_In Which a Blind Beggar and a Butterfly Go to a Ball._
_In my Own Little Room._
UNCLE ROD, I went to the party!
I came home an hour ago, and since then I have been sitting all shivery
and shaky in my pink silk. It will be daylight in a few minutes, but I
shan't go to bed. I couldn't sleep if I did. I feel as if I shouldn't
ever sleep again.
Uncle Rod, Jimmie Ford was at the Crossroads ball!
I went early, because Mrs. Nancy had asked me to be there to help with
her guests. Geoffrey Fox went with me. He was very picturesque in a
ragged jerkin with a black bandage over his eyes and with old Mamie
leading him at the end of a cord. She enjoyed it immensely, and they
attracted a lot of attention, as he went tap-tapping along with his cane
over the polished floor, or whined for alms, while she sat up on her
haunches with a tin cup in her mouth.
Well, Dr. Richard met us at the door, looking the young squire to
perfection in his grandfather's old dress coat of blue with brass
buttons. The people from New York hadn't come, so Mrs. Nancy put the
pearls in my hair, and they made me stand under the portrait in the
library, to see if I were really like my grandmother. I can't believe
that I looked as lovely as she, but they said I did, and I began to feel
as happy and excited as Cinderella at her ball.
Then the New York crowd arrived in motors, and they were all masked. I
knew Eve Chesley at once and Winifred Ames, but it was hard to be sure of
any one else. Eve Chesley was a Rose, with a thousand fluttering flounces
of pink chiffon. She was pursued by two men dressed as Butterflies, slim
and shining in close caps with great silken wings--a Blue Butterfly and a
Brown one. I was pretty sure that the Brown one was Philip Meade. It was
quite wonderful to watch them with their wings waving. Eve carried a
pocketful of rose petals and threw them into the air as she went. I had
never imagined anything so lovely.
Well, I danced with Dr. Richard and I danced with Geoffrey Fox, and I
danced with Dutton Ames, and with some men that I had never met before.
It seemed so _good_ to be doing things like the rest. Then all at once I
began to feel that the Blue Butterfly was watching me. He drifted away
from his pursuit of Evelyn Chesley, and whenever I raised my eyes, I
could see him in corners staring at me.
It gave me a queer feeling. I couldn't be sure, and yet--there he was.
And, Uncle Rod, suddenly I knew him! Something in the way he carried
himself. You know Jimmie's little swagger!
I think I lost my head after that. I flirted with Dr. Richard and with
Geoffrey Fox. I think I even flirted a little with Dutton Ames. I wanted
them to be nice to me. I wanted Jimmie to see that what he had scorned
other men could value. I wanted him to know that I had forgotten him. I
laughed and danced as if my heart was as light as my heels, and all the
while I was just sick and faint with the thought of it--"Jimmie Ford is
here, and he hasn't said a word to me. Jimmie Ford is here--and--he
hasn't said a word----"
At last I couldn't stand it any longer, and when I was dancing with
Geoffrey Fox I said, "Do you think we could go down to the Garden Room? I
must get away."
He didn't ask any question. And presently we were down there in the
quiet, and he had his bandage off, and was looking at me, anxiously.
"What has happened, Mistress Anne?"
And then, oh, Uncle Rod, I told him. I don't know how I came to do it,
but it seemed to me that he would understand, and he did.
When I had finished his face was white and set. "Do you mean to tell me
that any man has tried to break your heart?"
I think I was crying a little. "Yes. But the worst of all is my--pride."
"My little Princess," he said softly, "that this should have come--to
you."
Uncle Rod, I think that if I had ever had a brother, I should have wanted
him to be like Geoffrey Fox. All his lightness and frivolity seemed to
slip from him. "He has thrown away what I would give my life for," he
said. "Oh, the young fool, not to know that Paradise was being handed to
him on a platter."
I didn't tell him Jimmie's name. That is not to be spoken to any one but
you. And of course he could not know, though perhaps he guessed it, after
what happened later.
