{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_60457/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_60457","id":"gutenberg_60457","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60457","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Children -- Fiction","Fairy tales","Girls -- Fiction","Play -- Fiction"],"text":"WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL\n\n\n\n\n    THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n    NEW YORK \u00b7 BOSTON \u00b7 CHICAGO \u00b7 DALLAS\n    ATLANTA \u00b7 SAN FRANCISCO\n\n    MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED\n    LONDON \u00b7 BOMBAY \u00b7 CALCUTTA\n    MELBOURNE\n\n    THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.\n    TORONTO\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: SOMEWHERE BEYOND SEALED DOORS]\n\n\n\n\n    WHEN I WAS A LITTLE\n    GIRL\n\n    BY\n    ZONA GALE\n\n    AUTHOR OF \u201cTHE LOVES OF PELLEAS AND ETARRE,\u201d\n    \u201cFRIENDSHIP VILLAGE,\u201d ETC.\n\n    WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY\n    AGNES PELTON\n\n    New York\n    THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n    1913\n\n    _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\n    Copyright, 1911, by The Curtis Publishing Company.\n\n    COPYRIGHT, 1913,\n    BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\n\n    Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1913.\n\n    Norwood Press\n    J. B. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.\n    Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n    To\n\n    THE LITTLE GIRL ON CONANT STREET\n    AND TO THE\n    MEMORY OF HER GRANDMOTHER\n    HARRIET BEERS\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n    CHAPTER                               PAGE\n\n        I. IN THOSE DAYS                     1\n\n       II. IN NO TIME                       16\n\n      III. ONE FOR THE MONEY                35\n\n       IV. THE PICNIC                       53\n\n        V. THE KING\u2019S TRUMPETER             77\n\n       VI. MY LADY OF THE APPLE TREE       103\n\n      VII. THE PRINCESS ROMANCIA           118\n\n     VIII. TWO FOR THE SHOW                147\n\n       IX. NEXT DOOR                       159\n\n        X. WHAT\u2019S PROPER                   173\n\n       XI. DOLLS                           192\n\n      XII. BIT-BIT                         211\n\n     XIII. WHY                             228\n\n      XIV. KING                            247\n\n       XV. KING (_continued_)              281\n\n      XVI. THE WALK                        307\n\n     XVII. THE GREAT BLACK HUSH            315\n\n    XVIII. THE DECORATION OF INDEPENDENCE  329\n\n      XIX. EARTH-MOTHER                    354\n\n       XX. THREE TO MAKE READY             375\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n    Somewhere beyond sealed doors                 _Frontispiece_\n\n                                                     FACING PAGE\n\n    Sat on a rock in the landscape and practised              32\n\n    Little by little she grew silent and refused to join in\n        the games                                            128\n\n    But the minute folk left the room--ah, then!             168\n\n    She settled everything in that way; she counted the\n        petals of fennel daisies and blew thistle from\n        dandelions                                           196\n\n    Then out of the valley a great deev arose                216\n\n    To see what running away is really like                  316\n\n\n\n\nThere used to be a little girl who does not come here any more. She is\nnot dead, for when certain things happen, she stirs slightly where she\nis, perhaps deep within the air. When the sun falls in a particular\nway, when graham griddle cakes are baking, when the sky laughs\nsudden blue after a storm, or the town clock points in its clearest\nyou-will-be-late way at nine in the morning, when the moonlight is on\nthe midnight and nothing moves--then, somewhere beyond sealed doors,\nthe little girl says something, and it is plain that she is here all\nthe time.\n\nYou little child who never have died, in these stories I am trying\nto tell you that now I come near to understanding you. I see you\nstill, with your over-long hair and your over-much chattering, your\nnaughtiness and your dreams. I know the qualities that made you\ndisagreeable and those that made you dear, and I look on you somewhat\nas spirit looks on spirit, understanding from within. I wish that\nwe could live it again, you and I--not all of it, by any means, and\nnot for a serious business; but now and then, for a joy and for an\nidleness. And this book is a way of trying to do it over again,\ntogether.\n\nWill you care to come from the quiet where you are, near to me and\nyet remote? I think that you will come, for you were wont untiringly\nto wonder about me. And now here I am, come true, so faintly like her\nwhom you dreamed, yet so like you yourself, your child, fruit of your\nspirit, you little shadowy mother....\n\n    If only words were moments\n    And I knew where they fly,\n    I\u2019d make a tale of time itself\n    To tell you by and bye.\n\n    If only words were fathoms\n    That let us by for pearls,\n    I\u2019d make a story ocean-strange\n    For little boys and girls.\n\n    But words are only shadow things.\n    I summon all I may.\n    Oh, see--they try to spell out Life!\n    Let\u2019s act it, like a play.\n\n\n\n\nWhen I was a Little Girl\n\nI\n\nIN THOSE DAYS\n\n\nIn those days time always bothered us. It went fast or it went slow,\nwith no one interfering. It was impossible to hurry it or to hold it\nback.\n\n\u201cOnly ten weeks more,\u201d we invariably said glibly, when the Spring term\nbegan.\n\n\u201cJust think! We\u2019ve--got--t-e-n--weeks!\u201d we told one another at the\nbeginning of vacation, what time we came home with our books, chanting\nit:--\n\n    \u201c_No more Latin,\n      No more French,\n      No more sitting on a hard wood bench._\u201d\n\n--both chorally and antiphonally chanting it.\n\nYet, in spite of every encouragement, the Spring term lasted\nimmeasurably and the Summer vacation melted. It was the kindred\ndifference of experience respectively presented by a bowl of hot\nginger tea and an equal bulk of ice-cream.\n\nIn other ways time was extraordinary. We used to play with it: \u201cNow is\nnow. But now that other Now is gone and a Then is now. How did it do\nit? How do all the Nows begin?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen is the party?\u201d we had sometimes inquired.\n\n\u201cTo-morrow,\u201d we would be told.\n\nNext morning, \u201cNow it\u2019s to-morrow!\u201d we would joyfully announce, only\nto be informed that it was, on the contrary, to-day. But there was no\ncause for alarm, for now the party, it seemed, had changed too, and\nthat would be to-day. It was frightfully confusing.\n\n\u201c_When_ is to-morrow?\u201d we demanded.\n\n\u201cWhen to-day stops being,\u201d they said.\n\nBut never, never once did to-day stop that much. Gradually we\nunderstood and humoured the pathetic delusion of the Grown-ups: _To-day\nlasted always and yet the poor things kept right on forever waiting for\nto-morrow._\n\nAs for me, I had been born without the time sense. If I was told that\nwe would go to drive in ten minutes, I always assumed that I could\nfinish dressing my doll, tidy my play-house, put her in it with all\nher family disposed about her down to the penny black-rubber baby\ndressed in yarn, wash my face and hands, smooth my hair (including\nthe protests that these were superfluous), make sure that the kitten\nwas shut in the woodshed ... long before most of which the family\nwas following me, haling me away, chiding me for keeping older folk\nwaiting, and the ten minutes were gone far by. Who would have thought\nit? Ten minutes seem so much.\n\nAnd if I went somewhere with permission to stay an hour! Then the\nhour stretched invitingly before me, a vista lined with crowding\npossibilities.\n\n\u201cHow long can you stay?\u201d we always promptly asked our guests, for there\nwas a feeling that the quality of the game to be entered on depended\non the time at our disposal. But when they asked me, it never was\nconceivable that anything so real as a game should be dependent on\nanything so hazy as time.\n\n\u201cOh, a whole hour!\u201d I would say royally. \u201cLet\u2019s play City.\u201d\n\nWith this attitude Delia Dart, who lived across the street, had no\npatience. Delia was definite. Her evenly braided hair, her square\nfinger tips, her blunt questions, her sense of what was due to\nDelia--all these were definite.\n\n\u201cCity!\u201d she would burst out. \u201cYou can\u2019t play City unless you\u2019ve got all\nafternoon.\u201d\n\nAnd Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman, who were pretty definite too,\nwould back Delia up; but since they usually had permission to stay all\nafternoon, they would acquiesce when I urged: \u201cOh, well, let\u2019s start\nin anyhow.\u201d Then about the time the outside wall had been laid up in\nthe sand-pile and we had selected our building sites, the town clock\nwould strike my hour, which would be brought home to me only by Delia\nsaying:--\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you go. Will she care if you\u2019re late?\u201d\n\nOn such occasions we never used the substantive, but merely \u201cshe.\u201d\nIt is worth being a child to have a sense of values so simple and\nunassailable as that.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to do just this much. I can run all the way home,\u201d I would\nanswer; and I would begin on my house walls. But when these were\ndone, and the rooms defined by moist sand partitions, there was all\nthe fascination of its garden, with walks to be outlined with a\nshingle and sprays of Old Man and cedar to be stuck in for trees, and\nsingle stems of Fever-few and Sweet Alyssum or Flowering-currant and\nBleeding-heart for the beds, and Catnip for the borders, and a chick\nfrom Old-Hen-and-Chickens for a tropical plant. We would be just begun\non the stones for the fountain when some alien consciousness, some\nplucking at me, would recall the moment. And it would be half an hour\npast my hour.\n\n\u201cYou were to come home at four o\u2019clock,\u201d Mother would say, when I\nreached there panting.\n\n\u201c_Why_ did I have to come home at four o\u2019clock?\u201d I would finally give\nway to the sense of great and arbitrary wrong.\n\nShe always told me. I think that never in my life was I bidden to\ndo a thing, or not to do it, \u201cbecause I tell you to.\u201d But never\nonce did a time-reason seem sufficient. What were company, a\nnap-because-I-was-to-sit-up-late, or having-to-go-somewhere-else beside\nthe reality of that house which I would never occupy, that garden where\nI would never walk?\n\n\u201cYou can make it the next time you go to Delia\u2019s,\u201d Mother would say.\nBut I knew that this was impossible. I might build another house,\nadventure in another garden; this one was forever lost to me.\n\n\u201c... only,\u201d Mother would add, \u201cyou can not go to Delia\u2019s for ...\u201d she\nwould name a period that yawned to me as black as the abyss. \u201c...\nbecause you did not come home to-day when you were told.\u201d And still\ntime seemed to me indefinite. For now it appeared that I should never\ngo to Delia\u2019s again.\n\nI thought about it more and more. What was this time that was laid on\nus so heavy? Why did I have to get up _because_ it was seven o\u2019clock,\ngo to school _because_ it was nine, come home from Delia\u2019s _because_\nthe clock struck something else ... above all, why did I have to go to\nbed _because_ it was eight o\u2019clock?\n\nI laid it before my little council.\n\n\u201cWhy do we have to go to bed because it\u2019s bed-time?\u201d I asked them.\n\u201cWhich started first--bed-time or us?\u201d\n\nNone of us could tell. Margaret Amelia Rodman, however, was of opinion\nthat bed-time started first.\n\n\u201cNearly everything was here before we were,\u201d she said gloomily. \u201cWe\nhaven\u2019t got anything in the house but the piano and the rabbits that\nwasn\u2019t first before us. Mother told father this morning that we\u2019d had\nour stair-carpet fifteen years.\u201d\n\nWe faced that. Fifteen years. Nearly twice as long as we had lived. If\na stair-carpet had lasted like that, what was the use of thinking that\nwe could find anything to control on the ground of our having been here\nfirst?\n\nDelia Dart, however, was a free soul. \u201c_I_ think we begun before\nbed-time did,\u201d she said decidedly. \u201cBecause when we were babies,\nwe didn\u2019t have any bed-time. Look at babies now. They don\u2019t have\nbed-times. They sleep all the while.\u201d\n\nIt was true. Bed-time must have started after we did. Besides, we\nremembered that it was movable. Once it had been half past seven. Now\nit was eight. Delia often sat up, according to her own accounts, much\nlater even than this.\n\n\u201cGrown-ups don\u2019t have any bed-time either,\u201d Betty took it up. \u201cThey\u2019re\nlike babies.\u201d\n\nThis was a new thought. How strange that Grown-ups and babies should\nshare this immunity, and only we be bound.\n\n\u201cWho _made_ bed-time?\u201d I inquired irritably.\n\n\u201cS-h-h!\u201d said Delia. \u201cGod did.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it,\u201d I announced flatly.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Delia, \u201canyway, he makes us sleepy.\u201d\n\nThis I also challenged. \u201cThen why am I sleepier when I go to church\nevenings than when I play Hide-and-go-seek in the Brice\u2019s barn\nevenings?\u201d I submitted.\n\nThis was getting into theology, and Delia used the ancient method.\n\n\u201cWe aren\u2019t supposed to know all those things,\u201d she said with\nsuperiority, and the council broke up.\n\nThat night I brought my revolt into the open. At eight o\u2019clock I was\ndisposing the articles in my play-house so that they all touched,\nin order that they might be able to talk during the night. It was\nwell-known to me that inanimate objects must touch if they would\ncarry on conversation. The little red chair and the table, the blue\npaper-weight with a little trembling figure inside, the silver vase,\nthe mug with \u201cRemember me\u201d in blue letters, the china goat, all must be\nsafely settled so that they might while away the long night in talk.\nThe blue-glass paper weight with the horse and rider within, however,\nwas uncertain what he wanted to companion. I tried him with the china\nhorse and with the treeful of birds and with the duck in a boat, but\nsomehow he would not group. While he was still hesitating, it came:--\n\n\u201cBed-time, dear,\u201d they said.\n\nI faced them at last. I had often objected, but I had never reasoned it\nout.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not sleepy,\u201d I announced serenely.\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s bed-time,\u201d they pressed it mildly.\n\n\u201cBed-time is when you\u2019re sleepy,\u201d I explained. \u201cI\u2019m not sleepy. So it\ncan\u2019t be bed-time.\u201d\n\n\u201cBed-time is eight o\u2019clock,\u201d they said with a hint of firmness, and\npicked me up strongly and carried me off; and to my expostulation that\nthe horse and his rider in the blue paper-weight would have nobody to\ntalk to all night, they said that he wouldn\u2019t care about that; and when\nI wept, they said I was cross, and that proved it was Bed-time.\n\nThere seemed no escape. But once--once I came near to understanding.\nOnce the door into Unknown-about Things nearly opened for me, and just\nfor a moment I caught a glimpse.\n\nI had been told to tidy my top bureau drawer. I have always loathed\ntidying my top bureau drawer. It is so unlike a real task. It is made\nup of odds and ends of tasks that ought to have been despatched long\nago and gradually, by process of throwing away, folding, putting in\nboxes, hanging up, and other utterly uninteresting operations. I can\ncreate a thing, I can destroy a thing, I can keep a thing as it was;\nbut to face a top bureau drawer is none of these things. It is a motley\ntask, unclassified, without honour, a very tag-end and bobtail of a\ntask, fit for nobody.\n\nI was thinking things that meant this, and hanging out the window. It\nwas a gentle day, like a perfectly natural human being who wants to\nmake friends and will not pretend one iota in order to be your friend.\nI remember that it was a still day, that I loved, not as I loved Uncle\nLinas and Aunt Frances, who always played with me and gave me things,\nbut as I loved Mother and father when they took me somewhere with them,\non Sunday afternoons.... I had a row of daffodils coming up in the\ngarden. I began pretending that they were marching down the border,\ndown the border, down the border to the big rock by the cooking-apple\ntree--why of course! I had never thought of it, but that rock was where\nthey got their gold....\n\nA house-wren came out of a niche in the porch and flew down to the\nplatform in the boxalder, where father was accustomed to feed the\nbirds. The platform was spread with muffin crumbs. The little wren ate,\nand flew to the clothes-line and poured forth his thankful exquisite\nsong. I had always felt regret that we had no clothes reel that\nwould whirl like a witch in the wind, but instead merely a system of\nclothes-lines, duly put up on Mondays; but the little wren evidently\ndid not know the difference.\n\n\u201cAbracadabra, make me sing like that....\u201d I told him. But I hadn\u2019t said\nthe right thing, and he flew away and left me not singing. I began\nthinking what if he _had_ made me sing, and what if I had put back my\nhead and gone downstairs singing like a wren, and gone to arithmetic\nclass singing like a wren, and nobody could have stopped me, and nobody\nwould have wanted to stop me....\n\n... I leaned over the sill, holding both arms down and feeling the\nblood flow down and weight my fingers like a pulse. What if I should\nfall out the window and instead of striking the ground hard, as folk do\nwhen they fall out of windows, I should go softly through the earth,\nand feel it pressing back from my head and closing together behind my\nheels, and pretty soon I should come out, plump ... before the Root of\nEverything and sit there for a long time and watch it grow....\n\n... I looked up at the blue, glad that I was so near to it, and thought\nhow much pleasanter it would be to fly right away through the blue and\nsee what colour it was lined with. Pink, maybe--rose-pink, which showed\nthrough at sunset when the sun leaped at last through the blue and it\nclosed behind him. Rose-pink, like my best sash and hair-ribbons....\n\nThat brought me back. My best sash and hair-ribbons were in my top\ndrawer. Moreover, there were foot-steps on the stairs and at the very\ndoor.\n\n\u201cHave you finished?\u201d Mother asked.\n\nI had not even opened the drawer.\n\n\u201cYou have been up here one hour,\u201d Mother said, and came and stood\nbeside me. \u201cWhat have you been doing?\u201d\n\nI began to tell her. I do not envy her her quandary. She knew that I\nwas not to be too heavily chided and yet--the top drawers of this world\nmust be tidied.\n\n\u201cThink!\u201d she said. \u201cThat Hour has gone out the window without its work\nbeing done. And now this Hour, that was meant for play, has got to\nwork. But not you! You\u2019ve lost your turn. Now it\u2019s Mother\u2019s turn.\u201d\n\nShe made me sit by the window while she tidied the drawer. I was not to\ntouch it--I had lost my turn. While she worked, she talked to me about\nthe things she knew I liked to talk about. But I could not listen. It\nis the only time in my life that I have ever really frantically wanted\nto tidy a top bureau drawer of anybody\u2019s.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d she said when she had done, \u201cthis last Hour will meet the\nHour-before-the-last, and each of them will look the way the other\nought to have looked, and they will be all mixed up. And all day I\nthink they will keep trying to come back to you to straighten them out.\nBut you can\u2019t do it. And they\u2019ll have to be each other forever and ever\nand ever.\u201d\n\nShe went away again, and I was left face to face with the very heart of\nthis whole perplexing Time business: those two Hours that would always\nbe somewhere trying to be each other, forever and ever, and always\ntrying to come back for me to straighten them out.\n\nWere there Hours out in the world that were sick hours, sick because we\nhad treated them badly, and always trying to come back for folk to make\nthem well?\n\nAnd were there Hours that were busy and happy somewhere because they\nhad been well used and they didn\u2019t have to try to come back for us to\npatch them up?\n\nWere Hours like that? Was Time like that?\n\nWhen I told Delia of the incident, she at once characteristically\nsettled it.\n\n\u201cWhy, if they wasn\u2019t any time,\u201d she said, \u201cwe\u2019d all just wait and wait\nand wait. They couldn\u2019t have that. So they set something going to get\nus going to keep things going.\u201d\n\nSometimes, in later life, when I have seen folk lunch because it is one\no\u2019clock, worship because it is the seventh day, go to Europe because it\nis Summer, and marry because it is high time, I wonder whether Delia\nwas not right. Often and often I have been convinced that what Mother\ntold me about the Hours trying to come back to get one to straighten\nthem out is true with truth undying. And I wish, that morning by the\nwindow, and at those grim, inevitable Bed-times, that I, as I am now,\nmight have told that Little Me this story about how, just possibly,\nthey first noticed time and about what, just possibly, it is.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nIN NO TIME\n\n\nBefore months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds were counted\nand named, consider how peculiar it all must have seemed. For example,\nwhen the Unknown-about Folk of those prehistoric times wished to know\n_when_ a thing would happen, of course they can have had no word\n_when_, and no answer. If a little Prehistoric Girl gave a party, she\ncannot have known when to tell her guests to come, so she must have\nhad to wait until the supper was ready and then invite them; and if\nthey were not perfectly-bred little guests, they may have been offended\nbecause they hadn\u2019t been invited before--only they would not have known\nhow to say or to think \u201cbefore,\u201d so they cannot have been quite sure\nwhat they were offended at; but they may have been offended anyway, as\nhappens now with that same kind of guest. And if a little Prehistoric\nBoy asked his father to bring him a new eagle or a new leopard for a\npet, and his father came home night after night and didn\u2019t bring it,\nthe Prehistoric Boy could not say, \u201c_When_ will you bring it, sir?\u201d\nbecause there was no when, so he may have asked a great many other\nquestions, and been told to sit in the back of the cave until he could\ndo better. Nobody can have known how long to boil eggs or to bake\nbread, and people must have had to come to breakfast and just sit and\nwait and wait until things were done. Worst of all, nobody can have\nknown that time is a thing to use and not to waste. Since they could\nnot measure it, they could not of course tell how fast it was slipping\naway, and they must have thought that time was theirs to do with what\nthey pleased, instead of turning it all into different things--this\npiece into sleep, this piece into play, this piece into tasks and\nexercise and fun. Just as, in those days, they probably thought that\nfood is to be eaten because it tastes good and not because it makes\nthe body grow, so they thought that time was a thing to be thrown away\nand not to be used, every bit--which is, of course, a prehistoric way\nto think. And nobody can have known about birthdays, and no story can\nhave started \u201cOnce upon a time,\u201d and everything must have been quite\ndifferent.\n\nAbout then,--only of course they didn\u2019t know it was then--a Prehistoric\nMother said one morning to her Prehistoric Little Daughter:--\n\n\u201cNow, Vertebrata, get your practising done and then you may go to\nplay.\u201d (It wasn\u2019t a piano and it wasn\u2019t an organ, but it was a lovely,\nreedy, blow-on-it thing, like a pastoral pipe, and little girls always\nsat about on rocks in the landscape, as soon as they had had their\nbreakfasts, and practised.)\n\nSo Vertebrata took her reed pipes and sat on a rock in the landscape\nand practised--all of what we now know (but she did not know) would be\nfive minutes. Then she came in the cave, and tossed the pipes on her\nbed of skins, and then remembered and hung them in their place above\nthe fireplace, and turned toward the doorway. But her mother, who was\nroasting flesh at the fire, called her back.\n\n\u201cVertebrata,\u201d she said, \u201cdid I not tell you to practise?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did practise,\u201d said Vertebrata.\n\n\u201cThen practise and practise,\u201d said her mother, not knowing how else to\ntell her to do her whole hour. Her mother didn\u2019t know hours, but she\nknew by the feel of her feelings when Vertebrata had done enough.\n\nSo Vertebrata sat on a rock and did five minutes more, and came and\nthrew her pipes on her bed of skins, and remembered and hung them up,\nand then turned toward the door of the cave. But her mother looked up\nfrom the flesh-pot and called her back again.\n\n\u201cVertebrata,\u201d she said, \u201cdo you want mother to have to speak to you\nagain?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, _indeed_, muvver,\u201d said her little daughter.\n\n\u201cThen practise and practise and practise,\u201d said her mother. \u201cIf you\ncan\u2019t play when you grow up, what will people think?\u201d\n\nSo Vertebrata went back to her landscape rock, and this thing was\nrepeated until Vertebrata had practised what we now know (but she did\nnot know) to have been a whole hour. And you can easily see that in\norder to bring this about, what her mother must have said to her the\nlast time of all was this:--\n\n\u201cI want you to practise and practise and practise and practise and\npractise and practise and practise and practise and practise and\npractise and practise and practise--\u201d _or_ something almost as long.\n\nNow of course it was very hard for her mother to say all this besides\nroasting the flesh and tidying the cave, so she made up her mind that\nwhen her Prehistoric Husband came home, he must be told about it. And\nwhen the sun was at the top of the sky and cast no shadow, and the\nflesh was roasted brown and fragrant, she dressed it with pungent\nherbs, and raked the vegetables out of the ashes and hid the dessert in\nthe cool wall of the cave--_that_ was a surprise--and spread the flat\nrock at the door of the cave and put vine-leaves in her hair and, with\nVertebrata, set herself to wait.\n\nThere went by what we now know to have been noon, and another hour, and\nmore hours, and all afternoon, and all early twilight, and still her\nPrehistoric Husband did not come home to dinner. Vertebrata was crying\nwith hunger, and the flesh and the vegetables were ice-cold, and the\nPrehistoric Wife and Mother sat looking straight before her without\nsmiling. And then, just as the moon was rising red over the soft breast\nof the distant wood, the Prehistoric Father appeared, not looking as if\nhe had done anything.\n\n\u201cIs dinner ready?\u201d he asked pleasantly.\n\nNow this was the last straw, and the Prehistoric Wife and Mother said\nso, standing at the door of the cave, with Vertebrata crying in the\noffing.\n\n\u201cTroglodyte,\u201d she said sadly (that was what she called him), \u201cdinner\nhas been ready and ready and ready and ready and ready and ready and\nready ...\u201d and she showed him the ice-cold roasted flesh and vegetables.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m _so_ sorry, dearest. I never knew,\u201d said the Troglodyte,\ncontritely, and did everything in the world that he could do to show\nher how sorry he was. He made haste to open his game-bag, and he drew\nout what food he had killed, and showed her a soft, cock-of-the-rock\nskin for a cap for her and a white ptarmigan breast to trim it with,\nand at last she said--because nobody can stay offended when the\noffender is sorry:--\n\n\u201cWell, dear, say no more about it. We\u2019ll slice up the meat and it will\ndo very well cold, and I\u2019ll warm up the potatoes with some brown butter\n(or the like). But hurry and bathe or I\u2019ll be ready first _again_.\u201d\n\nSo he hurried and bathed in the brook, and the cave smelled savoury\nof the hot brown butter, and Vertebrata had a Grogan tail stuck in her\nhair, and presently they sat down to supper. And it was nearly eight\no\u2019clock, but they didn\u2019t know anything about _that_.\n\nWhen the serious part of supper was done, and the dessert that was a\nsurprise had been brought and had surprised and gone, Vertebrata\u2019s\nmother sat up very straight and looked before her without smiling. And\nshe said:--\n\n\u201cNow, something must be done.\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout what, Leaf Butterfly?\u201d her husband asked.\n\n\u201cVertebrata doesn\u2019t practise enough and you don\u2019t come home to dinner\nenough,\u201d she answered, \u201cand something must be done.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did practise--wunst,\u201d said Vertebrata.\n\n\u201cBut you should practise once and once and once and once and once and\nonce, and so on, and not have to be told each once,\u201d said her mother.\n\n\u201cI did come home to dinner,\u201d said the Prehistoric Husband, waving his\nhand at his empty platter.\n\n\u201cBut you should come first and first and first and first and first, and\nso on, and not let the dinner get ice-cold,\u201d said his wife. \u201cHear a\nthing,\u201d said she.\n\nShe sprinkled some salt all thick on the table and took the stick on\nwhich the flesh had been roasted, and in the salt she drew a circle.\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d she said, \u201cis the sky. And this place, at the top, is the top\nof the sky. And when the sun is at the top of the sky and there is no\nshadow, I will have ready the dinner, hot and sweet in the pot, and\ndessert--for a surprise. And when the sun is at the top of the sky\nand there is no shadow, do you come to eat it, _always_. That will be\ndinner.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is well,\u201d said the Troglodyte, like a true knight--for in those\nfirst days even true knights were willing that women should cook and\ncave-tidy for them all day long and do little else. But that was long\nago and we must forgive it.\n\nThen she made a mark in the salt at the edge of the circle a little way\naround from the first mark.\n\n\u201cWhen the sun is at the edge of the sky and all red, and the shadows\nare long, and the dark is coming, I will have ready berries and nuts\nand green stuffs and sweet syrups and other things that I shall think\nof--for you. And when the sun is at the edge of the sky and all red,\nand the shadows are long, and the dark is coming, do you hurry to us,\n_always_. That will be supper.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is well,\u201d said the Troglodyte, like a true knight.\n\nThen she drew the stick a long way round.\n\n\u201cThis is sleep,\u201d she said. \u201cThis place here is waking, and breakfast.\nAnd then next the sun will be at the top of the sky again. And we will\nhave dinner in the same fashion. And this is right for you. But what to\ndo with the child I don\u2019t know, unless I keep her practising from the\ntime the sun is at the top of the sky until it is at the bottom. For if\nshe can\u2019t play when she grows up, what will people think?\u201d\n\nNow, while she said this, the Prehistoric Woman had been sitting with\nthe stick on which the flesh had been roasted held straight up in her\nfingers, resting in the middle of the ring which she had made in the\nsalt. And by now the moon was high and white in the sky. And the Man\nsaw that the moon-shadow of the stick fell on the circle from its\ncentre to beyond its edge. And presently he stretched out his hand and\ntook the stick from her, and held it so and sat very still, thinking,\nthinking, thinking....\n\n\u201cFaddie,\u201d said Vertebrata--she called him that for loving--\u201cFaddie,\nwill you make me a little bow and arrow and scrape \u2019em white?\u201d\n\nBut her father did not hear her, and instead of answering he sprang\nup and began drawing on the soft earth before the cave a deep, deep\ncircle, and he ran for the long stick that had carried his game-bag\nover his shoulder, and in the middle of the earth circle he set the\nstick.\n\n\u201cWatch a thing!\u201d he cried.\n\nVertebrata and her mother, understanding little but trusting much, sat\nby his side. And together in the hot, white night the three watched the\nshadow of the stick travel on the dial that they had made. Of course\nthere was no such thing as bed-time then, and Vertebrata usually sat\nup until she fell over asleep, when her mother carried her off to her\nlittle bed of skins; but this night she was so excited that she didn\u2019t\nfall over. For the stick-shadow moved like a finger; like, indeed, a\nliving thing that had been in the world all the time without their\nknowing. And they watched it while it went a long way round the circle.\nThen her mother said, \u201cNonsense, Vertebrata, you must be sleepy now\nwhether you know it or not,\u201d and she put her to bed, Vertebrata saying\nall the way that she was wide awake, just like in the daytime. And\nwhen her mother went back outside the cave, the Man looked up at her\nwonderfully.\n\n\u201cTrachystomata,\u201d said he (which is to say \u201csiren\u201d), \u201cif the sun-shadow\nwill do the same thing as the moon-shadow, we have found a way to make\nVertebrata practise enough.\u201d\n\nIn the morning when Vertebrata came out of the cave--she woke alone and\ndressed alone, just like being grown-up--she found her mother and her\nfather down on their hands and knees, studying the circle in the soft\nearth and the long sun-shadow of the stick. And her mother called her\nand she went running to her. And her mother said:--\n\n\u201cNow we will have breakfast, dear, and then you get your pipes and come\nhere and practise. And when you begin, we will lay a piece of bone\nwhere the shadow stands, and when I feel the feeling of enough, I will\ntell you, and you will stop practising, and we will lay another piece\nof bone on that shadow. And after this you will always practise from\none bone to another, forever.\u201d\n\nVertebrata could hardly wait to have breakfast before she tried it,\nand then she ran and brought her pipes and sat down beside the circle.\nAnd her father did not go to his hunting, or her mother to her cooking\nand cave-tidying, but they both sat there with Vertebrata, hearing her\npipe and watching the shadow finger move, and waiting till her mother\nshould feel the feeling of enough.\n\n_Now!_ Since the world began, the Hours, Minutes, and Seconds had been\nhanging over it, waiting patiently until people should understand\nabout them. But nobody before had ever, ever thought about them, and\nVertebrata and her mother and her father were the very first ones who\nhad even begun to understand.\n\nSo it chanced that in the second that Vertebrata began to pipe and the\nbone was laid on the circle, _that_ Second (deep in the air and yet\nas near as time is to us) knew that it was being marked off at last\non the soft circle of the earth, and so did the next Second, and the\nnext, and the next, and the next, until sixty of them knew--and there\nwas the first Minute, measured in the circle before the cave. And other\nMinutes knew what was happening, and they all came hurrying likewise,\nand they filled the air with exquisite, invisible presences--all to\nthe soft sound of little Vertebrata\u2019s piping. And she piped, and piped,\non the lovely, reedy, blow-on-it instrument, and she made sweet music.\nAnd for the first time in her little life, her practising became to her\nnot merely practising, but music-making--there, while she watched the\nstrange Time-shadow move.\n\n\u201cJ--o--y!\u201d cried the Seconds, talking among themselves. \u201cPeople are\nbeginning to know about us. It is _time_ that they should.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d they cried again. \u201cWe can go faster than anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cThink of all of our poor brothers and sisters that have gone, without\nanybody knowing they were here,\u201d they mourned.\n\n\u201cPipe, pipe, pipe,\u201d went Vertebrata, and the little Seconds danced by\nalmost as if she were making them with her piping.\n\nThe Minutes, too, said things to one another--who knows if Time is so\nsilent as we imagine? May not all sorts of delicate conversations go on\nin the heart of time about which we never know anything--Second talking\nwith Second, and Minute answering to Minute; and the grave Hours,\nlistening to everything we say and seeing everything we do, confiding\nthings to the Day about us and about Eternity from which they have\ncome. I cannot tell you what they say about you--you will know that, if\nyou try to think, and especially if you stand close to a great clock\nor hear it boom out in the night. And I cannot tell you what they say\nabout Eternity. But I think that this may be one of the songs that they\nsing:--\n\nSONG OF THE MINUTES\n\n    We are a garland for men,\n    We are flung from the first gate of Time,\n    From the touch that opened the minds of men\n    Down to the breath of this rhyme.\n\n    We are the measure of things,\n    The rule of their sweep and stir,\n    But whenever a little girl pipes and sings,\n    We will keep time for her.\n\n    We are a touching of hands\n    From those in the murk of the earth,\n    Through all who have garnered life in their hands\n    And wrought it from death unto birth.\n\n    We are the measure of things,\n    The rule of their stir and sweep,\n    And wherever a little child weeps or sings\n    It is his soul we keep.\n\nAt last, when sixty Minutes had danced and chorussed past, there was,\nof course, the first rosy Hour ever to have her coming and passing\nmarked since earth began. And when the Hour was gone, Vertebrata\u2019s\nmother felt the feeling of enough, and she said to Vertebrata:--\n\n\u201cThat will do, dear. Now you may go and play.\u201d\n\nThat was the first exact hour\u2019s practising that ever any little girl\ndid by any sort of clock.\n\n\u201cRibbon-fish mine,\u201d said the Prehistoric Man to his wife, when\nVertebrata had finished, \u201cI have been thinking additional thoughts. Why\ncould we not use the circle in other ways?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat ways, besides for your coming home and for Vertebrata\u2019s\npractising?\u201d asked the Prehistoric Woman; but we must forgive her for\nknowing about only those two things, for she was a very Prehistoric\nWoman indeed.\n\n\u201cLittle bones might be laid between the big bones,\u201d said the Man--and\nby that of course he meant measuring off minutes. \u201cBy certain of them\nyou could roast flesh and not kneel continually beside the fire. By\ncertain of them you could boil eggs, make meet the cakes, and not be in\nperil of burning the beans. Also....\u201d\n\nHe was silent for a moment, looking away over the soft breast of the\nwood where the sun was shining its utmost, because it has so many\nreasons.\n\n\u201cWhen I look at that moving finger on the circle thing,\u201d he said\nslowly, \u201cit feels as if whoever made the sun were saying things to me,\nbut with no words. For his sun moves, and the finger on the circle\nthing moves with it--as if it were telling us how long to do this\nthing, and how long to do that thing--you and me and Vertebrata. And\nwe must use every space between the bones--and whoever made the sun is\ntelling us this, but with no words.\u201d\n\nThe Prehistoric Woman looked up at her husband wonderfully.\n\n\u201cYou are a great man, Troglodyte!\u201d she told him.\n\nAt which he went away to hunt, feeling for the first time in his\nprehistoric life as if there were a big reason, somewhere out in the\nair, why he should get as much done as he could. And the Prehistoric\nWoman went at her baking and cave-tidying, but always she ran to the\ndoor of the cave to look at the circle thing, as if it bore a great\nmessage for her to make haste, a message with no words.\n\nAs for Vertebrata, she had taken her pipes and danced away where,\non rocks in the landscape, the other little Prehistorics sat about,\ngetting their practising done. She tried to tell them all about the\ncircle thing, waving her pipes and jumping up and down to make them\nunderstand, and drawing circles and trying to play to them about it on\nher pipes; and at last they understood a little, like understanding a\nnew game, and they joined her and piped on their rocks all over the\ngreen, green place. And the Seconds and Minutes and Hours, being fairly\nstarted to be measured, all came trooping on, to the sound of the\nchildren\u2019s piping.\n\nWhen the sun was at the top of the sky, Vertebrata remembered, and she\nstuck a stick in the ground and saw that there was almost no shadow.\nSo she left the other children and ran very hard toward her own cave.\nAnd when she had nearly reached it, somebody overtook her, also running\nvery hard.\n\n[Illustration: SAT ON A ROCK IN THE LANDSCAPE AND PRACTISED.]\n\n\u201cFaddie!\u201d she called, as she called when she meant loving--and he swung\nher up on his shoulder and ran on with her. And they burst into the\nopen space before the cave just as the shadow-stick pointed straight to\nthe top of the circle thing.\n\nThere, before the door of the cave, was the flat rock, all set with\nhot baked meat and toothsome piles of roast vegetables and beans that\nwere not burned. And the Prehistoric Woman, with vine-leaves in her\nhair, was looking straight before her and smiling. And that was the\nfirst dinner of the world that was ever served on time, and since that\nday, to be late for dinner is one of the things which nobody may do;\nand perhaps in memory of the Prehistoric Woman, when this occurs, the\npolitest ladies may always look straight before them _without smiling_.\n\n\u201cIs dinner ready, Sea Anemone?\u201d asked the Man.\n\n\u201cOn the bone,\u201d replied his wife, pleasantly.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s for \u2019sert?\u201d asked Vertebrata.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a surprise,\u201d said her mother--which is always the proper answer\nto that question.\n\nAnd while they sat there, the Days and Weeks and Months and Years\nwere coming toward them, faster than anything, to be marked off on the\ncircle thing before the door, _and to be used_. And they are coming\nyet, like a message--but with no words.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nONE FOR THE MONEY\n\n\nWe were burying snow. Calista Waters had told us about it, when, late\nin April, snow was found under a pile of wood in our yard. We wondered\nwhy we had never thought of it before when snow was plentiful. We had\ntwo long tins which had once contained ginger wafers. These were to be\npacked with snow, fastened tight as to covers, and laid deep in the\nearth at a distance which, by means of spoons and hot water, we were\nnow fast approaching.\n\nIt was Spring-in-earnest. The sun was warm, robins were running on the\ngrass, already faintly greened where the snow had but just melted;\na clear little stream flowed down the garden path and out under the\ncross-walk. The Wells\u2019s barn-doors stood open, somebody was beating\na carpet, there was a hint of bonfire smoke in the air, there were\nlittle stirrings and sounds that belonged to Spring as the gasoline\nwood-cutter belonged to Fall.\n\nCalista was talking.\n\n\u201cAnd then,\u201d she said, \u201csome hot Summer day, when they\u2019re all sitting\nout on the lawn in the shade, with thin dresses and palm-leaf fans,\nwe\u2019ll come and dig it up, and carry \u2019em big plates of feathery white\nsnow, with a spoon stuck in.\u201d\n\nWe were silent, picturing their delight.\n\n\u201cMiss Messmore says,\u201d I ventured, not without hesitation, \u201cthat snow is\nall bugs.\u201d\n\nIn fact all of us had been warned without ceasing not to eat snow--but\nthere were certain spots where it was beyond human power to resist\nit: Mr. Britt\u2019s fence, for instance, on whose pickets little squares\nof snow rested, which, eaten off by direct application of the lips,\nproduced a slight illusion of partaking of caramels.\n\nDelia stopped digging. \u201cMaybe they won\u2019t eat it when we bring it to\nthem in Summer?\u201d she suggested.\n\n\u201cThen we will,\u201d said Calista, promptly. Of course they would not have\nthe heart to forbid us to eat it in, say, June.\n\nAbout a foot down in the ground we set the two tins side by side in an\naperture lined and packed with snow and filled in with earth. Over it\nwe made a mound of all the snow we could find in the garden. Then we\nadjourned to the woodshed and sat on the sill and the sawbuck and the\nwork-bench.\n\n\u201cWhat makes us give it away?\u201d said Delia Dart, abruptly. \u201cWhy don\u2019t we\nsell it? We\u2019d ought to get fifteen cents a dish for it by June.\u201d\n\nWe began a calculation, as rapid as might be. Each tin would hold at\nleast six dishes.\n\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t we bury more?\u201d said Calista, raptly. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t we bury a\ntubful?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019d be an awful job to dig the hole,\u201d I objected. \u201cBesides, they\u2019d\nmiss the tub.\u201d\n\nThe latter objection was insurmountable, so we went off to the garden\nto hunt pig-nuts. A tree of these delicacies grew in the midst of the\npotato patch, and some of the nuts were sure to have lain winter-long\nin the earth and to be seasoned and edible.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s all ask to go to the Rodmans\u2019 this afternoon and tell Margaret\nAmelia and Betty about the snow,\u201d Calista suggested.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ve got to go calling.\u201d\n\nThey regarded me pityingly.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you come over there afterwards?\u201d they suggested.\n\nThis, I knew, was useless. We should not start calling till late.\nBesides, I should be hopelessly dressed up.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Delia, soothingly, \u201c_we\u2019ll_ go anyhow. Are you going to\ncall where there\u2019s children?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d I said, darkly. \u201cWe never do.\u201d\n\nThat afternoon was one whose warm air was almost thickened by sun. The\nmaple buds were just widening into little curly leaves; shadows were\nbeginning to show; and everywhere was that faint ripple of running\nwater in which Spring speaks. But then there was I, in my best dress,\nmy best coat, my best shoes, my new hat, and gloves, faring forth to\nmake calls.\n\nThis meant merely that there were houses where dwelt certain Grown-ups\nwho expected me to be brought periodically to see them, an expectation\npersevered in, I believe, solely as a courtesy to my family. Twice a\nyear, therefore, we set out; and the days selected were, as this one,\ninvariably the crown and glory of all days: Days meet for cleaning\nout the play-house, for occupying homes scraped with a shingle in the\nsoftened soil, for assisting at bonfires, to say nothing of all that\nwas to be done in damming up the streams of the curbs and turning aside\nthe courses of rivers.\n\nThe first call was on Aunt Hoyt--no true aunt, of course, but \u201caunt\u201d\nby mutual compliment. She lived in a tiny house on Conant Street, set\nclose to the sidewalk and shaded by an enormous mulberry tree. I sought\nout my usual seat, a little hardwood stool to whose top was neatly\ntacked a square of Brussels carpeting and whose cover, on being lifted,\nrevealed a boot-jack, a shoe-brush, and a round box of blacking. The\nlegs were deeply notched, and I amused myself by fitting my feet in the\nnotches and occasionally coming inadvertently back to the floor with an\nechoing bump.\n\nNow and then Aunt Hoyt, who was little and wrinkled, and whose glasses\nhad double lenses in the middle so that I could not keep my eyes from\nthem when she spoke, would turn to address an observation at me.\n\n\u201cHow long her hair is! Do you think it is quite healthy for her to have\nsuch long hair? I\u2019ll warrant you don\u2019t like to have it combed, do you,\ndear?\u201d\n\nIf Aunt Hoyt had only known the depth of the boredom with which I had\nthis inane question put to me! It was one of the wonders of my days:\nthe utterly absurd questions that grown-up people could ask.\n\nFor example: \u201cHow do you do to-day?\u201d What had any reasonable child\nto answer to that? Of course one was well. If one wasn\u2019t, one would\nbe kept at home. If one wasn\u2019t, one wasn\u2019t going to tell anyway. Or,\n\u201cWhat\u2019s she been doing lately?\u201d Well! Was one likely to reply: \u201cBurying\nsnow. Hunting pig-nuts. Digging up pebbles from under the eaves. Making\na secret play-house in the currant bushes that nobody knows about?\u201d And\nunless one did thus tell one\u2019s inmost secrets, what was there left to\nsay? And if one kept a dignified silence, one was sulky!\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s a good little girl, I\u2019m sure. Is she much help to you?\u201d Aunt\nHoyt asked that day, and patted my hair as we took leave. Dear Aunt\nHoyt, I know now that she was lonesome and longed for children and,\nlike many another, had no idea how to treat them, save by making little\nconversational dabs at them.\n\nThen there was Aunt Arthur, who lived in a square brick house that\nalways smelled cool. At her house I invariably sat on a Brussels\n\u201ckick-about\u201d in the bay window and looked at a big leather \u201cWonders\nof Earth and Sea,\u201d with illustrations. Sometimes she let me examine a\nbasket of shells that she herself had gathered at the beach--I used\nto look at her hands and at her big, flat cameo ring and marvel that\nthey had been so near to the ocean. Once or twice, when I wriggled too\noutrageously, she would let me go into the large, dim parlour, with\nits ostrich egg hanging from the chandelier and the stuffed blackbird\nunder an oval glass case before the high mirror, and the coral piled\nunder the centre-table and the huge, gilt-framed landscape which she\nherself had painted. But this day, between the lace curtains hanging\nfrom their cornices, I caught sight of Calista and Delia racing up the\nhill to the Rodmans, and the entire parlour was, so to say, poisoned.\nIn desperation I went back and asked for a drink of water--my ancient\nrecourse when things got too bad.\n\nAunt Barker\u2019s was better--there was a baby there. But that day ill-luck\nwent before me, for he was asleep and they refused to let me look at\nhim, because they said that woke him up. I disbelieved this, because I\nsaw no reason in it, and nobody gave me a reason. I resolved to try it\nout the first time I was alone with a sleeping baby. I begged boldly to\ngo outdoors, and Mother would have consented, but Aunt Barker said that\na man was painting the lattice and that I would in every probability\nlean against the lattice, or brush the paint pots, or try to get a\ndrink at the pump, which, I gathered, splashed everybody for miles\naround. So I sat in a patent rocker, and the only rift in a world of\nblack cloud was that, by rocking far enough, the patent rocker could be\nmade to give forth a wholly delectable squeak. Of course fate swiftly\ndescended; I was bidden discontinue the squeak, and nothing remained to\nme.\n\nThen we went to Grandma Bard\u2019s. I did not in the least know why, but\nthe little rag-carpeted sitting-room, the singing kettle on the back of\nthe coal stove, the scarlet geraniums on the window, the fascinating\npicture on the clock door, all entertained me at once. Grandma Bard\nwore a black lace cap, and she bade me sit by her and instantly gave\nme a peppermint drop from the pocket of her black sateen apron. She\nasked me no questions, but while she talked with Mother, she laid\ntogether two rose-coloured--rose-coloured!--bits of her patchwork and\nquietly handed them to me to baste--none of your close stitches, only\nbasting! Then she folded a newspaper and asked me to cut it and scallop\nit for her cupboard shelf. Then she found a handful of hickory nuts and\nbrought me the tack-hammer and a flat-iron....\n\n\u201cOh, Mother, let\u2019s _not_ go yet,\u201d I heard myself saying.\n\nGoing home--a delicate business, because stepping on any crack meant\nbeing poisoned forthwith--I tried to think it out: What was it that\nMother and Grandma Bard knew that the rest didn\u2019t know? I gave it up.\nAll I could think of was that they seemed to know me.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t Grandma Bard just grand?\u201d I observed fervently.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid,\u201d Mother said thoughtfully, \u201cthat sometimes she has rather\na hard time to get on.\u201d\n\nI was still turning this in my mind as we passed the wood yard. The\nwood yard was a series of vacant lots where some mysterious person\npiled cords and cords of wood, which smelled sweet and green and gave\nout cool breaths. Sometimes the gasoline wood-cutter worked in there,\nand we would watch till it had gone, and then steal in and bring away a\nbaking-powder can full of sawdust. We never knew quite what to do with\nthis sawdust. It was not desirable for mud-pies, and there was nothing\nthat we knew of to be stuffed with it. Yet when we could, we always\nsaved it. Perhaps it gave us an excuse to go into the wood yard, at\nwhich we always peeped as we went by. This day, I lagged a few steps\nbehind and looked in, expectant of the same vague thing that we always\nexpected, and never defined--a bonfire, a robber, an open cave, some\nchanged aspect, I did not know what. And over by the sawdust pile, I\nsaw, stepping about, a little girl in a reddish dress--a little girl\nwhom I had never seen before. She looked up and saw me stand staring at\nher; and her gaze was so clear and direct that I felt obliged to say\nsomething in defence of my intrusion.\n\n\u201cHello,\u201d I said.\n\nHer face suddenly brightened. \u201cHello,\u201d she replied, and after a moment\nshe added: \u201cI thought you was going to say \u2018how de do.\u2019\u201d\n\nA faint spark of understanding leapt between us. Dressed-up little\ngirls usually did say \u201chow de do.\u201d It was only in a kind of\nunconscious deference to her own appearance that I had not done so. She\nwas unkempt and ragged--her sleeve was torn from cuff to elbow.\n\n\u201cWhat you doing here?\u201d I inquired, not averse to breaking the business\nof calling by a bit of gossip.\n\nAt this she did for the third time what I had been vaguely conscious\nof her having done: She glanced over her shoulder toward a corner of\nthe yard which the piled wood concealed from me. I stepped forward and\nlooked there.\n\nOn an end of wood-pile which we children had pulled down so as to\nmake a slope to ascend its heights, a man was sitting. His head and\nshoulders were drooping, his legs were relaxed, and his hands were\nhanging loose, as if they were heavy. His eyes were closed and his lips\nwere parted, yet about the face, with its fair hair and beard, there\nwas something singularly attractive and gentle. He looked like a man\nwho would tell you a story.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s he?\u201d I asked, and involuntarily I whispered.\n\nThe girl began backing a little away from me, her eyes on my face, her\nfinger on her lips.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s my father,\u201d she said. \u201cHe\u2019s--resting.\u201d\n\nI had never heard of a man resting in the daytime. Save, perhaps, on\nSunday afternoons, this was no true function of men. I longed to look\nat the man and understand better, but something in the little girl\u2019s\nmanner forbade me. I looked perplexedly after her. Then I peered round\nthe fence post and saw my Mother standing under a tree, waiting for\nme. She beckoned. I took one more look inside the fence, and I saw the\nlittle girl sit down beside the sleeping man and fold her hands. The\nafternoon sun smote across the long wood yard, with its mysterious\nrooms made by the piling of the cords. It seemed impossible that this\nstrange, still place, with its thick carpet of sawdust and its moist\nodours, should belong at all to the commonplace little street. And the\ntwo strange occupants gave the last touch to its enchantment.\n\nI ran to overtake Mother, and I tried to tell her something of what I\nhad seen. But some way my words gave nothing of the air of the place\nand of the two who waited there for something that I could not guess.