 CHAPTER VIII. THE SPELL AND ITS WEAVING And after the confusion, the distress and the joy of the afternoon out in the park, when she and her gift had been accepted and acclaimed, there came days full of deep and perfect peace to Caroline Dara Brown. Long, strenuously delightful mornings she spent with Tempe in the excitement of completing her most comprehensive culinary education, and the amount of batonage she exchanged upon the subject with David Kildare, occupied many of his unemployed minutes. His demands for the most intricate and soul-trying concoctions she took a perfect joy in meeting, and his enthusiasm stimulated her to the attempting of the most difficult feats. His campaign was on with full force and his days were busy ones, but he managed to drop into the kitchen at any time when he deemed it at all certain that he would find her there and was always fully rewarded. He often found Andrew severe in the library in consultation with the major over the management of the delicate points in the campaign, and occasionally brought him into Tempe's kingdom with him, and Caroline laughed and blushed and explained it all to them with the most beautiful solicitude, Tempe looking on, positively brindling with pride. And there were other mornings when she took her sewing and crept in the library to work, while the major and Andrew held consultation over the affairs of the present or absent David. The whiskey ring had purchased one of the morning papers, which had hitherto borne a reputation for extreme conservatism, and it had appeared each morning with brilliant, carefully modulated arguments for the machine, doctored statistics, and brought allegations impossible to be investigated in so short a time. And all of every afternoon and evening Andrew severe sat at an editorial desk, down at the office of the reform journal, and pumped hotshot through their flimsy though plausible arguments. His blood was up, and his pen more than a match for any in the state, so he often sat most of the night writing, reviewing, and meeting issue after issue. The editor-in-chief, whose heart was in making a success of the campaign by which his paper would easily become the leading morning paper, gave him full reign, aided and abetted him by his wide knowledge of all the conditions, and pointed out with unerring judgment the sore spots on the hide of the enemy at which to send the gadfly of investigation. So each day, while Andrew and the major went carefully over possibilities to be developed by and against the enemy, Caroline listened with absorbed interest. Now and then she would ask a question which delighted them both with its ingenuousness, but for the most part she was busily silent. And in the exquisite-ness of her innocence she was weaving the spell of the centuries with the stitches in her long seams. There are yet left in the world a few of the elemental women whose natures are what they were originally instituted, and Caroline Dara was unfolding her predestinated self as naturally as a flower unfolds in the warmth of the spring sunshine. The cooking for David and Andrew, the sewing for busy Phoebe, the tactfully daughterly attentions to the major and Mrs. Matilda, were all avenues for the outpouring of the maturing woman within. And powerless in his enchantment, Andrew's severe was swept along on the tide of her tenderness. One day she had picked up his heavy grey gloves from the table and tightened the buttons, listening all the while to an absorbing account of a counter move he was planning for the next day's editorial, and then had been delightfully confused and distressed by his gratitude. The little scene had sent him to the bare fields to fight for hours. The major fairly gloried in her knowledge of the arrangement of his library and delighted her with quick requests for his books during the most absorbing moments of their discussions. And again the observation that the spell was not being woven for him alone went far to the undoing of Andrew's severe. Her interest in the affairs of David Kildare disturbed him not at all, but her sympathetic and absorbed attention to a bad luck tale with which Hobson Capers reported to the major one morning when she sat with him had sent him home in a most depressed state of mind. And the picture of her troubled eyes raised to Hobson's as he recounted the details of the wrenched shoulder of his favourite horse followed him through the day with tormenting displeasure. Though the offer of a cut glass bottle full of a delightfully scented lotion for the amelioration of the suffering animal brought a semblance of a grin, and Hobb the brute had gone away with it in his pocket, accompanied by explicit directions as to its application by means of a soft bit of flannel the size of a pocket handkerchief also provided. Andrew's severe had a vision of the bottle and the rag being installed in the most holy of holies in the apartments of Hobson Capers and experienced a sweeping smashing rage there at. A day or two later a scene he had witnessed in the kitchen in which Caroline and Timpy hung anxiously over a simmering pan of lemon juice, sugar, rye whiskey and peppermint, which when it arrived at the proper syrupy condition was to be administered as a soothing potion to the horse throat of Peyton Kendrick, who purged croaking on a chair close by, drove him to seeking comfort from Phoebe much to her apparent amusement but secret perturbation, for Phoebe both comprehended and feared the situation, and thus there is also much of the primitive left in the heart of the modern man on which the elemental forces work. Then the day for the election came nearer and nearer by what seemed fleeting hours. The whole city was thoroughly aroused and fighting hard under one banner or the other. As the last week drew to a close and left only the few days of the following week for a roundup of the forces before the Wednesday election, the men all became absorbed to the point of oblivion to everything save the speculation as to how the race would go, but it was not in the nature of David Kildare to be held against the grindstone of serious endeavor too long at a time, and in the midst of the turmoil he proceeded to plot for a brief and exciting relaxation for himself and his strenuous friends, and he chose Saturday for the accomplishment thereof. The morning dawned in a fluff of gray fog that hung low down over the avenue, though the sun showed signs of soon piercing the gloom. The clash and clatter of the city was fast approaching a noonday roar, but still Phoebe slept in the room which adjoined that of Caroline Dara Brown. Caroline cautiously opened the door and stole in gently to the side of the bed, then paused and looked down with delight. Phoebe asleep was a thing calculated to bring delight to any beholder. The brilliant, casual, insuciant, worldly Phoebe had gone out on a dream hunt and a delicious curled-up flower lay in her place, with turned lashes dipping against softly tinted cheeks. Her head rested on one bare white arm and one hand curled under her daintily molded chin. Caroline caught her breath. This was a pathetic Phoebe when one thought of the most times Phoebe, cool, self-reliant, perforce. The darling. She whispered to herself as she slipped to her knees by the low bed. I can't bear to wake her, but I'm afraid not to. It's an hour late already. Dear. She slipped her arm under the glossy head and pressed a little kiss on the dimple over the northeast corner of the warm lips. Phoebe's gray eyes smiled themselves open for a fraction of a second. Then she nestled to Caroline's shoulder and calmly drifted off again in pursuit of the dream. Dairy. Caroline begged. It's after ten. Phoebe sighed, nestled closer and drifted again. Caroline settled herself against the pillows and pressed her cheek against the thick black braid that curled across the sleeper's bare shoulder. She was incapable of another combat with the sleep god and decided to wait. Besides, the awake Phoebe was busy and elusive, not given to bestowing or receiving ought save the most fleeting caresses. So for a few moments, Caroline Dara's arms held her hungrily. Beautiful. Came in a sleepy voice from against her arm. Is the water cold? Awful this morning. Answered Caroline, tightening her arms. Just a little hot Phoebe, please. I'll tell Annette. No. Answered Phoebe, as with a whirl of the covers she sat up and took her knees into her embrace. No, sweetie. In I go. The colder the better after I'm in. How grand and burned Jonesy you look in that linen pinafore. Indulging in the life domestic. I think I catch a whiff of your culinary atmosphere. And oh, I am so hungry. Tempe has a dear little plump bird for you and some waffles and an omelet. Let me have Annette bring them to you here. Please, Phoebe. Please. Caroline Dara Brown. Said Phoebe in a tragic voice. Do you know I gained a pound and a quarter last week and that makes me three and a half pounds past the danger mark? Two raw eggs and an orange is all I can have this morning. I'm going to cry, I think. No. Answered Caroline Dara positively. You are going to eat that bird and the omelet. You may substitute dry toast for the waffle if Tempe will let you. She's angry and I'm in trouble. Don't use that recipe I got from your mammy kitty to make the cake I promised David killed air for tea. She says she and her family have been making Buchanan cake ever since there was any cake and she is not going to begin making Donaldson mixtures. I think I heard her feelings. What must I do? Let her alone. She has the right of it and the cake is sure to be just as good. Lapped Phoebe. I promised him it should be just like the one you gave us the other afternoon, only with the icing and nuts thicker than the cake. Answered Caroline in real distress. He says that Mr. Sevier likes it that way, too. She added ingenuously. Caroline Dara, you spoil those men to the most outrageous extent. It's like David to want his icing and nuts thicker than the cake. He always does and gets it but it isn't good for him. As Phoebe spoke she smiled at Caroline Dara indulgently. I can't help it Phoebe. She answered with a rose wave mounting under her eyes. I'm stupid. I don't know how to manage them. I'm just fond of them. For a second Phoebe regarded her from under veiled eyes then said guardedly. Doesn't that