ANOTHER PATH
As Lassie closed the door, Alva moved to her favorite post by the window
and stood there looking out; the young girl looked anxiously towards her
friend. "What happens to those people doesn't really matter to us, does
it?" she asked after a minute, some atmosphere of trouble permeating
her.
"Everything matters, dear."
"But, Alva, you hardly know them, and they _are_ common."
"Perhaps so, dear, but that room,--two weeks in that room with nothing,
no comforts such as we think absolutely essential--oh, it makes me feel
terribly. Life is such a puzzle. Ledge seemed such a simple-hearted,
secluded little nook,--and first I ran into the big, soul-wringing
problem of the dam, and now here are these two lives. Lassie, whatever
else they may or may not be, they are human. It can't be joy to live
like that. There must be some reason for their doing as they do, and I
can see no reason except the one the girl told me."
Lassie began to wash and brush for dinner; Alva continued to stand at
the window.
"That was the first time that I ever went into a room where I was
possibly not wanted," she continued, presently. "It seemed so strange.
And such a room, too. Oh, it all has made me fairly heart-sick. I
wonder what the end is to be. As I say so often, there are no accidents,
no chance happenings in life; if anything enters within my circle, there
is a reason for it. Either they are to do for me, or I am to do for
them, and I wish I knew which it were to be. I am so sorry for them!"
"Then you don't think that they can be doing wrong--are perhaps bad?"
"No," said Alva, firmly; "I'll never think that of any one. Nobody is
ever bad. The word is too complete. It says more than it means to
express."
"They couldn't be going to do anything for you."
"How can you tell, Lassie? Sometimes in doing for others we do a
thousand times more for ourselves. Haven't you learned that yet?"
"No, not yet--not with people of that sort."
"They don't look to be so wrong," Alva spoke half-musingly. "They just
look like plain, quiet people. I'm sure there's no evil in them!"
"Perhaps she made up the love affair?"
"She never made that man up, Lassie; that man is a real man. You can't
'make up' men like that."
"But if he is rich and loves her, would he let her be living this way
and chasing her around that way. That does seem so awfully funny, to
me,--for a rich man to spend the nights outside the window of a girl who
hasn't even a change of pocket-handkerchiefs,--and she isn't pretty
either, you have to admit that, Alva?"
"Lassie, you do look at everything from such a petty, worldly
standpoint. Of course it isn't your fault, but you judge too easily. How
do you know what rule governs that man; there are some men that no one
can understand,--they seem to be a race apart. All their springs of
action differ from the usual sources. I've been in love with such a
man--I'm in love with him now--I am going to marry him. The ordinary
woman wouldn't care much for a love that had to be set aside for bigger
things, as his for me was at first. But I understood. I accepted the
situation. All situations have their key--their clue--if one can get a
little way outside of body and senses, and then study them
thoughtfully."
"Well, but if the man is an exceptional man as yours is, what can
interest him in such a girl?"
Alva shook her head. "You don't find her interesting, and you will never
go near enough to her spirit to change your view; but she interests me,
and some day you'll come to see that every human being is full of
interest, if we will but take the trouble to hunt the interest out. I
have learned that lesson, and all that I can think of is the apparent
trouble and need of these two."
"Would you have a man as great as the man you love, marry such a girl
with such a mother, Alva?"
"I would have people who love sincerely always marry, whoever they
love."
"But if he is so wild that a woman who hasn't even an extra hairpin
wants to hide her daughter from him, do you think he'll make her happy?"
There was a pause.
"Lassie," her friend said, presently, "do you know I used to be just
like you. I saw only the finite, too."
"Yes?"
"Yes, and I often wonder what would have become of me if I had not
learned through love to finally escape out of the bonds and shackles of
ordinary conditions, and to contemplate them only as either behind or
below me. How can we judge in the case of another? All that I know
absolutely in this case is that I have strayed into the midst of a
pitiful story. All I can do is to try to help that pain. That poor girl
is nothing but a passing ghost to you; to me she is a link in the
chain-armor of life that covers my spirit during its earthly war. As I
said before, there are no chance meetings, there are no accidents;
there's nothing trivial in life after one once grasps the greatness of
the whole. You can make things trivial by belittling them, or you can
make them great. I make Miss Lathbun great because a man who is great is
interested in her."
"But how do you know that he's great? Or that he is interested in her?
She may have made it all up; I think that she did, myself."
Alva turned from the window.
"My dear child," she said, approaching the girl and laying her hand on
her shoulder, "I feel as if there were a thick veil between us; how can
I tell you what I think, when you don't want to understand what I try to
say? Suppose she did make it up? Suppose she and her mother are anything
you please? Still, I'd be glad that I believed in them. One little grain
of real belief may possibly be the seed of a new life for them; and even
if it isn't, think what it means to me to be able to believe in people.
It means that I am looking for good, instead of looking for evil. Can't
you see how much better that must be for me personally?"
Lassie lifted her eyes to see what she called "the white look," on
Alva's face. She felt ashamed of her own standpoint.
At that instant the dinner-bell rang loudly below.
"Oh, we'll see them now!" Lassie exclaimed, all other thoughts fading.
Alva gave her a quiet glance. "Yes, we'll see them now," she said,
turning towards the door.