WHEREIN ELNORA HAS MORE FINANCIAL TROUBLES, AND MRS. COMSTOCK AGAIN
HEARS THE SONG OF THE LIMBERLOST
The following night Elnora hurried to Sintons’. She threw open the back
door and with anxious eyes searched Margaret’s face.
“You got it!” panted Elnora. “You got it! I can see by your face that
you did. Oh, give it to me!”
“Yes, I got it, honey, I got it all right, but don’t be so fast. It had
been kept in such a damp place it needed glueing, it had to have
strings, and a key was gone. I knew how much you wanted it, so I sent
Wesley right to town with it. They said they could fix it good as new,
but it should be varnished, and that it would take several days for the
glue to set. You can have it Saturday.”
“You found it where you thought it was? You know it’s his?”
“Yes, it was just where I thought, and it’s the same violin I’ve seen
him play hundreds of times. It’s all right, only laying so long it
needs fixing.”
“Oh Aunt Margaret! Can I ever wait?”
“It does seem a long time, but how could I help it? You couldn’t do
anything with it as it was. You see, it had been hidden away in a
garret, and it needed cleaning and drying to make it fit to play again.
You can have it Saturday sure. But Elnora, you’ve got to promise me
that you will leave it here, or in town, and not let your mother get a
hint of it. I don’t know what she’d do.”
“Uncle Wesley can bring it here until Monday. Then I will take it to
school so that I can practise at noon. Oh, I don’t know how to thank
you. And there’s more than the violin for which to be thankful. You’ve
given me my father. Last night I saw him plainly as life.”
“Elnora you were dreaming!”
“I know I was dreaming, but I saw him. I saw him so closely that a tiny
white scar at the corner of his eyebrow showed. I was just reaching out
to touch him when he disappeared.”
“Who told you there was a scar on his forehead?”
“No one ever did in all my life. I saw it last night as he went down.
And oh, Aunt Margaret! I saw what she did, and I heard his cries! No
matter what she does, I don’t believe I ever can be angry with her
again. Her heart is broken, and she can’t help it. Oh, it was terrible,
but I am glad I saw it. Now, I will always understand.”
“I don’t know what to make of that,” said Margaret. “I don’t believe in
such stuff at all, but you couldn’t make it up, for you didn’t know.”
“I only know that I played the violin last night, as he played it, and
while I played he came through the woods from the direction of
Carneys’. It was summer and all the flowers were in bloom. He wore gray
trousers and a blue shirt, his head was bare, and his face was
beautiful. I could almost touch him when he sank.”
Margaret stood perplexed. “I don’t know what to think of that!” she
ejaculated. “I was next to the last person who saw him before he was
drowned. It was late on a June afternoon, and he was dressed as you
describe. He was bareheaded because he had found a quail’s nest before
the bird began to brood, and he gathered the eggs in his hat and left
it in a fence corner to get on his way home; they found it afterward.”
“Was he coming from Carneys’?”
“He was on that side of the quagmire. Why he ever skirted it so close
as to get caught is a mystery you will have to dream out. I never could
understand it.”
“Was he doing something he didn’t want my mother to know?”
“Why?”
“Because if he had been, he might have cut close the swamp so he
couldn’t be seen from the garden. You know, the whole path straight to
the pool where he sank can be seen from our back door. It’s firm on our
side. The danger is on the north and east. If he didn’t want mother to
know, he might have tried to pass on either of those sides and gone too
close. Was he in a hurry?”
“Yes, he was,” said Margaret. “He had been away longer than he
expected, and he almost ran when he started home.”
“And he’d left his violin somewhere that you knew, and you went and got
it. I’ll wager he was going to play, and didn’t want mother to find it
out!”
“It wouldn’t make any difference to you if you knew every little thing,
so quit thinking about it, and just be glad you are to have what he
loved best of anything.”
“That’s true. Now I must hurry home. I am dreadfully late.”
Elnora sprang up and ran down the road, but when she approached the
cabin she climbed the fence, crossed the open woods pasture diagonally
and entered at the back garden gate. As she often came that way when
she had been looking for cocoons her mother asked no questions.
