 8. In which I discover a Christian duty. My impressions, said Mr. Tyndall, are very vivid at least. What was the text, Fanny? Mrs. Tyndall could not tell, and so long had it been gone from my mind that I could do no better, but the doctor being appealed to repeated it slowly and solemnly. What will ye shall I come unto you with a rod or in love? Exactly, continued Mr. Tyndall. Now, if Dr. Mulford had that matter in his own hands, I don't believe he would stop to inquire as to our choice in the matter. He would take the rod and make use of it right and left. The way he did give it to us, sales, you ought to have been there. You would have discovered that you had a conscience. That man would have made a good pugilist. I think it is as good as a play the manner in which he tears around that pulpit. I wonder at your absenting yourself, sales. It answers the place of a theatre to me. Mr. Tyndall, his wife's voice had a note of reproof in it, but she smothered a laugh as she spoke. Mr. Sales looked triumphant. There, he said, we have positive proof of your devotional feelings. Now I'll leave it to the doctor if I didn't, evidently, get more good out of my mourning than that. The doctor's voice was dignified even to hot tour, as he answered. I presume, Mr. Sales, neither building is responsible for the spirit in which a man enters it. But other things being equal, you would say that in an orthodox church a man might expect to receive good. I repeat that I think that must depend very largely on the spirit of the man. Miss Reid, said Mr. Tyndall, abruptly, what was the matter with your spirit and mine this morning? I observed that yours impressed your risables in a way in which I would have been delighted to join. Hush, Mrs. Tyndall said gently, while I colored to the very roots of my hair. That was not the poor child's fault in the least. People cannot surely be surprised that Dr. Mulford's peculiar facial infirmity excites laughter when one sees it for the first time. I have been for three years endeavoring to become accustomed to it, and I am far from being perfected in my endeavor. The doctor fixed a pair of very sharp eyes on Mrs. Tyndall as he asked. To what infirmity do you refer, may I ask? I have never observed any. The lady first opened her blue eyes very wide, in token of her astonishment, then drew her face into such a ridiculous exaggeration of Dr. Mulford's that her husband and guest roared with laughter. The doctor's answer was dignified, haughty, utter silence, and almost immediately he excused himself and left the room. Is Dr. Douglas's digestion good, queried Mr. Sales with a grave face? Mrs. Tyndall responded, laughingly, I really can't say, why? Because if it isn't, I feel conscious stricken. Such a solemn state as that into which we have put him is said to interfere sadly with his pectics. Mr. Tyndall had regained his gravity and spoke more thoughtfully than I had yet heard him. I am afraid we have wounded his feelings. He has a sort of a worshipful feeling for Dr. Mulford, I think. Mr. Sales glanced up quickly. Do you think so? he asked, with an air of real regret. I should be very sorry. I intended not the slightest disrespect to Dr. Mulford. He is a gentleman, I think. But Mrs. Tyndall, your face was too ridiculous. Whereupon he laughed again. Mrs. Tyndall answered him, composedly, Finish your cream, Mr. Sales, I'll answer for Dr. Douglas's feelings. He is not so foolish a man as Mr. Tyndall would have you suppose. He knows, as do all the rest of you, that I have unbounded respect and a high regard for Dr. Mulford. But that does not alter the fact that he certainly has a very queer mouth. The talk flowed on into other channels. About the singing, Mrs. Tyndall asserted that the alto was too heavy, and her husband as earnestly affirming that it was grand. Mrs. Tyndall seemed to differ in a graceful, ladylike way, with everybody on every subject. After we returned to the parlor, I gave myself up to uncomfortable thought. The closing of the outer door and the brisk tread of Dr. Douglas as he made his way alone to the mission school did not serve to make myself communing any pleasanter. I realized that thus far the day had been an unprofitable one. I had faint thoughts of going to my room and endeavoring to atone for my unfortunate beginning. But the parlor was the very perfection of comfort, and the murmur of tongues seemed to soothe the homesick spirit that was in my heart. When I gave attention to them again, Mr. Sales had returned to the subject which had been under discussion at the dinner table. I am really very sorry for the turn that our conversation took, and am very much afraid that we hurt the doctor's feelings. I am sure I don't know what would have tempted me to do so. I wonder if it would do to offer an apology. Fanny is the one to apologize, I think, if there is anything of that sort to be done. She shouldn't have been so absurd. And Mr. Tyndall laughed again at the remembrance, a laugh in which his wife and Mr. Sales joined. But the latter said immediately, I have heard that he is a great admirer and devoted friend of Dr. Mulford, and he must have thought our fun rather severe. Upon my word I wouldn't have hurt the poor fellow's feelings for the world. What a sensitive man you are, Mrs. Tyndall said, a touch of admiration in her voice. I wish I were as thoughtful of other person's feelings. I am so given to speaking my mind without regard to the wisdom of such a proceeding. I wish I were as thoughtful before I committed the blunder instead of afterward, laughed Mr. Sales. I never discovered that my afterthoughts did any particular good. But in this instance I am sure your regrets are uncalled for. I feel certain that Dr. Douglas is too sensible a man to take offense at a little harmless talk between ourselves. Of course none of us intend to repeat it. To be sure the doctor's abrupt departure looks as though his temper wasn't under as good subjection as usual, but his brisk walk in the fresh air will tone him down, and he will see the folly of his ill nature. So, Jerome, don't trouble your head about that for another minute. You have troubles enough of your own, I am sure. I am not going to let you find anything but pleasure in my house. And Mrs. Tyndall dismissed the doctor's supposed ill humor with a little laugh, and gracefully changed the conversation. I looked at Mr. Sales as he launched in the easy chair, his handsome head bobbing restlessly from corner to corner of the elegant tidy, and I wondered what the peculiar trials to which I had heard reference could be. He looked like a man whom trials had never touched. The conversation became animated presently, still about ministers. I noticed many times since that day that there are people who think they are having a religious conversation if they talk about clergymen. Dr. Waitley was the name of the Reverend Gentleman who was being discussed. He is really the finest orator in Newton, Mr. Tyndall said. There is no one here who can compete with him. Oh, said Mrs. Tyndall, I shouldn't think there was. Why, I haven't heard a man in New York City who can surpass him. It is really a perfect feast to hear him preach. Miss Read, his voice is melody itself, and I have seen many in his audience melted to tears just by his manner in reading a hymn. What about his logic, Mrs. Tyndall, Mr. Sales asked, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Oh, you know he doesn't force his peculiar views on people. I have heard him often when I couldn't have determined, from the sermon, what his religious standpoint was. Both the gentleman laughed, and Mr. Tyndall said. That is rather hard on him, isn't it, Fanny? When a man has been called to preach for a church, who fully agree with him in his religious views, why shouldn't they have the pleasure of hearing those views presented? Oh, you may laugh, said Mrs. Tyndall emphatically, but I assure you that is an old-fashioned notion that doesn't obtain among first-class people the idea that a man must be forever forcing some religious dogma upon his congregation. For my part, I like it, Mr. Sales said, sturdily. I always like to see a man act as though he wasn't ashamed of his belief and thought it a matter of sufficient importance to feel the need of impressing it upon other people. At this point I chimed in. So do I, I said, and while I spoke I thought to myself that I liked Mr. Sales much better than I thought I should. I liked Dr. Mulford for that very reason. He seems in earnest and preaches as though he wanted other people to be. Mr. Tyndall's tones were complacent itself. This just accords with my view of things, he said. You good people find the storming of your own consciences a very troublesome business and are happy to delegate it to your clergyman. As for Fanny here, it is getting to be an old story with her, and she begins to think it is an unnecessary proceeding altogether. Mrs. Tyndall laughed her sweet, good-natured, silvery laugh and added, as for Mr. Tyndall, he never had any conscience to speak of, so his idiosyncrasies cannot be accounted for in that way. But I know a delightful way in which to end the discussion. Let us take Miss Reed to hear Dr. Waitley this evening, and she will consider herself conquered at once. Will she be taken, queried Mr. Sales, turning promptly to me, and then followed another discussion. I demurred faintly enough it is true, but the others were all clamorous for the plan, and my weak scruples were speedily overruled. Mr. Tyndall suppressed a yawn as he spoke. That matter being settled, Sales, which do you prefer in the meantime, a walk and a smoke with me or a chat with the ladies? Mr. Sales had the grace to choose the walk and smoke, and I fully intended to go at once to my room, but as the door closed after them, Mrs. Tyndall turned quickly toward me and spoke eagerly. Now, isn't it sad, Miss Reed, that of these two gentlemen, Dr. Douglas and Mr. Sales, the one who makes no pretension to religion should be the one to show such a considerate spirit, and that so good a man as Dr. Douglas should give himself up to a burst of ill temper. I was so sorry that he rushed off in the manner that he did this afternoon. I knew that Mr. Sales' sensitive nature would feel it, and the poor fellow has trouble enough of his own. Besides, how can Mr. Tyndall help drawing unfavorable contrasts? I do wish people could realize what an amount of harm they can do by these foolish bursts of passion. I remained silent and thoughtful. When the doctor left the dinner table, I had discovered nothing in his manner but grave and courteous dignity. That he felt hurt, I who knew him so well could but believe. But I had even admired the self-controlled face, showing his disapprobation only by its pallor. But viewed by the light of the afternoon's conversation, his manner began to appear decidedly objectionable, and Mr. Sales kind-hearted anxiety, lest he had offended, contrasted admirably. Yes, I said it last, speaking slowly. I am sorry that the doctor was so sensitive. It isn't like him. So absurd in him to grow angry because we laughed at the good old doctor's queer faces, as if anybody could help that. My dear, our good Dr. Douglas tries me occasionally in regard to his puritan ideas. I barely believe he thinks it wicked for Mr. Sales to come here on the Sabbath. He doesn't like poor Jerome anyway, and always treats him with severe gravity. But he adds a tenfold quantity if it happens to be Sunday. Now, shouldn't you suppose he could see that I make it a matter of duty to welcome Mr. Tyndall's friends most heartily at all times, and that I try especially to make the Sabbath a bright happy day to him in his own home? I banish, or try to, all long faces, all sanctimonious heirs. I particularly wish to relieve Mr. Tyndall from any of those I am holier than thou heirs. They are always so extremely obnoxious to gentlemen. Isn't it strange that Dr. Douglas doesn't think of any of these little things? And yet I don't know as it is, with a little sigh and a peculiar sweet drooping of a shapely head. I suppose he has always lived in a religious atmosphere. Probably all his friends are Christians, and he doubtless knows nothing about the perpetual anxieties and plantings of one who is so peculiar in nature as my husbands to deal with. I do hope you will help me, Miss Read. I have needed help. I was silent and bewildered. I had been compromising with my conscience during that entire afternoon. I had disapproved of Mr. Sale's Sunday visit and of the style of conversation. I had felt grieved that Mr. Tyndall should be brought under such influence, having heard from Mrs. Tyndall how