Rosamond regarded her with eyes a-twinkle and presently interrupted her
meditation to ask:
“What did Roseborough think of him before he went away?”
Mrs. Lee sighed.
“That is what adds to the difficulty. The truth is that Roseborough
hardly knew him. Jack did not care for Roseborough! It seems
incredible, but it is a fact. Jack did not care for Roseborough--I
mean, the people. He was an orphan and a poor lad of whose beginnings
we knew little. He came to us because, in his wanderings, he had
met a Charleroy man and heard from him of my husband. He had been
tramping about the farming country, year after year, tilling, sowing,
reaping--whatever outdoor work he could get--and saving his pennies to
put toward an education when he should find just the right instructor.
As a child he had been with gypsies.”
“Gypsies! What adventures!”
“Yes, his mother, a young girl of excellent birth, had run away and
married a poor artist and been cast off by her proud family. They
suffered the hardship of poverty, and Jack was soon left an orphan.
Whether he joined the gypsies or they stole him I don’t remember, but
he was with them for awhile. At one time his mother’s relations found
him and offered to bring him up, but he considered the restrictions of
their home too irksome. After two years of it, he ran off and wandered
about, earning his way, as I have told you. I shall never forget the
night he came to us--it was a rainy, autumn evening--a black, splashing
night. There was a loud knock on the door and, when we opened it--for
I had followed the Professor, holding the candle (we did not have
electric lights in our day in Villa Rose)--there stood a dark, tall,
sturdy-looking young man, with long, black hair and the largest and
blackest eyes I’d ever seen; and, what’s more, he stood there on two
bare feet, and he had no coat, only a gray woollen shirt, belted into
dark, fustian trousers turned up above his ankles.”
“You were frightened, weren’t you?”
“Hardly that; I was more amazed. He said--and his voice was mellow
and attractive--‘You are Professor Lee and I have come to you to be
taught.’ My husband asked, ‘What do you wish to be taught?’ And Jack
said, ‘I can read and write and keep a merry heart under all skies;
but I wish you to teach me whatever men must know to make them good
and wise.’ Then my husband said, ‘Come in, and I will give you dry
clothes and something hot to drink.’ Jack answered, ‘Oh, as to that,
the weather and I are friends. It never hurts me.’ Well, my dear, he
came in and we attended to his needs and gave him a room for the night.
Of course he was not ready then to enter college, so my husband gave
him private instruction. And he seemed to take it for granted that
he could live in our home so we let him have the little room off the
living-room....”
“The little room? Which do you mean?”
“Oh, that is all changed now, of course. Mr. Mearely--when he bought
Villa Rose--had it enlarged and built out, taking in all that bend
of the verandah. It is your music room now. Jack was a good deal of
trouble, you may know!” She laughed. “But he loved my husband and was
constantly showing his gratitude, so that I never minded when he upset
things.”
“And he didn’t like Roseborough? You could forgive such sacrilege?”
“One forgave Jack everything. He made very few intimates. Indeed, I
doubt if he had any besides ourselves. He loved Nature, books, and
solitude. He was elusive and shy, I think. For instance I remember
that one day while we three were chatting over a cup of chocolate
we saw dear Mrs. Witherby and her aged uncle--the late Reverend Dr.
Cumming-Shaw of Trenton Waters--drive up to the door. As I turned
back from greeting them, I saw one leg of Jack’s fustian trousers and
a bare foot disappearing over the back fence. The worst of it was, he
had taken the cake with him and I had nothing but crackers to offer the
poor dear old vicar, who died almost immediately after of bronchitis.
It was really whooping-cough.”
“Wicked, careless lady! They weren’t crackers. You gave him dog-biscuit
by mistake and he barked himself to death.”
Mrs. Lee shook a stern forefinger at her irreverent guest.
“You say shocking things. What I mean to show by my little anecdote is
that Jack ... well ... that was, in general, Jack’s attitude toward
Roseborough.”
Rosamond burst out laughing.
“His attitude? A barefoot kick over the back fence? Oh, Mrs. Lee!”