Elnora lived by the minute until Saturday, when, contrary to his usual
custom, Wesley went to town in the forenoon, taking her along to buy
some groceries. Wesley drove straight to the music store, and asked for
the violin he had left to be mended.
In its new coat of varnish, with new keys and strings, it seemed much
like any other violin to Sinton, but to Elnora it was the most
beautiful instrument ever made, and a priceless treasure. She held it
in her arms, touched the strings softly and then she drew the bow
across them in whispering measure. She had no time to think what a
remarkably good bow it was for sixteen years’ disuse. The tan leather
case might have impressed her as being in fine condition also, had she
been in a state to question anything. She did remember to ask for the
bill and she was gravely presented with a slip calling for four
strings, one key, and a coat of varnish, total, one dollar fifty. It
seemed to Elnora she never could put the precious instrument in the
case and start home. Wesley left her in the music store where the
proprietor showed her all he could about tuning, and gave her several
beginners’ sheets of notes and scales. She carried the violin in her
arms as far as the crossroads at the corner of their land, then
reluctantly put it under the carriage seat.
As soon as her work was done she ran down to Sintons’ and began to
play, and on Monday the violin went to school with her. She made
arrangements with the superintendent to leave it in his office and
scarcely took time for her food at noon, she was so eager to practise.
Often one of the girls asked her to stay in town all night for some
lecture or entertainment. She could take the violin with her, practise,
and secure help. Her skill was so great that the leader of the
orchestra offered to give her lessons if she would play to pay for
them, so her progress was rapid in technical work. But from the first
day the instrument became hers, with perfect faith that she could play
as her father did, she spent half her practice time in imitating the
sounds of all outdoors and improvising the songs her happy heart sang
in those days.
So the first year went, and the second and third were a repetition; but
the fourth was different, for that was the close of the course, ending
with graduation and all its attendant ceremonies and expenses. To
Elnora these appeared mountain high. She had hoarded every cent,
thinking twice before she parted with a penny, but teaching natural
history in the grades had taken time from her studies in school which
must be made up outside. She was a conscientious student, ranking first
in most of her classes, and standing high in all branches. Her interest
in her violin had grown with the years. She went to school early and
practised half an hour in the little room adjoining the stage, while
the orchestra gathered. She put in a full hour at noon, and remained
another half hour at night. She carried the violin to Sintons’ on
Saturday and practised all the time she could there, while Margaret
watched the road to see that Mrs. Comstock was not coming. She had
become so skilful that it was a delight to hear her play music of any
composer, but when she played her own, that was joy inexpressible, for
then the wind blew, the water rippled, the Limberlost sang her songs of
sunshine, shadow, black storm, and white night.
Since her dream Elnora had regarded her mother with peculiar
tenderness. The girl realized, in a measure, what had happened. She
avoided anything that possibly could stir bitter memories or draw
deeper a line on the hard, white face. This cost many sacrifices, much
work, and sometimes delayed progress, but the horror of that awful
dream remained with Elnora. She worked her way cheerfully, doing all
she could to interest her mother in things that happened in school, in
the city, and by carrying books that were entertaining from the public
library.
Three years had changed Elnora from the girl of sixteen to the very
verge of womanhood. She had grown tall, round, and her face had the
loveliness of perfect complexion, beautiful eyes and hair and an added
touch from within that might have been called comprehension. It was a
compound of self-reliance, hard knocks, heart hunger, unceasing work,
and generosity. There was no form of suffering with which the girl
could not sympathize, no work she was afraid to attempt, no subject she
had investigated she did not understand. These things combined to
produce a breadth and depth of character altogether unusual. She was so
absorbed in her classes and her music that she had not been able to
gather many specimens. When she realized this and hunted assiduously,
she soon found that changing natural conditions had affected such work.
