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THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 THE COLLECTION OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINIANA 
 
 ENDOWED BY 
 
 JOHN SPRUNT HILL 
 
 CLASS OF 1889 
 
 C813 
 P36a2 
 
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 This book must not 
 be token from the 
 Library building. 
 
 THIS TITLE |HAS BLEN MIGhut-iLiViLD 
 
 Form No. 471 
 
THE BLUE RIDGE SERIES 
 
 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
So, in a moment more I felt myself — I who had 
 never been thrown in my life — going over Paprika's 
 head. 
 
AZALEA'S 
 SILVER WEB 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIA W. PEATTIE 
 
 Author of Azalea ; Annie Laurie and Azalea ; 
 Azalea at Sunset Gap, etc. 
 
 Illustrations hy 
 E. R. Kirkhride 
 
 The Reilly & Britton Co. 
 
 Chicago 
 
Copyright, 1915 
 
 by 
 
 The Reilly & Britton Co. 
 
 Azalea's Silver Web 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I Grown Girls 9 
 
 II New Relations 11 
 
 III Own Folk 46 
 
 IV Madam Grandmother ... 64 
 V Mallowbanks 82 
 
 VI My Ball 101 
 
 VII Getting Settled 120 
 
 VIII The Portrait 139 
 
 IX Grandmother's Story . . . .158 
 
 X " The Waters of Quiet " . . . 177 
 
 XI A Friend . 195 
 
 XII A Travel Log 212 
 
 XIII Crossroads 231 
 
 XIV " Where There Is a Will " . . 250 
 XV "Ring, Happy Bells" ... 267 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 So, in a moment more I felt myself — I 
 who had never been thrown in my life — 
 going over Paprika's head Frontispiece 
 
 We stepped back in the shrubbery and 
 kept very still while they passed. 
 Grandmother was weeping like a hurt 
 child 84 
 
 Azalea's Coming Out Party 1 14 
 
 It was Keefe O'Connor who stood there 
 holding out his hands to me 276 
 
AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 GROWN GIRLS 
 
 Tennyson Mountain, N. C, 
 
 October 6. 
 Carin, dear and far: 
 
 So you are back at your beloved Vassar! 
 Does it seem as wonderful as it did last year? 
 Or more so? More so, I expect. You were a 
 little lonely and strange last year, you know. 
 But now it will be different. The girls will 
 seem like old friends to you now that you are 
 coming back to them. But, Carin, girl, they 
 cannot possibly be such old friends as I 
 am, or as Annie Laurie is. Don't dare to like 
 one of them better than you like us. I can 
 imagine, and really spend too much time 
 imagining, just how lovely and cultivated and 
 surprising some of them are. But, please, aren't 
 some of them quite stupid, too? I hope so. 
 
 9 
 
10 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Annie Laurie hopes so. We want still to be the 
 brightest stars in your sky. 
 
 Lest you should think we are not, we keep 
 polishing ourselves. Annie Laurie, when she 
 is not attending to her dairy, will take university 
 extension work. And I, your own ever adoring, 
 ever grateful Azalea, will keep hammering 
 away at the books that dear Barbara Summers 
 lends, and Keefe O'Connor sends down from 
 New York, and those that your own library at 
 the Shoals furnishes. 
 
 I have the heart to read, Carin, but not the 
 time. That's the truth. Or, come to think of 
 it, perhaps it is a matter of eyelids. I have a 
 queer, self-closing pair. If they would stay up 
 after nine o'clock at night I could learn some- 
 thing. But, no, they appear to be attached to a 
 wheel or a ratchet in the clock, and when nine 
 strikes, down they go and down they stay. 
 
 What can I do? 
 
 Nothing, except kiss dearest Mother McBir- 
 ney good night, trying not to yawn in her face 
 as I do it, and after paying my respects to 
 Father McBirney and " brother " Jim, slip away 
 up to my darling loft. 
 
 Now, there, Carin! You see I'm nicer than 
 
GROWN GIRLS 11 
 
 your other friends, more unusual and surpris- 
 ing. (You told me the last time I saw you that 
 you liked your friends to be unusual and sur- 
 prising.) Well, have you any other friend who 
 goes up to her bedroom by means of an outside 
 pair of stairs and who sleeps in a loft, with a 
 tame bat for company? You have not, Carin 
 Carson, and you know it. And, Oh, how I love 
 it! Shall I ever have another room I love so 
 well? The soft noises of the night come purling 
 down into it like a stream. The stars of the 
 northern sky shine into it. The mountain-side 
 is like a green curtain hanging before it. When 
 I get up in that little room, my doors and win- 
 dows wide to old Mount Tennyson's whispering 
 side, I seem to find my real self. Everything 
 slips away from me except the night and myself 
 and — and God. 
 
 Dearest Carin, I am feeling rather serious. It 
 is because of something that I have just come 
 to realize. Do you remember how, at the end 
 of our school-teaching up at Sunset Gap three 
 years ago, your father and mother ofifered to 
 send me away to school, and I — thanking them 
 more than I could possibly make them under- 
 stand — refused? I said I wanted it to be 
 
12 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Azalea for herself. That I meant to spin my 
 own little web, and that I hoped it would be 
 a silver one. 
 
 Since then, as you know, I have tried my 
 best. I decided that I would become a teacher 
 of the mountain handicrafts; I hoped that some 
 day when good Mrs. Kitchell resigned her posi- 
 tion as head of the Mountain Industries which 
 your father and mother established, that I could 
 take her place. What is more, I wanted to 
 develop the Industries so that they would 
 become much, much more useful and inspiring 
 and important than they are now. I wanted, 
 too, to fit myself to meet all the people who 
 come to Lee — all the charming, gracious peo- 
 ple. You know how I have worked for all 
 this. Haystack Thompson, the best basket- 
 maker in the country, has taught me to make 
 baskets. Mrs. Kitchell, the cleverest little 
 weaver of all the weavers, has instructed me 
 in the weaving of woolen and linen and cotton 
 cloth, and in the making of counterpanes, 
 as well as the knotting of fringe and the loop- 
 ing of fancy edges. Mother McBirney has 
 taught me knitting and lace making and cro- 
 cheting. I can do a little wood carving. I 
 
GROWN GIRLS 13 
 
 can make mats. I can weave carpets. Even, if 
 put to it, I can turn a jug. Then I have read 
 and studied and thought. And in doing all 
 that I have grown vain and foolish. 
 
 I'll tell you how I found out. 
 
 Dear Father McBirney isn't well. I think 
 I spoke about this to you the other day. But 
 he's been getting rapidly worse, and now he 
 can hardly move from his chair. It is rheu- 
 matism; and it's likely to stay with him for a 
 long, long time. He cannot help about the 
 farm at all, and so all of the farm work falls 
 on Jim. He can't even go about the country 
 to collect the chairs the mountaineers make for 
 the Mountain Industries, as he promised your 
 father he would. 
 
 Oh, Carin, do you remember the day you 
 and your father and mother came up to our 
 cabin to ask my foster-parents to go down and 
 take charge of the Industries? And do you 
 remember how Pa and Ma looked about at 
 the darling cabin with its wistaria and trumpet 
 vine, and its Pride of India tree with the graves 
 of their little Molly and my own dear mama 
 beneath it, and how they would not go? And 
 then do you recall how Father McBirney 
 
14 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 promised to " beat up trade " for the Indus- 
 tries, and so we all stayed in the cabin with 
 its nice open room in between the closed ones, 
 and its own queer little smithy, and its beehives 
 on the south slope, and its martin houses by 
 the door? Oh, the dear, dear little house! 
 
 Well, there has been such a demand for the 
 mountain chairs from the visitors to Lee, that 
 the chair-makers have been making a good 
 profit and Father McBirney has been enjoy- 
 ing a nice commission. This winter he quite 
 depended on it, because, owing to his bad 
 health, he hadn't been able to do as much with 
 the farm as usual. But now he isn't well 
 enough to go over the mountains arranging 
 about the chairs, or getting them together, so 
 even that little profit is denied us. 
 
 What are we to do? Jim may be able to 
 do some hauling for people; there's wood to 
 be carted, and some work to do for the miller, 
 but it's very irregular. 
 
 And this is where I come in. This is 
 where I am shown up as a person with much 
 vanity and little common sense. For, of course, 
 it should be my part to make ready money for 
 the family. And I can't. I don't know how. 
 
GROWN GIRLS 15 
 
 I have been thinking I was so capable, and now 
 I see I'm just as useless as — as most girls! 
 
 Of course I could go away somewhere else 
 and perhaps find some other place where the 
 mountain industries are being developed. But 
 ought I to leave home now? I seem to be 
 very much needed. As you know, sometimes 
 our sweet, unselfish Mother McBirney gets 
 melancholy. She has lived so long away up 
 here on the mountain that her thoughts get 
 to turning inward, and she remembers about 
 Molly's death, and then for days she is silent 
 and brooding, and we all tremble for her. She 
 looks far, far away and pays almost no attention 
 to what we say to her. This is a very real 
 danger, and if I were not here to shake her out 
 of these moods, who knows what might happen? 
 
 So there I am, I who wanted to do such 
 wonderful independent things, I who thought 
 I had learned so much, about as useless as any- 
 one could be. At least, as a money-earner. 
 Of course I am not sitting about, beating my 
 breast and throwing dust on my head. I hope 
 you don't think that. No, I have Mother 
 McBirney's loom in good working order, and 
 have set it up not too far away from the fire- 
 
16 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 place, and I am throwing that shuttle like mad, 
 weaving some perfectly fascinating counter- 
 panes. You ought to see the one in red and 
 black in the Tudor rose pattern. Truly, it's a 
 beauty. I know I can sell it easily enough, and 
 I'm going to charge a good price for it, too. 
 I'm a greedy pig. 
 
 But you see, I must have money. 
 
 By rights, Father McBirney ought to have a 
 change. He should go down to Bethal Springs. 
 The waters there are said to cure some terrible 
 cases of rheumatism. But he couldn't go with- 
 out Mother; and Mother wouldn't go w^ithout 
 Jim. So there you are. Such a puzzle! 
 
 Jim is dreadfully on my mind, too. What 
 do you think has happened to him? He has 
 " got religion." Yes, I know you are laughing. 
 Jim, the tease of the world, Jim with freckles 
 and warts and funny words, and the very 
 dickens in him. But it is true. Mr. Summers 
 did it — talked to him in the woods, and Jim 
 '' saw the light." And now he wants to be a 
 preacher like Mr. Summers. You ought to 
 hear him preaching to the horses when he 
 combs them down. I listen. Perhaps I ought 
 not to. I don't do it to make fun, you may 
 
GROWN GIRLS 17 
 
 be sure. I do it because the poor boy is so 
 earnest and surprising. You can't think what 
 beautiful things he says. Nights he studies the 
 Bible and some books Mr. Summers gives him. 
 He drives away to town once every week to 
 help with the Epworth League meeting, and he 
 has got up some sort of a society among the 
 boys, and has induced the members to pledge 
 themselves not to drink whiskey or chew 
 tobacco, or use profane words, or do any other 
 horrid thing. 
 
 Our Jim! 
 
 Carin, we're all growing up, aren't we? 
 
 You with your long dresses and touch-me- 
 not air, and Annie Laurie, one of our leading 
 business persons! And Sam Disbrow buying 
 stock in Annie Laurie's dairy, and Hi Kitchell 
 doing draying, and Dick Heller going in the 
 bank, and Keefe O'Connor sending me the cat- 
 alogue of his " Autumn Exhibit." You can 
 fancy how Keefe played up Sunset Gap in his 
 pictures! I could tell from the names where 
 he had painted about half of them. I'll send 
 you the catalogue. But return it, won't you? 
 It seems like a memento of that queer, wild, 
 happy summer at the Gap. 
 
18 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 That was the last summer we really spent 
 together. To be sure I have had glimpses of 
 you, but usually you have been away on your 
 wonderful journeys with your father and 
 mother, and I have had to go about the moun- 
 tain roads alone. But I haven't minded, Carin, 
 and you mustn't think that I have. I tried to 
 picture the beautiful places you were in, and 
 the parties you were going to, and the pictures 
 and palaces you were seeing, and I knew that 
 if I was thinking of you, that you were think- 
 ing of me, too. It kept my heart warm; it 
 peopled the lonely mountain roads. 
 
 I'll tell you this, my Carin: Next to a 
 well-loved human face, a well-loved road is 
 the best thing. The sight of a familiar clump 
 of grass can be as dear as a threshold. Twists 
 of tree trunks, odd embankments, colors of the 
 road, above all, the turns of a road, get to be 
 like a part of one's life. The little smells that 
 come up from earth and grass and flower, rising 
 over and over again from the same place, affect 
 one almost like the voices of ^^ home folk." 
 Even the wind on the face, though the wind 
 is so wild and strange a thing, makes one feel 
 at ease in one's world; and the burst of the 
 
GROWN GIRLS 19 
 
 sun over a hill, or the going down of it at the 
 close of a busy day — busy both for you and 
 the sun — can make you realize as few things 
 can, that you are the child of God — of the 
 great Father, so silent, so unknowable, who has 
 made suns and birds, mountains and little 
 friendly crickets. 
 
 Oh, beautiful, beautiful life! In spite of 
 trouble and sickness, perplexity and poverty, 
 beautiful, beautiful life! 
 
 Dear Carin, don't laugh at me if my letter 
 has been a bit too ecstatic. You are surrounded 
 all the time with fine teachers and brilliant 
 friends, and moving, shifting life. I am just 
 here by myself, so to speak. Yes, yes, dear, I 
 know my own McBirneys are beside me. I 
 have no desire deeper than the desire to help 
 them. Yet, Carin, are they my kind of people? 
 You know they are not; they know it. We try 
 to be alike, but we cannot be, really. 
 
 I am the granddaughter of Colonel Atherton 
 on one side; the granddaughter of some other 
 proud old gentleman on the other side. For 
 it was pride that made my grandfather Knox 
 turn his son, my father, adrift. True, the 
 McBirneys took me, a little ragged wanderer. 
 
20 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 orphaned and desolate, from a traveling show; 
 but that was an accident in my life. It cannot 
 change the fact that I have the tastes of the 
 Athertons and the Knoxes, who have loved 
 beauty and hospitality and other gracious 
 things. 
 
 Oh, me, am I insinuating that Mother 
 McBirney is not hospitable or that she does 
 not love beauty? If so, shame on me. Her 
 door stands open to every wanderer. It stood 
 open to me. The flowers about her walls, and 
 the purple valley below her hill, delight her. 
 Yes, she is a true lover of beauty. May we 
 never lose sight of each other, and to the last 
 may I feel her hand waiting to grasp mine in 
 whatever darkness she or I may have to walk 
 through. I only say I wish I might, sometimes, 
 have someone like you, my Carin, to talk with. 
 Of course, there is Barbara Summers. But she 
 is in the valley and I on the mountain. 
 
 Equally of course, there are Keefe O'Con- 
 nor's letters. And there are yours. Be sure 
 you send me one soon. 
 
 Do not mind my changing moods. I am, 
 after all, always the same old 
 
 Azalea 
 
GROWN GIRLS 21 
 
 P. S. This is the evening of the same day. 
 
 Who do you think called? 
 
 Mrs. Kitchell, Hi's little brown mother, all 
 in new clothes, with white cotton gloves on 
 her hands — the hands that used to be so hard 
 and scratched and battered with work. She 
 had a red rose on her new fall hat, and her 
 shoes were blacked. And you know what 
 shoes are at Lee! The standard is low, owing 
 to red mud and lack of elbow activity. But 
 Mrs. Kitchell was grand. There is no other 
 word for it. 
 
 This, however, is not the most exciting part 
 of what I have to tell. Haystack Thompson 
 was with her, and he actually wore a hat. Yes, 
 he did too, Carin Carson. What is more, his 
 hair had been cut — a little. But you could 
 get seven crops a year of his hair, just as you 
 can of alfalfa. He, too, was wonderful. He 
 wore a collar. It was of celluloid, and it shone 
 like Mother McBirney's best milk pan. He 
 did not bring his fiddle, and that made me feel 
 sad. If he wants to court Hi's " ma," why let 
 him, but is that any reason why he should turn 
 his back on his faithful Betsy, his fiddle? 
 
 I felt like saying to him: " Haystack, Hay- 
 
 THE BOOK NOOK 
 
 124 S. W. 24 
 
 OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLA. 
 
22 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 stack, can any woman understand you, answer 
 you, listen to you, rejoice with you, as your 
 fiddle did? Will any woman cost you so little? 
 Ask so few questions? Be such a companion 
 on rainy and sunshiny days?" 
 
 But of course I didn't say anything of the 
 kind. Little Mrs. Kitchell is a brave creature, 
 and Haystack is a lonely one. So if they decide 
 to marry, I and everyone else ought to be glad. 
 The only thing that really troubles me is how 
 they are going to live. Dear Haystack never 
 earns any money, except in little driblets, 
 making baskets or playing at dances. Do you 
 suppose that after that little beaver, Mrs. 
 Kitchell, has reared a family of four, alone 
 and unaided, that she'll turn in and support 
 Haystack in his old age? Wouldn't that be 
 odd of her? Still, perhaps she might like it. 
 Hi, as I say, is " draying." He has a pair of 
 claybank mules and he is a proud man, I can 
 tell you. He works quite as hard as anybody 
 in Lee — harder than most. But he doesn't 
 like to be " driv." You know he wouldn't. 
 
 " When will that trunk be up to the house, 
 expressman? " the Northerners say, not so much 
 as looking at him. 
 
GROWN GIRLS 23 
 
 Then you ought to hear Hi drawl. You 
 know his drawl! But it's grown worse. 
 
 " Sometime along in the forenoon, I reckon, 
 ma'am." 
 
 " Aren't you sure of it? Because if you 
 aren't, I shall get another man to bring it up." 
 
 " Yessum. Only I'm the only one in town 
 jest now that does trunk haulin'. But don't 
 you worry, ma'am. I feel tollable sure that 
 there trunk will git up to you-all's house some 
 time before evenin'." 
 
 You can just hear the Northerners pant when 
 he says that. 
 
 I know you and your people are Northern- 
 ers, Carin, dear, but you're not the snap-turtle 
 variety. 
 
 I do wish you'd been down here this sum- 
 mer. I had so much to tell you. The Shoals 
 looked very lonely with none of you in it. 
 Was it so lovely up there in Maine that you 
 forgot our purple mountains? I know it must 
 be beautiful up there. I look at the map, and 
 follow all the queer little inlets and outlets, 
 and think how bright the water must be as it 
 breaks on the rocks. 
 
 Well, we have had wonderful things to look 
 
24 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 at ourselves. Why, only to-day the mountains 
 looked like gigantic plums, with rich purple 
 bloom all over them; and the sky went to the 
 trouble to try to match them. But I'd have 
 enjoyed it more if I hadn't been so poor. Not 
 that I'm any poorer than usual, but I feel 
 poorer because I see that at last it is " up to 
 me " to be the money-maker. And I don't 
 know how to begin. 
 
 I have explained to you distinctly a number 
 of times, my dear Carin, that when I write 
 this way I do it to ease my feelings. I want 
 your advice. But that is all I do want of you, 
 except, of course, your love and sympathy. 
 I know you ache to play fairy godmother. 
 You've tried to do that many times. But I 
 think you understand pretty well by now that 
 that wouldn't really help me out. I want my 
 own fight, my own life, my own victories. Just 
 at present I'm terribly puzzled, because I want 
 to help Father and Mother McBirney and Jim. 
 
 I can't write it all to Keefe, because — well 
 because he might be able to think of a way to 
 help me out, but not of a way to help the others. 
 Keefe is terribly impulsive, and he will not 
 realize how young he is. He is disgracefully 
 
GROWN GIRLS 25 
 
 young. So am I. That extreme youthfulness 
 of ours gets in the way of some of his plans. 
 No, I can't write him. He isn't sensible. Per- 
 haps that is one of the reasons he paints so well. 
 Did I tell you he was making rather a specialty 
 of portraits? He sent me one of a young 
 Jewish girl who is in his color class at the 
 Academy of Design. He says her name is 
 Miriam. She fits the name. 
 
 Keefe wants to come down here this winter, 
 but I'm not going to let him. There is no 
 reason why he should come to this one place 
 out of all the places in the world. Let him 
 go up to Sunset Gap to his own wonderful 
 little sister, Mary Cecily Rowantree. He says 
 he needs inspiration, but if anyone can give it 
 to him, she can. You see, if he came here, he 
 would be terribly interrupting, and I cannot 
 and will not be interrupted. I'm going to earn 
 the living for the family, though, as I said at 
 the beginning, I don't know how. 
 
 Carin, I go out and sit down beside my dear 
 little mama's grave and think and think. I 
 tell her how good these people were to her, 
 how good they have been to me ever since that 
 terrible day when I was left alone, and I beg 
 
26 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 her if she is indeed a spirit now, who can see 
 and understand the things that are hidden from 
 us earth-bound ones, that she will put some- 
 thing into my heart to tell me what to do. 
 
 I am ready, Carin, to prove myself. Here 
 I am with my strong body, with my heart full 
 to bursting with gratitude and love, with my 
 waiting hands and brain. But I need direc- 
 tion. You couldn't give me that, could you, 
 dear yellow-headed one? 
 
 Yes, I wish you might have come home this 
 summer. It would have helped. Barbara 
 Summers was away, too. She went home to 
 see her people for the first time since she was 
 married. You remember her people didn't 
 approve of her marriage. She had a very 
 happy time, and all is well between her and 
 them at last. Of Annie Laurie I see little. She 
 is too busy. But we signal each other, she from 
 her roof, I from the " Outlook." 
 
 Good-bye, dear. If I write you too much, 
 forgive me. I need to write. It comforts me. 
 You understand all I say — all I do not say, 
 too. 
 
 Lovingly, always, 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 NEW RELATIONS 
 
 " Little Windows," Mount Hebron, N. C, 
 
 October 20th. 
 Dearest Car in: 
 
 Yes, the letter is from Azalea, though she is 
 in a place that neither you nor she ever heard 
 of before. 
 
 " Little Windows." 
 
 Are you wondering what they are, or what 
 it is? 
 
 It is the name of a cottage on the top of 
 Mount Hebron. You have seen Hebron, look- 
 ing like a cloud, from the top of our own 
 Mount Tennyson. 
 
 The cottage belongs to Mr. and Mrs. David 
 Knox, and, Oh, Carin, they — 
 
 But I must begin at the beginning. 
 
 In my last letter I told you how wretched 
 Father McBirney was feeling. Well, he grew 
 worse and worse, till at last he did not know 
 
 27 
 
28 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 a moment when he was free from pain. Jim 
 and I tried to keep things going, but it was 
 hard. We began to grow anxious about money 
 and the bare necessaries. Then I said: 
 
 " I'm going out to see about the mountain 
 chairs. I'm going to ride Paprika over the 
 mountains and get up the contracts with the 
 chair-makers. Then, if they'll not haul them 
 to market, Jim must." 
 
 Mother objected. So did Father. I reminded 
 them how they had always said that a woman 
 was perfectly safe in these mountains. But it 
 was different, it seemed, when the woman was 
 their own girl. However, I overcame their 
 objections, and one rainy morning I set forth 
 on my pony with my saddlebags well packed 
 with food and clothing, and with carefully 
 written directions from Father McBirney in 
 my pocket. 
 
 '' Stick to them there orders," said Pa, " and 
 you can't go wrong, Zalie. Except, maybe at 
 the Trillers. I said for you to go to where the 
 branch turns by the two black gums, but it 
 might so be that Triller has cut down them 
 gums. Seems as if he can't take no rest while 
 there's a tree standin' around his place. But 
 
NEW RELATIONS 29 
 
 anyhow, if you follow the branch after it takes 
 a bend — that is to say, after you have taken 
 the right-hand road turning ofJ from the Ses- 
 sion's pike — then you can't a-miss it." 
 
 " I don't mean to miss it," I declared. 
 " Don't you worry, you two." 
 
 Jim wasn't at home. I made a point of going 
 while he was down at Lee with some timber. 
 He never would have let me go in peace. 
 
 I was not at all afraid. Indeed, I was very 
 happy. I grew up on the road, as you remem- 
 ber, Carin. It isn't as if I always had been 
 house-bound. The woods were very still and 
 lovely, with gray veils falling in among the 
 trees, and the distance all hidden. The great 
 tree trunks with their green moss and their 
 lichen looked beautiful. I had been feeling 
 a little gray in my mind, and the day just 
 suited me. 
 
 By noon, though, I was chilly and rather 
 miserable, though my raincoat kept me dry 
 enough. But I was longing for a house, as 
 you may well imagine, and just then, sure 
 enough, I saw a tiny cabin in a clearing. I 
 slipped ofif Paprika, and knocked at the door. 
 No one answered. A smell of wood smoke 
 
30 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 came out from the chimney and I knew there 
 was a fire inside, and I did want awfully to 
 sit by it. Really, my teeth were chattering. 
 So I tried the door. It was not locked, and 
 I went in and crouched before the fire in the 
 great blackened fireplace. It was very homy, 
 with its great kettle of soup hanging over the 
 coals, and its comfortable mountain chairs, 
 thickly padded with cushions covered with but- 
 ternut homespun. There were braided rugs 
 on the floor, and in the darkest corner, one 
 lofty bedstead with posts and a wonderful 
 pieced bedquilt. I wouldn't go so far as to 
 say that everything was outrageously clean, but 
 on the other hand, it was not disagreeably 
 unclean — just an easy medium. Anyway, the 
 fire was a blessing and the soup a temptation. 
 
 So what do you think I did? 
 
 Yielded to temptation, of course. I dished 
 myself out a good helping of the soup, took 
 some of my own bread from my lunch box, 
 and ate till I was satisfied. Meantime, I had 
 got as warm as toast and felt as if I had lived 
 in that house forever. Then I took a little 
 snapshot picture of myself from my notebook 
 and laid it on the table with some loaf sugar, 
 
NEW RELATIONS 31 
 
 some coffee and a fine piece of Mother McBir- 
 ney's honey cake, and wrote: 
 
 This is the picture of the girl who sat by 
 your fire and ate some of your soup. It is the 
 first time she ever helped herself to anything, 
 but she enjoyed it so much that she means to 
 stop again the next time she is passing and see 
 if there is some more of that delicious soup 
 and to ask how it is made. Here are some 
 little presents, which please accept. 
 
 Azalea McBirney 
 
 Well, this is just an incident, and I only 
 mention it to show you what a happy time I 
 had at the beginning. I could not dream how 
 things would change with me. 
 
 In the early afternoon I visited two of the 
 houses to which I was to go, and arranged 
 about the number and kinds of chairs the men 
 were to furnish. I drew up contracts for them 
 to sign, for I thought that would be business- 
 like. Anyway, it pleased me to do it, and I 
 think the chair-makers liked it too. It gave 
 both of us a nice efficient feeling. They wanted 
 me to stay at the last house I visited, and there 
 was such a darling little baby there that I 
 almost did, but I decided that I'd better be 
 
32 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 getting on and try to reach the Triller's before 
 sundown. Paprika was getting a bit fagged, 
 but I know how quickly she rests up, so I 
 hurried her along, getting, I confess, just a 
 trifle worried as I found myself on strange 
 roads, with the mist settling all about me. 
 
 It was very still. The mist seemed to muffle 
 everything. No birds were singing, and I 
 could not hear any creature in the woods, nor 
 any falling water, and as there was no wind, 
 the trees were motionless. Everything rested 
 under a gray enchantment, and it gave me a 
 very strange feeling. Yet I liked it. I felt as 
 if something were going to happen. 
 
 And something did. But, Carin, it was not 
 in the least what I would have imagined or 
 wished for. It was as different as it could 
 possibly be. 
 
 I have said that everything was very still — 
 Oh, perfectly still. Then came a noise from 
 afar, like a gathering wind, yet not a leaf 
 stirred on the trees. The sound grew louder 
 and louder. It seemed like a tempest. I trem- 
 bled and so did Paprika. A moment later 
 around the turn of the gray road came a sort 
 of monster — an awful thing, all snout and 
 
NEW RELATIONS 33 
 
 flaming eyes. I knew in one terrible second 
 what it was, of course. 
 
 An automobile — the first I ever had seen, 
 face to face and eye to eye. Paprika, who had 
 not looked at pictures to any great extent — 
 except, perhaps, those on bill boards — did not 
 know at all what it was. She gave one wild 
 scream like a wounded horse and dashed 
 straight up the bank. Then she looked back 
 over her shoulder as if doubting her senses, 
 saw the horrible thing again, heard its roaring 
 and snuffling, and plunged on. There in the 
 thick of the woods, with the mist still gather- 
 ing, I could not see how to guide her, and 
 anyway, she was beyond management. So, in 
 a moment more I felt myself — I who never 
 had been thrown in my life — going over her 
 head. 
 
 And that was all, Carin dear, for four days, 
 so they tell me. Four days. 
 
 You will wonder where I was when I opened 
 my eyes. This letter paper will tell you. I 
 was, and I am, at " Little Windows," which 
 is the name, as I have already explained, of 
 a cottage on the top of Mount Hebron. Of 
 course I can not say for sure that it is the love- 
 
34 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 liest place in the world, for I have seen but 
 few places, not being like you, Carin, darling, 
 forever going to beautiful spots. But at any 
 rate it is lovely beyond my power to describe, 
 with its great valleys and gulches, and its near 
 acquaintance with stars and sun risings and 
 moon settings. 
 
 When first I opened my eyes I was in a 
 quiet bedroom. The walls were silver gray, 
 and of wood. There were no pictures. The 
 little windows were without curtains and looked 
 right out at the wonderful world. It was sun- 
 set and from where I lay I could see it, crimson 
 as the banners of a king. I could hear a fire 
 leaping and rejoicing in some room beyond, 
 and voices — two voices. A man and a woman 
 were talking together, rather anxiously, I 
 thought. 
 
 " They are talking of me," I decided. And 
 then I began to remember. 
 
 " Is my neck broken? " I asked myself. And 
 I wriggled it. It wriggled in the good old way. 
 
 "It's my back!" I decided. So I tried to 
 sit up. I was pretty dizzy, but my back worked 
 perfectly. I tried both legs and both arms. 
 They were just as active as I could wish. I 
 
NEW RELATIONS 35 
 
 poked my ribs. They appeared to be in their 
 right places. And then I grew frightfully 
 weary. I wanted to cry, yet I felt it would 
 be too much of an effort. It seemed as if I 
 were sinking down, down through gray mist. 
 Everything floated away from before me, and 
 I knew nothing more for a time. 
 
 Then somebody brought in a light. It was 
 not a very large or a very bright light, but 
 it managed to reach the queer, shadowy place 
 where I was living, and to make me open my 
 eyes. 
 
 " How do you do, ma'am?" I heard myself 
 saying. 
 
 The lady who carried the lamp nearly 
 dropped it. But she controlled herself and 
 set it on a table. Then she came and hung 
 over me and said in a voice that trembled: 
 
 " I'm very well, thank you. How are you? " 
 
 We have both laughed about it since — about 
 our speaking to each other in that queer formal 
 way. But we had to make some sort of a begin- 
 ning, and perhaps that was as good as any. 
 
 " I am all right, thank you, ma'am," I said. 
 '' I tried myself all over a while ago, and there 
 is nothing broken." 
 
36 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " No," said the lady, " there is nothing 
 broken." But she looked at me doubtfully, 
 and with a queer kind of curiosity. 
 
 " Do you remember that you were hurt? " 
 she asked. " That you were thrown from your 
 horse and hurt? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " My pony? " I asked. " Is she well? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, she's all right. She wasn't hurt. 
 But you were, and my husband — it was his 
 machine that frightened your pony — picked 
 you up and brought you here." 
 
 " Thank you," I said. Then I began to wish 
 she would go away and leave me alone. I 
 wanted to go back into that queer, gray, silent 
 place of mine again, where sort of shadowy 
 things went by in a long procession, without 
 one of them stopping to bother me with ques- 
 tions. I did think I would enjoy looking at the 
 lady and see what she was like, but I was too 
 lazy and so I decided I would do that another 
 time. Only I could see that she was tall, that 
 her hair was golden, and that she was very 
 thin. That seemed enough for the present; so 
 I closed my eyes. 
 
 Then presently I felt someone putting some- 
 
NEW RELATIONS 37 
 
 thing between my lips. It was soup. And that 
 made me laugh. I thought about the house 
 where I had helped myself to the soup. I 
 had liked it better than this — it had had more 
 flavor. 
 
 "What are you laughing about?" asked the 
 lady. 
 
 I felt terribly silly. I remembered some- 
 thing from " Alice." 
 
 " Soup of the evening, beautiful soup," I 
 said. Then I laughed some more. I couldn't 
 quit. Suddenly I heard a voice roaring: 
 
 "Stop that!" 
 
 So I stopped and looked to see who had 
 spoken to me that way. It was a tall man — 
 a terribly tall man. The shadow of him ran 
 along the floor for yards and doubled up on 
 the ceiling. 
 
 " Who are you? " I asked. I was quite angry. 
 
 Then he bowed — and you ought to have 
 seen that shadow bow at the same time. It 
 was the funniest thing, and it nearly set me off 
 again, but I crumpled up the sheet in my hands 
 and squeezed it as hard as I could to keep from 
 giggling. 
 
 " David Knox," said the gentleman, " who 
 
38 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 was unfortunate enough to be the cause of all 
 of your trouble." 
 
 " I am glad to meet you," I said politely. 
 His bow was so nice I forgave him for yelling: 
 "Stop that!" 
 
 '' Lorena," he said under his voice, " I think 
 everything is going to be all right." 
 
 Now you wouldn't think that remark would 
 make me laugh, would you? Oh, Carin, I'm 
 so ashamed of it, now I remember. But I 
 began to sing: 
 
 " ' The years roll slowly by, Lorena,' " and 
 then when I couldn't think of the next line I 
 cried: "Why doesn't somebody tell me what 
 comes next? " 
 
 Well, they told me if I didn't keep still they 
 would go out and leave me alone. I didn't 
 want to be left alone, because just then I took 
 a sort of turn and was afraid to sink down 
 into that gray, still place where I had been. 
 So I said: 
 
 " Oh, please stay, please stay, and I will tell 
 you why I laughed at the soup." 
 
 So before they could stop me I had told them 
 about it. 
 
 " Some day," I said, " I am going back and 
 
NEW PvELATIONS 39 
 
 call on that woman. I will give her some 
 patterns for weaving, and maybe she will have 
 some old, old ones that she will give me." 
 
 "Can you weave?" asked the lady. "You 
 are very young and — and not a mountain girl, 
 are you? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm a mountain girl," I said, remem- 
 bering back just as far as dear Mother McBir- 
 ney and the cabin with my bedroom in the 
 loft. " I'm Azalea McBirney of Tennyson 
 Mountain, and I'm — I'm a weaver." 
 
 " Azalea," murmured the lady. " That was 
 the name of poor Jack's wife, wasn't it? I 
 always thought it a sweet name." 
 
 Som.ething shot through my brain. It was 
 like a stroke of lightning. It was the strangest 
 thing that ever happened to me. In a second, 
 by some power I can't explain, I began to 
 know things. I saw them as if they were a 
 vision. I sat right up in bed, and pushed my 
 hair back from my face. I recollect that I 
 kept pushing it back and pushing it back, as if 
 it got in between me and what I wanted to 
 understand. 
 
 "What Jack? What Jack?" I demanded. 
 
 " Jack Knox, my dead brother," said the man 
 
40 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 soothingly. " No one you know I am sure, my 
 dear. Don't excite yourself, please." 
 
 "Jack Knox! Jack Knox!" I said. "That 
 was the man that married my little mama and 
 left her to care for me alone. Jack Knox! No, 
 I don't know him. I don't remember him at 
 all. And I'm glad of it. Jack Knox! Jack 
 Knox!" 
 
 You know it isn't like me, Carin, to feel 
 angry at anyone. But my mind seemed to have 
 no resistance. Whatever idea got into it insisted 
 on raging around in it. I couldn't stop it. I 
 was ashamed, and yet I couldn't manage myself. 
 
 I felt the lady, Mrs. Knox, taking hold of 
 me with those long, soft, cool hands of hers 
 and forcing me back on the bed. 
 
