"Yes. It came this morning just before sunrise."
"Were you awake?"
"Yes, were you?"
"Of course," she answered. "I couldn't stay in."
"Nor could I."
"The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled,"
Rose quoted. "You know the rest, don't you?"
"The rest doesn't matter. 'Morning waits at the end of the world--Gypsy,
come away!'"
"I'll go," she breathed, her eyes fixed on his, "anywhere!"
"To the river, then. The last time I saw it, ice and snow had hidden it
completely."
The path was narrow until they got out of the woods, so Rose went ahead.
"I don't believe I fooled that robin by whistling to him," Allison
continued. "He pretended I did, but I believe he was only trying to be
polite."
"He wasn't, if it was the same robin I saw in our garden this morning. I
spoke to him most pleasantly and told him not to be afraid of me, but he
disappeared with a very brief, chirpy good-bye."
"Don't hurry so," he said, as he came up beside her and assisted her
over a fallen tree. "We've got the whole day, haven't we?"
"We have all the time there is," laughed Rose. "Everybody has, for that
matter."
"Have you had your breakfast?"
"No, have you?"
"Far from it. Everybody was asleep when I came out."
"Then you'll have breakfast with me," she said, quickly.
"Thank you," he smiled, "for taking the hint."
"But won't your father miss you?" she queried, with mock seriousness.
"He pays no attention whatever to my irregular habits, and I think
that's one reason why we get on so well together. It's a wise father who
knows his own child."
"Especially if it is a wise child," she replied. Her eyes were dancing
with mirth, a scarlet signal burned on either cheek, and her parted lips
were crimson. She seemed lovelier to him than ever before.
"Honestly, Rose, you seem to get prettier every day."
"Then," she smiled, "if I were younger, I might eventually become
dangerous."
"Rose--"
"Old Rose," she interrupted. The high colour faded from her face as she
spoke and left her pale.
Allison put his hand on her arm and stopped. "Rose, please don't. You're
not a day older than I am."
"Ten years," she insisted stubbornly, for women are wont to lean upon
the knife that stabs them and she was in a reckless mood. "When you're
forty, I'll be fifty."
A shadow crossed his face. "It hurts me, someway, to have you talk so. I
don't know how--nor why."
In a single swift surge her colour came back. "All right," she answered,
quietly, "hereafter I'm thirty, also. Thanking you for giving me ten
more years of life, for I love it so!"
The sun was well up in the heavens when they came to the river, and the
dark, rippling surface gave back the light in a thousand little dancing
gleams. The ice was broken, the snow was gone, and fragments of
shattered crystal went gently toward the open sea, lured by the song of
the river underneath.
"It doesn't look deep," remarked Rose.
"But it is, nevertheless. I nearly drowned myself here when I was a kid,
trying to dive to the bottom."
"I'm glad you didn't succeed. What a heavy blow it would have been to
your father!"
"Dear old Dad," said Allison, gently. "I'm all he has."
"And all he wants."
"It's after eight," Allison complained, looking at his watch, "and I'm
starving."
"So am I. Likewise my skirts are wet, so we'd better go."
When they reached Madame Bernard's, Rose ordered breakfast in the
dining-room, for two, then excused herself to put on dry clothing.
Allison waited before the open fire until she came down, fresh and
tailor-made, in another gown and a white linen collar.
"I thought women always wore soft, fluffy things in the morning," he
observed, as they sat down.
"Some do--the fluffy ones, always."
"Who, for instance, are the fluffy ones?"
"Aunt Francesca for one and Isabel for another."
"How long is the kid going to stay?"
"Until she gets ready to go home, I suppose."
"I thought she had no home."
"She hasn't. Poor Isabel is a martyr to the Cause of Woman."
"How so?"
"Her mother is Emancipated, with a large E, and has no time for trifles
like a daughter. She devotes herself to what she calls the Higher World
Service."
"So Isabel is stranded, on a desert island."
"Yes, except for us."
"How good you are!" he exclaimed, with honest admiration.
"It was Aunt Francesca," returned Rose, flushing slightly. "I had
nothing to do with it. She took me from a desert island, too."
"Is Isabel emancipated?"
"Not in the sense that her mother is."
"I don't see but what she is free."
"She is. She can do exactly as she pleases and there is no one to say
her nay."
"I thought all women did as they please."
"They do, in the sense that we all do as we please. If you make a
sacrifice, you do it because you can get more pleasure out of making it
than you would otherwise."
