Hezekiah Wilkins, in holiday garb of silk hat and cutaway frock, arrived.

Mrs. Henderson came a few moments later. Certain uninvited ancient men dressed as for a fiesta followed. Mr. Jones and Kelly entered the grounds with an air of having casually dropped in and not intending to stay long. The stenographer wore a natty suit, the check of which caught the discriminating eye of Ike as it rounded the gate. At the scheduled moment for the concert, Colonel Ryan approached and, after saluting Virginia, seated himself upon the porch and viewed the band with the pride and pleasure of its proprietor.

At the tap of the leader, the onlookers were dazzled by golden reflections as the musicians lifted their instruments. With a burst of harmony, Virginia's concert was on. Even at the first note, the stiff dignity of the audience melted and they conversed. Women whose taciturnity had been remarked for years in that place of silence became loquacious.

The concert made an attractive picture. The band was upon the lawn in front of the building. On the lower porch and in shady places about the grounds were groups of aged women. Their white hair blended softly with the dresses of grey and black, and soft fichus or treasured bits of lace were drawn about wrinkled necks by cameos and big brooches.

Mr. Wilkins conducted Mrs. Henderson to several spots from which to hear the music. They were rejected summarily by the fastidious widow on the grounds of ants below or spiders above and the general presence of bugs. Finally she made her own selection, confessing a suspicion of the presence in concealment of gra.s.shoppers and the fear that the place was attractive to frogs and gra.s.s snakes.

Perceiving Hezekiah's holiday attire and Mrs. Henderson's manner, Mr. Vivian deemed them important personages and served them bountifully with his own hands. He was rewarded by hearing the widow tell her escort, "You can't buy decent ice cream in South Ridgefield. It's all adulterated and unfit for human consumption. The people who make such stuff should be put in jail for life."

Hezekiah chuckled contentedly. "Why not chop off their heads?" he suggested kindly.

Mr. Vivian departed hastily.

From their position they could see Virginia moving busily about from group to group.

Mrs. Henderson indicated her. "There is a dear girl," she said fondly.

"It's Elinor Dale come back again."

"Virginia is very like her mother," he agreed.

"Why did Elinor ever marry a man like Obadiah?" she sighed.

Hezekiah liked sandwiches. Particularly lettuce sandwiches with mayonnaise dressing. Mrs. Henderson's question caught him unawares.

"Wanted to," he mumbled through his mouthful.

"Hezekiah Wilkins, an answer of that sort kills conversation. You give me a sociable reply."

The m.u.f.fling sandwiches had been gotten rid of. "Fascinated," he suggested.

"Fascinated by a serpent," sniffed Mrs. Henderson.

The inference that Obadiah was a reptile failed to effect the appet.i.te of his legal adviser. He appropriated another sandwich.

"Why do you work for him, anyway?" she demanded sharply.

"Money," confessed Hezekiah, between bites.

"Hezekiah, there is something about your conversation which irritates me. I think that its brevity gets on my nerves." She gave him a questioning look. "I want to talk seriously with an old friend, Hezekiah. I want to ask him to do something for me."

He stopped eating and turned towards her. The humor had faded from his face and in its place was a certain sweetness with much of sorrow in it.

"Over twenty years ago, you asked me to be a brother to you, Mary,"

he said softly. "I have always tried to be a good one--to be ready to obey your slightest wish."

There was pain and pity in her countenance as she reached over and patted his hand. "I know it, Hezekiah," she whispered. "You have been too good a brother to me. You should have married." There was a catch in her voice and her eyes were moist, when she continued, "I never intended to condemn you to a life of loneliness when I married Tom Henderson."

His thoughts flew back over the long years. "It has been lonely, Mary,"

he admitted. "Are you sorry that I could not forget?"

"No," she whispered, winking back her tears. "It has been a beautiful tribute--too beautiful for me. I was never worthy of it."

"I am the better judge of that," he murmured quietly.

For a time they were lost in the dreams of what might have been, when they were disturbed by the big booming laugh of Colonel Ryan.

"Hezekiah Wilkins," exclaimed Mrs. Henderson with some sharpness, "we are a pair of sentimental old fools to dig up the past. We should save our strength for the future."

"Implying that we might better be preparing to dig our own graves. Is that your idea?" he demanded.

