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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 From the Library of 
 BENNEHAN CAMERON 
 
 1854-1925 
 
 Presented by 
 his daughters 
 
 Isabel C. Van Lennep 
 
 and 
 
 Sally C. Labouisse 
 

 
38p Slate £)otts;laa Wi%%in 
 
 MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS. Illustrated. 
 
 ROBINETTA. Illustrated. 
 
 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. Holiday Edition. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 SUSANNA AND SUE. Illustrated. 
 
 THE OLD PEABODY PEW. With decorations and illustrations. 
 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. 
 NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. Illustrated. 
 ROSE O' THE RIVER. Illustrated in color. 
 THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. Illustrated. 
 THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL. Illustrated. 
 A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP, and PENELOPE'S ENG- 
 LISH EXPERIENCES. Illustrated. 
 PENELOPE'S PROGRESS. 
 PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES. 
 PENELOPE'S EXPERIENCES. I. England; II. Scotland; 
 
 III. Ireland; Holiday Edition. With many illustrations by Charles 
 
 E. Brock. 
 A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP. Holiday Edition, enlarged. 
 
 Illustrated by C. E. Brock. 
 THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS CAROL. Illustrated. 
 THE STORY OF PATSY. Illustrated. 
 
 A SUMMER IN A CANON. A California Story. Illustrated. 
 TIMOTHY'S QUEST. A Story for Anybody, Young or Old, who 
 
 cares to read it. Also Holiday Edition. Illustrated. 
 POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM. Illustrated. 
 THE VILLAGE WATCH-TOWER. 
 MARM LISA. 
 NINE LOVE SONGS, AND A CAROL. Music by Mrs. Wiggin. 
 
 Words by Herrick, Siljl, and others. 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 Boston and New York. 
 
MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/mothercareyschicOOwiggi 
 
NOW, MOTHER, DO YOU LIKE JULIA CAREY ? " (p. 36) 
 
MOTHER CAREYS 
 CHICKENS 
 
 BY 
 KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Bs^i»i^PfPfl52ll 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 (Cfce fttoer#&e $re&l £ambri&0e 
 
 1911 
 
COPYRIGHT, I91O AND 1911, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 COPYRIGHT, 191 1, BY KATE DOUGLAS RIGGS 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published September iqii 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. Mother Carey Herself .... 1 
 
 II. The Chickens ..... 7 
 
 HI. The Common Denominator . . .16 
 
 IV. The Broken Circle .... 21 
 
 V. How about Julia? . . . . .27 
 
 VI. Nancy's Idea ..... 39 
 
 VII. "Old Beasts into New" . . . . 52 
 
 VHE. The Knight of Beulah Castle . . 59 
 
 IX. Gilbert's Embassy . . . . .70 
 
 X. The Careys' Flitting .... 83 
 
 XI. The Service on the Threshold . . 94 
 
 XH. Cousin Ann ...... 104 
 
 Xm. The Pink of Perfection . . . .115 
 
 XTV. Ways and Means 124 
 
 XV. Belonging to Beulah .... 135 
 
 XVI. The Post-Bag 143 
 
 XVH. Jack of All Trades ..... 152 
 
 XVm. The House of Lords .... 163 
 
 
Contents 
 
 XIX. Old and New 
 
 XX. The Painted Chamber 
 
 XXI. A Family Rhomboid 
 
 XXII. Cradle Gifts 
 
 XXIII. Nearing Shiny Wall 
 
 XXIV. A Letter from Germany . 
 XXV. "Following the Gleam" 
 
 XXVI. A Zoological Father . 
 
 XXVII. The Carey Housewarming 
 
 XXVIH. "Tibi Splendet Focus" 
 
 XXIX. "Th' Action Fine" 
 
 XXX. The Inglenook . 
 
 XXXI. Grooves of Change 
 
 XXXII. Doors of Daring 
 
 XXXIII. Mother Hamilton's Birthday 
 
 XXXIV. Nancy comes Out 
 XXXV. The Crimson Rambler . 
 
 172 
 183 
 193 
 204 
 214 
 223 
 240 
 252 
 262 
 271 
 278 
 291 
 306 
 318 
 325 
 336 
 344 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " NOW, MOTHER, DO YOU LIKE JlJLIA CARET ? " (p. 36) 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 "Come home, children!" 98 
 
 The Entire Family lived on the Front Stairs . . 156 
 "If my own girls would write me letters like 
 
 this!" 196 
 
 "Read the last few lines" 234 
 
 Peter crouched on the Hearth and lighted the Fire 264 
 
 "For you the hearth-fire glows" 274 
 
 Mother Carey was moved to the Very Heart . . 306 
 "i was on the point of kissing you" . - . . . 316 
 "Pick that little cluster" 348 
 
 From drawings by Alice Barber Stephens. 
 
MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS 
 
 MOTHER CAREY HERSELF 
 
 "By and by there came along a flock of petrels, 
 who are Mother Carey's own chickens. . . . They 
 flitted along like a flock of swallows, hopping and 
 skipping from wave to wave, lifting their little 
 feet behind them so daintily that Tom fell in love 
 with them at once." 
 
 Nancy stopped reading and laid down the copy 
 of "Water Babies" on the sitting-room table. 
 "No more just now, Peter-bird," she said; "I 
 hear mother coming." 
 
 It was a cold, dreary day in late October, with 
 an east wind and a chill of early winter in the air. 
 The cab stood in front of Captain Carey's house, 
 with a trunk beside the driver and a general air 
 of expectancy on the part of neighbors at the 
 opposite windows. 
 
 Mrs. Carey came down the front stairway fol- 
 lowed by Gilbert and Kathleen; Gilbert with his 
 mother's small bag and travelling cloak, Kath- 
 leen with her umbrella; while little Peter flew to 
 
 1 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 the foot of the stairs with a small box of sand- 
 wiches pressed to his bosom. 
 
 Mrs. Carey did not wear her usual look of 
 sweet serenity, but nothing could wholly mar the 
 gracious dignity of her face and presence. As she 
 came down the stairs with her quick, firm tread, 
 her flock following her, she looked the ideal mo- 
 ther. Her fine height, her splendid carriage, her 
 deep chest, her bright eye and fresh color all 
 bespoke the happy, contented, active woman, 
 though something in the way of transient anxiety 
 lurked in the eyes and lips. 
 
 "The carriage is too early," she said; "let us 
 come into the sitting room for five minutes. I 
 have said my good-byes and kissed you all a 
 dozen times, but I shall never be done until I am 
 out of your sight." 
 
 "O mother, mother, how can we let you go!" 
 wailed Kathleen. 
 
 "Kitty! how can you!" exclaimed Nancy. 
 "What does it matter about us when mother has 
 the long journey and father is so ill?" 
 
 "It will not be for very long, — it can't be," 
 said Mrs. Carey wistfully. "The telegram only 
 said * symptoms of typhoid'; but these low fe- 
 vers sometimes last a good while and are very 
 weakening, so I may not be able to bring father 
 back for two or three weeks; I ought to be in 
 
Mother Carey Herself 
 
 Fortress Monroe day after to-morrow; you must 
 take turns in writing to me, children!" 
 
 "Every single day, mother!" 
 
 "Every single thing that happens." 
 
 "A fat letter every morning," they promised 
 in chorus. 
 
 "If there is any real trouble remember to tele- 
 graph your Uncle Allan — did you write down 
 his address, 11 Broad Street, New York? Don't 
 bother him about little things, for he is not well, 
 you know." 
 
 Gilbert displayed a note-book filled with me- 
 moranda and addresses. 
 
 "And in any small difficulty send for Cousin 
 Ann," Mrs. Carey went on. 
 
 "The mere thought of her coming will make 
 me toe the mark, I can tell you that!" was Gil- 
 bert's rejoinder. 
 
 "Better than any ogre or bug-a-boo, Cousin 
 Ann is, even for Peter!" said Nancy. 
 
 "And will my Peter-bird be good and make 
 Nancy no trouble?" said his mother, lifting him 
 to her lap for one last hug. 
 
 "I '11 be an angel boy pretty near all the time," 
 he asserted between mouthf uls of apple, " or most 
 pretty near," he added prudently, as if unwill- 
 ing to promise anything superhuman in the way 
 of behavior. As a matter of fact it required only 
 
 3 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 a tolerable show of virtue for Peter to win en- 
 comiums at any time. He would brush his curly 
 mop of hair away from his forehead, lift his eyes, 
 part his lips, showing a row of tiny white teeth ; 
 then a dimple would appear in each cheek and a 
 seraphic expression (wholly at variance with the 
 facts) would overspread the baby face, where- 
 upon the beholder — Mother Carey, his sisters, 
 the cook or the chambermaid, everybody indeed 
 but Cousin Ann, who could never be wheedled — 
 would cry "Angel boy!" and kiss him. He was 
 even kissed now, though he had done nothing at 
 all but exist and be an enchanting personage, 
 which is one of the injustices of a world where 
 a large number of virtuous and well-behaved 
 people go unkissed to their graves ! 
 
 "I know Joanna and Ellen will take good care 
 of the housekeeping," continued Mrs. Carey, 
 "and you will be in school from nine to two, so 
 that the time won't go heavily. For the rest I 
 make Nancy responsible. If she is young, you 
 must remember that you are all younger still, 
 and I trust you to her." 
 
 " The last time you did it, it did n't work very 
 well ! " And Gilbert gave Nancy a sly wink to re- 
 call a little matter of family history when there 
 had been a delinquency on somebody's part. 
 
 Nancy's face crimsoned and her lips parted 
 
 4 
 
Mother Carey Herself 
 
 for a quick retort, and none too pleasant a one, 
 apparently. 
 
 Her mother intervened quietly. "We '11 never 
 speak of 'last times,' Gilly, or where would any 
 of us be? We '11 always think of 'next' times. I 
 shall trust Nancy next time, and next time and 
 next time, and keep on trusting till I can trust 
 her forever!" 
 
 Nancy's face lighted up with a passion of love 
 and loyalty. She responded to the touch of her 
 mother's faith as a harp to the favoring wind, 
 but she said nothing; she only glowed and 
 breathed hard and put her trembling hand about 
 her mother's neck and under her chin. 
 
 "Now it's time! One more kiss all around. 
 Remember you are Mother Carey's own chick- 
 ens! There may be gales while I am away, but 
 you must ride over the crests of the billows as 
 merry as so many flying fish! Good-by! Good- 
 by! Oh, my littlest Peter-bird, how can mother 
 leave you?" 
 
 "I opened the lunch box to see what Ellen 
 gave you, but I only broke off two teenty, weenty 
 corners of sandwiches and one little new-moon 
 bite out of a cookie," said Peter, creating a diver- 
 sion according to his wont. 
 
 Ellen and Joanna came to the front door and 
 the children flocked down the frozen pathway to 
 
 5 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 the gate after their mother, getting a touch of her 
 wherever and whenever they could and jumping 
 up and down between whiles to keep warm. Gil- 
 bert closed the door of the carriage, and it turned 
 to go down the street. One window was open, 
 and there was a last glimpse of the beloved face 
 framed in the dark blue velvet bonnet, one last 
 wave of a hand in a brown muff. 
 
 "Oh! she is so beautiful!" sobbed Kathleen, 
 "her bonnet is just the color of her eyes; and 
 she was crying!" 
 
 " There never was anybody like mother!" said 
 Nancy, leaning on the gate, shivering with cold 
 and emotion . ' * There never w as , and there never 
 will be! We can try and try, Kathleen, and we 
 must try, all of us; but mother would n't have to 
 try; mother must have been partly born so!" 
 
II 
 
 THE CHICKENS 
 
 It was Captain Carey's favorite Admiral who 
 was responsible for the phrase by which mother 
 and children had been known for some years. 
 The Captain (then a Lieutenant) had brought 
 his friend home one Saturday afternoon a little 
 earlier than had been expected, and they went 
 to find the family in the garden. 
 
 Laughter and the sound of voices led them to 
 the summer-house, and as they parted the sy- 
 ringa bushes they looked through them and sur- 
 prised the charming group. 
 
 A throng of children like to flowers were sown 
 About the grass beside, or climbed her knee. 
 I looked who were that favored company. 
 
 That is the way a poet would have described 
 what the Admiral saw, and if you want to see 
 anything truly and beautifully you must gener- 
 ally go to a poet. 
 
 Mrs. Carey held Peter, then a crowing baby, 
 in her lap. Gilbert was tickling Peter's chin with 
 a buttercup, Nancy was putting a wreath of 
 leaves on her mother's hair, and Kathleen was 
 
 7 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 swinging from an apple-tree bough, her yellow 
 curls flying. 
 
 "Might I inquire what you think of that?" 
 asked the father. 
 
 "Well," the Admiral said, "mothers and chil- 
 dren make a pretty good picture at any time, but 
 I should say this one couldn't be 'beat.' Two 
 for the Navy, eh? " 
 
 "All four for the Navy, perhaps," laughed the 
 young man. "Nancy has already chosen a Rear- 
 Admiral and Kathleen a Commodore; they are 
 modest little girls!" 
 
 "They do you credit, Peter!" 
 
 "I hope I've given them something, — I've 
 tried hard enough, but they are mostly the work 
 of the lady in the chair. Come on and say how 
 d'ye do." 
 
 Before many Saturdays the Admiral's lap had 
 superseded all other places as a gathering ground 
 for the little Careys, whom he called the stormy 
 petrels. 
 
 " Mother Carey," he explained to them, came 
 from the Latin mater cara, this being not only 
 his personal conviction, but one that had the 
 backing of Brewer's "Dictionary of Phrase and 
 Fable." 
 
 "The French call them Les Oiseaux de Notre 
 Dame. That means 'The Birds of our Lady/ 
 
 8 
 
The Chickens 
 
 Kitty, and they are the sailors' friends. Mother 
 Carey sends them to warn seafarers of approach- 
 ing storms and bids them go out all over the seas 
 to show the good birds the way home. You '11 
 have your hands full if you 're going to be Mo- 
 ther Carey's chickens." 
 
 "I 'd love to show good birds the way home!" 
 said Gilbert. 
 
 "Can a naughty bird show a good bird the 
 way home, Addy?" This bland question came 
 from Nancy, who had a decided talent for sar- 
 casm, considering her years. (Of course the Ad- 
 miral might have stopped the children from call- 
 ing him Addy, but they seemed to do it because 
 "Admiral" was difficult, and anyway they loved 
 him so much they simply had to take some lib- 
 erties with him. Besides, although he was the 
 greatest disciplinarian that ever walked a deck, 
 he was so soft and flexible on land that he was 
 perfectly ridiculous and delightful.) 
 
 The day when the children were christened 
 Mother Carey's chickens was Nancy's tenth birth- 
 day, a time when the family was striving to give 
 her her proper name, having begun wrong with 
 her at the outset. She was the first, you see, and 
 the first is something of an event, take it how 
 you will. 
 
 It is obvious that at the beginning they could 
 
 9 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 not address a tiny thing on a pillow as Nancy, 
 because she was too young. She was not even al- 
 luded to at that early date as "she," but always 
 as " it," so they called her "baby" and let it go at 
 that. Then there was a long period when she was 
 still too young to be called Nancy, and though, 
 so far as age was concerned, she might properly 
 have held on to her name of baby, she could n't 
 with propriety, because there was Gilbert then, 
 and he was baby. Moreover, she gradually be- 
 came so indescribably quaint and bewitching and 
 comical and saucy that every one sought diminu- 
 tives for her; nicknames, fond names, little names, 
 and all sorts of words that tried to describe her 
 charm (and could n't), so there was Poppet and 
 Smiles and Minx and Rogue and Midget and 
 Ladybird and finally Nan and Nannie by degrees, 
 to soberer Nancy. 
 
