HARVEST TIME.
The September days were exceptionally warm ones, but no one seemed to
mind them because the evenings were cool. The two pilgrims continued
their progress, advancing rapidly and in such a rosy atmosphere that the
millennium seemed close at hand. Whatever Homer Forbes’ plans were, and
as yet only he and Eleanor seemed to know much about them, they
evidently met the entire approval of the lady in the question, for she
threw herself into the process of perfecting them with an ardor that
nearly drove her family frantic. No matter where they turned, they found
plans and specifications lying about, and Eleanor’s room resembled an
architect’s drafting-office. Not long after that walk up the mountain
there had been a closeted hour’s talk with Mrs. Carruth, and when Homer
Forbes came out of the library at the end of it he was in such a
perturbed state of mind that he nearly fell over Mammy as he rushed
through the hall, out of the front door and across the piazza, to vanish
down the road and leave the family staring after him; at least, that
portion of the family which happened to be seated there. Hard upon his
heels followed Mammy, crying:
“Gawd bress ma soul! what Miss Jinny done ter dat man? ’Pears lak he
gone plum loony.” Then, turning to Mrs. Carruth, who followed not far
behind, Mammy continued: “Miss Jinny, is dat man gone cl’ar crazy?”
Mrs. Carruth smiled as she replied:
“They sometimes call it ‘a very mid-summer madness,’ Mammy, but
mid-summer has passed, hasn’t it? It’s not dangerous, however. You would
better go upstairs and ask Miss Nornie. I am sure she can tell you more
about Mr. Forbes than I can. At all events, she has decided to let him
guide her through life, so she must have an abiding faith in him, and I
have told him he may do so if she wishes it. By the spring you will have
to climb to the top of Mt. Parnassus if you wish to see your Miss
Nornie, I think.”
“Whar _dat_ place at?” demanded Mammy, while Hadyn gave a low whistle,
and Constance cried, “What did I tell you, Mumsey?” as Jean jumped up
and down in her excitement.
“You had better go upstairs and ask Miss Nornie, Mammy,” and straightway
Mammy whirled about and started upstairs to Eleanor’s room, where she
found her buried neck-deep in a pile of drafting papers, triangles,
compasses and pencils; though just what she was drawing plans for Mammy
could not guess. When questioned of late Eleanor had given negative,
abstracted replies which more than once nearly convulsed her hearers,
and upon one occasion she had brought consternation upon the family by
emptying a brimming washbowl of water into her scrap-basket instead of
her slop-jar. Evidently the scrap-basket had figured more prominently in
her thoughts of late than had her washbowl.
As Mammy appeared at the door Eleanor was bending over a great blueprint
plan which she had spread upon the floor. It was a tremendous affair,
fully two by four feet, and Eleanor was down upon her knees, hands
outspread and locks flying, too absorbed to be aware of Mammy’s
presence.
“Peripatos, peristyle penetralia,” murmured the engrossed one, tracing
with a slender forefinger the lines upon her plan, then repeating,
“Penetralia, penetralia. How interesting.”
“What in de name o’ man is you jabberin’ about, anyway, Miss Nornie?”
Eleanor came to an upright position with a start, crying:
“Goodness, Mammy, how you startled me!”
“Yo’ better had git up f’om dat floor ’stid o’ bendin’ ober dat sky-blue
sheet o’ paper what done look lak it got Chinee writin’ an’ drawin’ on
it. Yo’ face make out de res’ ob de colors fer de hull ’Merican flag:
red, white an’ blue alltergedder. ’Taint no kynd ob a day fer ter be
bendin’ ober lak yo’ is. Nex’ t’ing yo’ know yo’ gwine git rush o’ blood
ter de haid, an’ dat’s bad, I tells yo’! Wha’ yo’ gwine do wid all dat
blue stuff, anyway? Yo’ ain’ tell me one single t’ing ’bout it, an’ I
ain’ know wha’ ’tis. An’ I wants fer ter know, too, if yo’ gwine be home
ter lunch ter day.” Mammy’s sharp eye scrutinized the rosy face before
her.
“O, you needn’t bother about me, Mammy. Mr. Forbes will be over shortly
and we are going for a tramp.”
“Tromp! tromp!” echoed Mammy. “Tromp on sich a hot day as dis hyar wid
de fermom’ter jist nachelly climbin’ cl’ar out er sight? Is you done
gone silly, yo’ an’ dat Perfesser Fo’bes? Yo’ stay ter home in dis cool
house what I done darken up fer ter keep out de sizzlin’, billin’ heat.
It fa’r scoch de very skin off yo’ body. Don’ yo’ let dat man drag yo’
up dat mountain on sich a day, I tells yo’.”
“Oh, we don’t mind it, and the woods are so cool. Just put up one of
your delicious little luncheons for us, and we’ll be more than
supplied.”
