In the Closed Room Read online

for a young one tosay."

  "And that ain't all," Jane went on, her giggle half amused, halfnervous. "'But I don't fall asleep when I see Aunt Hester,' saysshe. 'I fall awake. It's more awake there than here.'

  "'Where?' says I, laughing a bit, though it did make me feelqueer.

  "'I don't know' she says in that soft little quiet way of hers.'There.' And not another thing could I get out of her."

  On the hot night through whose first hours Judith lay panting inher corner of the room, tormented and kept awake by the constantroar and rush and flash of lights, she was trying to go to sleepin the hope of leaving all the heat and noise and discomfortbehind, and reaching Aunt Hester. If she could fall awake shewould feel and hear none of it. It would all be unreal and shewould know that only the lightness and the air like flowers andthe lovely brightness were true. Once, as she tossed on hercot-bed, she broke into a low little laugh to think how untruethings really were and how strange it was that people did notunderstand--that even she felt as she lay in the darkness thatshe could not get away. And she could not get away unless thetrain would stop just long enough to let her fall asleep. If shecould fall asleep between the trains, she would not awaken. Butthey came so quickly one after the other. Her hair was damp asshe pushed it from her forehead, the bed felt hot against herskin, the people in the next flat quarreled more angrily, Judithheard a loud slap, and then the woman began to cry. She was ayoung married woman, scarcely more than a girl. Her marriage hadnot been as successful as that of Judith's parents. Both husbandand wife had irritable tempers. Through the thin wall Judithcould hear the girl sobbing angrily as the man flung himself outof bed, put on his clothes and went out, banging the door afterhim.

  "She doesn't know," the child whispered eerily, "that it isn'treal at all."

  There was in her strange little soul a secret no one knew theexistence of. It was a vague belief that she herself was notquite real--or that she did not belong to the life she had beenborn into. Her mother and father loved her and she loved them,but sometimes she was on the brink of telling them that she couldnot stay long--that some mistake had been made. What mistake--orwhere was she to go to if she went, she did not know. She used tocatch her breath and stop herself and feel frightened when shehad been near speaking of this fantastic thing. But the buildingfull of workmen's flats, the hot room, the Elevated Railroad, thequarrelling people, were all a mistake. Just once or twice in herlife she had seen places and things which did not seem soforeign. Once, when she had been taken to the Park in the Spring,she had wandered away from her mother to a sequestered placeamong shrubs and trees, all waving tender, new pale green, withthe leaves a few early hot days had caused to rush out andtremble unfurled. There had been a stillness there and scents andcolours she knew. A bird had come and swung upon a twig quitenear her and, looking at her with bright soft full eyes, had sunggently to her, as if he were speaking. A squirrel had crept uponto her lap and had not moved when she stroked it. Its eyes hadbeen full and soft also, and she knew it understood that shecould not hurt it. There was no mistake in her being among thenew fair greenness, and the woodland things who spoke to her.They did not use words, but no words were needed. She knew whatthey were saying. When she had pushed her way through thegreenness of the shrubbery to the driveway she had found herselfquite near to an open carriage, which had stopped because thelady who sat in it was speaking to a friend on the path. She wasa young woman, dressed in delicate spring colours, and the littlegirl at her side was dressed in white cloth, and it was at thelittle girl Judith found herself gazing. Under her large whitehat and feathers her little face seemed like a white flower. Shehad a deep dimple near her mouth. Her hair was a rich coppery redand hung heavy and long about her cheeks and shoulders. Shelifted her head a little when the child in the common hat andfrock pressed through the greenness of the bushes and she lookedat Judith just as the bird and the squirrel had looked at her.They gazed as if they had known each other for ages of years andwere separated by nothing. Each of them was quite happy at beingnear the other, and there was not in the mind of either anyquestion of their not being near each other again. The questiondid not rise in Judith's mind even when in a very few minutes thecarriage moved away and was lost in the crowd of equipagesrolling by.

