IX

While Athalie was thus engaged her father and Silver were wandering

through the quiet graveyard, talking of the past. The man found himself

telling his child about his own boyhood, his aunt, his uncle, the old

minister, the long sweet services in the quaint old church. There was no

bitterness in his voice now as he spoke of the religion of those who had

brought him up. Something softening had come upon him. He hardly

understood himself.

And then suddenly they had come upon the young minister, stooping over a

little new made grave, working with some violet plants in full bloom,

planting them in the mellow soil until the little mound became a lovely

couch.

They did not see him until they were almost upon him, and then he rose

quickly, his hands covered with earth, his hat on the back of his head,

his dark hair curling in little moist waves about his white forehead,

and a light of welcome in his face:

“I’m just fixing up this place a bit before the mother comes,” he

explained. “It looked so desolate and bare, and this was her only

child!” He stooped again and pressed the earth firmly about the violets,

with strong capable fingers, arranging the plants as he talked till the

whole little mound was one mass of lovely bloom. Then he rose, dusted

the earth away from his hands and strolled along with them.

“Would you like a glimpse of the old church?” he flashed a smile at

Silver.

“Oh, I would!” she exclaimed eagerly, “grandmother used to tell me

stories of my father’s home, all she knew, and she always told about the

old church. Mother was here—once—wasn’t she?” She looked up shyly at

her father who was walking absent mindedly, sadly beside the young

people, his hands clasped behind him as if his thoughts were far in the

past. He started as she asked the question, and a pain seemed to stab

into his eyes as of one who is suddenly brought to view something long

lost and very dear:

“Yes, yes! Your mother was here! On our wedding trip! We went to church.

We sat in the old pew. She wore a little white hat with white flowers on

it, and a thin blue dress—!” It was as if he were musing over a beloved

picture. The minister and the girl exchanged swift understanding

glances.

“We will go in,” said the young man, “I have the key.”

He unlocked the old oaken door and the sunshine poured behind them into

the ancient hall, lighting up the well-kept red ingrain carpet and

meeting the sunshine that poured down from a stained glass window above

in curious blended dancing colors like the pattern of some

well-remembered hymn sacred to many services held within those holy

courts.

Patterson Greeves walked beside the young Alice as he had walked beside

her mother up those stairs to the assembly room above, so many years

ago, and saw again in imagination the eager friends of his youth leaning

over the grained oak railing to get the first glimpse of the bride. Felt

again the swell of pride in the girl he had chosen, remembered the look

of pleasure in the eyes of his Uncle Standish as he met them at the head

of the stairs and escorted them down the aisle to the pew, and Alice’s

smile as she looked up at him. Ah! That he had thought was to be the

beginning of life! And only one short year it lasted! Then all turned to

bitterness and night! Fool that he had been that he had thought anything

so heavenly could have lasted on this earth! That he had believed there

existed a God who cared for him and planned for him! Ah! Well—!

Bitterness!

The blood rolled over his frame in a sickly, prickly, smothering wave,

and he mopped his brow with his handkerchief, and wondered why he had

let himself in for this sort of thing after all these years? Why had he

come down to the old church so full of memories?

Then he lifted his eyes to his girl who stood in the open doorway of the

assembly room now, framed in all her girlish beauty against the

background of the rich coloring of the church, its jewelled windows

casting rich fantastic lights in a rainbow flood of beauty, glancing

away from the cluster of gilt organ pipes, glinting the gold fringe of

the pulpit Bible bookmark, focussing on the blood red of the bright old

carpet, and beating it into a tessellated aisle of precious gems,

mellowing the age worn woodwork of the square high pews, and the

carvings of the pulpit and red plush pulpit chairs. There was something

in the look of his girl as she stood there against that background with

all the heritage of her grandfather’s and grandmother’s religion behind

her that took away the pain again, and made him watch her breathlessly,

and trace out every likeness to the mother who was gone, made him glad

that she had come in spite of all the pain. Even glad of the pain, if it

brought this vision.

The minister was explaining about the organ. “Not a wonderful organ, and

a bit old, but one of the good old makes, and with two or three

beautiful stops.” Did she play? She did. He was sure she did. Wouldn’t

she try the organ?

“Her mother could play! Oh, she could play!”