\nAlready I knew this about words--that they were all very well for\n_saying_ a thing, but seldom for letting anybody _taste_ what you were\ntalking about.\n\nI did not give up trying to tell it until we passed the Rodmans\u2019.\nFrom the direction of their high-board fence I heard voices. Margaret\nAmelia and Betty and Delia and Calista were engaged in writing on the\nweathered boards of the fence with willows dipped in the clear-flowing\ngutter stream.\n\n\u201cGot it done?\u201d I called mysteriously.\n\nThey turned, shaking their heads.\n\n\u201cIt was all melted,\u201d they replied. \u201cWe couldn\u2019t find another bit.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, well,\u201d I cried, \u201cyou come on over after supper. I\u2019ve got something\nto tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cSomething to tell you\u201d would, of course, bring anybody anywhere.\nAfter supper they all came \u201cover.\u201d It was that hour which only village\nchildren know--that last bright daylight of slanting sun and driven\ncows tinkling homeward; of front-doors standing open and neighbours\ncalling to one another across the streets, and the sky warm in the\nquiet surface of some little water from whose bridge lads are tossing\nstones or hanging bare-footed from the timbers. We withdrew past the\nfamily, sitting on the side-porch, to the garden, where the sun was\nstill golden on the tops of the maples.\n\n\u201cMother says,\u201d I began importantly, \u201cthat she thinks Grandma Bard has\na hard time to get along. Well, you know our snow? Well, you know you\nsaid you couldn\u2019t find any more to bury? Well, why don\u2019t we dig up\nours, right now, and sell it and give the money to Grandma Bard?\u201d\n\nI must have touched some answering chord. Looking back, I cannot\nbelieve that this was wholly Grandma Bard. Could it be that the others\nhad wanted to dig it up, independent of my suggestion? For there was\nnot one dissenting voice.\n\nThe occasion seemed to warrant the best dishes. I brought out six china\nplates and six spoons. These would be used for serving my own family,\nwhile the others took the two cans and ran home with them to their\nfamilies.\n\nWe dug rapidly now, the earth being still soft. To our surprise, the\ntops of the tins were located much nearer to the surface than we had\nsupposed after our efforts of the morning to reach a great depth. The\nsnow in which we had packed the cans had disappeared, but we made\nnothing of that. We drew out the cans, had off their tops, and gazed\ndistressfully down into clear water.\n\n\u201cIt went and melted!\u201d said Calista, resentfully.\n\nIn a way, she regarded it as her personal failure, since the ceremony\nhad been her suggestion in the first place.\n\n\u201cNever mind, Calista,\u201d we said, \u201cyou didn\u2019t know.\u201d\n\nCalista freely summed up her impressions.\n\n\u201cHow _mean_!\u201d she said.\n\nWe gravely gathered up the china plates and turned toward the\nhouse--and now I was possessed of a really accountable desire to get\nthe plates back in their places as quickly as possible.\n\nOn the way a thought struck us simultaneously. Poor Grandma Bard!\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s all go to see her to-morrow anyhow,\u201d I suggested--largely, I am\nafraid, because the memory of my entertainment there was still fresh in\nmy mind.\n\nWhen, after a little while, we came round the house where the older\nones were sitting, and heard them discussing uninteresting affairs,\nwe regarded them with real sympathy. They had so narrowly missed\nsomething so vastly, absorbingly interesting.\n\nFrom Delia\u2019s room a voice came calling as, at intervals, other voices\nwere heard calling other names throughout the neighbourhood--they were\nat one with the tinkle of the bells and the far-off yodel of the boys.\n\n\u201cDelia!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood night,\u201d said Delia, briefly, and vanished without warning, as at\nthe sound of any other taps. Soon after, the others also disappeared;\nand I crept up on the porch and lay down in the hammock.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s she been doing _now_?\u201d somebody instantly asked me.\n\nFor a moment I thought of telling; but not seriously.\n\nEvidently they had not expected an answer, for they went on talking.\n\n\u201c... yes, I had looked forward to it for a long while. Of course we had\nall counted on it. It was a great disappointment.\u201d\n\nSomewhere in me the words echoed a familiar and recent emotion. So!\nThey too had their disappointments ... even as we. Of course whatever\nthis was could have been nothing like losing a fortune in melted snow.\nStill, I felt a new sympathy.\n\nMother turned to me.\n\n\u201cWe are going to ask Grandma Bard to come to live with us,\u201d she said.\n\u201cWill you like that?\u201d\n\nI sat up in the hammock. \u201cAll the time?\u201d I joyfully inquired.\n\n\u201cFor the rest of the time,\u201d Mother said soberly. \u201cIt seems as if one\nought to take a child,\u201d she added to the others, \u201cwhen one takes\nanybody....\u201d\n\n\u201cStill,\u201d said father, \u201ctill we get in our heads something of what the\nstate owes to old folks, there\u2019s nobody but us to do its work....\u201d\n\nI hardly heard them. To make this come true at one stroke! Even to be\nable to adopt a child! How easily they could do things, these grown-up\nones; and how magnificently they acted as if it were nothing at all ...\nlike the giants planting city-seed and watching cities grow to the size\nand shape of giants\u2019 flower beds....\n\nThey went on talking. Some of the things that they said we might have\nsaid ourselves. In some ways they were not so very different from us.\nYet think what they could accomplish.\n\nWatching them and listening, there in the April twilight, I began to\nunderstand. It was not only that they could have their own way. But for\nthe sake of things that we had never yet so much as guessed or dreamed,\nit was desirable to be grown up.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nTHE PICNIC\n\n\nIt was Delia Dart who had suggested our Arbour Day picnic. \u201cLet\u2019s have\nsome fun Arbour Day,\u201d she said.\n\nWe had never thought of Arbour Day in that light. Exercises, though\nthey presented the open advantage of escape from the school grind, were\nno special fun. Fun was something much more intimate and intangible,\ndefinite and mysterious, casual and thrilling--and other anomalies.\n\n\u201cDoing what?\u201d we demanded.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Delia, restlessly, \u201cgo off somewheres. And eat things. And\ndo something to tell about and make their eyes stick out.\u201d\n\nWe were not old enough really to have observed this formula for\nadventure. Hitherto we had always gone merely because we went. Yet\nall three motives appealed to us. And events fostered our faint\nintention. At the opening of school that morning, Miss Messmore made\nan announcement.... I remember her grave way of smiling and silent\nwaiting, so that we hung on what she was going to say.\n\n\u201cTo-morrow,\u201d she said, \u201cis Arbour Day. All who wish will assemble here\nat the usual hour in the afternoon. We are to plant trees and shrubs\nand vines about the schoolhouse. There will be something for each one\nto plant. But this is not required. Any who do not wish to be present\nmay remain away, and these will not be marked absent. Only those may\nplant trees who wish to plant trees. I hope that all children will take\nadvantage of their opportunity. Classes will now pass to their places.\u201d\n\nDelia telegraphed triumphantly in several directions. We could hardly\nwait to confer. At recess we met immediately in the closet under the\nstairs, a closet intended primarily for chalk, erasers, brooms, and\nmaps, but by virtue of its window and its privacy put to sub-uses of\nsecret committee meetings.\n\n\u201cI told you,\u201d said Delia. And such was Delia\u2019s magnetism that we felt\nthat she had told us. \u201cLet\u2019s take our lunch and start as soon as we get\nout.\u201d\n\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t we go after the exercises?\u201d Calista Waters submitted\nwaveringly.\n\n\u201c_After!_\u201d said Delia, scornfully. \u201cIt\u2019ll be three o\u2019clock. _That\u2019s_ no\nfun. We want to start by twelve, prompt, and stay till six.\u201d\n\nMargaret Amelia Rodman bore out Delia\u2019s contention. She and Betty had\na dozen eggs saved up from their pullets. They would boil them and\nbring them. \u201cThe pullets?\u201d Calista demanded aghast and was laughed\ninto subjection, and found herself agreeing and planning in order to\nget back into favour. Delia and the Rodmans were, I now perceive, born\nleaders of medi\u00e6val living.\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you wait till Saturday?\u201d I finally said, from out a silence\nthat had tried to produce this earlier. \u201cThat\u2019s only two days.\u201d\n\n\u201cSaturday!\u201d said Delia. \u201cAnybody can have a picnic Saturday. This is\nmost as good as running away.\u201d\n\nAnd of course it was. But....\n\n\u201cWho wants to plant a tree?\u201d Delia continued. \u201cThey\u2019ll plant all\nthey\u2019ve got whether we\u2019re here or not, won\u2019t they?\u201d\n\nThat was true. They would do so. It was clearly a selfish wish to\nparticipate that was agitating Calista and me. In the end we were\noutvoted, and we went. Our families, it seemed, all took the same\nattitude: We need not plant trees if we did not wish to plant trees.\nSave in the case of Harold Rodman. He was ruled to be too small to walk\nto Prospect Hill, and he preferred going back to school to staying at\nhome alone.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t plant no tree, though,\u201d he announced resentfully, as we left\nhim. \u201cI\u2019m goin\u2019 dig \u2019em all up!\u201d he shouted after us. \u201cEvery one in the\nworld!\u201d\n\nIt was when I was running round the house to get my lunch that I came\nfor the second time face to face with Mary Elizabeth.\n\nMary Elizabeth was sitting flat on the ground, cleaning knives which\nI recognized as our kitchen knives. This she was doing by a simple\nprocess, not unknown to me and consisting of driving the knife into the\nground up to its black handle and shoving it rapidly up and down. It\nstruck me as very strange that she should be there, in _our_ back yard,\ncleaning _our_ knives, and I somewhat resented it. For it is curious\nhow much of a savage a little girl in a white apron can really be. But\nthen I did not at once recognize her as the girl whom I had seen in\nthe wood yard.\n\nI remember her sometimes as I saw her that day. She had straight brown\nhair the colour of my own, and her thick pig-tail, which had fallen\nover her shoulder as she worked, was tied with red yarn. Her face was a\nlovely, even cream colour, with no freckles such as diversified my own\nnose, and with no other colour in her cheek. Her hands were thin and\nveined, with long, agile fingers. The right sleeve of her reddish plaid\ndress was by now slit almost to the shoulder, and her bare arm showed,\nand it was nearly all wrist. She had on a boy\u2019s heavy shoes, and these\nwere nearly without buttons.\n\n\u201cWhat you doing?\u201d I inquired, coming to a standstill.\n\nShe lifted her face and smiled, not a flash of a smile, but a slow\nsmile of understanding me.\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d she replied, and went on with her task.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cMary Elizabeth,\u201d she answered, and did not ask me my name. This\nwas her pathetic way of deference to me because my clothing and my\n\u201cstation\u201d were other than hers.\n\nI went on to the house, but I went, looking back.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d I said, \u201cwho is she? The little girl out there.\u201d\n\nWhile she put up my lunch in the Indian basket, Mother told me how Mary\nElizabeth had come that morning asking for something to do. She had set\nher to work, and meanwhile she was finding out who she was. \u201cI gave\nher something to eat,\u201d Mother said. \u201cAnd I have never seen even you so\nhungry.\u201d Hungry and having no food. I had never heard of such a thing\nat first hand--not nearer than in books and in Sunday school. But ...\nhungry that way, and in our yard!\n\nIt was chiefly this that accounted for my invitation to her--this,\nand the fact that, as she came to the door to tell my Mother good-bye\nand to take what she had earned, she gave me again that slow,\nunderstanding-me smile. Anyway, as we walked toward the gate, I\novertook her with my Indian basket.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you want to come to the picnic with us?\u201d I said.\n\nShe stared at me. \u201cWhat do you do?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d I said, \u201ca picnic? Eat in the woods and--and get things, and sit\non the grass. Don\u2019t you think they\u2019re fun?\u201d\n\n\u201cI never was to one,\u201d she answered, but I saw how she was watching me\nalmost breathlessly.\n\n\u201cCome on, then,\u201d I insisted carelessly.\n\n\u201cHonest?\u201d she said. \u201cMe?\u201d\n\nWhen she understood, I remember how she walked beside me, looking at me\nas if she might at any moment find out her mistake.\n\nDelia, waiting impatiently at our gate with her own basket,--somehow I\nnever waited at the gates of others, but it was always they who waited\nat mine,--bade me hurry, stared at Mary Elizabeth, and serenely turned\nher back on her.\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d I said, \u201cis Mary Elizabeth. I asked her to go to our picnic.\nShe\u2019s going. I\u2019ve got enough lunch. This is Delia.\u201d\n\nI suppose that they looked at each other furtively--so much of the\nstupidity of being a knight with one\u2019s visor lowered yet hangs upon\nus--and then Delia plucked me, visibly, by the sleeve and addressed me,\naudibly, in the ear.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019d you go and do that for?\u201d said she. And I who, at an early age,\nresented being plucked by the sleeve as a bird resents being patted\non the head, or the wall of any personality trembles away when it is\ntapped, took Mary Elizabeth by the hand and marched on to meet the\nRodmans and Calista.\n\nCalista was a vague little soul, with no sense of facts. She was always\npromising to walk with two girls at recess, which was equivalent to\nasking two to be her partners in a quadrille. It simply could not be\ndone. So Calista was forever having to promise to run errands with\nsomeone after school to make amends for not having walked with her at\nrecess. She seldom had a grievance of her own, but she easily fell in\nwith the grievances of others. When I presented Mary Elizabeth to her,\nCalista received her serenely as a part of the course of human events;\nand so I think she would have continued to regard her, without great\nattention and certainly with no criticism, had she not received the\nsomewhat powerful suggestion of Delia and Margaret Amelia and Betty\nRodman. The three fell behind Mary Elizabeth and me as we trotted down\nthe long street on which the April sun smote with Summer heat.\n\n\u201c--over across the railroad tracks and picks up tin cans and old\nrubbers and sells \u2019em and drinks just awful and got ten children and\ngot arrested,\u201d I heard Delia recounting.\n\n\u201cThe idea. To our picnic,\u201d said Margaret Amelia\u2019s thin-edged voice.\n\n\u201cWithout asking us,\u201d Betty whispered, anxious to think of something of\naccount to say.\n\nMary Elizabeth heard. I have seen that look of dumb, unresentful\nsuffering in many a human face--in the faces of those who, by the Laws\nof sport or society or of jurisprudence, find no escape. She had no\nanger, and what she felt must have been long familiar. \u201cI\u2019d better go\nhome,\u201d she said to me briefly.\n\nI still had her by the hand. And it was, I am bound to confess, as no\nerrant but chiefly as antagonist to the others that I pulled her along.\n\u201cYou got to come,\u201d I reminded her. \u201cYou said you would.\u201d\n\nIt was cruel treatment, by way of kindness. The others, quickly\nadapting themselves, fell into the talk of expeditions, which is never\nquite the same as any other talk; and the only further notice that they\ntook of Mary Elizabeth was painstakingly to leave her out. They never\nsaid anything to her, and when she ventured some faint word, they\nnever answered or noticed or seemed to hear. In later years I have had\noccasion to observe, among the undeveloped, these same traces of tribal\nantagonisms.\n\nAs we went, I had time to digest the hints which I had overheard\nconcerning Mary Elizabeth\u2019s estate. I knew that a family having many\nchildren had lately come to live \u201cacross the tracks,\u201d and that, because\nof our anxiety to classify, the father was said to be a drunkard. I\nlooked stealthily at Mary Elizabeth, with a certain respect born of her\nhaving experience so transcending my own. Telling how many drunken men\nand how many dead persons, if any, we had seen was one of our modes\nof recreation when we foregathered. Technically Mary Elizabeth was, I\nperceived, one of the vague \u201cpoor children\u201d for whom we had long packed\nbaskets and whom we used to take for granted as barbarously as they\nused to take for granted the plague. Yet now that I knew one such,\nface to face, she seemed so much less a poor child than a little girl.\nAnd though she said so little, she had a priceless manner of knowing\nwhat I was driving at, which not even Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman\nhad, and they were the daughters of an assemblyman, and had a furnace\nin their house, and had had gold watches for Christmas. It was very\nperplexing.\n\n\u201cFirst one finds a May-flower\u2019s going to be a princess!\u201d Delia shouted.\nDelia was singularly unimaginative; the idea of royalty was her\nsingle entrance to fields of fancy. The stories that I made up always\nbegan \u201cOnce there was a fairy\u201d; Margaret and Betty started at gnomes\nand dwarfs; Calista usually selected a poor little match girl or a\nboot-black asleep in a piano box; but Delia invariably chose a royal\nfamily, with many sons.\n\nWe ran, shouting, across the stretch of scrub-oak which stretched\nwhere the town blocks of houses and streets gave it up and reverted to\nthe open country. To reach this unprepossessing green place, usually\noccupied by a decrepit wagon and a pile of cord-wood, was like passing\nthrough a doorway into the open. We expressed our freedom by shouting\nand scrambling to be princesses--all, that is, save Mary Elizabeth. She\nwent soberly about, a little apart, and I wished with all my heart that\nshe might find the first May-flower; but she did not do so.\n\nWe hunted for wind-flowers. It was on Prospect Hill that these first\nflowers--wind-flowers, pasque flowers, May-flowers, however one has\nlearned to say them--were found in Spring--the _anemone patens_ which,\nnext to pussy-willows themselves, meant to us Spring. A week before\nNellie Pitmouth had brought to school the first that we had seen.\nNellie had our pity because she drove the cows to pasture before\nshe came to school, but she had her reward, for it was always she\nwho found the first spoils. I remember those mornings when I would\nreach school to find a little group about Nellie in whose hands would\nbe pussy-willows, or the first violets, or our rarely found white\nviolets. For a little while, in the light of real events like these,\nNellie enjoyed distinction. Then she relapsed into her usual social\nobscurity and the stigma of her gingham apron which she wore even on\nhalf holidays. This day we pressed hard for her laurels, scrambling in\nthe deep mould and dead leaves in search of the star faces on silvery,\nsilken, furry stems. We hoped untiringly that we might some day find\narbutus, which grew in abundance only eighteen miles away, on the\nhills. In Summer we patiently looked for wintergreen, which they were\nalways finding farther up the river. And from the undoubted dearth\nof both we escaped with a pretence to the effect that we were under a\nspell, and that some day, the witch having died, we should walk on our\nhill and find the wintergreen come and the arbutus under the leaves.\n\nBy five o\u2019clock we had been hungry for two hours, and we spread our\nlunch on the crest. Prospect Hill was the place to which we took our\nguests when we had them. It was the wide west gateway of the town,\nwhere through few ventured, for it opened out on the bend of the little\nriver, navigable only to rowboats and launches, and flowing toward us\nfrom the west. You stood at the top of a sharp declivity, and it was\nlike seeing a river face to face to find it flowing straight toward\nyou, out of the sky, bearing little green islands and wet yellow\nsandbars. It almost seemed as if these must come floating toward us\nand bringing us everything.... For these were the little days, when we\nstill believed that everything was necessary.\n\nWe quickly despatched the process of \u201ctrading off,\u201d a sandwich for an\napple, a cooky for a cake, and so on, occasionally trading back before\nthe bargain had been tasted. Mary Elizabeth sat at one side; even after\nI had divided my lunch and given her my basket for a plate, she sat a\nvery little away from us--or it may be my remembrance of her aloofness\nthat makes this seem so. Each of the others gave her something from\nher basket--but it was the kind of giving which makes one know what\na sad word is the word \u201cbestow.\u201d They \u201cbestowed\u201d these things. Since\nthat time, when I have seen folk administering charity, I have always\nthought of the manner, ill-bred as is all condescension, in which we\nmust have shared our picnic food with Mary Elizabeth.\n\nI believe that this is the first conversation that ever I can remember.\nUp to this time, I had talked as naturally as the night secretes\ndreams, with no sense of responsibility for either to mean anything.\nBut that day I became uncomfortably conscious of the trend of the talk.\n\n\u201cI have to have my new dress tried on before supper,\u201d Delia announced,\nher back to the river and her mouth filled with a jam sandwich. \u201cIt\u2019s\nblue plaid, with blue buttons and blue tassels on,\u201d she volunteered.\n\n\u201cMy new dress Aunt Harriet brought me from the City isn\u2019t going to be\nmade up till last day of school,\u201d Margaret Amelia informed us. \u201cIt\u2019s\ngot pink flowers in and it cost sixty cents a yard.\u201d\n\n\u201cMargaret and I are going to have white shoes before we go visiting,\u201d\nBetty remembered.\n\n\u201cI got two new dresses that ain\u2019t made up yet. Mamma says I got so many\nI don\u2019t need them,\u201d observed Calista, with an indifferent manner and a\nsoft, triumphant glance. Whereat we all sat silent.\n\nI struggled with the moment, but it was too much for me.\n\n\u201cI got a white silk lining to my new dress,\u201d I let it be known.\n\u201cIt\u2019s made, but I haven\u2019t had it on yet. China silk,\u201d I added\nconscientiously. Then, moved perhaps by a common discomfort, we all\nlooked toward Mary Elizabeth. I think I loved her from that moment.\n\n\u201cNone of you\u2019s got the new style sleeves,\u201d she said serenely, and held\naloft the arm whose sleeve was slit from wrist to shoulder.\n\nWe all laughed together, but Delia pounced upon the arm. She caught and\nheld it.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that on your arm?\u201d she cried, and we all looked. From the elbow\nup the skin was mottled a dull, ugly purple, as if rough hands had\nbeen there.\n\nMary Elizabeth flushed. \u201cAin\u2019t you ever had any bruises on you?\u201d she\ninquired in a tone so finely modulated that Delia actually hastened to\ndefend herself from the impeachment of inexperience.\n\n\u201cSure,\u201d she said heartily. \u201cI counted \u2019em last night. I got seven.\u201d\n\n\u201cI got five and a great long skin,\u201d Betty competed hotly.\n\n\u201cPooh,\u201d said Calista, \u201cI\u2019ve got a scratch longer than my hand is.\nTeacher said maybe I\u2019d get an infect,\u201d she added importantly.\n\nThen we kept on neutral ground, such as blank-books and Fourth of July\nand planning to go bare-foot some day, until Calista attacked a pickled\npeach which she had brought.\n\n\u201cOur whole cellar\u2019s full of pickled peaches,\u201d I incautiously observed.\n\u201cI could have brought some if I\u2019d thought.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe got more than that,\u201d said Delia, instantly. \u201cWe got a thousand\nglasses of jelly left over from last year.\u201d\n\n\u201cA thousand!\u201d repeated Margaret Amelia, in derision. \u201cA hundred, you\nmean.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d Delia said, \u201cit\u2019s a lot. And jars and jars and jars of\npreserves. And cans and cans and _cans_....\u201d\n\nThe others took it up. Why we should have boasted of the quantity of\nfruit in our parents\u2019 cellars, I have no notion, save that it was\nfor the unidentified reason which impels all boasting. When I am in\na very new bit of country, where generalizations and multiplications\nfollow every fact, I am sometimes reminded of the fashion of our talk\nwhose statements tried to exceed themselves, in a kind of pyrotechnic\npattern bursting at last into nothing and the night. We might have been\npraising climate or crops or real estate.\n\nMary Elizabeth spoke with something like eagerness.\n\n\u201cWe got a bottle of blackberry cordial my grandmother made before she\ndied,\u201d she said. \u201cWe keep it in the top bureau drawer.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a funny place to keep it....\u201d Delia began, and stopped of her own\naccord.\n\nI remember that everybody was willing enough to let Mary Elizabeth help\npick up the dishes. Then she took a tree for Pussy-wants-a-corner,\nwhich always follows the picnic part of a picnic. But hardly anyone\nwould change trees with her, and by the design which masks as chance,\neveryone ran to another tree. At last she casually climbed her tree,\nagile as a cat, a feat which Delia alone was shabby enough to pretend\nnot to see.\n\nWe started homeward when the red was flaming up in the west and falling\ndeep in the heart of the river. By then Mary Elizabeth was almost at\nease with us, but rather, I think, because of the soft evening, and\nperhaps in spite of our presence.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d she cried. \u201cSomebody grabbed the sun and pulled it down. I saw it\ngo!\u201d\n\nDelia looked shocked. \u201cYou oughtn\u2019t to tell such things,\u201d she reproved\nher.\n\nMary Elizabeth flung up the arm with the torn sleeve and ran beside us,\nlaughing with abandon. We were all running down the slope in the red\nlight.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re Indians, looking for roots for the medicine-man,\u201d Delia called;\n\u201cYellow Thunder is sick. So is Red Bird. We\u2019re hunting roots.\u201d\n\nShe was ahead and we were following. We caught at the dead mullein\nstalks and milkweed pods and threw them away, and leaped up and pulled\nat the low branches with their tender buds. We were filled with the\nflow of the Spring and seeking to express it, as in the old barbaric\ndays, by means of destruction.... At the foot of the slope a little\nmaple tree was growing, tentative as a sunbeam and scarcely thicker,\nleft by the Spring that had last been that way. When she reached it,\nDelia laid hold on it, and had it out by its slight root, and tossed it\non the moss.\n\n\u201cW-h-e-e-e!\u201d cried Delia, \u201cI wish it was Arbour Day to-morrow too!\u201d\n\nMary Elizabeth stopped laughing. \u201cI turn here,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s the\nshort cut. Good-bye--I had a grand time. The best time I ever had.\u201d\n\nDelia pretended not to hear. She said nothing. The others called casual\ngood-byes over shoulder. Going home, they rebuked me soundly for having\ninvited Mary Elizabeth. Delia rehearsed the array of reasons. If she\ncame to school, we would have to _know_ her, she wound up. I remember\nfeeling baffled and without argument. All that they said was true, and\nyet--\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to see her,\u201d I announced stoutly, more, I dare say, because\nI was tired and a little cross than from real loyalty.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll catch some disease,\u201d said Delia. \u201cI know a girl that went to\nsee some poor children and she caught the spinal appendicitis and died\nbefore she got back home.\u201d\n\nWe went round by the schoolhouse, drawn there by a curiosity that\nhad in it inevitable elements of regret. There they were, little\ndead-looking trees, standing in places of wet earth, and most of them\nset somewhat slanting. Everyone was gone, and in the late light the\ngrounds looked solemn and different.\n\n\u201cJust think,\u201d said Delia, \u201cwhen we grow up and the trees grow up, we\ncan tell our children how we planted \u2019em.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, we never--\u201d Calista began.\n\n\u201cOur school did, didn\u2019t it?\u201d Delia contended. \u201cAnd our school\u2019s we,\nisn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nBut we overruled her. No, to the end of time, the trees that stood in\nthose grounds would have been planted by other hands than ours. We\nwere probably the only ones in the school who hadn\u2019t planted a tree.\n\u201cI don\u2019t care, do you?\u201d we demanded of one another, and reiterated our\ndenial.\n\n\u201cI planted a-a-a---Never-green!\u201d Harold Rodman shouted, running to meet\nus.\n\n\u201cSo did we!\u201d we told him merrily, and separated, laughing. It had, it\nseemed, been a great day, in spite of Mary Elizabeth.\n\nI went into the house, and hovered about the supper table. I perceived\nthat I had missed hot waffles and honey, and these now held no charm.\nGrandmother Beers was talking.\n\n\u201cWhen I was eight years old,\u201d she said, \u201cI planted it by the well. And\nwhen Thomas went back to England fifty years after, he couldn\u2019t reach\nboth arms round the trunk. And there was a seat there--for travellers.\u201d\n\nI looked at her, and thought of that giant tree. Would those\ndead-looking little sticks, then, grow like that?\n\n\u201cIf fifty thousand school children each planted a tree to-day,\u201d said my\nmother, \u201cthat would be a forest. And planting a forest is next best to\nbuilding a city.\u201d\n\n\u201cBetter,\u201d said my father, \u201cbetter. What kind of tree did you plant,\ndaughter?\u201d he inquired.\n\nI hung my head. \u201cI--we--there was a picnic,\u201d I said. \u201cWe didn\u2019t _have_\nto plant \u2019em. So we had a picnic.\u201d\n\nMy father looked at me in the way that I remember.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s it,\u201d he said. \u201cFor everyone who plants a tree, there are half\na dozen that have a picnic. And two dozen that cut them down. At last\nwe\u2019ve got one in the family who belongs to the majority!\u201d\n\nWhen I could, I slipped out in the garden. It was darkening; the frogs\nin the Slough were chorussing, and down on the river-bank a cat-bird\nsang at intervals, was silent long enough to make you think that he\nhad ceased, and then burst forth again. The town clock struck eight,\nas if eight were an ancient thing, full of dignity. Our kitchen clock\nanswered briskly, as if eight were a proud and novel experience of its\nown. The \u2019bus rattled past for the Eight-twenty. And away down in the\ngarden, I heard a step. Someone had come in the back gate and clicked\nthe pail of stones that weighted its chain.\n\nI thought that it would be one of the girls, who not infrequently chose\nthis inobvious method of entrance. I ran toward her, and was amazed to\nfind Mary Elizabeth kneeling quietly on the ground, as she had been\nwhen I came upon her at noon.\n\n\u201cWhat you doing?\u201d I demanded, before I could see what she was doing.\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d she said.\n\nI stooped. And she had a little maple tree, for which she was hollowing\na home with a rusty fire-shovel that she had brought with her.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the one Delia Dart pulled out,\u201d she said. \u201cI thought it\u2019d be kind\nof nice to put it here. In your yard. You could bring the water, if you\nwant.\u201d\n\nI brought the water. Together we bent in the dusk, and we set out the\nlittle tree, near the back gate, close to my play-house.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019d ought to say a verse or something,\u201d I said vaguely.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t think of any,\u201d Mary Elizabeth objected.\n\nNeither could I, but you had to say something when you planted a tree.\nAnd a line was as good as a verse.\n\n\u201c\u2018God is love\u2019 \u2019s good enough,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, stamping down the\nearth. Then we dismissed the event, and hung briefly above the back\ngate. Somehow, I was feeling a great and welcome sense of relief.\n\n\u201cIt was kind o\u2019 nice to do that,\u201d I observed, with some embarrassment.\n\n\u201cNo, it wasn\u2019t either,\u201d rejoined Mary Elizabeth, modestly.\n\nWe stood kicking at the gravel for a moment. Then she went away.\n\nI faced about to the quiet garden. And suddenly, for no reason that I\nknew, I found myself skipping on the path, in the dark, just as if the\nday were only beginning.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE KING\u2019S TRUMPETER\n\n\nAnd so it is for that night long ago when Mary Elizabeth and I stood by\nthe tree and tried to think of something to say, that after all these\nyears I have made the story of Peter.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLong years ago, when the world was just beginning to be, there was a\nkingdom which was not yet finished. Of course when a world has just\nstopped being nothing and is beginning to be something, it takes a\ngreat while to set all the kingdoms going. And this one wasn\u2019t done.\n\nFor example, in the palace garden where little Peter used to play,\nthe strangest things were to be met. For the mineral kingdom was just\nbeginning to be vegetable, and the vegetable was just beginning to\nbe animal, and the animal was just beginning to be man,--and man was\njust, just beginning to know about his living spirit. Do you see what\n_that_ means? While you looked at a mound of earth it became a bush--or\na very little time afterward, as time in these things is reckoned.\nWhile you looked at a beast-shaped bush--all bushes at night are shaped\nlike beasts--it became a living animal--or, again, a _very_ little\nafterward. And men had by no means got over being apes, tigers, swine,\nand dogs, and sometimes you hardly knew which a man was, a real man or\none of these animals. And spirits were growing in men as fast as this\nmight be. Everything, you see, lay in savage angles and wild lines.\n\nLittle Peter was playing one morning in the palace garden, and such\nplaying as it was! He would be moulding little balls of loam and\nfashioning them with seeds, when suddenly they would break into life as\nbuds and then as flowers, almost as one now sees twigs of wood break\ninto life, or as quiet cocoons become living butterflies--for the world\nis not so different. Or Peter would be playing with a spongy-looking\nmass on a rock in the brook, when it would break from its rock and go\ngayly swimming about, and be a fish-thing. Or he would push at a bit of\nooze with a cat-tail, and a little flying life would mount abruptly\nand wing away. It was exciting playing in those days, and some of the\nthings you can do in these days. Only then it was all new, so Peter\ncould see just how wonderful it was.\n\nNow, that morning the king was walking in his palace garden. And he was\ntroubled, for everywhere that he looked there were loose ends and rough\nedges, and shapeless things waiting to be fashioned, and it was so all\nover his kingdom. There was such a great lot to do that he could not\npossibly do it all alone--no king, however industrious, could have done\nit all. And he longed for the help of all his subjects. So when the\nking came on little Peter, busily making living things where none had\nbeen before, he was mightily pleased, and he sat down with the little\nlad on a grassy platform in the midst of the garden.\n\n\u201cLo, now, little lad,\u201d said the king, \u201cwhat do you play?\u201d\n\nInstead of playing at keeping store or keeping house or at acting or\nhunting or exploring, little Peter was playing another game.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m playing it\u2019s creation, your majesty,\u201d he answered, \u201cand I\u2019m\nplaying help the king.\u201d\n\n\u201cLo, now,\u201d said the king, \u201cI would that all my subjects would play as\nwell as you.\u201d\n\nThe king thought for a moment, looking out on all the savage angles and\nwild lines, while little Peter watched a bit of leaf mould becoming a\ngreen plant.\n\n\u201cSummon me my hundred heralds!\u201d the king suddenly bade his servants.\n\nSo the servants summoned the hundred heralds, who hurried into their\nblue velvet and silver buckles and came marching, twenty abreast,\nacross the grassy plateau, where the morning sun made patterns like\nwings, and among the wings they bowed themselves and asked the king his\nwill.\n\n\u201cHundred heralds,\u201d said the king, \u201cbe it only that you do this\nwillingly, I would that you go out into my kingdom, into its highways\nand even to its loneliest outposts, and take my people my message. Cry\nto them, until each one hears with his heart as well as his head: \u2018The\nworld is beginning. You must go and help the king.\u2019\u201d\n\nNow, little Peter, when he heard the message, rose and stood beside the\nking, and in his breast something thrilled and trembled like a smitten\nchord. But as for the hundred heralds, they were troubled as one\nman--though he not yet wholly a man.\n\n\u201cO king,\u201d they said, twenty at a time, \u201cblue velvet and silver buckles\nare meet for the streets of cities and to call men to feasting\nand to honour the king. But as for the highways and the loneliest\noutposts--that is another matter.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what of the message?\u201d the king asked sadly, and this none of the\nheralds knew how to answer; and presently the king sent them away, for\nhe would never have unwilling service in his palace or in his kingdom.\nAnd as they went, little Peter looked after them, and he saw, and\nthe king saw, that for all their blue velvet and silver buckles, the\nhundred heralds, marching away twenty abreast, were not yet all men,\nbut partly they were apes in manner and swine at heart. And little\nPeter wondered if he fashioned them as he did his bits of mould,\nwhether they would burst from a sheath, _all_ men, as burst his little\nplants.\n\n\u201cSummon me my thousand trumpeters!\u201d the king bade his servants next.\n\nThe thousand trumpeters hurried into their purple velvet and their lace\ncollars and seized their silver trumpets, and came marching fifty\nabreast across the grassy plateau, where the noon sun made a blinding\nlight, like the light of another sun; and they bowed themselves in the\nbrightness and asked the king his will.\n\nBut when the king had told them his will and had repeated the message\nand asked them if they could go willingly, the thousand trumpeters were\ntroubled as one man--and he not yet wholly a man.\n\n\u201cO king,\u201d said they, in fifties and one hundreds, \u201clo, now, these\nsilver trumpets. These are meet to sound up and down the streets of\ncities and to call men to feasting and to honour the king, and never\nare they meet to sound in the lonely outposts. Pray thee, O king, keep\nus near thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what of the message?\u201d the king asked, and none of his trumpeters\ncould help him there, and he would have no unwilling service in his\npalace or in his kingdom, so he sent them all away. And as they went,\nlittle Peter looked after them, and he saw, and the king saw, that for\nall their purple velvet and lace collars, the thousand trumpeters,\nmarching away fifty abreast, were not all men, but they were apes in\nmanner and swine and hounds at heart. And little Peter almost wished\nthat he could fashion them as he did his bits of mould and see if they\nwould not change into something better.\n\nSo then the king called a meeting of his High Council, and his\ncouncillors hurried into their robes of state and appeared on the\ngrassy plateau when the evening was lighting the place to be a glory.\n\n\u201cLo, now,\u201d said the king, \u201cI needs must send a message to all my\npeople. Let us devise or dream some way to take it.\u201d\n\nWhen they heard the message, the councillors nodded, with their hands\nover their mouths, looking at the ground.\n\nThen the king said--there, in the beginning of the world:--\n\n\u201cI have a thought about a wire which shall reach round the earth and\noversea and undersea, on which a man may send a message. And a thought\nI have about a wire which shall stretch across the land, and upon that\nwire a voice may travel alone. And a thought about messages that shall\npierce the air with no wire and no voice. But none of these things is\nnow.\u201d\n\n(\u201cNay,\u201d said the council, murmuring among themselves, \u201cor ever shall\nbe.\u201d)\n\n\u201c--and if they were,\u201d said the king, \u201cI would have one serve me even\nbetter than these, to reach the head and the heart of my people. How\nshall I do this thing? For I must have help in finishing my kingdom.\u201d\n\nThe council, stepping about in the slanting light, disputed the matter,\ngroup by group, but there lay nowhere, it seemed, a conclusion.\n\n\u201cYou yourselves,\u201d the king cried at last, \u201cwho know well that the\nkingdom must be completed, you yourselves gather the people in\nmultitudes together and tell them the message.\u201d\n\nBut at this the High Council twitched their robes of state and would\nhave none of it.\n\n\u201cWho would sit in the high places if we did _that_?\u201d said they.\n\nSo the king sent them all away, and little Peter, standing beside the\nking, looked after them. And he saw, and the king saw, how, under their\nrobes of state, the High Council had not entirely stopped being ape\nand swine and hound and tiger and, early in the world as it was, still\nthere seemed no great excuse for that.\n\n\u201cOh, sire,\u201d said little Peter, \u201cI wish I could play with them as I play\nwith my bits of mould and loam and could turn them into something\nbetter and alive.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell said, little Peter,\u201d replied the king, smiling sadly.\n\nAnd now the west, which had been like a vast, stained-glass window,\nstreaming with warm light, fell into gray opaqueness, and the grassy\nplateau became a place of shadows in which night things were born\ngently. And the king looked away to the beast-shaped bushes and to all\nthe striving land.\n\n\u201cOh, my kingdom, my kingdom!\u201d he cried, grieving. \u201cNow, would that this\nlittle Peter here could help you in the making.\u201d\n\nAnd then little Peter stood upright in the faint light.\n\n\u201cMay it please the king,\u201d he said softly, \u201cI will take the message to\nhis people.\u201d\n\nThe king stared down at him.\n\n\u201cYou?\u201d he said. \u201c_You_, little man? And how, pray, would you take my\nmessage?\u201d\n\n\u201cMay it please the king,\u201d said little Peter, \u201cI would tell everyone in\nthe kingdom till all should have been told.\u201d\n\n\u201cLittle man,\u201d said the king, \u201cyou are no bigger than a trumpet.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy,\u201d said the little lad, \u201cI think that is what I am. I would that I\nbe not Peter, but Trumpeter. So send me forth.\u201d\n\nAt this the king laughed, and for the laughter his heart was the\nlighter. He touched the boy\u2019s brow.\n\n\u201cSee, then, I touch your brow, little Trumpeter,\u201d he said. \u201cGo\nforth--and do you know my message?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou had first touched my heart, your majesty,\u201d said the little boy,\n\u201cand the message is there.\u201d\n\nYou would think, perhaps, that Peter would have waited till the\nmorning, but he would not wait an hour. He made a little packet\nof linen and of food, and just as the folk within the palace were\nbeginning their evening revelry, he stepped out on the highway and\nfared forth under the moon.\n\nBut fancy walking on such a highway as that! At first glance it looked\nlike any other night road, stretching between mysterious green. But not\nanything there could be depended upon to stay as it was. A hillock,\nlying a little way ahead, became, as he reached it, a plumy shrub,\ntrembling with amazement at its transformation from dead earth to\nliving green. At a turn in the road, a low bush suddenly walked away\ninto the wood, a four-footed animal. Everything changed as he looked at\nit, as if nothing were meant to be merely what it was. The world was\nbeginning!\n\nAt the foot of a hill, where the shadows were thick, Peter met the\nfirst one to whom he could give his message. The man was twisted and\nragged and a beggar, and he peered down in Peter\u2019s face horribly.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said Peter, courteously, \u201cthe world is beginning. You must go\nand help the king.\u201d\n\n\u201cHelp the king!\u201d cried the beggar, and his voice was uneven, like a\nbark or a whine that was turning into words. \u201cI can\u2019t help the king\nwithout my supper.\u201d\n\n\u201cSupper is only supper,\u201d said little Peter, who had never in his life\nbeen hungry. \u201cOne must help the king--that is more.\u201d\n\nThe beggar struck the ground with his staff.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m hungry,\u201d he said like a bark. \u201cI want some supper and some dinner\nand all the way back to breakfast before I help the king, world or no\nworld!\u201d\n\nAnd suddenly little Peter understood what it is to be hungry, and\nthat, if folk were hungry, they must first find means of feeding\nthemselves before they could listen. So he gave the beggar all that he\nhad of food in his packet, which was the least that he could do, and\nsent him on his way, charging him with the message.\n\nAt the top of the hill, Peter came on another man, sitting under a\nsycamore tree. The man was a youth, and very beautiful, and he was\nmaking a little song, which went like this:--\n\n    \u201c_Open, world, your trembling petals slowly,\n      Here one, there one, natal to its hour,\n      Toward the time when, holden in a vessel holy,\n      You shall be a flower._\u201d\n\nThough Peter did not know what the song might mean, yet it fell sweetly\nupon the night, and he liked to listen. And when it was done, he went\nand stood before the youth.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d he said, \u201cthe world is beginning. You must go and help the king.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know, I know, little lad,\u201d said the youth, and his voice was clear,\nlike bird-notes that were turning into words. \u201cI, too, tell the\nmessage, making it in a song.\u201d\n\nAnd these words made Peter glad, so that his strength was new, and he\nran on with the poet\u2019s gentle music in his ears.\n\nI cannot tell you how far Peter went, but he went very far, and to\nmany a lonely outpost, and away and away on a drear frontier. It was\nlong to go and hard to do, but that is the way the world is made; and\nlittle Peter went on, now weary, now frightened, now blithe, now in\ngood company, now alone and in the dark. I cannot tell you all the\nadventures he had and all the things he did--perhaps you will know\nthese in some other way, sometime. And there were those to whom he\ntold the message who listened, or set out in haste for the king\u2019s\npalace; and some promised that they would go another day, and a few ran\nto tell others. But many and many were like the hundred heralds and\nthe thousand trumpeters and the king\u2019s High Council, and found many\na reason why they might not set out. And some there were who mocked\nPeter, saying that the world indeed was doing very well without their\nhelp and would work itself out if only one would wait; and others would\nnot even listen to the little lad.\n\nAt last, one morning when the whole world seemed glad that it was\nbeginning and seemed to long to tell about it, little Peter entered a\ncity, decorated for a festival. Everywhere were garlands of vines and\nof roses, bright rugs and fluttering pennons and gilded things, as if\nthe world had been long enough begun so that already there were time\nto take holidays. The people were flooding the streets and crowding\nthe windows, and through their holiday dress Peter could see how some\nminced and mocked a little like apes, and others peered about like\ngiraffes, and others ravened for food and joy, like the beggar or the\nbear or the tiger, and others kept the best, like swine, or skulked\nlike curs, or plodded like horses, or prattled like parrots. Animals\nran about, dumb like the vegetables they had eaten. Vegetables were\nheaped in the stalls, mysterious as the earth which they had lately\nbeen. The buildings were piled up to resemble the hills from whose\nsubstance they had been created, and their pillars were fashioned like\ntrees. Everywhere were the savage angles and wild lines of one thing\nturning into another. And Peter longed to help to fashion them all, as\nhe fashioned his little balls of mould and loam.\n\n\u201cThere is so much yet to do,\u201d thought little Peter, \u201cI wonder that\nthey take so much time for holidays.\u201d\n\nSo he ran quickly to a high, white place in the midst of the town,\nwhere they were making ready to erect the throne of the king of the\ncarnival, and on that he stood and cried:--\n\n\u201cHear me--hear me! The world is beginning. You must go and help the\nking.\u201d\n\nNow, if those about the carnival throne had only said: \u201cWhat is that to\nus? Go away!\u201d Peter would have been warned. But they only nodded, and\nthey said kindly: \u201cYes, so it is--and we mean to help presently. Come\nand help us first!\u201d And one of the revellers, seeing Peter, how little\nhe was, picked him up and held him at arm\u2019s length and cried:--\n\n\u201cLo, now, this little lad. He is no bigger than a trumpet....\u201d\n\n(That was what the king had said, and it pleased Peter to hear it said\nagain.)\n\n\u201c... Let us take him,\u201d the revellers went on, \u201cand _have_ him for a\ntrumpet. And take him with us in our great procession. What think ye?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd may I cry out what message I please?\u201d little Peter asked eagerly.\n\n\u201cSurely,\u201d answered all the revellers, gayly. \u201cWhat is that to us, so\nthat you come with us?\u201d\n\nThey picked him up and tossed him on their shoulders--for he was of\nabout a brazen trumpet\u2019s weight, no more;--and Peter clapped his hands\nfor joy, for he was a boy and he loved to think that he would be a part\nof that gorgeous procession. And they took him away to the great tent\non the city green where everyone was dressing for the carnival.\n\nPeter never had seen anything so strange and wonderful as what was\nwithin that tent. In it everything and everybody had just been or was\njust going to be something or somebody else. Not only had the gay\ngarments piled on the floor just been sheep\u2019s and silkworm\u2019s coats,\nnot only had the colours laid upon them just been roots and stems and\nherb-leaves, not only had the staves been tree\u2019s boughs and elephant\u2019s\ntusks, but the very coal burning in the braziers and the oil in the\ntorches had once been sunshine, and the very flames had been air, and\nbefore that water, and so on. But, most of all, the people showed what\nthey had been, for in any merry-making the kinds of animals in folk\ncan_not_ be covered up; and it was a regular menagerie.\n\nThey took little Peter and dressed him like a trumpet. They thrust both\nhis legs into one long cloth-of-gold stocking, and he held his arms\ntightly at his sides while they wound his little body in ruffles of\ngold-coloured silk, growing broader and broader into a full-gathered\nruff from which his laughing face peeped out. And he was so slender and\ngraceful that you could hardly have told him from a real, true, golden\ntrumpet.\n\nThen the procession was ready to start, all lined up in the great\ntent. And the heralds and the music all burst out at once as the green\ncurtain of the tent was drawn aside, and the long, glittering line\nbegan to move. Little heralds, darting about for all the world like\nsquirrels and chipmunks; a great elephant of a master of ceremonies,\nbellowing out the order of the day as if he had been presiding over\nthe jungle; a group of men high in the town\u2019s confidence, whose spots\nproclaimed them once to have been leopards, and other things; long,\nlithe harlequins descended from serpents; little, fat clowns still\nshowing the magpie; prominent citizens, unable as yet to conceal the\nfox and the wolf in their faces; the mayor of the town, revealing the\nchameleon in his blood; little donkey men; and a fine old gentleman or\ntwo made like eagles--all of them getting done into men as quickly as\npossible. In the midst rode the king of the carnival, who had evidently\nnot long since been a lion, and that no doubt was why they picked him\nout. He rode on a golden car from which sprays of green sprang out to\nreach from side to side of the broad street. And at his lips, held like\na trumpet, he carried little Peter, one hand on Peter\u2019s feet set to the\nkingly lips, and the other stretched out to Peter\u2019s breast.\n\nThen Peter lifted up his shrill little voice and shouted loud his\nmessage:--\n\n\u201c_The world is beginning! The world is beginning! The world is\nbeginning! You must go and help the king. You must go-o-o and help the\nking!_\u201d\n\nBut just as he cried that, the carnival band struck into a merry march,\nand all the heralds were calling, and the people were shouting, and\nPeter\u2019s little voice did not reach very far.\n\n\u201cShout again!\u201d bade the king of the carnival, who did not care in the\nleast what Peter said, so long only as he acted like a trumpet.\n\nSo Peter shouted again--shouted his very best. He shouted as loudly\nas he did at play, as loudly as when he swam and raced in the water,\nas loudly as any boy could shout. But it seemed to him that his voice\ncarried hardly farther than the little chipmunk-and-squirrel heralds\nbefore him, and that nobody heard him.\n\nStill, it was all such fun! The glitter of the procession, the\neagerness of the people, the lilt and rhythm of the music. And fun\nover all was it to be carried by the carnival king himself, high above\neveryone and dressed like a golden trumpet. Surely, surely no boy\never had more fun than that! Surely, surely it was no great marvel\nthat after a little time, so loud was the clamour and so fast the\nexcitement, that Peter stopped crying his message, and merely watched\nand laughed and delighted with the rest.\n\nUp and down through the thronged streets they went, that great,\nglittering procession, winding its mile or more of spangles and gilding\nand gay dress and animals richly caparisoned. Everywhere the crowded\nwalks and windows and balconies sent cheers into the air, everywhere\nflowers were thrown and messages tossed and melody flooded. And\nwherever that long line passed, everyone noted the king\u2019s trumpet and\npointed it out and clapped hands and tried to throw upon it garlands.\nAnd there was so much to see, and so much excitement there was in the\nhour, that at last little Peter did not even think of his message, and\nonly jested and made merry. For it was the most wonderful game that\never he had played.\n\n\u201cHow now, my little trumpeter?\u201d the king of the carnival would say\nsometimes, when he rested his arms and held Peter at his side.\n\n\u201cOh, _well_, your majesty!\u201d Peter would cry, laughing up at him.\n\n\u201cThis is all a fine game and nothing more,\u201d the king of the carnival\nwould tell him. \u201cIs this not so?\u201d\n\nThen he would toss the boy on high again, away above the golden car,\nand Peter would cry out with the delight of it. And though there were\nno wings and no great brightness in the air, yet the hour was golden\nand joy was abroad like a person.\n\nPresently, a band of mountebanks, dressed like ploughmen and\nharvesters, came tumbling and racing by the procession, and calling to\neveryone to come to a corn husking on the city green.\n\n\u201cHusks! Husks! A corn husking on the city green. Husks--husks--husks!