He sat down on the steps of the veranda, inviting me to do the same, with a civil wave of his pipestem, and we entered into pleasant converse, until the voice of his mate shrilly commanded him to arise and wash his hands and shed the overalls, whereat he hastily deserted me.

Came a supper at which I was able to comment agreeably on the cream served with the berries, whereat Mr. Gobbins gave out dark hints of watery malefactions on the part of some of the keepers of boarding houses in the neighborhood. There was cold pork, usually potent to bring me nightmares, and an obese pie to be washed down with pale tea. Under my breath I deplored the luck that had made me forget to bring digestive tablets and, spurred by unusual appet.i.te, I gorged myself.

The evening was a short one, spent on the porch where I lolled in a hammock, while Frances rocked in a big chair. There was no need to talk, for it was all very new and beautiful. The katydids and tree-frogs took charge of the conversation for us. After a time Eulalie joined us, sitting modestly on the steps. With much genuine sentiment she spoke of the cabbages of her own land and of cows she had once cherished.

"It is like the heaven of the _Bon Dieu_ to smell these things again,"

she informed us, and I decided that she had spoken a great and splendid truth.

We retired early. In my own little room, with the oil-lamp burning, I commented sadly on the fact that it was only half past nine, the hour at which my busy life commonly begins. Upon the bed I looked hopelessly; it was inviting enough, but, at this time of day, about as attractive as plum-pudding for breakfast. For an hour I read a magazine; the katydids were still clamoring softly and, in the distance, in the direction of the lake, I heard the plaintive notes of whippoorwills. Then I caught myself in a blessed yawn and went to bed. But a few moments seemed to have gone by, when I awoke in a room flooded with sunshine and penetrated by a myriad of joyful sounds coming from the Noah's Ark of the farm. Looking out of the window I was shamed by the sight of Eulalie who, with Baby Paul in her arms, strolled about the kitchen garden, evidently lost in rapture at the sight of leeks and radishes.

I hurried my dressing, donning a pair of white flannel trousers I had bought for the sake of bestowing upon myself some atmosphere of the country, and found Frances sitting in the hammock with Towser's big, nondescript head in her lap.

"I hope you slept ever so well," she told me, looking very radiant and putting out her hand. "And, David, I'm so wonderfully happy. Look at the beautiful lake! We will have to go over there after breakfast, and, perhaps, you can row in a boat, and we will take Eulalie and Baby with us. Or perhaps you can go fishing, or may be you would rather stay quietly here and have a nice long rest. And just listen to that wood-thrush over there. She's up in the cherry tree; or perhaps it's a he, and probably there's a nest somewhere with dear little fellows just hatched out. Isn't it lovely?"

My enthusiasm was just as great as her own. There seemed to be altogether too many beautiful things to do, and to look at, and to allow to soak into one, like some penetrating water from the fountain of youth.

"I'm so glad you like it, Frances," I told her.

And so we spent a heavenly day, and, in the morning, I took the early train and went back to the city, Frances looking rather regretfully at me. But I had decided that I must not remain there; it would not do. One evening after another, of moonlit glory, of whispering winds bearing fragrance and delight, of nearness to this wonderful woman with the heart of a child and the beauty of a G.o.ddess, endowed with that voice sounding like melodies from on high, must surely break down my courage.

How could I stand it day after day? No, I intended to return for weekends, propped up by new resolve to be silent. A chill would come over me at the idea of suddenly blurting out my love to her and having her look at me as she once gazed on Gordon, perhaps even more sorrowfully, because I think I have become a more valued friend.

I explained to her that I had some most important work to do and imagined all sorts of meetings with publishers. Also a moving-picture gentleman had thrown out dark hints. The atmosphere of the blazing city, I told her, was utterly needed for my new book. All she had to do was to be very patient, grow strong and brown, watch Baby Paul thrive, and await my coming on Sat.u.r.day afternoons. In the meanwhile I would send her books and magazines, besides a b.u.t.ton hook she had forgotten, and a package of the tea we were partial to, and--and a week was an exceedingly short s.p.a.ce of time.

So I said good-by and waved my hand at the turning in the road, and returned to the big city, which I could, without much regret, have seen reduced to the condition of Sodom and Gomorrha, since it would have given me a good excuse to take the next train back.