peculiar he was. I had considered the whole affair peculiarly demoralizing to him. I had been grieved and shocked over Mrs. Tyndall's own frivolous words. Now was it possible there were two sides to this question? Were the doctors and my own dear mother's ideas on these subjects narrow and puritanic the result of a straightened system of education? Was Mrs. Tyndall conscientious in this matter, and had she taken the right course? Ah, me! it is but little consolation to me tonight that I was sincere in my bewilderments. What right had I, with a Christian mother and a father and sister in heaven, and a full knowledge of that old solemn command, remember the Sabbath Day to keep it holy, to be bewildered at all? But I was, and it is easy to day to see how it all came to pass. Satan desired to have me, and I seemed only too willing to yield myself to his guidance, and began and lived through that Sabbath Day without a word to that one stronger than Satan, to the end that he would keep me. What wonder that he stood aside and let that most skillful of all weavers tangle me in his silky-looking web? Mrs. Tyndall broke the silence suddenly, with a total change of subject. My dear, why don't you wave your hair and arrange it low on your forehead? It would be very becoming. I don't know, I said hesitatingly, a little startled by the sudden transition. I wish you would let me arrange it for you, she answered me with enthusiasm. It is such lovely hair I am sure I could do just what I wanted with it. Do you know you have a very artistic head, and I am a skillful artist in the matter of hair, I assure you. Won't you just come to my room and let me show you what I can do in that line? It will take but a very few moments, and would be such an improvement. I quite long to get my fingers in your beautiful hair. It will relieve your head too, I think you said it ached. It did ache, and as I sat in her low crimson chair in her dressing room, I told myself that that was the reason why I let Mrs. Tyndall pull and twitch and unmercifully snarl my hair on that sabbath afternoon. The ringing of the church bells before the operation was concluded recalled me to a sense of sabbath, and I suddenly wondered if this hairdressing could, by Mrs. Tyndall, be made to seem the right and proper thing to do. In a somewhat blundering fashion I asked her, and she answered, There I have finished. It is perfectly lovely. My dear, won't you please wear a blue velvet knot in your hair tonight? The effect would be so exquisite. Then, bending over, she kissed me gently, caressingly, and added, My dear little conscientious mouse, don't you know that it is a Christian duty to make ourselves just as pretty as we can? And I went to my room and knelt down before my trunk, and tumbled it upside down in search of a knot of blue velvet ribbon to wear in my hair. CHAPTER IX Frank, I said, Frank Cooper, won't you wait a moment? I want to speak with you. And Frank came back and perched herself on a great stack of pasteboard and eyed me gravely while I nervously donned my cloak and hat. I had been in my new sphere not yet six weeks, and in some respects was a curiosity to myself. I really at times seemed to myself to be two persons. At my boarding place I was treated by Mrs. Tindall with unvarying kindness, and indeed was so marked a degree of familiarity that her influence over me had become almost unbounded. I was with her constantly during my leisure hours, and she had been giving me delicious and dangerous tastes of the gay world that adhered to for appeared to me only in books. Part of the time I considered myself gloriously happy and singularly fortunate, but there were hours in which I conceived a disgust for myself and formed brilliant plans of an impossible reformation. These times nearly always came upon me in the shop where the Julia Reed that I used to know seemed to lodge and never by any chance came out from thence to be found at Mrs. Tindall's. I was more or less familiar with all the girls and had acquired a certain influence over them, not the kind of influence that Dr. Douglas had desired me to have, for I rarely spoke with any of them personally on the question of religion, but in a gay, frolic-some sort of way they all liked me more or less and listened with a good, humored toleration to my occasional lectures on propriety. Speaking of Dr. Douglas, my relations with him were rather annoying. I saw very little of him. The evening lessons that had been commenced by me in such glee were so constantly interrupted that they had now only a stray evening once a week possibly. Mrs. Tindall entirely disapproved of them, thought I was sufficiently occupied all day, and that at evening my mind needed rest and relaxation, which she was continually finding me in the shape of a rare concert for which Mr. Tindall had secured tickets or a lecture of unusual interest or a little social gathering or possibly a headache which needed a walk in the fresh air with me for a companion to relieve it. And she was so uniformly kind and thoughtful and winning that it became every day more difficult to resist her. Dr. Douglas had ceased to remonstrate or even to comment. He was always ready for me on those rare evenings when I presented myself with my arms full of books and never questioned me as to my engagements or plans for the coming evenings. But Mother and Sadie constantly wrote of him as if he were my natural protector and took it so entirely for granted that I deferred to him in all things that sometimes it chafed and sometimes it troubled me. He had ceased all opposition to my plans and only showed his interest in me by constantly remembering rubbers and umbrella and waterproof whenever there came an unexpected change in the weather or by some such quiet attention to my comfort. On this particular afternoon of which I write, I had been having one of my seasons of reformation brought upon me by a troubled look in the doctor's eyes as he questioned me closely when we walked downtown together about Frank Hooper's deportment in the shop and revealed to me incidentally that she had not been to the young people's meeting for a month. It was Saturday and we were having a sort of half-holiday and although I had engaged to accompany Mrs. Tyndall in a calling to her, I yet resolutely recalled Frank resolved upon a few minute serious conversation with her. So there she sat upon her pile of pasteboard, erect and composed, while I nervously buttoned and unbuttoned my cloak. At last I plunged into the very center of what I wanted to say. Frank, why don't you go to prayer meeting any more? The cool gray eyes seemed to be searching me through and through while Frank compositely swung her heels against the pasteboard. Finally she said, How do you know I don't? How, indeed, was that a tacit reproof from my own absence from the meetings, for I had not been there since the first Saturday evening that I had spent in Newton. I felt that Frank had me at a disadvantage, but her gray eyes were waiting and must be answered, so I said nervously, Dr. Douglas told me so this noon. Frank's heels were quiet and a little red spot glowed on either cheek, but her voice was still cool and composed. Did Dr. Douglas complain to you of my refractory self and enlist your sympathy and cooperation on my behalf? Now, Frank, I said pleadingly, Don't be ugly, tell me please why you don't go any more? Frank laughed and spoke in her old hard tone. What's the use? I get no good by it, never did. Satan desires to have me twice as hard the day after I go to meeting as he does the day before. That's Bible I know so much about the good book. Fact is I stay away as a matter of principle because I'm so much less wicked when I don't go. Oh, Frank, I said, in great and genuine sorrow. I wish you wouldn't talk so. I wish you could be serious. Frank's face had resumed its gravity, but there was a touch of curiosity in her voice as she made her next remark. I didn't know you were so interested in the meetings. Why don't you attend them? When I look back on that conversation, it seems to me now, as it did then, that I would give almost anything if there had been no occasion for asking that question if I had attended every one of those meetings. The question confused me. My cheeks grew red, and I looked down and twisted my cloak buttons. At last I said, Frank, I—there are reasons. I have but very little time, and I am differently circumstanced. I—she interrupted me. I know we are, she said, with a mocking smile. Of course, your time is very limited. I only work ten hours a day while you have to work from eight in the morning until five at night. Besides, I board at the Powell Mansion on Green Street while you are domiciled at Madame Tindall's Corner of Harvard and Genesee Streets, and that, of course, makes all the difference in the world with our ability to go to prayer meeting. I answered her coldly. I don't think I deserve such treatment from you, Frank. I have never given you any reason to suppose that I felt superior to you, and you know I don't mean any such thing. Frank jumped down from the pasteboards and confronted me, erect and dignified. Don't you mean just exactly that, Miss Reed? Only you don't want me to know it? Don't you stay away from the young people's meeting because Mrs. Tindall has represented to you that it is not quite the thing, that it is well enough for shop girls and office boys and other scum of creation, but that our set are never found there? That in short you would lose caste with the world, that even Mrs. Tindall couldn't consent to pilot you through its intricate mazes if you lowered yourself to an equality with those poor wretches picked up from nobody knows where? I've heard her talk, Miss Reed. I know just how daintily she sinks herself into the depths of her easy chair when she disposes of her offscorings of the world. I even know in what corner of her elegant room the chair probably stands. My own used to stand just there. My father built that house, and my mother planned it, and I have seen the time when Mrs. Tindall considered herself honored by an invitation to my father's house, but she passes me on the street now with no knowledge of my existence. Her memory is probably defective. She has forgotten me. I listened to this story in great astonishment. Then the only difference between this girl and myself was that I had always been obliged to turn my dresses and make over my old hats and economize in every imaginable way in order to make a very little money meet my needs, while she had known what it was to be the daughter of a man of wealth and position. Strangely enough, the whole matter irritated me, and I spoke suddenly and sharply. After all, Frank, what is all this harangue about? I asked you a very simple question, which had nothing whatever to do with the subject about which we are talking. Frank laughed. Very true, she said carelessly. I ran off the track. The fact is, I preach a sermon so seldom that I find it difficult to stick to my text. Well, let me see, what was the important question? Why don't I go to the young people's meeting any more? My dear young friend, after mature deliberation, I have very nearly decided that it is because I don't. Now, I'm sure you can't complain that your question has not been answered. I did not know what to say next. I did not seem to be accomplishing anything. I made another effort. Frank, have you really no interest in the subject? Which subject? The one on which we stumbled when we ran off the track? Yes, an immense interest. I'm engaged at present in calculating how many sixteenths of inches Mrs. Tindall's head is elevated above its ordinary poise whenever I meet her. Also, how much greater elevation the said head will endure before it reaches the clouds and sores altogether from my mundane sight. I fastened the last button of my cloak with a resolute hand and spoke with dignity. I did not ask you to stop in order to hear you talk nonsense about my friend. I am sorry you will not listen to anything serious. Good evening. Dr. Douglas, walking rapidly, overtook me before I reached the corner. He slackened his pace and said carelessly, You are early this afternoon, are you not? On the contrary, I am late, I answered, intent on my desire to have him know that I had been trying to do what I thought my duty. I have an engagement with Mrs. Tindall, and I presume she is waiting for me, but I stopped to have a quiet little talk with Frank Cooper and accomplished very little by it, I imagine. The doctor's face blighted. Do you mean a religious talk, Julia? He asked eagerly. Yes, I said unhesitatingly. I remember it seemed to me at that time