Mother: A Story Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  It seemed but a few moments before the blazing Sunday was precipitatedupon them, and everybody was late for everything.

  The kitchen was filled with the smoke from hot griddles blue in thesunshine, when Margaret went downstairs; and in the dining-room thesame merciless light fell upon the sticky syrup pitcher, and upon thestains on the tablecloth. Cream had been brought in in the bottle, thebread tray was heaped with orange skins, and the rolls piled on thetablecloth. Bruce, who had already been to church with Mother, and wasoff for a day's sail, was dividing his attention between Robert andhis watch. Rebecca, daintily busy with the special cup and plate thatwere one of her little affectations, was all ready for the day, exceptas to dress, wearing a thin little kimono over her blue ribbons andstarched embroideries. Mother was putting up a little lunch for Bruce.Confusion reigned. The younger boys were urged to hurry, if theywanted to make the "nine." Rebecca was going to wait for the "halfpast ten," because the "kids sang at nine, and it was fierce." Mr.Paget and his sons departed together, and the girls went upstairs fora hot, tiring tussle with beds and dusting before starting for church.They left their mother busy with the cream freezer in the kitchen. Itwas very hot even then.

  But it was still hotter, walking home in the burning midday stillness.A group of young people waited lazily for letters, under the treesoutside the post-office door. Otherwise the main street was deserted.A languid little breeze brought the far echoes of pianos andphonographs from this direction and that.

  "Who's that on the porch?" said Rebecca, suddenly, as they nearedhome, instantly finding the stranger among her father and the boys.Margaret, glancing up sharply, saw, almost with a sensation ofsickness, the big, ungainly figure, the beaming smile, and the shockof dark hair that belonged to nobody else in the world but JohnTenison, A stony chill settled about her heart as she went up thesteps and gave him her hand.

  Oh, if he only couldn't stay to dinner, she prayed. Oh, if only hecould spare them time for no more than a flying visit! With a sinkingheart she smiled her greetings.

  "Doctor Tenison,--this is very nice of you!" Margaret said. "Have youmet my father--my small brothers?"

  "We have been having a great talk," said John Tenison, genially, "andthis young man--" he indicated Robert, "has been showing me thecolored supplement of the paper. I didn't have any word from you, MissPaget," he went on, "so I took the chance of finding you. And yourmother has assured me that I will not put her out by staying to haveluncheon with you."

  "Oh, that's nice!" Margaret said mechanically, trying to dislodgeRobert from the most comfortable chair by a significant touch of herfingers on his small shoulder. Robert perfectly understood that shewanted the chair, but continued in absorbed study of the comicsupplement, merely wriggling resentfully at Margaret's touch.Margaret, at the moment, would have been glad to use violence on thestubborn, serene little figure. When he was finally dislodged, she satdown, still flushed from her walk and the nervousness Doctor Tenison'sarrival caused her, and tried to bring the conversation into a normalchannel. But an interruption occurred in the arrival of Harry andJulie in the runabout; the little boys swarmed down to examine it.Julie, very pretty, with a perceptible little new air of dignity, wentupstairs to freshen hair and gown, and Harry, pushing his straw hatback the better to mop his forehead, immediately engaged DoctorTenison's attention with the details of what sounded to Margaretlike a particularly uninteresting operation, which he had witnessedthe day before.

  Utterly discouraged, and acutely wretched, Margaret presently slippedaway, and went into the kitchen, to lend a hand with the dinnerreparations if help was needed. The room presented a scene if possiblea little more confused than that of the day before, and was certainlyhotter. Her mother, flushed and hurried, in a fresh but ratherunbecoming gingham, was putting up a cold supper for the younger boys,who, having duly attended to their religious duties, were to take along afternoon tramp, with a possible interval of fishing. Shebuttered each slice of the great loaf before she cut it, and lifted itcarefully on the knife before beginning the next slice. An opened potof jam stood at her elbow. A tin cup and the boys' fishing-gear lay ona chair. Theodore and Duncan themselves hung over these preparations;never apparently helping themselves to food, yet never with emptymouths. Blanche, moaning "The Palms" with the insistence of one whowishes to show her entire familiarity with a melody, was at the range.