Greeves had spoken without intending, but the other two gave no sign

that they had seen the emotion in his face.

“Yes, I know,” the girl said quietly. “I studied with her teacher for

two years. He was an old man but he was wonderful. After he died

grandfather sent me away to study for awhile.”

They lingered nearly an hour in the church, the girl drawing sweet

harmonies from the old yellow keys, the minister lingering near, calling

for this and that favorite, while Greeves sat long in the old family pew

and read without seeing them the old familiar texts twined among the

fresco, “THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. LET ALL THE EARTH KEEP SILENCE

BEFORE HIM.” Even now after the years it sounded a certain note of awe

in his soul, an echo of the old days when God was real and life a rare

vista before him. There were the same old windows. He used to count the

medallions in the border when the sermon was unusually long. There was

the shepherd and the lambs, and the first verse of the twenty-third

psalm. There was the storm one, purple clouds driven hard across an iron

sky, trees and shrubs bowing before it, and the inscription, “FOR IN THE

TIME OF TROUBLE HE SHALL HIDE ME IN HIS PAVILLION. IN THE SECRET OF HIS

TABERNACLE SHALL HE HIDE ME.”

How firmly he used to believe in that when he was a child! How truly he

expected to take refuge in that tabernacle if any storm overtook him!

And how far he was now from any refuge. What a farce it had been!

Beautiful while it lasted. But a farce! He drew himself up with a

shudder of disgust at it all and the tones of the organ caught him as

Silver’s fingers trailed over the keys while she talked in low tones

with the minister:

“Nearer my God to Thee,

Nearer to Thee—”

It had been Aunt Lavinia’s favorite, and it stung its way into his soul

in spite of his intention otherwise. He could hear her singing it,

twilights in the nursery when she held him on her lap, his earliest

remembrance, while her eyes watched the evening sky grow red and gray

and deepen into starry blue, and the look about her mouth told him even

in his baby days that there was something sad back somewhere in her

life, something that she might have given up, possibly for him.

“Nearer my God to Thee, E’en though it be a cross—”

He could hear the gentle murmur of her timid voice in that very pew as

he had sat beside her many years. Ah! The tears stung into his eyes

unaccountably after all these years. And he? His song had been:

“Farther my God from Thee,

Farther from Thee—!”

How Aunt Lavinia would have agonized in prayer before her deep old

wing-chair if she could have known! He had seen her kneeling once thus,

in her decorous high-necked long-sleeved night dress with the little

tatted ruffles round her throat and wrists, her eyes closed, her gentle

face illuminated with a wistful joy that had awed him, her lips

murmuring softly words of pleading for him:

“O God, bless our little Pat. Make him grow up a good man, loving God

more than all else in life! Make him sorry for his sins! Make him love

righteousness and hate wrong—”

The words were indelibly graven on his soul. He had not thought of them

in years but they were there just as sharply discernible as when that

day he stole into her room to ask some trivial request for the next

day’s pleasure, and came upon her unaware, and stood breathless as in

the presence of the Most High, stealing away on tiptoe not to disturb

her, lying wakeful in his bed till far into the night—! Ah! He turned

sharply toward the two and his voice jarred a discord as he spoke to

break the spell of solemnity.

“Come home with us and take dinner! Bannard!”

He had not intended to give that invitation. It had been the farthest

from his thoughts but a moment before, his tongue had spoken without

leave. But now that it was given he found ease in the thought of a

guest. Why not? He liked the young man. A guest more or less made little

difference in the strange make up of his sudden family. Perhaps it might

even help out the embarrassing situation. But he was not prepared for

the quick lighting of the young man’s face.

“That would be great!” he responded, “But—” and his eyes sought the

girl’s face for the flicker of a glance. “Are you quite sure you

want—guests this first evening?”

“Oh, yes, come along!” said Greeves impatiently, half sorry now he had

asked him, yet determined not to go back on his invitation. And Silver’s

eyes gave him pleasant impersonal welcome.

“I’ll be there at five o’clock,” he said looking at his watch, “I must

meet the little mother out in the cemetery first, and there’s an old man

who is dying—I must drop in there a few moments. I think I can make it

by five. Will that be too soon? There’s something I’ve been wanting to

talk over with you ever since I knew you were coming. Will you have a

few minutes to spare?”