 "Nancy is ten to-day," mused the Admiral. 
 "Bless my soul, how time flies ! You were a young 
 Ensign, Carey, and I well remember the letter 
 you wrote me when this little lass came into har- 
 bor! Just wait a minute; I believe the scrap of 
 newspaper verse you enclosed has been in my 
 wallet ever since. I always liked it." 
 
 "I recall writing to you," said Mr. Carey. "As 
 you had lent me five hundred dollars to be mar- 
 ried on, I thought I ought to keep you posted!" 
 
 10 
 
The Chickens 
 
 "Oh, father! did you have to borrow money?" 
 cried Kathleen. 
 
 "I did, my dear. There's no disgrace in bor- 
 rowing, if you pay back, and I did. Your Uncle 
 Allan was starting in business, and I had just 
 put my little capital in with his when I met your 
 mother. If you had met your mother would n't 
 you have wanted to marry her?" 
 
 "Yes!" cried Nancy eagerly. "Fifty of her!" 
 At which everybody laughed. 
 
 "And what became of the money you put in 
 Uncle Allan's business?" asked Gilbert with un- 
 expected intelligence. 
 
 There was a moment's embarrassment and 
 an exchange of glances between mother and 
 father before he replied, "Oh! that 's coming 
 back multiplied six times over, one of these 
 days, — Allan has a very promising project on 
 hand just now, Admiral." 
 
 "Glad to hear it! A delightful fellow, and 
 straight as a die. I only wish he could perform 
 once in a while, instead of promising." 
 
 "He will if only he keeps his health, but he's 
 heavily handicapped there, poor chap. Well, 
 what's the verse?" 
 
 The Admiral put on his glasses, prettily as- 
 sisted by Kathleen, who was on his knee and 
 seized the opportunity to give him a French kiss 
 
 11 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 when the spectacles were safely on the bridge of 
 his nose. Whereupon he read: — 
 
 "There came to port last Sunday night 
 The queerest little craft, 
 Without an inch of rigging on; 
 
 I looked, and looked, and laughed. 
 
 It seemed so curious that she 
 
 Should cross the unknown water, 
 And moor herself within my room — 
 
 My daughter, O my daughter! 
 
 Yet. by these presents, witness all, 
 
 She 's welcome fifty times, 
 And comes consigned to Hope and Love 
 
 And common metre rhymes. 
 
 She has no manifest but this; 
 
 No flag floats o'er the water; 
 She 's rather new for British Lloyd's — 
 
 My daughter, O my daughter! 
 
 Ring out, wild bells — and tame ones, too; 
 
 Ring out the lover's moon, 
 Ring in the little worsted socks, 
 
 Ring in the bib and spoon." 1 
 
 "Oh, Peter, how pretty!" said Mother Carey 
 all in a glow. "You never showed it to me!" 
 
 "You were too much occupied with the afore- 
 said 'queer little craft,' wasn't she, Nan — I 
 
 1 George W. Cable. 
 12 
 
The Chickens 
 
 mean Nancy!" and her father pinched her ear 
 and pulled a curly lock. 
 
 Nancy was a lovely creature to the eye, and 
 she came by her good looks naturally enough. 
 For three generations her father's family had 
 been known as the handsome Careys, and when 
 Lieutenant Carey chose Margaret Gilbert for his 
 wife, he was lucky enough to win the loveliest 
 girl in her circle. 
 
 Thus it was still the handsome Careys in the 
 time of our story, for all the children were well- 
 favored and the general public could never de- 
 cide whether Nancy or Kathleen was the belle 
 of the family. Kathleen had fair curls, skin like 
 a rose, and delicate features; not a blemish to 
 mar her exquisite prettiness! All colors became 
 her; all hats suited her hair. She was the Carey 
 beauty so long as Nan^y remained out of sight, 
 but the moment that young person appeared 
 Kathleen left something to be desired. Nancy 
 piqued; Nancy sparkled; Nancy glowed; Nancy 
 occasionally pouted and not infrequently blazed. 
 Nancy's eyes had to be continually searched 
 for news, both of herself and of the immediate 
 world about her. If you did not keep looking 
 at her every "once in so often" you couldn't 
 keep up with the progress of events; she might 
 flash a dozen telegrams to somebody, about 
 
 13 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 something, while your head was turned away.l 
 Kathleen could be safely left unwatched for an 
 hour or so without fear of change; her moods 
 were less variable, her temper evener; her inter- 
 est in the passing moment less keen, her absorp- 
 tion in the particular subject less intense. Walt 
 Whitman might have been thinking of Nancy 
 when he wrote: — 
 
 There was a child went forth every day 
 And the first object he looked upon, that object he became, 
 And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part 
 
 of the day 
 Or for many years, or stretching cycles of years. 
 
 Kathleen's nature needed to be stirred, Nancy's 
 to be controlled, the impulse coming from within, 
 the only way that counts in the end, though the 
 guiding force may be applied from without. 
 
 Nancy was more impulsive than industrious, 
 more generous than wise, more plucky than pru- 
 dent; she had none too much perseverance and 
 no patience at all. 
 
 Gilbert was a fiery youth of twelve, all for ad- 
 venture. He kindled quickly, but did not burn 
 long, so deeds of daring would be in his line; 
 instantaneous ones, quickly settled, leaving the 
 victor with a swelling chest and a feather in cap; 
 rather an obvious feather suited Gilbert best. 
 
 Peter? Oh! Peter, aged four, can be dismissed 
 
 14 
 
The Chickens 
 
 in very few words as a consummate charmer and 
 heart-breaker. The usual elements that go to the 
 making of a small boy were all there, but mixed 
 with white magic. It is painful to think of the 
 dozens of girl babies in long clothes who must 
 have been feeling premonitory pangs when Peter 
 was four, to think they could n't all marry him 
 when they grew up! 
 
HI 
 
 THE COMMON DENOMINATOR 
 
 Three weeks had gone by since Mother Carey's 
 departure for Fortress Monroe, and the children 
 had mounted from one moral triumph to an- 
 other. John Bunyan, looking in at the windows, 
 might have exclaimed: — 
 
 Who would true valor see 
 Let him come hither. 
 
 It is easy to go wrong in a wicked world, but 
 there are certain circumstances under which one 
 is pledged to virtue; when, like a knight of the 
 olden time, you wear your motto next your heart 
 and fight for it, — "Death rather than defeat!" 
 "We are able because we think we are able! 5 * 
 " Follow honor ! " and the like. These sentiments 
 look beautifully as class mottoes on summer 
 graduation programmes, but some of them, ap- 
 parently, disappear from circulation before cold 
 weather sets in. 
 
 It is difficult to do right, we repeat, but not 
 when mother is away from us for the first time 
 since we were born; not when she who is the very 
 sun of home is shining elsewhere, and we are 
 
 16 
 
The Common Denominator 
 
 groping in the dim light without her, only re- 
 membering her last words and our last promises. 
 Not difficult when we think of the eyes the color 
 of the blue velvet bonnet, and the tears falling 
 from them. They are hundreds of miles away, 
 but we see them looking at us a dozen times a 
 day and the last thing at night. 
 
 Not difficult when we think of father; gay, gal- 
 lant father, desperately ill and mother nursing 
 him; father, with the kind smile and the jolly 
 little sparkles of fun in his eyes; father, tall and 
 broad-shouldered, splendid as the gods, in full 
 uniform; father, so brave that if a naval battle 
 ever did come his way, he would demolish the 
 foe in an instant; father, with a warm strong 
 hand clasping ours on high days and holidays, 
 taking us on great expeditions where we see life 
 at its best and taste incredible joys. 
 
 The most quarrelsome family, if the house 
 burns down over their heads, will stop disputing 
 until the emergency is over and they get under 
 a new roof. Somehow, in times of great trial, 
 calamity, sorrow, the differences that separate 
 people are forgotten. Is n't it rather like the 
 process in mathematics where we reduce frac- 
 tions to a common denominator? 
 
 It was no time for anything but superior be- 
 havior in the Carey household; that was dis- 
 
 17 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 tinctly felt from kitchen to nursery. Ellen the 
 cook was tidier, Joanna the second maid more 
 amiable. Nancy, who was "responsible," rose 
 earlier than the rest and went to bed later, after 
 locking doors and windows that had been left un- 
 locked since the flood. "I am responsible," she 
 said three or four times each day, to herself, and, 
 it is to be feared, to others! Her heavenly pa- 
 tience in dressing Peter every few hours without 
 comment struck the most callous observer as 
 admirable. Peter never remembered that he had 
 any clothes on. He might have been a real stormy 
 petrel, breasting the billows in his birthday suit 
 and expecting his feathers to be dried when and 
 how the Lord pleased. He comported himself in 
 the presence of dust, mud, water, liquid refresh- 
 ment, and sticky substances, exactly as if clean 
 white sailor suits grew on every bush and could 
 be renewed at pleasure. 
 
 Even Gilbert was moved to spontaneous ad- 
 miration and respect at the sight of Nancy's zeal. 
 "Nobody would know you, Nancy; it is simply 
 wonderful, and I only wish it could last," he said. 
 Even this style of encomium was received sweetly, 
 though there had been moments in her previous 
 history when Nancy would have retorted in a 
 very pointed manner. When she was "respon- 
 sible," not even had he gone the length of calling 
 
 18 
 
The Common Denominator 
 
 Nancy an unspeakable pig, would she have said 
 anything. She had a blissful consciousness that, 
 had she been examined, indications of angelic 
 wings, and not bristles, would have been discov- 
 ered under her blouse. 
 
 Gilbert, by the way, never suspected that the 
 masters in his own school wondered whether he 
 had experienced religion or was working on some 
 sort of boyish wager. He took his two weekly re- 
 ports home cautiously for fear that they might 
 break on the way, pasted them on large pieces of 
 paper, and framed them in elaborate red, white, 
 and blue stars united by strips of gold paper. 
 How Captain and Mrs. Carey laughed and cried 
 over this characteristic message when it reached 
 them! "Oh! they are darlings," Mother Carey 
 cried. "Of course they are," the Captain mur- 
 mured feebly. "Why shouldn't they be, con- 
 sidering you?" 
 
 "It is really just as easy to do right as wrong, 
 Kathleen," said Nancy when the girls were go- 
 ing to bed one night. 
 
 " Ye-es ! " assented Kathleen with some reserv- 
 ations in her tone, for she was more judicial and 
 logical than her sister. "But you have to keep 
 your mind on it so, and never relax a single bit ! 
 Then it 's lots easier for a few weeks than it is for 
 long stretches!" 
 
 19 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "That 's true," agreed Nancy; "it would be 
 hard to keep it up forever. And you have to 
 love somebody or something like fury every min- 
 ute or you can't do it at all. How do the people 
 manage that can't love like that, or haven't any- 
 body to love?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Kathleen sleepily. "I'm 
 so worn out with being good, that every night I 
 just say my prayers and tumble into bed ex- 
 hausted. Last night I fell asleep praying, I hon- 
 estly did!" 
 
 "Tell that to the marines!" remarked Nancy 
 incredulously. 
 
IV 
 
 THE BROKEN CIRCLE 
 
 The three weeks were running into a month now, 
 and virtue still reigned in the Carey household. 
 But things were different. Everybody but Peter 
 saw the difference. Peter dwelt from morn till 
 eve in that Land of Pure Delight which is igno- 
 rance of death. The children no longer bounded 
 to meet the postman, but waited till Joanna 
 brought in the mail. Steadily, daily, the letters 
 changed in tone. First they tried to be cheerful; 
 later on they spoke of trusting that the worst was 
 past; then of hoping that father was holding his 
 own. " Oh ! if he was holding all his own," sobbed 
 Nancy. "If we were only there with him, help- 
 ing mother!" 
 
 Ellen said to Joanna one morning in the 
 kitchen: "It's my belief the Captain's not going 
 to get well, and I 'd like to go to Newbury port 
 to see my cousin and not be in the house when 
 the children 's told ! " And Joanna said, "Shame 
 on you not to stand by 'em in their hour of trou- 
 ble!" At which Ellen quailed and confessed her- 
 self a coward. 
 
 Finally came a day never to be forgotten; a 
 21 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 day that swept all the former days clean out of 
 memory, as a great wave engulfs all the little 
 ones in its path; a day when, Uncle Allan being 
 too ill to travel, Cousin Ann, of all people in the 
 universe, — Cousin Ann came to bring the terri- 
 ble news that Captain Carey was dead. 
 
 Never think that Cousin Ann did not suffer 
 and sympathize and do her rocky best to com- 
 fort; she did indeed, but she was thankful that 
 her task was of brief duration. Mrs. Carey knew 
 how it would be, and had planned all so that she 
 herself could arrive not long after the blow had 
 fallen. Peter, by his mother's orders (she had 
 thought of everything) was at a neighbor's house, 
 the centre of all interest, the focus of all gayety. 
 He was too young to see the tears of his elders 
 with any profit; baby plants grow best in sun- 
 shine. The others were huddled together in a 
 sad group at the front window, eyes swollen, 
 handkerchiefs rolled into drenched, pathetic lit- 
 tle wads. 
 
 Cousin Ann came in from the dining room 
 with a tumbler and spoon in her hand. "See 
 here, children!" she said bracingly, "you've 
 been crying for the last twelve hours without 
 stopping, and I don't blame you a mite. If I was 
 the crying kind I 'd do the same thing. Now do 
 you think you 've got grit enough — all three of 
 
 22 
 
The Broken Circle 
 
 you — to bear up for your mother's sake, when 
 she first comes in? I 've mixed you each a 
 good dose of aromatic spirits of ammonia, and 
 it 's splendid for the nerves. f Your mother 
 must get a night's sleep somehow, and when she 
 gets back a little of her strength you '11 be the 
 greatest comfort she has in the world. The way 
 you 're carrying on now you '11 be the death of 
 her!" 
 
 It was a good idea, and the dose had courage 
 in it. Gilbert took the first sip, Kathleen the sec- 
 ond, and Nancy the third, and hardly had the 
 last swallow disappeared down the poor aching 
 throats before a carriage drove up to the gate. 
 Some one got out and handed out Mrs. Carey, 
 whose step used to be lighter than Nancy's. A 
 strange gentleman, oh ! not a stranger, it was the 
 dear Admiral helping mother up the path. They 
 had been unconsciously expecting the brown muff 
 and blue velvet bonnet, but these had vanished, 
 like father, and all the beautiful things of the 
 past years, and in their place was black raiment 
 that chilled their hearts. But the black figure 
 had flung back the veil that hid her from the 
 longing eyes of the children, and when she raised 
 her face it was full of the old love. She was grief- 
 stricken and she was pale, but she was mother, 
 and the three young things tore open the door 
 
 23 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 and clasped her in their arms, sobbing, choking, 
 whispering all sorts of tender comfort, their child- 
 ish tears falling like healing dew on her poor heart. 
 The Admiral soothed and quieted them each in 
 turn, all but Nancy. Cousin Ann's medicine was 
 of no avail, and strangling with sobs Nancy fled 
 to the attic until she was strong enough to say 
 "for mother's sake" without a quiver in her 
 voice. Then she crept down, and as she passed 
 her mother's room on tiptoe she looked in and 
 saw that the chair by the window, the chair that 
 had been vacant for a month, was filled, and that 
 the black-clad figure was what was left to them; 
 a strange, sad, quiet mother, who had lost part of 
 herself somewhere, — the gay part, the cheerful 
 part, the part that made her so piquantly and en- 
 trancingly different from other women. Nancy 
 stole in softly and put her young smooth cheek 
 against her mother's, quietly stroking her hair. 
 "There are four of us to love you and take care 
 of you," she said. "It is n't quite so bad as if 
 there was nobody!" 
 