give them rather the advantage to start with, if you let them find it out? Yes. Answered Caroline as she pressed her cheek against Phoebe's arm. I know it does, but I can't help it. I have to trust them to understand. For a moment Phoebe was silent and across her mind there flashed David's description of a man who sat into the grey dawn fighting his battle, his own and hers. A man who wouldn't run. Perhaps that's the best way after all, dearie. She said as she prepared to slip out of bed. Only it takes the exceptional woman to get results from your method. It ought to work with David. Others don't seem to. Phoebe. Phoebe, why? Why? And Caroline caught and held Phoebe for a few seconds. Don't you care at all? Yes, child, a lot. Having admitted which I will be take myself to the plunge, leaving you to finish the cake for the precious thing. In a second Phoebe smiled back from the door. Just one little waffle, tell Tempe. She said. And I'm due to make a lightning toilet if I get to that women's guild meeting at eleven thirty. Call the office for me and tell them not to send freckles until one thirty today. And, dearie, please call Polly and tell her to be sure to go to that meeting of the daughters of the colonies so she can tell me what happens. Tell her to get it all straight, names and all, and I will phone her. And not to let them office or committee me just because I'm not there. You are a dear. Caroline smiled happily as she went back to the mixing of the confection of affection to be administered to David with his tea as by request. And she laughed as she heard Phoebe's mighty splash. And a half hour later, during the discussion of the plump bird and the one crisp waffle, David killed air whirled in, beaming with joy over his plans. In fact, he failed to manage anything in the way of a formal greeting. Girls. He exclaimed from the doorway. The hunt is on for tonight. Everybody hurry up. Caroline, Mrs. Matilda wants you to motor out with her to the forks to see about having Jeff and Tempe get ready for the supper cooking. Apricue birdies and the hot potato. Millie and Billy Bob are going and Polly and that Boston lad of yours, Caroline, yours if you can hold him, which I don't think you can. And Mrs. Matilda says. Stop. Demanded Phoebe. And tell us what you are talking about, David. I'm surprised that you, Phoebe, for being so dense. Answered David with a delighted grin at having created a flurry. Did you hear me tell Caroline Dara Brown at least a week ago that possums and persimmons are ripe and that the first night after rain and a fog, we would all turn out and show her how to shake down a few. The whole glad push is going. Mrs. Matilda and I decided it an hour ago while you were still asleep. I've telephoned everybody possums and persimmons wait for no man. How perfectly delightful. Said Caroline with eyes a gleam with enthusiasm. Can everybody go? David had failed to mention Andrew Sevier in his enumeration, an omission that she had instantly caught. Yes. Answered David. Everybody that had engagements, we asked the engagement to go, too. Even Andy is going to cut the poems for the lark. Thouse up a little, Phoebe. Please, give us a smile. I'm backing you to shake down ten possums against anybody's possible five. I don't think that I can go. Answered Phoebe quietly. Mrs. Cherry has the president of the Federation of Women's Clubs staying with her and I'm going to dine there tonight to discuss the suffrage platform. There was a cool note in Phoebe's voice and a sudden seriousness had come into her expression. Now Phoebe. Answered David, looking down at her with the quickly concealed tenderness that always flashed up in his eyes when he spoke directly to her. Do you suppose, for one minute, that I hadn't fixed all that, the first thing? Mrs. Cherry held back a bit but I rabbit-footed the old lady into being wild to go and then wheeled the correct hostess some. And there you are. Caroline is to send them out in her motor and I'm going to make Hob and Tom chase the possum in company of the Mary Widow and Mrs. Bigbug. Now give me a glad word. I'll see. Answered Phoebe. I can let you know by two o'clock whether I can go. And as she spoke she gathered up her gloves and bag and settled her trim hat by a glance at the long mirror across the room. What? What did you say? Demanded David aghast in a second. If you think, for one minute, that I am going to stand for— But you must remember that my business engagements must always be settled before I can make social ones. At two o'clock then. Goodbye, Caroline dear, such a comfy night under your care. I'm going to stop in the library to speak to the Major and then on to the Guild if anyone calls. Here's to you both. And she coolly tipped them a kiss from the ends of her fingers. Caroline remarked David, I reckon I must have giggled too loud in my cradle and the Lord turned around and made Phoebe to settle my glee, don't you think? And as Caroline saw him depart with his usual smile and jest, she little realized that a jagged wound ran across his blithe heart. The David within was awakening and developing a highly sensitive nature, which caught Phoebe's note of disapproval, divined its reasons and winced under the humiliation of its distrust. The old David would have laughed, chafed her and gone his way rejoicing. The new David suffered, for a deeply loved woman can inflict a wound on the inner man that throbs to the depths. Across the hall Phoebe found the Major at his table and, as usual, buried in his books. He was reading one and holding another open in his hand, while his pen balanced itself over a page for a note. Phoebe hesitated on the threshold, loathed to disturb his feast. But before she could retreat he glanced up and his smile flashed a welcome and an invitation to her, while his books fell together as he rose and held out his hands. My dear, he said, I was just reading what Bob Browning says about a pearl and a girl, and thinking of you when up I looked to behold you. Thank you and good morning Major. Returned Phoebe as a slow smile spread over her gray face. I won't disturb you, for I've only a moment. This hunt tonight, it troubles me. Has David forgotten that he is to make a speech on the cutting of the conduit over in the sixteenth ward and half past seven o'clock? It is one of his most important appointments and— Phoebe answered the Major as he balanced his pen on one long lean finger. Do you suppose that women will ever learn that men could dispense with them entirely after their second year, if it wasn't for the loneliness? I see David Kildare failed to make a sufficiently full apron-string report to you this morning of his intentions for the day. Sometimes, Major, you are completely horrid, answered Phoebe, with both a smile and a spark in her eyes. But I do care. That is, I'm interested in— It seems to me— The Major filled in the pause— That you are a trifle short on a woman's long suit. Patience. Now, in the case of David Kildare, you don't want to give him one moment of tortoise speed, but must keep him pacing with the hair entirely. Remember the result of that race? But I want him to win. He must, I think. Did you hear that speech he made to the motley and their friends last Monday night? That was as fine an interpretation of the ethics involved in the enforcement of law as I have ever heard or read. Delivered to simple minds, unversed in the science ethical. He landed hot shot into the very stronghold of the enemy, and his audience saw his points. I find the mind of David Kildare rather well provisioned with the diverse ammunition needed in political warfare. The whiskey ring is making a stand, and fighting the inches of retreat. I believe it to be retreat. But can it be, Major? Andrew says that money is pouring into the city, even from other states. They intend to buy the election, come what will. How can a gentleman fight such a thing with not a dollar spent announcement? Phoebe said the Major with a quick illumination of one of his challenging smiles. You can generally depend upon the Almighty to back the right man when he's fighting the right fight. Suppose you put up a little faith on the event. Be something of a sporting character and back David to win. Backing thoughts help in the winnings they tell us these days. I have, Major. I am. I do. But this hunt tonight positively, positively frightens me. It seems so, so regardless of consequences. So trivial and, and inconsequent that... Phoebe paused, and the Major was astonished to see that she was veiling tears with her thick black lashes. Phoebe child. He said as he bent over quickly and laid his hand on hers. I ought to have answered you sooner. He is prepared to make the speech of his life tonight at 7.30. But at ten he joins his friends to hunt. Didn't you draw your conclusions hurriedly and against David? In a second the tightness in Phoebe's throat relaxed and the tears flowed back to their source. Only one little splash jeweled her cheek that had flamed into a blush of joy and contrition. She said softly as she drew a deep breath. I am so glad. Glad. I must hurry from an hour late already. Goodbye. Goodbye, and remember that faith is one of the byproducts of affection. And I might add that the right kind of faith finds tactful ways of... of admission. Do you see? And the Major held her hand long enough to make Phoebe look into his kind eyes. And from the ten minutes in the library of Major Buchanan the disciplining of the heart of Phoebe Donaldson began and was carried on with utter relentlessness. The first castigation occurred when David failed to phone her at two o'clock. And a half hour later Caroline Dara called anxiously to know her decision and impart the information that David had arranged that she and Phoebe go out to the fork in her car with Mrs. Buchanan. Phoebe, to her own surprise, found that she intensely desired another arrangement that involved David and his small electric, but she received the blow with astonishing meekness and delighted Caroline with her enthusiastic acquiescence in the plans for the evening. And so through the busy afternoon while David Kildare met committees, sent in reports and talked over plans, he also managed to sandwich in the settling of numerous little details that went to make good the night sport. And it was all done in apparent