“Make it by five and we’ll have tea in the garden. Silver-Alice can you

make tea?” His tone was a shy attempt at playfulness but it brought a

great light into the girl’s eyes as she turned a sparkling face:

“Oh, surely!”

“Then make it five. I acquired a foreign habit of drinking tea in the

afternoon while I was over there. We’ll have plenty of time for a talk

then. We dine at seven.” Then suddenly it occurred to him that he had

another daughter awaiting him and that the prospect was anything but

pleasant, so with an almost brusque manner he took a hasty leave.

Turning back at the very door he said to the minister: “Oh, by the way.

What has become of that young person, Blink, I think you called him? We

had an engagement with him this morning, hadn’t we? I had completely

forgotten it. Do you know where I could find him to make my apologies?”

“He is washing my car at present,” laughed the minister, “I shall see

him before long and can carry your message. You needn’t worry about

Blink. He is very wise for his years.”

“Well, suppose you tell him to drop in to dinner at seven. Tell him

we’ll talk over bait after dinner.”

Terrence Bannard’s eyes registered appreciation.

“Thank you,” said he, “I doubt if he’ll come. He’s shy and proud among

ladies, but he’ll appreciate the invitation.”

“Oh, that’s all right!” said the older man not in the least realizing

that he was getting a party of proportions on his hands, but determined

to discharge his obligations to the young friend of the evening before.

“Tell him to come. I liked him.”

They were gone down the maple-shaded street, and the minister stood for

an instant in the doorway watching the graceful girl as she walked

beside her father, with a look in his eyes which would have brought the

spy glasses of his congregation to play upon him if any had been there

to tell the tale.

Meanwhile, Athalie, never long content at a time, grew restless under

her story, and wriggling out from the finery on the bed stole to the

door and listened. All was quiet belowstairs save a distant subdued

kitchen sound somewhere off toward the back. That impudent housekeeper

was away about her business. Now was Athalie’s time to pry.

Removing her shoes and substituting blue satin mules she stole

cautiously down the hall, and tried her father’s door, the front room on

the same side of the hall with her own, but separated by deep closets,

one belonging to her room, the other to his.

She stood curiously staring about. It was a boy’s room, with college

photographs and pennants, football groups, and Lacrosse sticks, being

its chief adornings. Only a Gladstone bag fitted with toilet articles,

and a locked suitcase gave evidence of the entrance of the owner after

the years of absence. Patterson Greeves had been too weary and too

perturbed to unpack or make any changes since his arrival the night

before. Athalie made very sure that there was nothing among his

belongings to give any clue to his present character. She went

stealthily from bag to suitcase, even opened bureau drawers, but no

picture, or letter or anything was brought to light that might be of

possible interest, though she conducted her search with the manner and

wisdom of a young detective.

Coming out she closed the door again and stole across the hall to the

room that had been Aunt Lavinia’s.

Her eyes took in the details sharply, the old-fashioned neatness and

comfort, the quiet beauty of the room, and the fact that the other girl

had been taken there rather than herself, the front room, the best room

in the house, with the big sunny windows to the street and at the side!

Jealousy filled her heart and her full petulant lips came out in ugly

lines. She walked quickly to the bed, snatched Silver’s hat and gloves

and flung them across the room behind a chair. She took up her handbag

and went through it carefully, ruthlessly, tearing in half and restoring

to its silken pocket a small photograph of a woman, the woman whose

portrait was down stairs she felt sure. Then she went over to the closet

and flung wide the door. After a moment’s survey of two or three

shrouded dresses of ancient fashion that hung there she gathered them up

and flung them on a chair. Then she went back to her own room and

selected an armful of her gayest garments and returning began to hang

them on the hooks.

All at once she became aware that someone was near, and turning, her

arms still half full of finery, she found herself facing Silver.

Not in the least abashed she looked her up and down contemptuously a

full second before either spoke. Then Athalie spoke:

“Well! Who are _you_?” she asked rudely.

“I beg your pardon,” said Silver hesitating on the threshold, “am I

intruding? Have I made a mistake? I was told this was my room—”

“Well, it _isn’t_,” said Athalie roughly, “I’m going to take it myself!

I don’t like the room that old frump gave me so I’m moving over here.

You can have my room when I get out if you’re going to stay over night.