 Mrs. Carey clasped her close. " Oh ! my Nancy ! 
 my first, my oldest, God will help me, I know 
 that, but just now I need somebody close and 
 warm and soft; somebody with arms to hold and 
 breath to speak and lips to kiss! I ought not to 
 sadden you, nor lean on you, you are too young, 
 
 24 
 
The Broken Circle 
 
 ■ — but I must a little, just at the first. You see, 
 dear, you come next to father!" 
 
 "Next to father!" Nancy's life was set to a 
 new tune from that moment. Here was her spur, 
 her creed; the incentive, the inspiration she had 
 lacked. She did not suddenly grow older than 
 her years, but simply, in the twinkling of an eye, 
 came to a realization of herself, her opportu- 
 nity, her privilege, her duty; the face of life had 
 changed, and Nancy changed with it. 
 
 "Do you love me next to mother?" the Ad- 
 miral had asked coaxingly once when Nancy 
 was eight and on his lap as usual. 
 
 "Oh dear no!" said Nancy thoughtfully, shak- 
 ing her head. 
 
 "Why, that 's rather a blow to me," the Ad- 
 miral exclaimed, pinching an ear and pulling a 
 curl. "I flattered myself that when I was on my 
 best behavior I came next to mother." 
 
 "It 's this way, Addy dear," said Nancy, cud- 
 dling up to his waistcoat and giving a sigh of de- 
 light that there were so many nice people in the 
 world. "It 's just this way. First there 's mo- 
 ther, and then all round mother there 's a wide, 
 wide space; and then father and you come next 
 the space." 
 
 The Admiral smiled; a grave, lovely smile that 
 often crept into his eyes when he held Mother 
 
 25 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Carey's chickens on his knee. He kissed Nancy 
 on the little white spot behind the ear where the 
 brown hair curled in tiny rings like grape ten- 
 drils, soft as silk and delicate as pencil strokes. 
 He said nothing, but his boyish dreams were in 
 the kiss, and certain hopes of manhood that had 
 never been realized. He was thinking that Mar- 
 garet Gilbert was a fortunate and happy woman 
 to have become Mother Carey; such a mother, 
 too, that all about her was a wide, wide space, 
 and next the space, the rest of the world, nearer 
 or farther according to their merits. He won- 
 dered if motherhood ought not to be like that, 
 and he thought if it were it would be a great help 
 to God. 
 
HOW ABOUT JULIA? 
 
 We often speak of a family circle, but there are 
 none too many of them. Parallel lines never 
 meeting, squares, triangles, oblongs, and particu- 
 larly those oblongs pulled askew, known as rhom- 
 boids, these and other geometrical figures abound, 
 but circles are comparatively few. In a true fam- 
 ily circle a father and a mother first clasp each 
 other's hands, liking well to be thus clasped; 
 then they stretch out a hand on either side, and 
 these are speedily grasped by children, who hold 
 one another firmly, and complete the ring. One 
 child is better than nothing, a great deal better 
 than nothing; it is at least an effort in the right 
 direction, but the circle that ensues is not, even 
 then, a truly nice shape. You can stand as hand- 
 somely as ever you like, but it simply won't 
 "come round." The minute that two, three, 
 four, five, join in, the "roundness " grows, and the 
 merriment too, and the laughter, and the power 
 to do things. (Responsibility and care also, but 
 w T hat is the use of discouraging circles when there 
 are not enough of them anyway?) 
 The Carey family circle had been round and 
 27 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 complete, with love and harmony between all its 
 component parts. In family rhomboids, for in- 
 stance, mother loves the children and father does 
 not, or father does, but does not love mother, 
 or father and mother love each other and the 
 children do not get their share; it is impossible to 
 enumerate all the little geometrical peculiarities 
 which keep a rhomboid from being a circle, but 
 one person can just " stand out" enough to spoil 
 the shape, or put hands behind back and refuse 
 to join at all. About the ugliest thing in the uni- 
 verse is that non-joining habit! You would think 
 that anybody, however dull, might consider his 
 hands, and guess by the look of them that they 
 must be made to work, and help, and take hold 
 of somebody else's hands! Miserable, useless, 
 flabby paws, those of the non-joiner; that he 
 feeds and dresses himself with, and then hangs 
 to his selfish sides, or puts behind his beastly 
 back! 
 
 When Captain Carey went on his long journey 
 into the unknown and uncharted land, the rest 
 of the Careys tried in vain for a few months to be 
 still a family, and did not succeed at all. They 
 clung as closely to one another as ever they 
 could, but there was always a gap in the circle 
 where father had been. Some men, silent, unre- 
 sponsive, absent-minded and especially absorbed 
 
 28 
 
How about Julia? 
 
 in business, might drop out and not be missed, 
 but Captain Carey was full of vitality, warmth, 
 and high spirits. It is strange so many men think 
 that the possession of a child makes them a father ; 
 it does not; but it is a curious and very gene- 
 ral misapprehension. Captain Carey was a boy 
 with his boys, and a gallant lover with his girls ; 
 to his wife — oh ! we will not even touch upon 
 that ground; she never did, to any one or any- 
 thing but her own heart ! Such an one could never 
 disappear from memory, such a loss could never 
 be made wholly good. The only thing to do was 
 to remember father's pride and justify it, to re- 
 call his care for mother and take his place so far 
 as might be; the only thing for all, as the months 
 went on, was to be what mother called the three 
 b's, — brave, bright, and busy. 
 
 To be the last was by far the easiest, for the 
 earliest effort at economy had been the reluc- 
 tant dismissal of Joanna, the chambermaid. In 
 old-fashioned novels the devoted servant always 
 insisted on remaining without wages, but this 
 story concerns itself with life at a later date. 
 Joanna wept at the thought of leaving, but she 
 never thought of the romantic and illogical ex- 
 pedient of staying on without compensation. 
 
 Captain Carey's salary had been five thou- 
 sand dollars, or rather was to have been, for he 
 
 29 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 had only attained his promotion three months 
 before his death. There would have been an extra 
 five hundred dollars a year when he was at sea, 
 and on the strength of this addition to their for- 
 mer income he intended to increase the amount 
 of his life insurance, but it had not yet been done 
 when the sudden illness seized him, an illness that 
 began so gently and innocently and tern nated 
 with such sudden and unexpected fatality. 
 
 The life insurance, such as it was, must be put 
 into the bank for emergencies. Mrs. Carey real- 
 ized that that was the only proper thing to do 
 when there were four children under fifteen to be 
 considered. The pressing question, however, was 
 how to keep it in the bank, and subsist on a cap- 
 tain's pension of thirty dollars a month. There 
 was the ten thousand, hers and the Captain's, in 
 Allan Carey's business, but Allan was seriously 
 ill with nervous prostration, and no money put 
 into his business ever had come out, even in a 
 modified fbrm. The Admiral was at the other 
 end of the world, and .even had he been near at 
 hand Mrs. Carey would never have confided the 
 family difficulties to him. She could hardly have 
 allowed him even to tide her over her immediate 
 pressing anxieties, remembering his invalid sis- 
 ter and his many responsibilities. No, the years 
 until Gilbert was able to help, or Nancy old 
 
 30 
 
How about Julia? 
 
 enough to use her talents, or the years before the 
 money invested with Allan would bring divi- 
 dends, those must be years of self-sacrifice on 
 everybody's part; and more even than that, they 
 must be fruitful years, in which not mere saving 
 and economizing, but earning, would be neces- 
 sary. 
 
 It was only lately that Mrs. Carey had talked 
 over matters with the three eldest children, but 
 the present house was too expensive to be longer 
 possible as a home, and the question of moving 
 was a matter of general concern. Joanna had 
 been, up to the present moment, the only eco- 
 nomy, but alas! Joanna was but a drop in the 
 necessary bucket. 
 
 On a certain morning in March Mrs. Carey sat 
 in her room with a letter in her lap, the chil- 
 dren surrounding her. It was from Mr. Manson, 
 Allan Carey's younger partner; the sort of letter 
 that dazed her, opening up as it did so many 
 questions of expediency, duty, and responsibility. 
 The gist of it was this : that Allan Carey was a 
 broken man in mind and body; that both for 
 the climate and for treatment he was to be sent 
 to a rest cure in the Adirondacks; that some- 
 time or other, in Mr. Manson's opinion, the 
 firm's investments might be profitable if kept 
 long enough, and there was no difficulty in keep- 
 
 31 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ing them, for nobody in the universe wanted 
 them at the present moment; that Allan's little 
 daughter Julia had no source of income what- 
 ever after her father's monthly bills were paid, 
 and that her only relative outside of the Careys, 
 a certain Miss Ann Chadwick, had refused to 
 admit her into her house. " Mr. Carey only asked 
 Miss Chadwick as a last resort," wrote Mr. Man- 
 son, "for his very soul quailed at the thought of 
 letting you, his brother's widow, suffer any more 
 by his losses than was necessary, and he studi- 
 ously refused to let you know the nature and ex- 
 tent of his need. Miss Chad wick's only response 
 to his request was, that she believed in every tub 
 standing on its own bottom, and if he had har- 
 bored the same convictions he would not have 
 been in his present extremity. I am telling you 
 this, my dear Mrs. Carey," the writer went on, 
 "just to get your advice about the child. I well 
 know that your income will not support your 
 own children; what therefore shall we do with 
 Julia? I am a poor young bachelor, with two sis- 
 ters to support. I shall find a position, of course, 
 and I shall never cease nursing Carey's various 
 affairs and projects during the time of his exile, 
 but I cannot assume an ounce more of financial 
 responsibility." 
 
 There had been quite a council over the letter, 
 
 32 
 
How about Julia? 
 
 and parts of it had been read more than once by 
 Mrs. Carey, but the children, though very sym- 
 pathetic with Uncle Allan and loud in their ex- 
 clamations of "Poor Julia!" had not suggested 
 any remedy for the situation. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Carey, folding the letter, 
 "there seems to be but one thing for us to do." 
 
 "Do you mean that you are going to have 
 Julia come and live with us, — be one of the 
 family?" exclaimed Gilbert. 
 
 "That is what I want to discuss," she replied. 
 "You three are the family as well as I. — Come 
 in ! " she called, for she heard the swift feet of the 
 youngest petrel ascending the stairs. " Come in ! 
 Where is there a sweeter Peter, a fleeter Peter, 
 a neater Peter, than ours, I should like to know, 
 and where a better adviser for the council?" 
 
 "Neater, mother! How can you?" inquired 
 Kathleen. 
 
 "I meant neater when he is just washed and 
 dressed," retorted Peter's mother. "Are you 
 coming to the family council, sweet Pete? " 
 
 Peter climbed on his mother's knee and an- 
 swered by a vague affirmative nod, his whole 
 mind being on the extraction of a slippery marble 
 from a long-necked bottle. 
 
 "Then be quiet, and speak only when we ask 
 your advice," continued Mrs. Carey. "Unless I 
 
 33 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 were obliged to, children, I should be sorry to go 
 against all your wishes. I might be willing to 
 bear my share of a burden, but more is needed 
 than that." 
 
 "I think," said Nancy suddenly, aware now of 
 the trend of her mother's secret convictions, "I 
 think Julia is a smug, conceited, vain, affected 
 little pea — " Here she caught her mother's eye 
 and suddenly she heard inside of her head or 
 heart or conscience a chime of words, "Next to 
 father!" Making a magnificent oratorical leap 
 she finished her sentence with only a second's 
 break, — "peacock, but if mother thinks Julia 
 is a duty, a duty she is, and we must brace up and 
 do her. Must we love her, mother, or can we just 
 be good and polite to her, giving her the breast 
 and taking the drumstick? She won't ever say, 
 6 Don't let me rob you! ' like Cousin Ann, when she 
 takes the breast!" 
 
 Kathleen looked distinctly unresigned. She 
 hated drumsticks and all that they stood for in 
 life. She disliked the wall side of the bed, the 
 middle seat in the carriage, the heel of the loaf, 
 the underdone biscuit, the tail part of the fish, the 
 scorched end of the omelet. "It will make more 
 difference to me than anybody," she said gloomily. 
 
 "Everything makes more difference to you, 
 Kitty," remarked Gilbert. 
 
 34 
 
How about Julia? 
 
 "I mean I 'm always fourth when the cake 
 plate 's passed, — in everything! Now Julia '11 
 be fourth, and I shall be fifth; it's lucky people 
 can't tumble off the floor!" 
 
 "Poor abused Kathleen!" cried Gilbert. "Well, 
 mother, you 're always right, but I can't see why 
 you take another one into the family, when we ' ve 
 been saying for a week there isn't even enough 
 for us five to live on. It looks mighty queer to 
 put me in the public school and spend the money 
 you save that way, on Julia!" 
 
 Way down deep in her heart Mother Carey 
 felt a pang. There was a little seed of hard self- 
 love in Gilbert that she wanted him to dig up 
 from the soil and get rid of before it sprouted and 
 waxed too strong. 
 
 "Julia is a Carey chicken after all 3 Gilbert," 
 she said. 
 
 "But she 's Uncle Allan's chicken, and I 'm 
 Captain Carey's eldest son." 
 
 "That's the very note I should strike if I were 
 you," bis mother responded, "only with a little 
 different accent. What would Captain Carey's 
 eldest son like to do for his only cousin, a little 
 girl younger than himself, — a girl who had a very 
 silly, unwise, unhappy mother for the first five 
 years of her life, and who is now practically 
 fatherless, for a time at least?" 
 
 35 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Gilbert wriggled as if in great moral discom- 
 fort, as indeed he was. "Well," he said, "I don't 
 want to be selfish, and if the girls say yes, I '11 
 have to fall in ; but it is n't logic, all the same, to 
 ask a sixth to share what is n't enough for five." 
 
 "I agree with you there, Gilly!" smiled his 
 mother. "The only question before the council 
 is, does logic belong at the top, in the scale of rea- 
 sons why we do certain things? If we ask Julia 
 to come, she will have to 'fall into line,' as you 
 say, and share the family misfortunes as best she 
 can." 
 
 "She's a regular shirk, and always was." This 
 from Kathleen. 
 
 "She would never come at all if she guessed 
 her cousins' opinion of her, that is very certain ! " 
 remarked Mrs. Carey pointedly. 
 
 "Now, mother, look me in the eye and speak 
 the whole truth," asked Nancy. "Do you like 
 Julia Carey? 9 ' 
 
 Mrs. Carey laughed as she answered, "Frankly 
 then, I do not! But," she continued, "I do not 
 like several of the remarks that have been made 
 at this council, yet I manage to bear them." 
 