"You've been reading Spencer."
"I plead guilty," she laughed.
"If it's true," he went on, after a moment's pause, "a genuine New
England conscience must be an unholy joy to its proud possessor."
"It's unholy at all events. One lump, or two?" she asked, as the coffee
was brought in.
"Two, please."
It seemed very pleasant to Allison to sit there in the warm, sunny room,
with Rose opposite him, pouring his coffee. There was an air of cosiness
and domestic peace about it hitherto outside his experience. For the
first time he was conscious of the peculiar graciousness and sense of
home that only a home-loving woman may give to a house.
"I like this," he said, as he took the steaming cup. "I'd like to do it
often."
"We'd like to have you," she returned, hospitably.
"I thought you all had breakfast together at some fixed hour, and early
at that."
"How little you know Aunt Francesca! You can have breakfast in this
house in any room you choose, at any hour before noon, all the year
round. Sometimes we're all together, sometimes only two. Usually,
however I'm alone, as I seem to get up a little earlier than the
others."
"I think I'll drop in occasionally, then. It looks as if there'd always
be somebody to bear me company. Perhaps I'll bring Dad, too. He'd like
to have you pour his coffee."
There was no mistaking the admiration in Allison's eyes and Rose turned
hers away. He sat with his back to the dining-room door and she, across
from him, faced it squarely. For the merest fraction of a second Isabel,
in a pink silk negligee, stood in the doorway, then vanished, as
noiselessly as she had come. Her eyes were full of mysterious meaning
that Rose was powerless to translate.
"I'd enjoy it," Rose said quickly. "I love to pour the coffee and Aunt
Francesca always lets me on the rare occasions when we breakfast
together."
If her colour was a little brighter, if her voice was in a higher key,
if her eyes had changed their expression, Allison did not notice it.
Yet, in the instant, she had attained a certain dual consciousness--
there seemed to be two of her. One was the woman of the world, well-
schooled in self-control, tactful, watchful, ready to smooth any
awkwardness, and, at every point, to guard her guest. The other was
Primitive Woman; questioning, curious, and watchful in the sense of
rivalry. She put it resolutely aside to think about later, and was very
glad that Allison did not know.
She was greatly relieved when he went home, promising to return later
for a few hours of work upon a difficult concerto. "We'll do it again,"
he said, laughing, as he went down the steps. "Ask Aunt Francesca to
give me a meal ticket, to be used solely for breakfasts, will you?"
Rose only smiled in answer, but waved her hand to him as he went out of
the gate. She stood pensively in the hall for a moment or two after she
had closed the door, and would have gone up to her own room had she not
heard a step at the head of the stairs.
Isabel was coming down, also fresh and tailor-made, with a white linen
collar and a dashing crimson tie. Rose strolled into the library, took
up a magazine, sat down, and pretended to read.
"I'm so sorry to be late to breakfast," remarked Isabel, following her.
"But perhaps it's just as well, as I wasn't invited."
"Nobody was invited," returned Rose, coolly. "I went out for an early
walk, chanced to meet Mr. Kent, and he invited himself here to
breakfast."
"I didn't know you were in the habit of taking early walks."
"I'm trying to acquire the habit," answered Rose, with icy sweetness.
"It won't be hard," Isabel said, maliciously, "if they're all equally
pleasant." She slammed the door as she went out, shutting Rose in the
library.
For an instant Rose was angry, then her sense of humour triumphed and
she laughed quietly until the tears came. There was no need now to
meditate upon that mysterious look in the girl's eyes, for she had
translated it herself.
"The idea," said Rose to herself. "That foolish little child!" She tried
to recall the conversation at the breakfast table, and remembered, with
regret, that they had discussed Isabel quite freely. The thought that
Isabel might have been listening before she made her presence known came
forward persistently, though Rose hated herself for it.
Then, with swift resolution, she put all annoying thoughts aside to
dwell, happily, upon the perfect hour that nothing could ever change or
spoil. She went into the hall by another door opening out of the
library, thus avoiding Isabel, and sought her own room, singing to
herself:
"The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn,
The morning's at seven,
The hillside's dew-pearled,
The lark's on the wing,
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven--
All's right with the world!"
IX
A KNIGHT-ERRANT
Another mongrel had been added to the Crosby collection, so the canine
herd now numbered twenty, all in the best of health and spirits. Some
unpleasantness had been caused at the breakfast table by a gentle hint
from Juliet to the effect that the dog supply seemed somewhat in excess
of the demand. She had added insult to injury by threatening to
chloroform the next dog her brother brought home.