I’m Athalie Greeves, and this is my father’s house, so _what I say

goes_!”

Silver stood quite still for an instant, the smile frozen on her lips,

her eyes taking in the details of this impossible sister, her ears

trying to refuse the evidence of the sounds they had heard. Something

seemed to flicker and go out in her face, a stricken look flitted over

it, succeeded by a sweet dignity and a lifting of her chin that in

another might have amounted to haughtiness. Then she said quietly:

“I see. Well, I will not trouble you.”

She walked over to the other side of the bed, recovered her hat and

gloves, took up her handbag, and went out and down the stairs. Athalie

did not stop to notice where she went nor care. She went on arranging

her garments on the hooks, an ugly expression on her heavy young brow.

Silver passed quietly down stairs and found an unobtrusive resting place

for hat and gloves on the console in the depth of the wide hall, and

then went on to the now open door that gave to a wide bricked terrace

with the garden just below, reached by mossy brick steps set in the sod,

and edged by crocuses and daffodils. Beyond, a flare of color and the

perfume of hyacinths and tulips lured the senses, and the subtle breath

of lilies-of-the-valley stole from out the deep green border of the

terrace. Silver stood for a moment looking out and trying to quiet the

excited beating of her heart from the encounter. Trying to think what

she ought to do. Wondering why her father had said nothing about this

strange inmate of the house. Wondering why she had forgotten to ask him

who the girl was she had seen on the stairs when she arrived. Thinking

that in all likelihood the attitude of this other girl would make even a

visit to her father impossible, and grieving at the thought.

Already Molly and Anne Truesdale were bustling about, setting out a

leaved table on the terrace, spreading it with fine old embroidered

linen and delicate cups of other days, quaint heavy silver, plates of

delectable cookies, and squares of spicy gingerbread. The pleasant

garden and the bright show of flowers, the coming guest and the air of

happiness seemed not to belong to her. She felt a sudden loneliness, as

if she were intruding, abashed in the presence of the things she could

enjoy, appalled by the fact of this other girl in the house. The story

then had been true that they had heard, that there had been a child by

her father’s second marriage. And she must have lived instead of dying

as rumor had brought to them. Her father had never written a word about

either birth or death to her grandfather and grandmother. She wondered

again why? Her loyal heart refused to admit that her father had been

wrong. He was her father. Perhaps there was some excuse. Perhaps there

was some explanation.

Sudden tears came at this juncture and threatened to overflow. In a

panic she withdrew into the shadows of the hall lest the servants should

see her, and almost ran into her father’s arms as he came down toward

the door to see if his orders had been understood. He passed a loving

arm around her, gently, as if he were almost afraid to touch her, almost

shyly, she thought, and he whispered very low:

“I’m glad you’ve come—Silver-Alice!”

Then Anne bustled in to ask some question and Silver slipped back to the

library for a moment searching for her handkerchief, and so got control

of herself. She came back to walk down the terrace with her father and

see the places where he used to play as a child, and hear all about the

old fountain and the fairy tales he used to make up about it. Walking

thus she almost forgot the sister upstairs who was so ungracious, almost

forgot that sometime she would have to speak about her if her father did

not speak first.

There was a cloud on her father’s brow. She noticed it first as they

paused beside the sun-dial and she traced the line of clear-cut shadow

half between the four and five of the quaint old figures. A sun-dial.

How delightful! It was like digging up antiquities. Her heart leaped to

the poetry of it. Then she looked up and saw the shadow on the stern sad

face above her. Something was troubling him. What was it? Her presence

here? Perhaps he knew how distasteful it was to the girl upstairs, and

he did not know what to do. Perhaps it was best for her not to stay at

all—perhaps—!

She put out a wistful hand and touched his sleeve:

“Father!”

“Yes,” he said as if answering the thought of her heart. “There is

something I must tell you, child. Come over to the old arbor and let us

sit down. It is—unpleasant.”

“Is it about—Athalie, father?” she asked as she turned to follow him.

He stopped and looked at her astonished.

“How did you know? Had any one sent you word she was coming?” with quick

suspicion in his voice. Lilla was quite capable of preparing such a

setting for the advent of her daughter. She seemed to have a sort of

demoniacal insight into what would be exquisite torture for him. But

Silver shook her head.

