"And it is the prince I'll play from now on, my ane braw lassie," I
said, dropping into her own dialect. "Isn't that what you call them in
Scotch?" I asked.
"An' noo," said Tammas, "a' lasses get unco thrang when their lovers are
aboot, to gar them think they are unco worthy."
Elsie laughed and went vigorously to work, molding butter pounds. I
stood watching her while I talked to Tammas. She was not all a child.
There was a certain queenliness, a quiet dignity about her that was very
attractive. In her fine-cut face, deep down in her great blue eyes, in
her very poise there was a quiet naturalness, a pretty aloofness which
spoke of reserve forces, that seemed to soothe me. God only knew how I
needed it!
After an hour with her and Tammas I felt, as I went down the wooded
path, under the great trees of the dairy lot, as I had when I heard for
the first time, in the deep hours of the night, the chimes of the bells
of Munich. I had not cared for the service with all its symbols and, to
me, its meaningless metaphors; but I had loved its music, the great
bells which calmed my soul.
I wish to join a new church. I am tired of these which preach. I want
to join one where there is no preaching, no talking, nothing but music,
music which makes you feel God. Why all this preaching anyway? God and
talk do not go together. Religion is not a science to be proven, not a
thesis to be demonstrated, not a problem to be solved, but a silent
Soul-Force to be felt.
Preachers and priests in their vanity to be heard, or their zeal to
proselyte, or their over-humanness just to talk, talk, talk, have robbed
the church of half its sweetness and power. Will they never learn that
God's house was made for God's children and in it they should do as God
does,--be silent and worship? And if there be a voice to break it, let
it be the Voice of that which is nearest to God on earth--Music.... It
was this feeling that Elsie gave me--of calmness, of restfulness, of
devotion. There are those who irritate us, and they cannot help it;
there are those who provoke us, anger us, madden us by their very
presence. There are others who stir us up for trade and money-making;
the sound of whose very voice makes us wish to own land, or buy stock or
build houses; and there are those--God help them--whose talk, be it ever
so brief, falls over us like an unwholesome thing.
Elsie read much of romance, and her small library was choice; but the
love-poems of Burns she knew best of all, and she always read them to me
when I was about to leave, as if she would hold me longer. Then I would
remember them far into the night and the radiant-faced, spiritual girl
with the deep eyes, reading them. I needed the restfulness which
Elsie's friendship gave. I needed her sweetness that calmed me, her
fresh friendship that was like a great rose at the window of my soul.
In her utter unseekingness, her loyal trustfulness, I saw that she did
not even suspect that I loved Eloise.
I stayed all day at the cottage and she flitted around with her great
white apron on, now and then calling me her bonny prince, especially if
Tammas and Marget were not around. I humored her, seeing how much
pleasure she took in it.
"If I am your Prince," I said, when I had her alone in the butter room,
"I am going to call you my Heart's-Ease."
She looked up quickly and a faint blush came into her face. She did not
reply, but busied herself about the house, while Tammas and I talked of
the new test of Lass o' Lowrie, one of his cows, which, from five
gallons of milk daily was making three pounds of butter.
"Dae ye ken Mr. Jack, whit's daeing it?" said the old man. "It's nae
ither than the auld Top Sawyer bluid!"
Elsie, daintily gowned in a pretty white frock and for the first time
with her hair up in a comical little Scotch top-knot, walked with me
down the wooded path to the parting of our ways. A tiny heart's-ease
had just thrust out its fragrant leaves in the rich mold under the
trees. She plucked the leaf, and there was the faintest trace of a
twinkle in her blue eyes as she came up and pinned it on my lapel.
"Here is your heart's-ease, my Prince," she said slyly.
I felt a flush upon my cheek. She was silent, and then she said slowly,
"Do you know Mr. Jack--Jack, that I believe every prince at times has
need of a heart's-ease friend, and--and--well, maids need a prince to
help them."