"AS LIKE AS A HAND TO ANOTHER HAND."
IT was a few weeks after Theo's marriage that Val came to Miss Nelson's
door, saying, "Oh, auntie, my boxes are here; don't you want to see me
unpack them? I know you will be wild over some of my pretty things.
Come, there is a dear."
"Where are they?" asked Miss Nelson.
"I had them taken to my room. They will clutter up the place
dreadfully, I suppose,—all that straw and stuff,—but Ary and I will
clear it all away. I declare," she said, after auntie was comfortably
established, "it is almost as good as buying them all over again. Isn't
that a dear of a plate? That came from a funny little shop in Paris.
And oh, my precious Belleek! Isn't it exquisite? I was so afraid some
of it would be broken, but it is all quite safe. There! I perfectly
love these funny little Holland dishes; they are so cheap there, too;
but aren't they cunning? I want you to have some of them, auntie, so
take your choice. I have some other things for all of you in that other
box." And chattering away, Val turned over bit after bit for auntie's
examination,—queer, quaint pieces of pottery, choice porcelains, or
delicately-hewn marbles.
Finally, she drew forth an exquisite marble hand. Taking it in her lap,
she looked at it very thoughtfully, softly stroking the delicate lines
with her finger-tips. She sat still so long that Miss Janet recalled
her to herself by leaning over and touching her shoulder gently.
"How far away is that hand leading you?" she asked.
"It is leading me," said Val, dreamily, "to a little, musty, dusty
shop in Florence. We were coming from the Uffizzi Gallery one day. I
remember it so well: just how the streets looked, and especially the
ones through which we went; such old, old houses, with all sorts of
things hanging in the windows; such pretty things that made one wish
to be a savage to deck one's self with rings and chains, and all sorts
of gold and silver filigree. It was a perfect day, the air palpitating
with Italian sunshine and softness. Ah, I do love Florence! We thought
we would buy some mosaics, and we went into one and another of the
funny little shops. While Mrs. Westerly was looking over some other
things, I caught sight of a pair of marble hands."
Val continued to stroke softly the still marble in her lap, and, for a
moment, stopped speaking.
"They were such beautiful, beautiful hands," she went on. "I poked
them out from behind a pile of stuff, and was admiring them, when Mrs.
Westerly said we must go. We had to be at some special place at some
special time to meet the Colonel. But I went back the next day, and the
little dried-up man of the shop—such a strange, leathery, dark eyed
creature—told me that some one else had been admiring the beautiful
hands; so I was seized with fear lest they should be grabbed up, and
I bought this one. I meant to buy both, but I was so tempted to spend
money, and had been so reckless in mosaics that day, that I only had
enough with me to buy one. I thought I would go back and get the other
some day, for I could not bear to part them. But something happened
to keep me from going, and we left Florence a day or two after. It
was getting too warm, and Mr. Smith was afraid we should all be ill.
I remember that is what hurried us off." Val paused, the dreamy look
still on her face. "It was so lovely," she presently sighed.
"You have a stock of incidents to tell me which will keep you busy all
winter. What pleasant evenings we shall have."
Val looked with a little appealing expression. "That isn't all," she
said.
"About the hands? Well, do tell the rest. It is very interesting, dear.
I should like to hear all about it."
Val looked down again. "After we left Florence,—after that we went back
to Geneva. We—we—auntie, do you remember Mr. Egerton?"
"Oh, yes; you spoke of him several times in your letters."
"Yes, I know; and we met him first, you know, that night when Nan's
first picture was hung."
"Yes; I remember you said so. I cannot quite recall him, but you were
going to tell me some more about the marble hands."
"Yes, I know it. Well, we met Mr. Egerton in Geneva; he had been to
all the places which we had been visiting; he said he heard of us many
times. We had always just left, or we should have met before. So after
that, we were continually meeting, and finally we travelled in the same
party. Mr. Smith liked him very much, and it made it very convenient to
have four instead of three; and Mr. Egerton knew so much about all the
beautiful things we wanted to see; he was a perfect treasure trove. Oh,
it was such a happy time! Auntie, you cannot think.
"In Paris, we all went to see Nan, and Nan was so glad to see us; and
she told us all about Mr. Egerton, whom she has known a long time. He
seems a very serious person, and so he is; but he has an amount of
appreciation you would never suspect, and we always saw the same funny
things, and would get into such fits of laughter over things that Mr.
