IV

Meanwhile Elizabeth in her kitchen was busy unearthing divers culinary

crimes in the various cupboards and closets where the stolid Celia

displayed a positive ingenuity in concealing the evidences of her

misdoings. It was not perhaps to be wondered at that the untutored

Norwegian should elect to boil her dish-cloth with the embroidered

doilies from the dining-room; or that the soap should be discovered in a

state of gelatinous collapse in the bottom of the scrubbing pail and the

new cereal cooker burning gaily on the range. But Elizabeth's strained

patience finally snapped in twain at sight of a pile of parti-coloured

bits of china in the bottom of the coal-hod.

"My best salad bowl!" she exclaimed, stooping to examine the grimy

fragments. "When did you break it, Celia?"

The girl was standing at the sink, presenting her broad back like a

solidly built wall against the rising tide of her mistress'

indignation. Her big blond head sank forward over her dish-pan; a

guttural murmur issued from her lips.

"And I have always been so careful of it! It was one of my wedding

presents!" continued Elizabeth, in a fine crescendo. "How did you do

it?"

The girl had turned on both faucets, and the descending torrent of

rushing water drowned the anguished inquiry.

"You know I told you never to touch that bowl. I preferred to wash it

myself. You must have taken it out of the dining-room. Why did you do

it?"

"I no take heem out--naw! I smash heem when I move the side-brood." The

girl's broad magenta-tinted face was turned suddenly upon her mistress.

She appeared excessively pleased with her mastery of the difficult

English tongue. "I scrub ze floor; I s-m-a-s-h heem," she repeated

positively.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Scrubbing was Celia's one distinguished

accomplishment. The spotless floors and table and the shining faucets

and utensils bore evidence to the earnestness of her purpose and the

undeniable strength of her arms.

"You didn't mean to do it, I am sure," she said at last, with a

renunciatory sigh; "but remember in future you must not move the dishes

on the side-board unless I am there to help you."

"I no move heem; I s-m-a-s-h heem."

"Yes, I understand; but don't do it again."

"I no s-m-a-s-h heem 'gain--Naw!" The girl's china blue eyes gazed

guilelessly into the depths of the coal-hod; she lifted them with a

triumphant smile upon her mistress. "I _have_--s-m-ash!"

The trill of the door-bell put an end to this improving conversation;

Elizabeth answered it herself by way of the sitting-room, where she

paused to remove Richard, damp and dripping, from an ecstatic

exploration of the gold-fish tank. The sound of his passionate protest

followed her to the front door and lent a crisp decision to her tones as

she informed a gentleman of an Hebraic cast of countenance that she did

not wish to exchange old shoes of any description for "an elegant

sauce-pan, lady; cost you one dollar in the store. Only one pair shoes,

lady, this grand piece; cost you one dol----"

Elizabeth shut the door firmly upon the glittering temptation and

returned to her youngest born, who was weeping large tears of wrath in

the middle of the sitting-room floor.

"Come up stairs with mother, Richard; your sleeves are all wet,"

exhorted his mother, struggling with a sudden temptation. It would have

been a relief to her feelings to spank him soundly, and she acknowledged

as much to herself.

"Come, dear," she repeated, in a carefully controlled voice. But

Richard's fat legs doubled limply under him; he appeared unable to take

a single step; whereupon his slender mother masterfully picked him up,

despite the mysterious increase in his weight which she had had frequent

occasion to notice in the person of an angry child.

It was useless at the present moment to remind her son of oft-repeated

prohibitions concerning the gold-fish tank. Elizabeth pondered the

question of an appropriate penalty with knit brows, while she washed and

dressed him in dry garments to the accompaniment of his doleful sobs.

"Now, Richard, you must stay in your crib till you can be a good boy and

mind mother," was the somewhat vague sentence of the maternal court at

the conclusion of the necessary rehabilitation, whereupon the infant

howled anew as if under acute bodily torture.

As she turned to pick up the wet clothing a cheerful voice called her to

the top of the stairs. "Shall I come up, dear? Your kitchen divinity

admitted me and told me to walk right in."

"Oh,--Marian; I'll be right down. I've had to dress Dick over again, and

everything's in confusion. Go in the sitting-room, please."

Elizabeth wanted time to collect herself before meeting the cool, amused

eyes of Marian Stanford, whose ideas on the government of children were

so wholly at variance with her own.