"Huh!" Romeo sneered, "they're as much yours as mine. You brought home
the spotted one yourself."
"That was only because the boys were teasing him. I didn't want him."
"I've never brought home any without good reasons, and you know it.
Besides, we've got room here for forty dogs, and they're all fenced in.
They don't bother anybody."
"Except by barking," complained Juliet.
"They don't bark much unless somebody goes by, and there aren't any
neighbours near enough to hear 'em, even then."
"They do bark," Juliet put in fretfully. "They bark all the time at
something. They bark when they're hungry and when they've eaten too
much, and they bark at the sun and moon and stars, and when they're not
barking, some or all of 'em are fighting. They drive me crazy."
"Jule," said Romeo, sternly, "I don't see what's the matter with you
lately. You act like a sissy girl. Go up into the attic and work on the
trapeze for an hour or two, and you'll feel better. It wouldn't surprise
me now if you got so sissy that you were afraid of mice and snakes."
Juliet's anger rose to the point of tears. "I'm not afraid of mice," she
sobbed, "and you know it. And I'll hold a little green snake by the tail
just as long as you will, so there!"
Man-like, Romeo hated tears. "Shut up, Jule," he said, not unkindly,
"and we'll arbitrate."
When her sobs ceased and she had washed her face in cold water, they
calmly argued the question at issue. Romeo candidly admitted that twenty
dogs might well be sufficient for people of simple tastes and Juliet did
not deny that only a "sissy girl" would be annoyed by barking.
Eventually, Romeo promised not to bring home any more dogs unless the
present supply should be depleted by disappearance or accident, and
Juliet promised not to chloroform any without his consent. With one
accord, they decided to fit out the dogs with brown leather collars
trimmed with yellow and to train the herd to follow the automobile.
"They ought to be trained by the thirtieth of June," observed Romeo. "It
would make more of a celebration for Uncle if we took 'em along."
"Did you order the monogram put on the automobile?"
"Sure. I told 'em to put 'The Yellow Peril' on each door and on the
back, and the initials, 'C. T.' above it everywhere." The twins had
adopted a common monogram, signifying "Crosby Twins." It adorned their
stationery and their seal, but, as they seldom wrote letters, it had not
been of much use.
"We might have the initials put on the dogs' collars, too," Juliet
suggested.
"Sure," assented Romeo, cordially. "Then, if we lose any of 'em on the
road, we can identify 'em when they're found, and get 'em back."
Juliet saw that she had made a mistake and hoped Romeo would forget
about it, but vainly, for he lounged over and made a memorandum on the
slate that hung in the hall.
"I wonder," continued Romeo, thoughtfully, "if the yard is big enough to
train 'em in. We ought not to go out on the road until the thirtieth."
"That's easy enough," Juliet answered, with a superior air.
"How'd you go about it?" he demanded.
"If they were my dogs and I wanted 'em to follow me in an automobile,
I'd let 'em fast for a day or two and fill the back seat of the machine
with raw meat. They'd follow quick enough and be good and lively about
it, too. They wouldn't need to be trained."
"Jule," said Romeo, solemnly, "will you please forgive me for calling
you a 'sissy girl'?"
"Sure!" Juliet had learned long before she was twenty, that "forgive
me," from a man's lips, indicates the uttermost depths of abasement and
devotion.
"The fasting won't hurt 'em," Romeo continued, eager to change the
subject. "They're all in good condition now."
"Except the last one. You can see some of his ribs yet."
"You can't by June."
"No, I guess not. Say, Romie, oughtn't she to be coming to see us by
now?"
"Who?"
"Isabel--what's-her-name. You know, up at Bernard's."
Happy-hearted comrade though she was, Juliet had a secret longing for
feminine association, at rare intervals. It would be pleasant she
thought, to go skating sometimes with a girl or two instead of the usual
crowd of boys. She hated herself fiercely for disloyalty, but the idea
recurred persistently.
"I'm not up on etiquette," Romeo replied, casually, "but I should think,
if she wanted to come, she could do it by now. We made a polite call as
far as I know."
"We didn't leave any cards."
"Cards? What kind of cards?"
"Why, little cards with our names on 'em. People always leave 'em, in
the books, when they make calls."
Romeo went over to the slate again and made another memorandum. "I'll
get 'em. What'll we have on 'em?"