that my conversation with Frank Cooper had been very religious indeed. I am very glad the doctor's words were earnest and hearty. I have been troubled about her of late. I feared she was hardening. How does she appear to you? Very bitter indeed, she would not listen to anything I could say, but commenced a very sharp and sarcastic tirade against wealthy people. She evidently feels above her station. I added this very loftily as one who looked from an immense height and beheld Frank Cooper miles below me chafing over her station. Against Mrs. Tindall more particularly, the doctor asked hesitatingly. The question angered me. Oh yes, I said. Against her, of course, everyone seems to have a special grudge against her. It must be because people see how far superior she is to them. Softly, Julia, the poor girl has special reason for bitterness of heart over the lady in question, and having no Christian principle to sustain her, perhaps it is not to be wondered at that she gives free reign to her feelings. But I was not to be calmed by the doctor's quiet tones. I spoke more impatiently than before. Oh, of course, she has an excellent excuse for her wickedness. It is easy for you to find excuses for everyone but Mrs. Tindall. I think she must be your embodiment of all that is evil. His reply was grave and sad. Am I, then, so uncharitable, Julia? Yes, you are, I said sharply. You never omit an opportunity to speak disparagingly of her. I cannot think why you should dislike her so. At this point old Dr. Holmes waylaid Dr. Douglas, and I went on my way alone, excited and angry, over I hardly knew what. As I expected Mrs. Tindall was waiting, and I hurried my toilet as much as was compatible with my lately acquired ideas of the importance of that matter. Almost the first persons whom we met when I was again on the street were Dr. Douglas and little Ruth Walker, walking uptown and engaged in earnest conversation. Mrs. Tindall's incredulous stare must have astonished the doctor. She hardly waited for them to pass out of hearing before she spoke. Now, isn't that the oddest thing for a man in Dr. Douglas's position to do? What is the use in his parading the street with that shop girl making a companion of her? She is in his class, you know, I ventured to say. Some way I always had an irritating sense of being forever trying to uphold Dr. Douglas's views to Mrs. Tindall and Mrs. Tindall's views to Dr. Douglas and never succeeding in either case. I know, she said promptly, and he feels a sort of interest in her, of course, but is that any reason why he should treat her as an equal? Why isn't she an equal in the sense in which he treats her? I asked stoutly, and she answered with a sort of surprised sweetness. My dear child, is this paradise or is it the earth? Why isn't my Kate our equal? Why didn't we invite her out to make calls with us this afternoon? Why don't I bow to Judge Hervey's chambermaid when I meet her on the street? You see, you will get yourself into one interminable tangle if you mix in this subject, and I advise you to keep as clear as possible of the subject and the set. At this point, as we turned the corner, to my absolute dismay, we came face to face with Frank Hooper, and her low mischievous bow was not returned. It was months after that I one day reviewed that religious conversation which I imagined myself to hold with Frank Hooper, and I found that the only words which I used that could possibly be supposed to be tinged with religion were, why don't you go to prayer meeting any more? And, have you really no interest in this subject? That girl, said Mrs. Tindall, as Frank Hooper disappeared around the corner, is insufferable to me. She has a very queer history. They were wealthy, but her father made ridiculous speculations and entered into all sorts of wild schemes and finally died bankrupt. The mother was a weak creature without energy or spirit, and she died within three months of her husband. Then Frank was the only one left, and everybody treated her with marked kindness. I don't know how many homes opened to receive her, my own among the number, but she insolently rejected them all and went to work in this box shop for very evident reasons. It was plain that she had resolved to ensnare Jerome's sales, if it were a possible thing. He used to be intimate with the family before their downfall, and the kind-hearted fellow very foolishly continued the acquaintance. And sometimes I am very much afraid what with the girl's intolerable impudence and his stepmother's malignant interference combined, that the poor boy will get into some wretched entanglement unless you rescue him, my dear. I winced a good deal over this. There were reasons why I felt peculiarly sensitive. I asked but one question. Why does Mrs. Sayles interfere? Mrs. Tindall laughed lightly. My dear, she comes from the scum herself and naturally has an affinity for the class. She was a tailoress or something of that sort, I believe, when she contrived to entrap Mr. Sayles. I never knew that she had any particular fancy for Frank Hooper until she became a shop girl. Well, let us get this call off our list. And while we waited on Dr. Mulford's steps, I tried to cool my glowing cheeks. It had so chanceed that I had not yet met Mrs. Mulford. She had been absent from home and then had been ill, and finally, when she called on me, I had not been at home. So my curiosity was great concerning her. For, of course, in this time I had heard much about her. There was quite a delay before our ring was answered, and then we were shown to a back parlor where a very low coal fire gave us a cold greeting. There were ashes on the stove hearth and a lump of coal on the carpet, on which Mrs. Tindall's daintily shod foot trod, and she sprang back with a nervous setting of her white teeth as if the crunching of the coal gave her actual pain. There were two or three newspapers on the floor and a wild array of books and slates and boys' caps on the table. There was a cloak flung carelessly over the arm of a rocking chair and a half-eaten apple on one of the window seats. Mrs. Tindall removed a pile of school books from a chair near the door, drew the chair very close to the gloomy stove, and sank into it with a gesture of comic despair, while she brushed with her embroidered handkerchief a spot of dust from her lavender kid. Specimen of ministerial housekeeping, Julia, take warning, she said, with an expressive glance around the disorderly room. She had long ceased the formal misread and adopted my Christian name. We must have been waiting at least 10 minutes, and Mrs. Tindall had even suggested leaving our cards and going on when the door swung slowly open and Mrs. Mulford entered. A tall, pale woman with her fair hair combed, straight and plain, behind her ears and her dress along loose wrapper, finished at the throat with a much wrinkled collar. She looked one and exhausted, about half asleep, I thought. She apologized briefly for her delay and appearance. Willie was sick and she had not left him before that day. His Willie's sick again was Mrs. Tindall's exclamation. My dear Mrs. Mulford, what an unfortunate child he is. A weary smile flickered over the mother's pale face as she answered. He is a very patient little fellow and bears his frequent illnesses like a martyr. But what do you suppose is the reason that his constitution is so delicate? Are you very careful about his diet and clothing, Mrs. Mulford? We try to be, was the lady's quiet answer. You must pardon the question, Mrs. Tindall continued in gentle tones. You mothers of large families, burdened with many cares, must be sorely tempted to neglect or run away from some of your responsibilities occasionally. This remark called forth not the slightest response, and Mrs. Tindall was forced to continue the conversation. Have you good help, Mrs. Mulford? And the slightest perceptible glance of her bright eyes over the room said almost as plainly as words, I don't think it's possible. Mrs. Mulford explained that her girl was young and inexperienced, but did quite as well as could be expected, then turned to me with a kind word of greeting. After a little, the talk drifted around again to question and answer until presently Mrs. Tindall asked, What do you hear from your mother, Mrs. Mulford? She is improving, I trust? A swift rush of color bathed cheeks and forehead, and Mrs. Mulford's voice was painfully unsteady as she answered. My mother has gone to arrest, Mrs. Tindall. Mrs. Tindall was shocked and mortified and apologetic all in one. She did not know, did not think. It had not suggested itself to her mind as a possibility, and here came a swift glance at the flowered wrapper. It was strange she had not heard of it. I am sorry to have troubled you with a formal call at this time, she continued, but my ignorance of your affliction must be my excuse. I saw you, too, at Mrs. Simmons the other evening, you remember, and I remarked to Mr. Tindall on my return that I had neglected to inquire after your mother, but that, of course, she must be better since you were out. When did it occur, Mrs. Mulford? Mrs. Mulford's voice was perfectly steady after that. Her face had regained its pallor, and she detailed, in a calm, almost indifferent manner, various particulars concerning her recent loss in answer to Mrs. Tindall's questionings. Presently Dr. Mulford was inquired for, and it appeared that he was lying down. He was broken of his rest, the pale wife explained, and was not feeling well today. Indeed, had not been for several days. She hoped he would take a little relaxation soon. Mrs. Tindall's eyebrows arched. Is he going away again, she queried, in a surprised tone? I thought he only returned three or four weeks ago. He went to my mother's funeral. Oh, but he was away several sabbaths, was he not? One. Possible! I was thinking it was two or three. But you know he is away quite frequently, and I confused the dates. Well, and then followed the farewell words, and we were in the street again. We crossed the road and rang at Mrs. Simmons. We found that lady in her elegant parlor, in elegant leisure, to receive her guests. Mrs. Tindall gave a well-bred shiver, and dropped into the low chair by the register. Is it so cold out? questioned Mrs. Simmons. Mrs. Tindall gave one of her little silvery laughs. Not so cold out as in, she said. We have just come from the parsonage, and they are economizing coal, I fancy. At least I felt as if their thermometer must be near zero. What a difference there is in rooms. Is the parsonage a particularly cheerless house, Mrs. Simmons? Didn't it feel so to you, Julia? You know they have sickness in the house, I ventured, not feeling prepared to say that the cold and somewhat untidy room looked cheerful, and yet feeling quite willing to excuse it all. Is there indeed, Mrs. Simmons said, with a show of interest, who is ill? Only their little Willie, Mrs. Simmons, and then she turned to me with a smile. By the time you are as well acquainted with that family as we are, my dear, you will discover that Willie's illness is an everyday affair. What is the matter with the poor little fellow, Mrs. Simmons asked again, still bent on showing a little tenderness of heart, but her guest's answer was not encouraging. I'm sure I don't know, the toothache probably, they do make such a sad baby of him. But Mrs. Simmons, I want to know if you were aware of the death of Mrs. Mulford's mother. I really haven't been so mortified in years. Why, I actually asked after her. How could I know she came down to us in a red and green wrapper, and at church she had on that distressing green bonnet? Do you suppose they really cannot afford to wear mourning? I don't know, I am sure. Perhaps she doesn't approve of the custom. You know some people do not. Oh, my dear Mrs. Simmons, I hope she doesn't belong to that class. One likes to see sincerity, at least, in a clergyman's family. And the sort of people who harp on disapproval are always those who want to economize under a false name. Mrs. Simmons went promptly over to the enemy's side. Oh, it is silly, of course, and shows one to be deficient in common respect, at least so I think, but everyone to his taste. Mrs. Tyndall seemed to be deeply interested in the subject. At least, she said, Mrs. Mulford cannot disapprove of observing the common proprieties of life. Isn't it a very strange proceeding for her to come to your entertainment last week? I never heard of such a thing. She could not have cared for her mother, but one would suppose she would make a pretense of doing so. However, it is not my affair. Only I do like to see people a little observant of the