Smith and Mrs. Westerly never saw at all. So we grew to know each other
very well, and in Paris, Nan used to go about with us, and—and—but,
never mind, I won't tell that yet. I will after a while. Nan and Mr.
Egerton knew so much about art and all that, they made everything very
interesting. And Nan says Mr. Egerton is a very fine man, and Mr. Smith
says so, too. But, oh, I shall never get to the end. Aren't you tired,
auntie?"
"No, indeed. I am acutely anxious to hear the rest."
"Well, after a while we went back to Florence, and I remembered about
the hand which I had hardly thought of during this time. So I rushed
off to the shop the very first thing, and the man said,—
"'Signorina, it has been gone a long time. An American Signor came in
and bought it the day after you were here. I told you, did I not, of
his admiration? He, too, was disappointed, but what could I do? You
will not like to dispose of the one you have, perhaps? For the Signor
was very anxious for it.'
"'The idea!' I said, and I was furious. 'No,' I said; 'let him give up
his to me. But are there no more?'
"'Not any,' he said. 'A young sculptor modelled them from the hands of
the woman he loved; he was a neighbor of mine. I knew him well; the
lady was high-born and wealthy, and he was poor, and he loved her; and
these beautiful hands were all in all to him. So he would never sell
them, and it was after his death that they had to be taken. He died in
this house,—the poor young man,—and for a long time, I, who knew his
troubles—his love—could not offer for sale those hands which were so
dear to him. But I am a poor man, Signorina, and must make a living,
and the hands were left me by the sculptor, who wished his debts paid.'"
"I suspect," said Miss Janet, "the old man had taken care of the
sculptor, and had no other pay than the latter's effects."
"I am sure of it," replied Val; "for the man said, 'There was very
little left. All had gone, bit by bit, to keep the young sculptor
alive, and the hands were all that were left when he died.'
"And then," Val continued, "I felt very sorry that they were parted. I
felt as if those hands, which had been so much to the artist, should
have been kept lovingly together by some one who knew, and I was more
than ever angry that I did not have them both. So I gave the man my
address, and told him if ever the purchaser of the other hand appeared,
I should like to see him. I thought, perhaps, he would be willing to
sell me the hand he had, after he knew the story." Val paused again.
"Go on," begged Miss Janet. "I am very anxious to hear the outcome."
"It was so beautiful there," Val went on, somewhat irrelevantly. "Oh,
auntie, you can never know till you go there, the dream-like beauty of
an Italian night. I shall never forget how it looked as I stood with
the Val d'Arno stretched out before me; for while I was standing there,
looking, and full of a half sadness for the poor young sculptor, Mr.
Egerton came in, and—Oh, auntie! It was he who had bought the other
hand," and Val turned suddenly and clasped Miss Janet's arm with a
little convulsive pressure.
"And then—and then," she said. "Oh, auntie!"
"And then," repeated auntie.
"There was only one way," confessed Val, "to reunite those hands,
and—and I just had to promise to marry him."
There was silence for a few moments, and then Val looked up wistfully,
saying, "Oh, auntie, I should have told you long ago—and Theo. But
I thought it would make Theo unhappy to think of our both leaving
you, and I couldn't bear to make it harder for you. It is dreadfully
selfish, isn't it?"
"My dear little child," responded auntie, "I am so taken by surprise.
No, it isn't selfish at all; but I cannot grasp it all at once. I
shall become accustomed to the thought in a little while. I might have
foreseen, and, indeed, I have always known you would leave me some day.
If you have chosen as wisely as Theo, I have no fears for you. Where is
Mr. Egerton now?"
"He is still abroad, but he is coming back very soon; he had promised
to join some friends and go up the Nile, and so he left us. The Colonel
knows: we told him right away, and he is perfectly satisfied; and you
will be, too, auntie. I am sure you will, for, oh, auntie dear! All
your counsel and Theo's and Archie's' have been such a help to me.
I know, when I was very young, I was dazzled by certain qualities
that are so worthless. But later on—since I have been old enough to
concentrate my friendships and affections—I hope I have been wiser in
my selection of friends. In those very first days,—when I first came to
you,—what froth I thought wit, what imitation sparkle I thought real
brilliancy, but since then I have learned so much."
"Such a wise little old woman," returned auntie, smiling. "But yours
is a common experience, dear; and if, as one matures, one is drawn
towards worthier and purer friends, it indicates that they are the
most congenial,—the one which answers most truly to something within
one's self. So, my darling, you have been stepping up all the time, and
for that reason, I am very glad that you have waited till now before
choosing your nearest companion through life. I hope—I so truly hope—he
may be worthy of my precious little girl."
