I bathed my face again and again, and made as careful a toilet as circumstances permitted.
In their kind-hearted simplicity they had evidently planned a sort of family ovation, for as I came out on the piazza, they were all there except Miss Warren, who sat at her piano playing softly; but as Mr. Yocomb rose to greet me she turned toward us, and through the open window could see us and hear all that passed. The old gentleman still bore marks of his shock and the illness that followed, but there was nothing weak or limp in his manner as he grasped my hand and began warmly:
"Richard Morton, last night I said thee was welcome; I now say this home is as truly thine as mine. Thee saved mother and the children from—" and here his voice was choked by emotion.
Mrs. Yocomb seized my other hand, and I saw that she was "moved" now if ever, for her face was eloquent with kindly, grateful feeling.
"Please don't," I said, so sharply as to indicate irritation, for I felt that I could not endure another syllable. Then, slapping Reuben brusquely on the shoulder, I added, "Reuben was quite as helpful as I: thank him. Any tramp from New York would try to do as much as I did, and might have done better. Ah, here is Zillah!" And I saw that the little girl was propped up on pillows just within the parlor window, where she could enjoy the cool evening air without too great exposure. "If she'll give me another kiss we'll call it all square and say no more about it," and I leaned over the window-sill.
The child put her arms around my neck and clung to me for a moment. There could have been no better antidote for my mood of irritable protest against my fate than the child's warm and innocent embrace, and for a moment it was balm indeed.
"There," I cried, kissing her twice, "now I'm overpaid." Raising my eyes, I met those of Miss Warren as she sat by her piano.
"Yes," she said, with a smile, "after that I should think you would be more than content."
"I certainly ought to be," I replied, looking at her steadily.
"Zillah's very grateful," Miss Warren continued. "She knows that you watched with her till morning."
"So did other night-owls, Zillah, and they were quite as useful as I was."
She reached up her hand and pulled me down. "Mother said," she began.
"You needn't tell a stranger what mother said," and I put my finger on her lips.
"Thee's no more of a stranger than Emily Warren," said the little girl reproachfully. "I can't think of thee without thinking of her."
I raised my eyes in a quick flash toward the young lady, but she had turned to the piano, and her right hand was evoking a few low chords.
"Miss Warren can tell you," I said, laughing, "that when people have been struck by lightning they often don't think straight for a long time to come."
"Crooked thinking sometimes happens without so vivid a cause," MissWarren responded, without looking around.
"Zillah's right in thinking that thee can never be a stranger in this home," said Mrs. Yocomb warmly.
"Mrs. Yocomb, please don't think me insensible to the feelings which are so apparent. Should I live centuries, the belief that I had served you and yours after your kindness would still be my pleasantest thought. But you overrate what I have done: it was such obvious duty that any one would have done the same, or else his ears should have been cropped. It gives me a miserably mean feeling to have you thank me so for it. Please don't any more."
"We forget," said Miss Warren, advancing to the window, "that Mr. Morton is versed in tragedies, and has daily published more dreadful affairs."
"Yes, and has written 'paragraphs' about them that no doubt seemed quite as lurid as the events themselves, suggesting that I gloated over disasters as so much material."
"Mr. Morton, isn't it nearly as bad to tell fibs about one's self as about other people?"
"My depravity will be a continuous revelation to you, Miss Warren," I replied.
With a low laugh she answered, "I see you make no secret of it," and she went back to her piano.
I had bowed cordially to Adah as I joined the family group, and had been conscious all the time of her rather peculiar and fixed scrutiny, which I imagined suggested a strong curiosity more than anything else.
"Well, Richard Morton," said Mr. Yocomb, as if the words were irrepressible, "thee knows a little of how we feel toward thee, if thee won't let us say as much as we would like. I love this old home in which I was born and have lived until this day. I could never build another home like it if every leaf on the farm were a bank-note. But I love the people who live here far more. Richard Morton, I know how it would all have ended, and thee knows. The house was on fire, and all within it were helpless and unconscious. I've seen it all to-day, and Reuben has told us. May the Lord bless thee for what them hast done for me and mine! I'm not going to burden thee with our gratitude, but truth is truth, and we must speak out once for all, to be satisfied. Thee knows, too, that when a Friend has anything on his mind it's got to come; hasn't it, mother? Richard Morton, thee has saved us all from a horrible death."
"Yes, Mr. Morton," said Miss Warren, coming again to the window and laughing at my crimson face and embarrassment, "youmustface that truth—there's no escaping it. Forgive me, Mr. Yocomb, for laughing over so serious a subject, but Reuben and Mr. Morton amuse me greatly. Mr. Morton already says that any tramp from New York would have done the same. By easy transition he will soon begin to insist that it was some other tramp. I now understand evolution."
"Emily Warren, thee needn't laugh at Richard Morton," said Reuben a little indignantly; "thee owes more to him than to any other man living."
She did not turn to the piano so quickly now but that I saw her face flush at the unlooked-for speech.
"That you are mistaken, Reuben, no one knows better than Miss Warren herself," I replied irritably.
She turned quickly and said, in a low tone, "You are right, Mr. Morton. Friends do not keep a debit and credit account with each other. I shall not forget, however, that Reuben is right also, even though I may seem to sometimes," and she left the room.
I was by the open window, and I do not think any one heard her words except Zillah, and she did not understand them.
I stood looking after her, forgetful of all else, when a hand laid upon my arm caused me to look around, and I met Adah's gaze, and it was as fixed and intent as that of a child.
"She doesn't owe thee any more than I do," she said gravely. "I wish I could do something for thee."
"Why do you say 'thee' to me now?—you always said 'you' before," I asked.
"I don't know. It seems as if I couldn't say 'you' to thee any more," and a delicate color stole into her face.
"We all feel as if thee were one of us now," explained Mrs. Yocomb gently, "and I trust that life will henceforth seem to Adah a more sacred thing, and worthy of more sacred uses." And she passed into the house to prepare for supper.
Mr. Yocomb followed her, and Reuben went down to the barn.
"If you live to grow like your mother, Miss Adah, you will be the most beautiful woman in the world," I said frankly, for I felt as if I could speak to her almost as I would to Zillah.
Her eyes drooped and her color deepened as she shook her head and murmured:
"I'd rather be Emily Warren than any other woman in the world."
Her words and manner so puzzled me that I thought she had not fully recovered from the effects of the shock, and I replied, in an off-hand way:
"After a few weeks of teaching stupid children to turn noise into music you would gladly be yourself again."