 "Of course I shan't call Julia smug and 
 conceited to her face," asserted Nancy encour- 
 agingly. "I hope that her bosom friend Gladys 
 Ferguson has disappeared from view. The last 
 
 36 
 
How about Julia? 
 
 time Julia visited us, Kitty and I got so tired of 
 Gladys Ferguson's dresses, her French maid, her 
 bedroom furniture, and her travels abroad, that 
 we wrote her name on a piece of paper, put it in 
 a box, and buried it in the back yard the minute 
 Julia left the house. When you write, mother, 
 tell Julia there 's a piece of breast for her, but 
 not a mouthful of my drumstick goes to Gladys 
 Ferguson." 
 
 "The more the hungrier; better invite Gladys 
 too," suggested Gilbert, "then we can say like 
 that simple little kid in Wordsworth : — 
 
 " ' Sisters and brother, little maid, 
 How many may you be?' 
 'How many? Seven in all,' she said, 
 And wondering looked at me!" 
 
 "Then it goes on thus," laughed Nancy: — 
 
 " * And who are they? I pray you tell.' 
 She answered, 'Seven are we; 
 Mother with us makes five, and then 
 There 's Gladys and Julee ! ' " 
 
 Everybody joined in the laugh then, including 
 Peter, who was especially uproarious, and who 
 had an idea he had made the joke himself, else 
 why did they all kiss him? 
 
 " How about Julia? What do you say, Peter?" 
 asked his mother. 
 
 "I want her. She played horse once," said 
 37 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Peter. The opinion that the earth revolved 
 around his one small person was natural at the 
 age of four, but the same idea of the ^universe 
 still existed in Gilbert's mind. A boy of thirteen 
 ought perhaps to have a clearer idea of the rela- 
 tive sizes of world and individual; at least that 
 was the conviction in Mother Carey's mind. 
 
VI 
 
 NANCYS IDEA 
 
 Nancy had a great many ideas, first and last. 
 They were generally unique and interesting at 
 least, though it is to be feared that few of them 
 were practical. However, it was Nancy's idea to 
 build Peter a playhouse in the plot of ground at 
 the back of the Charlestown house, and it was she 
 who was the architect and head carpenter. That 
 plan had brought much happiness to Peter and 
 much comfort to the family. It was Nancy's idea 
 that she, Gilbert, and Kathleen should all be so 
 equally polite to Cousin Ann Chadwick that there 
 should be no favorite to receive an undue share of 
 invitations to the Chadwick house. Nancy had 
 made two visits in succession, both offered in the 
 nature of tributes to her charms and virtues, and 
 she did not wish a third. 
 
 "If you two can't be more attractive, then I'll 
 be less, that 's all," was her edict. " 'Turn and 
 turn about' has got to be the rule in this matter. 
 I 'm not going to wear the martyr's crown alone; 
 it will adorn your young brows every now and 
 then or I '11 know the reason why!" 
 
 It was Nancy's idea to let Joanna go, and 
 39 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 divide her work among the various members of 
 the family. It was also Nancy's idea that, there 
 being no strictly masculine bit of martyrdom 
 to give to Gilbert, he should polish the silver for 
 his share. This was an idea that proved so un- 
 popular with Gilbert that it was speedily relin- 
 quished. Gilbert was wonderful with tools, so 
 wonderful that Mother Carey feared he would 
 be a carpenter instead of the commander of a 
 great war ship; but there seemed to be no odd 
 jobs to offer him. There came a day when even 
 Peter realized that life was real and life was ear- 
 nest. When the floor was strewn with playthings 
 his habit had been to stand amid the wreckage 
 and smile, whereupon Joanna would fly and re- 
 store everything to its accustomed place. After 
 the passing of Joanna, Mother Carey sat placidly 
 in her chair in the nursery and Peter stood ankle 
 deep among his toys, smiling. 
 
 "Now put everything where it belongs, sweet 
 Pete," said mother. 
 
 "You do it," smiled Peter. 
 
 "I am very busy darning your stockings, 
 Peter." 
 
 "I don't like to pick up, Muddy." 
 
 "No, it is n't much fun, but it has to be 
 done." 
 
 Peter went over to the window and gazed at 
 
 40 
 
Nancy's Idea 
 
 the landscape. "I dess I '11 go play with Ellen," 
 he remarked in honeyed tones. 
 
 "That would be nice, after you clear away 
 your toys and blocks." 
 
 "I dess I '11 play with Ellen first," suggested 
 Peter, starting slowly towards the door. 
 
 "No, we always work first and play after- 
 wards!" said mother, going on darning. 
 
 Peter felt caught in a net of irresistible and 
 pitiless logic. 
 
 "Come and help me, Muddy?" he coaxed, and 
 as she looked up he suddenly let fly all his armory 
 of weapons at once, — two dimples, tossing back 
 of curls, parted lips, tiny white teeth, sweet voice. 
 
 Mother Carey's impulse was to cast herself on 
 the floor and request him simply to smile on her 
 and she would do his lightest bidding, but con- 
 trolling her secret desires she answered: "I would 
 help if you needed me, but you don't. You're 
 a great big boy now!" 
 
 "I'm not a great big boy!" cried Peter, "I'm 
 only a great big little boy!" 
 
 "Don't waste time, sweet Pete; go to work!" 
 
 "J want Joanna!" roared Peter with the voice 
 of an infant bull. 
 
 "So we all do. It 's because she had to go that 
 I'm darning stockings." \ 
 
 The net tightened round Peter's defenceless 
 41 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 body and he hurled himself against his rocking- 
 horse and dragged it brutally to a corner. Hav- 
 ing disposed of most of his strength and temper 
 in this operation, he put away the rest of his goods 
 and chattels more quietly, but with streaming 
 eyes and heaving bosom. 
 
 "Splendid!" commented Mother Carey. "Jo- 
 anna could n't have done it better, and it won't 
 be half so much work next time." Peter heard 
 the words "next time" distinctly, and knew the 
 grim face of Duty at last, though he was less 
 than five. 
 
 The second and far more tragic time was 
 when he was requested to make himself ready 
 for luncheon, — Kathleen to stand near and 
 help "a little" if really necessary. Now Peter au 
 fond was absolutely clean. French phrases are 
 detestable where there is any English equiva- 
 lent, but in this case there is none, so I will 
 explain to the youngest reader — who may 
 speak only one language — that the base of Peter 
 was always clean. He received one full bath 
 and several partial ones in every twenty-four 
 hours, but su - per -im- posed on this base were 
 evidences of his eternal activities, and indeed 
 of other people's ! They were divided into three 
 classes, — those contracted in the society of 
 Joanna when she took him out-of-doors: such 
 
 42 
 
Nancy's Idea 
 
 as sand, water, mud, grass stains, paint, lime, 
 putty, or varnish; those derived from visits to 
 his sisters at their occupations: such as ink, 
 paints, lead pencils, paste, glue, and mucilage; 
 those amassed in his stays with Ellen in the 
 kitchen: sugar, molasses, spice, pudding sauce, 
 black currants, raisins, dough, berry stains (as- 
 sorted, according to season), chocolate, jelly, 
 jam, and preserves; these deposits were not 
 deep, but were simply dabs on the facade of 
 Peter, and through them the eyes and soul 
 of him shone, delicious and radiant. They could 
 be rubbed off with a moist handkerchief if water 
 were handy, and otherwise if it were not, and 
 the person who rubbed always wanted for some 
 mysterious reason to kiss him immediately after- 
 wards, for Peter had the largest kissing acquain- 
 tance in Charlestown. 
 
 When Peter had scrubbed the parts of him 
 that showed most, and had performed what he 
 considered his whole duty to his hair, he ap- 
 peared for the first time at the family table in 
 such a guise that if the children had not been 
 warned they would have gone into hysterics, but 
 he gradually grew to be proud of his toilets and 
 careful that they should not occur too often in 
 the same day, since it appeared to be the fam- 
 ily opinion that he should make them himself. 
 
 43 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 There was a tacit feeling, not always ex- 
 pressed, that Nancy, after mother, held the reins 
 of authority, and also that she was a person of 
 infinite resource. The Gloom-Dispeller had been 
 her father's name for her, but he had never 
 thought of her as a Path-Finder, a gallant 
 adventurer into unknown and untried regions, 
 because there had been small opportunity to 
 test her courage or her ingenuity. 
 
 Mrs. Carey often found herself leaning on 
 Nancy nowadays; not as a dead weight, but 
 with just the hint of need, just the suggestion 
 of confidence, that youth and strength and 
 buoyancy respond to so gladly. It had been 
 decided that the house should be vacated as soon 
 as a tenant could be found, but the " what next" 
 had not * been settled. Julia had confirmed 
 Nancy's worst fears by accepting her aunt's 
 offer of a home, but had requested time to make 
 Gladys Ferguson a short visit at Palm Beach, 
 all expenses being borne by the Parents of 
 Gladys. This estimable lady and gentleman had 
 no other names or titles and were never spoken 
 of as if they had any separate existence. They 
 had lived and loved and married and accu- 
 mulated vast wealth, and borne Gladys. After 
 that they had sunk into the background and 
 Gladys had taken the stage. 
 
 44 
 
Nancy's Idea 
 
 " I 'm sure I 'm glad she is going to the Fer- 
 gusons," exclaimed Kathleen. "One month less 
 of her!" 
 
 "Yes," Nancy replied, "but she'll be much 
 worse, more spoiled, more vain, more luxurious 
 than before. She'll want a gold chicken breast 
 now. We've just packed away the finger bowls; 
 but out they'll have to come again." 
 
 "Let her wash her own finger bowl a few days 
 and she'll clamor for the simple life," said Kath- 
 leen shrewdly. "Oh, what a relief if the Fer- 
 gusons would adopt Julia, just to keep Gladys 
 company ! " 
 
 "Nobody would ever adopt Julia," returned 
 Nancy. "If she was yours you could n't help 
 it; you'd just take her ' to the Lord in prayer,' 
 as the Sunday-school hymn says, but you'd 
 never go out and adopt her." 
 
 Matters were in this uncertain and unsettled 
 state when Nancy came into her mother's room 
 one evening when the rest of the house was 
 asleep. 
 
 "I saw your light, so I knew you were reading, 
 Muddy. I 've had such a bright idea I could n't 
 rest." 
 
 "Muddy" is not an attractive name unless 
 you happen to know its true derivation and sig- 
 nificance. First there was " mother dear," and as 
 
 45 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 persons under fifteen are always pressed for time 
 and uniformly breathless, this appellation was 
 shortened to "Motherdy," and Peter being un- 
 able to struggle with that term, had abbrevi- 
 ated it into "Muddy." "Muddy" in itself is 
 undistinguished and even unpleasant, but when 
 accompanied by a close strangling hug, pats on 
 the cheek, and ardent if somewhat sticky kisses, 
 grows by degrees to possess delightful associa- 
 tions. Mother Carey enjoyed it so much from 
 Peter that she even permitted it to be taken up 
 by the elder children. 
 
 "You mustn't have ideas after nine P. m., 
 Nancy!" chided her mother. "Wrap the blue 
 blanket around you and sit down with me near 
 the fire." 
 
 "You're not to say I'm romantic or unprac- 
 tical," insisted Nancy, leaning against her mo- 
 ther's knees and looking up into her face, — 
 "indeed, you're not to say anything of any 
 importance till I'm all finished. I'm going to 
 tell it in a long story, too, so as to work on your 
 feelings and make you say yes." 
 
 "Very well, I'm all ears!" 
 
 "Now put on your thinking cap! Do you 
 remember once, years and years ago, before 
 Peter it was, that father took us on a driving 
 trip through some dear little villages in Maine?" 
 
 46 
 
Nancy's Idea 
 
 (The Careys never dated their happenings 
 eighteen hundred and anything. It was always: 
 Just before Peter, Immediately after Peter, or 
 A Long Time after Peter, which answered all 
 purposes.) 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "It was one of Gilbert's thirsty days, and we 
 stopped at nearly every convenient pump to 
 give him drinks of water, and at noon we came 
 to the loveliest wayside well with a real moss- 
 covered bucket; do you remember?" 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "And we all clambered out, and father said 
 it was time for luncheon, and we unpacked the 
 baskets on the greensward near a beautiful tree, 
 and father said, 'Don't spread the table too near 
 the house, dears, or they'll cry when they see 
 our doughnuts!' and Kitty, who had been run- 
 ning about, came up and cried, ' It *s an empty 
 house; come and look!'" 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "And we all went in the gate and loved every 
 bit of it: the stone steps, the hollyhocks growing 
 under the windows, the yellow paint and the 
 green blinds; and father looked in the windows, 
 and the rooms were large and sunny, and we 
 wanted to drive the horse into the barn and stay 
 there forever!" 
 
 47 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "And Gilbert tore his trousers climbing on the 
 gate, and father laid him upside down on your 
 lap and I ran and got your work-bag and you 
 mended the seat of his little trousers. And 
 father looked and looked at the house and said, 
 'Bless its heart!' and said if he were rich he 
 would buy the dear thing that afternoon and 
 sleep in it that night; and asked you if you 
 did n't wish you 'd married the other man, and 
 you said there never was another man, and you 
 asked father if he thought on the whole that he 
 was the poorest man in the world, and father 
 said no, the very richest, and he kissed us all 
 round, do you remember?" 
 
 "Do I remember? O Nancy, Nancy! What 
 do you think I am made of that I could ever 
 forget?" 
 
 "Don't cry, Muddy darling, don't! It was so 
 beautiful, and we have so many things like that 
 to remember." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Carey, "I know it. Part of 
 my tears are grateful ones that none of you 
 can ever recall an unloving word between your 
 father and mother!" 
 
 "The idea," said Nancy suddenly and briefly, 
 "is to go and live in that darling house!" 
 
 "Nancy! What for?" 
 48 
 
Nancy's Idea 
 
 "We've got to leave this place, and where 
 could we live on less than in that tiny village? 
 It had a beautiful white-painted academy, don't 
 you remember, so we could go to school there, — 
 Kathleen and I anyway, if you could get enough 
 money to keep Gilly at Eastover." 
 
 "Of course I've thought of the country, but 
 that far-away spot never occurred to me. What 
 was its quaint little name, — Mizpah or Shiloh 
 or Deborah or something like that?" 
 
 "It was Beulah," said Nancy; "and father 
 thought it exactly matched the place!" 
 
 "We even named the house," recalled Mo- 
 ther Carey with a tearful smile. "There were 
 vegetables growing behind it, and flowers in 
 front, and your father suggested Garden Fore- 
 and-Aft and I chose Happy Half-Acre, but fa- 
 ther thought the fields that stretched back of 
 the vegetable garden might belong to the place, 
 and if so there would be far more than a half- 
 acre of land." 
 
 "And do you remember father said he wished 
 we could do something to thank the house for 
 our happy hour, and I thought of the little box 
 of plants we had bought at a wayside nursery?" 
 
 "Oh! I do indeed! I had n't thought of it for 
 years! Father and you planted a tiny crimson 
 rambler at the corner of the piazza at the side." 
 
 49 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "Do you suppose it ever 'rambled,' Muddy? 
 Because it would be ever so high now, and full 
 of roses in summer." 
 
 "I wonder!" mused Mother Carey. "Oh! it 
 was a sweet, tranquil, restful place ! I wonder how 
 we could find out about it? It seems impossible 
 that it should not have been rented or sold before 
 this. Let me see, that was five years ago." 
 
 "There was a nice old gentleman farther down 
 the street, quite in the village, somebody who 
 had known father when he was a boy." 
 