rules of propriety. Enough so, at least, so that they need not be marks of singularity. But then some people enjoin notoriety at whatever expense it is procured. Dr. Mulford is going away again. Don't you wish our husbands could be allowed as many vacations as some pastors have? Mrs. Simmons only laughed in response, then asked, who is going to preach for us in his absence. Oh, some old agent or other, I suppose. The doctor produces some very queer people sometimes, you know, to supply his place during his frequent absences. I wish there was a law against allowing agents the use of pulpits, but I suspect that these pastors want to be very careful how they let us hear men of talent. It might affect their own position, you know. I had never liked Mrs. Tyndall so little as I did at that moment. Her words seemed to be all pins and needles jammed into not the people with whom she talked, which is mean enough certainly, but better than that other and meaner way of pricking and scratching people who are not present to defend themselves. Also, I learned afterwards that Mrs. Tyndall was aware that she was talking to one of that interesting class of human beings, who was such a friend to the minister's family, that she would consider it her duty to rush over there at the first opportunity and retail all the items that she had heard or imagined. I joined suddenly in the conversation. Is it the custom in Newton for clergymen to supply their own pulpits during vacation? I always supposed the vacations were times that belonged entirely to clergymen and that the churches had to be looked after by their other officers. Mrs. Tyndall laughed good humoredly. I think you must be at least the grandchild of a clergyman, she said playfully. It seemed to be quite natural for you to battle for their rights, and you are thoroughly posted, apparently, in all their arrangements. Which was precisely the manner in which Mrs. Tyndall always did answer questions that she didn't care to answer directly. She immediately arose and began the preliminary parting compliments, so the only effect of my sharply spoken words was to cut short the conversation. So much time saved, she said, with a gleeful air, as we slipped our cards under Mrs. Hervey's door and moved on uptown. Mrs. Hervey is a horrid old poke. It is a perfect bore to call on her. I'm always heartily relieved when I can make a bit of pasteboard do the disagreeable work for me. Why do you call on her at all, then? From a sense of duty, my dear, there are hosts of people that one has to call on who are just boars and whom I for one would be thankful never to see again. I was not by any means in the mood to listen patiently to any of Mrs. Tyndall's peculiar views, so I said, curtly, do you imagine that the hosts of people would thank you for your calls if they knew your high opinion of them? Not a bit of it, and it is one of the comforts in my life that people can't know what I am thinking of them. I'm very careful not to inform them, I assure you. I don't believe in that sort of thing, I said stoutly. I think it is just hypocrisy. I'm certain I never want people to call on me unless they have a desire to see me, and I mean to treat others as I would have them treat me. Mrs. Tyndall answered me by that low, sweet laugh of unfailing good humor, then she said, My dear Julia, do you know you would be a bit of a feminine Don Quixote now and then, if I were not here to balance you? Just imagine where your peculiar views would lead me. Suppose, for instance, that I do not return Mrs. Hervey's call, and the next time I meet her she will exclaim, My dear Mrs. Tyndall, why haven't you been to see me this age? And I shall respond, The truth is, Mrs. Hervey, it's because I consider you a horrid bore. You know you never talk about anything but your rheumatism and your neuralgia and the damp weather when I do come, and I am perfectly sick of those topics, so I have decided to be sincere and not call on you anymore. Now Julia, do you really think I should be doing my duty better in that way than in returning the old lady's call and enduring with what patience I can her tiresome tongue? None-plus again, I knew there was a flaw somewhere, somehow, but I had no words with which to answer. Remember that I was only sixteen, besides her queer statement of the case made me laugh. The doctor came late to breakfast next morning, after being out most of the night. Have you been to visit a patient so early, Mrs. Tyndall questioned, and he replied gravely that he had just come from Dr. Mulford's. Ah, she said, they keep you dancing attendance on willy, I suppose, it is well that you are generous in the matter of clergymen's bills. Is there really much the matter with the boy, doctor, except over-petting? I don't think she ever forgot the look of Dr. Douglas's eyes as he answered her. No, madame, there is nothing the matter with him, nor ever will be any more. God has taken the worn-out little frame into his own peculiar keeping. Then was Mrs. Tyndall surprised and shocked and grieved. I do not think that anyone in Dr. Mulford's flock excelled her in kind and thoughtful and delicate attentions during the next sad days. Nevertheless, as we stood together on the afternoon of the funeral and looked down upon the peaceful little face in his coffin, she whispered to me, how perfectly singular in her not-to-wear morning and what wretched taste to wear that plaid dress to her own child's funeral. I had no anxiety over a waterfall, not the falls of Niagara nor any of those wondrous lesser glories of that name, but an indescribable wad to wear fastened by innumerable pins on the back of my head. My hair was a rich golden brown and was long and plentiful, at least so it had once seemed to me, but do what I would, work and twist until midnight and cry with vexation afterward. I could by no means create the nondescript creature that ladies were at that time in the habit of perching on their heads. My heart had been bitter within me ever since the day in which Mrs. Tindall had said, how very prettily you arrange your hair. I don't see how you manage it yourself. Kate has to do mine. But, my dear, do you know you sadly need a braid of hair to band around the back part? Then you could push the side braids further forward and you would have an elegantly shaped waterfall. Really, when nature has done so much for you, it is almost wicked not to do the rest. But braids of hair are expensive articles, I said, and tried to make my tone an indifferent one. Oh, not so very, an elegant short one can be procured for ten dollars, and you know your waterfall really hasn't the right shape without one. After that, I tried in vain to make it the right shape. It is amazing to me, even now, to think what an exceedingly awkward shape it seemed to take after that talk. The subject began to haunt me. It came to me in church, in the midst of Dr. Mulford's sermons. It stared at me from the pages of my Bible. I dreamed of it at night, and thought, and planned, and worried about it by day. How to get a braid of real hair to band around my waterfall? That was the momentous question. It must be real hair, for Mrs. Tindall had emphatically declared that she considered all imitations unendurable. There was one way in which to do it. I had been planning certain little gifts for Mother and Sadie and Alfred. I had in mind exactly what each would like. I had packed them in imagination in a neat little box, and written the accompanying letter scores of times. And I had discovered what the whole would cost, and most provokingly the figures stared at my troubled heart during those trying days, for they expressed the exact sum that would also buy that braid of hair. At last the long struggle was concluded. A chance word settled it. When I was dressing for Mrs. Simmons's social, Mrs. Tindall came into my room with a ticket for the Reading Room, a Christmas gift from Mr. Tindall, and remarked as she watched me braid my hair. Your hair is precisely the color that Jerome is always raving over. He says the greatest charm a woman can possess is great masses of goldy brown hair. Instead of stopping to moralize over the astonishing amount of mental and moral culture that a woman would have to possess before she would be gifted with this greatest charm, I hastened my dressing, went out a little ahead of Mrs. Tindall to do some errands, and when I returned had a braid of goldy brown hair tucked guiltily under my shawl. Poor silly me, I remember I sat up half the night to fashion a collar for Sadie, and to try to construct a cap for Mother that would look as good as new out of a worn-out lace veil, and finally cried over the queer shape of the crown and the general air of used-upness that the wretched black thing had about it. O the trials of poverty and waterfalls! But didn't I blossom out on New Year's morning? Talk of Solomon arrayed in all his glory, it didn't seem to me that he could have compared with me. My black silk had been in the hands of Mrs. Tindall's favorite dressmaker for three days, and returned to me bristling with ruffles and perfect as to panier, in all respects a wonderful creation. My laces were rich and soft and elegant befitting the donor. They were Mrs. Tindall's Christmas gift. I had gathered from the conservatory geranium leaves and a single spray of rare bright blossoms, which did duty in lieu of a breast pin, and finally I was crowned with that magnificent braid of hair which Mrs. Tindall pronounced perfect. That lady would have made a study for an artist. She wore her favorite color, a delicate, trying shade of blue, exquisite as to trimming and finish, as flawless in taste as in material. And arrayed thus, we waited in the handsome parlors for New Year's calls. It was my first experience in that scene of the whisking in and out of a half a dozen gentlemen at a time, so constantly followed by a half a dozen more, that presently won lost one's balance and ceased to remember people as individuals, but as number forty-five or sixty-two as the case might be, and as the day world on, was dimly conscious of but one idea, an eager desire to reach a higher number than Mrs. Simmons or Miss Hervey, and Mrs. or Miss somebody else. I thought it delightful. My patience, Mrs. Tindall exclaimed, as during a momentary lull, in which we were alone, something across the street surprised her out of her elegant listlessness. If there isn't Dr. Mulford making calls, now of all the queer things, doesn't that man know that he will not be expected to make calls today? It isn't three weeks since the funeral. Really, Julia, I never saw people in my life so utterly devoid of a sense of propriety as that family seemed to be. They are always doing queer things. I do wish there was some way of teaching them how to act. Dear me, he is coming here. I shan't know what to say to him. Nevertheless, she arose to receive him with the utmost ease and strongly marked expressions of gratification. This is an unexpected pleasure, she said in silvery tones, but with a marked emphasis on the word unexpected, as, having greeted me with earnestly spoken wishes, he seated himself near her. I did not suppose we could have you among us today. Dr. Mulford turned a pair of kindly but deep questioning eyes on the speaker's face and smiled quietly as he answered, Why was that, Mrs. Tyndall? Am I not supposed to be in a frame of mind to clasp hands with any of my people and wish them Godspeed through the year, because my boy has gone to spend his new year in heaven? I looked to see Mrs. Tyndall confused or silenced. She was neither. Her voice was sweet and prompt. If you can feel so, Dr. Mulford, I am glad. But it seems to me so sad a thing. It is so recent, you know. I know, he said gravely. It is sad to Miss Willie, and I think, if I shall be living until next New Year's Day, it will still be sad to miss him. But, you know, I shall not then be justified in deserting my social duties because of my sadness, so I cannot see what should justify me today. Mrs. Tyndall gracefully changed the subject. Doctor, I must not offer you wine, I know. But will you not refuse all refreshment? But ere she could carry out her designs, he detained her by a gesture and a word of courteous refusal, while his face saddened into a look of absolute pain, and his voice was low and full of sorrow, as he added. Mrs. Tyndall, in addition to my social call, I had an errand here to-day, a favour to ask. Which I shall doubtless be most happy to grant, she said, with a deferential bend of her handsome head, and waited with smiling eyes while her pastor hesitated, and his pale face flushed painfully as he spoke. You