Easter morning I did not go to church, and Rachel Percival came early in the afternoon to see if I were ill. While she was here this note arrived by a messenger:
"DEAR RUTH,--I know you will grieve for me when I tell you that our baby went away from us quite suddenly this morning, while the Easter bells were ringing so joyfully. They rang the knell of a mother"s heart, for they rang my baby"s spirit into Paradise.
"I feel, through my tears, that it is better so, for she will bind me closer to Heaven when I think that she, in her purity, awaits me there.
"Hoping to see you very soon, I am "Your loving FLOSSY.
"P.S.--Bronson seems to feel the baby"s death to a truly astonishing degree. F. H."
I flung the note across to Rachel, and, putting my head down on my two arms, I cried just as hard as I could cry.
Rachel read it, then tore it into twenty bits, and ground her heel into the fragments.
"Why, Rachel Percival! what is the matter?"
"She wasn"t even at home. She was at church. She must have been. She told me that Bronson was afraid to have her leave the baby, and wouldn"t come himself, but that she didn"t think anything was the matter with it, and wouldn"t be tied down. Then such a note so soon afterwards! Ruth, what is that woman made of?"
We went together to Flossy"s. She came across the room to meet us, supported by Bronson. She stumbled two or three times in the attempt.
Tears were running down Bronson"s face, and he wiped them away quite humbly, as if he did not mind our seeing them in the least. I could not bear to watch him, so I slipped out of the room and went upstairs.
"In here, "m," said the nurse; "and Miss Rachel is here too. She won"t move that far from the cradle, and she hasn"t shed a tear."
Ruth lay peacefully in her little lace crib, covered with violets, and beside her, rigid and white and tearless, stood Rachel. I was almost afraid of the child as I looked at her. She turned her great eyes upon me dumbly, with so exactly Bronson"s expression in them that all at once I understood her. I knelt down beside her, and gathering her little tense frame all up in my arms, I began whispering to her. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and soon she was crying hysterically. Bronson came bounding upstairs at the sound, but she seized me more tightly around the neck and held me chokingly. I motioned him back, and succeeded in carrying her away to a quiet place, where I sat down with her in my arms, and made love to her for hours.
I never heard a more pitiful story than she told me, between strangling sobs, of her hungry life. The child has been yearning for affection all the time, but has unconsciously repelled it by her manner. She said n.o.body on earth loved her except the baby, and now the baby was dead.
"There is no use of your trying to make things different," she said, "especially with mamma. She wouldn"t care if I was dead too. But papa could understand, I think, if he would only try to love me. But I love you--oh! I love you so much that it hurts me. n.o.body ever came and hugged me up the way you did, in my whole life. You have made things over for me, and I"ll love you for it till I die. Why is it that everybody gives mamma and the baby so much love, when they never cared for it, and I care so much and never get a single bit? n.o.body understands me, and every one--every one calls me bad. I"m not bad. I love plenty of people who can"t love me. I am not bad, I tell you!"
She cried herself nearly sick, and then, exhausted, fell asleep, with her face pressed against mine. Thus Bronson found us. He offered to take her, and I put her into his arms. Then I told him all that she had said, and asked him to hold her until she wakened, and give her some of the love her little heart was hungering for. He couldn"t speak when I finished, and I went down, to find Rachel bathing Flossy"s head with cologne, and looking worn and tired.
Percival came for Rachel, and one could see that the mere sight of him rested her. She told him all about it, in her wonderfully comprehensive way, and he felt the whole thing, and we were all very quiet and peaceful and sad, as we drove home through the early darkness of that Easter day.
They left me at my door, and I went in alone, with the memory of that grieving household--the lonely father, and the selfish mother, and the unloved child--hallowed and made tender by the presence of the little dead baby, asleep under its weight of violets.
I feel very much alone sometimes; but the Percivals carry their world with them.
VII
A STUDY IN HUMAN GEESE
"I am myself indifferent honest."
I have just made two startling discoveries. One is that I am not honest myself, and the other is that I detest honesty in other people.