She paid no heed to this remark, but, with the same intent, exploring look, asked:
"Thee was the first one I saw when I came to last night?"
"Yes, and you were much afraid of me."
"I was foolish—I fear mother's right, and I've always been foolish."
"Your manner last night was most natural. I was a stranger, and a hard-looking customer, too, when I entered your room."
"I hope I didn't look very—very bad."
"You looked so like a beautiful piece of marble that I feared you were dead."
"Thee wouldn't have cared much."
"Indeed I would. If you knew how anxious I was about Zillah—"
"Ugh!" she interrupted, with an expression of strong disgust, "I might have been a horrid, blackened thing if it hadn't been for thee."
"Oh, hush!" I cried; "I merely threw a couple of pails of water on the roof. Please say no more about it."
She passed her hand over her brow, and said hesitatingly:
"I'm so puzzled—I feel so strangely. It seems an age since yesterday."
"You've had a very severe shock, Miss Adah."
"Yes, that may be it; but it's so strange that I was afraid of thee."
"Why, Miss Adah, I was wet as a drowned rat, and had a black mark across my nose. I would have made an ideal burglar."
"That oughtn't to have made any difference; thee was trying to save my life."
"But you didn't know it."
"I don't believe I know anything rightly. I—I feel so strange—just as if I had waked up and hadn't got anything clear. But I know this much, in spite of what Reuben said," she added impulsively; "Emily Warren doesn't owe thee any more than I do." And she turned like a flash and was gone.
"Poor child," I muttered, "she hasn't recovered so fully as the others."
I had been holding one of Zillah's hands during the interview, and she now pulled me down and whispered:
"What's the matter with thee, Richard Morton?"
"Heaven grant you may never know, little one. Good-by." I had scarcely left the piazza, however, before Mrs. Yocomb called:
"Richard Morton, thee must be famished. Come to supper."
I ought to have had a ravenous appetite but I had none at all. I ought to have been glad and thankful from the depths of my heart, but I was so depressed that everything I said was forced and unnatural. My head felt as if it were bursting, and I was enraged with myself and the wretched result of my bright dream. Indeed I found myself inclined to a spirit of recklessness and irritation that was wellnigh irresistible.
Miss Warren seemed as wholly free from any morbid, unnatural tendencies as Mr. Yocomb himself, and she did her utmost to make the hour as genial as it should have been. At first I imagined that she was trying to satisfy herself that I had recovered my senses, and that my unexpected words, spoken in the morning, were the result of a mood that was as transient as it was abnormal. I think I puzzled her; I certainly did not understand myself any better than did poor Adah, whose mind appeared to be in solution from the effects of the lightning, and I felt that I must be appearing worse than idiotic.
Miss Warren, resolutely bent on banishing every unnatural constraint, asked Mr. Yocomb:
"How is my genuine friend, Old Plod? Did the lightning wake him up?"
"No, he plods as heavily as ever this morning. Thee only can wake him up."
"You've no idea what a compliment that is," she said, with a low laugh. "Old Plod inspires me with a sense of confidence and stability that is very reassuring in a world full of lightning flashes."
"Yes," I said, "he is safe as a horse-block, and quite as exhilarating.Give me Dapple."
She looked at me quickly and keenly, and colored slightly. She evidently had some association in her mind with the old plow-horse that I did not understand.
"Exhilaration scarcely answers as a steady diet, Mr. Morton."
"Little chance of its lasting long," I replied, "even in a world overcharged with electricity."
"I prefer calm, steady sunshine to these wild alternations."
"I doubt it; 'calm, steady sunshine' would make the world as dry and monotonous as a desert."
"That's true, Richard Morton," said Mr. Yocomb. "I like peace and quiet more than most men, but even if we had all burned up last night, this part of the world would have been wonderfully the better for the storm. I reckon it was worth a million or more dollars to the county."
"That's the right way to look at it, Mr. Yocomb," I said carelessly. "The greatest good to the greatest number. Individuals are of no account."
"Your philosophy may be true, but I don't like it," Miss Warren protested. "A woman doesn't generalize."
"Thy philosophy is only half true, Richard Morton. God cares for each one of His children, and every one in my house counts for much to me."
"There's no getting ahead of thee, mother. If we want to talk heresy,Richard Morton, we must go off by ourselves."
"I think God showed His love for us in a queer way last night," saidAdah, abruptly.
Both her father and mother looked pained at this speech, and Mrs.Yocomb said gravely:
"Thee'll see things in the true light some day, I hope. The lightning bolt may have been a message from Heaven to thee."
"It seems to me that Zillah got more of the message than I did, and she didn't need any," said the matter-of-fact Adah, "At any rate I hope Richard Morton may be here if I ever get another message."
"I shall surely be struck next time," I laughed, a trifle bitterly; "for according to Mrs. Yocomb's view I need a message more than any of you."
It was evident that neither Adah nor I was in a frame of mind that Mrs.Yocomb could commend.
"As you suggested, Mr. Morton, if some other tramp from New York had been present, what a thrilling narrative you could write for your paper," Miss Warren began. Seemingly she had had enough of clouds the previous evening, and was bent on clear skies to-night.
She found me incorrigible, however, for I said briefly:
"Oh, no, it would only make an item among the crimes and casualties."
Undaunted, she replied: "And such might have been its appropriate place had not the doctor arrived so promptly. The casualty had already occurred, and I'm quite sure you would have finished us all with original remedies if left to yourself."
"I agree with you, Miss Warren; blunders are worse than crimes, andI've a genius for them."
"Well, I'm not a genius in any sense of the word. Miss Adah and I look at things as they are. One would think, Mr. Morton, accepting your view of yourself, that you could supply your paper with all the crimes and casualties required, as the result of the genius you claim."
"Stupid blunders would make stupid reading."
"Oh, that column in your paper is very interesting, then?"
"Why shouldn't it be? I've never had the bad taste to publish in it anything about myself."
"I fail to find any logic in that remark. Have you a conscience, Mr.Morton?"
"The idea of an editor having a conscience! I doubt whether you have ever seen New York, Miss Warren, you are so unsophisticated."
"Emily, thee shouldn't be afraid of lightning when thee and RichardMorton are so ready to flash back and forth at one another."
"My words are only heat lightning, very harmless, and Mr. Morton's partake of the aurora in character—they are cool and distant."