While we sat there, Dr. Richard came to hunt for us. "Everybody is going
in to supper," he said. He seemed surprised to find us there together,
and there was a sort of stiffness in his manner. "Mother has been asking
for you."
We went at once to the dining-room. There were long tables set in the
old-fashioned way for everybody. Mrs. Nancy wanted things to be as they
had been in her own girlhood. On the table in the wide window were two
birthday cakes, and at that table Dr. Richard sat with his mother on one
side of him, and Eve Chesley on the other. Eve's cake had pink candles
and his had white, and there were twenty-five candles on each cake.
Geoffrey Fox and I sat directly opposite; Dutton Ames was on my right,
Mrs. Ames was on Geoffrey's left, and straight across the table, with
his mask off, was Jimmie Ford, staring at me with all his eyes!
For a minute I didn't know what to do. I just sat and stared, and then
suddenly I picked up the glass that stood by my plate, raised it in
salute and drank smiling. His face cleared, he hesitated just a fraction
of a second, then his glass went up, and he returned my greeting. I
wonder if he thought that I would cut him dead, Uncle Rod?
And don't worry about _what_ I drank. It was white grape juice. Mrs.
Nancy won't have anything stronger.
Well, after that I ate, and didn't know what I ate, for everything seemed
as dry as dust. I know my cheeks were red and that my eyes shone, and I
smiled until my face ached. And all the while I watched Jimmie and Jimmie
watched me, and pretty soon, Uncle Rod, I understood why Jimmie was
there.
He was making love to Eve Chesley!
Making love is very different from being in love, isn't it? Perhaps love
is something that Jimmie really doesn't understand. But he was using on
Eve all of the charming tricks that he had tried on me. She is more
sophisticated, and they mean less to her than to me, but I could see him
bending toward her in that flattering worshipful way of his--and when he
took one of her roses and touched it to his lips and then to her cheek,
everything was dark for a minute. That kind of kiss was the only kind
that Jimmie Ford ever gave me, but to me it had meant that he--cared--and
that I cared--and here he was doing it before the eyes of all the
world--and for love of another woman!
After supper he came around the table and spoke to me. I suppose he
thought he had to. I don't know what he said and I don't care. I only
know that I wanted to get away. I think it was then that Geoffrey Fox
guessed. For when Jimmie had gone he said, very gently, "Would you like
to go home? You look like your own little ghost, Mistress Anne."
But I had promised one more dance to Dr. Richard, and I wanted to dance
it. If you could have seen at the table how he towered above Jimmie Ford.
And when he stood up to make a little speech in response to a toast from
Dutton Ames, his voice rang out in such a--man's way. Do you remember
Jimmie Ford's falsetto?
I had my dance with him, and then Geoffrey took me home, and all the way
I kept remembering the things Dr. Richard had said to me, such pleasant
friendly things, and when his mother told me "good-night" she took my
face between her hands and kissed me. "You must come often, little
Cynthia Warfield," she said. "Richard and I both want you."
But now that I am at home again, I can't think of anything but how Jimmie
Ford has spoiled it all. When you have given something, you can't ever
really take it back, can you? When you've given faith and constancy to
one man, what have you left to give another?
The river is beginning to show like a silver streak, and a rooster is
crowing. Oh, Uncle Rod, if you were only here. Write and tell me that you
love me.
Your
LITTLE GIRL.
* * * * *
_In the Telegraph Tower._
MY VERY DEAR:
It is after supper, and Beulah and I are out here with Eric. He likes to
have her come, and I play propriety, for Mrs. Bower, in common with most
women of her class, is very careful of her daughter. I know you don't
like that word "class," but please don't think I am using it snobbishly.
Indeed, I think Beulah is much better brought up than the daughters of
folk who think themselves much finer, and Mrs. Bower in her simple way is
doing some very effective chaperoning.
Eric is on night duty in the telegraph tower this week; the other
operator has the day work. The evenings are long, so Beulah brings her
sewing, and keeps Eric company. They really don't have much to say to
each other, so that I am not interrupted when I write. They seem to like
to sit and look out on the river and the stars and the moon coming up
behind the hills.