"When you are ready to be a good boy, Richard, you may call mother and I

will come up and take you out of your crib," was her parting observation

to the culprit.

"Oh, Elizabeth, dear; I'm afraid I interrupted a little maternal

seance," was Mrs. Stanford's greeting. "No? Well, I'm glad if I haven't.

It does vex me so when someone chances to call just as I am having it

out with one of the infants."

"Richard got his sleeves wet," explained Richard's mother, with what the

other mentally termed "a really funny air of dignity."

Mrs. Stanford's uplifted eyebrows and a flitting glance in the direction

of the gold-fish tank expressed her complete understanding of the

matter.

"I remember you told me your child was fond of fishing," she murmured.

"So like his dear father."

Elizabeth's tense mouth relaxed into a smile. The howls upstairs had

ceased; but she was conscious of waiting for something, she hardly knew

what, to follow.

"Do tell me what you do in a case like this?" pursued Mrs. Stanford

guilefully. "You know I'm perfectly willing to abandon my crude attempts

at training the infant mind the instant you, or anybody, can show me

something more efficient than my beloved butter-paddle. I tell Jim the

B. P. is my best friend these days. It is absolutely the only thing

that intimidates Robert in the slightest degree."

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. "_Intimidates?_" she repeated.

Mrs. Stanford laughed. "Yes; intimidates. My dear, that child is a

terror! I'm at my wit's end with him half the time; and as for

Livingstone, he's going to be worse; I can see that already."

Elizabeth hesitated while the warm colour dyed her cheeks. "You know

what I think about terrifying children into obedience, Marian; and I

know what you think. We really oughtn't to discuss it."

The fine scorn in her eyes suddenly gave place to a look of alarm at

sound of an appalling thump on the floor above. She darted from the room

and up the stairs to the accompaniment of roars of anguish.

Marian Stanford moved her handsome shoulders gently. "She must have put

Richard in his crib and told him to stay there," was her entirely

correct supposition. "Of course he didn't stay put."

Marian Stanford was a graduate of Wellesley, and her mind filled with

fragments of imperfectly acquired science not infrequently chanced upon

a suggestive sequence. She could not resist the temptation to share her

present gleam of enlightenment with dear Elizabeth (who had never been

to college) when she presently returned, bearing Richard in her arms.

The child was still drawing convulsive, half-sobbing breaths, and a

handkerchief wet with witch hazel was laid across his forehead.

"He fell out of his crib, poor darling!" explained Elizabeth.

"I suppose you had told him not to get out?"

Elizabeth eyed her friend speculatively over the top of her baby's curly

head. It was useless to be offended with Marian; she never seemed to be

aware of it.

"You were about to say something enlightening," she observed with

delicate sarcasm. "You may as well out with it."

Mrs. Stanford smiled appreciatively. "You always were a clever creature,

Elizabeth," she drawled; "but had it occurred to you that I would never

have thought of thumping my child as the law of gravitation thumped

yours just now? You wouldn't punish a certain young person for

disobeying because you are so anxious to spare him pain; but I should

say he'd been punished pretty severely--corporal punishment at that!"

"The poor darling fell out of his crib, Marian, and hurt himself. Any

child might do that."

Marian Stanford got to her feet lazily. She was one of those women who

manage to accomplish a great deal of work with the least possible

apparent effort. All her movements were deliberate, even indolent.

Elizabeth envied her sometimes in the midst of her own somewhat

breathless exertions.

"I came over to get your pattern for Carroll's blouse," she said; "not

to discuss the government of children. But we seem to be at it, as

usual. What I meant to convey was commonplace enough; if you had seen

fit to settle the matter of the fish tank with a sound spanking,

administered on the spot, Richard might not--mind I do not say would

not--but he might not have acquired this particular thump at the hands

of Mrs. Be-done-by-as-you-did. It just occurred to me, dear, and you

know I never could keep my thoughts to myself as I should."

Elizabeth arose, deposited her child on the couch and produced a roll of

patterns from a drawer in her desk. "Here is the blouse, Marian," she

said; "you'll need to cut it larger for Robbie; he is so broad in the

shoulders. Be careful about the collar, though, or you'll get it too big

around the neck."

Marian Stanford was weak when it came to sewing. Elizabeth felt herself

again as she saw the puzzled look in her friend's face. "This is the

neck-band," she explained, "and this is the collar. You must be careful

not to stretch the cloth after you have cut it. But you know perfectly

well, Marian, that we _never_ shall think alike about the way to bring

up children. I simply will not whip my children--no matter what they do!

