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O ' D was unmarried because he bad
never met any woman worth while to
marry. As (or love, no idea o( it had
entered his comprehension.
He lived alone, with man and maids,
relinuishing his profession, in which he
had attained eminence, and pursuing certain researches,
which his excellent income allowed. *
On one side of iiis .estate was a river, deep, hut
hardly wider than a creek; and the land went back
through glades and gardens to the (arm. His house,
in his mother’s day beautiful, was interesting now,
with faded velvets whose scarlet was silver, with old
sortraits and ivories,land Marna’s immaculate house
keeping. Yet, when be. considered, it teemed deso
late. But he had little time for considering;' his
laboratory occupied him within doors, and when he
walked abroad it was chiefly with a view to the
examination of his frames .ranged under glass for
the action of the sun. He congratulated himself on
the quiet. "This is perfect," he said. “So remote,
to still—
y.
“‘As often iq the purple night
Some bearded meteor trailing light
Moves over still Shalott.”’
You can then imagine Dr. Lloyd’s feelings when,
me morning, he saw that the Old Place across the
■iver had been taken, busy people were putting it in
trdcr, and a horde of children moved in the alleys'
if the overgrown garden. And although the yellow
leads and peachy checks were lovely as flowers, to
)r. Lloyd the ttplls of underground would have
eemed less forbidding. Good-by to still Shalott,
o the undisturbed sauntering with thoughts and
troblems! -But, thank Heaven, the river ran be-
wcen, and there could be no actual contact, let the
ir be rent as it might
Of course, there were hours of quiet over in Old
'lace, although even then the tinkle of, a piano,
he echo of a song, the wail of a child, made mnfllcd
iscord. Sometimes he saw a woman walking in
he paths or tying up the roses that had run riot
n the gallery, a young woman, often gowned in
fhitc, perhaps pretty—at any rate, graceful. No
nc need object to such a neighbor as that, if at
'ere noj for that host of hornets about her. There
he was now, one at each hand, another pushing
etween, two running after! And she seemed to
ljoy it. But sometimes she sat on the gallery, and
i old colored woman combed her long dark hair
id mothered her. He could hear her now.
“Dcm ar twins 'sponsible for all dose yer 'cad-
:hcs, Missy Paula. Wen Miss Bella done die an’
be yo’ dem ar twins an’ de lil* gal, wid dare con-
aptions, she gib yo’ dese mis’ries, too.”
"There, there, Mammy Rose,” he heard a voice
silver.
“To be sho, it’s de Lord’s will, honey. 11c do
w rment dcm he lubs. I reckon he links dar's de
\ntskin’ ob an angel in Missy Paula. Dare, yo’ shet
C oVswcct eyes.”
So her name was Paula; it sounded the way rose-
tals feet
She was singing one sunset on the river bank;
c little wretches clamoring for song after song,
•low, Paula, sing ’The Young Chevalier,’” and,
>h, Paula, darling, 'Si Blcus Ses Yeux.’” And
r voice seemed to people, the place with nightin-
les. '» •
Well, now and then at nightfall, on the other side
. the river, one TbORTnot complain. And he was
fe on htyside. Safe, was he? He went out one
sraing, - and there—two little yellow heads bent
e'r one. qf liiy. frames, and four audacious hands
■rag the cover and working ruin. “What are you
out!” he 'called an‘d To fiercely that, starting to
i, they'fin directly into his hands. He caught
e; but"the other in desperation made for the
cering.old pine,.one of whose long, low boughs
ned over the stream. “How did you come here?”
demanded. “We jumped,” in one breath. “Then
ap back!"
To bis 'horror, for, after all, he was human, the
t that had clambered- to the end of the big pine-
: bough, suddenly hurled himself through tjic air
h a shout, landing on the other side, which, in-
d, the bouglT almost touched.
Now you!” said Dr. Lloyd to the other boy.
I—I distent,’” lie gasped. “We fetched a run and
iped. I—I can’t jnmp standing. Monty can do
•st anything....I—I.cpn’t!"