\u201d\nthey cried.\n\nBut there was such a tumult that no one could well hear what they said,\nand presently they appealed to the carnival king to tell the people.\n\n\u201cNay, O king, they hear us not for the noise of thy passing,\u201d said\nthey. \u201cPrithee tell the people what we would say.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell the people, my little trumpeter!\u201d cried the king, and lifted\nPeter to his lips.\n\nAnd Peter shouted out with all his might.\n\n\u201cHusks! Husks! A corn husking on the city green. Husks--husks--husks!\u201d\n\n\u201cBravely done!\u201d called the mountebanks, in delight, and ran alongside\nthe car, leaping and tumbling and grotesquely showing their delight.\n\u201cBravely done! Tell the people--bid the people come!\u201d\n\nSo Peter called again, and yet again, at the full strength of his\nlittle voice. And it seemed to him that the people surely listened,\nand it was a delight and a flattery to be the one voice in the great\nprocession, save only the music\u2019s voice.\n\nAt last, for one moment it chanced that the bands ceased altogether\ntheir playing, so that there was an instant of almost silence.\n\n\u201c_Husks, husks, husks!_\u201d he cried, with all his might.\n\nAnd as he did that, thin and clear through the silence, vexed somewhat\nby the voices of the people,--now barks, now whines, now bellows, now\nwords,--Peter caught a little wandering melody, as though a bird\u2019s\nsinging were turning into words:--\n\n    \u201c_Open, world, your trembling petals slowly,\n      Here one, there one, natal to its hour_....\u201d\n\nand in the midst of that motley throng, Peter, looking down, saw the\npoet whom he had left on the hill-top, now wandering alone and singing\nhis message to his lute.\n\n\u201cOh, the king! Oh, _my_ king!\u201d cried little Peter, as if he had had a\ngreat wound.\n\n\u201cWhat now, my little trumpeter?\u201d asked the carnival king.\n\n\u201cNot you--_not_ you!\u201d cried Peter. \u201cOh, set me down,--set me down. Oh,\nwhat have I done?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow _now_, little Trumpet?\u201d cried the carnival king. But Peter,\ninstead of stretching out his little body, slim and trumpet-graceful,\nturned and fell at the king\u2019s feet in the car and slipped from his\ngrasp and scrambled through the branching green and reached the street.\n\nThere, in the wonder and then the mockery of the people, he began\nstruggling to free himself from the ruffles of cloth-of-gold about his\nbody. Some laughed, some ran from him as if he were mad, and some,\nwishing for themselves the golden ruffles, helped him to pull them off\nand to strip down the clinging golden stocking that bound his limbs.\nAnd then, being close to the city gates, little Peter ran, all naked as\nhe was, without the gates and on to the empty road. And he ran sobbing\nout his heart:--\n\n\u201cOh, my king! I would have told them that the world is beginning--but,\ninstead I have told them only to get them husks!\u201d\n\nNow the poet, who had seen it all--and who understood--ceased his song\nand made his way as quickly as might be for the press of the people,\nand ran after Peter, and fared along the road beside him, trying to\ncomfort him. But the little lad might not be comforted, and he only\ncried out again:--\n\n\u201cThe king--the king! I would have given them his message--and I bade\nthem only to get them husks!\u201d\n\nSo the poet--who understood--said no word at all, but he shielded Peter\nwith his mantle; and then he took his lute and walked beside the little\nlad, singing.\n\nThey had gone but a short distance when they reached the top of a hill,\nwhere the sun shone with exceeding brightness, and the poet noted\nthat the light fell almost like little wings. Peter saw none of this,\nfor his hands were still covering his face. But he heard the poet\u2019s\nsinging interrupted by a voice. The voice was uneven--like a bark or\na whine that is turning into words--but yet its words were clear and\nunmistakable. And they were:--\n\n\u201c_Sirs, the world is beginning. You must go and help the king._\u201d\n\nPeter looked up and he saw the man who had spoken, a man twisted and\nragged, but who smiled down into the little boy\u2019s face so gently that,\nfor a moment, Peter did not know him; and then he recognized that\nbeggar to whom, on that night long ago, he had given food and the\nmessage.\n\n\u201cAy, friend!\u201d the poet was answering him ringingly, \u201cand we go!\u201d\n\nThe beggar hurried on, and the poet touched Peter\u2019s hand.\n\n\u201cNay, now, little Peter,\u201d he said, \u201cgrieve not your heart too much.\nFor you it was who told the beggar the message--from the top of the\nhill I heard--and I saw you give him food. Can you tell any man without\nsome good coming true of the tidings? Then it may well be that there\nare those in the town to whom you told the king\u2019s message who will\nremember, too. Go we forth together to try again!\u201d\n\nPeter looked down the long highway, stretching between the mysterious\ngreen, where shrubs changed to animals in so little a space; and\nthen he looked away to the king\u2019s kingdom and saw how it was not\nfinished--because the world had just stopped being nothing and was\nbeginning to be something--and he looked back towards the city where,\nas at the court, men had not yet done being animals. Everything\nwas changing, as if nothing were meant to be merely what it is.\nAnd everything was in savage angles and wild lines. The world was\nbeginning. The people _must_ be told to go and help the king.\n\n\u201cGo we forth together to try again,\u201d the poet repeated.\n\nHe touched his lute, and its melody slipped into the sunshine.\n\n    \u201c_Toward the time when, holden in a vessel holy,\n      You shall be a flower._\u201d\n\nThen Peter stretched out his arms, and his whole slender little body\nbecame like one trumpet voice, and that voice strong and clear to reach\nround the world itself.\n\n\u201cI try once again!\u201d he answered. \u201cThe world is beginning. _I must go\nand help the king._\u201d\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nMY LADY OF THE APPLE TREE\n\n\nOur lawn was nine apple trees large. There were none in front, where\nonly Evergreens grew, and two silver Lombardy poplars, heaven-tall. The\napple trees began with the Cooking-apple tree by the side porch. This\nwas, of course, no true tree except in apple-blossom time, and at other\ntimes hardly counted. The length of twenty jumping ropes--they call\nthem skipping ropes now, but we never called them so--laid one after\nanother along the path would have brought one to the second tree, the\nEating-apple tree, whose fruit was red without and pink-white within.\nTo this day I do not know what kind of apples those were, whether\nDuchess, Gilliflower, Russet, Sweet, or Snow. But after all, these only\nname the body of the apple, as Jasper or Edith names the body of you.\nThe soul of you, like the real sense of Apple, lives nameless all its\ndays. Sometime we must play the game of giving us a secret name--the\nPathfinder, the Lamplighter, the Starseeker, and so on. But colours and\nflavours are harder to name and must wait longer than we.\n\n... Under this Nameless tree, then, the swing hung, and to sit in the\nswing and have one\u2019s head touch apple-blossoms, and mind, not touch\nthem with one\u2019s foot, was precisely like having one\u2019s swing knotted to\nthe sky, so that one might rise in rhythm, head and toe, up among the\nliving stars. I can think of no difference worth the mentioning, so\nhigh it seemed. And if one does not know what rhythm is, one has only\nto say it over: Spring, Summer, apple-blossom, apple; new moon, old\nmoon, running river, echo--and then one will know.\n\n\u201cI would pick some,\u201d said Mother, looking up at the apple-blossoms, \u201cif\nI only knew which ones will never be apples.\u201d\n\nSo some of the blossoms would never be apples! Which ones? _And why?_\n\n\u201cWhy will some be apples and some others never be apples?\u201d I inquired.\n\nBut Mother was singing and swinging me, and she did not tell.\n\n\u201cWhy will you be apples and you not be apples, and me not know which,\nand you not know which?\u201d I said to the apple-blossoms when next my head\ntouched them. Of course, you never really speak to things with your\nthroat voice, but you think it at them with your head voice. Perhaps\nthat is the way they answer, and that is why one does not always hear\nwhat they say....\n\nThe apple-blossoms did not say anything that I could hear. The\nstillness of things never ceased to surprise me. It would have been far\nless wonderful to me if the apple-blossoms and the Lombardy poplars and\nmy new shoes had answered me sometimes than that they always kept their\nunfriendly silence. One\u2019s new shoes _look_ so friendly, with their\nwinking button eyes and their placid noses! And yet they act as cross\nabout answering as do some little boys who move into the neighbourhood.\n\n... Indeed, if one comes to think of it, one\u2019s shoes are rather like\nthe sturdy little boys among one\u2019s clothes. One\u2019s slippers are more\nlike little girls, all straps and bows and tiptoes. Then one\u2019s aprons\nmust be the babies, long and white and dainty. And one\u2019s frocks and\nsuits--that is to say, one\u2019s _new_ frocks and suits--are the ladies\nand gentlemen, important and elegant; and one\u2019s everyday things are\nthe men and women, neither important nor elegant, but best of all; and\none\u2019s oldest garments are the witches, shapeless and sad and haunted.\nThis leaves ribbons and sashes and beads to be fairies--both good and\nbad.\n\nThe silence of the Nameless tree was to lift a little that very day.\nWhen Mother had gone in the house,--something seemed always to be\npulling at Mother to be back in the house as, in the house, something\nalways pulled at me to be back out-of-doors,--I remember that I was\ntwisting the rope and then lying back over the board, head down,\nfor the untwisting. And while my head was whirling and my feet were\nguiding, I looked up at the tree and saw it as I had never seen it\nbefore: soft falling skirts of white with lacy edges and flowery\npatterns, drooping and billowing all about a pedestal, which was the\ntree trunk, and up-tapering at the top like a waist--why, the tree was\na lady! Leaning in the air there above the branches, surely I could\nsee her beautiful shoulders and her white arms, her calm face and her\nbright hair against the blue. She had risen out of the trunk at the\ntree\u2019s blossoming and was waiting for someone to greet her.\n\nI struggled out of the swing and scrambled, breathless, back from the\ntree and looked where she should be. Already I knew her. Nearly, I knew\nthe things that she would say to me--sometimes now I know the things\nthat she would have said if we had not been interrupted.\n\nThe interruption came from four girls who lived, as I thought, outside\nmy world,--for those were the little days when I did not yet know\nthat this cannot be. They were the Eversley sisters, in full-skirted,\nfigured calico, and they all had large, chapped hands and wide teeth\nand stout shoes. For a year they had been wont to pass our house on the\nway to the public school, but they had spoken to me no more than if\nI had been invisible--until the day when I had first entered school.\nAfter that, it was as if I had been born into their air, or thrown in\nthe same cage, or had somehow become one of them. And I was in terror\nof them.\n\n\u201cCome \u2019ere once!\u201d they commanded, their voices falling like sharp\npebbles about the Apple-blossom lady and me.\n\nObediently I ran to the front fence, though my throat felt sick when\nI saw them coming. \u201cHave an apple core? Give us some of them flowers.\nShut your eyes so\u2019s you\u2019ll look just like you was dead.\u201d These were\nthe things that they always said. Something kept telling me that I\nought not to tell them about my lady, but I was always wanting to win\ntheir approval and to let them know that I was really more one of them\nthan they thought. So I disobeyed, and I told them. Mysteriously,\nbreathlessly I led them back to the tree; and feeling all the time that\nI was not keeping faith, I pointed her out to them. I showed them just\nwhere to look, beginning with the skirts, which surely anybody could\nsee.... I used often to dream that a crowd of apish, impish little folk\nwas making fun of me, and that afternoon I lived it, standing out alone\nagainst those four who fell to instant jeering. If they had stooped and\nput their hands on their knees and hopped about making faces, it would\nhave been no more horrible to me than their laughter. It held for me\nall the sense of bad dreams, and then of waking alone, in the middle of\nthe night. The worst was that I could find no words to make them know.\nI could only keep saying, \u201cShe is there, she is there, she is there.\u201d\nBy some means I managed not to cry, not even when they each broke a\ngreat branch of blossoms from the Eating-apple tree and ran away,\nflat-footed, down the path; not indeed until the gate had slammed and I\nturned back to the tree and saw that my lady had gone.\n\nThere was no doubt about it. Here were no longer soft skirts, but only\nflowery branches where the sunlight thickened and the bees drowsed.\nMy lady was gone. Try as I might, I could not bring her back. So she\nhad been mocking me too! Otherwise, why had she let me see her so that\nI should be laughed at, and then herself vanished? Yet, even then, I\nremember that I did not doubt her, or for a moment cease to believe\nthat she was really there; only I felt a kind of shame that I could\nsee her, and that the others could not see her. I had felt the same\nkind of shame before, never when I was alone, but always when I was\nwith people. We played together well enough,--Pom, pom, pullaway,\nMinny-minny motion, Crack-the-whip, London Bridge, and the rest, save\nthat I could not run as fast as nearly everybody. But the minute we\nstopped playing and _talked_, then I was always saying something so\nthat the same kind of shame came over me.\n\nI saw Delia crossing the street. In one hand she held two cookies which\nshe was biting down sandwich-wise, and in the other hand two cookies,\nas yet unbitten. The latter she shook at me.\n\n\u201cI knew I\u2019d see you,\u201d she called resentfully. \u201cI says I\u2019d give \u2019em to\nyou if I saw you, and if I didn\u2019t see you--\u201d\n\nShe left it unfinished at a point which gave no doubt as to whose\ncookies they might have been had I not been offensively about. But\nthe cookies were fresh, and I felt no false delicacy. However, after\ndeliberation, I ate my own, one at a time, rejecting the sandwich\nmethod.\n\n\u201cIt lasts them longest,\u201d I explained.\n\n\u201cThe other way they bite thicker,\u201d Delia contended.\n\n\u201cYour teeth don\u2019t taste,\u201d I objected scientifically.\n\nDelia opened her eyes. \u201cWhy, they do too!\u201d she cried.\n\nI considered. I had always had great respect for the strange chorus\nof my teeth, and I was perfectly ready to regard them as having\nindependent powers.\n\n\u201cOh, not when you eat tipsy-toes like that,\u201d said Delia, scornfully.\n\u201cLemme show you....\u201d She leaned for my cooky, her own being gone. I ran\nshamelessly down the path toward the swing, and by the time the swing\nwas reached I had frankly abandoned serial bites.\n\nI sat on the grass, giving Delia the swing as a peace-offering. She\ntook it, as a matter of course, and did not scruple to press her\nadvantage.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you want to swing me?\u201d she said.\n\nI particularly disliked being asked in that way to do things. Grown-ups\nwere always doing it, and what could be more absurd: \u201cDon\u2019t you want\nto pick up your things now?\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t you want to let auntie have that\nchair?\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t you want to take this over to Mrs. Rodman?\u201d The form of\nthe query always struck me as quite shameless. I truthfully shook my\nhead.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m company,\u201d Delia intimated.\n\n\u201cWhen you\u2019re over to my house, I have to let you swing because you\u2019re\ncompany,\u201d I said speculatively, \u201cand when I\u2019m over to your house, I\nhave to let you swing because it\u2019s your swing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care about being company,\u201d said Delia, loftily, and started\nhome.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll swing you. I was only fooling!\u201d I said, scrambling up.\n\nIt worked--as Delia knew it would and always did work. All the same,\nas I pushed Delia, with my eyes on the blue-check gingham strap\nbuttoned across the back of her apron, I reflected on the truth and\nits parallels: How, when Delia came to see me, I had to \u201cpick up\u201d the\nplaythings and set in order store or ship or den or cave or county fair\nor whatnot because Delia had to go home early; and when I was over to\nDelia\u2019s, I had to help put things away because they were hers and she\nhad got them out.\n\nLow-swing, high-swing, now-I\u2019m-going-to-run-under-swing--I gave them\nall to Delia and sank on the grass to watch the old cat die. As it\ndied, Delia suddenly twisted the rope and then dropped back and lay\nacross the board and loosed her hands. I never dared \u201clet go,\u201d as we\nsaid, but Delia did and lay whirling, her hair falling out like a sun\u2019s\nrays, and her eyes shut.\n\nI watched her, fascinated. If she opened her eyes, I knew how the\npicket fence would swim for her, no longer a line but a circle. Then\nI remembered what I had seen in the tree when I was twisting, and I\nlooked back....\n\nThere she was! Quite as I had fleetingly seen her, with lacy skirts\nand vague, sweeping sleeves and bending line of shoulder, my Lady of\nthe Tree was there again. I looked at her breathlessly, unsurprised at\nthe gracious movement of her, so skilfully concealed by the disguises\nof the wind. Oh, was she there all the time, or only in apple-blossom\ntime? Would she be there not only in white Spring but in green Summer\nand yellow Fall--why, perhaps all those times came only because she\nchanged her gown. Perhaps night came only because she put on something\ndusky, made of veils. Maybe the stars that I had thought looked to be\ncaught in the branches were the jewels in her hair. And the wind might\nbe her voice! I listened with all my might. What if she should tell me\nher name ... and know my name!...\n\n\u201cSeventeen un-twists,\u201d announced Delia. \u201cDid you ever get that many out\nof such a little stingy swing as you gave me?\u201d\n\nI did not question the desirability of telling Delia. The four Eversley\ngirls had been barbarians (so I thought). Delia I had known always. To\nbe sure, she had sometimes failed me, but these times were not real. My\neyes were on the tree, and Delia came curiously toward me.\n\n\u201cBird?\u201d she whispered.\n\nI shook my head and beckoned her. Still looking at my lady, I drew\nDelia down beside me, brought her head close to mine.\n\n\u201cLook,\u201d I said, \u201cher skirt is all branches--and her face is turned the\nother way. See her?\u201d\n\nDelia looked faithfully. She scanned the tree long and impartially.\n\n\u201cSee her? See her?\u201d I insisted, under the impression that I was\ndefining her. \u201cIt\u2019s a lady,\u201d I breathed it finally.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Delia, \u201cyou mean that side of the tree is the shape of one.\nYes, it is--kind of. I\u2019m going home. We got chocolate layer cake for\nsupper. Good-bye. Last tag.\u201d\n\nI turned to Delia for a second. When she went, I looked back for my\nlady--but she had gone. Only--now I did not try to bring her back.\nNeither did I doubt her, even then. But there came back a certain\nloneliness that I had felt before, only never so much as now. Why was\nit that the others could not see?\n\nI lay face downward in the grass under the tree. There were other\nthings like this lady that I had been conscious of, which nobody else\nseemed to care about. Sometimes I had tried to tell. More often I had\ninstinctively kept still. Now slowly I thought that I understood: I was\ndifferent. Different from the whole world. Did I not remember how, when\nI walked on the street, groups of children would sometimes whisper:\n\u201cThere she is--there she is!\u201d Or, \u201cHere she comes!\u201d I had thought, poor\nchild, that this would be because my hair was long, like little Eva\u2019s\nin the only play that most of us had seen. But now I thought I knew\nwhat they had known and I had not known: That I was different.\n\nI dropped my face in the crook of my arm and cried--silently, because\nto cry aloud seemed always to have about it a kind of nakedness; but I\ncried sorely, pantingly, with aching throat, and tried to think it out.\n\nWhat was this difference? I had heard them say in the house that my\nhead was large, my hair too long to let me be healthy; and the four\nEversleys always wanted me to shut my eyes so that I should look dead.\nBut it was something other than these. Maybe--I shall never forget the\ngrip of that fear--maybe I was not human. Maybe I was Adopted. I had no\nclear idea what Adopted meant, but my impression was that it meant not\nto have been born at all. That was it. I was like the apple-blossoms\nthat would never be apples. I was just a Pretend little girl, a kind of\nsecret one, somebody who could never, never be the same as the rest.\n\nI turned from that deep afternoon and ran for the wood-pile where I had\na hiding-place. Down the path I met Mother and clung to her.\n\n\u201cMother, Mother!\u201d I sobbed. \u201cAm I adopted?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, dear,\u201d she said seriously. \u201cYou are mine. What is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cPromise me I\u2019m not!\u201d I begged.\n\n\u201cI promise,\u201d she said. \u201cWho has been talking to you? You little lamb,\ncome in the house,\u201d she added. \u201cYou\u2019re tired out, playing.\u201d\n\nI went with her. But the moment had entered me. I was not like the\nrest. I said it over, and every time it hurt. There is no more\npassionate believer in democracy than a child.\n\nAcross the street Delia was sitting on the gate-post, ostentatiously\neating chocolate layer cake, and with her free hand twisting into\na curl the end of her short braid. Between us there seemed to have\nrevealed itself a gulf, life-wide. Had Delia always known about me? Did\nthe Rodman girls know? And Calista? The four Eversleys must know--this\nwas why they laughed so.... But I remember how, most of all, I hoped\nthat Mary Elizabeth did not know--yet.\n\nFrom that day I faced the truth: I was different. I was somehow not\nreally-truly. And it seemed to me that nothing could ever be done about\nit.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTHE PRINCESS ROMANCIA\n\n\nThat night I could not go to sleep with the knowledge. If only I, as I\nam now, might have sat on the edge of the bed and told a story to me\nas I was then! I am always wishing that we two might have known each\nother--I as I am now and I as I was then. We should have been so much\nmore interested in each other than anybody else could ever be. I can\npicture us looking curiously at each other through the dark, and each\nwould have wished to be the other--how hard we would have wished that.\nBut neither of us would have got it, as sometimes happens with wishes.\n\nLooking back on that night, and knowing how much I wanted to be like\nthe rest, I think this would be the story that I, as I am now, would\nhave told that Little Me.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOnce upon a time to the fairy king and queen there was born a little\ndaughter. And the king, being a modern fairy, determined to invite to\nthe christening of his daughter twelve mortals--a thing never before\ncountenanced in fairy ceremony. And of course all unreal people are\nalways very particular about their ceremonies being _just_ so.\n\nIt was a delicate and difficult task to make out that mortal invitation\nlist, for it was very hard to find in the world twelve human beings\nwho, at a fairy party, would exactly fit in. After long thought and\nconsultation with all his ministers and councillors, the king made out\nthe following list:--\n\nA child; a poet; a scientist; a carpenter; a prophet; an artist; an\nartisan; a gardener; a philosopher; a woman who was also a mother; a\nman who was also a father; and a day labourer.\n\n\u201cDo you think that will do _at all_?\u201d the fairy king asked the fairy\nqueen, tossing over the list.\n\n\u201cWell, dear,\u201d she replied, \u201cit\u2019s probably the best you can do. You know\nwhat people are.\u201d She hesitated a mere breath--a fairy\u2019s breath--and\nadded: \u201cI do wonder a little, though, just _why_ the day labourer.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear,\u201d said the king, \u201csome day you will understand that, and many\nother things as well.\u201d\n\nThe christening room was a Vasty Hall, whose deep blue ceiling was as\nhigh as the sky and as strange as night. Lamps, dim as the stars, hung\nvery high, and there was one silver central chandelier, globed like the\nmoon, and there were frescoes like clouds. The furnishings of the Vasty\nHall were most magnificent. There were pillars like trees spreading out\ninto capitals of intricate and leafy design. Lengths of fair carpet ran\nhere and there, as soft and shining as little streams; there were thick\nrugs as deep as moss, seats of native carved stone, and tapestries as\nsplendid as vistas curtaining the distance. And the music was like the\nmusic of All-night, all done at once.\n\nTo honour the occasion the fairy guests had all come dressed as\nsomething else--for by now, of course, the fairies are copying many\nhuman fashions. One was disguised as a Butterfly with her own wings\nprettily painted. One represented a Rose, and she could hardly be\ndistinguished from an American Beauty. One was made up as a Light,\nwhom nobody could recognize. One was a White Moth and one was a\nThistle-down, and there were several fantastic toilettes, such as a\ngreat Tulle Bow, a Paper Doll, and an Hour-glass. As for the Human\nBeings present, they all came masked as themselves, as usual; and their\nnames I cannot give you, though sometimes I see someone with dreaming\neyes whom I think may possibly have been one of those twelve--for of\ncourse it must have made a difference in their looks ever afterward.\nIt was a very brilliant assemblage indeed, and everyone was most\nintangible and elusive, which are fairy terms for well-behaved.\n\nWhile the guests were waiting for the fairy baby princess to be brought\nin, they idled about, with that delightful going-to-be-ice-cream\nfeeling which you have at any party in some form or another, only\nyou must _never_ say so, and they exchanged the usual pleasant\nnothing-at-alls. It is curious how very like human nothings fairy\nnothings are.\n\nFor example:--\n\n\u201cThere is a great deal of night about,\u201d said the Butterfly Fairy with a\nlittle shiver. \u201cIf I were a truly butterfly, I should never be able to\nfind my way home.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd there is such a fad for thunder-and-lightning this season,\u201d added\nthe Paper Doll Fairy, agreeably.\n\n\u201cDo you remember,\u201d asked the White Moth Fairy, \u201cthe night that we all\ndressed as white moths and went to meet the moon? We flew until we were\nall in the moonlight, and then we knew that we had met her. I wonder\nwhy more people do not meet the moon-rise?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat reminds me,\u201d said the Thistle-down Fairy, \u201cof the day we all made\nup as snowflakes and went to find the Spring. Don\u2019t you know how she\nsurprised us, in the hollow of the lowland? And what a good talk we\nhad? I wonder why more people do not go to meet the Spring?\u201d\n\n\u201cA charming idea!\u201d cried the Rose Fairy to the Light Fairy, and the\nLight Fairy shone softly upon her, precisely like an answer.\n\nThen somebody observed that the wind that night was a pure soprano, and\nthe guests amused themselves comparing wind-notes; how on some nights\nthe wind is deep bass, like a man\u2019s voice, raging through the world;\nand sometimes it is tenor, sweet, and singing only serenades; and\nsometimes it is all contralto and like a lullaby; and sometimes, but\nnot often, it is like harp music played on the trees.\n\nSuddenly the whole dark lifted, like a garment; and moonlight flooded\nthe Vasty Hall. And as if they had filtered down the air with the\nlight, the fairy christening party entered--not as we enter a room, by\nthresholds and steps, but the way that a thought comes in your head and\nyou don\u2019t know how it got there.\n\nThe christening party wore robes of colours that lie deep between\nthe colours and may hardly be named. And, in a secret ceremony, such\nas attends the blooming of flowers, the fairy baby was christened\nRomancia. Then the fairies brought her many offerings; and these having\nbeen received and admired, a great hush fell on the whole assembly,\nfor now the twelve Human Beings came forward with their gifts. And\neveryone, except, indeed, the princess herself, was wild with curiosity\nto see what they had brought.\n\nNo one left a card with any gift, but when the fairy king came to look\nthem over afterward, he felt certain who had brought each one. The\ngifts were these: A little embroidered gown which should make everyone\nlove the princess while she wore it; a gazing crystal which would\nenable the princess to see one hundred times as much as anybody else\nsaw; certain sea secrets and sea spells; a lyre which played itself;\na flask containing a draught which should keep the princess young; a\nvial of colours which hardly anyone ever sees; flowers and grasses and\nleaves which could be used almost like a dictionary to spell out other\nthings; an assortment of wonderful happy fancies of every variety; a\nnew rainbow; a box of picture cards of the world, every one of which\nshould come true if one only went far enough; and a tapestry of the\nuniverse, wrapped around a brand-new idea in a box.\n\nWhen these things had been graciously accepted by the king, there was\na stir in the company, and sweeping into its midst came another Human\nBeing, one who thought that she had every right to be invited to the\nchristening, but who had not been invited. All the fairies shrank back,\nfor it was an extraordinary-looking Human Being. She was tall and lithe\nand wore a sparkling gown, and her face had the look of many cities,\nand now it was like the painted cover of an empty box, and all the time\nit had the meaning only of those who never look at the stars, or walk\nin gardens, or think about others rather than themselves, or listen to\nhear what it is right for them to do. This kind of Human Being is one\nwho not often has any good gift to give to anyone, and this the fairies\nknew.\n\nThe Vasty Hall became very quiet to see what she had brought, for no\none understood what she could possibly have to bestow upon a baby. And\nwithout asking leave of the king or the queen, she bent over the child\nand clasped on her wrist the tiniest bracelet that was ever made in the\nworld, and she snapped its lock as fast as the lock on a fetter, and\nheld up the tiniest key that ever was wrought.\n\n\u201cThe princess,\u201d she cried, \u201cshall seem _different from everyone else_.\nShe shall seem like nobody who is or ever has been. As long as she\nwears her bracelet, this shall be true; and that she may never lose it,\nI shall hold her bracelet\u2019s key. Hail to this little princess child,\nwho shall seem like nobody in the world!\u201d\n\nNow, no one present was quite certain what this might mean, but the\nlady\u2019s robe was so beautifully embroidered and sparkling, and her voice\nwas such a thing of loops and curves, that nearly everyone accepted the\ngift as something fine after all, and the queen gave her her hand to\nkiss. But the king, who was a very wise fairy, said nothing at all, and\nmerely bowed and eyed the bracelet, in deep thought.\n\nHis meditation was interrupted by a most awkward incident. In the\nexcitement of the bestowal of gifts by the Human Beings, and in the\nconfusion of the entrance of the thirteenth and uninvited Human Being,\none of them all had been forgotten and had got himself shuffled well\nat the back of everyone. And now he came pressing forward in great\nembarrassment, to bring his gift. It was the day labourer, and several\nof the Human Beings drew hastily back as he approached the dais. But\neveryone fell still farther back in consternation when it was seen\nwhat he had brought. For on the delicate cobweb coverlet of the little\nprincess\u2019s bed, he cast a spadeful of earth.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all I\u2019ve got,\u201d the man said, \u201cor I\u2019d brought a better.\u201d\n\nThe earth all but covered the little bed of the princess, and it was\nnecessary to lift her from it, which the fairy queen did with her own\nhands, flashing a reproachful glance at her husband, the king. But\nwhen the party had trooped away for the dancing,--with the orchestra\nplaying the way a Summer night would sound if it were to steep itself\nin music, so that it could only be heard and not seen,--then the king\ncame quietly back to the christening chamber and ordered the spadeful\nof earth to be gathered up and put in a certain part of the palace\ngarden.\n\nAnd so (the Human Beings having gone home at once and forgotten that\nthey had been present), when the music lessened to silence and the\nfairies stole from note to note and at last drifted away as invisibly\nas the hours leave a dial, they passed, in the palace garden, a great\ncorner of the rich black earth which the day labourer had brought to\nthe princess. And it was ready for seed sowing.\n\nThe Princess Romancia grew with the days and the years, and from the\nfirst it was easily to be seen that certainly she seemed different\nfrom everyone in the world. As a baby she began talking in her cradle\nwithout having been taught--not very plainly, to be sure, or so that\nanybody in particular excepting the fairy queen understood her--but\nstill she talked. As a little girl she seemed always to be listening\nto things as if she understood them as well as she did people, or\nbetter. When she grew older, nobody knew quite how she differed, but\neverybody agreed that she seemed different. And this the princess knew\nbetter than anybody, and most of the time it made her hurt all over.\n\nWhen the fairies played at thistle-down ball, the princess often played\ntoo, but she never felt really like one of them all. She felt that they\nwere obliged to have her play with them because she was the princess,\nand not because they wanted her. When they played at hide-and-go-seek\nin a flower bed, somehow the others always hid together in the big\nflowers, and the princess hid alone in a tulip or a poppy. And whenever\nthey whispered among themselves, she always fancied that they were\nwhispering of her. She imagined herself often looked at with a smile or\na shrug; she began to believe that she was not wanted but only endured\nbecause she was the princess, and she was certain that no one liked\nher for herself alone, because she was somehow so different. Little by\nlittle she grew silent, and refused to join in the games, and sat apart\nalone. Presently she began to give blunt answers and to take exception\nand even to disagree. And, of course, little by little the court began\nsecretly to dislike her, and to cease to try to understand her, and\nthey told one another that she was hopelessly different and that that\nwas all that there was to be said about her.\n\n[Illustration: LITTLE BY LITTLE SHE GREW SILENT AND REFUSED TO JOIN\nIN THE GAMES.]\n\nBut in spite of all this, the Princess Romancia was very beautiful, and\nthe fame of her beauty went over the whole of fairyland. When enough\nyears had gone by, fairy princes from this and that dominion began to\ncome to the king\u2019s palace to see her. But though they all admired the\nprincess\u2019s great beauty, many were of course repelled by her sharp\nanswers and her constant suspicions.\n\nBut at last the news of the princess\u2019s beauty and strangeness reached\nthe farthest border of fairyland and came to the ears of the young\nPrince Hesperus. Now Prince Hesperus, who was the darling of his\nfather\u2019s court and beloved of everybody, was tired of everybody. \u201cEvery\nfairy is like every other fairy,\u201d he was often heard saying wearily.\n\u201cI do wish I could find somebody with a few new ways. One would think\nfairies were all cut from one pattern!\u201d Therefore, when word came to\nhim of the strange and beautiful Princess Romancia, who was believed\nto be different from everyone else in the world, you can imagine with\nwhat haste he made ready and set out for her father\u2019s place.\n\nPrince Hesperus arrived at the palace at twilight, when the king\u2019s\ngarden was wrapped in that shadow light which no one can step through,\n_if he looks_, without feeling somewhat like a fairy himself and\nglad to be one. He sent his servants on ahead, folded his wings, and\nproceeded on foot through the silent gardens. And in a little arbour\nmade of fallen petals, renewed each day, he came on the Princess\nRomancia, asleep. He, of course, did not recognize her, but never,\nsince for him the world began, had the prince seen anyone so beautiful.\n\nHis step roused her and she sprang to her feet. And as soon as he\nlooked at her, Prince Hesperus found himself wanting to tell her of\nwhat he had just been thinking, and before he knew it he was doing so.\n\n\u201cI have just been thinking,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat a delightful pet a\nleaf-shadow would make, if one could catch it and tame it. I wonder if\none could do it? Think how it would dance for one, all day long.\u201d\n\nThe Princess Romancia stared a little.\n\n\u201cBut when the sun went down,\u201d she was surprised into saying, \u201cthe\nshadow would be dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d the prince replied, \u201cit would only be asleep. And it\nwould never have to be fed, and it could live in one\u2019s palace.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would like such a pet,\u201d said the princess, thoughtfully.\n\n\u201cIf I may walk with you,\u201d said the prince, \u201cwe will talk more about it.\u201d\n\nThey walked together toward the palace and talked more about it, so\nthat the Princess Romancia quite forgot to be more different than she\nwas, and the prince forgot all about everything save his companion.\nAnd he saw about her all the gifts of tenderness and vision and magic,\nof sea secrets and sea spells, of music and colours and knowledge and\ncharming notions which the Human Beings had brought her at her birth,\nthough these hardly ever were visible _because_ the princess seemed\nso different from everybody else. And when, as they drew near the\npalace, their servants came hastening to escort them, the two looked at\neach other in the greatest surprise to find that they were prince and\nprincess. For all other things had seemed so much more important.\n\nTheir formal meeting took place that evening in the Vasty Hall, where,\nyears before, the princess had been christened. Prince Hesperus was\nfilled with the most joyous anticipation and awaited his presentation\nto the princess with the feeling that fairyland was just beginning. But\nthe princess, on the other hand, was no sooner back in the palace among\nher ladies than the curse of her terrible christening present descended\nupon her as she had never felt it before. How, the poor princess\nthought, could the prince possibly like her, who was so different from\neverybody in the world? While she was being dressed, every time that\nher ladies spoke in a low tone, she imagined that they were speaking of\nher; every time that one smiled and shook her head, the princess was\ncertain that it was in pity of her. She fancied that they knew that\nher walk was awkward, her voice harsh, her robe in bad taste, and an\nold fear came upon her that the palace mirrors had all been changed\nto conceal from her that she was really very ugly. In short, by the\ntime that she was expected to descend, poor Princess Romancia had made\nherself utterly miserable.\n\nTherefore, when, in her gown of fresh cobweb, the princess entered the\nhall and the prince hastened eagerly forward, she hardly looked at him.\nAnd when, at the banquet that followed, he sat beside her and tried to\ncontinue their talk of the arbour and the walk, she barely replied at\nall.\n\n\u201cHow beautiful you are,\u201d he murmured.\n\n\u201cSo is the night,\u201d said the princess, \u201cand you do not tell the night\nthat it is beautiful.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour eyes are like stars,\u201d the prince said.\n\n\u201cThere are real stars above,\u201d said the princess.\n\n\u201cYou are like no one else!\u201d cried the prince.\n\n\u201cAt least you need not charge me with that,\u201d said the poor princess.\n\nNor would she dance with him or with anyone else. For she imagined that\nthey did not wish to dance with her, and that her dancing was worse\nthan anyone\u2019s. And as soon as she was able, and long before cock-crow,\nshe slipped away from them all and went to sleep in a handy crocus cup.\n\nNow at all this the king and queen were nearly as distressed as the\nprince, and they were obliged to tell Prince Hesperus the whole story\nof the christening. When he heard about the uninvited Human Being who\nhad given the baby princess this dreadful present and had kept the key\nto the bracelet which was its bond, he sprang up and grasped his tiny\nsword.\n\n\u201cI will go out in the world and find this Human Being,\u201d he cried, \u201cand\nI will bring back the bracelet key.\u201d\n\nWithout again seeing the princess, Prince Hesperus left the palace and\nfared forth on his quest. And when she found that he was gone, she was\nmore wretched than ever before. For in her life no one had ever talked\nto her as he had talked, speaking his inmost fancies, and when she had\nlost him, she wanted more than ever to talk with him. But the king, who\nwas a very wise fairy, did not tell her where the prince had gone.\n\nAnd now the Princess Romancia did not know what to do with herself. The\ncourt was unbearable; all her trivial occupations bored her; and the\nwhole world seemed to have been made different from all other worlds.\nWorst to endure was the presence of her companions, who all seemed to\nlove and to understand one another, while she only was alone and out of\ntheir sympathy.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d she cried, \u201cif only I had a game or a task to do with somebody or\nsomething that didn\u2019t know I am different--that wouldn\u2019t know who I am!\u201d\n\nAnd she thought longingly of the prince\u2019s fancy about the leaf-shadow\nfor a pet which should dance with one all day long.\n\n\u201cA leaf-shadow would not know that I am not like everybody else!\u201d the\npoor princess thought.\n\nOne night, when a fairy ring had been formed in an open grassy space\namong old oaks, the princess could bear it all no longer. When the\nmusic was at its merriest and a band of strolling goblin musicians were\nplaying their maddest, she slipped away and returned to the palace by\nan unfrequented path and entered a long-disused part of the garden.\nAnd there, in a corner where she had never before walked, she came on\na great place of rich, black earth, which, in the sweet Spring air,\nlay ready for the sowing. It was the spadeful of earth which the day\nlabourer had brought to her christening; and there, for all these\nyears, the king had caused it to remain untouched, its own rank weed\ngrowth enriching its richness, until but a touch would now turn it\nto fruitage. And seeing it so, and being filled with her wish for\nsomething which should take her thought away from herself and from her\ndifference from all the world, the Princess Romancia was instantly\nminded to make a garden.\n\nNight being the work time and play time of the fairies, the princess\nwent at once to the palace granaries and selected seeds of many kinds,\nflower and vegetable and fern seeds, and she brought them to this\ncorner of rich earth, and there she planted them, under the moon. She\nwould call no servants to help her, fearing lest they would smile among\nthemselves at her strange doing. All night she worked at the planting,\nand when morning came, she fell asleep in a mandrake blossom, and woke\nhungry for a breakfast of honeydew and thinking of nothing save getting\nback to her new gardening.\n\nThe Wind helped her, and as the days passed, the Sun and the Rain\nhelped her, and she used certain magic which she knew, so that\npresently her garden was a glory. Poppies and corn, beans and berries,\ngreen peas and sweet peas, pinks and potatoes, celery and white phlox,\nmelons and cardinal flowers--all these grew wonderfully together, as\nit were, hand in hand, as they will grow for fairy folk, and in such\ngreat luxuriance that the princess wrought early and late to keep them\nordered and watered. She would have no servants to help her, for she\ngrew more and more to love her task. For here at last in her garden\nshe had found those whom she could not imagine to be smiling among\nthemselves at anything that she said or did; but all the green things\nresponded to her hands like friends answering to a hand clasp, and when\nthe flowers nodded to one another, this meant only that a company of\nlittle leaf-shadows were set dancing on the earth, almost as if they\nhad been tamed to be her pets, according to the prince\u2019s fancy.\n\nUp at the palace the queen and the ladies-in-waiting to the queen and\nthe princess regarded all this as but another sign of poor Romancia\u2019s\nstrangeness. From her tower window the queen peered anxiously down at\nher daughter toiling away at sunrise.\n\n\u201cNow she is raising carrots and beets,\u201d cried the queen, wringing her\nhands. \u201cShe grows more different from us every moment of her life!\u201d\n\n\u201cShe seems to do so,\u201d admitted the king; but he was very wise; and,\n\u201cLet her be,\u201d he commanded everybody. \u201cWe may see what this all means,\nand a great many other things as well.\u201d\n\nMeanwhile Prince Hesperus, journeying from land to land and from height\nto valley, was seeking in vain for the one person who, as he thought,\ncould remove from the princess the curse of her difference from all the\nrest of the world. And it was very strange how love had changed him;\nfor now, instead of his silly complaint that every fairy is like every\nother fairy, and his silly longing for a different pattern in fairies,\nhe sought only for the charm which should make his beloved princess\nlike everybody else. Where should he find this terrible Human Being,\nthis uninvited one who held the key to the princess\u2019s bracelet that was\nso like a fetter?\n\nHe went first to the town nearest to fairyland. The people of the town,\nhaving no idea how near to fairyland they really were, were going\nprosaically about their occupations, and though they could have looked\nup into the magic garden itself, they remained serenely indifferent.\nThere he found the very mother who had been at the christening of the\nprincess; and alighting close to a great task that she was doing\nfor the whole world, he tried to ask her who it was who makes folk\ndifferent from all the rest. But she could not hear his tiny, tiny\nvoice which came to her merely as a thought about something which could\nnot possibly be true. In a pleasant valley he came on that one who,\nat the christening, had brought the lyre which played of itself, but\nwhen the prince asked him his question, he fancied it to be merely\nthe wandering of his own melody, with a note about something new to\nhis thought. The poet by the stream singing of the brotherhood of\nman, the prophet on a mountain foreseeing the brotherhood as in a\ngazing crystal, the scientist weaving the brotherhood in a tapestry\nof the universe--none of these knew anyone who can possibly make folk\ndifferent from everybody else, nor did any of the others on whom Prince\nHesperus chanced.\n\nWhen one day he thought that he had found her, because he met one whose\nface had the look of many cities and was like the painted cover of an\nempty box, straightway he saw another and another and still others, men\nand women both, who were like her, with only the meaning of those who\nnever look at the stars, or walk in gardens, or think about others\nrather than themselves, or listen to hear what is right for them to do.\nAnd then he saw that these are many and many, who believe themselves to\nbe different from everybody else and who try to make others so, and he\nsaw that it would be useless to look further among them for that one\nwho had the key for which he sought.\n\nSo at last Prince Hesperus turned sadly back toward the palace of the\nprincess.\n\n\u201cAlas,\u201d said the prince, \u201cit is for her own happiness that I seek to\nhave her like other people. For myself I would love her anyway. But\nyet, what am I to do--for she seems so different that she will never\nbelieve that I love her!\u201d\n\nIt was already late at night when the prince found himself in the\nneighbourhood of the palace, and being tired and travel-worn, he\nresolved to take shelter in the cup of some flower and wait until the\npalace revelries were done. Accordingly he entered the garden of an\nhumble cottage and crept within the petals of a wild lily growing in\nthe long, untended grass.\n\nHe had hardly settled himself to sleep when he heard from the cottage\nthe sound of bitter crying. Now this is a sound which no fairy will\never pass by or ever so much as hear about without trying to comfort,\nand at once Prince Hesperus rose and flew to the sill of an open\nlattice.\n\nHe looked in on a poor room, with the meanest furnishings. On a\ncomfortless bed lay the father of the house, ill and helpless. His wife\nsat by his side, and the children clung about her, crying with hunger\nand mingling their tears with her own. The man turned and looked at\nher, making a motion to speak, and Prince Hesperus flew into the room\nand alighted on the handle of a great spade, covered with earth, which\nstood in a corner.\n\n\u201cWife,\u201d the man said, \u201cI\u2019ve brought you little but sorrow and hunger.\nI would have brought you more if I had had better. And now I see you\nstarve.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not _too_ hungry,\u201d the wife said--but the children sobbed.\n\nPrince Hesperus waited not a moment. He flew into the night and away\ntoward the palace, and missing the fairy ring where among old oaks the\nfairies were dancing, he reached the palace by an unfrequented path and\nentered a disused part of the palace garden. And there, in a corner\nwhich he had never visited, Prince Hesperus saw a marvellous mass of\nbloom and fruit--poppies and corn, beans and berries, green peas and\nsweet peas, pinks and potatoes, celery and white phlox, melons and\ncardinal flowers--all growing wonderfully together, as it were, hand in\nhand. And above them, in a moon-flower clinging to the wall, sat the\nPrincess Romancia, rocking in the wind and brooding upon her garden.\n\n\u201cCome!\u201d cried Prince Hesperus. \u201cThere is a thing to do!\u201d\n\nThe princess looked at him a little fearfully, but he paid almost no\nattention to her, so absorbed he was in what he wished to have done.\n\n\u201cHard by is a family,\u201d said the prince, \u201cdying of hunger. Here is food.\nHale in these idlers dancing in the light of the moon, and let us carry\nthe family the means to stay alive.\u201d\n\nWithout a word the princess went with him, and they appeared together\nin the fairy ring and haled away the dancers. And when these understood\nthe need, they all joined together, fairies, goblin musicians and all,\nand hurried away to the garden of the princess.\n\nThey wove a litter of sweet stems and into this they piled all the food\nof the princess\u2019s tending. And when the queen would have had them send\nto the palace kitchen for supplies, the king, who was a wise fairy,\nwould not permit it and commanded that all should be done as the prince\nwished. So when the garden was ravaged of its sweets, they all bore\nthem away, and trooped to the cottage, and cast them on the threshold.\nAnd then they perched about the room, or hovered in the path of the\nmoonlight to hear what should be said. And Prince Hesperus and Princess\nRomancia listened together upon the handle of the poor man\u2019s spade.\n\nAt sight of the gifts the wife sprang up joyfully and cried out to her\nhusband, and the children wakened with happy shouts.\n\n\u201cHere is food--food!\u201d they cried. \u201cOh, it must be from the fairies.\u201d\n\nThe sick man looked and smiled.\n\n\u201cAy,\u201d he said, \u201cthe Little Folk have remembered us. They have brought\nus rich store in return for my poor spadeful of earth.\u201d\n\nThen the prince and princess and all the court understood that this\npoor man whom they had helped was that very day labourer who had\ncome to the christening of the princess. And swift as a moonbeam--and\nnot unlike one--Prince Hesperus darted from beside the princess and\nalighted on the man\u2019s pillow.\n\n\u201cAh,\u201d he cried, \u201ccan you not, then, tell me who it is who has the power\nto make one different from everybody else in the world?\u201d\n\nIn half delirium the day labourer heard the voice of the prince and\ncaught the question. But he did not know that it was the voice of the\nprince, and he fancied it to be the voice of the whole world, as it\nwere throbbing with the prince\u2019s question. And he cried out loudly in\nanswer:--\n\n\u201cNo one has that power! No one is different! Those who seem different\nhold no truth. We are all alike, all of us that live!\u201d\n\nSwiftly the prince turned to the king and the queen and the court.\n\n\u201cThe uninvited Human Being,\u201d he cried, \u201cdid she say that the princess\nshould _be_ different from all the world, or that she should merely\n_seem_ different?\u201d\n\nThe queen and the court could not remember, but the king, who was a\nwise fairy, instantly remembered.\n\n\u201cShe said that she should _seem_ different,\u201d he said.\n\nThen the prince laughed out joyfully.\n\n\u201cAy,\u201d he cried, \u201cseem different, indeed! There are many and many who\nmay do that. But this man speaks truth and out of his spadeful of earth\nwe have learned it, _We are all alike, all of us who live!_\u201d\n\nWith that he grasped his tiny sword and flew to the side of the\nprincess and lifted her hand in his. And with a swift, deft stroke he\ncut from her wrist the bracelet that was like a fetter, and he took her\nin his arms.\n\n\u201cAh, my princess,\u201d he cried. \u201cYou have seemed different from us all\nonly because you would have it so!\u201d\n\nThe Princess Romancia looked round on the court, and suddenly she saw\nonly the friendliness which had always been there if she could have\nbelieved. She looked on her father and mother, the king and the queen,\nand she saw only tenderness. She looked on the day labourer and his\nfamily and understood that, fairy and princess though she was, she was\nlike them and they were like her. Last, she looked in the face of the\nprince--and she did not look away.\n\nInvisibly, as the hours leave a dial, the fairies drifted from the\nlittle room and back to the fairy ring among the old oaks to dance\nfor very joyousness. The labourer and his family, hearing them go,\nwere conscious of a faint lifting of the dark, as if morning were\ncoming, bringing a new day. And to the Princess Romancia, beside Prince\nHesperus, the world itself was a new world, where she did not walk\nalone as she had thought, but where all folk who will have it so walk\ntogether.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nTWO FOR THE SHOW\n\n\nFirst of all there was Every Day, with breakfast, lunch, outdoors,\ndinner, and evenings.\n\nThen there were Sundays, which were quite another kind of time,\nas different as layer cake from sponge cake: With breakfast late,\nand mustn\u2019t-jump-rope, and the living-room somehow different, the\nOut-of-doors moved farther off, our play-house not waiting for us\nbut acting busy at something else in which we had no part; the swing\nhanging useless as it did when we were away from home and thought about\nit in the night; bells ringing as if it were _their_ day; until we were\nalmost homesick to hear the grocer\u2019s cart rattle behind the white horse.\n\nThere were school half holidays when the sun shone as it never shone\nbefore, and we could not decide how to spend the time, and to look\nahead seemed a glorious year before dark.