high spirits, but with an indignant pain in his usually glad heart. Meanwhile, Caroline Dara, in a whirl of domestic excitement, incident to the preparing of a hamper for the midnight lunch out on the bridge, which she had entreated Mrs. Matilda to leave entirely to her newly acquired housewifery, stepped into the middle of the pool political and never knew it, in the innocence of her old-fashioned woman's heart. Miss Colleen? Ventured Jeff as he assisted her in packing the huge hamper that occupied the center of the dining room table. Is Mr. Dave Shaw appointed to be judge of the criminal court? He ain't a joking, is he? Why, no indeed, Jeff. Answered Caroline Dara as she rolled sandwiches and oiled paper before putting them into a box. What made you think that? Well, it's kind of poor white folksy job for him, fooling with crapshootin' niggers and whiskey soaks, but if he wants it, he's got to have it, hear me? Hey, Miss Colleen, some of us colored set has made up our minds that it's time for us to get out and dust to help him. You see, this here is an independent race, and it's he who gets the votes, no publican or democrat to it. That Jeff naturally turns a color vote loose at the polls, and for the most of the black fools, it's who bids the mostest. I'm sorry to say, as is the fact. But you know Mr. David has said from the first that he will not buy a vote. Will he have to lose? How many of the colored people are there? Oh Jeff, will he have to be beaten? Caroline Dara clasped a sandwich to the death in her hands and questioned the negro with the same faith that she would have used in questioning Major Buchanan. No ma'am, he ain't going to get nigger beat if we can help it. Us society colored set, you understand Miss Colleen. Jeff's manner was an interesting mixture of pomposity and deference. I don't quite understand, Jeff. You explain to me. Answered Caroline Dara in the kind and respectful voice that she always used to these family servants with which they understood perfectly and in which they took a huge delight. Well, it's just this way Miss Colleen. They're sets in the colored folks just like they is in the white folks. We is the it set, me and Tempe and F and all the first family people. We's got our lawyers and dentists and a university and ice cream parlor with the swellest kind of soda fountain in front. You heard how Mr. David got that country club for us, didn't you? Well, he backed the rent notes on the soda fountain too and he just naturally the first set candidate for anything he wants to be. Isn't he just the kindest, best man, Jeff? Asked Caroline Dara in her enthusiasm sacrificing a frosted muffin cake between her clasped hands. Yes, he aimed that for a fact and they came no low down whiskey bum beat him for judge neither, especially if they count on using the niggers to do it with. You see the race him so mighty close that all the booze bosses is telling the niggers that they has got the balance of power as they cause it and it's up to them to elect a judge for whiskey, the friend that'll let them drink it down. Why they's got out a bottle of whiskey as has on the label your colored friend and it's put up in clear glass and at the bottom you can see five new dimes are shining. A nigger gets a bottle and fifty cents if he votes with them. Old booze is flinging money right and left for if Mr. David gets in he'll sure have to get out. That is perfectly awful, Jeff exclaimed Caroline with horror-stricken eyes. The poor people made to sell themselves that way and the whole city to lose David a good judge because they can't know what they do. It is horrible and nobody can help it. I ain't so sure about that Miss Colleen, me and Tempey and Dr. Pike Johnson and the dentist and Bud Sims the man what runs the palms have thought up a scheme if we can work it. You see they ain't a nigger from Black Bottom to Mt. Nebo as wouldn't sell his soul to get to the country club and say he's been invited there. Now we thought it's how it would be a good plan to give it out that we was going to have a David Kildare judge celebration out there and have invitation tickets printed. Then we could go to the polls and fight down any dollar bottle of whiskey ever put up with one of them invites. Ever man to bring a lady and dancing down in a corner of the card. We'd scotch them by saying no election no dance. So they'll vote straight. Ain't that the swell scheme? It work if we can make it go. Jeff. She exclaimed. That is a perfectly splendid idea. You must do it. For offering them fun will be no bribery like whiskey and money. It will do them good. Sometimes it is just as well that a woman be not too well first in the science logical. Yes, I believe it will work. If we just had a barbecue to put down in the other corner opposite the dancing I know it would draw. But ice cream will be about all we can get for the subscription money. And cold as it is ice cream won't be no drawing card. And there was no doubt that Jeff unfolded his plan to Caroline Dara from pure love of sympathy and excitement and for no ulterior purpose. Although it served to further his schemes as well as if he had been of a most wily turn of mind. Jeff exclaimed Caroline Dara excitedly. How much would it take to have a barbecue and ice cream and everything good to go with it? And a big band of music and fireworks and... Golly, Miss Colleen, there will be most five hundred of them. And the subscription ain't but a little over fifty dollars. I'm counting on the dancing and getting there to draw them. We can't risk it, said Caroline. I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars. And you can let it be known that no such celebration ever was as the one his colored friends are going to give in honor of the election of Judge David Kildare. His united colored friends, Jeff, high and low. Miss Colleen, I'm scared to take it. Mr. David, he just naturally... Mr. David need never know about it. It is a subscription and you have collected it. Advertise that fact. I'm one of his friends and I can subscribe even if I am white. You must take it and get to work about it. Only four more days, remember? And we all must work for Mr. David. And too, Jeff, for those poor ignorant people who would commit the crime of letting themselves sell their votes. There was real concern for the endangered souls of the Coons in Caroline's voice and Jeff was duly impressed. They both fell to work on the packing of the basket as Timpy's voice was heard in the distance, for they knew she would express herself in no uncertain terms if she found the amount of work done unsatisfactory. But when he departed, Jeff carried in his pocket a slip of paper about which it nearly scared him to death to think, and one of the money bags of the late Peter's Brown was eased by the extraction of a quarter thousand. Caroline was happy from a clear conscience and a virtuous feeling of having saved a crisis for a dependent and ignorant people, which goes to show that a woman can put her finger into a political pie and draw it out without even a stain, while to touch that same confection ever so lightly would die a man's hand blood red. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of Andrew the Glad by Maria Thompson Davies This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 9 Pursuing the Possum And as if in sympathy with the heart of the pursued possum, the thermometer began to fall in the afternoon, and by night had established a clear, cold, windless condition of weather. The start for the cliffs was to be made from the fork in the river road, where cars, horses, traps, and hampers were to be left with the servants, who by half past nine were already in an excited group around a blazing dry oak fire, over which two score plump birds were ready to be roasted, attended by the autocratic tempi. Jeff piled high with brush a huge log, whose heart was being burned out for the baking of sundry potatoes, while the aroma from the barbecue pit was maddening to even a ten o'clock appetite, and no estimate could be made of what damage would be done after the midnight return from the trail of the wily tree fruit. David Kildare as usual was MFH, and his voice rang out as clearly against the tall pines, while he welcomed the cars and traps full of excited hunters, as if he had not been speaking in a crowded hall for an hour or two. Mrs. Cherry Lawrence arrived early, accompanied by the distinguished suffragist, who was as alert for sensations new as if she had been one of an exploration party into the heart of darkest Africa. They were attended by Tom and also the Suave Hobson, who was all attentions but whose maneuvers in the direction of Caroline Dara were pitiably fruitless. He was seconded in his attentions to the stranger by David, with his most fascinating manner, and Mrs. Cherry sparkled and glowed at him with subdued witchery, while Tom sulked close at her side. Polly and young Boston had trailed Mrs. Buchanan's car on horses, and Phoebe was intent on pinning up the debutante's habit skirt to a comfortable scramble length. Billy Bob fairly bubbled over with glee and Millie, who had come to assist Mrs. Matilda in overlooking the preparations for the feast for the returned hunters, was already busy assembling hampers and cases on a flat rock over behind the largest fire. Her anxious heart was at rest about her nestlings, for Caroline's maid Annette had gone French mad over the babies and had begged the privilege of keeping Mammy Betty company in her watch beside the cots. Come here, Caroline, child! called David from behind the farthest fire. Let me look at you. Seems to me you are in for a good freezing. And he drew her into the light of the blaze. She was kilted and booted and coated and belted in the most beautifully and wholly correct attire for the hunt that could possibly have been contrived. That is, for a sedate cross-country bird stalk or a decorous trap shooting, but for a long night's scramble over the frozen ground she was insufficiently clad. The other girls all wore heavy golf skirts and coats and were muffled to their eyes. Even the big bug lady wore a knitted comforter high round her throat. Without doubt Caroline would have been in for a cold deal if David had not been more than equal to any occasion. Here, Andy, skin out of that sweater and get into that