  Roast veal, instead of the smothered chickens her mother had so often,and cooked so deliciously, a mountain of mashed potato--corn on thecob, and an enormous heavy salad mantled with mayonnaise--Margaretcould have wept over the hopelessly plebeian dinner!

  "Mother, mayn't I get down the finger-bowls," she asked; "and mayn'twe have black coffee in the silver pot, afterwards?"

  Mrs. Paget looked absently at her for a dubious second. "I don't liketo ask Blanche to wash all that extra glass," she said, in anundertone, adding briskly to Theodore, "No, no, Ted! You can't haveall that cake. Half that!" and to Blanche herself, "Don't leave thedoor open when you go in, Blanche; I just drove all the flies out ofthe dining-room." Then she returned to Margaret with a cordial: "Why,certainly, dear! Any one who wants coffee, after tea, can have it! Dadalways wants his cup of tea."

  "Nobody but us ever serves tea with dinner!" Margaret muttered; buther mother did not hear it. She buckled the strap of the lunch-box,straightened her back with an air of relief, and pushed down herrolled-up sleeves.

  "Don't lose that napkin, Ted," said she, and receiving the boy'sgrateful kiss haphazard between her hair and forehead, she addedaffectionately: "You're more than welcome, dear! We're all ready,Mark,--go and tell them, dear! All right, Blanche."

  Ruffled and angry, Margaret went to summon the others to dinner.Maudie had joined them on the porch now, and had been urged to stay,and was already trying her youthful wiles on the professor.

  "Well, he'll have to leave on the five o'clock!" Margaret reflected,steeled to bitter endurance until that time. For everything wentwrong, and dinner was one long nightmare for her. Professor Tenison'snapkin turned out to be a traycloth. Blanche, asked for another,disappeared for several minutes, and returned without it, to whisperin Mrs. Paget's ear. Mrs. Paget immediately sent her own fresh napkinto the guest. The incident, or something in their murmuredconversation, gave Rebecca and Maudie "the giggles." There seemed anexhausting amount of passing and repassing of plates. The room washot, the supply of ice insufficient. Mr. Paget dwelt on his favoritegrievance--"the old man isn't needed, these days. They're getting allyoung fellows into the bank. They put young college fellows in therewho are getting pretty near the money I am--after twenty-five years!"In any pause, Mrs. Paget could be heard, patiently dissuading littleRobert from his fixed intention of accompanying the older boys ontheir walk, whether invited or uninvited.

  John Tenison behaved charmingly, eating his dinner with enjoyment,looking interestedly from one face to the other, sympathetic,alert, and amused. But Margaret writhed in spirit at what hemust be thinking.

  Finally the ice cream, in a melting condition, and the chocolate cake,very sticky, made their appearance; and although these were regularSunday treats, the boys felt called upon to cheer. Julie asked hermother in an audible undertone if she "ought" to eat cake. DoctorTenison produced an enormous box of chocolates, and Margaret wasdisgusted with the frantic scramble her brothers made to secure them.

  "If you're going for a walk, dear," her mother said, when the meal wasover, "you'd better go. It's almost three now."

  "I don't know whether we will, it's so hot," Margaret said, in anindifferent tone, but she could easily have broken into disheartenedtears.

  "Oh, go," Julie urged, "it's much cooler out." They were up inMargaret's old room, Mrs. Paget tying a big apron about Julie'sruffled frock, preparatory to an attack upon the demoralized kitchen."We think he's lovely," the little matron went on approvingly. "Don'tfall in love with him, Mark."

  "Why not?" Margaret said carelessly, pinning on her hat.

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sp; "Well, I don't imagine he's a marrying man," said the young authority,wisely. Margaret flushed, and was angry at herself for flushing. Butwhen Mrs. Paget had gone downstairs, Julie came very simply andcharmingly over to her sister, and standing close beside her withembarrassed eyes on her own hand,--very youthful in its plain ring,--asshe played with the bureau furnishing, she said:

  "Mother tell you?"

