THE DEMNITION GRIND
Life should not be all work, neither can it be all play and be
enjoyable, as Frank Nason found to his sorrow. Whether a realizing sense
of the scant respect Alice Page had for an idler, or his own experience
in that role, opened his eyes first, is hard to say. It is likely that
both had weight, and it is not to his discredit if the possible
approbation of Alice was the sole cause of his changed ideas. That he
wished her to feel it was, is certain, as the tone of his letters
showed. In one which he wrote soon after his return to Boston he said,
"My mother, and in fact all my people, seem to think so much more of me
since I have set about fitting myself for a profession. Father says he
is growing proud of me, and that pleases me best of all, for he is and
always has been my best friend. Of course, I think the world of Blanch,
and she seems to think I am the best fellow in the world. Little do any
of them know or even guess that it is you for whom I am working, and
always with the hope that you will deem me worthy of the great prize
you well know I am striving for. How many times I recall every moment of
that one short hour on the old mill-pond, and all that made it sacred to
me, no one can tell. I go out little except to escort mother and the
girls to the theatre once in a while, and so anxious am I to be able to
pass an examination, I often go to the office and read law till
midnight."
When this effusion reached Alice the mountains around Sandgate were just
putting on their autumn glory of color, and that night when she sat on
the porch and heard the katydids in the fast thinning foliage of the
elms she had what she called an old-fashioned fit of the blues. And how
lonely it was there, too!
Aunt Susan, never a talkative person, sat close, but as dumb as a graven
image; no house near, and only the twinkling lights of several the other
side of the valley visible. On a knoll just below them she knew were a
few score of white headstones, among them her mother's, and when there
was a moon she could see them plainly. It is during the lonely hours of
our lives that we see ourselves best, and this quiet evening--no more
quiet than many others, perhaps, but seemingly so to Alice--she saw
herself and her possible future as it seemed to be. Every word of her
lover's letter had been an emissary of both joy and sorrow--joy that he
was so devoted to her, and sorrow because she felt that an impassable
barrier separated them. "He will forget me in a few months," she said to
herself, "and by the time he has won his coveted law degree his scheming
mother will have some eligible girl all ready for him to fall in love
with. As for me, she will never have the chance to frown at me, for even
if Blanch begs I would never set foot in her house!" When her feelings
had carried her up to this point she arose, and, going into the parlor,
began playing. Her piano was the best and about the only companion she
had, and quickly responded to her moods. And now what did it tell? She
played; but every chord was a minor one, full of the pathos of tears and
sorrow. She sang; but every song that came to her lips carried the same
refrain, and told only of hungry hearts and unanswered love. And last
and worst of all, almost insensibly her fingers strayed to the chords of
one well-remembered song. One verse only she sang, and when the last
pathetic line was ended she arose and with a "What a fool I am to care,
anyway!" muttered to herself, went back to the porch where her aunt was
sitting. And then, as the moon came up from behind the mountain,
flooding the narrow valley with pale light, in spite of herself her eyes
strayed to that little knoll where the white stones showed clear and
distinct. It was the last straw, and going to her aunt and kneeling, she
bowed her head in that good old soul's lap, and burst into tears. It may
be that the hand which stroked her fair head at this outbreak recalled
her mother's, for she only sobbed the harder. It did not last long,
however, and when the storm was over she arose and said:
"There, auntie, I've been spoiling for a good cry all day, and now I've
had it and feel better."
But did she? Let those who can put themselves in her place, with her
proud spirit and loving heart, answer the question.
And here it is time and fit to speak of her brother, toward whom her
heart had always turned when in trouble, and not in vain. Of the jest
that Frank had made regarding the island girl Albert had fallen in love
with, she thought but little. That he might marry in due time she
expected as a matter of course; that it would make any difference in his
feelings towards her she did not for one moment consider. Now she fell
to thinking what a void it would make in her life if his thoughts and
affection were centred elsewhere. Then she began wondering why he had
failed to write as often as usual during the past six weeks. She had
known his plans for the yachting-trip and imagined his letter announcing
its failure and his return to work an expression of disappointment.
Since then he had written but once, telling her that he was overwhelmed
with business and enclosing a check, but failing to enclose any but the
briefest expression of love.
Life with Alice was at best a lonesome one, and Sunday, with its simple
services in the village church, the singing in the choir, and pleasant
nods from all she met, the only break in its monotony. Now during summer
vacation time it was worse than ever, and she began counting the days
until school opened again. Once, with Aunt Susan for company, she had
visited the old mill-pond, and rowing the boat herself, had gathered an
ample supply of lilies, only to come home so depressed she did not speak
once during the four-mile drive. She had written Frank an account of the
trip, but failed to mention that she had landed at a certain point and
sat on the bank and shed a few tears while Aunt Susan waited in the boat
and sorted the lilies. She had enclosed a wee little lily bud in this
letter, but not a word by which he could infer that her heart was very
hungry for--some one.
[Illustration: THE OLD MILL]
But all things, and all series of days, be they filled with joy or
sorrow, come to an end, and so did the lonely vacation days of Alice.
When the school gathered once more, and the daily round of simple
recitations began, she realized as never before how blessed a thing it
is in this world that we can have occupation. And even more blessed to
Alice Page, whose proud heart was a little hungry for love.