extra buckskin in my electric. He said, and forthwith began without ceremony to assist Andrew Severe in peeling off a soft white high-collared sweater he wore. And in less time than it took to think, he had slipped it over Caroline's protesting head, pulled it down around her slim hips almost to where her kilts met her boots, and rolled the collar up under her eyes. Then he immediately turned his attention to the arrival of the mongrel sleuths, each accompanied by a white-toothed negro of renowned coon-fighting possum-catching proclivities, whom he had assembled from the old harpeth to lead the hunt, thus leaving Caroline and Andrew alone for the moment on the far side of the fire. Indeed, I'm not going to have your sweater. She protested, beginning to divest herself of the borrowed garment, but not knowing exactly how to crawl out of its soft embrace. Please, oh, please do. He exclaimed quickly, and as he spoke he caught her hand away that had begun to tug at the collar. I wouldn't keep it for the world, and have you called? But I can't get out. She answered with a laugh. Please show me, or call for help. And as she pleaded Andrew Severe towered beside her, tall and slender, while the cold breeze with its pine-laden breath ruffled his white shirt-sleeves across his arms. Caroline Dara, in the embrace of his clinging apparel, was a sight that sent the blood through his veins at a rate that warred with the winds, and his eyes drank deeply. The color mounted under her eyes, and with the unconsciousness of a child, she nestled her chin in the woolly folds about the neck as she turned her face from the firelight. Well then, get David's coat from the car. She pleaded. Will you stand back in the shadow of that tree until I do? He asked. He had caught across the fire a glimpse of the rest of Hobson, and a sudden mad desire prompted him to snatch this one joy from fate, come what would. Just a few hours with her under the winter stars, when life seemed to offer so little in the count of the years. Yes, of course. Did you think I'd dare go out in the dark alone without you? And her joyous, ingenuous casting of herself upon his protection was positively poignant. Hurry, please, because I don't want anybody to find me before you come. After which request it took him very little time to run across the lot and vault the fence into the road where the electric stood. It's so uncertain how things arrange themselves sometimes, some places. She remarked to herself as she caught sight of the movements of the foiled Hobson, whose search had now become an open maneuver. Suddenly she laid her cheek against the arm of the sweater and sniffed it with her delicate nose. Yes, there was the undeniable fragrance of the major Seven Oaks Heartleaf. He steals the tobacco, too. She again remarked to herself as she caught sight of him skirting the fires as he returned. Just at this moment a pandemonium of Yelps, Barks, Bays and Yells broke forth up the ravine and declared the hunt on. Everybody, follow the dogs and keep within hearing distance. We'll wait for the trailers to come up when we tree before we shake down. Shouted David, as with one accord the whole company plunged into the woods. Away from the fire the starlight, which was beginning to be reinforced by the glow from a late old moon, was bright enough to keep the rush up the ravine overlog and boulder through tangle and across open, a not too dangerous foray. The first hurdle was a six-rail fence that snaked its way between a frozen meadow and a wood slot. David stationed himself on the far side of the lowest and strongest panel and proceeded to swing down the girls whom Hob and Tom persuaded to the top rail. The champion for the rights of women took long and much assistance for the mount and entrusted her somewhat bulky self to the strong arms of David Kildare with a feminine dependence that almost succeeded in cracking those stalwart supports. Polly climbed two rails, put her hand on the top and vaulted like a boy almost into the embrace of young Massachusetts and together they raced after the dogs who were adding tumult to the hitherto pandemonium of the hot trail. Tom Cantrell managed Mrs. Cherry most deftly and seemed anxious to direct David in the landing, though she was most willing to trust it entirely to him. After hurrying Phoebe to the top rail, he vaulted lightly to the side of David and departed in haste, taking the reluctant widow with him by main force. Phoebe perched herself on the top of the fence, which brought her head somewhat above the level of David's and seemed in no hurry to descend in order to be at the shakedown, which from the shouts and yelps seemed imminent. Ready or want to rest a minute? asked David gently, but his eyes looked past hers and there was the shadow of reserve in his voice. No, answered Phoebe. But you must be tired, so I'll just slip down. And she essayed to cheat him with the utmost treachery. David neither spoke nor looked at her directly, but took her quietly in his arms and swung her to the ground beside him. Now this was not the first pursuit of the possum that had been attended by Phoebe in the company of David Kildare, and she was prepared for the audacious hint of a squeeze with which he usually took his toll and with which she always ignored utterly with reproving intent. The more reproving on the one or two occasions when she had been tempted into yielding to the caress for the remotest fraction of a second. But for every snub in the fence events that had been pulled off between them in the past years, David was fully revenged by the impassive landing of Phoebe on the dry and frozen grass at his side. Revenged, and there was something over that was cutting into her adamant heart like a two-edged marble saw. But Phoebe had been born a thoroughbred, and it was head up and run as she saw in a second. So she smiled up at him and said in a perfectly friendly tone, I really don't think we'd better wait for Caroline and Andrew. Do let's hurry, for they've treed, and I think those dogs will go mad in a moment. And together they disappeared in the woodland. Around a tall tree that stood on the slope of the hill, they found a scene that was uproar rampant. Five maddened dogs gazed aloft into the gnarled branches of the persimmon king and danced and jumped to the accompaniment of one another's insane yelps. A half-dozen negro boys were in the same attitude and state of mind, and the tension was immense. Polly gassed and giggled, and the suffrage lady almost became entangled with the waltzing dogs in her endeavor to sight the quarry. There he am! exclaimed the blackest sater, and he pointed to one of the lower limbs from which they're hung by the tail the most pathetic little bunch of bristles imaginable. At me second, almost David, I found them. All right, shin up, but mind the limbs! answered David. And you, Jake, get the dogs in hand. We want to take home possums, not full dogs. And like an agile ape, the darkie swung himself up and out on the low limb. Here he come! he shouted, and ducked to give a jerk that shook the whole limb. The dogs danced and Polly squealed, while the rotund lady managed to step on young back-based toes and almost forgot to beg pardon, but Mr. Possum hung on by his long rat-tail with the greatest serenity. Book up, darn negro, stick that whole tree. This here ain't no cakewalk. One of his confriars yelled, and the sally was caught with a loud guffaw. Thus urged the darkie braced himself and succeeded in putting the whole tree into a commotion, at the height of which there was a crash and a scramble from the top limb, and in a second a ball of gray fur descended on his woolly head, knocked him off his perch, and crashed with him to the ground. Then there ensued a raging battle in which were involved five dogs, a long darkie, and a ring-tailed streak of coon lightning, which whirled and bit and scratched itself free, and plunged into the darkness before the astonished hunters could get more than a glimpse of the melee. Coon, coon! yelled the negroes and scattered into the woods at the heels of the discountenanced dogs. Mr. Possum, saved by the stiff fight put up by his ring-tailed woodbrothers, had taken this opportunity of unhanging himself and departing into parts unknown, perhaps a still more wily citizen after his threatened extinction. In a few minutes from up the hill came another tumult, and Jake raised a long shout of Two possums! which served to hasten the scramble of the rest of the party through the underbrush to a breathless pace. Another gray ball hung to another limb, and this time the derisive Jake succeeded in the shakedown and the bagging amid the most breathless excitement. It was a sight to see the sophisticated little animal lie like dead and be picked up and handled in a state of seeming lifeless rigidity, a display of self-control that seemed to argue a superiority of instinct over reason. After this opening event the hunt swept on with a rapidly mounting count and a heavier and heavier bag. And, too, it was just as well that no one in particular, save the defrauded Hobson, who was obliged to conceal his chagrin, was especially mindful of the whereabouts of Caroline and the poet. In fact, it would have been difficult for them to have located themselves in answer to a wireless inquiry. Andrew had started out from the hiding tree with the intention of cutting across the trail of the hunters at right angles a little up the ravine, and he had trusted to a six-year-old remembrance of the lay of the land as he led the way across the frosty meadow and up the ridge at a brisk pace. Caroline swung lightly along beside him and, in the matter of vences, took Polly's policy of a hand-up and then a high vault, which made for practically no delay. They skirted the tangle of buck-bushes and came out on the edge of the cliff just as the hunt swept by at their feet and on up the creek bed. They were both breathless and tingling with the exertion of their climb. There they go, left behind, no catching them! exclaimed Andrew. No possum for you, and this is your hunt. I'm most awfully sorry. Don't you suppose they will save me one? asked Caroline composedly, and as she spoke she walked to the edge of the bluff and looked down into the dark ravine interestingly. You don't want the possum, child. You want to