“Oh, no. But I saw her standing on the stairs behind you when I arrived,

and again up stairs just now. She was moving her things into the room

where I had laid off my hat. She asked me who I was. I am almost sure

she does not like my coming. I think—father—_dear_, it isn’t quite

convenient for you to have me visit you just now. I believe it would be

better if I went back tonight and perhaps came again later, in a few

years when she is older, or away on a visit or something. I would not

like to make you trouble. And it has been wonderful to see you and to

talk with you for even this short time. I shall never feel quite alone

in the world again now that I know I have a father—_such_ a father!”

“Stop!” His voice was choked with consternation, anger, something else

that sounded almost like humility! Strange to see that expression

sitting unaccustomedly on Patterson Greeves’ haughty features.

“Don’t say any more things like that Silver,” he said brokenly, “I can’t

bear them. It is bad enough to have got in such a mess. Bad enough to

have a daughter like that! Bad enough to have her come here

unannounced—she came only a few minutes before you did—without having

you reproach me by flying up and leaving. You _cannot_ leave me now my

child! You must stay by and help me. _I need you!_”

“Oh, father, dear!” She put out a loving hand to his arm again and he

drew her within his embrace and down the path toward the summer house.

It was so that Athalie saw them as coming to the window of her own room,

her arms full of more finery, she stood and gazed. Suddenly she dropped

her armful, and great jealous tears of rage welled into her large bold

eyes. From her handsome full lips a smothered sound almost like a roar

of some enraged young animal came and was quickly suppressed. For a

moment she watched then she turned about and began to search wildly

among the confusion of clothing on bed and chairs, and to hastily array

herself in other attire.

X

About this time also, Blink, having received the invitation by word of

mouth from the minister, and not having declared himself either way

about accepting it, repaired to the meadow lot opposite the Silver place

and proceeded to fill a large tin can with the choicest bait the town

afforded from a private and secret source underneath some old rotting

logs which had long furnished him with better angles than any other boy

was able to produce. He was not yet sure whether he would go to the

party, but he would at least be ready with an offering should the fates,

when the time arrived, seem propitious.

Sooner than he had expected the can was filled, and he lay back on the

sweet smelling turf of the meadow and gazed up at the blue of the sky,

watching the tiny, lazy, gauzy clouds that floated slowly, drifting like

thistle down whither it happened. It was easy to feel he was floating on

one of them drifting too. He often did that. It was his way of reading

poetry. He read a great deal of living poetry at that stage of his

existence.

Lying so with a clump of blue violets close to his hand, and the tinkle

of a cow bell not far away he could drift and think of a great many

things that an ordinary boy in the everyday of life wouldn’t consider

profitable for one of his standing.

Out of the tale of his eye he saw the minister, presently, going in the

white gate between the hedges. He thought of the little grave covered

with violets, and the young mother, a social outcast, with her new

sorrow and bewilderment in her face. No one had told him about it. It

was one of those things that Blink always knew. By and by he would slip

back to the cemetery and water those flowers. It wouldn’t be necessary

for the minister to bother with that. The flowers would just grow all

right and he could let them off his mind. Blink knew how to relieve him

at odd little phases of the way. The minister was a good scout. If Silas

Pettigrew made any more of those pharisaical remarks about the minister

letting handsome young women of the street go to some “mother in Israel”

when they were in trouble he would see that he found a way to tell Silas

where to get off. Silas wasn’t such a saint anyway if he _was_ an elder

in the church! There was that time when he bought Widow Emmet’s house

for twenty-five hundred dollars and then discovered the very next day

that the railroad would buy it at twelve thousand to complete their new

franchise, and he never let the widow in on the deal! Old cotton mouth!

Thinking he could put one over on the town, and get the minister in

Dutch with the old tabbies, just because that poor girl—when everybody

knew young Sil Pettigrew—but _there_!

He watched with satisfaction as the great door opened with a glimpse of

Anne in black silk and sheer collar. He too might be thus received later

in the evening if he so chose. He reflected that “the girl” would be

there. It seemed a pleasing circumstance. She liked dogs. She was all

right.

Then suddenly his attention was attracted to a motion, a shadow, what

was it moving at an upper side window of the house. Someone was climbing

out to the pergola below, a boy it looked like, heavily built with a

shock of football hair, knee trousers, and a strange belted kind of

jacket.

