ev- ening. But she was determined not to be selfish. " I shall be very glad to have you drink tea with me," she said with quaint cor- diality. "Here you, Milt!" called Mr. Trim- mer, jerking his thumb in the direction of a new customer at the opposite coun- ter. I'll come," he promised iMiss Philura. a T>1 It was more than an hour thereafter before the stress of business again per- mitted a short conversation between Mr. Trimmer and his junior clerk. " You don't want t' git int' general conversation with customers," said Mr. Trimmer sententiously. " It ain't what you're here for, Milt, and I want you should paste it in your hat. Let the women folks do th' talkin' an' you ten' stric'ly t' biz. That's my way, an' I ain't [124] Mdss Philura's Wedding Gown goin' t' hev no other in this 'ere store. You understan'? " Young Milton Gregory stooped and picked up a scrap of paper from the floor. He glanced at it carelessly, then tucked it into his pocket. " I think 3^ou make it — er — suffi- ciently clear," he replied. " Excuse me, sir," interrupted Mr. Adelbert Small, with an apologetic cough, " but I haven't had the opportunity be- fore. When I opened the store this morn- ing I found this — ah — under the door." Mr. Trimmer eyed the large square en- velope, which Mr. Small handed him. It bore his own name in small distinct char- acters, and the flap was fastened with a large Christmas seal displaying the words " Peace on Earth, Good-will to men." " Kind o' early in the season for that sort of thing, I thought," observed Mr. Small with a feeble attempt at a laugh. Mr. Trimmer with great deliberation [125] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown bestowed the envelope in his pocket. He thought he detected an undue curiosity on the faces of his employees. "Git back to them books, Dell," he bade his accountant ; " an' you, Milt, put some coal in the furnace." Left to himself he opened the envelope. It contained several crisp bank bills folded inside a single sheet which bore the words : " For the minister's back pay. Better get busy. A reporter from The Boston Huh will be present at the service on Sun- day next." " Huh ! " exclaimed Mr. Trimmer. " I'd like t' know who in creation — " He paused to count the bills. Then he blinked, cleared his throat, and turned the envelope over. "Peace on Earth — heh? " Yet there had been a distinct threat conveyed to his mind by the brief words of the unknown person who was interested in the minis- ter's back pay. [126] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown He was decidedly glad, on the whoks^ when the door opened to admit the figure of the senior deacon of the church, who was also a member of the board of trustees. " Mornin', George," began the deacon, rubbing the dampness from the end of his nose with the back of his mittened hand. " Good mornin', deacon," responded Mr. Trimmer. He was still holding the square envelope with its enclosure. Deacon Scrimger's sharp old eyes de- tected the roll of yellow-backed green paper in Mr. Trimmer's hand. " Collections good — heh," commented the deacon. He removed his striped mittens, rolled them up and stuffed them into his bulg- ing pocket. Then he produced an ancient and hard worked bandana handkerchief and blew a bugle blast. "The' 's' nothin' like cold cash t' ile [127] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown th' wheels o' trade," he observed oracu- larly. Mr. Trimmer all unconsciously had di- "vested himself of the calculating merchant. IHe was now Elder Trimmer, solemn .and sanctified. " I have just received a goodly contri- TDution to the pastor's salary," he said, in his best prayer-meeting manner. " The Lord is on our side ! " " Y' don't say?" cried the deacon, wagging his aquiline old face from side to side. "Who donated it?" " It's anonymous," Mr. Trimmer told him. " Some good brother doubtless — " He stole a second glance at the hand- writing on the single page — " or conse- crated sister." He coughed as if in church. " Or sister," he repeated, " who has chosen to heed our Lord's command in keeping the right hand in — er — igno- rance of what the left hand hath — ah — [128] Mdss Fhilura's Wedding Gown pufformed. It is, in short, fifty dollars. An' thus encouraged, I feel — " "Hallelujah!" cried the deacon. " Mebbe the pastor '11 let us off at that. We don't want no publicity in our church affairs. I was talkin' with m' wife an' Sister Buckthorn yist'day, an' the Ladies' Aid '11 contribute twenty-five dollars. They'll take it out their missionary fund." " It seems wrong t' deprive the hea- then — " began Mr. Trimmer. " But th' Meth'dists '11 git one on us, ef the matter 's took t' Presb'tery," inter- rupted Deacon Scrimger. " I hear the 's a good deal o' talk a' ready." " I regret that our pastor should have taken such a stand at this time," mur- mured Mr. Trimmer. " I s'pose we kin git rid of him, an' git a younger man," suggested Deacon Scrim- ger briskly. " A young man draws bet- ter 'n a man o' his age." Mr. Trimmer was not without certain [129] Miss Fhilurd's Wedding Gown graces of character, though these were often in eclipse. He glanced sharply from the letter in his hand to the face of his colleague. " We'd have to pay up just the same," he said coldly. " 'N' I don't want any whipper-snapper in the pulpit. We'll have t' get busy." Mr. Trimmer did not, either then or later, show the anonymous communication which had accompanied the gift of fifty dollars. But the thought of the reporter from The Boston Huh remained with him. As treasurer of the board of trustees it would devolve upon himself to make a financial statement. That report should reflect credit upon Innisfield, he was de- termined, and incidentally upon that pious person, Elder George Trimmer. [130] IX Miss Philxjea hurried home after her brief interview with Mr. Trimmer's new clerk in a troubled, agitated state of mind. « Now what," she asked herself, " can have happened to Gregory?" Not being able to answer this query, she harked back to the once absorbing oc- cupation of thinking about her own duty, as related to that personable young man, at the present moment engaged in measur- ing off one and three-quarters yards of green ribbon for Miss Electa Pratt, wha had entered the Emporium just as Miss Philura Rice had left it. Miss Pratt had observed Miss Philura's agitation, but had attributed it to a widely different reason. She was herself bursting with a piece of information, which had only just [131] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown reached her after a circuitous route through the town. " You ain't lived here long, have you? " she interrogated the young man, who was wrapping up her purchase. She thought he strongly resembled a picture she had seen in an advertisement of ready-made clothes ; he had the same clean-shaven, square jaw, straight nose, and tall, well-made figure. Miss Electa smiled into his grey eyes as she asked the question, " No ; I haven't," he said briefly. " Then you ain't heard about the min- ister? " "The minister?" he repeated. " Yes ; Mr. Pettibone. He was a-goin' t' git married Thanksgivin' day. But I guess mebbe it won't come off quite s' soon after all." " Why not ? " inquired Mr. Trimmer's clerk, with some sharpness. There had been a note of joy in the lady's voice, [132] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown which she had made no attempt to dis- guise. " The's strong feelin' in the community that he'd better resign, an' I guess he's goin' to. But o' course you wouldn't be interested, seein' you're a stranger amongst us." Miss Pratt sniifed, as she bestowed her parcel in the netted bag she carried. Then she bowed genteelly to Mr. Trim- mer. " I was going to stop at your house this noon to ask if you couldn't make it convenient to pay your pew-rent," said that gentleman, motioning his clerk to re- tire. "My pew-rent?" cried Miss Pratt. " Don't I set in the singers' seat, I'd like to know? An' ma ain't been t' church for more'n a year." " If you don't want the seat any longer, give it up," advised Mr. Trimmer. " But we've got to raise some money, and you're [133] 99 Miss Philura's Wedding Gown on our books for twenty-five dollars. " Well, when we get our new pastor, I'll speak t' ma about it," purred Miss Electa. " But we'll be candidatin' fer a spell, I s'pose." "What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Trimmer, with considerable acerbity. Miss Pratt displayed some excitement. " It come t' me straight 's a string — Mis' Deaconess Buckthorn told Abby Whiton that Mis' Scrimger told her that the Deacon said — " " The deacon was in here not ten min- utes ago." " Didn't he say we was goin' t' have a new pastor? " " Not to me ; no, ma'am." " An' didn't you tell your wife — " Mr. Trimmer suddenly divested himself of his churchly manner for one thor- oughly domestic. " Oh, drat the women ! " was what he muttered under his breath. [134] Miss Philura's IV ed ding Gown And all this time Miss Philura was wondering whether biscuit and cold boiled eggs cut into rounds and peach preserves with jellj-roll would satisfy the appetite of the young gentleman who was going to drink tea with her that evening. He looked very hearty, she told herself, with certain misgivings. But she had been reckless in her use of the chicken the butter-woman had left on the occasion of her last visit. Genevieve Parsons had been helping make the black and purple brocade, and Miss Philura had set what she privately considered a lavish repast before the young person each dsij. Miss Parsons might be crossed in love, but she brought a healthy young appetite to her meals, She had not said anything about her sorrow to Miss Philura, al- though that lady was eagerly sympa- thetic. The girl sat by the window putting the [133] Miss Philura's Weddmg Gown final touches on the brocade waist when Miss Philura hurried in, quite out of breath. " I was never so surprised ! " she de- clared. The girl by the window fixed her brown eyes on the agitated face. Her sorrow had quite evidently got the better of her during Miss Philura's absence, for her eye-lids were pink and a stray drop twinkled on the long curling lashes. " You poor darling," cried Miss Phi- lura, " I feel almost wicked to be so happy, when you — But you know, dear, he is perfectly safe in the Encircling Good, and your own must come to you. Oh, and I hope you won't mind my say- ing it; but it slipped out before I thought." The girl gazed almost defiantly at her would-be comforter. " I see Cousin Malvina must have talked to you about my affairs," she said stiffly. [136] Mdss Fhilura's Wedding Gown " Please don't be angry, my dear,'* begged Miss Philura. " I oughtn't to have mentioned it ; but seeing my cousin so unexpectedly — though perhaps I shouldn't call him that. His mother was related to my mother — first cousin, once removed, I think it was. But Cousin Caroline has always been kindness itself. And you don't mind my knowing just a little bit, do you, dear?" The girl made no reply to this ap- peal; her slim shoulders lifted slightly as she searched in a small tin box on the window-sill for a hook of the right sort. " In the Encircling Good there is a lav- ish abundance of happiness for you," said Miss Philura softly. There was a pink spot on either thin cheek. Her blue eyes shone bright as stars. " I had to tell you," she went on. " It wouldn't be generous to keep it to [137] Mm Fhilura's Wedding Gown myself. Everything will come right, if you will only — " The girl faced about in her chair. " I don't know what Cousin Malvina Bennett told you," she said coldly. " I was engaged to be married and — his mother — I — I wasn't good enough. She made it perfectly plain. I saw that it was true. I wasn't — suitable. So it's all over. He went to London, or Ger- many — I don't know where exactly. He never wrote to me after — after I ex- plained — We said good-bye, and he went away." The young voice trembled slightly. " I've told you this because I — I can't bear to have people sorry for me. So — please — don't." " I know — I know, my dear. I want to be glad for you." Miss Philura stooped and dropped a butterfly kiss on top of the blond head. " I shall be glad for you — I am glad [138] Miss Philura's Wedding Go-xn — this minute. Everything will come right. You'll see ! " "How could it.?" murmured the girl. " You don't know her.'' It lacked exactly ten minutes of six o'clock when Miss Philura's bell jangled, and Miss Philura herself, quite pink and happy after a reassuring glance at the biscuits browning propitiously in the oven, opened the door to admit Mr. Trimmer's smart clerk, looking smarter than ever in clothes which his hostess was totally unable to appreciate, but which roused her to vague wishes concerning Mr. Petti- bone's ministerial wardrobe. The tea-table was already spread in cozy proximity to the steady fires of the scarlet geraniums, which had flowered with surprising earliness this fall, and al- most immediately the two sat down. Upon second thoughts, which are often good and worthy. Miss Philura had added to her menu baked potatoes and a dish [139] Mm Fhilura^s Wedding Gown of creamed cod-fish — a delectable plat, when properly prepared. The young man was hungry, there could be no doubt of that. Miss Philura beamed with delight when he accepted his fifth biscuit. " Now, Gregory," she said, with some- thing of the authority of the successful hostess, " I want you to tell me how it happens that you are in Innisfield, work- ing for George Trimmer. I do hope • — " She coughed delicately behind her fringed napkin. " I hope the family has not met with reverses." This, she felt sure, was the proper term to apply to the losses of very rich people. " No," he said, quite seriously; " father and mother are quite well, and the}^ haven't lost any of their confounded money. I wish they had. Yes, by George, I do. I wish they'd lose every cent of it." [140] Miss Philura^s Wedding Gown " Oh, my dear," deprecated Miss Phl- lura, in pained surprise. " I've — er — met with reverses, though," pursued the young man, '* that's why I've cut it out." Miss Philura looked inquiringly. " You've cut — ? " He nodded. " The whole outfit. I'm my own man now ; working for my living. Getting eight dollars a week, and living on five. What do you think of that.? " She didn't know exactly what to think, in view of his appetite. He had absent- mindedly reached for his sixth biscuit and was buttering it thickly. " I haven't had a decent meal before, since I came to Innisfield ; and you cer- tainly can cook, Cousin Philura. That white stuff, now. I'd like to see mother's chef up against that. May I have some more; and another potato .^^ " Miss Philura beamed. [1*1] ?9 Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown " It's only creamed cod-fish, Greg she told him. " It's bully stuff. I'm going to have it every day at my house — if I ever get one." He heaved a deep sigh, which was not all content. " And your dear mother — what does she think of — of your — " " Mother supposes me to be spending money in London, Paris, Baden — she thinks I'm in Europe. She saw me on board the Calonia four weeks ago. I had a first-class cabin, several thousand dol- lars and, incidentally, the maternal bless- ing." He was staring down at his plate. "Won't you have some cake?" urged Miss Philura. " It isn't quite as nice as I could wish, but — " He leaned his elbows on the table and stared across at her. " Do you think one person — a fellow's [142] Miss FJulura's JVeddi/ig Gcjsfi mother, say — has a right to arrange his life for him, according to her own ideas, like — er — bric-a-brac on a table? " His boyish good looks had hardened into something strangely stern. For a fleeting instant Miss Philura thought he resembled the majestic person who had constituted herself the undisputed arbiter of so many destinies. " If you do," he went on, " I don't. I suppose I'll forgive my mother sometime. I shall if — *' He paused to scowl darkly. " The preserves," twittered Miss Phi- lura gently, " aren't quite as clear as usual this year : but I hope — you'll — " " I was engaged to the dearest, sweet- est, most innocent little girl on God's earth," he went on. " She was — Lord 1 I can't talk about it. But she — You see I graduated in June, and I had my twenty-first birthday in April. I'm no baby, and we'd planned to be married and [US] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown go abroad together. Mother had always said I should go as soon as I'd got my de- gree. I got it, and it was cum laude, by George. I worked like a dog. But when I told her — " "You mean Cousin Caroline?"' " Yes, when I told mother about it and expected — The Lord knows what I ought to have expected. She's as hard as — as this table." And he smote the mahogany a blow that set Miss Philura's ancestral tea-cups danc- ing. " I beg your pardon, cousin ! Hope I haven't broken anything. But I can't think of it without getting swearing mad ! " " Oh, I hope not, my dear," murmured Miss Philura. " Your dear mother — " " She used to wash my mouth out with kitchen soap for what she called profan- ity," he said moodily. " But kitchen soap isn't in it for what she's goaded me into, [144] Mdss Fhilura's Wedding Gown since. Look here, cousin, I'll tell you what she did. She went to see my dearest girl — I had asked her to do it ; but I might have known better. She went to see her, and — and — it's too brutal — she told my darling that she wasn't good enough. Think of that, will you? An innocent, white-souled angel of a girl, too pure and sweet for any man to look at with anything but worship. And my mother told her she must give me up. Because — Oh, rot ! It makes me sick ! Genevieve sewed for a living, and I — " " Genevieve.? " repeated Miss Philura. "That's her name — pretty, isn't it? But it isn't a patch on her." An excited colour was coming and going in Miss Philura's cheeks. What should she do? Her duty to Cousin Caroline loomed majestic and threatening like that lady herself in irate mood, as she gazed across the table at the face of her young kinsman. £145] Miss Philura^s Wedding Gown *' Oh, my dear Gregory," she murmured gently. " How very — extraordinary ! But you — you aren't eating anything." The young man paid no sort of heed to the agitation of his hostess. '' She's in this town somewhere," he "Went on. " I wormed that much out of her mother." " But how could you — in London, you said; or was it East Boston? I am so surprised, you know, to think — " " I didn't stay in London," he ex- plained. " I allowed mother to ship me off, for I wanted time to mull things over. I came back directly, and went straight to see Genevieve. But she was gone. And she'd made her mother promise not to tell where she was. She's proud, the poor darling, and when my mother — Oh, confound it ! I can't talk about it. But I want you to help me find her. I've ran- sacked the town, and I can't get any trace of her.'^ [146] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown He fixed compelling eyes upon Miss Philura. " That's why I went to work for Trim- mer, I thought she'd be sure to come there to buy something; and besides, I wanted to show mother and father I could earn my own living and hers, too. You know everybody around here. Cousin Philura, and you must have seen her. She's tall and slender. Her eyes are brown and her hair — You ought to see her hair. Such a lot of it — ■ and all shiny and curling. I've got a bit of it here." He produced a wallet, from out a pocket of which he took a folded paper. " There 1 " he said, lifting a long strand of yellow hair from its wrapping, " did you ever see anything like that ? — fine and soft and lovely. It's like her." " Yes, yes — indeed ; I am so — so — interested, dear Gregory; and isn't that the door-bell? Pray excuse me while I answer it." [147] M2SS Philura's Wedding Gown It was, as might have been expected, the Rev. Mr. Pettibone who craved ad- mittance. Miss Philura heaved a deep breath of relief as she looked into his strong, tranquil face. " I'm so very glad you've come," she whispered, as he stooped to kiss her. " Really, I couldn't think — what to do. My cousin is here — or perhaps I should say, my distant relative. Cousin Caro- line always speaks of me in that way, and so of course — " Somewhat breathlessly she ushered him into the little sitting-room, where her guest stood moodily staring at the coals in the base-burner. " My distant relative, Gregory Van Duser, Mr. Pettibone," she managed to say. Then while the two shook hands, looking squarely into each other's eyes after the fashion of men, she withdrew to the kitchen to gain composure. " Oh, Morty dear," she whispered, as [148] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown she recklessly bestowed upon the cat the remainder of the creamed cod-fish, which would have done perfectly well for her own breakfast, " to think I know where she is this minute, and it is in my power to make two young creatures perfectly happy and to foil Cousin Caroline as well. I'm afraid I can't help doing it. And I am so glad! But I shall ask him, he'll know whether I ought to or not." But Providence — which is not always hostile (whatever some people may think) and which, indeed, appears to interest it- self particularly and most benignly in the loves of young and innocent beings — asked no odds of the Rev. Mr. Pettibone, nor yet of Miss Philura. Gregory Van Duser, very stiff though polite toward the elderly person who had interrupted his conversation with Miss Philura, presently took his leave, and went swinging off down the street at a great pace, [149] Miss Pkdlura's Wedding Gown At the corner, just beneath the ice- bound branches of a great elm, a shadowy figure had paused and was in the act of in- troducing a letter into the narrow mouth of a post-box, when the arc-light struck a sparkle of gold from the bent head. Young Gregory's heart leaped to his throat — to his lips. " Genevieve ! " he cried. [150] IMiss Malvina Bennett stood rubbing her chilled fingers over Miss Philura's cook-stove, from which that little lady had just taken a pan of hot water for her breakfast things. Miss Bennett wore a shawl over her head, and she had not removed from the front of her dress the faded pin-cushion, fashioned in the shape of a heart and bristling with pins and needles. " I s'pose you've heard about Gene- vieve," she began. " She said he was here takin' supper with you last night. — An' to think of his bein' a relative of yours ! " " Oh ! " cried Miss Philura. In her agitation she almost dropped the cracked tea-cup, which she had used for fifteen years, drinking her tea and coffee luke- warm out of consideration for its delicate [151] M^ss Fhilura's Wedding Gown condition. "But I — I didn't tell him. I couldn't think what my duty was to — to Cousin Caroline. But I asked Mr. Pettibone, and he said — " " I was settin' b' the stove readin' that continued story in the Fashion Monthly," chimed in Miss Bennett, " An' Genevieve, she'd been writin' a letter to her ma. — A better girl than Genevieve Parsons never lived if I do say it, bein' sister-in- law to her ma's own sister. " ' Cousin Malvina,' she says, ' I'll just run out an' slip this letter in the box. I'll be back in a minute.' " ' Put on your coat,' I sez ; * it's growin' cold.' Then I forgot all about her, havin' got to that pint in the story where Lionel proposes to Lady Clara ; an' she says she's always loved him, from a child. Well, as I say, I'd completely for- gotten Genevieve's goin' out t' the post- box, when all of a sudden the clock struck nine. [152] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown " ' Land ! ' I sez, ' whatever's got Gene- vieve ? ' " Up I jumps an' puts on my shawl an' runs out t' the letter-box. The' wa' n't a soul in sight. My ! but I was scart. Thinks s' I, she's been broodin' over her troubles so long she's out of her mind, mebbe. I started for your house, hard 's I could go, leavin' m' front door wide open, o' course the wind blew in an' broke the lamp-chimbly. I found the glass on the floor this mornin'. Lucky it didn't set the house afire. — Then I see Gene- vieve. She was comin' down the street, with a man. " Goodness ! Wasn't I flabbergasted. They didn't see me; but just dawdled along 's if it was June. They went right by me ; bein' s' took up with each other they didn't see me no more'n 's if I was a 'lectric-light pole. When they got t' the house they stopped inside th' gate, an' .right in the shadder of the big lilac bush [153] Mdss Fhilura's Wedding Gown he kissed her. I heerd it. Then I took a-holt. "'Genevieve!' I sez; just hke that I sez it. " She give a little scream. " ' Oh, Cousin Malvina,' she sez, ' I thought you were — ' " ' Yes,' I sez ; ' you thought I was safe in the house, b' th' base-burner, readin' a love-story. But I ain't,' I sez. ' I'm right on the job o' lookin' after you,' I sez ; ' same 's I told your ma I would.' " Then lie spoke up. " ' I'm Gregory Van Duser," he sez, ' an' Genevieve is going to marry me right away.' " ' Oh, Greg ! ' she sez. " ' Yes, Genevieve,' he sez. ' You've promised, you know.' " Miss Bennett paused for breath. " Dear, dear ! " murmured Miss Philura. " Ain't you glad ? " demanded Malvina Ben-^tt. ^ You'd better b'lieve I be. You [154] Miss Fhilura's Wedditig Gown wouldn't know Genevieve this mornin'. When I come up t' the sewin'-room after doin' up the breakfas' dishes, there she set, 's pretty as a pink, singin' kind of soft t' herself. An' what d' you think she was doin' ? " Miss Bennett paused dramatically. " I'm sure I don't know," murmured Miss Philura, wrinkling her forehead. She couldn't help thinking of Cousin Caroline Van Duser ; and feeling like a guilty conspirator, as she pictured to her- self that majestic lady's wrath and con- sternation at the swift undoing of all her carefully laid plans. " You couldn't guess in a hundred