Never shall I forget that journey in the train, I had not thought to get
a sleeper, so I sat up all night long. I had the whole seat to myself.
The conductor turned the next seat over toward me, and by putting up my
feet, I was fairly comfortable.
I shut my eyes and tried to go to sleep, but the thoughts that came
thronging through my head were too many. I wept for my lost sweetheart,
and yet I vowed never to go back to him. His future should not be
spoiled by me.
Oh, as I thought of how many times Reggie had said that, a feeling of
helpless rage against him took possession of me. I saw him in all his
ambitious, selfish, narrow snobbery and pride. Even his love for me was
a part of his peculiar fastidiousness. He wanted me for himself because
I was prettier than most girls, just as he wanted all luxurious things,
but he never stopped to think of my comfort or happiness.
Somehow, as the train slipped farther and farther away from Montreal,
Reggie’s influence over me seemed to be vanishing, and presently, as I
gazed out into the night, he passed away from my mind altogether.
We were passing through dark meadows, and they looked gloomy and
mysterious under that starlit sky. I thought of how papa had taught us
all so much about the stars, and how he said one of our ancestors had
been a great astronomer. Ada knew all of the planets and suns by name
and could pick them out, but to me they were always little points of
mystery. I remembered as a little girl I used to look up at them and say
to one particular star:
“Star bright, star light
First star I see to-night,
Wish I may--wish I might
Get the wish I wish to-night.”
Then I would say quickly:
“Give me a doll’s carriage.”
Ada had told me if I did that for seven nights, the fairies would give
me whatever I asked for, and each night I asked for that doll’s
carriage. I watched to see it come and I would say to Ada:
“What’s the matter with that old fairy? I thought you said she’d give me
my wish?”
Ada would answer:
“Oh, fairies are invisible, and no doubt the carriage is right near by,
but you can’t see it.”
“But what’s the use,” I would say, “of a carriage I can’t see?”
“Try it again,” would say Ada. “Perhaps they’ll relent. You probably
offended them, or didn’t do it just right.”
For seven nights more, I would faithfully repeat the formula. Then at
Ada’s suggestion I would hunt in the tall grass at the end of the
garden.
“Perhaps,” Ada would say, “there is a fairy sitting on the edge of a
blade of grass and she has the carriage.”
Then I would lie in the grass and wait for the carriage to become
visible. I never got that doll’s carriage. The fairies never relented.
I dozed for a little while and was awakened by the faint crowing of
cocks, and I thought sleepily of a little pet chicken I used to dress in
baby’s clothes, and I dreamed of a lovely wax doll that Mrs. McAlpin had
given me.
It was queer how, as I lay there, all these little details of my
childhood came up to my mind. I saw that wax doll as plainly as if I had
it in my arms again. My brother Charles had taken a slate pencil and had
made two cruel marks on its sweet face, and had left the house laughing
at my rage and grief. All day long I had nursed my doll, rocking it back
and forth in my arms and sobbing:
“Oh, my doll! Oh, my doll!”
Ada had said:
“Don’t be silly. Dolls don’t feel. But she is disfigured for life, like
smallpox.”
I threw her down. I rushed up to Charles’ room, bent upon avenging her.
Hanging on the wall was a lacrosse stick, the most treasured possession
of my brother. I seized a pair of scissors and I cut the catgut of that
lacrosse. As it snapped, I felt a pain and terror in my heart. I tried
to mend it, but it was ruined.
Ada’s shocked face showed at the door.
“I’m glad!” I cried to her defiantly.
“Poor Charles,” said Ada, “saved up all of his little money to get that
stick, and he did all those extra chores, and he’s the captain of the
Shamrock Lacrosse team. You are a mean, wicked girl, Marion.”
“I tell you I’m glad!” I declared fiercely.
But when Charles came home and saw it, he held that stick to his face
and burst out crying, and Charles never, never cried. I felt like a
murderer, and I cried out:
“Oh, I’m sorry, Charles. Here’s all my pennies. You buy a new one.”
“You devil!” he stormed and lifted up his hand to strike me. I fled
behind papa’s chair, but I wished, oh! how I wished, that Charles would
forgive me.
It all came back to me like a dream, in the train, and I found myself
crying for Charles even as I had cried then.
And again I began to think of Reggie, Reggie who had hurt me so
terribly, Reggie whom I had thought I loved above everybody else in the
world. What was it he had said to me? That I should be his wife without
a ceremony! I sat up in the seat. I felt frozen stiff. I was looking at
the naked truth in the plain light of day. The glamour was gone from my
romance. I was awake to the bare, ugly facts.
The train was moving slowly, and some one said we were nearing Boston. I
shook off all memories of Montreal and an expectant feeling of
excitement came over me. What did this big United States mean to me? I
felt suddenly light and happy and free! Free! That was a beautiful word
that every one used in this “Land of the Free.”
I went into the dressing-room and washed my face and hands and did my
hair fresh. A girl was before the mirror, dabbing powder and rouge over
her face, and she took up all the room so I could not get a glimpse of
myself in the mirror.
“You look as fresh as a daisy,” she said, turning around and looking at
me, “and I guess you’ve had a good night’s rest. I hardly sleep in
those stuffy sleepers, and my fellow’s to meet me so I don’t want to
look a fright.”
I asked if we were near to Boston, and she said we were there now. The
train had come to a standstill.