He sat up stealthily, leaning on one elbow, his young face growing grave

as he watched. Now who the deuce could that be? Not a burglar, this time

of afternoon, sun still up? Still. That wasn’t any town figure, none of

the boys’ shoulders that shape, nor hair. It might be a disguise

but—how pink the face looked, like a Chinese painting on a fan!

Without taking his eyes from the object of his attention he made ready

to take a hasty departure. One hand went out and secured the can of

bait. His mind turned over the available hiding places where he might

store it safely. How clumsy that guy was! Wasn’t much of a climber. What

in time was he doing up there in that house anyway?

Slowly the figure crept to the front of the pergola, glanced cautiously

around, peeked back and over the vines as if watching some one, and then

dropped heavily down among the myrtle beds. A moment more and he saw it

rise, jamb a curious looking mushroom hat down over the shock of hair,

and come out the gate to the street, with furtive glances back toward

the house. The whole attitude of the person showed secrecy and stealth.

Once outside the gate it turned toward the direction of the stores and

walked rapidly with a free stride despite its stocky build.

Blink arose from his bed of green and lost no time in following. The can

of bait was deposited in the hollow of a tree a rod from the street, and

Blink was over the fence and making good time in a trice. The stranger

was still in sight, had passed the first cross street and was almost to

the drug store. Blink fell into a lope and made the garage diagonally

across from the drug store just as the figure paused, one foot on the

step, one hand on the latch and looked up and down the street. He had a

full view of her face. Good night! It was a _girl_! A girl in knickers!

They passed through the town sometimes, girls like that, out on walks

with men Sundays and holidays, but there were none indigenous to the

soil of Silver Sands. It was _not done_! And look at her face! Ye gods.

Fell in the flour barrel! Painted like an image! Good night! Did a girl

think she was nice looking that way he would like to know? And coming

from the Silver house! How was it possible? Blink did not use the word

“incongruous” in common parlance but it was the way he felt. For one

awful second he experienced deep and horrible disappointment. “The

girl.” She liked dogs but she was like that! Then instantly the thing

was impossible. No, she hadn’t been a fat thing like that. She wasn’t

the same one. But who was she? Some interloper? How did she get there

without his knowing? Did the family know? What did she have to do with

them? Oughtn’t something to be done about it?

Since he had been able to walk alone Blink had been a self-constituted

member of the police force of Silver Sands. He belonged to a clan who

seldom said what they meant, seldom talked but in parables, and kept

their eyes open. Many a wrong had been righted and a petty criminal

saved through their ministrations to become a worthy citizen after due

chastisement and discipline. They reserved the right to use their own

judgment, and on occasion had been known to evade the law for their own

wise and worthy reasons, to save an underlying principle which in their

opinion would be lost if the law had its course. The strangest part of

it all was that the outcome usually would seem to warrant the venture,

and occasionally the Chief of Police himself had been known to wink at

some open break on the part of the boy because he had come to have utter

faith in his working principle. Blink had been known to search out the

criminal and the facts in some mystery more than once where others had

failed to get a clue, and the Chief always felt it well to keep in with

Blink. He took him with him now and again when a raid on some lawbreaker

was imminent. He had faith in Blink’s intuition.

Blink himself had unerring faith in his own judgment. It was to him like

a clear magnifying glass that had been given him at birth, which showed

up Truth, and he couldn’t see why other people didn’t exercise the same

faculty. They all must have the same thing if they only used it.

Athalie seeing nothing else down the principal business street more

attractive than the drug store, opened the door and went in. Blink

leaned up against the show window of the garage in front of a great

pasteboard model of a new kind of tire, looked idly up and down the

street and saw every move the strange girl made.

She looked about the store with that curious appraising glance she gave

to everything the first time of seeing, and then turned into one of the

two telephone booths that huddled by the corner window, close to the

entrance door. She took the front one facing the door and seemed to be

looking through the book for a number. When she had taken down the

receiver, Blink, without seeming to have been looking that way,

sauntered thoughtfully across the street and entered the drug store most

casually, taking one full impersonal look at the girl’s face as he

passed. No, it was not _the_ girl. He had been pretty sure before, but

he was glad to _know_.

