Now there is the story of the absent one that parents tell--the legend about G.o.d and Heaven and the angels--a beautiful and comforting legend it is for small minds, and being merciful, G.o.d may in His own way bring us to realize it, in deed and in truth. When the lonely father or the broken hearted mother tells the desolate child that legend, childhood finds surcease there for its sorrow. But when there is no G.o.d, no Heaven, no angels to whom the absent one has gone, what then do deserted mothers say?--or dishonored fathers answer? What surcease for its sorrow has the little lonely, aching heart in that sad case? What then, "ye merry gentlemen that nothing may dismay"?

CHAPTER XXV

IN WHICH WE SEE TWO TEMPLES AND THE CONTENTS THEREOF

It was an old complaint in Harvey that the Harvey _Tribune_ was too much of a bulletin of the doings of the Adams family and their friends.

But when a man sets all the type on a paper, writes all the editorials and gets all the news he may be pardoned if he takes first such news as is near his hand. Thus in the May that followed events set down in the last chapter we find in the _Tribune_ a few items of interest to the readers of this narrative. We learn for instance that Captain Ezra Morton who is introducing the Nonesuch Sewing Machine, paid his friends in Prospect school district a visit; that Jasper Adams has been promoted to superintendent of deliveries in Wright & Perry's store; that Kenyon Adams entertained his friends in the Fifth Grade of the South Harvey schools with a violin solo on the last day of school; that Grant Adams had been made a.s.sistant to the secretary of the National Building Trades a.s.sociation in South Harvey; that Mr. George Brotherton with Miss Emma Morton and Martha and Ruth had enjoyed a pleasant visit with the Adamses Sunday afternoon and had resumed an enjoyable buggy ride after partaking of a chicken dinner. In the editorial column were some reflections evidently in Mr. Left's most lucid style and a closing paragraph containing this: "Happiness and character," said the Peach Blow Philosopher, "are inseparable: but how easy it is to be happy in a great, beautiful house; or to be unhappy if it comes to that in a great, beautiful house: Environment may influence character; but all the good are not poor, nor all the rich bad. Therefore, the Peach Blow Philosopher takes to the woods. He is willing to leave something to the Lord Almighty and the continental congress. Selah!"

As Dr. Nesbit sat reading the items above set forth upon the broad new veranda of the residence that he was so proud to call his home, he smiled. It was late afternoon. He had done a hard day's work--some of it among the sick, some of it among the needy--the needy in the Doctor's bright lexicon being those who tried to persuade him that they needed political offices. "I cheer up the sick, encourage the needy, pray for 'em both, and sometimes for their own good have to lie to 'em all," he used to say in that day when the duties of his profession and the care of his station as a ruling boss in politics were oppressing him. Dr.

Nesbit played politics as a game. But he played always to win.

"Old Linen Pants is a bland old scoundrel," declared Public Opinion, about the corridors of the political hotel at the capital. "But he is as ruthless as iron, as smooth as oil, and as bitter as poison when he sets his head on a proposition. Buy?--he buys men in all the ways the devil teaches them to sell--offices, power, honor, cash in hand, promises, prestige--anything that a man wants, Old Linen Pants will trade for, and then get that man. Humorous old devil, too," quoth Public Opinion.

"Laughs, quotes scripture, throws in a little Greek philosophy, and knows all the new stories, but never forgets whose play it is, nor what cards are out." Thus was he known to others.

But as he remained longer and longer in the game, as his fourth term as state Senator began to lengthen, the game here and there began to lose in his mouth something of its earlier savor. That afternoon as he sat on the veranda overlooking the lawn shaded by the elm trees of his greatest pride, Dr. Nesbit was discoursing to Mrs. Nesbit, who was sewing and paid little heed to his animadversions; it was a soliloquy rather than a conversation--a soliloquy accompanied by an obligate of general mental disagreement from the wife of his bosom, who expressed herself in sniffs and snorts and scornful staccato interjections as the soliloquy ran on.