It is all settled now. Eric told me yesterday. "I am very happy," he
said; "I have been a lonely man."
They are to be married in June, and the things that she is making are to
go into the cedar chest which her father has given her. He found it one
day when he was in Baltimore, and when he showed it to her, he shone with
pleasure. He's a good old Peter, and he is so glad that Beulah is to
marry Eric. Eric will rent a little house not far up the road. It is a
dear of a cottage, and Peggy and I call it the Playhouse. We sit on the
porch when we come home from school, and peep in at the windows and plan
what we would put into it if we had the furnishing of it. I should like a
house like that, Uncle Rod, for you and me and Diogenes. We'd live happy
ever after, wouldn't we? Some day the world is going to build
"teacherages" just as it now builds parsonages, and the little houses
will help to dignify and uplift the profession.
Your dear letter came just in time, and it was just right. I should have
gone to pieces if you had pitied me, for I was pitying myself dreadfully.
But when I read "Little School-teacher, what would you tell your
scholars?" I knew what you wanted me to answer. I carried your letter in
my pocket to school, and when I rang the bell I kept saying over and
over to myself, "Life is what we make it. Life is what we make it," and
all at once the bells began to ring it:
"Life is--what we--make it--
Life is--what we--make it."
When the children came in, before we began the day's work, I talked to
them. I find it is always uplifting when we have failed in anything to
try to tell others how not to fail! Perhaps it isn't preaching what we
practice, but at least it supplies a working theory.
I made up a fairy-story for them, too, about a Princess who was so ill
and unhappy that all the kingdom was searched far and wide for some one
to cure her. And at last an old crone was found who swore that she had
the right remedy. "What is it?" all the wise men asked; but the old woman
said, "It is written in this scroll. To-morrow the Princess must start
out alone upon a journey. Whatever difficulty she encounters she must
open this scroll and read, and the scroll will tell her what to do."
Well, the Princess started out, and when she had traveled a little way
she found that she was hungry and tired, and she cried: "Oh, I haven't
anything to eat." Then the scroll said, "Read me," and she opened the
scroll and read: "There is corn in the fields. You must shell it and
grind it on a stone and mix it with water, and bake it into the best
bread that you can." So the Princess shelled the corn and ground it and
mixed it with water, and baked it, and it tasted as sweet as honey and as
crisp as apples. And the Princess ate with an appetite, and then she lay
down to rest. And in the night a storm came up and there was no shelter,
and the Princess cried out, "Oh, what shall I do?" and the scroll said,
"Read me." So she opened the scroll and read: "There is wood on the
ground. You must gather it and stack it and build the best little house
that you can." So the Princess worked all that day and the next and the
next, and when the hut was finished it was strong and dry and no storms
could destroy it. So the Princess stayed there in the little hut that she
had made, and ate the sweet loaves that she had baked, and one day a
great black bear came down the road, and the Princess cried out, "Oh, I
have no weapon; what shall I do?" And the scroll said, "Read me." So she
opened the scroll and read, "Walk straight up to the bear, and make the
best fight that you can." So the Princess, trembling, walked straight up
to the big black bear, and behold! when he saw her coming, he ran away!
Now the year was up, and the king sent his wise men to bring the Princess
home, and one day they came to her little hut and carried her back to the
palace, and she was so rosy and well that everybody wondered. Then the
king called the people together, and said, "Oh, Princess, speak to us,
and let us know how you were cured." So the Princess told them of how she
had baked the bread, and built the hut, and conquered the bear; and of
how she had found health and happiness. For the bread that you make with
your own hands is the sweetest, and the shelter that you build for
yourself is the snuggest, and the fear that you face is no fear at all.
* * * * *
The children liked my story, and I felt very brave when I had finished
it. You see, I have been forgetting our sunsets, and I have been shivery
and shaky when I should have faced my Big Black Bear!
Beulah is ready to go--and so--good-night. The moon is high up and round,
and as pure gold as your own loving heart.
Ever your own
ANNE.