Upon entering my room, I decided that it was a beastly hole. So hateful did it seem that I strolled off into the opposite one. It seemed like a rather sneaking and underhanded thing to do and, I dare say, I had some of the feelings of a burglar. My old piano was there, upon which she played softly and sang exercises that were perfectly beautiful, and songs beyond compare. The very atmosphere of her was still in the place and things of hers were yet on the dressing table, including the b.u.t.ton hook, which I pocketed. They made me think of saintly relics to be worshipped. Baby Paul's crib appealed to me. She had so often bent over it, wistfully, as I watched her, admiring the wondrous curve of her neck, the sunlit glory of her hair.

Mrs. Milliken suddenly caught me there, and I felt a sense of heat in my cheeks.

"Yes," she said, "I'll give it a thorough cleaning. It needs it real bad. And next week I'll put new paper on the walls and have the carpet took up and beaten. I was wishin' you'd stay away long enough so I could do the same to yours. I've known all my life men are mussy, but that room of yours is the limit, Mr. Cole, all littered up with paper so a body don't dare touch anything."

I made no answer. I suppose that house cleaning is a necessary evil but her contemplated invasion of Frances's room seems to me like the desecration of a shrine. It should be locked up and penetrated only by people soft of foot and low of voice.

CHAPTER XX

RICHETTI IS PLEASED

Goodness only knows how many pages I blackened with the experiences of this short summer, but I have thrown them away, in small pieces. They were too introspective; mere impressions of one week after another, when I would take the train and join Frances again, under self-suggested and hypocritical pleas. My wisdom was needed to see to it that Baby Paul grew and thrived. His teething necessitated my worrying Dr. Porter half to death as to the possibilities of such portentous happenings. It was also indispensable that I should accurately ascertain the mother's condition of health and listen to Eulalie's observations. In other words, I pretended that I was a very important person.

But in the heart of me, I knew myself to be like some drug-fiend, only permitted to indulge his destructive habit once a week. The work I turned out of nights, I am afraid, was worth little and will have to be subjected to plentiful alterations. In the day I wandered over the superheated city and occasionally took a boat for a lonely excursion over the Bay, for the sake of fresh air and unneeded rest. But from the Monday morning to Sat.u.r.day afternoon the fever was always on me to hasten back, to drift with Frances over the little lake, to stroll with her in the woodland roads or among the fields, to steep myself in the atmosphere she radiated, of sweetest womanhood, of tenderness she displayed only to Baby Paul, but some of which was reflected on me. The mere speaking voice of her, telling me of rumbling bull-frogs, of a terrible little garter-snake beheld on the main road, of a tiny calf which, she feared, was destined to go the way of all veal, was melody and charm and delight. Gordon once told me that a man and a woman cannot be true friends long. There is no middle ground, he explained, it must be either more or less. But I would meet her on the road on the days of my arrival. She would walk all but the last quarter mile, that ran along a sun-beaten lane surfaced with red-hot dust, and wait for me beside a little watering trough usually tenanted by a beady-eyed froglet, which she counted among her friends. From afar she would wave her hand, her face joyous and welcoming, and would insist on knowing at once the contents of the packages I was always laden with. On our way to the farm she would faithfully recount the incidents of the past week, and finally we would sit down on the little porch and thirty-six hours of heavenliness would begin. And always, she was a friend, nothing but the dear friend which Gordon deemed an impossibility, and I firmly endeavored to follow her lead. Yes, there were evenings of starlight, afternoons among the oaks and chestnuts of the hillsides where we sat on ground heavily carpeted with last year's leaves and moss of silvery green, early mornings by the side of the lake under the caress of the rising breeze, and ever I managed to padlock my heart, to control the shakiness of my voice, to laugh out gaily as if the world's beauty could not possibly leave room in a man's soul for hopeless longing.

And then back to the city again! Frances had often urged me to stay a little longer; it would do me so much good. She sometimes thought I looked tired, but I refused with the obstinacy of the weak. She argued that I was utterly master of my time and, one day, with a trace of woman's injustice, said that thirty-six hours of her company was all that I could stand. I remember feeling a terrific wave of heat coming to my brow. Never was I nearer to an indignant protest to be followed by the blurting of the whole truth, of nothing but the truth, to the effect that I loved her madly, wildly, and could have crushed her in my arms till she cried for mercy. But I laughed, stupidly, with my finger-nails digging into the palms of my hands and called her attention to a reticulated pickerel poised beneath some lily-pads, motionless, watchful, gavial-snouted and yet graceful, ready to convert itself into a flashing death for other fishes. I pointed to gossamer-winged dragon-flies, which used to frighten her, till I declared them to be friendly devourers of mosquitoes, and both of us remained breathless when a golden oriole perched on some hazel bushes near at hand, for a moment's display of its gaudiness. She told me of the wood-thrush we had seen on our arrival, and how she had found the nest with the dainty blue eggs, and how one day these had been converted into great big little mouths ever clamoring for a distracted mother who could never find food enough.