sympathise with me about my boy in heaven, my friend, and I thank you. But can you understand me, if I tell you that I would be thankful to-day if his brother was as safe as Willie is? Mrs. Tyndall's face grew grave, and she waited in respectful silence until he continued. I would have been thankful, I think, for almost anything that would have shielded him from the dangers and temptations of this day. You know his besetting sin, Mrs. Tyndall, and my petition is that you will offer no wine to him if he calls on you today. His hostess looked relieved, and even laughed slightly. Is that all, doctor? she said brightly. You frightened me. Indeed, I think you are too hard on Norman for a little boyish folly. But you may trust me. I will not offer him a drop of anything dangerous. I think it is all absurd, she said to me, as the door closed after him. Perfectly absurd. I wonder if Dr. Mulford is going to march all over town and caution the people against demoralising that precious son of his. How perfectly shocking in him to say that he would be thankful if Norman were dead. Poor boy, I don't wonder that he drinks, if that is a specimen of his father's regards. He didn't say so, I exclaimed, shocked into a protest. He said if Norman were as safe as Willie is. It amounts to the same thing. According to his delightful theory, people are never safe until they get to heaven. We were interrupted by more collars, and presently Norman Mulford was announced, a bright handsome boy of nineteen, fair-faced except for a slightly unnatural flush. He was fresh from college honors, and seemed almost intoxicated with triumph and wine, just the sort of a boy to be led into all sorts of temptation. As I looked at him, there was something about him that reminded me of Alfred, and I felt as though I could understand something of the trembling of the father's heart over his eldest son. He was in an unusually brilliant mood, and flashed quick, witty replies to Mrs. Tyndall's brightnesses that were pleasant to listen to, or would have been, had not the question of refreshment still worried me dreadfully. Of course his hostess would not offer him wine, for she had promised his father, but with the glittering glasses and sparkling liquid in full view, I did not quite understand how it was to be avoided. Mrs. Tyndall appeared to. She chatted on gracefully without a shade of embarrassment or indecision, and at last, after other refreshments had been served, said, winningly, I can't offer you any wine, Norman, for you see I have promised to be very good today and not tempt you. A rich dark flush mounted swiftly over the young man's face, but he answered with apparent indifference. Pray, who ought I to thank for being so deeply interested in my welfare? One who, I am sure, is always interested in you, and anxious for you, your good father. He has taken the pains to come and see me today about this very matter, so you see how anxious he is. I wondered she wasn't checked in her words by the stormy glare that came into the young man's eyes, and his voice shook with suppressed passion as he spoke. I am very grateful to my father, I assure you, Mrs. Tyndall, also to you. I wouldn't have you break your promise, but I suppose you did not also promise that I should not help myself at your hospitable table? Whereupon he walked directly over to the refreshment table, and deliberately poured for himself a goblet of wine, drained the glass, and then immediately made his aduse. Mrs. Tyndall, how could you, I exclaimed, almost before he was out of hearing? How could I what, my dear Julia? How flushed your cheeks are! Is it too warm here? I thought you promised Dr. Mulford not to offer him liquor. I'm sure I didn't. He waited on himself, and she laughed good humoredly. What could I do? Would you have had me rush after him and frantically demand his glass and dash it to the ground? You might have done it, my dear. Only it would have injured my carpet, but I am past the age of heroics. You see, speaking more gravely, there is nothing left for me to do. I frankly stated the case, and he chose to take the matter into his own hands. I cannot engage to be conscious for him. It serves his father right. If he had taught his son by precept and example, the impropriety of making calls at all today, all these temptations, as he is pleased to call them, would have been avoided. However, gay young men do not often change their plans for such slight causes. It is all nonsense. I'll risk Norman. What if he does drink a glass of wine every now and then? So do all gentlemen. I hear interposed. Dr. Douglas never does. There was a very slight curving of Mrs. Tindall's lips, but her voice was sweet and ladylike. Dr. Douglas, my dear, is a saint. He is never at any time to be classed with common, fallible mortals. We must always remember that. As I was saying, all gentlemen take wine except a few fanatical creatures, capable of but one idea at a time. I think if Norman Mulford becomes a drunkard, it will be his father's foolish interference and mismanagement that will be to blame. Young men do not like to be led around like babies. End of Chapter 11. Recording by Tricia G. Chapter 12 of Julia Reed. This recording is in the public domain. Julia Reed by Pansy. Chapter 12, in which I find a slippery path. Our next caller was Mr. Sales. His stay was very brief. He looked flushed and tired, yet seemed nervous and unnaturally excited. Declined Mrs. Tindall's tempting cake, begged her not even to mention the name as he was perfectly surfeited. But he drank a full glass of wine. And after making arrangements to call and escort me to Mrs. Bacon's New Year's party, he pronounced New Year's calls a bore, gallantly declared this to be the only one that he had enjoyed, and took his leave. The day was on the wane, and Mrs. Tindall had gone to her dressing-room to rest when Dr. Douglas came in and sat himself down with a weary air. I felt very sorry to see him and earnestly wished I had escaped to my room before he came in. I felt instinctively, during these days, that Dr. Douglas disapproved of my mode of life. Whenever I was in his presence, my conscience became uncomfortable. So, of late, I had compromised matters by avoiding him. I felt a curious sense of restraint, as if I could think of nothing to say, and yet did not feel sufficiently familiar with him to sit in absolute silence, a thing that I would have done unhesitatingly but a few weeks before. Have you been making calls? I asked at last. Professional ones, he answered wearily. I've had time for no others. Then the silence fell again between us, until at last he broke it abruptly. Julia, are you going out this evening? Yes, I said. I'm going to Mrs. Bacon's for a little while. Are you going? With Mrs. Tindall, he asked, ignoring my question. Why no, Mrs. Tindall is not going. It is for young people, you know. May I ask, then, who accompanies you? I gave the answer slowly and with unaccountable reluctance. I'm going with Mr. Sales. Silence again for a few moments, then he spoke with unusual gravity. Julia, may I ask as a special favor that you will not go out with Mr. Sales this evening? Your favor comes at a late hour, I said, with the utmost stiffness. I have engaged to accompany the gentleman. Nevertheless, I repeat my petition. Offer some excuse, will you not? I am very anxious that you should, Julia. Perhaps you can furnish a reason for so strange a demand, I asked, with a sharp emphasis on the last word. I can certainly, he said gravely. Have you seen him today? I have. It must have been early, then. He has been making New Year's calls. This last was spoken in stern tones, but I answered him sharply. What of that? He waited a moment ere he answered. I presume he has been offered wine constantly. It has been a day of sore temptation to many. His voice had taken on a quieter, kinder tone, but mine was as abrupt as ever, as I asked hodlily. What does all this talk amount to, Dr. Douglas? He answered, then, and looked at me steadily ere he answered. Is it possible, Julia, that you do not understand? I mean that I do not think Mr. Sales will be in a condition to take proper care of any lady this evening. Certainly he will not, if he finishes the day as he has commenced it. There were reasons why this gave me special pain, and made me answer in a specially bitter tone. I suppose, Dr. Douglas, I can be allowed to be my own judge as to the propriety of the company I choose to keep. I certainly intend to fulfill my engagement this evening. I really do not understand why you have such a hatred of Mr. Sales, nor how you can find it in harmony with your Christian character, to exhibit that hatred on every possible occasion. To this silly ebullition of wrath, the Dr. Vouch saved not the slightest response. As may be supposed, I went to my room soon after, not feeling particularly improved in spirits. I could but be conscious that I was doing wrong. In the first place, there was my mother, who I knew, was resting in the happy belief that I was under Dr. Douglas's protecting wing, and that therefore no harm should reach me. Also, I felt a little afraid. Could he have meant that Dr. Sales was intoxicated? I had never in my life been closer to a drunken man than across the road, and even then I had been frightened, and more than once taken shelter in store or shop until the frightful object had disappeared around some corner. I tried to picture Mr. Sales, elegant, fastidious gentleman that he was, reeling and staggering through the streets, and shuddering at the frightful picture that I conjured, I took refuge from my thoughts in Mrs. Tindall's room. That lady had exchanged her elegant attire for a dainty blue flannel wrapper, and was lying on the lounge in a state of semi-exhaustion. I wish I had your spirits, she said languidly. How fresh and bright you look, while I am nearly dead. My dear, let that blossom droop a little over your left ear, so. Jerome will be charmed with those flowers. He is a great admirer of natural adornments. Your face is a little too much flushed. What is the matter? I heard the doctor come in. Has he been quarreling with you? I have been having a curtain lecture, I said, trying to laugh. About what in the name of wonder? Dr. Douglas couldn't be more disagreeable if he were your grandfather. What has offended him now? He thinks Mr. Sales has been taking wine too freely to be a suitable escort, I said, bent on knowing her opinion on the matter. What utter nonsense, she said with spirit. That is really wicked in Dr. Douglas. Because he is a monomaniac himself on the wine question, is no reason why he should insult gentlemen who do not happen to agree with him. But that is too apt to be the way with these extra good people. They wrap themselves up in an I am holier than thou atmosphere, and stalk about the world, hitting against everybody. I hope, my dear, you didn't allow him to prejudice you against poor Jerome? Certainly not, I said loftily. I can judge for myself with whom to associate without Dr. Douglas's help. At that moment I received a summons to the effect that Mr. Sales was waiting for me. The evening at Mrs. Bacon's was a very gay one, but with few exceptions the company were all quite youthful, and the excitement of the day had not tended to foster very quiet spirits within us, so we talked and laughed and danced, and performed in promptu tableaus, all with a sort of a wild glee that rather heightened than diminished as the hours waned. Occasionally I had an uneasy feeling about my escort. His eyes looked unnaturally bright, and his voice, I imagined, was not quite clear, but he was unusually quiet. And I noticed, with a thrill of satisfaction, that at the supper table he refused wine, apologizing for doing so by saying that he had a confounded headache and must avoid stimulus, whereupon I moralized upon Dr. Douglas's uncharitableness. When at last it was decided that we must go home, and a bevy of us escaped to the cloakroom together, a fearful scene ensued. Very free use had been made of the wraps in the dressing room for our impromptu charades and tableaus, and shawls, cloaks, hoods, and rubbers were in inextricable confusion. One rubber was not. I ransacked everywhere, and when, after what seemed an endless time, I found it rolled in shawls and tossed among the pillows, my hood was missing. Then ensued an eager search for that, and I think a full half hour must have elapsed before I emerged from the dressing room, properly cloaked, hooded, and rubbered. That fatal half hour. Half a dozen young ladies were in the same plight with myself, and our escorts, weary of waiting, had resorted with the son of