years — not ef you was t' die fer it." " She wasn't — crying? " hazarded Miss Philura, — "with joy, I mean," she amended quickly. " Cryin'? — cryin'," sniffed Miss Ben- nett. " You ain't got much 'magination, Philura. No; she wa' n't cryin'. She [155] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown was a-sewln' purple buttons all down the back of Mis' Buckthorn's red waist ! " "Really?" interrogated Miss Philura, weakly endeavouring to banish the stern visage of Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser from her mind. " An' she'd sewed 'em on good an' firm, too," continued Miss Bennett, y/ith a cackle of laughter. " I'm goin' t' send her over here t' finish your black an' pur- ple this afternoon. I can't bother with her. An', say, Philura, that reminds me, I'll take them white goods right home with me now an' get the dress cut out an' ready t' fit. That's really what I come for." " The white goods," repeated Miss Philura in a low voice. " You mean — " " I mean your weddin'-dress. I'd ought t' have started on it b'fore; but I wanted t' git the shop kind o' cleaned up an' th' work out th' house, b'fore I begun on yours." " But I — the material — ^''' [156] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown Miss Philura's voice died into silence. She polished the knife she was holding with tremulous fingers. " Ain't you got the goods yit? " almost screamed Miss Bennett, " an' th' weddin' only a week off, come Thursday. Why, Philura Rice ! " " It — it — I believe it is on the way," faltered Miss Philura. Then she straightened her small figure confidently. " It is on the way," she repeated firmly. " It will be here soon." " I sh'd hope so, if I'm a-goin' t' make it," said Miss Bennett. " I don't want t' throw it together. An' I'd planned t' trim it with some o' that new kind o' trim- min' made out o' th' goods. It's pleated on both :.ides, the pleats turned opposite ways. It's awful stylish ; but it takes time t' make it." " It must be — pretty." Miss Philura spoke with a sweet aloof- [157] Miss Philura^s IVedding Gown ness which drew Miss Bennett's faded eyes to her face. " Well, I must say," she syllabled, " you don't seem t' worry none 'bout your goods bein' d'layed. Some folks 'd be wild, an' fly in' 'round like a hen with her head cut off." Miss Philura smiled a sweet faint smile, which somehow made Miss Bennett think of a pictured angel in her copy of Pil- grim's Progress. " I am not at all worried," she said. " I am sure — sure it will come in time." [158] XI Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser sat before the fire in her dressing-room, feeling quite at ease in a carefully relaxed position. Even her jewelled hands lay supinely amid the silken folds of her negligee. Mrs. Van Duser was resting after a strenuous afternoon at the Ontological Club, during the course of which she had presented a pregnant paper on "Parental Influence as related to the Law of Karma." An earnest discussion had followed the read- ing of the paper, with Mrs. Van Duser as its pivotal point, so to speak, — or, to quote Dr. Aurilla Robinson-Cobb's words, " its radio-active centre." Mrs. Van Duser had found it all ex- ceedingly uplifting, yet even her robust, w^ell-nourished body demanded its dues of rest and relaxation, and Mrs. Van Duser was not one to push ontological theories ^ [159] Miss Fhilurds Wedding Gown to the point of what she privately consid- ered folly. There were many worthy per- sons interested in the mental cult, of which Mrs. Van Duser had become a shin- ing exponent, who had no social responsi- bilities and who were not burdened with an excess of this world's goods. Such in- dividuals could scarcely realise the weight of duties which devolved upon Mrs Van Duser, in her double role of radio-active centre of the Ontological Club and undis- puted leader of that august inner circle of society which constituted the veritable Hub (written of course with a capital let- ter) of that mighty wheel of progress called Boston. Mrs. Van Duser made it a point to re- lax — she justly objected to the meta- physically false term " devitalise " — par- ticularly when dining out, the dinner to be followed by an equally important func- tion in the shape of a great reception at the home of a woman who attempted (but [160] Miss Fhilurds Wedding Gown without success) to rival Mrs. Van Duser both socially and ontologicallj. As everyone knows one must think of nothing at all when in a condition of re- laxation. And if attainable there is noth- ing more potent than this quiescent state to remove wrinkles and other signs of ad- vancing years — both a false concept of the carnal mind — or to restore vigour and brilliancy to the mental powers. Mrs. Van Duser wished particularly to look and feel at her best on this evening, for which Fifine, her maid, was already laying out the newest and most successful of her Popham Paris creations. But her mind with annoying persistence kept harking back to the discussion of the afternoon. And with the variously con- flicting views of the Law of Karma as re- lated to the subject of Parental Responsi- bility came the thought of her own and only son, Gregory. His name was ]Milton Gregory Van Duser, after two of his [161] Mdss Phdlura's Wedding Gown great-grandfathers — Mrs. Van Duser was not one to grow lax in the matter of great-grandfathers. Milton Gregory ha4 shown alarming tendencies of late. A distressing affair with Miss Popham's seamstress. But right at the crucial point in the young man's career parental influence had come into play. Mrs. Van Duser breathed deep content- ment as she rapidly reviewed her own part in the invincible workings of Karma. The girl had been amenable to the higher voice of reason ; there had been no foolish tears, no recriminations, except, of course, on the part of that very common person, her mother. On her own plane of life, Genevieve Par- sons had acquitted herself with credit. She had actually approved the girl's self- control, and her spirit, too ; it had been admirable. And she had saved her son from a frightful mesalliance by the [162] Mdss Pkilura's Wedding Gown promptness and unswerving firmness with which she had performed her own duty in the matter. Mrs. Van Duser had not once alluded to her own recent experience with Cosmic Law, at the Club that afternoon. Such a course would have been indelicate ; but the consciousness of her success had lent a serene and compelling majesty to her mien and utterances as she dwelt upon the basic relations of motherhood to Karma. Dear Gregory was enjoying himself with well-bred persons of his own class in a country house in Kent. Mrs. Van Du- ser's social circle was wide, its circumfer- ence even including a few titles on the other side of the water. She thought now with a smile of ma- ternal pride of her darling Gregory's in- genuous good looks, of his faultless ward- robe, of his prospective millions. All of which she knew would be duly appreciated [163] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown by the noble but impoverished dowager countess of Meadhurst. Why should she not — possibly within a few months — be introducing to select Boston circles, " my daughter, Lady Clara Van Duser." She could almost see herself and the tall, plain (but very aristocratic) English girl, who had so far remained unplucked upon the ancestral tree. Dear Gregory must seize the brilliant opportunity which lay within his easy reach. She found herself quite rigid and tense in her chair with the mental effort of transmitting her ideas telepathically to dear Gregory. Then Fifine appeared at her elbow bearing a tray with the cup of bouillon which her mistress always par- took of just before dressing. Mrs. Van Duser roused herself to take the cup from the maid's hand. " Has Mr. Van Duser come in yet, Fi- fine?" she asked. "And are there any letters?" [164] Miss Philura's Wedding Govsn " Oui, madame. Mr. Van Duser is in his dressing-room, madame," replied the girh " I s'all ask Parkyns for ze let- taires." Mrs. Van Duser seldom asked for her mail before dressing for dinner. It was her habit to examine it by the cold light of morning, in an apartment devoted to correspondence and the higher pursuit of literature as embodied in various club papers on a wide variety of themes. But to-night she wanted to hear from her son. "Darling Greg!" she apostrophised him mentally. Had he made the acquaintance of Lady Clara Hurcomb? Was Karma going to be kind? She willed that it should be. But there was no letter from dear Greg- ory. Perhaps it was too soon to expect one, after his cablegram announcing a safe arrival in Liverpool. She glanced carelessly through the heap of envelopes, bills, invitations, letters [165] Mdss Philura's Wedding Gown from needy persons — and here was one from Innisfield. The rather unformed and timid hand announced it unopened as coming from Philura Rice. Mrs. Van Duser laid it upon the pile of unopened envelopes, rel- egated to her later consideration. Surely Philura Rice could have no ade- quate reason for further addressing so distant a relative as Mrs. Van Duser. "A letter," as that majestic person oc- casionally informed certain presuming (and of course needy) persons of her ac- quaintance — "a letter, which is neither necessary nor agreeable, is, in effect, an unwarrantable intrusion ; not less so, in- deed, than the rude pushing in of an unin- vited guest." Mrs. Van Duser had not invited corre- spondence on the part of Philura Rice, beyond those suitable acknowledgments of her bounty which reached her from time to time, as occasion required. She [166] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown continued to eye Miss Philura's modest letter with a stern and rebuking gaze. Philura deserved and should listen to the aphorism concerning uninvited corre- spondence at the earliest opportunity. For the present her letter should remain (as it deserved) unread and unnoticed. And yet — Do insensate letters emanate their in- formation, like Roentgen rays, piercing the futile defences of enfolding paper and sealed envelopes? What was there about that small oblong envelope of yellowish white paper, addressed in faded ink, in a timid, unformed hand, which again and yet again drew the reluctant gaze of the great lad}', and which finally impelled those jewelled fingers to open it? In point of fact Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser, having finished her bouillon, handed the cup to her maid, reached for Miss Philura's letter. "Dear Cousin Caroline: (she read) [167] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown Yon may imagine my surprise and pleas- ure at seeing dear Cousin Gregory — " " What ! " murmured Mrs. Van Duser, arching her brows and majestically re- placing her eye glasses. " The woman must have lost her mind ! " " He is looking very well, and I had the great honour and pleasure of entertaining him at tea on Wednesday." " Absurd ! " commented dear Gregory's mother. Had she not received a cable- gram scarcely two weeks ago announcing his safe arrival in Liverpool? How then could he be taking tea with Philura Rice in Innisfield? " Of course Cousin Gregory has writ- ten you of his intended marriage, which he tells me — " Some sort of inarticulate sound burst from Mrs. Van Duser's lips at this point. She read the remaining words of the let- ter with a single comprehensive glance. Then she rose to her feet, her wonted [168] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown majesty of deportment giving place to haste and agitation. "Fifine!" she called sharply. "My travelling dress, and motoring wraps, and tell Parkyns to order the touring car at once ! " " Oui, madame ; already the limousine waits." " I said the touring car. It makes better time. Quickly, girl, my high laced shoes! — That artful, designing crea- ture — After all my pains, she must have — " Mrs. Van Duser was herself pulling open bureau drawers, and placing various toilet articles in a small travelling bag, as the latter unintelhgible words fell from her lips. Five minutes later she was being hooked into a broadcloth gown of severe and un- compromising lines, when the door opened and Mr. J. ^Mortimer Van Duser stood upon the threshold. He was in full even- [169] M2SS Philura^s Wedding Gown ing dress, and he held an open letter in his hands. For an instant he gazed in astonished silence at his august consort, who appeared to have suddenly lost the dignity and poise for which she was so justly celebrated. " My dear Caroline," he said, du- biously, " may I inquire — " Mrs. Van Duser faced him, twitching herself out of the hands of the curious maid. "You may go, Fifine. Pack some sandwiches and a thermos bottle of hot coffee. I shall not wait to dine." " But my dear," expostulated Mr. Van Duser, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. "What does this mean.? Surely, you — " " John 1 " cried Mrs. Van Duser, with an alarming wildness in her eyes, from which the gold-rimmed glasses had fallen, like scales, as it were. " John, I have just had a letter from Philura Rice, and [170] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown she says Gregory is in Innisfield, and that he is going to be married to that — seamstress. But I shall save him yet." " Er — would 3^ou mind sitting down — ah — quietly ? And ■ — " " Sitting down — quietly, did you say.? John, I wonder at you ! I shall go to In- nisfield and bring my poor boy home with me. Nothing shall prevent me." " But, my dear, I must insist." When John Van Duser spoke in that tone, which it must be owned had been seldom of late, to his wife, at least, he was sure to be obeyed. Mrs. Van Duser paused in the act of tying a motoring bonnet under her mas- sive chin and gazed at her husband. Her eye caught sight of the familiar hand- writing on the sheet which he was deliber- ately unfolding. "Has he — has Gregory written.''" she asked. " If you will take that thing off your [171] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown head and sit down quietly I will read what he sa^^s," was Mr. Van Duser's reply. Mrs. Van Dnser sat down upon the ex- treme verge of a chair in a rigid and un- compromising attitude. She did not re- move the motor-bonnet. "You are not," said Mr. Van Duser, " going to Innisfield to-night." There was nothing controversial in his tone, but an immense though calm convic- tion. "Is it too late, John?" " Too late ? Yes, my dear ; to my way of thinking it's gone beyond you." "Are they married already? Philura said — She actually had the imperti- nence to ask us to stop with her, if we came — as she hoped we would — to Greg's wedding to that artful, designing — " " Be careful, my dear ; you're talking about your future daughter-in-law," Mr. Van Duser warned her. He was actually smiling. ri72] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown "John, how can you?" demanded his wife. " If it is not too hite I can and will prevent — " " Sit down, Carrie ; sit down. Now, let me read what the boy has to say for himself." And without further preamble he be- gan to read, but unluckily in a tone so low that Fifine, flattening her small pink ear against the keyhole could scarcely hear a word. " Mon dieu ! " slie cried, when describ- ing the scene below stairs to a circle of admiring auditors. " Nevaire have I seen ze madame like zat. She sit down when he say, ' Sit down ' ; she keep quiet when he tell her ' Keep quiet.' She listen to heem wizout words. Mon dieu! It is one miracle." In his carefully modulated voice John Van Duser was reading his son's letter to the mother of his son. Gregory had writ- ten on this wise, in a dashing hand and [173] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown with great extravagance in the use of ink which here and there exploded in spatters and blots. " Dear Dad, (read John Van Duser) I am writing to you instead of to mother because I believe you'll understand me bet- ter than she will. At any rate, I can and will speak to you as man to man. " When mother shipped me off to Eu- rope I suppose she thought of me as a small boy, caught stealing jam in her pre- serve closet. All she had to do was to put me to bed w^ithout supper and lock the closet door. " I let her think so, for I wanted time to cool off and to let my darling girl get over the hurts mother had inflicted upon her. — She. at least, had no idea that she was stealing anybody's preserves. — So I went to Liverpool. Of course I came back directly, and I've found her and myself, too, I think. " We're to be married to-morrow at [174] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown Cousin Phllura's. — She's a brick ; Gene- vieve and I both love her. So is her min- ister. He demurred a bit about marry- ing us but when I'd convinced him that we were both of age and knew our own minds he consented. " Now, don't imagine that we're going to come home to be taken care of. We're going to live right here in Innisfield. It's a bully little place and we both like it. I'm going on working in the Trimmer Em- porium. I get eight dollars a week, and I'll jolly old Trimmer up into making it ten ; and besides there's the five hun- dred a year from grandmother's bequest. We'll have no trouble getting on. " I hope you and mother will come to see us married. I'd feel better about it, and so would my darling girl. But whether you will or not, to-morrow will find your affectionate son Gregory Van Duser the happiest man alive ! " There was a silence which could be felt Miss Philura's Wedding Gown in the room as John Van Duser read the last words of his son's letter. He folded the sheet and returned it to its envelope. " I telegraphed our congratulations," he said slowly, his eyes on his wife's rigid face. [176] XII Mrs. Van Duser seemed to come to life at this. "Our congratulations?" she repeated. " Our congratulations, indeed ! No ; John. I must decline to enter into any such collusion, even with you. I can never — " Mr. Van Duser drew a chair to his wife's side, and deliberately passed his arm about her substantial waist. He was calm and smiling. " Now, Carrie," he began, " I don't want you to make a fool of yourself, and I'm not going to allow it." His tone was pleasant and hib grey eyes were actually twinkling. But Caroline P. Van Duser was interiorly convinced of the truth of his words. She answered him in the deepest; most rotund tones of her platform voice. [177] Miss Philura's IV ed ding Gown " My dear John," she said majestically, " I think you forget yourself." These words addressed to any other in- dividual would not have failed of their result. A blighted human being would have slunk — one uses the word advisedly — slunk quietly and unobtrusively away from the Jovian glance of Caroline P. Van Duser's eyes, and blessed the oppor- tunity of so slinking. But Jolm Van Duser took not the slightest notice of his wife's remark. In- stead he tightened the clasp of his arm about her waist and said quite simply and unaffectedly, " I never told you before, Carrie, but I'm going to now. My mother didn't want me to marry you. She set up quite a row about it in fact." He appeared to relapse into revery. "W — what?" stammered the lady in the motoring bonnet. " Your mother — objected — " [178] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown Either the idea or the heat of the room appeared oppressive, for she untied the mammoth structure of fur and velvet and cast it from her. " That's right, Carrie," Mr. Van Duser said kindly. " Better take your coat off, too." " I don't believe it," cried Mrs. Van Duser. "Wasn't I a Peabody? " " You were certainly born of that il- lustrious name," Mr. Van Duser conceded. " But you had no money, while Abby Decker had four thousand dollars in her own right, enough to buy a house with, as m_y dear mother faithfully pointed out to me, in season and out of season." " Abby Decker," repeated Mrs. Van Duser. " Abby — Decker ! Why, John, she — " "I didn't love Abby Decker," he told her, " and I did love Carrie Peabody. I had it out with my mother along that line, and I won. I told her I was poor, but I [179] Mzss Pkdlura's Wedding Gown didn't intend to stay so ; that I didn't need Abby Decker's four thousand dollars and never should. But I did need and would have Carrie Peabody." " But, John, your mother never so much as hinted anything of the sort to me. I always thought — " " You always thought yourself a most welcome addition to the family. Ex- actly so, my dear Carrie," put in John Van Duser. " My mother was a sensible woman, in the main, and she knew me well enough to understand her duty to- ward you. I guess she wasn't sorry in the long run." Recalling the pampered old lady, swathed in costly furs and sparkling with the diamonds she loved, Mrs. Van Duser silently agreed with him. " But, John," she said, this time with- out a trace of her platform manner, " this — this seamstress is a very ordi- nary sort of person. And her mother — " [180] Miss Philura's Wedding Gozvn She finished with an undisguised shudder. " I went to see Mrs. Parsons to-day," her husband said slowly. " Greg's letter came by the morning post, and I've been rather — cr — busy since. To tell you the truth, Carrie, there isn't a shadow of anything derogatory against the girl. They're quite poor people ; so were we. Don't forget it. The girl has a fair edu- cation. She is beautiful, industrious, and the mother told me there was a Peabody cousin somewhere back, on the father's side, and his great-grandfather's brother- in-law was a Winthrop. So there you have it. Greg loves her, and he's going to marry her to-morrow, whether we're there with a blessing or not. If we're not—" John Van Duser paused to eye his wife fixedly. To his astonishment he saw — not the Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser, the august partner of his later years, the radio-active centre of various clubs and [181] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown boards of management, and foremost in the steadily increasing ranks of fashion- able suffragists, — no; all these majestic and truly awe-inspiring attributes ap- peared to have dropped away like the motor cloak, which lay upon the floor. What he saw Avas a rather stout woman, past middle age, but looking every inch the mother of his son. Her eyes sought his own appealingly, almost humbly. " If we — if we don't go, you think Greg—?" " We should Ibse him," he said. " And, really, my dear, a beautiful daughter, distantly related to yourself and the Win- throps, what couldn't you make of her? " Mrs. Van Duser heaved a deep sigh. Her eyes became reminiscent. " Her manner," she mused, " was really distinguished. I thought so at the time. And her figure — properly gowned — yes, well — " [182] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gozvn John Van Duser drew her into both arms and kissed her on the hesitating lips. " That's my sensible Carrie. I knew you'd see it. We'll go down to-morrow, and dine with Philura after the young folks have gone on their honeymoon." Mrs. Van Duser lay supinely against his shoulder. " I don't seem able to resist anything, even to dining with Philura Rice," she said weakly. "But, John, surely we can't allow Greg to live in Innisfield and go on working for that — Bimmer per- son. Small shop-keeping is so vulgar, and the poor things couldn't exist on the absurd figures Gregory mentioned." " Oh, yes they could," asserted John Van Duser cheerfully. " We lived on less^ and you did the cooking and washed the dishes. My word, I'd like one of your pies occasionally now, if I could get it. But, I'll tell you, Carrie, I've looked into that Trimmer business. I found the pro- [183] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown prietor a decent fellow, very much in need of capital. He's got a fair start over all competitors, and in the end I decided — not to make ' Milt ' one of them." He paused to chuckle to himself. "Milt?" inquired his wife, sitting up, and beginning to replace her loosened hairpins. " That's what Trimmer calls Gregory," he told her. " ' Here you, Milt, run down and put coal on the furnace,' " he quoted. " It won't hurt him, not a bit of it. And he knows it, the young rascal ! " " I could bring her out this winter," said Mrs. Van Duser, " and if Gregory wants to work why not take him in with you ? " John Van Duser smote his knee with his flattened palm, " Let him go his own gait, I say, Car- rie. It'll make a man of him as nothing else will. And they need to be alone to- gether, in their own nest, just as we were, [184] Miss Pkilura's Wedding Gown my dear, in what I sometimes look back to as the happiest days of my life." Mrs. Van Duser arose to the full height of her majestic figure. '' John," she said solemnly, " I shall teach Gregory's wife how to make pie- crust properly," [185] XIII Happily unaware of the crucial hour upon which depended much of their fu- ture peace and happiness, young Gregory Van Duser and Genevieve Parsons sat in Malvina Bennett's dingy little sitting- room, with its base-burner, its centre table covered with a chenille table spread, its crayon presentments of departed Ben- netts, and its kerosene lamp, illumining the blond head of Genevieve drooped over the white stuff in her lap. There had been no question whatever as to what Genevieve should be married in. " You're a-goin' t' stan' up in a white dress, Genevieve," Malvina Bennett had said. " I c'n throw it together in two jerks of a lamb's tail, an' any way Phi- lura Rice's goods ain't come yet — I'll bet she'll have to be married in her black an' purple." [186] Miss Philura's Wedding Gozvn Miss Bennett had marched straight to the Trimmer Emporium, where she had cheerfully expended the whole of a ten dollar bill on breadths of shimmering white silk and several yards of the useful lace known as " German Val." It was upon this creation that Gene- vieve was putting certain deft Parisian touches