"But they grew up all right and took lessons in flying and, by this time, are far away, and the little nest is abandoned," she informed me.

"I hope they will all come back another year."

And thus a moment of terrible danger pa.s.sed. The peril was perhaps averted by the saving grace of that pickerel. I trembled to think over what might have happened. She would have looked at me, astonished and alarmed, with those big, beautiful eyes shining, and she would have sorrowfully shaken her head, and--I could never have returned again--and I would have been compelled to leave Mrs. Milliken's, and the whole beautiful, useless dream would have been ended because Gordon is right, as far as I am concerned. Yet I can remain a friend to Frances! Please G.o.d, I may remain one all my life and never reveal myself to her! But my friendship will never be a perfectly genuine one since, underlying it, there will always be the quivering of a pa.s.sion held in gyves and suffering, as suffers some gold and ruby-winged b.u.t.terfly pinned to a card and denied the mercy of a drop of chloroform.

I had received another letter from Gordon, telegraphic in brevity, and sent it to Miss Van Rossum. He was well, having a most wonderful and heartrending experience. He had met some stunning fellows. The taking of awful chances was a daily occurrence, with the little ambulances darting among the wounded, sometimes under sh.e.l.l-fire. He asked me to drop into his studio, from time to time. He had discharged the j.a.p, but still kept the place. It was looked after by an elderly woman he had installed there, who was supposed to sweep and dust and let some air and light into the studio. I was to see that she kept at it and guarded his acc.u.mulated rubbish.

So, of course, I went there, and the ancient party looked at me suspiciously, till I identified myself. Then she gave me the freedom of the place and I hunted high and low, till, finally, I discovered the "Mother and Child" hidden in a large closet and brought it out. I placed it on the easel and glared at it till it grew dark.

The wonder of that picture! Great Heavens! I remembered how I had once accused Gordon of having been imaginative in his rendering of the model's beauty. At that time my vision must have been coa.r.s.e and untrained. His genius had at once seized upon her glory, whereas I had dully and slowly spelled it out. But now my eyes were open! It was Frances herself, it was truth, it was the greatness of motherhood revealed, it was the charm and sweetness of the woman who exalts and uplifts, it was art _grandiose_ held beautifully in bond by the eternal verity. I saw that some bright gobbets of flashing paint, that had surprised me at first, were amazing touches of genius. He had played with colors as a Paderewski plays with notes, to the ultimate rendering of a n.o.ble and profound reality, of poetry made tangible and clear, of ringing harmony expressing true heartbeats. And now my friend Pygmalion had been spurned by his statue come to life and was picking up shattered heroes, that he might forget.

I can honestly say that the ancient dame, who saw to what Gordon was pleased to call his rubbish, was faithfully watched. I would come in at odd times, when the spirit moved me, and sit for hours before the picture. It gave me inspiration when the fount of my ideas had utterly dried up, and I would return home, able to write a few good pages. What if it was but one more way of indulging the drugging of my soul! Like other fiends I was held fast. Porter has told me that the victims of morphia no longer take pleasure in their vice. The following of it, to them, means but the relief of suffering, and there is no joy in it. In this respect I stood far above the level of the poor beings fallen thus low, for the painted Frances was a perennial delight, as her own living beauty was utter happiness for some hours. The reaction only took place when I was alone in my room, and, even there, I often indulged in dreams and visions as full of charm as they were unreal.

Then, one fine day, came a letter from Signor Richetti, stating that he would return upon a certain date and resume his teaching. I took it to Frances, who read it, happily.

"I am so glad, Dave," she told me. "This has been the most lovely summer one could imagine, and Baby Paul is wonderfully well. I hope the New York milk will agree with him. I am so splendidly strong and well that I think I shall again make rapid progress. I am afraid I must have lost a great deal during this long idle time. Dave! Dave! I'm going to work so hard! I know I shall be able to sing again, and--and I shall owe it all to you!"