"He is," returned Val, earnestly, and with all humility; "he is far
better and wiser than I. Very soon you will see for yourself. The
Colonel says he has very high principles, and so does Nan. Oh, auntie,
I was so jealous of Nan."
"Of Nannie?"
"Yes; I tried to be good about it, but as I look back, I suspect I
behaved in a very silly manner sometimes, and I wonder Nan stood it so
sweetly. You see Nan and Fred had known each other so long, and were
interested so often in the same things, and they used to hobnob till it
made me wild."
Auntie had to smile; and Val proceeded to finish her unpacking. Then
she said,—
"Now, auntie, I cannot rest till I have told Theo. I think I will take
the train to Parktown, and drive up to Preston this evening with Jack."
But an opportunity occurred earlier, when Mr. Johnson, the man who
occupied the tenant house at Preston, stopped with a message from Theo,
and Val returned with him.
She found Theo in the kitchen coddling half a dozen newly-hatched
little chickens which she was trying to keep warmly covered in a basket
near the stove.
"Why, Val!" she exclaimed. "What a nice surprise. I was hoping some of
you would come over. I have such a lot to talk about and to ask about.
These ridiculous little chickens won't stay where I put them; they get
so lively in this warm corner that they hop right out, and the first
thing I know they are all over the kitchen."
"The idea of chickens at this time of year," said Val, stooping down
to look at the little fluffy yellow balls. "Aren't they dear little
things, though?"
"They are; but their old absurd mother has no idea of the fitness of
things. She stole a nest in the lean-to of Aunt Prissy's house, in a
barrel near the chimney, and Jack discovered her; so we have to do
the best we can with them. There, now; they can't get out," And Theo
tied a thin cloth over the top of the basket. "Posie-Cossie thinks
they are playthings,—Christmas gifts, coming a little ahead of time,
very likely,—and he races them all over the place; so they have to be
protected.
"What is the news, Val? Come in, and let me get you a cup of tea, after
your cold drive. Jack will not be home till late; it is a busy time
with him, so you will starve before supper-time. We'll have tea in my
room, and it will be much cosier than down here in the dining-room,"
and Theo led the way up-stairs.
[Illustration: "The idea of chickens at this time of year," said Val.]
"I declare," she said, as they settled themselves in two big chairs
before the fire, "we haven't had a good talk for ages. I have hardly
seen you since we came to Preston."
"I have been over lots of times."
"Yes, I know; but there have been so many people around always,—the
relations and all,—and we couldn't be confidential. Now, we'll have a
nice long chat. Aunt Pris is inclined to treat me as if I were yet in
leading-strings, so I have scarcely anything to look after. And the
house was in such beautiful order,—you saw to that, my dear,—so it is
very easy to keep it so, and I have a lot of time on my hands."
"But you're always busy at something."
"Oh, yes; one need not be idle. What have you been doing?"
"I have been unpacking my boxes this morning; they came up quite early."
"Oh, I wish I had been there. I do so enjoy seeing any one unpack."
"Auntie watched me, and we had a long talk. I'll tell you all about
it," and Val proceeded with her story.
Theo listened with eager interest till Val made her final announcement.
"And you have never said a word about it all this time," she said,
reproachfully, at the conclusion.
"No," and Val gave her reasons.
"It was very thoughtful, I admit. But all the same, I think it was as
mean as could be. I wouldn't have thought you could keep it from me. I
wouldn't have done you so," declared Theo.
"It was as much as I could do to keep it to myself," declared Val.
"Oh, Theo, so many times I wanted to, but I was kept so busy over your
affairs that my own were able to hide themselves away."
"And is he very nice? Of course he must be. Nobody could be as lovely
as Jack, but I have no doubt he is quite nice."
"He is nicer than any one," protested Val.
Theo laughed. "Well, we won't fight over it. Aren't we like two babies?
How did you come to like him, Val?"