  Margaret looked down at the flushed face.

  "Are you sorry, Ju?"

  "Sorry!" The conscious eyes flashed into view. "Sorry!" Julie echoedin astonishment. "Why, Mark," she said dreamily,--there was noaffectation of maturity in her manner now, and it was all the moreimpressive for that. "Why, Mark," said she, "it's--it's the mostwonderful thing that ever happened to me! I think and think,"--hervoice dropped very low,--"of holding it in my arms,--mine and Harry's,you know--and of its little face!"

  Margaret, stirred, kissed the wet lashes.

  "Ju, but you're so young--you're such a baby yourself!" she said.

  "And, Mark," Julie said, unheeding, "you know what Harry and I aregoing to call her, if it's a girl? Not for Mother, for it's soconfusing to have two Julias, but for you! Because," her arms wentabout her sister, "you've always been such a darling to me, Mark!"

  Margaret went downstairs very thoughtfully, and out into the silentSunday streets. Where they walked, or what they talked of, she did notknow. She knew that her head ached, and that the village looked verycommonplace, and that the day was very hot. She found it more painfulthan sweet to be strolling along beside the big, loose-jointed figure,and to send an occasional side glance to John Tenison's earnest face,which wore its pleasantest expression now. Ah, well, it would be allover at five o'clock, she said wearily to herself, and she could gohome and lie down with her aching head in a darkened room, and try notto think what to-day might have been. Try not to think of the daintylittle luncheon Annie would have given them at Mrs. Carr-Boldt's, ofthe luxurious choice of amusements afterward: motoring over the lovelycountry roads, rowing on the wide still water, watching the tenniscourts, or simply resting in deep chairs on the sweep of velvet lawnabove the river.

  She came out of a reverie to find Doctor Tenison glancing calmly upfrom his watch.

  "The train was five o'clock, was it?" he said. "I've missed it!"

  "Missed it!" Margaret echoed blankly. Then, as the horriblepossibility dawned upon her, "Oh, no!"

  "Oh, yes,--as bad as that!" he said, laughing at her.

  Poor Margaret, fighting despair, struggled to recover herself.

  "Well, I thought it might have been important to you!" she said,laughing quite naturally. "There's a seven-six, but it stopseverywhere, and a ten-thirty. The ten-thirty is best, becausesupper's apt to be a little late."

  "The ten-thirty," Doctor Tenison echoed contentedly. Margaret's heartsank,--five more hours of the struggle! "But perhaps that's animposition," he said. "Isn't there a tea-room--isn't there an innhere where we could have a bite?"

  "We aren't in Berlin," Margaret reminded him cheerfully. "There'sa hotel,--but Mother would never forgive me for leading any onethere! No, we'll take that little walk I told you of, and Motherwill give us something to eat later.--Perhaps if we're late enough,"she added to herself, "we can have just tea and bread and jam alone,after the others."

  Suddenly, unreasonably, she felt philosophical and gay. The littleepisode of missing the train had given her the old dear feeling ofadventure and comradeship again. Things couldn't be any worse thanthey had been at noon, anyway. The experience had been thoroughlydisenchanting. What did a few hours, more or less, matter! Let him bedisgusted if he wanted to, she couldn't help it!

  It was cooler now, the level late shadows were making even Westonpretty. They went up a steep shady lane to the old graveyard, andwandered, peacefully, contentedly, among the old graves. Margaretgathered her thin gown from contact with the tangled, uncut grass;they had to disturb a flock of nibbling sheep to cross to thecrumbling wall. Leaning on the uneven stones that formed it, theylooked down at the roofs of the village, half lost in tree-tops; andlistened to the barking of dogs, and the shrill voices of children.The sun sank lower, lower. There was a feeling of dew in the air asthey went slowly home.

  When, at seven o'clock, they opened the gate, they found on theside porch only Rebecca, enchanting in something pink and dotted,Mother, and Dad.

  "Lucky we waited!" said Rebecca, rising, and signaling some wordlessmessage to Margaret that required dimples, widened eyes, compressedlips, and an expression of utter secrecy. "Supper's all ready," sheadded casually.

