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"THTL LAW FROM ALABAMA”
fly Odessa Strickland Payne and Lamar Strickland Payne, Authors of "Psyche”, "Limit of the Line”, "/fission Girl”, Pte.
CHAPTER XX.
EVERAL days after the interview, in
the Souvenir Garden, June Churchill
phoned to Schiller and asked her to ac
company her to “Solitude.”
She was not physically strong enough
to return yet, to her work at the Cot
ton Mills, and she was, consequently,’
glad to accept the kind invitation. She
counted herself happy, indeed, in hav-
S
ing the privilege of seeing the country again. For
Schiller, like all who have the artistic temperament,
loved God’s out-of-doors.
The lonely forest stretches, the green expanse of
field and orchards, the silver flash of streams be
tween the hills —which, somehow manage to keep
their silent mystery and charm, through the chang
ing seasons.
Miss Churchill, out of consideration for Schiller’s
auto accident, came in an open carriage. June
smiled, with indulgent appreciation of the girl, in a
"fresh white linen suit, climaxed with a black hat,
who came down the steps, that led to the sidewalk
before "Overlook.”
The coachman, swung open the carriage door, and,
when Schiller was seated, June took her hand, in a
warm, cordial clasp.
"You are still interestingly pale, Miss Wilkins,"
she said, with a fleeting smile, "but, all the same,
you look stronger than you did the other day when
I called.”
"Yes, I am stronger,” Schiller admitted, with a
shadow darkening her expressive gray eyes, "but I
had a stormy interview with myself, last night,
which has left me a trifle limp this morning.”
“Slow up, Jordan,” Miss Churchill commanded the
driver, as the black horses began to draw the car
riage, in a swift gallop, down the broad asphalt
street.
“It is rather hard, Miss Churchill,” Schiller con
tinued, when the horses had been forced to a more
comfortable gait, "to exist, beautifully, day by day.
Lacking the power to achieve things is calculated
to produce unhappiness, you understand; that is,”
she corrected, “if you care about being a factor
•worth while, on the firing line.”
“Pure and simple ‘figurehead-ism’ does not appeal
to a girl, who has believed herself capable of better
things. But, listen! I am not complaining at my lot
at all, but I do have the blues, sometimes, I confess,
over my powerlessness. I would like, for instance,
she added, with a faint stain of carmine on her
cheeks, "to metamorphose the Mill Compound of
which I am an insignificant member, entirely, from
center to circumference; but situated as I am, I
can only dream, dream, while I do nothing at all,
nothing.”
"Carrol Hall told me, in an interview I had with
him. recently,” June, affirmed, with a glance of veiled
mischief at her young companion, "that he had prom
ised you a check for a splendid library for the Set
tlement Home, and a well-furnished gymnasium, be
sides, and tnat does not seem like the evidence, Miss
Wilkins, of a powerless personality, to me.
"Oh! that is to be Mr.. Hall’s achievement,” Schil
ler replied, "not mine.”
"No,” June objected," he told me, positively, that
be was going to do it, simply to please you.”
“Thank you,” Schiller said, "but, as I haven't
seen Mr. Hall but once since my recovery, and that
was only a few moments at the opera the other
night, I was beginning to be afraid, that he had for
gotten his promise.”
"I don't think so,” June returned, with an air of
naive conviction, “indeed! I am sure he has not.
For I had a talk with him yesterday, about the mat
ter. He will be out at "Solitude,” I expect, while
you are with us, and you can ask him yourself, if
you wish, about it, you know.” Miss Churchill fin
ished byway of explaining her sudden enigmatical
stop. "You know that my brother Von Bulow and
Carrol Hal! are great friends.”
The Golden Age for June 2, 1910.
They had reached the open country now, and
were being whirled down a wide white sandy road,
with a woodland stretch on one side, and wheat
field on the other, which looked like a sea of cool
emerald, with the wind tossing it into iridescent
billows, under the blue arch of the May sky.
"Oh, you country!” Schiller exclaimed, her glance
roving over the Wheatfield. “Surely God made you,
for an object lesson, in sheer loveliness. There is
not a block, in brick or marble, in the Great City,
which can compete, on inspirational lines, accord
ing to my ideas, with that wind-blown wheat
field.”
"Perhaps not,” June answered. "But wait until
you see the enthralling curves of Millwood creek,
and some other picturesque spots about "Solitude.”
There is a place on top of a high hill, which I call
the "Pine Cathedral,” which is my favorite resort,
when I am out there. It soothes the ruffled calm, of
the spirit, like going to church, don’t you know,
when you are in an adverse mood.”
Schiller smiled comprehendingly.
"Then I ought to have been there,” she said, with
a queer little break in her voice, "I am sure . . .
last night.
Miss Churchill took off her white chip and laid it
by Schiller’s black hat, already deposited on the
front seat, while she leaned back, leisurely, among
the cushions.
"Just Imagine,” she said, in a teasing tone, "Miss
Wilkins, wandering about the ‘Pine Cathedral,’ in a
pink kimona, at the hour of midnight.”
"Yes, with my hair down,” Schiller replied, "and
my hands clasped, •while I leaned against a blasted
stump, with the moonlight streaming over my tall
graceful figure. I think that I would have made
really, an interesting picture.”
June Churchill laughed, softly.