 "So there was; he had a quaint little law office 
 not much larger than Peter's playhouse. Per- 
 haps we could find him. He was very, very old. 
 He may not be alive, and I cannot remember his 
 name." 
 
 "Father called him 'Colonel,' I know that. 
 Oh, how I wish dear Addy was here to help us!" 
 
 "If he were he would want to help us too 
 much! We must learn to bear our own burdens. 
 They won't seem so strange and heavy when we 
 are more used to them. Now go to bed, dear. 
 We'll think of Beulah, you and I; and perhaps, 
 as we have been all adrift, waiting for a wind to 
 stir our sails, 'Nancy's idea' will be the thing 
 to start us on our new voyage. Beulah means 
 land of promise; — that's a good omen!" 
 
 "And father found Beulah; and father found 
 50 
 
Nancy's Idea 
 
 the house, and father blessed it and loved it and 
 named it; that makes ever so many more good 
 omens, more than enough to start housekeeping 
 on," Nancy answered, kissing her mother good- 
 night. 
 
VII 
 
 "OLD BEASTS INTO NEW" 
 
 Mother Carey went to sleep that night in 
 greater peace than she had felt for months. It 
 had seemed to her, all these last sad weeks, as 
 though she and her brood had been breasting 
 stormy waters with no harbor in sight. There 
 were friends in plenty here and there, but no 
 kith and kin, and the problems to be settled 
 were graver and more complex than ordinary 
 friendship could untangle, vexed as it always 
 was by its own problems. She had but one keen 
 desire: to go to some quiet place where tempta- 
 tions for spending money would be as few as 
 possible, and there live for three or four years, 
 putting her heart and mind and soul on fitting 
 the children for life. If she could keep strength 
 enough to guide and guard, train and develop 
 them into happy, useful, agreeable human be- 
 ings, — masters of their own powers; wise and 
 discreet enough, when years of discretion were 
 reached, to choose right paths, — that, she con- 
 ceived, was her chief task in life, and no easy 
 one. "Happy I must contrive that they shall 
 be," she thought, "for unhappiness and discon- 
 
 52 
 
Old Beasts into New 
 
 tent are among the foxes that spoil the vines. 
 Stupid they shall not be, while I can think of 
 any force to stir their brains ; they have ordinary 
 intelligence, all of them, and they shall learn to 
 use it; dull and sleepy children I can't abide. 
 Fairly good they will be, if they are busy and 
 happy, and clever enough to seethe folly of being 
 anything but good! And so, month after month, 
 for many years to come, I must be helping Nancy 
 and Kathleen to be the right sort of women, and 
 wives, and mothers, and Gilbert and Peter the 
 proper kind of men, and husbands, and fathers. 
 Mother Carey's chickens must be able to show 
 the good birds the way home, as the Admiral 
 said, and I should think they ought to be able 
 to set a few bad birds on the right track now and 
 then!" 
 
 Well, all this would be a task to frighten and 
 stagger many a person, but it only kindled Mrs. 
 Carey's love and courage to a white heat. 
 
 Do you remember where Kingsley's redoubt- 
 able Tom the Water Baby swims past Shiny 
 Wall, and reaches at last Peacepool? Peacepool, 
 where the good whales lie, waiting till Mother 
 Carey shall send for them "to make them out 
 of old beasts into new"? 
 
 Tom swims up to the nearest whale and asks 
 the way to Mother Carey. 
 
 53 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "There she is in the middle," says the whale, 
 though Tom sees nothing but a glittering white 
 peak like an iceberg. "That's Mother Carey," 
 spouts the whale, "as you will find if you get to 
 her. There she sits making old beasts into new 
 all the year round." 
 
 "How does she do that?" asks Tom. 
 
 "That's her concern, not mine!" the whale 
 remarks discreetly. 
 
 And when Tom came nearer to the white 
 glittering peak it took the form of something 
 like a lovely woman sitting on a white marble 
 throne. And from the foot of the throne, you 
 remember, there swam away, out and out into 
 the sea, millions of new-born creatures of more 
 shapes and colors than man ever dreamed. And 
 they were Mother Carey's children whom she 
 makes all day long. 
 
 Tom expected, — I am still telling you what 
 happened to the famous water baby, — Tom 
 expected (like some grown people who ought to 
 know better) that he would find Mother Carey 
 snipping, piecing, fitting, stitching, cobbling, 
 basting, filing, planing, hammering, turning, 
 polishing, moulding, measuring, chiselling, clip- 
 ping, and so forth, as men do when they go to 
 work to make anything. But instead of that she 
 sat quite still with her chin upon her hand, look- 
 
 54 
 
Old Beasts into New 
 
 ing down into the sea with two great blue eyes 
 as blue as the sea itself. (As blue as our own 
 mother's blue velvet bonnet, Kitty would have 
 said.) 
 
 Was Beulah the right place, wondered Mrs. 
 Carey as she dropped asleep. And all night long 
 she heard in dreams the voice of that shining 
 little river that ran under the bridge near Beulah 
 village; and all night long she walked in fields 
 of buttercups and daisies, and saw the June 
 breeze blow the tall grasses. She entered the 
 yellow painted house and put the children to 
 bed in the different rooms, and the instant she 
 saw them sleeping there it became home, and 
 her heart put out little roots that were like ten- 
 drils ; but they grew so fast that by morning they 
 held the yellow house fast and refused to let it go. 
 
 She looked from its windows onto the gardens 
 "fore and aft," and they seemed, like the rest of 
 little Beulah village, full of sweet promise. In 
 the back were all sorts of good things to eat 
 growing in profusion, but modestly out of sight; 
 and in front, where passers-by could see their 
 beauty and sniff their fragrance, old-fashioned 
 posies bloomed and rioted and tossed gay, per- 
 fumed heads in the sunshine. 
 
 She awoke refreshed and strong and brave, 
 not the same woman who took Nancy's idea to 
 
 55 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 bed with her; for this woman's heart and hope 
 had somehow flown from the brick house in 
 Charlestown and had built itself a new nest in 
 Beulah's green trees, the elms and willows that 
 overhung the shining river. 
 
 An idea of her own ran out and met Nancy's 
 half way. Instead of going herself to spy out the 
 land of Beulah, why not send Gilbert? It was 
 a short, inexpensive railway journey, with no 
 change of cars. Gilbert was nearly fourteen, and 
 thus far seemed to have no notion of life as a 
 difficult enterprise. No mother who respects her 
 boy, or respects herself, can ask him flatly, 
 "Do you intend to grow up with the idea of 
 taking care of me; of having an eye to your 
 sisters; or do you consider that, since I brought 
 you into the world, I must provide both for 
 myself and you until you are a man, — or forever 
 and a day after, if you feel inclined to shirk your 
 part in the affair?" 
 
 Gilbert talked of his college course as confi- 
 dently as he had before his father's death. It 
 was Nancy who as the eldest seemed the head 
 of the family, but Gilbert, only a year or so her 
 junior, ought to grow into the head, somehow or 
 other. The way to begin would be to give him 
 a few delightful responsibilities, such as would 
 appeal to his pride and sense of importance, and 
 
 56 
 
Old Beasts into New 
 
 gradually to mingle with them certain duties 
 of headship neither so simple nor so agreeable. 
 Beulah would be a delightful beginning. Nancy 
 the Pathfinder would have packed a bag and 
 gone to Beulah on an hour's notice; found the 
 real-estate dealer, in case there was such a metro- 
 politan article in the village; looked up her fa- 
 ther's old friend the Colonel with the forgotten 
 surname; discovered the owner of the charming 
 house, rented it, and brought back the key in 
 triumph! But Nancy was a girl rich in courage 
 and enterprise, while Gilbert's manliness and 
 leadership and discretion and consideration for 
 others needed a vigorous, decisive, continued 
 push. 
 
 If Nancy's idea was good, Mother Carey's 
 idea matched it! To see Gilbert, valise in hand, 
 eight dollars in pocket, leaving Charlestown on a 
 Friday noon after school, was equal to watching 
 Columbus depart for an unknown land. Thrill- 
 ing is the only word that will properly describe it, 
 and the group that followed his departure from 
 the upper windows used it freely and generously. 
 He had gone gayly downstairs and Nancy flung 
 after him a small packet in an envelope, just as 
 he reached the door. 
 
 "There's a photograph of your mother and 
 sisters!" she called. "In case the owner refuses 
 
 57 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 to rent the house to you, just show him the rest 
 of the family! And don't forget to say that the 
 rent is exorbitant, whatever it is!" 
 
 They watched him go jauntily down the street, 
 Mother Carey with special pride in her eyes. 
 He had on his second best suit, and it looked well 
 on his straight slim figure. He had a gallant air, 
 had Gilbert, and one could not truly say it was 
 surface gallantry either; it simply did not, at 
 present, go very deep. "No one could call him 
 anything but a fine boy," thought the mother, 
 "and surely the outside is a key to what is 
 within ! — His firm chin, his erect head, his 
 bright eye, his quick tread, his air of alert self- 
 reliance, — surely here is enough for any mother 
 to build on!" 
 
VIII 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF BEULAH CASTLE 
 
 Nancy's flushed face was glued to the window- 
 pane until Gilbert turned the corner. He looked 
 back, took off his cap, threw a kiss to them, and 
 was out of sight! 
 
 "Oh! how I wish / could have gone!" cried 
 Nancy. "I hope he won't forget what he went 
 for! I hope he won't take 'No' for an answer. 
 Oh! why was n't I a boy!" 
 
 Mrs. Carey laughed as she turned from the 
 window. 
 
 "It will be a great adventure for the man of 
 the house, Nancy, so never mind. What would 
 the Pathfinder have done if she had gone, in- 
 stead of her brother?" 
 
 "I? Oh! Millions of things!" said Nancy, 
 pacing the sitting-room floor, her head bent a 
 little, her hands behind her back. "I should be 
 going to the new railway station in Boston now, 
 and presently I should be at the little grated 
 window asking for a return ticket to Greentown 
 station. * Four ten,' the man would say, and I 
 would fling my whole eight dollars in front of the 
 wicket to show him what manner of person I was. 
 
 59 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Then I would pick up the naught-from-naught- 
 is-naught, one-from-ten-is-nine, five-from-eight- 
 is-three, — three dollars and ninety cents or 
 thereabouts and turn away. 
 
 " ' Parlor car seat, Miss? ' the young man would 
 say, — a warm, worried young man in a seer- 
 sucker coat, and I would answer, 'No thank you; 
 I always go in the common car to study human 
 nature/ That's what the Admiral says, but of 
 course the ticket man could n't know that the 
 Admiral is an intimate friend of mine, and would 
 think I said it myself. 
 
 "Then I would go down the platform and take 
 the common car for Greentown. Soon we would 
 be off and I would ask the conductor if Green- 
 town was the station where one could change 
 and drive to Beulah, darling little Beulah, shiny- 
 rivered Beulah; not breathing a word about the 
 yellow house for fear he would jump off the 
 train and rent it first. Then he would say he 
 never heard of Beulah. I would look pityingly 
 at him, but make no reply because it would be 
 no use, and anyway I know Greentown is the 
 changing place, because I've asked three men 
 before; but Cousin Ann always likes to make 
 conductors acknowledge they don't know as 
 much as she does. 
 
 "Then I present a few peanuts or pepper- 
 60 
 
The Knight of Beulah Castle 
 
 mints to a small boy, and hold an infant for a 
 tired mother, because this is what good children 
 do in the Sunday-school books, but I do not 
 mingle much with the passengers because my 
 brow is furrowed with thought and I am travel- 
 ling on important business." 
 
 You can well imagine that by this time Mother 
 Carey has taken out her darning, and Kathleen 
 her oversewing, to which she pays little atten- 
 tion because she so adores Nancy's tales. Peter 
 has sat like a small statue ever since his quick 
 ear caught the sound of a story. His eyes follow 
 Nancy as she walks up and down improvising, 
 and the only interruption she ever receives from 
 her audience is Kathleen's or Mother Carey's 
 occasional laugh at some especially ridiculous 
 sentence. 
 
 "The hours fly by like minutes," continues 
 Nancy, stopping by the side window and twirl- 
 ing the curtain tassel absently. "I scan the sur- 
 rounding country to see if anything compares 
 with Beulah, and nothing does. No such river, 
 no such trees, no such well, no such old oaken 
 bucket, and above all no such Yellow House. All 
 the other houses I see are but as huts compared 
 with the Yellow House of Beulah. Soon the car 
 door opens; a brakeman looks in and calls in 
 a rich baritone voice, ' Greentown ! Green — 
 
 61 
 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 town ! Do-not-leave-any-passles in the car ! ' And 
 if you know beforehand what he is going to say 
 you can understand him quite nicely, so I take 
 up my bag and go down the aisle with dignity. 
 'Step lively, Miss!' cries the brakeman, but I do 
 not heed him; it is not likely that a person rent- 
 ing country houses will move save with majesty. 
 Alighting, I inquire if there is any conveyance 
 for Beulah, and there is, a wagon and a white 
 horse. I ask the driver boldly to drive me to the 
 Colonel's office. He does not ask which Colonel, 
 or what Colonel, he simply says, ' Colonel Foster, 
 I s'pose,' and I say, 'Certainly.' We arrive at 
 the office and when I introduce myself as Cap- 
 tain Carey's daughter I receive a glad welcome. 
 The Colonel rings a bell and an aged beldame 
 approaches, making a deep curtsy and offering 
 me a beaker of milk, a crusty loaf, a few venison 
 pasties, and a cold goose stuffed with humming 
 birds. When I have reduced these to nothing- 
 ness I ask if the yellow house on the outskirts of 
 the village is still vacant, and the Colonel replies 
 that it is, at which unexpected but hoped-for 
 answer I fall into a deep swoon. When I awake 
 the aged Colonel is bending over me, his long 
 white goat's beard tickling my chin." 
 
 (Mother Carey stops her darning now and 
 Kathleen makes no pretence of sewing; the story 
 
 62 
 
The Knight of Beulah Castle 
 
 is fast approaching its climax, — everybody feels 
 that, including Peter, who hopes that he will be 
 in it, in some guise or other, before it ends.) 
 
 "'Art thou married, lady?' the aged one asks 
 courteously, 'and if not, wilt thou be mine?'" 
 
 "I tremble, because he does not seem to 
 notice that he is eighty or ninety and I but fif- 
 teen, yet I fear if I reject him too scornfully and 
 speedily the Yellow House will never be mine. 
 ? Grant me a little time in which to fit myself for 
 this great honor,' I say modestly, and a mighty 
 good idea, too, that I got out of a book the other 
 day; when suddenly, as I gaze upward, my 
 suitor's white hair turns to brown, his beard drops 
 off, his wrinkles disappear, and he stands before 
 me a young Knight, in full armor. 'Wilt go to 
 the yellow castle with me, sweet lady?' he asks. 
 ' Wilt I! ' I cry in ecstasy, and we leap on the back 
 of a charger hitched to the Colonel's horseblock. 
 We dash down the avenue of elms and maples 
 that line the village street, and we are at our 
 journey's end before the Knight has had time to 
 explain to me that he was changed into the guise 
 of an old man by an evil sorcerer some years be- 
 fore, and could never return to his own person 
 until some one appeared who wished to live in 
 the yellow house, which is Beulah Castle. 
 