learned of Miss Popham. " I wish," said Gregory fervently, " that you'd put away that sewing and look at me." Genevieve looked at him over the airy stuff in her lap; demure dimples played about her lips. She looked as distract ingly lovely as a beautiful girl may, when sewing her wed- ding gown in the presence of the man she will marry on the morrow. Gregory promptly lost his head, with results which may be imagined. "Couldn't Malvina finish it?" he begged. [187] Mm Philura's Wedding Gown " She couldn't finish what I'm doing," the girl told him, and exhibited with pride the embroidery she was setting here and there upon the garment. He felt in his pocket and presently pro- duced a piece of yellow paper. " I want you to see father's telegram. You see everything's all right, dear." She read the scrawl, a sweet gravity on her young face. " I was afraid your — your mother would never forgive us," she said, " but it says, ' Hearty congratulations from mother and self. Will be with you to- morrow.' " " He sent it right off the bat," exulted Gregory, " soon as he got my letter. I tell you, my dad is a brick; so is mother, when you come to know her. But I'll confess I was a bit surprised to have her come around without a protest." Her swift glance warned him to for- bear. He had been about to confide to [188] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown her the maternal ambitions concerning Lady Clara. Instead he said, " Shall we keep house or board when we come back? " " Keep house, of course," she told him. " I can do everything." He gazed at her with adoring awe. *' We shall only have what I earn and grandmother's money. It won't be much. Do you suppose we can do it.? What do you say, Genevieve? " She cast him a delicious glance of pat- ronage over the white stuff in her lap. " I'm used to being poor, even if you aren't. We shall have everything we need. Have you a piece of paper? " He felt about in his pocket and pro- duced a half sheet of letter paper, folded once across. " Put down first, rent twenty dollars," she commanded. He gazed at her incredulously. " Malvina only pays seventeen for "[189] Miss Philura's Wedding Govsn this," she said crisply, " and we can't af- ford more." "All right," he agreed. "I'd rather live here with you than anywhere else without you. Now what ? " " I know you'll be hungry and want a lot to eat. But we'll have a garden and some fruit trees," she went on, a little pucker between her brown eyes, " so we'll say food forty." "You mean forty a week — eh? Yes. I guess that's about the figure." " I mean a month," she corrected him with the gentle superiority born of expe- rience. " Then we'll have forty left for clothes, fuel, amusements, church, travel- ling and — and everything else, little things one doesn't think of, you know." " Contingencies," murmured Gregory, setting down the forty dollars in his meagre row of figures and eyeing it con- templatively. Then he passed the sheet over to the [190] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown girl, who surveyed it, her pretty head on one side. " We shan't have a bit of trouble on that," she asserted hopefully. She turned the bit of paper over and glanced at the other side. "Why — what— ?" He was looking over her shoulder and incidentally dropping an occasional kiss on her bright hair. " Oh, that," he said, " is a Scriptural curiosity. I picked it up in the store the other day." " ' The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want ten vards of white silk, with lin- ings,' " read the girl. " Why, Greg, it's a shopping list." " Read the rest," he urged ; " perhaps you'll tell me what it means." " Two white petticoats — I'd like one to be trimmed with an embroidered ruffle (she obeyed him). Four pairs of good stock- ings — one pair white, please. Three [191] M2SS Philura's Wedding Gown n. g.s — One very pretty, trimmed with lace. A warm cloak — I'd love to have a fur collar on it. And thank you for ev- erything. All things are mine ! " "Isn't that a unique document?" Gregory demanded. " And what, if one may inquire, is an ' n. g.'.? I've always translated that particular combination of letters into * no good.' But it doesn't ap- pear to work out, when trimmed with lace." But Genevieve was not even smiling. Instead something very like a mist dimmed her bright eyes as she looked up at him. " Greg," she said, her voice vibrating between tears and laughter, " don't you understand.'' This is a shopping list; but it's not meant for your eyes nor mine. That dear little Miss Philura wrote it. It's her handwriting and her letter paper ; I've seen both." " Well," he commented stupidly. " Why should my dear old cousin mix her metaphors in such a remarkable way.? [192] Mtss Philura's Wedding Gozvn Isn't that first line out of the Bible?" " Of course it is, Greg. She hasn't any money, poor dear, to buy these things ; so she — " He grasped the idea without further elucidation. " By Jove ! " he cried, staring at the paper ; " it's a draft on the Encircling Good. Is that what you mean.? " " She talked to me about it," murmured the girl. " She said you — were in it — the Encircling Good, I mean ; and that everything would come right, if I only be- lieved. And oh, Greg, I didn't believe anything could change your mother after — after what she said to me. But some- thing did, — you see, and we are so happy ! " " I'm blessed if I won't play the part," declared young Gregory, some moments later, during which no embroidery stitches were added to the wonder in her lap. [193] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown " You mean — ? " " I'll honour the draft. You buy the things, dear, — you know what she'll like, and we'll give them to her." The girl shook her head. " I shouldn't like her to know we'd seen this," she said slowly. " Besides we don't know exactly what she'd like. The cloak with the fur collar — It would have to be fitted." " Suppose I shove some money under the door. That's a bully way to do, when you can't come right out with it. Just seal it in an envelope and — " The bride-to-be suddenly caught his eager face between her two hands. " I have it, Greg! " she cried. " We'll rent Miss Philura's cottage. She'll be going to the parsonage to live, and won't want it any more." " It's a great little place," he approved, *' apple trees in the back yard and a hen house. Oh, I'll dig the garden all right, [194] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown and you shall ^gg on the hens to furnish- ing us with lots of custards and omelets. We'll do it, and I'll pay six months in advance, and that'll take care of that blessed little woman's wants." [195] XIV Miss Philura never forgot that par- ticular Saturday — the one just before her marriage to the Rev. Silas Pettibone. For on that day several of " God's pur- poses," which had long persisted in the bud, suddenly unfolded before the little lady's astonished eyes. The day began early — long before the light, in fact ; for the house must be swept and dusted and scrubbed and polished, as never before, in honour of the wedding which was to take place under its roof that day. To think of dear Gregory, she mused, and that lovely Genevieve — how happy they will be! And Cousin Caroline and Mr. Van Duser (she had never ventured to cousin that awful personage) — they had not appeared to be at all angry — were coming to the wedding; they would dine with her. Never in her wildest [196] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown dreams could she have thought of any- thing so surprising. At six-thirty as she carefully wiped down the attic stairs (one could never tell where guests might wish to go) her mind reverted for a fleeting instant to the white wedding garment of her imaginings. It had not emerged from the Encircling Good, and Miss Philura's eyes wore a wondering, troubled expression. Could it be possible that she had allowed " fleshly and carnal desires " to carry her away? The Apostle Paul certainly men- tioned such sins — " the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, the pride of life." She had deliberately avoided certain pas- sages of the Pauline Epistles in her Scrip- ture reading of late. How (she secretly wondered) could the Apostle Paul under- stand a woman's heart and a woman's de- sires? He had refused marriage (though undeniably he had boasted that he might marry if he wanted to). And he had sup- [197] Mdss Philura's Wedding Gown posed the world was coming to an end iri his day. It had not come to an end in the Pauline epoch, for here was Miss Philura painstakingly removing imaginary dust from the attic stairs and thinking about the white dress which remained in- exorably hid from her eyes. " Maybe it was Genevieve's dress I was thinking about all the time," she told her- self with a faint renunciatory sigh. " I'd rather she'd have it, if there's only one dress there. I shan't mind wearing the black and purple brocade; perhaps itil be more suitable." She presently forgot all about the Apostle Paul as remotely related to wed- ding dresses, in the fervour of her labours. At eight o'clock she had worked her way through the upstairs bedrooms, and was just beginning the searching quest for dust along the edges of the front stair carpet when she heard a loud imperative knock at the back door. [198] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Goiun It would be the milkman, she concluded, with the half pint of milk, which to-day must be increased to a quart, in view of the guests she had intrepidly undertaken to entertain. She hastily opened the door, to con- front the butter-woman. " This ain't my regular day, I know," apologised Huldah, as she deliberately stepped in and deposited a basket on the table. " Thinks s' I, mebbe she c'd use an extry fowl, seein' 'twas her las' Sunday t' home. So I jes' jumped in m' wagon an' come down the hill." Miss Philura's face was glorified with surprised colour. " Did you know — had you heard I was going to have a wedding here to- day? " she asked. "A weddin'?" The butter-woman's broad smile sud- denly faded. " I thought — Didn't you tell me you [199] Miss Vhilurc^s Wedding Gown was goin' t' be married Thanksgivin' Day? You — you said so!" " Oh, I am to be married Thanksgiving Day. This is my cousin's wedding — and so unexpected; and his father and mother coming from Boston. And I in- vited them to dinner. And Malvina told me last night Genevieve's mother is com- ing, too." "Got anybody t' help you?" in- quired Huldah briskly. " I sh'd think you'd need somebody t' take a-holt." " Malvina's going to do what she can, but of course she's busy with Genevieve, and — " The butter-woman removed her blanket shawl. " Here I be, stout an' willin'. Jest tell me what, an' I'll whirl in an' do it. You look all beat out a'ready, an' I don't be- lieve you've put on an ounce o' fat sence I was here last. Land! You remind me of a hen I had once; I couldn't no more [200] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown fatten her 'n I c'd flesh up the wind. Al- ways on the go. But I fixed her. Shet her up in a coop where the' wa'n't nothin' else t' take up her mind. You'd ought t' seen her eat." The butter-woman unrolled a gingham apron and tied it about her substantial waist. " I kind o' thought I c'd find somethin' t' do t'day," she observed complacently. '• I git lonesome up t' my house 'long 'bout this time o' th' year, an' I'd admire t' help you out, if you say so. How'd you like a chicken pie fer dinner? You bet I c'n make a good one ! " Miss Philura breathed a deep sigh of relief. The central dish of that particu- lar dinner had lain heavily upon her soul, since she had so rashly proffered her hos- pitality. " Chicken-pie with plenty o' good, rich cream gravy, mashed p'tatoes, biled onions — I fetched a few, thinkin' mebbe [201] Mdss Fhilura's Wedding Gown you c'd use 'em. An' what fer dessert — heh?" " I prepared sponge cake and lemon jelly, yesterday," twittered Miss Philura, " I thought — " " An' I'll whip up a pint o' cream — that'll go all right. Now I guess I '11 put th' chicken over t' simmer gentle like, while I scrub up." " But your — horse? " *' He's blanketed, an' sound asleep on two legs a'rcady. I got t' run out, though, an' fetch in somethin' out th' wagon." The something was a flat, oblong par- cel wrapped in newspaper, which Huldah brought in under her apron and deposited on a chair in the corner of the kitchen. " I don't want you should look at it till after I'm gone," she said, turning her broad back on Miss Philura, and speak- ing through the sacrificial smoke of the singeing chicken. " Ef I ain't done right, [202] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown you c'n let me know most any time, an' the' ain't no harm done." Any fleeting curiosity which Miss Phi- lura might properly have experienced was speedily swept away by the onrushing flood of events. At ten o'clock came in young Gregory Van Duser to unfold to Miss Philura his plan for renting her cot- tage. " Don't tell me you have disposed of it already," he begged. " Genevieve has set her heart on living here." Miss Philura gazed at him incredu- lously. "Living here?" she echoed. "You can't mean that you — would think of — " "Why not?" he urged. "I've always liked it since — er — since I had that bully little supper with you. Why didn't you tell me straight off that you knew my darling girl? " There was a shadow of reproach in his honest eyes. [203] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown "I — was so taken by — by surprise,** murmured Miss Philura, with a propitia- tory smile. '* And your dear mother — I couldn't think what my duty was, just at first, you know. Then Mr. Pettibone came in and you — I thought I should like to ask his advice in so serious a mat- ter." Young Gregory smiled upon her almost pityingly. " So you fancied you would take sides with mother — eh? " " Oh, no, my dear ; surely not ! I only — " " And what did the minister say? " " He said at once I had no right to keep Genevieve from you. He thought I should have told you — " " Bully for Silas ! " cried Gregory ir- reverently. " I'll go to church from now on with the regularity of a haloed saint. You'll see ! " Miss Philura wiped her eyes. " I am [204] Mm Philura's Wedding Gown so — so glad," she said quite unaffect- edly. " But the house — may we have it? — just as it is, please." Miss Philura hesitated. "I hadn't thought about renting it?" she said. " Of course I have lived here all my life, and it is a very well built house. But — " " It wants a few repairs, I dare say." "You would have to be careful about emptying the pans on the attic floor every time it rained there are four of them — and the oil-cloth around the chimney has to be wiped up every day when there is snow on the roof. Besides • — " "Well?" he suggested hopefully. "I guess we could cope with the roof in one way or another. What else? " Miss Philura shook her head. " I'm so used to living here," she said gently; "but I'm afraid you wouldn't know how to shut the side door at night ; [205] Mns Fhilura's Wedding Gown you have to lift it just a little on the hinges before you lock it. Then there's the pantry window; it has to be stuffed with paper in very cold weather, because it's a little loose on one side." *' All right, I guess we could get along with the pantry window," he said confi- dently. "Is it a go, cousin?" Miss Philura's blue eyes wore an intro- spective look. " I don't believe you could manage the broken water pipe at the back door the way I do," she said. " I have to be very careful with pails, keeping them emptied, you know. I remember one time I was in Boston over three nights and Malvina Bennett, who had promised to attend to it, in case of rain, quite forgot. And when I arrived, there was a foot of water in the cellar." " One could have a new pipe," offered Gregory. " You wouldn't mind, I sup- pose.'' " [206] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown " I hadn't thought of that. But re- pairs have been quite out of the question, you know. And one can manage quite nicely, if accustomed to a house." " Will you trust us to live in it, if we'll promise to take the best kind of care of everything ? — Give you a lease, with ev- erything down in black and white. Rent payable in advance, twice a year." " Oh, my dear, I couldn't think of ask- ing rent of one of my own relatives, and Cousin Caroline always the soul of kind- ness ! If you and Genevieve could be happy here — and it's really a very good house ; very well built, and so comfortable — I shall be only too glad to have you here." Gregory Van Duser shook his head de- cidedly. " Couldn't think of it on those terms, Cousin Philura. Now, look here, we've got to rent some house and we can't af- ford to pay much, so why not this one. [207] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown You've got a jolly little garden and a hen-house." " I have no chickens," she interrupted plaintively. " And the windows are quite destroyed, I fear." " I was so sure you'd say ' yes ' that I brought the lease. We want to come back to a home — Genevieve and I. Won't you look at it, please; and sign right here." Miss Phllura gazed distractedly at the legal-looking document he spread before her. Then all in a flutter she reached for her pen. " But," he expostulated, " you haven't even looked at it. Never sign your name to anything you don't read carefully first." It was a tremulous little signature she affixed after five minutes given to diligent study of the document. " Are you satisfied that we aren't do- ing you.'*" he asked judicially, "We [208] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown want everything ship-shape and — er — legal, you know." With that he took a roll of bills from his pocket and laid it on the table. " Just six months' rent. Please re- ceipt for it, cousin," and he shoved a form across the table, with a strictly business air. " There ! Now we've got a roof over our heads. Hurray ! " And he seized the dazed little lady and whirled her about in a mad dance of tri- umph. " We'll take care of everything, repair when necessary and pay up regular. If we don't, you can evict us — see terms of the lease ! " was his parting word as he hurried away. " Why — why ! " murmured Miss Phi- lura, with dazzled eyes, as she counted the bills. Then she hugged them to her breast in a rapture of gratitude. " And to think it had never occurred to [209] Mns Philura's Wedding Gown me I could rent my house for so much money ! " The Encircling Good, she concluded, was filled with kind thoughts travelling from heart to heart and flowering in beautiful and unexpected ways. The rest of that surprising day was like its beginning. At eleven came a great hamper from a local florist. " Just a few dozen roses, ma'am," ex- plained the man who brought it, " and a bit of green for mantels and such. An' I'm to fix 'em if you please." At a quarter to twelve arrived Mr. and Mrs. J. INIortimer Van Duser, from Bos- ton in their limousine, which appeared taxed to its utmost capacity by the boxes and bundles which the footman brought into the house. " A few wedding gifts for dear Gregory and — Genevieve," explained Mrs. Van Duser graciously, though it was evident that the name of her daughter-in-law-to- [210] Miss VUilurcCs Wedding Gown be came hard. " And Mr. Van Duser thought, as your own wedding was so near, we might bring our gifts to you." There was no time for the busy little hostess to take a single peep into the boxes marked with her own name, for the minister was already coming up the walk. And not ten minutes behind him came Gregory Van Duser with the sweetest girl in the world, wrapped in a great furred coat against the cold. Miss Philura caught herself holding her breath with painful intensity as she opened the hospitable old door — hers no longer — to the young couple. And it must be owned that even the puissant Mrs. Van Duser momentarily shrank from the imminent meeting with the girl whom she had last seen standing proud and pale in the shabby front room of the shabby house in East Boston. The girl had won, and Mrs. Van Duser couldn't help stiffen- ing a little after her old awe-inspiring [211 J M2SS PkUura's Wedding Gown fashion, when she greeted Genevieve amid the pink roses and trailing greenery which had transformed Miss Philura's little par- lour into a veritable bridal bower. But Mr. J. Mortimer Van Duser! — Miss Philura glowed with shame at sight of the grey cat placidly stroking his whis- kers by the fire. How could she have called him " Mortimer " in a spirit of sinful reprisal? This was a new species of Van Duser, new at least to Miss Phi- lura; this was the John Van Duser who had triumphantly wooed and won Carrie Peabody long ago, and afterward every- thing else in sight worth having. Few people knew him now; even his wife had half forgotten that such a genial, tact- ful, altogether agreeable person existed. It was all over quickly; even the din- ner, at which Miss Philura found herself entertaining the whole company. " Don't you worry a mite," was the butter-woman's exhortation. " I've got a M2SS Fhilura's Wedding Goivn plenty for all comers, an' that there young feller that come with the ice-cream an' things is goin' to wait on table. He says he's us't t' doin' it, an' he cert'nly doos take a-holt good." It was all a part of the dream — and by this time Miss Philura had given her- self without reserve to the sweeping cur- rent of pleasant surprises which appeared to flow out of the invisible, filling all the meagre channels of her life to overflowing. At four o'clock the butter-woman was pinning her heavy shawl about her. " Well, I guess I'll be goin' along," she said. " You mus' be about beat out with all the doin's. But wa'n't that girl a pic- ter a-standin' up t' be married ; I peeked in th' door an' seen it all. An' the ol' folks, they was lookin' at both of 'em, — I had t' laf at that big, up-standin' lady ; she didn't want t' cry ; but she couldn't no more help it than nothin'. Well, I washed up everythin', but mebbe I ain't [213] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown put things in their right places. You c'n do that when you git rested. Now I'm a-goin' along." But Miss Philura had seized both the brown hands in her own. " Dear Huldah," she said, " I couldn't have done it alone. I didn't know they were all going to stay. I hadn't dishes enough, nor spoons and forks. Where did you get those pretty sprigged plates ? " "Oh, them? The young feller from Boston fetched 'em. He was a reel clever chap, an' he said my chicken-pie 'n' mashed p'tatoes went ahead of anything he ever tasted. His name was Tom." The butter-woman opened the door sud- denly. " I'm glad I come," she said, in a curi- ously smothered voice. " I wouldn't a missed it. Ef you don't want what's in that box I'll take it away nex' time I come. Good-bye ! " Miss Philura heaved a long sigh of [214] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown mingled relief and weariness when she found herself once more alone in the little house. There was a scent of roses in the air, and the glamour of romance and hap- piness still lingered about the quiet rooms, once so sombre and desolate. Then re- membering the butter-woman's words she lifted the oblong parcel which had lain all day on a chair in the kitchen and car- ried it to the window where the red light of the westering sun streamed in. A stout string secured the newspaper wrappings, and to this was pinned a scrap of paper, on which Huldah had written in her cramped handwriting: " Miss Philura, mam. Once I was go- ing to be married. It was to be on Thanksgiving Day. But he got drowned at sea and never come back. So I kept the dress all these years. Tom bought it for me in London. If you'll wear it I'll be happy." Miss Philura lifted the lid of shining [215] Miss Fhilura^s Wedding Gown dark wood, all set with buds and leaves of mother of pearl, and the imperishable odour of roses long dead floated out to mingle with the fragrance of the bridal blooms. Beneath the wrappings of silken tissue lay something softly white, like the petals of chrysanthemums lapping over a heart of gold. Miss Philura touched it with tremulous fingers ; then she took it from the box and the rich, creamy satin flowed all about her to the floor. And so Malvina Bennett came upon her, unaware, when she quietly opened the door. " I jest run over t' — " began Miss Ben- nett. Then she stopped short with up- lifted hands. " My, my ! Your goods is come at last, ain't it, an' jest in the nick o' time ! " Miss Philura gazed at her old friend •j through a glorified mist of tears. She was / thinking, though she did not tell Malvina [ai6] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown so, that her bridal dress was truly a holy garment, since it had been the gift of a pure affection, cherished long, with love and tears, and at last bestowed whole- heartedly upon herself. Malvina would have been sure to find an omen of ill clinging to the gift of the long-dead bridegroom. But then, Mal- vina hated to see the moon over her left shoulder, and attributed her chronic rheumatism to a careless observance of the weighty saying: ** See a pin an' pick it up, All the day you'll have good luck ; See a pin an' leave it lay. Bad luck'll follow you all the day." " It's the han'somest thing I ever see in all my life," declared Miss Bennett, quite oblivious of the fact that Philura Rice heard not a word of her approving com- ments. " I'll make it up in a perfec'ly plain princess. It don't need a mite o' trimmin'." [217] XV That same evening the Rev. Silas Petti- bone sat alone in his study There was belated work to be done on the Sunday sermons ; but for once the minister's trained mind refused to obey him. He was thinking with a worried frown that this was the Saturday evening he had specified, in his conversation with Elder Trimmer, as