"We always go together," Juliet suggested, "so I think one will do. Just
put on it 'The Crosby Twins,' with our address."
"No need of the address. Everybody who knows us knows where we live."
"Perhaps," Juliet went on, meditatively, "she doesn't like me."
"If she doesn't," Romeo retorted, "I'll know the reason why. Do you
remember what I did to the red-headed boy from the Ridge who said he
wouldn't skate with the crowd if there was a girl in it?"
Juliet nodded with satisfaction. "But you know, Romie, you can't hit a
girl."
"That's so," he admitted disconsolately. "That fresh kid had to wear
beefsteak over one eye for almost a week."
Juliet laughed at the idea of Isabel with beefsteak bandaged over one
eye. "We won't worry about things we can't help," she said,
philosophically. "We've done the proper thing and now it's up to her. If
she doesn't come before we get the automobile, she doesn't get invited
to go out in it."
"You bet she doesn't."
The talk quickly turned to the unfailing subject of automobiles. "The
Yellow Peril" had been ordered and half paid for, but there was delay in
delivery. The brown clothes trimmed with tan leather had also been
ordered, as well as the brown felt hats, exactly alike, with yellow
ribbon bands. They had the goggles and enjoyed glaring fiercely at each
other through them, especially at meals. Juliet had thought of making a
veil of yellow chiffon, but Romeo had objected violently. He thought
they should look as much alike as possible, so she had yielded.
They had decided to make a wide track through the yard and around the
barn to practise on. Suitable space for the, automobile had already been
set aside in the barn and safely fenced in beyond the reach of canine
interference. Romeo had not seen the necessity of the fence until Juliet
had pointed out that some of the dogs would want to sleep on the leather
cushions. "It would make it smell so doggy," she had said, "that we'd
have to call it 'The Yellow Dog' instead of 'The Yellow Peril.'"
Romeo, with true masculine detachment, could talk automobile with
unfailing enthusiasm, and yet think continually about something else.
The thought that Isabel might not like Juliet had not occurred to him.
It seemed impossible that anybody should not like Juliet, for, in the
fond eyes of her twin, she was the most sane and sensible girl in the
world.
"Anyhow," thought Romeo as he went to sleep that night, "if Jule wants
her to come here, she's got to do it, that's all."
He meditated upon the problem for several days without reaching any
satisfactory conclusion. At last he determined to go up to see Isabel
himself, and, as he phrased it in his own mind, "see how the land lays."
It would be difficult to elude Juliet, but, in Romeo's experience, the
things one determined to do could nearly always be done.
It was an easy matter to make an errand to the City, "to poke 'em up a
bit about the machine," and to get the visiting cards, which had
promptly been ordered by mail. Juliet rather insisted upon going along,
but was easily dissuaded by the fact that "there might be a row, and
anyway, it's a man's job."
He came home about dusk with several packages, one of which he carefully
concealed under a pile of leaves in the fence corner just inside the
yard. He could easily reach through the palings and lift it over the
fence as he passed.
Juliet admired the cards, was delighted with a box of chocolates and two
new novels, and condescended to approve of Romeo's new red tie. He had
gloves in his pocket, but feared to show them to her, gloves being her
pet object of scorn.
After they had cleared off the table, Romeo strolled over to the window.
Five of the dogs were gathered about some small object and the yard was
littered with bits of white. Under his breath Romeo said something that
sounded like profanity, and Juliet pricked up her ears.
"What's the matter?" she demanded.
"I brought home some flowers," explained Romeo, carefully, for it was
written in the covenant that the twins should never, under any
circumstances, lie to each other, "and I must have dropped 'em. The dogs
have torn 'em to pieces, box and all."
Juliet clapped her hands gleefully. "I'm glad of it!"
"Why?" he asked quickly, with an uneasy sense that she was a mind-
reader.
"Because we've got so many dogs."
Romeo chose to take offence at the innocent remark and relapsed into
gloomy silence. Disdaining to speak, Juliet curled up on the decrepit
sofa with a book and the chocolates, and presently went to sleep.
"Fortune favours the brave," he quoted to himself, as he tiptoed into
the kitchen, cautiously closing the door. A subtle perfume filled the
room and he sniffed appreciatively. An open bottle of vanilla extract
stood on the kitchen table, where a pan of fudges was cooling, marked
off into neat squares. He wrapped the pan in a newspaper, anointed his
handkerchief liberally with the fragrant extract, and softly stole out
into the night.