Here are a few bars of it transcribed for beginners:

From the Doctor's solo: "Heigh-ho--ho hum--Two United States Senators, one slightly damaged Governor, marked down, five congressmen and three liars, one supreme court justice, also a liar, a working interest in a second, and a slight equity in a third; organization of the Senate, speaker of the house,--forty liars and thirty thieves--that's my political a.s.sets, my dear."

"I wish you'd quit politics, Doctor, and attend to your practice," this by way of accompaniment from Mrs. Nesbit. The Doctor was in a playful and facetious mood that pleasant afternoon.

He leaned back in his chair, reached up in the air with outstretched arms, clapped his hands three times, gayly, kicked his shoe-heels three times at the end of his short little legs, smiled and proceeded: "Liabilities of James Nesbit, dealer in public grief, licensed dispenser of private joy, purveyor of Something Equally Good, item one, forty-nine gentlemen who think they've been promised thirty-six jobs--but they are mistaken, they have been told only that I'll do what I can for them--which is true; item two, three hundred friends who want something and may ask at any minute; item three, seventy-five men who will be or have been primed up by the loathed opposition to demand jobs; item four, Tom Van Dorn who is as sure as guns to think in about a year he has to have a vindication, by running for another term; item five--"

"He can't have it," from Mrs. Nesbit, and then the piping voice went on:

"Item six, a big, husky fight in Greeley county for the maharaja of Harvey and the adjoining provinces." A deep sigh rose from the Doctor, then followed more clapping of hands and kicking of heels and some slapping of suspenders, as the voices of Kenyon and Lila came into the veranda from the lawn, and the Doctor cast up his accounts: "Let's see now--naught's a naught and figure's a figure and carry six, and subtract the profits and multiply the trouble and you have a busted community.

Correct," he piped, "Bedelia, my dear, observe a busted community. Your affectionate lord and master, kind husband, indulgent father, good citizen gone but not forgotten. How are the mighty fallen."

"Doctor," snapped Mrs. Nesbit, "don't be a fool; tell me, James, will Tom Van Dorn want to run again?"

Making a basket with his hands for the back of his head the Doctor answered slowly, "Ho-ho-ho! Oh, I don't know--I should say--yes. He'll just about have to run--for a Vindication."

"Well, you'll not support him! I say you'll not support him," Mrs.

Nesbit decided, and the Doctor echoed blandly:

"Then I'll not support him. Where's Laura?" he asked gently.

"She went down to South Harvey to see about that kindergarten she's been talking of. She seems almost cheerful about the way Kenyon is getting on with his music. She says the child reads as well as she now and plays everything on the violin that she can play on the piano. Doctor," added Mrs. Nesbit meditatively, "now about those oriental rugs we were going to put upstairs--don't you suppose we could take the money we were going to put there and help Laura with that kindergarten? Perhaps she'd take a real interest in life through those children down there." The wife hesitated and asked, "Would you do it?"

The Doctor drummed his chair arm thoughtfully, then put his thumbs in his suspenders. "Greater love than this hath no woman shown, my dear--that she gives up oriental rugs for a kindergarten--by all means give it to her."

"James, Lila still grieves for her father."

"Yes," answered the Doctor sadly, "and Henry Fenn was in the office this morning begging me to give him something that would kill his thirst."

The doctor brought his hands down emphatically on his chair arms. "Duty, Bedelia, is the realest obligation in the world. Here are Lila and Henry Fenn. What a miserable lot of tommy rot about soul-mating Tom and this Fenn woman conjured up to get away from their duty to child and husband.

They have swapped a place with the angels for a right to wallow with the hogs; that's what all their fine talking amounts to." The Doctor's shrill voice rose. "They don't fool me. They don't fool any one; they don't even fool each other. I tell you, my dear," he chirped as he rose from his chair, "I never saw one of those illicit love affairs in life or heard of it in literature that was not just plain, old fashion, downright, beastly selfishness. Duty is a greater thing in life than what the romance peddlers call love."

