"I wonder if you'd help me with these dishes, Madeline?" said the woman quietly, and with a start the girl rose, stood meekly while a checked apron was tied about her waist and received the moist, shining ware from the plump hands without a word. She appeared to have utterly forgotten Caroline.
After a few moments of rhythmical click and splash, a few journeys from sink to dresser, the tension broke quietly and the air was aware of it, as when a threatened thunderstorm goes by above and dissipates in wind. Feeling this, Mrs. Winterpine began to talk softly, half to herselfit seemed, for her voice took on the tone of one who is much alone and thinks aloud.
"All my life I've been crazy for travel. I used to read my geography book till I wore it out nearly; the exports and the imports, you know? And the pictures of those Arabian men with white turbans, and the South Sea Islanders riding on surf boards—I can see 'em now. There was a castle for Germany, with the moon behind it and the Rhine—do you know 'Bingen on the Rhine'? I love the sound of that. And the Black Forest! Think of it!"
She paused with a platter dripping in her hand, her eyes fixed; and so strong was the compulsion of her vision that to Caroline, vibrant as a wind harp to such suggestion, the splash of the water in the tin was the very tinkle of Undine's mystic stream andKühleborn, that wicked uncle-brook dashed in cold floods over the belated knight in the dark German wood!
"I dreamed once about an Indian temple," the woman went on, "and you'd really think I'd been there, I saw it so plain. Fat priests and that big idol that sits cross-legged, all made ofbrass, and smiling; and such funny drums and pipes—creepy music. The heathens brought wreaths and stretched out on their stomachs flat on the ground. I'd read it somewhere, I guess. I could smell the flowers, like pond lilies and honeysuckle."
She poured away the dish water, wiped the pan and began rinsing her towels and cloths in a small wooden tub bound with tin. The girl moved aimlessly about the room, fingering the worn furniture.
"That clock looks awfully old," she said abruptly, pausing before a square high Dutch affair with a ridiculous picture of Mount Vernon, wobbly-columned, let in at the bottom.
"Goodness, yes! That clock—why, that clock was a wedding present to Lorenzo's great aunt Valeria—she was a Swedenborgian, I believe. She used to have trances and she could tell you where things were lost. That chair by the window was her mother's. It's made with wooden nails, dowels, they call 'em."
"Did she live here, too?"
"Yes, indeed. The Winterpines are greathands to stay in one place. And the way they come back to die! I'm half Winterpine myself—he and I were second cousins—and I well remember Uncle Milton Winterpine coming home from Java to die in his bed. He was a sailor, and how I used to hang around and coax him to tell me what he'd seen! I remember how he staggered into the house—Mother Winterpine was living then.
"'Here, Esther, here's a fifty-pound sack of Old Gov'ment Javvy for ye, green, and fit for the president's table as soon's it gits ripe,' he says, 'and you won't have to nurse me long;' and we got his boots off and helped him to bed. He never left it. He brought me a parrot, that trip, sort of indigo color and pink. It used to set me thinking of the hot countries and pineapples and natives, and those tall trees with all the leaves on top—palms, I guess I mean. It seems the stars are lower, there, and look bigger; did you ever see the Southern Cross?"
"Oh, yes. It's like any other stars. The first officer on the P & O line always asks me to come and see it. Then he proposes. J. G. plays pokerthe whole trip. He can't lose. He says it's tiresome."
The strange dialogue went on for what might have been an hour. Far ports and foreign streets, full sails and thronged inns, the fountains of paved courts, the market squares of dark and vivid nations, blossomed from the tongue of this chair-bound woman in her farmhouse prison; and from the blind, unhappy voyager came halting, telegraphic phrases: climate and train schedules and over-lavish fees, miles and meals and petty miseries. No sunset had stained her hurried way, no handed flowers from shy street children had sweetened it. And ever and again she returned insistently to the barnyard interests of the Winterpines!
"See here!" she burst out suddenly, "I'll tell you what I'll do! I told J. G. that I wouldn't go another step with him—mascot or no mascot. He wants to go over the Himalayas—to start next week—he has an idea. But if you'll go, I'll take you! What do you say? My guest, of course: it don't cost you a penny."