 " Lie still," she begged. " Do lie still, Miss 
 Azalea. You mustn't care about anything. No 
 one shall do you any harm, and we'll not even 
 let troublesome ideas come near you if we can 
 help it." 
 
 " Did you not say," said the gentleman, " that 
 your name was McBirney? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, McBirney. Don't you know Ma 
 and Pa McBirney? Why, everyone knows 
 them. They take orphans in. At least they 
 
NEW RELATIONS 41 
 
 took me in. They would have taken my little 
 mama in, only she was dead, so they put her 
 beneath the Pride of India tree beside their 
 own Molly. You can go see for yourself. You 
 will know the house by the Pride of India 
 tree and the gourds before the door. The 
 gourds are for the martins — dozens and 
 dozens of martins. The martins will show 
 you the way if you like. Or the bees — thou- 
 sands of bees." 
 
 " Hush, hush," whispered the lady. " David, 
 go and take the light. Hush, Azalea, hush. 
 It is all right. Your little mama would want 
 you to hush." 
 
 She began singing the song with her own 
 name in it. 
 
 " The years roll slowly by, Lorena." 
 
 I went to sleep. But this time it was dif- 
 ferent. I did not seem to be sinking into that 
 chilly gray place where the visions were. I 
 just went to sleep the way I ought. 
 
 The next morning when I awoke I was quite 
 sensible and calm. I saw the world as it was, 
 and remembered all my life, and knew that I 
 had come by a strange, strange chance, among 
 my dead father's people. David Knox was his 
 
42 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 elder brother, arxd Lorena Knox, with her yel- 
 low hair and her long cool hands, was David's 
 wife. It made me deeply satisfied — not 
 exactly happy, but deeply satisfied. 
 
 I ate the breakfast they brought me, and 
 after a while I was taken out into the sitting 
 room. It was a beautiful room, large and 
 square and quiet, with a great fireplace of gray 
 stone, and more little uncurtained windows 
 looking out at the green and purple world. 
 So then I sat up and looked at these people. 
 
 " I have never before seen anyone save my 
 little poor mama who belonged to me," I said. 
 " It is very' strange, to be here with you." 
 
 " Do you like it? " asked Mrs. Knox. 
 
 " I am a little afraid," I said. 
 
 "V/hy?" 
 
 " Because I want you to like me and I am 
 afraid you may not." 
 
 "Oh, but why? We already do!" 
 
 " Do you? Oh, I'm glad. Life has been — " 
 
 " How has it been? " 
 
 " Lonesome, sometimes. Interesting, of 
 course, and nice, but lonesome. I was always 
 taking favors from other people. I had no one 
 of my own. There was only — only the Pride 
 
NEW RELATIONS 43 
 
 of India tree with mama under it. I used to 
 go out and talk to it, but — " 
 
 " Hush," said the lady. " Do not weep. 
 Azalea. Save all your strength for our sakes. 
 I cannot doubt that what you tell me is true. 
 I want you to see something." 
 
 She brought me a little album open at the 
 face of a young man. Carin, darling, when I 
 looked at it, I knew it was the face of my 
 father. It was like my own face, only a man's 
 and bolder. And yet, so like! 
 
 " My father! " I said. " I never saw his face 
 before." 
 
 '' It is wonderfully like your own," said Mr. 
 Knox. " And now you must call me your 
 Uncle David, Azalea; and you must call my 
 dear wife your Aunt Lorena. Remember, you 
 must never feel lonely any more." 
 
 Then I suddenly thought of Mother McBir- 
 ney waiting for me, and watching and watch- 
 ing the road, and praying and wondering, and 
 I cried out: 
 
 "Oh, my dear Mother McBirney! I can 
 never leave her: — never!" 
 
 " But someone else has a claim on you now," 
 said my Uncle David. Carin, think of having 
 
44 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 a right really to write that: "My Uncle 
 David!" 
 
 " Yes, I know, but — " 
 
 " I do not mean your Aunt Lorena and 
 myself," he said. " I mean that you have a 
 grandmother and that it will be the happiest 
 hour of her old age when she takes the daugh- 
 ter of her favorite son in her arms." 
 
 "Not a grandmother? A grandmother of 
 my own? " 
 
 " Indeed you have, and a very wonderful 
 and proud old lady she is. The grief of her 
 life was the waywardness of her son. She 
 cannot realize that he is dead. We have to 
 watch her lest she steal out to meet him in 
 secret as she did in the old days when his father 
 turned him from home. She used to creep 
 from the house to meet him and to take him 
 money, for she lived in the light of his hand- 
 some countenance. So it is your duty, Azalea, 
 to go to her." 
 
 " A grandmother," I said, " of my very 
 own ! " 
 
 It seemed wonderful — like having a mother, 
 only more majestic. I can't explain what I 
 felt. 
 
NEW RELATIONS 45 
 
 And I can't write any more just now, darling 
 Carin. My aunt has kept warning me that I 
 must put my pen down. So I obey. Another 
 day you shall know the rest. 
 
 As alicays, 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 OWN FOLK 
 
 " Little Windows," Mount Hebron, 
 
 October 22nd. 
 Car in dear: * 
 
 I was not quite so well after writing you. 
 Aunt Lorena says I mustn't write so much at 
 one time again till I am stronger. This is 
 just to say that Mother McBirney has been 
 sent for, though I can't see how she is to leave 
 home. Who will look after the men? Oh, 
 how I am needed in that little house! And 
 here I lie in this beautiful room, idle, of no 
 use to anyone. And so sleepy! I never dreamed 
 anyone could be so sleepy. 
 
 When I dream now, it is all about my grand- 
 mother. To think of an own grandmother! 
 In my dreams she comes creeping softly into 
 the room and strokes my hair. I do not believe 
 a word they say about her being proud. I am 
 sure she is gentle. At least, her dream-hand 
 on my head is so. 
 
 46 
 
OWN FOLK 47 
 
 I am writing to Mary Cecily Rowantree^ and 
 
 she can send the letter on to Keefe O'Connor 
 
 — to " brother " as she always calls him. Have 
 
 you noticed that she almost never speaks his 
 
 name? That is, I suppose, because he does not 
 
 bear the one that was given him when he was 
 
 christened. What a strange story is his! 
 
 Good-bye, yellow-haired one, 
 
 Azalea 
 ******** 
 
 October 24th. 
 Dear old Car in: 
 
 Mother McBirney has come. I have been 
 alone with her. Of course she had been told 
 everything by Uncle David on the way over. 
 
 " Mother-heart, mother-heart," I said to her, 
 '' tell me what I shall do. Here we are alone, 
 we two, and no one is listening. Whatever you 
 decide on shall be done. No matter what any- 
 one says, WT shall do it." 
 
 " Zalie," she said in that lovely drawling 
 voice of hers, " I reckon the time has come for 
 me and you to go our separate ways." 
 
 " Mother, do you know what I have been 
 told? I am rich. I shall have money to spend. 
 All at once, in one lump, right now, I can 
 
48 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 have the money that would have been mine all 
 during the years since my father died. I have 
 asked them, and they say that though I am not 
 of age, I may do what I please with that 
 money. So, mother-heart, you and Father 
 McBirney can go to the Springs, and Jim can 
 go to school. You can rent out the horses and 
 the cattle or sell them. Perhaps Annie Laurie 
 will add them to her stock. You can sell the 
 chickens and the bees, or take them to Annie 
 Laurie's too." 
 
 " Oh, Zalie," cried Ma, " how can you go on 
 talking about chickens and bees?" 
 
 " Because," said I, " sooner or later that is 
 what the three of you will sit up late at night 
 talking about. I'm trying to arrange it so that 
 you will not say ' no.' For I can't stand it to 
 have Father McBirney suffering the way he is, 
 and you going sad and poor and Jim not 
 having school. I knew all the time that I 
 couldn't stand it — that I'd have to do some- 
 thing about it. And now here, along comes 
 Accident — whom I shall make my goddess — 
 and she brings me among my own folk, and 
 gives me a fortune." 
 
 " And parts us, Zalie." 
 
OWN FOLK 49 
 
 "No, Mother McBirney. I say no! You 
 shall go to the Springs, you shall see Father 
 get well. I shall visit you from time to time. 
 Then you will go back to your own home, per- 
 haps, and some day I shall build on that 
 lovely spot on the little bench, halfway up the 
 mountain-side. You remember that place with 
 the three great tulip trees and the spring of 
 cold water? I'll build me a little house there, 
 and all the mountain people and all the valley 
 people shall visit me. It will be near 
 you, so that every time you go to town you 
 will be obliged to stop and have something to 
 eat and to get a drink at my spring. You shall 
 not lose me, no, no, no." 
 
 I gave her such a hug that she gasped. 
 Though she is so gentle I think she always 
 rather liked my fierce ways. 
 
 " Will you be living in that house alone, 
 Zalie?" she asked me, looking just like Jim 
 when he teases. And though there wasn't a 
 thing to make me blush — not one thing — I 
 got to blushing and couldn't stop. I was per- 
 fectly furious with myself. How is it that 
 sensible people are sometimes so silly? 
 
 " Mother McBirney," I said at last, " is it 
 
50 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 nice of you to peer into the future like that? 
 Don't you think you are prying and — and — " 
 
 She wouldn't let me finish. Anyway, I didn't 
 know how to finish. 
 
 " Don't you do some of that kind of prying 
 yourself?" she asked. 
 
 Would you have thought Ma McBirney 
 could have been so naughty? 
 
 You will remember, Carin, that when your 
 dear father and mother asked me to live with 
 them and be a sister to you, I refused because 
 I could not bring myself to leave Mother 
 McBirney. But then she was all sore and suf- 
 fering from the loss of her Molly; she had 
 done the one wild and lawless thing of her 
 life in stealing me from the terrible people who 
 claimed me. I had to stay with her then. But 
 now I am a young woman. I must make my 
 own way, and I must help the McBirney 
 family. Moreover, the people who now take 
 me are my kin. In going with them I do my 
 duty to my own family, to my grandmother; 
 I can make amends to her for all my father 
 made her suffer. Do you not see how different 
 it is? 
 
 I explained it all to Mother McBirney. She 
 
OWN FOLK 51 
 
 is reconciled — very quiet and rather strange, 
 but reconciled. She will get happier as time 
 goes on. Oh, I mean to make her very happy. 
 
 It is interesting to see her and my uncle and 
 aunt together. My uncle and aunt are very 
 grand people, Carin, but they have no better 
 manners than little Ma McBirney. You and 
 I always said she had the nicest manners in the 
 world. They begin and end with kindness, and 
 gentleness and thoughtfulness, and with it all, 
 she is so self-respectful, as if she felt it her 
 duty to cherish her own soul and mind and 
 body because they were God's gift to her. 
 
 Did I tell you that Mrs. Babb, the moon- 
 shiner's mother, was over taking care of Father 
 McBirney and Jim? That fierce mother of 
 wild sons! I remember describing her that 
 way to myself long ago. But you know how 
 kind and nice she can be. She always was an 
 obliging neighbor, and so, for the matter of 
 that, were her sons. You have heard about 
 the time her son set Hi Kitchell's arm and 
 was good to Jim. That was when I was kid- 
 napped, and the whole countryside was search- 
 ing for little Azalea. 
 
 The funniest thing happened to Uncle David 
 
52 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 and Mother McBirney when they were coming 
 over here together. Uncle David knew, of 
 course, about my going into the little cabin 
 and warming myself before the fire and helping 
 myself to soup, so he was watching out for 
 the place. And sure enough he came to it, 
 and he and Mother McBirney went in. There 
 were two women there, a mother and daughter, 
 and both were very nice looking, though one, 
 of course, was no longer young. They seemed 
 different from most of the mountaineers; not 
 inclined to tell much about themselves. They 
 showed the picture of me, and they said they 
 had enjoyed the things I left. They talked 
 about me quite a little, and were polite, though 
 cold and ofRsh. Uncle David had his camera 
 with him, and he wanted to take pictures of 
 them to bring to me, but they objected to that. 
 Wasn't that queer of them? Some day I am 
 going to call on them, unless indeed I leave 
 this part of the country forever and ever. I 
 suppose I may. 
 
 Aunt Lorena doesn't want me to go to Mal- 
 lovvbanks — that is the name of the old Knox 
 place — all in my homespun. She wants to 
 dress me out as Queen Guinevere did Enid. 
 
OWN FOLK 53 
 
 I have asked her to wait, but she is not very 
 well content to do so. 
 
 " If you are presented to your grandmother 
 in homespun," she says, " she will remember 
 it to the last day of her life. Your grand- 
 mother is very old, Azalea, so that she is 
 inclined to pay too much attention to little 
 matters. She will say to everyone who comes 
 to the house: 'This is Azalea, the daughter 
 of my dear Jack. She came to me in home- 
 spun, but I have clothed her in silk — as 
 becomes her.' Oh, it is so easy to imagine her 
 saying it. Truly, she will never forget the 
 homespun nor let you forget it. What is worse, 
 she will insist on dressing you herself, and she 
 will probably do it out of the cedar chests in 
 the lumber room." 
 
 "Out of the cedar chests?" said I. 
 
 " Yes, the famous, terrible cedar chests. 
 They are filled with loot from all over the 
 world — old shawls and crepes and brocades 
 and laces. Never was there such an expensive 
 and unusable mess. Ever since David married 
 me she has wanted me to make over these 
 things — " 
 
 " And very lovely you would look in them," 
 
54 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 broke in my Uncle David in gentle rebuke. 
 
 " Lovely, indeed," cried Aunt Lorena. " I 
 would look like a romantic scarecrow. No, 
 David, the ladies who wore those gowns dressed 
 in the fashion of their day, and I mean to dress 
 in the fashion of mine. I warn Azalea right 
 now that if she doesn't let me send to Charles- 
 ton for fit and proper clothing for her, she'll 
 be wearing those stiff old things to the day of 
 her — marriage." 
 
 " Oh, I'd be certain to have my wedding 
 dress made out of the chests, I should think," 
 I said, perfectly delighted with the idea. 
 " Hasn't grandmother saved her wedding 
 dress?" 
 
 " Of course she has, and her wedding che- 
 mise and slippers and veil and fan." 
 
 " Oh," I cried, " just let me lie still and think 
 about it awhile. Isn't it like a fairy tale?" 
 
 So I did. I lay still quite a while looking 
 at the fire, and wondering if it could be true 
 that I, Azalea Knox, who had believed myself 
 to be little more than a waif, was coming into 
 a home all mellow and beautiful with old cus- 
 toms and memories and loves — and hates, too, 
 I suppose. Then I seemed to feel that some- 
 
OWN FOLK 55 
 
 thing was wrong, and looking up I saw my 
 new Uncle David frowning at me — distinctly 
 frowning. 
 
 So I said: 
 
 "Why do you frown, Uncle David?" 
 
 And he said: 
 
 " Why are you so interested in bridal 
 dresses? " 
 
 " Aren't all girls interested in bridal 
 dresses? " 
 
 " Not when they are infants like yourself, 
 miss." 
 
 " I am eighteen and over," I said. " If you 
 don't have daydreams Vvhen you are eighteen, 
 when will you have them?" 
 
 " True for you. Azalea," cried my aunt with 
 her high laugh. " Pay no attention to him. 
 I was just turned seventeen when we became 
 engaged." 
 
 " The circumstances were peculiar," said my 
 uncle, rather red in the face. 
 
 " They were," said my aunt. " You wanted 
 me, and you were afraid I might — want some- 
 one else." 
 
 " But we waited," said my uncle, " a long, 
 long time." 
 
56 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " Two years and three months," said my 
 aunt. 
 
 " Few, however, would be justified in marry- 
 ing so young," said my uncle. " But we were 
 peculiarly suited to each other. Both families 
 approved. You, my dear Azalea, have not 
 been so situated as to see much of people in 
 your own station of life, so it will probably 
 be many years before you will have any occa- 
 sion to ask my mother for her old white satin 
 wedding gown." 
 
 I said nothing at all but just smiled at the 
 fire. I could feel Uncle David still watching 
 me. At last he said : 
 
 " Why are you smiling? " 
 
 " I am happy." 
 
 " Are you still thinking of the wedding 
 gown? " 
 
 " Only vaguely." 
 
 "Azalea, have you any secret to tell us?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Could Mrs. McBirney throw any light on 
 that peculiar smile of yours?" 
 
 " Ask her." 
 
 But would dear old Ma go back on me? 
 You know she would not. 
 
OWN FOLK 57 
 
 " Zalie is like my Jim," she drawled, " a 
 good deal of a tease." 
 
 I threw her a kiss. And Uncle David shook 
 his fist at me. 
 
 Ah, Carin, why are you not here? Why can 
 we not slip in bed side by side each night as 
 we used up at Sunset Gap? I have so many 
 things to tell you, and I cannot begin to make 
 them clear merely writing them like this. 
 Though I find I like to write. I have been 
 reading and reading for years and thinking 
 how hard it must be to write, and now, for the 
 first time, I am really trying my hand at it, 
 and I find it about as easy as breathing. Of 
 course, writing to you, who understand me and 
 my ways so well, makes it particularly easy. 
 I do not say that I would dare to write for 
 strangers or that I would like to do it. And 
 yet, I wonder, Carin, if one were to write a 
 book just as if one were talking to a friend, 
 showing all one's heart and counting on the 
 readers to understand and sympathize, if it 
 would not be a good book. 
 
 A book has to be human to be good, doesn't 
 it? And writing that way, frankly, even lov- 
 ingly, I may say, letting people feci that you 
 
58 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 who are writing are really a friend, although 
 unknown, would make a book human, wouldn't 
 it? 
 
 I suppose there are a great many lonely folk 
 in the world who have not had the good fortune 
 to make friends, or even to find their own home, 
 in any true and deep sense of the word, and 
 that to such, a friendly book is a great boon. 
 It is something to take down off the shelf at 
 night in the quiet hours, and to read over and 
 over again. It helps them to forget their 
 troubles and even themselves, and they go to 
 bed comforted and warmed at the heart, 
 remembering that the old world is a pretty 
 kind and genial place after all. 
 
 If I could write, it is such a book as that 
 which I would choose to make. And do you 
 know, the last few days as I have been lying 
 here thinking and thinking, I've wondered if 
 I might not write a little. It would do such 
 pleasant things to my life. It would be like 
 planting little gardens of flowers all about me. 
 Haven't we a right to plant flowers if we have 
 a taste for them? Planting flowers and writing, 
 like everything else that one does, is largely 
 a matter of habit, don't you think so? 
 
OWN FOLK 59 
 
 To-morrow Mother McBirney is going 
 home. Uncle David is going to take her. She 
 is to close up the house, send Jim to school, and 
 betake herself and Father McBirney to Bethal 
 Springs for the winter. Uncle David has 
 written dovvn to engage a cosy little furnished 
 cottage for them. He has given me a check 
 for them. I am very happy, Carin. 
 
 I told you I was going to make Accident my 
 goddess. I like Accident. Just turning around 
 the corner may bring one face to face with — 
 with something glorious. I feel all the time 
 now as if something delightful and surprising 
 were going to happen. 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Your Azalea 
 
 ******** 
 
 " Little Windows," Oct. 29. 
 Carin, we are off. The " little windows " 
 are all boarded up. The servants have been 
 driven to the station. Outside the door the 
 touring car is standing, silent but eager. I 
 swear it looks eager, and that I am horribly 
 afraid of it. I expect to have a chill. My 
 teeth chatter at this moment at the thought of 
 
60 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 riding in that long, raging, rushing thing 
 around these winding mountain roads. I feel 
 as if this might be the last letter I shall ever 
 write to you. I said I loved Accident, but 
 that depends on how she looks. To-day I do 
 not like the looks of her. I cut her acquaint- 
 ance. If you never hear from me again, remem- 
 ber how I loved you. 
 
 Aunt Lorena and Uncle David are putting 
 the last touches to things, and I am sitting on 
 the porch scribbling in my notebook. From 
 here we can see thirty peaks and many valleys 
 and rivers. The rivers are silver threads in 
 the purple distance, winding and winding. 
 There is an eagle just above the house, prob- 
 ably come to see that we get safely away. I 
 wish he would teach me how to fly so that I 
 wouldn't have to ride in that terrible machine. 
 
 The only thing that cheers me up is the 
 thought that I am really going home. After 
 so many homeless years, or years in which I 
 had a home only by the kindness of others, I 
 am going to my own home, to my own grand- 
 mother, blood of my blood, the mother of my 
 father. 
 
 Do you suppose those who love us and are 
 
OWN FOLK 61 
 
 dead, know what is happening to us? Is my 
 own little mother seeing me this day? Is she 
 glad I am going to the home which never 
 opened its doors to her? Am I loyal to her in 
 going? These questions are too hard for me 
 to answer. I only know that my uncle and 
 aunt would be shocked and deeply offended if 
 I did not go with them, and I remember that 
 to the last my mother loved my father. 
 
 When she lay dead that day in dear Mother 
 McBirney's house, they found in the leather 
 pocket book she carried, a little piece of dark 
 hair which must have been his, with her " wed- 
 ding lines," as Mother McBirney called them, 
 and a little blurred picture which was, no 
 doubt, of him. But her tears or the rain had 
 dimmed it so we could barely see it. 
 
 Your letter was brought me last night, Carin, 
 and was the greatest sort of a comfort. Oh, I 
 knew you would understand. 
 
 Aren't you taking too many studies? You 
 mustn't wear yourself out. Never forget that 
 you are going to be an artist and that you have 
 to consider your talent above everything else. 
 So be careful not to use yourself up on mathe- 
 matics and physics and all those things. 
 
62 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 I am glad you are having some good times. 
 That young man who sent you flowers is a 
 Southerner, is he? From Charleston? Why 
 didn't you tell me his name? Perhaps I shall 
 be meeting him. For I am to meet people. I 
 mean, I am to meet them the way you do. 
 Aunt Lorena will give a " coming out " party 
 for me. It rather amuses me. Poor Azalea, 
 with her boots covered with red mud and her 
 hands scratched with briars and burned with 
 cooking and pricked with sewing, and her hair 
 tumbled every which way, Azalea who can 
 whistle through her fingers as well as Jim or 
 Hi or any of the boys, who can climb a fence 
 in a jifify and shin up a tree if necessary, to 
 stand all perfumed and proper, in a wonderful 
 old drawing-room, saying: "Thank you, 
 madam, you are very good to say so." " Thank 
 you, sir, indeed I am very much honored to 
 meet my grandmother's old friends." Can you 
 hear me? I wish you could in reality. Per- 
 haps I can get my aunt to put off the party till 
 Thanksgiving. If so, could you dash down 
 to Mallowbanks? It is not far from Charles- 
 ton. You could take a few extra days from 
 college, couldn't you? 
 
OWN FOLK 63 
 
 The very thought of it puts new courage into 
 me. You will find my new address within. 
 Write me at once. I shall insist that Annie 
 Laurie come to my party also. What a reunion 
 that would be! To have the old friends and the 
 new together would be something to remember 
 always. 
 
 Maybe the young-man-who-sent-the-roses will 
 be home for Thanksgiving. Then he could 
 come too, and I would see if he was nice 
 enough to — to be allowed to send you roses. 
 
 Do you suppose Keefe could come? But he 
 wouldn't, would he? At least, not unless I 
 got an order for him to paint a portrait. And 
 how could I do that? But maybe 1 can insist 
 that he shall paint a portrait of my grand- 
 mother for me. My own grandmother! 
 
 There, Uncle David is cranking that terrible 
 machine. I must go. Carin, we who go to 
 die salute thee! 
 
 I will you my amber beads. 
 Tremblingly, 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MADAM GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Mallowbanks, Brent County, S. C, 
 
 November first. 
 Poor neglected Carin: 
 
 I know it, Carin. I know I have treated you 
 badly. I know that you have been expecting 
 and wondering and scolding because I have 
 not written. 
 
 But when you say that I have forgotten you 
 because of my new friends, well — I haven't 
 any answer to that. Nothing pleasant ever 
 happens to me that I do not wish you were 
 with me to share it, and nothing bad ever 
 happens that I do not think in the midst of all 
 my trouble: 
 
 " I will make a story out of that to tell to 
 Carin and — well, Annie Laurie or any other 
 person whom I love." 
 
 But you first, Carin. 
 
 As you may have guessed, we got here alive. 
 
 64 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 65 
 
 I was really very much surprised. Between 
 shivers and shudders I enjoyed the ride tre- 
 mendously. We had two days and a half of it, 
 sleeping at night in inns where my uncle and 
 aunt were welcomed very warmly, and where 
 everybody marveled over me very much as they 
 did in the old days when Mother McBirney 
 first took me over and carried me with her 
 everywhere to exhibit me so lovingly and 
 triumphantly. 
 
 Only this time there were differences; very 
 great differences. I soon realized that to be 
 the daughter of the house of Knox was no small 
 matter, and though I had insisted on keeping to 
 my homespun, and still do think it very nice, 
 I was a trifle worried about it. But my riding 
 suit is well cut, and it fits like a dream, and 
 the homespun is almost as soft as camel's hair, 
 and the color of it, a bottle green, becomes 
 me very well. I was wearing the little dark 
 green Alpine hat you brought me from Switzer- 
 land, and that was becoming too. 
 
 Yet, girl-o'-my-heart, I felt frightened and 
 insignificant enough when, having passed by 
 way of many charming old towns and wide 
 plantations, we came at last to the long, shady 
 
66 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 road which they told me belonged to the Knox 
 estate. The part we passed through was all in 
 fine old trees, not so near together but that the 
 sun could make bright carpets in between them. 
 Here and there, where the ground lifted, we 
 could see the plantations, now of course in their 
 autumn bareness, stretching in three directions. 
 
 I have always loved to read about princes 
 and princesses who have wandered, poor and 
 forlorn, in strange lands, and who finally return 
 to their royal homes and live happy ever after 
 amid a loving people. I think that is the nicest 
 sort of a story in the world, and I often have 
 played, when it was cold and windy in my little 
 loft on Tennyson Mountain, and when Jim 
 teased me, and all the family was looking at 
 something in a different way from what I was 
 able to do, that I was a lost princess and that 
 by and by I would come into my own. 
 
 But I never really thought it anything but 
 a silly, silly dream. I played with it as I used, 
 a few years before, to play with paper dolls. 
 
 Yet here I was, Carin, being swept up 
 to the door of my ancestral mansion. We 
 turned a bend in the road, and then saw the 
 house across a stretch of lawn. It was all drip- 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 67 
 
 ping with Virginia creeper; the leaves hung 
 red as flame from the hooded windows, and 
 bannerets of the scarlet vine fluttered from the 
 wide door. Did uncle tell me the house was 
 Georgian in its style? I do not remember. At 
 any rate, it is of old-rose brick and tile, as 
 mellow as a soft sunset. There are six hooded 
 windows and the beautiful door down below, 
 and seven window^s above; then at each end of 
 the main part of the building is an L, running 
 obliquely out into the lawn, and here, too, are 
 the hooded windows above, but below are gal- 
 leries, and they are roofed in some places and 
 uncovered in others, so that you can stay 
 under cover if you like, or right out under the 
 stars. 
 
 I found myself clasping my hands tight over 
 my heart as I looked. 
 
 " Do you like it, dear?" asked Aunt Lorena 
 gently. 
 
 I seized her hand. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Lorena, did you come here a 
 bride? Did Uncle David bring you here? 
 Had you ever seen it before?" 
 
 " I had known it ever since I was a child, 
 but notwithstanding that, the day I entered it 
 
68 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 and knew it for my own to live in was one of 
 the happiest of my life." 
 
 " All on account of the house, I suppose," 
 growled Uncle David from the front seat of 
 the car. Aunt Lorena laughed like a bird and 
 said nothing. 
 
 " Oh, the years must have rolled sweetly by, 
 Lorena," said I under my breath. 
 
 She smiled at me beautifully, and then we 
 got out of the car, and there were people 
 running from out of the house and from around 
 the house to help us — kind, affectionate, cap- 
 able black people, happy and well placed. 
 
 They all looked at me, open-eyed, like 
 children, and they bowed and smiled, but all 
 the time I could see they were wondering. 
 Then Uncle David took me by the hand and 
 led me up the steps and turned with me and 
 said: 
 
 " This is Miss Azalea Knox, the daughter of 
 my brother John. She has come here to be the 
 daughter of the house and your young mistress." 
 
 In the old days — or at least in story books — 
 my " faithful retainers " would have cheered. 
 These did not cheer, but there were murmurs 
 of interest and pleasure, and then they began 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 69 
 
 coming up to wish me happiness with the sweet- 
 est manners imaginable. So I shook hands with 
 them all, and liked them, and felt I would 
 enjoy doing things for them and that I could 
 ask them to do things for me. All the while, 
 inside, deep down, there was a curious chuck- 
 ling going on in me. I couldn't help having 
 that laugh with myself. 
 
 " So the poor homespun princess really has 
 come to her ancestral halls," I kept thinking. 
 I wondered that it didn't strike Uncle David 
 and Aunt Lorena and that they didn't laugh. 
 But no, Carin, they were quite serious and 
 grand, and I soon saw how well their stately 
 ways went with that beautiful place. 
 
 I mustn't take time to describe all the place 
 to you, must I? But I cannot pass on without 
 telling you my first impression of the great hall 
 by which we entered. There was a high panel- 
 ing in carved wood, and a sweeping staircase, 
 with carved panels, and a fireplace, all beauti- 
 fully carved too. The dark, shining floor was 
 covered with strips of gray carpeting, and at 
 the doors and the great window of leaded glass 
 on the landing were silvery curtains with bands 
 of white and black. Then there was the clock 
 
70 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 of teakwood, and a lovely statue of a Diana in 
 pinky-white marble, so delicate the light came 
 through her arm. 
 
 An unusual room, you must admit that. To 
 the returning princess, who has seen no 
 grandeur save that to be found in your beautiful 
 home, Carin, it was rather — well, rather over- 
 powering. 
 
 Mother McBirney had sent my clothes to 
 me, of course, and now my little bag was taken 
 up to my room, and I was told to follow Mary 
 Greenville Female Seminary Simms — Semmy 
 for short — the old benevolent-faced colored 
 woman. 
 
 We went up the wonderful stairway, I saying 
 nothing and breathing pretty hard, but trying 
 not to let anyone know it, and then along the 
 upper hallway to a shuttered door. It was 
 opened for me and I went in to what was to 
 be my room. 
 
 So quaint, so complete was it, Carin, that I 
 hardly know how to describe it to you. The 
 walls were papered with a design of pine leaves 
 on pearly white; the draperies were white 
 muslin and green silk; the furniture was of 
 white wood, upholstered in green. There were 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 71 
 
 only two pictures, both of the sea; one with 
 wild waves dashing over a rock in the bright 
 sunshine, the other a quiet, wonderful picture 
 of rippling miles of water the color of the 
 inside of a shell. The sun must have been 
 rising, but one did not see it — only banks of 
 soft cloud, with a gray veil before them. 
 
 Can you imagine it all? 
 
 Then, as each drawer was opened, or the 
 closets, or the armoire, sweet odors of dried 
 herbs came forth. Everywhere was fragrance 
 and peace. 
 
 " You-all trunks w^ill be comin' along by 
 express I reckon," said Semmy as she began to 
 unpack my bag. I wondered what Aunt 
 Lorena would wish me to say. Should I let my 
 black maid know that all I owned was there 
 before her — not enough to fill two of the 
 drawers in the deep bureau? Then it occurred 
 to me that it was not necessary to tell her any- 
 thing at all. 
 
 " How nicely you have put everything 
 away," I said to her. " Here is a little basket 
 that I made with my own hands. Will you let 
 me give it to you? " 
 
 So I got rid of Semmy and her questions, and 
 
n AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 was left alone wondering what I should do 
 next. Nothing I possessed went in any way 
 with my grand surroundings, but I reflected 
 that Mother McBirney would have decided, in 
 such circumstances, that one could at least be 
 neat and clean. 
 
 So I bathed in my beautiful bathroom, and 
 I donned fresh clothes. It was rather chilly, 
 and I hardly knew what to wear. But at last 
 I put on the low-necked white frock Aunt 
 Zillah Pace made for me — every stitch hand 
 sewn — and the amber beads your mother gave 
 me, and a scarf of yellow silk that was Barbara 
 Summers' Christmas present to me. I had 
 some white slippers and silk stockings — gifts 
 from your dear mother, Carin. So I managed 
 fairly well, I thought. 
 
 Out in the corridor I met my aunt coming 
 to my room. 
 
 " I have told your grandmother," she 
 whispered. " She is terribly excited. I ought 
 to have waited, perhaps — to let her get 
 acquainted with you and then to tell her after 
 she became fond of you. Oh, I wish I had ! 
 But it is too late now. Anyway, we mustn't 
 keep her waiting a minute. How lovely you 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 73 
 
 look, Azalea! Just as a young girl should. 
 Will you come with me now? Your uncle is 
 with his mother." 
 
 I had never seen Aunt Lorena excited before, 
 and I could hardly understand why she should 
 be so now, though I will confess that I felt 
 very strange myself. I had to take hold of 
 Aunt Lorena's arm going down that long 
 flight of stairs. 
 
 Then, once we were down, the old black 
 butler bowed us into the drawing-room, which 
 was glittering with old-time luster candelabra, 
 and at the end of the room, all in gray and 
 white and diamonds, with hair of pure silver, 
 was the littlest, proudest, stateliest lady I ever 
 saw or dreamed of. You cannot imagine how 
 small she was or how regal. She sat in a high- 
 backed carved chair on a dais, like a queen, 
 and Uncle David stood by her quite as if he 
 were her prime minister and wxre terribly 
 worried over some affair of state. 
 
 I saw him looking at me anxiously, and I 
 knew he was doubting my power to please this 
 little queenly lady. But at that very moment all 
 of my own fears departed and I only remem- 
 bered that at last here was one of my very, very 
 
74 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 own folk, and I ran down the room and lifted 
 her hand in mine and kissed it. Yes, I knelt 
 right there on that queer little dais and held her 
 hand to my lips. I was going to call her 
 " grandmother," but she looked so regal that I 
 could not quite speak that familiarly, so I 
 called her " madam grandmother " instead, 
 
 " Madam grandmother," I cried, " I am 
 your own granddaughter. Please, please love 
 me!" 
 
 " Arise, my child," she said as if I were 
 indeed the long lost daughter of a queen — as 
 I so often had pretended to be — and she lifted 
 me up and looked at me through her little gold- 
 rimmed lorgnette. 
 
 " David," she said proudly, " she is the liv- 
 ing image of our dear Jack!" 
 
 '' Yes, mother," said Uncle David gently. 
 " I was sure you would think that, and indeed 
 I agree with you, and so does Lorena." 
 
 " Lorena," said madam grandmother in a 
 voice of command, " I confide this child to 
 your keeping. She must be your especial care. 
 You will rear her, Lorena, to be worthy of her 
 
 name." 
 
 " I am glad, mother," said Aunt Lorena, 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 75 
 
 " that you think me capable of performing 
 such an important and delicate task." 
 
 " Lorena, you were a Ravanel, and the 
 Ravanels have no need to doubt themselves. 
 I could place her in no better hands." 
 
 " My Aunt Lorena has already been looking 
 after me more kindly than I can say, madam 
 grandmother," I said. " I cannot tell you how 
 good she was to me when I was ill." 
 
 "Hah!" cried my grandmother, "I like 
 your voice, Azalea. Moreover, I like your 
 manner; and I admire your name. I wish to 
 hear something of your life. David and 
 Lorena, you have, no doubt, already heard this 
 story. If you wish to withdraw you may do so. 
 Please close the doors as you go. JVIy grand- 
 daughter and myself vv^ill have a conference." 
 
 Carin, would you have supposed anyone 
 could speak in this manner in the present day 
 and generation? I would never have believed 
 it myself if I had not heard it. 
 
 Sampson, the old butler, was summoned to 
 bring up a low, comfortable chair for me, and 
 sitting in this, holding my grandmother's little 
 wrinkled, jeweled hands in mine, I told her all 
 the story. 
 
76 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Once she asked me to ring to have the fire 
 lighted in the great fireplace, and " old James," 
 as the utility man is called, came in and did it. 
 Otherwise we were left quite to ourselves. 
 Callers came, but she asked to be excused. 
 