the date on which half the amount of salary due must be paid. He recalled his own words with regret, realis- ing that he had acted under the urge of a strong and unwonted impulse. At the time his course had appeared right and proper; but more than once since he had experienced uncomfortable qualms of doubt. Should he be compelled to take the mat- ter up in Presbyterial conclave, as he had distinctly threatened to do, what would [218] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown be the outcome for himself? He was per- ilously near the " dead line," as some zealous advocate of the-young-man-in-the- pulpit idea has termed fifty years. What if he had taken the bull by the horns only to be tossed one side in the struggle. Should he lose his pulpit in Innisfield through any ill-advised effort to collect the arrears in his salary, could he — with his already silvered hair — obtain another? And if he could not, what about his ap- proaching marriage with Miss Philura? The thought of her warmed his chill heart like a cordial. How beautiful she had looked that day, all glorified as she was with the joys of service to others. Not even the youthful bride (in the opin- ion of the minister) could compare with her. His dismal cogitations gradually assumed a brighter tone. He was not old, he told himself, — even at forty-three the " dead line " was still in the perspective. And what, after all, was the " dead line "? [219] Miss Philura's Wedding Gown He gazed steadily at the hateful phantom, compelling its shrouded shape to shrink and dwindle into a kernel of wholesome truth. A man — and by a man Mr. Pet- tibone meant a preacher — A man might be dull and platitudinous at twenty- five. He might be spiritually ossified at thirty ; at forty he might even be turning his barrel once a twelve month, compelling his congregation to subsist solely upon dry as dust dogma, gleaned years before from commentaries and man-made theolo- gies. While at fifty he miglit be alive, forceful, panoplied with the whole armour of God, wielding the sword of the spirit with mighty sinews. Yes ; this was the truth. Avaunt, foolish spectre of the " dead line " ! Never again should it tor- ment him. Through the silent house rang a sudden peal of the door-bell. After a discreet interval he heard the shuffling step of his domestic on her way to answer it. Then [220] Mzss Fhilura's Wedding Gown followed a subdued sound of voices. Mr Pettibone arose and opened the door of his study. Abby Stiles sometimes took it upon herself to debar visitors from the ministerial presence, more particularly of a Saturday evening. On this occasion Mr. Pettibone found himself faced with a solemn delegation of five men. And for an instant his breath stopped, while his heart pounded furi- ously. Then with outward composure he ushered Elders Trimmer, Puffer and Swan, and Deacons Scrimger and Twombly into his study, carefully closing the door be- hind them, to the manifest discomfiture of Miss Stiles, who scented the unusual in this nocturnal visit. " Ef they've come t' sass him — as is the salt of the earth, if ever there was salt — I've got my opinion of 'em," Miss Stiles muttered darkly, as she withdrew to her kitchen. " An' him a-never findin' fault with anythin' since the day I come, [221] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown an' me with constant bad luck with my bread, what with the yeast sourin' on me." Elder Trimmer, as was right and proper, began the conversation, amid a tre- mendous clearing of throats and flourish of Sabbath handkerchiefs. " — Er — we called this evening to take up that little matter of our indebted- ness to you," Mr Trimmer announced, in his best prayer-meeting tone. " The Lord has been pleased to crown our eff*orts with a goodly measure of success." He paused dramatically, and again the assembled dignitaries broke into what might be termed pious coughing, a dis- tinct variety of bronchial weakness pecul- iar to the sanctuary. " A goodly measure of success," re- peated Mr. Trimmer oratorically. " It — er — in short occurred to some of us » that at this time of the year when peace on earth, good will to men ought to pre- vail, we — er — should not permit any Miss Philura's Wedding Goivn laxity, as it were, on the walls of Zion. We have therefore put our hands to the plough and as a result I have the dis- tinguished pleasure of handing you the whole amount due you to date and — er — a little reminder of our affection for our pastor in addition. It is — er — in the form of a check on our local bank." Mr. Pettibone received the envelope, which Mr Trimmer tendered him, with a stately inclination of the head. He had been revolving some dignified sentences, re- lating to his personal sense of gratitude to Deit}^ that his church had been blessed in this as in other particulars. But when he tried to utter these appropriate platitudes his voice quite unexepectedly failed him, and he grasped the hands out- stretched to meet his from all sides, with- out a word. It was Deacon Scrimger who finally voiced the general feeling, when he said itt his high nasal tones : Miss Philura's Wedding Gown " You ain't no better pleased t' git it an' we be t' give it, dominie. I guess we was gettin' kind o' dead in trespasses an' sins; but you roused us up jest in time. Praise the Lord ! " So once again was a mountain removed and cast into the sea, by that potent in- strumentality known as faith, this time, assuredly, of the mustard seed variety. [224] XVI It was exactly two weeks from the fol- lowing Thursday when The Ladies' Aid and Missionary Society met at the par- sonage for the purpose of sewing a new carpet for the pastor's study. Painters and paper-hangers had been at work in the house during the minister's absence, and the dingy rooms had taken on a look of brightness and cleanhness pleasing to the eye. Abby Stiles, her head swathed in a towel against dust and draughts, was busy putting things to rights, in view of the home-coming of Mr. and Mrs. Petti- bone. "Yes, Mis' Buckthorn," stated Miss Stiles, " I'm goin' t' stay right on — for a spell, anyhow, till she gets kind o' broke t' harness." Mrs. Buckthorn paused in the act of unrolling the long breadths of carpet to [225] Mdss Pkilura's Wedding Gown gaze darkly at Electa Pratt, who was as- sisting her. " A hired girl ! " this excellent lady murmured. " Well, I never ! I shouldn't think Mr. Pettibone could afford it, especially now that he's married." Miss Pratt giggled girlishly. " Oh, I guess he c'n afford most any- thin' now," was her opinion. " All Phi- lura has t' do is ' t' hold the thought.' " " If that ain't unchristian," opined Mrs. Buckthorn, " I don't know what is ! I guess the Lord of Hosts knows what is good for Philura Rice without any of her meddling." Mrs. Puffer, a softly round and rosy matron, approached with a skein of car- pet thread. " My, wasn't she lovely ! I never saw such a sweet dress." " Satin as thick as cream," chimed in Sadie Buckthorn, waxing a length of thread vigorously. y [226] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown Sadie Buckthorn was slim and rosy and eighteen; her brown eyes sparkled de- fiantly as she spoke. " I think Miss Philura is just perfectly sweet ! " she declared. " But I never can get used to calling her Mrs. Pettibone." " Well, I didn't see none of it," sighed a sallow-faced woman in a black dress. " I couldn't get out no-how Thanksgivin' Day. My husban' 's mother was visiting us, an' she was took with one of her spells just as I was putting on my rubbers t' go. It was just my luck." Mrs. Salter sighed heavily as she spoke ; her "luck," as she called it, always ap- peared to intervene between herself and any cherished purpose. " But of course you've heard all about it; haven't you.? " asked Mrs. Puffer. Mrs. Salter shook her head sadly. " The' ain't a soul been near me since t' tell me anything. As I said t' mother Salter this morning, ' If I don't break my [227] Miss Pkdlura's Wedding Gown leg on the ice this afternoon,' I says^ * mebbe I'll get out t' th' Ladies' Aid and hear the news.' An' I did come near slip- pin' down right in front o' th' house. I'm always so unlucky." " I'll tell you about the wedding," vol- unteered Sadie Buckthorn eagerly. She glanced about the circle of indus- trious women with an imperious toss of her dark head. " In the first place," she began, " the church was full — even the gallery. And it looked dandy ; the Helping Hand Circle had trimmed it with evergreen, and right down in front of the pulpit was a big gilt horn of plenty full of all sorts of fruit and vegetables." " Oh, was that what it was meant for," put in Miss Pratt, with sly malice ; " I couldn't imagine ; I thought perhaps it was another collection for the pastor." The girl reached for more thread. She longed to say something sharp and clever [228] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown and scathing; but at the moment she could think of nothing; so she merely tilted up her pink chin aggressively at Miss Pratt. . " It was a horn of plenty ! " she said positively, " whether you or anybody else recognised it. It — it means abundance — plenty of everything good and rich and nice!" " I'm sure we all hope they'll be blessed," observed Mrs. Salter plaintively. Whereat two or three of the older women wiped their eyes. " There was plenty of sermon, any- 'way," pursued the lively Miss Buckthorn. " The minister from Newton preached ; we girls thought he'd never stop ! " " Daughter ! " intoned Mrs. Buckthorn majestically, wagging a warning finger. " Well, it was — awfully long, and Miss Philura sitting there in the pew all that while, waiting ! " " Did you notice the cloak she had on? " [229] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown asked Mrs. Scrimger, from the opposite side of the room. A babel of tongues uprose, and the anxious Mrs. Salter gathered with diffi- culty that Miss Philura's bridal gown had been concealed from the view of the con- gregation, " till the last minute," by a sumptuous fur-lined garment. It was Miss Bennett, who had just en- tered, who added authoritatively that the cloak in question was the gift of " Gene- vieve's pa-an'-ma-in-law from Boston an' cost a hunderd dollars, if it cost a cent." The little dress-maker had of a sudden become a person of distinction in Innis- iield. From the pinnacle of her greatness she cast a look of complacent superiority about the circle of workers. " You're a-puckerin' that there seam, Mis' Puffer," she observed rebukingly. " Here, you jes' let me take a-holt." Nobody even glanced in the direction of [230] Miss Pkilura's Wedding Gown Sadie Buckthorn, who was humming the immortal strains of the wedding march from Lohengrin. " I c'n jes' tell you ladies my heart was in my mouth when they come t' stan' up t' be married," declared Miss Malvina. " Thinks s' I, if that there waist wrin- kles in the back I'll feel like shuttin' up m' shop fer good an' all." She paused, a dangling length of car- pet thread in one hand, the better to enjoy the unwonted sensation of being the observed oi all observers. " 'Tain't no easy job t' make a real good heavy piece of satin lay jest so. But land! I needn't 'a' worried. It fit- ted her like a duck's foot in the mud ! " There was quiet in the room for a fuli minute after Miss Bennett's last remark, while flashing needles flew in and out, and the soft staccato phrases of the wedding march roused a reminiscent tenderness in each matronly breast. [231] Miss Fhilura's Wedding Gown Then Sadie Buckthorn spoke softly, as if still gazing at a never-to-be-forgotten vision of exquisite happiness. " Miss Philura's wedding gown was like her," she said ; " and she seemed like — a lovely angel, just dressed for heaven." "Daughter!" murmured Mrs. Buck- thorn, with a pious upward glance. [232] And So They Were Married COPTRIGHT, 1908 By THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPAN^ CoPTRIGHt, lyv^ By FLORENCE MORSE KINGSLEY Publiehed, September, 1908 ,:^''-i?iz.'- " 'It isn't your husband's place to do your work and his own, too, my dear' " (p. 126) CHAPTER I Dr. North's wife, attired in her dressing- gown and slippers, noiselessly tilted the shut- ter of the old-fashioned inside blind and peered cautiously out. The moon was shining splendidly in the dark sky, and the empty street seemed almost as light as day. It had been snowing earlier in the evening, Mrs. North observed absent-mindedly, and the clinging drifts weighed the dark evergreens on either side of the gate almost to the ground. A dog barked noisily from his kennel in a neighbouring yard, and a chorus of answering barks acknowledged the signal; some one was coming along the moonlit street. There were two figures, as Mrs. North had expected; she craned her plump neck anxiously forward as the gate clicked and a light girlish laugh floated up on the frosty air. "Dear, dear!" she murmured, "I do hope Bessie will come right into the house. 1 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED It is too cold to stand outside talk- -ing." Apparently the young persons below did not think so. They stood in the bright moonlight in full view of the anxious watcher behind the shutter, the man's tall figure bent eagerly toward the girl, whose delicate profile j\Irs. North could see distinctly under the coquet- tish sweep of the broad hat -brim. "The child ought to have worn her high overshoes," she was thinking, when she was startled by the vision of the tall, broad figure stooping over the short, slight one. Then the key clicked in the lock and the front door opened softly ; the sound was echoed by the closing gate, as the tall figure tramped briskly away over the creaking snow. The neighbour's dog barked again, perfunctorily this time, as if acknowledging the entire respectability of the passer-by; all the other dogs in town responded in kind, and again there was silence broken only by the sound of a light foot on the car- peted stair. 2 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Mrs. North opened her door softly. "Is that you, Bessie.'^" "Yes, mother." "Isn't it very late, child?" "It is only half past eleven." "Did Louise go with you?" "No, mother ; she had a sore throat, and it was snowing ; so her aunt wouldn't allow her to go." "Oh !" Mrs. North's voice expressed a faint disapproval. "Of course we couldn't help it ; besides, all the other girls were there just with their escorts. You and grandma are so — old-fashioned. I'm sure I don't see why I always have to have some other girl along — and Louise Glenny of all persons ! I couldn't help being just a little bit glad that she couldn't go." "Did you have a nice time, dear?" The girl turned a radiant face upon her mother. "Oh, we had a lovely time !" she murmured. "I — I'll tell you about it to-mor- row. Is father home?" "Yes ; he came in early to-night and went S AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED right to bed. I hope the telephone bell won't ring again before morning." The girl laughed softly. "You might take off the receiver," she suggested. "Poor daddy !" "Oh, no; I couldn't do that. Your father would never forgive me. But I told him not to have it on his mind; I'll watch out for it and answer it, and if it's Mrs. Salter a^ain with one of her imaginary sinking spells I'm going to tell her the doctor won't be in before six in the morning. I do hope it isn't wrong to deceive that much; but your father isn't made of iron, whatever some people may think." The girl laughed again, a low murmur of joy. "Good-night, dear little mother," she said caressingly. "You are always watching and waiting for some one; aren't you.? But you needn't have worried about w^." She stooped and kissed her mother, her eyes shin- ing like stars ; then hurried away to hide the blush which swept her face and neck. "Dear, dear!" sighed Mrs. North, as she crept back to her couch drawn close to the 4 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIEL* muffled telephone, "I suppose I ought to have spoken to her father before this ; but he is al- ways so busy ; I hardly have time to say two words to him. Besides, he thinks Bessie is only a child, and he would have laughed at me." The girl was taking off her hat and cloak in her own room. How long ago it seemed since she had put them on. She smoothed out her white gloves with caressing fingers. ''I shall always keep them," she thought. She was still conscious of his first kisses, and looked in her glass, as if half expecting to see some visible token of them. "I am so happy — so happy 1" she murmured to the radiant reflection which smiled back at her from out its shadowy depths. She leaned forward and touched the cold smooth surface with her lips in a sudden passion of gratitude for the fair, richly tinted skin, the large bright eyes with their long curling lashes, the masses of brown waving hair, and the phant beauty of the strong young figure in the mir- ror. "If I had been freckled and stoop-shouldered 5 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED and awkward, like Louise Glenny, he couldn*f have loved me," she was thinking. She sank to her knees after awhile and buried her face in the coverlid of her little bed. But ;she could think only of the look in his eyes when he had said "I love you," and of the thrilling touch of his lips on hers. She crept into bed and lay there in a wide-eyed rapture, while the village clock struck one, and after a long, blissful hour, two. Then she fell asleep, and did not hear the telephone bell which called her tired father from his bed in the dim, cold hour between three and four. She was still rosily asleep and dreaming when Mrs. North came softly into the room in the broad sunhght of the winter morning. "Isn't Lizzie awake yet?" inquired a brisk voice from the hall. "My, viy! but girls are idle creatures nowadays !" The owner of the voice followed this dictum with a quick patter of softly shod feet. "I didn't like to call her, mother," apologised Mrs. North. "She came in late, and " Grandmother Carroll pursed up her small, 6 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED -wise mouth. "I heard her," she said, "and that young man with her. I don't know, daughter, but what we ought to inquire into his pros- pects and character a Httle more carefully, if *he's to be allowed to come here so constant. Lizzie's very young, and " "Oh, grandma!" protested a drowsy voice from the pillows ; "I'm twenty !" "Twenty; yes, I know you're twenty, my dear ; quite old enough, I should say, to be out " of bed before nine in the morning." "It wasn't her fault, mother; I didn't call her." The girl was gazing at the two round ma- tronly figures at the foot of the bed, her laugh- ing eyes grown suddenly serious. "I'll get up at once," she said with decision, "and I'll eat bread and milk for breakfast ; I sha'n't mind." "She's got something on her mind," whis- pered Mrs. North to her mother, as the two pattered softly downstairs. "I shouldn't wonder," responded Grand- mother Carroll briskly. "Girls of her age are pretty likely to have, and I mistrust but what 7 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED that young Bowser may have been putting notions into her head. I hope you'll be firm with her, daughter ; she's much too young for anything of that sort." "You were married when you were eighteen, mother ; and I was barely twenty, you know." "I was a very different girl at eighteen from what Lizzie is," Mrs. Carroll said warmly. "She's been brought up differently. In my time healthy girls didn't lie in bed till ten o'clock. ]\Iany and many's the time I've danced till twelve o'clock and been up in the morning at five 'tending to my w^ork. You indulge Lizzie too much ; and if that young Bixlcr " "His name is Brewster, mother; don't you re- member.'' and they say he comes of a fine old Boston family." "Well, Brewster o?" Bixler ; it will make no difference to Lizzie, you'll find. I've been watch- ing her for more than a month back, and I'll tell you, daughter, when a girl like Lizzie of- fers to eat bread and milk for breakfast you can expect almost anything. Her mind is on 8 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED other things. I'll never forget the way you ate a boiled egg for breakfast every morning for a week— and you couldn't bear eggs— about the time the doctor was getting serious I mistrusted there was something to pay, and 1 wasn't mistaken." ^ Mrs. North sighed vaguely. Then her tired brown eves hghted up with a smile. "I^had letters from both the boys this mornmg, she said- "don't you want to read them, mother? Frank has passed all his mid-year examina- tions, and EUiot says he has just made the 'varsity gym' team." "Made the what?'' "I don't quite understand myself," acknowl^ edged Mrs. North ; "but that's what he said. He said he'd have his numerals to show us when he came home Easter. "Hum I" murmured Mrs. Carroll dubiously; "I'm sure I hope he won't break his neck m any foolish way. Did he say anything about his lessons?" "Not much; he never was such^a student a& Frank ; but he'll do well, mother." 9 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Elizabeth North, fresh as a dewy rose and radiant with her new happiness, came into the room just as Mrs. Carroll folded the last sheet of the college letters. "I'll ask Lizzie," she said. "Lizzie, what is a g-y-m team ?" "Oh, grandma!" protested the girl, ^'please don't call me Lizzie. Bessie is bad enough; but Lizzie! I always think of that absurd old Mother Goose rhyme, 'Elizabeth, Lizzie, Bet- sey and Bess, all went hunting to find a bird's nest' ; and,, besides, you promised me you wouldn't." "Lizzie was a good enough name for your mother," said grandma briskly. "Your father courted and married her under that name, and he didn't mind." Her keen old eyes behind their shining glasses dwelt triumphantly on the girl's changing colour. "You needn't tell meP^ she finished irrelevantly. But Elizabeth had possessed herself of the letters, and was already deep in a laughing perusal of Elliot's scrawl. "Oh, how splen- did !" she cried ; "he's made the 'varsity, on his ring work, too !" 10 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "I don't pretend to understand what particu-^ lar work Elliot is referring to," obser\-ed grandma, with studied mildness. "Is it some sort of mathematics?" Elizabeth sprang up and flung both arms about the smiling old lady. "You dear little hypocritical grandma !" she said ; "you know perfectly well that it isn't any study at all, but just gymnastic work — all sorts of stunts, swinging on rings and doing back and front leA-ers and shoulder stands and all that sort of thino-, Elliot has such magnificent muscles he can do anything, and better than any one else, and that's why he's on the 'var- sity, you see !" "Thank you, Elizabeth," said grandma tran- quilly. "I'd entirely forgotten that young men don't go to college now to study their les- sons. My memory is certainly getting poor." "No, crrandma dear : it isn't. You remember everything a thousand times better than any one else, and what is more, you know it. But of course Elhot studies ; he has to. Mr. Brew- ster says he thinks Elliot is one of the finest 11 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED boys he knows. He thinks he would make a splendid engineer. He admires Frank, too, immensely, and " ''What does the young man think of Eliza- beth?" asked Mrs. Carroll with a wise smile. "He — oh, grandma; I — didn't mean to tell just yet; but he — I " "There, there, child! Better go and find your mother. I mistrust she's getting you a hot breakfast." She drew the girl into her soft old arms and kissed her twice. Elizabeth sprang up all in a lovely flame of blushes and ran out of the room. !2 CHAPTER II When Samuel Herrick Brewster, B.S. and Civil Engineer, late of the Massachusetts School of Technolog}^, came to Innisfield for the pur- pose of joining the corps of engineers already at work on a new and improved system of water-works, he had not the slightest intention of falling seriously in love. By "seriously" Sam Brewster himself might have told you — as he told his married sister living in Sag- inaw, Mich., and anxiously solicitous of the young man's general well-being — that he meant that sort and quality of affection which would naturally and inevitably lead a man in- to matrimony. He had always been fond of the society of pretty and amiable women, and well used to it, too. His further ideas with regard to matrimony, though delightfully vague in their general character, were suf- ficiently clear-cut and decided in one impor- tant particular, which he had been careful to 13 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED C? ^ expound at length to those impetuous under-, graduates of his fraternity who had appeared to need friendly counsel from their elders. "A man," said young Brewster, conclusively, "has no business to marry till he can feel solid ground under his feet. He should be thor- oughly established in his profession, and well able to pay the shot." When this sapient young gentleman first met Elizabeth North at a picnic given by the lead- ing citizens of Innisfield to celebrate the com- pletion of the new aqueduct he was disposed to regard her as a very nice, intelligent sort of a girl, with remarkably handsome brown eyes. On the occasion of his third meeting; with the young lady he found himself, rather to his surprise, telling her about his successful work in the "Tech," and of how he hoped to "get somewhere" in his profession some day. Elizabeth in her turn had confided to him her disappointment in not being able to go to Wellesley, and her ambitious attempts to keep up with Marian Evans, who was in the Sopho- more year, in literature and music. She played 14 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ^ C? Chopin's Fantasia Impromptu for him on Mrs. North's garrulous old piano ; and as her slender fingers twinkled over the yellow keys he caught himself wondering how much a first-class instrument would cost. In the course of a month he had fallen into the habit of strolling home with Elizabeth after church, and twice Mrs. North, in the kindness of her motherly heart, had asked him to dinner. She was afraid, she told Grandma Carroll, that the table board at Mrs. Bentwick's was none of the best. She spoke of him further as "that nice, good-looking boy," and hoped he wouldn't be too lonely in Innisfield, away from all his friends. As for Dr. North, that overworked physician was seldom to be seen, being apparently in a chronic state of hastily and energetically climbing into his gig, and as energetically and hastily climbing out again. He had hurriedly shaken hands with young Brewster, and made him welcome to his house in one of the brief intervals between office hours and the ever- waiting gig, with its imperturbable brown 15 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED horse, who appeared to know quite as well as the doctor where the sick were to be found. After that, it is fair to state, the worthy doc- tor had completely forgotten that such a per- son as Samuel Herrick Brewster, B.S., C.E. existed. One may judge therefore of his feel- ings when his wife chose a moment of relaxa- tion between a carefully cooked dinner and an expected summons by telephone to acquaint him with the fact of their daughter's engage- ment. '^Engagedf^ exclaimed the doctor, starting out of his chair. "Bess — engaged! Oh, I guess not. I sha'n't allow anything of the sort ; she's nothing but a child, and as for this young fellow — what 'd you say his name was ? We don't know him !" "You don't, you mean, papa," his wife cor- rected him gently. "The rest of us have seen a good deal of Mr. Brewster, and I'm sure Bessie " "Now, mother, what made you? I wanted to tell daddy myself. Oh, daddy, he's the dear- est person in the world!" Then as Eliza- 16 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED beth caught the hurt, bewildered look in her father's eyes she perched on his knee in the old familiar fashion. "It seems sudden— to you, I know," she murmured; "but really it isn't, daddy ; as he will tell you if he can ever find you at home to talk to. Why, we've known each other since last summer I" "I'm afraid I'm very stupid, child; but I don't believe I understand. You don't mean to tell me that you have been thinking of— of getting married and to a man I don't know even." Dr. North shook his head decidedly. "But you do know him, daddy ; he's been here ever so many times. Of course"— she added with a touch of laughing malice— "he's per- fectly well, and you seldom notice well people, even when they're in your own family." "I don't have time, Bess," admitted the doc- tor soberly, "there are too many of the other sort. But now about this young man— Brewster— eh? You have him come 'round in office hours, say, and I'll " "Now, daddy, please don't straighten out your mouth like that ; it isn't a bit becoming. 