The Doctor stood looking at his wife questioningly--waiting for some approving response. She kept on sewing. "Oh you Satterthwaites with hearts of marble," he cried as he patted the cast iron waves of her hair and went chuckling into the house.

Mrs. Nesbit was aroused from her reverie by the rattle of the Adams buggy. When it drew up to the curb Laura and Grant climbed out and came up the walk. Laura wore a simple summer dress that brought out all the exquisite coloring of her skin, and made her light hair shine in a kind of haloed glory. It had been months since the mother had seen in her daughter's face such a smile as the daughter gave to the man beside her--red-faced, angular, hard muscled, in his dingy blue carpenter's working clothes with his measuring rule and pencil sticking from his ap.r.o.n pocket, and with his crippled arm tipped by its steel tool-holder.

"Grant is going to take that box of Lila's toys down to the kindergarten, mother," she explained.

When they had disappeared up the stairs Mrs. Nesbit could hear them on the floor above and soon the heavy feet of the man carrying a burden were on the stairs and in another minute the young woman was saying:

"Leave them by the teacher's desk, Grant," and as he untied the horse, she called, "Now you will get that door in to-night without fail--won't you? I'll be down and we'll put in the south part.i.tion in the morning."

As she turned from the door she greeted her mother with a smile and dropped wearily into a chair.

"Oh mother," she cried, "it's going to be so fine. Grant has the room nearly finished and he's interesting the wives of the union men in South Harvey and George Brotherton is going to give us every month all the magazines and periodicals that are not returnable and George brought down a lot of Christmas numbers of ill.u.s.trated papers, and we're cutting the bright pictures out and pinning them on the wall and George himself worked with us all afternoon. George says he is going to make every one of his lodges contribute monthly to the kindergarten--he belongs to everything but the Ladies of the G. A. R.--" she smiled and her mother smiled with her,--"and Grant says the unions are going to pay half of the salary of the extra teacher. That makes it easier."

"Well, Laura, don't you think--"

But her daughter interrupted her. "Now, mother," she went on, "don't you stop me till I'm done--for this is the best yet. Morty Sands came down to-day to help--" Laura laughed a little at her mother's surprised glance, "and Morty promised to give us $200 for the kindergarten just as soon as he can worm it out of his father for expense money." She drew in a deep, tired breath, "There," she sighed, "that's all."

Her own child came up and the mother caught the little girl and began playing with her, tying her hair ribbon, smoothing out her skirts, rubbing a dirt speck from her nose, and cuddling the little one rapturously in her arms. When the two women were alone, Laura sat on the veranda steps with her head resting upon her mother's knee. The mother touched the soft hair and said: "Laura, you are very tired."

"Yes, mother," the daughter answered. "The mothers are so hungry for help down there in South Harvey, and," she added a little drearily--"so am I; so we are speaking a common language."

She nestled her head in the lap above her. "And I'm going to find something worth doing--something fine and good."

She watched the lazy clouds, "You know I'm glad about Morty Sands. Grant thinks Morty sincerely wants to amount to something real--to help and be more than a money grubber! If the old spider would just let him out of the web!" The mother stared at her daughter a second.

"Well, Laura, about the only money grubbing Morty seems to be doing is grubbing money out of his father to maintain his race horse."

The daughter smiled and the mother went on with her work. "Mother, did you know that little Ruth Morton is going to begin taking vocal lessons this summer?" The mother shook her head. "Grant says Mr. Brotherton's paying for it. He thinks she has a wonderful voice."

"Voice--" cut in Mrs. Nesbit, "why Laura, the child's only fourteen--voice--!"