 " I have been receiving callers all my life," 
 she said to me, " but never, never before have 
 I sat with a granddaughter of my own — and 
 as true a Knox as ever drew the breath of life. 
 Every tone of your voice, my dear, reminds 
 me of your father; every look and gesture is 
 like him. This is the happiest day I have had 
 for many years." 
 
 " You do not question my identity at all, 
 madam grandmother," I said. " It is very 
 gracious of you." 
 
 " The story your Uncle David told me was 
 convincing, my child. But aside from that, 
 your face is a confirmation of the truth of your 
 story. But continue, please. I wish to hear 
 everything you have to say." 
 
 So I talked on and on, and she listened 
 seriously and kindly, sometimes with her head 
 drooping a little, other times proudly, with 
 her little gold-bound glasses raised. I could 
 see that she suffered horribly when I told of 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 11 
 
 how my sweet mother and I had struggled on, 
 how we had gone hungry and cold and had had 
 to associate with drunken, coarse, cruel people. 
 But I told her everything. I seemed to owe 
 that much to my little mother. 
 
 Then, after a long time, I finished. She 
 looked at me with a strange, sad, wistful air 
 that made me, for all her pride, think of a 
 child who had done wrong and who wished to 
 be forgiven. 
 
 " I am sorry," she said, " that you did not 
 know your father. Azalea. You would have 
 loved him. No one could help loving him. 
 Please, for my sake, do not hate his memory." 
 
 " No, no," I answered, " I will not hate him, 
 or anyone. I haven't time to hate anyone." 
 
 Just then a beautiful sound stole through 
 the room. I could not tell what it was or 
 where it came from, but grandmother smiled 
 at my surprise and told me that it was only 
 the dinner gong. So she arose and said: 
 
 " Your arm. Azalea, please," and we went 
 down the long drawing-room together, and 
 when we reached the door the old butler threw 
 wide the leaves of it for us, and we crossed the 
 great corridor and went to the dining room. 
 
78 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 It was all glittering with silver and glass and 
 shining with white linen and glowing with 
 flowers, and there was the butler and a man to 
 help him, and Martha, grandmother's own 
 woman, to stand behind her chair. 
 
 Try to think of your own rough and ready 
 Azalea, sitting there amid that grandeur, acting 
 as if she were used to it. But it is asking too 
 much of you, isn't it, honey? Everyone talked 
 very softly, and when they laughed they 
 seemed to do so rather cautiously, and the 
 servants moved about as if it would be a ter- 
 rible crime to make a noise, though I could see 
 perfectly well by the expression of their faces, 
 that they took an interest in everything. Of 
 course we had delicious things to eat. There 
 was some kind of a frozen dessert that Aunt 
 Lorena said was made in my honor. 
 
 " We have this only on notable occasions," 
 she declared. 
 
 After dinner we went back to the drawing- 
 room again, and my grandmother asked me to 
 sing. So I did, but not very well, and she 
 asked me to dance, and I did that, too, with 
 Aunt Lorena playing for me. But I don't 
 believe I danced very well either. Making 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 79 
 
 up a solo dance as you go along isn't easy, is it, 
 Carin? But at any rate, grandmother seemed 
 pleased, and I am sure it helped her to pass 
 the evening. The last hour I sat beside her, 
 telling her stories of Mother McBirney and 
 all my friends, and she kept her hand on my 
 arm, and now and then cried to Uncle David: 
 
 " Isn't it incredible that we have found her? 
 Isn't she the picture of your brother Jack?" 
 
 Finally Aunt Lorena said it was time for us 
 all to go to bed, and when grandmother pro- 
 tested, she reminded her how weary we were 
 from our long journey. So old Martha was 
 called for grandmother, and Semmy was called 
 for me, and we all went off to our rooms. I 
 had to laugh a little — at least, I think I 
 laughed, but maybe I cried, too — to think of 
 my little loft at home, and the pieces of round 
 tin nailed over the mouse holes. And then to 
 look around at this new room of mine! 
 
 The bed was soft as down, and scented with 
 lavender, and there was an eiderdown comfort 
 to snuggle under. It was such a wonderful 
 bed that I couldn't go to sleep for thinking 
 about it, but lay awake for a long time, as I 
 never had done in my little loft. There was 
 
80 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 much to think over, Carin — so much. And 
 always I kept wondering: " Have I done 
 right? Is this going to help me weave my 
 silver web? " 
 
 I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I 
 heard, without hearing, a certain little soft, 
 stealthy sound for several seconds before I 
 realized that something unusual was happen- 
 ing. Then, when that fact really came to me, 
 I sat up in bed to listen. 
 
 Someone, it w^as evident, was stealing along 
 the hall. Then I heard the soft, creeping steps 
 down the stairs, and after a while a door 
 opened — a little door right beneath my 
 window. 
 
 I slipped out of bed and looked from my 
 window, and I could see a little white figure 
 gliding away from the house. It was no larger 
 than that of a child, but the motions it made 
 were not a child's, and that is how I came 
 to know that it was grandmother. I couldn't 
 think it right for her to be going out into the 
 garden in the middle of the night in her night 
 clothes, so I ran down the stairs. I found the 
 little door opened from a cloak room, and I 
 stumbled out into the darkness after her. But 
 
MADAM GRANDMOTHER 81 
 
 it was very dark and I did not know the garden, 
 so in a few moments I found myself quite hope- 
 lessly lost amid the hedges. I was afraid some- 
 thing dreadful might happen if I wasted any 
 more time, so I got back to the house, and ran 
 upstairs to try to find Aunt Lorena's room. 
 
 But all of the bedroom doors in the house 
 have shutters to them, and these shutters were 
 closed, so I could not possibly tell which rooms 
 were occupied and which were not, and all I 
 could do was to run up and down, knocking at 
 each one and calling: 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Lorena, Uncle David, come!" 
 
 It was like a horrible nightmare. It seemed 
 as if more doors kept coming into existence 
 right there before my eyes. The place was so 
 dark — I had no idea where to find the electric 
 buttons — that if the doors had not been white 
 I could not have seen them at all. Truly, 
 Carin, it was the most frightening thing that 
 ever happened to me. 
 
 But I hear the dinner gong. I will send this 
 off, there is so much of it, and to-morrow I will 
 write you again. 
 
 Your own 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 MALLOWBANKS 
 Mallowbanks. November third. 
 
 } 
 
 Carin, dear: 
 
 Where did I leave ofif? Oh, yes, where I 
 went running down the big dark, winding 
 corridors, knocking and knocking at the strange 
 doors! 
 
 Well, presently one of them, far away from 
 where I was, opened, and a voice called: 
 
 "What is it? Oh, what is it?" 
 
 " Is it you. Aunt Lorena," I cried, running 
 toward the voice. 
 
 " Yes, yes. Azalea. Tell me what is the 
 
 matter." 
 
 " Grandmother has gone out In the garden in 
 her night clothes. I tried to follow her, but 
 I've lost her somewhere." 
 
 " Oh, dear," sighed my aunt. " It is her old 
 trouble again. I suppose your coming excited 
 her. She has little spells of forgetfulness and 
 
 82 
 
M ALLOWS AN KS 83 
 
 she wanders out to meet Jack, your father, 
 secretly, forgetting that he is dead. After his 
 father forbade him the house, she used to do 
 that — to meet him at night and take him 
 money and clothes — anything that she thought 
 would help him. I don't believe she'll come to 
 any harm. She never has. We'll send old 
 Martha for her, for it would hurt her feelings 
 dreadfully if we were to go and if she were 
 to realize that she has been wandering again. 
 She's very proud, you know." 
 
 And, Oh, didn't I know it, Carin! Never 
 have I seen so much pride in such a little 
 creature. 
 
 Aunt Lorena called old Martha, and the 
 poor black thing, with her huge nightcap on, 
 and a great flowered robe, and slippers that 
 flopped at every step, ran sleepily out into the 
 garden, calling: 
 
 " Ole Miss, ole Miss, where be ye? Cain't 
 ye answer Martha? She's wanting ye bad! 
 Please, ole Miss, where be ye? " 
 
 Aunt Lorena and I followed along behind, 
 running down a long shaded walk which the 
 moonlight mottled, till at last we came to a 
 little pool. This was like a shield of bright 
 
84 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 steel, all shining and wonderful. There were 
 rustling noises all about us which suited the 
 place and the hour but which I did not 
 understand. 
 
 " What is It? " I whispered. 
 
 " The swans. We have disturbed them." 
 
 And just then, Carin, out into that glistening 
 pool swam a coal black swan followed by two 
 white ones. They didn't seem like real birds 
 but like some sort of a vision. 
 
 " It is just beyond the pond that mother used 
 to go to meet your father," said Aunt Lorena 
 tenderly. I loved her for speaking like that. 
 She was sorry for this old mother's grief, and 
 sympathized with the memories that haunted 
 her and drove her from her bed. I put my 
 arm right around her neck and kissed her. 
 
 '' Oh, Aunt Lorena," I said, " I think you 
 are very sweet." 
 
 ''Hush!" she warned, and turning I saw 
 Martha coming back with her arm around poor 
 little madam grandmother. We stepped back 
 in the shrubbery and kept very still while they 
 passed. Grandmother was weeping like a hurt 
 child. 
 
 " Your young master wasn't there, Martha," 
 
We stepped back in the shrubbery and kept very still 
 while they passed. Grandmother was weeping like a 
 hurt child. 
 
MALLOWBANKS 85 
 
 she was saying. '' He was to meet me there 
 to-night and I was to give him this." She held 
 up something in her hand that sparkled in the 
 moonlight. " It was my own, Martha," she 
 went on, " so I had a perfect right to give it 
 away if I wanted. Oh, what do you suppose 
 has happened to your young master? " 
 
 "Jes' nothin' at all, ole Miss," Martha said, 
 her voice sounding more like that of a wild 
 dove than anything else I could think of. 
 " He's sure all right, ole Miss. He's jes' doin' 
 fine. That's why he didn't need for to come 
 for yo' pretties. Yo' jes' take heart, ole Miss. 
 That Mass' Jack, he won't let no hahm come 
 to him." 
 
 " I pray heaven," Aunt Lorena whispered 
 to me when they had passed, " that good old 
 Martha will outlive mother, for I have no idea 
 how we should manage without her." 
 
 We stole softly into the house and up a little 
 flight of stairs, and then down the corridor to 
 grandmother's door. We could hear Martha 
 still crooning to her as if she were a fright- 
 ened child, and then, little by little, grand- 
 mother ceased weeping. 
 
 " Come," whispered Aunt Lorena, and we 
 
86 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 stole away to my room. She saw me back into 
 my bed, and kissed me good night — not 
 warmly, the way Mother McBirney used, but 
 gently and kindly. I like her better for not 
 pretending to what she does not feel. She will 
 grow fonder of me if I deserve it. 
 
 " We'll say nothing about this to your Uncle 
 David," she cautioned me. " It makes him 
 wretched for days when he learns that his 
 mother has been * wandering.' " 
 
 " She'll not be ill as a result of this?" 
 
 "Probably not — only a little distrait and 
 quiet." 
 
 I was left alone again in my fragrant room, 
 and still I could not sleep for thinking of how 
 my life had changed, and how curious were 
 these people I had come among. I saw the 
 stars moving along in their courses, and light 
 beginning to break in the east. And then, just 
 to show how inconsistent I could be, I fell 
 asleep. 
 
 I slept till noon. Think of it — me, the 
 Early Riser! 
 
 Perhaps I wouldn't have awakened then if 
 Semmy hadn't come in with chocolate and rolls 
 and an omelet. 
 
M ALLOWS AN KS 87 
 
 " Ole Miss is wanting you, Miss," she said. 
 
 So I ate quickly and dressed in my dark blue 
 frock with the crocheted lace collar and cuffs 
 and was taken to her. She was in her bedroom 
 still, or rather in her sitting room, for her 
 bedroom is a stately alcove raised two or three 
 feet above her sitting room. To-day she was 
 all in purple, with studs of amethysts in her 
 white lace chemisette and at the fastenings of 
 her long lace sleeves. It was very difficult to 
 imagine that this was the same little broken 
 creature I had heard weeping aloud the night 
 before, and being comforted like a baby. 
 
 " My dear," she said when I went in, " I 
 hear that you did not rest well last night." 
 
 " Not very well, thank you, madam grand- 
 mother," I said dropping her a curtsy as Aunt 
 Lorena had told me to do. 
 
 " Being in a new place no doubt disturbed 
 you," said my grandmother. " You did well to 
 refresh yourself with sleep this morning. At 
 your age, my dear, I seldom arose before noon, 
 but that was because of the many gayeties in 
 which I participated — a ball or a rout almost 
 every night, and gentlemen riding out in the 
 afternoon to call. The times are not so bril- 
 
 ^ 
 
88 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 liant now, I regret to say. However, a few of 
 the old families remain to keep alive the ele- 
 gant traditions of my time, and I have called 
 you here, Azalea, to say that I wish you to be 
 presented to my friends." 
 
 I curtsied again. Her queer quaint way of 
 talking made me feel that nothing save a curtsy 
 would suit the occasion. 
 
 "Thank you, madam grandmother; I shall 
 be honored." 
 
 My grandmother put up her lorgnette. 
 
 "Azalea!" she said sharply. 
 
 " Yes, grandmother." 
 
 "Your manners are admirable." 
 
 " Thank you, dear grandmother. I dare say 
 they are — are inherited." 
 
 My grandmother smiled and traced her left 
 eyebrow with her jeweled fingers. 
 
 " You may sit down near me," she said. " I 
 want to talk to you about your coming-out 
 party." 
 
 So then she told me something about her 
 friends; who had done this and who that, and 
 every one she mentioned was at least sixty 
 years of age and some, as nearly as I could 
 reckon, were eighty or over. So at last I said : 
 
MALLOWBANKS 89 
 
 " And may I also be permitted to invite 
 some of my own friends, dear grandmother? 
 Carin Carson who is now in the North at col- 
 lege, and Annie Laurie Pace, who lives at Lee, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Rowantree of Rowantree 
 Hall, and their brother, Keefe O'Connor who 
 is at the Academy of Design in New York? 
 And of course the McBirneys and the Sum- 
 mers, and — and some others." 
 
 I couldn't help thinking how I would like 
 to have Haystack Thompson play at my party, 
 and how horrified grandmother would be if 
 she knew my thought and what Haystack is 
 like. 
 
 " Are you sure," said my grandmother, 
 " that these friends of yours would find con- 
 genial surroundings at ?viallowbanks, my dear 
 Azalea? There is such a thing as propriety to 
 be considered." 
 
 "Would it be proper for me to neglect the 
 friends who were faithful to me for years and 
 years?" I asked. " I was an orphan and poor 
 as a beggar, and they took me in to sit beside 
 their hearths. They gave me the best they had; 
 hospitality and love and learning. If I know 
 anything at all, it is owing to them." 
 
90 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 '' My dear," said my grandmother, " you 
 speak poetically." 
 
 " I speak the truth." 
 
 " You have a loyal heart." 
 
 '' Yes, madam grandmother, I admit it. 
 When I once love, I can never forget." 
 
 " How^ do you know? You are only a child." 
 
 " I shall be like you," I declared boldly. " I 
 wish to be like you and never to forget! " 
 
 She looked at me sideways. Then she tilted 
 her delicate chin and faced me straight. 
 
 " Azalea — last night — did you know? Did 
 you see? " 
 
 " I saw, grandmother dear. Forgive me." 
 
 ''Ah, Azalea, your father was my dearest! 
 They almost killed me when they came between 
 him and me. He was wayward, I know, but 
 he didn't have the same ideas of goodness and 
 badness that others have. I always loved him. 
 I love him still." 
 
 " It is beautiful of you, madam grandmother. 
 I hope to be just like that." 
 
 " Very well, Azalea. You shall have your 
 friends to your party if they will come. You 
 shall ask the humblest if you choose." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you, grandmother; you 
 
MALLOWBANKS " 91 
 
 will be proud to know them. The humblest 
 of them are very sweet, but some, I assure you, 
 are not humble at all. They are accomplished 
 enough to win even your approval." 
 
 " No doubt they are charming, my dear 
 granddaughter. But you must remember that 
 you have now come into an important position. 
 Much will be expected of you. You will prob- 
 ably wed a Ravanel. Many of the women of 
 my family did. My son David did also, as 
 you know. It is a custom with us I may say. 
 Yes, a Ravanel or a Grevy." 
 
 " But, dearest grandmother, I must marry the 
 person I love. What will his last name have 
 to do with it? " 
 
 " Everything, my dear child. Kindly fetch 
 me yonder book." 
 
 " Yonder book," Carin, was very much done 
 up in an embroidered cover and was lying on 
 grandmother's far cabinet. I wish you could 
 see her cabinet of fans. Some are quite his- 
 toric and all are exquisite. 
 
 I brought the book and it proved to be a 
 genealogy of the Bryce family. (Bryce was 
 grandmother's maiden name.) We studied 
 this for at least an hour, and then grandmother 
 
92 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 called Martha to carry it to my room that I 
 might have it at hand to consult whenever I 
 wished. 
 
 " You will see," she said, " that the Bryce 
 ladies have married Ravanels, Grevys or 
 Knoxes from time immemorial. You are a 
 Knox. You will marry a Bryce, a Ravanel or 
 a Grevy." 
 
 I tried not to laugh, but to save my life I 
 couldn't help it. 
 
 '' Perhaps none of them will approve of me. 
 Remember, madam grandmother, I am only a 
 homespun mountain maid." 
 
 " Ah, but we will transform you into a shin- 
 ing princess," cried my grandmother excitedly. 
 " I already have had that matter in mind." 
 
 Then she clapped her jeweled old hands 
 together as hard as she could, and when Martha 
 came running, gasping: " Yessum, ole Miss, 
 yessum, ole Miss," grandmother said, like a 
 potentate in the Arabian Nights: 
 
 " Have the chests brought." 
 
 Then I remembered what Aunt Lorena had 
 told me about the chests in which grandmother 
 kept her old treasures. So I was to see these 
 darling old brocades and crepes and embroid- 
 
MALLOWBANKS 93 
 
 eries! Aunt Lorena thought it would be a 
 dreadful thing to have to dress in them, but I 
 was wild to do it. It seemed a part of all the 
 strange play that my life had become. 
 
 So presently tw^o of the men servants came 
 staggering in under the weight of a great chest, 
 and when they had set that down they went 
 back for another, and then for another yet. 
 
 I wouldn't have the chests opened till I had 
 looked all over the outside of them. One was 
 covered with carmine leather all tooled with 
 gilt, and it had a great clasp with cupids on it. 
 Another was of dark carved wood, very heavy, 
 and lined with sandalwood that filled the whole 
 room with an old, dry perfume when it was 
 opened. The other was a sea chest with a 
 sailor's name carved on it. 
 
 " ' Samuel Bings,' " said I. " What a funny 
 name." 
 
 My grandmother frowned. 
 
 " I see nothing funny about it," she said. 
 " Samuel Bings was a very distinguished and 
 unfortunate man." 
 
 " Oh, I should love to hear his story some 
 time," I said contritely. 
 
 " You shall," said my grandmother relenting, 
 
94 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " and when I have told it to you, you will be 
 proud that the name of Bings appeared among 
 your ancestry." 
 
 Well, then, Carin, my little squirrel, we came 
 to the opening of the chests. How shall I 
 ever describe to you what was in them? I 
 couldn't — not in one letter nor three. 
 
 Shawls and dolmans, and great flounced 
 skirts and lace petticoats and silken nubias, and 
 beaded fascinators, and real lace and fans and 
 slippers and silken stockings, and flowing 
 undersleeves, and old gloves and hats and 
 feathers, and embroidered lingerie and lace 
 handkerchiefs and — Oh, mercy, Carin, every- 
 thing a belle of long ago would wear. And a 
 belle of to-day throw away. But, no, I must 
 not be disrespectful to old lace and brocade, 
 nor to China crepe and Irish poplin. 
 
 I tried on the old frocks and strutted and 
 pranced around in them, and put on the queer, 
 short gloves which were as freckled with 
 mildew as Jim's face. Of course I don't mean 
 that Jim is mildewed. Only that he is 
 freckled. 
 
 I wore the shawls, and dropped preposterous 
 curtsies in the flounced skirts, and I coquetted 
 
MALLOWBANKS 95 
 
 with my own venerable grandmother behind 
 the cracked old fans, and did the plumes up 
 in my hair. 
 
 " My dear," said my grandmother at length, 
 " you must have these interesting fabrics made 
 over for you. Some slight alteration will be 
 necessary I suppose, but on the whole they 
 become you immensely. You look completely 
 a Bryce in them." 
 
 Just then Aunt Lorena came in. When she 
 saw the litter in that room and myself in a 
 flowered silk seven yards around the bottom of 
 the skirt, and eighteen inches around the waist 
 — I was almost smothered by this time — she 
 dropped in a chair and turned white. 
 
 " At last! " she gasped. 
 
 " Yes, Lorena," said my grandmother with 
 great dignity. " At last I have found someone 
 who appreciates these rare things. They were 
 offered to you as the wife of my only living 
 son. You rejected them. You preferred to 
 wear inferior fabrics and passing styles. But 
 the styles in which these exquisite fabrics are 
 made up, are historic, Lorena, historic. This 
 however, is a point which you do not seem to 
 appreciate. I therefore pass them on to mv 
 
96 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 granddaughter — the daughter of my second 
 son. You will see that they are adapted to her 
 needs, tightened perhaps — " 
 
 " No, no, dear grandmother," I cried strug- 
 gling with the hook of that terrible dress, that 
 held me as if it were made of steel, " not tight- 
 ened- Don't say tightened! I am suffocating!" 
 
 Aunt Lorena came to my rescue and between 
 us we got that band undone and I was able 
 to draw a long breath. 
 
 " In my day," said my little grandmother, 
 " girls were more delicate than they are now. 
 I grieve, Lorena, to discover that Azalea's foot 
 is far too substantial for these slippers." 
 
 She looked regretfully at some yellowed 
 satin slippers with tarnished sequins on them. 
 Aunt Lorena and I looked down at my good 
 sizable feet — they have done a powerful lot 
 of mountain climbing, as you know — and we 
 both laughed. 
 
 " Come," said Aunt Lorena, " we must for- 
 get dressmaking for the day and go for a drive. 
 You too, mother. Won't you come in the 
 motor just this once? " 
 
 " You know very well that I will not, Lorena. 
 My pony cart will do for me. Have young 
 
MALLOWBANKS 97 
 
 James walk at the pony's head to-day, please. 
 Old James ruined my last drive by the way he 
 groaned with the rheumatism." 
 
 So all the finery was carted off to a big empty 
 room where, as Aunt Lorena explained to 
 grandmother, we would be able to look it 
 over better, and I was told to dress warmly, 
 and so got into the nice thick coat Mother 
 McBirney had made for me, and put on my 
 mole-skin cap, and my veil and gloves — for 
 Aunt Lorena is terribly fussy about having 
 people well wrapped when they go motoring 
 — and uncle and auntie and I wxnt off. 
 
 We were gone for an hour or two and saw 
 many beautiful old estates, but none that I 
 liked better than our own. 
 
 " Mother is being drawn about the garden 
 in the pony cart," Aunt Lorena told me. " It 
 is curious, but she never was a horsewoman. 
 Even as a girl she was rather timid with horses, 
 and now she is very much afraid of them. As 
 for an automobile, it fills her with terror. So 
 it seems best to let her do the thing she enjoys, 
 which is riding about the garden and scolding 
 the gardeners." 
 
 "My dear!" said Uncle David. 
 
98 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Aunt Lorena lifted her eyebrows. 
 
 " I'm sure I didn't mean to say anything dis- 
 respectful," she said. " I was only describing 
 things as they are." 
 
 That her description was quite right, we 
 were soon to see. Grandmother was still going 
 about the garden when we got home, and it 
 was plain that she had " everybody by the 
 ears." Young James was almost in tears, the 
 head gardener was sulky, the boys who helped 
 him were laughing, and every one was or pre- 
 tended to be quite frightened. 
 
 "Young James," said my aunt, "you have 
 kept Madam Knox out too long." 
 
 " Yessum, I know it, mum. I wanted her to 
 go in, mum, but she wouldn't, mum." 
 
 "Oh, mum, mum, mum!" snapped grand- 
 mother, quivering with fatigue. " Who ever 
 heard such talk? Mum, mum, mum!" 
 
 Uncle David said nothing. He got out of 
 the motor and gathered his little silver-headed 
 mother up in his arms and carried her into the 
 house as if she were a baby. She put her two 
 arms around his neck and held on tight, and I 
 saw him kiss her very tenderly when he put 
 her down and called Martha to her. 
 
MALLOWBANKS 99 
 
 " Mum, mum," she began saying again, but 
 Uncle David said: "Stop th'at, mother, 
 please," and she did. 
 
 So, Carin, this is the life at Mallowbanks. 
 
 IVIy party is to be Thanksgiving Day. Say, 
 Oh, say that you can come! To have you here, 
 to have you see all I am so stupidly telling you 
 about, to get off in my own room with you 
 and laugh and talk as we used, would, perhaps, 
 make this life seem real to me. Now, I confess, 
 it seems like a dream. 
 
 You keep writing about that young South- 
 erner. You say he is leaving the North and 
 going home. He lives in Charleston? Is his 
 name Bryce or Ravanel or Grevy? If so, I've 
 got to marry him! 
 
 Aunt Lorena said, however, that the only 
 unmarried Ravanel was at least seventy and 
 deaf as an adder, and that she wouldn't, if she 
 were in my place, be so hackneyed as to marry 
 a Grevy. As for the Bryces, they are my very 
 own kin and out of the question. So you can 
 imagine my distress! Tut, tut, no bridegroom. 
 And me in long dresses with my hair up. How 
 long must I wait? 
 
 As long, perhaps, as my coming-out party. 
 
100 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 But it can't be any sweeter than the birthday 
 party Ma McBirney gave me when we danced 
 till the moon came up — and after. 
 Carin, you must come! 
 
 Fondly, 
 
 Azalea. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 MY BALL 
 
 Mallowbanks, November thirtieth. 
 Bad, dear, bad Carin: 
 
 You didn't come to my party! Oh, wretched, 
 false friend, best and most cherished, why did 
 you not come? Can it be that a mere desire 
 to have higher marks than anyone else in school 
 caused you to desert me in my hour of triumph? 
 It was that, I know. You are trying to get 
 that old Phi Beta Kappa key — which you'll 
 not wear after you do get it. I call it intel- 
 lectual pride, I do indeed. 
 
 Keefe couldn't come either. He had an 
 order to do a portrait for some Great Lady. 
 So he wouldn't even think of coming. He 
 said he was in the Right Mood for Work, and 
 he expected me to tremble before those awful 
 words, just as you expected me to tremble 
 before your Phi Beta Kappa record. You two, 
 doing your duty with all your might and 
 
 101 
 
102 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 leaving me alone in my frivolity! I call it 
 shabby of you. 
 
 Well, anyway, Annie Laurie came and Bar- 
 bara Summers with her. Barbara put little 
 Jonathan in the care of Aunt Zillah Pace, and 
 she kept saying that she felt perfectly all 
 right about him, though one could see that 
 she didn't. It was the first time she ever had 
 left him overnight, and so it was natural for 
 her to feel nervous. Though, as you know, 
 Jonathan is going to insist on being taken care 
 of, and if there is anything he wants he is going 
 to have it. He is such a dear that no one can 
 refuse him anything, as I know to my cost! 
 The treasures of mine that child has broken! 
 
 Yes, those two came, and I leave you to 
 imagine how happy it made me. There was 
 my little brown Barbara with her sweet voice 
 and her shy-eager eyes, all dressed so quaintly, 
 and being so desirous of pleasing everyone, 
 and yet holding to her own ideas with that 
 darling dignity of hers; and there was my big, 
 glorious Annie Laurie Pace with her red hair 
 and her definite ways, trying to be frivolous 
 with the rest of us, and looking like a pre- 
 occupied Diana all the time. I had some fears 
 
MY BALL 103 
 
 that when the folk at Mallowbanks learned 
 that what she really was preoccupied with was 
 her own dairy, that they might cast her into 
 the outer darkness where the vast company of 
 people-the-Knoxes-do-not-know drag out their 
 miserable lives. But no, the vast fields of Annie 
 Laurie — they did not lose a rod in my descrip- 
 tion of them — the cattle on a thousand hills, 
 more or less, and the well trained force of 
 helpers appealed to their imagination. They 
 regarded her as a Planter — or a Plantress. 
 She was accepted. And she w^as accepted all 
 the more because she really and truly didn't 
 care much whether she was or not. Annie 
 Laurie came to Mallowbanks for the sole pur- 
 pose of making me happy, and she certainly 
 succeeded. I put her in my room, and I slept 
 on a lounge in the dressing room. So we con- 
 trived to be together, and of course, just like 
 the girls in the song, we let down our hair 
 before the fire after the ball. 
 
 But I must come to the subject of the ball. 
 
 To begin with, Mallowbanks was full of 
 guests who had come to stay for two nights, or 
 four, or seven, as the case might be. They 
 were kin or near-kin, or old neighbors who 
 
104 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 were as dear as kin, and they all called each 
 other by their first names. All the men, or 
 nearly all, had military or judicial titles; and 
 the women were lovely and, in a way, willful 
 — because they had been much loved, I sup- 
 pose. From first to last it seemed to me like 
 one of my old dreams and nothing else. 
 
 My coming-out party was in several parts. 
 
 To begin with, there was the afternoon recep- 
 tion. Ladies, mostly, came to that, though 
 there were some men, too. This was preceded 
 by a luncheon for forty. (There were little 
 tables scattered all over the drawing-room, as 
 well as the dining room.) The next day there 
 was a ball. That was the culmination. And 
 all week there have been rides and drives and 
 dinners and breakfasts and teas. I have met 
 hundreds of people. I like them all. I love 
 none, save the people here in my own house, 
 and Annie Laurie and my little Barbara. I 
 met Ravanels and Grevys and Bryces, but one 
 and all neglected to ask my hand in marriage. 
 There was, indeed, only one I would think of 
 marrying, and. Oh, you yellow-headed little 
 Hun, I had not talked with him three minutes 
 before I knew that he was your Southerner. 
 
MY BALL 105 
 
 " I have a great many messages for you from 
 your friend Miss Carson," said he to me. 
 
 " Oh," I said right out, like the simple moun- 
 tain person I am, " are you the — " 
 
 Then, of course, I stopped and turned a 
 strange and beautiful red, something, I imagine, 
 the color of a faded American beauty rose. 
 
 " Yes," he said smiling, " I am. At least I 
 hope I am. I'm not sure." 
 
 " What, please," I said, " is your name? I 
 know all about your noble qualities, but I do 
 not know your name." 
 
 " My name," he said, " is Vance Grevy." 
 
 *'Oh!" was all I could say, thinking how 
 this was probably the particular person madam 
 grandmother had picked out for me. Of 
 course I couldn't keep back my silly self-con- 
 scious grin, and he smiled in much the same 
 way I did. 
 
 " May I present you," I said, feeling very 
 "heady," the way Paprika used to on a cold 
 morning, " to my madam grandmother? " 
 
 " Thank you," he said, " I have just had the 
 honor of talking with her. You were so sur- 
 rounded that I waited for a moment before 
 venturing to come to you." 
 
106 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 He smiled more than ever. I summoned my 
 courage. I think it was my courage. Perhaps 
 it didn't deserve so good a name. 
 
 " May I inquire what she said to you?" 
 
 " Do you really want to hear? " 
 
 " More than anything." 
 
 "And you'll not lay it up against me?" he 
 badgered. 
 
 " On my honor! " 
 
 " Then she said: ' My dear Mr. Grevy, you 
 are, I take it, the grandson of my old friend.' 
 She put up her lorgnette and looked me over. 
 'Yes, you are the living image of him! Ah, 
 your grandfather and I were good friends 
 indeed, at one time, I assure you.' ' How I 
 regret,' I said, ' that he had two generations the 
 advantage of me.' The dear little thing let me 
 kiss her hand. ' You have his turns of speech, 
 also,' she said. Then she asked: 'Have you 
 seen my granddaughter, the only child of my 
 dear Jack? ' ' I am on my way to It,' I 
 declared. ' Ah,' she said, ' we must see to it, 
 we Knoxes and Ravanels, we Bryces and 
 Grevys, that she makes no mistakes, must we 
 not? ' She looked at me again through her 
 lorgnette, appealing apparently to my chivalry. 
 
MY BALL 107 
 
 ' We are a solid phalanx,' said I, ' to see that 
 she comes to no harm.' * We understand each 
 other,' she said with satisfaction. ' Your fam- 
 ily never did need superfluous words.' " 
 
 I laughed and laughed. 
 
 " I have a friend, Mr. Rowantree," I said, 
 " who likes to tell me about the comedy of 
 manners. Isn't that what madam grand- 
 mother pla3^s all of the time? " 
 
 "Just! But isn't she exquisite? A survival 
 of a splendid old time." 
 
 " Yes. Oh, you can't think hov\^ I admire 
 and love her." 
 
 " Yes, I can. I can very easily think how 
 you do. Shall you confine yourself in your 
 associations. Miss Ivnox, to the Ravanels and 
 the Grevys? Why not cut out the Ravanels? " 
 
 " There aren't many of them left, are there? " 
 I asked more gravely. " And you — shall I 
 have many Grevy's to choose from? " ' 
 
 " There's my great aunt and my m.other and 
 my married brother and some second cousins — 
 nice girls they are, too." 
 
 " Oh, that's quite a selection. Now tell me 
 about my Carin." 
 
 But just then, of course, we Vv^ere inter- 
 
108 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 rupted, and the only other times I got a chance 
 to talk with him was when we were dancing 
 together. That was quite a number of times, 
 because I had him put down three dances for 
 you, and I acted as your substitute. 
 
 All joking aside, Carin, I saw as much of 
 him as I could because I was determined to 
 find out what he was like. He would have to 
 be so very, very fine to be worthy of you. I 
 can see, my dear, partly from what you say 
 and still more from what you do not say, that 
 this is a serious matter with you. So I dropped 
 all my nonsense and was grave with him, and 
 he was grave with me, and I liked him — Oh, 
 tremendously. He is earnest and ambitious and 
 full of the new time. He doesn't care any more 
 about family than is right and sensible, and 
 he's determined to be a fine and successful man 
 on his own account. What is more, he appre- 
 ciates you, Carin! He does! I wouldn't rest 
 till I had found out whether he did or not. 
 It is unnecessary to say what a gentleman I 
 think him; and though he is not exactly hand- 
 some, he has a manliness and a grace that is 
 even better. 
 
 Yes, my blessings are all ready for you. Just 
 
MY BALL 109 
 
 let me know whenever I am to bestow them. 
 
 Annie Laurie has a tiny, beautiful little 
 diamond on a thread of gold which she wears 
 on the little finger of her left hand. 
 
 " Annie Laurie," I said, " that ring looks as if 
 it had a history. It has a kind of a we'd-better- 
 wait-a-while-before-we-tell-our-friends look." 
 
 ''Does it, impudent one?" she laughed. 
 " Well, then it looks to be just what it is. Sam 
 gave it to me." 
 
 "Good Sam Disbrow," I said. "He'll be 
 a fine person to live with — not ashamed in the 
 wrong place nor proud at the wrong time, nor 
 too selfish nor too unselfish — just sensible and 
 reliable and honest straight through." 
 
 " He and I understand each other," said 
 Annie Laurie softly, " perfectly." 
 
 "Of course you do. Why shouldn't you? 
 Haven't you taken years and years to get 
 acquainted? Tell me, does he ever hear any- 
 thing of his adopted father, and his family? " 
 
 " Not a thing," said she. " Not one thing." 
 
 " They just ' went west.' " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you any other news? " 
 
 Annie Laurie burst out laughing. 
 
no AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 "Haven't I, just?" 
 
 " About whom, then? " 
 
 " Haystack Thompson. Did you know he 
 was courting Hi Kitchell's ' ma ' ? " 
 
 '' I did. I saw him with a collar on, and no 
 violin. He had combed his hair; and she wore 
 white cotton gloves." 
 