\n\nThere were the real holidays--Christmas and the Fourth and Birthdays,\nwhich didn\u2019t seem like days of time at all, but were like fairies of\ntime, not living in any clock.\n\nAnd Company-time, when we were not to go in certain rooms, or sing in\nthe hall, and when all downstairs seemed unable to romp with us.\n\nAnd Vacation-time, when 9 o\u2019clock and 1 o\u2019clock and 4 o\u2019clock meant\nnothing, and the face of the clock never warned or threatened and the\nhands never dragged, and Saturday no longer stood out but sank into\ninsignificance, and the days ran like sands.\n\nAll these times there were when life grew different and either let us\nin farther than ever before or else left us out altogether. But almost\nthe strangest and best of these was house-cleaning time.\n\nScreens out, so that the windows looked like faces and not like masks!\nThe couch under the Cooking-apple tree! We used to lie on the couch and\nlook up in the boughs and wish that they would leave it there forever.\nWhat was the rule that made them take it in? Mattresses in the backyard\nto jump on and lie on and stare up from, so differently, into the blue.\nRugs like rooms, opening out into an adjoining pansy bed. Chairs set\nabout on the grass, as if at last people had come to understand, as we\nhad always understood, that the Outdoors is a real place to be in, and\nnot just a place to pass through to get somewhere else. If only, if\nonly some day they had brought the piano out on the lawn! To have done\none\u2019s practising out there, just as if a piano were born, not made!\nBut they never did that, and we were thankful enough for the things\nthat they did do. When Saturday came, I found with relief that they had\nstill the parlour and one bedroom left to do. I had been afraid that by\nthen these would be restored to the usual dry and dustless order.\n\nIn the open window of the empty sitting-room I was sitting negligently\nthat morning, when I saw Mr. Britt going by. He was as old as anyone I\nknew in the world--Mr. Britt must have been fifty. I never thought of\nhim as _folks_ at all. There were the other neighbours, all dark-haired\nand quick and busy at the usual human errands; and then there was Mr.\nBritt, leaving his fruit trees and his rose bushes to go down to his\noffice in the Court House. He had white hair, a long square white\nbeard, and he carried a stick with a crook in the handle. I watched\nhim pityingly. His life was all done, as tidy as a sewed seam, as\nsure as a learned lesson. All lived out, a piece at a time, just as\nI planned mine. How immeasurably long it had taken him; what a slow\nbusiness it must have seemed to him; how very old he was!\n\nAt our gate he stopped. Mr. Britt\u2019s face was pink, and there were\npleasant wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and when he talked, he\nseemed to think about you.\n\n\u201cMoving?\u201d he inquired.\n\n\u201cHouse-cleaning,\u201d I explained with importance.\n\n\u201cFine day of it,\u201d he commented and went on. He always sighed a little\nwhen he spoke, not in sorrow; but in a certain weariness.\n\n_In forty-two years I should be as old as that._ Forty-two years--more\nthan five life-times, as I knew them.\n\nI was still looking after him, trying to think it through--a number as\nvast as the sky of stars was vast--when round the corner, across the\nstreet, the Rodman girls appeared. (\u201cMargaret and Betty Rodman?\u201d my\nmother used to inquire pointedly when I said \u201cthe Rodman girls.\u201d) In\ntheir wake was their little brother, Harold. I hailed them joyously.\n\n\u201cCome on over! It\u2019s house-cleaning.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe were,\u201d admitted Betty, as they ran. \u201cWe saw the things out in the\nyard, and we asked right off. We can stay a whole hour.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t we get Mary Gilbraith to tell us when it\u2019s an hour?\u201d Margaret\nAmelia suggested as they came in at the gate. \u201cThen we won\u2019t have to\nremember.\u201d\n\nMary Gilbraith stood beating a curtain, and we called to her. She\nnodded her head, wound in a brown veil.\n\n\u201cSure,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd don\u2019t you children track up them clean floors\ninside there.\u201d\n\nI glanced over my shoulder into the empty room.\n\n\u201cShall I get down,\u201d I inquired of my guests, \u201cor will you get up?\u201d\n\nThey would get up, and they did so. We three just fitted the sill, with\nHarold looking wistfully upward.\n\n\u201cGo find a nice stick,\u201d Margaret Amelia advised him maternally.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019ll we play?\u201d I was pursuing politely. \u201cPretend?\u201d I intimated.\nBecause of course there is nothing that is quite so much fun as\npretend. \u201cOr real?\u201d I conceded the alternative its second place.\n\n\u201cPretend what?\u201d Betty wanted to know.\n\n\u201cWell, what difference does that make?\u201d I inquired scornfully. \u201cWe can\ndecide that after.\u201d\n\nHowever, we duly weighed the respective merits of Lost-in-the-Woods,\nCave-in-the Middle-of-the-World, and Invisible, a selection always\ninvolving ceremony.\n\n\u201cHarold can\u2019t play any of them,\u201d Margaret Amelia remembered\nregretfully. \u201cHe don\u2019t stay lost nor invisible--he wriggles. And Cave\nscares him.\u201d\n\nWe considered what to do with Harold, and at last mine was the\ninspiration--no doubt because I was on the home field. In a fence\ncorner I had a play-house, roofed level with the fence top. From my\nsand-pile (sand boxes came later--mine was a corner of the garden\nsacred to me) we brought tin pails of earth which we emptied about the\nlittle boy, gradually covering his fat legs and nicely packing his\nplaid skirt. Then we got him a baking-powder can cover for a cutter and\na handleless spoon, and we went away. He was infinitely content.\n\n\u201cMakin\u2019 a meat pie,\u201d he confided, as we left him.\n\nFree, we were drawn irresistibly back to the out-of-doors furniture. We\njumped in the middle of the mattresses lying in the grass, we hung the\ncomforters and quilts in long overlapping rows on the clothes line and\nran from one end to the other within that tent-like enclosure. Margaret\nAmelia arranged herself languidly on the Brussels couch that ordinarily\nstood in the upstairs hall piled with leather-bound reports, but now,\nscales falling from our eyes, we saw to be the bank of a stream whereon\nMaid Marian reclined; but while Betty and I were trying to decide which\nshould be Robin Hood and which Alan-a-dale (alas, for our chivalry ...\nwe were both holding out to be Robin) Maid Marian settled it by dancing\ndown the stair carpet which made a hallway half across the lawn. We\nfollowed her. The terminus brought us back to the parlour window. We\nstepped on the coping and stared inside. This was our parlour! Yet\nit looked no more like the formal room which we seldom entered than\na fairy looks like a mortal. Many and many a time an empty room is\nso much more a suggestive, haunted, beckoning place than ever it\nbecomes after its furniture gets it into bondage. Rooms are often free,\nbeautiful creatures before they are saddled and bridled with alien\nlives and with upholstery, and hitched for lumbering, permanent uses. I\nfelt this vaguely even then.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s like the cloth in the store,\u201d I observed, balancing on my stomach\non the sill. \u201cIt\u2019s heaps prettier before it\u2019s made up into clothes.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow funny,\u201d said Margaret Amelia. \u201cI like the trimming on, and the\npretty buttons.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s play,\u201d I said hurriedly; for I had seen in her eyes that look\nwhich always comes into eyes whose owners have just called an idea\n\u201cfunny.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well. But,\u201d said Betty, frankly, \u201cI\u2019m awful sick of playing\nPretend. You always want to play that. We played that last time anyhow.\nLet\u2019s play Store. Let\u2019s play,\u201d she said, with sudden zest, \u201cFurniture\nStore, outdoors.\u201d\n\nThe whole lawn became the ground floor for our shop. Forthwith we\narranged the aisles of chairs, stopping to sit in this one and that \u201cto\ntaste the difference.\u201d To sit in the patent upholstered rocker, close\nto the flowering currant bush fragrant with spicy, yellow buds was like\nbeing somewhere else.\n\n\u201cThis looks like the pictures of greenhouses,\u201d said Margaret Amelia,\ndragging a willow chair to the Bridal Wreath at the fork in the brick\nwalk. She idled there for a moment.\n\n\u201cEmily Broom says that when they moved she rode right through town on\ntheir velvet lounge on the dray,\u201d she volunteered.\n\nWe pictured it mutely. Something like that had been a dream of mine.\nNow and then, I had walked backward on the street to watch a furniture\nwagon delivering a new chair that rocked idle and unoccupied in the\nbox. I always marvelled at the unimaginativeness of the driver which\nkept him on the wagon seat.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve never moved,\u201d I confessed regretfully.\n\n\u201cWe did,\u201d said Betty, \u201cbut they piled everything up so good there\nwasn\u2019t anything left to sit on. I rode with the driver--but his seat\nwasn\u2019t very high,\u201d she added, less in the interest of truth than with a\nlingering resentment.\n\n\u201cStitchy Branchett told me,\u201d contributed Margaret Amelia, \u201conce he set\non the top step of the step ladder on one of their dray loads.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it,\u201d I announced flatly. \u201cIt\u2019d tip and pitch him off.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe _said_ he did,\u201d Margaret Amelia held. \u201cBetty heard him. Didn\u2019t he,\nBetty? Who I don\u2019t believe is Joe Richmond. He says he went to sleep on\na mattress on the dray when they moved. He couldn\u2019t of.\u201d\n\n\u201cCourse he couldn\u2019t of,\u201d we all affirmed.\n\n\u201cDelia says they\u2019ve moved six times that she can remember of and she\u2019s\nrode on every load,\u201d I repeated.\n\nWe all looked enviously across at Delia\u2019s house. Then, moved by\na common impulse, we scrambled back to make the most of our own\nadvantages, such as they were.\n\nAt last the ground floor of the furniture store was all arranged, and\nthe two show windows set with the choicest pieces to face the street.\nAnd when we were ready to open the place to the general public, we sat\non the edge of the well curb and surveyed our results.\n\n\u201cNow let\u2019s start,\u201d said Margaret Amelia.\n\nAt that instant--the precision with which these things happen is almost\nconscious--Mary Gilbraith briefly put her head out the kitchen window.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s just edgin\u2019 on \u2019leven,\u201d she announced. \u201cYou children keep your\nfeet off them mattresses.\u201d\n\nWe stared at one another. This was incredible. Margaret Amelia and\nBetty had just come. We had hardly tasted what the morning might have\nheld. Our place of business was only at this moment ready for us. We\nhad just meant to begin.\n\nThere was no appeal. We went down the garden path for Harold. He sat\nwhere we had left him, somewhat drowsy in the warm sun, patting an\nenormous mound of moist earth. Busy with our own wrongs, we picked him\nup and stood him on his feet without warning him. An indignant roar\nbroke from him.\n\n\u201cJust goin\u2019 frost my meat pie!\u201d he wailed. \u201cWiv chocolate on!\u201d\n\nSome stirring of pity for our common plight may have animated us--I do\nnot remember. But he was hurried off. I went with them to the fence,\ngave them last tag as became an hostess, stood on the gate as it swung\nshut, experienced the fine jar and bang of its closing, and then hung\nwistfully across it, looking for the unknown.\n\nThe elm and maple shadows moved pleasantly on the cream-coloured brick\nwalk whose depths of tone were more uneven than the shadows. An oriole\nwas calling, hanging back downward from a little bough. Somebody\u2019s dog\ncame by, looked up at me, wagged his tail, and hurried on about his\nbusiness. Looking after him, I saw Mr. Britt coming slowly home with\nhis mail. At our gate he stopped.\n\n\u201cPlaying something?\u201d he inquired.\n\nWelcoming any sympathy, I told him how we had just got ready to play\nwhen it was time to stop. He nodded with some unexpected understanding,\nclosing his eyes briefly.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s it,\u201d he said. \u201cWe all just get ready when it\u2019s time to stop.\nFine day of it,\u201d he added, and sighed and went on.\n\nI stared after him. Could it be possible that his life had not seemed\nlong to him? That he felt as if he had hardly begun? I dismissed this\nas utterly improbable. Fifty years!\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nNEXT DOOR\n\n\nThe house next door had been vacant for two months when the New Family\nmoved in. We had looked forward with excitement, not unmodified by\nunconscious aversion, to the arrival of the New Family.\n\n\u201cHave they any girls?\u201d we had inquired when the To Rent sign had come\ndown.\n\nThey had, it appeared, one girl. We saw her, with wavy hair worn \u201clet\ndown\u201d in the morning, though we ourselves wore let-down hair only for\noccasions, pig-tails denoting mornings. She had on new soles--we saw\nthem showing clean as she was setting her feet daintily; and when we,\nwho were walking the fence between the two houses, crossed glances with\nher, we all looked instantly away, and though it was with regret that\nwe saw her put into the \u2019bus next day to go, we afterward learned, to\nspend the Spring with her grandmother in a dry climate, we still felt\na certain satisfaction that our social habits were not to be disquieted.\n\nNothing at all had been suspected of a New Boy. Into that experience I\ncame without warning.\n\nI was sitting on the flat roof of my play-house in the fence corner,\nlaboriously writing on the weathered boards with a bit of a picket,\nwhich, as everybody knows, will make very clear brown letters, when the\nwoodshed door of the house next door opened, and the New Boy came out.\nHe came straight up to the fence and looked up at me, the sun shining\nin his eyes beneath the rimless plush cap which he was still wearing.\nHe was younger than I, so I was not too afraid of him.\n\n\u201cWhat you got?\u201d he inquired.\n\nI showed him my writing material.\n\n\u201cI wrote on a window with a diamond ring a\u2019ready,\u201d he submitted.\n\nI had heard of this, but I had never wholly credited it and I said\nso. Besides, it would wear the ring out and who wanted to wear out a\ndiamond ring to write on a window?\n\n\u201cIt don\u2019t wear it out,\u201d the New Boy said. \u201cIt can keep right on writing\nforever and ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing can keep right on forever,\u201d I contended.\n\nHe cast about for an argument.\n\n\u201cTrees does,\u201d he produced it.\n\nI glanced up at them. They certainly seemed to bear him out. I decided\nto abandon the controversy, and I switched with some abruptness to\na subject not unconnected with trees, and about which I had often\nwondered.\n\n\u201cIf you was dirt,\u201d I observed, \u201chow could you decide to be into a\npotato when you could be into an apple just as well?\u201d\n\nThe New Boy was plainly taken aback. Here he was, as I see now, doing\nhis best to be friendly and to make conversation personal, to say\nnothing of his having condescended to parley with a girl at all, and I\nwas rewarding him with an abstraction.\n\nSaid he: \u201cHuh?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you was dirt--\u201d I began a little doubtfully, but still sticking to\nthe text.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t dirt,\u201d denied the New Boy, with some heat.\n\n\u201cI says, if you _was_ dirt--\u201d I tried to tell him, in haste and some\ndiscomfort.\n\nHe climbed down from the fence on which he had been socially\ncontriving to stick, though his was the \u201cplain\u201d side.\n\n\u201cThere ain\u2019t any girl,\u201d he observed with dignity, \u201cgoing to call me\ndirt, nor call me if-I-was-dirt, either,\u201d and stalked back into the\nwoodshed.\n\nI looked after him in the utmost distress. I had been dealing in what I\nhad considered the amenities, and it had come to this. Already the New\nBoy hated me.\n\nI slipped to the ground and waited, watching through the cracks in the\nfence. Ages passed. At length I heard him call his dog and go whistling\ndown the street. I climbed on the fence and sat looking over in the\ndeserted garden.\n\nRound the corner of the house next door somebody came. I saw a long,\ngray plaid shawl, with torn and flapping tassels, pinned about a small\nfigure, with long legs. As she put her hand on the latch, she flashed\nme her smile, and it was Mary Elizabeth. She went immediately inside\nthe shed door, and left me staring. What was she doing there? What\nunexpected places I was always seeing her. Why should she go in the\nwoodshed of the New Family whom we didn\u2019t even know ourselves?\n\nAfter due thought, I dropped to the other side of the fence, and\nproceeded to the woodshed door myself. It was unlatched, and as I\npeered in, I caught the sweet, moist smell of green wood, like the\ncool breath of the wood yard, where I had first seen her. When my\neyes became used to the dimness, I perceived Mary Elizabeth standing\nat the end of a pile of wood, of the sort which we used to denominate\n\u201cchunks,\u201d which are what folk now call fireplace logs, though they are\nnot properly fireplace logs at all--only \u201cchunks\u201d for sitting-room\nstoves--and trying to look meet to new estates. They were evenly piled,\nand they presented a wonderful presence, much more human than a wall.\n\n\u201cSee,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, absorbedly, \u201cevery end of one is pictures.\nHere\u2019s a wheel with a wing on, and here\u2019s a griffin eating a lemon.\u201d\n\nI stared over her shoulder, fascinated. There they were. And there were\ngrapes and a chandelier and a crooked street....\n\nSome moments later we were aware that the kitchen door had opened, and\nthat somebody was standing there. It was the woman of the New Family,\nwith a black veil wound round her head and the ends dangling. She shook\na huge purple dust-cloth, and I do not seem to recall that there was\nanything else to her, save her face and veil and the cloth.\n\n\u201cNow then!\u201d she said briskly, and in a tone of dreadful warning. \u201c_Now_\nthen!\u201d\n\nMary Elizabeth turned in the utmost eagerness and contrition.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d she said, \u201cI come to see about the work.\u201d\n\nThe New Family Woman towered at us from the top of the three steps.\n\n\u201cHow much work,\u201d she inquired with majesty, \u201cdo you think I\u2019d get out\nof you, young miss, at this rate?\u201d\n\nMary Elizabeth drew nearer to her and stood before her, down in the\nchips, in the absurd shawl.\n\n\u201cIf you\u2019ll leave me come,\u201d she said earnestly, \u201cI\u2019ll promise not to see\npictures. Well,\u201d she added conscientiously, \u201cI\u2019ll promise not to stop\nto look at \u2019em.\u201d\n\nHow much weight this would have carried, I do not know; but at that\nmoment the woman chanced to touch with her foot a mouse-trap that\nstood on the top step, and it \u201csprung\u201d and shed its cheese. In an\ninstant Mary Elizabeth had deftly reset and restored it. This made an\nimpression on the arbiter.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re kind of a handy little thing, I see,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd of course\nyou\u2019re _all_ lazy, for that matter. And I do need somebody. Well, I\u2019ve\ngot a woman coming for to-day. You can begin in the morning. Dishes,\nvegetables, and general cleaning, and anything else I think you can do.\nBoard and clothes only, mind you--and _them_ only as long as you suit.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes\u2019m. No\u2019m. Yes\u2019m.\u201d Mary Elizabeth tried to agree right and left.\n\nOutside I skipped in the sun.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to be next-yard neighbours,\u201d I cried, and that reminded\nme of the New Boy. I told her about him as we went round by the gate,\nthere being no cross piece for a foothold on that side the fence.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, \u201cI know him. He\u2019s drove me home by my\nbraids. He doesn\u2019t mean anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I said earnestly, \u201cwhen you get a chance, you tell him that I\nwasn\u2019t calling him dirt. I says if he _was_ dirt, how could he tell to\nbe a potato or an apple.\u201d\n\nMary Elizabeth nodded. \u201cLots of boys pretend mad,\u201d she said\nphilosophically, \u201cto get you to run after them.\u201d\n\nThis was new to me. Could it be possible that you had to imagine\nfolks, and what they really meant, as well as tending to all the other\nimagining?\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you stay over?\u201d I extended hospitality to Mary Elizabeth.\n\nShe could \u201cstay over,\u201d it seemed, and without asking. This freedom of\nhers used to fill me with longing. To \u201cstay over\u201d without asking, to go\ndown town, to eat unexpected offerings of food, to climb a new tree,\nas Mary Elizabeth could do, and all without asking! It was almost like\nbeing boys.\n\nNow that Mary Elizabeth was to be a neighbour, a new footing was\nestablished. This I did not reason about, nor did I wonder why this\nfooting might not be everybody\u2019s footing. We merely set to work on the\naccepted basis.\n\nThis comprised: Name, including middle name, if any, and for whom\nnamed; age, and birthday, and particulars about the recent or\napproaching birthday; brothers and sisters, together with their names,\nages, and birthdays; birthstones; grade; did we comb our own hair;\nvoluntary information concerning tastes in flowers, colours, and food;\nand finally an examination and trying on of each other\u2019s rings. The\nstone had come out of Mary Elizabeth\u2019s ring, and she had found a clear\npink pebble to insert in its place. She had, she said, grated the\npebble on a brick to make it fit and she herself thought that it looked\nbetter than the one that she had lost, \u201cbut,\u201d she added modestly, \u201cI\ns\u2019pose it can\u2019t be.\u201d\n\nThen came the revelation. To finish comparing notes we sat down\ntogether in my swing. And partly because, when I made a new friend, I\nwas nervously eager to give her the best I had and at once, and partly\nbecause I was always wanting to see if somebody _would_ understand,\nand chiefly because I never could learn wisdom, I looked up in the\napple tree, now forsaken of all its pink, and fallen in a great green\nstillness, and I told her about my lady in the tree. I told her,\nexpecting now no more than I had received from Delia and the Eversley\ngirls. But Mary Elizabeth looked up and nodded.\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ve seen lots of \u2019em. They\u2019s a lady in the willow\nout in our alley. I see her when I empty the ashes and I pour \u2019em so\u2019s\nthey won\u2019t blow on her.\u201d\n\nI looked at her speechlessly. To this day I can remember how the little\ncurls were caught up above Mary Elizabeth\u2019s ear that morning. Struck by\nmy silence she turned and regarded me. I think I must have blushed and\nstammered like a boy.\n\n\u201cCan _you_ see them too?\u201d I asked. \u201cIn trees and places?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, yes,\u201d she said in surprise. \u201cCan\u2019t everybody?\u201d\n\nSuddenly I was filled with a great sense of protection for Mary\nElizabeth. I felt incalculably older. She had not yet found out, and I\nmust never let her know, that everybody does not see all that there is\nto be seen in the world!\n\nOne at a time I brought out my treasures that morning and shared them\nwith her, as treasures; and she brought out hers as matters of course.\nI remember that I told her about the Theys that lived in our house.\nThey were very friendly and wistful. They never presumed or frightened\none or came in the room when anyone was there. But the minute folk\nleft the room--ah, then! They slipped out from everywhere and did\ntheir living. I was always trying to catch them. I would leave a room\ninnocently, and then whirl and fling it open in the hope of surprising\nthem. But always They were too quick for me. In the times when the\nfamily was in the rooms and They were waiting for us to go, They used\nto watch us, still friendly and wistful, but also a little critical.\nSometimes a whole task, or a mood, could be got through pleasantly\nbecause They were looking on.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cBUT THE MINUTE FOLK LEFT THE ROOM--AH THEN!\u201d]\n\nMary Elizabeth nodded. \u201cThey like our parlour best,\u201d she said. \u201cThey\nain\u2019t any furniture in there. They don\u2019t come much in the kitchen.\u201d\n\nIt was the same at our house. They were always lurking in the curtained\nparlour, but the cheery, busy kitchen seldom knew them--except when one\nwent out for a drink of water late at night. Then They barely escaped\none.\n\nHow she understood! Delia I loved with all the loyalties, but I could\nnot help remembering a brief conversation that I had once held with her.\n\n\u201cDo you have Theys at your house?\u201d I had asked her, at the beginning of\nour acquaintance.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she admitted readily. \u201cCompany all this week. From Oregon. They\ndo their hairs on kids.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t mean them,\u201d I explained. \u201cI mean Theys, that live in between\nyour rooms.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t let mice get in _our_ house,\u201d she replied loftily. \u201cOnly\nsometimes one gets in the woodshed. Do you use Choke-\u2019em traps, or\nCatch-\u2019em-alive traps and have the cat there?\u201d\n\n\u201cCatch-them-alive-and-let-them-out-in-the-alley traps,\u201d I told her, and\ngave up hope, I remember, and went on grating more sugar-stone for the\nmud-pie icing.\n\nMary Elizabeth and I made mud pies that morning too, but all the time\nwe made them we pretended. Not House-keep, or Store, or Bakery, or\nChurch-sale--none of these pale pretendings to which I had chiefly\nbeen bound, save when I played alone. But now every pie and cake\nthat we finished we two carried carefully and laid here and there,\nunder raspberry bushes, in the crotch of the apple tree, on the\nwood-chopper\u2019s block.\n\n\u201cFor Them to get afterwards,\u201d we said briefly. We did not explain--I\ndo not think that we could have explained. And we knew nothing of the\nold nights in the motherland when from cottage supper tables scraps of\nfood were flung through open doors for One Waiting Without. But this\nbusiness made an even more excellent thing of mud-pie baking, always a\ndelectable pastime.\n\nWhen the noon whistle was blowing up at the brick yard, a shadow\ndarkened our pine board. It was the New Boy. One of his cheeks\nprotruded extravagantly. Silently he held out to me a vast pink\nsubstance of rock-like hardness, impaled on a stick. Then, with an\nobvious effort, more spiritual than physical, he extracted from his\npocket a third of the kind, for Mary Elizabeth, on whose presence he\nhad not counted. We accepted gratefully, I in the full spirit of the\noffer. Three minutes later he and I were at our respective dinner\ntables, trying, I suppose, to discuss this surreptitious first course\nsimultaneously with our soup; and Mary Elizabeth, on her way home, was\nblissfully partaking of her _hors d\u2019\u0153uvre_, unviolated by any soup.\n\n\u201cWhat are the new children like, I wonder?\u201d said Somebody Grown. \u201cI see\nthere are two. I don\u2019t know a thing about the people, but we can\u2019t\ncall till the woman at least gets her curtains up.\u201d\n\nI pondered this. \u201cWhy?\u201d I ventured at last.\n\n\u201cBecause she wouldn\u2019t want to see us,\u201d was the reply.\n\nWere curtains, then, so important that one might neither call nor be\ncalled on without them? What other possible explanation could there be?\nPerhaps Mary Elizabeth\u2019s mother had no curtains and that was why our\nmothers did not know her.\n\n\u201cMary Elizabeth is going to help do the work for the New Family, and\nlive there,\u201d I said at last. \u201cWon\u2019t it be nice to have her to play\nwith?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must be very kind to her,\u201d somebody said.\n\n\u201c_Kind to her!_\u201d It was my first horrified look into the depths of the\nsocial condescensions. _Kind to her_--when I remembered what we shared!\nI thought of saying hotly that she was my best friend. But I was\nsilent. There was, after all, no way to make anybody understand what\nhad opened to me that morning.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nWHAT\u2019S PROPER\n\n\nDelia and Calista and Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman I loved with\ndevotion. And Mary Elizabeth I likewise loved with devotion. Therefore,\nthe fact that my four friends would not, in the language of the\nwise and grown world, \u201creceive\u201d Mary Elizabeth was to me bitter and\nunbelievable.\n\nThis astounding situation, more than intimated on the day of the\npicnic, had its confirmation a few days after the advent of Mary\nElizabeth in the New Family, when the six of us were seated on the\nedge of the board walk before our house. It was the middle of a June\nafternoon, a joyous, girlish day, with sun and wind in that feminine\nmood which is the frequent inheritance of all created things.\n\n\u201cI could \u2019most spread this day on my bread like honey, and eat it\nup, and not know the difference,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, idly. \u201cThe\nqueen\u2019s honey--the queen\u2019s honey--the queen\u2019s honey,\u201d she repeated\nluxuriously, looking up into the leaves.\n\nDelia leaned forward. It particularly annoyed her to have Mary\nElizabeth in this mood.\n\n\u201cOne, two, three, four, five of us,\u201d Delia said, deliberately omitting\nMary Elizabeth as, for no reason, she counted us.\n\nMary Elizabeth, released from tasks for an hour or two before time to\n\u201chelp with the supper,\u201d gave no sign that she understood, save that\ndelicate flush of hers which I knew.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she assented lazily, \u201cone, two, three, four, five of us--\u201d and\nshe so contrived that five was her own number, and no one could tell\nwhom of us she had omitted.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s play something,\u201d I hurriedly intervened. \u201cLet\u2019s play Banquet.\u201d\n\nAction might have proved the solvent, but I had made an ill-starred\nchoice. For having selected the rectangle of lawn where the feast was\nto be spread, Mary Elizabeth promptly announced that she had never\nheard of a banquet for five people, and that we must have more.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got six,\u201d corrected Delia, unwarily.\n\n\u201cFive,\u201d Mary Elizabeth persisted tranquilly, \u201cand it\u2019s not enough. We\nought to have thirty.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere you going to get your thirty?\u201d demanded the exasperated Delia.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, \u201c_that\u2019s_ always easy!\u201d And told us.\n\nThe king would sit at the head, with his prime minister and a\nlord or two. At the foot would be the queen with her principal\nladies-in-waiting (at _this_ end, so as to leave room for their\ntrains). In between would be the fool, the discoverer of the new land,\nthe people from the other planets, us, and the animals.\n\n\u201c\u2018The animals!\u2019\u201d burst out Delia. \u201cWhoever heard of animals at the\ntable?\u201d\n\nOh, but it was the animals that the banquet was for. They were talking\nanimals, and everyone was scrambling to entertain them, and every place\nin which they ate they changed their shapes and their skins.\n\n\u201cI never heard of such a game,\u201d said Delia, outright, already\nsufficiently grown-up to regard this as a reason.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s not play it,\u201d said Margaret Amelia Rodman, languidly, and,\nthough Delia had the most emphasis among us, Margaret Amelia was our\nleader, and we abandoned the game. I cannot recall why Margaret Amelia\nwas our leader, unless it was because she had so many hair-ribbons and,\nwhen we had pin fairs, always came with a whole paper, whereas the rest\nof us merely had some collected in a box, or else rows torn off. But I\nsuppose that we must have selected her for some potentiality; or else\nit was that a talent for tyranny was hers, since this, like the habit\nof creeping on all fours and other survivals of prehistoric man, will\noften mark one of the early stages of individual growth.\n\nThis time Calista was peace-maker.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s go for a walk,\u201d she said. \u201cWe can do that before supper.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to be back in time to help _get_ supper, won\u2019t you?\u201d Delia\nasked Mary Elizabeth pointedly.\n\nAgain Mary Elizabeth was unperturbed, save for that faint flush.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said, \u201cI will. So let\u2019s hurry.\u201d\n\nWe ran toward the school ground, by common consent the destination for\nshort walks, with supper imminent, as Prospect Hill was dedicated to\nreal walks, with nothing pressing upon us.\n\n\u201cIt says \u2018Quick, quick, quick, quick,\u2019\u201d Mary Elizabeth cried, dragging\na stick on the pickets of, so to say, a passing fence.\n\n\u201cWhy, that\u2019s nothing but the stick noise hitting on the fence noise,\u201d\nDelia explained loftily.\n\n\u201cWhich makes the loudest noise--the stick or the fence?\u201d Mary Elizabeth\nput it to her.\n\n\u201cWhy--\u201d said Delia, and Mary Elizabeth and I both laughed, like little\ndemons, and made our sticks say, \u201cQuick, quick, quick, quick\u201d as far as\nthe big post, that was so like a man standing there to stop us.\n\n\u201cSee the poor tree. The walk\u2019s stepping on its feet!\u201d cried Mary\nElizabeth when we passed the Branchett\u2019s great oak, that had forced\nup the bricks of the walk. (They must already have been talking of\ntaking it down, that hundred-year oak, to preserve the dignity of the\nside-walk, for they did so shortly after.)\n\nThis time it was Margaret Amelia who revolted.\n\n\u201cTrees can\u2019t walk,\u201d she said. \u201cThere aren\u2019t any _feet_ there.\u201d\n\nI took a hand. \u201cYou don\u2019t know sure,\u201d I reminded her. \u201cWhen it\u2019s dark,\nmaybe they do walk. I\u2019ll ask it.\u201d\n\nBy the time I had done whispering to the bark, Delia said she was going\nto tell her mother. \u201cSuch _lies_,\u201d she put it bluntly. \u201cYou\u2019ll never\nwrite a book, I don\u2019t care what you say. You got to tell the truth to\nwrite books.\u201d\n\n\u201cEverybody that tells the truth don\u2019t write a book,\u201d I contended--but\nsobered. I wanted passionately to write a book. What if this business\nof pretending, which Delia called lies should be in the way of truthful\nbook-writing? But the habit was too strong for me. In that very moment\nwe came upon a huge new ant-hill.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t step on that ant-hill. See all the ants--they say to step over\nit!\u201d I cried, and pushed Delia round it with some violence.\n\n\u201cWell--what makes you always so--_religious_!\u201d she burst out, at the\nend of her patience.\n\nI was still hotly denying this implication when we entered the school\nyard, and broke into running; for no reason, save that entrances and\nbeginnings always made us want to run and shout.\n\nThe school yard, quite an ordinary place during school hours, became\nat the end of school a place no longer to be shunned, but wholly\ndesirable. Next to the wood yard, it was the most mysterious place\nthat we knew. In the school yard were great cords of wood, suitable\nfor hiding; a basement door, occasionally left open, from which at any\nmoment the janitor might appear to drive us away; a band-stand, covered\nwith names and lacking enough boards so that one might climb up without\nuse of the steps; a high-board fence on which one always longed to\nwalk at recess; a high platform from which one had unavailingly pined\nto jump; outside banisters down which, in school-time, no one might\nslide, trees which no one might climb, corner brick-work affording\nexcellent steps, which, then, none might scale; broad outside window\nledges on which none might sit, loose bricks in the walks ripe for\nthe prying-up, but penalty attended; a pump on whose iron handle the\nlightest of us might ride save that, in school-time, this was forbidden\ntoo. In school-time this yard, so rich in possibilities, was compact\nof restrictions. None of these things might be done. Once a boy had\nbeen expelled for climbing on the schoolhouse roof; and thereupon his\nfather, a painter by trade, had taken the boy to work with him, and\nwhen we saw him in overalls wheeling his father\u2019s cart, we were told\nthat _that_ was what came of disobedience, although this boy might,\neasily no doubt, otherwise have become President of the United States.\n\nBut after school! Toward supper-time, or in vacation-time, we used to\nlove to linger about the yard and snatch at these forbidden pleasures.\nThat is, the girls loved it. The boys had long ago had them all, and\nwere off across the tracks on new adventures unguessed of us.\n\nIf anybody found us here--we were promptly driven off. The principal\ndid this as a matter of course, but the janitor had the same power\nand much more emphasis. If one of the board was seen passing, we hid\nbehind everything and, as we were never clear just who belonged to the\nboard, we hid when nearly all grown-folk passed. That the building and\ngrounds were ours, paid for by our father\u2019s taxes, and that the school\nofficials and even the tyrannical janitor were town servants to help us\nto make good use of our own, no more occurred to us than it occurred\nto us to find a ring in the ground, lift it, and descend steps. Nor\nas much, for we were always looking for a ring to lift. To be sure,\nwe might easily fall into serious mischief in this stolen use of our\nproperty; but that it was the function of one of these grown-ups, whom\nwe were forever dodging, to be there with us, paid by the town to play\nwith us, was as wild an expectation as that fairies should arrive with\ngolden hoops and balls and wings. Wilder, for we were always expecting\nthe fairies and, secretly, the wings.\n\nThat afternoon we did almost all these forbidden things--swings and\nseesaws and rings would have done exactly as well, only these had\nnot been provided--and then we went to rest in the band-stand. Mary\nElizabeth and I were feeling somewhat subdued--neither of us shone much\nin feats of skill, and here Delia and Margaret Amelia easily put us in\nour proper places. Calista was not daring, but she was a swift runner,\nand this entitled her to respect. Mary Elizabeth and I were usually\nthe first ones caught, and the others were not above explaining to us\nfrankly that this was why we preferred to play Pretend.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s tell a story--you start it, Mary Elizabeth,\u201d I proposed, anxious\nfor us two to return to standing, for in collaborations of this kind\nMary Elizabeth and I frankly shone--and the wish to shine, like the\nwish to cry out, is among the primitive phases of individual growth.\n\n\u201cLet Margaret Amelia start it,\u201d Delia tried to say, but already the\nstory was started, Mary Elizabeth leaning far back, and beginning to\nbraid and unbraid her long hair--not right away to the top of the\nbraid, which was a serious matter and not to be lightly attempted with\nheavy hair, but just near the curling end.\n\n\u201cOnce,\u201d she said, \u201ca big gold sun was going along up in the sky,\nwondering what in the world--no, what in All-of-it to do with himself.\nFor he was all made and done, nice and bright and shiny, and he wanted\na place to be. So he knocked at all the worlds and said, \u2018Don\u2019t you\nwant to hire a sun to do your urrants, take care of your garden, and\nbehave like a fire and like a lamp?\u2019 But all the worlds didn\u2019t want\nhim, because they all had engaged a sun first and they could only\nuse one apiece, account of the climate. So one morning--he _knew_ it\nwas morning because he was shining, and when it was night he never\nshone--one morning....\u201d\n\n\u201cNow leave somebody else,\u201d Delia suggested restlessly. \u201cLeave Margaret\nAmelia tell.\u201d\n\nSo we turned to her. Margaret Amelia considered solemnly--perhaps it\nwas her faculty for gravity that made us always look up to her--and\ntook up the tale:\n\n\u201cOne morning he met a witch. And he said, \u2018Witch, I wish you\nwould--would give me something to eat. I\u2019m very hungry.\u2019 So the witch\ntook him to her kitchen and gave him a bowl of porridge, and it was hot\nand burned his mouth, and he asked for a drink of water, and--and--\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat was the use of having her a witch if _that_ was all he was going\nto ask her?\u201d demanded Mary Elizabeth.\n\n\u201cThey _always_ have witches in the best stories,\u201d Margaret Amelia\ncontended, \u201cand anyway, that\u2019s all I\u2019m going to tell.\u201d\n\nDelia took up the tale uninvited.\n\n\u201cAnd he got his drink of water, pumped up polite by the witch herself,\nand she was going to put a portion in it. But while she was looking in\nthe top drawer for the portion, the sun went away. And--\u201d\n\nThis time it was I who intervened.\n\n\u201c\u2018Portion!\u2019\u201d I said with superiority. \u201cWho ever heard of anybody\ndrinking a _portion_? That word is _potient_.\u201d\n\nDelia was plainly taken aback.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re thinking of long division,\u201d she said feebly.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m thinking of \u2018Romeo and Juliet,\u2019\u201d I responded with dignity. \u201cThey\nhad one, in the tomb, where Tybalt, all bloody--\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t say that one--don\u2019t say it!\u201d cried Margaret Amelia. \u201cI can see\nthat one awful after the light is out. Go on, somebody, quick.\u201d\n\nTo take up her share of the story, Betty Rodman refused, point-blank. I\nthink that her admission to our group must have been principally on the\ncredentials of sistership to one of us, a basis at once pathetic and\nlovely.\n\n\u201cI never can think of anything to have happen,\u201d Betty complained, \u201cand\nif I make something happen, then it ends up the story.\u201d\n\nCalista had a nail in her shoe, and was too much absorbed in pounding\nit down with a stone to be approached; so, when we had all minutely\nexamined the damage which the nail had wrought, it was my turn to take\nup the tale. And then the thing happened which was always happening\nto me: I could think of nothing to have the story do. At night, and\nwhen I was alone, I could dream out the most fascinating adventures,\nbut with expectant faces--or a clean pad--before me, I was dumb and\npowerless.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t feel like telling one just now,\u201d said I, the proposer of the\ngame, and went on digging leaves out of a crevice in the rotting rail.\nSo Mary Elizabeth serenely took up the tale where she had left it.\n\n\u201cOne morning he looked over a high sky mountain--that\u2019s what suns like\nto do best because it is so becoming--and he shone in a room of the sky\nwhere a little black star was sleeping. And he thought he would ask it\nwhat to do. So he said to it, \u2018Little Black Star, where shall I be, now\nthat I am all done and finished, nice and shiny?\u2019 And the Little Black\nStar said: \u2018You\u2019re not done. What made you think you were done? Hardly\nanybody is ever done. I\u2019ll tell you what to be. Be like a carriage\nand take all us little dark stars in, and whirl and whirl for about a\nmillion years, and make us all get bright too, and _then_ maybe you\u2019ll\nbe a true sun--but not all done, even then.\u2019 So that\u2019s what he decided\nto do, and he\u2019s up there now, only you can\u2019t see him, because he\u2019s so\nfar, and our sun is so bright, and he\u2019s whirling and whirling, and lots\nmore like him, getting to be made.\u201d\n\nDelia followed Mary Elizabeth\u2019s look into the blue.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it,\u201d said she. \u201cThe sun is biggest and the moon is\nnext. How could there be any other sun? And it don\u2019t whirl. It don\u2019t\neven rise and set. It stands still. Miss Messmore said so.\u201d\n\nWe looked at Mary Elizabeth, probably I alone having any impulse to\ndefend her. And we became aware that she was quite white and trembling.\nIn the same moment we understood that we were hearing something which\nwe had been hearing without knowing that we heard. It was a thin,\nwavering strain of singing, in a man\u2019s voice. We scrambled up, and\nlooked over the edge of the band-stand. Coming unevenly down the broken\nbrick walk that cut the schoolhouse grounds was Mary Elizabeth\u2019s\nfather. His hat was gone. It was he who was singing. He looked as he\nhad looked that first day that I had seen him in the wood yard. We knew\nwhat was the matter. And all of us unconsciously did the cruel thing of\nturning and staring at Mary Elizabeth.\n\nIn a moment she was over the side of the band-stand and running to\nhim. She took him by the hand, and we saw that she meant to lead him\nhome. Her little figure looked very tiny beside his gaunt frame, in its\nloosely hanging coat. I remember how the sun was pouring over them, and\nover the brilliant green beyond where blackbirds were walking. I have\nno knowledge of what made me do it--perhaps it was merely an attitude,\ncreated by the afternoon, of standing up for Mary Elizabeth no matter\nwhat befell; or it may have been a child\u2019s crude will to challenge\nthings; at any rate, without myself really deciding it, I suddenly took\nthe way that she had taken, and caught up with the two.\n\n\u201cMary Elizabeth,\u201d I meant to say, \u201cI\u2019m going.\u201d\n\nBut in fact I said nothing, and only kept along beside her. She looked\nat me mutely, and made a motion to me to turn back. When her father\ntook our hands and stumblingly ran with us, I heartily wished that I\nhad turned back. But nearly all the way he went peaceably enough. Long\nbefore we reached their home across the tracks, however, I heard the\nsix o\u2019clock whistles blow, and pictured the wrath of the mistress of\nthe New Family when Mary Elizabeth had not returned in time to \u201chelp\nwith the supper.\u201d Very likely now they would not let her stay, and this\nnew companionship of ours would have to end. Mary Elizabeth\u2019s home\nwas on the extreme edge of the town, and ordinarily I was not allowed\nto cross the tracks. Mary Elizabeth might even move away--that had\nhappened to some of us, and the night had descended upon such as these\nand we had never heard of them again: Hattie Schenck, whom I had loved\nwith unequalled devotion, where, for example, was she? Was it, then, to\nbe the same with Mary Elizabeth?\n\nHer mother saw us coming. She hurried down to the gateway--the gate\nwas detached and lying in the weeds within--and even then I was\nstruck by the way of maternity with which she led her husband to the\nhouse. I remember her as large-featured, with the two bones of her\narms sharply defined by a hollow running from wrist to elbow, and she\nconstantly held her face as if the sun were shining in her eyes, but\nthere was no sun shining there. And somehow, at the gate she had a\nway of receiving him, and of taking him with her. Hardly anything\nwas said. The worst of it was that no one had to explain anything.\nTwo of the little children ran away and hid. Someone dodged behind an\nopen door. The man\u2019s wife led him to the broken couch, and he lay down\nthere like a little child. Standing in the doorway of that forlorn,\ndisordered, ill-smelling room, I first dimly understood what I never\nhave forgotten: That the man was not poor because he drank, as the\nvillage thought, but that he drank because he was poor. Instead of the\nhorror at a drunken man which the village had laid it upon me to feel,\nI suddenly saw Mary Elizabeth\u2019s father as her mother saw him when she\nfolded her gingham apron and spread it across his shoulders and said:\n\n\u201cPoor lad.\u201d\n\nAnd when, in a few minutes, Mary Elizabeth and I were out on the street\nagain, running silently, I remember feeling a great blind rage against\nthe whole village and against the whole world that couldn\u2019t seem to\nthink what to do any more than Mary Elizabeth and I could think.\n\nThe man of the New Family was watering the lawn, which meant that\nsupper was done. We slipped in our back gate,--the New Family had\nnone,--climbed the fence by my play-house, dropped down into the New\nFamily\u2019s garden, and entered their woodshed. In my own mind I had\nsettled that I was of small account if I could not give the New Lady\nsuch a picture of what had happened that Mary Elizabeth should not lose\nher place, and I should not lose her.\n\nThe kitchen door was ajar. The dish-pan was in the sink, the kettle was\nsteaming on the stove. And from out the dining-room abruptly appeared\nCalista and _Delia_, bearing plates.\n\n\u201cGirls!\u201d I cried, but Mary Elizabeth was dumb.\n\nDelia carefully set down her plate in the dish-pan and addressed me:\n\n\u201cWell, you needn\u2019t think you\u2019re the only one that knows what\u2019s proper,\nmiss,\u201d she said.\n\nCalista was more simple.\n\n\u201cWe wanted to get \u2019em all done before you got back,\u201d she owned. \u201cWe\nwould, if Margaret Amelia and Betty had of come. They wanted to, but\nthey wouldn\u2019t let \u2019em.\u201d\n\nBack of Delia and Calista appeared the mistress of the house. She had\non her afternoon dress, and her curl papers were out, and she actually\nsmiled at Mary Elizabeth and me.\n\n\u201c_Now_ then!\u201d she said to us.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf I could have made a dream for that night, I think it would have been\nthat ever and ever so many of us were sitting in rows, waiting to be\ncounted. And a big sun came by, whirling and growing, to take us, and\nwe thought we couldn\u2019t all get in. But there was room, whether we had\nbeen counted or not.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nDOLLS\n\n\nThe advent of the New Boy changed the face of the neighbourhood.\nFormerly I had been accustomed to peep through cracks in the fence\nonly to look into a field of corn that grew at the side; or, on the\nother side, into raspberry bushes, where at any moment raspberries\nmight be gathered and dropped over the fence to me. Also, there was\none place in the deep green before those bushes where blue-eyed grass\ngrew, and I had to watch for that. Then there was a great spotted dog\nthat sometimes came, and when he had passed, I used to wait long by the\nhigh boards lest he should return and leap at me to whom, so far, he\nhad never paid the slightest attention. As a child, my mother had once\njumped down into a manger where a great spotted dog was inadvertently\nlying and, though from all accounts he was far more frightened than\nshe, yet I feared his kind more than any other.... The only real\nexcitement that we had been wont to know in the neighbourhood occurred\nwhenever there was a Loose Horse. Somebody would give the alarm, and\nthen we would all make sure that the gates were latched and we would\nretire to watch him fearfully, where he was quietly cropping the\nroadside grass. But sometimes, too, a Loose Horse would run--and then I\nwas terrified by the sound of his hoofs galloping on the sidewalk and\nstriking on the bricks and boards. I was always afraid that a Loose\nHorse would see me, and nights, after one had disturbed our peace, I\nwould dream that he was trying to find me, and that he had come peering\nbetween the dining-room blinds; and though I hid under the red cotton\nspread that was used \u201cbetween-meals,\u201d it never came down far enough,\nand he always stood there interminably waiting, and found me, through\nthe fringe.\n\nBut all these excitements were become as nothing. A new occupation\npresented itself. A dozen times a day now I had to watch through the\nfence-cracks, or through the knot-hole, or boldly between the pickets\nof the front fence, at the fascinating performances of the New Boy\nand his troops of friends. At any moment both Mary Elizabeth and I\nwould abandon what we were doing to go to stare at the unaccountable\nactivities which were forever agitating them. They were always\nproducing something from their pockets and examining it, with their\nheads together, or manufacturing something or burying something, or\ndisputing about something unguessed and alluring. Their whole world\nwas filled with doing, doing, doing, whereas ours was made wholly of\nwatching things get done.\n\nOn an afternoon Mary Elizabeth and I were playing together in our side\nyard. It was the day for Delia\u2019s music lesson, and as she usually did\nher whole week\u2019s practising in the time immediately preceding that\nevent, the entire half day was virtually wasted. We could hear her\ngoing drearily over and over the first and last movements of \u201cAt Home,\u201d\nwhich she had memorized and could play like lightning, while the entire\nmiddle of the piece went with infinite deliberation. Calista was, we\nunderstood (because of some matter pertaining to having filled the\nbath-tub and waded in it and ruined the dining-room ceiling), spending\nthe day in her bed. And Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman were being\nkept at home because the family had company; and such was the prestige\nof the Rodmans that the two contrived to make this circumstance seem\nenviable, and the day before had pictured to us their embroidered white\ndresses and blue ribbons, and blue stockings, and the Charlotte Russe\nfor supper, until we felt left out, and not in the least as if their\ncompany were of a kind with events of the sort familiar to us. Since I\nhave grown up, I have observed this variety of genius in others. There\nis one family which, when it appears in afternoon gowns on occasions\nwhen I have worn a street dress, has power to make me wonder how I\ncan have failed to do honour to the day; but who, when they wear\nstreet gowns and I am dressed for afternoon, invariably cause me to\nfeel inexcusably overdressed. It is a kind of genius for the fit, and\nwe must believe that it actually designates the atmosphere which an\noccasion shall breathe.\n\nMary Elizabeth and I were playing Dolls. We rarely did this on a\npleasant day in Summer, Dolls being an indoor game, matched with\ncarpets and furniture and sewing baskets rather than with blue sky and\nwith the soft brilliance of the grass. But that day we had brought\neverything out in the side yard under the little catalpa tree, and my\neleven dolls (counting the one without any face, and Irene Helena, the\nhome-made one, and the two penny ones) were in a circle on chairs and\nboxes and their backs, getting dressed for the tea-party. There was\nalways going to be a tea-party when you played Dolls--you of course had\nto lead up to something, and what else was there to lead up to save\na tea-party? To be sure, there might be an occasional marriage, but\nboy-dolls were never very practical; they were invariably smaller than\nthe bride-doll, and besides we had no mosquito-netting suitable for a\nveil. Sometimes we had them go for a walk, and once or twice we had\ntried playing that they were house-cleaning; but these operations were\nnot desirable, because in neither of them could the dolls dress up, and\nthe desirable part of playing dolls is, as everybody knows, to dress\nthem in their best. That is the game. That, and the tea-party.\n\n\u201cBlue or rose-pink?\u201d Mary Elizabeth inquired, indicating the two best\ngowns of the doll she was dressing.\n\nIt was a difficult question. We had never been able to decide which\nof these two colours we preferred. There was the sky for precedent of\nblue, but then rose-pink we loved so to say!\n\n[Illustration: SHE SETTLED EVERYTHING IN THAT WAY; SHE COUNTED THE\nPETALS OF FENNEL DAISIES AND BLEW THISTLE FROM DANDELIONS.]\n\n\u201cIf they\u2019s one cloud in the sky, we\u2019ll put on the rose-pink one,\u201d said\nMary Elizabeth. \u201cAnd if there isn\u2019t any, that\u2019ll mean blue.