 "We approach the well-known spot and the 
 63 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 little picket gate, and the Knight lifts me from 
 the charger's back. "Here are house and lands, 
 and all are yours, sweet lady, if you have a 
 younger brother. There is treasure hidden in 
 the ground behind the castle, and no one ever 
 finds such things save younger brothers.' 
 
 " 'I have a younger brother,' I cry, 'and his 
 name is Peter! '" 
 
 At this point in Nancy's chronicle Peter is 
 nearly beside himself with excitement. He has 
 been sitting on his hassock, his hands outspread 
 upon his fat knees, his lips parted, his eyes shin- 
 ing. Somewhere, sometime, in Nancy's stories 
 there is always a Peter. He lives for that mo- 
 ment! 
 
 Nancy, stifling her laughter, goes on rapidly: 
 
 " And so the Knight summons Younger Brother 
 Peter to come, and he flies in a great air ship from 
 Charlestown to Beulah. And when he arrives 
 the Knight asks him to dig for the buried trea- 
 sure." 
 
 (Peter here turns up his sleeves to his dimpled 
 elbows and seizes an imaginary implement.) 
 
 "Peter goes to the back of the castle, and there 
 is a beautiful garden filled with corn and beans 
 and peas and lettuce and potatoes and beets and 
 onions and turnips and carrots and parsnips and 
 tomatoes and cabbages. He takes his magic spade 
 
 64 
 
The Knight of Beulah Castle 
 
 and it leads him to the cabbages. He digs and 
 digs, and in a moment the spade strikes metal ! 
 
 "'He has found the gold!' cries the Knight, 
 and Peter speedily lifts from the ground pots 
 and pots of ducats and florins, and gulden and 
 doubloons." 
 
 (Peter nods his head at the mention of each 
 precious coin and then claps his hands, and hugs 
 himself with joy, and rocks himself to and fro 
 on the hassock, in his ecstasy at being the little 
 god in the machine.) 
 
 "Then down the village street there is the 
 sound of hurrying horses' feet, and in a twink- 
 ling a gayly painted chariot comes into view, and 
 in it are sitting the Queen Mother and the Crown 
 Prince and Princess of the House of Carey. They 
 alight; Peter meets them at the gate, a pot of 
 gold in each hand. They enter the castle and 
 put their umbrellas in one corner of the front hall 
 and their rubbers in the other one, behind the 
 door. Lady Nancibel trips up the steps after 
 them and, turning, says graciously to her Knight, 
 'Would you just as soon marry somebody else? 
 I am very much attached to my family, and they 
 will need me dreadfully while they are getting 
 settled.' 
 
 "'I did not recall the fact that I had asked 
 you to be mine,' courteously answers the youth. 
 
 65 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "'You did,' she responds, very much embar- 
 rassed, as she supposed of course he would remem- 
 ber his offer made when he was an old man with 
 a goat's beard; 'but gladly will I forget all, if 
 you will relinquish my hand.' 
 
 "'As you please!' answers the Knight gen- 
 erously. 'I can deny you nothing when I re- 
 member you have brought me back my youth. 
 Prithee, is the other lady bespoke, she of the 
 golden hair?' 
 
 "'Many have asked, but I have chosen none,' 
 answers the Crown Princess Kitty modestly, as 
 is her wont. 
 
 "'Then you will do nicely,' says the Knight, 
 'since all I wish is to be son-in-law to the Queen 
 Mother!' 
 
 "'Right you are, my hearty!' cries Prince 
 Gilbert de Carey, 'and as we much do need a 
 hand at the silver-polishing I will gladly give my 
 sister in marriage!' 
 
 "So they all went intoBeulah Castle and locked 
 the door behind them, and there they lived in 
 great happiness and comfort all the days of their 
 lives, and there they died when it came their 
 time* and they were all buried by the shores of 
 the shining river of Beulah!" 
 
 " Oh ! it is perfectly splendid ! " cried Kathleen. 
 "About the best one you ever told! But do 
 
 66 
 
The Knight of Beulah Castle 
 
 change the end a bit, Nancy dear ! It 's dreadful 
 for him to marry Kitty when he chose Nancibel 
 first. I 'd like him awfully, but I don't want to 
 take him that way!" 
 
 "Well, how would this do? " and Nancy pon- 
 dered a moment before going on: "' Right you 
 are, my hearty ! ' cries Prince Gilbert de Carey, 
 1 and as we do need a hand at the silver-polishing 
 I will gladly give my sister in marriage.' 
 
 "'Hold!' cries the Queen Mother. 'All is not 
 as it should be in this coil! How can you tell,' 
 she says, turning to the knightly stranger, 'that 
 memory will not awake one day, and you recall 
 the adoration you felt when you first beheld the 
 Lady Nancibel in a deep swoon?' 
 
 "The Young Knight's eyes took on a far-away 
 look and he put his hand to his forehead. 
 
 " ' It comes back to me now ! ' he sighed. ' I did 
 love the Lady Nancibel passionately, and I can- 
 not think how it slipped my mind!' 
 
 "'I release you willingly!' exclaimed the 
 Crown Princess Kitty haughtily, 'for a million 
 suitors await my nod, and thou wert never really 
 mine!' 
 
 " ' But the other lady rejects me also ! ' responds 
 the luckless youth, the tears flowing from his 
 eagle eyes onto his crimson mantle. 
 
 "'Wilt delay the nuptials until I am eighteen 
 67 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 and the castle is set in order?' asks the Lady 
 Nancibel relentingly. 
 
 " * Since it must be, I do pledge thee my vow 
 to wait,' says the Knight. 'And I do beg the fair 
 one with the golden locks to consider the claims 
 of my brother, not my equal perhaps, but still a 
 gallant youth.' 
 
 " * I will enter him on my waiting list as num- 
 ber Three Hundred and Seventeen,' responds the 
 Crown Princess Kitty, than whom no violet 
 could be more shy. "Tis all he can expect and 
 more than I should promise.' 
 
 "So they all lived in the yellow castle in great 
 happiness forever after, and were buried by the 
 shores of the shining river of Beulah ! — Does 
 that suit you better?" 
 
 "Simply lovely!" cried Kitty, "and the bit 
 about my modesty is too funny for words! — 
 Oh, if some of it would only happen ! But I am 
 afraid Gilbert will not stir up any fairy stories 
 and set them going." 
 
 "Some of it will happen!" exclaimed Peter. 
 "I shall dig every single day till I find the gold- 
 pots." 
 
 "You are a pot of gold yourself, filled full and 
 running over ! " 
 
 "Now, Nancy, run and write down your fairy 
 tale while you remember it!" said Mother Carey. 
 
 68 
 
The Knight of Beulah Casti,e 
 
 "It is as good an exercise as any other, and you 
 still tell a story far better than you write it!" 
 
 Nancy did this sort of improvising every now 
 and then, and had done it from earliest child- 
 hood; and sometimes, of late, Mother Carey 
 looked at her eldest chicken and wondered if 
 after all she had hatched in her a bird of brighter 
 plumage or rarer song than the rest, or a young 
 eagle whose strong wings would bear her to a 
 higher flight! 
 
IX 
 
 GILBERTS EMBASSY 
 
 The new station had just been built in Boston, 
 and it seemed a great enterprise to Gilbert to be 
 threading his way through the enormous spaces, 
 getting his information by his own wits and not 
 asking questions like a stupid schoolboy. Like 
 all children of naval officers, the Careys had trav- 
 elled ever since their birth; still, this was Gil- 
 bert's first journey alone, and nobody was ever 
 more conscious of the situation, nor more anx- 
 ious to carry it off effectively. 
 
 He entered the car, opened his bag, took out 
 his travelling cap and his copy of "Ben Hur," 
 then threw the bag in a lordly way into the 
 brass rack above the seat. He opened his book, 
 but immediately became interested in a young 
 couple just in front of him. They were carefully 
 dressed, even to details of hats and gloves, and 
 tfhey had an unmistakable air of wedding jour- 
 ney about them that interested the curious boy. 
 
 Presently the conductor came in. Pausing in 
 front of the groom he said* "Tickets, please"; 
 then: "You 're on the wrong train!" 
 
 70 
 
Gilbert's Embassy 
 
 "Wrong train? Of course' I *m not on the 
 wrong train ! You must be mistaken ! The ticket 
 agent told me to take this train." 
 
 "Can't help that, sir, this train don't go to 
 Lawrence." 
 
 "It 's very curious. I asked the brakeman, and 
 two porters. Ain't this the 3.05?" 
 
 "This is the 3.05." 
 
 "Where does it go, then?" 
 
 "Goes to Lowell. Lowell the first stop." 
 
 "But I don't want to go to Lowell!" 
 
 "What's the matter with Lowell? It's a good 
 place all right!" 
 
 "But I have an appointment in Lawrence at 
 four o'clock." 
 
 "I'm dretful sorry, but you'll have to keep it 
 in Lowell, I guess! — Tickets, please!" this to a 
 pretty giri on the opposite side from Gilbert, a 
 pink and white, unsophisticated maiden, very 
 much interested in the woes of the bride and 
 groom and entirely sympathetic with the groom's 
 helpless wrath. 
 
 "On the wrong train, Miss!" said the con- 
 ductor. 
 
 "On the wrong train?" She spoke in a tone 
 of anguish, getting up and catching her valise 
 frantically. " It can't be the wrong train ! Isn't 
 rt the White Mountain train?" 
 
 71 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "Yes, Miss, but it don't go to North Conway; 
 it goes to Fabyan's." 
 
 "But my father put me on this train and 
 everybody said it was the White Mountain 
 train!" 
 
 "So it is, Miss, but if you wanted to stop at 
 North Conway you'd ought to have taken the 
 3.55, platform 8." 
 
 "Put me off, then, please, and let me wait for 
 the 3.55." 
 
 "Can't do it, Miss; this is an express train; 
 only stops at Lowell, where this gentleman is 
 going!" 
 
 (Here the conductor gave a sportive wink at 
 the bridegroom who had an appointment in 
 Lawrence.) 
 
 The pretty girl burst into a flood of tears and 
 turned her face despairingly to the window, 
 while the bride talked to the groom excitedly 
 about what they ought to have done and what 
 they would have done had she been consulted. 
 
 Gilbert could hardly conceal his enjoyment 
 of the situation, and indeed everybody within 
 hearing — that is, anybody who chanced to be 
 on the right train — looked at the bride and 
 groom and the pretty girl, and tittered audibly. 
 
 "Why don't people make inquiries?" thought 
 Gilbert superciliously. "Perhaps they have 
 
 72 
 
Gilbert's Embassy 
 
 never been anywhere before, but even that's no 
 excuse." 
 
 He handed his ticket to the conductor with a 
 broad smile, saying in an undertone, "What kind 
 of passengers are we carrying this afternoon?" 
 
 "The usual kind, I guess! — You're on the 
 wrong train, sonny!" 
 
 Gilbert almost leaped into the air, and com- 
 mitted himself by making a motion to reach 
 down his valise. 
 
 "I, on the wrong train?" he asked haughtily. 
 "That can't be so; the ticket agent told me the 
 3.05 was the only fast train to Greentown!" 
 
 "Mebbe he thought you said Greenville; this 
 train goes to Greenville, if that '11 do you ! Folks 
 ain't used to the new station yet, and the ticket 
 agents are all bran' new too, — guess you got 
 hold of a tenderfoot!" 
 
 "But Greenville will not 'do' for me," ex- 
 claimed Gilbert. "I want to go to Greentown." 
 
 "Well, get off at Lowell, the first stop, — 
 you'll know when you come to it because this 
 gentleman that wanted to go to Lawrence will 
 get off there, and this young lady that was 
 intendin' to go to North Conway. There'll be 
 four of you; jest a nice party." 
 
 Gilbert choked with wrath as he saw the mirth 
 of the other passengers. 
 
 73 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "What train shall I be able to take to Green- 
 town," he managed to call after the conductor. 
 
 "Don't know, sonny! Ask the ticket agent in 
 the Lowell deepot; he's an old hand and he'll 
 know!" 
 
 Gilbert's pride was terribly wounded, but his 
 spirits rose a little later when he found that he 
 would only have to wait twenty minutes in the 
 Lowell station before a slow train for Greentown 
 would pick him up, and that he should still reach 
 his destination before bedtime, and need never 
 disclose his stupidity. 
 
 After all, this proved to be his only error, for 
 everything moved smoothly from that moment, 
 and he was as prudent and successful an am- 
 bassador as Mother Carey could have chosen. 
 He found the Colonel, whose name was not 
 Foster, by the way, but Wheeler; and the 
 Colonel would not allow him to go to the Man- 
 sion House, Beulah's one small hotel, but in- 
 sisted that he should be his guest. That evening 
 he heard from the Colonel the history of the 
 yellow house, and the next morning the Colonel 
 drove him to the store of the man who had 
 charge of it during the owner's absence in Eu- 
 rope, after which Gilbert was conducted in due 
 form to the premises for a critical examination. 
 
 The Yellow House, as Garden Fore-and-Aft 
 
 74 
 
Gilbert's Embassy 
 
 seemed destined to be chiefly called, was indeed 
 the only house of that color for ten miles square. 
 It had belonged to the various branches of a 
 certain family of Hamiltons for fifty, years or 
 more, but in course of time, when it fell into the 
 hands of the Lemuel Hamiltons, it had no sort 
 of relation to their mode of existence. One sum- 
 mer, a year or two before the Careys had seen it, 
 the sons and daughters had come on from Boston 
 and begged their father to let them put it in such 
 order that they could take house parties of 
 young people there for the week end. Mr. Ham- 
 ilton indulgently allowed them a certain amount 
 to be expended as they wished, and with the 
 help of a local carpenter, they succeeded in 
 doing several things to their own complete satis- 
 faction, though it could not be said that they 
 added to the value of the property. The house 
 they regarded merely as a camping-out place, 
 and after they had painted some bedroom floors, 
 set up some cots, bought a kitchen stove and 
 some pine tables and chairs, they regarded that 
 part of the difficulty as solved; expending the 
 rest of the money in turning the dilapidated barn 
 into a place where they could hold high revels 
 of various innocent sorts. The two freshman 
 sons, two boarding-school daughters, and a 
 married sister barely old enough to chaperon 
 
 75 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 her own baby, brought parties of gay young 
 friends with them several weeks in succession. 
 These excursions were a great delight to the 
 villagers, who thus enjoyed all the pleasures and 
 excitements of a circus with none of its attendant 
 expenses. They were of short duration, how- 
 ever, for Lemuel Hamilton was appointed consul 
 to a foreign port and took his wife and daugh- 
 ters with him. The married sister died, and in 
 course of time one of the sons went to China 
 to learn tea-planting and the other established 
 himself on a ranch in Texas. Thus the Lemuel 
 Hamiltons were scattered far and wide, and as 
 the Yellow House in Beulah had small value as 
 real estate and had never played any part in 
 their lives, it was almost forgotten as the busy 
 years went by. 
 
 "Mr. Hamilton told me four years ago, when 
 I went up to Boston to meet him, that if I could 
 get any rent from respectable parties I might 
 let the house, though he would n't lay out a cent 
 on repairs in order to get a tenant. But, land! 
 there ain't no call for houses in Beulah, nor 
 hain't been for twenty years," so Bill Harmon, 
 the storekeeper, told Gilbert. "The house has 
 got a tight roof and good underpinnin', and if 
 your folks feel like payin' out a little money for 
 paint 'n' paper you can fix it up neat's a pin. 
 