The woman turned utterly white. Where herknuckles gripped the arms of the chair they showed a bluish tinge.
"Me? Me?" she whispered. Her eyes fell to her helpless knees.
"Oh, you needn't think of that at all," said Madeline. "I knew a man who didn'thaveany legs, even, that went round the world and up the Pyramids. He had money."
The woman looked wildly about. Her eyes fell on Caroline and this seemed to bring her into some sort of focus again; the color came back to her face.
"That was lovely for you to think of, dear," she said, breathlessly yet; "but—but—for a moment I forgot.... I—I didn't think of Lorenzo!"
"Oh, we'll get a housekeeper for Lorenzo," Madeline said lightly; "he'll do very well, won't he? One man can't be much to take care of—you haven't any children?"
The easy, equal tone, the bright, dry impudence of this little air plant, this rootless, aimless bubble skipping over the bottomless deeps of life, brought the dazzled woman quicklyto herself. She looked compassionately at the girl.
"No," she said gravely, her hands unconsciously flying to her deep breast; "we haven't any children. And he's not much to take care of—for his wife. But he wouldn't care for a housekeeper."
"Oh!" her eyes fell uneasily. "Then we'll take him along!" She recovered herself.
Mrs. Winterpine sent her chair with a swift push close to the girl and laid one hand on her hot forehead, pushing back the thick hair.
"What a gen'rous little thing you are!" she cried wonderingly. "But where were you brought up, child? Lorenzo can't jump and run off to the Himalaya Mountains like that! It takes him a long time to make up his mind. He—he don't care for travel, besides. He's a regular Winterpine. And there's the stock. No. I guess I'll keep on doing my traveling at home. That book you said you'd send...."
"I'll send a dozen—fifty!" the girl cried impulsively. "I'll bring them up from New York to-morrow! I'll bring some pictures, too. The Alps and Venice and the snapshots I took on theNile! You seem to know how they look, well enough!"
"Yes, I know, I know...." the woman repeated dreamily.
"Don't you want to go?" Madeline urged curiously.
Again Mrs. Winterpine turned white.
"Then why don't you?"
"Child, child!" cried she of the chair, "didn't I tell you he don't care for travel? We can't do as we like in this world—we don't live alone. We're placed. There's a hundred things.... Where were you brought up?"
Madeline's face flushed a dark, heavy red. Her light confidence drowned in it; she dropped her eyes.
"In the Klondike!" she said sullenly, "I told you."
A loud, whirring horn cut through the country quiet. A great rattle of gear and chain stormed along the road.
"There's the machine!" the girl said sulkily; "I must go. It's fifteen miles to Ogdenville,and a vile road. Good-by—I'll be up with the books in a day or two."
She moved to the door.
"If I can't come—I change my mind awfully—I'll send them just the same, and—and—" a curious sense of struggle, a visible effort at thought for another, an attempt to grasp an alien point of view, dawned in the defiant dark eyes—"I'll write to you from India, if you want. Would you like it? I can take snap shots...."
"You're real gen'rous, dear," said her hostess, and wheeling quickly to her, kissed her warmly.
She was gone in a cloud of dust. Caroline and the woman sat in silence. At last Rose-Marie yawned pitifully and his mistress got up with reluctance.
"Good-by, Mrs. Winterpine," she said soberly; "I have to go home. They'll be anxious about me. But I'll come again."
"Do, my dear," said the other; "this'll be a wonderful summer for me, with so much company. Wonderful. He'll be interested. But you run right on: don't let the folks worry. I neverhad any children, but I always had my heart set on a daughter. Good-by."
Caroline and the donkey walked slowly off toward the wood, which cast cool shadows. They vanished into its depths, and Mrs. Winterpine sat and watched them kindly from her chair, as one watches off the traveler bound for far and golden countries.
"He'd have liked that young one," she said softly.