And this one was pretty enough, if she hadn’t been so ghastly painted,

and such funny eyebrows, almost as if she wanted you to see she hadn’t

them in the right place. She had big brilliant white teeth, with those

vivid red lips like the clown in the circus, and she had a hard bold

look in her eyes. When he entered she was talking and laughing

boisterously. She could be heard all over the store, if there had been

anyone around to hear but stupid Sam Hutchins the “soda” clerk.

Blink stalked over to the counter and threw down a nickel for a package

of life savers, and then as if he had had no other purpose in entering

he sauntered straight to the other telephone booth and shut himself in

to a careful inspection of the W’s in the telephone directory. Not that

he wanted anyone with a name beginning with W. It was just the first

page he happened to open.

Clear and distinct came the voice from the booth ahead:

“Now _Bobs_! You don’t mean you didn’t know my voice! Well, I’ll say

that’s a slam! I’m off you for life! Oh! Really? Awwww—Bobbbbs! Now,

that’s awfully _darling_ of you!”

Blink was disgusted. Just one of these foolish Janes. He had heard them

talk before, only why did they want to dress like a man, and why should

one of them climb out of a second story window in the Silver house? He

slammed the book shut and called up the captain of a neighboring

baseball team in the next township. He was disgusted with himself for

caring. He would listen no more. It was likely some queer visitor. But

one thing was settled. He was not going to the Silver house that night.

Not with so many girls about. He couldn’t stand girls!

“Is that you kid? Oh, isn’t he? Well, call him won’t you? I’ll wait.

This is Blink. Yes, Blink. _I_ said it.”

“Boom!” came the girl’s voice into his waiting. “Well, you’ve got to

come and get me, Bobs. You said you would if I sent for you. I’m having

a horrid time. No, I haven’t been down to meals. I didn’t have any

success at all. If it hadn’t been for your five pounder I’d have

starved. Yes, been on a hunger strike. But honestly, Bobs, it’s no use.

I simply can’t stick it out! I shall expire. Can’t you come down this

evening and take me a ride? No, he’d never find it out. I’ve retired to

my room with a sick headache, see? He expects to hear nothing more from

me till morning. I’ve shocked him so hard he would be glad if he never

had to see me any more. I’ll make him sit up and take notice yet. I

promised Lilla I would and I mean to keep my word. But Bobs, you’ve

simply got to stand by or I sha’n’t survive. Aw, come on, Bobs! I’ve

found a way to get in the window. We can stay as late as we like. Nobody

will ever find it out. I can shin up the pergola. Oh, sure! I useta do

it in gym. . . . Aw, _why_ Bobs? . . . . I think you’re _too mean_—!

. . . . Well, then, how about t’morra? . . . . You won’t stand me up?

. . . . Well, if you do all right for you! . . . . Where will I meet

you? . . . . Why I’m down at the drug store now. Couldn’t you come here?

. . . . Aw why? . . . . I don’t see. What do I care for these country

simps! Let ’em tell dad! I’ll have the fun first won’t I? Leave it to

me. I’ll get away with it. . . . What is it you’re afraid of, you poor

fish? Your reputation? Well I like that! I didn’t know you had any!

. . . . All right, Bobs. I’ll come. Where do you say it is? Walk over

the bridge at the other end of the village? . . . Yes. . . . Woods? On

the right hand side? . . . . I didn’t get that. Oh, you want me to walk

in a little way from the road out of sight? . . . . I see. Yes. Sure.

All right, I’ll be there, Bobs. Four o’clock sharp! But don’t you be

late or fail me. If you do I’ll never speak to you again, Bobs. And I’ll

tell Lilla how mean you were. No, I’ll tell her you said she was getting

_old_. That’ll get her goat! Then she won’t speak to you either! . . . .

All right, Bobs. I’ll be there!”

The receiver hung up with a click and the girl adjourned to the soda

water counter where she tried various compounds and chatted affably with

Sam Hutchins in a lofty patronizing tone, telling him how to prepare the

special concoctions they used to get at school. She made out quite a

respectable lunch, what with the sponge cake they kept in a glass

showcase, and several chocolate ice cream sundaes. Certainly enough to

keep the breath of life in her plump well cared for body until the next

morning, and then she took her leave and stalked on down the street to

the end of the village and crossed the bridge. Blink went across to the

garage, borrowed a motor cycle, and took a breezy turn that way himself.