Then I’ll show you bow!” said Dr. Lloyd. And
ing the action to the word, he swung the boy
k and forth a moment and then let go. Under
er circumstances it would have been only a light
i to the toft turf opposite. But the boy squirmed
> kicked to such a degree that the toss failed, and
fell on the bank and rolled eff into the water,
a moment, of course, Dr. Lloyd was after him.
lough boys were holy terrors, you roust not
xn them. And he brought him up the bank, a
ping, yelling crab, all struggling legs and arms,
self dripping, too, and in an altogether un-
ritious condition in which to meet a lovely lady
the first time.
ar the shrieks of the two had brought the others
f they sprang out of the ground. "He threw
tny into the river! Oh, Paula, Tania, he threw
iny into the river!” resounded the shrill cries.
there, suddenly, towering over them with
htened color and biasing eyes, was Paula.
Jo, sir!" she commanded. And bowing, Dr.
•d took hold of the long pine bought, regardless
J’.ch, and swung himself across the water.
M next day Benson told him the bough of the
•tree, that leaned over the river, bad been cut
The lady across the stream had ordered it, he
ght. This was an outrage. And Dr. Lloyd
d not only the long bough gone, but the tree
girdled so that it would die. This the lady could
not have ordered. The tree, a solitary giant, had
been a landmark for ages, although part of it was
dry and withered. He felt a pang, as when one
hears sentence of death pronounced upon a living
soul. But while he looked. Mammy Rose, hatchet
in hand, came laboring along the other side, having
crossed the stepping stones half a mile above. She
stopped and shook the hatchet defiantly.
Dr. Lloyd, obliged to go away the next day, was,
on his return, interested in some new experiments,
and there was a season of comparative quiet across
the stream. This season was broken by the children
huddled on the bank, talking and sobbing, the beau,
tiful lady coming down the sward, sweeping them
into her arms, and leaving them hurriedly.
The same day Benson said one of the children
across the river was very ill, and Dr. Parshley had
given him up.
One of those children he had thrown into the
water. Good Heaven, if he had been the death of
that child! Directly he had looked over his pro
fessional appurtenances, he was at the door of Old
Place, speaking with Dr. Parshley. “You say it is
hopeless?” he asked. "I fear so,” said the old
Doctor.
“You give up the case?" Dr. Lloyd said breath
lessly. *
* YVell, practicall:’.*
Dr. Lloyd joined her there very shortly. “You
must have confidence in me," he said, bending over
her where she sat half-stunned. “I promise you the
boy’s life.”
“You tried to destroy it once,” she said, looking
up with great, tired eyes.
"Do you really think I had such intention? How
ever, you have enough faith in Dr. Parshley to un
derstand he will permit no wrong?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said wearily.
“You are tired out. Go to bed, and let me have
him. I will not leave him till he is out of danger.”
“I must be with him,” she said. And then there
came a chorus from below. “Hush, hush!" she
whispered, running to the balusters.
“No, no, no!” came the cries, four little eager,
distracted faces appearing, with the old colored one
behind -them. “He tried to kill Johnny! He’ll kill
him now!”
“Mammy Rose,” said Dr. Lloyd, “take your mis
tress and the children away at once, or they will be
killing Johnny!" And Mammy Rose, who knew
what authority was, swept the protesting rebels
down stairs. Paula was already in the sick-room.
The old Doctor left by-and-by. The sunrise was
stealing through the dark at last, reddening the
world, and the birds were singing, when Dr. Lloyd
went round to the other side of the bed and lifted
• Paula and laid her on the lounge in the adjoining
room. "He is going to litre, be said. "Now
sleep!” And the word "Sleep” on his lips, and the
look in his eyes, were all she remembered before
deep aiomber fell upon her. -
Mammy Rose stole into the room presently. He
waved her away and followed her out. “Take the
children, their clothea and books and toys, to my
“ SVC CA1U TO WISH YOU A MESSY CR1ISTUAS—AND MAKE YOU A CH1ISTMAS FRESENT—YOU CAVE US TUE
me CHRISTMAS TREE, LAST NIGHT—AND IT SAVED OUR LIVES
AND SO. WE’RE COINS TO C1VK YOU TAULA."