the house to the supper room to beguile the time. I did not know this until afterward, but I knew as soon as I reached the sidewalk, before even I had said good night to the four or five who were departing at the same time, none of whom chanced to be going in my direction, that my hand rested on the arm of a man who did not in the least know what he was about. Shall I ever forget that night? The silent, solemn moonlight, flooding a world that seemed so strangely quiet in contrast with the gay scene I had just left. The white, slippery earth, just a deceitful glare of ice, and the silly, unutterably silly face that was bent close to mine, while the sickening odor of liquor breathed on me from every one of the meaningless words that he tried to utter. The walk was long in the streets apparently deserted, and we stumbled and staggered along, once actually fell outright, and then the shame and horror and terror even of the struggle that I had to help him on his feet again, and he laughed and hiccoughed and called me Julia, and was in every way disgusting. As we turned into Park Street, the walk was just a smooth glare of ice. We'll have to go in the road, I said breathlessly, as I felt my companion's grasp on my arm tightening, and his heavy frame swaying to and fro. Blamed if I will, he stammered. Let the darned old road come here if it wants to be walked on. What's the use of going to it? Keep a stiff upper lip, Julia. We'll get the better of the old thing somehow, and no arguments or entreaties of mine could prevail upon him to leave the icy sidewalk, which in his drunken folly he seemed to imagine with somebody trying to conquer him, and he muttered and stuttered something about not going to be beat by any old sidewalk that ever grew. Oh, the agony of that long, long walk! I never took it again, even under the brightest circumstances, without a shiver of horror over this remembrance. I thought of trying to slip away from him and flying homeward alone, but he held my arm with a vice-like grasp and added to my awful disgust. I grew every moment more afraid of him. He seemed to grow more senseless every moment and began to utter little shrill shrieks occasionally that made my blood run cold. At the corner of Green and Regent streets a parley ensued. His home was on Regent Street a few doors from the corner. He seemed to have sense enough left to know that fact and to be determined to go in that direction, dragging me with him. I pleaded and entreated, talked to him as I would to a naughty child, begged him to go home just a few steps more just around the corner and let me go on down Green Street alone. It was of no use. He laughed that disgustingly silly laugh of a drunken man and declared he wouldn't give up the ship, meant to take me safe home I'd needn't be afraid. I was in an agony of shame and terror. Supposing that he knew enough to recognize his own house when he reached it, how was it possible for me to appear there at the door of my employer's house long after midnight with his drunken son grasping my arm like a madman. I pulled desperately in the opposite direction and he is desperately pulled toward Regent Street and then lost his balance entirely and fell heavily. I struggled then to free myself, but he grasped my cloak with both hands and uttered a fearful yell. No, I never, never shall forget it all. The terror, the shame, the absolute agony, nor the sound of swift coming feet, nor the voice startled, stern even in its sound, but steady and safe and true. Just one word in which was embodied astonishment and pain. Julia. And then Dr. Douglas stood beside me, seeming in an instant to comprehend the situation. I ceased to struggle the moment I heard his voice. He took my hand and drew it firmly through his arm, that steady arm, and then fixing stern eyes on my companion spoke to him. Let go of this lady, which command was, to my surprise, instantly obeyed. Now get up. In this, however, he had to give help. Then he glanced swiftly up and down the street and addressed me. Julia, it is very cold. It would be inhuman to leave him here. I think you will have to let me take him home. I was silent and passive, and presently we commenced our walk down Regent Street, Dr. Douglas supporting my rather trembling steps with his left arm, and steadying, indeed it seemed to me almost carrying, my drunken escort with his strong right arm. He, meantime, tried to give a lucid explanation of our fight, as he called it, and tried to express himself gratified that he had been the victor, but was checked by a stern, be still, sir. Whereupon his conversation subsided into the silliest of silly whimpers, more degrading it seemed to me than his talk had been. Arrived at his father's door, Dr. Douglas seated him on the steps with no gentle hand, gave a jerk to the bell that sent it peeling through the house, then turned and sped with me, swiftly and silently, through the streets. Only three words were uttered during our rapid walk. Are you cold?" he asked, and I shook my head. But he wrapped his shawl more closely around me, and on we rushed. Reaching the door he applied his night-key, turned on a flood of gas in the hall to light me upstairs, and said in his usual kind grave tone, Good night. Julia Read by Pansy Chapter 13 In Which I Follow a False Light It was a wretched night to me. After living over all the horrors of that walk with my waking senses, feeling anew the terror and disgrace and shame and pain, I finally slept and went over in detail every little incident of the evening, adding to its horrors by every phantasm that my excited, unreasoning brain could conjure. I was thankful for mourning, and yet felt ashamed to meet the household. However, that ordeal was safely passed. Dr. Douglas had apparently no remembrance of the frightful scene through which we had so lately passed together. He neither by word, look, nor act alluded to it, except that perhaps he seemed a trifler gentler to me than usual. After scanning Mrs. Tindall's face as narrowly as I could, I concluded that she was in blissful ignorance of the entire affair, a fact which rather surprised me, for I had come to feel as if she must discover things by a sort of instinct, so prompt and complete was her knowledge of what was transpiring around her. But on this morning she chatted gaily about the party, asked numerous questions concerning the entertainment, quoted Jerome as freely as usual, and seemed entirely at ease and satisfied with everything. At the shop I heard, or rather overheard, that Mr. Sales had gone somewhere by the early train, Caroline Brighton informed us that she accompanied him to the depot, with a mischievous look divided between Frank Hooper and myself. Where is he going, Frank asked in an indifferent tone, while I felt my face flush to my very temples at the mention of his name, and I listened nervously for Caroline's answer. Couldn't say. I'm in doubt as to whether he knew himself. I asked him, but he answered me very savagely that he was going to the northeast corner of nowhere if such a place was to be found. The fact is, he seemed to be in a sad state of mind. I asked him if anybody had refused him to make him so good-natured. This with a side glance at me, and my cheeks flamed again at the bare thought of what torture such questions must have been to him. Frank seemed entirely unconcerned, and I concluded that at least Mrs. Tindall must have been mistaken about her. Meantime, other matters were coming up to claim every leisure moment. The festival that was postponed at Christmas time, because of the illness of some of the prominent workers, was now in full process of preparation, rehearsal for the tableaux, and music nearly every evening, and constant plannings as to costumes, characters, etc., in the midst of which I tried to analyze my feelings toward Mr. Sales. Indignation mixed strongly with a touch of compassion that I had for him, and there had been at first a very decided determination to have nothing more to do with him. But as the days passed, and he seemed willing to take it for granted that all friendship was over between us, a certain sense of peak began to mix with my just indignation, and I said to myself that it would have been more gentlemanly in him to have attempted an apology than to have maintained such a stupid silence. I heard of his return. Our town gossip, Caroline Brighton, announced to us one morning that Jerome Sales had just got back from nowhere, and that his trip did not seem to have improved his temper. But I saw not a glimpse of him, and felt guilty and confused when Mrs. Tindall innocently wondered why Jerome did not call. It was the fifth day after the party that the doctor came to the shop with my mail. There were long letters from Mother and Sadie, and a drop letter, stylish and graceful in form and penmanship. Frank Hooper passed my desk as I was curiously examining the envelope of my unknown correspondent, and as she glanced down at it, I noticed a little pink flush on her cheek. Then I broke the seal with a sudden surmise as to whose it was, and read, Regent Street Friday Evening. Miss Reed, five days ago in the event of addressing a note to you I should have added my dear friend, but tonight I am bitterly conscious of having forfeited all right to call you friend. I have been silent during these fearful days because I could think of no fitting words in which to couch my—I cannot call it explanation or apology because such conduct as mine I am well aware cannot be explained away, and even to attempt an apology may seem to you insulting. Yet I cannot pass it by longer in silence. I have thought of the matter during these five fearful days and nights in all its phases, and I can but think that if you could imagine but one-tenth of the pain that I have experienced during this time, even you could feel an emotion of pity for me. I have finally decided to break the silence and, not cast myself on your mercy, for I am conscious that I have no right to claim mercy at your hand, but to beg, implore, your forgiveness. I do not offer it as an explanation, but simply as a fact that I was ill on New Year's Day, and that the small amount of wine that I drink had a most unaccountable effect upon me, an effect of which I had not dreamed. It was no greater quantity than I have taken many times before with the most perfect ease. I have no memory of what passed that evening, so I do not know what you have to forgive. I only know that it is a great thing to ask, and yet I ask it. I fancy you superior to most young ladies of my acquaintance. I think when one who has insulted you, though how unintentional only God knows, comes to you frankly, humbly, and says, forgive me, that your own Christian character will prompt you to listen to his petition. I ask even more than this, that you will not only forgive, but prove your deed by allowing me to call you friend as here too for. I value your friendship, Julia, enough to sue for it in this lowly manner. More I could not say. I am asking great things, and yet I earnestly believe not too great things for your large-hearted nobleness of character to grant. I beg that you will answer me by letter, and I pray you, Julia, to grant me an interview. If you will name an hour when you will see me, I shall know then how to thank you. Yours, sadly but hopefully, Jerome J. Sales. This letter touched me, touched my heart, and my vanity. I gave little thought to the vanity then. I gave my heart the credit of all the softened feelings. But I know now that vanity had at least as much to do with it as heart. I was very anxious to be superior to most young ladies, and yet I was very much disgusted with Mr. Sales. It was curious, but during those intervening days I had not been able to hold the image of Mr. Sales, the fastidious, courteous, cultured gentleman of my acquaintance, before my eyes. I continually saw that silly-faced creature who floundered on the icy pavement on that never-to-be-forgotten night. I studied over the letter. What should I do? What odd eye to do? I earnestly tried to think what would be right. I had seemed to myself to be more under Dr. Douglas's influence during this past week, and I instantly wondered what he would think about it. I remembered penitently that my mother wished me to be guided by him, and I took a sudden resolution to consult him. Chance favored me as I was hurrying homeward at noon. He joined me. I plunged nervously into my subject. Doctor, how do you think one ought to treat a person who has injured you and afterward asks your forgiveness? One ought to follow the master's own rule, whatsoever ye would. I know, of course, that is the