“How very naughty you are this morning! To twist my words so! I shall
always maintain that it was shyness which made Jack avoid all intimacy
with those who would have received him for my husband’s sake. They did
know, later, that he had left the college abruptly, just because the
desire to wander was so strong in him; and that, too, after Professor
Lee had succeeded in having him appointed to teach minor subjects. They
were most indignant--even those who did not know him at all.”
“They might have left it to Professor Lee and to you to be indignant.”
“Oh! but you see, in a matter of that kind the communal spirit of
Roseborough was affronted. And, alas, it will be remembered. All that
must be overcome, and Roseborough must take him to its heart. How shall
it be managed?”
To manage the communal spirit of sensitive Roseborough was no light
undertaking. Old head and young head pondered in silence.
“If they could come together in some wholly unexpected way, without
personalities, and not as Roseborough and Jack Falcon, who shook the
dust of Roseborough from his feet sixteen years ago! If only they could
meet under other identities and, having no memories, each immediately
find the other’s true self!”
“Like a fairy prince and a fairy kingdom. Oh, yes, that would be
lovely. But,” the gay, mocking light danced within her eyes again,
“even if life _is_ ‘beautifully arranged,’ it is not _so_ beautifully
arranged as all that!”
“What would _you_ suggest?”
“Well, I think that--since he _can’t_ come as a fairy prince and
discover Roseborough’s true nature and, in turn, be discovered as a
human symbol of all Roseborough’s day-dreams--which is what you would
like, you writer of fairy tales”--(she paused, with wrinkled brow and
pursed lips) “I think you will have to make it the very opposite of all
that, and lay stress on the fact that this returning wanderer _is_ the
very same Jack Falcon who _did_ run away, but who has now come back to
dear old Roseborough with bells on, and all of them ringing! And then
Roseborough will be beside itself with delight at the opportunity of
welcoming home its distinguished prodigal son. Emphasize the point that
he has deserted kings’ palaces for Roseborough and they will all turn
out to greet him.”
“Yes! Yes! You’re right. Roseborough _would_ enjoy that view.”
“How will he come?”
“By the morning train to Trenton Waters. I know he will want to walk
home from there--the old walk he loved--down the river path. He should
arrive between ten and eleven, easily. What do you think of this? To
gather all our dear friends here to meet him, at a sort of informal
breakfast?”
Rosamond clapped her hands.
“Oh, yes! I knew you’d think of something clever in a moment! Make it
one of those breakfast-lunch affairs with delicious cold things to
eat, and have it set out in the garden in a semicircle about the well,
so that the big tree will shade them all. Mrs. Greenup can do all
the cooking for it this afternoon. I will run home and telephone her
that you want her. And do let me bring over enough of that old Mearely
damask to cover the tables.”
“Yes--yes. I shall be so grateful for everything. Oh, dear! I _never_
was in such a flutter! I do believe that I never, _never_ was in such a
flutter! How shall I let them all know?”
“I will telephone to all those who have telephones. And--oh! a splendid
idea! We will ask Mrs. Witherby to drive about to those who have no
telephones, and ask them to come. Then she will feel that it is really
_she_ who is arranging everything, and that will help tremendously.”
“Yes, yes--dear Mrs. Witherby. In a sense, her nature epitomizes our
sensitive little town. One must not take it by surprise--that is, not
deliberately. How fortunate that dear Jack has given me at least a
day’s leeway! If he had walked in on me to-morrow, without notice, I
doubt whether I could ever have truly convinced them that I had not
known of his coming and kept the secret from them perhaps for weeks.
Quite innocently I might have caused discord in Roseborough!”
“I think it would be nice for you to come to Villa Rose this evening
for an hour. Now, don’t shake your head, I know you go to bed when the
first star peeps out. Some of us will bring you home at eight, if
you like. This is my idea, and it is a very good one. I will ask Mrs.
Witherby to come over with Corinne and Mabel for a round or two of
cards with Dr. and Mrs. Wells--and Judge Giffen and Mr. Andrews. Wilton
will come, too. Just those few--oh, yes, and Dr. Frei also; he can play
for us. I can say that I wanted a few friends about me this evening,
since my sister has disappointed me. That will seem very natural to
them. And you can take the occasion, just at the right moment, to talk
about Mr. Falcon and to tell about the book and the royal person--all
in that unselfish, tactful way of yours. They will all be pleased, and
Mrs. Witherby will set the pace for Roseborough. Nobody dares gainsay
her.”