Er
"Have you tried the new remedy?"
"No, I haven't you younger men's faith In new
remedies. And there is none to be had.”
"Would you mind taking me in consultation?”
The old Doctor’s face brightened, and then
gloomed again. “Well," he said "If I can’t ■"
“1 can't either, you mean. Try me."
And compelled, against his will. Dr. Parshley
turned about with him. Through a distant door he
saw the children’s faces in an angry cluster, as he
went up the stain.
"Dr. Lloyd,” said the old Doctor, after a quick in
troduction, "is a noted bacteriologist; end thinks he
may succeed with a new remedy. 1 confess ”
"I cannot have experiments tried here,” said the
beautiful lady beside the bed.
"Believe me,” said Dr. Lloyd gently, “it is no
experiment. The child has, I fear, but a few hours
otherwise. It is bis only chenee.”
"True,” said Dr. Parshley.
"He shall die in peace then,” said the lady.
"Then,” said the Doctor, looking at her steadily
with his steel-blue eyes, "I shall procred without
your permission." And she never knew how ft hap
pened that she found hcr-cif outside the door.
house,” he said. "This disease is contagious. They
may escape that way. Remain with them.” And
he returned to Johnny. Later, Dr. Parshley re
lieved bis watch while he went for a hath and his
coffee, coming back quickly. And Paula waked, be
wildered, and, slipping away, reappeared refreshed
and with a sort of subdued radiance about her. As
she ctme in the door the blaze of day came in with
"The boy will pull through,” said Dr. Lloyd. "And
I will see him again at noon.”
She hesitated, hall wavering toward him. “You
have given him back to lile,” she said. “And I—I
ordered you off my grmmdi!”
“Weill" he said, looking down at her with a
•mile.
“I can—can only ask yon to com* back.” And
she extended her hand.
“I shall come back!” he said, an electric thrill
sweeping through him at the touch of her hand.
And as she saw him, tall and large end bright above
Iter, she could think only of the sun-god with heal
ing in his staff. His head was in a whirl; he walked
in a rosy cloud.
When he opened the door of his own house, after
changing his clothes in the fumitory, was it all the
imps of Pandemonium let loose—of wet it ell the
birds of Eden? In hit singular frame of mind he
could hardly have said which.
“It's the Camberwell beauty!” cried one voice.
COrmiCHT,
“It’s the painted-lady!”
Oh, great heavens, his butterflies! They had the
case down and were quarrelling over it—his
Vanessa lo. his magnificent Uvania, like a splendid
apirit in a green world!
ltut the noises hushed. “We were loving your
butterflies,” said a sweet voice.
“It isn’t true that a white butterfly is a ghost?”
said Monty. “If Johnny died—” and then they all
set up a wail.
“Johnny is getting well/ said Dr. Lloyd.
“Mammy Rose said that if you didn't kilt him
you’d cure him,” said Mary suavely.
“Do I look as if I killed good little boys?”
“Johnny is a bad boy. Paula said so."
“Your mama ought to know.”"
“Paula isn't our mama!” indignantly. “Paula is
mama’s sister. Msraa is an angel in Heaven!”
"That is,” said little Mary, “if she isn’t a white
butterfly. We were looking for a white butterfly.”
“Well took for luncheon,” said the Doctor, end
in the dining-room he succeeded in establishing
cordial relations. On the whole, although Wilford
spilled his milk, and Monty choked and Jo kicked
him, and Mary shed tears, on the whole, children
were not so bad as Dr. Lloyd had thought. When
he returned to Johnny, he left Benson to show them
some small chemical doings whicli seemed like
legerdemain.
Paula was still beside the bed, and Johnny was
doing very well. He sent her at once to see the
others at some distance, and whether of his author
ity or feeling there should he no discussion there,
she went, finding a couple of long beams laid across
the stream, with a rope hand-rail stretched from
tree to tree.