Men all around were clearing available land. The trees fell wherever
corn would grow. The swamp was broken by several gravel roads, dotted
in places around the edge with little frame houses, and the machinery
of oil wells; one especially low place around the region of Freckles’s
room was nearly all that remained of the original. Wherever the trees
fell the moisture dried, the creeks ceased to flow, the river ran low,
and at times the bed was dry. With unbroken sweep the winds of the west
came, gathering force with every mile and howled and raved; threatening
to tear the shingles from the roof, blowing the surface from the soil
in clouds of fine dust and rapidly changing everything. From coming in
with two or three dozen rare moths in a day, in three years’ time
Elnora had grown to be delighted with finding two or three. Big pursy
caterpillars could not be picked from their favourite bushes, when
there were no bushes. Dragonflies would not hover over dry places, and
butterflies became scarce in proportion to the flowers, while no land
yields over three crops of Indian relics.
All the time the expense of books, clothing and incidentals had
continued. Elnora added to her bank account whenever she could, and
drew out when she was compelled, but she omitted the important feature
of calling for a balance. So, one early spring morning in the last
quarter of the fourth year, she almost fainted when she learned that
her funds were gone. Commencement with its extra expense was coming,
she had no money, and very few cocoons to open in June, which would be
too late. She had one collection for the Bird Woman complete to a pair
of Imperialis moths, and that was her only asset. On the day she added
these big Yellow Emperors she had been promised a check for three
hundred dollars, but she would not get it until these specimens were
secured. She remembered that she never had found an Emperor before
June.
Moreover, that sum was for her first year in college. Then she would be
of age, and she meant to sell enough of her share of her father’s land
to finish. She knew her mother would oppose her bitterly in that, for
Mrs. Comstock had clung to every acre and tree that belonged to her
husband. Her land was almost complete forest where her neighbours owned
cleared farms, dotted with wells that every hour sucked oil from
beneath her holdings, but she was too absorbed in the grief she nursed
to know or care. The Brushwood road and the redredging of the big
Limberlost ditch had been more than she could pay from her income, and
she had trembled before the wicket as she asked the banker if she had
funds to pay it, and wondered why he laughed when he assured her she
had. For Mrs. Comstock had spent no time on compounding interest, and
never added the sums she had been depositing through nearly twenty
years. Now she thought her funds were almost gone, and every day she
worried over expenses. She could see no reason in going through the
forms of graduation when pupils had all in their heads that was
required to graduate. Elnora knew she had to have her diploma in order
to enter the college she wanted to attend, but she did not dare utter
the word, until high school was finished, for, instead of softening as
she hoped her mother had begun to do, she seemed to remain very much
the same.
When the girl reached the swamp she sat on a log and thought over the
expense she was compelled to meet. Every member of her particular set
was having a large photograph taken to exchange with the others. Elnora
loved these girls and boys, and to say she could not have their
pictures to keep was more than she could endure. Each one would give to
all the others a handsome graduation present. She knew they would
prepare gifts for her whether she could make a present in return or
not. Then it was the custom for each graduating class to give a great
entertainment and use the funds to present the school with a statue for
the entrance hall. Elnora had been cast for and was practising a part
in that performance. She was expected to furnish her dress and personal
necessities. She had been told that she must have a green gauze dress,
and where was it to come from?
Every girl of the class would have three beautiful new frocks for
Commencement: one for the baccalaureate sermon, another, which could be
plain, for graduation exercises, and a handsome one for the banquet and
ball. Elnora faced the past three years and wondered how she could have
spent so much money and not kept account of it. She did not realize
where it had gone. She did not know what she could do now. She thought
over the photographs, and at last settled that question to her
satisfaction. She studied longer over the gifts, ten handsome ones
there must be, and at last decided she could arrange for them. The
green dress came first. The lights would be dim in the scene, and the
setting deep woods. She could manage that. She simply could not have
three dresses. She would have to get a very simple one for the sermon
and do the best she could for graduation. Whatever she got for that
must be made with a guimpe that could be taken out to make it a little
more festive for the ball. But where could she get even two pretty
dresses?