 ''Well, we all thought it was settled. The 
 only thing that worried us was how Haystack 
 was to care for a wife when he got one. He 
 has always been more or less like Tommy 
 Tucker, singing for his supper — or rather, 
 playing on Betsy, his violin. But for a time 
 the violin had to stay in the background, which 
 made some of us feel rather sad. We hardly 
 liked to have Haystack settle down like other 
 folks and be domestic and regular. But we 
 needn't have worried." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "No. Little Mrs. Kitchell got a new gray 
 Henrietta, and a gray velvet hat with a real 
 plume, and made herself twelve new of every- 
 thing, aprons included, and there was general 
 excitement. The ladies about town began to 
 give her presents and to insist that they should 
 all be invited to the wedding, and to ask when 
 
MY BALL 111 
 
 it was to be. But Mrs. Kitchell didn't quite 
 know. ' Very soon,' she said. ' In a week or 
 two.' She said that for quite a while. Then 
 one morning, Haystack disappeared." 
 
 "Oh, Annie Laurie!" 
 
 "Yes, he did. Just disappeared. He took 
 Betsy the violin, and left ail his new collars 
 behind. Likewise his suit of blue diagonal that 
 he was to have been married in. That was all, 
 except a bunch of bittersweet berries tied with 
 grass, which poor little Anne Kitchell found 
 on her account book. Under it he had written 
 the word ' Good-bye.' " 
 
 " How did she take it?" 
 
 " Well, she sent for Aunt Zillah, and of 
 course Aunt Zillah hurried right over to her 
 and kept giving her dry handkerchiefs till she 
 got over the worst of it. I think Aunt Zillah 
 made the reason of his defection clear to her. 
 ' You couldn't shut Mr. Thompson up in a 
 house and keep him there any more than you 
 could a catamount,' she told her. ' He's a 
 wander man and a music man. What would 
 he be if he were to settle down and play a 
 respectable part? ' Little Anne Kitchell 
 admitted it. ' I liked him because he was so 
 
112 . AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 different from other folks,' she said. ' He 
 didn't seem to have no care nor trouble, but 
 I suppose if I'd married him, he would have 
 had.' ' Of course he would,' said Aunt Zillah. 
 ' He would have had stepchildren, and they 
 might not have liked him. And you would have 
 wanted him to be proper and regular in his 
 habits, and he would have fretted like a caged 
 hawk.' ' I reckon it's all for the best,' said 
 Anne Kitchell, and dried her tears. So no 
 more has been heard from Haystack. He's free 
 again, drinking out of springs, sleeping in the 
 woods, playing his violin to squirrels and 
 children and lovers. As for Anne Kitchell, she 
 is wearing her fine clothes and is setting her cap 
 for a heavy-set man who has just come to town 
 and set up a feed store.' " 
 
 Oh, Carin, isn't that fun? And aren't you 
 glad Haystack Thompson got off? I'd hate 
 to have civilization trap him, w^ouldn't you? 
 
 Well, well, I started to tell you about my 
 ball. It was a wonderful ball. We danced in 
 the drawing-room under the luster candelabra, 
 and we danced down the long corridor with 
 the carved panels. We women were all shin- 
 ing in beautiful garments, but I haven't any 
 
MY BALL . 113 
 
 desire to describe them to you, except that my 
 little grandmother wore a gown of cloth of 
 silver and rose point lace and all of her 
 diamonds; and I, to please her — and it almost 
 drove poor Aunt Lorena wild — chose a queer 
 old silk of hers striped like ribbon grass in 
 white and greeny-white and faded lilac and 
 mauve. Over it I draped the thinnest silken 
 lace. Then grandmother gave me a necklace 
 of darling little pearls, and I had white satin 
 slippers with little butterflies embroidered on 
 them in greeny-white and faded pink, and a 
 fan of the same colors, painted with butterfly 
 wings. 
 
 " I never saw a coming-out dress like that 
 in all my life," said Aunt Lorena. 
 
 " Lorena," said grandmother magnificently, 
 " the Knoxes can afiford to do as they please." 
 
 But for my afternoon reception, to please 
 Aunt Lorena, I wore drifting white stuff — 
 white everything — and carried Killarney 
 roses, and was just as conventional as I could 
 be. Aunt Lorena kept pointing to me and 
 saying: 
 
 " This is the way I want the child to look," 
 and at the ball grandmother said to her old 
 
114 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 friends: "Wouldn't you think she was one 
 of us all over again? Don't you like a young 
 girl to dress like that? " 
 
 Everybody agreed with Aunt Lorena, and 
 everybody agreed with grandmother. And I 
 was very happy all of the time. 
 
 No, I find I'm not going to describe the 
 ball. 
 
 Why not? 
 
 Oh, because it was vague, after all — just 
 meeting strange people and dancing with 
 strange people, and trying to think of the 
 right thing to say when people complimented 
 me — as, of course, they thought they had to 
 do — and being looked over and being told 
 I was a perfect Knox, and hearing the music 
 always, always, and feeling the dance get into 
 my toes, and knowing my cheeks were burning 
 and my eyes flaming, and wanting to put my 
 face down in the cool moss on the bench of 
 the mountain where the three tulip trees grow, 
 and drink and drink of my spring till I was 
 cooled in body and spirit. 
 
 Yes, Carin, it was like that I am not 
 ungrateful. I like this life; a part of me 
 answers to it completely. Yet, somehow, I 
 
MY BALL 115 
 
 believe it has come too late. I feel that sooner 
 or later I shall go back to the mountain and 
 stay there. I miss the red roads and the misty 
 dawns and the still, still moonlights, with me 
 answering the whippoorwill and the owl. I 
 miss Ma McBirney and the little graves under 
 the Pride of India tree. I am just Azalea 
 the mountain girl after all, I am afraid, though 
 they keep telling me how gay I am and how 
 I fit into my present life, and congratulating 
 me because I never seem to be tired. 
 
 But I was secretly very tired when at last 
 the week of festivities was over. There had 
 been a great company of us at Thanksgiving 
 dinner, and we had seen and tasted all that 
 was most splendid in the way of Mallowbanks 
 ham and Mallowbanks turkey, and Mallow- 
 banks artichokes and mince meat, and we had 
 talked and laughed and sung and danced, and 
 bowed and scraped, and shaken hands and 
 kissed, and at last it was all over. Even my 
 darling Annie Laurie and my little Barbara 
 were gone. And then I went up to my own 
 room and closed and bolted the door. 
 
 Carin, I wept and wept. I was happy, 
 but I wept. For, someway, after all, this was 
 
116 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 not my life. It was not the silver web I meant 
 to weave. It was something that was being 
 woven for me, and I was only a quite nice 
 little yellow spider sitting in the midst of it 
 and being admired without doing a single 
 bit of spinning. 
 
 It was not at all what I had planned for 
 myself. I am doing a great deal of receiving 
 and little or no giving, and it makes me 
 dissatisfied. 
 
 Of course I give some happiness to grand- 
 mother, and a new responsibility to Uncle 
 David and Aunt Lorena. But what of my 
 vocation? What of all the things I learned to 
 do with these two hands of mine? What of the 
 friendships I made with humble people and 
 needy ones? What of all the good I w^as going 
 to do in the world? 
 
 Carin, I am very happy. You mustn't think 
 anything else. But I have cried a tremendous 
 lot, and I'm going to cry when I feel like it. 
 And by and by I shall do something. It will 
 not be liked very well at Mallowbanks — at 
 least, not at first. But we have to be our true 
 selves, don't we? Don't we owe that to — well 
 I don't know just Whom or What we owe it 
 
MY BALL 117 
 
 to. But we are made so much ourselves that 
 to be anything other than ourselves is to offend 
 what Kipling calls the God of Things as 
 They Are. 
 
 Dear me, am I too serious? I, who have 
 been making an art of gayety? I can talk 
 nonsense endlessly, and I rather like to do it. 
 It excites me. I feel like a young colt when 
 it gets the bit in its teeth and whips off down 
 the road. Then, if the person I am talking 
 with, feels the same way, and the two of us 
 dare the other to see who can run away the 
 hardest — as Mr. Vance Grevy does, for 
 example — then I enjoy myself very much 
 indeed. Running away is, I can see, very 
 pleasant for a time. 
 
 But after all, I am not of a nature to run 
 very far. I can always be trusted to come 
 home and stand beside the hitching post. It's 
 my way. I'm dependable old Azalea after 
 all, and however rattle-brained I may sound, 
 you can count on me to sober down at the 
 critical moment. I'm still, Carin, right beside 
 the hitching post. 
 
 The only thing I insist on is being hitched 
 up to my own post. And I don't believe 
 
118 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Mallowbanks is it. It's a carved, historic, 
 marvelous post. But is it mine? Well, I'll not 
 think any more just now. 
 
 Father and Mother McBirney write con- 
 tented letters from Bethal Springs. People 
 have been very nice to them and they are not 
 lonely. Father is doing well and feels some 
 loosening up of his "j'ints." Mother is sewing 
 for somebody's baby. Trust her to find some- 
 one who needs her. If she was set down 
 in a desert you'd probably find her nursing 
 a sick scorpion. I'm going up to see them 
 soon. 
 
 Jim is studying his head off at Rutherford 
 Academy and has started a Young Men's 
 Christian Association there. Dear Jim! Who 
 would have thought he could have turned so 
 good? Jim who used to put little green snakes 
 in my closet! 
 
 Carin, when I see you, if I ever do, I will 
 tell you more about the ball. It was simply 
 grand. 
 
 But don't you just wish we were riding up 
 old Mount Tennyson side by side, with the 
 crickets singing in the grass, and the saddles 
 going creak-creak? 
 
MY BALL 119 
 
 Carin, I believe I'm going to cry again. 
 
 Good-bye, 
 
 Azalea 
 
 P. S. There, I told you! See that blob? 
 That was the first tear. Keefe O'Connor 
 writes me stately letters. He says he is glad 
 I have come into friends and fortune. What 
 does he mean by that? Is he going to drop 
 me? Carin, he is. He's that kind of a horrid 
 person who can't forgive one for prosperity. 
 They'll stand by you in adversity but not in 
 prosperity. I'd just as soon be cut for one as 
 the other, every bit, wouldn't you? 
 
 A. McB. No, I mean A. K. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 GETTING SETTLED 
 
 Mallowbanks, December 10th. 
 Carin, my love: 
 
 I hear you are to go home for Christmas 
 and that all of your family will be together 
 at the Shoals. I wish I could be with you, 
 but I must be here, of course, and I suppose 
 that if I were to be with you, I should be 
 longing to be at Mallowbanks. That isn't 
 because I am discontented, but only that there 
 are so many beautiful places in the world 
 where I would like to be, that I find it diffi- 
 cult to choose. 
 
 I often think what a lucky thing it is that 
 a person is born in a certain spot and is under 
 the impression that she has to stay there. If 
 we were allowed to flutter around over the 
 earth before we were born, trying to decide 
 whom we would have for parents and where 
 we would live, what a state of indecision we 
 should be in! 
 
 120 
 
GETTING SETTLED 121 
 
 But here I am, with my own grandmother, 
 in the home of my ancestors, making Christmas 
 presents, and having — Oh, astonishing fact! — • 
 all the money I want to spend on them. But 
 I'm not buying things. I mean I'm not buying 
 already-done things to any great extent. I am 
 making them. I want my loved ones to realize 
 that it is still love that I am sending them, 
 and not just a sign and token of my prosperity. 
 
 There are all the Carsons and all the 
 McBirneys and all the Summerses and all the 
 Kitchells and all the Paces and all the Rowan- 
 trees, to make things for. Of course I count 
 Keefe in with the Rowantrees, though I'm not 
 sure he would like to have me. 
 
 Speaking of Keefe, I wrote him a letter and 
 told him what I thought of him. 
 
 " Keefe," I wrote, " you are haughty. How 
 have I come to fall in your esteem? Why 
 am I^uddenly ' Miss Knox ' instead of Azalea. 
 Do you think I ought to suffer a steady average 
 of trouble, and because I have found my people 
 and my fortune, are you going to make me 
 miserable by turning against me? What harm 
 does it do the world if I am happy? " 
 
 He wrote back at once, of course. If he 
 
122 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 hadn't, I never should have written to him 
 again. Never. 
 
 He said he had no idea he had the pov^er 
 to make me unhappy. 
 
 I wrote back and asked him since when 
 had he stopped telling the truth. And I said 
 I could see he was looking around for ways 
 of discontinuing our friendship, and that at 
 first I had been rather stupid and hadn't seen 
 what he was trying to do. But now I under- 
 stood, and naturally, I would protest no more. 
 
 Then I got a letter from him which — well, 
 which changed everything. He said he had 
 not been sure but that I meant to enter upon 
 a new life altogether, and if I had, he did not 
 mean to stand in the way. He said we had 
 been thrown together by accident and that he 
 had forced his acquaintance upon you and me, 
 and that we had been endlessly kind to him, 
 but he did not mean to take advantage of that 
 kindness, but that if I wished to continue our 
 friendship upon the old basis that it would 
 make all the difference in the world to him; 
 that he had had no heart for work or life 
 since the idea had come to him that he ought 
 to let our friendship go in justice to me. 
 
GETTING SETTLED 123 
 
 Well, of course I had guessed from the 
 first that all the trouble came from some 
 absurd idea like that! 
 
 So I wrote him that my friendships did not 
 depend on the state of the money market. But 
 I didn't say, Carin, that I would rather talk 
 with him than anyone I ever met (except you, 
 sister of my heart). Perhaps he will never 
 know that. He said he would love to come 
 down and see me, but that, to be quite frank, 
 he couldn't afford it just now. 
 
 That reminded me of an old idea of mine. 
 So that night I said to grandmother: 
 
 " Don't you think, madam grandmother, that 
 you ought to have a portrait painted of your- 
 self as you are now? " 
 
 " I? " cried my grandmother. " At my age! 
 Why, my dear, I am hideous! A wrinkled, 
 Vv'hite-headed, shriveled old woman! What do 
 I want of a portrait? " 
 
 Then she arose and said as she often does: 
 
 *' Your arm, Azalea, if you please." 
 
 So I gave her my arm, guessing that she 
 was going once more to show me the portraits 
 of herself in the paneled hall. And sure 
 enough she did. 
 
124 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " This," she said, stopping before the first 
 one, " was by the greatest portrait painter in the 
 South. At the time he painted me I was 
 eighteen and already engaged to your father — 
 your grandfather, I mean. I should not like 
 to have you repeat it, but the painter fell 
 desperately in love with me, my dear — des- 
 perately. Painters always fall in love with 
 one, I fancy. That is why the picture has a 
 slightly unfinished appearance. He left before 
 he had quite completed it." 
 
 " Poor man," said L 
 
 " Ah, I dare say he recovered. These loves 
 that are founded on mere admiration amount 
 to but little. We will proceed, if you please." 
 
 I led her on to the next portrait of herself. 
 
 '' This," she said, quite as if she had not 
 told me the same things half a dozen times 
 before, '' was done by an English artist just 
 after my Jack was born. I wanted him to 
 paint it with my little David sitting at my 
 feet and my Jack in my arms, but he was not 
 in favor of it. He said he preferred to paint 
 me by myself. For one thing, he considered 
 me too small to paint with such fine large sons. 
 He said it made me look ridiculous. But I 
 
GETTING SETTLED 125 
 
 truly think, Azalea, that he did not regard me 
 as motherly enough. I know I was and am a 
 vain woman. But my vanity, my dear, is only 
 skin deep — only skin deep. It is a manner, 
 nothing more. In my time it was fashionable 
 for girls in my class to act as if they were 
 self-indulged and vain. But in reality — " she 
 paused, and stood out before me, and I saw 
 there were tears in her eyes, and her face 
 grew tender and quiet — "in reality, my 
 dear granddaughter, my motherhood was more 
 to me than anything else." 
 
 She drooped her head down among the laces 
 on her gown, and I heard her say under her 
 breath : 
 
 " I have almost died of it! '' 
 
 I put my arm around her and drew her 
 close to me — such a tiny creature as she is! 
 
 " Little madam grandmother," I v/hispered, 
 " come back to the fire, and I will make some 
 tea. Then perhaps you will tell me a story. 
 I love your stories very, very much." 
 
 She straightened up again, calling on her 
 courage and her pride. 
 
 " But there is one more portrait which I 
 wish to show you, my dear. It was done by 
 
126 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 a celebrated South American when I was just 
 turned forty — my autumnal picture, I call it. 
 Here I am, in my spring, in my summer, in 
 my autumn." 
 
 She smiled up at me suddenly. 
 
 " And now, I suppose, you wish me to round 
 out my year, and have my winter picture 
 painted? Well, I can provide the snow." She 
 touched her silver hair with her wrinkled hand. 
 
 " Dear grandmother," I said right out from 
 the heart, "you are quite right. It needs the 
 beautiful winter picture to complete the set." 
 
 We went back to the fire then and she sat 
 thinking while I made the tea. At last she 
 spoke. 
 
 •' Do you chance to know anyone who is 
 particularly well adapted to painting such a 
 portrait, Azalea? For, mind you, it will no 
 longer be the picture of a beautiful woman; 
 it will be what is far harder to paint, the 
 record of a character. For every wrinkle tells 
 its story, if only one is wise enough to read, 
 and though my eyes are old, they still have 
 their revelations to make, my dear. Who looks 
 in them can read the book of experience 
 there." 
 
GETTING SETTLED 127 
 
 " I think I know such an artist, ma'am," I 
 said. " He has painted many portraits recently 
 and has had much praise for them. His name 
 is Keefe O'Connor." 
 
 " Keefe O'Connor," she said musingly. 
 " Do you know him personally, Azalea? But 
 I think I have heard you say so." 
 
 " He is the brother of my dear Mary Cecily 
 Rowantree," I said. 
 
 " Oh, yes, the Rowantrees of Rowantree 
 Hall!" 
 
 She never forgets that the Rowantrees are 
 of Rowantree Hall. You and I love the ram- 
 shackle old place so that we forget what a 
 grand name it has. Grandmother, I suppose, 
 thinks of it as a magnificent ancestral estate. 
 What would she say if she could see that the 
 gallery, instead of being supported by pillars, 
 is held up by barked chestnut logs, and that 
 there never has been a second coat of paint on 
 the place. Ugh, how the wind can blow 
 through those unfinished rooms! I sometimes 
 think it is the most uncomfortable place I ever 
 "vv^as in. A little mountain cabin is twenty times 
 as w^arm and cosy in the winter time. 
 
 I would have liked to have told grandmother 
 
128 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 all this, but I knew it would be fatal ; that if I 
 did, she would just set the Rowantrees down 
 as people I ought not to know, so I said noth- 
 ing. By and by she remarked : 
 
 " Have you any idea of the prices of your 
 friend's portraits? " 
 
 Again I knew that I must mention a good 
 price to make her respect him, so I said: 
 
 " I think he would paint your portrait, 
 grandmother, for a thousand dollars. And we 
 could entertain him, I suppose? That would 
 make it so much more agreeable, wouldn't it? " 
 
 " Oh, we would entertain him, certainly," 
 said grandmother. " We have a room built 
 especially for studio purposes. I believe you 
 never have seen it. It is in the west wing, and 
 faces north. There is a bedroom attached. It 
 always has been the custom of the Knoxes 
 to have their portraits painted in the house and 
 by someone wnth whom they were in daily 
 
 r 
 
 association. Such intercourse assists in the 
 understanding so necessary to the production 
 of a good likeness." 
 
 So I asked her if I had her permission to 
 write to Keefe, and she said yes. I have 
 written him. 
 
GETTING SETTLED 129 
 
 No more for the present, Carln. 
 
 By the way, was I rather down-in-the-mouth 
 in my last letter? Please forget about it. I 
 suppose it was only a spell of homesickness. 
 Seeing so many strangers and being expected 
 to like them all, and to act as if I always 
 had known them, rather upset me. 
 
 But as I said, no more at present. 
 
 I do wish you could see the room I call my 
 Christmas room. It used to be a sort of morn- 
 ing room, but no one sits in it any more, so I 
 have a work table in there, and my sewing 
 machine and embroidery frame and my pyrog- 
 raphy outfit, and my photographic stufi, and I 
 am working early and late. Of course I inter- 
 rupt myself to do whatever Aunt Lorena or 
 grandmother w^ish me to. And people call, 
 and I return calls, and there are little parties. 
 But I like best to be working. Outside the 
 window are honey locust trees, and they are 
 very lovely even when stripped of their leaves. 
 In the distance, on a hill, is a group of dark 
 hemlock, and now that the sky is gray, they 
 look particularly solemn. I have a fireplace 
 in my Christmas room, and young James keeps 
 it so that I need never be without a blazing 
 
130 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 hearth. My wood box is simply heaped. There 
 are apples on my table, and a funny old writ- 
 ing desk stands in the corner. It is a terribly 
 messed up room, and I love it. Not that I'm 
 really disorderly. You wouldn't say I w^as dis- 
 orderly, would you, Carin? Come, nowM No, 
 I believe I like it because I have made it 
 myself. I have in it w^hat I can use. I am 
 living in it. In the other rooms I only look 
 on; and that, emphatically, is not living. 
 No more for the present! I mean it! 
 
 Azalea 
 
 *A A A A A .'V. -"V- 
 
 "9^ vft 'SfZ Vft TfC Tfe "^TT 
 
 Glidden Siding, December 24th. 
 
 Merry, merry Christmas, dear Carin. Dear 
 old friend, such a merry Christmas to you! 
 
 I am sitting here in the station, having come 
 from Bethal Springs on the queerest little train 
 ever you saw, and I am waiting for the train 
 that is to take me home. It is cold, and I 
 think it is going to rain. Seeing that I do not 
 expect to reach home till after dark, this 
 sounds a bit dismal. Semmy is with me. I 
 wrote you about Greenville Female Seminary 
 Simms, didn't I? I wanted to travel alone, 
 
GETTING SETTLED 131 
 
 of course, but neither Aunt Lorena nor grand- 
 mother would hear of it. 
 
 I have just asked Semmy where she got her 
 name, and she tells me that her mother was a 
 " pore misfortunate so't of a woman who nevah 
 did git on in de worl' nohow. An' jes' befo' 
 Ah was bo'n, she went fo' to wuk in de Green- 
 ville Female Sem'nary. An' theah dey was 
 dat good to heh, dat she neveh did see! Yas- 
 sum, dey jes' cheered heh along and heartened 
 heh up, an' nussed heh, and when de baby 
 come — that was me — dey gave heh a whole 
 set of clo's. An' ma she jes' had a change of 
 heart. Yassum. She jes' made up heh mind 
 dat she wa'n't goin' to be downcas' no moah. 
 She might 'a' been misfortunate, but dat didn't 
 keep de worl' f'om havin' any numbah o' 
 good, kind folk in it. No'um. So she named 
 heh baby fo' the Sem'nary, she did, sho' 
 'nough, and she was glad of it to de las' day 
 of heh life. And Ah was glad of it too. 
 Greenville Female Sem'nary Simms shore am 
 a fine name." 
 
 ******** 
 Well, Fve been down to see Father and 
 
132 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Mother McBirney. I couldn't let Christmas 
 go by without visiting them, could I, Carin? 
 I went down on the twentieth, and had three 
 whole days with them, and a Christmas cele- 
 bration of the happiest sort 
 
 The two dears were down to meet me at 
 the train, and they took me up to their little 
 cottage, which is in the pine woods, with a 
 very pleasant vista which shows them the river 
 and the river road, and though they are far 
 enough from the road to be quiet, they can 
 see the people coming and going. Mother 
 wheels Father to the springs twice every day, 
 and that gives them little excursions and helps 
 to pass the time. Father McBirney says the 
 waters are benefiting him, so that he has 
 hardly any pain at all now. I can see for 
 myself that the swelling is going down in his 
 joints. The only thing is he can not walk 
 steadily yet, and then only a short distance. 
 
 Oh, Carin, maybe it wasn't fun to go to 
 them with a big trunkful of things they 
 needed! I had a suit for Father McBirney, 
 and a suit for Jim, and a fine Scotch wool 
 dress for dear Mother, and a knitted jacket for 
 her for common, and a fine soft black coat for 
 
GETTING SETTLED 133 
 
 best, and gloves and stockings and warm under- 
 wear, and pretty curtains for the windows, 
 and a turkey which Aunt Lorena sent, and a 
 barrel of flour and one of apples from Uncle 
 David, and some foot warmers and a coffee 
 percolator from grandmother, and various 
 small things too numerous to mention from 
 all of us. 
 
 Then along in the afternoon of the day that 
 I got there, Jim came over from Rutherford 
 College, and so we four were all together 
 again. Yes, Carin dear, there we sat in the 
 little strange room and looked at each other, 
 and thought of all we had gone through 
 together, and how we loved each other, and 
 yet — 
 
 And yet, we knew, each and every one of 
 us, that my path and theirs had begun to part. 
 Yes, we knew it. They felt a little differently 
 toward me, and I felt a little differently toward 
 them. But that didn't keep me from loving 
 my McBirneys. 
 
 Jim had a thousand things to tell me. He 
 has been studying terribly hard, and he has 
 made some good friends, and is full of noble, 
 loving ideas. He wants me to be a missionary 
 
134 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 to foreign lands, and I'm afraid I hurt Mother 
 McBirney's feelings a little when I laughed 
 at him. 
 
 " Do I look like a missionary, Jim? " I asked 
 him. But he insisted on being serious. 
 
 " If you have the heart of a missionary," 
 he said, " that will be all that is necessary. 
 Your looks don't matter a particle, Zalie." 
 
 The way he said it, you would have thought 
 I was something frightful to look at, but that 
 it might be lived down. 
 
 " I want very much to help my neighbors 
 along," I said, " and to be helped by them, I 
 hope, but to go to a foreign country and set 
 up my ideas against theirs doesn't appeal to me 
 personally. You'll have to excuse me, Jim." 
 
 After a little while he got off his religious 
 themes and w^as just good old jolly Jim, and 
 then we had a fine time. For I confess that I 
 felt a little strange with him when he talked 
 religion. We made candy together — nut 
 candy — and we popped corn, and got the 
 supper, and played chess, and had prayers and 
 went to bed. And the next two days were like 
 unto this day. 
 
 Only, of course, we had our Christmas feast. 
 
GETTING SETTLED 135 
 
 They insisted on cooking the turkey and all 
 the other good things while I was there, so 
 that took a good deal of work, as you may 
 imagine. But it was great fun, too. The 
 little cottage reeked with delicious odors, and 
 it was charming to see with its new curtains 
 and the walls all trimmed with bittersweet 
 and holly, and the pine knots burning in the 
 fireplace. 
 
 Then, this morning, Semmy and I left. 
 
 " Don't forget us, Zalie, don't forget us," 
 dear Ma McBirney said when I kissed her 
 good-bye. 
 
 " Never while life lasts, dear," I told her. 
 " Never while I have any brain to remember 
 with." 
 
 " I'm grateful to you, Zalie," Pa told me, 
 shaking my hand till it ached. " You've given 
 me comfort and peace, girl, and there ain't a 
 day or a night I don't thank you." 
 
 " Pa," said I, " it's hard getting even with 
 you and Ma, but I'm going to do it if I can." 
 
 Jim took me down to the station and told 
 me he hoped to be a credit to me, and that he 
 never forgot that he owed his education to 
 me, and he hoped I wouldn't become worldly. 
 
136 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 "Jim, you old silly," I said to him, "I'm 
 just as worldly as I can be. I simply love 
 the old world." 
 
 " That, Zalie, is not what I mean, and you 
 know it." 
 
 " Don't lecture me, Jim," I warned him, 
 " or it will make me more and more frivolous. 
 Just leave me alone and I'll work out my own 
 salvation." 
 
 But he said he would pray for me. He 
 looked so dignified that I didn't dare remind 
 him of those little green snakes he used to put 
 in my closet. There's no doubt about it; Jim 
 is getting ministerial already. Growing up is 
 a queer thing, isn't it, Carin? Little freckled 
 Jim trying to make a foreign missionary 
 out of me! 
 
 To-morrow we shall have a great celebra- 
 tion at Mallowbanks. There are to be some 
 " kin " present, of course, and we are to have 
 a tree and a great dinner and in the evening a 
 sing around the fire. I am to sing for them, 
 alone, at grandmother's request, and I have 
 been rehearsing. I wish I had a voice like 
 Annie Laurie, rich and full like a robin, or a 
 thrush-like voice such as your mother has. I 
 
GETTING SETTLED 137 
 
 don't think much of my voice, and I wish 
 they wouldn't ask me to sing. But I'll do 
 my best, and I have some lovely songs. Aunt 
 Lorena plays my accompaniments. 
 
 There, I hear the train coming! 
 
 How good it will be to get out of this 
 stufify little station. The light is so dim I can 
 hardly see. But why should I fret? In two 
 hours I shall be in Mallowbanks, my own 
 home. My own! And I know now, Carin, 
 that it will be a pretty fine thing to go up to 
 my own room and feel that I possess it, and 
 to sit at supper with my own people. Yes, 
 Carin, I realize it more to-night than ever 
 before. 
 
 And, dear me, I shan't get in bed till after 
 midnight, I know, with so many Christmas 
 presents to do up and label and all. I'm tying 
 everything with corn-colored ribbon and it 
 looks very pretty. The little presentation cards 
 have daffodils on them. Don't you like dainty 
 things like that? 
 
 " It is all very silly," said Preacher Jim to 
 me. " This money should have gone to the 
 poor." 
 
 " Jim," said I, " it is going to the poor. For 
 
138 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 everybody in the world is poor. Everybody 
 needs help. Some need money, but more need 
 love, and all this silliness is just a girl's way 
 of showing love." 
 
 " Humph! " said Jim. 
 
 Isn't he funny, Carin? Who would have 
 dreamed he would be so solemn? 
 
 I do hope you'll like what I've sent you; 
 and I'm wild to get home and find your 
 package for me. 
 
 And Oh, Oh, if there isn't one, what an 
 Indignant Person I shall be! But there will 
 be, for when have you or your darling parents 
 forgotten me? 
 
 A thousand Christmas greetings to you all. 
 There is no joy I do not wish you. Salute your 
 hearthstone for me. 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE PORTRAIT 
 
 Mallowbanks, January fifth. 
 Carin, my own one: 
 
 Mallowbanks is entertaining an artist — a 
 painter of portraits. His name is Keefe 
 O'Connor; his residence is New York. He 
 was wired for imperatively by Madam Knox 
 who offered him more for the painting of her 
 portrait than he had previously received for 
 any such commission. Telegrams were 
 exchanged. The artist, it appeared, was much 
 engaged. Madam Knox wished more than 
 ever to secure him. She increased her offer. 
 He came — he is here in "the artist's suite." 
 Madam Knox sits to him in gray velvet and 
 pearls. Her hair is as white as the drifted 
 snow; her eyebrows are dark and pointed, her 
 little mouth looks secret and proud, her aristo- 
 cratic nose is a straight line, her old, beautiful 
 eyes are full of vanity and wisdom, sternness 
 
 139 
 
140 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 and kindness, memories and hopes. She is 
 very wrinkled and very beautiful. The 
 portrait painter appears to be in raptures, 
 and he works early and late and is growing 
 hollow-eyed. My own conviction is that he 
 does not eat enough nor sleep very well. 
 Semmy seems to think he has a secret sorrow. 
 
 "Miss Zalie," said she to me — she learned 
 to call me Zalie from the McBirneys — "that 
 theah painter man has somethin' gnawin' him, 
 suah." 
 
 The painter man avoids me. When I come 
 near, he goes — as soon as politeness permits. 
 I retire to my room and read his assurances 
 of friendship ; I remember my own, and wonder 
 if my imagination is not running away with 
 me. But no — he avoids me. The other day, 
 however, we were left together at the breakfast 
 table and conversation became absolutely neces- 
 sary. What he said was: 
 
 " How changed you are, Miss Azalea." 
 
 " And you don't like the change, Mr. — 
 Keefe?" 
 
 " My liking or disliking it has nothing to do 
 with the case," he answered gloomily. " I 
 repeat, you are changed." 
 
THE PORTRAIT 141 
 
 " Yes," I admitted. " I have changed a 
 number of times in the course of my life, but 
 so, I suppose, have others." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Should you say I had changed for the 
 worse or the better? " 
 
 " It is not a question of better or worse. 
 You wrote me that you were the same old 
 Azalea, but I do not find you so. Why, how 
 meek you used to be! " 
 
 "Meek! I never was! I wouldn't be! 
 Meek!" 
 
 '' When I think of you teaching those 
 mountain children so lovingly, going around 
 in your little pink sunbonnet, chatting by the 
 hour with Mrs. Medicine Bottle — what was 
 her name? — and look at you as you are now, 
 and hear you talk as you do now — " 
 
 " Oh, very well," I said. " I will withdraw 
 my presence and my voice." 
 
 So I did. I ran up to my room, and I found 
 that pink gingham I used to wear up at Sunset 
 Gap, and the funny little sunbonnet you used 
 to think too becoming for a school-teacher. 
 I put on the pink dress, though it was halfway 
 up to my knees; I let my hair down my back 
 
142 AZALEA'S SILVEPv WEB 
 
 in braids, and pulled the sunbonnet over it. 
 Then I waited till I knew grandmother was 
 sitting for her painter and I got Semmy to 
 go down and knock on the door and call Mr. 
 Painter out for a minute. 
 
 In that minute I ran in, kissed madam 
 grandmother and bribed her to get behind a 
 screen, and when our portrait painter returned, 
 I was on the dais looking as demure as a kitten. 
 
 He came in looking at a letter Semmy had 
 given him, and said: 
 
 " Will you pardon me, ma'am, for one 
 moment? " He glanced through his letter. 
 Then he bowed, and took up his brushes again. 
 That was when he saw me. He gave a sort 
 of a gasp and broke into the good old, beauti- 
 ful smile we used to see on him up at Sunset 
 Gap. 
 
 " Azalea! " he cried. 
 
 Then he frowned. 
 
 " I do not like to paint a person In mas- 
 querade," he said. 
 
 " But this," I said, " Is a return to type." 
 
 He still frowned. 
 
 ''Perhaps you don't like the type?" 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
THE PORTRAIT 143 
 
 " Are we keeping Madam Knox waiting? " 
 he asked. 
 
 I dropped a curtsy and found grandmother 
 behind the screen. She too, was looking not 
 particularly well pleased. 
 
 I kissed her again and helped her up to 
 her chair. 
 
 " Grandmother," I explained, " was not a 
 party to the deception which has moved you to 
 such violent rage, Mr. O'Connor. She was 
 taken by storm; was overcome by force of 
 arms and a superior enemy. I withdraw. I 
 never did see why anybody wanted to go to 
 the Arctic regions." 
 
 I curtsied again — twice — once to grand- 
 mother and once to him. They both looked 
 sulky. I got into my riding habit, called for 
 Sally McLean, the darling little mare they 
 let me use, and went oflf for the rest of the 
 morning. At noon I found myself at the 
 house of a Ravanel — Delight Ravanel. She 
 is a spinster, quite wrinkled and rather 
 depressed, but she got her Christian name 
 when she gave promise, I suppose, of other 
 things. She asked me to stay to luncheon. I 
 did, and found her a dear. She told me stories 
 
144 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 about who married whom and why. She 
 proved to me that I was some sort of a cousin 
 of hers. It was the middle of the afternoon 
 before I started for home. 
 
 A rain had set in and the roads were very 
 muddy, so Sally McLean had a bad time of 
 it. She is such a dainty thing that mud makes 
 her miserable. Besides, she was shivering with 
 cold and nervousness, though I can't quite see 
 what made her nervous. But Sally has her 
 moods, like the rest of us. I made up my 
 mind, however, that Paprika was the last horse 
 that was ever going to throw me, and so I 
 gentled poor Sally, and made my way along 
 the road in the best spirit I could command. 
 I fell to thinking about little Paprika, and 
 Jim's Mustard, and how we used to scamper 
 down the long mountain road to school, and 
 about the times when you and Annie Laurie 
 and I used to race down the valley; and then 
 I thought over the excursion Haystack Thomp- 
 son and Miss Pace and Keefe and you and 
 I made with Paralee Panther away over the 
 nag road to the Panther's, and how we dug 
 them out of their cave, so to speak. I hear 
 from Paralee quite often, by the way. She 
 
THE PORTRAIT 145 
 
 is teaching now in the Industrial School. Yes, 
 she is really a teacher, just as she said she 
 would be. Of course that is owing to the 
 start you gave her, Carin; but I'm very proud 
 to think how she has got on. She has been 
 independent of all help for two years at least, 
 hasn't she? Perhaps she has written you about 
 her teacher's position, but I mention it, think- 
 ing she might not have ventured to write. She 
 always stood in some awe of you, you were so 
 beautiful and so far removed from her. 
 