  "Where are the others'" Margaret said, experiencing the most pleasantsensation she had had in twenty-four hours.

  "Ju and Harry went home, Rob's at George's, boys walking," saidRebecca, briefly, still dimpling mysteriously with additionalinformation. She gave Margaret an eloquent side glance as she led theway into the dining-room. At the doorway Margaret stopped, astounded.

  The room was hardly recognizable now. It was cool and delightful,with the diminished table daintily set for five, The old silvercandlesticks and silver teapot presided over blue bowls of berries,and the choicest of Mother's preserved fruits. Some one had foundtime to put fresh parsley about the Canton platter of cold meats,some one had made a special trip to Mrs. O'Brien's for the creamthat filled the Wedgwood pitcher. Margaret felt tears press suddenlyagainst her eyes.

  "Oh, Beck!" she could only stammer, when the sisters went into thekitchen for hot water and tea biscuit.

  "Mother did it," said Rebecca, returning her hug with fervor. "Shegave us all an awful talking to, after you left! She said here wasdear old Mark, who always worked herself to death for us, trying tomake a nice impression, and to have things go smoothly, and we wereall acting like Indians, and everything so confused at dinner, and hotand noisy! So, later, when Paul and I and the others were walking, wesaw you and Doctor Tenison going up toward the graveyard, and I torehome and told Mother he'd missed the five and would be back; it wasafter five then, and we just flew!"

  It was all like a pleasant awakening after a troubled dream. AsMargaret took her place at the little feast, she felt an exquisitesensation of peace and content sink into her heart. Mother was sogracious and charming, behind the urn; Rebecca irresistible in heradmiration of the famous professor. Her father was his sweetest self,delightfully reminiscent of his boyhood, and his visit to the WhiteHouse in Lincoln's day, with "my uncle, the judge." But it was to hermother's face that Margaret's eyes returned most often, she wanted--shewas vaguely conscious that she wanted--to get away from the voicesand laughter, and think about Mother. How sweet she was, just sweet,and after all, how few people were that in this world! They wereclever, and witty, and rich,--plenty of them, but how little sweetnessthere was! How few faces, like her mother's, did not show a line thatwas not all tenderness and goodness.

  They laughed over their teacups like old friends; the professor andRebecca shouting joyously together, Mr. Paget one broad twinkle, Mrs.Paget radiantly reflecting, as she always did react, the others' mood.It was a memorably happy hour.

  And after tea they sat on the porch, and the stars came out, andpresently the moon sent silver shafts through the dark foliage of thetrees. Little Rob came home, and climbed silently, contentedly, intohis father's lap.

  "Sing something, Mark," said Dad, then; and Margaret, sitting on thesteps with her head against her mother's knee, found it very simple tobegin in the darkness one of the old songs he loved:--

  "Don't you cry, ma honey, Don't you weep no more."

  Rebecca, sitting on the rail, one slender arm flung above her headabout the pillar, joined her own young voice to Margaret's sweet andsteady one. The others hummed a little. John Tenison, sitting watchingthem, his locked hands hanging between his knees, saw in the moonlighta sudden glitter on the mother's cheek.

  Presently Bruce, tired and happy and sunburned, came through thesplashed silver-and-black of the street to sit by Margaret, and puthis arm about her; and the younger boys
, returning full of the day'sgreat deeds, spread themselves comfortably over the lower steps.Before long all their happy voices rose together, on "Believe me," and"Working on the Railroad," and "Seeing Nellie Home," and a dozen moreof the old songs that young people have sung for half a century in thesummer moonlight.

  And then it was time to say good-night to Professor Tenison. "Comeagain, sir!" said Mr. Paget, heartily; the boys slid their hands,still faintly suggestive of fish, cordially into his; Rebecca promisedto mail him a certain discussed variety of fern the very next day;Bruce's voice sounded all hearty good-will as he hoped that hewouldn't miss Doctor Tenison's next visit. Mrs. Paget, her hand inhis, raised keen, almost anxious eyes to his face.