 76 
 
Gilbert's Embassy 
 
 The Hamilton boys jest raised Cain out in the 
 barn, so 't you can't keep no critters there." 
 
 "We could n't have a horse or a cow anyway," 
 said Gilbert. 
 
 " Well, it 's lucky you can't. I could 'a' rented 
 the house twice over if there 'd been any barn 
 room; but them confounded young scalawags 
 ripped out the horse and cow stalls, cleared 
 away the pig pen, and laid a floor they could 
 dance on. The barn chamber 's full o' their stuff, 
 so't no hay can go in; altogether there ain't any 
 nameable kind of a fool-trick them young var- 
 mints did n't play on these premises. When a 
 farmer's lookin' for a home for his family and 
 stock 't ain't no use to show him a dance hall. 
 The only dancin' a Maine farmer ever does is 
 dancin' round to git his livin' out o' the earth; 
 — that keeps his feet flyin', fast enough." 
 
 "Well," said Gilbert, "I think if you can put 
 the rent cheap enough so that we could make the 
 necessary repairs, I think my mother would con- 
 sider it." 
 
 "Would you want it for more'n this sum- 
 mer?" asked Mr. Harmon. 
 
 "Oh! yes, we want to live here!" 
 
 "Want to live here!" exclaimed the aston- 
 ished Harmon. "Well, it's been a long time 
 sence we heard anybody say that, eh, Colonel? 
 
 77 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 — Well now, sonny" (Gilbert did wish that 
 respect for budding manhood could be stretched 
 a little further in this locality), "I tell you what, 
 I ain't goin' to stick no fancy price on these 
 premises — " 
 
 "It wouldn't be any use," said Gilbert 
 boldly. "My father has died within a year; 
 there are four of us beside my mother, and 
 there's a cousin, too, who is dependent on us. 
 We have nothing but a small pension and the 
 interest on five thousand dollars life insurance. 
 Mother says we must go away from all our 
 friends, live cheaply, and do our own work 
 until Nancy, Kitty, and I grow old enough to 
 earn something." 
 
 Colonel Wheeler and Mr. Harmon both liked 
 Gilbert Carey at sight, and as he stood there 
 uttering his boyish confidences with great 
 friendliness and complete candor, both men 
 would have been glad to meet him halfway. 
 
 "Well, Harmon, it seems to me we shall get 
 some good neighbors if we can make terms 
 with Mrs. Carey," said the Colonel. "If you'll 
 fix a reasonable figure I'll undertake to write 
 to Hamilton and interest him in the affair." 
 
 "All right. Now, Colonel, I'd like to make a 
 proposition right on the spot, before you, and 
 you can advise sonny, here. You see Lem has 
 
 78 
 
Gilbert's Embassy 
 
 got his taxes to pay, — they 're small, of course, 
 but they 're an expense, — and he 'd ought to 
 carry a little insurance on his buildings, tho' he 
 ain't had any up to now. On the other hand, if 
 he can get a tenant that '11 put on a few shingles 
 and clapboards now and then, or a coat o' paint 
 'n' a roll o' wall paper, his premises won't go to 
 rack 'n' ruin same 's they 're in danger o' doin' 
 at the present time. Now, sonny, would your 
 mother feel like keepin' up things a little mite if 
 we should say sixty dollars a year rent, payable 
 monthly or quarterly as is convenient?" 
 
 Gilbert's head swam and his eyes beheld such 
 myriads of stars that he felt it must be night 
 instead of day. The rent of the Charlestown 
 house was seven hundred dollars a year, and the 
 last words of his mother had been to the effect 
 that two hundred was the limit he must offer 
 for the yellow house, as she did not see clearly 
 at the moment how they could afford even that 
 sum. 
 
 "What would be your advice, Colonel?" 
 stammered the boy. 
 
 "I think sixty dollars is not exorbitant," the 
 Colonel answered calmly (he had seen Beulah 
 real estate fall a peg a year for twenty successive 
 years), "though naturally you cannot pay that 
 sum and make any extravagant repairs." 
 
 79 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "Then I will take the house," Gilbert re- 
 marked largely. "My mother left the matter 
 of rent to my judgment, and we will pay 
 promptly in advance. Shall I sign any papers?" 
 
 "Land o' Goshen! the marks your little fist 
 would make on a paper would n't cut much of a 
 figure in a court o' law!" chuckled old Harmon. 
 "You jest let the Colonel fix up matters with 
 your ma." 
 
 "Can I walk back, Colonel?" asked Gilbert, 
 trying to preserve some dignity under the store- 
 keeper's attacks. "I'd like to take some meas- 
 urements and make some sketches of the rooms 
 for my mother." 
 
 "All right," the Colonel responded. "Your 
 train does n't go till two o'clock. I '11 give you a 
 bite of lunch and take you to the station." 
 
 If Mother Carey had watched Gilbert during 
 the next half -hour she would have been gratified, 
 for every moment of the time he grew more and 
 more into the likeness of the head of a family. 
 He looked at the cellar, at the shed, at the closets 
 and cupboards all over the house, and at the 
 fireplaces. He "paced off" all the rooms and 
 set down their proportions in his note-book; he 
 even decided as to who should occupy each 
 room, and for what purposes they should be 
 
 80 
 
Gilbert's Embassy 
 
 used, his judgment in every case being thought 
 ridiculous by the feminine portion of his family 
 when they looked at his plans. Then he locked 
 the doors carefully with a fine sense of ownership 
 and strolled away with many a backward look 
 and thought at the yellow house. 
 
 At the station he sent a telegram to his mother. 
 Nancy had secretly given him thirty-five cents 
 when he left home. "I am hoarding for the 
 Admiral's Christmas present," she whispered, 
 "but it's no use, I cannot endure the suspense 
 about the house a moment longer than is neces- 
 sary. Just telegraph us yes or no, and we shall 
 get the news four hours before your train arrives. 
 One can die several times in four hours, and I 'm 
 going to commit one last extravagance, — at 
 the Admiral's expense!" 
 
 At three o'clock on Saturday afternoon a tele- 
 graph boy came through the gate and rang the 
 front door bell. 
 
 "You go, Kitty, I haven't the courage!" 
 said Nancy, sitting down on the sofa heavily. 
 A moment later the two girls and Peter (who for 
 once did n't count) gazed at their mother breath- 
 lessly as she opened the envelope. Her face 
 lighted as she read aloud: — 
 
 " Victory perches on my banners. Have accom- 
 plished all I went for. Gilbert." 
 
 81 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "Hurrah!'* cried both girls. "The yellow 
 house is the House of Carey foreverraore." 
 
 "Will Peter go too?" asked the youngest 
 Carey eagerly, his nose quivering as it always 
 did in excitement, when it became an animated 
 question point. 
 
 "I should think he would," exclaimed Kitty, 
 clasping him in her arms. "What would the 
 yellow house be without Peter?'' 
 
 "I wish Gilbert would n't talk about his ban- 
 ners," said Nancy critically, as she looked at the 
 telegram over her mother's shoulder. "They're 
 not his banners at all, they 're ours, — Carey 
 banners; that's what they are!" 
 
 Mother Carey had wished the same thing, 
 but hoped that Nancy had not noticed the 
 Gilbertian flaw in the telegram. 
 
THE CAREYS' FLITTING 
 
 The Charlestown house was now put immedi- 
 ately into the hands of several agents, for Mrs. 
 Carey's lease had still four years to run and she 
 was naturally anxious to escape from this finan- 
 cial responsibility as soon as possible. As a mat- 
 ter of fact only three days elapsed before she ob- 
 tained a tenant, and the agent had easily secured 
 an advance of a hundred dollars a year to the 
 good, as Captain Carey had obtained a very 
 favorable figure when he took the house. 
 
 It was the beginning of April, and letters from 
 Colonel Wheeler had already asked instructions 
 about having the vegetable garden ploughed. 
 It was finally decided that the girls should leave 
 their spring term of school unfinished, and that 
 the family should move to Beulah during Gil- 
 bert's Easter vacation. 
 
 Mother Carey gave due reflection to the in- 
 terrupted studies, but concluded that for two 
 girls like Nancy and Kathleen the making of a 
 new home would be more instructive and inspir- 
 ing, and more fruitful in its results, than weeks 
 of book learning. 
 
 83 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Youth delights in change, in the prospect of 
 new scenes and fresh adventures, and as it is 
 never troubled by any doubts as to the wisdom 
 of its plans, the Carey children were full of vigor 
 and energy just now. Charlestown, the old house, 
 the daily life, all had grown sad and dreary to 
 them since father had gone. Everything spoke of 
 him. Even mother longed for something to lift 
 her thought out of the past and give it wings, so 
 that it might fly into the future and find some 
 hope and comfort there. There was a continual 
 bustle from morning till night, and a spirit of 
 merriment that had long been absent. 
 
 The Scotch have a much prettier word than 
 we for all this, and what we term moving they 
 call "flitting." The word is not only prettier, 
 but in this instance more appropriate. It was 
 such a buoyant, youthful affair, this Carey flit- 
 ting. Light forms darted up and down the stairs 
 and past the windows, appearing now at the 
 back, now at the front of the house, with a pic- 
 ture, or a postage stamp, or a dish, or a penwiper, 
 or a pillow, or a basket, or a spool. The chorus 
 of "Where shall we put this, Muddy?" "Where 
 will this go?" "May we throw this away?" 
 would have distracted a less patient parent. 
 When Gilbert returned from school at four, the 
 air was filled with sounds of hammering and saw- 
 
 84 
 
The Careys' Flitting 
 
 ing and filing, screwing and unscrewing, and it 
 was joy unspeakable to be obliged (or at least 
 almost obliged) to call in clarion tones to one 
 another, across the din and fanfare, and to com- 
 pel answers in a high key. Peter took a constant 
 succession of articles to the shed, where packing 
 was going on, but his chief treasures were de- 
 posited in a basket at the front gate, with the 
 idea that they would be transported as his per- 
 sonal baggage. The pile grew and grew : a woolly 
 lamb, two Noah's arks, bottles and marbles in- 
 numerable, a bag of pebbles, a broken steam 
 engine, two china nest-eggs, an orange, a ba- 
 nana and some walnuts, a fishing line, a trowel, 
 a ball of string. These give an idea of the qual- 
 ity of Peter's effects, but not of the quantity. 
 
 Ellen the cook labored loyally, for it was her 
 last week's work with the family. She would be 
 left behind, like Charlestown and all the old 
 life, when Mother Carey and the stormy petrels 
 flitted across unknown waters from one haven 
 to another. Joanna having earlier proved utterly 
 unromantic in her attitude, Nancy went further 
 with Ellen and gave her an English novel called 
 "The Merri weathers," in which an old family 
 servant had not only followed her employers 
 from castle to hovel, remaining there without 
 wages for years, but had insisted on lending all 
 
 85 
 
Mother Carey's Cbickens 
 
 her savings to the Mistress of the Manor. Ellen 
 the cook had loved "The Merriweathers," say- 
 ing it was about the best book that ever she had 
 read, and Miss Nancy would like to know, always 
 being so interested, that she (Ellen) had found 
 a place near Joanna in Salem, where she was 
 offered five dollars a month more than she had 
 received with the Careys. Nancy congratulated 
 her warmly and then, tearing "The Merriwea- 
 thers" to shreds, she put them in the kitchen 
 stove in Ellen's temporary absence. "If ever I 
 write a book," she ejaculated, as she "stoked" 
 the fire with Gwendolen and Reginald Merri- 
 weather, with the Mistress of the Manor, and 
 especially with the romantic family servitor, — 
 "if ever I write a book," she repeated, with 
 emphatic gestures, "it won't have any fibs in it; 
 — and I suppose it will be dull," she reflected, 
 as she remembered how she had wept when the 
 Merriweathers' Bridget brought her savings of 
 a hundred pounds to her mistress in a handker- 
 chief. 
 
 During these preparations for the flitting 
 Nancy had a fresh idea every minute or two, 
 and gained immense prestige in the family. 
 
 Inspired by her eldest daughter Mrs. Carey 
 sold her grand piano, getting an old-fashioned 
 square one and a hundred and fifty dollars in ex- 
 
 86 
 
The Careys' Flitting 
 
 change. It had been a wedding present from a 
 good old uncle, who, if he had been still alive, 
 would have been glad to serve his niece now that 
 she was in difficulties. 
 
 Nancy, her sleeves rolled up, her curly hair 
 flecked with dust and cobwebs, flew down from 
 the attic into Kathleen's room just after supper. 
 "I have an idea!" she said in a loud whisper. 
 
 "You mustn't have too many or we shan't 
 take^any interest in them," Kitty answered pro- 
 vokingly. 
 
 "This is for your ears alone, Kitty!" 
 
 "Oh! that 's different. Tell me quickly." 
 
 "It 's an idea to get rid of the Curse of the 
 House of Carey!" 
 
 "It can't be done, Nancy; you know it can't! 
 Even if you could think out a way, mother 
 could n't be made to agree." 
 
 "She must never know. I would not think of 
 mixing up a good lovely woman like mother in 
 such an affair!" 
 
 This was said so mysteriously that Kathleen 
 almost suspected that bloodshed was included 
 in Nancy's plan. It must be explained that 
 when young Ensign Carey and Margaret Gil- 
 bert had been married, Cousin Ann Chadwick 
 had presented them with four tall black and 
 white marble mantel ornaments shaped like 
 
 87 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 funeral urns; and then, feeling that she had not 
 yet shown her approval of the match sufficiently, 
 she purchased a large group of clay statuary en- 
 titled You Dirty Boy. 
 
 The Careys had moved often, like all naval 
 families, but even when their other goods and 
 chattels were stored, Cousin Ann generously 
 managed to defray the expense of sending on 
 to them the mantel ornaments and the Dirty 
 Boy. "I know what your home is to you," she 
 used to say to them, "and how you must miss 
 your ornaments. If I have chanced to give you 
 things as unwieldy as they are handsome, I 
 ought to see that you have them around you 
 without trouble or expense, and I will ! " 
 
 So for sixteen years, save for a brief respite 
 when the family was in the Philippines, their 
 existence was blighted by these hated objects. 
 Once when they had given an especially beauti- 
 ful party for the Admiral, Captain Carey had 
 carried the whole lot to the attic, but Cousin 
 Ann arrived unexpectedly in the middle of the 
 afternoon, and Nancy, with the aid of Gilbert 
 and Joanna, had brought them down the back 
 way and put them in the dining room. 
 
 "You've taken the ornaments out of the par- 
 lor, I see," Cousin Ann said at the dinner table. 
 "It's rather nice for a change, and after all, per- 
 
 88 
 
The Careys' Flitting 
 
 haps you spend as much time in this room as in 
 any, and entertain as much company here!" 
 
 Cousin Ann always had been, always would 
 be, a frequent visitor, for she was devoted to the 
 family in her own peculiar way; what therefore 
 could Nancy be proposing to do with the Carey 
 Curse? 
 
 "Listen, my good girl," Nancy now said to 
 Kathleen, after she had closed the door. "Thou 
 dost know that the china-packer comes early 
 to-morrow morn, and that e'en now the barrels 
 and boxes and excelsior are bestrewing the din- 
 ing room?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then you and I, who have been brought up 
 under the shadow of those funeral urns, and 
 have seen that tidy mother scrubbing the ears of 
 that unwilling boy ever since we were born,— you 
 and I, or thou and I, perhaps I should say, will 
 do a little private packing before the true packer 
 arriveth." 
 