Laura answered, "Yes, mother, but you've never heard her sing; she has a beautiful, deep, contralto voice, but the treble above 'C' is a trifle squeaky, and Mr. Brotherton says he's 'going to have it oiled'; so she's to 'take vocal' regularly."

On matters musical Mrs. Nesbit believed she had a right to know the whole truth, so she asked: "Where does Mr. Brotherton come in, Laura?"

"Oh, mother, he's always been a kind of G.o.d-father to those girls. You know as well as I that Emma's been playing with that funeral choir of yours and Mr. Brotherton's all these years, only because he got her into it, and Grant says he's kept Mrs. Herd.i.c.ker from discharging Martha for two years, just by sheer nerve. Of course Grant gets it from Mr.

Brotherton but Grant says Martha is so pretty she's such a trial to Mrs.

Herd.i.c.ker! I like Martha, but, mother, she just thinks she should be carried round on a chip because of her brown eyes and red hair and dear little snubby nose. Grant says Mr. Brotherton is trying to get the money someway to float the Captain's stock company and put his Household Horse on the market. I think Mr. Brotherton is a fine man, mother--he's always doing things to help people."

Mrs. Nesbit folded up her work, and began to rise. "George Brotherton, Laura," said her mother as she stood at full length looking down upon her child, "has a voice of an angel, and perhaps the heart of a G.o.d, but he will eat onions and during the twenty years I've been singing with him I've never known him to speak a correct sentence. Common, Laura--common as dishwater."

As Laura Van Dorn talked the currents of life eddying about her were reflected in what she said. But she could not know the spirit that was moving the currents; for with a neighborly shyness those who were gathering about her were careful to seem casual in their kindness, and she could not know how deeply they were moved to help her. Kindergartens were hardly in George Brotherton's line; yet he untied old bundles of papers, ransacked his shop and brought a great heap of old posters and picture papers to her. Captain Morton brought a beloved picture of his army Colonel to adorn the room, and deaf John Kollander, who had a low opinion of the ignorant foreigners and the riff-raff and sc.u.m of society, which Laura was trying to help, wished none the less to help her, and came down one day with a flag for the schoolroom and insisted upon making a speech to the tots about patriotism. He made nothing clear to them but he made it quite clear to himself that they were getting the flag as a charity, which they little deserved, and never would return.

And to Laura he conveyed the impression that he considered her mission a madness, but for her and the sorrow which she was fighting, he had appreciative tenderness. He must have impressed his emotions upon his wife for she came down and talked elaborately about starting a cooking school in the building, and after planning it all out, went away and forgot it. The respectable iron gray side-whiskers of Ahab Wright once relieved the dingy school room, when Ahab looked in and the next day Kyle Perry on behalf of the firm of Wright & Perry came trudging into the kindergarten with a huge box which he said contained a p-p-p-p-p-pat-a-p-p-p-pppat-pat--here he swallowed and started all over and finally said p-p-patent, and then started out on a long struggle with the word swing, but he never finished it, and until Laura opened the box she thought Mr. Perry had brought her a soda fountain.

But Nathan Perry, his son, who came wandering down to the place one afternoon with Anne Sands, put up the swing, and suggested a half dozen practical devices for the teacher to save time and labor in her work, while Anne Sands in her teens looked on as one who observes a major G.o.d completing a bungling job of the angels on a newly contrived world.

Sometimes coming home from his day's work Amos Adams would drop in for a chat with the tired teacher, and he refreshed her curiously with his quiet manner and his unsure otherworldliness, and his tough, unyielding optimism. He had no lectures for the children. He would watch them at their games, try to play with them himself in a pathetic, old-fashioned way, telling them fairy stories of an elder and a grimmer day than ours.

Sometimes Doctor Nesbit, coming for Laura in his buggy, would find Amos in the school room, and they would fall to their everlasting debate upon the reality of time and s.p.a.ce with the Doctor enjoying hugely his impious attempt to couch the terminology of abstract philosophy in his Indiana vernacular.