  At the hottest hours of the hot night Judith recalled to herselfthe cool of that day. She brought back the fresh pale greennessof the nook among the bushes into which she had forced her way,the scent of the leaves and grass which she had drawn in as shebreathed, the nearness in the eyes of the bird, the squirrel, andthe child. She smiled as she thought of these things, and as shecontinued to remember yet other things, bit by bit, she felt lesshot--she gradually forgot to listen for the roar of thetrain--she smiled still more--she lay quite still--she wascool--a tiny fresh breeze fluttered through the window and playedabout her forehead. She was smiling in soft delight as hereyelids drooped and closed.

  "I am falling awake," she was murmuring as her lashes touched hercheek.

  Perhaps when her eyes closed the sultriness of the night hadchanged to the momentary freshness of the turning dawn, and thenext hour or so was really cooler. She knew no more heat butslept softly, deeply, long--or it seemed to her afterwards thatshe had slept long--as if she had drifted far away in dreamlesspeace.

  She remembered no dream, saw nothing, felt nothing until, as itseemed to her, in the early morning, she opened her eyes. All wasquite still and clear--the air of the room was pure and sweet.There was no sound anywhere and, curiously enough, she was notsurprised by this, nor did she expect to hear anything disturbing.

  She did not look round the room. Her eyes remained resting uponwhat she first saw--and she was not surprised by this either. Alittle girl about her own age was standing smiling at her. Shehad large eyes, a deep dimple near her mouth, and coppery redhair which fell about her cheeks and shoulders. Judith knew herand smiled back at her.

  She lifted her hand--and it was a pure white little hand withlong tapering fingers.

  "Come and play with me," she said--though Judith heard no voicewhile she knew what she was saying. "Come and play with me."

  Then she was gone, and in a few seconds Judith was awake, the airof the room had changed, the noise and clatter of the streetscame in at the window, and the Elevated train went thundering by.Judith did not ask herself how the child had gone or how she hadcome. She lay still, feeling undisturbed by everything andsmiling as she had smiled in her sleep.

  While she sat at the breakfast table she saw her mother lookingat her curiously.

  "You look as if you'd slept cool instead of hot last night," shesaid. "You look better than you did yesterday. You're prettywell, ain't you, Judy?"

  Judith's smile meant that she was quite well, but she saidnothing about her sleeping.

  The heat did not disturb her through the day, though the hoursgrew hotter and hotter as they passed. Jane Foster, sweltering ather machine, was obliged to stop every few minutes to wipe thebeads from her face and neck. Sometimes she could not remainseated, but got up panting to drink water and fan herself with anewspaper.

  "I can't stand much more of this," she kept saying. "If theredon't come a thunderstorm to cool things off I don't know whatI'll do. This room's about five hundred."

  But the heat grew greater and the Elevated trains went thunderingby.

  When Jem came home from his work his supper was not ready. Janewas sitting helplessly by the window, almost livid in her pallor.The table was but half spread.

  "Hullo," said Jem; "it's done you up, ain't it?"

  "Well, I guess it has," good-naturedly, certain of his sympathy."But I'll get over it presently, and then I can get you a coldbite. I can't stand over the stove and cook."

  "Hully Gee, a cold bite's all a man wants on a night like this.Hot chops'd give him the jim-jams. But I've got good news foryou--it's cheered me up myself."

  Jane lifted her head from the chair back.

  "What is it?"

  "Well, it came through my boss. He's always
been friendly to me.He asks a question or so every now and then and seems to take aninterest. To-day he was asking me if it wasn't pretty hot andnoisy down here, and after I told him how we stood it, he said hebelieved he could get us a better place to stay in through thesummer. Some one he knows has had illness and trouble in hisfamily and he's obliged to close his house and take his wife awayinto the mountains. They've got a beautiful big house in one ofthem far up streets by the Park and he wants to get caretakers inthat can come well recommended. The boss said he could recommendus fast enough. And there's a big light basement that'll be ascool as the woods. And we can move in to-morrow. And all we'vegot to do is to see that things are safe