  "But surely you'll be down our way again?" said she, unsmilingly.

  "Oh, surely." The professor was unable to keep his eyes from movingtoward Margaret, and the mother saw it.

  "Good-bye for the present, then," she said, still very gravely.

  "Good-bye, Mrs. Paget," said Doctor Tenison. "It's been an inestimableprivilege to meet you all. I haven't ever had a happier day."

  Margaret, used to the extravagant speeches of another world, thoughtthis merely very charming politeness. But her heart sang, as theywalked away together. He liked them--he had had a nice time!

  "Now I know what makes you so different from other women," said JohnTenison, when he and Margaret were alone. "It's having that wonderfulmother! She--she--well, she's one woman in a million; I don't have totell you that! It's something to thank God for, a mother like that;it's a privilege to know her. I've been watching her all day, and I'vebeen wondering what she gets out of it,--that was what puzzled me; butnow, just now, I've found out! This morning, thinking what her lifeis, I couldn't see what repaid her, do you see? What made up to herfor the unending, unending effort, and sacrifice, the pouring out oflove and sympathy and help--year after year after year...."

  He hesitated, but Margaret did not speak.

  "You know," he went on musingly, "in these days, when women justserenely ignore the question of children, or at most, as a specialconcession, bring up one or two,--just the one or two whose expensescan be comfortably met!--there's something magnificent in a woman likeyour mother, who begins eight destinies instead of one! She doesn'tstrain and chafe to express herself through the medium of poetry ormusic or the stage, but she puts her whole splendid philosophy intoher nursery--launches sound little bodies and minds that have theirfirst growth cleanly and purely about her knees. Responsibility,--that'swhat these other women say they are afraid of! But it seems tome there's no responsibility like that of decreeing that young livessimply shall not be. Why, what good is learning, or elegance ofmanner, or painfully acquired fineness of speech, and taste and pointof view, if you are not going to distil it into the growing plants,the only real hope we have in the world! You know, Miss Paget," hissmile was very sweet, in the half darkness, "there's a higher tribunalthan the social tribunal of this world, after all; and it seems to methat a woman who stands there, as your mother will, with a forest ofnew lives about her, and a record like hers, will--will find she has aFriend at court!" he finished whimsically.

  They were at a lonely corner, and a garden fence offering Margareta convenient support, she laid her arms suddenly upon the rosevinethat covered it, and her face upon her arms, and cried as if herheart was broken.

  "Why, why--my dear girl!" the professor said, aghast. He laid his handon the shaking shoulders, but Margaret shook it off.

  "I'm not what you think I am!" she sobbed out, incoherently. "I'm notdifferent from other women; I'm just as selfish and bad and mean asthe worst of them! And I'm not worthy to t-tie my m-mother's shoes!"

  "Margaret!" John Tenison said unsteadily. And in a flash her droopingbright head was close to his lips, and both his big arms were abouther. "You know I love you, don't you Margaret?" he said hoarsely, overand over, with a sort of fierce intensity. "You know that, don't you?Don't you, Margaret?"

  Margaret could not speak. Emotion swept her like a rising tide fromall her familiar moorings; her heart thundered, there was a roaring inher ears. She was conscious of a wild desire to answer him, to say onehundredth part of all she felt; but she could only rest, breathless,against him, her frightened eyes held by the eyes so near, his armsabout her.

  "You do, don't you, Margaret?" he said more gently. "You love me,don't you? Don't you?"

  And after a long time, or what seemed a long time, while they stoodmotionless in the summer night, with the great branches of the treesmoving a little overhead, and garden scents creeping out on the dampair, Margaret said, with a sort of breathless catch in her voice:--

  "You know I do!" And with the words the fright left her eyes, andhappy tears filled them, and she raised her face to his.

  Coming back from the train half an hour later, she walked between anew heaven and a new earth! The friendly stars seemed just overhead; athousand delicious odors came from garden beds and recently wateredlawns. She moved through the confusion that always attended thesettling down of the Pagets for the night, like one in a dream, andwas glad to find herself at last lying in the darkness beside thesleeping Rebecca again. Now, now, she could think!