They are not animals to be tortured into submission."

Mrs. Stanford laughed good-humouredly. "I'm afraid mine are," she said.

"But never mind, Betty; we won't quarrel over it; you're too sweetly

useful, and frankly I can't afford to. If I get into a mess over this

blouse I shall come over to be extricated."

Ten minutes later Elizabeth was surprised to hear her husband's rapid

foot in the hall. She ran to meet him with an anxious face.

"Nothing's the matter, dear," he said at once; "that is to say, nothing

alarming. I was over this way to see Biddle & Crofut and ran in to tell

you that Miss Tripp telephoned to the office this morning to inform me

that she'd been called into town a day earlier than she expected to

come, and would I--could I get word to her dearest Elizabeth that she

would be with her this afternoon."

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. "Well," she said resignedly; "Celia is

sweeping the spare room, and I'm making some new curtains out of my old

muslin dress; you'll be surprised to see how well they'll look, Sam. But

I've only a rice pudding for dessert, and----"

"I might order some ice-cream," he suggested, "and some--er----"

A sudden suspicion assailed his Elizabeth; she gazed searchingly at her

husband. "You haven't told me all," she said. "Don't overwhelm me by

saying that Mrs. Tripp is coming too."

He met her inquiring eyes rather shamefacedly. "To tell you the truth,

Betty, Hickey chanced to be in the office at the time the Tripp lady

telephoned, and I--er--recalled what you said last night; so I----"

"You _didn't_ ask Mr. Hickey to dinner to-night, Sam?"

"Why not? Aside from any sentimental considerations George is good

company; and he's very appreciative of a certain little home-maker I

know, and of the dinners he's eaten here in the past."

"But it seems so--sudden!"

He roared with laughter. "'In your mind's eye, Horatio,'" he quoted,

when he had recovered himself somewhat. "You must remember, my dear,

that neither the Tripp lady nor Hickey are aware of your Machiavellian

designs upon their future."

"Mr. Hickey wasn't a part of my _designs_, as you call them," she

reminded him with spirit. "I merely said that I wished poor Evelyn could

find some nice suitable man, and you said----"

"We certainly owe the lady a 'suitable' article of some sort or other,"

he observed, with a reminiscent twinkle in his blue eyes, "if it's

nothing more than a husband, and I'd like you to understand, Betty, that

Hickey is my candidate."

She glanced at her watch with a little shriek of dismay. "We mustn't

waste another minute talking," she said. "Evelyn will be here before I'm

half ready for her."

V

An unlooked for guest, involving new curtains for the guest-room, did

not prevent Elizabeth from the conscientious discharge of her maternal

duties. She resolved for once to play the stern part of Mrs.

Be-done-by-as-you-did.

Richard was playing with his blocks with perfect equanimity, a large

black and blue lump on his forehead marking his recent experience with

the undeviating law of gravitation. He gave utterance to a little yelp

of protest as his mother took him up in her lap with a firm hand.

"You know, Richard," she said solemnly, "that mother has told you ever

so many times that you must not put your hand into the aquarium where

the pretty gold-fish live. Why didn't you mind mother?"

There being a new link established in the chain of associations

connected with the gold-fish, the infant put his fat hand to the lump on

his forehead and gazed unwinkingly at his parent.

"I like to sp'ash water," he announced conclusively. "I like bafs."

Elizabeth reflected that in a rudimentary way her child was endeavouring

to make clear his motives, and even to place them on a praiseworthy

basis. A feeling of pride in the distinguished intelligence of her

children swelled within her; she suppressed it as she went on with an

impressive show of maternal authority.

"Yes, Richard; mother knows you like to take your bath; but we don't

take baths with the gold-fish. Besides, you got your nice clean dress

all wet, and made poor mother a great deal of trouble. Then, when mother

told you to stay in your crib, you disobeyed again and got a dreadful

bump."

The infant appeared to ponder these indubitable statements for a space.

Then he broke into an ingratiating smile. "I was tomin' to tell mudzer I

was a dood boy," he said earnestly. "Zen I bumped my head."

The violet depths of his eyes under their upturned lashes were

altogether adorable; so was his pink mouth, half parted and curved

exquisitely like the petals of a flower. Elizabeth's arms closed round

her treasure; her lips brushed the warm rose of his cheeks.

