One day in April she put on her best dress, and took the stage to Milford. When she came home again, in the evening, she brought with her a decorated sh.e.l.l for her friend. But it happened that Thomas Frye also came home from Milford, by the same stage. That was what Mrs.

Grumble was waiting for. "Now she's at it again," said Mrs. Grumble.

"She's bound to have some one," she declared; "one or another, it's all the same." And she gazed meaningly at Mr. Jeminy, who started at once for his den, as though he were looking for something.

Then she was delighted with herself, and retired to the kitchen.

It was useless for Mr. Jeminy to retreat to his den. For sooner or later, Mrs. Grumble always found something to do there. She would come in with her broom and her mop, and look around. Then Mr. Jeminy would walk hastily out of the house and descend to the village. There, it would occur to him to call on Mrs. Wicket, because he happened to have with him a book he thought she would like to look at, or a flower for Juliet. Mrs. Wicket received each book with grat.i.tude, and looked to see if there were any pictures in it, before giving it back again.

Juliet, on the other hand, wished to know the names of all the flowers.

When Mr. Jeminy repeated their names in Latin, from the text-book on botany, she clapped her hands, and jumped up and down, because it was so comical.

Now, in August, Mr. Jeminy was building her a doll's house in Mrs.

Wicket's tumbledown barn. It was the sort of work he liked to engage in; no one expected him to be accurate, it was only necessary to use his imagination. But Juliet, swinging her legs on top of the feed bin, regarded him with round and serious eyes. For in Juliet's opinion, Mr.

Jeminy was involved in a difficult task; and she was afraid he might not be able to go through with it.

"How many rooms," she said, "is my doll's house going to have?"

"I had counted," said Mr. Jeminy, "on two." And he went over the plans, using his hammer as a pointer. "Here is the bedroom," he said, "and there is the kitchen. There's where the stove is going to be."

Juliet followed him without interest. It was apparent that she was disappointed.

"Where's the parlor?" she demanded.

"Must there be a parlor?" asked Mr. Jeminy, in surprise.

"What do you think?" said Juliet. "I have to have a place for Anna to keep company in."

Anna was the youngest of her three dolls; that is to say, Anna was smaller than either Sara or Margaret. It seemed to Juliet that to be without a parlor was to lack elegance. Mr. Jeminy rubbed his chin.

"Isn't Anna very young," he asked, "to keep company in the parlor?"

"No, she isn't," said Juliet.

Then, as Mr. Jeminy made no reply, she added, "She's six, going on seven."

Mr. Jeminy sighed. "Is she indeed?" he remarked absently. "It is a charming age. I wish I were able to see the world again through the eyes of six, going on seven. What a n.o.ble world it would seem, full of pleasant people."

"So," declared Juliet, "we have to have a parlor."

However, she could not sit still very long.

Presently she hopped down from the feed bin. "Look," she said, "this is the way to fly." She began to dance about, waving her arms.

"This," she declared, "is the way the bees go." And she ran up and down, crying "buzz, buzz."

She decided to play house, by herself. Arranging her three dolls, made of rags and sawdust, on top of the bin, she stood before them, with her fingers in her mouth. Then all at once she began to play.

"My goodness," she exclaimed, "I'm surprised at you. Look at your clothes, every which way. Margaret, do sit up. And Sara--you'll be the death of me, with all my work to do yet, and everything."

"How do you do, Mrs. Henry Stove," she added, addressing a three-legged stool, "come right in and sit down.

"Terrible hot weather we're having. Worst I ever see."

She moved busily about, humming a song to herself. "I declare, it's time you went to school, children," she said finally, stopping to look at her family.

Without trouble, she became the school teacher. Propping her three dolls more firmly against the wall, she took her stand directly in front of them. "Do you know your lessons, children?" she asked. Then she squeaked back to herself, "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, then, Margaret, what's the best cow for b.u.t.ter?"

Mr. Jeminy began to laugh. But almost at once he became serious and confused. For it occurred to him that he did not know what cow was best for b.u.t.ter. "This child," he thought, "who cannot tell me why it is necessary to take two apples from four apples, is nevertheless able to distinguish between one cow and another. She is wiser than I am."

He stood gazing thoughtfully at Juliet, and smiling. The sun of late afternoon, already about to sink in the west, was shining through the window, covered with dust and cobwebs. And Mr. Jeminy, watching the dust dancing in the sun, thought to himself: "I should like to stay here; it is peaceful and friendly. I should like to help Mrs. Wicket plant her little garden in the spring, and plow it under in the autumn.

Now it is growing late and I must go home again."

Juliet had tired of her play. "Tell me a story," she said. "Tell me about the war, Mr. Jeminy. Tell me about Noel Ploughman."

But Mr. Jeminy shook his head. "No," he said, "it is time to drive your mother's cow home from the fields. Some other day I will tell you about the great wars of old, fought for no other reason than glory and empire, which disappointed no one, except the vanquished. But there is no time now. Come; we will go for the cow together."

Hand in hand they went down the road toward Mr. Crabbe's field, where Mrs. Wicket rented pasturage for her cow. The sun was sinking above the trees; and they heard, about them, in the fields, the silence of evening, the song of the crickets and cicadas.

They found the cows gathered at the pasture bars, with sweet, misty breath, their bells clashing faintly as they moved. "Go 'long," cried Juliet, switching her little rod, to single out her own. And to the patter of hoofs and the tonkle of bells, they started home again.

Mrs. Wicket, in the kitchen, watched them from her window, in the clear, fading light. "How good he is," she thought. And she turned, with a smile and a sigh, to set the table for Juliet's supper.

Juliet was singing along the roadside. "A tisket," she sang, "a tasket, a green and yellow basket . . ." And she chanted, to a tune of her own, an old verse she had once heard Mr. Jeminy singing:

When I was a young man, I said, bright and bold, I would be a great one, When I was old.

When I was a young man, But that was long ago, I sang the merry old songs All men know.

When I was a young man, When I was young and smart, I think I broke a mirror, Or a girl's heart.

Mr. Jeminy walked in the middle of the road, under the dying sky, already lighted by the young moon, in the west. As he walked, the fresh air of evening, blowing on his face, with its sweet odors, the twilight notes of birds among the leaves, the faint acclaim of bells, and Juliet's childish singing, filled his heart with unaccustomed peace, moved him with gentle and deliberate joy. He remembered the voices he had heard in the little schoolhouse in the spring.

"Jeminy, what are you doing?"

Then Mr. Jeminy raised his head to the sky, in which the first stars of night were to be seen.

"I am very busy now," he said, proudly.

V

RAIN

From her dormer window, Anna Barly peered out at the wet, gray morning.

The ground was sopping, the trees black with the night's drenching. In the orchard a sparrow sang an uncertain song; and she heard the comfortable drip, drip, drip from the eaves. It was damp and fresh at the window; the breeze, cold and fragrant after rain, made her shiver.

She drew her wrapper closer about her throat, and sat staring out across the sodden lawn, with idle thoughts for company.

She thought that she was young, and that the world was old: that rain belonged to youth. Old age should sit in the sun, but youth was best of all in bad weather. "There's no telling where you are in the rain.

And there's no one spying, for every one's indoors, keeping dry." Yes, youth is quite a person in the rain.