17 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Naturally 3^ou've got the sweetest, kindest look in the world, and you mustn't spoil it, especially when you are talking about Sam." The doctor pinched his daughter's pink ear. "I'm sorry to appear such an ogre," he said with a touch of grimness, "but I know too much about the world in general, and the busi- ness of getting married in particular, to allow my one daughter to go into it blindly. I'll be obliged to make the young man's further acquaintance, Bess, before we talk about an engagement." The girl's scarlet lips were set in firm lines, which strongly resembled the paternal ex- pression to which she had objected; she kissed her father dutifully. "I want you to get ac- quainted with him, daddy," she said sweetly ; "but we are engaged." That same afternoon Dr. North, looking worried and anxious after a prolonged confer- ence with the village hypochrondrlac, who had come to the office fully charged with symp- toms of a new and distinguished disease lately imported from Europe, found himself face to 18 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED face with a tall, fresh-faced young man. Thi» new visitor came into the office bringing with him a breath of the wintry air and a general appearance of breezy health which caused the hypochondriac to look up sourly in the act of putting on her rubbers. "If that new medicine doesn't relieve that terrible feelin' in my epigastrium, doctor — an' I don't believe it's a-goin' to — I'll let you know," she remarked acidly. "You needn't be surprised to be called most any time between now an' mornin' ; for, as I told Mr. Salter, I ain't a-goin' to suffer as I did last night for nobody." "Goo^-aftemoon, Mrs. Salter," said the doc- tor emphatically. "Now then, young man, what can I do for you?" The young man in question coloured boy- ishly. "I shouldn't have ventured to call upon you during your office hours. Dr. North ; but I understood from Elizabeth that you could be seen at no other time ; so I'm here." "Elizabeth — eh? Yes, yes; I see. I — er — didn't recall your face for the moment. Just 19 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED come into my private office for a minute or two, Mr. Brewster; these — er — other patients will wait a bit, I fancy." The worthy doctor handed his visitor a chair facing the light, which he further increased by impatiently shoving the shades to the top of the windows. Then he seated himself and stared keenly at the young engineer, who on his part bore the scrutiny with a sturdy self- possession which pleased the doctor in spite of himself. "Elizabeth told you of our engagement, I believe, sir?" "She told me something of the sort — yes," admitted the doctor testily. "I said to her that I couldn't and wouldn't consider an en- gagement between you at present. Did she tell you that?" "I was told that you wished to make my fur- ther acquaintance. I should like, if you have the time, to tell you something about myself. You have the right to know." The doctor nodded f rowningly. "If you ex- pect me — at any time In the future, you un- 20 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIEI7 derstand — to give you ray only daughter, I certainly am entitled to know — everything." The young man looked the doctor squarely in the eyes during the longish pause that fol- lowed. "There isn't much to tell," he said. "My father and mother are dead. I have one sister, older than I, married to one of the best fellows in the world and hving West. I made my home with them till I came to the Tech- You can ask any of the professors there about me. They'll tell you that I worked. I gradu- ated a year ago last June. Since then I've been at work at my profession. I'm getting twelve hundred a year now ; but " "Stop right there. Why did you ask my girl to marry you.^" "Because I loved her." "Hum ! And she — er — fancies that she loves vou— eh.^" A dark flush swept over Samuel Brewster's ingenuous young face. "She does love me," was all he said. But he said it in a tone which suddenly brought back the older man's van- ished youth. 21 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED There was a short silence; then the doctor arose so abruptly that he nearly upset his chair. "TF^ZZ," he said, "I've got to go to J3oston to-morrow on a case, and I'll see those professors of yours, for one thing ; I know Collins well. Not that he or anybody else can itell me all about you — not by a long shot ; I know boys and young men well enough for that. But you see, sir, I — love my girl too, and I — I'll say ^oocZ-afternoon, sir." He threw the door wide with an impatient hand. "Ah, Mrs. Tewksbury ; you're next, I /believe. Walk right in." An hour later, when the door had finally •closed on his last patient. Dr. North sat still in his chair, apparently lost in thought. His dinner was waiting, he knew, and a round of visits must be made immediately thereafter, yet he did not stir. He was thinking, curiously AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "Oh, thank you! Indeed I was coming to condole with your dear mother and to wish you all sorts of happiness. I've so often spoken of you to my friends in Boston." Elizabeth wondered what Miss Tripp could possibly have said about her to her friends in Boston. But she was assured by Miss Tripp's brilliant smile that it had been something aerreeable. When she came into the room after removino: her hat and cloak she found her mother deep in conversation with the visitor, who made room for her on the sofa with a smile and a graceful tilt of her plumed head. "We've been talking about you every minute, dear child. You'll see what a sweet wedding you'll have. Everything must be of the very latest ; and it isn't a minute too soon to begin on your trousseau. You really ought to have everything hand-embroidered, you know ; those flimsy laces and machine-made edges are so common, you won't think of them; and they don't wear a bit well, either." Mrs. North glanced appealingly at her S3 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED daughter. "Oh," she said, in a bewildered tone,' "I guess Elizabeth isn't intending to be mar- ried for a long, long time yet ; I — we can't spare her." Miss Tripp laughed airily. *'Poor mamma," she murmured with a look of deep sympathy, "it is too bad ; isn't it ? But, really, I'm sure you're to be congratulated on your future son-in-law. He belongs to a ver2^ aristocratic family — Mrs. Mortimer Van Duser is a rela- tive, you know ; and dear Betty must have everything suitable. I'll do some pretty things, dear ; I'd love to, and I'll begin this very day, though the doctor has absolutely forbidden me to use my eyes ; but I simply can't resist the temptation." Then she had exclaimed over the sparkle of Elizabeth's modest diamond, which caught her eyes at the moment, and presently in a per- fumed rush of silken skirts and laces and soft furs Miss Tripp swept away, chatting to the outermost verge of the frosty air in her sweet- toned drawling voice, so different from the harsh nasal accents familiar to Innisfield ears. 34 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Elizabeth drew a deep breath as she watched the slim, erect figure move lightly away. She felt somehow very ignorant and countrified and totally unfit for her high destiny as a member of Boston's select circles. As a result of these unwonted stirrings in her young heart she went up to her room and began to look over her wardrobe with growing dissatis- faction. Her mother hearing the sound of opening and shuttino; drawers came into the room and stood looking on with what appeared to the girl a provokingly indifferent expression on lier plump middle-aged face. "It is really too soon to begin worrying about wedding clothes, Bessie," observed Mrs. North with a show of maternal authority. "Of course" — after a doubtful silence — "we might begin to make up some new underclothes. I've a good firm piece of cotton in the house, and we can buy some edges." The girl suddenly faced her mother, her pink lips thrust forward in an unbecoming pout. "Why, mother," she said, "don't you know 35 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED people don't wear things made out of com- mon cotton cloth now ; everything has to be as fine and delicate as a cobweb almost, and — hand-embroidered. You can make them or buy them in the stores. Marian had some lovely things when she went to college. AK the girls wear them — except me. Of course I've never had anything of the sort ; but X suppose I'll have to now !" She shut her bureau drawer with an air of finality and leaned her puckered forehead upon her hand while the new diamond flashed its blue and white fires into her mother's perplexed eyes. "We'll do the very best we can, dear," Mrs. North said after a lengthening pause ; "but your father's patients don't pay their bills very promptly, and there are the boys' college expenses to be met; we'll have to think of that." This conversation marked the beginning of many interviews, gradually increasing in poig- nant interest to both mother and daughter. It appeared that "Sam," as Elizabeth now 36 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED called her lover with a pretty hesitancy which, the young man found adorable, wished to be married in June, so as to take his bride with him on a trip West, in which business and pleasure might be profitably combined. Mrs. North demurred weakly ; but Dr. North, was found to be on the side of the young man. "I don't believe in long engagements myself," he had said, w^ith a certain suspicious grufFness in his tones. "I hoped we should have our daughter to ourselves for a while lono;er ; but she's chosen otherwise, and there is no use and no need to wait. We'll have to let her go, wife, and the sooner the better, for both of them." The important question being thus finally de- cided, not only Miss Tripp but the Norths' whole circle of acquaintances in Innisfield, as well as the female relations, near and far, were found ready and anxious to engage heart and soul in Elizabeth's preparations for her wedding, which had now begun in what might be well termed solemn earnest. 37 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "Are we going to — keep house?" Elizabeth asked her lover in the first inrush of this new tide of experience which was soon to bear her far from the old life. "To keep house, dear, with you would be pretty close to my idea of heaven," the young man had declared with all the fervour of the inexperienced bachelor. "I've boarded for nearly six years now with barely a taste of home between whiles, and I'm tired of it. Don't you want to keep house, dear.?" And Elizabeth answered quite sweetly and truly that she did. "I can cook," she said, proud of her old-fashioned accomplishment in the light of her new happiness. "We will have just a little house to begin with, and then I can do everything." But a suitable house of any size in Boston was found to be quite out of the question. "It will have to be an apartment, my dear," the experienced Miss Tripp declared; "and I believe I know the very one in a really good neighbourhood. I'll write at once. You 38 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED mustn't think of South Boston, even if it is more convenient for Mr. Brewster. It is so important to begin right ; and you know, my dear, you couldn't expect any one to come to see you in South Boston." Mrs. Carroll, who chanced to be present, was observed to compress her lips firmly. "Lizzie," she said, when the fashionable Miss Tripp had finally taken her departure, after much vol- uble advice on the subject of the going-away gown, coupled with a spirited discussion of the rival merits of a church wedding and "just a pretty, simple home affair," "if I were you I shouldn't let that Evelina Kipp decide every- thing for me. You'd better make up your mind what you want to do, and what you can afford to do, and then do it without asking her leave. It seems to me her notions are extrava- gant and foolish." "Why, grandma !" pouted Elizabeth. "I think it is perfectly dear of Miss Tripp to take such an interest in my wedding. I shouldn't have known what to do about lots of things, and I'm sure you and mother haven't 39 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED an idea." The girl's pretty lips curled and she moved her slim shoulders gently. "Your mother and I both managed to get married without Miss Fripp's advice," retorted grandma tranquilly. "I may not have an *idea,' as you call it, but I can't see why you should have ruffled silk petticoats to all your dresses. One good moreen skirt did me, with a quilted alpaca for every-day wear and two white ones for best. And as for a dozen sets of underclothes, that won't wear once they see the washtub, they look foolish to me. More than all that, your father can't afford it, and you ought to consider him." Elizabeth looked up with a worried pucker between her girlish brows. "I don't see how I am going to help it, grandma," she sighed ; *'I really must have suitable clothes." "I agree with you there, Lizzie," said Mrs. Carroll, eyeing her granddaughter keenly over the top of her spectacles ; "but you aren't go- ing to have them, if you let that Sipp girl tell you what to buy." "It isn't Sippy grandma, it's Tripp. 40 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED T-r-i-p-p," said Elizabeth, in a long-sufFering tone; "and she knows better than any one in Innisfield possibly can what I am going to need in Boston." "You'll find the people in Boston won't take any particular interest in your petticoats, Liz- zie," her grandmother told her pointedly. But the girl had spied her lover coming up the walk toward the house and had flown to meet him. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" asked the young man, examining his treasure with the keen eyes of love. "You look tired and— er— worried. Anything wrong, little "N-no," denied EHzabeth evasively. "Only grandma has such queer, old-fashioned ideas about— clothes. And she thinks I ought to have just what she had when she was married to grandfather fifty years ago. Of course I want to have everything nice and— suitable for Boston, you know." "What you are wearing now is pretty enough for anywhere," declared Sam Brewster, with 41 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED masculine obtuseness. ^' Don't you bother one minute about clothes, darling; you'd look lovely in anything." Then he kissed her faintly smihng Hps with the fatuous idea that the final word as to wed- ding finery had been said. CHAPTER IV ^ 9 V *-ith mother-of-pearl handles. They looked so much richer than the cheque, which would have to be concealed in an incon- spicuous envelope. Following the shining ex- ample of Aunt Miranda and Uncle Caleb, other relatives of lesser substance contributed cut-glass bowls and dishes of every conceiv- able design and for every known contingency ; silver forks and spoons of singular shapes and sizes, suggesting elaborate course luncheons and fashionable dinners. While of lace- trimmed and embroidered centre-pieces and dovlies there was a plenitude which would have 63 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED set forth a modest linen draper. Fragile vases, hand-painted fans, perfume bottles, silver trifles of unimagined uses, sofa pillows and gilt clocks crowded the tables and overflowed onto the floor and mantelpiece. Ehzabeth surve3^ed the collection with spark- ling eyes. "Aren't they lovely .^" she demanded, slipping her hand within her lover's arm ; "and aren't you surprised, Sam, to see how many friends we have.'^" "Yes, I am — awfully surprised," acknowl- edged the young man. His brows were drawn over meditative eyes as he examined a shining carving-set with impossible ivory handles. "What are we going to do with them all?" he propounded at length. "Do with them? Why use them, I suppose," responded Elizabeth vaguely. "Do see these darling little cups, all gold and roses, and these coff'ee-spoons with enamelled handles — these make eight dozen coff^ee-spoons, Sam !" "Hum !" mused the unappreciative engineer. "We might set up a restaurant, as far as cof- fee-spoons go." 64 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Elizabeth was bending rapturously over a lace fan, sewn thick with spangles. "I feel so rich with all these lovely things," she mur- mured. "I never dreamed of having so many." She made such an exquisite picture in her glowing youth amid the sparkle and glitter of the dainty trifles that it is little wonder that Samuel Brewster lost his usually level head for the moment. "You ought always to have all the pretty things you want, darling," he whispered; "for you are the prettiest and sweetest girl alive." Later in the day the ubiquitous Miss Tripp was discovered in the act of artfully conceal- ing Mrs. Carroll's gift, made by her own faith- ful hands, under a profusion of lace-edged doylies lately arrived from a distant cousin. "There !" she exclaimed, with an air of reUef , "those big gingham aprons and the dish-towels and dusters did look so absurd with all the other lovely things; they won't show now." And she planted a silver fern-dish in the midst and surveyed the effect with her head tilted thoughtfully. "Wasn't it quaint of Mrs. Car- 65 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ^ C> roll to make all those useful things? You can- give them to your maid afterward ; they al- ways expect to be found in aprons nowadays — if not frocks. Really, I draw the line at frocks, with the wages one is obliged to pay ; and I should advise you to." "I'm not going to have a maid," said Eliza- beth. "I can cook, and I like to." Miss Tripp whirled about and caught the girl in her arms with an amused laugh. "You dear, romantic child !" she cried. "Did it have the prettiest dreams about love in a cottage, and the young wife with her sleeves rolled up cooking delicious impossibilities for a doting husband ? That's all very well, my dear ; but, seriously, it won't do in a Boston apartment- house. You won't have a minute to yourself after the season once begins, and of course after a while you'll be expected to entertain — quite simply, 3'ou know, a luncheon or two, with cards ; possibly a dinner ; you can do it beautifully with all these lovely things for your table. Ill help 3^ou; so don't get frightened at the idea. But fancy your do- 66 AXD SO THEY WERE MARRIED ing all that without a maid ! You mustn't think of it ! And I am sure dear Mrs. Van Duser will give you the same advice." The soft pink in Elizabeth's cheeks deepened to rose. "Mrs. Van Duser isn't coming to the wedding," she said, in a faintly defiant tone. "Oh ! Did she send you " "She sent regrets," said Elizabeth coldly. Miss Tripp's eyebrows expressed the pro- foundest disappointment. "I am so sorry,^"^ she murmured, suddenly aware that she was exceedingly weary of the North wedding. "It will spoil everything J'^ "I can't see why," returned Elizabeth with spirit, not realising that Miss Tripp's com- ment applied solely to her own feelings. "It won't prevent my being married to Sam ; and Sam says he is glad she is not coming. She must be a stiff, pokey sort of a person, and I am sure it will be pleasanter without her. She isn't hardly any relation to Sam, anyway, and I don't think I care to know her." "My 6?^ar.'" expostulated Miss Tripp, "you'll see things very differently some day, I hope. 67 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED And I am glad to say that these relationships do count in Boston, if not in other parts of the world, and you cannot prevent people from knowing that they exist." Like a skilful general Miss Tripp was sweep- ing her field clear of her disappointment, pre- paratory to marshalling her forces for a new campaign. "Did Mrs. Van Duser send cards, or did she " "She wrote a note — a stiff, disagreeable note." "Would you mind showing it to me, dear?" Elizabeth produced a thick white envelope from the little embroidered pocket at her belt. "You may read it," she said ; "then I mean to tear it up." Miss Tripp bent almost worshipful eyes upon the large, square sheet. "Mrs. J. Mor- timer Van Duser" (she read) "begs to con- vey her acknowledgments to Dr. and Mrs. North for their invitation to the marriage of their daughter, and regrets that she cannot be present. Mrs. Van Duser begs to add that she will communicate further with Mr. and 68 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Mrs. Samuel Brewster upon their arrival in Boston upon a matter of moment to them both." '•Isn't that a disagreeable-sounding note?" demanded Elizabeth, her pretty chin tilted at an aggressive angle. "I just know I shouldn't like her from that letter. But I'm sure I can't think what she wants to say to us 'upon our arrival in Boston.' " "My dcarr exclaimed Miss Tripp, with a horrified stare, "what can you be thinking of.? That note is in the most perfect form. I am so glad you showed it to me 1 'Something of moment \o you both,' what can it mean but a gift—perhaps a generous cheque, and un- doubtedly a reception to introduce you. My dear! Mrs. Van Duser is said to be worth m\l- lions, and what is more, and far, far better, she moves in the most exclusive society. You dear, lucky girl, I congratulate you upon the recognition you have received. Tear it up indeed, you will do nothing of the sort 1 I'll put it here right by this cut-glass vase, where everv one will see it." 69 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Elizabeth pouted. "Mother didn't like it," she said, "and grandma laughed over it, and Sam told me to forget it; I don't see why you " ^'Because I know,'^ intoned Miss Tripp solemnly. "I only hope you won't forget poor little me when you're fairly launched in ^Irs. Van Duser's set." Elizabeth gazed reflectively at her friend. "Oh, I couldn't forget you," she said ; "yoil've been so good to me. But," she added, with what Miss Tripp mentally termed delicious naivete, "I don't suppose we shall give many large parties, just at first." 