see it caught. The negroes get the little beasts. It's the bagging that's the excitement. Andrew rewarded her with amused interest. I don't seem to care to see things caught, she answered. I'm always sorry for them. I would let them all go if I got the chance. All caught things. A little crackle in the bushes at her side made her move nearer to him. I believe you would release any caught thing, if you could. He said with a note of bitterness in his voice that she failed to detect. A cold wind swept across the meadow and he swung around so his broad shoulders screened her from its tingle. Her eyes gazed out over the valley at their feet. This is the edge of the world. She said softly. Do you remember your little verses about the death of the stars? She turned and raised her eyes to his. We are holding a death watch beside them now as the moon comes up over the ridge there. When I read the poem I felt breathless to get out somewhere high up and away from things and watch. I was high up when I wrote them. Answered Andrew with a laugh. Look over there on the hill. See those two old locusts? They are fern palms and those scrub oaks are palmettoes. The white frost makes the meadow a lagoon and this rock is the pier of my bridge where I came out to watch one night to test the force of a freshet. Over there the light from Mrs. Matilda's fires is the construction camp and beyond that hill is my bungalow. That's the same old moon that's rising relentlessly to murder the stars again. Do you want to stay and watch the tragedy or hunt? Without a word Caroline sank down on the dried leaves that lay in a drift on the edge of the bluff. Andrew crouched close beside her to the windward and the ruthless old moon that was putting the stars out of business by the second She was not in the least abashed to find them gazing at her as she blustered up over the ridge round and red with exertion. Were you alone on that pier? asked Caroline with the utmost nade-tay as she snuggled down deeper into the collar of the sweater. I'm generally alone in most ways. answered Andrew the suspicion of a laugh covering the sadness in his tone. I seem to see myself going through life alone until something happens quick. The bitter note sounded plainly this time and cut with an ache into her consciousness. I've been a little lonely too. Always. Until just lately. And now I don't feel that way at all. She looked at him thoughtfully with moonlit eyes that were deep like sapphires. I wonder why? Andrew Severe's heart stopped dead still for a second and then began to pound in his breast as if entrapped. For the moment his voice was utterly useless and he prayed helplessly for a mead of self-control that might aid him to gain a sane footing. Then just at that moment the old genie of the forests who gloats through the seasons over the myriads of wooings that are carried on in the fastness of his green woods sounded a long, low, guttural groan that rose to a blood-curdling shriek from the branches just above the head of the moon-mad man and girl. For an instrument he used the throat of an enraged old hootal perturbed by the intrusion of the noise of the distant hunt and the low-voiced conversation on his wanted privacy. And the experienced ancient succeeded in precipitating the crisis of the situation with magical promptness. For Caroline sprang to her feet, turned with a shutter, and buried her head in Andrew's hunting-coat somewhere near the left string for cartridge loops. She clung to him in abject terror. Sweetheart! He exclaimed, giving her a little shake. It's only a cross-eyed owl. Don't be frightened. He raised her cheek against his own and drew her nearer, but Caroline trembled and clung and seemed unable to face the situation. Andrew essayed further reassurance by turning his head until his lips pressed a tentative kiss against the curve of her chin. He can't get you. He entreated and managed a still closer embrace. Is he still there? He came in a muffled voice from against his neck where Caroline had again buried her head at a slight crackling from the dark branches overhead. I think he is. Bless him. Answered Andrew, and this time the kiss managed a landing on the warm lips under the eyes raised to his. And then ensued several breathless moments while the world reeled around, and the vital elemental force that is sometimes cruel, sometimes kind, turned the wheel of their universe. I'm not frightened anymore. Caroline at last managed to say, as she prepared to withdraw, not too decisively, from her strong-armed refuge. He's still there. Warned Andrew severe with a happy laugh, and Caroline yielded again for a second, then drew his arms aside. Thank you. I'm not afraid anymore. Of anything. She said, laughing into his eyes. And I really think we had better try to get back to camp and supper, for I don't hear the dogs any longer. We don't want to be lost like the babes in the woods and left to die out here, do we? Are you sure we haven't gone and stumbled into heaven anyway? Demanded Andrew. He proceeded to roll the collar of her sweater higher about her ears and to pull the long sleeves down over her hands. He even bent to stretch the garment an inch or two nearer the tops of her boots. Are you cold? He demanded anxiously, for a stiff wind had risen and blew upon them with icy breath. Not a single bit. She answered, submitting herself to his anxious ministrations in her most engaging six going on seven manner. Then she caught one of his fumbling hands in hers and pressed it to her cheek for a moment. Now, she said, I can never be lonely any more, can we? I'm going to race you down the hill, across the meadow and over three fences to supper. And before he could stay her, she had flitted through the bushes and was running on before him, slim and fleet. He caught her in time to swing her over the first fence and capture an elusive caress. The second barrier she vaulted and eluded him entirely, but from the top of the last she bent and gave him his kiss as he lifted her down. In another moment they had joined the circle around the crackling fire where they were greeted with a wildest hilarity and overwhelmed with food and banter. Did you people ever hear of the man who bought a fifty dollar coon dog, took him out to hunt the first night, almost cried because he thought he had lost him down a sinkhole, hunted all night for him, came home in the daylight and found the pup asleep under the kitchen stove? Demanded David as he filled two long glasses with a simmering decoction from which rose the aroma of baked apples, spices, and some of the major's eighty-six corn heart. Caroline is the point of my little story. Have you two been sitting in Mrs. Matilda's car, or mine, or did you roost for a time on the fence over there in the dark? Please, David, please, Hosh, give me a bird and a biscuit. I'm hungry. Answered Caroline as she sank on a cushion beside Mrs. Buchanan. According to the ink slingers of all times you ought not to be, but Andy has already got outside of two sandwiches, so I suppose you are due one small bird. That cake is grand, beautiful. I put it away to eat all by myself tomorrow. Andrew Severe doesn't need any. He wouldn't know a cake from a corn bone. He's moon-struck. Just at this point a well-aimed pinecone glanced off David's collar and he settled down to the business in hand, which was the disposal of a bursting and perfectly hot potato, handed fresh from the coals by the attentive Jeff. And it was more than an hour later that the tired hunters winded their way back to the city. Polly was so sleepy that she could hardly sit her horse and was in a subdued and utterly fascinating mood, with which she did an irreparable amount of damage to the stranger within her gates as she rode along the moonlit pike and for which she had later to make answer. The woman's champion dozed in the tonneau and only David had the spirit to sing as they whirled along. Hadn't Phoebe stirred the sugar into his cup of coffee and then in an absolutely absent-minded manner tasted it before she had come around the fire to hand it to him? It had been a standing argument between them for years as to man's right to this small attention which they both teased Mrs. Matilda for bestowing upon the major. It was an insignificant and consequent little ceremony in itself, but it fired a train in David's mind, made for healing the wound in his heart and brought its consequences. Another reconstruction campaign began to shape its policy in the mind of David Kildare, which had to do with the molding of the destiny of the high-headed young woman of his affections rather than with the amelioration of conditions in his native city. So, high and clear he sang the call of the mockingbird with its ecstasies and its miners. But late as it was, after he had landed his guests at their doors, he had a long talk over the phone with the clerk of his headquarters and sent a half-dozen telegrams before he turned into his room. When he switched on his lights, he saw that Andrew stood by the window looking out into the night. His face was so drawn and white as he turned that David started and reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. Dave, he said, I'm a black guard and a coward. Don't touch me. What is it, Andrew? asked David as he laid his arm across the tent's shoulders. I thought I was strong and dared to stay. Now I know I'm a coward and couldn't go. I'll have to sneak away and leave her hurt. His voice was low and toned with an unspeakable scorn of himself. Andy asked David as he swung him around to face him. Was Carolanderra too much for you and the moon? There's nothing to say about it, David. Nothing. I've only made it hard for her and killed myself for myself forever. She's a child and she'll forget. You'll see to her, won't you? What are you going to do now? asked David sternly. Cut and run. Cowards always do. Answered Andrew bitterly. I'm going to stay and see you through this election, for it's too late to turn the press matters over to anyone else. And I'm going to pray to find some way to make it easier for her before I leave her. I'm afraid someday she'll find out and not understand why I went. Why do you go, Andrew? asked David as he faced his friend with compelling eyes. If it's pride that takes you, better give it up. It's deadly for you both, for she's more of a woman than you think. She'll suffer. David, do you think she would have me if she knew what I put aside to take her and his millions? Could Peter's browns heiress ever have anything but contempt for me? When it comes to her, she must understand and not think I held it against her. Tell her, Andrew. Let her decide. It's her right now. Never. Answered Andrew passionately. She is just beginning to lose some of her sensitiveness among us, and this is the worst of all the things she has felt were between her and her people. It is the only thing he covered and hid from her. I'll never tell her. I'll go, and she will forget. In his voice there was the note of finality that is unmistakable from man to man. He turned toward his room as he finished speaking. Then boy, said David as he held him back for a second in the bend of his arm, a tenderness in his voice and clasp. Go if you must, but we've three days yet. The gods can get mighty busy in that many hours if they pull on a woman's side, which they always do. Good night. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Andrew the Glad by Maria Thompson Davies This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 10 Loves Home and Andrew Severe And the Sabbath quiet which had descended on the frost-jeweled city the morning after the hunt, found the Buchanan household still deep in close shuttered sleep. Their fatigue demanded and was having its way in the processes of recuperation and they all slept on serenely. Only Caroline Dara was a stir with the first deep notes of the early morning bells. Her awakening had come with a rush of pure bubbling unalloyed joy which had turned her cheeks the hue of the rose, starred her eyes and melted her lips into heavenly curves. In her exquisite innocence it never dawned upon her that the moments spent in Andrew's arms under the winter moon were any but those of rapturous betrothal and her love had flowered in confident happiness. It was well that she caught across the distance no hint of the battle that was being waged in the heart of Andrew Severe. For the man in him fought, for her, with what he deemed his honor, almost to the death, but not quite. For some men hold as honor that which is strong signaled with self-control, red-blooded with courage, infiltrated with pride and ruthlessly cruel. And so Caroline hummed David's little serenade to herself as she dressed without Annette's assistance and smiled at her own radiance reflected at her from her mirrors. She had just completed a most ravishing church toilet when she heard the major store close softly and she knew that now she would find him before his logs awaiting breakfast. She blushed another tone more rosy and her eyes grew shy at the very thought of meeting his keen eyes that always quizzed her with such delight after one of her initiations into the sports or gayities of this new country. But, assuming her courage with her prayer-book, she softly descended the stairs, crossed the hall and stood beside his chair with a laugh of greeting. Well, he demanded delightedly, though in a guarded tone, with a glance up as if at Mrs. Matilda's and Phoebe's closed doors. Did you catch your possum? Yes. That is, no. I didn't. But somebody did, I think. She answered with delicious confusion in both tone and appearance. Caroline Dara demanded the major. Do you mean to tell me that there is no certainty of anybody's having got a result from a foray of the magnitude of that last night? Didn't you even see a possum? No, I didn't. But I know they caught some. David said so. Answered Caroline in a reassuring voice. Caroline again demanded the major relentlessly, having already had his suspicions aroused by her confusion and blushes. Where were you when David Kildare caught those beasts that you didn't see one? I was—was lost. She answered, and it surprised him that she didn't put one rosy fingertip into her mouth, so very young was her further confusion. Alone? The major made his demand without mercy. No, sir, with Mr. Sevier. Why aren't you going to have breakfast, major? It is almost church time. And Caroline rallied her domestic dignity to her support as she escaped toward Tempe's domain. And the flush of joy that had flamed in her cheeks had lighted a glow in the major's weather-tanned old face, and his eyes fairly snapped with light. Could it be that the boy had reached out for his atonement? Could it be he heard the front door close as the first church bell struck a deep note? And at that moment Jeff announced his breakfast as ready in a voice of the deepest exhaustion. And when Caroline emerged from the still-darkened house into the crisp air, she found Andrew Sevier standing on the front steps, waiting to walk into church with her. Her smile of shy joy as she held out her hand to him warmed his somber eyes for the moment. They're all asleep. She whispered, as if even from the street there was danger of awakening the tired hunting party. The major is keeping it quiet for them. And you ought to be asleep too. He answered as they started off at a brisk pace down the avenue. You weren't. She laughed up at him and then dropped her eyes shyly. I always go to church. She added demirly. And I suppose I counted on your habit. He said, utterly unable to control the tenderness in voice or glance. I wanted you to go with me today. I hoped you would though you never have. She answered him with a divine seriousness in her lifted eyes. They are all coming to dinner and then you'll go to the office. So I hoped about this morning. She was utterly lovely in her gentleness and a strange peace fell into the troubled heart of the man at her side. And it followed him into the dim church and made the hour he sat at her side one of holy healing. Once as they knelt together during the service she slipped her gloved hand into his borne instant and from its warmth there flowed a strength of which he stood in dire need and from which he drew courage to go on for the few days remaining before his exile. Just to protect her he prayed and leave her unhurt. And he failed to see that the humility and blindness of a great love were leading him into the perpetration of a great cruelty to the undoing of them both. Then in the long days that followed so hunted was he by his love of her that that one hour of peace in the Sunday morning was all he dared give himself with her. And in her gentle trustfulness it was not hard to make his excuses The Monday morning brought the strenuosity in the career of David Kildare to a state of absolute acuteness. To the candidate the three days were as ten years crowded into as many hours. Down at his headquarters in the gray picket rooms he stood firm and met wave after wave of fluctuating excitement that surged around him with his head up a ring in his lap and an almost superhuman tact. As late as Wednesday noon there appeared before him three excited anti saloon league matrons with plans to put committees of ladies at all the polls to hand out lemonade and entreaties perhaps threats to the voters as they exercised their civic function. They had planned banners with shall the saloon have my boy in large letters thereon inscribed and they were morally certain that without the carrying out of their plan the day would be lost. It took David Kildare one hour and a quarter to persuade them that it would be better to have a temperance rally at the theatre on Wednesday night at which each of the three should make most convincing speeches to the assembled women of the city thereby furnishing arguments to their sisters with which to start them in to the polls the next day. He promised to come and make a short opening speech and they left him with their plans changed but their enthusiasm augmented. David sank into a chair and mocked his shining brow. The Major had been witness to the encounter from the editorial desk and Cap Cantrell was bent double with laughter behind a pile of papers he was searching for data for Andrew. I'm all in Major. said David faintly. Just pick up the pieces in a basket. David sir. said the Major. Your conduct of that onslaught was masterly. If the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world why not the hand that flips the batter cake? Rock the ballot box. Cradle out of date? That's a little mixed but pertinent. I'm for letting them have a try. They're only crying because they think we don't want them to have it. Maybe they'll go back to the cradle and rock all the better for being free citizens. Not a cuss in one of those three old lady cats has ever shown a kick. Exploded Cap from behind his pile of papers. Anyway, the worst is over now. Must be. Answered David as he began to read over some bulletins and telegrams, but he had troubles yet to come. In the next two hours he had a conference with the head of the Chamber of Commerce which heated his blood to the boiling point and brought forth an ultimatum delivered in no uncertain terms with such perfect courtesy and clean-sightedness that the gentleman departed in haste to look into certain matters which he now suspected to have been cooked to lead him astray. This event had been followed by the advent of five of the old fellows who had obtained furloughs and ridden in from the soldier's home for the express purpose of assuring him of their support as the vindicator of their honor ringing his hand and cheering on the fight. They retired with Cap into the back room and emerged shortly, beaming and refreshed. They had no votes to cast in the city, but what matter? On their heels, Michael Rook rushed in with two budgets of false registrations which he had been able to ferret out by the aid of the drivers of his grocery wagons. He embraced David, exchanged shots with the Major and departed in high spirits. Then quiet came to the gray picket for a time and Kildare plunged into his papers with desperation. David called the Major after a very few minutes of peace. Here's a call for you on the desk. You'll recognize the number. Remember, a firm hand, sir, a firm hand. With which he collected his hat, coat and the captain, and took his departure, leaving David for the moment alone in the editorial rooms. He sat for a few moments before the receiver and twisted the call slip around one of his fingers. In a moment the affairs of state and the destiny of the city slipped from his shoulders