“Cool in de woods! Yis, when yo’ gits to em, but yo’s got right smart
ter walk fo’ yo’ comes ter dem, an’ I ain’ pinin’ fer no sich ’xertion
on such a frazzlin’-out day. But I reckons I jist better save ma’ bref
dan spend it a-talkin’. Yo’ lunch gwine be ready fo’ yo’ when yo’ ready
fo’ it; but what I wants ter know now is, what all _dat_ meanin’,” and
Mammy pointed again to the big blueprint.
Eleanor was not given to emotion but there come times in every life when
one’s emotions are more easily played upon than at others. The past week
had held such moments for Eleanor. Of all Mammy’s children Eleanor had
been the least demonstrative. She rarely caressed the old woman as
Constance and Jean did. Now, however, she bounded to her feet and,
rushing to Mammy, cried:
“Oh, Mammy! Mammy! Do you believe in dreams? Don’t you think they come
true sometimes?”
“A heap o’ times!” interjected Mammy.
Eleanor sighed ecstatically. I _knew_ you would say so, Mammy. “And
_ours_ will, won’t it?”
“Who ‘ours?’” demanded Mammy, her lips pursed up, and distrust in her
eyes.
“Homer’s and mine! Homer! Isn’t that a name to inspire one? Fate must
have ordained that he should bear such a name. Only a classic poet’s
could be in harmony. It must be the purest, the best, the finest, the
most perfect,” rhapsodized Eleanor.
Mammy looked at her a little anxiously, and asked:
“Isn’t yo’ better lay down on dat baid yonder? Yo’s been a bendin’ ober
dose papers twell yo’ haid’s achin’, I’se feered.”
“Ah, no, Mammy, but think of it! To live in a Grecian dwelling! A
perfect reproduction of an Athenian temple. With the fountain of
Hippocrene in it’s center, from which a rill will flow murmuring all the
day. Helicon’s harmonious stream. We shall call it Helicon Hall, and
there we shall train the youthful mind to a deep appreciation of true
beauty. In the central court, overroofed with glass and filled with
tropical plants, will be our hearth stone, our altar, on either side of
which will stand our lares and penates. Could any other mind have
conceived this wonderful dream in this prosaic age? See, see our plans,
Mammy? How clear, how concise, how graphic. Ah, I can picture it
all—all.”
“Well den I cyant!” cried Mammy, losing patience, “and I don’ reckon yo’
Ma nor none ob de yethers kin. At any rate, I got sumpin else ter do
’sides standin’ hyar listenin’ at what I sets down as jist foolishness;
an’ ef I was yo’ Ma I’d tell yo’ not ter go a-climbin’ up dat mountain
no mo’ twell de wedder done cool off some,” and with this admonition
Mammy left the dreamer to her dreams. But before we take a long leave of
her, we will add, by the way, that in the course of time this dream
crystallized into a large building, in the form of the Parthenon,
wherein this modern Socrates, Professor Homer Forbes, and a charming
Hypatia, his wife, led the minds of affluent youths, whose parents were
willing to indulge them in such luxuries, along paths of learning
literally flower-strewn. Reclining at length upon the green sward of the
court of Helicon Hill, they drank in the words of wisdom falling from
the lips of their preceptors. Eleanor had achieved her ideals: Homer
Forbes his. What more could mortals ask?
And the lares and penates? Well, Jean was rather practical. Those old
Greek fireside gods might be all very well in their way, but Greece had
seen _her_ day. In the present one there was a quaint little grinning
“god of things, as they ought to be,” to which Jean pinned greater
faith; and when, one beautiful April day, Homer Forbes and his bride
returned from their wedding journey, and entered the inner court of
Helicon Hall, where the (let us hope) sacred fire burned upon the
hearth, the first thing upon which Eleanor’s eyes rested in these
classic surroundings was “Billykin,” perched above the blazing logs.
And in the interval between that warm September day and the lighting of
that hearth by loving hands for the home-coming of the idealists? Ah,
life holds some sweet moments, and this old world is not such a bad one,
after all. But we anticipate.
October came again, and all the world was beautiful in its golden haze.
With Eleanor’s engagement to Homer Forbes, and her complete absorption
in her demi-god, who had changed her plans so completely, her future so
entirely, Eleanor plunged headlong into consummating his dreams so far
as in her power lay. This left Constance largely to herself and her own
plans. All had gone well with her, and, with the beginning of the social
season in Riveredge and elsewhere, Constance’s business grew very brisk.
She was kept busy from morning to evening. It was a wonderfully happy
life for her. To be the chief support of her family, to give to her
mother the thousand little luxuries she had known in earlier life, to
give to Jean every possible advantage, both educational and social, and
still have time to enjoy life at its heyday herself—why—surely, no more
could be asked.
Mary and Fanny Willing were as happy and content as two girls well could
be, and worked and sang from dawn to twilight. With the autumn even more
help became necessary to keep abreast of the orders; and, through Hadyn,
Constance secured the services of a man in whom Hadyn was deeply
interested. He had known him in college days, but days of adversity had
overtaken him, and for two years he had seemed to be the very toy of an
adverse fate. In that interval his family had slipped into the Great
Beyond, and the small nest-egg left him had been swept from him by the
failure of the company in which it was invested, throwing Edward DeLaney
upon his own resources.