To-day I was sitting peacefully in my room, harming n.o.body, when I saw little Pet Winterbotham drive up in her cart and come running up to the door. I supposed she had come with a message from her sister, and went down, thinking to be detained about ten minutes.
It seems but a few years ago since Pet was in the kindergarten. I was surprised to see that she wore her dresses very long, and that she looked almost grown up.
"My dear Pet," I exclaimed, "what is the matter?"
"Oh, Miss Ruth, I am in such a sc.r.a.pe," she answered me. "I hope you won"t think it"s queer that I came to you, but the fact is, I"ve watched you in church, and you always look as if you knew, and would help people if they would ask you to; so I thought I"d try you.
"Ever and ever so long ago, when I was a little bit of a thing, and played with other children, and you and sister Grace went out together, I used to "choose" you from all the other young ladies, because you wore such lovely hats, and always had on pearl-colored gloves. I suppose it is so long ago that you were a young lady and had beaux that you"ve forgotten it. But I know you used to have lovers, for I heard Mrs. Herrick and Mrs. Payson Osborne talking about you once, and Mrs. Herrick said you seemed so tranquil and contented that she supposed you never had had any really good offers, or you would be all the time wishing you had taken one. And Mrs.
Osborne spoke up in her quick way, and said, "Don"t deceive yourself so comfortably, my dear Flossy. I know positively that Ruth has had several offers that you and I would have jumped at." And then she turned away and laughed and laughed, although I didn"t see anything so very funny in what she said, and neither did Mrs. Herrick.
"I do think Mrs. Osborne is the loveliest person I know. She is my ideal young married woman. She always has a smile and a pretty word for every one, and young men like her better than they do the buds. Why, your face is as red as fire. I hope I haven"t said anything unpleasant. Mamma says I blunder horribly, but she always is too busy to tell me how not to blunder.
"Now, I want to know which of these two men you would advise me to marry.
I"ve got to take one, I suppose."
"Marry!" I exclaimed, so explosively that Pet started. "Why, child, how old are you?"
"I"m nineteen," she said, in rather an injured tone, "and I"ve always made up my mind to marry young, if I got a good enough offer. I hate old maids.
Oh, excuse me. I don"t mean you, of course. I wouldn"t marry a clerk, you understand, just to be marrying. I"m not so silly. I have plenty of common-sense in other things, and I"m going to put some of it into the marriage question. Don"t you think I"m sensible?"
"Very," I answered; but I didn"t, Tabby. I thought she was a goose.
"Well now," proceeded my young caller, settling her ribbons with a pretty air of importance, and looking at me out of the most innocent eyes in the world, "my sister Grace married Brian Beck because he had such a lot of money. But you know he is dissipated, and at first Grace almost went distracted. Then she made up her mind to let him go his own gait, and she has as good a time as she can on his money. His Irish name Brian is her thorn in the flesh, and he teases her nearly out of her wits about it. We have great fun on the yacht every summer. Brian is awfully good to me, and invites nice men to take with us; still, much as I like Brian as a brother-in-law, I shouldn"t care to have a husband like him. Now, I suppose you wonder why on earth I am telling you these things, and why I don"t tell one of the girls I go with."
"Oh, no!" I exclaimed in protest.
"Of course. I see you think it wouldn"t be safe. Girls just can"t help telling, to save their lives. Sometimes they don"t intend to, and then it"s bad enough. But sometimes they do it just to be mean, and you can"t help yourself. I have plenty of confidence in you though, and you don"t look as if you"d be easily shocked. You look as though you could tell a good deal if you wanted to. You"re an awfully comfortable sort of a person. Now, let me tell you. I have two offers. One is from Clinton Frost, and the other is from Jack Whitehouse. You have seen me with Mr.
Frost, haven"t you? A dark, fierce, melancholy man, with black eyes and hair, and very distinguished looking.
"I think he has a history. He throws out hints that way. He is gloomy with everybody but me, and Brian will do nothing but joke with him. There is nothing Mr. Frost dislikes as much as to laugh or to see other people laugh. Brian calls him "Pet"s nightmare," and threatens to give him ink to drink.