 She reminds me, someway, of those people 
 I did not meet in the little cabin that lay 
 between Mount Tennyson and Mount Hebron 
 — the cabin, I mean, where I went in and 
 helped myself to soup and firewood, and 
 where I left the cake and sugar and things 
 in exchange. I told you Mother McBirney 
 met them afterward and learned their name. 
 Wixon, it was, by the way. Well, just for 
 fun, I sent them some Christmas presents — 
 nothing really sensible and necessary, but 
 something perfectly luxurious — a talking 
 machine with a lot of records of various kinds. 
 Also a year's subscription to a good magazine 
 which has many illustrations. I thought these 
 
146 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 things might help them to become alive. Oh, it 
 certainly is glorious to have money! 
 
 But I am still out in the rain on Sally 
 McLean's back, in a bad fit of homesickness, 
 am I not? These homesick spells do not come 
 as often as they did and they are not as bad 
 as they were, but still I have them, and while 
 they last I am miserable enough. I could feel 
 my tears trickling down my cold nose, but I 
 was having such work to keep Sally on her 
 feet that I couldn't wipe them away. I sup- 
 pose we made a pathetic pair, struggling along 
 in the sodden afternoon in that friendless, for- 
 saken way. (I'm not sure but Sally was 
 crying too. I think I heard her sniffle.) 
 
 Then, just as we were in the worst of our 
 dumps, who should appear on the landscape 
 but "a solitary horseman"! He was riding 
 Wellington, a tall, elegant looking horse 
 belonging to Uncle David, and he himself — 
 of course it was Keefe — looked tall and 
 elegant, too, though he had on a raincoat and 
 a little cap which fitted close to his head. He 
 didn't seem to mind the rain, but rode with 
 his face turned up to it as if he liked it. When 
 he saw me he stopped riding that way and 
 
THE PORTRAIT 147 
 
 tried to look as commonplace as he could. 
 
 " How do you do?" he said as if we were 
 not very well acquainted neighbors meeting by 
 chance on the road. 
 
 " Very well, thank you, Rain-in-the-Face." 
 
 "You are angry with me! You have been 
 away all day because you were angry with me." 
 
 " I fled, Rain-in-the-Face, from the Arctic 
 chilliness of Mallowbanks. I have in my time 
 lived among strangers, I have danced and 
 sung to stupid audiences, I have been hungry 
 and wet through with the rain, I have slept 
 on mouldy straw in a wretched tent, but never 
 was I so chilled as to-day." 
 
 "Azalea!" 
 
 He seemed shocked. 
 
 " Do you mean," I asked him, angry, Carin, 
 for one of the few times in my life, " that I 
 ought not to mention that I was once a poor 
 little waif, a show girl, a sad-hearted dancer? 
 Yes, I was an ill-cared for, shamed little Infant 
 Phenomenon, and I don't care who knows it. 
 And then I was poor Ma McBirney's beloved 
 child, and I took the place to her of her little 
 dead daughter; that warmed and saved me 
 and taught me love and faith, and I don't 
 
148 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 care who knows that, either. Then I was 
 Carin Carson's friend, and we worked and 
 learned together, and you saw us, and you 
 liked me as I was then. Now I'm Azalea 
 Knox of Mallowbanks, with such relatives 
 and acquaintances as Fate has given me, and 
 I'm grateful and proud of that, too. I take 
 all as it comes, Rain-in-the-Face, and I cannot 
 for the life of me understand what you are 
 sulking about." 
 
 " Am I sulking? I am unhappy. How 
 could you change so? You used not to talk 
 as you do now, nor dress as you do now. You 
 asked me to forgive you your fortune and 
 your place in the world, and I liked it and 
 laughed at it and — and forgave it. Though 
 it was hard. But still I didn't want to come 
 down here. I fought against it. I had too 
 dear a memory of you. Azalea, to want to 
 come down here in any other way than as 
 your lover, and I knew it would never be fair 
 to come that way — that your relatives would 
 object. So I found one excuse after another 
 for not coming, but your grandmother over- 
 persuaded me. And my heart out-argued me, 
 too. I had to come. I thought: 'All the 
 
THE PORTRAIT 149 
 
 world may change, but she never will. She 
 will be the same.' But you aren't — you 
 aren't!" 
 
 "Are you?" I retorted. "Do you imagine 
 for a moment, Rain-in-the-Face, that after 
 three years in New York City, making your 
 way among artists and other clever, charming 
 people, that you are the same boy who went 
 singing over Sunset Gap? You are not, at all. 
 Now you are not afraid to be rude or disagree- 
 able or masterful, but then you would not have 
 been one of those things. You were too kind." 
 
 "So you think me unkind?" 
 
 " Horribly." 
 
 " I am sorry." 
 
 " But I'm sorrier." 
 
 " What can I do to make you change your 
 mind?" 
 
 " Reform." 
 
 " If I stay here where you are, I shall say 
 something to be regretted." 
 
 " Who will regret it? " 
 
 " I. Your uncle and aunt, above all, your 
 grandmother, will look on me as an adventurer. 
 They will even accuse you of — " 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
150 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 I could see him turn scarlet. 
 
 " I can't say it." 
 
 " You must." 
 
 " Of having asked me down here knowing 
 that — that I was fond of you." 
 
 "Well, what of that? I'm not ashamed of 
 that. I don't believe that girls have to sit 
 around without making any effort to get what 
 they want in life." 
 
 Carin, you are horrified, aren't you? 
 Darlin', it just slipped out. But it was 
 the truth. 
 
 "Do you mean — " he cried, putting his 
 horse up beside Sally McLean. But I told 
 you Sally was in a mood. She didn't like 
 that way of doing things. Perhaps she thought 
 he meant to brush me off of her, or maybe 
 she imagined that it was a race. I can't say, 
 because Sally and I do not understand each 
 other very well yet. But at any rate, she was 
 off down the road, mud or no mud, and I 
 did not even try to hold her in. 
 
 I could hear Keefe thundering along behind 
 me, crying: 
 
 " Can't you hold her? Throw yourself off." 
 
 But not I. I let her go as fast as she wished. 
 
THE PORTRAIT 151 
 
 At least, until I got near home and on the 
 macadam, and then I gently drew her in. I 
 didn't know but she might be beyond all reason 
 by that time, but she wasn't, and I felt terribly 
 ashamed of having let uncle's fine mare get in 
 such a fume. 
 
 " I do hope and pray, Sally," I said, " that 
 I haven't ruined your disposition with my 
 wretched temper." 
 
 Just then it came over me that there 
 was nothing at all the matter with Sally's 
 disposition. The trouble was all with me. I 
 had been in a trembling rage all day and the 
 sensitive creature had taken it from me. I 
 was disgusted with myself. 
 
 " Little Sally," I whispered in her ear as I 
 dropped ofif her at the house door, " I'll never, 
 never act like that again." 
 
 She has wonderful eyes. I wish I had eyes 
 like that creature. She looked at me straight 
 and we kissed and made up. That is to say, 
 I made the boy hold her till I got her some 
 sugar, and I told him to rub her down well 
 and blanket her and feed her very lightly. 
 
 " She got a little excited," I said. It was 
 young James, and he looked at me curiously. 
 
152 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 I wondered if he, too, saw that I was the 
 excited one. 
 
 " Yassum," he said. " No-um, Yassum." 
 
 I thought it covered the ground. 
 
 I saw Keefe swinging around the drive just 
 then, and I ran straight up to my room. 
 
 Oh, Carin, how safe and sweet it seemed 
 there. I called Semmy and had her draw 
 my bath and help me ofi with my wet things, 
 and I told her to lay out my new flame-colored 
 silk. It is gorgeous in hue but modest in make. 
 *' For dull nights," said Aunt Lorena when she 
 gave it to me. " A country house, my dear, 
 can be particularly gloomy. I trust you to 
 brighten this one up at such times. Perhaps 
 you can do it successfully without the aid of 
 a flame-colored gown, but in case — " Well, 
 I put on the flame-colored dress; likewise the 
 slippers that went with it. No jewels. I have 
 only my little pearls, and the gold beads and 
 the amber ones. The dress would have put 
 any of those out. I did my hair low. I took 
 off my one ring. The dress, I thought, could 
 have the whole road to itself. 
 
 I was one minute late to dinner, and grand- 
 mother was watching for me. 
 
THE PORTRAIT 153 
 
 ^'Madam grandmother," I said, " will you 
 do me the honor?" I gave her my arm, and 
 we went out to the dining room. Grand- 
 mother, of course, always precedes the others. 
 
 I minded my manners and did not speak till 
 I was spoken to. 
 
 "Where were you to-day. Azalea?" asked 
 Aunt Lorena. " Not in your room, I know. 
 You should not go out, child, without letting 
 us know where you were going." 
 
 I apologized. 
 
 " I went for a little ride. Auntie, and the 
 imps took hold of my bridle and led me 
 farther than I meant. I lunched with Miss 
 Delight Ravanel. You wished, I think, to 
 have me with the Ravanels as much as 
 possible." 
 
 " It was your grandmother who recom- 
 mended the Ravanels to you particularly, I 
 think." 
 
 " I thank whoever it was. I had a beautiful 
 time. Miss Ravanel is as quaint as an old gift 
 book, and as lonely as — as a rook." 
 
 " Rooks are not lonely," said Keefe. " They 
 go together in swarms." 
 
 " Lonely rooks are lonely," I said. 
 
154 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " I hope Miss Ravanel had received the 
 apricot jam I sent her? " 
 
 " I have a note from her, aunt, to that effect. 
 She has been meaning to thank you in person. 
 She also — in the note — begs that I may 
 spend the next fortnight with her." 
 
 "Should you like to?" asked Uncle David 
 in great surprise. 
 
 " Oh, immensely." 
 
 "My dear Azalea!" cried Aunt Lorena 
 incredulously. 
 
 " Why not? You advised me to make new 
 friends. I have. She is my new friend." 
 
 " But Delight Ravanel is old enough to be 
 your mother! And she's always raging at 
 things and people. How can you possibly 
 endure her for two weeks?" 
 
 " She was very pleasant indeed to-day. Per- 
 haps she is grouchy because she is lonely." 
 
 " Azalea," gasped my grandmother, " what 
 was the word you used? Grouchy? What 
 does that mean, pray? No such word was in 
 use in my day." 
 
 Then I saw myself as I was, a very naughty 
 young person, setting all these lovely folks 
 at odds. 
 
THE PORTRAIT 155 
 
 "It means what I am to-night — cross and 
 hateful, dearest grandmother. Please, please 
 forgive me for using it. I ought never to 
 use anything but the nicest words I know in 
 your presence." 
 
 I picked up her little wrinkled hand and 
 squeezed it, and she looked at me as I love 
 to have her, with something of the love in 
 her eyes which she gave in the old days to 
 my unforgotten, wayward father. 
 
 " Aunt Lorena," I said, " she really does 
 want me to visit her. But I'll make it a week- 
 end instead of two weeks if you think best." 
 
 " We couldn't spare you for two weeks, 
 Azalea," said Uncle David kindly. " Make 
 it a week-end, do. For my part, I am glad 
 you like her. Particularly glad. She is a 
 lonely and hurt soul, is poor Delight, who 
 delights nobody." 
 
 At that, Carin, things I had heard came 
 back to me, and I knew she once had loved 
 uncle. It must be a terrible thing to love 
 someone, always, who cares nothing for you. 
 I can't think of anything worse. 
 
 " I already had made up my mind to like 
 her," I said. 
 
156 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 When we went to the drawing-room it was 
 raining so terribly, and the wind was blowing 
 so wildly, that the great room w^as unbearable. 
 
 " Let's go to the writing room," said Aunt 
 Lorena. 
 
 The writing room is a delightful little place, 
 mostly occupied by a great sofa. There is a 
 wide fireplace, too, and seats coming out from 
 it at right angles. Young James built a great 
 fire for us, and Semmy brought in some 
 marvelous nut candies she had made, and 
 Martha served the coffee there. 
 
 " No light but the firelight, please, Lorena," 
 commanded grandmother. 
 
 So we sat there by the light of the fire and 
 listened to the storm. Uncle and auntie were 
 together on one of the cushioned benches 
 beside the fire; grandmother was on the huge 
 lounge, wrapped in her camel's hair shawl 
 and heaped about with pillows; I sat down on 
 the other bench beside the fire. Keefe looked 
 at me a moment as if undecided what to do. 
 Then he bowed and asked : 
 
 ''Have I your permission?" 
 
 '' Oh, yes," said I as simply as I could. So 
 we sat side by side for the first time in all our 
 
THE PORTRAIT 1^7 
 
 lives, and after a time — after quite a time — 
 I felt his hand touching mine under the folds 
 of my flame-colored dress. It has a scarf to it, 
 that floats from the shoulders. It is quite vol- 
 • — how do you spell it? — voluminous. That 
 is why we could hold hands. 
 
 But I was afraid uncle and auntie were 
 watching us. So I had an idea. 
 
 " Oh, dearest dear grandmother," I said, 
 " this is the night of all the world for a story. 
 Grandmother, you must tell us a story — if 
 you please." 
 
 Grandmother gave a little laugh, 
 
 " I will do it," she said. '' I will tell 3^ou 
 the story of an ancestress of yours." 
 
 I have partly written that story, Carin, and 
 when I have finished it I shall send it to you. 
 Love — love from 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 grandmother's story 
 
 Mallowbanks, January 8th. 
 Car in, my leaking one: 
 
 Play you are sitting in the firelight with all 
 my family, and Keefe close beside me, and 
 the rain falling outside. If the wind whistles 
 down the chimney, it is, after all, not loud 
 enough to drown my little grandmother's voice, 
 for it is a high and musical one, and rises 
 above noises louder than itself. Very snug 
 and happy we all are. It is a witching hour, 
 and grandmother looks unearthly and shining, 
 with her hair gleaming in the firelight like a 
 silver cloud in the sun. 
 
 " Once on a time," said she, beginning her 
 story in the good old way, " there was an 
 ancestress of yours. Azalea, my dear, named 
 Dorothy Marshall. She was so gentle and 
 sweet a woman that long, long after she was 
 dead, the fame of her lived on, though no 
 
 158 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 159 
 
 woman ever led a quieter life than she did. 
 They say she had fair hair and dark blue eyes, 
 with a complexion not pale, but golden, and 
 ripe, full lips, and a beautiful dimple in her 
 chin. In her youth she was a gallant horse- 
 woman and she could sail a boat like a man. 
 Indeed, it was the sea that she loved the best, 
 though she grew up amid beautiful fields and 
 was often in the mountains. But to be within 
 sound and sight of the sea, and to have the smell 
 of it in her nostrils, made her a happy woman 
 indeed. 
 
 " That may have been one of the reasons 
 that when she was only eighteen she married 
 Samuel Bings. Now the Bings were a sea- 
 faring family if ever there was one. Twelve 
 sons were there, giants all, and save one, each 
 before he died became the commander of his 
 own ship on the sea. They w^re merchantmen, 
 these ships, in the carrying trade between 
 Norfolk and ports all over the world, and to 
 this day there are many strange things in our 
 family which they brought from half around 
 the world. 
 
 " Samuel was the fifth son and of them all 
 the most like his father, who was a famous 
 
160 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 seaman and had been thrice around the world, 
 and many times about the Horn. When 
 Samuel and Dorothy were married there was 
 feasting and dancing in the old Marshall home 
 at Norfolk, and good wishes from high and 
 low. They were so young, so handsome, so 
 fortunate, that only one cloud could be dis- 
 covered anywhere on their horizon, and that 
 was that either they must be apart, or Dorothy 
 must follow the fortunes of the sea with her 
 husband. This she would gladly have done 
 had it not been that her mother, whose only 
 daughter she was, suffered poor health and 
 could not endure to have her daughter leave 
 her. So it was decided that Samuel was to 
 make one journey more, for which he had 
 signed, and that he would then give up his 
 sailor's life and conduct a ship chandlery at 
 home. 
 
 " With that Dorothy begged him to go with 
 her for one last journey over the mountains, 
 that they might be together in solitude for a 
 while. So he took his fine roan, Pacolet, and 
 she her little mare, Bess, and they rode away 
 for a wonderful month among the mountains, 
 stopping where they pleased, and seeing the 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 161 
 
 homes and plantations of their fellow Vir- 
 ginians, and everywhere they were entertained 
 with great consideration, for two handsomer or 
 more charming young people it would have 
 been difficult to find. Moreover, Samuel loved 
 his horse Pacolet better than anything in the 
 world save his bride, and to feel this faithful 
 and spirited steed under him, and to see the 
 fair face of his love shining with health and 
 joy, was, he thought, all that any man could 
 ask of fate. 
 
 " So it was with a stout heart that at last 
 he sailed away as commander of his elder 
 brother's merchantman. The Adventure, carry- 
 ing cotton to France and tobacco to Algiers 
 and gold to Constantinople. For you must 
 know. Azalea, that at that time — I think it 
 must have been about 1794, America did a 
 good trade among the ports of the Mediterra- 
 nean and even beyond. Perhaps, too, if you 
 have read your history, you will know how the 
 corsairs of the Barbary States preyed upon 
 these merchantmen, so that it was necessary 
 for America to place a fleet of battleships to 
 guard the African coast in order to protect 
 the merchant ships from the pirates. Notwith- 
 
162 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 standing this, many a ship was held against its 
 will and its officers and crews made prisoners, 
 and it was a common thing for notices to be 
 read in American churches, giving the names 
 of those in captivity in Tripoli or Algiers. 
 Then would the friends and relatives of the 
 imprisoned men raise money and buy them 
 out again. 
 
 " But Samuel Bings had no fear. The Bings 
 were brave men and subtle men, and they 
 reckoned with their wits to keep them out of 
 
 trouble. 
 
 " ' Keep heart of grace, Dorothy, my love,' 
 said Samuel when he bade her good-bye. ' A 
 year may pass, or a year and a half at farthest; 
 then shall you see me home, and never more 
 will I quit shore save by your leave or in 
 your company.' 
 
 ^' But hardly had he put to sea when troubles 
 came upon his bride. First her long-ailing 
 mother died; then three months after that her 
 father bade her farewell also. So she was left 
 alone in the world. She had kin in plenty — 
 though none of them were very near — who 
 would have welcomed her to their homes, but 
 they lived on plantations out of sight of the 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 163 
 
 sea, and Dorothy had a mind to be where 
 she could see it rolling in bringing the brave 
 ships on it. 
 
 "'What if The Adventure should land and 
 Samuel come seeking me and I not be at 
 hand? ' she said. 
 
 " So she chose her a house on the side of the 
 hill that led up from the wharves, and from its 
 galleries she could see every ship that came 
 sailing into port. Here she made her a home, 
 putting into it whatever was most beautiful or 
 treasured from the old house of the Marshalls, 
 and those curious things which the brothers 
 Bings had brought her from China and Java 
 and Japan and the South Sea isles; yes, and 
 from the Bahamas and the Azores and the 
 Canaries and the Hebrides and all the islands 
 they had visited. Moreover, she made it her 
 business to build a fine stable for her husband's 
 beloved horse, Pacolet, so that he was tended 
 like a king's horse, and every day she rode him 
 to keep him in form, and she would take him 
 to a certain place where they could overlook 
 the sea, and the two of them would stand there 
 like statues, watching the horizon for a sight 
 of The Adventure. 
 
164 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " The year passed with no word from 
 Samuel. But Dorothy comforted her heart. 
 
 " ' Did he not say I might have to wait a 
 year and a half a year? ' she asked. 
 
 " But the year and the half year went by, 
 and it was two years, and then three, and noth- 
 ing was heard of the ship at all. So a dark 
 fear began to grow up in the heart of Dorothy, 
 and she never missed her church, not only 
 because she was devout, but because she 
 thought that some time she might hear the 
 name of her husband read as among those who 
 were lying in one of the cruel Barbary prisons 
 awaiting a ransom. But never a word did she 
 hear, and the years rolled by. 
 
 "Then came the year 1801 and Tripoli 
 declared war upon America, and Stephen 
 Decatur was sent to deal with the treacherous 
 governments of Tangier and Tripoli, and 
 there, after his victories, he saw to the release 
 of all American prisoners. 
 
 " ' Now, surely,' thought Dorothy Bings, 
 * my husband will return.' 
 
 " But he did not come, and though his 
 brothers, always traveling, inquired at all ports 
 if anything had been heard of him, they never 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 165 
 
 were able to bring his waiting wife any word. 
 
 " Then the brothers, compassionate for her 
 youth and her sorrow, bade her accept her 
 widowhood with courage. 
 
 " ' Samuel is dead,' they said. ' He has died 
 the death of a sailor and a gentleman, rest you 
 sure. Be comforted, Dorothy. You loved him 
 well and he loved you, but he is gone. Accept 
 your sorrow and find another mate. He would 
 be the last one to wish you to dwell here alone 
 with your youth going and no child in your 
 house to comfort .you. We, his brothers, bid 
 you seek new happiness.' 
 
 '' And indeed the beautiful Mistress Bings 
 might have had her pick of many gallant 
 gentlemen. But though they sued her ardently, 
 and though she was lonely with a loneliness 
 beyond her words to express, she could not 
 bring herself to be the bride of any one 
 of them. 
 
 " ' For what,' said she, ' if I should wed 
 me, and some day Samuel should come home, 
 looking for me? What if he is eating his heart 
 out now in some dungeon or on some lonely 
 isle, dreaming of me and Pacolet, and I should 
 take the horse and myself to a new master? 
 
166 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 No, no, I could never sleep quiet in my bed, 
 nor Pacolet in his stall, were we false to him. 
 He trusted us beyond all the world. We will 
 be faithful.' 
 
 " So the years rolled by, and at last silver 
 began to come in the golden hair of Mistress 
 Dorothy. But her longing, instead of growing 
 less, increased year by year, so that she did 
 little else but watch the harbor and the 
 wharves, and to every sailor man who came up 
 the street, staggering from his long journey, 
 she called : 
 
 " ' Pray pardon me, good sir, but have you 
 been overseas? Then perhaps you will tell 
 me if you saw anyway, in any port, a tall man 
 with steel blue eyes, named Samuel Bings.' 
 
 "And the sailors, high and low, paid her 
 courtesy, knowing her sad story, and respecting 
 her for her steadfastness, and they would stop, 
 hat in hand below her balcony, and tell her of 
 their voyages, and of what they knew con- 
 cerning the fate of missing men. But never a 
 one of them, stranger or friend, could bring 
 her word of the man she mourned. 
 
 " Because of this intercourse she came to 
 know many, many sailors, and since she was 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 167 
 
 one of those whom sorrow teaches, they trusted 
 her and came to her in trouble, and brought 
 her their joys, too. She was the friend to 
 all, and since she had a liberal soul and a 
 well-filled purse, she was enabled to help many 
 a poor man in straits, and to send him on his 
 way with a strengthened heart 
 
 " At length, old age came upon her. She 
 leaned upon a stick when she walked, and she 
 must needs be wrapped in the rich shawls 
 brought her from far lands, when she sat upon 
 the galleries. But still her eyes were bright, 
 and they were always seeking, seeking, and her 
 voice was sweet though it quavered as she 
 leaned over her gallery's edge to question the 
 men who came up from the ships. 
 
 " ' She will never hear from Samuel Bings 
 this side heaven,' the sailor men fell into the 
 way of saying. And now she was so venerable, 
 and her sad story was so widely known, that 
 men coming to the port for the first time 
 would question if she was yet to be seen, and 
 they would salute as they approached, and 
 would wait to hear the questions that she 
 asked. She was to them like a ballad of true 
 love, or a chant grown dear with use. Indeed, 
 
168 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 they made songs about her, and when they 
 argued for true love, they were able to point 
 to her. They venerated her silver hair, which 
 had once been golden, and it was to the glory 
 of Norfolk that she lived there. 
 
 " Then, one day as she sat in the sunshine, 
 watching the harbor and noting the ships and 
 the busy throng upon the wharves, and all the 
 business that had become to her as her very 
 life, an old, bent man, a sailor by his walk and 
 dress, came shambling up the street. She 
 never had seen him before, but no sooner had 
 her eyes fallen upon him than her heart gave a 
 great leap. 
 
 " ' Come to me,' she called to the faithful 
 servant who had been her companion since the 
 days when she was a bride. ' Come to me and 
 hold me by the arm, for I must question yon- 
 der man.' 
 
 " So the maid supported her, and Mistress 
 Bings got to the balustrade of her balcony, and 
 leaning over it, called to the old stranger. 
 
 " ' Your pardon sir, but have you been travel- 
 ing long and far? ' 
 
 " The man lifted his cap, and as well as he 
 could for his bent back, he looked up at the 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 169 
 
 silver-haired lady on the balcony above him. 
 
 " ' Long and far, madam,' he answered. 
 
 " ' Then I beg you of your goodness to come 
 up here and talk with me a while.' 
 
 " The old man hesitated, perplexed at such 
 an invitation. But she called again: 
 
 " ' I beg you of your goodness.' 
 
 " So he came, and she asked him to be seated 
 before her, and then she fixed her burning 
 eyes on him. 
 
 " 'Tell me, sir, have you in all of your 
 travels ever met a man named Samuel Bings 
 — a tall man with steel blue eyes, a sailor, 
 every inch of him?' 
 
 " The old man stared at her a moment, and 
 then started to his feet. 
 
 "'Are you,' he cried, 'his wife, Dorothy? 
 Had he a horse named Pacolet? ' 
 
 " ' I knew it! I knew it,' cried Mistress 
 Bings. ' As soon as ever I saw you coming 
 up the street, I knew that at last I should hear 
 of him. Oh, tell me, sir, is he living still?' 
 
 " The old man sank into his seat again and 
 hung his huge head over his knees. 
 
 " ' No, madam, he is dead these ten years 
 since.' 
 
170 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 a c 
 
 Ah, dead,' breathed Mistress Bings. ' He 
 is at rest, my Samuel. He is safe in his last 
 bed. He suffers no longer. May God rest 
 his soul! ' 
 
 " For a little while she could say no more, 
 only now and then crying to her maid: 
 
 " ' He is at rest. He suffers no longer.' 
 
 " Then, when she was calmer, she turned 
 once more to the bowed stranger. 
 
 " ' For the love of God, sir, tell me all 
 you know.' 
 
 " So he told her the story of how he had 
 been a small planter in Jamaica, a man of 
 English birth, and how a great tobacco mer- 
 chant of that place had fitted out a ship to 
 convey his produce to the Turkish ports, and 
 how he, William Hull, had sailed with her, 
 being minded to take a voyage. They had a 
 fair crossing, and Hull said to himself that 
 now at last he was living, now at last, he was 
 seeing life. Then, off the Tripoli coast, the 
 ship was attacked by corsairs and captured, and 
 the captain and crew were thrown in prison. 
 In time, the captain and all of his men save 
 Hull were released, but Hull was of a restless 
 and quick nature, and would not make friends 
 
GRANDMOTHEPv'S STOPvY 171 
 
 of his foes. The jailors complained that he 
 was quarrelsome; twice he tried to escape and 
 was recaptured; and he openly vowed 
 vengeance on Tripoli should he ever be a free 
 man again and upon a ship of his own country. 
 So, what with his hot-headedness, and the 
 warfare that was on then between America and 
 the Barbary States, he came under the notice of 
 the dey, who, regarding him as a dangerous 
 man, had him put in the dungeons below 
 ground. For a time he was all alone, and he 
 all but went mad in the solitude, but after a 
 time there was need to put a dangerous mur- 
 derer in his dungeon, and he was removed to 
 another place, and thrown in with an old, 
 half-crazed man. 
 
 " ' He had been a man of great stature,' said 
 Hull, ' and it Vv^as easy to see, in spite of all his 
 rags and filth, that he was a gentleman. He 
 greeted me courteously when I entered, and I 
 said to myself that now I should be able to 
 hold converse wdth a fellow-being, but indeed, 
 madam, it was little enough converse that we 
 held. He could hold to one theme but a 
 moment or two, and then he would fall under 
 a sort of spell, and would sit softly mumbling 
 
172 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 to himself, as if he were going back over old 
 scenes. Then he would arouse himself and call 
 to me. And when I answered him, he would 
 say: 
 
 " ' " Man, man, if ever you go free, for the 
 love of God, search out my sweet wife Dorothy 
 and my good horse Pacolet, and tell them I 
 have not forgot." 
 
 " ' Sometimes he would sob when he spoke 
 these words, and sometimes he would call them 
 at the top of his voice. Again he would whis- 
 per them, and often in his sleep I would hear 
 him muttering: " My sweet wife Dorothy and 
 my good horse Pacolet." ' 
 
 " The old stranger stopped in compassion, 
 for Mistress Bings lay with her face against 
 the high back of her chair, as colorless as snow. 
 But when she found that he had ceased, she 
 motioned for him to proceed. 
 
 " ' This is the greatest day of my life, save 
 one,' she said, ' and that was the day I became 
 a bride. Do not fear for me. Finish your 
 tale.' 
 
 " ' Nine years, lacking three months, we were 
 together in that dungeon,' continued Hull, ' and 
 then he died. A sudden cold, a closing of the 
 
ii c 
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 173 
 
 lungs, and he was gone. He passed away In 
 my arms, madam, very peacefully, and with his 
 last breath he bade me carry messages to you.' 
 And you waited all these years, man? ' 
 Madam, I knew nothing of the place he 
 called his home, and though he often tried for 
 hours at a time to remember, he could not recall 
 them. Never, in all that time, did he talk 
 lucidly upon any subject at all, save when he 
 spoke of you and his horse, and then he said 
 no more than I have told you. It was as if, 
 finding that all things were going from him, 
 he commanded himself to remember the two 
 beings he loved.' 
 
 "'Yet you knew his name, William Hull?' 
 said Mistress Bings. 
 
 " ' Aye, madam. When at last my old cap- 
 tain was able to secure my release, I begged 
 him and the governor to go with me to the 
 keeper of the prison, and there I told him that 
 I had but one little favor to ask in return for 
 the years of life he had wrenched from me, and 
 that was the name of my companion. So he 
 gave it to me — Bings. But he could not tell 
 me from what American port he had sailed, nor 
 would he give me anything of his story. To 
 
174 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 this day, madam, I do not know the fate of his 
 ship or his crew, and I fear that this tragedy- 
 like many others, will be unrecorded to the 
 end of time.' 
 
 '' ' To the end of time,' whispered Mistress 
 Bings. ' To the end of time is a long while, 
 William Hull.' 
 
 '' ' So long it will never come,' said William 
 Hull. 
 
 " ' But he never forgot? My husband never 
 forgot? In darkness and solitude and madness, 
 he remembered me still?' 
 
 " ' Madam, it was his one joy.' 
 
 " ' Pacolet is long since dead,' said Mistress 
 Bings. ' He is buried in a fine field, and a great 
 bowlder is placed above his grave to mark it.* 
 
 " ' He loved his horse,' said William Hull. 
 
 '''May they meet in Paradise!' cried 
 Mistress Bings. 
 
 " ' What, madam, the soul of the man and — 
 and a horse? ' 
 
 " ' May they meet in Paradise,' she repeated. 
 Then she bade William Hull enter her house, 
 and she feasted him well, and when he had 
 finished, she asked liim concerning his life and 
 his work, and when she found that though old, 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 175 
 
 and bent and broken, he meant always to fol- 
 low the sea, a common sailor before the mast — 
 the least of all the signed men because of his 
 bent back — she cried: 
 
 " * Not so, William Hull. You shall not so 
 weary yourself. If you have a mind to stay on 
 land, I will build you a snug house on one of 
 my plantations; but if you prefer the sea, I 
 will buy you a yawl, and you can sail from 
 port to port along our coast here.' 
 
 " So at first William Hull spoke for the sea 
 and the yawl, but when he learned that she 
 would no longer live in the house that watched 
 the harbor — there being no reason why she 
 should continue to search the faces of returning 
 sailors, looking among them for the one she 
 loved — but would go onto a plantation and 
 live among her trees and flowers, he elected to 
 live near her and to be her servant. To the 
 end, he served her, and she guarded him, he 
 for the sake of a man who, though bereft of his 
 senses, was still an affectionate friend, she for 
 the sake of the bridegroom who had never for- 
 gotten his love, and who had been snatched 
 from the sunlight to wither in a dungeon all 
 his days." 
 
176 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 That is the tale my grandmother told. 
 
 And all the while, Carin, I let my hand stay 
 in Keefe's. The fire fell low, the wind grew 
 higher, and the story, you might have thought, 
 would have made us sad. But it did not do so. 
 Grandmother walked up the stairs to her room 
 with her head lifted; I saw Uncle David and 
 Aunt Lorena going down the corridor hand 
 in hand. As for me, I could have danced. I 
 do not know what Keefe thought, but I heard 
 him singing " Annie Laurie " when he reached 
 his room. I saw then that the story had risen 
 above sorrow into joy, and when I went to bed 
 I was very, very happy — happier than ever 
 before in my life. It is wonderful to know 
 there is really such a thing as true love in the 
 world, isn't it? 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 " THE WATERS OF QUIET " 
 
 Mallowbanks, January 21st. 
 My own Car'in: 
 
 I no longer have a grandmother. 
 
 She has gone. She is dead; but we are trying 
 not to grieve. We are thinking of her as sail- 
 ing on " the waters of quiet " to where her 
 husband and her beloved son await her. 
 
 It was her love for that dead son, my father, 
 that brought about her death. Soon after I 
 wrote you last, we could see that a cloud was 
 settling over her spirit. She was very restless 
 and could not sleep, but would go wandering 
 about the house if she were not prevented. 
 
 " I reckon ole Miss has got to studyin' about 
 Mars Jack again," said Semmy to me. Indeed, 
 all of us in the house could see that this was so. 
 She became suspicious of us and thought we 
 were watching her to prevent her from going 
 out to her boy. She thought he was living 
 
 177 
 
178 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 again, young and wayward, with no friend but 
 herself, and though she seemed to be reasonable 
 enough upon other subjects, in regard to that 
 she was quite insane. 
 
 Martha was set to watch her early and late, 
 and when she was weary Semmy or I took her 
 place. She was sweet and gay at moments. 
 One afternoon she showed me her painted fans 
 and her jewels, and told me they would be 
 mine, some day, and I was naughty enough to 
 say: 
 
 " But madam grandmother, what shall little 
 Azalea do with all those? Don't you think her 
 little string of ' Job's tears ' and a peacock fan 
 made by herself become her better?" 
 
 That teased her, as I knew it would. 
 
 " My dear Azalea," she said in her most 
 earnest manner, " you are a true Knox, and 
 these jewels and fans will become you. Wear 
 them, not only for your own sake, but for the 
 credit of your family." 
 
 I like to think of those last days we spent 
 together. They were dreamy, and happily- 
 sad — diflferent from other days altogether. 
 Keefe was finishing her portrait, but we would 
 no longer let her sit to him. He caught her 
 
"THE WATERS OF QUIET" 179 
 
 expressions from day to day and made studies 
 of them, and touched up the portrait by him- 
 self. It was wonderful to me to see her 
 sparkling, wrinkled, aristocratic face, at once 
 so worldly and so spiritual, growing out of the 
 canvas. Then, when she told him that he was 
 to make a second copy of it, that I might have 
 one for my very own, you can fancy my pride 
 and satisfaction. 
 
 Well, we had fallen into the way of locking 
 the two doors that lead from her bedroom, so 
 that if she should be taken with one of her old 
 wandering spells and should try to slip by 
 Martha, who had a cot in the room with her, 
 she would be unable to get out. I slept in the 
 little dressing room next to her that I might be 
 of assistance to JVIartha should she need me, 
 and several times she did, for grandmother 
 insisted on going out to the old place at the end 
 of the garden. Once she had her jewel case 
 with her, and insisted that Jack must have the 
 jewels, because he was going hungry and was 
 sleeping by the wayside, while she and all the 
 rest of the family lived in luxury. It took me 
 a long time to quiet her. 
 
 But she was so well guarded that we thought 
 
180 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 no harm could possibly come to her. But 
 the hour came when we all failed her. I 
 cannot bear to think of it. No one in the house 
 can. 
 