"I hope they are not so mysterious," I replied.
"Their cause is, quite."
"I think I understand the cause," said Mrs. Yocomb as we rose from the table; and she came and took my hand. "Richard Morton, thee has fever; thy hands are hot and thy temples are throbbing."
I saw that Miss Warren was looking at me with an expression that was full of kind, regretful interest; but with the perversity of a child that should have been shaken, I replied, recklessly:
"I've taken cold, I fear. I sat on the piazza like an owl last night, and I learned that an owl would have been equally useful there. I fear I'm going to be ill, Mrs. Yocomb, and I think I had better make a precipitate retreat to my den in New York."
"Who'll take care of thee in thy den?" she asked, with a smile that would have disarmed cynicism itself.
"Oh, they can spare a devil from the office occasionally," I said carelessly; but I felt that my remark was brutal. In answer to her look of pained surprise I added, "Pardon me that I used the vile slang of the shop; I meant one of the boys employed in the printing-rooms. Mrs. Yocomb, I have now satisfied you that I'm too much of a bear to deserve any gentler nurse. I truly think I had better return to town at once. I've never been very ill, and have no idea how to behave. It's already clear that I wouldn't prove a meek and interesting patient, and I don't want to lose your good opinion."
"Richard Morton, if thee should leave us now I should feel hurt beyond measure. Thee's not thyself or thee wouldn't think of it."
"Richard Morton, thee cannot go," said Mr. Yocomb in his hearty way. "If thee knew mother as I do, thee'd give right in. I don't often put my foot down, but when I do, it's like old South Mountain there. Ah, here comes the doctor. Doctor Bates, if thee doesn't prescribe several weeks of quiet life in this old farmhouse for Friend Morton, I'll start right off to find a doctor who will."
"Please stay, and I'll gather wild strawberries for thee," said Adah, in a low tone. She had stolen close to my side, and still had the wistful, intent look of a child.
"You might do worse," Doctor Bates remarked.
"You'll never make him believe that," laughed Miss Warren, who evidently believed in tonic treatment and counter-irritants. "He would much prefer sultry New York and an imp from the printing-rooms."
"Thee may drive Dapple all thee wishes if thee'll only stay," saidReuben, his round, boyish face shadowed with unwonted anxiety.
We were standing in the hallway, and Zillah heard our talk, for her little figure came tottering out of the parlor in her trailing wrapper, and her eyes were full of tears.
"Richard Morton, if thee doesn't stay I'll cry myself sick."
I caught her up in my arms and carried her back to the sofa, and I whispered in her ear:
"I'll stay, Zillah; I'll do anything for you."
The child clapped her hands gleefully as she exclaimed:
"Now I've got thee. He's promised me to stay, mother."
"Yes," said the physician, after feeling my pulse, "you certainly must, and you ought to be in bed this moment. Your pulse indicates a very high fever. What's more, you seem badly run down. I shall put you under active treatment at once; that is, if you'll trust me."
"Go ahead, doctor," I said, "and get me through one way or the other before very long. Because these friends are so good and kind is no reason why I should become a burden to them," and I sank down on the sofa in the hall.
"Thee'll do us a great wrong if thee ever thinks that, Richard Morton," said Mrs. Yocomb earnestly. "Adah, thee see that his room is ready. I'm going to take thee in hand myself;" and she bustled off to the kitchen.
"You couldn't be in better hands, Mr. Morton," said the physician; "and Mrs. Yocomb can do more for you than I can. I'll try and help a little, however, and will prescribe for you after I've seen Zillah;" and he and Mr. Yocomb went into the parlor, while Reuben, with a triumphant chuckle, started for the barn.
Now that I was alone for a moment, Miss Warren, who had been standing in the doorway, and a little aloof, came to me, and her face was full of trouble as she said hurriedly, in a low tone:
"I fear I'm to blame for this. You'll never know how sorry I am. Idoowe you so much! Please get well quickly or I'll—" and she hesitated.
"You are the only one who did not ask me to stay," I said reproachfully.
"I know it; I know, too, that I'd be ill in your place if I could."
"How could I help loving you!" I said impetuously. "There, forgive me," I added hastily as I saw her look of pain and almost fright. "Remember I'm ill, delirious it may be; but whatever happens, also remember that I said I wouldn't change anything. Were it all to do over again I'd do the same. It was inevitable: I'm sane enough to know that. You are not in the least to blame."
She hung on my last words as if I were giving her absolution from a mortal sin.
"It's all a mistake. Oh, if you but knew how I regret—"
Steps were approaching. I shook my head, with a dreary glimmer of a smile.
"Good-by," I said in a whisper, and wearily closed my eyes.
Everything soon became very confused. I remembered Mr. Yocomb's helping me to my room. I saw Adah's intent, wistful look as I tried to thank her. Mrs. Yocomb's kind, motherly face changed into the features of my own mother, and then came a long blank.
I seemed to waken as if from a long, troubled sleep. At first I was merely conscious that I was awake, and I wondered how long I had slept. Then I was glad I was awake, and that my confused and hateful dreams, of which no distinct memory remained, had vanished. The only thing I could recall concerning them was an indefinite and oppressive sense of loss of some kind, at which I had vaguely and impotently protested.
I knew I was awake, and yet I felt too languid to open my eyes. I was little more than barely conscious of existence, and I rather enjoyed this negative condition of complete inertia. The thought floated through my mind that I was like a new-born child, that knows nothing, fears nothing, thinks nothing, but simply breathes, and I felt so tired and "gone" that I coveted an age of mere respiration.
But thought slowly kindled in a weak, fitful fashion. I first became slightly curious about myself. Why had I slept so profoundly? Why was I so nerveless and stupid after such a sleep?
Instead of answering these questions, I weakly wandered off into another train of thought. "My mind seems a perfect blank," I said to myself. "I don't remember anything; I don't know where I am, and don't much care; nor do I know what my experience will be when I fully rouse myself. This is like beginning a new existence. What shall be the first entry on the blank page of my wakening mind? Perhaps I had better rouse up and see whether I am truly alive."
And yet I did not rise, but just lay still, heavy with a strange, painless inertia, over which I puzzled in a vague, weak way.
At last I was sure I heard a child crying. Then there was a voice, that I thought I had heard before, trying to hush and reassure the child, and I began to think who they were, and yet I did not seem to care enough to open my eyes to see.