"I believe Mr. Frost hates Brian. He says the name of our yacht, _Hittie Magin_, is unspeakably vulgar. Nothing pleases Brian more than to force Mr. Frost or Grace to tell strangers the name of it. Their mere speaking the words throws Brian into convulsions of laughter. Then, if people comment on it, he tells them that the name is of his wife"s selection, in deference to his Irish family. And Grace almost faints with mortification.
Mr. Frost says he will give me a yacht twice as good as Brian"s. He adores me. He says I am the only thing in life which makes him smile."
I felt that I could sympathize with Mr. Frost on this point.
"Then there"s Jack Whitehouse, Norris Whitehouse"s nephew. Mr. Norris Whitehouse is a great friend of yours, isn"t he? Do you know, I never think of him as an "eligible," although he is a bachelor. I should as soon think of a king in that light. He impresses me more than any man I ever knew. Don"t you consider him odd? No? I do. He is so clever that you would be afraid of him, if it wasn"t for his lovely manners, which make you feel as though what you are saying is just what he has been wanting to know, and he is so glad he has met some one who is able to tell him.
Actually he treats me with more respect than some of the young men do. He makes me feel as if I were a woman, and he had a right to expect something good of me. I never said that to anybody before, but I can talk to you and feel that you understand me. I like to feel that people think there is something to me, even if I know that it isn"t much. Mrs. Asbury says that Mr. Whitehouse is the courtliest man she knows. You know the story of the Whitehouse money, don"t you? Jack told it to me with tears in his eyes, and I don"t wonder at it. You know Jack"s father and mother died when he was very young. Norris was his father"s favorite, and the old gentleman made a most unjust will, leaving only a life interest in the property to Jack"s father; then it all went to his favorite younger son, Norris. Now, you know what most men would do under the circ.u.mstances. They would acknowledge the injustice of the will, but they would keep the money.
This proves to me what an unusual man Mr. Norris Whitehouse is, for he immediately made over to his little nephew Jack one half of the property--just what his father ought to have been able to leave him--and Jack is to come into that when he is twenty-five. Don"t you think that was n.o.ble? Jack worships him. He says no father could have been more devoted to an only son than his uncle Norris has been to him. He travelled with him, and gave up years of his life to superintending Jack"s education.
"Now, whoever marries Jack will really be at the head of that elegant house, for you know it hasn"t had a mistress since Jack"s mother died, years ago. I should like that, although I do wish more of the expense was in furniture instead of in pictures and tapestries. But that is his uncle"s taste.
"Poor Jack talks so beautifully about his young mother, whom he can scarcely remember. He says his uncle has kept her alive to him. He is perfectly lovely with other fellows" mothers, and with mine. He treats them all, he says, as he should like to have had others treat his mother.
Of course it is only sentiment with him. If she had lived, he might have given her as much trouble as other boys give theirs. She must have been lovely. Mamma says she was. But I"d just as soon not have any mother-in-law to tell me to wrap up, and wear rubbers if it looked like rain. You know there isn"t a bit of sentiment in me. I"m practical. My father says if I had been a boy he would have taken me into business at fifteen. Jack thinks I am all sentiment. He says n.o.body could have a face like mine and not possess an innate love of the beautiful in art and poetry and all that. I have forgotten just what he said about that part of it. But I know he meant to praise me. I didn"t say anything in reply, but I smiled to myself at the idea of Pet Winterbotham being credited with fine sentiment.
"Jack is horribly young--only twenty-two--so he won"t have his money for three years, and Mr. Frost is thirty-nine. Jack has curly hair, and when he wears a white tennis suit and puts his cap on the back of his head and holds a cigarette in his hand, he looks as if he had just stepped out of one of the pictures in _Life_. He looks so "chappie." He is a good deal easier to get along with than Mr. Frost, and will have more money some day, although Mr. Frost has enough. Now, which would you take?"
"Why, my dear Pet," I said in an unguarded moment, "which do you love?"
I shrivelled visibly under the look of scorn she cast upon me.