"Olt, Paula, Paula!” the children cried, running to
meet her, nearly as they were allowed, as she cornu
over the grass, “he isn’t a monster at all Benson
says he's a very learned man. He’s got strings of
medals! Benson says, Johnny that day came near
destroying something millions of lives hung on.
How can millions of lives hang on something in a
tin pan with a glass cover? Oil, Paula, come here
and see Benson burn icet”
She came hack to Johnny's bed, with her arms
full of the flowering wild white azaleas, looking a
spirit of peace and health. Presently, however, he
took the'flowers and put them into the next room,
smiling at her as he did so. “Johnny is out of alt
danger now; but he will not meddle with cnlture
germs again. Now f shall leave the case with Dr.
Parshley. But Benson and Mama will keep the
children till the boy is right, and till they are safe
in seeing him. I hope you have forgiven me for
Johnny's bath.”
To his astonishment she did not reply. She stood
there, all at once pale and drooping,
"Do yon mean—’’ he said. “Shall I continue
"Ob, yes!” she sighed. “I am so ignorant. I am
so helpless—so young—with alt these children to
care for. If—”
'Then I will come till all is well.” He stopped
a moment. “And thank you for allowing me to do
so,” he said then.
Oh, Dr. Lloyd, to think that, witli all your work
impending, you could spare time for this! You
were a wise man, but you didn’t know what had be
fallen youl All night lie slept and waked by turns,
with the alternate vision of the roseate creature
with her arms full of the white azaleas, all health
and joy, and then of the pale drooping one implor
ing his aid. The shrill cries of quarrelling birds, the
hoarse cooing of doves on the roof, the chirping of
an ivied wall full of sparrows, all mingled with his
dreams when he awoke. Once it would have seemed
maddening. This morning he could not move swiftly
enough to make a part of it.
“Paula says we're to beg your pardon for what
tve said,” they cried, as lie came into the breakfast-
room. “She says it’s no wonder yon were mad when
Johnny upset the frame. She says Jolmny’d be a
deader if it wasn't for you.”
There were ups and downs in Dr. Lloyd's sensa
tions the following weeks, but the ups predominated;
and the ups were very up indeed on the days that
Paula came over as far as the barrier he had placed,
and talked with the children at a safe distance. He
himself was out of sight, although not beyond tee
ing, at these moments, and the thoughts that swept
through him were past his own reading.
But when at last it was safe for the children to
return to Old Place a certain consternation seized
him. No glad or sorry calling and crying, no sing
ing, no pattering of storming feet, no forgiving or
confiding caresses—the house dreary as a tomb, the
grounds deserted—and the grassy spot across the
stream full of gaiety and life and sweetness. And,
more than all, no l’aula! No slender, white-gowned
figure moving down the lawn, no voice like a melody
saluting the children crowding joyously as near the
harrier as they might, no swift, gracious smile for
himself—nothing, nothing hut ghastly loneliness.
Fancy his delight, his fright, too, when Marna, hav
ing brought them out to Paula, and Johnny with
Mammy Rose was standing at the other end of the
bridge to welcome them-little Mary shrank back
and, turning to him, exclaimed, its sudden tears,
‘Oh. please, please, we’d rather stayl”
“Mary!” cried Paula. And the little wretch fled
and hid her face in her aunt's gown.
“You can come back every day and all day long,”
said Dr. Lloyd.
"And look in the symmetriscope?”
"You can take it with you.”
That glorious ■ possibility dissipated their grief.
There tvas a race back to the house, and for a leaf
and a tom bit of flower. “Now, look, Paula I” they
cried. "You will sec orchids? You will see butter
flies. and stars and angels' wings, and everything!”