"Darling!" she murmured, for the moment quite losing sight of the fact

that she was engaged in the difficult task of moral suasion. Elizabeth

was almost guiltily open to the appeal of infantile beauty as opposed to

the stern demands of discipline. The sight of a dimple, appearing and

disappearing in a soft cheek, the quiver of baby lips; the irresistible

twinkle of dawning humour in baby eyes were enough to distract her mind

from any number of infantile peccadillos, and it is to be feared that

the exceedingly intelligent Brewster children had become aware of it.

"I am a dood boy," repeated Richard, with a bewitching glance at his

parent. Then his chin quivered pathetically and he raised his hand to

his head and peered out from under his pink palm. "I bumped my head on

ze floor."

Elizabeth hardened her heart against these multiplied fascinations. "You

disobeyed mother twice," she said sternly. "I shall have to do something

to make you remember not to touch the gold-fish again."

She looked about her somewhat uncertainly as if in search of a suitable

yet entirely safe idea. "I think," she said solemnly, "that I shall tie

you to the arm of this big chair for--_ten minutes_!"

The corners of Richard's pink mouth suddenly drooped as this terrible

sentence of the maternal court was pronounced.

"I am a dood boy, mudzer," he quavered. "I bumped my head on ze floor

an' I cwied!"

Two dimpled arms were thrown about Elizabeth's neck and a curly head

burrowed passionately into her bosom. "I love 'oo, mudzer; I am a dood

boy!"

"I know you mean to be good, darling!" exclaimed Elizabeth, her heart

melting within her; "but you do forget so often. Mother wants to help

you to remember."

But the intelligent infant had given himself up to an unpremeditated

luxury of grief, and Elizabeth found herself in the unexpected position

of a suppliant consoler. She begged her child to stop crying; she kissed

the black and blue spot on his forehead and soothed him with soft

murmurs and gentle caresses, and when finally he had sobbed himself to

sleep in her arms, she bestowed the moist rosy little bundle on the

couch, covering him warmly; then, with a parting pat and cuddle, sat

down to her belated work on the spare-room curtains, feeling that she

had been very severe indeed with her youngest child.

Richard was still rosily asleep and Elizabeth was hurriedly attaching

the ruffles to one of the improvised curtains when Celia, with two

buttons off her frock in the back and a broad streak of stove-blacking

across her honest red face, announced "one nize lady."

Elizabeth sprang to her feet in sudden consternation at sight of the

small square of white pasteboard with which Celia prefaced her

announcement.

Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser was a distant relative of Samuel Brewster's,

and it pleased her to be kind, in an imposing and majestic

manner--entirely suited to her own imposing and majestic person--to his

"little family," as she invariably termed it. Elizabeth had assured her

husband on more than one occasion that she did not feel the least

embarrassment in that august presence; but her heart still flew to her

mouth at sight of the entirely correct equipage from Beacon Street, and

she always found herself drawing a long breath of unconfessed relief

when it rolled away after one of Mrs. Van Duser's infrequent visits.

When presently Mrs. Van Duser, large, bland and encased in broadcloth

and sables, entered, she bestowed a gracious kiss upon Elizabeth's

cheek, and seated herself in a straight-backed chair with the effect of

a magistrate about to administer justice.

"I trust you received the little brochure I mailed you last week," was

her initial remark, accompanied by a searching glance at Elizabeth's

agitated face. "I refer to 'Anthropological investigations on one

thousand children, white and coloured.' I looked it over most carefully

and marked the passages I deemed particularly helpful and suggestive."

"Thank you, Mrs. Van Duser," faltered Elizabeth, "I did get the book,

and I--was intending to write to you to-day to thank you for it."

"Have you read it?" inquired Mrs. Van Duser pointedly.

"I--looked it over, and--it appeared very----"

Mrs. Van Duser's steadfast gaze appeared to demand the truth, the whole

truth and nothing but the truth. Elizabeth's eyes fell before it. "It

was very good of you to--to think of me," she said.

"I think of you not infrequently," was the lady's gracious rejoinder,

"and more particularly of your children, who are, of course, distantly

related to myself. I cannot urge too strongly, or too often, the need of

a scientific study of infancy and childhood as causally related to the

proper functional development of your offspring."

"I am sure it is most kind of you," murmured Elizabeth, striving to

kindle an appreciative glow. "But--I have so little time."