“Score one for Miss Wilkins,” she said. “I don’t
think I’ll care soon again to enter the lists, with
the Professor’s daughter. But, tell me,” she added,
after a time, as the carriage slowly climbed a long
hill, “what you would do, if you could have your
own way, and metamorphose the Mill Compound? I
am pledged to a Settlement Home, on the other side
of the city, and to be frank, I would like to get your
ideas; they might furnish me with an original work
ing basis, which I would like to copy, with your gra
cious permission.”
Schiller took a June apple, from a branch, which
the driver had thrown into the carriage at the last
orchard, as a sample of Von Bulow’s fruit, and made
a wry face, after she had bitten into it with her
slender white teeth.
"My plan isn’t original. Few plans are. I have
nothing original in me, except original sin, some
body has declared, and we have been informed, also,
that the primogenitors of this apple —I am sure it is
true, it is so bad—occasioned that sin.”
“The Professor’s daughter again!” June exclaim
ed, with sparkling eyes. "My dear little Minerva do
go on.”
"Well, then, if you are determined,” Schiller said,
as she tossed the half-ripe apple out of the carriage,
"to get at the .facts, in my dream.plan, here it is.”
"I would tear down every other tenement house,
on the streets of the Mill Village. The houses are
too close together, to be sanitary; and. besides, why
shouldn’t the Mill Folks have room for beauty, and
breathing space, in this great, big world? Why
shouldn’t they have trees and grass-plots in front,
and gardens, in the rear of their houses, like every
body else does, in small, well-regulated towns.”
"Good suggestion,” June returned, "but likely to
prove very expensive to the Mill owners. Some of
them I know personally, would figure out the loss
of the torn-down houses, and the ground-space
wasted, and cry, impossible!”
"Nothing should he,” Schiller returned, with a
heightened color, "which militates against the
health and life of human beings, to say nothing of
happiness. And when the world gets its practice
of brotherhood, keyed up to the beautiful creed of
our religion, it will be considered a disgrace, black
and unpardonable, to ignore the needs of others,
simply because they are weak and defenseless.”
“Go on,” June commanded, in an interested tone.
“Not unless you are willing to pay, Miss Churchill
for my original ideas.”
“What do you mean?” June asked, in a slightly
shocked voice.
Schiller laughed.
“Nothing. Except that the Settlement Home
needs refurnishing, the bed rooms, especially, and
the piano is old in the parlor, and the organ
wheezes, sometimes, in the Chapel services. All of
which means, that Miss Lowell wouldn’t refuse your
check for the necessary amount, if you would be
kind enough to offer it.”
Miss Churchill looked thoughtfully down, at her
unjeweled hands, in the lap of her grey linen dress.
“I would gladly give you my check,” she said, at
last, "if I didn’t, think, honestly, Schiller, that it was
Carrol Hall’s business. But, listen! I’ll make a bar
gain with you, little girl, if you will tell him about
your scheme, with the same charming frankness you
have me. And, if he does not rise to the occasion,
I’ll promise to pay the bill, for the refurnishing of
the house, provided you and Miss Lowell relieve me
of all detail work.”
“Thank you,” Schiller said, with a glow in her
eyes, “now I have got your word between me,” she
finished, in a whimsical tone, "and the next attack
of my mala self.”
“But, here we are,” June exclaimed joyfully, “at
the gates of “Solitude.” I need not add that I am
glad to welcome you to my brother’s home.”
Schiller caught a gleam of red pillows, beyond the
green swell of the lawn, as two young men saun
tered down the wide white avenue, toward the
gates.
“Von Bulow and Carrol Hall,” June added, in a
surprised way. "Schiller, Fate is playing into your
hands. If you don’t make Carrol Hall carry out
your dream--plan, I’ll never forgive you.”
£ << $ :je :]c $ *
The cream-white shades had not been drawn in the
front drawing room of “Solitude.”
The electroliers were dark. Bronze statuettes
threw yellow, golden gleams through the fragrant
dusk. A long lane of ivory white keys upon the
open Chickering grand piano made an alabaster blur
as a chalk-white cloud may lighten the black and
gray heads of a summer thunderstorm.
No human actors were posed, as yet, upon the
drawing room stage, with its rich Turkish and Per
sian rugs, its bronze vases cenotaphed with German
script, and the black marble table in harmony with
the ebony arch that led into the next room.
Without, in the high, green sky of the May even
ing, a comet glowed, with sickly fervor, as if con
tact with the earth’s grim orbit had ravaged it of its
fire and flame. The curved tail was scarce visible
to the naked eye, and it seemed symbolic of the
souls of the men of the modern day, weary unto ex
tinction. With a slow, cloud-veiled, pallid motion it
vanished from the sky plane, and the brilliant yel
low moon swam into space, and the stars brightened
perhaps, under the reflective light of the tired tramp
of the skies. This was an unusual phenomena, for
the evening stars, but "Solitude” was three thou
sand miles from Lick Observatory, and not a Galileo
appeared to offer an explanation.
Rose. Churchill trailed into the drawing room
She was gowned in her favorite evening dress, gray
and green in its tones, a. hint of the Orient about it.
a suggestion of Hindu mysticism, of the lost lore
of the Persian Magi, of the colors that only the
artists of Japan may draw. With a sigh, breathed
from the deathless inner shrine, she came to a halt,
by the embrasure of the bay windows, to drink in
the witchery, the bright charm of the May night
world. On such a night Leander swam the Helles
pont, Romeo paused beneath Juliet’s balcony, Rudel,
(Continued on Page 14.) .