  But it was all too wonderful for reasonable thought. Margaret claspedboth her hands against her rising heart. He loved her. She could thinkof the very words he had used in telling her, over and over again. Sheneed no longer wonder and dream and despair: he had said it. He lovedher, had loved her from the very first. His old aunt suspected it, andhis chum suspected it, and he had thought Margaret knew it. And besidehim in that brilliant career that she had followed so wistfully in herdreams, Margaret saw herself, his wife. Young and clever and good tolook upon,--yes, she was free to-night to admit herself all these goodthings for his sake!--and his wife, mounting as he mounted beside theone man in the world she had elected to admire and love. "Doctor andMrs. John Tenison "--so it would be written. "Doctor Tenison's wife"--"Thisis Mrs. Tenison"--she seemed already to hear the magical soundof it!

  Love--what a wonderful thing it was! How good God was to send thisbest of all gifts to her! She thought how it belittled the other goodthings of the world. She asked no more of life, now; she was loved bya good man, and a great man, and she was to be his wife. Ah, the happyyears together that would date from to-night,--Margaret was thrillingalready to their delights. "For better or worse," the old words cameto her with a new meaning. There would be no worse, she said toherself with sudden conviction,--how could there be? Poverty,privation, sickness might come,--but to bear them with John,--tocomfort and sustain him, to be shut away with him from all the worldbut the world of their own four walls,--why, that would be thegreatest happiness of all! What hardship could be hard that knittedtheir two hearts closer together; what road too steep if they essayedit hand in hand?

  And that--her confused thoughts ran on--that was what had changed alllife for Julie. She had forgotten Europe, forgotten all the idleambitions of her girlhood, because she loved her husband; and now thenew miracle was to come to her,--the miracle of a child, the littleperfect promise of the days to come. How marvellous--how marvellousit was! The little imperative, helpless third person, bringing toradiant youth and irresponsibility the terrors of danger and anguish,and the great final joy, to share together. That was life. Julie wasliving; and although Margaret's own heart was not yet a wife's, andshe could not yet find room for the love beyond that, still she wasstrangely, deeply stirred now by a longing for all the experiencesthat life held.

  How she loved everything and everybody to-night,--how she loved justbeing alive--just being Margaret Paget, lying here in the darkdreaming and thinking. There was no one in the world with whom shewould change places to-night! Margaret found herself thinking of onewoman of her acquaintance after another,--and her own future, openingall color of rose before her, seemed to her the one enviable paththrough the world.

  In just one day, she realized with vague wonder, her slowly formedtheories had been set at naught, her whole p
hilosophy turned upsidedown. Had these years of protest and rebellion done no more than leadher in a wide circle, past empty gain, and joyless mirth, and the deadsea fruit of riches and idleness, back to her mother's knees again? Shehad met brilliant women, rich women, courted women--but where amongthem was one whose face had ever shone as her mother's shone to-day?The overdressed, idle dowagers; the matrons, with their too-gayfrocks, their too-full days, their too-rich food; the girls, allcrudeness, artifice, all scheming openly for their own advantage,--whereamong them all was happiness? Where among them was one whomMargaret had heard say--as she had heard her mother say so many,many times,--"Children, this is a happy day,"--"Thank God foranother lovely Sunday all together,"--"Isn't it lovely to get upand find the sun shining?"--"Isn't it good to come home hungry tosuch a nice dinner!"

  And what a share of happiness her mother had given the world! How shehad planned and worked for them all,--Margaret let her arm fall acrossthe sudden ache in her eyes as she thought of the Christmas mornings,and the stuffed stockings at the fireplace that proved every childishwish remembered, every little hidden hope guessed! Darling Mother--shehadn't had much money for those Christmas stockings, they must havebeen carefully planned, down to the last candy cane. And how her facewould beam, as she sat at the breakfast-table, enjoying her belatedcoffee, after the cold walk to church, and responding warmly to theonslaught of kisses and bugs that added fresh color to her cold, rosycheeks! What a mother she was,--Margaret remembered her making themall help her clear up the Christmas disorder of tissue paper andribbons; then came the inevitable bed making, then tippets andovershoes, for a long walk with Dad. They would come back to find thedining-room warm, the long table set, the house deliciously fragrantfrom the immense turkey that their mother, a fresh apron over herholiday gown, was basting at the oven. Then came the feast, and thengames until twilight, and more table-setting; and the baby, whoever hewas, was tucked away upstairs before tea, and the evening ended withsinging, gathered about Mother at the piano.