 It happened this way. I had gone motoring 
 with Uncle David and Keefe. Aunt Lorena 
 remained at home to be near grandmother, and 
 Martha was in immediate charge. But Martha 
 is old, too, and though she is most loyal, she 
 does not always use the best judgment. At any 
 rate, while Aunt Lorena was down with the 
 cook talking over Sunday's dinner. Grand- 
 mother sent Martha to call her. She said she 
 wished to consult with her at once upon some 
 important matter. 
 
 So Martha, nothing doubting, went in search 
 of Aunt Lorena, and when she came back 
 grandmother was missing. She had been in 
 the little upstairs sitting room, but she was 
 not to be found there nor in her bedroom. 
 Unfortunately, Martha wasted a few minutes 
 in looking for her on the second story, and then 
 she came trembling down to the first floor, her 
 old knees quaking under her, and looked there 
 without success. Old James had been tidying 
 up the walk in front of the house — for there 
 
a 
 
 THE WATERS OF QUIET" 181 
 
 had been a rain and a cold wind, and twigs and 
 branches were lying all about the ground — 
 and he said she had not come out. So more 
 time was spent in searching for her all about 
 the great rambling house. The servants began 
 looking in the rooms we never use, and then 
 they ran up to the attic, thinking she might be 
 up there looking over her chests and boxes as 
 she likes to do sometimes. But she was not 
 there either. 
 
 Then Uncle David, Keefe and I came home. 
 
 I had noticed as we swept around the drive 
 which goes by the east wing of the house, that 
 a certain little side door opening into the gar- 
 den, stood ajar, which was curious for this time 
 of the year. It is a door used only in the sum- 
 mer time, and then usually by someone who 
 wishes to escape quietly into the garden without 
 being seen by those in the front of the house. 
 
 " It's a cold day for a door to be standing 
 open like that," I said to Uncle David. 
 
 " Curious," he said. " Mr. O'Connor, as you 
 go in, be kind enough to close it. It leads from 
 the little coat room beneath the stairs." 
 
 Keefe and I went in together, and then we 
 heard the tumult in the house. 
 
182 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 "We can't find your grandmother!" said 
 Aunt Lorena to me, showing her white face at 
 the head of the stairs. With that it flashed 
 through me at once that she had escaped by the 
 side door. I flung off my motor coat and ran 
 for the coat room and through the door into 
 the garden. There, sure enough, by the narrow 
 brick terrace was the imprint of her little shoe. 
 
 '' Come, Keefe, come," I called, for I felt 
 there was great trouble ahead, and I wanted 
 him to be with me, Carin. Yes, I can tell you, 
 my dear, to whom every event, almost every 
 feeling of my life, is known, that I wanted him 
 above everyone else in the world. 
 
 It was almost dark by this time, and the two 
 of us ran out, hand in hand, and down the gray 
 garden in the mist. Nothing looked natural 
 to me. The very shrubbery, wreathed all in 
 white as it was, frightened me. The bushes 
 looked like strange, unheard-of beasts, crouch- 
 ing to spring. And the whole place was so 
 terribly still! I could feel my breath catching 
 in my throat and strangling me. 
 
 " It is at the end of the garden she goes to 
 meet him," I managed to say through my 
 throat. 
 
"THE WATERS OF QUIET" 183 
 
 "To meet whom?" asked Keefe. (I never 
 had told him the story of my father.) 
 
 " Pier dead son," I gasped, and said no more. 
 For how could I explain then? Keefe looked 
 at me as if he thought I was out of my head, 
 but I said nothing, and we ran on. 
 
 And then we came to the pool — the little 
 sweet pool that is like the heart of the garden. 
 The three swans were close to the shore looking 
 at something dark that lay there. 
 
 And it was she, Carin. It was little madam 
 grandmother. She had fallen with her face in 
 the water, and it seemed as if she had not even 
 tried to rise. 
 
 Keefe saw her and sprang to her and picked 
 her up in his arms, and I came and looked at 
 her. 
 
 " She has gone where she wished to go," said 
 Keefe. " She is with her son." 
 
 " Yes, I am sure it is as she would like it to 
 be," I cried, and I held her hand in mine all 
 the way to the house, and wondered if she 
 knew I was glad for her — that I was con- 
 gratulating her. 
 
 But, Oh, Carin, hovv^ one's throat can ache! 
 How one's heart can hang heavy, like a weight! 
 
184 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 How one's eyes can burn and head can throb, 
 and how one's thoughts can heavily turn and 
 turn, like an iron wheel! Did you ever have 
 a great sorrow? Oh, yes, I remember that you 
 did, when your three brothers were lost in that 
 horrible theater fire. Well, I have had a great 
 sorrow before, too, when I lost my little mother. 
 But I was so young then and so generally mis- 
 erable, and life had been hideous for so long, 
 that it was only one added pang. It was diflfer- 
 ent from this. I seem unable to get that scene 
 in the garden out of my mind. Grandmother 
 seems still to be fluttering before those portraits 
 of herself, or in among the cabinets in the 
 drawing-room, or along the corridors, beckon- 
 ing to her old Martha, or calling out to me: 
 " Your arm. Azalea, please." 
 
 The funeral was strangely quaint and beau- 
 tiful. So many old people came — old friends 
 from far away as well as near at hand, and I 
 cannot begin to tell you about the curious 
 coaches and carriages that some of them came 
 in. The bishop preached the service, the fun- 
 eral being held, oddly enough, in the old ball- 
 room of the house — the room where grand- 
 mother had danced as a bride. But it looked 
 
"THE WATERS OF QUIET" 185 
 
 very imposing and solemn on the day of her 
 burial. It is paneled in dark wood, and all 
 about it were candles burning in their sconces, 
 and from grandmother's coffin trailed a great 
 cloth of gold and black brocade. 
 
 The bishop had a voice like an organ, and 
 when I heard him reading: 
 
 " I am the resurrection and the life," my 
 sorrow seemed to lighten. 
 
 Everyone was very kind to me — much 
 kinder than I had any right to expect. I had 
 to meet many of the old family friends. It was 
 really required of me. Aunt Lorena explained, 
 for there were a number present on this occa- 
 sion who had not been at my coming-out party. 
 So, after the funeral, I was introduced to them. 
 
 You understand, Carin, grandmother was not 
 taken from the house after the funeral. No, 
 she was left lying up in that splendid room, 
 and downstairs the funeral guests were given 
 some refreshments — for most of them had 
 come a long way, and many were old — and 
 then, at midnight, the old servants carried the 
 coffin to the great vault that stands in a grove 
 near the house, and Uncle David and Aunt 
 Lorena and Keefe and I followed, and she was 
 
186 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 laid away with others of her family, my father 
 among the rest. 
 
 There are cypress trees and hemlocks round 
 about this vault, and they stood up black against 
 the dark sky, sw^aying and crying. Not one of us 
 spoke a word, and the only sound w^as the 
 sobbing of the black people. I felt more like 
 crying than I ever had before in my life — yes, 
 I wanted to sob aloud and to call to grand- 
 mother to come back. Little sweet, proud, 
 loving, laughing grandmother! But I kept 
 very still. It seemed as if I could read Keefe's 
 thoughts and as if he wxre telling me to be 
 quiet. So I said over and over to myself the 
 last line of a lovely poem I read the other 
 day. " * O waters of quiet, go softly.' " 
 
 After so long a life, one must be glad to rest. 
 I found out that night, Carin, how that death, 
 like life, is sweet and all in the course of things 
 and nothing to be afraid of. 
 
 Going back to the house I told Keefe that. 
 
 " Life is our comrade," he said, " but death 
 is our mother, holding out kind hands to us 
 when v/e are tired." 
 
 When he left me he — he kissed me, Carin. 
 On the forehead. I shall always remember. 
 
"THE WATERS OF QUIET" 187 
 
 I did not leave my room the next day. I 
 wanted to think. Old Semmy stayed with me. 
 But I did not mind her. I like old Semmy. 
 She rocks to and fro like the trees and seems 
 to be waiting to give comfort when comfort is 
 needed. And that is like trees, too. After my 
 little mama died I used to wrap my arms about 
 the trees up there on the mountain-side and 
 w^eep and v/eep, and they were very kind to 
 me — those great chestnuts and hemlocks. But 
 now I am thinking out many things. I couldn't 
 have written to anyone save you. But soon I 
 shall write dear Mother McBirney and Annie 
 Laurie. (I have, of course, sent them word.) 
 
 Carin, tell me if you love me. 
 
 Azalea 
 
 ******** 
 
 Mallowbanks, January 30th. 
 Oh, Carin-girl : 
 
 Other troubles have come to me — things I 
 never dreamed of. I don't know how to meet 
 them. They aren't things like death, that just 
 have to be accepted with courage. No, they 
 are things I have to decide about. I have to 
 make up my mind what is right and what is 
 
188 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 wrong. I never knew before that it could be 
 hard to do that. 
 
 This is the story: Two days after dear little 
 grandmother was buried, I was told that the 
 family solicitor would be at the house at three 
 in the afternoon and that the will would be 
 read, and I was expected to be present. So I 
 put on one of the new black dresses that 
 tell their own story, and when the time came I 
 went down to the library. Uncle and auntie 
 were there before me, and they introduced me 
 to Mr. Lindsay, and then when the servants 
 had come, he read grandmother's will. 
 
 She was a rich woman, of course, but I had 
 not guessed how rich, and she gave bequests to 
 Martha and James which would make it 
 unnecessary for them to work any more, with 
 substantial remembrances to the other servants, 
 and a fine sum to the college her sons attended, 
 and then all of the rest she divided between 
 Uncle David and me. 
 
 Only — 
 
 Only I was not to have mine — except for a 
 small annuity — unless I married according to 
 Uncle David's wishes. 
 
 This, the will said, was not because of lack 
 
"THE WATERS OF QUIET" 189 
 
 of affection for me or lack of confidence in me, 
 but only because my early associations were 
 such, and I was of such an impulsive nature, 
 that I was in danger of doing something I 
 would always regret. So she placed me lov- 
 ingly in her son's hands, and expected me to 
 defer to his judgment in all things. 
 
 Aunt Lorena looked down through all the 
 reading of the will, and when it was all over I 
 tried to take her hand, but she wouldn't let me, 
 and it was Semmy who took my hand and led 
 me away to my room. I lay down on my 
 lounge and thought and thought. I could hear 
 the winter wind shouting through the pines, 
 and outside the twilight was stormy and bleak. 
 Semmy wanted to build up a fire and to bring 
 me tea there in my room, but I did not want a 
 fire and tea. There was only one thing in the 
 world that I wanted then, and I knew per- 
 fectly well what it was. 
 
 It was Keefe O'Connor. 
 
 And it was on account of him that grand- 
 mother had made that will. She had seen that 
 we cared for each other. She had not wanted 
 me to marry him. I knew then as well as when 
 Uncle David had told me, that she particularly 
 
190 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 objected to him — that is, that she particularly 
 objected to having him marry me. Not that 
 he ever really asked me to, or that we would 
 marry for years and years. Yet — yet I know 
 that is what she meant when she made that 
 will. 
 
 So now, Carin, I have learned my second 
 great lesson this week. The first was, that 
 there could not be life without death, and that 
 if life is sweet, why so is death sweet too; 
 and the second is that life cannot be sweet 
 without liberty. 
 
 Yes, I know it is an old, old truth, and that 
 I ought to have known it long ago. But to 
 read a thing, or even to say it, is very different 
 from realizing it. 
 
 I lay there asking myself if freedom meant 
 more to me than anything else. And I decided 
 that it did. It wasn't Keefe, merely, that made 
 me ask this question, or decide in this way. It 
 was the whole principle of the thing. Should 
 I sell my right to do as J thought best — to do 
 the thing that would bring me happiness — for 
 the sake of a fortune? 
 
 I did not go down to dinner. Semmy carried 
 my excuses for me. 
 
''THE WATERS OF QUIET" 191 
 
 Then, a little later in the evening she came 
 to ask if I would see Mr. Keefe in the writing 
 room. That was the room, you will remember, 
 where we all sat together the night grand- 
 mother told us the story about Dorothy Bings. 
 
 I said I would go, and I brushed my hair 
 and went on down the stairs. Uncle David and 
 Aunt Lorena were sitting in the library and 
 they saw me, and called out to know if I was 
 feeling better, and I told them quite frankly 
 that I was not — thank them, very much. 
 
 So, with them looking at me, I went on to 
 the writing room, and Keefe stood there by 
 the door waiting for me, and we went in and 
 sat down there, one on each side of the table. 
 There was no firelight this time to cheer us. 
 The room was so chilly that it made my teeth 
 chatter, but I did not really think about that 
 till afterward. 
 
 " Mr. Knox has told me," said Keefe as 
 soon as we were seated, " about your grand- 
 mother's will. He has said that he hopes I will 
 not make the fulfillment of its conditions diffi- 
 cult for you." 
 
 " How did he know that you were likely 
 to? " I asked. 
 
,192 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " He could not very well help but know that, 
 Azalea. Anyone who has seen me with you 
 must have known that I loved you." 
 
 " Then you do? " I said. " You do, Keefe? " 
 
 " Why should I need to take the trouble to 
 say it? " he demanded. " Haven't you known 
 it from the first? " 
 
 "I have hoped it — sometimes." 
 
 " Hoped it? " he said. " Haven't you heard 
 me say it? " 
 
 "Once — only once. But I thought that 
 might have been an accident." 
 
 Oh, Carin, what beautiful eyes he has! He 
 took my hands in his there across the table. 
 We knew quite well that Aunt Lorena could 
 see us from where she sat, but we did not care 
 at all. 
 
 " Did you promise my uncle that you would 
 not make it hard for me? " 
 
 " No. I said if you wished it I would go 
 away." 
 
 " Forever? " 
 
 " Not at all. For the present. I said I 
 would go away and give you a chance to make 
 up your mind. Your uncle and aunt wish to 
 take you to Europe with them. They want you 
 
"THE WATERS OF QUIET" 193 
 
 to travel for a year or two. You will meet 
 other men, men whose lives and training will 
 make them fitter companions for you than I 
 can ever be." 
 
 "Keefe!" I said sharply. "Don't muddle 
 up facts like that. Your early training was 
 propriety itself compared with mine." 
 
 " Nevertheless, now you are a very rich 
 woman. You bear the name of an old and 
 distinguished family." 
 
 " Not half so distinguished as the O'Con- 
 nors," I laughed. " Weren't they kings in 
 Ireland once? " 
 
 " But my name is not even O'Connor, as you 
 know." 
 
 " Well, whatever your name may be by 
 rights, Keefe — and at this moment I have 
 forgotten what it is — there is one word I can- 
 not forget, and that is spelled L-I-B-E-R-T-Y. 
 In America we have always had a regard for 
 that little word. Perhaps we have preferred 
 it to any in the language. Hundreds of thou- 
 sands of men have died for it, and as many 
 women have had broken hearts because of it. 
 I'm not going to be behind them in my regard 
 for it. I — have you asked me? I love you. 
 
194 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Keefe. I'd rather be one year with you than, 
 twenty with anybody else. I shan't mean any- 
 thing to myself if I try to live my life away 
 from you. I choose you, Keefe. I set the 
 fortune aside and choose you." 
 
 '^ No, Azalea," he said, breathing as if he 
 had been running, " no, you mustn't choose 
 yet. As your uncle says, it isn't fair. I ought 
 to go away — I ought to give you a chance to 
 clear your mind. It isn't clear now — " 
 
 " But I want you to stay," I broke in. 
 
 And just then Uncle David came to the door. 
 
 " Nevertheless, Azalea," he said quietly, 
 " Mr. O'Connor, having finished both of your 
 grandmother's portraits, will be leaving for the 
 North to-morrow." 
 
 "Oh, but why to-morrow?" I cried. 
 
 " Because," he said, still in that quiet voice, 
 " it is best so. I sympathize with you, my girl. 
 But believe me, it is best so." 
 
 That is the way it stands, Carin. He has 
 gone. It is very quiet here in the house. Miss 
 Delight Ravanel has asked me to spend a week 
 with her and I have accepted. 
 
 Always icith love, 
 
 Azalea. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A FRIEND 
 
 Monrepos, January 28. 
 Carin, darling: 
 
 Thank you for all your letters. You are very 
 good to me. No matter how careless I am 
 about writing, you never forget, you dear! 
 And now I think I am to send you congratula- 
 tions because you are engaged to that fine Vance 
 Grevy. Truly, I think him one of the most 
 interesting young men I have ever known. 
 Moreover, he looks good, and true, and firm 
 and enduring. Oh, little Carin, my own yellow- 
 headed one, be very happy with him! I send 
 you a thousand kisses and ten thousand good 
 wishes, and I want you to know that if ever, 
 ever I can do anything for you, I want to be 
 allowed to do it. Please find something for 
 me to do. You must not be so happy that you 
 will forget me. I have always known there 
 was a jealous streak in my disposition, and I 
 am feeling it right now. 
 
 195 
 
196 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 You say you have your ring? Your engage- 
 ment ring! It's not like other engagement 
 rings? How nice! A pink pearl. Weil, 
 pearls suit you just as they do your darling 
 mother. 
 
 I am so glad that she and your father like 
 your Vance. Oh, fortunate girl! Always 
 beautiful things happen to you. That, of 
 course, is just as it ought to be. I hope they 
 will keep right on happening to you all through 
 life. 
 
 But, once more, in your happiness, do not 
 forget your Azalea. For she is not very happy. 
 No, though now she has much money and 
 some friends — you, always, and Barbara and 
 Annie Laurie, not to mention others — yet she 
 is sad. Things are wrong — quite wrong. 
 
 I told you I was coming over here to visit 
 Miss Delight Ravanel at her quaint old home, 
 which she calls " Monrepos." Aunt Lorena 
 was quite willing I should come. She and I 
 had a frank talk together, and now I under- 
 stand many things that I did not before. 
 
 " I am going to ask you. Aunt Lorena," I 
 said to her, " if you truly like me. You mustn't 
 be polite, please, because that would not help 
 
A FRIEND 197 
 
 me at all. You asked me to come here, and I 
 came, and you have been very kind, and I have 
 done the best I could. But lately there has 
 been a change. You — you have not looked 
 at me quite the way you used. Or at any rate, 
 the understanding between us is not perfect. 
 So let us speak out and say what we really 
 think." 
 
 A silly woman would have been disagreeable, 
 probably, at having a young girl speak this 
 way, but Aunt Lorena is not silly, and she is 
 not disagreeable. 
 
 " Azalea," she said quietly, " I truly like 
 you. I am, indeed, happily surprised in you. 
 I like you better as a house companion than I 
 thought I could like any woman. For, to tell 
 the truth, I am not a social person. If I have 
 not looked at you in quite the old way, it is 
 because I feel conscious of the complications 
 that have arisen. I do not believe. Azalea, in 
 trying to influence the life of another in the 
 way that your grandmother has tried to influ- 
 ence your life. It is not right. I believe that 
 everyone should be free in this world, so far as 
 possible, and your grandmother has taken your 
 freedom away from you." 
 
198 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " Yes," I said, " she has. But she meant to 
 be wise and kind for me. I loved her, Aunt 
 Lorena, and I always shall." 
 
 " Are you willing to abide by the terms of 
 her will? Are you willing to marry the man 
 your uncle approves of — the man who will, 
 according to your grandmother's idea, bring 
 credit to the family?" 
 
 She looked so intense and sympathetic that 
 I couldn't help laughing. 
 
 " I am willing to marry just one man," I 
 found courage to say. " I hope uncle will 
 approve of him." 
 
 " If you mean Keefe O'Connor," she said in 
 her high voice, " you will see that your hopes 
 are not realized. Your uncle likes him very 
 much personally, but your grandmother did 
 not. Or at least, she did not approve of having 
 him enter the Knox family. It was to keep 
 him from doing so that she made her will as 
 she did. She told your uncle that." 
 
 Carin, was it very bad of me to laugh again. 
 
 *' Then," I said, " I shall have to let the 
 fortune go, Aunt Lorena." 
 
 She lifted both of her thin white hands in 
 warning. 
 
A FRIEND 199 
 
 " That is very easy for you to say, my dear, 
 very easy indeed. You are young and do not 
 know the value of money and of position and 
 of an estate like this. It is the feeling that you 
 do not realize these things, that made it neces- 
 sary for your uncle and myself to ask Mr. 
 O'Connor to — to absent himself — until you 
 have had time to make up your mind. We 
 want you to travel and to see the world. We 
 w^ant you to meet people and to have a chance 
 to compare this one with that. But when we 
 insist upon all this, it may seem to you as if 
 we were opposing you and setting ourselves 
 against your happiness, whereas, above every- 
 thing else, we want to do what is for your best 
 interest." 
 
 She looked more solemn than ever. 
 
 " You are going against your own heart, 
 Auntie," I told her. " It is that which makes 
 you seem so changed. Oh, don't think about it 
 at all. Just treat me the way you did at first. 
 Love me, love me! Somehow, the other matter 
 will straighten itself out. We have troubles 
 enough without bringing any on ourselves." 
 
 But she wouldn't take the matter lightly. She 
 seemed very much depressed. Uncle was very 
 
200 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 sad, too, partly on account of the loss of his 
 mother, partly because he was made to act the 
 part of a ' stern guardian,' when it is not in 
 keeping with his nature. I feel sure he tried 
 to dissuade grandmother from doing what she 
 did, but he did not succeed. I think, myself, 
 that if people at Mallowbanks had more to do 
 they would be a great deal happier. 
 
 Well, anyway, I kept my promise to my nice 
 twenty-seventh cousin, Miss Ravanel, and came 
 away over to her, and was put in a quaint, bare, 
 sunny room, and here I have been for almost 
 a week. My chocolate is sent up to my bed in 
 the morning; Miss Ravanel does not appear 
 until ten. Then we meet in the morning room 
 and she embroiders while I read " Lorna 
 Doone " to her. She has been in England in 
 the Lorna Doone country, and she interrupts 
 the reading to tell me about what she has seen. 
 It is very interesting. But, Oh, Carin, it is as if 
 I were listening to something afar off, and as if 
 the bright fire burning in the grate, the pale 
 sunshine on the pines, the little room with its 
 fantastic chintz, were all a dream. 
 
 It does not seem real at all to me. Is it be- 
 cause I am always thinking of something else? 
 
A FRIEND 201 
 
 Did I do well, Carin, to give up my life with 
 Mother McBirney, my little busy, useful, strug- 
 gling life, and to come here among my relatives, 
 who are, after all, strangers? Yes, yes, I know 
 that for a time I felt at ease with them, that 
 to be among my own people brought me great 
 delight. But now, suddenly, I seem useless and 
 stripped of all that made life rich. 
 
 ******** 
 
 Carin, I have just been reading this over, 
 and I never read anything more dismal. You 
 remember that song of Jean Ingelow's where 
 the dove sat on the mast and mourned and 
 mourned and mourned. Well, I sound pre- 
 cisely like that ridiculous dove. 
 
 I know if you were here you would give me 
 a piece of your mind. So would Keefe. So 
 would Annie Laurie. Actually I am glad none 
 of you is here. Mercy me, how you would 
 scold me! 
 
 It has occurred to me during the last minute 
 and a half that I haven't been treating my tre- 
 mendously nice little hostess very well. And 
 how good she has been to me! 
 
 I am going to reform. I shall ask her if 
 
202 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 she'll not go walking — she loves to walk — 
 and I shall suggest visiting old Mrs. Tread- 
 way, w^hom Miss Ravanel likes to look after. 
 
 Carin, forgive me for being such a dolorous 
 creature. And you so happy, too! I wanted to 
 do something for you, and I go and throw cold 
 water on your sparkling day with a sighing, 
 moaning letter. Shame on me. 
 
 / love you, 
 
 Azalea 
 
 ******** 
 
 Monrepos, February 1st. 
 Carin girl: 
 
 So you are to be at Lee for the spring vaca- 
 tion. What fun! Of course I shall try to get 
 there. I feel as if I m.ust see you. And do you 
 really mean to tell me that you vv^ant me to go 
 to Europe with you, Carin? How w^onderful 
 that would be. But I couldn't, could I? If I 
 go at all I must go with Uncle David and Aunt 
 Lorena. So that's settled. 
 
 What do you think Miss Ravanel and I have 
 been doing? Making dresses. She needed 
 some and there didn't seem to be anybody at 
 hand to make them, and so I said to please let 
 
A FRIEND 203 
 
 me try. At first she thought I would make a 
 botch of them. But not at all. Mother Mc- 
 Birney taught me to be very particular, and I 
 have a sort of a " touch " as you and Annie 
 Laurie always said. The dresses, which are for 
 spring, are really very nice. She said she never 
 had any that really suited her so well. 
 
 While we sewed, she told me many things 
 about her life. I was quite right; she did 
 love my Uncle David when she w^as a girl and 
 he was a 3^oung man, but when Aunt Lorena 
 came back from boarding school, he fell ter- 
 ribly in love with her and went to Miss 
 Ravanel and told her, and she bade him do 
 whatever his heart prompted. 
 
 " You're not going to hate me, are you, 
 Delight?" he asked her. 
 
 "Hate you?" she said. "Why should I 
 hate you? I w^ant you to be very happy and I 
 mean to be happy myself." 
 
 " You will marry someone much more 
 Vv^orthy of you than I am," he assured her. She 
 said that was as might be. She hoped she 
 would love someone again. But she never did, 
 Carin. All of her life she has had to see her 
 kin leaving her, either to go to some other part 
 
204 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 of the country, or Into the family vault, and 
 never once has she met anyone she could care 
 for. But she says she has been quite happy 
 after all. 
 
 " I love life," she told me. " I like to watch 
 the seasons roll around, and I enjoy each one 
 as it comes. I am never tired of walking about 
 my woods and my garden, and it amuses me 
 to care for my old house. I enjoy my books, 
 my music and my thoughts. Sometimes I am 
 glad that I never married. I have fallen into 
 very quiet ways, and it would disturb me to 
 have anyone about, except someone like your- 
 self. Azalea." 
 
 When I see her, so shy and dainty and con- 
 tent, going about her little duties and hospital- 
 ities, I am glad, too, that she did not marry. 
 She is like a little domestic nun. I like her the 
 way she is. 
 
 Uncle and Aunt Lorena called this morning 
 to ask me when I was coming home, and I told 
 them I would come any time they liked, and 
 they wanted me to go with them at once, but 
 Miss Ravanel begged that I might stay over 
 one Sunday more. She wants to teach me to 
 make Washington pie, and we both want to 
 
A FRIEND 205 
 
 finish " Lorna Doone." So I am staying. I'm 
 much happier. This is just a line to tell you. 
 
 Your oivn 
 
 Azalea 
 
 ******** 
 
 Mallowbanks, February 10. 
 Dearest Carin: 
 
 We are getting ready to go to England. Aunt 
 Lorena is having a charming outfit made for 
 me. Now that she and I really understand 
 each other, we are getting along together beau- 
 tifully. You see, she is a frank, straight-for- 
 ward, fair-minded woman and she couldn't 
 enjoy herself while she thought I was not being 
 fairly treated. But now that I know every- 
 thing, and that she sees I have the courage to 
 make my choice, she feels better about it all. 
 
 I wish you could see my new clothes. They 
 are delightful, and so becoming! They are 
 very practical too. We are not going to take 
 quantities of things, because it would only 
 bother us. But I have my traveling suit of 
 Scotch cloth in a small blue and green plaid, 
 and a hat of blue silk braid trimmed with 
 green, and a steamer rug and coat that look 
 
206 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 well with it; and then two little silks for dinner, 
 nights when we are stopping at any rather 
 fashionable places — one of old rose, and the 
 other of dove color. The pink will be for 
 gay moods, the dove color for pensive ones. 
 Then there is my street suit of tan with shoes 
 and gloves to suit, and the cleverest hat you 
 ever saw, with two big tawny chrysanthemums 
 on it. I don't seem to be very good at describ- 
 ing clothes, but really, as I said at the begin- 
 ning, these things are charming. 
 
 Then to think of seeing England! Me, 
 Azalea! I don't believe it. I cannot bring 
 myself to see that it can possibly be true. 
 
 Carin, that reminds me: Why don't you 
 ask Annie Laurie to go abroad with you? Do 
 you know, I think she would do it. I remem- 
 ber hearing your mother say to her, years and 
 years ago, that some day she and Annie Laurie 
 would be together in Europe, listening to great 
 music. And why not? Annie Laurie could 
 easily afford it. Sam Disbrow is through with 
 school now, and he could look after Annie 
 Laurie's dairy. Propose it, do. Perhaps we 
 could all meet over there. 
 
 I must run down to see Mother McBirney 
 
A FRIEND 207 
 
 before I go. Father McBirney is almost well 
 and hopes to reach home in March to do the 
 plowing. He will get someone to help him of 
 course, for Jim is to stay on at school. I have 
 placed a certain sum in the bank for Jim — 
 enough to last him till he has graduated if he 
 is careful. And Jim is careful. I made up my 
 mind that whatever happened, I was going to 
 see that Jim got what he wanted in the way 
 of an education. He really is wonderfully 
 bright and learns so fast that I don't see how he 
 can remember all that he crams into his head. 
 
 Keefe doesn't write. That was a part of the 
 bargain that he made with Uncle David — that 
 he was not to write. 
 
 But I write to him. 
 
 Is that terribly bold? 
 
 But you wouldn't think so if you could see 
 the letters. Anyway, sometimes they aren't 
 letters. They are just envelopes with little 
 poems In them that I find in the magazines or 
 newspapers and the like. Of course, some- 
 times I write a poem, too. About daffodils, 
 you know, or sunsets, or rainy days. Never 
 anything sentimental. Not at all. Or per- 
 sonal. I wouldn't be personal. I merely 
 
208 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 remind Keefe that I am alive. A couple of 
 violets in a blank sheet of paper will do that 
 nicely. Aunt Lorena knows. She doesn't 
 approve. Not quite, that is. She says it is 
 foolish. So since then I've only been sending 
 little drawings — pictures of people who call, 
 and one of the Grevy's parrot, and another of 
 some geese I saw flying north. They are such 
 bad drawings that they are quite sure to annoy 
 Keefe. I pointed out their badness to Aunt 
 Lorena. 
 
 " Wouldn't it be a good idea to annoy him? " 
 I asked. " Now just look at this sketch of a 
 cat which I mean to send him. That cat will 
 make him furious. I tried to foreshorten it, 
 but I seem to have performed a surgical opera- 
 tion on it instead." 
 
 ^' He'll have you arrested for cruelty to 
 animals," she agreed. " But really. Azalea, I 
 wish you would keep perfectly silent. This 
 young man does not write to you. Are you 
 doing what is dignified? " 
 
 " Aunt Lorena," I said, shaking my finger at 
 her, " my own private opinion is that he is writ- 
 ing to me every night of his life, and filing 
 the letters away for future reference." 
 
A FRIEND 209 
 
 Aunt Lorena lifted her eyebrows very, very 
 high. I smiled. 
 
 "What are you laughing at, Azalea?" she 
 asked sharply. 
 
 " At your Gothic eyebrows, dearest Auntie," 
 I said. Then I kissed her. 
 
 " Don't ask me to be too dignified," I begged. 
 " I'm only Azalea." 
 
 " Azalea Knox is a very pleasing and inter- 
 esting young woman of a good deal of 
 importance in the world, if she would only 
 realize it," she said. 
 
 I looked at her a moment. 
 
 " She's not so very, very happy," I said. The 
 tears came in her eyes, and her eyebrows were 
 not pointed at all. Really, Aunt Lorena is a 
 dear. You just have to break through her crust. 
 The only trouble is that the crust grows over, 
 and you have to keep breaking through. It 
 makes you feel a little like an Eskimo, fishing. 
 
 " I am truly sorry," she said. " But I think 
 if she is a really obedient and patient girl that 
 some day she will be very happy, and that she 
 will thank the friends who now seem to her to 
 be afflicting her." 
 
 We didn't say anything for a few minutes. 
 
210 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Then I ventured: 
 
 " Then you really think I ought not to send 
 anything to Keefe? Not even this terrible 
 drawing of a cat? Not even to make him 
 laugh and — and hold me in contempt?" 
 
 She laughed at that. 
 
 " Not for any reason at all," she said. 
 
 '' Then, Aunt Lorena, let me send word just 
 once more — only once. It will be the end." 
 
 "The end?" 
 
 " I will never direct another envelope of any 
 sort to him till he writes to me. If he has 
 given his word, he will not do that until — " 
 
 " Until? " Her eyebrows were Gothic arches 
 again. 
 
 " Until we find, beyond all question, that we 
 cannot live apart." 
 
 '' Piffle," she said. " One can live without 
 anyone. It is a mere question of making up 
 one's mind." 
 
 I sent Keefe the terrible little picture of the 
 cat. 
 
 " Keefe," I wrote him, " please excuse me for 
 being a bold-faced minx. I must be one, or I 
 wouldn't have sent you poems and violets and 
 things. Kindly observe this drawing of a cat. 
 
A FRIEND 211 
 
 It is a cat, I don't care what you say. She 
 looks as I feel, somewhat cramped. But she 
 is a good cat, and I am a good, obedient girl. 
 I shall waste no more stamps on you. I am 
 going to England, and I am commanded to be 
 very happy. So, since I am obedient, pray 
 think of me as being not only happy but gay." 
 I signed my name to it — just "Azalea" — 
 and sent it ofif. Now I shall write no more. 
 
 Farewell, 
 
 Azalea 
 
 P. S. I wish you could see my traveling veil. 
 It looks like a peacock's breast. Clothes are 
 nice, aren't they? I never realized before how 
 nice they are. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 A TRAVEL LOG 
 
 London! London! London! 
 
 April tenth. 
 Car in J my dear: 
 
 I haven't been writing to you because I 
 haven't thought best. I didn't want to put 
 myself on record. I have been keeping my 
 thoughts to myself, and I never could have 
 done that successfully if I had been gossiping 
 to you, could I? Anyway, I knew you were 
 particularly happy and busy. You were down 
 to Lee for the spring vacation I suppose and 
 opened up the Shoals, and had your own 
 Vance Grevy there, and delightful people to 
 meet him and all that. Then you went back 
 to Vassar. And in tw^o months you will be 
 graduating, and then you and your people will 
 come over to Europe, bringing, I hope, Annie 
 Laurie with you. I believe you agreed with 
 me that it would be a fine thing for both of 
 you if she would join you. 
 
 212 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 213 
 
 As for me, I have been living in two worlds 
 at once: this mellow, storied world of England, 
 and my own little secret world of memories 
 and dreams. We have had unusual oppor- 
 tunities for seeing the real English life. Both 
 Aunt Lorena and Uncle David have relatives 
 and friends here, and we have been entertained 
 in a number of homes very graciously indeed. 
 
 I like the English people. They are not 
 always fizzing and bubbling like Americans. 
 There is a repose about them and a quietness 
 of character that rests me. It even rests me 
 from my fizzly and bubbly self. 
 
 But deep down, Carin, beneath all the effer- 
 vescence, there is something very quiet and 
 peaceful in me. When I am alone, after the 
 day of sight-seeing and chattering and laugh- 
 ing and admiring, I and this Still Soul of mine 
 sit down together and commune. 
 
 Then I am no longer foolish. I am some- 
 thing that — how shall I put it? Something 
 that forever strives! Is that it? I want to do 
 well with my little life, Carin. I want to spin 
 my silver web very beautifully, so that when I 
 am old, and the web is all but done, I can look 
 it over and be satisfied with it. 
 
214 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 I have been keeping a diary, and in it are 
 descriptions of all the places I have seen and 
 the record of what I have done each day. When 
 we get together again I shall show this to you, 
 and then you can read all about what has 
 been happening to me. But having written 
 those descriptions once, I don't at all feel like 
 doing it again. 
 
 Anyway, what is the use? You have seen all 
 of these places. They were an old story to you 
 before I so much as thought of coming over 
 here. But I do love London! Uncle and auntie 
 have seen it before, and they get tired of 
 wandering, so I am put in the care of an excel- 
 lent Englishwoman who knows everything, 
 apparently, and who is paid to pass on as much 
 of her information to me as she possibly can. 
 Her voice is very monotonous, unfortunately, 
 so that I find myself nodding right on the 
 busses, in the midst of her discourses, and I am 
 afraid I am not learning one-tenth of what I 
 ought. 
 