He felt that this young adventuress needed a chaperone. She came from

the house of a man he liked and loyalty to his friends, even his very

new friends, was one of Blink’s specialties. He felt instinctively that

Patterson Greeves would not like a guest of his whoever she might be to

be sailing through the open country side alone in such a garb at the

hour when the workmen from the quarry half a mile below the town would

be coming home.

So he chortled noisily by her on his wheezy steed and sailed on down the

road, arranging to have something the matter with the cycle about the

time she turned off the road toward the woods, which made it necessary

for him to dismount and get down in the road to examine into it.

Athalie did not stay in the woods very long. Nature unadorned never had

much attraction for her. She entered a narrow winding path, followed it

to a log a few rods within the thick grove, and sat down. But solitude

never appealed to Athalie, and after a moment’s reconnoitering she came

back to the road again and pursued a monotonous way to the village.

“Fat thing!” reflected Blink contemptuously jogging along behind at a

sickly pace for one of his ambitions. Whenever he came too near he had

to stop and examine his engine again, but in course of time the two

arrived in the neighborhood of the drug store. Athalie went in,

purchased some salted almonds and went on to her father’s house. Blink

returned his motor cycle, and took a back way to the meadow, arriving in

plenty of time to watch the lady mount the pergola and enter her window

once more.

The incident finished, Blink sat for some minutes turning it over in his

mind, decided there was something here that needed further

investigation, and that he must accept the invitation to the house and

see what he might see, although he could not bring himself to go through

the agony of a dinner with _girls_. To this end he picked himself up

from the ground, retrieved his can of bait and took the shortest cut to

his home, where he began a thorough search for a clean shirt and its

accompaniments.

Athalie, having regained the stronghold of her room was about to return

to her task of moving her clothes to the front room closet when suddenly

the sound of a tinkling, spoon against a thin china cup, and a ripple of

soft laughter, with an undertone of heavier gaiety sent her flying to

her window.

For an instant her face took on the wild look of a young savage as she

gazed down at the pretty tea table set out on the terrace below, the

plate of thin bread and butter, so tempting to her bonbon-jaded

appetite, the orange marmalade like drops of amber, the dainty dish of

sugar cookies, thin and attractive in clover leaf form. The whiff of

orange pekoe wafted up as Silver passed her father his cup. Tea on the

terrace and she not even told! And there was that stunning-looking man

again! Who was he? Did that other girl think she would take possession

of him too as well as her father, and the house, and the best room, and

everything? Well, they would find out! She was going down at once. She

would show that stuck up girl—!

Athalie turned from the window after a moment more and began to fly

around with catlike tread, dropping off garments and sliding into

others, searching wildly amid the mass of finery for the thing she

wanted. It was a coral crêpe she finally chose, with a low cut bodice of

silver cloth, and startling touches of black velvet fastened with

jewelled buckles.

She worked frantically over her complexion and brushed out her permanent

waves until they looked like an electric sign. A platinum chain like a

breath of air about her plump white neck held a single jewel like a drop

of dew. In her ears were long jet earrings, giving her a more brazen

expression than ever. Her large pink arms were guiltless of sleeves as

she stood before the mirror, turning this way and that on the high heels

of her little silver slippers into which her plump feet seemed to be

fairly forced. She was well pleased with herself. Probably this wasn’t

exactly the right kind of costume according to social rules, for that

early hour in the day, but at least it was effective, and that was all

she really cared. She felt that she could afford to be a law unto

herself.

As she took her final glimpse and tiptoed toward the door she seemed

like some great gay bird with a large part of its gaudy plumage plucked

away. The floating coral and silver were inadequate. “Naked” was what

Anne Truesdale expressed it to herself as she stood in frozen horror

behind the pantry door with a plate of fresh cookies and watched the

bright apparition move out of the door to the terrace and stand a

moment, “the very devil of a smile on her lips” as Tom who was watching

behind the lilacs afterwards told his wife Molly.

Then Patterson Greeves with his cup half way to his lips, and a look of

comfort and relaxation on his brow, suddenly looked up and stared. They

all looked up and saw her. Athalie came forward, her eyes fixed straight

upon the minister, her most coaxing spoiled-baby look on her pink

over-fed face.