  "How happy we all were!" Margaret said; "and how she worked for us!"

  And suddenly theories and speculation ended, and she knew. She knewthat faithful, self-forgetting service, and the love that spendsitself over and over, only to be renewed again and again, are thesecret of happiness. For another world, perhaps, leisure and beautyand luxury--but in this one, "Who loses his life shall gain it."Margaret knew now that her mother was not only the truest, the finest,the most generous woman she had ever known, but the happiest as well.

  She thought of other women like her mother; she suddenly saw what madetheir lives beautiful. She could understand now why Emily Porter, herold brave little associate of school-teaching days, was always bright,why Mary Page, plodding home from the long day at the library desk toher little cottage and crippled sister, at night, always made one feelthe better and happier for meeting her.

  Mrs. Carr-Boldt's days were crowded to the last instant, it was true;but what a farce it was, after all, Margaret said to herself in allhonesty, to humor her in her little favorite belief that she was abusy woman! Milliner, manicure, butler, chef, club, card-table, teatable,--these and a thousand things like them filled her day, and theymight all be swept away in an hour, and leave no one the worse.Suppose her own summons came; there would be a little flurrythroughout the great establishment, legal matters to settle, notes ofthanks to be written for flowers. Margaret could imagine Victoria andHarriet, awed but otherwise unaffected, home from school in midweek,and to be sent back before the next Monday. Their lives would go onunchanged, their mother had never buttered bread for them, neverschemed for their boots and hats, never watched their work and play,and called them to her knees for praise and blame. Mr. Carr-Boldtwould have his club, his business, his yacht, his motor-cars,--he waswell accustomed to living in cheerful independence of family claims.

  But life without Mother--! In a sick moment of revelation, Margaretsaw it. She saw them gathering in the horrible emptiness and silenceof the house Mother had kept so warm and bright, she saw her father'sstooped shoulders and trembling hands, she saw Julie and Beck, redeyed, white-cheeked, in fresh black,--she seemed to hear the low-tonedvoices that would break over and over again so cruelly into sobs. Whatcould they do--who could take up the work she laid down,--who wouldwatch and plan and work for them all, now? Margaret thought of theempty place at the table, of the room that, after all these years, wasno longer "Mother's room--"

  Oh, no--no--no!--She began to cry bitterly in the dark. No, pleaseGod, they would hold her safe with them for many years. Mother shouldlive to see some of the fruits of the long labor of love. She shouldknow that with every fresh step in life, with every deepeningexperience, her children grew to love her better, turned to her moreand more! There would be Christmases as sweet as the old ones, if notso gay; there would come a day--Margaret's whole being thrilled to thethought--when little forms would run ahead of John and herself up theworn path, and when their children would be gathered in Mother'sexperienced arms! Did life hold a more exquisite moment, she wondered,than that in which she would hear her mother praise them!

  All her old castles in the air seemed cheap and tinselled to-night,beside these tender dreams that had their roots in the real truths oflife. Travel and position, gowns and motor-cars, yachts and countryhouses, these things were to be bought in all their perfection by thehighest bidder, and always would be. But love and character andservice, home and the wonderful charge of little lives,--the "purereligion breathing household laws" that guided and perfected thewhole,--these were not to be bought, they were only to be prayed for,worked for, bravely won.