I next heard something like a low sob near me, and it caused a faint thrill among my sluggish nerves. Surely I had heard that sound before, and curiosity so far asserted itself that I opened my eyes and looked wonderingly around.
The room was unfamiliar, and yet I was certain I had seen it on some previous occasion. Seated at a window, however, was a lady who soon absorbed my whole weak and wavering attention. My first thought was: "How very pretty she is!" Then, "What is she looking at so steadfastly from the window?" After a moment I mentally laughed at my stupidity. "She's looking at the sunset. What else should she be looking at? Can I have slept all day?"
I saw her bosom heave with another convulsive sob, and that tears fast followed each other down her cheeks. I seemed to have the power of noting everything distinctly, but I couldn't understand or account for what I saw. Who was that sweet-faced girl? Beyond a doubt I had seen her before, but where? Why was she crying? Why was she in my room?
Then I thought, "It must be all imaginary; I doubt whether I am awake yet. If she were only smiling instead of crying, I would like to dream on forever. How strangely familiar her face is! I must have seen it daily for years, and yet I can't recognize it."
The loud whinny of a horse seemed to give my paralyzed memory an impetus and suggestion, by means of which I began to reconstruct the past.
"That's Old Plod!" I exclaimed mentally. "And—and—why, that's Miss Warren sitting by the window. I remember now. We were in the barn together, and I was jealous of the old horse—how absurd! Then we were in the garden, and she was laughing at me. How like a dream it all is! It seemed as if she were always laughing, and that the birds might well stop singing to listen. Now she is crying here in my room. I half believe it's an apparition, and that if I speak it will vanish. Perhaps it is a warning that she's in trouble somewhere, and that I ought to go to her help. How lovely she looks, with her hands lying in her lap, forgetful of the work they hold, and her tearful eyes fixed on the glowing west! Her face is very pale in contrast. Surely she's only a shadow, and the real maiden is in need of my aid;" and I made an effort to rise.
It seemed exceedingly strange that I could scarcely lift my hand; but my slight movement caused her to look around, and in answer to my gaze of eager inquiry she came softly and hesitatingly toward me.
"Miss Warren," I said, "can it be you in very truth?"
"Yes," she replied, with a sudden and glad lighting up of her face, "but please don't talk."
"How you relieve me," I tried to say joyfully, but I found I could only whisper. "What the mischief—makes my voice—so weak? Do you know—that I had the odd—impression—that you were an apparition—and had come to me—as a token—that—you were in trouble—and I tried to rise—to go to your aid—then it seemed yourself—that looked around. But youarein trouble—why can't I get up and help you?"
She trembled, and by her gesture tried to stop my words.
"Will you do what I ask?" she said, in a low, eager tone.
I smiled as I replied, "Little need of your asking that question."
"Then please try to get well speedily; don't talk, but just keep everylittle grain of strength. Oh, I'm so glad you are in your right mind.You have been very ill, but will soon get well now if only careful.I'll call Mrs. Yocomb."
"Please don't go," I whispered. "Now that I know you—it seems so natural—that you should be here. So I've been ill—and you have taken care of me;" and I gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. "I did not know you at first—idiot!—but Old Plod whinnied—and then it all began to come back."
At the word "Old Plod" she turned hastily toward the door. Then, as if mastered by an impulse, she returned, and said, in a tone that thrilled even my feeble pulse:
"Oh, live! in mercy live, or else I can never forgive myself."
"I'll live—never fear," I replied, with a low laugh. "I'm not such a fool as to leave a world containing you."
A rich glow overspread her face, she smiled, then suddenly her face became very pale, and she even seemed frightened as she hastily left the room.
A moment later Mrs. Yocomb came in, full of motherly solicitude.
"Kind Mrs. Yocomb," I murmured, "I am glad I'm in such good hands."
"Thank God, Richard Morton," she said, in low, fervent tones, "thee's going to get well. But don't speak a word."
"Wasn't that Zillah crying?"
"Yes, she was heart-broken about thee being so sick, but she'll laugh now when I tell her thee's better. Take this, and sleep again."
"Bless her kind heart!" I said.
Mrs. Yocomb laid her finger on my lips. I saw her pour out something, which I swallowed unquestioningly, and after a moment sank into a quiet sleep.
"Yes, Mrs. Yocomb, good nursing and nourishment are all that he now requires," were the reassuring words that greeted my waking later in the evening. I opened my eyes, and found that a physician was feeling my pulse.
I turned feebly toward my kind hostess, and smilingly whispered:
"There's no fear of my wanting these where you are, Mrs. Yocomb; but don't let me make trouble. I fear I've made too much already."
"The only way thee can make trouble, Richard, is to worry about making trouble. The more we can do for thee the better we shall be pleased. All thee's got to do is to get well and take thy time about it."
"That's just like you. How long have I been ill?"
"That's none of thy business at present. One thing at a time. The doctor has put thee in my hands, and I'm going to make thee mind."
"I've heard that men were perfect bears when getting well," I said.
"Thee can be a bear if thee feels like it, but not another word to-night—not another syllable; am I not right, doctor?"
"Yes, I prescribe absolute quiet of mind and body; that and good living will bring you around in time. You've had a narrow graze of it, but if you will mind Mrs. Yocomb you will yet die of old age. Good-night."
My nurse gave me what she thought I needed, and darkened the room. But it was not so dark but that I saw a beautiful face in the doorway.
"Miss Warren," I exclaimed.
"It was Adah," said Mrs. Yocomb quietly; "she's been very anxious about thee."
"You are all so kind. Please thank her for me," I replied eagerly. "Mother, may I speak to Richard Morton?" asked a timid voice from the obscurity of the hallway.
"Not to-night, Adah—to-morrow." "Forgive me if I disobey you this once," I interrupted hastily. "Yes, Miss Adah, I want to thank you."
She came instantly to my side, and I held out my hand to her. I wondered why hers throbbed and trembled so strangely.
"It's I who should thank thee: I can never thank thee enough. Oh, I feared I might—I might never have a chance."
"There, Adah, thee mustn't say another word; Richard's too weak yet."
Her hand closed tightly over mine. "Good-by," she breathed softly, and vanished.
Mrs. Yocomb sat down with her knitting by a distant and shaded lamp.