guide, and yet, well, should matters be just the same with such persons as they were before? Ah, that is a question which requires very careful consideration and a definite knowledge of what one is talking about. I can conceive of cases where, with the most complete forgiveness, friendship should by no means be based on the old footing. For instance, one may have decided that the influence of an acquaintance is injurious. That association is unwise, and in that case, undoubtedly, it should be avoided. But I am talking in the dark, Julia. If you feel willing to explain yourself to me, I may be able to help you. My answer was low and somewhat hesitating. I was thinking of Mr. Sales, and I was conscious of receiving a very searching look before he said. Has he sued for your forgiveness? And when I bowed in reply, he added, with emphasis, he certainly has sufficient reason. I immediately roused to the defensive. He was ill on New Year's evening, and the small amount of wine that he took affected him as it never had before. The doctor's answer was quick and decisive. Don't allow him to impose on you in that absurd way. I have had experience with drunken men, and I know where of I speak. The man was simply intoxicated. My only wonder is that he was in a state to come for you at all. I met him three times during that day, and each time saw him swallow liquor enough to intoxicate a habitually sober man. Twice I warned him that he was in a dangerous condition, but he gaily assured me that he was used to it. This shocked and disgusted me, and I had no disposition to continue my defense even if I could have found any arguments. So I remained silent, and after walking the length of a block without speaking, the doctor continued. I hope and trust that you may be able to forgive him, but it was a grievous insult. The man must have known that he was in no condition for Lady's Society. I told him at five o'clock that he had lost the power of walking straight, and begged him to plead in disposition and send an apology. But he was so far gone that he swore at me for my pains. I am very sorry for poor victims who are led away by the clamour of an awful appetite, but when a man deliberately boasts, as he twice did to me on New Year's Day, the amount of liquor that his brain will endure, I have very little charity for him. Aside from this, Julia, the man is not what your mother would like to have an associate of yours be. If you will forgive me for advising you, I would use the opportunity for breaking an acquaintance that can result in nothing but annoyance and discomfort to you. But, I said hesitatingly, suppose I should be the means of discouraging him and helping him downward. Has he begun to help himself upward? Does he promise that similar disgrace shall be spared his friends in future? I was startled by the question and hastily ran over in my mind the note I had received. There was certainly no promises or resolutions for the future expressed in it. True, they might be inferred from the general tenor of the letter, and yet, if he continued to indulge his taste for liquor, how was he to be certain that no disgraceful consequence would ensue? And I felt certain that Mr. Sales continued his allowance of wine even during these days of distress and anxiety. The doctor finding I made no answer to his question continued the conversation. That idea of discouraging people ought to be sparingly indulged in. In the first place, we ought to be very sure that there is any genuine attempt at reformation, and secondly that we are strong enough spiritually to help tide our friends over the dangerous places. By this time we had reached the door and Mrs. Tindall met us in the hall. So further conversation was impossible. But my resolution was formed, or rather confirmed, to have nothing more to do with Mr. Sales. I was very much puzzled as to how to reply to his letter, and, after thinking about it most of the afternoon to the great detriment of my account book, I finally decided to make no reply at all, at least for the present. I thought my silence would sufficiently assure him of my desire to drop the friendship, and as for my forgiveness I concluded that when the next chance threw us together it would be time enough to say a few words on that subject. We were sitting together the following evening Mrs. Tindall and I. There was to be a rehearsal in the hall at seven o'clock, and we had but an hour in which to arrange a toilet for Queen Bashdie. Mrs. Tindall held an exquisite coronal up for my admiration as she questioned, Have you seen Jerome today, Julia? No, I answered with deeply flushing sheets. Where can he keep himself, provoking fellow? I think we shall have to send a note to him. He ought to be present this very evening to practice for that Turkish scene. It is going to need a great deal of practice, and your part is so involved in his that one alone can do almost nothing. I answered in dire confusion. I am not going to take part in the Turkish scene, Mrs. Tindall. I thought you knew. I mean, I thought you had given that up. My dear child, I never give anything up, least of all a thing so perfectly beautiful as that Turkish scene is going to be. I expect it to be the crown of all our tableaux. Nevertheless, I said steadily, I cannot take my part. I am very sorry to disappoint you, but it is quite impossible. Mrs. Tindall turned her crown thoughtfully around on her hand and said, Look here, Julia, don't you think this would be improved if we had one more diamond pin for the left side? Before she made any answer to my last remark. It was a way she had to appear quite interested in her work and but partially attentive to what you were saying, if you chance to be saying anything that you thought would specially move her ire. Then she said, I am sorry you did not tell me of your determination before. Explanations are so exceedingly disagreeable, and of course all our party knew that you were to be associated with Mr. Sales in this scene. What am I to say, my dear, that you and he have had a quarrel? It was only last evening we were talking about it, the tableaux, not the quarrel, and I explained to Lycea Simon's how it was arranged. I felt confused and annoyed, but strangely determined not to take Mrs. Tindall into my confidence, so I answered with what playfulness I could assume. You may say that I have done that astonishing thing never done by a woman before, changed my mind. My companion remained silent and apparently thoughtful for some moments. When I stole a glance at her face, it had undergone one of the most marked changes of which her face was capable. There was a look of sweet, plaintive sadness about her eyes, and a tremulous tenderness about the mouth, and her voice was low and unutterably sweet and gentle. My dear, may I ask you a very solemn question? Are you doing just right in this matter? I have looked on with very deep interest during the past week to see what would be the result of all this. It seems to me that you hold a life in your hands. Poor Jerome, if you would see him, you would understand something of what he has suffered, and if you knew him as well as I do, you would tremble for what might be the consequence of this utter ignoring of his existence. He has had heavy troubles, has been weighed down with disappointment, and yet has contrived not to make shipwreck of himself. I have been so deeply interested in him for so many years, it seems as if he were my brother, and Julia, I have looked to you to help him. He needs help, needs leading, and I know you can do it, and you can drive him into fury too if you choose. Would you rather save him or help push him down? I was touched by her words, yes, and flattered. I see the last plainly now. Was I really such a power in his life as that? I answered in not as decided a voice as I had used before. There are circumstances, Mrs. Tindall, which make it quite impossible for me to continue a personal friend of Mr. Sales. Mrs. Tindall's eyebrows arched in that peculiar way she had, and her next sentence was full of surprise. Julia, I thought you were a temperance woman? Upon this she knew I prided myself, so I answered with emphasis. I am decidedly. I shouldn't have imagined it, my dear, from your present mode of procedure. I assure you, dear child, if you want to make a drunkard of Jerome's sales, you couldn't take a more certain way than to cut his acquaintance. And how can you do that more thoroughly than to give up this project that has been so publicly planned and discussed? I know Jerome thoroughly, Julia, and I would not assume such a responsibility as you are talking for anything. I presume you think I am talking ignorantly that I know nothing about the circumstances of which you spoke, but I do. I know every little detail. I knew it at the time it occurred. Mr. Tindall had to meet the late train that night, and he came uptown just behind Dr. Douglas. Then I heard it since from the poor fellow himself. I never saw anyone so completely overcome. It isn't an hour, Julia, since he was here and begged and entreated me to get you to see him. I promised I would try, and I told him he might call at half past six to know the result. But afterward I determined not to interfere in the matter, but to leave it entirely to your own conscience. Only remember that your responsibility is fearful. Silence fell between us after that. Presently the little marble clock on the mantel chimed the half hour, and almost immediately a servant appeared with a message. Mr. Sales in the back parlor to see Miss Reid. And I went down in a very slow and bewildered way to meet him. As my hand rested on the knob of the door, I still had in mind the image of Mr. Sales as he lay floundering about on the ice, but it vanished the moment my eyes glanced on the pale, troubled, cultured face that turned quickly to meet me. Oh, Miss Reid, he said eagerly, God bless you for this. You have done for me. I cannot tell you what. He came toward me quickly and grasped my hand as he continued speaking in an eager, excited tone. I have suffered. No mortal knows how much, since yesterday evening, when I watched in vain for a line from you. The pain grew insupportable today, and I felt compelled to throw myself on Mrs. Tyndall's mercy. Yet do you know I only half trusted your goodness after all, when I told Mrs. Tyndall to tell you, from me, that unless you came to me willing to forgive and forget, I could not endure to meet you at all, and to refuse to see me if you could not do this. I was sorry the moment the door closed after her, and in the intervening time I have undergone tortures lest you should decline to see me at all. He need not have feared. I had received no such message. I tried to tell him so, but he was in such eager haste to talk, to explain, to palliate, that there seemed no chance for me. Well, I need not go over in detail the conversation that we had during the next half hour. Indeed, it is not clear to me. It took me at a disadvantage from the first, since my very coming was the sign of peace between us. I remember I felt annoyed and bewildered at first, but as he talked, mingling graceful touches of thanks among his earnest words, I gradually grew to feeling as if some way, by somebody, he had been cruelly abused during the past few days. All my indignation seemed to melt away. I half forgot at what I was supposed to be indignant. The gentleman before me bore no resemblance to my companion during that horrible walk, and it almost seemed to me as if that evening must have been spent in some faraway dreamland, as if the whole scene must have been just a horrid nightmare. I don't know how it happened. I have tried to think and I can't. But I do know that when I met Dr. Douglas just at the foot of the brilliantly lighted stairs that led up to the hall, my hand rested on Mr. Sale's arm, and his head was bent toward me while he continued to talk in low, eager tones. The hall was a perfect babble of tongues, a dozen voices seized upon Mrs. Tindall. She was the acknowledged leader among the young people. She was one of those fair-faced, youthful-looking, elegant women, with enough of matronly dignity about her to ensure her a hearing and a genuine fondness for all the gayities and frivolities of girlhood. She had few domestic tastes, plenty of leisure, plenty of money, exquisite skill and tact, so that she was equal to any occasion. So it followed that the girls leaned on her, quoted her, followed her lead on all occasions, and allowed themselves to be ordered about in her graceful, good-humored way. As for the gentlemen, the most of them, with the exception of Mr. Sale's, were quite young, and I