The following pages contain advertisements of a few of the Macmillan novels.logoNOVELS, ETC., BY "BARBARA"(MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT)Each, in decorated cloth binding, $1.50The Garden of a Commuter's WifeIllustrated"Reading it is like having the entry into a home of the class that is the proudest product of our land, a home where love of books and love of nature go hand in hand with hearty, simple love of 'folks.' ... It is a charming book."—The Interior.People of the WhirlpoolIllustrated"The whole book is delicious, with its wise and kindly humor, its just perspective of the true values of things, its clever pen pictures of people and customs, and its healthy optimism for the great world in general."—Philadelphia Evening Telegraph.The Woman Errant"The book is worth reading. It will cause discussion. It is an interesting fictional presentation of an important modern question, treated with fascinating feminine adroitness."—MissJeannette Gilderin theChicago Tribune.At the Sign of the Fox"Her little pictures of country life are fragrant with a genuine love of nature, and there is fun as genuine in her notes on rural character."—New York Tribune.The Garden, You and I"This volume is simply the best she has yet put forth, and quite too deliciously torturing to the reviewer, whose only garden is in Spain.... The delightful humor which pervaded the earlier books, and without which Barbara would not be Barbara, has lost nothing of its poignancy."—Congregationalist.The Open Window.Tales of the Months."A little vacation from the sophistication of the commonplace."—Argonaut.Poppea of the Post-Office"A rainbow romance, ... tender yet bracing, cheerily stimulating ... its genial entirety refreshes like a cooling shower."—Chicago Record-Herald.Princess Flower HatJust ReadyA Comedy from the Perplexity Book of Barbara the Commuter's Wife.THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPublishers64-66 Fifth AvenueNew YorkByZONA GALEFriendship VillageCloth, 12mo, $1.50"As charming as an April day, all showers and sunshine, and sometimes both together, so that the delighted reader hardly knows whether laughter or tears are fittest for his emotions.... This book especially makes for higher thinking and better living and emphasizes the existence of these virtues in lowly places as well as high."—New York Times."The characters are like an orchestra, each instrument holding a part of its own, all interwoven to a harmonious whole; an orchestra of strings, be it added, for even the Proudfits' motor fails to introduce a note of brass.... With the wholesome pungency of humor that pervades it all, the book cannot fail to find a welcome."—New York Post."There is not a trace of sarcasm or even grotesqueness; her villagers are not caricatures; they are efficient, useful men and women whose individualities have been crystallized into distinct outlines by their limited environments and intimate relations. The book is happily optimistic, presenting, indeed, the commonplaces of narrow lives but breathing also the underlying spirit of poetry and romance."—Baltimore Sun.The Loves of Pelleas and EtarreCloth, 12mo, $1.50"To all who know the hidden sources of human joy and have neither grown old in cynicism nor gray in utilitarianism, Miss Gale's charming love stories, full of fresh feeling and grace of style, will be a draught from the fountain of youth."—Outlook."The achievement is unusual for delicacy, subtlety, and the ... felicitous tenderness which brood over the book like a golden autumnal haze which dims the outlines of common things and beautifies them.... The story is indeed unique in this, that it is an idyl for the aged—a romance of seventy."—Chicago Tribune."It is an ideal book for husband and wife to read aloud together.... Its picture of steadfast love in old age is the best kind of idealism."—Chicago Record Herald.PUBLISHED BYTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY64-66 Fifth Avenue, New YorkMr. JAMES LANE ALLEN'S NOVELSEach, cloth, 12mo, $1.50The Choir InvisibleThis can also be had in a special edition illustrated by Orson Lowell, $2.50"One reads the story for the story's sake, and then re-reads the book out of pure delight in its beauty. The story is American to the very core.... Mr. Allen stands to-day in the front rank of American novelists.The Choir Invisiblewill solidify a reputation already established and bring into clear light his rare gifts as an artist. For this latest story is as genuine a work of art as has come from an American hand."—Hamilton MabieinThe Outlook.The Reign of Law.A Tale of the Kentucky Hempfields"Mr. Allen has a style as original and almost as perfectly finished as Hawthorne's, and he has also Hawthorne's fondness for spiritual suggestion that makes all his stories rich in the qualities that are lacking in so many novels of the period.... If read in the right way, it cannot fail to add to one's spiritual possessions."