70 CHAPTER VI '*I AM of the opinion," wrote the sapient Dr. Johnson, "that marriages would in general be as happy, and often more so, if they were all made by the Lord Chancellor, upon a due con- sideration of the circumstances and charac- ters, without the parties thereto having any choice in the matter." That this radical matrimonial reform did not find favour in the eyes of his own or any suc- ceeding generation brands it as visionary, impracticable, not to be seriously entertained, in short, by any one not a philosopher and not himself in love. But could the benevolent shade of Dr. Johnson be let into the details of a fashionable modern wedding, it is safe to predict that he might recommend a new civic function to be administered either by the Lord Chancellor, or by some equally responsible person for the purpose of regulating by sump- tuary law the bridal trousseau and the wed- 71 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ding presents. The renewed Georgian sage could not fall to recognise the relation which these too often unconsidered items bear to the welfare of the private citizen in particular and to the weal of mankind in general. An-d who can deny that all legislation is, or should be, centred chiefly on these very ends. Such sober reflections as the above, though perhaps forming an unavoidable background in the minds of several of the older persons present, did not cloud the rapturous happi- ness of Elizabeth Carroll North, as she paced slowly up the aisle of the Innisfield Presby- terian church on the arm of her father, the folds of her "Pryse gown," as Miss Tripp was careful to designate it, sweeping grace- fully behind her. The bridesmaids in pale rose-colour and the maid of honour in white; the tiny flower-girls bearing baskets of roses ; the ushers with their boutonnieres of orange buds ; the waving palms and the sounding music each represented a separate WPvterloo, fought and won by the Napoleonic ]\Iiss Tripp, who looked on, wan but self-satisfied, 72 5f I— ( -2 fl AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Z> ^ from a modest position in the audience. Never had there been such a wedding in Innisfield. Everybody said so in loud, buzzing whispers. Sadie Buckthorn, who was engaged to Milton Scrvmo-er, informed her mamma that she should be married in church in October, and that her bridesmaids should w^ear yellow. And Bob Garrett, a clerk in a Boston department store, told his sweetheart that he gue-scd the wedding was about their speed, and added that he knew a swell floor-walker who would look simply great as best man. As for the young couple chiefly concerned thev might have walked on air instead of on the roses strewed in their path by the little flower-girls ; and the hundreds of curious eyes fastened upon them wxre as dim, painted eyes upon a tapestried wall. They only saw each other and the gate of that ancient Eden of the race opening before them. That same evening, after all was over, and when, as the village reporter phrased it with happy originality, "the young couple had de- parted upon their wedding journey amid 73 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED showers of rice and roses," Dr. North sought his tired wife, busy clearing away the tokens of the late festivities. "Come, Lizzie," he said kindly, "we may as well get what rest we can ; to-morrow '11 be another day, and we've got to go jogging on about our middle-aged business as usual." Mrs. North looked up at him with tearful eyes. "I can't seem to realise that Bessie's gone to stay," she said tremulously. "I just caught myself thinking what I'd say to her when she came home, and what we'd " Richard North passed his arm about the wife of his youth. "I — hope he'll be good to her," he said, his voice shaken with feeling. "I— T believe he's all right. If he isn't I'll—" He shrugged his broad shoulders impatiently. "Oh, I'm not a bit worried about Sam/* said Mrs. North ; "I know enough about men. But, O Dick, I'm going to miss my — baby !" He held her close for a minute while she sobbed on his shoulder; then the two went slowly up the stairs together, leaving the dis- 74 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ordered rooms and the fading roses in the luminous dark of the June night. The Boston apartment to which young Samuel Brewster brought his bride in the early part of September was of Miss Evelyn Tripp's choosing. The engineer had de- murred at its distance from his work, but Elizabeth had said she preferred to be near Evelyn ; and Evelyn said that the location, if not strictly fashionable, was at least near the people they ought to know. The rent was thirty-eight dollars a month. And the rooms were small, inconvenient and old-fashioned. "But," as Miss Tripp kindly pointed out, "if one is obliged to choose be- tween a small, old-fashioned suite in a really good locality and a light airy one in the un- fashionable suburbs of South Boston one ought not to hesitate." Mrs. North and Grandma Carroll had seen to putting the furnishings in place ; and when the two arrived at the close of a hot after- noon they found everything in the exquisite 75 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED 9? ^ order with which EHzabeth had been happily familiar all her life. She ran from room to room laughing and crying in the same breath. "Oh, Sam, dear; do see, there is ice in the refrigerator and a cunning little jar of cream and a print of butter; and here is a roast chicken and some of grandma's rolls and one of mother's deli- cious lemon pies ! How hard they must have worked. I'll put on one of these big aprons, and we'll have supper in no time !" And Sam Brewster, as he watched his wife's pretty little figure moving lightly about her new kitchen, heaved a mighty sigh of content. "It seems almost too good to be true !" he murmured. "And to think it is for alwa^'s !" It was not until they Had eaten their first blissful meal together, and had washed the dishes, also together, in the dark little kitchen — an operation in which the young engineer covered himself with glory In his masterly handling of the dish-towel — that Elizabeth discovered a large square envelope, bearing the Van Duser crest, and addressed to herself. 76 AXD SO THEY WERE MARRIED She opened it in the circle of Sam's arms, as the two reposed on their one small sofa in the room bearing the dignified title of recep- tion hall. "Whv — what in the name of common sense is she giving us?" was Sam Brewster's startled exclamation as his quick eye took in the con- tents of the sheet. ''I — I don't understand," gasped Elizabeth, grov.ing hot and cold and faint, "I can't think — how it could have happened." Yet Mrs. Van Duser's words, though few, were sufficiently succinct. They w^ere inspired, as she afterward confided to her rector. Dr. Gallatin, by the most altruistic sentiments of which the human heart is capable. "Truth," Mrs. Van Duser had enunciated majestically, "never finds itself at a loss. And in adminis- tering so just a rebuke to a young person manifestly appointed to fill a humble station in life I feel that I am in a measure assuming the prerogatives of Providence." In this exalted role Mrs. Van Duser had writ- ten to Elizabeth North, Mhose miserable, 77 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED shamed e^'es avoided those of her husband after she had reahsed its contents. The let- ter enclosed a bill for one hundred and twent}'- five dollars from Madame Leonie Pryse, for the material, making and findings for one blue velvet reception gown. There was a pencilled note attached, to the effect that as Madame Pryse had been referred to Mrs. Van Duser, she begged to present the bill, with the hope that it would be settled at an early date. l\Irs. Van Duser's own majestic hand had added a brief communication, over which the young engineer scowled fiercely. He read: "As ]\Irs. Brewster's personal expenses, either before or after her marriage, can have no possible interest for Mrs. Van Duser, ]\Irs. Van Duser begs to bring to Mrs. Brewster's attention the enclosed statement. Mrs. Van Duser wishes to inform Mrs. Brewster that she has taken the pains to send for the trades- woman in question, and that she has elicited from her facts which seem to show an entire misapprehension of the commoner ethical re- quirements on the part of the person ad- dressed. 78 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "Mrs. Van Duser begs to add In the Inter- ests of society at large and of the person In whom, as a distant relative, she has interested herself somewhat, that she distinctly frowns upon all extravagance. Mrs. Van Duser trusts that this communication, which she begs to as- sure Mrs. Brewster is penned In a spirit of Christian charity, will effectually prevent further errors on the part of so young and inexperienced a person as Mrs. Brewster ap- pears to be." "Well.''" Samuel Brewster's blue eyes, grown unexpectedly keen and penetrating, rested questloningly upon his bride. "Don't look at me like that — please, Saml" faltered Elizabeth. "I — I didn't mean to buy that dress : truly I didn't. I had paid for all the others, and I had twenty-seven dollars left, and Evelyn told me that Madame Pryse had a — a remnant of blue velvet which she would make up for me for a song. And — I — let her do It. I thought she would send the bill to me, and I would " "Did she send It to you?" "Y-yes, twice. But Evelyn said for me not 79 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED to worry. She said Madame Pryse's customers never paid her right away, and there was so much else — just at the last, I didn't like to ask daddy ; Uncle Caleb always gives me fifty dollars for my birthday, and I thought — " Elizabeth's voice had grown fainter as she pro- ceeded with her halting explanations. But she started up with a little cry, "Oh, Sam ! what are you going to do?" For her husband was examining the bill with an expression about his mouth which she had never seen there before. "I don't see that you have been credited with the twenty-seven dol- lars," he said quietly. Then with a sorry at- tempt at a smile, "These mesdames appear to pile up the items sky-high when it comes to building a gown ; better have a cast-iron con- tract with 'em, I should say, and pay up when the job's finished." Elizabeth's tear-stained face was hidden on her husband's shoulder. "I — I spent the twenty-seven dollars for — for gloves," she con- fessed. "Evelyn said I didn't have enough long — ones." 80 AXD SO THEY WERE MARRIED ''Confound Evelyn!'' said the young man strongly. "Come, Betty, dear, you're not to let this thing bother you, it isn't worth it. I'll pay this bill to-morrow. It's lucky I've the money in the bank; and I'll write to Mrs. Van D., too." He clenched his fist as though he would like to use something more powerful than his pen. "But, Sam, you oughtn't to — I can't let you pay — I or "Well, I guess I can buy my wife a dress if I want to, and that blue velvet's a stunner. You haven't worn it yet, have you, dear? but when you do you'll look like a posy in it. Come, sweetheart, this was a tough proposi- tion, I'll admit, but don't you let it bowl you over completely. And, Betty, you won't tell the Tripp lady about it, will you? I — er — couldn't stand for that, you know." Ehzabeth stole one look at the strong, kind face bent toward her. For the first time, though happily not for the last, she was re- alising the immense, the immeasurable comfort to be found in her husband's love. "I'll never 81 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED — do such a thing again," she quavered. "I knew all the time I was being extravagant ; but I didn't expect — I never supposed "• "You couldn't very well have foreseen the Pryse woman's astonishing business methods, nor Mrs. Van D.'s Christian forbearance." His tone was bitter as he spoke the last words. "But what I can't seem to understand is how that bill ever found its way to my esteemed sixteenth cousin." Elizabeth's eyes overflowed again. "I'm afraid it was Evelyn," she stammered. "She — told Madame Pryse that you — were Mrs. Van Duser's nephew." Sam Brewster whistled. Then he fell into a fit of revery so prolonged that Elizabeth nestled uneasily in the strong circle of his arm. He was reviewing the events of the im- mediate past in the cold light of the present, and the result was not altogether compli- mentary to Miss Tripp. "I say, little girl," he said at length, look- ing down at the tear-stained face against his shoulder, "I don't want to be disagreeable, but 82 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED — er — I can't for the life of me see why Miss Tripp should interest herself so — intimately — in our affairs. Don't you think you might — er — discourage her a bit?" Elizabeth sighed reminiscently. "I wouldn't hurt Evelyn's feelings for the world," she said, "but I— I'll try." ii& CHAPTER VII The very next morning as Elizabeth was en- gaged in putting the finishing touches upon the arrangements of her new home, with all the keen delight of nest-building, so strong in some women and so utterly lacking in others, Miss Evelyn Tripp was announced, and a moment later stepped airily from the laborious little elevator. "Oh, here you arc at last, you darling girl !" she exclaimed, clasping and kissing Elizabeth with empressement. "I knew you were expected last night — indeed, I was here all the morning helping, but as I told your mother and that dear, quaint grandmam- ma of yours, I wouldn't have intruded upon your very first evening for the world! How delightfully well and pretty you are looking, and isn't this the sweetest little place? and oh ! I nearly forgot, did you find Mrs. Van Duser's note? I assure you I pounced upon that, and took good care to put it where you 84 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED would both see it the very first thing. I don't mind confessing that I am simply devoured with curiosity. Was it a cheque, dear? And is she going to do something nice for you in a social way?" Elizabeth's cheeks burned uncomfortably. "It was only a — a friendly — at least I think — I am sure she meant it to be a friendly let- ter. She said so, anyway. Sam put it in his pocket and took it away with him," she made haste to add, forestalling the urgent appeal in Miss Tripp's luminous gaze. "Well, I am sure that was most sweet and gracious of Mrs. Van Duser. Didn't you find it so, my dear? So dear of her to personally wel- come you to Boston! You'll call, of course, ds soon as she returns from her country place. She will expect it, I am sure ; such women are most punctilious in their code of social require- ments, and you can't be too careful not to of- fend. You'll forgive me for saying this much, won't you, dear?" Ehzabeth was conscious of a distinct sense- of displeasure as she met Miss Tripp's anx- 85 AND SO TKEV WERE MARRIED iously solicitous eyes. "You are very good, l!ivelyn," she said, "but Sam — Mr. Brewster — thinks it will be best for us not to — " She paused, her candid face suffused with blushes. '''I'd — prefer not to talk about Mrs. Van IDuser, if you please. We don't ever expect fto go and see her." The tactful Miss Tripp looked sadly puzzled, but she felt that it would not be the part of wisdom to press the issue for the moment. Her iface w^reathed itself anew in forgiving smiles .as she flitted about the little rooms, "/^w'f tthis the most convenient, cosy little apart- :ment.''" she twittered. "I am so glad I was able to secure it for you ; I assure you I was ^obliged to use all of my diplomacy with the agent. And your pretty things do light up the dark corners so nicely. And speaking of .corners somehow reminds me, I have found you a perfect treasure of a maid ; but you must take her at once. She's a cousin of our Marie, and has always been employed by the best people. She was with Mrs, Paget Smythe last, I believe. She told Marie last night that 86 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED she would be willing to come to you for only twenty dollars a month, and that's very rea- sonable, considering the fact that she is will- ing to do part of the laundry work, — the towels, sheets and plain things, you know. Expensive? Indeed it's not, dear — for Bos- ton. Why, I could tell you of plenty of people who are glad to pay twenty-five and put all their laundry out. I'd advise you to engage Annita without delay. Really, you couldn't do better." Elizabeth shook her head. "I mean to do my own work," she said decidedly. "I shall want something to do while Sam is away, and why not this when I — like it?" "But you won't like it after a while, my poor child, when the shine is once worn off your new pans and things, and think of your hands ! It's absolutely impossible to keep one's nails in any sort of condition, and besides the heat from the gas-range is simply ruinous for the complexion. Didn't you know that? Of course you are all milk and roses now, but how long do you suppose that will last, if ycu 87 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED are to be cooped up in a hot, stuffy little kitchen from morning till night?" Miss Tripp paused dramatically, her eyes wide with sympathy and apprehension. "But we — I am sure we oughtn't to afford to keep a maid," demurred Elizabeth in a small, weak voice. "So please don't " "Oh, of course, it is nothing to me, my dear," and Miss Tripp arose with a justly offended air. "I thought I was doing you a kindness when I asked Annita to call and see you this morning. It will be perfectly easy for you to tell her that you don't care to en- gage her. But when it comes to affording, I think you can scarcely afford to waste your good looks over a cooking range. It is your duty to ^J^our husband to keep yourself young and lovely as long as you possibly can. It is only too easy to lose it all, and then — " Miss Tripp concluded her remarks with a shrug of her shapely shoulders, which aroused the too impressionable Elizabeth to vague alarms. ^'I am sure," faltered the bride of two months, 88 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "that Sam would like me just as well even if I " "Of course jou think so, dear, every woman does till it is too late,^^ observed Miss Tripp plaintively. "I'm sure I hope it will turn out differently in your case. But I could tell you tilings about some of my married friends that would — Well, all I have to say is that I never dared try it — matrimony, I mean — and if I were in your place — But there ! I micstnH meddle. I solemnly promised myself years and years ago that I wouldn't. The trouble with me is that I love my friends too fondly, and I simply cannot endure to see them making mistakes which might so easily have been avoided. I'm coming to take you out to-morrow, and we'll lunch down town in the nicest, most inexpensive little place. And — dear, if you finally decide not to engage Annita, would you mind telling her that through a slight misunderstanding you had secured some one else? These high-class ser- vants are so easily offended, you know, and on account of our Marie — a perfect treasure — 89 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Oh, thank you! Au revoir — till to- morrow !" Perhaps it is not altogether to be wondered at that immediately after Miss Tripp's depart- ure Elizabeth found occasion to glance into her mirror. Yes, she was undoubtedly pret- tier than ever, she decided, but suppose it should be true about the withering heat of the gas-range; and then there were the rose- tinted, polished nails, to which Elizabeth had only lately begun to pay particular atten- tion. The day's work had already left per- ceptible blemishes upon their dainty perfec- tion. Elizabeth recalled her mother's hands, marred with constant household labour, with a kind of terror. Her own would look the same before many years had passed, and would Sam — could he love her just the same when the delicate beauty of which he was so fond and proud had faded.? And what, after all, was twenty dollars a month when one looked upon it as the price of one's happiness.? Elizabeth sat down soberly with pencil and paper to contemplate the matter arithmeti- 90 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIEH ^ <:? cally. Thirty-eight dollars for rent, and" twenty dollars for a maid, subtracted from one- hundred and twenty — the latter sum repre- senting the young engineer's monthly salary — left an undeniable balance of sixty-two dol- lars to be expended in food, clothing and other expenses. After half an hour of careful cal- culation, based on what she could remember of Innisfield prices, Elizabeth had reached very satisfactory conchisions. Clothing would cost next to nothing — for the first year, at least, and food for two came to a ridiculously small sum. There appeared, in short, to be a very handsome remainder left over for what Sam called "contingencies." This would in- clude, of course, the fixed amount wliich they had prudently resolved to lay by on the arrival of every cheque. This much had already been settled between them. Sam had a promising nest-egg in a Boston bank, and both had dreams of its ultimate hatching into a house and lot, or into some comfortable interest- bearing bonds. Elizabeth was firmly resolved to be prudent and helpful to her husband in 91 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ^very possible way ; but was it not her duty to keep herself young and lovely as long as possible? The idea so cogently presented to her attention by Miss Tripp not an hour since appeared to have become so much her own that she did not recognise it as borrowed property. It was at this psychological instant that a second summons announced the presence of a certain Annlta McMurtry in the entrance hall below. '*Did Mrs. Brewster wish to see this person ?" Elizabeth hesitated for the fraction of a minute. "You may tell her to come up," was the message that finally found its way to the hall-boy's attentive ear. Annlta McMurtry was a neatly attired young woman, with a penetrating black eye, a ready smile and a well-poised, not to say supercilious bearing. In response to Elizabeth's timid questions she vouchsafed the explanation that she could "do everything" and was prepared "to take full charge." "And by that you mean ?" 92 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ''I mean that the lady where I work doesn't have to worry herself about anything. I take full charge of everything — ordering, cooking, , laundry and waiting on table, and I don't mind wiping up the floors in a small apart- ment like this. Window-cleaning and rugs the janitor attends to, of course." "When — could you come, if I — decide to engage you.?" asked EHzabeth, finding herself vaguel}^ uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the alert black eyes. "If you please, madam, I'd rather speak first about wages and days out. I'd like my alter- nate Thursdays and three evenings a week; and will you be going to theatres often with supper parties after.? I don't care for that, unless I get paid extra. I left my last place on account of it ; I can't stand it to be up all hours of the night and do my work next day." "I should think not!" returned Elizabeth, with ready sympathy. "We should not re- quire anything of the sort. As to wages. Miss Tripp said you would be willing to come for twenty dollars. It seemed very high to 93 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED me for only two in the family." Elizabeth spoke in a very dignified way ; she felt that she appeared quite the experienced housekeeper in the eyes of the maid, who was surveying her with a faint, inscrutable smile. "I never work for a family where there is more than two," said Miss McMurtry pointedly. "I could make my thirty-five a month easy if I would. But Miss Tripp must have misunderstood me ) twenty -two was what I said, but you'll find I earn it. I'll come to- morrow morning about this time, and thank you kindly, madam." The young woman arose with a proud composure of manner, which put the finishing touch upon the inter- view, and accomplished her exit with the prac- tised ease of a society woman. "I wonder if I ought to have done it.'' And what will Sam say.?" Elizabeth asked herself, ready to run undignifiedly after the girl, whose retiring footsteps were already dying away down the corridor. But Sam was found to be of the opinion that his Elizabeth had done ex- actly right. He hadn't th/*ught of hiring a 94 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED serv^ant, to be sure, but he ought, manifestly, to have been reminded of his omission. It was surely not to be expected that a man's wife should spend her time and strength toiling over his food in a dark little den of a kitchen. No decent fellow would stand for that sort of thin cr. He wanted his wife to have time to go out, he said; to enjoy herself; to see pic- tures and hear music. As for the expense, he guessed they could swing it; he was sure to get another rise in salary before long. And much more of the same sort, all of which proved pleasantly soothing to EHzabeth's somewhat disturbed conscience. "I suppose Grandma Carroll would say I was a lazy girl," she sighed. "You didn't marry Grandma Carroll, dear," Sam told her, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes which EHzabeth thought delightfully witty. 95 CHAPTER VIII Whatever the opinion of the unthinking many on the subject of honest work as re- lated to the happiness of the individual, there can be but one just conclusion as to the effect of continued idleness, whether it be illustrated in the person of the perennially tired gentle- man who frequents our back doors at certain seasons of the year, or in the refined woman who has emptied her hands of all rightful ac- tivities. At the end of her first week's experience with her new maid Elizabeth found herself for the first time in her wholesome, well-ordered life at a loss for something to do. When Miss McMurtry stated that she would take full charge of Mrs. Brewster's menage she meant what she said, and Elizabeth's inexperienced efforts to play the role of mistress, as she had conceived it, met with a civil but firm resist- ance on the part of the maid. 96 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "Yes, Mrs. Brewster, I had expected to wipe up the dining-room floor this morning, after I have finished my kitchen work," she would announce frostily, in response to Ehzabeth's timid suggestion. "I have my regular days for things, an' I don't need to be told. I've already spoken to the janitor's boy about the rugs, an' you'll please to leave some money with me to pay him. Just put it on the kitchen dresser." And "No, madam, I shall not have time to make an apple-pie this morning ; I generally order pastry of the baker when it's called for. Yes, Mrs. Brewster, those were baker's rolls you had on the breakfast-table. I ordered the man to stop regularly. You pre- fer home-made bread, you say? I'm sorry, but I never bake. It is quite unnecessary in the city." The young woman's emphasis on the last word dehcately conveyed her knowledge^ of Mrs. Brewster's country origin, and her pity- ing disapproval of it. Miss Tripp, to whom Elizabeth confided her new perplexities, merely laughed indulgently. 