The only hope she could see was to break into the collection of the man
from India, sell some moths, and try to replace them in June. But in
her soul she knew that never would do. No June ever brought just the
things she hoped it would. If she spent the college money she knew she
could not replace it. If she did not, the only way was to secure a room
in the grades and teach a year. Her work there had been so appreciated
that Elnora felt with the recommendation she knew she could get from
the superintendent and teachers she could secure a position. She was
sure she could pass the examinations easily. She had once gone on
Saturday, taken them and secured a license for a year before she left
the Brushwood school.
She wanted to start to college when the other girls were going. If she
could make the first year alone, she could manage the remainder. But
make that first year herself, she must. Instead of selling any of her
collection, she must hunt as she never before had hunted and find a
Yellow Emperor. She had to have it, that was all. Also, she had to have
those dresses. She thought of Wesley and dismissed it. She thought of
the Bird Woman, and knew she could not tell her. She thought of every
way in which she ever had hoped to earn money and realized that with
the play, committee meetings, practising, and final examinations she
scarcely had time to live, much less to do more than the work required
for her pictures and gifts. Again Elnora was in trouble, and this time
it seemed the worst of all.
It was dark when she arose and went home.
“Mother,” she said, “I have a piece of news that is decidedly not
cheerful.”
“Then keep it to yourself!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I think I have enough
to bear without a great girl like you piling trouble on me.”
“My money is all gone!” said Elnora.
“Well, did you think it would last forever? It’s been a marvel to me
that it’s held out as well as it has, the way you’ve dressed and gone.”
“I don’t think I’ve spent any that I was not compelled to,” said
Elnora. “I’ve dressed on just as little as I possibly could to keep
going. I am heartsick. I thought I had over fifty dollars to put me
through Commencement, but they tell me it is all gone.”
“Fifty dollars! To put you through Commencement! What on earth are you
proposing to do?”
“The same as the rest of them, in the very cheapest way possible.”
“And what might that be?”
Elnora omitted the photographs, the gifts and the play. She told only
of the sermon, graduation exercises, and the ball.
“Well, I wouldn’t trouble myself over that,” sniffed Mrs. Comstock. “If
you want to go to a sermon, put on the dress you always use for
meeting. If you need white for the exercises wear the new dress you got
last spring. As for the ball, the best thing for you to do is to stay a
mile away from such folly. In my opinion you’d best bring home your
books, and quit right now. You can’t be fixed like the rest of them,
don’t be so foolish as to run into it. Just stay here and let these
last few days go. You can’t learn enough more to be of any account.”
“But, mother,” gasped Elnora. “You don’t understand!”
“Oh, yes, I do!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I understand perfectly. So long
as the money lasted, you held up your head, and went sailing without
even explaining how you got it from the stuff you gathered. Goodness
knows I couldn’t see. But now it’s gone, you come whining to me. What
have I got? Have you forgot that the ditch and the road completely
strapped me? I haven’t any money. There’s nothing for you to do but get
out of it.”
“I can’t!” said Elnora desperately. “I’ve gone on too long. It would
make a break in everything. They wouldn’t let me have my diploma!”
“What’s the difference? You’ve got the stuff in your head. I wouldn’t
give a rap for a scrap of paper. That don’t mean anything!”
“But I’ve worked four years for it, and I can’t enter—I ought to have
it to help me get a school, when I want to teach. If I don’t have my
grades to show, people will think I quit because I couldn’t pass my
examinations. I must have my diploma!”
“Then get it!” said Mrs. Comstock.
“The only way is to graduate with the others.”
“Well, graduate if you are bound to!”
“But I can’t, unless I have things enough like the class, that I don’t
look as I did that first day.”
“Well, please remember I didn’t get you into this, and I can’t get you
out. You are set on having your own way. Go on, and have it, and see
how you like it!”
Elnora went upstairs and did not come down again that night, which her
mother called pouting.
“I’ve thought all night,” said the girl at breakfast, “and I can’t see
any way but to borrow the money of Uncle Wesley and pay it back from
some that the Bird Woman will owe me, when I get one more specimen. But
that means that I can’t go to—that I will have to teach this winter, if
I can get a city grade or a country school.”
“Just you dare go dinging after Wesley Sinton for money,” cried Mrs.