Too weak to think, or to realize aught except that I was surrounded by an atmosphere of kindness and sympathy, I was well content to lie still and watch, through the open window, the dark foliage wave to and fro, and the leaves grow distinct in the light of the rising moon, which, though hidden, I knew must be above the eastern mountains. I had the vague impression that very much had happened, but I would not think; not for the world would I break the spell of deep quietude that enthralled every sense of my body and every faculty of my mind.
"Mrs. Yocomb," I said at last, "it must be you who creates this atmosphere of perfect peace and restfulness. The past is forgotten, the future a blank, and I see only your serene face. A subdued light seems to come from it, as from the shaded lamp."
"Thee is weak and fanciful, Richard. The doctor said thee must be quiet."
"I wish it were possible to obey the doctor forever, and that this exquisite rest and oblivion could last, I am like a ship becalmed on a summer sea in a summer night. Mind and body are both motionless."
"Sleep, Richard Morton, and when rested and well, may gales from heaven spring up and carry thee homeward. Fear not even rough winds, if they bear thee toward the only true home. Now thy only duty is to rest."
"You are not going to sit up to-night, Mrs. Yocomb."
She put her finger on her lips.
"Hush!" she said.
"Oh, delicious tyranny!" I murmured. "The ideal government is that of an absolute and friendly power."
I had a vague consciousness of being wakened from time to time, and of taking something from Mrs. Yocomb's hand, and then sinking back into an enthrallment of blessed and refreshing slumber. With every respiration life and health flowed back.
At last, as after my first long sleep in the country, I seemed to hear exquisite strains of music that swelled into richer harmony until what seemed a burst of song awoke me. Opening my eyes, I looked intently through the open, window and gladly welcomed the early day. The air was fresh, and I felt its exhilarating quality. The drooping branches of the elm swayed to and fro, and the mountains beyond were bathed in light. I speedily realized that it was the song of innumerable birds that had supplied the music of my waking dream.
For a few moments I gazed through the window, with the same perfect content with which I had watched the foliage grow distinct in the moonlight the previous evening, and then I looked around the room.
I started slightly as I encountered the deep blue eyes of Adah Yocomb fixed on me with an intent, eager wistfulness. "Can I do anything for thee, Richard Morton?" she asked, rising from her chair near the door. "Mother asked me to stay with thee awhile, and to let her know if thee woke and wanted anything."
"With you here this bright morning, how could I want anything more?" I asked, with a smile, for her young, beautiful face comported so well with the early morning of the summer day as to greatly please both my eye and fancy. The color of the early morning grew richer in her face as she replied:
"I'm glad thee doesn't want me to go away, but I must go and have thy breakfast brought up."
"No, stay; tell me all that's happened. I seem to have forgotten everything so strangely! I feel as if I had known you all a long time, and yet that can't be, for only the other day I was at my office in New York."
"Mother says thee's too weak to talk yet, and that I must not answer questions. She says thee knows thee's been sick and thee knows thee's getting well, and that must do till thee's much stronger."
"Oh, I feel ever so much stronger. Sleep and the good things your mother has given me have made a new man of me."
"Mother says thee has never been sick, and that thee doesn't know how to take care of thyself, and that thee'll use thy strength right up if we don't take good care of thee."
"And are you going to take care of me?"
"Yes, if thee pleases. I'll help mother."
"I should be hard to please were I not glad. I shall have so nice a time getting well that I shall be tempted to play sick."
"I'll—I'll wait on thee as long as thee'll let me, for no one owes thee more than I do."
"What in the world do you owe me?" I asked, much perplexed. "If you are going to help me to get well, and will come to my room daily with a face like this summer morning, I shall owe you more than I can ever repay."
"My face would have been black enough but for thee; but I'm glad thee thinks I look well. They are all saying I look pale and am growing thin, but if thee doesn't think so I don't care," and she seemed aglow with pleasure.
"It would make a sick man well to look at you," I said, smiling. "Please come and sit by me and help me to get my confused brain straight once more. I have the strangest sense of not knowing what I ought to know well. You and your kind father and mother brought me home from meeting. Your mother said I might stay here and rest. Miss Warren was here—she was singing in the parlor. Where is Miss Warren?"
"She has gone out for a walk," said the girl a little coldly.
Her manner perplexed me, and, together with my thought of Miss Warren, there came a vague sense of trouble—of something wrong. I tried to raise my hand to my brow, as if to clear away the mist that obscured my mind, and my hand was like lead, it was so heavy.
"A plague on my memory!" I exclaimed. "We were in the parlor, and Miss Warren was singing. Your mother spoke—would that I might hear her again!—it's all tolerably clear up to that time, and then everything is confused."
"Adah, how's this?" said Mrs. Yocomb reproachfully. "Thee was not to let Richard Morton talk."
"I only am to blame, Mrs. Yocomb: I would talk. I'm trying to get the past straightened out; I know that something happened the other evening when you spoke so beautifully to us, but my memory comes up to that point as to an abyss, and I can't bridge it over."
"Richard Morton, doesn't thee believe that I'm thy friend?"
"My mind would indeed be a total blank if I doubted that."
"Well, then, do what I ask thee: don't question, don't think. Isn't it sufficient to know that thee has been ill, and that thy life depends on quiet? Thee can scarcely lift thy hand to thy head; thy words are slow and feeble. Can't thee realize that it is thy sacred duty to rest and grow strong before taking up the cares and burdens that life brings to us all? Thee looks weak and exhausted."
"I am indeed weak enough, but I felt almost well when I awoke."
"Adah, I fear I can't trust thee as a nurse," her mother began gravely.
"Please don't blame her; it was wholly my fault," I whispered. "I'll be very good now, and do just what you bid me."
"Well, then, thee must take what I have prepared, and thy medicine, and sleep again."
"Good-by, Adah," I said, smiling. "Don't look so concerned; you haven't done me a bit of harm. Your face was as bright and welcome as the sunshine."
"If it hadn't been for thee—" she began.
Mrs. Yocomb raised a warning finger, and the girl stole away.
"Can—can I not see Miss Warren this morning?" I asked hesitatingly.
"Thee must sleep first."
The medicine she gave evidently contained a sedative, or else sleep was the remedy that Nature instinctively grasped, for it gave back part of the strength that I had lost.
When I awoke again I felt wonderfully the better for a long rest that had not been broken, but made more beneficial from the fact that I was slightly roused from time to time to take stimulants and nourishment. The heat and glare of the summer day had passed. This I could perceive even through the half-closed window-blinds. At first I thought myself alone, but soon saw that Reuben was seated in the furthest corner, quietly carving on some woodwork that interested his boyish fancy. His round, fresh face was like a tonic.