So we had, again, thirty-six hours, sadly lessened by the two nights of sleep, and we conscientiously said good-by to the cows and calves, and to such chickens as we had not devoured, and to the lake and the woods and the twittering swallows and the sparrows on the dusty road. Eulalie had grown stout and burned to an Indian hue. She kissed Mrs. Gobbins on both cheeks and shed a tear or two. I stopped the carriage, that conveyed us to the station, in front of the blacksmith's shop. We had become friends, and he wished us a pleasant journey and a happy return next year. Near the station, in the narrow road, we had to turn aside, nearly into the ditch, to allow the pa.s.sing of a large automobile. In its driver I recognized Mr. O'Flaherty, who owned the garage and occupied half of the second floor. He waved a hand at me and grinned, winking, leaving me to reflect on the thoroughly excusable nature of certain murders. His big car was full of sporty-looking youths and flashily dressed women. I am happy to say that Frances never looked his way.

Then we went on board the train and the beautiful country began to slip by us, and a certain element of sadness came at the idea of leaving it, though it was comforting to think that now I should see Frances every day. But I should sit on the meagerly upholstered chairs instead of occupying the veranda's rocker or the moss-strewn boulders on the hills.

The freedom of the country would be gone, and its inspiration and delight.

"Look!" said Frances to me, suddenly. "There's a woman on the third seat, on the other side of the aisle, who's reading 'Land o' Love.'"

"After all these months," I commented.

"People ought to read it forever, Dave," she a.s.sured me, "and I think they will. I'm so proud of you!"

"Well, my publishers tell me the book is flowing out as fast as ever.

Jamieson says it will sell a hundred and fifty thousand," I told her.

"You see that I am now in Easy Street and can afford all the extravagances I care to indulge in."

"Then, David, you ought to buy yourself a new fall suit," said Frances, "and you need more neckties. I shall get some for you."

All women want to buy men's neckties for them. I was not afraid, feeling sure that Frances would show unquestionable taste. How she would care for a man she loved!

A taxi rattled us up to Mrs. Milliken's door, and the room opposite mine was resplendent in new paper, and the carpet much renovated, and the piano had been rubbed over with something that gave the ancient mahogany a fine polish. Frances left Baby Paul with Eulalie and came into my den.

"It's so good to be back, Dave," she a.s.serted. "This room is all saturated with the atmosphere of you and even the typewriter looks like an old friend. And here's your dirty old calabash and just the same disorder on your desk and the week's washing on the bed. I'm glad Eulalie's sister has been attending to it. Oh! It's fine to be home again!"

So she went back to her room, and I lit the calabash. I had been afraid that, after the country, this top floor would look very dismal and be depressing to her. But she was looking positively joyful. A minute later Frieda invaded the premises, for I had warned her of our arrival. She shrieked with admiration at the sight of the baby and commented at length on the color of Frances's cheeks. Eulalie joined in the cackling, and happiness reigned. We celebrated the evening at Camus.

After this the leaves soon began to drop in the big square, and I ordered the new suit and invested in a few bonds, like a bloated millionaire, and put them in a little safe at the bank, which could only be penetrated after running the gauntlet of a half a dozen uniformed and suspicious guardians, before whom I felt like an equivocal character.

Frances returned to Richetti and came back the first time with a glowing account of all that he had said. It appeared that she had hardly lost anything and had gained in depth of breathing and power of expression.

The technique--ah! _Per Bacco!_ She was a natural born singer! She had little need to learn! The voice was in her like those things in Pandora's box and only demanded to fly out. Her singing was the _bel canto_. Three months more of practice was all that was needed. After the first of the year she would sing in the great concert of his pupils. It would be an event! People would discover her again. The cornucopia of Abundance would open, wide-lipped, and success would flow from it!

"And I shall owe it all to you and Frieda, Dave," she said. "But I can't really believe that it will come true. Still, I don't know. Sit down and listen to this."

She opened the piano and sang, and at first my heart sank within me because she was so great compared to my insignificance. Then it became exalted because of the magnificence of her singing, which thrilled me.

They were not great locust-cries of _bravura_, nor amazing gymnastics with difficult scales, that made me quiver. Just a sweet old melody heard a thousand times, thrummed by every piano, but now coming with such perfection of tone and such a quality of exquisiteness that I felt a thousand times more uplifted than when I had stood before Gordon's wonderful portrait of her.