“How thoughtful you are! My dear, you have forgotten nothing. It is
really you who will have made my Jack’s homecoming a success. And _you_
have just called _me_ unselfish! The word belongs to _you_, dear.”
“No, I’m not. I’m not! I’m--I’m jealous.” Suddenly her eyes misted and
her lip quivered. Protest, passionate and clamorous, surged through her
and out at her trembling mouth. “Oh! must _I_ wait till I am seventy to
have a real, Wonderful Day? Nothing--nothing but make-believe.”
“My dear child, what is the matter?”
Rosamond’s fingers tightened on the hand which had gently taken hers.
She turned almost fiercely upon Mrs. Lee as if she challenged fate, or
an enemy, in this benign old lady who was regarding her now with some
perturbation.
“Will nobody ever come to _me_ till I’m old--_old_--_old_?”
“Will nobody ever come to you?” Mrs. Lee repeated, puzzling.
Tragedy rushed on, interrupting her.
“This is my Wonderful Day--my only, one, Wonderful Day. And somebody
should come--_he_ should come....”
“He? Oh, you mean Jack.”
“I _don’t_! I dare say he’s nice--a thoroughly good man. I’m glad that
you’re glad, and all that. But _I’m_ not glad! No, I’m not! I think
it’s an outrage. The gray, the bald, the whiskered! Roseborough is full
of _them_ already. Another of those is an outrage!”
“My--dear--child! _What_ is an outrage?”
“That another oldish man is coming to Roseborough! I want a fairy
prince--or a beggar--or a tramp--if only he is _young_! He can come
to the back door in bare feet and fustian, or in rags and patches. I
shan’t mind what he wears or how empty his pockets are, if only he is
young--young--and can laugh out loud and say ‘Good-morning, Rosamond!’”
“My--dear! You go so fast; and tears and laughter follow each other so
rapidly that I am all in a whirl. But if you think my Jack....”
Rosamond broke in impetuously:
“Do you hear that? Ding--dong, ding--dong. It is eleven o’clock and
nearly half my only Wonderful Day has passed already! I shall run
away now and do all that I have promised--telephones, cakes, linen,
Witherby, everything! But every moment of the time I shall be saying
in my heart: ‘It is an outrage that another gray, bald, whiskered,
middle-aged, prosy _old_ man is coming to Roseborough! It is an
outrage!’ ... _Why couldn’t he be young?_”
Before Mrs. Lee could gather herself into composure after a sudden
violent hug and as sudden and violent a release, her mercurial friend
was dashing through the gateway into the grounds of Villa Rose.
Mrs. Lee sat down and gave herself up to reflection.
“‘A gray--bald--whiskered--outrage!’ Is that what she said? Dear, dear.
What _can_ have given her the notion that Jack...?” She murmured. “To
be sure I _did_ say that some of our boys are past middle life now,
but I’m sure I didn’t say that Jack....” [She broke off her musing to
pat her sooty kitten smartly. “No, no! naughty kitty! You are not to
scratch the table legs!”] “Such a rebel cry for youth! Nay, it was
more; it was an unashamed cry for a young man! Yet we all thought hers
such a wonderful marriage for a farm girl. But perhaps it wasn’t,
after all. Do those who live by the soil need the cling of the earth
in all vital things? Why there! what a mate she might have made for my
Jack if....”
Her perplexed expression changed suddenly into a glow and a smile as
if her questioning thoughts had accidentally discovered something so
unexpected that she hardly knew what to make of it.
“If? Why, there _is_ no ‘if’! She is quite free! It may be difficult
for Roseborough to believe that its Hibbert Mearely has really
passed away from it to a better place--for, of course, it seems
almost disloyal to suggest that even heaven is a better place than
Roseborough--but the truth remains that Hibbert Mearely _has gone_.”
After contemplating this calamitous but none-the-less statistical fact,
she added, “And it would almost seem as if that April-hearted child he
married realizes it and is”--she cast about for a word and presently
decided upon--“resigned.”
[Illustration]