"Oh, I don't know; he was different from any of the other men who are
always tagging after one. I'll own several times I quite fancied one or
another, but such little things turned the current of my affections,
little trivial things would entirely disenchant me. There was one
man, however, who for a time seemed quite to answer to my ideal; he
was very companionable, and some friends of his were always telling
me how honorable he was. 'A man to be trusted,' they said. And, yes,
I quite fancied him for perhaps six weeks, and then I discovered that
men who are honorable enough with men are not always so where women
are concerned. I found out quite accidentally about an affair in which
I think he acted abominably. He knew a girl was in love with him, and
he kept on encouraging her interest in all sorts of ways when he did
not care for her at all, and, as soon as I knew of it, I decided that
he could not be sincere and noble all through and through, and after I
made up my mind to that, his insincerity displayed itself in a dozen
different ways. I could see by the way he regarded other transactions
that he was not as honorable as his friends would have me suppose, and
that was the end of my fancy."
"And the other girl?" said Theo.
"Oh, she will get over it in time, but I felt very sorry for her. I
despise that kind of a man, and there are so many such. Oh, Theo, I
think we are very fortunate,—you with your Jack, and I with my Fred,
but don't tell Fred so. I don't want to spoil him."
Theo laughed. "I'll not tell him. I see you are the same old Val, and
are bound to have your little imperious ways. Oh, Val, all you tell me
of your travels makes me remember how I used to long to go over the
face of the earth, and now it does not look as if I ever should go, and
I am quite content. Isn't it strange? I wonder if you will feel so?
When will Mr. Egerton be here?"
"He is coming in time for Christmas."
"Oh, that is something I want to talk to you about. I should so like
to have you all over here, and yet I'm afraid auntie would rather we
should all be with her at Roseville."
"We spent Thanksgiving with you."
"Yes, I know; but this is such a great big old place, and we could have
such a nice old-fashioned time. Just sound auntie on the subject, won't
you, Val? Now, tell me about Archie. I haven't seen him for a week."
"Archie is well, and seems to be a real settled down individual; he is
so interested in his profession. We have good times together. We always
did act like two idiots, you know. I am afraid it will be lonely for
him when I leave. I wish Nan could take my place."
Theo shook her head. "Nan never will, and I think Archie sees now that
it is better as it is. There are other happy lives for women beside
a married one. Auntie proved that to me long ago. She has shown by
example how sweet and full a life may be for a single woman, and even
if I had not married, I hope I should not have been either useless or
unhappy. If a woman cannot marry the man who will help her to the best
use of her best powers, she would much better remain single, in my
opinion."
"But we have found just such men," interposed Val. "We wear true
heart's-ease, Theo."
"I hope so. I think so. I should never have been a shining light in
the artistic, literary, or musical world, and I do not care for social
success; so I think I have found my true place just here with Jack.
Of course, I am fond of my friends, and think we all need outside
influences to broaden us, but I shall see my friends quite often. I do
not care for a great many, and so I am altogether satisfied. I wish my
dear old Archie could be as happy; it is very mean of us all to desert
him."
"Oh, but you haven't," returned Val. "You are so near, and he does take
such comfort in having Jack that it takes away the sting; but with me—"
"When shall you leave us?" asked Theo, a little sadly.
"Not before next summer, and perhaps not then. I think we shall live in
Washington, it will suit us both; and it is not so far away but what we
can reach you often. You can spend winters with me, Theo."
"And leave Jack?"
"Oh, no; after a while, Jack will be able to take a little time, I am
sure, and then you can all come,—auntie and all. I should like auntie
to spend every winter with me, but I can hardly hope for that, though I
really believe I can persuade the Colonel to do so."
"How you will like that? Dear old Colonel! I am always so glad to see
him. It will just suit you in Washington, Val; it seems like you,
somehow, and your living there suggests a decided appropriateness. But,
oh, Val, though I know you love excitement and flutter and all that, I
do not believe you will give yourself up to it entirely. One can do so
much good in a large city."
"I hope I shall not forget," returned Val. "Fred would not be likely to
let me; he has a 'heart for human woes,' and I think we can help some
one to be happier and better. Oh, yes, Theo, I am sure you will like my
Fred. We have talked over so many schemes together, and I do not think
we shall make life nothing but a holiday."
"And you are happy?" said Theo, leaning forward and looking into the
other's face, in which, of late, a new sweetness had come.
"I am very happy. Ah, Theo! It is only the separation that is hard."
And then the two girls clasped each other's hands, and silently sat
watching the glowing embers while the daylight slowly faded.
And not till Jack's voice broke in upon their reveries did they realize
that he had come in, and that it was time for supper.
Of course, Jack had to be apprised of Val's news, and after teasing the
girls by pretending that he had heard it long before from Mr. Smith, he
acknowledged that it really was a surprise to him, and offered his good
wishes in the heartiest way.
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