  "God has been very good to me," Margaret said to herself veryseriously; and in her old childish fashion she made some new resolves.From now on, she thought, with a fervor that made it seem halfaccomplished, she would be a very different woman. If joy came, shewould share it as far as she could; if sorrow, she would show hermother that her daughter was not all unworthy of her. To-morrow, shethought, she would go and see Julie. Dear old Ju, whose heart was sofull of the little Margaret! Margaret had a sudden tender memory ofthe days when Theodore and Duncan and Rob were all babies in turn. Hermother would gather the little daily supply of fresh clothes frombureau and chest every morning, and carry the little bath-tub into thesunny nursery window, and sit there with only a bobbing downy head andwaving pink angers visible from the great warm bundle of bathapron.... Ju would be doing that now.

  And she had sometimes wished, or half formed the wish, that she andBruce bad been the only ones--! Yes, came the sudden thought, but itwouldn't have been Bruce and Margaret, after all, it would have beenBruce and Charlie.

  Good God! That was what women did, then, when they denied the right oflife to the distant, unwanted, possible little person! Calmly,constantly, in all placid philosophy and self-justification, they keptfrom the world--not only the troublesome new baby, with his tears andhis illnesses, his merciless exactions, his endless claim on mind andbody and spirit--but perhaps the glowing beauty of a Rebecca, thebuoyant indomitable spirit of a Ted, the sturdy charm of a smallRobert, whose grip on life, whose energy and ambition were as strongas Margaret's own!

  Margaret stirred uneasily, frowned in the dark. It seemed perfectlyincredible, it seemed perfectly impossible that if Mother had had onlythe two--and how many thousands of women didn't have that!--she,Margaret, a pronounced and separate entity, travelled, ambitious, andto be the wife of one of the world's great men, might not have beenlying here in the summer night, rich in love and youth and beautyand her dreams!

  It was all puzzling, all too big for her to understand. But she coulddo what Mother did, just take the nearest duty and fulfil it, andsleep well, and rise joyfully to fresh effort.

  Margaret felt as if she would never sleep again. The summer night wascool, she was cramped and chilly; but still her thoughts raced on, andshe could not shut her eyes. She turned and pressed her faceresolutely into the pillow, and with a great sigh renounced the joysand sorrows, the lessons and
the awakening that the long day had held.

  A second later there was a gentle rustle at the door.

  "Mark--" a voice whispered. "Can't you sleep?"

  Margaret locked her arms tight about her mother, as the older womanknelt beside her.

  "Why, how cold you are, sweetheart!" her mother protested, tuckingcovers about her. "I thought I heard you sigh! I got up to lock thestairway door; Baby's gotten a trick of walking in his sleep when he'sovertired. It's nearly one o'clock, Mark! What have you been doing?"

  "Thinking." Margaret put her lips close to her mother's ear."Mother-" she stammered and stopped. Mrs. Paget kissed her.

  "Daddy and I thought so," she said simply; and further announcementwas not needed. "My darling little girl!" she added tenderly; andthen, after a silence, "He is very fine, Mark, so unaffected, sogentle and nice with the boys. I--I think I'm glad, Mark. I lose mygirl but there's no happiness like a happy marriage, dear."

  "No, you won't lose me, Mother," Margaret said, clinging very close."We hadn't much time to talk, but this much we did decide. You see,John--John goes to Germany for a year, next July. So we thought--inJune or July, Mother, just as Julie's was! Just a little wedding likeJu's. You see, that's better than interrupting the term, or trying tosettle down, when we'd have to move in July. And, Mother, I'm going towrite Mrs. Carr-Boldt,--she can get a thousand girls to take my place,her niece is dying to do it!--and I'm going to take my old school herefor the term. Mr. Forbes spoke to me about it after church thismorning; they want me back. I want this year at home; I want to seemore of Bruce and Ju, and sort of stand by darling little Beck! Butit's for you, most of all, Mother," said Margaret, with difficulty."I've always loved you, Mother, but you don't know how wonderful Ithink you are--" She broke off pitifully, "Ah, Mother!"

  For her mother's arms had tightened convulsively about her, and theface against her own was wet.

  "Are you talking?" said Rebecca, rearing herself up suddenly, with aweb of bright hair falling over her shoulder. "You said your prayerson Mark last night--" said she, reproachfully, "come over and say themon me to-night, Mother."