 But at odd moments I catch sight of things 
 that enchant me. 
 
 The other day she and I were going to the 
 Tate Gallery together, and after leaving the 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 215 
 
 bus we came out on the Embankment by means 
 of a curious little street, and suddenly, Carin, 
 we were face to face with some sort of a ship 
 wrecking place. It looked as if it had been 
 there for hundreds of years. The great enclo- 
 sure was heaped up with parts of ships, with 
 the giant beams and the masts, and hulls, and, 
 more interesting than all the rest, with count- 
 less figureheads. 
 
 Of course I knew that nearly every ship 
 carries its figure at its bow. It was for such 
 a purpose that the beautiful Victory of 
 Samothrace was built, wasn't it? But not until 
 I had seen these great wooden creatures, made 
 to represent Neptune and Boreas and Victory 
 and Venus and mermaids and angels, and 
 heaven knows what, did I have any idea what 
 care the ship builders put on these figures. 
 
 Miss Sheepshanks, my chaperon, of course 
 didn't want me to stop to look at them. She 
 was telling about the pictures waiting for us 
 at the gallery, and reminding me of the closing 
 hour, et cetera, et cetera, but for once I was 
 determined to have my way. So I pleaded with 
 her until she allowed me to go in. There was 
 a white-headed old man in charge, whose face 
 
216 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 simply shone when I told him I would like to 
 walk around and look at his figureheads. So 
 we went side by side, Miss Sheepshanks fol- 
 lowing, looking as grieved as she could, and 
 that darling old man told me stories about the 
 ships these figures had come from. 
 
 I swear to you they literally smelled of the 
 seven seas! Ah, such strange, weird creatures 
 as some of them were, and their battered forms 
 told their own story of the storms they had 
 weathered and the sights they had seen. 
 
 " What a heap of stories you must know," 
 I said to him. 
 
 "Stories?" he repeated looking at me with 
 his old, bright eyes. " Every ship could tell 
 as many stories as would make an Arabian 
 Nights. If I started in, miss, telling the stories 
 I know, I should never be done till the day of 
 my death." 
 
 '' I do wish I lived near here," I couldn't 
 help saying; "then I could come over and 
 listen when you were not busy. That is, if you 
 would be willing to tell some of your stories 
 to me." 
 
 " It would put life into my old age," he said 
 earnestly. " Now, miss, I'm something of a 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 217 
 
 reader in my way. There is a library near that 
 I get my boOxks from, for thripence a day. Not 
 bad, is it? Even a poor man can afford that, 
 miss. But when I read the tales, I think to 
 myself: 'Why don't some of you writing 
 fellows come around here and ask the old man 
 a few questions? He could tell you tales of 
 the salt seas that w^ould make men's hair 
 bristle.' " 
 
 Miss Sheepshanks seemed to think this was 
 terribly strong language for me to hear, and 
 she tried to hasten me away, but I wouldn't 
 go till I had told him the story of Samuel 
 Bings and had a wonderful story from him in 
 return. I noted it all down in my diary, and 
 you shall read that, too. We went to the 
 Gallery after that, and saw some beautiful pic- 
 tures, but I am such a silly that my mind kept 
 going back to that old man and the stories he 
 could tell, and when we came out I insisted on 
 going by his place again, and we could see him 
 inside his little office, making his own tea. So 
 the next day, without telling anyone, I sent him 
 a pound of tea in a queer Chinese cannister, 
 just saying it was from the girl who liked 
 stories. 
 
218 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Well, well, I shan't see him again. They 
 hedge me around in every way. A maid or a 
 chaperon must be with me every minute. How 
 I wish I were free to go about and get 
 acquainted w^ith people! They — I mean Aunt 
 Lorena and all the powers of propriety — seem 
 to think that if I did I would have some awful 
 mishap. But do you know, Carin, I don't think 
 that would be the case. I feel as if right at my 
 hand there may be someone I ought to be 
 knowing and who ought to be knowing me. 
 
 That reminds me of what I so long dreamed 
 of doing down in Lee. Not only was I going 
 to take charge of the Industries and help the 
 mountain people as they never were helped 
 before, but I was going to have a home which 
 should be open to every passer-by. Before it 
 was to be a spring of water — I know the very 
 spring — where people could stop for a cold 
 drink, and beside the spring would be seats 
 where they could rest. Not far down the 
 road there would be a trough for horses and 
 another for dogs; and in my cupboard would 
 always be something for whomever was hungry. 
 It would not matter how poor or soiled or 
 strange any passer-by might be, he or she should 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 219 
 
 come in and sit beside my hearth and have of 
 my best. Even very wicked people could come 
 in. And men on the chain gang, mending the 
 road — how I would like to take them out a 
 fine dinner and let them know I believed in 
 them. Perhaps they would let me eat with 
 them, and then maybe I could find out what 
 they were really thinking. 
 
 Carin, that is what I want more than any- 
 thing, I believe, to know what other people are 
 really thinking. I can't tell you how it inter- 
 ests, nay, absorbs me! 
 
 But in the sort of life that I lead now, no 
 one speaks out and says what he thinks. We 
 are endlessly polite. We all say the same thing. 
 We all do the same things. At times, it is true, 
 I see someone looking at me with the eyes of 
 true friendship, but we are parted by the 
 people about us, and we do not really become 
 acquainted. So I am very lonely, in spite of 
 all that is interesting and beautiful about me, 
 and I wish vou and I and Annie Laurie were 
 sitting together up in your little studio-room, 
 with the world far from us, and just we three 
 opening our hearts to each other. 
 
 I have been out to-day selecting some pres- 
 
220 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 ents for friends back at home, and I enjoyed 
 that very much. Do you know, I couldn't 
 resist getting something for those two lonely 
 women, the Wixons, up on Hebron mountain 
 — the ones whose soup I ate uninvited. If ever 
 I get back to Lee, I shall ride up and get 
 acquainted with those women. Isn't it curious 
 how people draw you and draw you, even 
 people you have never met, but know only by 
 report? As for those you do know, they can 
 draw you half around the world. Yes, out of 
 the millions and millions of human beings on 
 this old globe, there will be but two or three, 
 perhaps, who are verily your own, and those 
 you must have. 
 
 A young man called on uncle yesterday, 
 bearing a letter of introduction. He lives, I 
 believe, in Baltimore, and his name is Gerald 
 Hargreaves. His father was a friend of uncle's, 
 and some mutual friend who knew that uncle 
 was over here, gave him the letter. I don't 
 think he was very keen about presenting it, but 
 we are glad he did, for he seems a delightful 
 young man. Uncle David took to him at 
 once, and so, for the matter of that, did Aunt 
 Lorena and I. He is an athletic young person 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 221 
 
 with a general blond appearance and a nice 
 voice. He seems modest, too, and genial. He 
 finished college last year and has been traveling 
 around Europe, but he means to go back home 
 soon and settle down. He is to follow the 
 custom of his family and go into the railroad 
 business. Naturally, we talked about railroads 
 a good deal, and the methods of home and 
 foreign travel. He turned to me and said: 
 
 " What is your favorite means of travel, 
 Miss Knox? " And before I thought how it 
 would sound I replied: 
 
 " Oh, nag travel." 
 
 Aunt Lorena looked rather embarrassed, but 
 Uncle David roared. 
 
 " My niece is a true Southern mountaineer," 
 he said, " and she isn't afraid of anything in 
 the way of horseflesh." 
 
 " Though I have been thrown," I admitted, 
 looking at Uncle David and thinking of the 
 fateful day that Paprika scampered up the 
 mountain away from Uncle David's machine. 
 
 " Fortunately," said Uncle David, and left 
 the young man to figure out what that might 
 mean. 
 
 " I'm glad you think it was fortunate, dear," 
 
222 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 I whispered to him. He gave my hand a little 
 squeeze under the table — we were at tea — 
 and I felt my heart warm up. When I think 
 that Uncle David loves me it brightens up 
 everything; but he is a quiet man and does not 
 say much. He likes to go his own way and 
 amuse himself after his own fashion, and he 
 doesn't wish to be bothered all of the time by 
 paying attention to those around him. As for 
 Aunt Lorena, she takes life as it comes. She is 
 very philosophical and patient and proud, and 
 she sinks back into her easy feminine place 
 and doesn't question anything. The trouble 
 with me is that I'm nearly bursting with 
 questions. 
 
 ^' Ought I to do this? Ought I to think 
 that? Am I making the most of my opportu- 
 nities? Am I being myself, Azalea, or am I 
 imitating these others? Am I of any use or 
 am I just consuming good oxygen and nice food 
 and getting in the way generally?" 
 
 That's how I keep at it. I don't seem to 
 be able to give myself any rest, but must always 
 be badgering myself like that. 
 
 We are all going to the theater to-night to 
 see " A Winter's Tale." Mr. Hargreaves goes 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 223 
 
 with us. I shall wear my white silk and my 
 peach-blow silk jacket. They are charming 
 together. I have a fillet of silver wheat for my 
 hair. Yesterday I sewed little perfume bags 
 — with violet powder in them — in all of my 
 frocks. Violet is the pleasantest of the per- 
 fumes, I think. Though Aunt Lorena uses 
 w^hite rose. What is 3^our favorite, Carin? I 
 have forgotten. Or perhaps when you and I 
 saw each other, I was not thinking much about 
 perfumes. 
 
 Well, now I think about all such things. I 
 have learned to approve of certain makes of 
 gloves and to disapprove of others. I know 
 what sort of laces an unmarried girl should 
 wear, and what ones should be reserved for 
 married ladies. I know — Oh, I know a thou- 
 sr^nd things! I hope little madam grandmother 
 w^ould approve of me. Though she is gone, I 
 still try to please her. Sometimes, when I have 
 tried particularly hard to be polite and gay 
 the way she would like me to be, I fancy I 
 feel her little jeweled hand on my head and 
 that I hear her say: 
 
 " You are doing very well indeed, my dear. 
 Really, I could ask nothing more of you." 
 
224 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 What a pity grandmother could not have 
 passed on her charm as well as her money to 
 me! 
 
 But I am thankful for the money, though 
 money can never play a tremendously large 
 part in my life, because it is so much less 
 interesting than some other things. But as I 
 said, I have been out shopping, and you ought 
 to see what I bought Annie Laurie — a picture 
 of the sea that I know she will love. And I 
 got a watch for Paralee Panther — a wrist 
 watch. She's really a school-teacher at last, 
 as I think I told you, so the watch will be 
 useful. But I have presents for everybody. 
 Buying these things for the people dear to 
 me keeps me from feeling homesick. 
 
 Good night, Carin. It is time to dress for 
 dinner. And after that comes the theater, and 
 I am glad. I do love the theater! And best 
 of all I enjoy the moment when the curtain 
 begins to rise. It is such a throbbing moment. 
 What will one see? What story is to be told? 
 Will one forget that it is a play and believe 
 it all to be true? Will one like life better 
 for having seen it? Will one go out dancing 
 or weeping? 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 225 
 
 Oh, it's a great moment when the curtain 
 begins to rise. 
 
 Azalea 
 
 Como, August 13. 
 Oh, my dear neglected friend: 
 
 I meant to have sent you a dozen letters 
 between my last one and this, but we have been 
 so busy that I simply could not write. I 
 thought I was a particularly strong person, 
 but I give you my word, Carin, that at the end 
 of a day of sight-seeing I am glad to eat my 
 dinner and slip into my bed. However, there 
 is usually something required of me between 
 the eating of the dinner and the seeking of 
 my couch, for we have been entertaining much, 
 and have been much entertained. 
 
 We left London late in May and sailed to 
 Genoa, and since then we have been seeing 
 Italy. As it chanced. Aunt Lorena fell in with 
 some old friends who have been living for years 
 near Fiesole, and they decided to journey with 
 us. This has given us the entree to many 
 homes which we should otherwise not have 
 seen, and it has all been very gay and diverting. 
 
226 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Never have I loved any place as I do Italy. 
 Such beauty, such pathos! I cannot express all 
 I feel, though my diary shall some day show 
 you that I have tried. But more of that some 
 other time, dear girl. I insist that we must 
 be together this winter for a while. Am I 
 right in thinking you will go home for the 
 winter, and that you are to have the delicious 
 experience of preparing your trousseau there 
 in your own dear old home? I want to help 
 with that. I have hunted out a few little 
 things that may find a place in it, and I want 
 to use my needle in your service. 
 
 Mr. Hargreaves has been everywhere with 
 us. I thought it odd of him to accompany us 
 to Venice and to Rome, since he had been in 
 both places only a few months ago. But it 
 was his affair. There was nothing to keep him 
 from visiting both places again if he chose. Of 
 course he has added to my pleasure, being 
 nearer my age than any of the others. Uncle 
 and Aunt Lorena appear to have much satis- 
 faction from his presence, too. They like him 
 immensely and talk about him a great deal. 
 They think him brilliant, but I am not sure 
 that I do. His mind clings too long to one 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 227 
 
 subject. I like a little more agility. Weren't 
 you always amused at the way the minds of 
 Mary Cecily and her brother danced from 
 subject to subject? It was touch and go with 
 them. All they needed was half a sentence — 
 they understood the rest before it was spoken. 
 
 I think myself that no one ought to visit 
 Venice except with her own true love. To 
 float over those moonlit canals to the sound 
 of music, between those regal, slumbering pal- 
 aces in the company of mere casual acquaint- 
 ances or elderly relatives is too much to ask 
 of anyone. 
 
 We foui, uncle, auntie, Mr. Hargreaves and 
 I, were much in the gondolas, going now here, 
 now there, seeing strange old things and dream- 
 ing old dreams. Not at all, I am sure, because 
 he cares for me, but just because the surround- 
 ings were too much for him, Mr. Hargreaves 
 W'as inclined to be — well, a trifle sentimental. 
 But I couldn't endure that. Having the wrong 
 man make love is worse than going without — 
 Oh, much! But I didn't want to hurt his 
 feelings, so I took it all as a joke, and told 
 him to hold Aunt Lorena's hand; that she 
 was a much more sentimental person than I. 
 
228 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 He sent me flowers every morning, but I 
 wouldn't keep them. There was a sweet Eng- 
 lish girl there who was not well, and I made 
 her take most of them. The rest I threw in 
 the canal — not as an insult to the flowers or 
 their giver, but because, when I was gondola 
 riding, it gave me pleasure to throw out a 
 rose now and then and see it drift w^ith the 
 tide. Aunt Lorena wasn't sure that I was 
 being kind to her friend, but I was, really. 
 It wouldn't have been at all kind to let him 
 think I cared when I didn't, w^ould it, dear? 
 
 We met a bright young fellow the other 
 day who had studied at the Academy of Design 
 with Keefe, and he said he thought Keefe had 
 decided to go into landscape work instead of 
 portraits, after all, which seems rather odd 
 considering what a success he was making with 
 portraits. I said: 
 
 "Why do you think he changed?" 
 
 " Oh, it's hard to say," he answered. " Keefe 
 doesn't seem the fellow he used to be. You 
 remember how jolly he was, and how he loved 
 company? It is different with him now. He 
 keeps much to himself and works beyond all 
 reason. I believe in being industrious, but 
 
A TRAVEL LOG 229 
 
 there's no use in being a fanatic about work." 
 " But is he well? Does he look as he used? " 
 Suddenly I remembered that he had come 
 south years ago because his lungs were not 
 strong, and I turned cold at the thought that 
 the trouble that had threatened him, might 
 really have come back and fastened itself on 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, he looks well enough," the young man 
 replied. " Only a little wild and queer. But 
 O'Connor is queer, don't you think so? A sign 
 of genius, no doubt. He had a strange bring- 
 ing up, hadn't he? He's a gentleman, of 
 course; any one can see that; but he's rather 
 adventurous too; a strange mixture." 
 
 I didn't know what to say. I felt I should 
 betray myself if I talked about him any longer, 
 so I only ventured: 
 
 " He has a charming sister. She is one of 
 my best friends." 
 
 "Really?" said the young man. "Well, I 
 hear O'Connor is putting up a studio some- 
 where in the Blue Ridge and that he means to 
 try his hand at interpreting the mountains, 
 but I think myself, he had better have stuck 
 to portraits." 
 
230 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 '' Very likely," said L 
 
 I have heard many conversations during the 
 last few w^eeks, Carin, but that is the only one 
 I remember. 
 
 How good to be able to write you like this! 
 I am so tired of keeping things to myself. We 
 shall be starting for home some time in Octo- 
 ber, I believe. I shall hope to write you, but 
 if I do not, think of me still, in spite of all 
 silences, as 
 
 Your loving friend, 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CROSSROADS 
 
 Mallovvbanks, November 15. 
 Carin, always best and dearest: 
 
 Here I am, back again. Back from Eng- 
 land, back from Italy. The first seemed to 
 me like the great Mother of my Mind; the 
 second like the eternal Mother of my Soul. 
 Always, as long as I live, I shall dream of 
 them. 
 
 And this is a good place for dreaming. 
 Indeed, there is little else to do here. The 
 old house lies in perpetual quiet. The garden 
 is dead again. You will remember that I 
 have only seen it when it was dead. I did 
 not mean to do it, but by accident, when I was 
 walking in it, I came on the little pool where 
 my darling grandmother was drowned, and 
 there were the three swans, aimlessly floating 
 about, just as they did that terrible twilight. 
 
 But I don't know that the swans go about 
 
 231 
 
232 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 any more aimlessly than we do here in the 
 house. There is very little coming and going, 
 for we are in mourning. Uncle does not take 
 a daily paper. He says it frets him and that 
 there is really no use. He says he can get all 
 the essentials from the Weekly Eyrie. And so, 
 I suppose, he can. But all this helps to keep 
 us very quiet. It is as if we lived in an ivory 
 tower. We might be enchanted, so little do 
 we know of other lives than our own. 
 
 I said something like this to Aunt Lorena, 
 and she replied: 
 
 " It is only the reaction after your journey. 
 A person is likely to feel rather let down on 
 first coming home from a tour. Can you not 
 amuse yourself, Azalea, thinking over the 
 places you have seen? Oughtn't you to be 
 taking up your French again? I think I had 
 better arrange for Monsieur Angier to come 
 from Charleston once a week to teach you." 
 
 I thanked her, and went away to my room, 
 presumably to do as she recommended and 
 " think." But thinking is not living, Carin, 
 and I want to live. I don't want to remember. 
 I want to do! I'm tired of having other people 
 do things for me; I'm tired of being treated as 
 
CROSSROADS 233 
 
 if I were better than other people; I'm tired 
 of being cheated of my youth by being made 
 to act as if I were seventy. 
 
 Yes, that is what it amounts to. I am being 
 cheated of my youth. I am so strong and 
 well, so restless and full of energy that I nearly 
 expire in this soft house, where everyone goes 
 quietly, and where we must not even pass things 
 at the table lest we break rules. 
 
 Carin, I want to " reach " for the bread and 
 to eat it with mountain honey, and I'm starving 
 for one of Ma McBirney's corn cakes, and I'd 
 like better than anything to have some bacon 
 and eggs for dinner — with just barely enough 
 to go around. 
 
 I tell you, I'm eating too much, I'm sleeping 
 too much. I'm moping too much! I wish I 
 could get on Paprika's back and go scurrying 
 down the valley, whooping as I go. 
 
 Well, let's talk of something else. 
 
 You say that Mrs. Kitchell is really going 
 to marry the feed store man. That is fine. I 
 must think what to send her for a wedding 
 present. I shall make it something quite gor- 
 geous — nothing sensible at all. She has had 
 so much good sense in her life that she must 
 
234 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 be nearly dead of it. I think I'll get her a 
 table lamp with a rose-colored shade, and per- 
 haps a rose silk table cover to go with it. Dear 
 Anne Kitchell! I'm so glad some rose color is 
 coming into her life. 
 
 What about the Mountain Industries? Is 
 she going to give up the superintendence of 
 them? If so, who is to take her place? 
 
 You say someone has bought the little bench 
 on Mount Tennyson that I loved so much. 
 Can it really be so? Of course I might have 
 expected it, for it was the best building place 
 on the whole mountain. But, Oh, my spring 
 of sweet water, and my darling tulip trees — 
 which it appears aren't mine, after all, and 
 now never will be. 
 
 That was where I was going to build my 
 little shack and hold open house. Everyone 
 who went by was to be at liberty to stop there, 
 and I was going to share with them whatever 
 I had, and to listen to their stories, and to 
 give them comfort. Now I share nothing. No 
 one tells me anything. I give comfort to no 
 one. 
 
 But there I am, mooning again and making 
 myself sound very ungrateful in the bargain. 
 
CROSSROADS 235 
 
 But I'll tell you, Carin, Uncle David and Aunt 
 Lorena do not really need me. They are as 
 kind as they can be, and of course we have 
 some very social and happy hours together, but 
 the whole truth of it is that they are quite 
 bound up in each other and do not really need 
 anyone else at all in their lives. Never having 
 had any children, and having found each other 
 so satisfying, the presence of another person in 
 the house is more of an interruption than a 
 satisfaction to them. No, I know I am not 
 needed here. That realization is growing on 
 me. Perhaps it is my fault. Maybe I have 
 not made myself needed. But at any rate, 
 this is the rather melancholy truth. 
 
 Yet is it a melancholy truth? Why not 
 cheerfully face the fact? Why not look the 
 whole situation in the face? 
 
 For, Oh, Carin, there is a place where I am 
 needed. It is at Lee, at the Mountain Indus- 
 tries. I know that no one else can look after 
 them as w^ell as I. Who else knows so many 
 of the mountain people? With whom would 
 they be as free and friendly as with Azalea 
 McBirney, the waif-girl they saw grow up 
 among them, the girl they taught to weave and 
 
236 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 sew and knit? And now that I have been so 
 much with people of a different sort, I mean 
 with the friends of my uncle and aunt, I am 
 fairly well qualified to meet the other sort of 
 people, too, the visitors to Lee, who are the 
 patrons of the Industries. Yes, I should feel 
 quite at ease with them now. I think I would 
 know ways of bringing them and the mountain 
 people together. 
 
 That introduces me to a perfectly beautiful 
 thought! What is more, it is the first time I 
 have reached it. I am glad I came across it 
 when I was writing to you, because that lets 
 you in at the find. It is this: All I have lived 
 and experienced the last year has simply been 
 a part of my preparation for doing what I 
 always wanted to do. It has made me twice 
 as fit as I was before, to be the friend and 
 teacher of my dear mountain people. Isn't that 
 so, Sister Carin? Am I not ready now to come 
 back to Lee and take my place there, and to 
 spin my silver web? Oh, Carin, now, at last, 
 I can be the woman your dear father and 
 mother wanted me to be. I can serve the 
 people toward whom I feel the greatest loyalty 
 ■ — the people of the mountains, to whom, for 
 
CROSSROADS 237 
 
 Mother McBirney's sake, I owe endless grati- 
 tude. But gratitude quite aside, I want to do 
 it for myself. I want to be helped in helping 
 them. I want to live in broadening their lives. 
 
 So I think I am going to make up my mind 
 to come back to Lee. 
 
 Yes, I think I am. 
 
 I can feel myself making up my mind! 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 It is made up! 
 
 I am going over to Delight Ravanel's to tell 
 her about it. She will object, and then I can 
 listen to my own arguments and make myself 
 sure I am doing right. Then I shall come 
 home and let Uncle David and Aunt Lorena 
 know. 
 
 How excited I am! 
 
 I have just rung for young James to saddle 
 Bess. Now I shall put on my riding habit. - 
 
 Carin, don't you wish you were going to be 
 along? 
 
 Hastily and happily, 
 
 Azalea 
 Monrepos, one hour later. 
 
 Carin, Miss Ravanel understands everything. 
 
238 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 She says she will stand by me. She quite agrees 
 that I must do something, and that I have a 
 right to live my life in my own wa}^, just so 
 it is not a selfish way. Now, giving up a for- 
 tune for the sake of liberty can't be selfish, can 
 it? Maybe it can. That is another thing I'll 
 have to think about. 
 
 Because, you understand, do you not, that 
 going back to Lee will mean going back to 
 freedom? I shall claim my privilege of giving 
 up the money grandmother left me, and of 
 framing my life as seems to suit my conscience 
 and desire — my deep heart's desire — the best. 
 That was where I stood before I went to 
 Europe, and it is where, after all this time, I 
 still stand. I have tried to see things as my 
 relatives wished me to, but I have not suc- 
 ceeded. I want to be myself, to make my own 
 choice in matters that concern my happiness, 
 and to be free to use my own powers. 
 
 Dear Carin, while I was merely considering 
 In a vague, abstract way whether or not I 
 should be able to marry the man of Uncle 
 David's choice, it was not so hard. He might, 
 by some possibility, choose the right man. But 
 that young man I wrote you of when I was 
 
CROSSROADS 239 
 
 abroad, is expected here soon. His father and 
 Uncle David went to the University of Vir- 
 ginia together, and he is all that Uncle David 
 thinks a man should be. He is a fine fellow^, 
 too, Gerald Hargreaves is. I concede that. I 
 want him to be happy — with someone else. 
 He is cultivated, handsome, rich, gracious and 
 good-tempered. This recommends him. But 
 it does not make me love him. It might, 
 only — 
 
 You know of w^hat my only consists. I can- 
 not forget Keefe. I never hear from him. I 
 no longer even write to Mary Cecily, his sister. 
 She stopped writing me, first, and I inferred 
 that Keefe had, in his pride and sadness, asked 
 her to do so. He would not have any round- 
 about communications. He would hear from 
 me straight or not at all. So of course I 
 stopped writing. 
 
 Yet I feel that he remembers. Oh, Carin, 
 I feel that he does. But whether he does or 
 not really makes no difference. I must be true 
 to my own heart, and that wall not let me say 
 " I love you " to any man save Keefe. 
 
 If I were the old-fashioned sort of a girl, I 
 suppose I should not be writing in this w^ay, so 
 
240 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 frankly and unashamed. But what have I to 
 be ashamed of? I cannot think it is wrong to 
 love Keefe. It seems the rightest thing in the 
 world to me. I feel no confusion of any sort 
 about it. I know my own mind. I can look 
 in it as if it were a nice clean mirror, and I 
 see Keefe there every time. 
 
 I have just told Delight Ravanel all this. 
 And what do you think she did? She kissed 
 me! I had looked for a sharp scolding. 
 
 So I am going back home greatly cheered 
 and strengthened. Yet I realize that it is a 
 hard task I have before me — the hardest that 
 ever has come to me. How I do hope I shall 
 prove myself brave. I want to be brave more 
 than anything. I mustn't cry! I won't cry! 
 It is too important a matter to cry about. 
 
 Miss Ravanel says she will come to Lee to 
 visit me. She hasn't been anywhere for twelve 
 years, except to Charleston now and then, and 
 sometimes to a distant neighbor's. I want her 
 to come and show mv mountain women how to 
 make blue and white work. It is a kind of 
 embroidery and lace combined, made on a 
 linen base. She says she will. Isn't she a 
 dear? I hope you'll not mind her wrinkles 
 
CROSSROADS 241 
 
 and think her old. She looks a little old, but 
 she's really very young, judged by the things 
 that count. 
 
 Well, she has given me encouragement and 
 tea and sponge cake and this beautiful promise 
 to come and visit me in what she calls my exile. 
 Exile! In Lee! Near you and all the others 
 I love best. The only drawback to the whole 
 thing will be seeing somebody else's house go 
 up on my treasured building site. I do hope 
 to goodness that whoever is building it will 
 put up a charming house. I couldn't stand it 
 to see an ugly one there. 
 
 I'm writing this while Miss Delight is down 
 contracting with a man for six live turkeys. 
 I can't imagine what she is going to do with 
 them. How could she eat them all by herself, 
 or even with her servants to help? There are 
 only two and neither has any teeth to speak of. 
 Perhaps she likes to hear turkeys gobble. I 
 agree with her that it is a cheerful sound. 
 
 Well, she is returning. Farewell. I will 
 have Miss Ravanel's man mail this letter 
 for me. 
 
 Excitedly and rather fearfully, 
 
 Azalea 
 
242 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Mallowbanks, November 18. 
 My Carin: 
 
 It is done, my dear, it is done. I am free. 
 And the getting of the freedom has not been 
 so terrible as I feared it would be. 
 
 I went home from Miss Ravanel's that 
 afternoon with my courage, as you remember, 
 screwed to the sticking point. It was a glorious 
 afternoon, Carin, and although the summer 
 was gone, everywhere there were things to 
 remind me of how plenteous it had been. I 
 had not ridden far before I came to the Knox 
 estate, which is marked by low stone posts 
 with the letter "K" upon the top. The sun- 
 shine was over everything — over the wide, 
 well-kept fields, the beautiful woodlands, the 
 creeks, the broad, noisy shallows, the winding 
 roads, the houses of the tenants and the noble 
 structure of Mallowbanks. If ever there was 
 a fair domain it is this. And half of it is mine 
 — or was mine. ' I have given it up — resigned 
 all claim to it. I can hardly realize it yet. 
 But I must soon set my hand to certain signa- 
 tures, and then my sacrifice will be made 
 regular and legal, and Azalea will go out of 
 this house as poor as when she entered it. 
 
CROSSROADS 243 
 
 Almost, that is. For it is true that I shall 
 have an annuity which will last as long as I do, 
 and will provide for my needs. Once, I sup- 
 pose, I would have called that a fortune. But 
 it seems very little now. Since I came here, 
 I have spent more a month on gifts than this 
 will come to. 
 
 But never mind all that. I must tell you 
 what happened. As I said, it w^as a glorious 
 afternoon, and I found my uncle and aunt 
 sitting in the great hallway before a fire, laugh- 
 ing and talking together very happily. When 
 I saw how contented they were with each 
 other, and how perfectly they fitted into that 
 beautiful home, I was able to comfort myself 
 by thinking of all they had to make their life 
 rich. They did not, as I have so often said, 
 really need me. 
 
 So, without even waiting to change from my 
 habit to my house garments, I went up to them 
 and kissed them both, and then I stood by the 
 side of the great fireplace and prayed for the 
 right words to come. All I could think of 
 was this — or something like this: 
 
 " Uncle David," I began, " Aunt Lorena, I 
 have come to say something very important." 
 
244 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Uncle David looked up sharply. I had had 
 a letter that morning from Gerald Hargreaves 
 and he knew it. I think he thought that what 
 I had to say related to that. So I shook my 
 head at him, and he knew I had been reading 
 his thoughts. 
 
 '' It has to do," I said, " with a princess who 
 was not fit to be a princess. She was a princess 
 with a very queer life. She had her high 
 inheritance, but she was born in poverty for all 
 of that, and she was reared in poverty, and in 
 the days when she was poor she used to dream 
 that some day her kingdom would be given to 
 her, and that she would find her own people 
 and live with them, beloved and loving. There 
 was no reason to suppose this dream would ever 
 come true, and certainly the princess never 
 supposed it would. Dreaming the dream was 
 just a game that she played to pass away the 
 time. 
 
 " Then, one day, by the strangest chance, her 
 people found her — her own people ^ — and so 
 kind and noble were they that they at once 
 acknowledged her and took her to her own 
 kingdom — though it might all have been 
 theirs had they not been so good and true 
 
CROSSROADS 245 
 
 that it was a pleasure to them to do right and 
 to divide it between themselves and her. They 
 did all they could to make the princess happy. 
 The great house and the garden, the fields 
 and woods, were for her to enjoy. She was 
 taken on a journey to beautiful lands. She 
 was given tutors and books, gowns and jewels, 
 a horse after her own heart and many luxuries 
 which it would take too long to name. But 
 there was one thing she did not have, and that 
 was the right to make her own choice of the 
 sort of life she wished to lead. She must stay 
 within her kingdom, she must marry the prince 
 that her kin should choose, and she must live 
 as became one of her rank. 
 
 " Now it so happened that the manner in 
 which the princess had been reared did not 
 make it possible for her to consent to this, 
 although she wished from the bottom of her 
 heart to pay full duty to these kind and true 
 kinsmen of hers. But she had a higher duty 
 yet than that, and that was to be true to her 
 own soul. Day by day and hour by hour this 
 truth grew upon her: that it would be a great 
 sin for her not to be what she was made to be. 
 ' Be what thou art ' she had once read in a 
 
246 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 book. ' Be what thou art.' She could not 
 forget it. It seemed to her that there was great 
 wisdom in that saying. 
 
 " So she has come to tell her dear kinspeople 
 that she must let the fortune go. The houses 
 and lands, the streams and forests, are dear to 
 her, but they are not so dear as liberty. No, 
 not nearly so dear. But there is one thing 
 that is dear to her beyond words, and that is 
 the love of her kinspeople, and that she never 
 means to let go if she can hold on to it. What- 
 ever the cords are that tied them and her 
 together, she wants to make stronger and faster, 
 for as long as she lives she will love them and 
 be grateful to them. 
 
 " Yet she must be free. Will they under- 
 stand, and forgive? " 
 
 Then I cried. I said I wouldn't, that I 
 mustn't; but I did. Not with sobs. No, but 
 those miserable tears simply poured out of my 
 eyes over my cheeks and I couldn't stop them. 
 And Aunt Lorena cried, too. Only she cried 
 slowly. She sat with her long hands clasped 
 and let the big, lazy tears roll down her cheeks. 
 As for Uncle David, he grew red and then 
 white, and for what seemed a long time I stood 
 
CPvOSSROADS 247 
 
 there, waiting, until after a long time Uncle 
 David said: 
 
 " Come to me, child," and I went to him, 
 and kneeled down by him, and he brushed back 
 m}^ hair and kissed me on the forehead. 
 
 " You were never," he said in a voice that 
 trembled a little, " so true a Knox as you are 
 to-day, my dear." 
 
 Oh, Carin, w^asn't that beautiful? I had 
 been afraid of his disapproval, but now I 
 seemed, in a way I cannot describe, almost 
 more afraid of his approval. It was hard for 
 me to stand his kindness when I had been so 
 determined to go my way. 
 
 Then I heard Aunt Lorena talking, but for 
 a moment or two my heart and brain were in 
 such an uproar that I could not really make 
 out what she was saying. But at last the words 
 got through to me. 
 
 " We know. Azalea, many things which you, 
 perhaps, do not give us credit for knowing. 
 We know that you are full of ambition and 
 that the life here seems meaningless to you. 
 Life has trained you in a different school from 
 what it has us. We believe if you had waited, 
 you would have come to see opportunities for 
 
248 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 great good in this life here, but since it truly 
 does not appeal to you, I for one think you 
 ought to be allowed to go your way and live 
 the life you like. I know — we know — that 
 there lies behind this resolution your determi- 
 nation to have a free choice in other matters 
 than your vocation. Am I not right in this?" 
 
 " Yes," I said, and found the courage to 
 look straight into her eyes. 
 
 " I do not blame vou," she said. " I married 
 the man I loved, and I believe every woman 
 should do that if she can." 
 
 "At any price?" asked Uncle David, look- 
 ing first at me and then at her. 
 
 " Oh, at any price consistent with honor," 
 she said. 
 
 " The price you pay is a large one," he said 
 to me. " I doubt if you appreciate how large." 
 
 " It would mean nothing to me if my heart 
 always hung heavily in me," I said. 
 
 " No," he agreed. 
 
 " No," echoed Aunt Lorena. 
 
 They are very tender with me. They deeply 
 regret the conditions of the will, but they have 
 no power to change them. As for me, I do 
 not wish any change made. I want all left 
 
CROSSROADS 249 
 
 as my little grandmother desired. I resent 
 nothing. I have too much for which to be 
 thankful. 
 
 Carin, it seems incredible, but in a few days 
 I shall be at Lee. I will wire you when I am 
 coming. Ride up to see Mother McBirney. 
 Let her know everything. Tell everyone I am 
 coming home. Oh, how my heart beats at 
 thought of it! I can write no more. I cannot 
 see my page for these silly tears. 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 " WHERE THERE IS A WILL " 
 
 The Shoals, November 24. 
 Dear Aunt Lorena and Dear Uncle David: 
 
 Just a line to say that I am safe here and 
 am sending Semmy back to you with many, 
 many thanks. She asked to stay with me, but 
 it was, I fancy, more to compliment me than 
 for any other reason. I would not keep her, 
 of course. She belongs to Ivlallowbanks, does 
 dear good Greenville Female Seminary Simms. 
 May heaven bless her. I hated to part with 
 her. 
 