\u201d\n\nShe settled everything that way--she counted the petals of fennel\ndaisies, blew the thistle from dandelions, did one thing if she could\nfind twelve acorns and another if they were lacking. Even then Mary\nElizabeth seemed always to be watching for a guiding hand, to be\nlistening for a voice to tell her what to do, and trying to find these\nin things of Nature.\n\nWe dressed the Eleven in their best frocks, weighing each choice long,\nand seated them about a table made of a box covered with a towel. We\nsliced a doughnut and with it filled two small baskets for each end of\nthe table, on which rested my toy castor and such of my dishes as had\nsurvived the necessity which I had felt for going to bed with the full\nset, on the night of the day, some years before, when I had acquired\nthem. We picked all the flowers suitable for doll decorations--clover,\nsorrel, candytuft, sweet alyssum. We observed the unities by retiring\nfor a time sufficient to occupy the tea-party in disposing of the\nfeast; and then we came back and sat down and stared at them. Irene\nHelena, I remember, had slipped under the table in a heap, a proceeding\nwhich always irritated me, as nakedly uncovering the real depths of\nour pretence--and I jerked her up and set her down, like some maternal\nNemesis.\n\nIn that moment a wild, I may almost say _thick_, shriek sounded through\nour block, and there came that stimulating thud-thud of feet on earth\nthat accompanies all the best diversions, and also there came the\ncracking of things,--whips, or pistols, or even a punch, which rapidly\noperated will do almost as well. And down the yards of the block and\nover the fences and over the roof of my play-house came tumbling and\nshrieking the New Boy, and in his wake were ten of his kind.\n\nUsually they raced by with a look in their eyes which we knew well,\nthough we never could distinguish whether it meant robbers or pirates\nor dragons or the enemy. Usually they did not even see us. But that\nday something in our elaborate preparation to receive somebody or to\nwelcome something, and our eternal moment of suspended animation at\nwhich they found us, must have caught the fancy of the New Boy.\n\n\u201cHalt!\u201d he roared with the force and effect of a steam whistle, and in\na moment they were all stamping and breathing about Mary Elizabeth and\nme.\n\nWe sprang up in instant alarm and the vague, pathetic, immemorial\nimpulse to defence. We need not have feared. The game was still going\nforward and we were merely pawns.\n\n\u201cWho is the lord of this castle?\u201d demanded the New Boy.\n\n\u201cBindyliggs,\u201d replied Mary Elizabeth, without a moment\u2019s hesitation, a\nname which I believe neither of us to have heard before.\n\n\u201cWhere is this Lord of Bindyliggs?\u201d the New Boy pressed it.\n\nMary Elizabeth indicated the woodshed. \u201cAt meat,\u201d she added gravely.\n\n\u201cForward!\u201d the New Boy instantly commanded, and the whole troop\ndisappeared in our shed. We heard wood fall, and the clash of meeting\nweapons, and the troop reappeared, two by way of the low window.\n\n\u201cEnough!\u201d cried the New Boy, grandly. \u201cWe have spared him, but there is\nnot a moment to lose. You must come with us _immediately_. What you\ngot to eat?\u201d\n\nRaptly, we gave them, from under the wistful noses of Irene Helena and\nthe doll without the face and the rest, the entire sliced doughnut, and\ntwo more doughnuts, dipped in sugar, which we had been saving so as to\nhave something to look forward to.\n\n\u201cCome with us,\u201d said the New Boy, graciously. \u201cTo horse! We may reach\nthe settlement by nightfall--_if_ we escape the Brigands in the Wood.\nThe Black Wood,\u201d he added.\n\nEven then, I recall, I was smitten with wonder that he who had shown\nso little imagination in that matter of dirt and apples and potatoes\nshould here be teeming with fancy on his own familiar ground. It was\nyears before I understood that there are almost as many varieties of\nimaginative as of religious experience.\n\nFascinated, we dropped everything and followed. The way led, it\nappeared, to the Wells\u2019s barn, a huge, red barn in the block, with\ndoors always invitingly open and chickens pecking about, and doves on a\nlittle platform close to the pointed roof.\n\n\u201cAw, say, you ain\u2019t goin\u2019 to take \u2019em along, are you?\u201d demanded one\nknight, below his voice. \u201cThey\u2019ll spoil everythin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re _rescuin\u2019_ \u2019em, you geezer,\u201d the New Boy explained. \u201cYou got to\nhave \u2019em along till you get \u2019em rescued, ain\u2019t you? Arrest that man!\u201d\nhe added. \u201cPut him in double irons with chains and balls on. And gag\nhim, to make sure.\u201d\n\nAnd it was done, with hardly a moment\u2019s loss of time.\n\nWe went round by the walk--a course to which the arrested one had time\nto refer in further support of his claim as to our undesirability.\nBut he was drowned in the important topics that were afoot: the new\ncave to be explored where the Branchetts were putting a cellar under\nthe dining-room, mysterious boxes suspected to contain dynamite being\nunloaded into the Wells\u2019s cellar, and the Court of the Seven Kings, to\nwhich, it seemed, we were being conveyed in the red barn.\n\n\u201cShall we give \u2019em the password?\u201d the New Boy asked, _sotto voce_, as\nwe approached the rendezvous. And Mary Elizabeth and I trembled as we\nrealized that he was thinking of sharing the password with us.\n\n\u201c_Naw!_\u201d cried the Arrested One violently. \u201cIt\u2019ll be all over town.\u201d\n\nThe New Boy drew himself up--he must have been good to look at, for I\nrecall his compact little figure and his pink cheeks.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you tell when you\u2019re gagged?\u201d he inquired with majesty. \u201cYou\u2019re\nplayin\u2019 like a girl yourself. I can give the password for \u2019em, though,\u201d\nhe added reasonably. So we all filed in the red barn, to the Court of\nthe Seven Kings, and each boy whispered the password into the first\nmanger, but Mary Elizabeth and I had it whispered for us.\n\nWhat the Court of the Seven Kings might have held for us we were never\nto know. At that instant there appeared lumbering down the alley a load\nof hay. Seated in the midst was a small figure whom we recognized as\nStitchy Branchett; and he rose and uttered a roar.\n\n\u201cCome on, fellows!\u201d he said. \u201cWe dast ride over to the Glen. I was\nlookin\u2019 for you. Father said so.\u201d And Stitchy threw himself on his\nback, and lifted and waved his heels.\n\nAlready our liberators were swarming up the hay-rack, which had halted\nfor them. In a twinkling they were sunk in that fragrance, kicking\ntheir heels even as their host. Already they had forgotten Mary\nElizabeth and me, nor did they give us good-bye.\n\nWe two turned and went through the Wells\u2019s yard, back to the street.\nAlmost at once we were again within range of the sounds of Delia,\npractising interminably on her \u201cAt Home.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never rode on a load of hay,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth at length.\n\nNeither had I, though I almost always walked backward to watch one when\nit passed me.\n\n\u201cWhat do you _s\u2019pose_ the password was?\u201d said Mary Elizabeth.\n\nIt was days before we gave over wondering. And sometimes in later years\nI have caught myself speculating on that lost word.\n\n\u201cI wonder what we were rescued from,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth when we\npassed our woodshed door.\n\nWe stopped and peered within. No Lord of Bindyliggs, though we had\nalmost expected to see him stretched there, bound and helpless.\n\nWhat were we rescued from? _We should never know._\n\nWe rounded the corner by the side yard. There sat our staring dolls,\ndrawn up about the tea-table, static all. As I looked at them I was\nseized and possessed by an unreasoning fury. And I laid hold on Irene\nHelena, and had her by the heels, and with all my strength I pounded\nher head against the trunk of the catalpa tree.\n\nMary Elizabeth understood--when did she not understand?\n\n\u201cWhich one can I--which one can I?\u201d she cried excitedly.\n\n\u201cAll of \u2019em!\u201d I shouted, and one after another we picked up the Eleven\nby their skirts, and we threw them far and wide in the grass, and the\npenny dolls we hurled into the potato patch.\n\nThen Mary Elizabeth looked at me aghast.\n\n\u201cYour dolls!\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care!\u201d I cried savagely. \u201cI\u2019ll never play \u2019em again. I hate\n\u2019em!\u201d And I turned to Mary Elizabeth with new eyes. \u201cLet\u2019s go down town\nafter supper,\u201d I whispered.\n\n\u201cI could,\u201d she said, \u201cbut you won\u2019t be let.\u201d\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t ask,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll go. When you get done, come on over.\u201d\n\nI scorned to gather up the dolls. They were in the angle below the\nparlour windows, and no one saw them. As soon as supper was finished,\nI went to my room and put on my best shoes, which I was not allowed to\nwear for everyday. Then I tipped my birthday silver dollar out of my\nbank and tied it in the corner of my handkerchief. Down in the garden I\nwaited for Mary Elizabeth.\n\nIt was hardly dusk when she came. We had seen nothing of Delia, and we\nguessed that she was to stay in the house for the rest of the day as\npenance for having, without doubt, played \u201cAt Home\u201d too badly.\n\n\u201cYou better not do it,\u201d Mary Elizabeth whispered. \u201cThey might....\u201d\n\n\u201cCome on,\u201d I said only.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s try a June grass,\u201d she begged. \u201cIf the seeds all come off in my\nteeth, we\u2019ll go. But if they don\u2019t--\u201d\n\n\u201cCome on,\u201d said I, \u201cI\u2019m not going to monkey with signs any more.\u201d\n\nWe climbed the back fence, partly so that the chain, weighted with a\npail of stones, might not creak, and partly because to do so seemed\nmore fitting to the business in hand. We ran crouching, thereby\narousing the attention of old Mr. Branchett, who was training a\nVirginia creeper along his back fence.\n\n\u201cHello, hello,\u201d said he. \u201cPretty good runners for girls, seems to me.\u201d\n\nNeither of us replied. Our souls were suddenly sickened at this sort of\ndealing.\n\nWisconsin Street was a blaze of light. The \u2019buses were on their way\nfrom the \u201cdepots\u201d to the hotels--nobody knew who might be in those\n\u2019buses. They were the nexus between us and the unguessed world.\nStrangers were on the streets. Everything was in motion. Before\nMorrison\u2019s grocery they were burning rubbish, some boys from the other\nend of town were running unconcernedly through the flames, and the\nsmell of the smoke set us tingling. At the corner a man was pasting\na circus bill--we stopped a moment to look down the throat of the\nhippopotamus. Away up the street a band struck up, and we took hold of\nhands again, and ran.\n\nWe crossed the big square by the City Bank, under the hissing arc lamp.\nBy the post-office a crowd of men and boys was standing, and between\nthe files young women whom we knew, wearing ribbons and feathers, were\npassing in and out of the office and laughing. Bard\u2019s jewellery store\nwas brilliant--it looked lighter than any other store with its window\nof dazzling cut glass and its wonderful wall of clocks whose pendulums\nnever kept pace. In a saloon a piano was playing--we glanced in with a\nkind of joyous fear at the green screen beyond the door. We saw Alma\nFremont, whose father kept a grocery store, standing in the store door\nwith a stick of pink candy thrust in a lemon, and we thought on the\njoy of having a father who was a grocer. We longed to stare in the\nbarber-shop window, and looked away. But our instinctive destination\nwas the place before the Opera House, where the band was playing. We\nreached it, and stood packed in the crowd, close to the blare of the\nmusic, and shivered with delight.\n\n\u201cIf only the fire-engine would come,\u201d Mary Elizabeth breathed in my ear.\n\nBut in a little while the guffaws, the jostling, the proximity of dirty\ncoats, the odour of stale tobacco must have disturbed us, because\ngradually we edged a little away, and stood on the edge of the crowd,\nagainst an iron rail outside a billiard room. The band ceased, and went\nup into the hall. We had a distinct impulse to do the next thing. What\nwas there to do next? What was it that the boys did when they went\ndown town evenings? What else did they do while we were tidying our\nplay-houses for the night? For here we were, longing for play, if only\nwe could think what to do.\n\nI felt a hand beneath my chin, lifting my face. There, in the press,\nstood my Father. Over his arm he carried my black jacket with the\nBedford cord.\n\n\u201cMother thought you might be cold,\u201d he said.\n\nI put on the jacket, and he took Mary Elizabeth and me by the hand, and\nwe walked slowly back down Wisconsin Street.\n\n\u201cWe will see Mary Elizabeth safely home first,\u201d my Father said, and we\naccompanied her to the New Family\u2019s door.\n\nOnce in our house, it was I who proposed going to bed, and the\nsuggestion met with no opposition. Upstairs, I slipped the screen\nfrom my window and leaned out in the dusk. The night, warm, fragrant,\nsignificant, was inviting me to belong to it, was asking me, even as\nbright day had asked me, what it had in common with the stuffiness and\ndulness of forever watching others do things. Something hard touched my\nhand. It was my birthday dollar. It had not occurred to me to spend it.\n\nI saw my Father stroll back down the street, lighting a cigar. Below\nstairs I could hear my Mother helping to put away the supper dishes.\nA dozen boys raced through the alley, just on their way down town.\nSo long as they came home at a stated hour at night, and turned up\nat table with their hands clean, who asked them where they had been?\n\u201cWhere have you been?\u201d they said to me, the moment I entered the\nhouse--and to Delia and Calista and Margaret Amelia and Betty. We had\noften talked about it. And none of us had even ridden on a load of hay.\nWe had a vague expectation that it would be different when we grew up.\nA sickening thought came to me: _Would it be different, or was this to\nbe forever?_\n\nI ran blindly down the stairs where my Mother was helping to put away\nthe supper dishes--in the magic of the night, helping to put away the\nsupper dishes.\n\n\u201cMother!\u201d I cried, \u201cMother! Who made it so much harder to be a girl?\u201d\n\nShe turned and looked at me, her face startled, and touched me--I\nremember how gently she touched me.\n\n\u201cBefore you die,\u201d she said, \u201cit will be easier.\u201d\n\nI thought then that she meant that I would grow used to it. Now I know\nthat she meant what I meant when I woke that night, and remembered my\ndolls lying out in the grass and the dew, and was not sorry, but glad:\nGlad that the time was almost come--for real playthings.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nBIT-BIT\n\n\nAt the Rodmans\u2019, who lived in a huge house on a hill, some of\nthe rooms had inscriptions in them--or what I should have called\nmottoes--cunningly lettered and set about. Some of these were in\nMargaret Amelia\u2019s and Betty\u2019s room, above the mirror, the bed, the\nwindow; and there was one downstairs on a panel above the telephone.\nThe girls said that they had an aunt who had written them \u201con purpose,\u201d\nan aunt who had had stories in print. In my heart I doubted the part\nabout the printed stories, and so did Mary Elizabeth, but we loved\nMargaret Amelia and Betty too well to let this stand between us. Also,\nwe were caught by the inscriptions. They were these:\n\nFOR A CRADLE[A]\n\n    I cannot tell you who I am\n    Nor what I\u2019m going to be.\n    You who are wise and know your ways\n    Tell me.\n\n[A] Copyright, 1908, by Harper & Brothers.\n\nFOR THE MIRROR\n\n    Look in the deep of me. What are we going to do?\n    If I am I, as I am, who in the world are you?\n\nFOR AN IVORY COMB\n\n    Use me and think of spirit, and spirit yet to be.\n    This is the jest: Could soul touch soul if it were not for me?\n\nFOR THE DOLL\u2019S HOUSE\n\n    Girl-doll would be a little lamp\n    And shine like something new.\n    Boy-doll would be a telephone\n    And have the world speak through.\n    The Poet-doll would like to be\n    A tocsin with a tongue\n    To other little dolls like bells\n    Most sensitively rung.\n    The Baby-doll would be a flower,\n    The Dinah-doll a star,\n    And all--how ignominious!\n    Are only what they are.\n\nWHERE THE BOUGHS TOUCH THE WINDOW\n\n    We lap on the indoor shore--the waves of the leaf mere,\n    We try to tell you as well as we can: We wonder what you hear?\n\nFOR ANOTHER WINDOW\n\n    I see the stones, I see the stars,\n    I know not what they be.\n    They always say things to themselves\n    And now and then to me.\n    But when I try to look between\n    Big stones and little stars,\n    I almost know ... but what I know\n    Flies through the window-bars.\n\nAnd downstairs, on the Telephone:\n\n    I, the absurdity,\n    Proving what cannot be.\n    Come, when you talk with me\n    Does it become you well\n    To doubt a miracle?\n\nWe did not understand all of them, but we liked them. And I am sure now\nthat the inscriptions were partly responsible for the fact that in a\nlittle time, with Mary Elizabeth and me to give them encouragement,\neverything, indoors and out, had something to say to us. These things\nwe did not confide to the others, not even to Margaret Amelia and\nBetty who, when we stood still to spell out the inscriptions, waited\na respectful length of time and then plucked at our aprons and said:\n\u201cCome on till we show you something,\u201d which was usually merely a crass\nexcuse to get us away.\n\nSo Mary Elizabeth and I discovered, by comparing notes, that at night\nour Clothes on the chair by the bed would say: \u201cWe are so tired. Don\u2019t\nlook at us--we feel so limp.\u201d\n\nAnd the Night would say: \u201cWhat a long time the Day had you, and how he\nmade you work. Now rest and forget and stop being you, till morning.\u201d\n\nSleep would say: \u201cHere I come. Let me in your brain and I will pull\nyour eyes shut, like little blinds.\u201d\n\nAnd in the morning the Stairs would say: \u201cCome! We are all here,\nstooping, ready for you to step down on our shoulders.\u201d\n\nBreakfast would say: \u201cNow I\u2019m going to be you--now I\u2019m going to be you!\nAnd I have to be cross or nice, just as you are.\u201d\n\nEvery fire that warmed us, every tree that shaded us, every path that\nwe took, all these \u201canswered back\u201d and were familiars. Everything spoke\nto us, save only one. And this one thing was Work. Our playthings in\nthe cupboard would talk to us all day long _until_ the moment that we\nwere told to put them in order, and then instantly they all fell into\nsilence. Pulling weeds in the four o\u2019clock bed, straightening books,\ntidying the outdoor play-house--it was always the same. Whatever we\nworked at kept silent.\n\nIt was on a June morning, when the outdoors was so busy and beautiful\nthat it was like a golden bee buried in a golden rose, that I finally\nrefused outright to pick up a brown sunhat and some other things in\nthe middle of the floor. Everything outdoors and in was smiling and\ncalling, and to do a task was like going to bed, so far as the joy of\nthe day was concerned. This I could not explain, but I said that I\nwould not do the task, and this was high treason.\n\nSitting in a straight-backed chair all alone for half an hour\nthereafter--the usual capital punishment--was like cutting off the head\nof the beautiful Hour that I had meant to have. And I tried to think\nit out. Why, in an otherwise wonderful world, did Work have to come and\nspoil everything?\n\nI do not recall that I came to any conclusion. How could I, at a time\nthat was still teaching the Hebraic doctrine that work is a curse,\ninstead of the new gospel--always dimly divined by children before our\nteaching has corrupted them,--that being busy is being alive, and that\nall work may be play if only we are shown how to pick out the kind that\nis play to us, and that doing nothing is a kind of death.\n\nAnd while I sat there alone on that straight-backed chair, I wish that\nI, as I am now, might have called in Mary Elizabeth, whom I could see\ndrearily polishing the New Family\u2019s lamp-chimneys, and that I might\nhave told the story of Bit-bit.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBit-bit, the smallest thing in the world, sat on the slipperiest edge\nof the highest mountain in the farthest land, weaving a little garment\nof sweet-grass. Then out of the valley a great Deev arose and leaned\nhis elbows on the highest mountain and said what he thought--which is\nalways a dangerous business.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cTHEN OUT OF THE VALLEY A GREAT DEEV AROSE.\u201d]\n\n\u201cBit-bit,\u201d said the Deev, \u201chow dare you make up my sweet-grass so\ndisgustin\u2019 extravagant?\u201d\n\n(It is almost impossible for a Deev to say his _ing\u2019s_.)\n\n\u201cDeevy dear,\u201d said Bit-bit, without looking up from his work, \u201cI have\nto make a garment to help clothe the world. Don\u2019t wrinkle up my plan.\nAnd _don\u2019t_ put your elbows on the table.\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout my elbows,\u201d said the Deev, \u201cyou are perfectly right, though\nDeevs always do that with their elbows. But as to that garment,\u201d he\nadded, \u201cI\u2019d like to know why you have to help clothe the world?\u201d\n\n\u201cDeevy dear,\u201d said Bit-bit, still not looking up from his work, \u201cI have\nto do so, because it\u2019s this kind of a world. _Please_ don\u2019t wrinkle up\nthings.\u201d\n\n\u201cI,\u201d said the Deev, plainly, \u201cwill now show you what kind of a world\nthis really is. And I rather think I\u2019ll destroy you with a great\ndestruction.\u201d\n\nThen the Deev took the highest mountain and he tied its streams and\ncataracts together to make a harness, and he named the mountain new,\nand he drove it all up and down the earth. And he cried behind it:\n\n\u201cHo, Rhumbthumberland, steed of the clouds, trample the world into\ntrifles and plough it up for play. Bit-bit is being taught his lesson.\u201d\n\nFrom dawn he did this until the sky forgot pink and remembered only\nblue and until the sun grew so hot that it took even the sky\u2019s\nattention, and the Deev himself was ready to drop. And then he pulled\non the reins and Rhumbthumberland, steed of the clouds, stopped\ntrampling and let the Deev lean his elbows on his back. And there,\nright between the Deev\u2019s elbows, sat Bit-bit, weaving his garment of\nsweet-grass.\n\n\u201cThunders of spring,\u201d cried the Deev, \u201caren\u2019t you destroyed with a\ngreat destruction?\u201d\n\nBut Bit-bit never looked up, he was so busy.\n\n\u201cHas anything happened?\u201d he asked politely, however, not wishing to\nseem indifferent to the Deev\u2019s agitation--though secretly, in his\nlittle head, he hated having people plunge at him with their eyebrows\nup and expect him to act surprised too. When they did that, it always\nmade him savage-calm.\n\n\u201cThe world is trampled into trifles and ploughed up for play,\u201d said\nthe exasperated Deev, \u201c_that\u2019s_ what\u2019s happened. How dare you pay no\nattention?\u201d\n\n\u201cDeevy dear,\u201d said Bit-bit, still not looking up from his task, \u201cI\nhave to work, whether it\u2019s this kind of a world or not. I _wish_ you\nwouldn\u2019t wrinkle up things.\u201d\n\nThen the Deev\u2019s will ran round and round in his own head like a fly\ntrying to escape from a dark hole--that is the way of the will of all\nDeevs--and pretty soon his will got out and went buzzle-buzzle-buzzle,\nwhich is no proper sound for anybody\u2019s will to make. And when it did\nthat, the Deev went off and got a river, and he climbed up on top of\nRhumbthumberland and he swung the river about his head like a ribbon\nand then let it fall from the heights like a lady\u2019s scarf, and then he\nheld down one end with his great boot and the other end he emptied into\nthe horizon. From the time of the heat of the sun he did this until\nthe shadows were set free from the west and lengthened over the land,\nshaking their long hair, and then he lifted his foot and let the river\nslip and it trailed off into the horizon and flowed each way.\n\n\u201c_Now_ then!\u201d said the Deev, disgustingly pompous.\n\nBut when he looked down, there, sitting on his own great foot, high and\ndry and pleasant, was Bit-bit, weaving his garment of sweet-grass and\nsaying:\n\n\u201cDeevy dear, a river washed me up here and I was so busy I didn\u2019t have\ntime to get down.\u201d\n\nThe Deev stood still, thinking, and his thoughts flew in and out like\nbirds, but always they seemed to fly against window-panes in the air,\nthrough which there was no passing. And the Deev said, in his head:\n\n\u201cIs there nothing in this created cosmos that will stop this little\nscrap from working to clothe the world? Or must I play Deev in earnest?\u201d\n\nAnd that was what he finally decided to do. So he said things to his\narms, and his arms hardened into stuff like steel, and spread out like\nmighty wings. And with these the Deev began to beat the air. And he\nbeat it and beat it until it frothed. It frothed like white-of-egg and\nlike cream and like the mid-waters of torrents, frothed a mighty froth,\nsuch as I supposed could never be. And when the froth was stiff enough\nto stand alone, the Deev took his steel-wing arm for a ladle, and he\nbegan to spread the froth upon the earth. And he spread and spread\nuntil the whole earth was like an enormous chocolate cake, thick with\nwhite frosting--one layer, two layers, three layers, disgustingly\nextravagant, so that the little Deevs, if there had been any, would\nnever have got the dish scraped. Only there wasn\u2019t any dish, so they\nneedn\u2019t have minded.\n\nAnd when he had it all spread on, the Deev stood up and dropped his\nsteel arms down--and even they were tired at the elbow, like any true,\negg-beating arm--and he looked down at the great cake he had made.\nAnd there, on the top of the frosting, which was already beginning to\nharden, was sitting Bit-bit, weaving his garment of sweet-grass and\ntalking about the weather:\n\n\u201cI think there is going to be a storm,\u201d said Bit-bit, \u201cthe air around\nhere has been so disgustingly hard to breathe.\u201d\n\nThen, very absently, the Deev let the steel out of his arms and made\nthem get over being wings, and, in a place so deep in his own head that\nnothing had ever been thought there before, he _thought_:\n\n\u201cThere is more to this than I ever knew there is to anything.\u201d\n\nSo he leaned over, all knee-deep in the frosting as he was, and he said:\n\n\u201cBit-bit, say a great truth and a real answer: What is the reason that\nmy little ways don\u2019t bother you? Or kill you? Or keep you from making\nyour garment of sweet-grass?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said Bit-bit, in surprise, but never looking up from his work,\n\u201cDeevy dear, that\u2019s easy. I\u2019m much, much, _much_ too busy.\u201d\n\n\u201cScrap of a thing,\u201d said the Deev, \u201ctoo busy to mind cataracts and an\nearth trampled to trifles and then frosted with all the air there is?\u201d\n\n\u201cToo busy,\u201d assented Bit-bit, snapping off his thread. \u201cAnd now I _do_\nhope you are not going to wrinkle up things any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the Deev, with decision, \u201cI ain\u2019t.\u201d (Deevs are always\nungrammatical when you take them by surprise.) And he added very\nshrewdly, for he was a keen Deev and if he saw that he could learn,\nhe was willing to learn, which is three parts of all wisdom: \u201cLittle\nscrap, teach me to do a witchcraft. Teach me to work.\u201d\n\nAt that Bit-bit laid down his task in a minute.\n\n\u201cWhat do you want to make?\u201d he asked.\n\nThe Deev thought for a moment.\n\n\u201cI want to make a palace and a garden and a moat for _me_,\u201d said he.\n\u201cI\u2019m tired campin\u2019 around in the air.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf that\u2019s all,\u201d said Bit-bit, \u201cI\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t help you. I thought\nyou wanted to work. Out of all the work there is in the world I should\nthink of another one if I were you, Deevy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, I want to make a golden court dress for _me_, all\nembroidered and flowered and buttoned and gored and spliced,\u201d said the\nDeev, or whatever these things are called in the clothing of Deevs;\n\u201cI want to make one. I\u2019m tired goin\u2019 around in rompers.\u201d (It wasn\u2019t\nrompers, really, but it was what Deevs wear instead, and you wouldn\u2019t\nknow the name, even if I told you.)\n\n\u201cExcuse me,\u201d said Bit-bit, frankly, \u201cI won\u2019t waste time like that.\nDon\u2019t you want to _work_?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the Deev, \u201cI do. Maybe I don\u2019t know what work is.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaybe you don\u2019t,\u201d agreed Bit-bit. \u201cBut I can fix that. I\u2019m going for a\nwalk now, and there\u2019s just room for you. Come along.\u201d\n\nSo they started off, and it was good walking, for by now the sun had\ndried up all the frosting; and the Deev trotted at Bit-bit\u2019s heels,\nand they made a very funny pair. So funny that Almost Everything\nwatched them go by, and couldn\u2019t leave off watching them go by, and so\nfollowed them all the way. Which was what Bit-bit had _thought_ would\nhappen. And when he got to a good place, Bit-bit stood still and told\nthe Deev to turn round. And there they were, staring face to face with\nAlmost Everything: Deserts and towns and men and women and children and\nlaws and governments and railroads and factories and forests and food\nand drink.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s your work,\u201d said Bit-bit, carelessly.\n\n\u201cWhere?\u201d asked the Deev, just like other folks.\n\n\u201c_Where?_\u201d repeated Bit-bit, nearly peevish. \u201cLook at this desert\nthat\u2019s come along behind us. Why don\u2019t you swing a river over your\nhead--you _could_ do that, couldn\u2019t you, Deevy?--and make things grow\non that desert, and let people live on it, and turn \u2019em into folks? Why\ndon\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt ain\u2019t amusin\u2019 enough,\u201d said the Deev.\n\n(Deevs are often ungrammatical when they don\u2019t take pains; and this\nDeev wasn\u2019t taking _any_ pains.)\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Bit-bit, \u201cthen look at this town that has come along\nbehind us, full of dirt and disease and laziness and worse. Why\ndon\u2019t you harness up a mountain--you _could_ do that, couldn\u2019t you,\nDeevy?--and plough up the earth and trample it down and let people live\nas they were meant to live, and turn them into folks? Why don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt couldn\u2019t be done that way,\u201d said the Deev, very much excited and\ndisgustingly certain.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Bit-bit, \u201cthen look at the men and women and children that\nhave come along behind us. What about them--what about _them_? Why\ndon\u2019t you make your arms steel and act as if you had wings, and beat\nthe world into a better place for them to live, instead of making a\ncake of it. You could do it, Deevy--_anybody_ could do that.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the Deev, \u201cI could do that. But it don\u2019t appeal to me.\u201d\n\n(Deevs are always ungrammatical when they are being emphatic, and now\nthe Deev was being very emphatic. He was a keen Deev, but he would only\nlearn what he wanted to learn.)\n\n\u201cDeevy _dear_,\u201d cried Bit-bit, in distress because the Deev was such a\ndisgusting creature, \u201cthen at least do get some sweet-grass and make a\nlittle garment to help clothe the world?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the use?\u201d said the Deev. \u201cLet it go naked. It\u2019s always been\nthat way.\u201d\n\nSo, since the Deev would not learn the work witchcraft, Bit-bit,\nvery sorrowful, stood up and said a great truth and made a real\nanswer--which is always a dangerous business.\n\n\u201cYou will, you will, you will do these things,\u201d he cried, \u201cbecause it\u2019s\nthat kind of a world.\u201d\n\nAnd then the Deev, who had all along been getting more and more\nannoyed, pieced together his will and his ideas and his annoyance, and\nthey all went buzzle-buzzle-buzzle together till they made an act. And\nthe act was that he stepped sidewise into space, and he picked up the\nearth and put it between his knees, and he cracked it hard enough so\nthat it should have fallen into uncountable bits.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s my nut,\u201d said the Deev, \u201cand now I\u2019m going to eat it up.\u201d\n\nBut lo, from the old shell there came out a fair new kernel of a world,\nso lustrous and lovely that the Deev was blinded and hid his eyes.\nOnly first he had seen how the deserts were flowing with rivers and\nthe towns were grown fair under willing hands for men and women and\nchildren to live there. And there, with Almost Everything, sat Bit-bit\nin his place, weaving a little garment of sweet-grass to clothe some\nmite of the world.\n\n\u201cNow this time try not to wrinkle things all up, Deev,\u201d said Bit-bit.\n\u201cI must say, you\u2019ve been doing things disgustingly inhuman.\u201d\n\nSo after that the Deev was left camping about in the air, trying to\nmake for himself new witchcrafts. And there he is to this day, being\na disgusting creature generally, and _only_ those who are as busy as\nBit-bit are safe from him.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nWHY\n\n\nThere was a day when Mary Elizabeth and Delia and Calista and Betty\nand I sat under the Eating Apple tree and had no spirit to enter upon\nanything. Margaret Amelia was not with us, and her absence left us\nrelaxed and without initiative; for it was not as if she had gone to\nthe City, or to have her dress tried on, or her hair washed, or as if\nshe were absorbed in any real occupation. Her absence was due to none\nof these things. Margaret Amelia was in disgrace. She was, in fact,\nconfined in her room with every expectation of remaining there until\nsupper time.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019d she do?\u201d we had breathlessly inquired of Betty when she had\nappeared alone with her tidings.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d replied Betty, \u201cit\u2019s her paper dolls and her button-house. She\nalways leaves \u2019em around. She set up her button-house all over the rug\nin the parlour--you know, the rug that its patterns make rooms? An\u2019\nshe had her paper dolls living in it. That was this morning--and we\nforgot \u2019em. And after dinner, while we\u2019re outdoors, the minister came.\nAnd he walked into the buttons and onto the glass dangler off the lamp\nthat we used for a folding-doors. And he slid a long ways on it. And he\nscrushed it,\u201d Betty concluded resentfully. \u201cAnd now she\u2019s in her room.\u201d\n\nWe pondered it. There was justice there, we saw that. But shut Margaret\nAmelia in a room! It was as ignominious as caging a captain.\n\n\u201cDid she cry?\u201d we indelicately demanded.\n\n\u201cAwful,\u201d said Betty. \u201cShe wouldn\u2019t of cared if it had only been\nraining,\u201d she added.\n\nWe looked hard at the sky. We should have been willing to have it rain\nto make lighter Margaret Amelia\u2019s durance, and sympathy could go no\nfurther. But there was not a cloud.\n\nIt was Mary Elizabeth who questioned the whole matter.\n\n\u201cHow,\u201d said she, \u201cdoes it do any good to shut her up in her room?\u201d\n\nWe had never thought of this. We stared wonderingly at Mary Elizabeth.\nBeing shut in your room was a part of the state of not being grown up.\nWhen you grew up, you shut others in their rooms or let them out, as\nyou ruled the occasion to require. There was Grandmother Beers, for\ninstance, coming out the door with scissors in her hands and going\ntoward her sweet-pea bed. Once she must have shut Mother in her room.\nMother!\n\nDelia was incurably a defender of things as they are. Whenever I am\ntempted to feel that guardians of an out-worn order must know better\nthan they seem to know, I remember Delia. Delia was born reactionary,\neven as she was born brunette.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said she with finality, \u201cthat\u2019s the way they punish you.\u201d\n\nTaken as a fact and not as a philosophy, there was no question about\nthis.\n\n\u201cI was shut in one for pinching Frankie Ames,\u201d I acknowledged.\n\n\u201cI was in one for getting iron-rust on my skirt,\u201d said Calista, \u201cand\nfor being awful cross when my bath was, and for putting sugar on the\nstove to get the nice smell.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was in one for telling a lie,\u201d Betty admitted reluctantly. \u201cAnd\nMargaret Amelia was in one for wading in the creek. She was in a\ndownstairs one. And I took a chair round outside to help her out--but\nshe wouldn\u2019t do it.\u201d\n\n\u201cPooh! I was in one lots of times,\u201d Delia capped it. And, as usual,\nwe looked at her with respect as having experiences far transcending\nour own. \u201cI\u2019ll be in one again if I don\u2019t go home and take care of my\ncanary,\u201d she added. \u201cMamma said I would.\u201d\n\n\u201cPutting sugar on the stove isn\u2019t as wicked as telling a lie, is it?\u201d\nMary Elizabeth inquired.\n\nWe weighed it. On the whole, we were inclined to think that it was not\nso wicked, \u201cthough,\u201d Delia put in, \u201cyou do notice the sugar more.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy do they shut you in the same way for the different wickeds?\u201d Mary\nElizabeth demanded.\n\nNone of us knew, but it was Delia who had the theory.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d she said, \u201cyou\u2019ve _got_ to know you\u2019re wicked. It don\u2019t make\nany difference how wicked. Because you stop anyhow.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, you don\u2019t,\u201d Betty said decidedly, \u201cyou\u2019re always getting a new\nthing to be shut in about. Before you mean to,\u201d she added perplexedly.\n\nMary Elizabeth looked away at Grandmother Beers, snipping sweet-peas.\nAbruptly, Mary Elizabeth threw herself on the grass and stared up\nthrough the branches of the Eating Apple tree, and then laid her arms\nstraight along her sides, and began luxuriously to roll down a little\nslope. The inquiry was too complex to continue.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s go see if the horse-tail hair is a snake yet,\u201d she proposed,\nsitting up at the foot of the slope.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll have to do my canary,\u201d said Delia, but she sprang up with the\nrest of us, and we went round to the rain-water barrel.\n\nThe rain-water barrel stood at the corner of the house, and reflected\nyour face most satisfyingly, save that the eaves-spout got in the way.\nAlso, you always inadvertently joggled the side with your knee, which\nset the water wavering and wrinkled away the image. At the bottom of\nthis barrel invisibly rested sundry little \u201cdoll\u201d pie-tins of clay,\na bottle, a broken window-catch, a stray key, and the bowl of a\nsoap-bubble pipe, cast in at odd intervals, for no reason. There were a\npenny doll and a marble down there too, thrown in for sheer bravado and\nbitterly regretted.\n\nInto this dark water there had now been dropped, two days ago, a long\nblack hair from the tail of Mr. Branchett\u2019s horse, Fanny. We had been\ncredibly informed that if you did this to a hair from a horse\u2019s tail\nand left it untouched for twenty-four hours or, to be _perfectly_ safe,\nfor forty-eight hours, the result would inevitably be a black snake.\nWe had gone to the Branchetts\u2019 barn for the raw material and, finding\nnone available on the floor, we were about to risk jerking it from the\nsource when Delia had perceived what we needed caught in a crack of the\nstall. We had abstracted the hair, and duly immersed it. Why we wished\nto create a black snake, or what we purposed doing with him when we\ngot him created, I cannot now recall. I believe the intention to have\nbeen primarily to see whether or not they had told us the truth--\u201cthey\u201d\nstanding for the universe at large. For my part, I was still smarting\nfrom having been detected sitting in patience with a handful of salt,\nby the mouse-hole in the shed, in pursuance of another recipe which I\nhad picked up and trusted. Now if this new test failed....\n\nWe got an old axe-handle from the barn wherewith to probe the water.\nIf, however, the black snake were indeed down there, our weapon,\noffensive and defensive, would hardly be long enough; so we substituted\nthe clothes-prop. Then we drew cuts to see who should wield it, and\nthe lot fell to Betty. Gentle little Betty turned quite pale with the\nresponsibility, but she resolutely seized the clothes-prop, and Delia\nstood behind her with the axe-handle.\n\n\u201cNow if he comes out,\u201d said Betty, \u201crun for your lives. He might be a\nblue racer.\u201d\n\nNone of us knew what a blue racer might be, but we had always heard of\nit as the fastest of all the creatures. A black snake, it seemed, might\neasily be a blue racer. As Betty raised the clothes-prop, I, who had\ninstigated the experiment, weakened.\n\n\u201cMaybe he won\u2019t be ready yet,\u201d I conceded.\n\n\u201cIf he isn\u2019t there, I\u2019ll never believe anything anybody tells me\nagain--ever,\u201d said Delia firmly.\n\nThe clothes-prop Betty plunged to the bottom, and lifted. No struggling\nblack shape writhed about it. She repeated the movement, and this time\nwe all cried out, for she brought up the dark discoloured rag of a\nsash of the penny doll, the penny doll clinging to it and immediately\ndropping sullenly back again. Grown brave, Betty stirred the water, and\nDelia, advancing, did the same with her axe-handle. Again and again\nthese were lifted, revealing nothing. At last we faced it: No snake was\nthere.\n\n\u201cSo that\u2019s a lie, too,\u201d said Delia, brutally.\n\nWe stared at one another. I, as the one chiefly disappointed, looked\naway. I looked down the street: Mr. Branchett was hoeing in his garden.\nDelivery wagons were rattling by. The butter-man came whistling round\nthe house. Everybody seemed so busy and so _sure_. They looked as if\nthey knew why everything was. And to us, truth and justice and reason\nand the results to be expected in this grown-up world were all a\nconfusion and a thorn.\n\nAs we went round the house, talking of what had happened, our eyes were\ncaught by a picture which should have been, and was not, of quite\ncasual and domestic import. On the side-porch of Delia\u2019s house appeared\nher mother, hanging out Delia\u2019s canary.\n\n\u201cGood-bye,\u201d said Delia, briefly, and fared from us, running.\n\nWe lingered for a little in the front yard. In five minutes the\ncurtains in Delia\u2019s room stirred, and we saw her face appear, and\nvanish. She had not waved to us--there was no need. It had overtaken\nher. She, too, was \u201cin her room.\u201d\n\nDelicacy dictated that we withdraw from sight, and we returned to the\nback yard. As we went, Mary Elizabeth was asking:\n\n\u201cIs telling a lie and not feeding your canary as wicked as each other?\u201d\n\nIt seemed incredible, and we said so.\n\n\u201cWell, you get shut up just as hard for both of \u2019em,\u201d Mary Elizabeth\nreminded us.\n\n\u201cThen I don\u2019t believe any of \u2019em\u2019s wicked,\u201d said I, flatly. On which we\ncame back to the garden and met Grandmother Beers, with a great bunch\nof sweet-peas in her hand, coming to the house.\n\n\u201cWicked?\u201d she said, in her way of soft surprise. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you\nknew such a word.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a word you learn at Sunday school,\u201d I explained importantly.\n\n\u201cCome over here and tell me about it,\u201d she invited, and led the way\ntoward the Eating Apple tree. And she sat down in the swing! Of course\nwhatever difference of condition exists between your grandmother and\nyourself vanishes when she sits down casually in your swing.\n\nMy Grandmother Beers was a little woman, whose years, in England, in\n\u201cNew York state,\u201d and in her adopted Middle West, had brought her\nonly peace within, though much had beset her from without. She loved\nFour-o\u2019clocks, and royal purple. When she said \u201croyal purple,\u201d it was\nas if the words were queens. She was among the few who sympathized\nwith my longing to own a blue or red or green jar from a drug store\nwindow. We had first understood each other in a matter of window-sill\nfood: This would be a crust, or a bit of baked apple, or a cracker\nwhich I used to lay behind the dining-room window-shutter--the\nclosed one. For in the house at evening it was warm and light and\nJust-had-your-supper, while outside it was dark and damp and big, and I\nconceived that it must be lonely and hungry. The Dark was like a great\nhelpless something, filling the air and not wanting particularly to\nbe there. Surely It would much rather be light, with voices and three\nmeals, than the Dark, with nobody and no food. So I used to set out a\nlittle offering, and once my Grandmother Beers had caught me paying\ntribute.\n\n\u201cOnce something _did_ come and get it,\u201d I defended myself over my\nshoulder, and before she could say a word.\n\n\u201cLikely enough, likely enough, child,\u201d she assented, and did not chide\nme.\n\nNeither did she chide me when once she surprised me into mentioning the\nLittle Things, who had the use of my playthings when I was not there.\nIt was one dusk when she had come upon me setting my toy cupboard to\nrights, and had commended me. And I had explained that it was so the\nLittle Things could find the toys when they came, that night and every\nnight, to play with them. I remember that all she did was to squeeze my\nhand; but I felt that I was wholly understood.\n\nWhat child of us--of Us Who Were--will ever forget the joy of having\nan older one enter into our games? I used to sit in church and tell\noff the grown folk by this possibility in them--\u201cShe\u2019d play with\nyou--she wouldn\u2019t--she would--he would--they wouldn\u2019t\u201d--an ancient\ndeclension of the human race, perfectly recognized by children, but\nnever given its proper due.... I shall never forget the out-door romps\nwith my Father, when he stooped, with his hands on his knees, and then\nran _at_ me; or when he held me while I walked the picket fence; or\nset me in the Eating Apple tree; nor can I forget the delight of the\nplay-house that he built for me, _with a shelf around_.... And always I\nshall remember, too, how my Mother would play \u201cLost.\u201d We used to curl\non the sofa, taking with us some small store of fruit and cookies,\nwrap up in blankets and shawls, put up an umbrella--possibly two of\nthem--and there we were, lost in the deep woods. We had been crossing\nthe forest--night had overtaken us--we had climbed in a thick-leaved\ntree--it was raining--the woods were infested by bears and wolves--we\nhad a little food, possibly enough to stave off starvation till\ndaylight. Then came by the beasts of the forest, wonderful, human\nbeasts, who passed at the foot of our tree, and with whom we talked\nlong and friendly--and differently for each one--and ended by sharing\nwith them our food. We scraped acquaintance with birds in neighbouring\nnests, the stars were only across a street of sky, the Dark did its\npart by hiding us. Sometimes, yet, when I see a fat, idle sofa in, say,\nan hotel corridor, I cannot help thinking as I pass: \u201cWhat a wonderful\nplace to play Lost.\u201d I daresay that some day I shall put up my umbrella\nand sit down and play it.\n\nWell--Grandmother Beers was one who knew how to play with us, and I was\nalways half expecting her to propose a new game. But that day, as she\nsat in the swing, her eyes were not twinkling at the corners.\n\n\u201cWhat does it mean?\u201d she asked us. \u201cWhat does \u2018wicked\u2019 mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s what you aren\u2019t to be,\u201d I took the brunt of the reply, because I\nwas the relative of the questioner.\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d asked Grandmother.\n\nWhy not? Oh, we all knew that. We responded instantly, and out came\nthe results of the training of all the families.\n\n\u201cBecause your mother and father say you can\u2019t,\u201d said Betty Rodman.\n\n\u201cBecause it makes your mother feel bad,\u201d said Calista.\n\n\u201cBecause God don\u2019t want us to,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cDelia says,\u201d Betty added, \u201cit\u2019s because, if you are, when you grow up\npeople won\u2019t think anything of you.\u201d\n\nGrandmother Beers held her sweet-peas to her face.\n\n\u201cIf,\u201d she said after a moment, \u201cyou wanted to do something wicked more\nthan you ever wanted to do anything in the world--as much as you\u2019d want\na drink to-morrow if you hadn\u2019t had one to-day--and if nobody ever\nknew--would any of those reasons keep you from doing it?\u201d\n\nWe consulted one another\u2019s look, and shifted. We knew how thirsty that\nwould be. Already we were thirsty, in thinking about it.\n\n\u201cIf I were in your places,\u201d Grandmother said, \u201cI\u2019m not sure those\nreasons would keep me. I rather think they wouldn\u2019t,--always.\u201d\n\nWe stared at her. It was true that they didn\u2019t always keep us. Were\nnot two of us \u201cin our rooms\u201d even now?\n\nGrandmother leaned forward--I know how the shadows of the apple leaves\nfell on her black lace cap and how the pink sweet-peas were reflected\nin her delicate face.\n\n\u201cSuppose,\u201d she said, \u201cthat instead of any of those reasons, somebody\ngave you this reason: That the earth is a great flower--a flower that\nhas never _really_ blossomed yet. And that when it blossoms, life is\ngoing to be more beautiful than we have ever dreamed, or than fairy\nstories have ever pretended. And suppose our doing one way, and not\nanother, makes the flower come a little nearer to blossoming. But our\ndoing the other way puts back the time when it can blossom. _Then_\nwhich would you want to do?\u201d\n\nOh, make it grow, make it grow, we all cried--and I felt a secret\nrelief: Grandmother was playing a game with us, after all.\n\n\u201cAnd suppose that everything made a difference to it,\u201d she went on,\n\u201cevery little thing--from telling a lie, on down to going to get a\ndrink for somebody and drinking first yourself out in the kitchen.\nSuppose that everything made a difference, from hurting somebody on\npurpose, down to making up the bed and pulling the bed-spread tight so\nthat the wrinkles in the blanket won\u2019t show....\u201d\n\nAt this we looked at one another in some consternation. How did\nGrandmother know....\n\n\u201cUntil after a while,\u201d she said, \u201cyou should find out that\neverything--loving, going to school, playing, working, bathing,\nsleeping, were all just to make this flower grow. Wouldn\u2019t it be fun to\nhelp?\u201d\n\nYes. Oh, yes, we were all agreed about that. It would be great fun to\nhelp.\n\n\u201cWell, then suppose,\u201d said Grandmother, \u201cthat as you helped, you found\nout something else: That in each of you, say, where your heart is, or\nwhere your breath is, there was a flower trying to blossom too! And\nthat only as you helped the earth flower to blossom could your flower\nblossom. And that your doing one way would make your flower droop its\nhead and grow dark and shrivel up. But your doing the other way would\nmake it grow, and turn beautiful colours--so that bye and bye every one\nof your bodies would be just a sheath for this flower. Which way _then_\nwould you rather do?\u201d\n\nOh, make it grow, make it grow, we said again.\n\nAnd Mary Elizabeth added longingly:--\n\n\u201cWouldn\u2019t it be fun if it was true?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true,\u201d said Grandmother Beers.\n\nShe sat there, softly smiling over her pink sweet-peas. We looked at\nher silently. Then I remembered that her face had always seemed to me\nto be somehow _light within_. Maybe it was her flower showing through!\n\n\u201cGrandmother!\u201d I cried, \u201cis it true--is it true?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true,\u201d she repeated. \u201cAnd whether the earth flower and other\npeople\u2019s flowers and your flower are to bloom or not is what living is\nabout. And everything makes a difference. Isn\u2019t that a good reason for\nnot being \u2018wicked\u2019?\u201d\n\nWe all looked up in her face, something in us leaping and answering to\nwhat she said. And I know that we understood.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d Mary Elizabeth whispered presently to Betty, \u201churry home and tell\nMargaret Amelia. It\u2019ll make it so much easier when she comes out to her\nsupper.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat night, on the porch alone with Mother and Father, I inquired into\nsomething that still was not clear.\n\n\u201cBut how can you _tell_ which things are wicked? And which ones are\nwrong and which things are right?\u201d\n\nFather put out his hand and touched my hand. He was looking at me with\na look that I knew--and his smile for me is like no other smile that I\nhave ever known.\n\n\u201cSomething will tell you,\u201d he said, \u201calways.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlways?\u201d I doubted.\n\n\u201cAlways,\u201d he said. \u201cThere will be other voices. But if you listen,\nsomething will tell you always. And it is all you need.\u201d\n\nI looked at Mother. And by her nod and her quiet look I perceived that\nall this had been known about for a long time.\n\n\u201cThat is why Grandma Bard is coming to live with us,\u201d she said, \u201cnot\njust because we wanted her, but because--_that_ said so.\u201d\n\nIn us all a flower--and something saying something! And the earth\nflower trying to blossom.... I looked down the street: At Mr. Branchett\nwalking in his garden, at the lights shining from windows, at the\nfolk sauntering on the sidewalk, and toward town where the band\nwas playing. We all knew about this together then. _This_ was why\neverything was! And there were years and years to make it come true.\n\nWhat if I, alone among them all, had never found out?\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nKING\n\n\nThere was a certain white sugar bear and a red candy strawberry which\nwe had been charged not to eat, because the strawberry was a nameless\nscarlet and the bear, left from Christmas, was a very soiled bear. We\nhad all looked at these two things longingly, had even on occasion\nnibbled them a bit. There came a day when I crept under my bed and ate\nthem both.\n\nIt was a bed with slats. In the slat immediately above my head there\nwas a knot-hole. Knot-hole, slat, the pattern of the ticking on the\nmattress, all remain graven on the moment. It was the first time that\nI had actually been conscious of--indeed, had almost _heard_--the\nfighting going on within me.\n\nSomething was saying: \u201cOh, eat it, eat it. What do you care? It won\u2019t\nkill you. It may not even make you sick. It is good. Eat it.\u201d\n\nAnd something else, something gentle, insistent, steady, kept saying\nover and over in exactly the same tone, and so that I did not know\nwhether the warning came from within or without:--\n\n\u201cIt must not be eaten. It must not be eaten. It must not be eaten.\u201d\n\nBut after a little, as I ate, this voice ceased.\n\nNobody knew that I had eaten the forbidden bear and strawberry.\nGrandmother Beers squeezed my hand just the same. Mother was as tender\nas always. And Father--his kind eyes and some little jest with me were\nalmost more than I could bear. I remember spending the evening near\nthem, with something sore about the whole time. From the moment that it\nbegan to get dark the presence of bear and strawberry came and fastened\nthemselves upon me, so that I delayed bed-going even more than usual,\nand interminably prolonged undressing.\n\nThen there came the moment when Mother sat beside me.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t ask God for anything,\u201d she always said to me. \u201cJust shut\nyour eyes and think of his lovingness being here, close, close,\nclose--breathing with you like your breath. Don\u2019t ask him for anything.\u201d\n\nBut that night I scrambled into bed.