doubt if there was one among them who had not made the elegant little lady his confidant. So the crowd surrounded her the moment we entered the hall, and all talked at once. Mrs. Tindall, Lycea Simons, says that religion ought to dress in black. Did you ever hear of such a thing? Mrs. Tindall, Cora Kenyon can't find a costume for the fourth scene in this town. What in the world are we to do? Mrs. Tindall, have you arranged for Queen Basjee's dress? Mrs. Tindall, are you going to help me this evening? I can't get the curtain the right shape. Softly, softly, girls, chimed in Mrs. Tindall's gentle voice, you deafen me. One thing at a time, please, and we'll have it all arranged in order. Meantime Mr. Sale's kept up a running, low-toned commentary. Religion dress in black, what does the girl mean? It's appropriate, though, for half the religionists in the world. They are walking tombstones. Do you imagine that that wonderful woman is going to bring order out of all this confusion? She's a remarkable woman, but if this thing doesn't culminate in a grand failure, I shall have an immense increase of respect for her powers. However, we'll help her to the best of our abilities. Later in the evening I sat busily sowing just behind Lysia Simons and Florence Hervey. I was wedged in among bundles and baskets of finery and rolls of curtains. There were a few stitches to be taken on an important rough for a lady of olden time, and I had dropped down here to attend to it. The two girls were similarly employed over articles wanted at once, and as they worked they gave me the benefit of their conversation. I could not decide then whether they spoke louder than they were aware of, or whether they wished to give me their views on the subjects discussed. I don't know now which it was, and it doesn't matter. I heard them anyway. Lysia spoke in the decided tone of voice that was natural to her. I'll tell you what I think of it. I think Mrs. Tindall hasn't shown her usual good taste in her selection of a character for religion. My face isn't the right sort at all. I know so little about the genuine article that I can't even simulate it, but I know who could, and that's Frank Hooper. Frank Hooper? And Florence's tone expressed well-bred horror. Yes, Frank Hooper, you've heard of her, haven't you? It isn't two years since she was the star at your birthday party, and she still lives even though she doesn't get invited to our parties, and a capital person she would be to take this part. Florence's voice was dignity iced, as she answered. I should think you were decidedly descending in the social scale. I fancy we can find ladies enough in our own circle. Social fiddle-stick, Lysia said, waxing warm. Don't talk any more nonsense flow than you can help, because I really haven't much patience left for that sort of thing. However, it's more funny than anything to use such phrases in connection with Frank Hooper. It's a sort of revenge, isn't it, because Frank Queen did over you so long? Florence's answer had about as much argument in it as that Queenly Lady was capable of using. I don't associate with shop girls. And Lysia, in her response, did not lower her voice a note. Don't you? I thought you called on Julia to read. So I did, but she is not a shop girl. She is Mr's sales and Getman's bookkeeper. Oh, it's the material one works with that makes the lady, is it? I didn't know before. One dob's in ink, and the other in paste, and the inky one is a lady, and the pasty one not. That distinction is worthy of Mrs. Tyndall herself. My dear, you're a promising pupil. Now I should prefer the paste myself, because a little clean water will wash it off, and ink sticks. Florence laughed a good-humored, graceful laugh as one too assured of her position to make it worth her while to grow indignant over any language that might sound like ridicule, and answered composedly. Don't be absurd, Lysia. Of course I know that Julia Reed doesn't belong to our set, but then Mrs. Tyndall chooses to pet her, and she is a bright sort of creature. And now, while we have so much to do about this festival, she is quite a help. So I called one afternoon when I knew she was out. It took very little of my time, and probably did her a world of good. I can't imagine, though, why Mrs. Tyndall makes so much of her, can you? It seems to me that today, after the lapse of years, I can feel how hotly my cheeks burned over all this. But I fairly held my breath for Lysia's answer, for I had occasionally pondered over the same question myself. Lysia evidently knew without pondering, for she answered quickly. Mrs. Tyndall would make much of a cat who would mew into her when she told it to, and never at any other time. This one looks as though there were enough in her to make her scratch and spit occasionally, but Mrs. Tyndall knows how to stroke her fur and keep her quiet, I suspect. And then these two girls laughed, while I, sitting quietly behind them, felt as though I should like to choke them both. Lysia continued the subject. So far as I'm concerned, I rather like the girl. I've no sort of objection to calling on her, nor on Frank Hooper, either. I hate all this silly twaddle about social position. It's a real shoddy style to make wealth a mark of distinction, and that is certainly all that Frank Hooper has lost. Why did she want to go into that shop, do you suppose? Everybody was ready to befriend her. You know Mrs. Tyndall offered her a home. We're upon Lysia laughed outright. I wonder if you are deluded enough to believe all that, she said gaily. You evidently have Mrs. Tyndall's version of it. The plain English is that she offered to give her the position of seamstress in her family, a position which Frank was much too sensible to accept, for more than one reason. Principally though, because she knew that Mrs. Tyndall would interfere between Jerome's sales and herself. She has succeeded in that, however, and that, by the way, is part of Julia Reed's mission. If he were not a complete nanny, he would stand by Frank Hooper through it all. I detest that fellow. The only sensible thing about him is his admiration for Frank. Now I'm prepared to startle you in another way. I know who would make a lovely Quakeress, and I mean to get her into it. That's little Ruth Walker. That small grey mouse who disturbed you and Mrs. Tyndall so much in class until you succeeded in sending her over among the black sheep in Dr. Douglas's class. She's a shop girl, you know, so I'm out of my set again, down in the depths this time, for little Ruth never was rich in her life, I think, and I absolutely fear that her mother does fine ironing for a living. She used to sew, which was more respectable, of course, until a horrible pain in her side obliged her to disgrace herself still further by taking to ironing. Miss Florence shrugged her aristocratic shoulders and said simply, Suit yourself so that I don't have to be bored with the little white-faced morsel. I really am indifferent as to whether she plays Quakeress for you or not. At that moment Mrs. Tyndall came from the staging where she had been ordering the gentleman as to the arrangement of curtains, lights, etc., and joined the group of sewers. Both young ladies addressed her at once with, Mrs. Tyndall, Lycia has some new and startling plans to offer, and, Mrs. Tyndall, I have two new performers for you, excellent ones. That lady st. gracefully down among the crimson curtains, lying in heaps on the floor, and answered brightly, enlighten me then speedily, for I must return to the platform in a very few minutes. It is going to take us all the evening to get ready to work. Men are so stupid. What is the plan, Lycia? I propose Frank Hooper to take the character of religion if we want to make that a success. She is the one that can do it. I don't feel at all doubtful about its success with Lycia Simons as the principal figure. Besides, Frank has been invited to join us and has declined, as she does all other civilities. She has chosen her own course. I don't see that we can do anything but quietly let her alone. I know how you feel, dear girls, and I honor your motives, but I think Frank has so entirely separated herself from us by her late conduct that we must leave her to reap what she has sown. Lycia answered with the utmost composure. I have no special motive for you to honor Mrs. Tindall. My object in asking Frank to take the character is that I feel she will do it justice. As for her late conduct, I think it was a sensible thing to do, and I have liked her better ever since. Mrs. Tindall laughed and leaned caressingly on Lycia's arm, as she said. We all know what proportion of your remarks to consider genuine. What is the other project? Consider this one dismissed, will you please? I cannot possibly spare you from that tableau. The other is that I mean to have that little Ruthie Walker for the Quaker scene. There was a determined glitter in Lycia's eyes. She had evidently yielded the other point more I thought because she knew that Frank would have been obstinate, but the tone in which she said I mean to have was very decided. I looked to see Mrs. Tindall as decidedly oppose it, and then I fully expected a disruption, but by this calculation I showed that I did not know Mrs. Tindall. She instantly and gracefully acquiesced. I don't know, but it would be a good idea. She has a demure sort of face, and that character is not yet supplied. She would certainly have one immensely convenient qualification she would do as she was told. With which parting shot she turned toward me. Julia, my dear, is that rough proving too much for you? You are looking very much flushed. I expected to see two young ladies flush guiltily at this reminder of my close proximity, but they did not even glance in my direction. Then they must have desired me to hear them, either that or they had no idea of the loudness of their tones. I have sometimes thought that Lycia, at least, had a friendly desire to warn me of my nearness to danger, and although she did it in a stinging way had my good at heart, but I do not know how that may be. I only know that it stung deeply. The rest of the evening was a pain and a bewilderment to me. There were moments in which I fully resolved to have nothing more to do with them, to refuse to take any part in this festival which had suddenly become so disagreeable to me, to leave Mrs. Tindall to go away from them all home to my mother. Oh, mother, mother, I remember just how longingly my sick heart cried out after you that night, just as it had cried in vain many, many times since. I don't know whether Mrs. Tindall was gifted with a sort of clairvoyant power or not, or at least I mean it used sometimes to seem to me as though she must have been. She came up with me to my room that night. She dropped herself daintily among some red cushions and passed her hand softly over my flushed and heated forehead in a winning way she had while she talked to me in those cooing tones of hers. Poor child, she is very tired and a little bit disgusted with everybody. Don't you find girls very insipid, Julia? Lycia Simon's is, between you and me, the only really brilliant one we have, though it would never do to tell Florence Hervey that. But Lycia is rude and sharp in her language. The child doesn't like me. I thwart her pet schemes too often. I laugh sometimes to think of what stinging things she probably says about me when I am out of hearing. She has one fancy of which I must try to disabuse her. She seems to think that I have dropped Frank Hooper because she has chosen to enter a shop, which, of course, she had the right to do if she pleased, and equally, of course, that can never put her on a level with ignorant unpultured shop girls. My reasons for declining to continue my friendship for her were based upon her exceedingly improper conduct toward Jerome's sales. The story is much too long to weary you with tonight, but some time I must tell you about it, and you will have more sympathy for poor Jerome when you think of the annoyance to which he has been exposed. Now, my poor tired child, do get to rest as quickly as possible. Do you know that your tableau is going to be perfectly lovely? I tossed and stumbled very restlessly instead of sleeping, but I finally concluded that Mrs. Tyndall had been slandered, that whatever her faults she really loved me, that tender, clinging kiss, as she said good night, was my last pleasant proof, and I dropped a sleep very firm in the resolve to show Florence Hervey that in spite of not belonging to her set, I belonged to Mrs. Tyndall's and Mr. Sales's, and that I assisted in making a tableau that was perfectly lovely.