Upon Hadyn’s advice he was engaged by Constance as bookkeeper and a sort
of general superintendent, dividing his time between the Candy Kitchen,
the Arcade, and the other booths, which, in the course of time had been
established elsewhere. He was only twenty-five, but an able, manly
fellow, quick-witted and resourceful. He took firm hold of affairs
instantly, and, during the course of the ensuing winter, Constance more
than once thanked the lucky star which had guided this tall, clear-eyed,
finely-set-up six-foot laddie to her Candy Kitchen. No one could look
into those fine, hazel eyes without trusting them instantly, nor see the
lines of that resolute, yet tender mouth without reading the man’s
character. His skin was as fair and as clear as a child’s, and his smile
as winning. He speedily found his way into the home circle, and just the
degree of happiness it brought to him few guessed.
But this is dipping into the future by several months. At present we are
in October’s golden glow.
“What a day!” cried Hadyn, as he and Constance came out upon the piazza
one beautiful afternoon when luncheon was over.
“Isn’t it simply heavenly? It seems to me we never have such days
excepting during October. Look at the coloring over on that mountain and
on our own hills. It is perfectly intoxicating. It makes me feel like
doing something out of the usual order, and yet I ought to go out yonder
to the Candy Kitchen and lend a hand with the thousand and one things to
be attended to. I tell you, Hadyn Stuyvesant, I am rapidly becoming a
power in the commercial world,” laughed Constance.
“You are a greater power already than you guess. Before you know it that
business will have grown beyond its boundaries again, and even greater
expansion will be necessary. But just now let’s ‘forget it,’ and go for
a ride up that glorious mountain. I’ll ’phone down to Pringle’s for
Lightfoot, and we’ll have an afternoon fit for the gods.”
“Done! I’m only human, and the call of the woods on such a day as this
drowns the call of duty. But I hate to take Comet from you; you seem so
much a part of each other.”
“Since he came to live here he has become a part of you all, and more
nearly _human_ than ever. Jean has seen to that. How that child loves
animals! I’ve a little scheme in the back part of my head which I mean
shall take tangible form when her next birthday comes around.”
“Oh, what is it?” cried Constance, for everything concerning Jean held
the keenest interest for her.
“Tell you after we’ve had our ride. I’m off now for my togs. See you
inside half an hour. Tell Parsons to saddle Comet for you,” and with a
wave of his hand Hadyn hurried away to get into his riding clothes. An
hour later they rode away from the house, as bonny a pair as eyes could
rest upon, and upon which one pair did rest with the love and devotion
one often sees in the eyes of a dog; Mammy raised her apron, wiped a
tear from her lids, and said softly to herself:
“_Dem’s ma chillen._ Yis, jist ma own God-blessedest ones what ever _is_
live! Him, too. Miss Nornie kin tek up wid dat Perfesser man ef she
wanter, but _gimme dat one ridin’ ’way yonder_. He’s de very cream ob
all creation, an’ he gwine be mighty good ter ma baby, too. I ain’t need
no secon’ sight fer ter read _dat_ writin’. An’ he gwine fin’ out what a
pearl o’ price he gettin’, too, dough I reckons he got some notion o’
dat a’reddy. An’ he gwine git somepin’ he ain’ countin’ ’pon a mite, an’
would be clar _’bove_ countin’ ’pon anyhow; he gwine git a wife wha’ got
her _own nes’aig_. Charles an’ me ain’ run dat ar’ lunch counter all dis
time jist fer fun an’ de reppitation it done give us; no, sir-ee! We
done put ’side ’nough fer ter give each o’ ole Massa’s gran’chillen dey
_dots_, as dose French folks calls it. Yis, we is, an’ I’s proud ob it,
too. It’s de onlies’ way we kin eber show em dat dey’s ours, an’ we’s
deirs. Mebbe Massa Stuyvesant got a-plenty, an’ mebbe Massa Fo’bes is
got, too, a-plenty fer ’em bofe—I dunno—but I knows dis much: A ’omans a
mighty sight mo’ self-respectin’ an’, an’ sort o’ stan’in’ firm on her
own foots ef she knows dars a stockin’full o’ gol’ wha’ she kin turn
inside-out ef she want ter ’thout axin’ ’by yo’ leave, Mr. Man,’ no
matter how she love him or he love her. An’ me an’ Charles done fix dat
all right, so we has. Gawd bress ma chillen! Gawd bress em! Dey’s filled
ma soul wid joy all de days of ma life, and dey’s made Charles’ foots
fer ter walk in de green past’ers endurin’ his declinin’ years. Oh, we’s
happy, we is, wid de Gawd-blessedes’ white folks two ol’ cullered folks
ever is know.”