\n\n\u201cNot to-night, Mother,\u201d I said.\n\nShe never said anything when I said that. She kissed me and went away.\n\n_Then!_\n\nThere I was, face to face with it at last. What was it that had told me\nto eat the bear and the strawberry? What was it that had told me that\nthese must not be eaten? What had made me obey one and not the other?\nWho was it that spoke to me like that?\n\nI shut my eyes and thought of the voice that had told me to eat, and it\nfelt like the sore feeling in me and like the lump in my throat, and\nlike unhappiness.\n\nI thought of the other gentle voice that had spoken and had kept\nspeaking and at last had gone away--and suddenly, with my eyes shut, I\nwas thinking of something like lovingness, close, close, breathing with\nme like my breath.\n\nSo now I have made a story for that night. It is late, I know. But\nperhaps it is not too late.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOnce upon a time a beautiful present was given to a little boy named\nHazen. It was not a tent or a launch or a tree-top house or a pretend\naeroplane, but it was a little glass casket. And it was the most\nwonderful little casket of all the kinds of caskets that there are.\n\nFor in the casket was a little live thing, somewhat like a fairy and\nsomewhat like a spirit, and so beautiful that everyone wanted one too.\n\nNow the little fairy (that was like a spirit) was held fast in the\ncasket, which was tightly sealed. And when the casket was given to\nHazen, the Giver said:--\n\n\u201cHazen dear, until you get that little spirit free, you cannot be wise\nor really good or loved or beautiful. But after you get her free you\nshall be all four. And nobody can free her but you yourself, though you\nmay ask anybody and everybody to tell you how.\u201d\n\nNow Hazen\u2019s father was a king. And it chanced that while Hazen was yet\na little boy, the king of a neighbour country came and took Hazen\u2019s\nfather\u2019s kingdom, and killed all the court--for that was the way\nneighbour countries did in those days, not knowing that neighbours are\nnearly one\u2019s own family. They took little Hazen prisoner and carried\nhim to the conquering king\u2019s court, and they did it in such a hurry\nthat he had not time to take anything with him. All his belongings--his\ntops, his football, his books, and his bank, had to be left behind,\nand among the things that were left was Hazen\u2019s little glass casket,\nforgotten on a closet shelf, upstairs in the castle. And the castle\nwas shut up and left as it was, because the conquering king thought\nthat maybe he might like sometime to give to his little daughter,\nthe Princess Vista, this castle, which stood on the very summit of a\nsovereign mountain and commanded a great deal of the world.\n\nIn the court of the conquering king poor little Hazen grew up, and he\nwas not wise or _really_ good or loved or beautiful, and he forgot\nabout the casket or thought of it only as a dream, and he did not know\nthat he was a prince. He was a poor little furnace boy and kitchen-fire\nbuilder in the king\u2019s palace, and he slept in the basement and did\nnothing from morning till night but attend to drafts and dampers. He\ndid not see the king at all, and he had never even caught a glimpse of\nthe king\u2019s little daughter, the Princess Vista.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne morning before daylight Hazen was awakened by the alarm-in-a-basin\nat the head of his cot--for he was always so tired that just an alarm\nnever wakened him at all, but set in a brazen basin an alarm would\nwaken _anybody_. He dressed and hurried through the long, dim passages\nthat led to the kitchens, and there he kindled the fires and tended the\ndrafts and shovelled the coal that should cook the king\u2019s breakfast.\n\nSuddenly a Thought spoke to him. It said:--\n\n\u201cHazen, you are not wise, or _really_ good, or loved, or beautiful. Why\ndon\u2019t you become so?\u201d\n\n\u201cI,\u201d Hazen thought back sadly, \u201c_I_ become these things? Impossible!\u201d\nand he went on shovelling coal.\n\nBut still the Thought spoke to him, and said the same thing over and\nover so many times that at last he was obliged to listen and even to\nanswer.\n\n\u201cWhat would I do to be like that?\u201d he asked almost impatiently.\n\n\u201cFirst go up in the king\u2019s library,\u201d said the Thought.\n\nSo when the fires were roaring and the dampers were right, Hazen went\nsoftly up the stair and through the quiet lower rooms of the palace,\nfor it was very early in the morning, and no one was stirring. Hazen\nhad been so seldom above stairs that he did not even know where the\nlibrary was and by mistake he opened successively the doors to the\ngreat banquet room, the state drawing rooms, a morning room, and even\nthe king\u2019s audience chamber before at last he chanced on the door of\nthe library.\n\nThe king\u2019s library was a room as wide as a lawn and as high as a tree,\nand it was filled with books, and the shelves were thrown out to make\nalcoves, so that the books were as thick as leaves on branches, and the\nwhole room was pleasant, like something good to do. It was impossible\nfor little Hazen, furnace boy though he was, to be in that great place\nof books without taking one down. So he took at random a big leather\nbook with a picture on the cover, and he went toward a deep window-seat.\n\nNothing could have exceeded his surprise and terror when he perceived\nthe window-seat to be occupied. And nothing could have exceeded his\nwonder and delight when he saw who occupied it. She was a little girl\nof barely his own age, and her lovely waving hair fell over her soft\nblue gown from which her little blue slippers were peeping. She, too,\nhad a great book in her arms, and over the top of this she was looking\nstraight at Hazen in extreme disapproval.\n\n\u201cWill you have the goodness,\u201d she said--speaking very slowly and most\n_freezing_ cold--\u201cto \u2019splain what you are doing in my father\u2019s library?\u201d\n\nAt these words Hazen\u2019s little knees should have shaken, for he\nunderstood that this was the Princess Vista herself. But instead, he\nwas so possessed by the beauty and charm of the little princess that\nthere was no room for fear. Though he had never in his life been taught\nto bow, yet the blood of his father the king, and of _his_ father the\nking, and of _his_ father the king, and so on, over and over, stirred\nin him and he bowed like the prince he was-but-didn\u2019t-know-it.\n\n\u201cOh, princess,\u201d he said, \u201cI want to be wise and _really_ good and loved\nand beautiful, and I have come to the king\u2019s library to find out how to\ndo it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho are you, that want so many \u2019surd things?\u201d asked the princess,\ncuriously.\n\n\u201cI am the furnace boy,\u201d said the poor prince, \u201cand my other name is\nHazen.\u201d\n\nAt this the princess laughed aloud--for when he had bowed she had\nfancied that he might be at least the servant to some nobleman at the\ncourt, too poor to keep his foot-page in livery.\n\n\u201cThe furnace boy indeed!\u201d she cried. \u201cAnd handling my father\u2019s books.\nIf you had what you \u2019serve, you\u2019d be put in pwison.\u201d\n\nAt that Hazen bowed again very sadly, and was about to put back his\nbook when footsteps sounded in the hall, and nursery governesses and\nchamberlains and foot-pages and lackeys and many whose names are as\ndust came running down the stairs, all looking for the princess. And\nthe princess, who was not frightened, was suddenly sorry for little\nHazen, who was.\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d she said, \u201cyou bow so nicely that you may hide in that alcove\nand I will not tell them that you are there. But don\u2019t you come here\nto-morrow morning when I come to read my book, or I can\u2019t tell _what_\nwill happen.\u201d\n\nHazen had just time to slip in the alcove when all the nursery\ngovernesses, chamberlains, foot-pages, and those whose names are as\ndust burst in the room.\n\n\u201cI was just coming,\u201d said the princess, haughtily.\n\nBut when she was gone, Hazen, in his safe alcove, did not once look at\nhis big leather book. He did not even open it. Instead he sat staring\nat the floor, and thinking and thinking and thinking of the princess.\nAnd it was as if his mind were opened, and as if all the princess\nthoughts in the world were running in, one after another.\n\nPresently, when it was time for the palace to be awake, he stirred\nand rose and returned the book to its place, and in the midst of his\nprincess thoughts he found himself face to face with a great mirror.\nAnd there he saw that, not only was he not beautiful, but that his\ncheek and his clothes were all blackened from the coal. And then he\nthought that he would die of shame; first, because the princess had\nseen him looking so, and second, because he looked so, whether she had\nseen him or not.\n\nHe went back to the palace kitchen, and waited only to turn off the\nbiggest drafts and the longest dampers before he began to wash his\nface and give dainty care to his hands. In fact, he did this all day\nlong and sat up half the night trying to think how he could be as\nexquisitely neat as the little princess. And at last when daylight came\nand he had put coal in the kitchen ranges and had left the drafts right\nand had taken another bath after, he dressed himself in his poor best\nwhich he had most carefully brushed, and he ran straight back up the\nstair and into the king\u2019s library.\n\nThe Princess Vista was not there. But it was very, very early this time\nand the sun was still playing about outside, and so he set himself to\nwait, looking up at the window-seat where he had first seen her. As\nsoon as the sun began to slant in the latticed windows in earnest, the\ndoor opened and the princess entered, her waving hair falling on her\nblue gown, and the little blue slippers peeping.\n\nWhen she saw Hazen, she stood still and spoke most _freezing_ cold.\n\n\u201cDidn\u2019t I tell you on no \u2019count to come here this morning?\u201d she wished\nto know.\n\nGenerations of kings for ages back bowed in a body in little Hazen.\n\n\u201cDid your Highness not know that I would come?\u201d he asked simply.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the princess to that, and sat down on the window-seat. \u201cI\nwill punish you,\u201d said she, \u201cbut you bow so nicely that I will help you\nfirst. Why do you wish to be wise?\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought that I had another reason,\u201d said Hazen, \u201cbut it is because\nyou are wise.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not so very wise,\u201d said the princess, modestly. \u201cBut I could make\nyou as wise as I am,\u201d she suggested graciously. \u201cWhat do you want to\nknow?\u201d\n\nThere was so much that he wanted to know! Down in the dark furnace room\nhe had been forever wondering about the fires that he kindled, about\nthe light that he did not have, about everything. He threw out his arms.\n\n\u201cI want to know about the whole world!\u201d he cried.\n\nThe princess considered.\n\n\u201cPerhaps they haven\u2019t teached me everything yet,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat do\nyou want to know about the world?\u201d\n\nHazen looked out the window and across the palace garden, lying all\ngolden-green in the slow opening light, with fountains and flowers and\nparks and goldfish everywhere.\n\n\u201cWhat makes it get day?\u201d he asked. For since he had been a furnace boy,\nHazen had been taught nothing at all.\n\n\u201cWhy, the sun comes,\u201d answered the princess.\n\n\u201cIs it the same sun every day?\u201d Hazen asked.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d said the princess. \u201cNo--sometimes it is a red sun.\nSometimes it is a hot sun. Sometimes it is big, big, when it goes\ndown. Oh, no. I am quite sure a different sun comes up every day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere do they get \u2019em all?\u201d Hazen asked wonderingly.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d the princess said thoughtfully, \u201csuns must be like cwort (she\nnever could say \u201ccourt\u201d) processions. I think they always have them\nready somewheres. What else do you want to know about?\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout the Spring,\u201d said Hazen. \u201cWhere does that come from? Where do\nthey get it?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey never teached me that,\u201d said the princess, \u201cbut _I_ think Summer\nis the mother, and Winter the father, and Autumn is the noisy little\nboy, and Spring is the little girl, with violets on.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d cried Hazen, joyfully. \u201cI never thought of that. Why can\u2019t\nthey talk?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cThey \u2019most can,\u201d said the princess. \u201cSome day maybe I can teach you\nwhat they say. What else do you want to know?\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout people,\u201d said Hazen. \u201cWhy are some folks good and some folks\nbad? Why is the king kind and the cook cross?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, they never teached me that!\u201d the princess cried, impatiently.\n\u201cWhat a lot of things you ask!\u201d\n\n\u201cOne more question, your Highness,\u201d said Hazen, instantly. \u201cWhy are you\nso beautiful?\u201d\n\nThe princess smiled. \u201cNow I\u2019ll teach you my picture-book through,\u201d she\nsaid.\n\nShe opened the picture-book and showed him pictures of castles and\nbeasts and lawns and towers and ladies and mountains and bright birds\nand pillars and cataracts and wild white horses and, last, a picture of\na prince setting forth on a quest. \u201cPrince Living sets out to make his\nfortune,\u201d it said under the picture, and Hazen stared at it.\n\n\u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t I set out to make _my_ fortune?\u201d he cried.\n\nThe princess laughed.\n\n\u201cYou are a furnace boy,\u201d she explained. \u201c_They_ don\u2019t make fortunes.\nWho would mind the furnace if they did?\u201d\n\nHazen sprang to his feet.\n\n\u201cThat can\u2019t be the way the world is!\u201d he cried. \u201cNot when it\u2019s so\npretty and all stuck full of goldfish and fountains and flowers and\nparks. If I went, I _would_ make my fortune!\u201d\n\nThe princess crossed her little slippered feet and looked at him. And\nwhen he met her eyes, he was ashamed of his anger, though not of his\nearnestness, and he bowed again; and all the kings of all the courts of\nhis ancestors were in the bow.\n\n\u201cAfter all,\u201d said the princess, \u201cwe don\u2019t have the furnace in Summer.\nAnd you bow so nicely that I b\u2019lieve I will help you to make your\nfortune. _Anyhow_, I can help you to set out.\u201d\n\nHazen was in the greatest joy. The princess bade him wait where he was,\nand she ran away and found somewhere a cast-off page boy\u2019s dress and\na cap with a plume and a little silver horn and a wallet, with some\nbread. These she brought to Hazen just as footsteps sounded on the\nstairs, and nursery governesses and chamberlains and foot-pages and\nmany whose names are as dust came running pell-mell down the stairs,\nall looking for the princess.\n\n\u201cHide in that alcove,\u201d said the princess, \u201ctill I am gone. Then put on\nthis dress and go out at the east gate which no one can lock. And as\nyou go by the east wing, do not look up at my window or I will wave my\nhand and somebody may see you going. Now good-bye.\u201d\n\nBut at that Hazen was suddenly wretched.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t leave _you_!\u201d he said. \u201cHow can I leave _you_?\u201d\n\n\u201cPeople always leave people,\u201d said the princess, with superiority.\n\u201cPlay that\u2019s one of the things I teached you.\u201d\n\nAt this Hazen suddenly dropped on one knee--the kings, his fathers,\ndid that for him too--and kissed the princess\u2019s little hand. And as\nsuddenly she wished very much that she had something to give him.\n\n\u201cHere,\u201d she said, \u201chere\u2019s my picture-book. Take it with you and learn\nit through. _Now_ good-bye.\u201d\n\nAnd Hazen had just time to slip in the alcove when all the n. g.\u2019s,\nc.\u2019s, f. p.\u2019s, and l.\u2019s, whom there wasn\u2019t time to spell out, as well\nas all those whose names are now dust, burst in the room.\n\n\u201cI was just coming,\u201d said the princess, and went.\n\nHazen dressed himself in the foot-page\u2019s livery and fastened the\nwallet at one side and the little silver horn at the other, and put on\nthe cap with a plume; and he stole into the king\u2019s garden, with the\npicture-book of the princess fast in his hand.\n\nHe had not been in a garden since he had left his father\u2019s garden,\nwhich he could just remember, and to be outdoors now seemed as\nwonderful as bathing in the ocean, or standing on a high mountain,\nor seeing the dawn. He hastened along between the flowering shrubs\nand hollyhocks; he heard the fountains plashing and the song-sparrows\nsinging and the village bells faintly sounding; he saw the goldfish and\nthe water-lilies gleam in the pool and the horses cantering about the\npaddock. And all at once it seemed that the day was his, to do with\nwhat he would, and he felt as if already that were a kind of fortune in\nhis hand. So he hurried round the east wing of the palace and looked\nup eagerly toward the princess\u2019s window. And there stood the Princess\nVista, watching, with her hair partly brushed.\n\nWhen she saw him, she leaned far out.\n\n\u201cI told you not to look,\u201d she said. \u201cSomebody will see you going.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care if anyone does,\u201d cried Hazen. \u201cI _had_ to!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow fine you look now,\u201d the princess could not help saying.\n\n\u201cYou are beautiful as the whole picture-book!\u201d he could not help saying\nback.\n\n\u201c_Now_, good-bye!\u201d she called softly, and waved her hand.\n\n\u201cGood-bye--oh, good-bye!\u201d he cried, and waved his plumed cap.\n\nAnd then he left her, looking after him with her hair partly brushed,\nand he ran out the east gate which was never locked, and fared as fast\nas he could along the king\u2019s highway, in all haste to grow wise and\n_really_ good and loved and beautiful.\n\nHazen went a day\u2019s journey in the dust of the highway, and toward\nnightfall he came to a deep wood. To him the wood seemed like a great\nhospitable house, with open doors between the trees and many rooms\nthrough which he might wander at will, the whole fair in the light of\nthe setting sun. And he entered the gloom as he might have entered a\npalace, expecting to meet someone.\n\nImmediately he was aware of an old man seated under a plane tree, and\nthe old man addressed him with:--\n\n\u201cGood even, little lad. Do you travel far?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot very, sir,\u201d Hazen replied. \u201cI am only going to find my fortune and\nto become wise, _really_ good, beautiful, and loved.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo!\u201d said the old man. \u201cRest here a little and let us talk about it.\u201d\n\nHazen sat beside him and they talked about it. Now, I wish very much\nthat I might tell you all that they said, but the old man was so old\nand wise that his thoughts came chiefly as pictures, or in other form\nwithout words, so that it was not so much what he said that held his\nmeaning as what he made Hazen feel by merely being with him. Indeed, I\ndo not know whether he talked about the stars or the earth or the ways\nof men, but he made little Hazen somehow know fascinating things about\nthem all. And when time had passed and the dusk was nearly upon them,\nthe old man lightly touched Hazen\u2019s forehead:--\n\n\u201cLittle lad,\u201d he said, \u201chave you ever looked in there?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my own head?\u201d said Hazen, staring.\n\n\u201cEven so,\u201d said the old man. \u201cNo? But that might well be a pleasant\nthing to do. Will you not do that, for a little while?\u201d\n\nThis was the strangest thing that ever Hazen had heard. But next\nmoment, under the old man\u2019s guidance, he found himself, as it were,\nturned about and seeing things that he had never seen, and looking\nback into his own head as if there were a window that way. And he did\nit with no great surprise, for it seemed quite natural to him, and he\nwondered why he had never done it before.\n\nOf the actual construction of things in there Hazen was not more\nconscious than he would have been of the bricks and mortar of a palace\nfilled with wonderful music and voices and with all sorts of surprises.\nHere there were both surprises and voices. For instantly he could see\na company of little people, _every one of whom looked almost like\nhimself_. And it was as it is when one stands between two mirrors set\nopposite, and the reflections reflect the reflections until one is\ndizzy; only now it was as if all the reflections were suddenly to be\nfree of the mirror and be little living selves, ready to say different\nthings.\n\nOne little Self had just made a small opening in things, and several\nSelves were peering into it. Hazen looked too, and he saw to his\namazement that it was a kind of picture of his plans for making his\nfortune. There were cities, seas, ships, men, forests, water-falls,\nleaping animals, glittering things, all the adventures that he had\nbeen imagining. And the Selves were talking it over.\n\n\u201cConsider the work it will be,\u201d one was distinctly grumbling, \u201cbefore\nwe can get anything. _Is_ it worth it?\u201d\n\nHe was a discouraged, discontented-looking Self, and though he had\nHazen\u2019s mouth, it was drooping, and though he had Hazen\u2019s forehead, it\nwas frowning.\n\nA breezy little Self, all merry and fluffy and light as lace,\nanswered:--\n\n\u201cO-o-o-o!\u201d it breathed. \u201cI think it will be fun. That\u2019s all I care\nabout it--it will be fun and _nothing else_.\u201d\n\nThen a strange, fascinating Self, from whom Hazen could not easily look\naway, spoke, half singing.\n\n\u201cRemember the beauty that we shall see as we go--as we go,\u201d he chanted.\n\u201cWe can live for the beauty everywhere and for _nothing else_.\u201d\n\n\u201cThink of the things we shall learn!\u201d cried another Self.\n\u201cKnowledge--knowledge all the way--and _nothing else_.\u201d\n\nThen a soft voice spoke, which was sweeter than any voice that Hazen\nhad ever heard, and the Self to whom it belonged looked like Hazen\nwhen he was asleep.\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d it said sighing, \u201cthere are many dangers. But to meet dangers\nbravely and to overcome them finely is the way to grow strong.\u201d\n\nAt this a little voice laughed and cracked as it laughed, so that it\nsounded like something being broken which could never be mended.\n\n\u201cBeing strong and wise don\u2019t mean making one\u2019s fortune,\u201d it said. \u201cJust\none thing means fortune, and that is being rich. To be rich--rich!\nThat\u2019s what we want and it is all we want. And I am ready to fight with\neveryone of you to get riches.\u201d\n\nHazen looked where the voice sounded, and to his horror he saw a little\nSelf made in his own image, but hideously bent and distorted, so that\nhe knew exactly how he would look if he were a dwarf.\n\n\u201cNot me!\u201d cried the breezy little Fun Self then. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t fight\nme!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I would,\u201d said the dwarf. \u201cI\u2019d fight everybody, and when we were\nrich, you\u2019d thank me for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, no,\u201d said the Knowledge Self. \u201cI am the only proper ruler in this\nfortune affair. Knowledge is enough for us to have. Knowledge is what\nwe want.\u201d\n\n\u201cBeauty is all you need!\u201d cried the fascinating Beauty Self. \u201cI am the\none who should rule you all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, rich, rich, rich! Do I not say so? Will not riches bring beauty\nand fun and leisure for knowledge?\u201d said the dwarf. \u201cRiches do it all.\nDo as I say. Take me for your guide.\u201d\n\n\u201cStrength is the thing!\u201d said a great voice, suddenly. \u201cWe want to be\nbig and strong and _nothing else_. I am going to rule in this.\u201d And the\nvoice of the Strong Self seemed to be everywhere.\n\n\u201cNot without me ... not without me!\u201d said the Wise Self. But it spoke\nfaintly, and could hardly be heard in the clamour of all the others who\nnow all began talking at once, with the little Fun Self dancing among\nthem and crying, \u201cI\u2019m the one--you all want me to rule, _really_, but\nyou don\u2019t know it.\u201d\n\nAnd suddenly, in the midst of all this, Hazen began to see strange\nlittle shadows appearing and lurking about, somewhat slyly, and often\nrunning away, but always coming back. They were tiny and faintly\noutlined--less like reflections in a mirror than like reflections\nwhich had not yet found a mirror for their home. And they spoke in thin\nlittle voices which Hazen could hear, and said:--\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll help you, Rich! We\u2019ll help you, Strength! We\u2019ll help you, Fun!\nOnly let us be one of you and we\u2019ll help you win, and you shall reign.\nHere are Envy Self and Lying Self and Hate Self and Cruel Self--we\u2019ll\nhelp, if you\u2019ll let us in!\u201d\n\nAnd when he heard this, Hazen suddenly called out, with all his might:--\n\n\u201cStop!\u201d he cried, \u201cI\u2019m the ruler here! I\u2019m Hazen!\u201d\n\nAnd of course he was the ruler--because it was the inside of his own\nhead.\n\nInstantly there was complete silence there, as when a bell is suddenly\nstruck in the midst of whisperings. And all the Selves shrank back.\n\n\u201cHazen!\u201d they said, \u201cwe didn\u2019t know you were listening. You be king.\nWe\u2019ll help--we\u2019ll help.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs long as I live,\u201d said little Hazen then, \u201cnot one of you shall rule\nin here without me. I shall want many of you to help me, but only as\nmuch as I tell you to, and no more. I\u2019m only a furnace boy, but I tell\nyou that I am king of the inside of my own head, and I\u2019m going to rule\nhere and nobody else!\u201d\n\nThen, nearer than any of the rest--and he could not tell just where it\ncame from, but he knew how near it was--another voice spoke to him. And\nsomewhat it was like the Thought that had spoken to him in the king\u2019s\nkitchen and bidden him go up to the king\u2019s library--but yet it was\nnearer than that had been.\n\n\u201cBravely done, Hazen,\u201d it said. \u201cBe king--be king, even as you have\nsaid!\u201d\n\nWith the voice came everywhere sweet music, sounding all about Hazen\nand in him and through him; and everywhere was air of dreams--he\ncould hardly tell whether he was watching these or was really among\nthem. There were sweet voices, dim figures, gestures of dancing,\nsoft colours, lights, wavy, wonderful lines, little stars suddenly\nappearing, flowers, kindly faces, and then one face--the exquisite,\nwatching face of the Princess Vista at the window, with her hair partly\nbrushed ... and then darkness....\n\n... When he woke, it was early morning. The sun was pricking through\nthe leaves of the forest, the birds were singing so sweetly and\nswiftly that it was as if their notes overlapped and made one sound on\nwhich everything was threaded like curious and beautiful beads on a\nsilver cord. The old man was gone; and before Hazen, the way, empty and\ngreen, led on with promise of surprise.\n\nAnd now as he went forward, eating his bread and gathering berries,\nHazen had never felt so able to make his future. It was as if he were\nnot one boy but many boys in one, and they all ready to do his bidding.\nSurely, he thought, his fortune must lie at the first turn of the path!\n\nBut at the first turn of the path he met a little lad no older than\nhimself, who was drawing a handcart filled with something covered, and\nhe was singing merrily.\n\n\u201cHello,\u201d said the Merry Lad. \u201cWhere are _you_ going?\u201d\n\n\u201cNowhere in particular,\u201d said Hazen. And though he had readily confided\nto the old man what he was hoping to find, someway Hazen felt that if\nhe told the Merry Lad, he would laugh at him. And that no one likes,\nthough it is never a thing to fear.\n\n\u201cCome on with me,\u201d said the Merry Lad. \u201cI am going in the town to sell\nmy images. There will be great sport.\u201d\n\nAnd, without stopping to think whether his fortune lay that way, Hazen,\nwhose blood leapt at the idea of the town and its sports, turned and\nwent with him.\n\nThe Merry Lad was very merry. He told Hazen more games and riddles\nthan ever he had heard. He sang him songs, did little dances for him\nin the open glades, raced with him, and when they reached the dusty\nhighway, got him in happy talk with the other wayfarers. And by the\ntime they gained the town, they were a gay little company. There the\nMerry Lad took his images to the market-place and spread them under a\ntree--little figures made to represent Mirth, Merriment, Laughter, Fun,\nFellowship, and Delight--no end there was to the variety and charm of\nthe little images, and no end to all that the Merry Lad did to attract\nthe people to them. He sang and danced and whistled and even stood on\nhis head, and everyone crowded about him and was charmed.\n\n\u201cPass my cap about,\u201d he said, while he danced, to Hazen. \u201cThey will\ngive us money.\u201d\n\nSo Hazen passed the Merry Lad\u2019s cap, and the people gave them money.\nThey filled the cap, indeed, with clinking coins, and went away\ncarrying the images. And by nightfall the Merry Lad and Hazen had more\nmoney than they knew how to use.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d the Merry Lad cried, \u201cwe shall have a glorious time. Come!\u201d\n\nNow Hazen had never been in the town at night, and he had never been\nin any town at any time without some of the king\u2019s servants for whom\nhe had had to fetch and carry. To him the streets were strange and\nwonderful, blazing with lights, filled with gayly dressed folk, and\nsounding now and again to strains of music. But the Merry Lad seemed\nwholly at home, and he went here and there like a painted moth,\nbelonging to the night and a part of it. They feasted and jested and\njoyed, and most of all they spent the money that they had earned, and\nthey spent it on themselves. I cannot tell you the things that they\nbought. They bought a wonderful, tropical, talking bird; they bought a\nlittle pony on which they both could ride, with the bird on the pony\u2019s\nneck; they bought a tiny trick monkey and a suit of Indian clothes with\nfringed leggings and head-feathers; and a music-box that played like\na whole band. And when the evening with its lights and pantomimes was\nover, they pitched their tent on the edge of the town, picketed the\npony outside, brought the other things safely within, and lay down to\nsleep.\n\nNow, since they had no pillows, Hazen took the picture-book which\nthe princess had given him and made his pillow of that. And as soon\nas everything was quiet, and the Merry Lad and the talking bird\nwere asleep and the pony was dozing at its picket, the princess\u2019s\npicture-book began to talk to Hazen. I do not mean that it said\nwords--it is a great mistake to think that everything that is said must\nbe said in words--but it talked to him none the less, and better than\nwith words. It showed him the princess in her blue gown sitting in the\nwindow-seat with her little blue slippers crossed. It showed him her\nface as she taught him about the sun and the world, and taught him\nher picture-book through. It reminded him that his page-boy\u2019s dress\nwas worn because, in his heart, he was her page. It brought back the\npicture of her standing at the window, with her hair partly brushed,\nto wave him a good-bye--\u201c_Now_, good-bye,\u201d he could hear her little\nvoice. He remembered now that he had started out to find his fortune\nand to become wise, _really_ good, loved, and beautiful. And lo, all\nthis that he had done all day with the Merry Lad--was it helping him to\nany of these?\n\nAs soon as he knew this, he rose softly and, emptying his pockets of\nhis share of the money earned that day, he laid it near the Merry Lad\u2019s\npillow, took the picture-book, and slipped away.\n\nThe Merry Lad did not wake, but the talking bird stirred on his perch\nand called after him: \u201cStay where you are! Stay where you are!\u201d And\nthe words seemed to echo in Hazen\u2019s head and were repeated there as if\nanother voice had said them, and while he hesitated at the door of the\ntent, he knew what that other voice was: It was within his head indeed,\nand it was the voice of that breezy little Self, all merry and fluffy\nand light as lace--the Fun Self itself!\n\nAnd then he knew that all day long that was the voice that he had been\nobeying when he went with the Merry Lad, and all day long that Self had\nbeen guiding him, and had been his ruler. And he himself had not been\nking of the Selves at all!\n\nHazen slipped out into the night and ran as fast as he could. Nearly\nall that night he travelled without stopping, lest when day came the\nMerry Lad should overtake him. And when day did come, Hazen found\nhimself far away, and passing the gate of a garden where, in the dawn,\na youth was walking, reading a book. Him Hazen asked if he might come\nin the garden and rest for a little.\n\nThis Bookman, who was pleasant and gentle and seemed half dreaming,\nwelcomed him in, and gave him fruit to eat, and Hazen fell asleep in\nthe arbour. When he awoke, the Bookman sat beside him, still reading,\nand seeing that the boy was awake, he began reading to him.\n\nHe read a wonderful story about the elements of which everything\nin the world is made. He read that they are a great family of more\nthan seventy, and so magically arranged that they make a music, done\nin octaves like the white keys of a piano. So that a man, if he is\nskilful, can play with these octaves as he might with octaves of sound,\nand with a thousand variations can make what he will, and almost play\nfor himself a strain of the heavenly harmony in which things began. You\nsee what wonderful music that would be? Hazen saw, and he could not\nlisten enough.\n\nUntil dark he was in the garden, eating fruit and listening; and the\nBookman, seeing how he loved to listen, asked him if he would not stay\non in the garden, and live there awhile. And without stopping to think\nwhether his fortune lay that way, Hazen said that he would stay.\n\nEverything that the Bookman read to him was like magic, and it taught\nHazen to do wonderful things. For example, he learned marvellous ways\nwith sentences and with words. The Bookman showed him how to get inside\nof words, as if they had doors, so that Hazen could look from out the\nwords that were spoken almost as if they had been little boxes, and he\ninside. The Bookman showed him how to look behind the words on a page\nand to see how different they seemed that way. He would say a sentence,\nand instantly it would become solid, and he would set it up, and Hazen\ncould hang to it, or turn upon it like a turning-bar. It was all great\nsport. For sentences were not the only things with which he could\njuggle. He showed Hazen how to think a thing and have _that_ become\nsolid in the air, too. Just as one might think, \u201cNow I will plant my\ngarden,\u201d and presently there the garden is, solid; or, \u201cNow I will get\nmy lesson,\u201d and presently, sure enough, there the lesson _is_, in one\u2019s\nhead, _so_ the Bookman taught Hazen to do with nearly all his thoughts,\nmaking many and many of them into actions or else into a solid, so that\nit could be handled as a garden can.\n\nAnd at last, one night, Hazen thought of the Princess Vista, hoping\nthat that thought would become solid too, and that the princess would\nbe there before him, for he wished very much to see her. But it did not\ndo so, and he asked the Bookman the reason.\n\n\u201cWhy does not my thought about the Princess Vista become solid, and the\nprincess be here beside me?\u201d he asked wistfully.\n\n\u201cSome thoughts take a very long time to become solid,\u201d said the\nBookman, gently, \u201cand sometimes we have to travel a long way to make\nthem so. If you think of the princess long and hard enough, I daresay\nthat you will go to her some day--and there she will be, solid.\u201d\n\nBut of course as soon as Hazen began thinking of the princess long and\nhard, he wanted, more than anything else in the world, to be doing\nsomething that should hasten the time of seeing her, which could not\nwell be until he had made his fortune. So thereupon he told the Bookman\nthat he must be leaving the garden.\n\n\u201cI knew that the day must come,\u201d said the Bookman, sadly. \u201c_Could_ you\nnot stay?\u201d\n\nAnd when he said that, Hazen wanted so very much to stay there in the\nenchantment of the place, that it seemed as if a voice in his own\nhead were echoing the words. And while he hesitated at the gate of\nthe garden, he knew what that other voice was! It was within his head\nindeed, and it was the voice of that strange, fascinating Self from\nwhich he had found that he could hardly look away--the Knowledge Self\nitself. And then he knew that all this time in this garden, it was\nthis voice that he had been obeying and it had been guiding him. He\nhimself had not been king of the Selves at all. So when he knew that,\nhe hesitated not a moment, for he saw that although the Bookman was\nfar finer than the Merry Lad, still neither must be king, but only he\nhimself must be king.\n\n\u201cAlas!\u201d he cried, as he left the garden, \u201cI am not nearer to making my\nfortune now than I was at the beginning!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nKING (_continued_)\n\n\nSo Hazen left the garden and the gentle Bookman, who was loath to let\nhim go, and hurried out into the world again.\n\nHe travelled now for many days, hearing often of far countries which\nheld what he sought, but never reaching any of them. Always he did what\ntasks came to his hand, for this seemed a good way toward fortune. But\nsometimes the Envy Self and the Discontented Self spoke loudly in his\nhead so that he thought that it was he himself who was speaking, and\nhe obeyed them, and stopped his work, and until the chance to finish\nit was lost, he did not know that it was these Selves who had made\nhim cease his task and lose his chance and be that much farther from\nfortune. For that was the way of all the Selves--they had a clever\nfashion of making Hazen think that their voices were his own voice, and\nsometimes he could hardly tell the difference.\n\nAt last, one night, he came to a hill, sloping gently as if something\nbeautiful were overflowing. Its trees looked laid upon the mellow\nwest beyond. The turf was like some Titan woman\u2019s embroidery, sheared\nand flowered. Hazen looked at it all, and at the great sky and the\nwelcoming distance, and before he knew whether it came as a thought or\nas a song, he had made a little rhyme:--\n\n    Do you wish you had a world of gold\n    With a turquoise roof on high,\n    And a coral east and a ruby west\n    And diamonds in the sky?\n\n    Do you wish there were little doors of air\n    That a child might open wide,\n    Where were emerald chairs and a tourmaline rug\n    And a moonstone moon beside?\n\n    Do you wish the lakes were silver plates\n    And the sea a sapphire dish?\n    What a wonderful, wonderful world it is--\n    For haven\u2019t you got your wish?\n\nHe liked to sing this, and he loved the hill and the evening. He lay\nthere a long time, making little rhymes and loving everything. Next\nday he wandered away in the woods, and asked for food at a hut, and\noffered the bewildered woman a rhyme in payment, and at night he\nreturned to his hill, and there he lived for days, playing that he\nwas living all alone in the world--that there was not another person\nanywhere on the earth.\n\nBut one night when he was lying on the hillside, composing a song to\nthe Littlest Leaf in the Wood, suddenly the voice of his song was not\nso loud as a voice within him which seemed to say how much he delighted\nto be singing. And then he knew the voice--that it was the voice of the\nBeauty Self in his own head, that it was that voice that had made him\nlinger on the hillside and had commanded him to sing about the beauty\nin the world _and to do nothing else_. And all this time it had been\nking of the Selves, and not he!\n\nHe rose and fled down the hillside, and for days he wandered alone,\nsick at heart because this fair Beauty Self had tricked him into\nfollowing her _and no other_, even as the Fun Self and the Knowledge\nSelf had done. But even while he wandered, grieving, again and again\nthe Idle Self, the Strong Self, the Discontented Self, deceived him\nfor a little while and succeeded in making their own voices heard, and\nnow and again the little shadowy Selves--the Malice and Cruel and Envy\nSelves drew very near him and tried to speak for him. And they all\nfought to keep him from being king and to deceive him into thinking\nthat they spoke for him.\n\nOne brooding noonday, as Hazen was travelling, alone and tired, on the\nhighroad, a carriage overtook him, and the gentleman within, looking\nsharply at him, ordered the carriage stopped, and asked him courteously\nif he was not the poet whose songs he had sometimes heard, and of whose\nknowledge and good-fellowship others had told him. It proved that it\nwas no other than Hazen whom he meant, and he took him with him in\nhis carriage to a great, wonderful house overlooking the valley, and\ncommanding a sovereign mountain on whose very summit stood a deserted\ncastle. It seemed as if merely looking on that wonderful prospect would\nhelp one to be wise and _really_ good and beautiful and worthy to be\nloved.\n\nAt once Hazen\u2019s host, the Gentleman of the Carriage, began showing\nhim his treasures and all that made life for him. The house was\nfilled with curious and beautiful things, pictures, ivories, marbles,\nand tapestries, and with many friends. In the evenings there were\nalways festivities; mirth and laughter were everywhere, and Hazen\nwas laden with gifts of these and other things, and delighted in the\nentertainment. But by day, in a high-ceiled library and a cool study,\nthe two spent hours pouring over letters and science, finding out\nthe secrets of the world, getting on the other side of words, saying\nsentences, and thinking thoughts that became solid; or they would\nwander on the hillsides and carry rare books and dream of the beauty in\nthe world and weave little songs. Now they would be idle, now absorbed\nin feats of strength, and now they would descend into the town and\nthere delight in its great sport. And in all this Hazen had some part\nand earned his own way, because of his cleverness and willingness to\nenter in the life and belong to it.\n\nOne day, standing on a balcony of the beautiful house, looking across\nat the mountain and the deserted castle, Hazen said aloud:--\n\n\u201cThis is the true life. This is fortune. For now I hear all the voices\nof all my Selves, and I give good things to each, and I am king of\nthem all!\u201d\n\nBut even as he spoke he heard another voice sounding within his own,\nand it laughed, and cracked as it laughed, so that it sounded like\nsomething being broken that could never be mended.\n\n\u201cI told you so, Hazen! I told you so!\u201d it cried. \u201cBeing loved and\n_really_ good do not mean making our fortune. Just one thing means\nfortune, and that is being rich. To be rich, _rich_, means good times\nand learning and beauty and idleness. I\u2019ve fought every one of the\nothers, and now you\u2019ve got all that they had to offer, because you have\nlet me be king--_me and no other_.\u201d\n\nTo his horror, Hazen recognized the voice of the dwarf, the Riches\nSelf, and knew that he was deceived again, that he himself was ruler of\nnothing, and that the dwarf was now king of all his Selves.\n\nWhen he realized this, it seemed to Hazen that his heart was pierced\nand that he could not live any longer. Suppose--ah, suppose that he did\nget back to the Princess Vista now--what had he to take to her? Could\nhe give her himself--a Self of which not he but the dwarf was the\nowner?\n\nSomehow, in spite of their protestations and persuadings, Hazen said\ngood-bye to them all, to his host and to those who had detained him,\nand he was off down into the valley alone--not knowing where he was\ngoing or what he was going to do, or what hope now remained that he\nshould ever be any nearer the fortune for which he had so hopefully set\nout.\n\nIt was bright moonlight when he came to the edge of a fair, green,\nvalley meadow. The whiteness was flooding the world, as if it would\nwash away everything that had ever been and would begin it all over\nagain. And in the centre of the meadow, all the brightness seemed to\ngather and thicken and glitter, as if something mysterious were there.\nIt drew Hazen to itself, as if it were so pure that it must be what\nhe was seeking, and he broke through the hedge and stepped among the\nflowers of the lush grass, and he stood before it.\n\nIt was a fountain of water, greater than any fountain that Hazen had\never seen or conceived. It rose from the green in pure strands of\nexquisite firmness, in almost the slim lines and spirals of a stair;\nand its high, curving spray and its plash and murmur made it rather\nlike a gigantic white tree, with music in its boughs--the tree of life\nitself.\n\nHazen could no more have helped leaping in the fountain than he could\nhave helped his joy in its beauty. He sprang in the soft waters as\nif he were springing into arms, and it drew him to itself as if he\nbelonged to it. The waters flowed over him, and he felt purified, and\nas if a healing light had shone through him, body and mind.\n\nBut to his amazement, he did not remain in the fountain\u2019s basin.\nGently, as if he were upborne by unseen hands, he mounted with the rise\nof the fountain, in its slim lines and spirals, until he found himself\nhigh above the meadow in a silvery tower that was thrown out from the\nfountain itself. And there, alone in that lofty silence, it was as if\nhe were face to face with himself and could see his own heart.\n\nThen the Thought spoke to him which had spoken to him long ago that\nmorning in the king\u2019s kitchen, and again on that first night in the\nwood.\n\n\u201cHazen!\u201d it said, \u201cyou are not wise or _really_ good or loved or\nbeautiful. Why don\u2019t you become so?\u201d\n\n\u201cI!\u201d said Hazen, sadly. \u201cI have lost my chance. I came out to find my\nfortune and I have thrown it away.\u201d\n\nBut still the Thought spoke to him, and said the same thing over and\nover so many times that at last he answered:--\n\n\u201cWhat, then, must I do?\u201d he asked.\n\nAnd then he listened, there in the night and the stillness, to hear\nwhat it was that he must do. And this was the first time that ever he\nhad listened like this, or questioned carefully his course. Always\nbefore he had done what seemed to him the thing that he wished to do,\nwithout questioning whether his fortune lay that way.\n\n\u201cBravely spoken, Hazen,\u201d said the Thought, then. \u201cSomeone near is in\ngreat need. Find him and help him.\u201d\n\nInstantly Hazen leaped lightly to the ground, and ran away through\nthe moonlit meadow, and he sought as never in his life had he sought\nanything before, for the one near, in great need, whom he was to find\nand help. All through the night he sought, and with the setting of\nthe moon he was struggling up the mountain, because it seemed to him\nthat he must do some hard thing, and this was hard. In the early dawn\nhe stood on the mountain\u2019s very summit, and knocked at the gate of the\ndeserted castle there. And it was the forsaken castle of his father,\nthe king, whom the Princess Vista\u2019s father had conquered; but this\nHazen did not know.\n\nNo sound answered his summons, so he swung the heavy gate on its broken\nhinges and stepped within. The court yard was vacant and echoing and\ngrass-grown. Rabbits scuttled away at his approach, and about the\nsightless eyes of the windows, bats were clinging and moving. The clock\nin the tower was still and pointed to an hour long-spent. The whole\nplace breathed of things forgotten and of those who, having loved them,\nwere forgotten too.\n\nHazen mounted the broad, mossy steps leading to the portals, and he\nfound one door slightly ajar. Wondering greatly, he touched it open,\nand the groined hall appeared like a grim face from behind a mask.\nOn the stone floor, not far beyond the threshold, lay an old man,\nmotionless. And when, uttering a little cry of pity and amazement,\nHazen stooped over him, he knew him at once to be that old man who had\ngreeted him at the entrance to the wood on the evening of the day on\nwhich he himself had left the king\u2019s palace.\n\nWhat with bringing him water and bathing his face and chafing his\nhands, Hazen at last enabled the old man to speak, and found that he\nhad been nearly all his life-time the keeper of the castle and for\nsome years its only occupant. He was not ill, but he had fallen and\nwas hurt, and he had lain for several days without food. So Hazen, who\nknew well how to do it, kindled a fire of fagots in the great, echoing\ncastle kitchen, and, from the scanty store which he found there,\nprepared broth and eggs, and then helped the old man to his bed in the\nlittle room which had once been a king\u2019s cabinet.\n\n\u201cLad, lad!\u201d said the old man, when he had remembered Hazen. \u201cAnd\nhave you found your fortune? And are you by now wise, _really_ good,\nbeautiful, and loved?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas!\u201d said Hazen, only, and could say no more.\n\nThe old man nodded. \u201cI know, I know,\u201d he said sadly. \u201cThe little\nSelves have been about, ruling here and ruling there. Is it not so? Sit\nhere a little, and let us talk about it.\u201d\n\nThen Hazen told him all that had befallen since that night when they\nsat together in the wood. And though his adventures seemed to Hazen\nvery wonderful, the old man merely nodded, as if he were not hearing\nbut only remembering.\n\n\u201cAy,\u201d he said, at the last, \u201cI have met them all--the Merry Lad, the\nBookman, and all the rest, and have dwelt a space with some. And I,\ntoo, have come to the fountain in the night, and have asked what it was\nthat I should do.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut tell me, sir,\u201d said Hazen, eagerly, \u201chow was it that I was told at\nthe fountain that there was one near in great need. Did the fountain\nknow you? Or did my Thought? And how could that be?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, lad,\u201d said the old man, \u201cbut always, for everyone, there is\nsomeone near in need--yet. One has only to look.\u201d\n\nThen he talked to Hazen more about his fortune, and again the old man\u2019s\nmeaning was in his mere presence, so that whether he talked about the\nstars or the earth or the ways of men, he made Hazen know fascinating\nthings about them all. And now Hazen listened far differently from the\nway that he had listened that other time when they had talked, and it\nwas as if the words had grown, and as if they meant more than once they\nhad meant.\n\nNow, whoever has stood for the first time in a great, empty castle\nknows that there is one thing that he longs to do above all other\nthings, and this is to explore. And when the afternoon lay brooding\nupon the air, and slanting sun fell through the dusty lattices, Hazen\nasked the old man eagerly if he might wander through the rooms.\n\n\u201cAs freely,\u201d answered the old man, willingly, \u201cas if you were the\ncastle\u2019s prince.\u201d\n\nThus it chanced that, after all the years, Hazen, though he was far\nfrom dreaming the truth, was once more roaming through the rooms of his\nbirthplace and treading the floors that had once echoed the step of his\nfather, the king.\n\nIt was a wonderful place, the like of which Hazen thought he had never\nseen before, save only in the palace of the father of the princess.\nAbove stairs the rooms had hardly been disturbed since that old day of\nthe hurried flight of all his father\u2019s court. There was a great room\nof books, as rich in precious volumes as the king\u2019s library which he\nalready knew, and there, though this he could not guess, his own father\nhad been wont to sit late in the night, consulting learned writers and\ndreaming of the future of his little son. There was the chapel, where\nthey had brought Hazen himself to be christened, in the presence of all\nthe court; there the long banqueting room to which he had once been\ncarried so that the nobles might pledge him their fealty, the arched\nroof echoing their shouts. The throne room, the council room, the state\ndrawing rooms--through all these, with their dim, dusty hangings and\nrich, faded furnishings, Hazen footed; and at last, up another stair,\nhe came to the private apartments of the king and queen themselves.\n\nBreathing the life of another time the rooms lay, as if partly\nremembering and partly expecting. In the king\u2019s room was the hunting\nsuit that he had thrown off just before the attack, the book that he\nhad been reading, the chart that he had consulted. In the queen\u2019s\nroom were tarnished golden toilet articles and ornaments, and in her\nwardrobe her very robes hung, dusty and mouldering, the gold thread and\ngold fringes showing black and sad.\n\nAnd then Hazen entered a room which seemed to have been a child\u2019s\nroom--and it was his room, of his first babyhood. Something in him\nstirred and kindled, almost as if his body remembered, though his mind\ncould not do so. Toys lay scattered about--tops, a football, books, and\na bank. The pillow of the small white bed was indented as if from the\npressure of a little head, and a pair of tiny shoes, one upright, one\noverturned, were on the floor. Hazen picked up one little shoe and held\nit for a minute in his hand. He wondered if some of the little garments\nof the child, whoever he was, might not be in the hanging room. And he\nopened the closed door.\n\nThe door led to a closet and, as he had guessed, little garments were\nhanging there. But it was not these that caught his eye and held him\nbreathless and spellbound on the threshold. On the high shelf of the\ncloset stood a small glass casket. And in the casket was a little bit\nof live thing that fluttered piteously, as if begging to be released,\nand frantic with joy at the coming of light from without.\n\nHazen\u2019s heart beat as he took the casket in his hand. It was the most\nwonderful little box that ever he had seen. And the little living thing\nwas something like a fairy and something like a spirit and so beautiful\nthat it seemed to Hazen that he must have it for his own. Something\nstirred and kindled in his mind so that it was almost a memory, and he\nsaid to himself:--\n\n\u201cI have seen a casket like this. I have _had_ a casket like this. Nay,\nbut the very earliest thing that ever I can remember is a casket like\nthis from which no one knew how to release this little living spirit.\u201d\n\nFor the little spirit was fast in the crystal prison, and if one broke\nthe casket, one would almost certainly harm the spirit--but what other\nway was there to do?\n\nWith the casket in his hand and the little spirit fluttering within,\nHazen ran back below stairs to the old man.\n\n\u201cLook!\u201d Hazen cried. \u201cThis casket! It is from the closet shelf of some\nchild\u2019s room. I remember a casket such as this, and within it a little\nliving spirit. I have _had_ a casket such as this! What does it mean?\u201d\n\nThen the old man, who had been keeper there when the castle was taken,\ntrembled and peered into Hazen\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cWho are you?\u201d the old man cried. \u201cWho are you--and what is your name?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas,\u201d said Hazen, sadly, \u201cI was but the furnace boy to the king of a\nneighbouring country, and who I am I do not know. But as for my name,\nthat is Hazen, and I know not what else.\u201d\n\nThen the old man cried out, and tried to bow himself, and to kiss\nHazen\u2019s hand.\n\n\u201cPrince Hazen!\u201d cried he. \u201cYou are no other. Ah, God be praised. You\nare the son of my own beloved king.\u201d\n\nAs well as he could for his joy and agitation, the old man told Hazen\neverything: how the castle had been taken by that king of a neighbour\ncountry--who did _not_ know that neighbours are nearly one\u2019s own\nfamily--how Hazen had been made prisoner, and how he was really heir\nto this kingdom and to all its ample lands. And how the magic casket,\nwhich after all these years the old man now remembered, was to make\nHazen, and no other, wise and _really_ good and loved and beautiful,\nif only the little spirit could be freed.