"Well, old fellow," I laughed, "so you are playing nurse?"
"Is thee awake for good, Richard Morton?" he asked, springing up.
"I hope so."
"'Cause mother said that as soon as thee really waked up I must call her."
"Oh, wait a moment, and tell me all the news."
"Mother said I mustn't tell thee anything but to get well."
"I'm never going to get well."
"What!" exclaimed the boy, in consternation.
"Your mother and Miss Adah take such good care of me that I am going to play sick the rest of my life," I explained, laughing. "How is Dapple?"
"Oh, thee's only joking, then. Well, all I ask of thee is to get well just enough to drive Dapple around with me. He'll put life into thee—never fear. When I get hold of the reins he fairly makes my hands tingle. But there, mother said I shouldn't let thee talk, but tell her right away," and he started for the door.
"How is Miss Warren? Is she never coming to see me?"
"Emily Warren's been dreadfully anxious about thee. I never saw any one change so. But to-day she has been like a lark. She went with me to the village this morning, and she had almost as much spirit and life as Dapple. She's a jolly good girl. I like her. We're all so glad thee's getting well we don't know what to do. Father said he felt like jumping over a five-bar fence. Only Adah acts kind of queer and glum."
"I think I hear talking," said Mrs. Yocomb, entering.
"Dear Mrs. Yocomb," I laughed, "you are the most amiable and beneficent dragon that ever watched over a captive."
"Thee wants watching. The moment my back's turned thee's into mischief, and the young people are just as bad. Reuben, I might better have left Zillah here."
"Do let her come," I exclaimed; "she'll do more good than medicine."
"Well, she shall bring thee up thy chicken broth; that will please her wonderfully. Go away, Reuben, and tell Zillah to bring the broth—not another word. Does thee feel better, Richard?"
"Oh, I am almost well. I'm ashamed to own how hungry I am."
"That's a good sign—a very good sign."
"Mrs. Yocomb, how did I become so ill? I'm haunted by the oddest sense of not remembering something that happened after you spoke to us the other evening."
"There's nothing strange in people's being sick—thee knows that. Then thee had been overworking so long that thee had to pay the penalty."
"Yes, I remember that. Thank Heaven I drifted into this quiet harbor before the storm came. I should have died in New York."
"Well, thee knows where to come now when thee's going to have another bad turn. I hope, however, that thee'll be too good a man to overwork so again. Now thee's talked enough."
"Can I not see Mr. Yocomb, and—and—Miss Warren this evening?"
"No, not till to-morrow. Father's been waiting till I said he could come; but he's so hearty-like that I won't trust him till thee's stronger."
"Is—is Miss Warren so hearty-like also? It seems to me her laugh would put life into a mummy."
"Well, thee isn't a mummy, so she can't come till to-morrow."
She had been smoothing my pillow and bathing my face with cologne, thus creating a general sense of comfort and refreshment. Now she lifted my head on her strong, plump arm, and brushed my hair. Tears came into my eyes as I said brokenly:
"I can remember my mother doing this for me when I was ill once and a little fellow. I've taken care of myself ever since. You can have no idea how grateful your manner is to one who has no one to care for him specially."
"Thee'll always have some one to care for thee now; but thee mustn't say anything more;" and I saw strong sympathy in her moist eyes.
"Yes," I breathed softly, "I should have died in New York."
"And thee said an imp from the printing-house could take care of thee," she replied, with a low laugh.
"Did I say that? I must have been out of my head."
"Thee'll see that all was ordered for the best, and be content when thee gets strong. People are often better every way after a good fit of sickness. I believe the Good Physician will give His healing touch to thy soul as well as thy body. Ah, here is Zillah. Come in, little girl. Richard wishes to see thee."
Bearing a bowl in both hands, she entered hesitatingly.
"Why, Zillah, you waiting on me, too! It's all like a fairy tale, and I'm transformed into a great prince, and am waited on right royally. I'm going to drink that broth to your health, as if you were a great lady. It will do me more good than all the drugs of all the doctors, just because you are such a good little fairy, and have bewitched it."
The child dimpled all over with pleasure as she came and stood by my side.
"Oh, I'm so glad thee's getting well!" she cried. "Thee talks queer, but not so queer as thee did before. Thee—"
A warning gesture from her mother checked her, and she looked a little frightened.
"That will do, Zillah. After Richard has taken this I'm not going to let him talk for a long time."
"Do you want to make me all well, Zillah?" I asked, smiling into her troubled and sympathetic face.
She nodded eagerly and most emphatically.
"Then climb on a chair and give me a kiss."
After a quick, questioning look at her mother, she complied, laughing.
"Ah, that puts life into me," I said. "You can tell them all that you did me more good than the doctor. I'll go with you to see the robins soon."
"I've got something else for thee downstairs," she whispered, "something that Emily Warren gathered for thee," and she was gone in a flash.
A moment later she stood in the doorway, announced in advance by the perfume of an exquisite cluster of rosebuds arranged in a dainty vase entwined and half hidden with myrtle.
"Put the vase on the table by Richard, and then thee mustn't come any more."
"Thee surely are from the Garden of Eden," I exclaimed. "These and your kiss, Zillah, will make me well. Tell Miss Warren that I am going to thank her myself. Good-by now," and she flitted out of the room, bright with the unalloyed happiness of a child.
"Dear me," said Mrs. Yocomb, "thee must indeed get strong fast, for I do have such a time keeping the young people out of thy room. Reuben asks a dozen times a day if he can see thee, and father's nearly as bad. No more shall see thee to-day, I promise thee. Now thee must rest till to-morrow."
I was well content, for the roses brought a presence very near. In their fragrance, their beauty, their dewy freshness, their superiority to other flowers, they seemed the emblem of the maiden who had made harmony in the garden when Nature was at her best. The scene, as we had stood there together, grew so vivid that I saw her again almost in reality, her face glowing with the undisguised, irrepressible pleasure that had been caused by my unexpected tribute to the absolute truthfulness of her character. Again I heard her piquant laugh; then her sweet, vibratory voice as she sang hymns that awakened other than religious emotions, I fear. By an odd freak of fancy the flowers seemed an embodied strain from Chopin's nocturne that she had played, and the different shades of color the rising and falling of the melody.
"What do they mean?" I murmured to myself. "At any rate I see no York and Lancaster buds among them."