—San Francisco Chronicle.The Mettle of the Pasture"It may be thatThe Mettle of the Pasturewill live and become a part of our literature; it certainly will live far beyond the allotted term of present-day fiction. Our principal concern is that it is a notable novel, that it ranks high in the range of American and English fiction, and that it is worth the reading, the re-reading, and the continuous appreciation of those who care for modern literature at its best."—By E. F. E. in theBoston Transcript.Summer in Arcady.A Tale of NatureCloth, $1.25"This story by James Lane Allen is one of the gems of the season. It is artistic in its setting, realistic and true to nature and life in its descriptions, dramatic, pathetic, tragic, in its incidents; indeed, a veritable masterpiece that must become classic. It is difficult to give an outline of the story; it is one of the stories which do not outline; it must be read."—Boston Daily Advertiser.Shorter StoriesThe Blue Grass Region of Kentucky$1.50The Blue Grass Region of Kentucky$1.50Flute and Violin, and Other Kentucky Tales$1.50The Bride of the Mistletoe$1.25A Kentucky Cardinal.Illustrated$1.00Aftermath. A Sequel to "A Kentucky Cardinal"$1.00THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORKMr. ROBERT HERRICK'S NOVELSCloth, extra, gilt tops, each, $1.50The Gospel of Freedom"A novel that may truly be called the greatest study of social life, in a broad and very much up-to-date sense, that has ever been contributed to American fiction."—Chicago Inter-Ocean.The Web of Life"It is strong in that it faithfully depicts many phases of American life, and uses them to strengthen a web of fiction, which is most artistically wrought out."—Buffalo Express.The Real World"The title of the book has a subtle intention. It indicates, and is true to the verities in doing so, the strange dreamlike quality of life to the man who has not yet fought his own battles, or come into conscious possession of his will—only such battles bite into the consciousness."—Chicago Tribune.The Common Lot"It grips the reader tremendously.... It is the drama of a human soul the reader watches ... the finest study of human motive that has appeared for many a day."—The World To-day.The Memoirs of an American Citizen.Illustratedwith about fifty drawings by F. B. Masters."Mr. Herrick's book is a book among many, and he comes nearer to reflecting a certain kind of recognizable, contemporaneous American spirit than anybody has yet done."—New York Times."Intensely absorbing as a story, it is also a crisp, vigorous document of startling significance. More than any other writer to-day he is giving ustheAmerican novel."—New York Globe.Together"Journeys end in lovers meeting," says the old saw; so all novels used to end—in marriage. Yet Mr. Herrick's interesting new novel only begins there; the best brief description of it is, indeed,—a novel about married people for all who are married.THE MACMILLAN COMPANYPUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
The following pages contain advertisements of a few of the Macmillan novels.logo
T
he following pages contain advertisements of a few of the Macmillan novels.
logo
Each, in decorated cloth binding, $1.50
"Reading it is like having the entry into a home of the class that is the proudest product of our land, a home where love of books and love of nature go hand in hand with hearty, simple love of 'folks.' ... It is a charming book."—The Interior.
"The whole book is delicious, with its wise and kindly humor, its just perspective of the true values of things, its clever pen pictures of people and customs, and its healthy optimism for the great world in general."—Philadelphia Evening Telegraph.
"The book is worth reading. It will cause discussion. It is an interesting fictional presentation of an important modern question, treated with fascinating feminine adroitness."—MissJeannette Gilderin theChicago Tribune.
"Her little pictures of country life are fragrant with a genuine love of nature, and there is fun as genuine in her notes on rural character."—New York Tribune.
"This volume is simply the best she has yet put forth, and quite too deliciously torturing to the reviewer, whose only garden is in Spain.... The delightful humor which pervaded the earlier books, and without which Barbara would not be Barbara, has lost nothing of its poignancy."—Congregationalist.
"A little vacation from the sophistication of the commonplace."—Argonaut.
"A rainbow romance, ... tender yet bracing, cheerily stimulating ... its genial entirety refreshes like a cooling shower."—Chicago Record-Herald.
A Comedy from the Perplexity Book of Barbara the Commuter's Wife.
"As charming as an April day, all showers and sunshine, and sometimes both together, so that the delighted reader hardly knows whether laughter or tears are fittest for his emotions.... This book especially makes for higher thinking and better living and emphasizes the existence of these virtues in lowly places as well as high."—New York Times.