\n\n\u201cBut how am I to do that?\u201d Hazen cried. \u201cFor to break the casket would\nbe to harm the spirit. And what other way is there to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas,\u201d answered the old man, \u201cthat I do not know. I think that this\nyou must do alone. As for me, my life is almost spent. And now that I\nhave seen you, my prince, the son of my dear sovereign, there is left\nto me but to die in peace.\u201d\n\nAt this, Hazen, remembering how much he owed the wonderful old man for\nthat enchanted talk in the wood, when he had taught him fascinating\nthings about the stars and the earth and the ways of men, and had shown\nhim the inside of his own head and all those Selves of his and he their\nking if he would be so--remembering all these things Hazen longed to do\nsomething for him in return. But what could he do for him, he the heir\nof a conquered kingdom and a desolate palace? Yet the old man had been\nhis father\u2019s servant; and it was he whom the Thought at the fountain\nhad bidden him to help; but chiefly Hazen\u2019s heart overflowed with\nsimple pity and tenderness for the helpless one. And in that pity the\nThought spoke again:--\n\n\u201cGive him the casket,\u201d it said.\n\nHazen hesitated--and in an instant his head was a chaos of voices. It\nwas as if all the little Selves, even those which had now long been\nsilent, were listening, were suddenly fighting among themselves in open\ncombat to see what they could make Hazen do.\n\n\u201cThat beautiful thing!\u201d cried the Beauty Self. \u201cKeep it--keep it,\nHazen!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will never have another chance at a fortune if you give it up!\u201d\ncried the Discontented Self.\n\n\u201cIf you throw away your chance at a fortune, your life will be a life\nof hard work--and where will your good time come in?\u201d cried the little\nFun Self, anxiously.\n\n\u201cYou will have only labour and no leisure for learning--\u201d warned the\nKnowledge Self.\n\n\u201cWhat of the Princess Vista? Do you not owe it to her to keep the\ncasket? And is it not _right_ that you should keep the casket and grow\nwise and _really_ good and loved and beautiful?\u201d they all argued in\nturn. And above them all sounded the terrible, cracked voice of the\ndwarf, not laughing now, but fighting for his life:--\n\n\u201cFool! Nothing counts but your chance at fortune. If you part with the\ncasket, you part with _me!_\u201d\n\nBut sweet and clear through the clamour sounded the solemn insisting of\nthe Thought:--\n\n\u201cGive him the casket--give him the casket, Hazen.\u201d\n\nQuickly Hazen knelt beside the old man, and placed the magic casket in\nhis hands.\n\n\u201cLo,\u201d said Prince Hazen, \u201cI have nothing to give you, save only this.\nBut it may be that we can yet find some way to release the spirit and\nthat then you can have the good fortune that this will give. Take the\ncasket--it is yours.\u201d\n\nIn an instant, and noiselessly, the magic casket fell in pieces in\nHazen\u2019s hands, and vanished. And with a soft sound of escaping wings\nthe little spirit rose joyously and fluttered toward Hazen, and\nalighted on his breast. There were sudden sweetness and light in all\nthe place, and a happiness that bewildered Hazen--and when he looked\nagain, the little spirit had disappeared--but his own breast was filled\nwith something new and marvellous, as if strange doors to himself had\nopened, and as if the spirit had found lodging there forever.\n\nIn the clear silence following upon the babel of the little voices\nof all the mean and petty Selves, Hazen was aware of a voice echoing\nwithin him like music; and he knew the Thought now better than he knew\nhimself, who had so many Selves, and he knew that when it spoke to him\nsoftly, softly, he would always hear.\n\n\u201cIf you had kept the magic casket for yourself,\u201d it said, \u201cthe spirit\nwould have drooped and died. _It was only by giving the casket away\nthat the spirit could ever be free._ It was only when the spirit became\nyours that you could hope to be wise and good and beautiful and worthy\nto be loved. And now where is the Princess Vista\u2019s picture-book?\u201d\n\nAll this time Hazen had not lost the picture-book of the princess,\nand now it was lying on the floor near where he was that night\nto have slept. He caught it up and turned the pages, and the old\nfamiliar pictures which the princess had shown him that morning in the\nwindow-seat made him long, as he had not longed since he had left the\npalace, to see her again.\n\nHe turned to the old man.\n\n\u201cThere is a certain princess--\u201d he began.\n\n\u201cAy,\u201d said the old man, gently, \u201cso there is always, my prince. Go to\nher.\u201d\n\nThe mere exquisite presence of that spirit in the room seemed to have\nhealed and invigorated the old man, and he had risen to his feet,\nclothed with a new strength. He set about searching in the king\u2019s\nwardrobe for suitable garments for his young prince, and in a cedar\nchest he found vestments of somewhat ancient pattern, but of so rich\nmaterial and so delicately made that the ancient style did but add to\ntheir beauty.\n\nWhen he had made Hazen ready, there was never a fairer prince in the\nworld. Then the old man led him below stairs and showed him in a\nforgotten room, of which he himself only had the key, a box containing\nthe jewels of the queen, his mother. So, bearing these, save one with\nwhich he purchased a horse for his needs, Prince Hazen set out for the\npalace of the princess.\n\nIt chanced that it was early morning when Prince Hazen entered the\npalace grounds which he had left as a furnace boy. And you must know\nthat, since his leaving, years had elapsed; for though he had believed\nhimself to have stayed with the Merry Lad but one day, and with the\nBookman but a few days, and but a little time on the hills singing\nsongs, and in byways listening to the voices of Idleness, Strength, and\nthe rest, and lingering in that fair home where the Dwarf had sent him,\nyet in reality with each one he had spent a year and more, so that now\nhe was like someone else.\n\nBut the princess\u2019s father\u2019s palace garden was just the same, and Hazen\nentered by the east gate, which still no one could lock; and to be back\nwithin the garden was as wonderful as bathing in the ocean or standing\non a high mountain or seeing the dawn. His horse bore him along between\nthe flowering shrubs and the hollyhocks; he heard the fountains\nplashing and the song-sparrows singing and the village bells faintly\nsounding; he saw the goldfish and the water-lilies gleam in the pool,\nand the horses cantering about the paddock. And all at once it seemed\nto him that the day was his and the world was his, to do with them what\nhe would.\n\nSo he galloped round the east wing of the palace, and looked up\neagerly and longingly toward the princess\u2019s window. And there stood the\nPrincess Vista, watching. But when she saw him, she drew far back as if\nshe were afraid. And Prince Hazen, as he bowed low in his saddle, could\nthink of no word to say to her that seemed a word to be said. He could\nonly cry up to her:--\n\n\u201cOh, Princess Vista. Come down! Come down! Come down--and teach me\nabout the whole world.\u201d\n\nHe galloped straight to the great entrance way, and leaped from his\nhorse, and no one questioned him, for they all knew by his look that he\ncame with great authority. And he went to the king\u2019s library, to that\nroom which was as wide as a lawn and as high as a tree, and filled with\nmystery, and waited for her, knowing that she would come.\n\nShe entered the room almost timidly, as, once upon a time, the little\nfurnace boy had entered. And when she saw him waiting for her before\nthe window-seat, nothing could have exceeded her terror and her wonder\nand her delight. And now her eyes were looking down, and she did _not_\nask him what he was doing there.\n\n\u201cOh, Princess Vista,\u201d he said softly, \u201cI love you. I want to be loved!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho are you--that want so much?\u201d the princess asked--but her eyes\nknew, and her smile knew.\n\n\u201cSomeone who has brought back your picture-book,\u201d said Prince Hazen. \u201cI\npray you, teach it to me again.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said the princess, softly, \u201cI have taught you a wrong thing. For\nI have taught you that there are many suns. And instead there is only\none sun, and it brings only one day--and that day is this day!\u201d\n\nIt was so that she welcomed him back.\n\nThey went to the king, her father, and told him everything. And when he\nknew that his daughter loved Prince Hazen, he restored his kingdom to\nhim, and named him his own successor. And Hazen was crowned king, with\nmuch magnificence, and his father\u2019s courtiers, who were living, were\nreturned to his court, and that wise, wonderful old man, who had shown\nhim the inside of his own head, was given a place of honour near the\nking.\n\nBut on the day of the coronation, louder than the shouts of the people,\nand nearer even than the voice of his queen, sounded that voice of the\nwise and good Self, which was but the Thought, deep within the soul of\nthe king:--\n\n\u201cHail to Hazen--King of All His Selves!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nTHE WALK\n\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the latest you ever stayed up?\u201d Delia demanded of Mary\nElizabeth and me.\n\n\u201cI sat up till ten o\u2019clock once when my aunt was coming,\u201d I boasted.\n\n\u201cOnce I was on a train that got in at twelve o\u2019clock,\u201d said Mary\nElizabeth, thoughtfully, \u201cbut I was asleep till the train got in. Would\nyou call that sitting up till twelve o\u2019clock?\u201d\n\nOn the whole, Delia and I decided that you could not impartially call\nit so, and Mary Elizabeth conceded the point. Her next best experience\nwas dated at only half past nine.\n\n\u201cI was up till eleven o\u2019clock lots of times.\u201d Delia threw out\ncarelessly.\n\nWe regarded her with awe. Here was another glory for her list. Already\nwe knew that she had slept in a sleeping car, patted an elephant, and\nswum four strokes.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the earliest you ever got up?\u201d Delia pursued.\n\nHere, too, we proved to have nothing to compete with the order of\nDelia\u2019s risings. However, this might yet be mended. There seemed never\nto be the same household ban on getting up early that there was on\nstaying up late.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s get up some morning before four o\u2019clock and take a walk,\u201d I\nsuggested.\n\n\u201cMy brother got up at half past three once,\u201d Mary Elizabeth announced.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I said, \u201clet\u2019s get up at half past three. Let\u2019s do it to-morrow\nmorning.\u201d\n\nMary Elizabeth and I had stretched a string from a little bell at\nthe head of her bed to a little bell at the head of my bed. This the\nauthorities permitted us to ring so long as there was discernible a\nlight, or any other fixed signal, at the two windows; and also after\nseven o\u2019clock in the morning. But of course the time when we both\nlonged most frantically to pull the cord was when either woke at night\nand lay alone in the darkness. In the night I used to put my hand on\nthe string and think how, by a touch, I could waken Mary Elizabeth,\njust as if she were in my room, just as if we were hand in hand. I\nused to think what joy it would be if all little children on the same\nside of the ocean were similarly provided, and if no one interfered.\nA little code of signals arose in my mind, a kind of secret code which\nshould be heard by nobody save those for whom they were intended--for\nsick children, for frightened children, for children just having a bad\ndream, for motherless children, for cold or tired or lonely children,\nfor all children sleepless for any cause. I used to wish that little\nsignals like this could be rung for all unhappy children, night or day.\nWhy, with all their inventions, had not grown people invented this? Of\ncourse they would never make things any harder for us than they could\nhelp (we thought). But why had they not done this thing to make things\neasier?\n\nThe half past three proposal was unanimously vetoed within doors: We\nmight rise at five o\u2019clock, no earlier. This somewhat took edge from\nthe adventure, but we accepted it as next best. Delia was to be waked\nby an alarm clock. Mary Elizabeth and I felt that, by some mysterious\nmeans, we could waken ourselves; and we two agreed to call each other,\nso to say, by the bells.\n\nWhen I did waken, it was still quite dark, and when I had found light\nand a clock, I saw that it was only a little after three. As I had\ngone to bed at seven, I was wide awake at three; and it occurred to me\nthat I would stay up till time to call Mary Elizabeth. This would be\nat half past four. Besides, stopping up then presented an undoubted\nadvantage: It enabled me to skip my bath. Clearly I could not, with\ncourtesy, risk rousing the household with many waters.\n\nI dressed in the dark, braided my own hair in the dark--by now I could\ndo this save that the plait, when I brought it over my shoulder, still\nwould assume a jog--and sat down by the open window. It was one of the\nlarge nights ... for some nights are undeniably larger than others.\nWhen I was on the street with my hand in a grown-up hand, the night\nwas invariably bounded by trees, fences, houses, lawns, horse-blocks,\nand the like. But when I stepped to the door alone at night, I always\nnoticed that it stretched endlessly away. So it was now. I could slip\nout the screen, as I had discovered earlier in the season when I had\nfelt the need of feeding a nest of house-wrens in the bird-house below\nmy sill--and I took out the screen now, and leaned out in the darkness.\nThe stars seemed very near--I am always glad that I did not know how\nfar away they are, for they looked so friendly near. If only, I used\nto think, the clouds would form _behind_ the stars and leave them all\nshiny and blurry bright in the rain. What were they? How came they to\nbe in our world\u2019s sky?\n\nI suppose that I had been ten minutes at the window that morning when\nI saw a light briefly flash in Mary Elizabeth\u2019s window. Instantly, I\nsoftly pulled my bell. She answered, and then I could see her, dim in\nthe window once more dark.\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t time yet!\u201d she called softly--our houses were very near.\n\n\u201cNot yet,\u201d I answered, \u201cbut I\u2019m going to stay up.\u201d\n\nMary Elizabeth briefly considered this.\n\n\u201cWhat for?\u201d she propounded.\n\nI had not thought what for.\n\n\u201cTo--why to be up early,\u201d I answered confidently. \u201cI\u2019m all dressed.\u201d\n\nThe defence must have carried conviction.\n\n\u201cI will, too,\u201d Mary Elizabeth concluded.\n\nShe disappeared and, after a suitable time, reappeared at the window,\npresumably fully clothed. I detached the bell from my bed and sat with\nit in my hand, and I found afterward that she had done the same. From\ntime to time we each gave the cord a slight, ecstatic pull. The whole\nmystery of the great night lay in those gentle signals.\n\nIt is unfortunate to have to confess that, after a time, the mystery\npalled. But it did. Stars, wide, dark, moonless lawn, empty street,\nall these blurred and merged in a single impression. This was one of\nchilliness. Even calling through the night at intervals, and at the\nimminent risk of being heard, lost its charm, because after a little\nwhile there was nothing left to call. \u201cHow still it is!\u201d and \u201cNobody\nbut us is up in town,\u201d and \u201cWon\u2019t Delia be mad?\u201d lose their edge when\nrepeated for about the third time each. Moreover, I was obliged to face\na new foe: I was getting sleepy.\n\nWithout undue disturbance of the cord, I managed to consult the clock\nonce more. It was five minutes of four. There remained more than an\nhour to wait! It was I who capitulated.\n\n\u201cMary Elizabeth,\u201d I said waveringly, \u201cwould you care very much if I was\nto lay down just a little to rest my eyes?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I wouldn\u2019t care,\u201d came with significant alacrity. \u201cI will, too.\u201d\n\nI lay down on the covers and pulled a comforter about me. As I drifted\noff I remember wondering how the dark ever kept awake all night. For it\nwas awake. To know that one had only to listen.\n\nWe all had a signal which we called a \u201ctrill,\u201d made by tongue and\nteeth, with almost the force of a boy and a blade of grass. This,\nproduced furiously beneath my window, was what wakened me. Delia stood\nbetween the two houses, engaged with such absorption in manufacturing\nthis sound that she failed to see me at the window. A moment after\nI had hailed her, Mary Elizabeth appeared at her window, looking\ndistinctly distraught.\n\nSeeing us fully dressed, Delia\u2019s indignation increased.\n\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you leave me know you were up?\u201d she demanded shrilly. \u201cIt\u2019s\na quarter past five. I been out here fifteen minutes.\u201d\n\nWe were assuring her guiltily that we would be right down when there\ncame an interruption.\n\n\u201c_Delia!_\u201d\n\nDelia\u2019s father, in a gray bath-robe, stood at an upper window of their\nhouse across the street.\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean by waking up the whole neighbourhood?\u201d he inquired,\nnot without reason. \u201cNow I want you to come home.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe were going walking,\u201d Delia reminded him.\n\n\u201cYou are coming home at once after this proceeding,\u201d Delia\u2019s father\nassured her. \u201cNo more words please, Delia.\u201d\n\nHe disappeared from the window. Delia moved reluctantly across the\nstreet. As she went, she threw a resentful glance at Mary Elizabeth and\nme, each.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Delia!\u201d we called softly in chorus. She made no reply. Mary\nElizabeth and I were left staring at each other down our bell-rope,\nno longer taut, but limp, as we had left it earlier.... Even in that\nstress, the unearthly sweetness of the morning smote me--the early sun,\nthe early shadows. It all looked so exactly as if it had expected you\nnot to be looking. This is the look of outdoors that, _now_, will most\nquickly take me back.\n\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t be fair to go walking without Delia,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth,\nabruptly and positively.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d I agreed, with equal decision. Then, \u201cWe might as well go back to\nbed,\u201d I pursued the subject further.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nTHE GREAT BLACK HUSH\n\n\nOn that special night, which somehow I remember with tenderness, I\nsometimes think now--all these years after--that I should like to have\nbeen with those solitary, sleepy little figures, trying so hard to get\nnear to mystery. I should think that a Star Story must have come in\nanybody\u2019s head to tell them. Like this:--\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOnce, when it didn\u2019t matter to anybody whether you were late or early,\nor quick or slow, not only because there wasn\u2019t anybody and there\nwasn\u2019t any you, but because it was back in the beginning when there\nwere no lates and earlies and quicks and slows, _then_ things began to\nhappen in the middle of the Great Black Hush which was all there was to\neverything.\n\nThe Great Black Hush reached all the way around the Universe and in\ndirections without any names, and it was huge and humble and superior\nand helpless and mighty and in other ways it was very much indeed like\na man. And as there was nothing to do, the Great Black Hush was bored\npast extinction and almost to creation. For there wasn\u2019t anything else\nabout save only the Wind, and the Wind would have nothing whatever to\ndo with him and always blew right by.\n\nNow, inasmuch as everything that is now was then going to be created,\nit was all waiting somewhere to be created; and nothing is clearer than\nthat. Lines and colours and musics and tops and blocks and flame and\nNoah\u2019s arks and mechanical toys and mountains and paints and planets\nand air and water and alphabets and jumping-jacks, all, all, were\nwaiting to be created, and among them waited people. I cannot tell you\nwhere they waited, because there was no where; but they were waiting,\nas anybody can see, for time to be begun.\n\nAmong the people who were waiting about was one special baby, who was\njust big enough to reach out after everything and to try to put it in\nhis mouth, and they had an awful time with him. He put his little hands\non coloured things and on flame things and on air and on water and on\nmusics, and he wanted to know what they all were, and he tried to put\nthem in his mouth. And his mother was perfectly distracted, and she\ntold him so, openly.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cTO SEE WHAT RUNNING AWAY IS REALLY LIKE.\u201d]\n\n\u201cSpecial Baby,\u201d she said to him openly, \u201cI don\u2019t see why every hair\nin my head is not pure white. And if you don\u2019t stop making so much\ntrouble, I\u2019ll run away.\u201d\n\n\u201cRun away,\u201d thought the Special Baby. \u201cNow what thing is that?\u201d\n\nAnd he stretched out his little hand to see, but there wasn\u2019t anything\nthere, and he couldn\u2019t put it in his mouth; so without letting anybody\nknow, he started off all by himself to see what running away is really\nlike.\n\nHe ran and he ran, past lines and colours and blocks and flame and\nmusic and paint and planets, all waiting about to begin, till he began\nto notice the Great Black Hush, where it lay all humble and important,\nand bored past extinction and almost to creation.\n\n\u201cWhat thing is that?\u201d thought the Special Baby, and put out his little\nhand to get it and put it in his mouth.\n\nSo he touched the Great Black Hush, and under the little hand the Great\nBlack Hush felt as never he had felt before. For the Special Baby\u2019s\nhand was soft and wandering and most clinging--any General Baby\u2019s hand\nwill give you the idea if you care to try. And it made it seem as if\nthere were something to do.\n\nAll through his huge, helpless, superior, and mighty being the Great\nBlack Hush was stirred, and when the Special Baby was frightened and\nwould have gone back, the Great Black Hush did the most astonishing\nthings to try to keep him. He plaited the darkness up like a ruffle\nand waved it like a flag and opened it like a flower and shut it like\na door and poured it about like water, all to keep the Special Baby\namused. But though the Special Baby tried to put most of these and\n_all_ the dark in his mouth, still on the whole he was badly frightened\nand wanted his mother, and he began to cry to show how much he wanted\nher. And then the Great Black Hush was at his wits\u2019 end.\n\n\u201cNow, who is there to be the mother of this Special Baby?\u201d he cried in\ndespair, for there wasn\u2019t anything else anywhere around, save only the\nWind, and the Wind always blew right by. But the blowing by must have\nbeen because the Great Black Hush had never spoken before, for these\nwere the first words that ever he had said; and the Wind, on hearing\nthem, stopped still as a stone, and listened.\n\n\u201cWould I do?\u201d the Wind asked, and the Great Black Hush was so\nastonished that he almost dropped the Special Baby.\n\n\u201cWould I do?\u201d asked the Wind again, and made the dark like blown\ngarments and like long, blown hair and tender motions, such as women\nmake. And she took the Special Baby in her arms and rocked him as\ngently as boughs, so that he laughed with delight and tried to put the\nwind in his mouth and finally went to sleep, with his beads on.\n\n\u201c_Now_ what\u2019ll we do?\u201d said the Great Black Hush, hanging about, all\nhelpless and mighty.\n\n\u201cWe can get along without a cradle,\u201d said the Wind, \u201cbecause I will\nrock him to sleep in my arms.\u201d (This was before time began and before\nthey laid them down to go to sleep alone in a dark room.) \u201cBut we\nought, we _ought_,\u201d she added, \u201cto have something for him to play with\nwhen he wakes up.\u201d (This was before time began and before anybody ate.\nBut they always played. That came first.)\n\n\u201cIf he had something to play with, what would that look like?\u201d asked\nthe Great Black Hush, all helpless.\n\n\u201cIt musn\u2019t have points like scissors, or ends like string, and the\npaint mustn\u2019t come off. I think,\u201d said the Wind, \u201cit ought to look like\na shining ball.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy my distance,\u201d said the Great Black Hush, all mighty, \u201cthat\u2019s what\nit shall look like.\u201d\n\nThen he began to make a plaything, and he worked all over him and all\nover everywhere at the fashioning. I don\u2019t know how he did it, because\nI wasn\u2019t there, and I can\u2019t reckon how long it took him, because there\nwasn\u2019t any time, but I know some things about it all, and one is that\nhe finally got it done.\n\n\u201cLook!\u201d the Great Black Hush cried to the Wind,--for she paid more\nattention to the Special Baby now than she did to him. And when she\nlooked, there hung in the sky, a great, enormous, shining ball.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s big enough so he can\u2019t get it in his mouth,\u201d she said\napprovingly. \u201cIt\u2019s really ginginatic.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean gigantic, dear,\u201d said the Great Black Hush, all superior. But\nthe Wind didn\u2019t care because words hadn\u2019t been used long enough to fit\nclosely, and besides he had said \u201cdear\u201d and she knew what _that_ meant.\n\u201cDear\u201d came before \u201cgigantic.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow wake him up,\u201d said the Great Black Hush, \u201cto play with it.\u201d\n\nBut this the Wind would by no means do. She said the Special Baby must\nhave his sleep out or he\u2019d be cross. And the Great Black Hush wondered\nhowever she knew that, and he went away, all humble, and amused himself\nmaking more playthings till the baby woke up. And all the playthings\nlooked like shining balls, because that was the only kind of plaything\nthe Wind had told him to make and he didn\u2019t know whether anything\nelse would do. So he made them by the thousands and started them all\nswinging because he thought the Special Baby would like them to do that.\n\nBy-and-by--there was always by-and-by before there was any time, and\nthat is why so many people prefer it--when he couldn\u2019t stay any longer,\nhe went back where the Wind waited, cuddling the Special Baby close.\n\n\u201cSh-h-h-h,\u201d said the Wind, but she was too late, and the Special Baby\nwoke up, with wide eyes and a smile in them.\n\nBut he wasn\u2019t cross. For the minute he opened his eyes he saw all\nthe thousands of shining balls hanging in the darkness and swinging,\nswinging, and he crowed with delight and stretched out his little hands\nfor them, but they were so big he couldn\u2019t put them in his mouth and so\nhe might reach out all he pleased.\n\n\u201c_Ho_,\u201d said the Great Black Hush, \u201cnow everything is as it never was\nbefore.\u201d\n\nBut the Wind sighed a little.\n\n\u201cI wish everything were more so,\u201d she said. \u201cI ought to have a place to\ntake the Special Baby and make his clothes and mend his socks and tie\non his shoes and rub his little back. Also, I want to learn a lullaby,\nand this is so public.\u201d\n\nThen the Great Black Hush thought and thought, and remembered that away\nback on the Outermost Way and beneath the Wild Wing of Things, there\nwas a tidy little place that might be just the thing. It was _not_ up\nto date, because there wasn\u2019t any date, but still he thought it might\nbe just the thing.\n\n\u201cBy the welkin,\u201d he said, \u201cI know a place that is the place. I\u2019ll go\nand sweep it out.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so fast,\u201d said the Wind, gently. \u201cI go also. I want to be sure\nthat there are enough closets--\u201d or whatever would have corresponded to\nthat before there was any Modern at all.\n\nSo the three went away together and groped about on the Outermost Way\nand beneath the Wild Wing of Things, and there the Wind swept it out\ntidily and there they made their home. And when it was all done,--which\ntook a great while because the Wind kept wanting additions put\non,--they came out and sat at the door of the place, the Great Black\nHush and the Wind and the Special Baby between.\n\nAnd as they did that a wonderful thing was true. For now that the\nGreat Black Hush had withdrawn to his new home, lo, all the swinging\nplaything balls were shining through space, and there was light. And\nthe man and the woman and the child at the door of the first home\nlooked in one another\u2019s faces. And the man and the woman were afraid of\nthe light and their look clung each to the other\u2019s in that fear; but\nthe Special Baby stretched out his little hands and tried to put the\nlight in his mouth.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t, dear,\u201d said the woman, and her voice sounded quite natural.\n\n\u201cPay attention to me and not to the Baby,\u201d said the man, and _his_\nvoice sounded quite natural, and very mighty, so that the woman\nobeyed--until the Special Baby wanted her again.\n\nAnd that was when she made her lullaby, and it was the first song:--\n\nWIND SONG[B]\n\n    Horn of the morning!\n    And the little night pipings fail.\n    The day is launched like a hollow ship\n    With the sun for a sail.\n    The way is wide and blue and lone\n    With all its miles inviolate\n    Save for the swinging stars we\u2019ve sown\n    And a thistle of cloud remote and blown.\n    Oh, I passion for something nearer than these!\n    How shall I know that this live thing is I\n    With only the morning for proof and the sky?\n    I long for a music more soft to its keys,\n    For a touch that shall teach me the new sureties.\n    Give me some griefs and some loyalties\n    And a child\u2019s mouth on my own!\n\n    Lullaby, lullaby,\n    Babe of the world, swing high,\n    Swing low.\n    I am a mother you never may know,\n    But oh\n    And oh, how long the wind will know you,\n    With lullabies for the dead night through.\n    Babe of the earth, as I blow ...\n    Swing high,\n    To touch at the sky,\n    And at last lie low.\n    Lullaby....\n\n[B] Reproduced by permission of _The Craftsman_.\n\nBut meanwhile the Special Baby\u2019s real mother--the one who had told him\nabout running away--was hunting and hunting and _hunting_ for him and\ngoing nearly distracted and expecting every hair in her head to turn\npure white. She went about among all the rest, asking and calling and\nwanting to know, and finally she made up her mind that she would not\nstay where she was, but that she would run away and hunt for him. And\nshe did. And when all the things that were waiting to be born heard\nabout it, there was no holding them back either. So out they came,\nlines and colours and musics and tops and blocks and flame and Noah\u2019s\narks and mechanical toys and mountains and planets and paints and air\nand water and alphabets and jumping-jacks, all, all came out in the\nwake of the lost Special Baby. And some came early and some came late,\nsome hurried and some hung back. And among all these came people, and\nmany and many of the to-be-born things were hidden in peoples\u2019 hearts\nand did not appear till long after; and this was true of some things\nwhich I have not mentioned at all, and of some that have not appeared\neven yet. But some people did not bring anything in their hearts, and\nthey merely observed that it was a shameful waste, so many shining\nballs swinging about and only the Special Baby to play with them, and\n_he_ evidently eternally lost.\n\nBut the Special Baby\u2019s real mother didn\u2019t say a word. She only ran and\nran on, asking and calling and wanting to know. And at last she came\nto the Outermost Way and near the Wild Wing of Things, and the Special\nBaby heard her coming. And when he heard that, he made his choicest\ncoo-noise in his throat and he stretched out his arms to his real\nmother that he was used to.\n\nAnd when his real mother heard the coo-noise, she brushed aside the\nWild Wing of Things and took him in her arms--and she never saw the\nWind and the Great Black Hush at all, because they are that kind. So\nshe carried the Special Baby off, kicking and crowing and catching at\nthe swinging, shining balls--but they were too big to put in his mouth\nso there was no danger--and _she_ hunted up a place where she could\nmake his clothes and mend his socks and tie on his shoes and rub his\nlittle back. But about them all things were going on, and everybody\nelse was doing the same thing, so nobody noticed.\n\nThen, all alone before their home on the Outermost Way and beneath the\nWild Wing of Things that was all brushed aside, the Great Black Hush\nand the Wind looked at each other. And their look clung, as when they\nhad first found light, and they were afraid. For now all space was\nglowing and shining with swinging balls, and all the things were being\nborn and making homes, and time was rushing by so fast that it awed\nthem who had never seen such a thing before.\n\n\u201c_What_ have we done?\u201d demanded the Great Black Hush.\n\nBut the Wind was not so much concerned with that. She only grieved and\ngrieved for the Special Baby. And the Great Black Hush comforted her,\nand I think he comforts her unto this day.\n\nOnly at night. Then, as you know, the Great Black Hush comes from the\nOutermost Way and fills the air, and with him often and often comes the\nWind. And together they wander among all the shining balls--you will\nknow this, if you listen, on many a night--and together they look for\nthe Special Baby. But _he_ has grown up, long and long ago, only he\nstill stretches out his hands to everything, for he is the way he was\nmade.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nTHE DECORATION OF INDEPENDENCE\n\n\nThat year we celebrated Fourth of July in the Wood Yard.\n\nThe town had decided not to have a celebration, though we did not know\nwho had done the actual deciding, and this we used to talk about.\n\n\u201cHow can the _town_ decide anything?\u201d Delia asked sceptically. \u201cWhen\ndoes it do it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said Margaret Amelia--to whom, her father being a judge, we\nalways turned to explain matters of state, \u201cits principal folks say so.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho are its principal folks?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said Margaret Amelia, \u201cI should think you could tell that. They\nhave the stores and offices and live in the residence part.\u201d\n\nI pondered this, for most of the folk in the little town did neither of\nthese things.\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t they have another Fourth of July for the rest, then,\u201d I\nsuggested, \u201cand leave them settle on their own celebration?\u201d\n\nMargaret Amelia looked shocked.\n\n\u201cI guess you don\u2019t know much about the Decoration of Independence,\u201d\nsaid she.\n\nThe Decoration of Independence--we all called it this--was, then, to go\nby without attention because the Town said so.\n\n\u201cThe Town,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, dreamily, \u201cthe Town. It sounds like\nsomebody tall, very high, and pointed at the top, with the rest of her\ndark and long and flowy--don\u2019t it?\u201d\n\n\u201cCity,\u201d she and I were agreed, sounded like somebody light and sitting\ndown with her skirts spread out.\n\n\u201cVillage\u201d sounded like a little soft hollow, not much of any colour,\nwith a steeple to it.\n\n\u201cI like \u2018Town\u2019 best,\u201d Mary Elizabeth said. \u201cIt sounds more like a\nmother-woman. \u2018City\u2019 sounds like a lady-woman. And \u2018Village\u2019 sounds\nlike a grandma-woman. I like \u2018Town\u2019 best.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I want to do,\u201d Margaret Amelia said restlessly, \u201cis to spend\nmy Fourth of July dollar. I had a Fourth of July dollar ever since\nChristmas. It\u2019s no fun spending it with no folks and bands and wagons.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got my birthday dollar yet,\u201d I contributed. \u201cIf I spent it for\nFourth of July, I\u2019d be glad of it, but if I spend it for anything else,\nI\u2019ll want it back.\u201d\n\n\u201cI had a dollar,\u201d said Calista, gloomily, \u201cbut I used a quarter of\nit up on the circus. Now I\u2019m glad I did. I wish\u2019t I\u2019d stayed to the\nsideshow.\u201d\n\n\u201cStitchy Branchitt says,\u201d Betty offered, \u201cthat the boys are all going\nto Poynette and spend their money there. Poynette\u2019s got exercises.\u201d\n\nOh, the boys would get a Fourth. Trust them. But what about us? We\ncould not go to Poynette. We could not rise at three A.M. and\nfire off fire-crackers. No fascinating itinerant hucksters would come\nthe way of a town that held no celebration. We had nowhere to spend our\nsubstance, and to do that was to us what Fourth of July implied.\n\nThe New Boy came wandering by, eating something. Boys were always\neating something that looked better than anything we saw in the\ncandy-shop. Where did they get it? This that he had was soft and pink\nand chewy, and it rapidly disappeared as he approached us.\n\nMargaret Amelia Rodman threw back her curls and flashed a sudden\nradiant smile at the New Boy. She became quite another person from the\njudicious, somewhat haughty creature whom we knew.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s us get up a Fourth of July celebration,\u201d she said.\n\nWe held our breath. It never would have occurred to us. But now that\nshe suggested it, why not?\n\nThe New Boy leaped up on a gate-post and sat looking down at us,\nchewing.\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d he inquired.\n\n\u201cGet up a partition,\u201d said Margaret Amelia. \u201cCirculate it like for\ntake-a-walk at school or teacher\u2019s present, and all sign.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd take it to who?\u201d asked the New Boy.\n\nMargaret Amelia considered.\n\n\u201cMy father,\u201d she proposed.\n\nThe scope of the idea was enormous. Her father was a judge and wore\nvery black clothes every day, and never spoke to any of us. Therefore\nhe must be a great man. Doubtless he could do anything.\n\nBoys, as we knew them, usually flouted everything that we\nsaid, but--possibly because of Margaret Amelia\u2019s manner of\npresentation--this suggestion seemed to strike the New Boy favourably.\nAfterward we learned that this was probably partly owing to the fact\nthat the fare to Poynette was going to eat distressingly into the boys\u2019\nFourth money, unless they walked the ten miles.\n\nBy common consent we had Margaret Amelia and the New Boy draw up the\n\u201cpartition.\u201d But we all spent a long time on it, and at length it\nread:--\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \u201cWe the Undersigned want there should be a July 4 this year.\n    We the Undersigned would like a big one. But if it can\u2019t be so\n    very big account of no money, We the Undersigned would like one\n    anyway, and hereby respectfully partition about this in the\n    name of the Decoration of Independence.\u201d\n\nThere was some doubt whether or not to close this document with \u201cAlways\nsincerely\u201d but we decided to add only the names, and these we set out\nto secure, the New Boy carrying one copy and Margaret Amelia another. I\nremember that, to honour the occasion, she put on a pale blue crocheted\nshawl of her mother\u2019s and we all trailed in her wake, worshipfully.\n\nThe lists grew amazingly. Long before noon we had to get new papers. By\nnight we had every child that we knew, save Stitchy Branchitt. He had a\nrailroad pass to Poynette, and he favoured the out-of-town celebration.\nBut the personal considerations of economic conditions were as usual\nsufficient to swing the event, and the next morning I suppose that\ntwenty-five or thirty of us, bearing the names of three or four times\nas many, marched into Judge Rodman\u2019s office.\n\nOn the stairs Margaret Amelia had a thought.\n\n\u201cDoes your father pay taxes?\u201d she inquired of Mary Elizabeth--who was\nwith us, having been sent down town for starch.\n\n\u201cOn his watch--he used to,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, doubtfully. \u201cBut he\nhasn\u2019t got that any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t know,\u201d said Margaret Amelia, \u201cwhether we\u2019d really\nought to of put down any names that their fathers don\u2019t pay taxes. It\nmay make a difference. I guess you\u2019re the only one we got that their\nfathers don\u2019t--that he ain\u2019t--\u201d\n\nI fancy that what Margaret Amelia had in mind was that Mary Elizabeth\u2019s\nfather was the only one who lived meanly; for many of the others must\nhave gone untaxed, but they lived in trim, rented houses, and we knew\nno difference.\n\nMary Elizabeth was visibly disturbed.\n\n\u201cI never thought of that,\u201d she said. \u201cMaybe I better scratch me off.\u201d\n\nBut there seemed to me to be something indefinably the matter with this.\n\n\u201cThe Fourth of July is for everybody, isn\u2019t it?\u201d I said. \u201cDidn\u2019t the\nwhole country think of it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think it\u2019s like a town though,\u201d said Margaret Amelia. \u201cThe principal\nfolks decided it, I\u2019m sure. And they _always_ pay taxes.\u201d\n\nWe appealed to the New Boy, as authority superior even to Margaret\nAmelia. How was this--did the Decoration of Independence mean\neverybody, or not? Could Mary Elizabeth sign the partition since her\nfather paid no taxes?\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the New Boy, \u201cit _says_ everybody, don\u2019t it? But nobody\never gets to ride in the parade but distinguished citizens--it always\nsays them, you know. I s\u2019pose maybe it meant the folks that pays the\ntaxes, only it didn\u2019t like to put it in.\u201d\n\n\u201cI better take my name off,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, decidedly. \u201cIt might\nhurt.\u201d\n\nSo the New Boy produced a stump of pencil, and we found the right\npaper, and held it up against the wall of the stairway, and Mary\nElizabeth scratched her name off.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t come up, then,\u201d she whispered to me, and made her way down the\nstairs, her head held very high.\n\nJudge Rodman was in his office--he makes, I find, my eternal picture\nof \u201cjudge,\u201d short, thick, frock-coated, bearded, bald, spectacled,\nsquare-toed, and with his hands full of loose papers and his\nwatch-chain shining.\n\n\u201cBless us,\u201d he said, too, as a judge should.\n\nMargaret Amelia was ahead,--still in the pale blue crocheted\nshawl,--and she and the New Boy laid down the papers, and the judge\npicked them up, and read. His big pink face flushed the more, and\nhe took off his spectacles and brushed his eyes, and he cleared his\nthroat, and beamed down on us, and stood nodding.... I remember that he\nhad an editorial in his paper the next night called \u201cA Lesson to the\nCommunity,\u201d and another, later, \u201cOut of the Mouths of Babes\u201d--for Judge\nRodman was a very great man, and owned the newspaper and the brewery\nand the principal department store, and had been to the legislature;\nand his newspaper was always thick with editorials about honouring the\nflag and reverencing authority and the beauties of home life--Miss\nMessmore used to cut them out and read them to us at General Exercises.\n\nSo Judge Rodman called a Town meeting in the Engine House, and we all\nhung about the door downstairs, because they said that if children\nwent to the meeting, they would scrape their feet on the bare floor\nso that nobody could hear a sound; and so we waited outside until we\nheard hands clapped and the Doxology sung, and then we knew that it had\npassed.\n\nWe were having a new Court House that year, so the Court House yard\nwas not available for exercises: and the school grounds had been sown\nwith grass seed in the beginning of vacation, and the market-place was\nnothing but a small vacant lot. So there was only one place to have\nthe exercises: the Wood Yard. And as there was very little money to\ndo anything with, it was voted to ask the women to take charge of the\ncelebration and arrange something \u201ctasty, up-to-date, and patriotic,\u201d\nas Judge Rodman put it. They set themselves to do it. And none of\nus who were the children then will ever forget that Fourth of July\ncelebration--yet this is not because of what the women planned, nor of\nanything that the committee of which Judge Rodman was chairman thought\nto do for the sake of the day.\n\nOur discussion of their plans was not without pessimism.\n\n\u201cOf course what they get up won\u2019t be any _real_ good,\u201d the New Boy\nadvanced. \u201cThey\u2019ll stick the school organ up on the platform, and\nthat sounds awful skimpy outdoors. And the church choirs\u2019ll sing. And\nsomebody\u2019ll stand up and scold and go on about nothing. But it\u2019ll get\nfolks here, and balloon men, and stuff to sell, and a band; so I s\u2019pose\nwe can stand the other doin\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd there\u2019s fireworks on the canal bank in the evening,\u201d we reminded\nhim.\n\nFourth of July morning began as usual before it dawned. The New Boy and\nthe ten of his tribe assembled at half past three on the lawn between\nour house and that of the New Family, and, at a rough estimate, each\nfired off the cost of his fare to Poynette and return. Mary Elizabeth\nand I awoke and listened, giving occasional ecstatic pulls at our bell.\nThen we rose and watched the boys go ramping on toward other fields,\nand, we breathed the dim beauty of the hour, and, I think, wondered if\nit knew that it was Fourth of July, and we went back to bed, conscious\nthat we were missing a good sixth of the day, a treasure which, as\nusual, the boys were sharing.\n\nAfter her work was done, Mary Elizabeth and I took our bags of\ntorpedoes and popped them off on the front bricks. Delia was allowed\nto have fire-crackers if she did not shoot them off by herself, and\nshe was ardently absorbed in them on their horse-block, with her\nfather. Calista had brothers, and had put her seventy-five cents in\nwith their money on condition that she be allowed to stay with them\nthrough the day. Margaret Amelia and Betty always stopped at home until\nannual giant crackers were fired from before their piazza, with Judge\nRodman officiating in his shirt-sleeves, and Mrs. Rodman watching in\na starched white \u201cwrapper\u201d on the veranda and uttering little cries,\nall under the largest flag that there was in the town, floating from\nthe highest flagpole. Mary Elizabeth and I had glimpses of them all in\na general survey which we made, resulting in satisfactory proof that\nthe expected merry-go-round, the pop-corn wagon, a chocolate cart, an\nice-cream cone man, and a balloon man and woman were already posted\nexpectantly about.\n\n\u201cIf it wasn\u2019t for them, though,\u201d observed Mary Elizabeth to me, \u201cthe\ntown wouldn\u2019t be really acting like Fourth of July, do you think so? It\njust kind of lazes along, like a holiday.\u201d\n\nWe looked critically at the sunswept street. The general aspect of the\ntime was that people had seized upon it to do a little extra watering,\nor some postponed weeding, or to tinker at the screens.\n\n\u201cHow could it act, though?\u201d I inquired.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, \u201ca river flows, don\u2019t it? And I s\u2019pose a\nmountain towers. And the sea keeps a-coming in ... and they all act\nlike themselves. Only just a Town don\u2019t take any notice of itself--even\non the Fourth.\u201d\n\nThat afternoon we were all dressed in our white dresses--\u201cMine used\nto have a sprig in it,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, \u201cbut it\u2019s so faded out\nanybody\u2019d \u2019most say it was white, don\u2019t you think so?\u201d--and we\nchildren met at the Rodmans\u2019--where Margaret Amelia and Betty appeared\nin white embroidered dresses and blue ribbons and blue stockings, and\nwe marched down the hill, behind the band, to the Wood Yard. The Wood\nYard had great flags and poles set at intervals, with bunting festooned\nbetween, and the platform was covered with bunting, and the great\nopen space of the yard was laid with board benches. Place in front\nwas reserved for us, and already the rest of the town packed the Yard\nand hung about the fences. Stitchy Branchitt had given up his journey\nto Poynette after all, and had established a lemonade stand at the\nWood Yard gate--\u201ca fool thing to do,\u201d the New Boy observed plainly.\n\u201cHe knows we\u2019ve spent all we had, and the big folks never think\nyour stuff\u2019s clean.\u201d But Stitchy was enormously enjoying himself by\ndeafeningly shouting:--\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s what you get--here\u2019s what you get--here\u2019s what you get.\nCheap--cheap--_cheap_!\u201d\n\n\u201cQuit cheepin\u2019 like some kind o\u2019 bir-r-rd,\u201d said the New Boy, out of\none corner of his mouth, as he passed him.\n\nJust inside the Wood Yard gate I saw, with something of a shock, Mary\nElizabeth\u2019s father standing. He was leaning against the fence, with\nhis arms folded, and as he caught the look of Mary Elizabeth, who was\nwalking with me, he smiled, and I was further surprised to see how\nkind his eyes were. They were almost like my own father\u2019s eyes. This\nseemed to me somehow a very curious thing, and I turned and looked at\nMary Elizabeth, and thought: \u201cWhy, it\u2019s her _father_--just the same as\nmine.\u201d It surprised me, too, to see him there. When I came to think of\nit, I had never before seen him where folk were. Always, unless Mary\nElizabeth were with him, he had been walking alone, or sitting down\nwhere other people never sat.\n\nJudge Rodman was on the platform, and as soon as the band and the\nchoirs would let him--he made several false starts at rhetorical pauses\nin the music--he introduced a clergyman who had always lived in the\ntown and who prayed for the continuance of peace and the safe conquest\nof all our enemies. Then Judge Rodman himself made the address, having\ngenerously consented to do so when it was proposed to keep the money\nin the town by hiring a local speaker. He began with the Norsemen and\ndescended through Queen Isabella and Columbus and the Colonies, making\na d\u00e9tour of Sir Walter Raleigh and his cloak, Benedict Arnold, Israel\nPutnam and Pocahontas, and so by way of Valley Forge and the Delaware\nto Faneuil Hall and the spirit of 1776. It was a grand flight, filled\nwith what were afterward freely referred to as magnificent passages\nabout the storm, the glory of war, and the love of our fellow-men.\n\n(\u201cSupposing you happen to love the enemy,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth,\nafterward.\n\n\u201cWell, a pretty thing that would be to do,\u201d said the New Boy, shocked.\n\n\u201cWe had it in the Sunday school lesson,\u201d Mary Elizabeth maintained.\n\n\u201cOh, well,\u201d said the New Boy. \u201cI don\u2019t mean about such things. I mean\nabout what you _do_.\u201d\n\nBut I remember that Mary Elizabeth still looked puzzled.)\n\nEspecially was Judge Rodman\u2019s final sentence generally repeated for\ndays afterward:--\n\n\u201cAt Faneuil Hall,\u201d said the judge, \u201cthe hour at last had struck. The\nhands on the face of the clock stood still. \u2018The force of Nature could\nno further go.\u2019 The supreme thing had been accomplished. Henceforth\nwe were embalmed in the everlasting and unchangeable essence of\nfreedom--freedom--_freedom_.\u201d\n\nIndeed, he held our attention from the first, both because he did not\nread what he said, and because the ice in the pitcher at his elbow had\nmelted before he began and did not require watching.\n\nThen came the moment when, having completed his address, he took up\nthe Decoration of Independence, to read it; and began the hunt for his\nspectacles. We watched him go through his pockets, but we did so with\nan interest which somewhat abated when he began the second round.\n\n\u201cWhat _is_ the Decoration of Independence, anyhow?\u201d I whispered to Mary\nElizabeth, our acquaintance with it having been limited to learning it\n\u201cby heart\u201d in school.\n\n\u201cWhy, don\u2019t you know?\u201d Mary Elizabeth returned. \u201cIt\u2019s that thing Miss\nMessmore can say so fast. It\u2019s when we was the British.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho decorated it?\u201d I wanted to know.\n\n\u201cGeorge Washington,\u201d replied Mary Elizabeth.\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d I pressed it. \u201cHow\u2019d he do it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know--but I think that\u2019s what he wanted of the cherry\nblossoms,\u201d said she.\n\nAt this point Judge Rodman gave up the search.\n\n\u201cI deeply regret,\u201d said he, \u201cthat I shall be obliged to forego my\nreading of our national document which, next to the Constitution\nitself, best embodies our unchanging principles.\u201d\n\nAnd then he added something which smote the front rows suddenly\nbreathless:--\n\n\u201cHowever, it occurs to me, since this is preeminently the children\u2019s\ncelebration and since I am given to understand that our public schools\nnow bestow due and proper attention upon the teaching of civil\ngovernment, that it will be a fitting thing, a moving thing even, to\nhear these words of our great foundation spoken in childish tones. Miss\nMessmore, can you, as teacher of the city schools, in the grades where\nthe idea of our celebration so fittingly originated, among the tender\nyoung, can you recommend, madam, perhaps, one of your bright pupils\nto repeat for us these undying utterances whose commitment has now\nbecome, as I understand it, a part of our public school curriculum?\u201d\n\nThere was an instant\u2019s pause, and then I heard Margaret Amelia Rodman\u2019s\nname spoken. Miss Messmore had uttered it. Judge Rodman was repeating\nit, smiling blandly down with a pleased diffidence.\n\n\u201cThere can be no one more fitted to do this, Judge Rodman,\u201d Miss\nMessmore had promptly said, \u201cthan your daughter, Margaret Amelia, at\nwhose suggestion this celebration, indeed, has come about.\u201d\n\nPoor Margaret Amelia. In spite of her embroidered gown, her blue\nribbons, and her blue stockings, I have seldom seen anyone look so\nwretched as did she when they made her mount that platform. To give her\ncourage her father met her, and took her hand. And then, in his pride\nand confidence, something else occurred to him.\n\n\u201cTell us, Margaret Amelia,\u201d he said with a gesture infinitely paternal,\n\u201chow came the children to think of demanding of us wise-heads that we\ngive observance to this day which we had already voted to let slip past\nunattended? What spirit moved the children to this act?\u201d\n\nAt first Margaret Amelia merely twisted, and fingered her sash at\nthe side. Margaret Amelia was always called on for visitors\u2019 days,\nand the like. She could usually command her faculties and give a\nstraightforward answer, not so much because of what she knew as because\nof her unfailing self-confidence. Of this her father was serenely\naware; but, aware also that the situation made unusual demands, he\nconcluded to help her somewhat.\n\n\u201cHow came the children,\u201d he encouragingly put it, \u201cto think of making\nthis fine effort to save our National holiday this year?\u201d\n\nMargaret Amelia straightened slightly. She faced her audience with\nsomething of her native confidence, and told them:--\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d she said, \u201cwe all had some Fourth of July money, and there\nwasn\u2019t going to be any way to spend it.\u201d\n\nA ripple of laughter ran round, and Judge Rodman\u2019s placid pink turned\nto purple.\n\n\u201cI fear,\u201d he observed gravely, \u201cthat the immediate nature of the event\nhas somewhat obscured the real significance of the children\u2019s most\nsuperior movement. Now, my child! Miss Messmore thinks that you should\nrecite for us at least a portion of the Declaration of Independence.\nWill you do so?