At for Dr. Lloyd, with that dark head hent over the
toy, in the curve of that long, fair neck, in the rose
that dyed the half hidden cheek, he taw something
more than angels' wings. “Paula,” he heard them
saying, as she led them away, "perhaps he wouldn't
like to have Mammy Rose—she killed the tree, you
know, and see, it's quite, quite dead! Hut all the
rest of us might stsy if you come, too?" And just
then they began to run and, crossing the bridge,
fell on Johnny like bees upon a comb.
What a blank it was for Dr. Lloyd after that
morning. Books, frames, Isboratory work, slothing
contented him. Hr was listening for the hubbub
of the children, seeing the face of Paula, with its
dark !>eauty, the grsce of her slow movement, the
tall, slim figure. He stayed so, till she came with
the children to take him home with them.
Science was badly neglected in this long Summer.
Dr. Lloyd, a sort of tutor of the children, took them
on hit tramps, Paula usually along. But when the
last leal was wondered over, he found himself look
ing Into the face of Winter with something like
horror. If—if they were only on* familyl A
thought came at if an angel had stooped into the
room and irradiated it with gleaning gold. Then all
*il dark again. That preposterous vanity, for one
second, made it seem possible that a perfect young
creature like Pauls-he old, already griirled! lie
was rrtlly very old -not yef forty—the gray in the
blonde curls close to the hud possibly • suspicion.
And even were she willing, for the sake of the chits
dren, to make such a sacrifice, it would be criminal
io accept it. He felt a (lush of guilt.
There had keen gay doings at Thanksgiving; he
had gone over to Old Place and brought Old Place
back bodily with him; and there had been a pudding/
in blur flames; and he had taken out his collection
of gems, among them a ring of wonderfn! workman
ship. “The marriage ring of some old princess goa*
to dust,” he said.
“It could have been Paula's marrisge ring, if wa
had let her marry you,” said Wilford. “Married
people wear rings. But married people go away irons
their own folks, and we couldn’t spare Paula.
Mammy Rose asked us how we would tike it And
we said not at all. And that settled it” Just then
the tray of jewels slipped, and in the scramble after
the runaway treasures no one but the Doctor saw
Paula’s face grow like ivory; no one but Paula san
the Doctor's purple, and, the jewels being recovered,
the children were hustled homeward ont of hand.
"l’anla was mid with us,” Monty told the Doctor
next day; "and we asked her why. We asked b«r .
if she wanted you to marry her. We told her that
married people lorcd each othei, and we asked her
if she loved you. Of course, we knew that you
loved Paula, because every one loves l’aula. But
she grew so angry she ran right ont of the room,
V/s love you; but that’s different. You can’t marry
r.ll of us. Ami you know we couldu't lose Paula.
\se couldn't do without her." The Doctor was
helping Benson fit their skates just then; he was
teaching them to skate, a stretch ol cold weather
without snow having made the river, broadening
below, a sheet of ice. By Christmas time they were
too absorbed in the joy of their winged feet to care
even for a Christmas tree. Mammy Rose and Paula,
however, had their own plans.
It was before the sunset of a cloudy Christmas
Eve that Dr. Lloyd went over to Old Place to
bring the children to a festivity Marna and Benson
had prepared. “Huccoln dcm ar chilluns ain’ come
in au* dune hah deir faces wash?” Mammy Rose
was saying. "Dcy's dess natu'lly gone wild ober
dem skates. 'Pears like I ain’ yeered ’era racketin’
dis yer long time. Marsc Monty! Marse Johnny!
Oh. Mamcet” Ami Iter voice, ringing out like a
bell, came back like an echo, no other sound reply-
ing. t
“Oh, Mammy Rose,” cried Patda, flinging down
her needles, "you don't believe—oh, Dr. Lloyd ”
“My gracious, Missy Paula, you don't reckon dcy’s
in de riliber? Sho, chile, de ribbcr’s done froze stiff
to dr groun't Dcm limbs is more lioddcr to me dan
all my money! Marsc Johnny!” And her voice
rose to concert pitcla
Bui no Marse Johnny replied; nor were any chil
dren in sight when, catching up cloaks and lioods,
they ran, outdoors, where it was already twilight
with the coming storm.
