"Beauty?" repeated Evelina, scornfully. "You do not understand. I was burned--horribly burned."
"Yes," said the Piper, softly, "and what of that? Beauty is of the soul."
He went out to the gate and brought in a small, flat box. ""T is for you," he said. "I got it for you when I went to the city--there was none here."
She opened the box, her fingers trembling, and held up length after length of misty white chiffon. "I ask no questions," said the Piper, proudly, "but I know that because you are so beautiful, you hide your face. Laddie and I, we got more of the white stuff to help you hide it, because you would not let us see how beautiful you are."
The chiffon fluttered in her hand, though there was no wind. "Why?"
she asked, in a strange voice; "why did you do this?"
"You gave me a garden," laughed the Piper, "when I had no garden of my own, so why should I not get the white stuff for you? "T was queer, the day I got it," he went on, chuckling at the recollection, "for I did not know its name. Every place I went, I asked for white stuff, and they showed me many kinds, but nothing like this. At last I said to a young girl: "What is it that is like a cloud, all white and soft, which one can see through, but through which no one can be seen--the stuff that ladies wear when they are so beautiful that they do not want their faces seen?" She smiled, and told me it was "chiffon." And so--" A wave of the hand finished his explanation.
After an interval of silence, the Piper spoke again. "There are chains that bind you," he began, "but they are chains of your own forging. No one else can shackle you--you must always do it yourself. Whatever is past is over, and I"m thinking you have no more to do with it than a b.u.t.terfly has with the empty chrysalis from which he came. The law of life is growth, and we cannot linger--we must always be going on.
"You stand alone upon a height," he said, dreamily, "like one in a dreary land. Behind you all is darkness, before you all is darkness; there is but one small s.p.a.ce of light. In that one s.p.a.ce is a day.
They come, one at a time, from the night of To-morrow, and vanish into the night of Yesterday.
"I have thought of the days as men and women, for a woman"s day is not at all like a man"s. For you, I think, they first were children, with laughing eyes and little, dimpled hands. One at a time, they came out of the darkness, and disappeared into the darkness on the other side.
Some brought you flowers or new toys and some brought you childish griefs, but none came empty-handed. Each day laid its gift at your feet and went on.
"Some brought their gifts wrapped up, that you might have the surprise of opening them. Many a gift in a bright-hued covering turned out to be far from what you expected when you were opening it. Some of the happiest gifts were hidden in dull coverings you took off slowly, dreading to see the contents. Some days brought many gifts, others only one.
"As the days grew older, some brought you laughter; some gave you light and love. Others came with music and pleasure--and some of them brought pain."
"Yes," sighed Evelina, "some brought pain."
"It is of that," went on the Piper, "that I wished to be speaking. It was one day, was it not, that brought you a long sorrow?"
"Yes."
"Not more than one? Was it only one day?"
"Yes, only one day,"
"See," said The Piper, gently, "the day came with her gift. You would not let her lay it at your feet and pa.s.s on into the darkness of Yesterday. You held her by her grey garments and would not let her go.
You kept searching her sad eyes to see whether she did not have further pain for you. Why keep her back from her appointed way? Why not let your days go by?"
"The other days," murmured Evelina, "have all been sad."
"Yes, and why? You were holding fast to one day--the one that brought you pain. So, with downcast eyes they pa.s.sed you, and carried their appointed gifts on into Yesterday, where you can never find them again.
Even now, the one day you have been holding is struggling to free herself from the chains you have put upon her. You have no right to keep a day."
"Should I not keep the gifts?" she asked. His fancy pleased her.
"The gifts, yes--even the gifts of tears, but never a day. You cannot hold a happy day, for it goes too quickly. This one sad day that marched so slowly by you is the one you chose to hold. Lady," he pleaded, "let her go!"
"The other days," she whispered, brokenly. "What of them?"
"No man can say. While you have been holding this one, the others have pa.s.sed you, taking your gifts into Yesterday. Memory guards Yesterday, but there is a veil on the face of To-morrow. Sometimes I think To-morrow is so beautiful that she hides her face."
"G.o.d veils her face," cried Evelina, "or else we could not live!"