97 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "You mustn't interfere, if you want Annita to stay with you," she counselled. "Just keep religiously out of your kitchen, my dear, and everything will go on peacefully. We never think of such a thing as dictating to Marie, and we're careful not to make too many sug- gestions. Of course you don't know what a perfectly dreadful time people are having with servants here in town. My dear, I could tell you things that would frighten you! Just fancy having your prettiest lingerie disappear bit by bit, and your silk stockings worn to rags, and not daring to say a word !" "I have lost two handkerchiefs since Annita came," said Elizabeth doubtfully. "Oh, handkerchiefs, nobody expects to keep those forever. Really, do you know when I treat myself to a half dozen new ones I con- ceal them from Marie as long as I possibly can, for fear she'll decide I have too many." Elizabeth's artlessly inquiring gaze provoked another burst of well-bred merriment. "You dear little innocent, you do amuse me so ! Don't you see our good Marie doesn't propose 98 AXD SO THEY WERE MARRIED to encourage me in senseless extravagance in laundry : vou see there is no telling to what lengths I might go if left to myself, and it all takes Marie's time. No, I don't pretend to Icnow what she does with them all. Gives them to her relations, perhaps. She couldnt use them all, and I give her a half dozen at Christ- mas every year. Why, they're all that way, and both Marie and Annita would draw the line at one's best silk stockings, I am sure. We think Marie perfectly honest; that is to say, I would trust her with everything I have, feel- in «• sure that she would use her discretion in selecting for herself only the things I ought not to want any longer. They know, I can tell you, and they despise parsimonious people who try to make their old things do forever. You may as well make up your mind to it, my dear, and when you are fortunate enough to secure a really good, competent servant like Annita, you mustn't see too much." Just why Elizabeth upon the heels of this enlishtenins conversation should have elected to purchase for herself two new handkerchiefs 99 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED of a somcwha.t newer pattern than the ones she had lost was not entirely clear even to her- self. Thiere had been a new, crisp bill in her purse for a number of weeks nestling comfortabl}'^ against the twin gold pieces her father had given her on the day of her wedding. Sam had put it there himself, and had joked with her on her economical habits when he had found it unbroken on what he laughingly called her next pay day. "Seriously, though, little wife of mine, I never want you to be out of money," he had said ; "if I am cad enough to forget you mustn't hesitate to remind me. And you need never feel obliged to tell me what you've done with it." This v/asn't the ideal arrangement for either ; but neither husband nor wife was aware of it, nor of the fact that in the small, dainty purse which lay open between them lurked a possible danger to their common happiness. Elizabeth had been brought up in the old-fashioned w^ay, her wants supplied by her careful mother, and an occasional pocket-piece by her overworked 100 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED father, who always referred to the coins transferred from his pocket to her own as "money to buy a stick of candy with." The sum represented by the twin gold pieces and the crisp bills appeared to contain unhmited opportunities for enjoyment. A bunch of carnations for the dining table and a box of bonbons excused the long stroll down Tremont Street, during which :Miss Tripp carried on the education of her protegee on subjects ur- ban without interruption. "If I had only thought to stop at the bank this morning," observed :Miss Tripp regret- fully, "I should simply have insisted upon your lunching with me at Purcell's ; then we might have gone to the matinee afterward; there is the dearest, brightest little piece on now— '.Mademoiselle Rosette.' You haven't heard it? What a pity ! This is the very last matinee. Never mind, dear, I sha'n't be so thoughtless another day." "But why shouldn't I—" began Ehzabeth tardily; then with a deep blush. "I have plenty of money with me, and I should 101 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED be so happy if you would lunch with me, and " "My dear, I couldn't think of it ! I mustn't allow you to be extravagant," demurred Miss Tripp. But in the end she yielded prettily, and Elizabeth forthwith tasted a new pleasure, which is irresistibly alluring to most generous women. That evening at dinner her eyes were so bright and her laughing mouth so red that her young husband surveyed her with new ad- miration. "What did you find to amuse you to- day in this big, dull town.^^" he wanted to know. "It isn't dull at all, Sam, and I've had the loveliest time with Evelyn," she told him, and added a spirited account of the opera seen with the un jaded eyes of the country-bred girl. "I've never had an opportunity to go to theatres and operas before," she concluded, "and Evelyn thinks I ought to see all the best things as a matter of education." "I think so too," beamed the unselfish Sam, "and I hope you'll go often now that you have the chance." 102 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "I may as well, I suppose, now that I have Annita," Elizabeth said. ''It's dreadfully dull here at home when you are gone. I've nothing to do at all." Sam pinched her pink ear gently as the two strolled away from the table. "How does the new kitchen mechanic suit you?" he asked. The m.eat had been overdone, the vegetables watery and the coffee of an indifferent colour and flavour, he thought privately. "Why, she seems to know exactly what to do, and when to do it," Elizabeth said rather discontentedly, "and she's very neat; but did you like that custard, Sam? I thought it was horrid ; I'm sure she didn't strain it, and it was cooked too much." "Since you put it to me so pointedly, I'm bound to confess that the present incumbent isn't a patch on the last lady who cooked for me," confessed her husband, laughing at the puzzled look in her eyes. "Oh, you mean me! I'm glad you like my cooking, Sam. I should feel dreadfully if you didn't. But about Annita, I am afraid she 103 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED won't allow me to teach her any of the things I know ; and when I said I meant to make a sponge-cake this morning, she said she was going to use the oven. But she wasn't, for I went out and looked afterward. Then she said right out that she wasn't used to having ladies in her kitchen, and that it made her nervous." "Hum !" commented the mere man ; "you'd better ask your father to prescribe for the young person ; and in the meanwhile I should frequent 'her kitchen' till she had gradually accustomed herself to the idea." "She would leave if I did that, Sam." "There are others." "Not like Annita," objected Elizabeth, witli the chastened air of a three-dimensioned ex- perience. "You've no idea of tlie dreadful times people have with servants here in Boston. And, really, one oughtn't to expect an angel to work in one's kitchen for twenty-two dol- lars a month ; do you think so, Sam ?" Her uplifted eyes and earnest lips and rose- tinted cheeks were so altogether charming as 104 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Z> ^ she propounded this somewhat absurd ques- tion that Sam said, "Speaking of angels puts me in mind of the fact that I have one right in hand," and much more of the good, old- fashioned nonsense which makes the heart beat quicker and the eyes glow and sparkle with unreasoning joy when the heart is young. Half an hour had passed in this agreeable manner when Elizabeth bethought herself to ask, "What had I better do about the butcher's and grocer's slips, Sam dear? Annita says that in all the places where she has worked they always run bills; but if we aren't to do that " "And we're not, you know ; we agreed about that, Ehzabeth?" "Yes, of course ; but Annita brought me several when I came in to-day ; I had forgot- ten all about them. Do you think I ought to stay at home every day till after the butcher and grocer and baker have been here.^ Some- times they don't call till ^ter twelve o'clock." This was manifestly absurd, and he said so emphatically. The result of his subsequent 105 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED cogitations was an order to Annita to leave the slips on his desk, where they would be at- tended to each evening. "Mind," he said, "I don't want Mrs. Brewster annoyed with anything of the sort." "Indeed, sir, I can see that Mrs. Brewster has not been used to being worrited about anything, an' no more she ought," the young woman had replied with an air of respectful affection for her mistress which struck Sam as being no less than admirable. It materially assisted him in his efforts to swallow Annita's muddy coffee of a morning and her leaden puddings at night. All this, while EHzabeth light-heartedly entered upon what Miss Tripp was pleased to call her "first Boston season." There was so much to be learned, so much to be seen, so much to enjoy ; and the new gowns and hats and gloves were so exactly the thing for the matinees, teas, card-parties and lunch- eons to which she found herself asked with un- looked-for cordiality. She could hardly have been expected to know that her open sesame to even this circle without a circle consisted in a 106 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED low-voiced allusion to the sidereally remote ""■Mrs. Van Duser, "a connection by marriage, my dear." It was on a stormy afternoon in late Febru- ary when Dr. North, unannounced and dis- ^'daining the noisy little elevator, climbed the three flights of stairs to his daughter's apart- ment and tapped Hghtly on the corridor door. His summons was answered by an alert young woman in a frilled cap and apron. Mrs. ' Brewster was giving a luncheon, she mformed him, and could see no one. "But I am :\Irs. Brewster's father, and she 11 want to see me," the good doctor had insisted, sniffing dehcately at the odours of salad and coffee which floated out to him from the gingerly opened door. "Go tell your mistress that Dr. North is here and would like to see her." In another minute a fashionable little figure in palest rose-colour had thrown two pretty lace-clad arms about his neck. "Oh, you dear, old darling daddy! why didnH you let me know you were coming? Now I've this 107 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED luncheon party, with bridge after it, and I can't — But you must come in and wait ; I'll tuck you away somewhere — in my bedroom, or " "I can't stay, Bess — at least not long. I've a consultation at the hospital at three. But I'll tell you, I'll be back at five ; how'll that do? I've a message from your mother, and " Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders dis- tractedly. "They won't go a minute before six," she said; "but come then — to dinner. Be sure now !" The doctor was hungry, he had had no lunch, and despite the warmth of his welcome there was a perceptible chill about his aging heart as he slowly made his way down the stairs. "I'm afraid I'll not be able to make it," he told himself ; "my train goes at six-fifty, and — bless me! I've just time for a bite at a, restaurant before I'm due at the hospital." 108 CHAPTER IX A LOVING letter from his daughter followed Dr. North to Innisfield. In it Elizabeth had described her disappointment in not being able to see more of her darling daddy. They had waited dinner for him that night, she said, and Sam was dreadfully put out about it. "He ahnost scolded me for not bringing you right in. But how could I, with all those women? You wouldn't have enjoyed it, daddy dear; I know you too well. Next time— and I hope it wilfbe soon— you must telephone me. We have a 'phone in our apartment now, and I'm sure I don't know how we ever lived without it. You see I have so many engage- ments that even if I didn't happen to be en- tertaining, I might not be at home, which would be just as bad." The rest of the sheet was filled with a gay description of the automobile show, which was "really quite a function this year," and of her 109 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED <;? ^ success as a hostess. "Evel3rii says I've made immense progress, and she's quite proud of me." There was a short silence as Mrs. North folded the letter and slipped it into its envel- epe. "But I don't understand why you didn't go back and take dinner with them, as Bessie asked you to do," she said at last, in a re- proachful tone. "You ought to have mads an effort, Richard." The doctor's grizzled brows lifted humor- ously as he glanced across the breakfast tablt at his wife's worried face. "Ought to have made an effort — eh?" he repeated. "Well, didn't I? I wanted to see Bess the worst way, but it seems she didn't want to see me — at least not at the time I arrived. So I went my way, got my lunch, met Grayson at the hos- pital at two-thirty, finished the operation at four, ran over to Avery's and left an order, then " "But why " *'I could have gone back to Bess then, and I 110 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED wanted to : but she didn't invite me to come till six, and I knew I must make that six- twentv train, for I'd promised Mrs. Baxter I'd call in the evening. So you see, my dear, I was up ao-ainst it, as the boys say." "Did she look well, Richard?" asked his wife anxiously. '•Perfectly well, I should say." "And did'^she tell you when we might expect her at home for a little visit?" The doctor shook his head. "I didn't^ have a chance to ask any questions, my dear.'^' He arose and pushed back his chair. "Well, I must be going. When you write to Bess tell her it's all right, and she's not to worry. I'll take care to let her know next time I'm com- ino- ^' He went out and closed the door heavily behind him. Grandma Carroll, who had listened to the conversation without comment, pursed up her small, wise mouth. "That reminds me, daugh- ter, I think I shall go to Boston to-day," she observed briskly. "To Bo.ton— to-day?" echoed her daughter 111 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED in surprise. "I don't believe I can possibly get away to go with you. mother. INIalvina Ben- nett is coming to fix my black skirt ; besides, there 's the baking and " "You needn't to feel that you must put yourself out on my account, Lizzie," Mrs. Carroll replied with a slightly offended air. "I am quite capable of going to China if it was necessary ; I hadn't thought to mention it to 3'ou yesterday, but there's some shopping I want to do, so I'll get right off on the morn- ins: train." "Will you have time to get around to see Bessie .f^" "I'll make time," said grandma trenchantly. "I want to see what she's doing with my own eyes. I don't know what you think about her not asking her father in to her table, but I know what I think." "Oh, mother, I hope you won't " "You needn't to worry a mite about what I'll say or do, I shan't be hasty ; but I mistrust that Sipp woman is leading Lizzie into ex- travagance and foolishness, and I mean to 112 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ^ -^ find out. I shall probably stay all night, and maybe all day to-morrow." "But it might not be convenient for Bessie," hesitated Mrs. North, "you know what she said about telephoning ; I guess I'd better let her know you're coming." "Humpl" ejaculated grandma, "it wasn't al- ways convenient for me to be up nights with her when she had whooping-cough and measles, but I did it just the same. I don't want you should telephone, daughter. I don^t know just when I shall get around to Lizzie's house ; when I do. I'll stay till I get ready to come home, you can depend upon that, if all the folks in Boston are there a-visiting. I'll go right in and visit with them. I'm going to tale mv best silk dress and my point lace col- lar, so'l guess I'll be fuU as dressy as any of 'em " Mrs. North sighed apprehensively, but in the end she saw 3Jrs. Carroll onto the train with a wondering sense of relief. "Mother always did know how to manage Bessie better than I did," she told herself vaguely. 11^ AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED When Mrs. Carroll arrived at her destina- tion the whistles were proclaiming the hour of noon. "I'm just in time for dinner, I guess," she observed cheerfully to the elevator boy, who grinned his appreciation. But there was no token of occupancy about the Brewster apartment when Mrs. Carroll rapped smartly upon the door. "The missis is out," volunteered the boy, who had lingered to watch the progress of the pink-cheeked, smiling old lady ; "but the girl's there. I seen her s:o in not fifteen minutes ir>' Thus encouraged Mrs. Carroll repeated her summons. After what seemed a second in- terminable silence the door opened, disclosing an alert presence in an immaculate cap and apron. "How do you do.?" said grandma pleasantly. "This boy here says Mrs. Brewster isn't at home ; but I'll come in and wait till she does. I'm her grandmother, Mrs. Carroll ; you've probably heard her speak of me, and I guess you're the girl she tells about in hei letters 114 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED sometimes. You've got a pretty name, my dear, and you look real neat and clean. Now if you'll just take my bag, it's pretty heavy, and Annita had not taken her beady black eyes ofF the little presence. "I never let strangers in when Mrs. Brewster's not at home," she said stohdly. "It ain't to be expected that I should. I guess you'll have to come again, about four this afternoon, maybe." "I like to see a hired girl careful and watch- ful," said grandma approvingly, "but if you look in the photograph album I gave^ my grandaughter Lizzie, on her sixteenth birth- day, you'll see my picture on the front page, and that'll relieve you of all responsibility." She pushed determinedly past the astonished Annita, and was laying ofP her bonnet in the front room before that young person could collect her forces for a second protest. "So your mistress isn't coming home for din- ner?" Mrs. Carroll's voice full of kindly in- flections pursued Miss McMurtry to her final stronghold. "My 1 I'd forgotten what a smaU 115 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED kitchen this was. Dark, isn't it? I'm afraid that's what makes you look so pale. Now if 3'^ou'll just make me a cup of tea — or let me do it if you're busy ; I'm used to waiting on myself. I suppose 1*11 find the tea-caddy in here." "You — let — m}' place alone — j^ou !" hissed Annita, livid with rage, as Grandma Carroll laid her hand on the door of the cupboard. But she was too late ; the open door disclosed a large frosted cake, a heap of dehcately browned rolls and a roasted chicken. "Well, well ! your cooking looks very nice in- deed. I suppose you're expecting compan}^ ; but if you can spare me one of those tasty rolls I shall make out nicely with the tea. Be sure and have it hot, my dear." And grand- ma pattered gently back into the dining-room, smiling wisely to herself. Just how many of IVIiss jMclMurtry's plans went awry that afternoon it would be hard to say. At throe o'clock, when a mysterious black-robed elderly person carrying a capa- cious basket came up in the elevator she was 116 AXD SO THEY WERE MARRIED met in the corridor by a white-visaged fury in a frilled cap and apron, who implored her dis- tractedly to go away. "An' phwat for should I go away ; ain't the things ready as usual?" demanded the lady with the basket. "I'd like me cup o' tea, too ; I'm that tired an' cold." Miss Mc]Murtry almost wept on the maternal shoulder. "I've got a lovely chicken," she whispered, "an' a cake, besides the rolls you was hungry for, an' the groceries ; but her gran'mother, bad luck to her, come this mornin' from the country, an' she's helpin' me clean my kitchen.'^'' "Phwat for 'd you let her into your kitchen?" demanded the elder McMurtry indignantly. "I'm surprised at ye, Annie." "I didn't let her in, she walked right out and poked her nose into me cupboard without so much as sayin' by your leave. I think I'll be leavin' my place ; I won't wait t' be trowed out by her." ]Miss McMurtry's tone was bit- ter. "They ain't much anyway. I'd rather go where there was more to do with." 117 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "Right you are, Annie, my girl, I've towld you that same many's the time. But if you're leavin' the night be sure — " The woman's voice dropped to a hissing whisper. "I'll do it sure, and maybe — " The girl's black eyes gleamed wickedly as she caught the creak and rattle of the ascending elevator " — I can do better than what you said in the end. It's safe enough with the likes o' them. They're easy." At six o'clock in fluttered Elizabeth, a vision of elegant femininity in her soft furs and plumes and trailing skirts. Darling grand- mamma was kissed and embraced quite in the latest fashion, and the two sat down cosily to visit while Annita set the table for dinner with stony composure. "I've been here since noon," said grandma, complacently, "and I've been putting in my time helping your hired girl clean her cup- boards." "What! Annita? You've been helping Annita?" "Why, yes ; I didn't have anything else to do, 118 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED and the cupboards certainly did need cleaning. Seems to me, Lizzie, you keep a big stock of all sorts of groceries on hand for so small a family as yours." "Do we?" asked Elizabeth, yawning daintily. "I'm sure I don't know what we have. Annita is perfectly competent to attend to everything in the kitchen, and I never interfere. She doesn't like it, and so why should I." "What are you paying for butter this win- ter.'^" grandma wanted to know, after a thoughtful pause. "I'm sure I don't know, the usual price, I suppose. Sam attends to the bills. He looks them over every night when he comes home, and gives Annita the money to pay them with." "Hum !" commented grandma, surveying her granddaughter keenly over the top of her spectacles ; "that's a new way to keep house, seems to me." "It's a nice way, I know that," laughed Eliza- beth. She had changed subtly from the shy, unde- veloped girl who had left Innisfield less than 119 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED a 3^ear ago into a luxuriance of bloom and beauty which astonished the older woman. There was an air of poise, of elegance, of as- sured dignity about her slender figure which fitted her as did her gown. "It must be easy, certainly," agreed Mrs. Carroll, sniffing delicately, after a well-remem- bered fashion. Elizabeth laughed and shrugged her shoul- ders in a way she had caught from Evelyn Tripp. "Now you know you are dying to lecture me, grandma," she said caressingly ; "but you see, dear, that things are decidedly different here in Boston, and — But here comes Sam ; he'll be so glad to see you." Mrs. Carroll was very cheerful and chatty with the young people that evening. She told them all the Innisfield news in her most spir- ited fashion, and never once by word or look expressed her growing disapproval of what her shrewd old eyes were telling her. ]\Iiss IMcMurtry, who stood with her ear glued to the crack of the door for a long half hour, finally retired with a contemptuous toss 120 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED of her black head. Then, the coast being clear, she found opportunity to convey to their destination the comestibles dutifully provided for maternal consumption. "She's full as easy as the young one for all her med- dlin' ways," said Miss McMurtry, "an' she'll be leavin' in the momin', so there'll be no back talk comin' from her." But for once Annita was mistaken in her premises. Mrs. Carroll, it is true, made no immediate reference to the disclosures af- forded by her daring invasion of the kitchen fastnesses, nor did she even remotely allude to the probable date of her departure for In- nisfield. "I don't want you should make company of me, Lizzie," she said pleasantly, "or put your- self out a mite. I'll just join right in and do whatever you're planning to do." Elizabeth puckered her pretty forehead per- plexedly ; she was thinking that Grandma Carroll's unannounced visit would necessitate the hasty giving up of a gay luncheon and theatre party planned for that very afternoon. 