and his mind took up the details of another problem. The contest for the judgeship was not the only one David Kildare had taken upon himself. The second was being waged in the secret chambers of two hearts, one proud, exacting and unconvinced. The other determined and at last thoroughly aroused. Phoebe had brought the crisis on herself and she was beginning to realize that the duel would be to the death or complete surrender. And in the preliminaries which had been begun on the Saturday night hunt and carried on for the last three days, David Kildare had failed to make a single false move. His natural and inevitable absorption in his race for the judgeship had served to keep him from forcing a single issue and Phoebe had had time to do a little lonely, un-pursued thinking. He had been entirely too clever to arouse her pride against him by a suspicion of neglect in his attitude. His usual attentions were all offered and a new one or two contrived. He sent F to report to her with his electric every afternoon. She understood that he was unable by the exigencies of the case to come himself to take her to keep her appointments as was his custom. Her flowers were just as thoughtfully selected and sent with the gayest little notes as like as possible to the ones that had been coming to her for years. He ordered in an unusually large basket of eggs from the farm and managed to find a complicated arrangement of rope and pulleys the manipulation of which for an hour or more daily was warranted to add to or detract from the stature of man or woman according to the desire of the dissatisfied individual. His note with the instrument was a scintillating skit and was answered in kind but through it all Phoebe was undoubtedly lonely. This call the second since Saturday and the second in the history of their joint existences betrayed her to the now Wiley David more than she realized perhaps. He took down the receiver and got the connection. That you dear. David managed a casual voice with difficulty. Yes David came in a voice that fairly radiated across the city. I only wanted to ask how it goes. Fine with a rip but you never can tell about anything. I'm a Presbyterian and I'll die in doubt of my election. I'm learning not to count on things. His voice carried a mournful note that utterly belied his radiant face. David was enjoying himself to almost the mortal limit. David there was a perceptible pause. You there is one thing you can always count on isn't there me. The voice was very gallant but also slightly palpitating. David almost lost his head but hung on tight and came up right side. So. He answered which reply in the light of an extremely modern use of the word combined with the legitimate was calculated to bring conclusion. Then he hurried off another offering onto the wire. How long are you going to be at home? He asked another dastardly tantalization. I don't know exactly. She parried quickly. Why? And this from Phoebe who had always granted interviews like a queen gives jewels. David somewhere found the courage to lay a firm hand on himself. With just a few more blows the citadel was his. His own heart writhed and the uncertainty made him quake internally. I wish I could come over but there are two committees waiting in the other room for me do you? A clash and buzz hummed over the wire into the receiver. There was a jangle and tangle and a rough man's voice cut in with. Working on the wires hang up please. And David limply hung up the receiver and collapsed in solitude for his committees had been evoked out of thin air. His state of mind was positively abject. His years old tenderness welled up in his heart and flooded to his eyes the dash and the pluck of her. He reached for his hat then hesitated. It was election eve and in two hours he was due to address the congregation of griddle cake discontents on how to make men vote like ladies. A call boy hurried in by way of a fortunate distraction and handed him a budget of papers. David spread them out before him. They were from Susie Carey of the Strong Brush and the Civic Improvement League containing sketches and specifications for the drinking fountains already pledged. And a request for an early institution of legislation on the playground proposition. Such a small thing as an uncertain election failed to dot the artistic fervor of Susie Carey's fertile brain or to deter her from making demands however premature on David the sympathetic. And David Kildare dropped his head on the papers and groaned. The vision of a life work rose up and menaced him and the words sweat of his brow for the first time took on a concrete meaning. Such a good old carefree existence he was losing and he seized his hat and fled to the refreshment of bath, food and fresh raiment. And on his way home he stopped in for a word with a major whom he found tired and on his way to take as much as he could of his usual nap. He was seated in his chair by the table and Caroline Dara sat near him listening eagerly to his story of some of the events in the day's campaign. She rose as David entered and held out her hand to him with a smile. Every time David had looked at Caroline Dara for the few days past a sharp pain had cut into his heart and this afternoon she was so radiantly lovely with sympathy and interest that for a moment he stood looking at her with his eyes full of tenderness. Then he managed a bantering smile and backed away a step or two from her, his hands behind him. No, you don't beautiful. David sometimes ventured on Phoebe's name for the girl. You are so sweet in that frock that I'm afraid if I touch you I'll stick. Somebody ought to label such a lollipop as you, dangerous. Call her off major. The major laughed at Caroline's blush and laid his fingers over her hand that rested on the corner of the table near him. David, he said, Girls are confections to which it is good for a man to forsake all others and cling but not to gobble. Matilda, recount to David Kildare your plans for the night of the election. I wish to witness his joy. Oh yes, I've been wanting to tell you about it for two days, David dear. Answered Mrs. Buchanan from her chair over by the window where she was busily engaged in checking names off a long list with a pencil. We are going to have a reception at the university club so everybody can come and congratulate you the night of the election. Mrs. Shelby and I thought it up and of course we had to speak to one of the house committee about the arrangements. And who do you think the member was? Billy Bob. I just talked on and didn't notice Mrs. Shelby and finally he was so nice and differential to her that she talked some too. She almost started to shake hands with him when we left. I was so glad. I feel that it is going to be a delightful success in every way. Please be thinking up a nice speech to make. Oh wait. Grown to David Kildare. If I begin now I will have to think double, one for election and one for defeat. Last night I dreamed about a black cat that was minus a left eye and limped in the right hind leg. Jeff almost cried when I told him about it. He hasn't smiled since. I told Tempe to put less pepper in those chicken croquettes last night. I saw Phoebe's light burning until two o'clock and heard her and Caroline laughing and talking even after that. The major was so nervous that he was up and dressed at six o'clock. I must see that all of you get simpler food. Your nerves will suffer. Major, suppose you don't eat much dinner. Just have a little milk toast. I'll see Tempe about it now. And Mrs. Buchanan departed after bestowing a glance in which was a conviction of dyspepsia upon all three of them. Now David Kildare, see what you've done with your black cat crawlings. I'll have to eat that toast. See if I don't. I've consumed it with a smile during stated period for thirty years. Yes, girl love is a kind of cup custard, but wife love is bread and butter. Milk toast, for instance. Bless her, but I'm hungry. The major's expression was a tragedy. I'm going to try and beg you off, Major, dear, said Caroline Dara, and she hurried after Mrs. Matilda into Tempe's domain. Major, said David as he gazed after the girl. When I look at her, I feel cold all over, then hot mad. He's going tomorrow night on the midnight train, and she doesn't know. I can't even talk to him about it. He looks like a dead man and works like a demon. I don't know what to do. David, said the major slowly as he pressed the tips of his long, lean fingers together and regarded them intently. How love, tender wise love, love that is fed on heart's blood and lives by soul breath, can go deaf, blind, dumb, halt, broken winged, idiotic and mortally cruel, is more than I can see. God almighty comfort him when he finds what he has done. And if she does find out, she won't understand. Exclaimed David. No. He answered the major. She doesn't even suspect anything. She thinks it is the press of his work that keeps him away from her. The child carries about with her that aura of transport that only an acknowledgment from a lover can give a woman. I had hoped that he had seen some way. I couldn't ask. I wonder— Yes, Major. Interrupted David quickly, and he winced as he spoke. On a hunt Saturday evening, they climbed the bluff and watched the hunt from a distance, and I saw how it was the minute they came back to the campfire. I saw it, and I was just jolly happy over it, even to the tune of Phoebe's sulks. I thought it was all right, and I wish you could have seen him. His head was up, and his eyes danced, and he gave up almost the first real laugh I ever heard from him when I teased her about getting lost. I looked at him, I thought about the other. You're glad, Andrew Major. And I was happy all in a shot for you, because I thought you were going to get back something of what you'd lost. It all seemed so good. There's been joy in the boy's eyes. Joy and sorrow waging a war for weeks. David and I have had to sit by and watch powerless to help him. Yes, his very father himself has looked out of his eyes at me for moments, and I— Well, I had hoped. Are you sure he is going? As the Major asked the question, his brows knotted themselves together as if to hide the pain in his eyes. Yes, he's going, and he catches the next tramp steamer for Panama from Savannah. I wish you would suspect something, and force it