"Is thee so very fond of roses that thee gazes so long and intently at them?" Mrs. Yocomb quietly asked.
I started, and I had still sufficient blood to crimson my pallid face.
Turning away I said, "They recalled a scene in the garden where they grew. It seemed to me that Miss Warren had grown there too, she was so like them; and that this impression should have been made by a girl bred in the city struck me as rather strange."
"Thy impression was correct—she's genuine," Mrs. Yocomb replied gravely, and her eyes rested on me in a questioning and sympathetic way that I understood better as I thought it over afterward.
"Yes," I said, "she made just that impression on me from the first. We met as strangers, and in a few hours, without the slightest effort on her part, she won my absolute trust. This at first greatly surprised me, for I regret to say that my calling has made me distrustful. I soon learned, however, that this was just the impression that she should make on any one capable of understanding her."
A deep sigh was my companion's only answer.
"Mrs. Yocomb," I continued, earnestly, "was I taken ill while you were speaking? I have a vague, tormenting impression that something occurred which I cannot recall. The last that I can remember was your speaking to us; and then—and then—wasn't there a storm?"
"There may have been. We've had several showers of late. Thee had been overdoing, Richard, and thee felt the effects of the fever in thy system before thee or any of us knew what was the matter. Thy mind soon wandered; but thee was never violent; thee made us no trouble—only our anxiety. Now I hope I've satisfied thee."
"How wondrously kind you've all been to such a stranger! But Miss Adah made reference to something that I can't understand."
Mrs. Yocomb looked perplexed and annoyed. "I'll ask Adah," she said, gravely. "It's time thee took this medicine and slept."
The draught she gave me was more quieting than her words had been, for I remembered nothing more distinctly until I awoke in the brightness of another day.
I found my spirits attuned to the clear sunshine of the new day, and congratulated myself that convalescence promised to be so speedy. Again I had the sense that it was my body only that was weak and exhausted by disease, for my mind seemed singularly elastic, and I felt as if the weight of years and toil had dropped away, and I was entering on a new and higher plane of existence. An unwonted hopefulness, too, gave buoyancy to my waking thoughts.
My first conscious act was to look for my flowers. They had been removed to a distant table, and in their place was a larger bouquet, that, for some reason, suggested Adah. "It's very pretty," I thought, "but it lacks the dainty, refined quality of the other. There's too much of it. One is a bouquet; the other suggests the bushes on which the buds grew, and their garden home."
From the sounds I heard, I knew the family was at breakfast, and before very long a musical laugh that thrilled every nerve with delight rang up the stairway, and I laughed in sympathy without knowing why.
"Happy will the home be in which that laugh makes music," I murmured. "Heaven grant it may be mine. Can it be presumption to hope this, when she showed so much solicitude at my illness? She was crying when my recovery was doubtful, and she entreated me to live. Reuben's words suggested that she was depressed while I was in danger, and buoyant after the crisis had passed. That she feels as I do I cannot yet hope. But what the mischief do she and Adah mean by saying that they owe me so much? It's I who owe them everything for their care during my illness. How longhaveI been ill? There seems to be something that I can't recall; and now I think of it, Mrs. Yocomb's account last night was very indefinite."
My further musings were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Yocomb with a steaming bowl that smelt very savory.
"Mrs. Yocomb," I cried, "you're always welcome; and that bowl is, too, for I'm hungry as a cub."
"Glad to hear it," said Mr. Yocomb's hearty voice from the doorway. "I'll kill for you a young gobbler that Emily Warren thinks is like the apple of my eye, if you will promise to eat him."
"No, indeed," I answered, reaching out my hand. "He is already devoted to Miss Warren's Thanksgiving dinner. May he continue to gobble until that auspicious day."
"What! do you remember that?" and Mr. Yocomb cast a quick look of surprise at his wife.
"Yes, I remember everything up to a certain point, and then all comes to a full stop. I wish you would bridge over the gap for me."
"Richard," interposed Mrs. Yocomb, quickly, "it wouldn't do thee any good to have father tell thee what thee said when out of thy mind from fever. I can tell thee, however, that thee said nothing of which thee need be ashamed."
"Well, I can't account for it. I must have been taken very suddenly. One thing is clear: you are the kindest people I ever heard of. You ought to be put in a museum."
"Why, Friend Morton, is it queer that we didn't turn thee out of doors or give thee in charge of the poormaster?"
"I certainly am the most fortunate man in the world," I said, laughing. "I had broken myself down and was about to become very ill, and I started off in the dark and never stopped till I reached the shelter of Mrs. Yocomb's wing. If I should tell my experience in New York there'd be an exodus to the country among newspaper men."
"Thee mustn't do it," protested Mr. Yocomb, assuming a look of dismay."Thee knows I'm down on editors: I make thee an exception."
"I should think you had; but they would not expect to be treated one hundredth part so well as you have treated me."
"Well, bring thy friends, editors or otherwise. Thy friends will be welcome."
"I fear I'll be selfish; I feel as if I had made too rich a discovery to show it to others."
"Now, father, thee's had thy turn, and must go right out and letRichard take his breakfast and his medicine. I'm bent on making Dr.Bates say I'm the best nurse in town, and between such a lively patientand such a lively family I have a hard time of it."
"Well, thee knows I always mind, mother," said the old gentleman, putting on a rueful look. "I do it, thee knows, to set the children an example. Good-by now; mother will make thee as hearty as I am if thee'll mind her."
"Oh, I'm well enough to seeeverybodyto-day," I said with emphasis, and I imagine that Mrs. Yocomb gave as definite a meaning to my indefinite term as I did.
"No one can stay long yet, but if thee continues to improve so nicely, we can move thee downstairs part of the day before very long."
"At that prospect I'll mind as well as Mr. Yocomb himself," I cried gladly. "Mr. Yocomb, they are spoiling me. I feel like a great petted boy, and behave like one, I fear; but having never been ill, I don't know how to behave."
"Thee's doing very well for a beginner. Keep on—keep on," and his genial visage vanished from the doorway.
After I had my breakfast, Zillah flitted in and out with her mother two or three times.
"Mother says I can look at thee, but I mustn't talk;" and she wouldn't.
Then Adah, with her wide-brimmed hat hanging on her arm, brought me a dainty little basket of wild strawberries.
"I promised to gather them for thee," she said, placing them on my table.