\u201d\n\nMargaret Amelia looked at him, down at us, away toward the waiting Wood\nYard, and then at Miss Messmore.\n\n\u201cIs it that about \u2018The shades of night were falling fast\u2019?\u201d she\ndemanded.\n\nIn the roar of laughter that followed, Margaret Amelia ran down, poor\nchild, and sobbed on Miss Messmore\u2019s shoulder. I never think of that\nmoment without something of a return of my swelling sympathy for her\nwho suffered this species of martyrdom, and so needlessly. I have seen,\nout of schools and out of certain of our superstitions, many martyrdoms\nresult, but never one that has touched me more.\n\nI do not know whether something of this feeling was in the voice that\nwe next heard speaking, or whether that which animated it was only its\nown bitterness. That voice sounded, clear and low-pitched, through the\ntime\u2019s confusion.\n\n\u201cI will read the Declaration of Independence,\u201d it said.\n\nAnd making his way through the crowd, and mounting the platform steps,\nwe saw Mary Elizabeth\u2019s father.\n\nInstinctively I put out my hand to her. But he was wholly himself,\nand this I think that she knew from the first. He was neatly dressed,\nand he laid his shabby hat on the table and picked up the book with a\ntranquil air of command. I remember how frail he looked as he buttoned\nhis worn coat, and began to read.\n\n\u201c\u2018We, the people of the United States--\u2019\u201d\n\nIt was the first time that I had ever thought of Mary Elizabeth\u2019s\nfather as to be classed with anybody. He had never had employment, he\nbelonged to no business, to no church, to no class of any sort. He\nmerely lived over across the tracks, and he went and came alone. And\nhere he was saying \u201c_We_, the people of the United States,\u201d just as if\nhe belonged.\n\nWhen my vague fear had subsided lest they might stop his reading\nbecause he was not a taxpayer, I listened for the first time in my life\nto what he read. To be sure, I had--more or less--learned it. Now I\nlistened.\n\n\u201cFree and equal,\u201d I heard him say, and I wondered what this meant.\n\u201cFree and equal.\u201d But there were Mary Elizabeth and I, were we equal?\nPerhaps, though, it didn\u2019t mean little girls--only grown-ups. But there\nwere Mary Elizabeth\u2019s father and mother, and all the other fathers\nand mothers, they were grown up, and were they equal? And what were\nthey free from, I wondered. Perhaps, though, I didn\u2019t know what these\nwords meant. \u201cFree and equal\u201d sounded like fairies, but folks I was\naccustomed to think of as burdened, and as different from one another,\nas Judge Rodman was different from Mary Elizabeth\u2019s father. This,\nhowever, was the first time that ever I had caught the word right: Not\nDecoration, but Declaration of Independence, it seemed!\n\nMary Elizabeth\u2019s father finished, and closed the book, and stood for\na moment looking over the Wood Yard. He was very tall and pale, and\nseeing him with something of dignity in his carriage I realized with\nastonishment that, if he were \u201cdressed up,\u201d he would look just like\nthe men in the choir, just like the minister himself. Then suddenly\nhe smiled round at us all, and even broke into a moment of soft and\npleasant laughter.\n\n\u201cIt has been a long time,\u201d he said, \u201csince I have had occasion to\nremember the Declaration of Independence. I am glad to have had it\ncalled to my attention. We are in danger of forgetting about it--some\nof us. May I venture to suggest that, when it is taught in the schools,\nit be made quite clear to whom this document refers. And for the rest,\nmy friends, God bless us all--some day.\u201d\n\n\u201cBless us,\u201d was what Judge Rodman had said. I remember wondering if\nthey meant the same thing.\n\nHe turned and went down the steps, and at the foot he staggered a\nlittle, and I saw with something of pride that it was my father who\nwent to him and led him away.\n\nAt once the band struck gayly into a patriotic air, and the people on\nall the benches got to their feet, and the men took off their hats. And\nabove the music I heard Stitchy Branchitt beginning to shout again:--\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s what you get--here\u2019s what you get--here\u2019s what you get!\nSomething cheap--cheap--_cheap!_\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen I came home from the fireworks with Delia\u2019s family and Mary\nElizabeth, my father and mother were sitting on the veranda.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s we who are to blame,\u201d I heard my father saying, \u201cthough we\u2019re\nfine at glossing it over.\u201d\n\nI wondered what had happened, and I sat down on the top step and began\nto untie my last torpedo from the corner of my handkerchief. Mary\nElizabeth had one left, too, and we had agreed to throw them on the\nstone window-sills of our rooms as a final salute.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s ask her now,\u201d said father.\n\nMother leaned toward me.\n\n\u201cDear,\u201d she said, \u201cfather has been having a talk with Mary Elizabeth\u2019s\nfather and mother. And--when her father isn\u2019t here any more--which may\nnot be long now, we think ... would you like us to have Mary Elizabeth\ncome and live here?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith us?\u201d I cried. \u201c_With us?_\u201d\n\nYes, they meant with us.\n\n\u201cTo work?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cTo be,\u201d mother said.\n\n\u201cOh, yes, _yes!_\u201d I welcomed it. \u201cBut her father--where will he be?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn a little while now,\u201d father said, \u201che will be free--and perhaps\neven equal.\u201d\n\nI did not understand this wholly. Besides, there was far too much to\nthink about. I turned toward the house of the New Family. A light\nglowed in Mary Elizabeth\u2019s room. I brought down my torpedo on the\nbrick walk, and it exploded merrily, and from Mary Elizabeth\u2019s window\ncame an answering pop.\n\n\u201cThen Mary Elizabeth will get free and equal too!\u201d I cried joyously.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nEARTH-MOTHER\n\n\nAnd for that day and that night, and for all the days and all the\nnights, I should like to tell a story about the Earth, and about some\nof the things that it keeps expecting.\n\nAnd if it were Sometime Far Away--say 1950--or 2050--or 3050--I should\nlike to meet some Children of Then, and tell them this story about Now,\nand hear them all talk of what a curious place the earth must have been\nlong ago, and of how many things it did not yet do.\n\nAnd their Long Ago is our Now!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor ages and ages (I should say to the Children of Then) the Earth was\na great round place of land and water, with trees, fields, cities,\nmountains, and the like dotted about on it in a pattern; and it spun\nand spun, out in space, like an enormous engraved ball tossed up in the\nair from somewhere. And many people thought that this was all there was\nto know about it, and after school they shut up their geographies and\nwent about engraving new trees, fields, cities, and such things on the\noutside of the earth. And they truly thought that this was All, and\nthey kept on doing it, rather tired but very independent.\n\nNow the Earth had a friend and companion whom nobody thought much\nabout. It was Earth\u2019s Shadow, cast by the sun in the way that any other\nshadow is cast, but it was such a big shadow that of course it fell\nfar, far out in space. And as Earth went round, naturally its Shadow\nwent round, and if one could have looked down, one would have seen the\nShadow sticking out and out, so that the Earth and its Shadow-handle\nwould have seemed almost like a huge saucepan filled with cities and\npeople, all being held out over the sun, to get them done.\n\nAmong the cities was one very beautiful City. She wore robes of\ngreen or of white, delicately embroidered with streets in a free and\nexquisite pattern, and her hair was like a flowing river, and at night\nshe put on many glorious jewels. And she had the power to change\nherself at will into a woman. This was a power, however, which she had\nnever yet used, and indeed she did not yet know wholly that she had\nthis power, but she used to dream about it, and sometimes she used to\nsing about the dream, softly, to herself. Men thought that this song\nwas the roar of the City\u2019s traffic, but it was not so.\n\nNow the Earth was most anxious for this City to become a woman because,\nalthough the Earth whirled like an enormous engraved ball and seemed\nlike a saucepan held over the sun, still all the time it was really\njust the Earth, and it was very human and tired and discouraged, and\nit needed a woman to rest it and to sing to it and to work with it, in\nher way. But there were none, because all the ordinary women were busy\nwith _their_ children. So the only way seemed to be for the City to be\na woman, as she knew how to be; and the Earth was most anxious to have\nthis happen. And it tried to see how it could bring this about.\n\nI think that the Earth may have asked the Moon, because she is a woman\nand might be expected to know something about it. But the Moon, as\nusual, was asleep on the sky, with a fine mosquito-netting of mist all\nabout her, and she said not a word. (If you look at the Moon, you\ncan see how like a beautiful, sleeping face she seems.) I think that\nthe Earth may have asked Mars, too, because he is so very near that\nit would be only polite to consult him. But he said: \u201cI\u2019m only a few\nmillion years old yet. Don\u2019t expect me to understand either cities or\npeople.\u201d And finally the Earth asked its Shadow.\n\n\u201cShadow, dear,\u201d it said, \u201cyou are pretty deep. Can\u2019t you tell me how to\nmake this City turn into a woman? For I want her to work with me, in\n_her_ way.\u201d\n\nThe Shadow, who did nothing but run to keep up with the Earth, let a\nfew thousand miles sweep by, and then it said:--\n\n\u201cReally, I wouldn\u2019t know. I\u2019m not up on much but travel.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the Earth, \u201cthen please just ask the Uttermost Spaces. You\ncontinually pass by that way and somebody ought to know something.\u201d\n\nSo the Shadow swept along the Uttermost Spaces and made an\nabyss-to-abyss canvass.\n\n\u201cThe Uttermost Spaces want to know,\u201d the Shadow reported next day,\n\u201cwhether in all that City there is a child. They said if there is, it\ncould probably do what you want.\u201d\n\n\u201cA child,\u201d said the Earth. \u201cWell, sea caves and firmaments. Of course\nthere is. What do the Uttermost Spaces think I\u2019m in the Earth business\nfor if it isn\u2019t for the Children?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said its Shadow, rather sulkily. \u201cI\u2019m only telling you\nwhat I heard. If you\u2019re cross with me, I won\u2019t keep up with you. I\u2019m\nabout tired of it anyway.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I beg your pardon,\u201d said the Earth, \u201cYou mustn\u2019t mind me. I\u2019m\nalways a little sunstruck. A thousand thanks. Come along, do.\u201d\n\n\u201cA child,\u201d thought the Earth, \u201ca child. How could a child change a City\ninto a woman? And _what_ child?\u201d\n\nBut it was a very wise old Earth, and to its mind all children are\nvaluable. So after a time it concluded that one child in that City\nwould be as good as another, and perhaps any child could work the\nmiracle. So it said: \u201cI choose to work the miracle that child who is\nthinking about the most beautiful thing in the world.\u201d\n\nThen it listened.\n\nNow, since the feet of people are pressed all day long to earth, it\nis true that the Earth can talk with everyone and, by listening, can\nknow what is in each heart. When it listened this time, it chanced that\nit was the middle of the night, when nearly every little child was\nsleeping and dreaming. But there was one little girl lying wide awake\nand staring out her bedroom window up at the stars, and as soon as the\nEarth listened to her thoughts, it knew that she was the one.\n\nOf what do you suppose she was thinking? She was thinking of her\nmother, who had died before she could remember her, and wondering\nwhere she was; and she was picturing what her mother had looked like,\nand what her mother would have said to her, and how her mother\u2019s\narms would have felt about her, and her mother\u2019s good-night kiss;\nand she was wondering how it would be to wake in the night, a little\nfrightened, and turn and stretch out her arms and find her mother\nbreathing there beside her, ready to wake her and give her an\nin-the-middle-of-the-night kiss and send her back to sleep again. And\nshe thought about it all so longingly that her little heart was like\nnothing in the world so much as the one word \u201cMother.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be you,\u201d said the Earth.\n\nSo the Earth spoke to its Shadow who was, of course, just then fastened\nto that same side, it being night.\n\n\u201cShadow, dear,\u201d Earth said, like a prescription, \u201cfold closely about\nher and drop out a dream or two. But do not let her forget.\u201d\n\nSo Shadow folded about her and dropped out a dream or two. And all\nnight Earth lapped her in its silences, but they did not let her\nforget. And Shadow left word with Morning, telling Morning what to do,\nand she kissed the little girl\u2019s eyelids so that the first thing she\nthought when she waked was how wonderful it would be to be kissed awake\nby her mother. And her little heart beat _Mother_ in her breast.\n\nAs soon as she was dressed (\u201cMuvvers wouldn\u2019t pinch your feet with the\nbutton-hook, or tie your ribbon too tight, or get your laxtixs short\nso\u2019s they pull,\u201d she thought), as soon as she was dressed, and had\npressed her feet to Earth, Earth began to talk to her.\n\n\u201cGo out and find a mother,\u201d it said to her.\n\n\u201cMy muvver is dead,\u201d thought the little girl.\n\nEarth said: \u201cI am covered with mothers and with those who ought to be\nmothers. Go to them. Tell them you haven\u2019t any mother. Wouldn\u2019t one of\nthose be next best?\u201d\n\nAnd the Earth said so much, and the little girl\u2019s heart so strongly\nbeat _Mother_, that she could not help going to see.\n\nOn the street she looked very little and she felt--oh, _much_ littler\nthan in the house with furniture. For the street seemed to be merely a\nworld of Skirts--skirts everywhere and also the bottoms of men\u2019s coats\nwith impersonal Legs below. And these said nothing. Away up above were\nVoices, talking very fast, and to one another, and entirely leaving\nher out. She was out of the conversations and out of account, and it\nfelt far more lonely than it did with just furniture. Now and then\nanother child would pass who would look at her as if she really were\nthere; but everyone was hanging on its mother\u2019s hand or her Skirt, or\nelse, if the child were alone, a Voice from ahead or behind was saying:\n\u201cHurry, dear. Mother won\u2019t wait. Come and see what\u2019s in _this_ window.\u201d\nLittlegirl thought how wonderful that would be, to have somebody ahead\nlooking back for her, and she waited on purpose, by a hydrant, and\npretended that she was going to hear somebody saying: \u201c_Do_ come on,\ndear. Mother\u2019ll be late for her fitting.\u201d But nobody said anything.\nOnly an automobile stood close by the hydrant and in it was a little\nyellow-haired girl, and just at that moment a lady came from a shop and\ngot in the automobile and handed the little girl a white tissue-paper\nparcel and said: \u201cSit farther over--there\u2019s a dear. Now, that\u2019s for\nyou, but don\u2019t open it till we get home.\u201d _What_ was in the parcel,\nLittlegirl wondered, and stood looking after the automobile until it\nwas lost. One little boy passed her, holding tightly to his mother\u2019s\nhand, and she stooping over him and he _crying_. Littlegirl tried to\nthink what could be bad enough to cry about when you had hold of your\nmother\u2019s hand and she was bending over you. A stone in your shoe? Or\na pin in your neck? Or because you\u2019d lost your locket? But would any\nof those things matter enough to cry when your mother had hold of your\nhand? She looked up at the place beside her where her own mother would\nbe walking and tried to see where her face would be.\n\nAnd as she looked up, she saw the tops of the high buildings across\nthe street, and below them the windows hung thick as pictures on a\nwall, and thicker. The shop doors were open like doors to wonderful,\nmysterious palaces where you went in with your mother and she picked\nout your dresses and said: \u201cWouldn\u2019t you like this one, dear? Mother\nused to have one like this when _she_ was a little girl.\u201d And\nLittlegirl saw, too, one of the side streets, and how it was all lined\nwith homes, whose doors were shut, like closed lips with nothing to say\nto anybody save those who lived there--the children who were promised\nChristmas trees--and _got_ them, too. And between shops and homes was\nthe world of Skirts and Voices, mothers whose little girls were at\nhome, daddys who would run up the front steps at night and cry: \u201cCome\nhere, Puss. Did you grow any since morning?\u201d Or, \u201c_Where\u2019s my son?_\u201d\n(Littlegirl knew how it went--she had heard them.) Shops and homes and\ncrowds--a City! A City for everybody but her.\n\nWhen the Earth--who all this time was listening--heard her think that,\nit made to flow up into her little heart the longing to belong to\nsomebody. And Littlegirl ran straight up to a lady in blue linen, who\nwas passing.\n\n\u201cAre you somebody\u2019s muvver?\u201d she asked.\n\nThe lady looked down in the little face and stood still.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d she said soberly.\n\nLittlegirl slipped her hand in her white glove.\n\n\u201cI aren\u2019t anybody\u2019s little girl,\u201d she said. \u201cLet\u2019s trade each other.\u201d\n\nAnd the Earth, who was listening, made to flow in the lady\u2019s heart an\nold longing.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s go in here, at any rate,\u201d said the Lady, \u201cand talk it over.\u201d\n\nSo they went in a wonderful place, all made of mirrors, and jars of\nbonbons, and long trays, as big as doll cradles, and filled with\nbonbons too. And they sat at a cool table, under a whirry fan, and had\nbefore them thick, foamy, frozen chocolate. And the Blue Linen Lady\nsaid:--\n\n\u201cBut whose little girl are you, really?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m _my_ little girl, I think,\u201d said Littlegirl. \u201cI don\u2019t know who\nelse\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith whom do you live?\u201d asked the Lady.\n\n\u201cSome peoples,\u201d said Littlegirl, \u201cthat\u2019s other people\u2019s muvvers. Don\u2019t\nlet\u2019s say about them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat shall we say about?\u201d asked the Lady, smiling.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s pretend you was my muvver,\u201d said Littlegirl.\n\nThe lady looked startled, but she nodded slowly.\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ll play that. How do you play it?\u201d\n\nLittlegirl hesitated and looked down in her chocolate.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know berry well,\u201d she said soberly. \u201c_You_ say how.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the Lady, \u201cif you were my little girl, I should probably\nbe saying to you, \u2018Do you like this, dear? Don\u2019t eat it fast. And take\nlittle bits of bites.\u2019 And you would say, \u2018Yes, mother.\u2019 And then what?\u201d\n\nLittlegirl looked deep down her chocolate. She was making a cave in one\nside of it, with the foamy part on top for snow. And while she looked\nthe snow suddenly seemed to melt and brim over, and she looked at the\nlady mutely.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know how,\u201d she said; \u201cI don\u2019t know how!\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind!\u201d said the Lady, very quickly and a little unsteadily,\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you a story instead--shall I?\u201d\n\nSo the Blue Linen Lady told her a really wonderful story. It was about\na dwarf who was made of gold, all but his heart, and about what a\nterrible time he had trying to pretend that he was a truly, flesh and\nblood person. It made him so unhappy to have to pretend all the time\nthat he got _scandalous_ cross to everybody, and nothing could please\nhim. His gold kept getting harder and harder till he could move only\nwith the greatest difficulty, and it looked as if his heart were going\ngolden too. And if it did, of course he would die. But one night, just\nas the soft outside edges of his heart began to take on a shining\ntinge, a little boy ran out in the road where the dwarf was passing,\nand in the dark mistook him for his father, and jumped up and threw\nhis arms about the dwarf\u2019s neck and hugged him. And of a sudden the\ndwarf\u2019s heart began to beat, and when he got in the house, he saw that\nhe wasn\u2019t gold any more, and he wasn\u2019t a dwarf--but he was straight\nand strong and real. \u201cAnd so,\u201d the Lady ended it, \u201cyou must love every\ngrown-up you can, because maybe their hearts are turning into gold and\nyou can stop it that way.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 must _you_ love every children?\u201d asked Littlegirl, very low.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the Lady, \u201cI must.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 will you love me an\u2019 be my muvver?\u201d asked Littlegirl.\n\nThe Blue Linen Lady sighed.\n\n\u201cYou dear little thing,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019d love it--I\u2019d love it. But I\ntruly haven\u2019t any place for you to live--or any time to give you.\nCome now--I\u2019m going to get you some candy and take you back where you\nbelong--_in an automobile_. Won\u2019t that be fun?\u201d\n\nBut when she turned for the candy, Littlegirl slipped out the door and\nran and ran as fast as she could. (She had thanked the lady, first\nthing, for the thick, frozen, foamy chocolate, so _that_ part was\nall right.) And Littlegirl went round a corner and lost herself in a\ncrowd--in which it is far easier to lose yourself than in the woods.\nAnd there she was again, worse off than before, because she had felt\nhow it would feel to feel that she had a mother.\n\nThe Earth--who would have shaken its head if it could without\ndisarranging everything on it--said things instead to its Shadow--who\nwas by now on the other side of the world from the City.\n\n\u201cShadow, dear,\u201d said the Earth, \u201cwhat _do_ you think of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe very Uttermost Spaces are ashamed for her,\u201d said the Shadow.\n\nBut of course the Blue Linen Lady had no idea that the Earth and its\nShadow and the Uttermost Spaces had been watching to see what she did.\n\nLittlegirl ran on, many a weary block, and though she met\nmother-looking women she dared speak to none of them for fear they\nwould offer to take her back in an automobile, with some candy, to the\npeople with whom she lived-without-belonging. And of late, these people\nhad said things in her presence about the many mouths to feed, and she\nhad heard, and had understood, and it had made her heart beat _Mother_,\nas it had when she wakened that day.\n\nAt last, when she was most particularly tired, she came to the park\nwhere it was large and cool and woodsy and wonderful. But in the park\nthe un-motherness of things was worse than ever. To be sure, there\nwere no mothers there, only nurse-maids. But the nurse-maids and the\nchildren and the covers-to-baby-carriages were all so ruffly or lacy\nor embroidery or starchy and so white that _mother_ was written all\nover them. Nobody else could have cared to have them like that. How\nwonderful it would be, Littlegirl thought, to be paid attention to as\nif you were a really person and not just hanging on the edges. Even\nthe squirrels were coaxed and beckoned. She sat down on the edge of\na bench on which an old gentleman was feeding peanuts to a squirrel\nperched on his knee, and she thought it would be next best to having\na Christmas tree to be a squirrel and have somebody taking pains like\nthat to keep her near by.\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s your nurse, my dear?\u201d the old gentleman asked her finally, and\nshe ran away so that he should not guess that she was her own little\ngirl and nobody else\u2019s.\n\nWherever she saw a policeman, she lingered beside a group of children\nso that he would think that she belonged to them. And once, for a long\nway, she trotted behind two nurses and five children, pretending that\nshe belonged. Once a thin, stooped youth in spectacles called her and\ngave her an orange. He was sitting alone on a bench with his chin in\nhis chest, and he looked ill and unhappy. Littlegirl wondered if this\nwas because he didn\u2019t have any mother either, and she longed to ask\nhim; but she was afraid he would not want to own to not having any, in\na world where nearly everyone seemed to have one. So she played through\nthe long hours of the morning. So, having lunched on the orange, she\nplayed through the long hours of the afternoon. And then Dusk began to\ncome--and Dusk meant that Earth\u2019s Shadow had run round again, and was\ncoming on the side where the City lay.\n\nAnd when the Shadow reached the park, there, on a knoll beside a\nbarberry bush, he found Littlegirl lying fast asleep.\n\nIn a great flutter he questioned the Earth.\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d said Shadow, \u201cwhat _are_ you thinking of? Here is the child\nwho was to work the miracle and make the City turn into a woman. And\nshe is lying alone in the park. And I\u2019m coming on and I\u2019ll have to make\nit all dark and frighten her. What does this mean?\u201d\n\nBut the Earth, who is closer to people than is its Shadow, merely\nsaid:--\n\n\u201cWait, Shadow. I am listening. I can hear the speeding of many feet.\nAnd I think that the miracle has begun.\u201d\n\nIt was true that all through the City there was the speeding of many\nfeet, and on one errand. Wires and messengers were busy, automobiles\nwere busy, blue-coated men were busy, and all of them were doing the\nsame thing: Looking for Littlegirl. Busiest of all was the Blue Linen\nLady, who felt herself and nobody else responsible for Littlegirl\u2019s\nloss.\n\n\u201cIt is too dreadful,\u201d she kept saying over and over, \u201cI had her with\nme. She gave me my chance, and I didn\u2019t take it. If anything has\nhappened to her, I shall never forgive myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the way people always talk _afterward_,\u201d said the Earth\u2019s\nShadow. \u201cWhy don\u2019t they ever talk that way before? I\u2019d ask the\nUttermost Spaces, but I know they don\u2019t know.\u201d\n\nBut the wise Earth only listened and made to flow to the Blue Linen\nLady\u2019s heart an old longing. And when they had traced Littlegirl as far\nas the park--for it seemed that many of the busy Skirts and Coats and\nVoices had noticed her, only they were so very busy--the Blue Linen\nLady herself went into the park, and it was the light of her automobile\nthat flashed white on the glimmering frock of Littlegirl.\n\nLittlegirl was wakened, as never before within her memory she had been\nwakened, by tender arms about her, lifting her, and soft lips kissing\nher, many and many a time. And waking so, in the strange, great Dark,\nwith the new shapes of trees above her and tenderness wrapping her\nround, and an in-the-middle-of-the-night kiss on her lips, Littlegirl\ncould think of but one thing that had happened:--\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m _glad_ I died--I\u2019m _glad_ I died!\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cYou haven\u2019t died, you little thing!\u201d cried the Blue Linen Lady.\n\u201cYou\u2019re alive--and if they\u2019ll let you stay, you\u2019re never going to leave\nme. I\u2019ve made up my mind to _that_. Come--come, dear.\u201d\n\nLittlegirl lay quite still, too happy to speak or think. For somebody\nhad said \u201cdear,\u201d had even said \u201cCome, dear.\u201d And it didn\u2019t mean a\nlittle girl away ahead, or away back, or in an automobile. _It meant\nher._\n\nThe Earth\u2019s Shadow brooded over the two and helped them to be very near.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s worth keeping up with you all this time,\u201d Shadow said to the\nEarth, \u201cto see things like this. Even the Uttermost Spaces are touched.\u201d\n\nBut the Earth was silent, listening. For the City, the beautiful,\ngreen-robed City lying in her glorious night jewels, knew what was\nhappening too. And when the Lady lifted Littlegirl, to carry her\naway, it was as if something had happened which had touched the life\nof the City herself. She listened, as the Earth was listening, and the\nsoft crooning which men thought was the roar of her traffic was really\nher song about what she heard. For the story of Littlegirl spread and\nechoed, and other children\u2019s stories like hers were in the song, and it\nwas one of the times when the heart of the City was stirred to a great,\nnew measure. At last the City understood the homelessness of children,\nand their labour, and their suffering, and the waste of them; and she\nbrooded above them like a mother.... And suddenly she knew herself,\nthat she _was_ the mother of all little children, and that she must\ncare for them like a mother _if she was to keep herself alive_. And if\nthey were to grow up to be her Family, and not just her pretend family,\nwith nobody looking out for anybody else--as no true family would do.\n\n\u201cIs it well?\u201d asked the Shadow, softly, of the Earth.\n\n\u201cIt is well,\u201d said the Earth, in deep content. \u201cDon\u2019t you hear the\nhuman voices beginning to sing with her? Don\u2019t you see the other\nCities watching? Oh, it is well indeed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll go and mention it to the Uttermost Spaces,\u201d said the Shadow.\n\nAnd, in time, so he did.\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nTHREE TO MAKE READY\n\n\nRed mosquito-netting, preferably from peach baskets, was best for\nbottles of pink water. You soaked the netting for a time depending in\nlength on the shade of pink you desired--light, deep, or plain. A very\nlittle red ink produced a beautiful red water, likewise of a superior\ntint. Violet ink, diluted, remained true to type. Cold coffee gave the\nbrowns and yellows. Green tissue paper dissolved into somewhat dull\nemerald. Pure blue and orange, however, had been almost impossible to\nobtain save by recourse to our paint boxes, too choice to be used in\nthis fashion, or to a chance artificial flower on an accessible hat--of\nwhich we were not at all too choice, but whose utilization might be\nfollowed, not to say attended, by consequences.\n\nThat August afternoon we were at work on a grand scale. At the Rodmans,\nwho lived on the top of the hill overlooking the town and the peaceful\nwestward-lying valley of the river, we had chosen to set up a great\nSoda Fountain, the like of which had never been.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the kind of a fountain,\u201d Margaret Amelia Rodman explained, \u201cthat\nknights used to drink at. That kind.\u201d\n\nWe classified it instantly.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d she went on, \u201cus damsels are getting this thing up for the\nknights that are tourmeying. If the king knew it, he wouldn\u2019t leave\nus do it, because he\u2019d think it\u2019s beneath our dignity. But he don\u2019t\nknow it. He\u2019s off. He\u2019s to the chase. But all the king\u2019s household is\ninside the palace, and us damsels have to be secret, getting up our\npreparations. Now we must divide up the--er--responsibility.\u201d\n\nI listened, spellbound.\n\n\u201cI thought you and Betty didn\u2019t like to play Pretend,\u201d I was surprised\ninto saying.\n\n\u201cWhy, we\u2019ll pretend if there\u2019s anything to pretend _about_ that\u2019s\nreal,\u201d said Margaret Amelia, haughtily.\n\nThey told us where in the palace the various ingredients were likely to\nbe found. Red mosquito-netting, perhaps, in the cellar--at this time\nof day fairly safe. Red and violet ink in the library--very dangerous\nindeed at this hour. Cold coffee--almost unobtainable. Green tissue\npaper, to be taken from the flower-pots in the dining-room--exceedingly\ndangerous. Blue and orange, if discoverable at all, then in the\nChristmas tree box in the trunk room--attended by few perils as to\nmeetings en route, but in respect to appropriating what was desired, by\nthe greatest perils of all.\n\nThis last adventure the Rodmans themselves heroically undertook. It was\nalso conceded that, on their return from their quest--provided they\never did return alive--it would be theirs to procure the necessary\ncold coffee. The other adventures were distributed, and Mary Elizabeth\nand I were told off together to penetrate the cellar in search of red\nmosquito-netting. The bottles had already been collected, and these\nlittle Harold Rodman was left to guard and luxuriously to fill with\nwater and luxuriously to empty.\n\nThere was an outside cellar door, and it was closed. This invited\nMary Elizabeth and me to an expedition or two before we even entered.\nWe slid from the top to the bottom, sitting, standing, and backward.\nThen, since Harold was beginning to observe us with some attention, we\nlifted the ring--_the ring_--in the door and descended.\n\n\u201cAladdin immediately beheld bags of inexhaustible riches,\u201d said Mary\nElizabeth, almost reverently.\n\nFirst, there was a long, narrow passage lined with ash barrels, a\nderelict coal scuttle, starch boxes, mummies of brooms, and the like.\nBut at this point if we had chanced on the red mosquito-netting, we\nshould have felt distinctly cheated of some right. A little farther on,\nhowever, the passage branched, and we stood in delighted uncertainty.\nIf the giant lived one way and the gorgon the other, which was our way?\n\nThe way that we did choose led into a small round cellar, lighted\nby a narrow, dusty window, now closed. Formless things stood\neverywhere--crates, tubs, shelves whose ghostly contents were shrouded\nby newspapers. It occurred to me that I had never yet told Mary\nElizabeth about our cellar. I decided to do so then and there. She\nbacked up against the wall to listen, manifestly so that there should\nbe nothing over her shoulder.\n\nOur cellar was a round, bricked-in place under the dining-room.\nSometimes I had been down there while they had been selecting preserves\nby candle-light. And I had long ago settled that the curved walls\nwere set with little sealed doors behind each of which _He_ sat.\nThese _He\u2019s_ were not in the least unfriendly--they merely sat there\nclose to the wall, square shouldered and very still, looking neither\nto right nor left, waiting. Probably, I thought, it might happen\nsome day--whatever they waited for; and then they would all go away.\nMeanwhile, there they were; and they evidently knew that I knew they\nwere there, but they evidently did not expect me to mention it; for\nonce, when I did so, they all stopped doing nothing and looked at me,\nall together, as if something used their eyes for them at a signal.\nIt was to Mary Gilbraith that I had spoken, while she was at our\nhouse-cleaning, and the moment I had chosen was when she was down in\nthe cellar without a candle and I was lying flat on the floor above\nher, peering down the trap doorway.\n\n\u201cMary,\u201d I said, \u201cthey\u2019s a big row of _He\u2019s_ sitting close together\ninside the wall. They\u2019ve got big foreheads. Bang on the wall and see\nif they\u2019ll answer--\u201d for I had always longed to bang and had never\nquite dared.\n\n\u201cOh, my great Scotland!\u201d said Mary Gilbraith, and was up the ladder\nin a second. That was when they looked at me, and then I knew that I\nshould not have spoken to her about them, and I began to see that there\nare some things that must not be said. And I felt a kind of shame, too,\nwhen Mary turned on me. \u201cYou little Miss,\u201d she said wrathfully, \u201cwith\nyour big eyes. An\u2019 myself bitin\u2019 on my own nerves for fear of picking\nup a lizard for a potato. Go play.\u201d\n\n\u201cI _was_ playing,\u201d I tried to explain.\n\n\u201cPlay playthings, then, and not ha\u2019nts,\u201d said Mary.\n\nSo I never said anything more to her, save about plates and fritters\nand such things.\n\nTo this recital Mary Elizabeth listened sympathetically.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s just one great big one lives down in our cellar,\u201d she confided\nin turn. \u201cNot in the wall--but out loose. When the apples and stuff go\ndown there, I always think how glad he is.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you afraid of him?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cAfraid!\u201d Mary Elizabeth repeated. \u201cWhy, no. Once, when I was down\nthere, I tried to pretend there wasn\u2019t anything lived there--and _then_\nit was frightening and I was scared.\u201d\n\nI understood. It would indeed be a great, lonely, terrifying world if\nthese little friendly folk did not live in cellars, walls, attics,\nstair-closets and the like. Of course they were friendly. Why should\nthey be otherwise?\n\n\u201cR-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-t,\u201d something went, close by Mary Elizabeth\u2019s head.\n\nWe looked up. The dimness of the ceiling was miles deep. We could not\nsee a ceiling.\n\n\u201cSt-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t,\u201d it went again. And this time it did not stop, and\nit began to be accompanied by a rumbling sound as from the very cave\ninside the world.\n\nMary Elizabeth and I took hold of hands and ran. We scrambled up the\nsteps and escaped to the sultry welcome of bright day. Out there\neverything was as before. Little Harold was crossing the lawn carrying\na flower-pot of water which was running steadily from the hole in the\nbottom. With the maternal importance of little girls, we got the jar\nfrom him and undertook to bring him more water. And when he led us to\nthe source of supply, this was a faucet in the side of the house just\nbeyond a narrow, dusty, cellar window. When he turned the faucet, we\nwere, so to speak, face to face with that R-s-t-t-t-t-t.\n\nMary Elizabeth and I looked at each other and looked away. Then we\nlooked back and braved it through.\n\n\u201cAnyway,\u201d she said, \u201cwe were afraid of a truly thing, and not of a\npretend thing.\u201d\n\nThere seemed to us, I recall, a certain loyalty in this as to a creed.\n\nAlready Delia had returned from the library. The authorities refused\nthe ink. One might come in there and write with it, but one must\nnot take it from the table. Calista arrived from the dining-room. A\nwaiting-woman to the queen, she reported, was engaged in dusting the\nsideboard and she herself had advanced no farther than the pantry door.\nIt remained only for Margaret Amelia and Betty to come from their\nfarther quest bearing a green handbill which they thought might take\nthe place of Calista\u2019s quarry if she returned empty-handed; but we were\nno nearer than before to blue and orange materials, or to any other.\n\nWe took counsel and came to a certain ancient conclusion that in union\nthere is strength. We must, we thought we saw, act the aggressor. We\nmoved on the stronghold together. Armed with a spoon and two bottles,\nwe found a keeper of properties within who spooned us out the necessary\nink; tea was promised to take the place of coffee if we would keep out\nof the house and not bother anybody any more, indefinitely; shoe-polish\nwas conceded in a limited quantity, briefly, and under inspection; and\nwe all descended into Aladdin\u2019s cave and easily found baskets to which\nred mosquito-netting was clinging in sufficient measure. Then we sat in\nthe shade of the side lawn and proceeded to colour many waters.\n\nIt was a delicate task to cloud the clear liquid to this tint and that,\nto watch it change expression under our hands, pale, deepen, vary to\nour touch; in its heart to set jewels and to light fires. We worked\nwith deep deliberation, testing by old standards of taste set up by\nat least two or three previous experiences, consulting one another\u2019s\nsoberest judgment, occasionally inventing a new liquid. I remember that\nit was on that day that we first thought of bluing. Common washing\nbluing, the one substance really intended for colouring water, had so\nfar escaped our notice.\n\n\u201cSomebody,\u201d observed Margaret Amelia, as we worked, \u201cought to keep\nkeeping a look-out to see if they\u2019re coming back.\u201d\n\nDelia, who was our man of action, ran to the clothes-reel, which stood\non the highest land of the castle grounds, and looked away over the\nvalley.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a cloud of dust on the horizon,\u201d she reported, \u201cbut I think\nit\u2019s Mr. Wells getting home from Caledonia.\u201d\n\n\u201cWouldn\u2019t they blare their horns before they got here?\u201d Mary Elizabeth\nwanted to know.\n\n\u201cWhat was a knight _for_, anyway?\u201d Delia demanded.\n\n\u201c_For?_\u201d Margaret Amelia repeated, in a kind of personal indignation.\n\u201cWhy, to--to--to right wrongs, of course.\u201d\n\nDelia surveyed the surrounding scene through the diluted red ink in a\nglass-stoppered bottle.\n\n\u201cI guess I know that,\u201d she said. \u201cBut I mean, what was his job?\u201d\n\nWe had never thought of that. Did one, then, have to have a job other\nthan righting wrongs?\n\nMargaret Amelia undertook to explain.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d she said, \u201cit was this way: Knights liberated damsels and razed\ndown strongholds and took robber chieftains and got into adventures.\nAnd they lived off the king and off hermits.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what was the end of \u2019em?\u201d Delia wanted to know. \u201cThey never\nmarried and lived happily ever after. They married and just kept right\non going.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was on account of the Holy Grail,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth. It\nwas wonderful, as I look back, to remember how her face would light\nsometimes; as just then, and as when somebody came to school with the\nfirst violets.\n\n\u201cThe what?\u201d said Delia.\n\n\u201cThey woke up in the night sometimes,\u201d Mary Elizabeth recited softly,\n\u201cand they saw it, in light, right there inside their dark cell. And\nthey looked and looked, and it was all shiny and near-to. And when\nthey saw it, they knew about all the principal things. And those that\nnever woke up and saw it, always kept trying to, because they knew they\nweren\u2019t _really_ ones till they saw. Most everybody wasn\u2019t really,\nbecause only a few saw it. Most of them died and never saw it at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did it look like?\u201d demanded Delia.\n\n\u201cHush!\u201d said Calista, with a shocked glance, having somewhere picked up\nthe impression that very sacred things, like very wicked things, must\nnever be mentioned. But Mary Elizabeth did not heed her.\n\n\u201cIt was all shining and near to,\u201d she repeated. \u201cIt was in a great,\ndark sky, with great, bright worlds falling all around it, but it was\nin the centre and it didn\u2019t fall. It was all still, and brighter than\nanything; and when you saw it, you never forgot.\u201d\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s pause, which Delia broke.\n\n\u201cHow do you know?\u201d she demanded.\n\nMary Elizabeth was clouding red mosquito-netting water by shaking soap\nin it, an effect much to be desired. She went on shaking the corked\nbottle, and looking away toward the sun slanting to late afternoon.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know how I know,\u201d she said in manifest surprise. \u201cBut I know.\u201d\n\nWe sat silent for a minute.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m going back to see if they\u2019re coming home from the hunt\n_now_,\u201d said Delia, scrambling up.\n\n\u201cFrom the _chase_,\u201d Margaret Amelia corrected her loftily, \u201cand from\nthe tourmey. I b\u2019lieve,\u201d she corrected herself conscientiously, \u201cthat\nhad ought to be tourmament.\u201d\n\nThis time Delia thought that she saw them coming, the king and his\nknights, with pennons and plumes, just entering Conant Street down by\nthe Brices. As we must be ready by the time the party dismounted, there\nwas need for the greatest haste. But we found that the clothes-reel,\nwhich was to be the fountain, must have a rug and should have flowing\ncurtains if it were to grace a castle courtyard; so, matters having\nbeen further delayed by the discovery of Harold about to drink the\nvanilla water, we concluded that we had been mistaken about the\napproach of the knights; and that they were by now only on the bridge.\n\nA journey to the attic for the rug and curtains resulted in delays,\nthe sight of some cast-off garments imperatively suggesting the\nfitness of our dressing for the r\u00f4le we were to assume. This took some\ntime and was accompanied by the selection of new names all around.\nAt last, however, we were back in the yard with the rugs and the\nmuslin curtains in place, and the array of coloured bottles set up\nin rows at the top of the carpeted steps. Then we arranged ourselves\nbehind these delicacies, in our bravery of old veils and scarves and\ntattered sequins. Harold was below, as a page, in a red sash. \u201cA little\nfoot-page,\u201d Margaret Amelia had wanted him called, but this he himself\nvetoed.\n\n\u201cMine feet _big_ feet,\u201d he defended himself.\n\nThen we waited.\n\nWe waited, chatted amiably, as court ladies will. Occasionally we rose\nand scanned the street, and reported that they were almost here. Then\nwe resumed our seats and waited. This business had distinctly palled on\nus all when Delia faced it.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s have them get here if they\u2019re going to,\u201d she said.\n\nSo we sat and told each other that they were entering the yard, that\nthey were approaching the dais, that they were kneeling at our feet.\nBut it was unconvincing. None of us really wanted them to kneel or\nknew what to do with them when they did kneel. The whole pretence was\nlacking in action, and very pale.\n\n\u201cIt was lots more fun getting ready than this is,\u201d said Calista,\nsomewhat brutally.\n\nWe stared in one another\u2019s faces, feeling guilty of a kind of\ndisloyalty, yet compelled to acknowledge this great truth. In our\nhearts we remembered to have noticed this thing before: That getting\nready for a thing was more fun than doing that thing.\n\n\u201cWhy couldn\u2019t we get a quest?\u201d inquired Margaret Amelia. \u201cThen it\nwouldn\u2019t have to stop. It\u2019d last every day.\u201d\n\nThat was the obvious solution: We would get a quest.\n\n\u201cGirls can\u2019t quest, can they?\u201d Betty suggested doubtfully.\n\nWe looked in one another\u2019s faces. Could it be true? Did the damsels sit\nat home? Was it only the knights who quested?\n\nDelia was a free soul. Forthwith she made a precedent.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d she said, \u201cI don\u2019t know whether they did quest. But they can\nquest. So let\u2019s do it.\u201d\n\nThe reason in this appealed to us all. Immediately we confronted the\nproblem: What should we quest for?\n\nWe stared off over the valley through which the little river ran\nshining and slipped beyond our horizon.\n\n\u201cI wonder,\u201d said Mary Elizabeth, \u201cif it would be wrong to quest for the\nHoly Grail _now_.\u201d\n\nWe stood there against the west, where bright doors seemed opening in\nthe pouring gold of the sun, thick with shining dust. The glory seemed\nvery near. Why not do something beautiful? Why not--why not....\n\n\n\n\nThe following pages contain advertisements of Macmillan books by the\nsame author, and new fiction\n\n\n\n\n_By the Same Author_\n\n\nChristmas\n\nBY ZONA GALE\n\nAuthor of \u201cMothers to Men,\u201d \u201cThe Loves of Pelleas and Etarre.\u201d\nIllustrated in colors by LEON SOLON.\n\n_Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net; postpaid, $1.42_\n\nA town in the Middle West, pinched with poverty, decides that it will\nhave no Christmas, as no one can afford to buy gifts. They perhaps\nfoolishly reckon that the heart-burnings and the disappointments of\nthe children will be obviated by passing the holiday season over with\nno observance. How this was found to be simply and wholly impossible,\nhow the Christmas joys and Christmas spirit crept into the little town\nand into the hearts of its most positive objectors, and how Christmas\ncannot be arbitrated about, make up the basis of a more than ordinarily\nappealing novel. Incidentally it is a little boy who really makes\npossible a delightful outcome. A thread of romance runs through it all\nwith something of the meaning of Christmas for the individual human\nbeing and for the race.\n\n  \u201cA fine story of Yuletide impulses in Miss Gale\u2019s best\n  style.\u201d--_N. Y. World._\n\n  \u201cNo living writer more thoroughly understands the true spirit\n  of Christmas than does Zona Gale.\u201d--_Chicago Record-Herald._\n\n  \u201c\u2018Christmas\u2019 is that rare thing, a Yuletide tale, with a touch\n  of originality about it.\u201d--_N. Y. Press._\n\n  \u201cThe book is just the thing for a gift.\u201d--_Chicago Tribune._\n\n\n\n\n_The Other Books of Miss Gale_\n\n\nMothers to Men\n\n_Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net; by mail, $1.62 net_\n\nThe author is singularly successful in detaching herself from all\nthe wear and tear of modern life and has produced a book filled with\nsweetness, beautiful in ideas, charming in characterizations, highly\ncontemplative, and evidencing a philosophy of life all her own.\n\n  \u201cOne of the most widely read of our writers of short\n  fiction.\u201d--_The Bookman._\n\n\nFriendship Village\n\n_Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net_\n\n  \u201cAs charming as an April day, all showers and sunshine, and sometimes\n  both together, so that the delighted reader hardly knows whether\n  laughter or tears are fittest.\u201d--_The New York Times._\n\n\nThe Loves of Pelleas and Etarre\n\n_Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net_\n\n_Macmillan Fiction Library_\n\n_12mo, $.50 net_\n\n  \u201cIt contains the sort of message that seems to set the world right\n  for even the most depressed, and can be depended upon to sweeten\n  every moment spent over it.\u201d--_San Francisco Chronicle._\n\n\nFriendship Village Love Stories\n\n_Decorated cloth, gilt top, 12mo, $1.50 net_\n\n  Miss Gale\u2019s pleasant and highly individual outlook upon life has\n  never been revealed to better advantage than in these charming\n  stories of the heart affairs of the young people of Friendship\n  Village.\n\n\n\n\n_New Macmillan Fiction_\n\n\nMRS. WATTS\u2019S NEW NOVEL\n\n  Van Cleve\n\n  BY MARY S. WATTS\n\n  Author of \u201cNathan Burke,\u201d \u201cThe Legacy,\u201d etc.\n\n  _Cloth, 12mo._\n\n  Never has the author of \u201cNathan Burke\u201d and \u201cThe Legacy\u201d written\n  more convincingly or appealingly than in this story of modern\n  life. Those who have enjoyed the intense realism of Mrs.\n  Watts\u2019s earlier work, the settings of which have largely been\n  of the past, will welcome this book of the present in which she\n  demonstrates that her skill is no less in handling scenes and\n  types of people with which we are familiar than in the so-called\n  \u201chistorical\u201d novel. \u201cVan Cleve\u201d is about a young man who, while\n  still in his early twenties, is obliged to support a family of\n  foolish, good-hearted, ill-balanced women, and one shiftless,\n  pompous old man, his grandmother, aunt, cousin, and uncle. Van\n  Cleve proves himself equal to the obligation--and equal, too, to\n  many other severe tests that are put upon him by his friends.\n  Besides him there is one character which it is doubtful whether\n  the reader will ever forget--Bob. His life not only shapes Van\n  Cleve\u2019s to a large extent, but that of several other people,\n  notably his sister, the girl whom Van Cleve loves in his patient\n  way.\n\n\nThe Valley of the Moon\n\n  BY JACK LONDON\n\n  With Frontispiece in Colors by GEORGE HARPER\n\n  _Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net_\n\n  A love story in Mr. London\u2019s most powerful style, strikingly\n  contrasted against a background of present-day economic\n  problems--that is what \u201cThe Valley of the Moon\u201d is. The hero,\n  teamster, prize-fighter, adventurer, man of affairs, is one of\n  Mr. London\u2019s unforgettable big men. The romance which develops\n  out of his meeting with a charming girl and which does not end\n  with their marriage is absorbingly told. The action of the plot\n  is most rapid, one event following another in a fashion which\n  does not allow the reader to lose interest even temporarily. \u201cThe\n  Valley of the Moon\u201d is, in other words, an old-fashioned London\n  novel, with all of the entertainment that such a description\n  implies.\n\n\nRobin Hood\u2019s Barn\n\n  BY ALICE BROWN\n\n  Author of \u201cVanishing Points,\u201d \u201cThe Secret of the Clan,\u201d \u201cThe\n  Country Road,\u201d etc.\n\n  With Illustrations in Colors and in Black and White by\n  H. M. CARPENTER\n\n  _Decorated cloth, 12mo, $0.00 net_\n\n  Miss Brown\u2019s previous books have given her a distinguished\n  reputation as an interpreter of New England life. The idealism,\n  the quaint humor, the skill in character drawing, and the\n  dramatic force which have always marked her work are evident in\n  this charming story of a dream that came true. The illustrations,\n  the frontispiece being in colors, the others in black and white,\n  are by Mr. Horace Carpenter, whose sympathetic craftsmanship is\n  widely known and appreciated.\n\n\nDeering at Princeton\n\n  BY LATTA GRISWOLD\n\n  Author of \u201cDeering of Deal\u201d\n\n  With Illustrations by E. C. CASWELL\n\n  _Decorated cloth, 12mo; preparing_\n\n  This is a college story that reads as a college story should.\n  Here Mr. Griswold tells of Deering\u2019s Princeton years from\n  his freshman days to his graduation. A hazing adventure of\n  far-reaching importance, a football game or two in which Deering\n  has a hand, a reform in the eating club system, the fraternity\n  r\u00e9gime of Princeton, initiated by Deering and carried through\n  at the sacrifice of much that he values, a touch of sentiment\n  centering around a pretty girl who later marries Deering\u2019s\n  roommate, besides many lively college happenings which only one\n  familiar with the life could have chronicled, go to the making of\n  an intensely interesting tale.\n\n\nTide Marks\n\n  BY MARGARET WESTRUP\n\n  _Decorated cloth, 12mo; preparing_\n\n  A novel of unusual interest and power told in a style both\n  convincing and distinctive. Margaret Westrup promises to be one\n  of the literary finds of the season.\n\n\nThe Will to Live\n\n  BY M. P. WILLCOCKS\n\n  Author of \u201cThe Wingless Victory,\u201d etc.\n\n  _Cloth, 12mo; preparing_\n\n  In description, in vividness of character depiction, in\n  cleverness of dialogue, and in skill of plot construction, Miss\n  Willcocks\u2019 previous books have displayed her rare ability. \u201cThe\n  Will to Live\u201d is perhaps her most mature work; it is a story with\n  which one is sure to be satisfied when the last page is turned.\n\n  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n  Publishers      64-66 Fifth Avenue      New York\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Note:\n\nIn the advertisements at the end of the book, the price of $0.00 is as\npublished.\n\nVariations in spelling, hyphenation and punctuation have been retained\nas they appear in the original publication except as follows:\n\n    Page 145\n      \u201c_We are all alike, all of us who live!_ _changed to_\n      _We are all alike, all of us who live!_\n\n    Page 229\n      resentfully \u201cAnd now she\u2019s in her _changed to_\n      resentfully. \u201cAnd now she\u2019s in her\n\n    Page 281\n      for this seemed a a good way _changed to_\n      for this seemed a good way\n\n    Page 286\n      I\u2019ve fought everyone of _changed to_\n      I\u2019ve fought every one of\n\n    Page 289\n      him and help him. _changed to_\n      him and help him.\u201d\n\n    Page 396\n      London\u2019s unforgetable big men _changed to_\n      London\u2019s unforgettable big men","title":"When I Was a Little Girl","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":76648}