’’They have probably gone down thS river,” said
the Doctor, “or, could they have gone up?” And he
looked about him ahxiously; for up-river was the
pond with, its hir-liolcs, and down-river was the big
stream where at the junction, there was sure to be
broken ice and trouble, “I am going after them,”
said the Doctor. “It will he pitch dark in half an
hour. Benson shall go up stream, and I will 30
down. In tile meantime let us have a torclt that will
throw light as far as light flics!” And when he
came hack with Iiis skates, two of the farm hands
followed, their arms full of kindling stuff, with which
they made a pile at the base of the dead pine tree.
“A’s soon as it is fired,” he said, buckling his last
strap, "take burning brands and fire the branches.’'
And then he was off one way, and Benson the other,
calling as they went. And l’aula and Mammy Rosa
stood shuddering and shivering on the bank, calling,
too.
“Yo' come in, chile,” said the old Mammy,
“'Tain' no use addin' to trouble an’ reskin' yo'sel'
sick; w'en dcm limbs oj mischief comes home, dey'll 1
need us bofc, I reckon. Yo come in along o’
Mammy.”
Dr. Lloyd had not skated far down the bends and
reaches 61 the little stream before he saw how be
wildered children might become. Suddenly, through
the stillness following one of his stentonsn cries,
from far off, round the bend of the shore beyond
the Long Wood, came a frail pipe like that of a bird
fallen from a nest; and then another and another.
The Doctor never stopped to listen; he put fresh
force to his strokes and s|>ed on to find the little -
people at last huddled together in mortal terror,
“Oil, we knew you’d conic," piped one, as he ap- 1
proaclted, hearing, if not seeing, him. “Only we
were afraid,” whispered another, “and we got turned
about. We didn't know which way to gol” And
very truly, tile Doctor felt, as he rose from com
forting them a moment, lie, himself didn't know
which way to go. He had given Ills last match, too,
to Marna with the farm-hands, anil he could not 1
even see the face of the compass on his watch-chain.
He waited, seeking something that might seem
fsmiliar. But sll was still and blank. Out here,
with these children, all night in a storm. His heart
failed him. And then a great glow shone in the
sky. “Cornel” lie cried quickly. “Tbit is the way
home!” And as they rounded the bend a pillar of
fire made the darkness blench before it.
“Olt, who did it?” cried Monty.
“You did it!" said Wilford. t
“God did it,” said jo.
“I guest this Is a Christmas tree,” eald llttl* Mary; *
It was the next morning, the storm blown away,
that Dr. Lloyd saw the procession of little people
carefully crossing the slippery Itcams and coming up
hit snowy lawn, l’aula was with them, in the cloak
hurriedly thrown on at their demand. “We haven't
told Paula!” they cried,'as soon as they were in the
wide hall down whose depths the lire biased ’ be
cause we thought she might make a time. Hut we
came lo wish you a Merry Christmas—and nuke
yon a Christmas present—you gave us the big ”'
Christmas tree, last night ” • ..
“And it was glorious!"
“And it saved our lives!"
"And we want to give yon the best thing we’ve
gol "
“And so we’re going to give you l’aulal”
And part of them fell upon Paula, slipping off tho
cloak, and part of them upon the Doctor. "You're
going to stay here now, Paula,” they said. “We’ll
com* over every day.”
"And all day long!"
“You may marry her, if you likel”
“May I, Paula? Nlqy I?” whispered Dr. Lloyd.
"She’s your Christmas present!” they went on. >
"We will try to do without her!" and the lips hegae
to tremble, the voices to falter, the heroes to cry.
“It is a present I have wanted very much. But
l’aula herself must give it. Paula?”
She stood there flushed, beautiful, appealing, down
cast. Bet for one moment she raised her luminous
eyes to his, and there he read it all; and he took her
in his arms and doubted if he were not dreaming
some dream of heaven.
"I think,” he -aid presently, still holding Pauls.
“we will have a wedding here to day. And then you
won’t hate to do without Paula. I'or you will stay,
too." *
—