Comstock. “You won’t do any such a thing!”
“I can’t see any other way. I’ve got to have the money!”
“Quit, I tell you!”
“I can’t quit!—I’ve gone too far!”
“Well then, let me get your clothes, and you can pay me back.”
“But you said you had no money!”
“Maybe I can borrow some at the bank. Then you can return it when the
Bird Woman pays you.”
“All right,” said Elnora. “I don’t need expensive things. Just some
kind of a pretty cheap white dress for the sermon, and a white one a
little better than I had last summer, for Commencement and the ball. I
can use the white gloves and shoes I got myself for last year, and you
can get my dress made at the same place you did that one. They have my
measurements, and do perfect work. Don’t get expensive things. It will
be warm so I can go bareheaded.”
Then she started to school, but was so tired and discouraged she
scarcely could walk. Four years’ plans going in one day! For she felt
that if she did not start to college that fall she never would. Instead
of feeling relieved at her mother’s offer, she was almost too ill to go
on. For the thousandth time she groaned: “Oh, why didn’t I keep account
of my money?”
After that the days passed so swiftly she scarcely had time to think,
but several trips her mother made to town, and the assurance that
everything was all right, satisfied Elnora. She worked very hard to
pass good final examinations and perfect herself for the play. For two
days she had remained in town with the Bird Woman in order to spend
more time practising and at her work.
Often Margaret had asked about her dresses for graduation, and Elnora
had replied that they were with a woman in the city who had made her a
white dress for last year’s Commencement when she was a junior usher,
and they would be all right. So Margaret, Wesley, and Billy concerned
themselves over what they would give her for a present. Margaret
suggested a beautiful dress. Wesley said that would look to every one
as if she needed dresses. The thing was to get a handsome gift like all
the others would have. Billy wanted to present her a five-dollar gold
piece to buy music for her violin. He was positive Elnora would like
that best of anything.
It was toward the close of the term when they drove to town one evening
to try to settle this important question. They knew Mrs. Comstock had
been alone several days, so they asked her to accompany them. She had
been more lonely than she would admit, filled with unusual unrest
besides, and so she was glad to go. But before they had driven a mile
Billy had told that they were going to buy Elnora a graduation present,
and Mrs. Comstock devoutly wished that she had remained at home. She
was prepared when Billy asked: “Aunt Kate, what are you going to give
Elnora when she graduates?”
“Plenty to eat, a good bed to sleep in, and do all the work while she
trollops,” answered Mrs. Comstock dryly.
Billy reflected. “I guess all of them have that,” he said. “I mean a
present you buy at the store, like Christmas?”
“It is only rich folks who buy presents at stores,” replied Mrs.
Comstock. “I can’t afford it.”
“Well, we ain’t rich,” he said, “but we are going to buy Elnora
something as fine as the rest of them have if we sell a corner of the
farm. Uncle Wesley said so.”
“A fool and his land are soon parted,” said Mrs. Comstock tersely.
Wesley and Billy laughed, but Margaret did not enjoy the remark.
While they were searching the stores for something on which all of them
could decide, and Margaret was holding Billy to keep him from saying
anything before Mrs. Comstock about the music on which he was
determined, Mr. Brownlee met Wesley and stopped to shake hands.
“I see your boy came out finely,” he said.
“I don’t allow any boy anywhere to be finer than Billy,” said Wesley.
“I guess you don’t allow any girl to surpass Elnora,” said Mr.
Brownlee. “She comes home with Ellen often, and my wife and I love her.
Ellen says she is great in her part to-night. Best thing in the whole
play! Of course, you are in to see it! If you haven’t reserved seats,
you’d better start pretty soon, for the high school auditorium only
seats a thousand. It’s always jammed at these home-talent plays. All of
us want to see how our children perform.”
“Why yes, of course,” said the bewildered Wesley. Then he hurried to
Margaret. “Say,” he said, “there is going to be a play at the high
school to-night; and Elnora is in it. Why hasn’t she told us?”
“I don’t know,” said Margaret, “but I’m going.”
“So am I,” said Billy.
