Thus it befell that all passed smoothly with Rudolph Musgrave and Anne
Charteris, with whom he was not in the least in love any longer (he
reflected), although in the nature of things she must always seem to him
a little different from all other people.
And it befell, too, that the following noon--this day being a Sunday,
warm, clear, and somnolent--Anne Charteris and Rudolph Musgrave sat upon
the lawn before Matocton, and little Roger Musgrave was with them. In
fact, these two had been high-handedly press-ganged by this small despot
to serve against an enemy then harassing his majesty's equanimity and by
him, revilingly, designated as Nothing-to-do.
And so Anne made for Roger--as she had learned to do for her dead
son--in addition to a respectable navy of paper boats, a vast number of
"boxes" and "Nantucket sinks" and "picture frames" and "footballs." She
had used up the greater part of a magazine before the imp grew tired of
her novel accomplishments.
For as he invidiously observed, "I can make them for myself now, most
as good as you, only I always tear the bottom of the boat when you pull
it out, and my sinks are kind of wobbly. And besides, I've made up a
story just like your husband gets money for doing. And if I had a
quarter I would buy that green and yellow snake in the toy-store window
and wiggle it at people and scare them into fits."
"Sonnikins," said Colonel Musgrave, "suppose you tell us the story, and
then we will see if it is really worth a quarter, and try to save you
from this unblushing mendicancy."
"Well, God bless Father and Mother and little cousins--Oh, no, that's
what I say at night." Roger's voice now altered, assuming shrill
singsong cadences. His pensive gravity would have appeared excessive if
manifested by the Great Sphinx. "What I meant to say was that once upon
a time when the Battle of Gettysburg was going on and houses were being
robbed and burned, and my dear grandfather was being shot through the
heart, a certain house, where the richest man in town lived, was having
feast and merriment, never dreaming of any harm, or thinking of their
little child Rachel, who was on the front porch watching the battle and
screaming with joy at every man that fell dead. One dark-faced man was
struck with a bullet and was hurt. He saw the child laughing at him and
his heart was full of revenge. So that night, when all had gone to bed,
the old dark-faced man went softly in the house and got the little girl
and set the house on fire. And he carried her out in the mountains, and
is that worth a quarter?"
"Good heavens, no!" said Anne. "How dare you leave us in such harrowing
suspense?"
"Well, a whole lot more happened, because all the while Rachel was
asleep. When she woke up, she did not know where under the sun she was.
So she walked along for about an hour and came to a little village, and
after a few minutes she came to a large rock, and guess who she met? She
met her father, and when he saw her he hugged her so hard that when he
got through she did not have any breath left in her. And they walked
along, and after a while they came to the wood, and it was now about six
o'clock, and it was very dark, and just then nine robbers jumped out
from behind the trees, and they took a pistol and shot Rachel's father,
and the child fainted. Her papa was dead, so she dug a hole and buried
him, and went right back home. And of course that was all, and if I had
that snake, I wouldn't try to scare you with it, father, anyhow."
So Colonel Musgrave gave his son a well-earned coin, as the colonel
considered, and it having been decreed, "Now, father, _you_ tell a
story," obediently read aloud from a fat red-covered book. The tale was
of the colonel's selecting, and it dealt with a shepherdess and a
chimney-sweep.
"And so," the colonel perorated, "the little china people remained
together, and were thankful for the rivet in grandfather's neck, and
continued to love each other until they were broken to pieces--And
the tale is a parable, my son. You will find that out some day. I wish
you didn't have to."
"But is that all, father?"
"You will find it rather more than enough, sonnikins, when you begin to
interpret. Yes, that is all. Only you are to remember always that they
climbed to the very top of the chimney, where they could see the stars,
before they decided to go back and live upon the parlor table under the
brand-new looking-glass. For the stars are disconcertingly unconcerned
when you have climbed to them, and so altogether unimpressed by your
achievement that it is the nature of all china people to slink home
again, precisely as your Rachel did--and as Mrs. Charteris will assure
you."
"I?" said Anne. "Now, honestly, Rudolph, I was thinking you ought not to
let him sit upon the grass, because he really has a cold. And if I were
you, I would give him a good dose of castor-oil to-night. Some people
give it in lemon-juice, I know, but I found with my boy that peppermint
is rather less disagreeable. And you could easily send somebody over to
the store at the station----"
Anne broke off short. "Was I being inadequate again? I am sorry, but
with children you never know what a cold may lead to, and I really do
not believe it good for him to sit in this damp grass."
"Sonnikins," said Rudolph Musgrave, "you had better climb up into my
lap, before you and I are Podsnapped from the universe by the only
embodiment of common-sense just now within our reach."
He patted the boy's head and latterly resumed: "I am afraid of you,
Anne. Whenever I am imagining vain things or stitching romantic
possibilities, like embroideries, about the fabric of my past, I always
find the real you in my path, as undeniable as a gas-bill. I don't
believe you ever dare to think, because there is no telling what it
might lead to. You are simply unassailably armored by the courage of
other people's convictions."
Her candid eyes met his over the boy's bright head. "And what in the
world are you talking about?"
"I am lamenting. I am rending the air and beating my breast on account
of your obstinate preference for being always in the right. I do wish
you would endeavor to impersonate a human being a trifle more
convincingly----"
But the great gong, booming out for luncheon, interrupted him at this
point, and Colonel Musgrave was never permitted to finish his complaint
against Anne's unimaginativeness.