"You have all the time there is, my dear Elizabeth," chanted Mrs. Van

Duser, in her justly celebrated platform tone; "and you should strive

above all things to distinguish what is significant and essential from

what is trivial and accidental." Her voice sank to a heart-searching

contralto, as she added, "I have observed that you have time to sew

trimming on your child's frock. What is trimming as compared with the

demands of the springing intellect?"

Elizabeth blushed guiltily and murmured something unintelligible.

"Did you study the passages marked in 'Nascent Stages and their

Significance,' which I sent you the week before?--particularly those on

'The feelings and their expression'?" asked Mrs. Van Duser, after a

weighty pause.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. "I--found it not altogether easy to

understand," she said guilefully.

"For an untrained mind--no," agreed Mrs. Van Duser blandly. "I feared as

much, and I have come this morning because I wished to go over with you

somewhat exhaustively the points mentioned by the author, in order to

compare them with your own more practical experience. I am about to

present a paper before the Ontological Club on 'The Emotive States as

factors in the education of The Child,' which I feel sure should prove

invaluable to all thoughtful parents. I had intended," she added, with a

mordant emphasis on the past tense of the verb, "to dedicate the

brochure to you upon publication."

At this point in the conversation, and before Elizabeth had time to

express her blended contrition, gratitude and appreciation, two

hurriedly slammed doors and the clatter of small feet in the passage

announced the return of the children from school.

Mrs. Van Duser's severe expression relaxed perceptibly. "How very

fortunate," she observed. "I was hoping for an opportunity of studying

certain phenomena at first hand. You know, my dear, I so seldom see

children."

Elizabeth's tender heart was touched by the unconscious wistfulness in

the older woman's eyes. But she sighed at sight of the gilt-edged

memorandum book in the hands of her guest. She was familiar with the

exhaustive methods employed by Mrs. Van Duser in the pursuit of

knowledge.

"You will not, I hope, interrupt any normal procedure," that lady was

saying in a sprightly tone, calculated to restore the depressed spirits

of the younger matron to their usual level. "I should like--if I may--to

observe the children at their luncheon, since the sense stimuli

connected with the taking of food is exceedingly instructive as related

to the cosmic consciousness."

"I shall be very happy to have you lunch with us," faltered Elizabeth,

her thoughts busying themselves with a futile review of the contents of

her larder. Then the door flew open and Carroll and Doris dashed in,

breathless and eager, to precipitate their small persons upon their

mother's lap.

"I was a _nawful_ good girl in kindergarten, mother!" announced Doris,

dancing with impatience, "an' I didn't get run over, or anythin'. When

can I go to the store an' spend all my money, mother? _When?_ Can I go

_now_?"

"Doris, dear; don't you see Mrs. Van Duser? and Carroll----"

But the boy had already advanced politely, and was standing before the

magisterial presence with a funny little air of resignation to the

inevitable which forced a smile to his mother's serious lips.

"Can you tell me, my boy, why you experience pleasure at the sight of

your mother?" demanded Mrs. Van Duser, gazing searchingly at the child

through her gold-mounted lorgnettes.

"I--like my mother, better'n any body else," replied the boy, with a

worried pucker of his smooth forehead.

"_Like?_" echoed his inquisitor, looking up from a hurriedly pencilled

note. "And what, pray, do you mean by 'like'?"

"I mean I--love her, because she's the bestest person I know."

"Is it because she gives you food when you are hungry that you love your

parent? Or can you give me another reason?" continued Mrs. Van Duser,

ignoring the comprehensive statement advanced by the boy.

Carroll glanced doubtfully after his mother, as she hastily withdrew to

look after the luncheon table.

"I--don't know," he stammered. "I guess I like her when I'm hungry just

the same."

"C., aged eight years, unable to enumerate reasons for fondness of

parent," wrote Mrs. Van Duser, with every appearance of satisfaction.

"The reasoning faculties apparently dormant at this age."

"What are you most afraid of?" was her next question, accompanied by an

ingratiating smile, calculated to disarm youthful timidity.

At this moment Richard, who had been peacefully asleep on the sofa,

awoke, and becoming slowly aware of the majestic presence at his side,

set up a doleful cry.

Whereupon Mrs. Van Duser noted neatly that "an unexpected visual

impression evidently caused anxiety, without any assignable reason, in

the normal infant R."

And when the normal infant scrambled down from the couch and retreated

kitchenward under the careful supervision of his older brother, she

observed further that "the dawning of the paternal instinct of

protection was observable in the child C."