“Me too!” said Wesley, “unless you think for some reason she doesn’t
want us. Looks like she would have told us if she had. I’m going to ask
her mother.”
“Yes, that’s what’s she’s been staying in town for,” said Mrs.
Comstock. “It’s some sort of a swindle to raise money for her class to
buy some silly thing to stick up in the school house hall to remember
them by. I don’t know whether it’s now or next week, but there’s
something of the kind to be done.”
“Well, it’s to-night,” said Wesley, “and we are going. It’s my treat,
and we’ve got to hurry or we won’t get in. There are reserved seats,
and we have none, so it’s the gallery for us, but I don’t care so I get
to take one good peep at Elnora.”
“S’pose she plays?” whispered Margaret in his ear.
“Aw, tush! She couldn’t!” said Wesley.
“Well, she’s been doing it three years in the orchestra, and working
like a slave at it.”
“Oh, well that’s different. She’s in the play to-night. Brownlee told
me so. Come on, quick! We’ll drive and hitch closest place we can find
to the building.”
Margaret went in the excitement of the moment, but she was troubled.
When they reached the building Wesley tied the team to a railing and
Billy sprang out to help Margaret. Mrs. Comstock sat still.
“Come on, Kate,” said Wesley, reaching his hand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Mrs. Comstock, settling comfortably back
against the cushions.
All of them begged and pleaded, but it was no use. Not an inch would
Mrs. Comstock budge. The night was warm and the carriage comfortable,
the horses were securely hitched. She did not care to see what idiotic
thing a pack of school children were doing, she would wait until the
Sintons returned. Wesley told her it might be two hours, and she said
she did not care if it were four, so they left her.
“Did you ever see such——?”
“Cookies!” cried Billy.
“Such blamed stubbornness in all your life?” demanded Wesley. “Won’t
come to see as fine a girl as Elnora in a stage performance. Why, I
wouldn’t miss it for fifty dollars!
“I think it’s a blessing she didn’t,” said Margaret placidly. “I begged
unusually hard so she wouldn’t. I’m scared of my life for fear Elnora
will play.”
They found seats near the door where they could see fairly well. Billy
stood at the back of the hall and had a good view. By and by, a great
volume of sound welled from the orchestra, but Elnora was not playing.
“Told you so!” said Sinton. “Got a notion to go out and see if Kate
won’t come now. She can take my seat, and I’ll stand with Billy.”
“You sit still!” said Margaret emphatically. “This is not over yet.”
So Wesley remained in his seat. The play opened and progressed very
much as all high school plays have gone for the past fifty years. But
Elnora did not appear in any of the scenes.
Out in the warm summer night a sour, grim woman nursed an aching heart
and tried to justify herself. The effort irritated her intensely. She
felt that she could not afford the things that were being done. The old
fear of losing the land that she and Robert Comstock had purchased and
started clearing was strong upon her. She was thinking of him, how she
needed him, when the orchestra music poured from the open windows near
her. Mrs. Comstock endured it as long as she could, and then slipped
from the carriage and fled down the street.
She did not know how far she went or how long she stayed, but
everything was still, save an occasional raised voice when she wandered
back. She stood looking at the building. Slowly she entered the wide
gates and followed up the walk. Elnora had been coming here for almost
four years. When Mrs. Comstock reached the door she looked inside. The
wide hall was lighted with electricity, and the statuary and the
decorations of the walls did not seem like pieces of foolishness. The
marble appeared pure, white, and the big pictures most interesting. She
walked the length of the hall and slowly read the titles of the statues
and the names of the pupils who had donated them. She speculated on
where the piece Elnora’s class would buy could be placed to advantage.
Then she wondered if they were having a large enough audience to buy
marble. She liked it better than the bronze, but it looked as if it
cost more. How white the broad stairway was! Elnora had been climbing
those stairs for years and never told her they were marble. Of course,
she thought they were wood. Probably the upper hall was even grander
than this. She went over to the fountain, took a drink, climbed to the
first landing and looked around her, and then without thought to the
second. There she came opposite the wide-open doors and the entrance to
the auditorium packed with people and a crowd standing outside. When
they noticed a tall woman with white face and hair and black dress, one
by one they stepped a little aside, so that Mrs. Comstock could see the
stage. It was covered with curtains, and no one was doing anything.