 Dear me, how many kinds of homesickness 
 one may have. When I was away from Lee I 
 was longing for it; now that I am here I love 
 to dream of Mallowbanks. Still, I am glad 
 I am here. There is work awaiting me. In 
 fact, it is piled high, and someone was des- 
 perately needed to take hold of it. Lee is 
 bulging with nice visitors with fashionable- 
 
 250 
 
''WHERE THERE IS A WILL" 251 
 
 looking purses, and they are wild to do things 
 and spend money. They would rather pur- 
 chase these mountain products than anything 
 else, because they are such quaint souvenirs 
 of this lovely place. But, alas, all is in confu- 
 sion in the little shop. The weavers have been 
 lazy, the basket-makers must have been wool 
 gathering, the pottery makers have all been 
 getting married — just like Ma Kitchell — and 
 there is, to say the least, the dickens to pay. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Carson had been most eager 
 to have me come back and take up the work, 
 but as you know, there was not a hint from 
 them that they wanted me, because, of course, 
 they would not in any way interfere with me, 
 nor tempt me to return. Anyway, I do not 
 suppose they had the faintest idea that I would 
 do so. But when they found that I was willing 
 and ready to take up the work, they were 
 simply delighted, and now they are doing 
 everything in their power to help my task 
 along. Within two or three weeks I hope to 
 have things running very well. I would like 
 to make a good showing before Christmas. 
 
 I am staying with my own Carin Carson 
 for the present, because I am not inclined to 
 
252 'AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 take the long ride up and down the mountain. 
 It would be too exhausting. Moreover, since 
 I would not be able to help Mother McBirney 
 with the housework, I would very much object 
 to staying there and making her extra trouble. 
 But of course I wxnt up there the day after I 
 arrived. Things are going on quite in the old 
 way with the McBirneys. Except, of course, 
 that Jim is not there, being still at school. Hi 
 KitchelTs younger brother is a helper for 
 Father McBirney, and seems a fine, willing 
 boy. Father McBirney is pretty w^ell, consid- 
 ering his condition of a year ago, but he will 
 never be quite so strong and nimble as he once 
 was. Mother McBirney is well and happy in 
 her quiet way, and she sends her respects to 
 you. 
 
 I am asking a few friends for subscrip- 
 tions for the Industries. It would not become 
 me to place any limit on their generosity, 
 would it? 
 
 Oh, what an impertinent one I am to badger 
 you, when you have already done so much for 
 me! 
 
 How am I to thank you for everything? 
 How, above all, am I to express my gratitude 
 
" WHERE THERE IS A WILL " 253 
 
 to you for your large-minded consideration for 
 my feelings and preferences? I am now a 
 worker in the world of workers, and I am very 
 happy, for a deep need of my being is finding 
 expression. Try to understand as well as to 
 forgive. 
 
 With abiding affection, 
 
 Azalea 
 
 ******** 
 
 The Shoals, December 5. 
 Dearest Miss Delight, my own beloved twenty- 
 seventh cousin: 
 
 Oh, why do you not come to see me? You 
 thought you might come along in a week or 
 two. It is more than a week or two and you 
 are not here. I am having such fun, but it 
 would be yet more fun if you were sharing it 
 with me. 
 
 I am selling things! 
 
 Yes, selling them at the Mountain Industries. 
 
 They are going like hot cakes. I haven't 
 made up my books yet, but from present indi- 
 cations I should say that the Mountain Indus- 
 tries would presently be very, very rich. Of 
 course I'm really not a good judge, because 
 
254 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 this is the first selling I ever have done, and 
 it may have excited me a bit. 
 
 Let me tell you what I have been doing. 
 As I mentioned in the little note I wrote you, 
 things were rather at sixes and sevens here. 
 Mrs. Kitchell, who has had charge of the place 
 from the very beginning, was a fine worker 
 and was and is one of the dearest little things 
 that ever lived, but she v/asn't just the person 
 for managing a growing business. She was 
 better at weaving than at negotiating the weav- 
 ing of other folk, for example. Actually, when 
 I came to look things over I found quantities 
 of fine salable stufif tucked away here and there. 
 No one ever had come in and demanded 
 those particular things — not knowing of the 
 existence of them — and they had therefore 
 remained unsold. 
 
 I had the whole " kit an' bilin' " taken out 
 in the yard and spread around on bushes and 
 fences and the ground and aired and aired and 
 aired! Then I had the salesroom calcimined 
 a most magnificent pumpkin color. The deco- 
 rator was as stupid as a rabbit about mixing 
 the right color, so Carin came over and did it. 
 Then I had racks put around the wall. Some 
 
a 
 
 WHERE THERE IS A WILL" 255 
 
 of them hung from the ceiling; some stood 
 on the floor. Also I had a few drawers and 
 shelves put up, and I got some show cases with 
 black finishings, and I furnished the room with 
 mountain furniture stained black. Also I have 
 the floor covered with extra heavy rag carpet- 
 ing in pumpkin yellow and black. 
 
 Fancy, if you please, how beautiful my 
 blue hand-woven coverlets and my brown-and- 
 orange and black-and-red counterpanes look 
 against this wall. Fancy how attractive is the 
 snarl of fine hand-woven baskets that I have 
 tied up on one side of the room. 
 
 What is more, we are nov\^ opening a regular 
 tea room. Mrs. Kitchell had had one at the 
 beginning, but it had fallen into nothingness. 
 Now I have one — the darlingest room — all 
 in golden brown and white. It complements 
 the other room in the nicest way, and yet is 
 very different indeed. I have some curious 
 Japanese dishes, sort of crackled in effect, 
 white and brow^n, and odd serving dishes in 
 dull yellow majolica. And we use the moun- 
 tain-made trays of willow and some of the 
 mountain pottery. I have three neat, svv^eet, 
 fleet mountain girls in here helping with the 
 
256 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 tea room, and people simply throng to it. I 
 write out the little menu every morning before 
 I get out of bed, and one of these girls, who 
 really has a head on her, prepares the things 
 in the most appetizing manner. 
 
 " People," I said to her, " don't come in 
 here because they are hungry. They come 
 because they want to be amused. And they 
 won't be amused unless everything looks 
 beautiful." 
 
 Carin is doing a lot of the cooking. She 
 is doing it because she wants to know how to 
 cook. She is going to be married before 
 spring, and there is simply no use in her trying 
 to do anything in her own kitchen. The serv- 
 ants won't let her; or if they do consent they 
 all stand around and watch till she is so nervous 
 she can't do a thing. But over in our kitchen 
 she can do just what she pleases. She makes 
 those delicious little cakes called " hermits " 
 and "marguerites " and " rocks " and her sand- 
 wiches are as good to look at as they are to 
 taste. She has a new kind every day. 
 
 I am terribly stern with her about keeping 
 books, however, and she has to put down every 
 cent she SDends. The tea room must make 
 
"WHERE THERE IS A WILL" 257 
 
 money for us or we'll not run it. I have 
 become fiercely practical. 
 
 Oh, how light my heart is! There is so 
 much to do each day that I can hardly get 
 through, and I fall asleep as soon as I touch 
 the bed, and am oblivious to the whole world 
 until my alarm goes off. But I set my alarm 
 pretty early because each day I must think out 
 my w^ork before I get up. I write out my 
 program for the day and insist on following it. 
 
 Of course quantities and quantities of people 
 come in the shop who do not purchase, but 
 I do not waste much time with them. I have 
 a little sign on the wall telling our patrons to 
 look around as much as they please, and when 
 they have made their selection to let us know. 
 I add that they are most welcome; whether 
 they purchase or no, they are to make them- 
 selves at hom.e. 
 
 Meantime, I have a pleasant young girl at 
 hand ready to wait on them when they wish 
 her to, and I, though I appear to be busy with 
 other matters, keep an ear cocked, and if she 
 seems to need reinforcing, I come to her assist- 
 ance. By the way, who do you suppose that 
 girl is? Why, she is Liza Wixon, from Mount 
 
258 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Hebron, the girl whose soup I sampled so 
 generously without invitation. I have per- 
 suaded both her mother and her to come down 
 and help me. So they have put their sadness 
 behind them and are working like good fel- 
 lows. Of course they have a secret of some 
 kind, but I shall never ask what it is. 
 
 I am sending off letters to our workers, beg- 
 ging them to hasten their wares to us, telling 
 them the demand for their work is here. All 
 we need is the goods. 
 
 No, I don't go anywhere. Do you wish I 
 would? When I first came home people began 
 giving me teas and all that, but I begged them 
 not to. 
 
 " Come and see me Sunday afternoons," I 
 told them. " I mustn't indulge in a social life. 
 I wouldn't have time and strength for that 
 along with all my work." 
 
 I knew the people who really cared for me 
 would come, and as for the others, it would be 
 better for them to visit their chosen friends 
 and not bother with me. 
 
 Well, why don't you come to visit me 
 and to help me with the Christmas trade? 
 Wouldn't it be the joy of the world to see 
 
"WHERE THERE IS A WILL" 259 
 
 the exclusive Miss Delight Ravanel waiting 
 on people and wearing a pleasant saleslady's 
 smile? It would fill me with great glee. 
 Please come down here and let me see you 
 doing it. 
 
 Do you miss me? I miss you very, very^ 
 much. Evenings, when I leave the drawing- 
 room and go up to my own quiet room, I think 
 of you sitting by yourself, so lady-fine and 
 peaceful beside your lamp, your busy needles 
 and thoughts going, and outside the trees sigh- 
 ing and the wind whistling. How still you can 
 be, dear friend. Is it hard to learn to be as 
 still as that? 
 
 I have been telling Barbara Summers all 
 about you. Of course she had met you at the 
 time of my coming-out party, but she couldn't 
 possibly know you — or even guess you — until 
 she had sat with you evening after evening 
 as I have, in so pleasant a " solitude of two " 
 and mined for your treasures of brain and 
 heart. For you hide your virtues as other 
 people do their faults. 
 
 Dear Delight R., I have had occasion when- 
 ever I went to Mother McBirney's, to go by 
 the place I used to call mine. I mean that 
 
260 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 little, out-looking bench on the mountain-side 
 where the tulip trees rustle and the spring of 
 cold water whispers. I have already told you 
 that a house is going up there. Well, it is 
 beginning really to look like a house now, and 
 I cannot resist dismounting every time I pass 
 it, and looking it over. 
 
 It is going to be a bewitching house, nothing 
 less. There is a covered porch which in winter 
 is to be made into a sun room, that literally 
 hangs over the blue abyss, but so firmly is it 
 supported with its foundations of cement and 
 its huge beams of oak, that it is as firm and 
 enduring as the mountain-side itself. There 
 is a long, fine living room; the mantel 
 is to be of blue tile — yes, and the chimney 
 piece, too. It will be curious, will it not? 
 But I think I shall like it. There are two 
 bedrooms on the first floor, and there is, of 
 course, the kitchen and a small dining room. 
 The wood is chestnut, which takes on a beauti- 
 ful color when it is oiled. 
 
 Upstairs there Is a bedroom which reminds 
 me of my dear little loft at Mother McBirney's 
 only that it is, of course, to be very nicely fin- 
 ished ofif. It looks up the mountain-side, too, 
 
"WHERE THERE IS A WILL" 261 
 
 and it opens on a sleeping porch. Then there 
 is a long room beside it, the use of which I do 
 not know. Perhaps it is being left undivided 
 merely because it is not needed for present use. 
 I have asked a number of persons who is build- 
 ing this house, but no one seems to know. The 
 contractor is a friend of mine, but even he 
 professes to know nothing. He says that a 
 man at Rutherford is doing all the business 
 with him, but that he understands it is for 
 some gentleman who wishes to have a quiet 
 spot to come to now and then, and who once 
 visited Lee and saw this beautiful building 
 site. 
 
 Well, if he had taken any other spot in the 
 whole county except the particular one that 
 he did, he would be welcome. But as it is, 
 he annoys me. 
 
 Haven't I chattered about enough? Mind, 
 I am looking for you. I want you to come 
 down and play at being a " rich merchant " 
 with me. 
 
 If you see the good people at Mallowbanks, 
 give them my love, please. 
 
 Fondly, 
 
 Azalea 
 
262 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 The Shoals, November 21. 
 Dear Aunt Lorena: 
 
 I have just come home from the wedding of 
 my dear Annie Laurie Pace to Samuel Dis- 
 brow. It was quite a sudden affair at the 
 last. Of course they have been in love with 
 each other for years, and it must be a year 
 and a half since they became engaged. But 
 they were both so busy superintending the 
 dairy which Annie Laurie's father left her, 
 and following up their university extension 
 course, that we had about decided, Carin and 
 I, that they had forgotten all about getting 
 married. 
 
 But it seems that we were mistaken. They 
 were thinking about it all of the time. 
 
 The wedding was held in the Baptist 
 church, and there were three ministers to make 
 it what it should be. There was the Baptist 
 minister, who belonged there, and the Meth- 
 odist minister — Mr. Summers — who helped 
 because Annie Laurie loved him, and there 
 was old Mr. Mills, who came back from 
 Florida to put on the finishing touches, because 
 Annie Laurie had know him ever since she 
 was a baby. 
 
" WHERE THERE IS A WILL " 263 
 
 She looked glorious, did Annie Laurie, so 
 tall and strong and fine, with her dark red 
 hair burnished like a bird's breast, all in her 
 white, with her floating veil. Instead of bride's 
 roses she carried a bouquet of great tawny 
 chrysanthemums the color of her hair. Sam 
 has grown to be a magnificent fellow and 
 everyone likes him. When I remember what 
 a pale-faced, anxious boy he was once, and see 
 what a strong, capable, independent fellow he 
 has become, I feel tremendously proud, not 
 only of him, but of Lee, which helped him to 
 make himself what he is. There was a time 
 when everybody thought him the son of a 
 thief, and when he was broken-hearted with 
 grief and shame, when he might have gone 
 down and become worse than nothing. But he 
 wanted to be good and fine, and everybody 
 in Lee turned in and gave him a boost. Annie 
 Laurie helped most of all, of course. 
 
 Now she has her reward. 
 
 They have gone away on a wedding trip, 
 and I am so glad. Never before has either 
 of them gone outside of the state they were 
 born in. But now she and Sam are ofif to the 
 North, and will visit New York and Boston, 
 
264 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Washington and Baltimore, and a number 
 of other places. Fortunately, they have a good 
 superintendent, and the dairy will get on very 
 well without them. I am going to stay in the 
 house with Annie Laurie's two aunts until she 
 returns. Aunt Adnah is very restless, and 
 Aunt Zillah cannot manage her very well, but 
 when I am there I can, I think, keep them 
 amused. I move over to-morrow, and shall 
 stay in Annie Laurie's own room, which is as 
 clean, if not as bare, as in the old days when 
 I knew it first. 
 
 How Annie Laurie did want dear old Hay- 
 stack Thompson to play at the little dance 
 after the wedding! But he is not to be found. 
 Never since he ran away from good little 
 Mrs. Kitchell has he been seen or heard of. 
 But I can't believe that any harm has come 
 to him. He is off in some other part of his 
 beloved mountains, fiddling for new friends. 
 I miss him terribly. Don't think me ego- 
 tistical, but I do wonder if he would return 
 if he knew that I was back here. He always 
 loved me quite out of proportion to my deserts. 
 It was because he helped to find me that time 
 I was kidnapped, I think, and because I was 
 
"WHERE THERE IS A WILL" 265 
 
 such a queer, unlucky little girl and needed 
 him so much. But whatever the reason, we 
 are great friends, and I can not think of any- 
 thing that would give me greater pleasure 
 than to see him loping down the mountain- 
 side, with his fiddle under his arm, and his 
 hair all in a shock, like a windblown haystack. 
 
 I had no time to prepare a fit present 
 for Annie Laurie, the announcement of her 
 wedding was so unexpected. So now I am 
 weaving a counterpane for her of blue, orange 
 and white in the wheel and star pattern. It 
 is going to be beautiful, and will bring color 
 into her room, which always has been too 
 austere. Carin has ordered a beautiful rug 
 from New York, which will have the same 
 colors in it. And Mrs. Carson will give the 
 hangings of blue for the windows. So we 
 shall have a charming room for her by the 
 time she returns. The truth is, Annie Laurie 
 never pays any attention to herself or to the 
 things which she alone uses, beyond keeping 
 everything spotlessly clean and in order after 
 the immemorial fashion of the Paces. 
 
 But she deserves a beautiful bedroom, and 
 she shall have it. 
 
266 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 I am so busy in the shop during the day 
 that I have to weave the counterpane at night. 
 I might have someone else do it, only I prefer 
 to do it with my own hands. Anyway, I 
 have to economize a bit. Not that I mind. 
 Which reminds me that the first installment 
 of the annuity dear grandmother provided for 
 me, arrived safely. Enclosed please find 
 receipt. Mr. Carson is paying me a nice little 
 salary for my work at the Industries. So I 
 am well provided for, as you see. But I 
 want to be a bit saving, because now, indeed, 
 Azalea is out for herself, and she does not 
 want to have to fall back on anybody. 
 
 I am sorry Uncle David does not write me. 
 He isn't vexed with me, is he? Oh, I know 
 he is disappointed. I know I seem to him 
 not to have done the right or the grateful 
 thing. But try to make him understand that 
 I love him. I had to go my own way, that 
 is all. And I am justified; I feel that in 
 my heart. I enjoy each moment as it comes, 
 and I continually feel that something yet more 
 glorious is about to happen. 
 
 With devotion, 
 
 Azalea 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 " RING, HAPPY BELLS " 
 
 The Shoals, December 26. 
 My dear, dear Uncle and Aunt: 
 
 A happy New Year! Was it a merry 
 Christmas for you? Oh, I hope it was. You 
 had many of your kith and kin with you, I 
 know. I would have liked to have been there 
 if only I could have been in two places at 
 once. But you know how difficult that is. 
 
 And this year I had to be right here. 
 
 You still wonder why? 
 
 It is not easy to explain. But it had to be. 
 I felt the need of it. I have been working 
 my way back to the true, original Azalea, 
 and she was to be found here and not amid 
 all the luxury and quietude and tradition of 
 Mallowbanks. But now, I think, at last, she 
 is really found, and so she hopes that next 
 year you may be able to include her in your 
 Christmas celebration. 
 
 267 
 
268 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Let me thank you and then thank you again 
 for your beautiful Christmas gifts. A piano 
 of my own, and a music cabinet and folios 
 and folios of music! It was a royal gift and 
 I do not see just how ordinary thanks are 
 going to express my gratitude. All I can say 
 is that it shall be the comfort of my lonely 
 hours, and the joy of my bright ones, and 
 that I promise now that never shall I sit down 
 to this exquisite instrument without thinking 
 of the two who gave it to me, and being 
 thankful that my life met theirs. That my 
 life and theirs could not, for reasons, run 
 along in the same channel, makes the joy of 
 the meeting no less. I look at this wonderful 
 gift and find myself not quite believing that 
 it is really mine. This morning I could hardly 
 wait to dress to run into Carin's studio to 
 see If it really was there. Having no place 
 of my own, I have had it put in her lovely 
 room for the time being. 
 
 I have many things to tell you, and I am 
 going to try to tell them with proper dignity 
 as becomes your niece. I know I write 
 dreadful nonsense at times, and I know, too, 
 that I am too impulsive and enthusiastic. I 
 
" RING, HAPPY BELLS " 269 
 
 remember that dear Father McBirney warned 
 me against those faults in my character years 
 ago, when I first came to him. I am afraid 
 I have not improved very much, but at least 
 I am aware that he was right, and that I 
 ought to be a more sober and calm person 
 than I am. 
 
 So, quite calmly and soberly, I am happier 
 than I ever thought anybody could be. I have 
 promised Keefe O'Connor to marry him. By 
 Spring I shall have done it — and you two 
 shall be here beside me, to deliver me with 
 all possible conventionality into his hands. 
 
 There! Did I not tell that soberly enough? 
 
 And now to go back! 
 
 I did not write to Keefe nor he to me. We 
 had promised you that we would not, and we 
 kept our word. I did not even let him know 
 that I was here at Lee, or that I had renounced 
 all of my right to my grandmother's splendid 
 legacy in order to be free to weave my own 
 silver web. No, I just worked and kept still. 
 
 But I confess that I knew that Annie Laurie 
 had written to Keefe's sister, Mrs. Rowantree, 
 all about it, and that I was morally sure she 
 would write to Keefe. But that, as you will 
 
270 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 plainly see, was something over which I had 
 no control. Not, I will confess, that I tried 
 to have. 
 
 Meantime, I tried to be content, and I was, 
 really, but it was a contentment made up 
 largely of expectation. You see how frank 
 I am with you. Do you mind? It is Azalea's 
 way. You don't want her to try to be any 
 other way than is natural to her, do you? 
 
 Yes, I had a beautiful, deep-down, reassur- 
 ing sense of expectation. I felt as if Happi- 
 ness was journeying toward me. 
 
 " Maybe," I often said to myself, " she will 
 be a long while coming, but she is on the way. 
 By putting my ear to the ground, I am sure 
 I can hear her footsteps." 
 
 So I kept on working and working, and 
 the work thrived and I thrived. At night I 
 slept the sleep of the very weary, and all day 
 long I was playing the fine exciting game of 
 building up the business of the Mountain 
 Industries. 
 
 Then, when I had nothing else to do, I 
 dreamed dreams. 
 
 There was only one thing in the world that 
 bothered me, and that was the little house up 
 
" RING, HAPPY BELLS " 271 
 
 on the mountain. It seemed too outrageous 
 that anybody — a stranger at that — should 
 have come down into the Blue Ridge and 
 bought and built on the one spot of all the 
 whole range that I had selected for myself. 
 To add insult to injury, he was putting up 
 precisely, identically, the sort of a house that 
 I had designed for the place. There was only 
 one way to account for that, and that was 
 that both he and I had selected the most 
 appropriate sort of a house for the place. 
 Such a house, I finally decided, must be inevit- 
 able in such a spot. And yet, after all, that 
 didn't quite account for the strangeness of the 
 fact that the place was such a materialization 
 of my dream. It really annoyed me. I did not 
 like that man. I was prepared to be disagree- 
 able to him. 
 
 And then, one day, I saw him. 
 
 It was a Sunday, clear and crisp and cold, 
 and I had been up to have dinner with Mother 
 McBirney. Jim was home, too, for the holi- 
 days, and the four of us sat in the quaint, 
 dear old room just as 'we used years ago. 
 Only now it was Jim and not Father McBir- 
 ney who said grace at table. It was he who 
 
272 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 carved the turkey too. For it was a feast, 
 and we ate one of the turkeys which usually 
 are kept for market. But nothing is too good 
 for Jim, home from college. Or for Azalea, 
 who is keeping him there. 
 
 Yes, turkey we had, and yams cooked in 
 sugar and wild crab apple jelly and green 
 tomato pickles and molasses bread and biscuits 
 and gravy, and coffee and " stickies " for 
 dessert. To make stickies, you make a pie 
 crust and roll brown sugar in it. You are 
 always glad when you see them and sorry after 
 you have eaten them. Ma makes the best ones 
 in the South. Oh, yes, we were very happy. 
 The fire leaped in the old black fireplace, 
 and the hounds curled up before it and 
 whined with joy. Ma was a dream in her 
 blue dress and white apron with her dear 
 face shining with goodness and love, and Pa 
 McBirney was a picture with his whitening 
 hair. Outside the mountain dreamed and 
 dreamed, and told us how long mountains 
 lived, and what a little while mere folks had 
 for enjoying themselves, and warned us to 
 gather up all the sweetness we could while we 
 have a chance. 
 
^' RING, HAPPY BELLS " 273 
 
 So we did. We ate and laughed and were 
 glad together; we tidied the little house and 
 then we sang and read. But all the time I 
 noticed Mother looking at me in a new way, 
 and sometimes the tears would come to her 
 eyes, and it seemed as if she never passed me 
 without dropping a hand on my head or my 
 shoulder. And Jim was tender too. He 
 neither teased me nor preached to me. He 
 was just sweet. As for Pa, he asked me if I 
 didn't think all of our ways were laid out 
 for us by One Who Knew What Was Best. 
 Oh, yes, it surely was a day long to be 
 remembered. 
 
 But it surprised me a little when they urged 
 me to start on my way. 
 
 " You mustn't be out after dark, my dear," 
 said Mother McBirney, patting my hand. " I 
 want to think of you as safe at the Shoals 
 before the twilight comes. So you'd better 
 be on your way, honey-girl." 
 
 " But I want to stay," I pleaded. 
 
 " No, no," she laughed, " you want to go. 
 You may not know it, but you do." 
 
 So among them they got me into my things 
 and onto my horse. I miss my little Paprika 
 
274 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 when I ride these mountain roads, and some- 
 times wish I could buy her back again. The 
 horse I ride is from the Carson stables, o-f 
 course, and is a fine, gentle creature which 
 Mrs. Carson often uses and which knows 
 every inch of the way. 
 
 To my surprise, Jim insisted on coming 
 along. 
 
 " But no," I said. "What is the use, Jim? 
 Stay with the folks." 
 
 " I need exercise, sister," he answered, still 
 in that surprisingly gentle way. " You must 
 let me do what I like when I am home so 
 seldom. I get discipline enough at college." 
 
 So off we went together, just as we used 
 in the old days when we were boy and girl. 
 
 " Jim," I said, " you aren't at all sorry that 
 you chose to be a minister?" 
 
 I never had had a chance to ask him this, 
 seriously, and I was glad of the opportunity. 
 
 " Sis," he said, " every day of my life I 
 am more and more thankful that I decided 
 to be one. It is only that — only living the 
 best I can and giving all my heart and life 
 to the service of the God who made this beau- 
 tiful earth and our wonderful bodies and souls 
 
" RING, HAPPY BELLS " 275 
 
 — that can satisfy me. I must do it. I live in 
 the thought of it" 
 
 I looked at him as he rode beside me and 
 saw how his face had strengthened and beauti- 
 fied, and I wondered how such things hap- 
 pened; how it was that little commonplace 
 teasing boys grew up to be men like the one 
 beside me. 
 
 " Oh, Jim," I cried, holding out my hand 
 to him, " I congratulate you from my deepest 
 heart. I feared that your taking up of the 
 ministry might be a mood; that you might 
 change. But now I see you never will. You 
 will be a tower of strength, brother Jim, and 
 in the years to come when I am troubled 
 about life, I shall come to you for help." 
 
 " It is you who always have helped me, 
 Zalie," he said. " It is you who are making 
 it possible now for me to prepare for my 
 great work." 
 
 I write you all this, dear Uncle and Auntie, 
 to show you how sweet he is and how inter- 
 esting and peaceful my life is here, so you'll 
 not be sorry, thinking of all I let go from me. 
 
 Well, we went on down the road, looking 
 at the purple valley with the shafts of smoke 
 
276 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 arising straight from the houses below and 
 towering, silver bright, in the light of the 
 lowering sun. I was so absorbed with it all 
 that I did not realize how rapidly we were 
 covering the road, till suddenly I saw we 
 were beside the house on the bench. 
 
 And what do you think? There was a 
 shaft of silvery smoke arising from that chim- 
 ney, too, and it was shot through with little 
 sparks like stars, as if the fire it came from 
 had been newly lighted. 
 
 " Oh," I cried, " the owner of the house 
 has come! " 
 
 I had been so happy all day that I forgot 
 to be disagreeable, and though I had quite 
 made up my mind to dislike this person 
 intensely, I neglected to do it at that moment, 
 for thinking of how happy he must be to 
 have come to his beautiful little house. I 
 wondered too if his wife was with him, and 
 what she was like. Then I remembered that 
 I had heard he was not married, and I 
 thought: 
 
 " He can never be lonely amid such beauty. 
 To look ofif on a scene like this will be com- 
 pany enough." 
 
It was Keefe O'Connor who stood there holdmg out 
 his hands to me. 
 
" RING, HAPPY BELLS " 277 
 
 But I knew that wasn't really so. No 
 beauty, however great, can comfort one for a 
 lonely hearth; no meal is delicious for which 
 only one place is set. 
 
 Then, out of that purplish gloom and from 
 the shadow of the porch at the side of the 
 house I heard a voice saying lazily: 
 
 " Won't you be pleased to 'light and 
 come in? " 
 
 It had the mountain drawl and the mountain 
 way, but there was something wrong with it, 
 and it made me look inquiringly at Jim. He 
 was wearing a broad grin — a perfectly won- 
 derful, old-time-Jim grin. 
 
 "Shall we?" said he. 
 
 Curiosity got hold of me and flung me off 
 that horse and sent me right up to the stranger 
 on the porch. 
 
 " It is very kind of you," I said in a fine 
 Mallowbanks manner, " and we shall be 
 delighted. We have so long been interested 
 in the building of this beautiful little house, 
 and we did not know its owner — " 
 
 Then I said no more. 
 
 It was Keefe O'Connor who stood there 
 holding out his hands to me. 
 
278 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 " I'll put up the horses, sis," said Jim with 
 a little funny break in his voice. And then 
 Keefe drew me into the lighted room. 
 
 You two have been such true lovers for so 
 many years, that I need tell you nothing about 
 what that moment meant. No, I need not tell 
 you anything at all. 
 
 After a while we went into the long room 
 where the fire was leaping. 
 
 "Oh," I cried, "it is perfect!" 
 
 For the room completely suited me. 
 
 " It is bare," said Keefe. " But I left the 
 furnishings to you." 
 
 I said nothing. I laughed. It was dififerent 
 from any other laugh I ever had. I laughed 
 and laughed. 
 
 " What is so amusing? " asked Keefe at last. 
 
 " Nothing is amusing," I said. " I am not 
 amused. I am happy." 
 
 " Oh," he said, and then he laughed too. 
 
 By and by he asked : 
 
 "Ought I to have waited longer?" 
 
 "Why should you?" 
 
 " I shall paint here half the year or more," 
 he explained. " Then, when I must, I shall 
 go to the cities. It will be necessary. I must 
 
" RING, HAPPY BELLS " 279 
 
 hold my exhibits, visit the art academies, see 
 what other men are doing — keep in touch 
 with the world. But this shall be my home — 
 our home." 
 
 " Shall we give it a name? " 
 
 " I have thought of hundreds and rejected 
 them." 
 
 " Perhaps Jim can name it for us." 
 
 We went to look for him and found him 
 star-gazing. His teeth were beginning to 
 chatter a little, I am afraid, with the sharp 
 chill of the air. 
 
 " Jim," I said, giving him a good hug and 
 kiss, " I didn't think you would keep a secret 
 from your Zalie." 
 
 Dear old Jim! He gave me such a squeeze 
 and let loose a big, blundering kind of a laugh, 
 and then we brought him in and we all sat 
 around the fire and talked. I never knew just 
 how much like a brother he seemed to me 
 till that moment. 
 
 We asked him to name the cottage for us, 
 but he could think of nothing, and then, quite 
 suddenly it came to me. I would call it 
 '' Delight Cottage " in honor of my own dear 
 Delight Ravanel. 
 
280 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 Don't you agree with me that it is a good 
 idea? 
 
 But I haven't told her yet. I thought I 
 would keep it a secret until she came to visit 
 me, which will be in a few days now. Keefe 
 said he would himself make the sign and 
 place it at the gateway — the same gateway 
 being nothing less than two of my beloved 
 tulip trees. 
 
 Keefe told me he had come down to finish 
 some paintings, and that he would go on 
 living right there in the cottage, working on 
 certain parts of the house himself, such as 
 the staining of the wood, the making of fire 
 screens and benches for the chimney side, and 
 various other things. He said there was work 
 enough to keep him busy in his odd moments 
 for a year or two. Mrs. Babb is coming over 
 to cook for him and to keep " Delight Cottage " 
 tidy. 
 
 Well, a little later in the evening Jim 
 started me on my way again, only this time 
 both he and Keefe were my cavaliers, and I 
 burst into the drawing-room at the Shoals 
 expecting to give them the greatest sort of a 
 surprise, but I was vastly disappointed. They 
 
"RING, HAPPY BELLS" 281 
 
 only laughed at me. They had known all 
 along that Keefe was building the house, and 
 they had met him at the train and had taken 
 him up to Delight Cottage themselves, I all 
 the while toiling away in my shop. He 
 wanted, it seems, to make the place look as 
 well as it could in its incomplete state before 
 I saw it. 
 
 Ah, what a happy, happy girl I am! Only 
 one thing troubles me, and that is your possible 
 disapproval. Keefe is writing you, I believe. 
 He said to me more than once: 
 
 " I do hope your uncle and aunt are not 
 going to think that I have done wrong. I 
 have cared more for your happiness. Azalea, 
 than for anything on earth, and if I had for 
 one moment believed that you would have 
 been happier if I had withdrawn myself 
 entirely from your life, I would have done so 
 without regard to my lifelong loneliness. But 
 when I heard that you had resigned your 
 inheritance and come back here, I was forced 
 to conclude that it was a sign and token 
 to me." 
 
 " It was," I confessed. " Just that." 
 
 Well, my dear kinfolk, Christmas came with 
 
282 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 all its pleasures, and it brought me your beau- 
 tiful gift, also my ring from Keefe, and lovely 
 things from the Carsons and from many other 
 friends. Even there were many remembrances 
 from my mountain people. 
 
 There was one gift — or token, rather — 
 which filled me with the greatest surprise. 
 It was a copy of Delight Ravanel's will, 
 bequeathing to me all of her possessions when 
 the day comes that she must go into the Other 
 Land. Oh, I hope it will be many, many 
 years till then! 
 
 Try to fancy my amazement. Truly, I 
 never was more surprised in my life, although, 
 as you know, I have had a good many surprises 
 for a person of my age. 
 
 Moreover, she is coming to see me next 
 week, and in preparation for her visit I have 
 had Mrs. Kitchell's old living rooms fitted 
 up all fresh for us. There is a little sitting 
 room, and a kitchen and two bedrooms. With 
 the help of my always kind Mrs. Carson, the 
 place has been made — or is being made — as 
 cosy and dainty as you can imagine. Mrs. 
 Wixon will help me keep house, and I shall 
 be quite independent and settled. Of course 
 
" RING, HAPPY BELLS " 283 
 
 Mrs. Carson and Carin beg me to stay with 
 them, but I feel I have been their guest quite 
 long enough. Now — only fancy — I shall be 
 able to entertain them at times, and to return 
 in some small measure the endless hospitality 
 they have shown me. I think Cousin Delight 
 will love this little experiment in housekeep- 
 ing, and I wouldn't be the least surprised to 
 see her taking an interest in the weaving and 
 basket-making and in the little shop. It would 
 be the best thing in the world for her if she 
 would, for life certainly is pretty drowsy at 
 Monrepos, where she has lived so long alone, 
 remembering and brooding and doing her 
 little solitary tasks. If I have my way she 
 shall stay with me or near me altogether. 
 
 So you see into what a shining and rapid 
 current my little life has been swung. And 
 you will forgive me for everything I did 
 not do and for everything I am doing. I 
 insist on being forgiven — and loved. You 
 must love me when I love you so much. 
 
 When I am married you must be my first 
 guests. Until you come, I shall have no one. 
 I would never be satisfied if you did not dedi- 
 cate my house for me by your presence. 
 
284 AZALEA'S SILVER WEB 
 
 The wedding day is not yet set exactly. It 
 will be in the early summer, after Keefe has 
 finished some orders he has, and so is feeling 
 quite rich, and after I have really got the 
 Mountain Industries in such a condition that 
 I can safely pass them on to others. Even 
 after I am married I shall keep an overseeing 
 eye on them, and Mrs. Carson and Carin will 
 help me. Then, of course, there is my trous- 
 seau to make. I am so glad you let me have 
 dear little madam grandmother's chests. I 
 think I can make over her wedding dress so 
 that I can wear it, and of course I shall wear 
 her veil. 
 
 If you will send on the portrait that she had 
 painted for me, I can hang it above my new 
 piano in my little sitting room. Or shall I 
 hang it above my fireplace? I must try and 
 see in which place it looks the best. 
 
 My heart is singing with joy, and I send 
 you a thousand little carefully wrapped pack- 
 ages of love. Undo them one by one and 
 think of 
 
 Azalea 
 
w^ 
 
 (I