121 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Tears of vexation sparkled in her brown eyes, as she took down the telephone receiver. Mrs. Carroll listened to the one-sided con- versation which followed witliout visible dis- comfiture. "Now that's too bad," she ob- serv^ed sympathetically. "Why didn't you tell me you wanted to go, and I'd have eaten my lunch right here at home. There's plenty of cooked victuals in your kitchen pantry ; I saw 'em yesterday whilst I was out helping around. I suppose your hired girl cooked that roast chicken and the layer-cake and the rolls for Samuel's noonings. I hope you'll see to it, Lizzie, that he takes a good, tasty lunch to work every day. But of course you do." Elizabeth stared. "Why, grandma," she said, "Sam doesn't carry his lunch like a com- mon workman. He eats it at a restaurant in South Boston." "Hum !" mused Mrs. Carroll, "I wonder if he gets anything fit to eat there.'' Samuel ap- pears to have gone off in his weight consider- able since I saw him last," she added, shaking 122 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED her head wisely. "He needs a gentian tonic, I should say, or — something." "You're mistaken, grandma," Elizabeth said, with an air of offended wifely dignity. "Sam isn't the least bit ill. Of course he works hard, but I should be the first to notice it if there was anything the matter with my husband." "Care killed a cat," quoted grandma senten- tiously, "and you appear to be pretty much occupied with other things. Home ought to come first, my dear; I hope you aren't forget- ting that." EHzabeth's pretty face was a study ; she bit her lip to keep back the petulant words that trembled on her tongue. "Evelyn is coming, grandma," she said hurriedly, "and please don't — discuss things before her." Miss Tripp was unaffectedly surprised and, as she declared, ''cliarmed'' to see dear Mrs. Carroll in Boston. "I didn't suppose," she said, "that you ever could bring yourself to leave dear, quiet Innisfield." :Mrs. Carroll, on her part, exhibited a smiling blandness of demeanour which served as an in- 123 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED centive to the lively, if somewhat one-sided conversation which followed; a shrewd ques- tion now and then on the part of Mrs. Car- roll eliciting numerous facts all bearing on the varied social activities of ''dear Eliza- beth." "I'm positively looking forward to Lent," sighed Miss Tripp ; "for really I'm worn to a fringe, but dear Elizabeth never seems tired, no matter how many engagements she has. It is a perfect delight to look at her, isn't it, dear Mrs. Carroll?" "Lizzie certainly does look healthy," admit- ted the smiling old lady, "but it beats me how she finds time to look after her husband and her hired girl with so many parties." The result of Mrs. Carroll's subsequent ob- servations and conclusions were summed up in the few trenchant remarks addressed to her granddaughter the following day, as she was tying on her bonnet preparatory to taking the train for Innisfield. "I hope you'll come again soon, grandma," Elizabeth said dutifully. 124 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "I mistrust you don't mean that, Lizzie," re- plied Mrs. Carroll, facing about and gazing keenly at the young matron, "and I may as well say that I'm not likely to interfere with your plans often. I like my own bed and my own rocking-chair too well to be going about the country much. But I couldn't make out from what your father said just what the mat- ter was." Elizabeth shrua:a:ed her shoulders with a pretty air of forbearance. "I was awfully sorry about daddy," she murmured ; "but I don't see how I could have done anything else under the circumstances." "Well, / do," said Grandma Carroll severely. She buttoned her gloves energetically as she went on in no uncertain tones. "I've always been a great believer in everybody minding their own business, but there's times when a little plain speech w^on't hurt anybody. Things aren't going right in your house, Lizzie ; I can see that without half looking. I warn you to keep an eye on your kitchen pantry, I mistrust there's a leak there." 125 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "I trust Annita perfectly," said Eliza- beth, her round chin tilted aggressively. "And I'm sure I ought to know by this time." "I agree with you there, Lizzie, you ought to know, but you don't. That girl is carry- ing things out of your kitchen as fast as the grocer and the butcher can bring them in ; I don't think you can afford to let her spend your husband's money as she pleases, and that is what it amounts to the way you're managing now." "But grandma," protested Elizabeth, "Sam looks over every one of the bills himself be- fore he pays them." "It isn't your husband's place to do your work and his own too, my dear." Elizabeth hung her head, her face flaming with angry colour. "You've been brought up to be a sensible, industrious, economical woman," pursued Mrs. Carroll earnestly ; "but from what that Tipp girl said yesterday, I should imagine you'd taken leave of your senses. What does 126 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED Samuel say to your spending so much money and being out so constant?" "He — he likes to have me have a good time." "Well, I'll lose my guess if he'^s having one," said grandma pointedly. "Samuel looked wor- ried to death last night when Terita brought him the bills. And I took notice he didn't eat scarcely anything at dinner. For that mat- ter, I didn't myself ; there wasn't a thing on the table cooked properly. Now, Lizzie, I've said my say, and I'm going." She kissed her granddaughter heartily. "Take time to think it over, child, and mind you don't tell the Fripp girl what I've said. She could talk a bird off a bush without a bit of trouble." "I wonder if everybody gets as queer and unreasonable as grandma when they are old," mused Elizabeth, as she picked her way daintily through the sloppy streets. "I'm sure I hope I sha'n't. Of course Sam is all right. I guess he'd tell me the very first thing if he wasn't." Nevertheless, Mrs. Carroll's significant words had left an unpleasant echo in her mind which 127 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED haunted her at intervals all day. Under its influence she made a bold incursion into her kitchen, after a luncheon of chipped beef, dry toast and indifferent baker's cake. "Have we any cold chicken, Annita?" she asked hesitatingly. "I — that is, I am expect- ing a few friends this afternoon, and I thought " Miss McMurtry faced about and eyed her mistress with lowering brows. "There ain't any chicken in the place, Mrs. Brewster," she said stonily ; "an' as I ain't in the habit of havin' parties sprung on me unbeknownst, I'll be leaving at the end of my month, which is to-morrow — if you please." Elizabeth's new-found dignity enabled her to face the woman's angry looks without visible discomfiture. "Very well, Annita," she said quietly. "Perhaps that will be best for both of us." 128 CHAPTER X Elizabeth greeted her husband that night with a speculative anxiety in her eyes bom of the uncomfortable misgivings which had haunted her during the day. And when after dinner he dropped asleep over his evening paper she perceived with a sharp pang of ap- prehension that his face was thinner than she had ever seen it, that his healthy colour had paled somewhat, and that hitherto unnoticed lines had begun to show themselves about his mouth and eyes. She reached for his hand which hung idly by his side, and the light touch awakened him. "Oh, Sam," she began, "Grandma Carroll in- sisted upon it that you were looking ill, and I wanted to see if you had any fever; working over there in that unhealthy part of town, 3''ou might have caught something." "Who told you it was unhealthy.^" he wanted to know. "It really isn't at all, little girl, 129 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED and you're not to worry about me — or any- thing." At just what point in his career Samuel Brewster had acquired the Quixotic idea that a woman, and particularly a young and beau- tiful woman, should not be allowed to taste the smallest drop of the world's bitterness he could not have explained. But the notion, al- beit a mistaken one, was as much a part of himself as the blue of his steadfast eyes or the bronzy brown of his crisp locks. "You're not," he repeated positively, "to give yourself the slightest anxiety about me. I never felt better in my life." And he smiled determinedly. "But, Sam dear, I shall be obliged to worry if 3^ou are going to be ill, or if — " a misty light breaking in upon her confused thoughts, "you are keeping anything from me that I ought to know. I've been thinking about It all day, and I've been wondering If — " she lowered her voice cautiously — "Annita is perfectly reliable. I've always thought so till to-day. Anyway, she's going to leave to- \20 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ^ <^ morrow, and you'll be obliged to go back to my cooking for a while, till I can get some one else." The somewhat vague explanations which fol- lowed called for an examination of grocer's and butcher's accounts; and the two heads were bent so closely over the parti-coloured slips that neither heard the hasty prepara- tions for departure going on in the rear. "It looks to me as if our domestic had been spoiling the Egyptians," hazarded Sam, after half an hour of unsatisfactory work. "But I really don't know how much meat, groceries and stuff we ought to be using." "I might have found out," murmured Eliza- beth contritely. "I've just gone on enjoy- ing myself like a child, and — and I'm afraid I've spent too much money. I haven't kept any count." Her husband glanced at her pretty worried face with a frown of perplexity and annoy- ance between his honest eyes. "The fact is, Betty," he burst out, "a poor man has no business to marry and make a woman uncom- 131 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED fortable and unhappy. You haven't spent but a trifle, dear, and all on the simplest, most innocent pleasures ; yet it does count up so confoundedly. I wanted you to have a good time, dear, and I couldn't — bear — " He dropped into a chair and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "Then we have been spending too much on — contingencies ; why didn't you tell me be- fore?" He bit his lip. "We've spent nearly every dollar of our reserve, Betty," he said slowly, "and this month I'm afraid — I don't see how I am going to meet all of the bills." "Oh, Sam !" gasped Elizabeth, turning pale. A voice from the softly opened kitchen door broke in upon this crucial conversation. "You'll please to excuse me, Mrs. Brewster, but I've had word that my mother is sick, an' I'll have to be leaving at once. My month's up in the morning anyway, an' I hope you'll not mind paying me my wages to-night." Her lip curled scornfully as she glanced at the tradesmen's slips scattered on the table. 132 AXD SO THEY WERE MARRIED ^ 9? Miss McMurtry openly despised people who, as she expressed it, were always "trying to save a copper cent on their meat and gro- ceries." She herself felt quite above such econo- mies. One could always change one's place, and being somewhat versed in common law, she felt reasonably secure in such small pecadil- loes as she had seen fit to commit while in the employ of the Brewsters. "I should like to ask you a few questions first about these accounts," said the inexperi- enced head of the house sternly. "How does it happen that you ordered fifteen pounds of sugar, seven pounds of butter and two of coffee last week? Surely Mrs. Brewster and I never consumed such an amount of provi- sions as I see we have paid for." Miss McMurtry's elbows vibrated slightly. "I only ordered what was needed, sir," she re- plied in a high, shrill voice. "Sure, you told me yourself not to bother the madame." "I did tell vou that, I know. I thoucrht you were to be trusted, but this doesn't look like it." 13.S AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED A fearsome change came over the countenance of the respectable young person in the frilled apron. "Are you meaning to insinooate that / took them groceries?" she demanded fiercely. "I'll ask you to prove that same. Prove it, I say ! It's a lie, an' I'd be willin' to swear to it in a court of justice. That's what comes of me workin' for poor folks that can't pay their bills !" Miss IMc^Iurtry swung about on her heels and included Elizabeth in the lightning of her gaze. "I come here to ac- comydate her, thinkin' she was a perfec' lady, an' I've slaved night an' day in her kitchen a-tryin' my best to please her, an' this is /hat I gets for it ! But you can't take my charac- ter away that easy ; I've the best of references ; an' I'll trouble you for my wages — if you can pay 'em. If not, there's ways I can collect 'em." "Pay her, Sam, and let her go, do !" begged Elizabeth in a frightened whisper. "I ought not to pay the girl,rm sure of that ; but to save you further annoyance,my dear — " He counted out twenty-two dollars, and pushed 134 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED the little pile of bills across the table. "Take it," he said peremptorily, "and go." The two gazed at each other in silence while the loud trampling footsteps of the erstvrhile gentle and noiseless Annita sounded in the rear. Then, when a violent and expressive bano; of the kitchen door announced the fact that their domestic had finally shaken off the dust of her departure against them, Eliza,beth burst into a relieved laugh. She came pres- entlj"^ and perched on her husband's knee. "Sam, dear," she murmured, "it is all my fault, every bit of it. No ; don't contradict me — nor interrupt — please ! We can't afford to go on this wa}^, and w^e're not going to. We'll begin over again, just as we meant to before I — " she paused while a flood of shamed colour swept over her drooped face " — tried to be fashionable. It isn't really so very much fun to go to card-parties and teas and luncheons, and I don't care a bit about it all, especially if — if it is going to cost us too much ; and I — can see that it has already." All her little newly acquired graces and aff ec- 135 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED 9? ^ tatlons dropped away as she spoke, and her husband saw the sweet, womanly soul he had loved and longed for in the beginning look- ing out of her brown eyes. He kissed her thankfully, almost solemnly. "Dear Betty," he whispered. "Couldn't we — go away from this place.'*" she went on after a while. "It isn't very pleasant, is it? and — I'm almost ashamed to say it — but Evelyn Tripp has such a way of making things look different to one. What she says sounds so — so sensible that I can't — • at least I haven't done as I intended in hardly anything." "There's a little red cottage to let, with a pocket-handkerchief lawn in front and room for a garden behind, not half a mile from where we are working," Sam told her, "but I haven't mentioned it because it's a long way to Tremont Street and — Evelyn." His blue eyes were full of the laughing light she had missed vaguely for more weeks than she cared to remember. "Let's engage it to-morrow!" exclaimed 136 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED ^ '^ Elizabeth. "Why, Sam dear, we could have roses and strawberries and all sorts of fun out there !" When, after missing her friend for several days. Miss Tripp called at the Brewster apart- ment she was astonished beyond measure to find her dearest Elizabeth busy packing some last trifles, while several brawny men were en- gaged in taking away the furniture. "3/3/ dear!'* she exclaimed. "What are you doing?" "We're moving," said Elizabeth tranquill}^ "You know I never cared particularly for this apartm.ent, the rooms are so dark and unpleas- ant ; besides the rent is too high for us." "But where " "I was just going to tell you ; we've taken a little house away over near the new water- works." Then as Miss Tripp's eyebrows and shoulders expressed a surprise bordering on distraction, "I felt that it would be better for us both to be nearer Sam's work. He can come home to luncheon now, and I — we shall like that immensely." 137 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "But you're going out of the world; do you realise that, my dear? And just as you were beginning to be known, too ; and when I've tried so hard to — " Miss Tripp's voice broke, and she touched her eyelids delicately with her handkerchief. "Oh, why didn't you consult me before taking such an irrevocable step? I'm sure I could have persuaded you to change your mind." Elizabeth opened her lips to reply ; then she hesitated at sight of Evelyn's wan face, where- on the lavishly applied rice powder failed to conceal the traces of the multiplied fatigues and disappointments of a purely artificial hfe. "You'll be glad you didn't try to make me change my mind when you see our house," she said gaily. "It has all been painted and papered, and everything about the place is as fresh and sunny and delightful as this place is dark and dingy and disagreeable. Only think, Evelyn, there is a real fireplace in the living room, where we are going to bum real wood of an evening, and the bay-window ia 138 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED the dining-room looks out on a grass-plot bor- dered with rose-bushes !" "But the neighbourhood, dear !" wailed Eve- lyn. "Only think what a social Sahara you are going into !" "I don't know about that," Elizabeth told her calmly. "Several of the engineers who are working with Sam live near with their families, and Sam thinks we are going to enjoy it im- mensely. He is so glad we are going." Evelyn had folded her hands in her lap and sat looking hopelessly about the dismantled rooms. "You don't seem to think about me, Betty," she said, after a while. "I — I am go- ing to miss you terribly." Tears shone in her faded eyes and her voice trembled. Elizabeth's warm heart was touched. "You've been very good to me, Evelyn," she said. "I shall never forget all that I've — learned from you. But we're really not go- ing out of the world, and you shall come and see us whenever you will, and bye and bye we shall have strawberries and roses to offer vou." 139 CHAPTER XI The roses on the tiny lawn of which Sam had spoken were in full bud, and Elizabeth was searching eagerly for the first streak of pink in the infant blossoms when she was surprised by the sight of an imposing equipage drawing up at the curb. The fat black horses pawed the gravel disdainfully, shaking their jingling harness, as the liveried footman dismounted from his perch and approached the mistress of the house. "I beg pawdon, miss," he said loftily ; "but can you tell me where — aw — Mrs. Samuel Brewster lives.?" "I am Mrs. Brewster." Elizabeth told him. Whereupon the man presented a card with an air of haughty humility. Elizabeth's wondering eyes uprose from its perusal to the vision of a tall, stout lady at- tired in purple broadcloth who was being as- sisted from the carriage. The hot colour 140 AXD SO THEY WERE MARRIED flamed over her fair face, and for an instant she was tempted to run into the house and hide herself and the neat checked gingham gown she was wearing. Then she gripped her courage with both hands and came forward smiling determinedly. The august personage in purple paused at sight of the slender, blue-frocked figure, and raising a gold-mounted lorgnette to her eyes deliberately inspected it. "You are — Samuel Brewster's wife?" she asked. "Yes, Mrs. Van Duser." Elizabeth's voice trembled in spite of herself, but her eyes were calmly bright. "Won't you come in.^" she added politely. The lady breathed somewhat heavily as she mounted the vine-wreathed porch. "I will sit down here," she announced magisterially ; "the air is pleasant in the country." Elizabeth's brief experience in Boston so- ciety came to her assistance, enabling her to reph^ suitably to this undeniable statement of fact. Then an awesome silence ensued, broken only by the bold chirp of an unabashed robin 141 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED successfully hunting worms in the grass- plot. "Where is your husband?" suddenly pro- pounded the visitor. "Mr. Brewster is engaged in making a topo- graphical map for the city ; I do not know ex- actly where he is this afternoon," replied Elizabeth, her colour paling, then rising as she recalled the too well-remembered words of Mrs. Van Duser's late communication. "Did you wish to see him?" Mrs. Van Duser was apparently engaged in a severe inspection of the adventurous robin. She did not at once reply. Elizabeth looked down at the toe of her shabby little shoe. "Sam — comes home to lunch now," she faltered. "I — he hasn't been gone long." "Ah!" intoned Mrs. Van Duser, majestically transferring her attention from the daring robin to Elizabeth's crimson face. "Samuel has neglected to call upon me since his return to Boston." was Mrs. Van Duser's next remark, delivered in an awe-inspiring con- 142 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED tralto ; "though it is evident that he owes me an acknowledgment of his present good for- tune." Elizabeth fixed round eyes of astonishment upon her visitor. "I can't think what you mean," she exclaimed unguardedly. "And yet I find you here, in this sylvan spot, far removed from the follies and temptations of your former position, and — I trust — pros- pering in a modest way." "Thank you," murmured Elizabeth, pink with indignation, "we are getting on very well." "What rent do you pay.'^" Elizabeth looked about rather wildly, as if searching for a way of escape. The robin had swallowed his latest find with an air of huge satisfaction, and now flew away with a ring- ing summons to his mate. "We pay thirty dollars, Mrs. Van Duser," she said slowly, "by the month." "Um! Why don't you buy the place?" "I don't think — I'm sure we — couldn't — " hesitated Elizabeth. 143 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "You are wrong," said Mrs. Van Duser, again raising her lorgnette to her eyes ; "if you can afford to pay three hundred and sixty dollars in rent you can afford to own a home, and you should do so. Tell Samuel I said so." "Yes, Mrs. Van Duser," murmured Eliza- beth in a depressed monotone. "Do you keep a maid.^" "No, Mrs. Van Duser, I do my own housework." Elizabeth's brown eyes sparkled defiantly as she added, "I was brought up to work, and I like to do it." Mrs. Van Duser's large solemn countenance relaxed into a smile as she gazed into the in- genuous young face ^t her side. "Ah, my dear," she sighed, "I envy you your happiness, though I had it myself once upon a time. I don't often speak of those days, but John Van Duser was a poor man when I mar- ried him, and we lived in a little house not un- like this, and I did the cooking. Do you think you could give me a cup of tea, my dear.?" When Samuel Brewster came home from his 14.4 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED work at an unexpectedly early hour that after- noon he was astonished to find an imposing coupe, drawn by two fat, shining horses, being driven slowly up and down before his door; and further, as he entered the house, by the cheerful sound of clinking silver and china and low-voiced conversation. Elizabeth, pink- cheeked and smiling, met him with an exclama- tion of happy surprise. "I am so glad you came home, Sam dear," she said. "Mrs. Van Duser was hoping to see you before she went." And Mrs. Van Duser, looking very much at home and very comfortable indeed in Sam's own big wicker chair, proffered him a large white jewelled hand, while she bade him give an account of himself quite in the tone of an af- fectionate relative. "You have a charming and sensible wife, Sam- uel, and a well-conducted home," said the great lady. "I have seen the whole house, cellar, kitchen and all," she added with a reminiscent sigh, "and it has carried me back to the hap- piest days I ever spent." 145 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED The young engineer passed his arm about his Elizabeth's shoulders as the two stood at the gate watching the stately departure of the Van Duser equipage. "Well, Betty," he said, "so the mountain came to Mahomet ? But the mountain doesn't seem such a bad sort, after all. I liked the way she kissed you good-bye, though I should never have guessed she was capable of it." Elizabeth drew a deep breath. "I never was so frightened in my life as wlien she first came," she confessed. "But she is kind, Sam, in her w^ay, though at first I thought it wasn't a pleasant way. And O, Sam dear, she thinks we gave up our flat and came out here just because she wu'ote us that letter; she was as complacent as could be when she spoke of it." "Did you undeceive her.''" "N-no, dear, I didn't even try. Perhaps it was the letter — partly, and anyway I felt sure I couldn't make her think any differently whatever I might say. But I did tell her about Annita and about how thoughtless and selfish I was, and " 146 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED "Did you tell her about the Tripp lady?" he suggested teasingly. «Xo," she said gravely. "Evelyn meant to be kind, too ; I am sure of that." "O benevolent Betty 1" he exclaimed with mock gravity. "O most sapient Elizabeth I I perceive that in gaining a new friend thou hast not lost an old one 1 I suppose from now on you will begin to model your small self on the Van Duser pattern. IMy lady will see to it that you do, if you see much of her." Elizabeth looked up at her tall husband, her brown eyes brimming with thoughtful light. "It is good to have friends," she said slowly ; "but, Sam dear, we must never allow any— friend to come between us again. We must live our own lives, and solve our own prob- lems, even if we make an occasional blunder doing it." ^ "We've solved our problems already," he said confidentlv, "and I'm not afraid of the blun- ders, thanks to the dearest and best little wife a man ever had." 147 AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED And Elizabeth smiled back at him, knowing in her wiser woman's heart that there were yet many problems to be solved, but not fearful of what the future would bring in the light of his loving eyes. im 14 DAY USE m^ RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWtU LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. wii-n9'''^ ' -i- <"■; -m LD 21A-607n-10,'65 General Library University of California 984450 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY