That, in itself, was exhilarating.
But no human boy can withstand for an infinity of time an infinity of
new emotions--however delectable. At the end of the second hour Cyrus'
head was resting against his father's arm, and his eyes were closed.
But in his sleep he heard the music. In his dreams came the voice of
the Lovely Lady. His eyes, only, were closed. In his ears, and to his
weary but enchanted brain came all except the actual vision. When his
father woke him from this gentle sleep the great curtain was slowly
descending at the end of the final act. Music filled the air,--volumes
and volumes of it. Countless people were on the stage; kings and
queens, lords and ladies, peasants and soldiers, all singing their
loudest. So many noisy people Cyrus had never heard. And in the center
among the kings and queens was the Lovely Lady, also singing.
A few moments later, after the great curtain had descended, a half
dozen of the principal singers came filing out in front of it, holding
hands, and bowing and smiling to the audience. The Lovely Lady received
heaps of flowers. And her eyes, as she bowed and smiled, rested for a
moment on Cyrus himself.
The next day, as to weather, was disappointing. The cold, damp air,
the leaden sky and the flurries of snow were a surprise to Cyrus,
as it was just plain, country weather, and bad at that. It seemed
out of place in a fine, big city. And he was again surprised, in the
afternoon, when his father took him into Central Park. He considered
it a waste of time, when so much of the city had not been seen. They
walked along the borders of a lake, through some woods, then followed
a path up a little hill. And, two or three times, when they came to
other paths, his father took from his pocket the French letter he had
received at home, and seemed to study it as if it told him where to go.
On one of these halts the boy protested.
"Why do we come here, father? We can see trees at home."
"Yes, you are right, Cyrus. But we go only a little further." And when
they came to a rustic bench in a secluded spot, quite hidden among
trees and shrubs, Dr. Alton seated himself.
"Are you tired?" Cyrus asked. Dr. Alton looked at his watch. "No, I am
not tired."
"Then let's go back to the city, and be seeing things."
His father laid a hand on his shoulder and patted it.
"There is no hurry. We can wait a minute. It is rather pleasant here,
don't you think?" Then he looked along the path in both directions as
if expecting something. Cyrus was too polite to say what he really
thought, so he merely scowled and swung his legs, hitting the toe
of one foot against the heel of the other. Meanwhile his father
kept looking along the path by which they had come as if expecting
something.
And something came.
It was a lady, and she was hurrying toward them. Instead of going by
she stopped and greeted Dr. Alton. And the greeting was more than
friendly. There were kisses, and they stood for a moment in each
other's arms. Tears were on her cheeks when she stooped down and put
both hands on Cyrus' shoulders and looked earnestly into his face.
In her own face there was a look of excitement, and of joy. More
tears came to her eyes. And her eyes were full of expression, with a
peculiar droop, that gave an air of calmness and repose. She kissed
the boy,--kissed him several times--then held him at arm's length,
said something in a foreign language--then kissed him again. Although
she was evidently an important person, and beautiful and kind and
very gentle and affectionate--and he liked her furs as he stroked
them--nevertheless Cyrus accepted her attentions with surprise, and
with a mild resentment. No woman had ever treated him in this manner,
and these caresses embarrassed him. Moreover, her face and voice
awakened memories--memories as of fairy tales with music--of things
unreal, yet positive, and fresh in his mind. His frown was from an
effort to remember what her face and voice recalled. At last, of a
sudden, the clouds vanished. Into his puzzled brain poured a flood
of light. The frown gave way to a smile of triumph as he exclaimed,
holding her at arm's length with both hands against her chest:
"Oh, I know now! You are the lady of last night!"
She looked up at Dr. Alton for a translation but guessed the meaning.
And when it came she nodded, laughed and confessed--but in a language
Cyrus did not understand, although familiar to his ears. Seating
herself on the rustic bench, she held Cyrus in her lap, and with Dr.
Alton as interpreter they conversed together. She asked many questions:
if he was happy, in good health, what he thought and how he spent his
time, and lots of other things. And Cyrus was delighted to learn more
about her strange adventures of last night. And to know that the wicked
man with lavender legs could do her no harm.
She was certainly a wonderful lady, as charming now as in the story
of last night. And Cyrus asked many questions about that story, all
of which she answered. Of course, it was slow and troublesome not
understanding her language--nor she his, except a few words--but Dr.
Alton was a willing translator. It all ended, however, in an unexpected
way. After one of her embraces, more affectionate even than the others,
Cyrus startled his two companions by asking in the joyful voice that
comes with a grand discovery:--
"Are you my mother?"
With a frightened look she drew back. The last word she understood.
Instead of answering she glanced up at his father, as if for
assistance. Into Dr. Alton's face, also, had come a look of alarm;
then a frown. But he answered pleasantly:
"No--Cyrus. No. Why should you ask such a question?"
"Because she acts just as Elmer Snow's mother acted when he came back
from the hospital."
When this was translated she leaned back, bowed her head, and covered
her face with her hands. When she raised her head there were fresh
tears on her cheeks.
Cyrus apologized. "I am very sorry. I didn't mean anything--in
particular. I only--just thought I'd ask."
She patted his shoulder to assure him no harm was done.
"This lady, Cyrus, is an old friend of mine," said his father. "And is
very glad to see you and is sorry you have no mother. That's all."
Now Cyrus would sooner doubt a voice from heaven than his father's
word; and any one could easily see that the lady was much disturbed--so
much disturbed that it shortened the interview. The parting with his
father seemed painful and took a long time. Both had much to say. They
seemed to cling to each other, and he kissed her several times. At
last, after a tearful farewell to Cyrus, with a long embrace in which
her wet cheeks were pressed long against his face, she hurried away.
There was sorrow in his drowsy eyes as he watched the departing figure.
No woman had ever treated him in such a way, and he had begun to like
it. Before she disappeared around a curve in the path, even before
the sound of her pleasant voice had died away in his ears--something
happened!
A fat, gray squirrel, followed by another fat, gray squirrel jumped
upon the bench just where the lady had been sitting! And there they sat
almost within reach!
He was young. Within a month the unexplained lady, her face, her voice
and her caresses had begun to fade from his unfledged memory. But the
two gray squirrels, almost within reach, sitting up with their funny
little hands crossed upon their portly stomachs, he remembered clearly.
[Illustration]