"The characters are like an orchestra, each instrument holding a part of its own, all interwoven to a harmonious whole; an orchestra of strings, be it added, for even the Proudfits' motor fails to introduce a note of brass.... With the wholesome pungency of humor that pervades it all, the book cannot fail to find a welcome."—New York Post.
"There is not a trace of sarcasm or even grotesqueness; her villagers are not caricatures; they are efficient, useful men and women whose individualities have been crystallized into distinct outlines by their limited environments and intimate relations. The book is happily optimistic, presenting, indeed, the commonplaces of narrow lives but breathing also the underlying spirit of poetry and romance."—Baltimore Sun.
"To all who know the hidden sources of human joy and have neither grown old in cynicism nor gray in utilitarianism, Miss Gale's charming love stories, full of fresh feeling and grace of style, will be a draught from the fountain of youth."—Outlook.
"The achievement is unusual for delicacy, subtlety, and the ... felicitous tenderness which brood over the book like a golden autumnal haze which dims the outlines of common things and beautifies them.... The story is indeed unique in this, that it is an idyl for the aged—a romance of seventy."—Chicago Tribune.
"It is an ideal book for husband and wife to read aloud together.... Its picture of steadfast love in old age is the best kind of idealism."—Chicago Record Herald.
Each, cloth, 12mo, $1.50
This can also be had in a special edition illustrated by Orson Lowell, $2.50
"One reads the story for the story's sake, and then re-reads the book out of pure delight in its beauty. The story is American to the very core.... Mr. Allen stands to-day in the front rank of American novelists.The Choir Invisiblewill solidify a reputation already established and bring into clear light his rare gifts as an artist. For this latest story is as genuine a work of art as has come from an American hand."—Hamilton MabieinThe Outlook.
"Mr. Allen has a style as original and almost as perfectly finished as Hawthorne's, and he has also Hawthorne's fondness for spiritual suggestion that makes all his stories rich in the qualities that are lacking in so many novels of the period.... If read in the right way, it cannot fail to add to one's spiritual possessions."—San Francisco Chronicle.
"It may be thatThe Mettle of the Pasturewill live and become a part of our literature; it certainly will live far beyond the allotted term of present-day fiction. Our principal concern is that it is a notable novel, that it ranks high in the range of American and English fiction, and that it is worth the reading, the re-reading, and the continuous appreciation of those who care for modern literature at its best."—By E. F. E. in theBoston Transcript.
"This story by James Lane Allen is one of the gems of the season. It is artistic in its setting, realistic and true to nature and life in its descriptions, dramatic, pathetic, tragic, in its incidents; indeed, a veritable masterpiece that must become classic. It is difficult to give an outline of the story; it is one of the stories which do not outline; it must be read."—Boston Daily Advertiser.
Cloth, extra, gilt tops, each, $1.50
"A novel that may truly be called the greatest study of social life, in a broad and very much up-to-date sense, that has ever been contributed to American fiction."—Chicago Inter-Ocean.
"It is strong in that it faithfully depicts many phases of American life, and uses them to strengthen a web of fiction, which is most artistically wrought out."—Buffalo Express.
"The title of the book has a subtle intention. It indicates, and is true to the verities in doing so, the strange dreamlike quality of life to the man who has not yet fought his own battles, or come into conscious possession of his will—only such battles bite into the consciousness."—Chicago Tribune.
"It grips the reader tremendously.... It is the drama of a human soul the reader watches ... the finest study of human motive that has appeared for many a day."—The World To-day.
with about fifty drawings by F. B. Masters.
"Mr. Herrick's book is a book among many, and he comes nearer to reflecting a certain kind of recognizable, contemporaneous American spirit than anybody has yet done."—New York Times.
"Intensely absorbing as a story, it is also a crisp, vigorous document of startling significance. More than any other writer to-day he is giving ustheAmerican novel."—New York Globe.
"Journeys end in lovers meeting," says the old saw; so all novels used to end—in marriage. Yet Mr. Herrick's interesting new novel only begins there; the best brief description of it is, indeed,—a novel about married people for all who are married.