Just as she turned to go a sound so faint that every one leaned forward
and listened, drifted down the auditorium. It was difficult to tell
just what it was; after one instant half the audience looked toward the
windows, for it seemed only a breath of wind rustling freshly opened
leaves; merely a hint of stirring air.
Then the curtains were swept aside swiftly. The stage had been
transformed into a lovely little corner of creation, where trees and
flowers grew and moss carpeted the earth. A soft wind blew and it was
the gray of dawn. Suddenly a robin began to sing, then a song sparrow
joined him, and then several orioles began talking at once. The light
grew stronger, the dew drops trembled, flower perfume began to creep
out to the audience; the air moved the branches gently and a rooster
crowed. Then all the scene was shaken with a babel of bird notes in
which you could hear a cardinal whistling, and a blue finch piping.
Back somewhere among the high branches a dove cooed and then a horse
neighed shrilly. That set a blackbird crying, “T’check,” and a whole
flock answered it. The crows began to caw and a lamb bleated. Then the
grosbeaks, chats, and vireos had something to say, and the sun rose
higher, the light grew stronger and the breeze rustled the treetops
loudly; a cow bawled and the whole barnyard answered. The guineas were
clucking, the turkey gobbler strutting, the hens calling, the chickens
cheeping, the light streamed down straight overhead and the bees began
to hum. The air stirred strongly, and away in an unseen field a reaper
clacked and rattled through ripening wheat while the driver whistled.
An uneasy mare whickered to her colt, the colt answered, and the light
began to decline. Miles away a rooster crowed for twilight, and dusk
was coming down. Then a catbird and a brown thrush sang against a
grosbeak and a hermit thrush. The air was tremulous with heavenly
notes, the lights went out in the hall, dusk swept across the stage, a
cricket sang and a katydid answered, and a wood pewee wrung the heart
with its lonesome cry. Then a night hawk screamed, a whip-poor-will
complained, a belated killdeer swept the sky, and the night wind sang a
louder song. A little screech owl tuned up in the distance, a barn owl
replied, and a great horned owl drowned both their voices. The moon
shone and the scene was warm with mellow light. The bird voices died
and soft exquisite melody began to swell and roll. In the centre of the
stage, piece by piece the grasses, mosses and leaves dropped from an
embankment, the foliage softly blew away, while plainer and plainer
came the outlines of a lovely girl figure draped in soft clinging
green. In her shower of bright hair a few green leaves and white
blossoms clung, and they fell over her robe down to her feet. Her white
throat and arms were bare, she leaned forward a little and swayed with
the melody, her eyes fast on the clouds above her, her lips parted, a
pink tinge of exercise in her cheeks as she drew her bow. She played as
only a peculiar chain of circumstances puts it in the power of a very
few to play. All nature had grown still, the violin sobbed, sang,
danced and quavered on alone, no voice in particular; the soul of the
melody of all nature combined in one great outpouring.
At the doorway, a white-faced woman endured it as long as she could and
then fell senseless. The men nearest carried her down the hall to the
fountain, revived her, and then placed her in the carriage to which she
directed them. The girl played on and never knew. When she finished,
the uproar of applause sounded a block down the street, but the
half-senseless woman scarcely realized what it meant. Then the girl
came to the front of the stage, bowed, and lifting the violin she
played her conception of an invitation to dance. Every living soul
within sound of her notes strained their nerves to sit still and let
only their hearts dance with her. When that began the woman ran toward
the country. She never stopped until the carriage overtook her half-way
to her cabin. She said she had grown tired of sitting, and walked on
ahead. That night she asked Billy to remain with her and sleep on
Elnora’s bed. Then she pitched headlong upon her own, and suffered
agony of soul such as she never before had known. The swamp had sent
back the soul of her loved dead and put it into the body of the
daughter she resented, and it was almost more than she could endure and
live.