from him. It's strange, she doesn't. Answered David despondently. Carol Andara belongs to the order of humble women whose love feeds on a glance and can be sustained on a crumb. Another class demands a banquet full spread, and always ready. You'll be careful, boy. Don't. Don't die at Phoebe too long. The Major eyed David anxiously across the light. Heavens, I'm your reconcentrato. Major, I feel as if I've been shut up, down cellar in the cold, without the breath of life for a year. It's only three days and thirteen hours and a half, but I'm all in. I go dead without her. Believe I'll telephone her now. And David reached for the receiver that stood on the Major's table. Now, David— Said the Major, restraining his eager hand and smiling through his sadness. Don't try to gather your grapes over the phone. I judge they are ripe, but they still hang high. They always will. Oh, look at the clock. David took one look at the staid old mahogany timepiece, which the Major had had brought in from seven oaks and placed in the corner opposite his table, and took his departure. After he had gone, the Major retired to his room to lie down for as much of his allotted rest as he could obtain. Seeing him safely settled, Mrs. Buchanan went over for a short visit with Mrs. Shelby next door. Mrs. Matilda stuck to the irate grandmother through thick and thin, and in her affectionate heart she had hopes of bringing about the much-to-be-desired reconciliation. She was the only person in the city who dared mention Millie or the babies to the old lady, and even in her unsophistication she suspected that the details she supplied would determined intrepidity, fed a hunger in the lonely old heart. Her pilgrimage next door was a daily one and never neglected. Thus left alone, Caroline Dara was partaking of a solitary cup of tea, which was being served her by Tempe in all the gorgeousness of a new white lace-trimmed and beruffled apron, which Caroline had made for her as near as possible like the dainty garments affected by the French shopclad Annette, who was Tempe's special ally and admirer, when Mrs. Cherry Lawrence in full regalia descended upon her. Tempe walled her black eyes and departed with dignity for an extra cup. The major was fast asleep, David Kildare in the process of bath and toilet, Phoebe at her desk downtown, and Mrs. Matilda away on her mission, and thus it happened that nobody was near to fend the blight from the flower of their anxious cherishing. Yes, indeed, it is a time of anxiety. Mrs. Cherry agreed with Caroline as she crushed the lemon in her tea. I shall be glad when it is over. I feel that we all are making the utmost sacrifices for this election of David Kildare's, and he's such a boy that he probably will make a perfectly impossible judge. He never takes anything seriously enough to accomplish much. It's well for him that no one expects anything from him. Oh, but I'm sure he's taking this seriously, exclaimed Caroline Dara with a little gleam of dismay in her eyes. His race has been an exceptional one, whether he wins or not. The major says so, and the other day Mr. Sevier told me... At the mention of Andrew Sevier's name, Mrs. Cherry glanced around and an ugly little gleam came into her eyes. Oh, of course Andrew Sevier is too loyal to admit any criticism of David to a stranger! She said, with a slight emphasis on the word, and a cold glance at Caroline Dara. But he wasn't talking to a stranger. He was talking just to me! Said Caroline quickly, not even seeing the dart aimed. You are so sweet, dear! Perd, Mrs. Cherry. Under the circumstances it is so gracious of you not to feel yourself a stranger with us all, and especially with Andrew Sevier. Of course it would have been impossible for him always to have avoided you, and it was just like his generosity. Miss Caroline, honey? Came in a decided voice from the doorway. That custard you is making for the major's supper is acting currisome round the ages. Please, ma'am, come and seat her at a minute. Oh, excuse me just a second. Exclaimed Caroline Dara to Mrs. Cherry as she rose with alarm in her house's wifely heart and hurried past Timpy down the hall. An instinct engendered by her love for Caroline Dara had led Timpy to notice and resent something in Mrs. Lawrence's manner to the child on several previous occasions, and today she had felt no scruples about remaining behind the curtains while within earshot of the conversations. Her knowledge of and participation in the Buchanan family affairs, past and present and future, was an inheritance of several generations, and she never hesitated to assert her privileges. Lady? She said in a cool, soft voice as she squared herself in the doorway and looked Mrs. Lawrence directly in the face. You is a rich white woman and I is a poor nigger, but if you had her succeeded in a pudding that their devil's tale into my young mistress's head, they would have been that toixed you and me that we never could have forgot, and there wouldn't have been more than a rag-left of that dead husband-bought frock what you've got on. Now, for I forgets myself, I access you out the front door, and I am a forgetting fast. And as she faced the domineering woman in the trappings of fashion, all the humble blood in the negro's veins, which had come down to her from the four women who had cradled on their black breasts the mothers of such as Caroline Dara, was turned into the jungle passion for defense of this slight white thing that was the child of her heart if not of her body. The danger of it made Mrs. Lawrence fairly quail, and white with fright she gathered her rich furs about her and fled, just as Caroline Dara's returning footsteps were heard in the hall. Why, where did Mrs. Lawrence go, Timby? She demanded an astonishment. Timby had just the moment in which to rally herself, but she had accomplished the feat, though her eyes still rolled ominously. She remembered something what she forgot and had to hurry. She left excuses for you. And Timby busied herself with the cups and tray. She was beginning to say something queer to me, Timby, when you came in. It was about Mr. Sevier, and I didn't understand. I almost felt that she was being disagreeable to me and frightened me about him. I... La, I suspect you as Miss took child, and if it were anything, she just wants him herself, and was allying out to tell you some inflectment she'd been trying to have with him. Don't pay no attention to it. By this time she had regained her composure and was able to reassure Caroline with her usual positiveness, to which she added an amount of worldly tact in substituting a highly disturbing thought in place of the dangerous one. Do you really think she can be in love with... with him, Timby? Demanded Caroline Dara, why died with astonishment? She was entirely diverted from any desire to follow out or weigh Mrs. Lawrence's remark to her by the wiliness of the experienced Timby. There ain't no telling what Whitter Woman out for number twos will do. Answered Timby, sagely. Now you run and let Miss Annette put that blue frock on you for dinner. In times of disturbance like these here, women ought to fix their sales up so as to tice the men to eat a little at mealtimes. Ain't I done put on this white apron to try and get that no count Jefferson just to take notice a little of his vitals? Now go on, honey, it's late. And thus the love of the Old Negro had taken away the only chance given Caroline Dara to learn the facts of the grim story, from the knowledge of which she might have worked out salvation for her lover and herself. An hour later, as they were being served the soup by the absorbed and inattentive Jeff, Mrs. Matilda laid down her spoon and said to Caroline anxiously, I wish Phoebe had come out tonight. I asked her, but she said she was too busy. She looked tired. Do you suppose she could be ill? Yes. Answered the Major dryly. I feel sure that Phoebe is ill. She is at present, I should judge, suffering with a malady which she has had for some time, but which is about to reach the acute stage. It needs judicious ignoring, so let's not mention it to her for the present. I understand what you mean, Major. Answered his wife with delighted eyes. And I won't say a word about it. It will be such a help to David to have a wife when he is the judge. How long will it be before he can be the governor, dear? That depends on the wife, Mrs. Buchanan, to a large extent. Answered the Major with a delighted smile. Oh, Phoebe will want him to do things. Said Mrs. Matilda positively. No doubt of that. The Major replied. I see David Kildare slated for the full life from now on. Eh, Caroline? And the Major had judged Phoebe's situation perhaps more rightly than he realized. For while David led the voter directors rally at the theater and was later closeted with Andrew for hours over the last editorial appearing in the morning journal. Phoebe sat before her desk in her own little downtown home. Phoebe was snoring away like a peaceful watchdog on her cot in the dressing room and the whole apartment was dark saved for the shaded desk light. The time and place were fitting and Phoebe was summoning her visions and facing her realities. Down the years came sauntering the nonchalant figure of David Kildare. He had asked her to marry him that awful, lonely 16th birthday and he had asked her the same thing every year of all the succeeding ten and the number of times in between. Phoebe squared herself to her reviewing self and admitted that she had cared for him then and ever since, cared for him, but had starved his tenderness and in the lover had left unsought the man. But she was clear-sided enough to know that the handsome, easy-going boy who had wooed with a smile and taken rebuff with a laugh was not the steady-eyed, forceful man who now faced her. He set the door of a life that stretched away into long vistas and now he would demand. Phoebe bowed her head on her hands. Suppose he should not demand. And so in the watches of the night the siege was raised and Phoebe, the dauntless, brilliant, arrogant Phoebe had capitulated. No lovelorn woman of the ages ever palpitated more thoroughly at the thought of her lover than did she as she kept vigil with David across the city. But there were the articles of capitulation yet to be signed and the ceremony of surrender to come.