Indignant eyes in which but little sentiment lingered, rested upon the lawyer. "I suppose that you wished to be amusing, Hezekiah, but for a man noted for his tact that was an inexcusably gruesome speech. We may be old, as you intimate," she snapped, "but we have work to do before--we get busy on our own graves." Her gaze traveled across the lawn and came to rest upon the girlish figure of Virginia standing beside the Colonel. Hennie's mood softened, and when she spoke, it was as if she were thinking aloud. "If we have met sorrow and disillusionment in our own lives, Hezekiah, and with smiling lips have swallowed the bitter mouthful, should we not be willing to keep those whom we love from a similar experience?"

Hezekiah bowed in sober agreement.

"Virginia Dale is very happy this afternoon," Mrs. Henderson went on, "because she is doing what her mother, Elinor, always loved to do--make others happy. It has never entered her head that her father is not generous and kind--that he is the mean and selfish man that you and I know."

The widow reached over and laid her hand upon that of the lawyer.

"I am going to tell you a story, Hezekiah. It is about those good old days when you and I used to dance and do other gay and frivolous things--before we laid ourselves on the shelf." Her face saddened. "My story is mostly a guess," she continued, "and it is about what I think happened to Elinor Dale in those long bedridden hours before she died."

Again, he bowed and he was saddened, too, by the memories she recalled.

"It is my guess, Hezekiah," she resumed, "that before Elinor Dale died, the scales fell from her eyes and she knew the true Obadiah."

Mrs. Henderson sighed. "Poor Elinor knew that she had to go. Too loyal to confide in any one, she wanted to fight his selfish influence over her baby girl after she had gone. Let me tell you what she did--the poor weapon she was forced to resort to, Hezekiah." The widow shook her head sorrowfully. "Elinor marked a poem in a book and pledged me to give it to Virginia on her eighteenth birthday.

"This afternoon is one of the first fruits of the seed poor Elinor sowed years ago. Her daughter has grown, thanks to poor Serena's efforts--they ought to be successful because I don't believe that old negro ever bought the child a hat without taking it up in her prayers--into a beautiful woman. Fertile soil for the crop her mother would harvest, but--" Mrs. Henderson paused and her eyes flashed--"there is that Obadiah. Only the kindness of fate has kept Virginia from understanding him. When she does there will be a day of reckoning."

Mrs. Henderson leaned towards Hezekiah and looked into his eyes with her own overflowing with a great tenderness. "My faithful brother,"

she whispered, "when that day comes won't you do your part in keeping that sweet girl happy even as she is trying to do it for these old ladies? In your way you can do more than I can, Hezekiah. Won't you do it for Elinor?" She hesitated for a moment and continued, very softly, very gently, "Won't you do it for me?"

He returned Hennie's look, his face alight with tenderness. "I will, Mary," he promised.

The activities of Mr. Jones at this period were interesting. Regardless of his aches and pains, he deemed it his duty, as Obadiah's private secretary, to a.s.sume an active part in making the entertainment a success. With this in mind, he had volunteered his services to Virginia.

Rewarding him with a sweet smile, she had sent him for a cup of tea. Mr.

Jones performed this errand with great expedition and dispatch, thereby winning the grat.i.tude of an aged tea drinker. Virginia being busy, Mr.

Jones determined to exhibit his zeal in so signal a manner that it might not be overlooked. Returning to the kitchen, he seized a tray of edibles and, bearing it forth, began to distribute its contents with great energy.

Instantly, excitement seized the white coated waiters. They laid aside their trays and conferred. Soon, above the music, even above conversation, the notes of a whistle sounded. It was not the piercing call of a policeman or of a referee, it was not the pipe of a boatswain, it was rather the low, mourning call of a dove. As it smote the ears of Mr. Vivian he became as one transfixed with horror. He became ghastly pale as he recognized that the earnest efforts of Mr. Jones alone stood between the guests and famine.

Recovering himself, the caterer hurried towards his a.s.sembled employees.

From his manner it appeared he hoped for the best but suspected the worst. "What's the matter here?" he demanded in low, tense tones.

"We have struck," murmured the waiters.

Mr. Vivian's worst expectations were confirmed. "Why?" he inquired, with the usual interest of employers under similar circ.u.mstances.

The strikers turned and pointed at the form of Mr. Jones as he distributed a tray of viands with such marvelous rapidity that the effect of the walkout was as yet unnoticed by the aged. "Scab,"

they hissed in hostile sibilation. "Strikebreaker," they groaned, impressed by the wonderful dexterity of the stenographer.

"Where did that bird come from?" demanded the amazed Mr. Vivian as he viewed the skill of the gratuitous laborer.