"You did? I had forgotten that," I replied. "I fear my memory is playing me sad tricks. You have just gathered them, I think?"
"What makes thee think so?"
"Because their color has got into your cheeks."
"I hope thee'll like them—the strawberries, I mean."
I laughed heartily as I answered, "I like both. I don't see how either could be improved upon."
"I think thee likes a city pallor best," she replied, shaking her head.
I imagine that a faint tinge of the strawberry came into my face, for she gave me a quick glance and turned away.
"Adah," said Mrs. Yocomb, entering, "thee can take thy sewing and sit here by the door for a while. Call me if Richard wants anything. The doctor will be here soon."
"Would thee like to have me stay?" she asked timidly.
"Indeed I would. Mrs. Yocomb, can I eat these strawberries? I've devoured them with my eyes already."
"Yes, if the doctor says so, and thee'll promise not to talk much."
I made no promise, for I was bent on talking, as convalescents usually are, I believe, and Adah forgot her sewing, and her blue eyes rested on me with an intentness that at last grew a little embarrassing. She said comparatively little, and her words had much of their old directness and simplicity; but the former flippancy and coloring of small vanity was absent. Her simple morning costume was scrupulously neat, and quite as becoming as the Sunday muslin which I had so admired, and she had fastened at her breastpin a rose that reminded me of the one I had given her on that wretched Sunday afternoon when she unconsciously and speedily dispelled the bright dream that I had woven around her.
"For some reason she has changed very much," I thought, "and I'm glad it's for the better."
Zillah came in, and leaned on her lap as she asked her a question or two. "Surely the little girl would not have done that the first day I met her," I mused, then added aloud:
"You are greatly changed, Miss Adah. What has happened to you?"
She blushed vividly at my abrupt question, and did not answer for a moment. Then she began hesitatingly:
"From what mother says, it's time I changed a little."
"I think Zillah likes you now as she does Miss Warren."
"No, she likes Emily Warren best—so does every one."
"You are mistaken. Zillah could not have looked at Miss Warren differently from the way in which she just looked at you. You have no idea what a pretty picture you two then made."
"I did not think about it."
"I imagine you don't think about yourself as much as you did. Perhaps that's the change I'm conscious of."
"I don't think about myself at all any more," and she bent low over her work.
Dr. Bates now entered with Mrs. Yocomb, and Adah slipped quietly away.
After strong professions of satisfaction at my rapid convalescence, and giving a medicine that speedily produced drowsiness, he too departed.
I roused up slightly from time to time as the day declined, and finding Reuben quietly busy at his carving, dozed again in a delicious, dreamy restfulness. In one of these half-waking moments I heard a low voice ask:
"Reuben, may I come in?"
Sleep departed instantly, and I felt that I must be stone dead before I could be unmoved by those tones, now as familiar as if heard all my life.
"Yes, please come," I exclaimed; "and you have been long in coming."
Reuben sprang up with alacrity as he said, "I'm glad thee's come, Emily. Would thee mind staying with Richard for a little while? I want to take Dapple out before night. If I don't, he gets fractious."
"I will take your place for a time, and will call Mrs. Yocomb if Mr.Morton needs anything."
"I assure you I won't need anything as long as you'll stay," I began, as soon as we were alone. "I want to thank you for the rosebuds. They were taken away this morning; but I had them brought back and placed here where I could touch them. They seemed to bring back that June evening in the old garden so vividly that I've lived the scene over and over again."
She looked perplexed, and colored slightly, but said smilingly, "Mrs.Yocomb will think I'm a poor nurse if I let you talk too much."
"Then talk to me. I promise to listen as long as you will talk."
"Well, mention an agreeable subject."
"Yourself. What have you been doing in the ages that have elapsed since I came to life. It seems as if I had been dead, and I can't recall a thing that happened in that nether world. I only hope I didn't make a fool of myself."
"I'm sorry to say you were too ill to do anything very bad. Mr. Morton, you can't realize how glad we all are that you are getting well so fast."
"I hope I can't realize how glad YOU are, and yet I would like to think that you are very glad. Do you know what has done me the most good to-day?"
"How should I know?" she asked, looking away, with something like trouble in her face.
"I heard your laugh this morning while you were at breakfast, and it filled all the old house with music. It seemed to become a part of the sunshine that was shimmering on the elm-leaves that swayed to and fro before my window, and then the robins took it up in the garden. By the way, have you seen the robin's nest that Zillah showed us?"
"Yes," she replied, "but it's empty, and the queer little things thatZillah said were all 'mouth and swallow' are now pert young robins,rollicking around the garden all day long. They remind me of Reuben andDapple. I love such fresh young life, unshadowed by care or experience."
"I believe you; and your sympathy with such life will always keep you young at heart. I can't imagine you growing old; indeed, truth is never old and feeble."
"You are very fanciful, Mr. Morton," she said, with a trace of perplexity again on her face.
"I have heard that that was a characteristic of sick people," I laughed.
"Yes; we have to humor them like children," she added, smoothing her brow as if this were an excuse for letting me express more admiration than she relished.
"Well," I admitted, "I've never been ill and made much of before, since I was a little fellow, and my mother spoiled me, and I've no idea how to behave. Even if I did, it would seem impossible to be conventional in this house. Am I not the most singularly fortunate man that ever existed? Like a fool I had broken myself down, and was destined to be ill. I started off as aimlessly as an arrow shot into the air, and here I am, enjoying your society and Mrs. Yocomb's care."
"It is indeed strange," she replied musingly, as if half speaking to herself; "so strange that I cannot understand it. Life is a queer tangle at best. That is, it seems so to us sometimes."
"I assure you I am glad to have it tangled for me in this style," I said, laughing. "My only dread is getting out of the snarl. Indeed, I'm sorely tempted to play sick indefinitely."
"In that case we shall all leave you here to yourself."
"I thinkyouhave done that already."
"What would your paper do without you?" she asked, with her brow slightly knitted and the color deepening in her cheeks.
"Recalling what you said, I'm tempted to think it is doing better without me."
"You imagine I said a great deal more than I did."
"No, I remember everything that happened until I was taken ill. It's strange I was taken so suddenly. I can see you playing Chopin's nocturne as distinctly as I see you now. Do you know that I had the fancy that the cluster of roses you sent me was that nocturne embodied, and that the shades of color were the variations in the melody?"
"You are indeed very fanciful. I hope you will grow more rational as you get well."
"I remember you thought me slightly insane in the garden."