The dogs followed him to the back fence, but did not bark. Only a few
soft whines followed him as he sped down the road, thrilled with a sense
of adventure and romance. If Juliet should happen to wake, she would
think he had gone away because he was angry, and never need know that
like some misunderstood knight of old, he was merely upon an errand of
chivalry for her. The fudges would do as well as the calla lilies,
probably, though he felt instinctively that they were not quite as
elegant.
It was a long way to Madame Bernard's, and Juliet's knight-errant was
weary, after an exhausting day in town. He paused outside the gate long
enough to clean the dust from his shoes with the most soiled of his two
handkerchiefs, then went boldly up the steps and rang the bell.
He was embarrassed to find Colonel Kent and Allison there, though the
younger man's tact speedily set him at ease again, and enabled him to
offer Isabel the pan of fudges with unwonted grace of manner. Then he
went over to Madame Bernard.
"Juliet couldn't come to-night," he said, "but here's our card."
Madame could not repress a smile as she read "The Crosby Twins" engraved
in the fashionable script of the moment. "How very original," she said,
kindly. "Nobody but you and Juliet would have thought of it."
"Jule thought of it," he replied, with evident pride. "She's more up on
etiquette than I am."
"If it's proper for husband and wife to have their names engraved on the
same card," Madame went on, "it must be all right for twins."
"It's more proper," Romeo returned, "because nobody is so much related
as twins are. Husband and wife are only relatives by marriage."
Colonel Kent laughed appreciatively. "Good! May I have some of Miss
Isabel's candy?"
Isabel, convulsed with secret mirth, informally passed the pan, and only
Romeo refused. "I can have 'em any time," he said, generously. "Doesn't
Jule make dandy fudges, though?"
Everybody agreed that she did. Madame Francesca expressed something more
than conventional regret that Juliet had not been able to come. "She was
asleep," Romeo explained, with studied indifference.
"After she wakes," suggested Colonel Kent, "we'd like very much to have
you both come to our house to dinner."
"Thank you," replied Romeo, somewhat stiffly. "We'd be very much
pleased." Then to himself, he added: "That was a lie, but it wasn't to
Jule, so it doesn't matter."
Rose made friendly inquiries about the dogs and told Allison that Romeo
was said to have the finest collection of fishing tackle in the State.
Much gratified, Romeo invited Allison to go fishing with him as soon as
the season opened, and, as an afterthought, politely included the
Colonel.
"I've never been fishing," remarked Isabel, as she could think of
nothing else to say.
"Girls are an awful bother in a boat," Romeo returned, with youthful
candour. "That is, except Juliet."
Isabel flushed faintly and bit her lips. To relieve an awkward pause,
Madame Francesca asked Allison to play something.
"Yes," said Romeo, "go on and play." He meant to be particularly
courteous, but his tone merely indicated that he would not be seriously
annoyed by music.
As the first strains came from the piano and violin, Romeo established
himself upon the couch beside Isabel, and, in a low, guarded tone, began
to talk automobile. Isabel was so much interested that she wholly forgot
Aunt Francesca's old-fashioned ideas about interrupting a player, and
the conversation became animated.
Both Rose and Allison had too much good sense to be annoyed, but
occasionally, until the last chord, they exchanged glances of amusement.
When they stopped, Isabel was saying: "Your suits must be just lovely."
Romeo turned with a lordly wave of the hand. "You don't need to stop. Go
on!"
"How can you expect us to play properly?" inquired Rose, tactfully,
"when you're talking about automobiles? We'd much rather listen to you."
"Begin over again, won't you?" asked Allison. He added, with a trace of
sarcasm wholly lost upon Romeo: "We've missed a good deal of it."
Thus encouraged, Romeo began again, thoughtfully allowing Isabel the
credit of the original suggestion. He dwelt at length upon the fine
points involved in the construction of "The Yellow Peril," described the
brown leather and the specially designed costumes, and was almost
carried away by enthusiasm when he pictured the triumphant progress of
the yellow car, followed by twenty dogs in appropriate collars.
"Can you," he inquired of Allison, "think of anything more like a
celebration that we could do for Uncle?"
"No," replied Allison, choking back a laugh, "unless you went out at
night, too, and had fireworks."
Romeo's expressive face indicated displeasure. "Uncle was such a good
man," he said, in a tone of quiet rebuke, "that I don't believe it would
be appropriate."