"Lady," said the Piper, "have you lived so long and never learned this simple thing? Whatever a day may bring you, whatever terrible gifts of woe, if you search her closely, you will always find the strength to meet her face to face. Overshadowed by her burden of bitterness, one fails to find the balm. Concealed within her garments or held loosely in her hand, she always has her bit of consolation; rosemary in the midst of her rue, belief with the doubt, life with the death."
"I found no balm," murmured Evelina, "in the day you say I held."
"Had there been no secret balm, you could never have held her--the thorns would have pierced your hands. Have you not seen that you can never have sorrow until you have first had joy? Happiness is the light and sadness the shade. G.o.d sets you right, and you stray from the path, into the shadow of the cypress."
"The cypress casts a long shadow," said Evelina, pointing to the tree at the gate.
The Piper smiled. "The shadow of a sorrow is longer than the sorrow,"
he answered. "The shadow of one day, with you, has stretched over twenty-five years. "T is approaching night that makes long shadows; when life is at noon, they are short. When life is at its highest, there are no shadows at all."
Miss Evelina sighed and leaned uneasily against the wall.
"This, I"m thinking," mused the Piper, "is the inmost truth of living--there is always a balance which swings true. A sorrow is precisely equal to a joy, and the shadow can loom no larger unless the light slants. And if you sit always in the sun, the shadow that lies behind a joy can be scarcely seen at all."
A faint breath of Spring stirred Miss Evelina"s veil. She caught at it and tied the long floating ends about her neck.
"I would not look," said the Piper, softly. "If your veil should blow away, I would close my eyes and feel my way to the gate. Unless you chose to have me see your beauty, I would never ask, nor take advantage of an accidental opportunity. I"m thinking you are very beautiful, but you need never be afraid of me."
Miss Evelina did not reply; she only leaned more heavily against the wall.
"Lady," he continued, "perhaps you think I do not know. You may think I"m talking blindly, but there are few sorrows in the world that I have not seen face to face. Those I have not had myself, my friends have had, and I have been privileged to share with them. The sorrows of the world are not so many--they are few, and, in essence, the same.
"It"s very strange, I"m thinking. The little laughing, creeping days go by us, then the awkward ones that bring us the first footsteps, then childhood comes, and youth, and then maturity. But the days have begun to grow feeble before one learns how to meet them; how to take the gifts humbly, scorning none, and how to make each day give up its secret balm. Memory, the angel who stands at the portal of Yesterday, has always an inscrutable smile. She keeps for us so many things that we would be glad to spare, and pushes headlong into Yesterday so much that we fain would keep. I do not yet know all the ways of Memory--I only know that she means to be kind."
"Kind!" repeated Evelina. Her tone was indescribably bitter.
"Yes," returned the Piper, "Memory means to be kind--she is kind. I have said that I do not know her ways, but of that I am sure. Lady, I would that you could let go of the day you are holding back. Cast her from you, and let her go into the Yesterday from which you have kept her so long. Perhaps Memory will be kinder to you then, for, remember, she stands at the gate."
"I cannot," breathed Evelina. "I have tried and I cannot let her go!"
"Yes," said the Piper, very gently, "you can. "T is that, I"m thinking, that has set your life all wrong. Unclasp your hands from her rough garments, cease to question her closed eyes. Take her gift and the balm that infallibly comes with it; meet To-day with kindness and To-morrow with a brave heart. Oh, Spinner in the Shadow," he cried, his voice breaking, "I fain would see you a Spinner in the Sun!"
"No," she sighed, "I have been in the dark too long. There is no light for me."
"There is light," he insisted. "When you admit the shadow, you have at the same time acknowledged the light."
Evelina shook her head. "Too late," she said, despairingly; "it is too late."
"Ah," cried the Piper, "if you could only trust me! I have helped many a soul into the sun again."
"I trusted," said Evelina, "and my trust was betrayed."
"Yes," he answered, "I know. I have trusted, too, and I have been betrayed, also, but I know that the one who wronged me must suffer more than I."
She laughed; a wild, fantastic laugh. "The one who wronged me," she said, "has not suffered at all. He married in a year."