 "Still do I not see the point, wench!" said the 
 puzzled Kathleen, trying to model her conver- 
 sation on Nancy's, though she was never thor- 
 oughly successful. 
 
 "Don't call me ( wench,' because I am the mis- 
 tress and you my tiring woman, but when you 
 watch, and assist me, at the packing, a great 
 
 89 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 light will break upon you," Nancy answered. 
 "In the removal of cherished articles from 
 Charlestown to Beulah, certain tragedies will 
 occur, certain accidents will happen, although 
 Cousin Ann knows that the Carey family is a 
 well regulated one. But if there are accidents, 
 and there will be, my good girl, then the authors 
 of them will be forever unknown to all but thou 
 and I. Wouldst prefer to pack this midnight or 
 at cock crow, for packing is our task ! " 
 
 "I simply hate cock crow, and you know it," 
 said Kathleen testily. "Why not now? Ellen 
 and Gilbert are out and mother is rocking Peter 
 to sleep." 
 
 " Very well ; come on ; and step softly. It won't 
 take long, because I have planned all in secret, 
 well and thoroughly. Don't puff and blow like 
 that! Mother will hear you!" 
 
 "I 'm excited," whispered Kathleen as they 
 stole down the back stairs and went into the 
 parlor for the funeral urns, which they carried 
 silently to the dining room. These safely depos- 
 ited, they took You Dirty Boy from its abom- 
 inable pedestal of Mexican onyx (also Cousin 
 Ann's gift) and staggered under its heavyweight, 
 their natural strength being considerably sapped 
 by suppressed laughter. 
 
 Nancy chose an especially large and stout bar- 
 
 90 
 
The Careys' Flitting 
 
 rel. They put a little (very little) excelsior in 
 the bottom, then a pair of dumb-bells, then a 
 funeral urn, then a little hay, and another funeral 
 urn, crosswise. The spaces between were care- 
 lessly filled in with Indian clubs. On these they 
 painfully dropped You Dirty Boy, and on top of 
 him the other pair of funeral urns, more dumb- 
 bells, and another Indian club. They had packed 
 the barrel in the corner where it stood, so they 
 simply laid the cover on top and threw a piece of 
 sacking carelessly over it. The whole perform- 
 ance had been punctuated with such hysterical 
 laughter from Kathleen that she was too weak 
 to be of any real use, — she simply aided and 
 abetted the chief conspirator. The night was not 
 as other nights. The girls kept waking up to 
 laugh a little, then they went to sleep, and waked 
 again, and laughed again, and so on. Nancy com- 
 posed several letters to her Cousin Ann dated from 
 Beulah and explaining the sad accident that had 
 occurred. As she concocted these documents be- 
 tween her naps she could never remember in her 
 whole life any such night of mirth and minstrelsy, 
 and not one pang of conscience interfered, to 
 cloud the present joy nor dim that anticipation 
 which is even greater. 
 
 Nancy was downstairs early next morning and 
 managed to be the one to greet the china-packers. 
 
 91 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 " We filled one barrel last evening,' 5 she explained 
 to them. "Will you please head that up before 
 you begin work?" which one of the men obli- 
 gingly did. 
 
 "We'll mark all this stuff and take it down to 
 the station this afternoon," said the head packer 
 to Mrs. Carey. 
 
 "Be careful with it, won't you?" she begged. 
 "We are very fond of our glass and china, our 
 clocks and all our little treasures." 
 
 "You won't have any breakage so long as 
 you deal with James Perkins & Co.!" said the 
 packer. 
 
 Nancy went back into the room for a moment 
 to speak with the skilful, virtuous J. P. & Co. 
 "There's no need to use any care with that 
 corner barrel," she said carelessly. "It has no- 
 thing of value in it!" 
 
 James Perkins went home in the middle of the 
 afternoon and left his son to finish the work, and 
 the son tagged and labelled and painted with all 
 his might. The Dirty Boy barrel in the corner, 
 being separated from the others, looked to him 
 especially important, so he gave particular at- 
 tention to that; pasted on it one label marked 
 "Fragile," one "This Side Up," two "Glass with 
 Care," and finding several "Perishables" in his 
 pocket tied on a few of those, and removed the 
 
 92 
 
The Careys' Flitting 
 
 entire lot of boxes, crates, and barrels to the 
 freight depot. 
 
 The man who put the articles in the car 
 was much interested in the Dirty Boy barrel. 
 " You'd ought to have walked to Greentown and 
 carried that one in your arms," he jeered. " What 
 is the precious thing, anyway?" 
 
 "Don't you mind what it is," responded 
 young Perkins. "Jest you keep everybody 'n' 
 everything from teching it ! Does this lot o' stuff 
 have to be shifted 'tween here and Greentown." 
 
 "No; not unless we git kind o' dull and turn it 
 upside down jest for fun." 
 
 "I guess you're dull consid'able often, by the 
 way things look when you git through carryin' 
 'em, on this line," said Perkins, who had no 
 opinion of the freight department of the A. & B. 
 The answer, though not proper to record in this 
 place, was worthy of Perkins's opponent, who 
 had a standing grudge against the entire race of 
 expressmen and carters who brought him boxes 
 and barrels to handle. It always seemed to him 
 that if they were all out of the country or dead he 
 would have no work to do. 
 
XI 
 
 THE SERVICE ON THE THRESHOLD 
 
 From this point on, the flitting went easily and 
 smoothly enough, and the transportation of the 
 Carey family itself to Greentown, on a mild 
 budding day in April, was nothing compared to 
 the heavy labor that had preceded it. All the 
 goods and chattels had been despatched a week 
 before, so that they would be on the spot well 
 in advance, and the actual flitting took place on 
 a Friday, so that Gilbert would have every hour 
 of his vacation to assist in the settling process. 
 He had accepted an invitation to visit a school 
 friend at Easter, saying to his mother magisteri- 
 ally: "I didn't suppose you'd want me round 
 the house when you were getting things to 
 rights; men are always in the way; so I told Fred 
 Bascom I'd go home with him." 
 
 " Home with Fred ! Our only man! Sole prop 
 of the House of Carey!" exclaimed his mother 
 with consummate tact. "Why, Gilly dear, I 
 shall want your advice every hour! And who 
 will know about the planting, — for we are only 
 ' women folks ' ; and who will do all the hammer- 
 ing and carpenter work? You are so wonderful 
 
 94 
 
The Service on the Threshold 
 
 with tools that you '11 be worth all the rest of us 
 put together!" 
 
 "Oh, well, if you need me so much as that I'll 
 go along, of course," said Gilbert, "but Fred 
 said his mother and sisters always did this kind 
 of thing by themselves." 
 
 "'By themselves,' in Fred's family," re- 
 marked Mrs. Carey, "means a butler, footman, 
 and plenty of money for help of every sort. And 
 though no wonder you're fond of Fred, who is so 
 jolly and such good company, you must have 
 noticed how selfish he is!" 
 
 "Now, mother, you've never seen Fred Bas- 
 com more than half a dozen times!" 
 
 "No; and I don't remember at all what I saw 
 in him the last five of them, for I found out 
 everything needful the first time he came to 
 visit us!" returned Mrs. Carey quietly. "Still, 
 he's a likable, agreeable sort of boy." 
 
 "And no doubt he'll succeed in destroying the 
 pig in him before he grows up," said Nancy, 
 passing through the room. "I thought it gob- 
 bled and snuffled a good deal when we last 
 met!" 
 
 Colonel Wheeler was at Greentown station 
 when the family arrived, and drove Mrs. Carey 
 and Peter to the Yellow House himself, while 
 the rest followed in the depot carryall, with a 
 
 95 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 trail of trunks and packages following on behind 
 in an express wagon. It was a very early season, 
 the roads were free from mud, the trees were 
 budding, and the young grass showed green on 
 all the sunny slopes. When the Careys had first 
 seen their future home they had entered the vil- 
 lage from the west, the Yellow House being the 
 last one on the elm-shaded street, and- quite on 
 the outskirts of Beulah itself. Now they crossed 
 the river below the station and drove through 
 East Beulah, over a road unknown to any of 
 them but Gilbert, who was the hero and in- 
 structor of the party. Soon the well-remembered 
 house came into view, and as the two vehicles 
 had kept one behind the other there was a 
 general cheer. 
 
 It was more beautiful even than they had 
 remembered it; and more commodious, and more 
 delightfully situated. The barn door was open, 
 showing crates of furniture, and the piazza was 
 piled high with boxes. 
 
 Bill Harmon stood in the front doorway, 
 smiling. He hoped for trade, and he was a good 
 sort anyway. 
 
 "I'd about given you up to-night," he called 
 as he came to the gate. "Your train's half an 
 hour late. I got tired o' waitin', so I made free 
 to open up some o' your things for you to start 
 
 96 
 
The Service on the Threshold 
 
 housekeepin' with. I guess there won't be no 
 supper here for you to-night." 
 
 "We've got it with us," said Nancy joyously, 
 making acquaintance in an instant. 
 
 "You are forehanded, ain't you! That's 
 right! — jump, you little pint o' cider!" Bill 
 said, holding out his arms to Peter. Peter, 
 carrying many small things too valuable to 
 trust to others, jumped, as suggested, and gave 
 his new friend an unexpected shower of bumps 
 from hard substances concealed about his 
 person. 
 
 "Land o' Goshen, you're loaded, hain't you?" 
 he inquired jocosely as he set Peter down on the 
 ground. 
 
 The dazzling smile with which Peter greeted 
 this supposed tribute converted Bill Harmon at 
 once into a victim and slave. Little did he know, 
 as he carelessly stood there at the wagon wheel, 
 that he was destined to bestow upon that small 
 boy offerings from his stock for years to come. 
 
 He and Colonel Wheeler were speedily lift- 
 ing things from the carryall, while the Careys 
 walked up the pathway together, thrilling with 
 the excitement of the moment. Nancy breathed 
 hard, flushed, and caught her mother's hand. 
 
 "O Motherdy!" she said under her breath; 
 "it's all happening just as we dreamed it, and 
 
 97 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 now that it 's really here it 's like — it 's like — 
 a dedication, — somehow. Gilbert, don't, dear ! 
 Let mother step over the sill first and call us 
 into the Yellow House ! I '11 lock the door again 
 and give the key to her." 
 
 Mother Carey, her heart in her throat, felt 
 anew the solemn nature of the undertaking. It 
 broke over her in waves, fresher, stronger, now 
 that the actual moment had arrived, than it 
 ever had done in prospect. She took the last 
 step upward, and standing in the doorway, 
 trembling, said softly as she turned the key, 
 " Come home, children ! Nancy! Gilbert! Kath- 
 leen! Peter-bird!" They flocked in, all their 
 laughter hushed by the new tone in her voice. 
 Nancy's and Kitty's arms encircled their mo- 
 ther's waist. Gilbert with sudden instinct took 
 off his hat, and Peter, looking at his elder 
 brother wonderingly, did the same. There was 
 a moment of silence; the kind of golden silence 
 that is full to the brim of thoughts and prayers 
 and| memories and hopes and desires, — so full 
 of all these and other beautiful, quiet things that 
 it makes speech seem poor and shabby; then 
 Mother Carey turned, and the Yellow House 
 was blessed. Colonel Wheeler and Bill Harmon 
 at the gate never even suspected that there had 
 been a little service on the threshold, when they 
 
 98 
 
The Service on the Threshold 
 
 came up the pathway to see if there was any- 
 thing more needed. 
 
 "I set up all the bedsteads and got the mat- 
 tresses on 'em," said Bill Harmon, "thinkm' 
 the sandman would come early to-night." 
 
 "I never heard of anything so kind and neigh- 
 borly ! " cried Mrs. Carey gratefully. " I thought 
 we should have to go somewhere else to sleep. 
 Is it you who keeps the village store?" 
 
 "That's me!" said Bill. 
 
 "Well, if you'll be good enough to come back 
 once more to-night with a little of everything, 
 we'll be very much obliged. We have an oil 
 stove, tea and coffee, tinned meats, bread and 
 fruit; what we need most is butter, eggs, milk, 
 and flour. Gilbert, open the box of eatables, 
 please; and, Nancy, unlock the trunk that has 
 the bed linen in it. We little thought we should 
 find such friends here, did we?" 
 
 "I got your extension table into the dining- 
 room," said Bill, "and tried my best to find your 
 dishes, but I didn't make out, up to the time 
 you got here. Mebbe you marked 'em someway 
 so't you know which to unpack first? I was 
 only findin' things that wan't no present use, as I 
 guess you '11 say when you see 'em on the dining 
 table." 
 
 They all followed him as he threw open the 
 99 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 door, Nancy well in the front, as I fear was gen- 
 erally the case. There on the centre of the table 
 stood You Dirty Boy rearing his crested head 
 in triumph, and round him like the gate posts 
 of a mausoleum stood the four black and white 
 marble funeral urns. Perfect and entire, without 
 a flaw, they stood there, confronting Nancy. 
 
 "It is like them to be the first to greet us!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Carey, with an attempt at a 
 smile, but there was not a sound from Kathleen 
 or Nancy. They stood rooted to the floor, gazing 
 at the Curse of the House of Carey as if their 
 eyes must deceive them. 
 
 "You look as though you did n't expect to see 
 them, girls!" said their mother, "but when did 
 they ever fail us? — Do you know, I have a cour- 
 age at this moment that I never felt before? 
 — Beulah is so far from Buffalo that Cousin 
 Ann cannot visit us often, and never without 
 warning. I should not like to offend her or hurt 
 her feelings, but I think we'll keep You Dirty 
 Boy and the mantel ornaments in the attic for 
 the present, or the barn chamber. What do you 
 say?" 
 
 Colonel Wheeler and Mr. Harmon had de- 
 parted, so a shout of agreement went up from 
 the young Careys. Nancy approached You 
 Dirty Boy with a bloodthirsty glare in her eye. 
 
 100 
 
The Service on the Threshold 
 
 "Come along, you evil, uncanny thing !" she 
 said. "Take hold of his other end, Gilly, and 
 start for the barn; that's farthest away; but it's 
 no use; he's just like that bloodstain on Lady 
 Maebeth's hand, — he will not out ! Kathleen, 
 open the linen trunk while we 're gone. We can't 
 set the table till these curses are removed. 
 When you've got the linen out, take a marble 
 urn in each hand and trail them along to where 
 we are. You can track us by a line of my tears ! " 
 
 They found the stairs to the barn chamber, 
 and lifted You Dirty Boy up step by step with 
 slow, painful effort. Kathleen ran out and put 
 two vases on the lowest step and ran back to the 
 house for the other pair. Gilbert and Nancy 
 stood at the top of the stairs with You Dirty 
 Boy between them, settling where he could be 
 easiest reached if he had to be brought down 
 for any occasion, — an unwelcome occasion that 
 was certain to occur sometime in the coming 
 years. 
 
 Suddenly they heard their names called in a 
 tragic whisper ! "Gilbert! Nancy! Quick! Cousin 
 Ann 's at the front gate!" 
 
 There was a crash ! No human being, however 
 self-contained, could have withstood the shock 
 of that surprise; coming as it did so swiftly, so 
 unexpectedly, and with such awful inappropri- 
 
 101 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ateness. Gilbert and Nancy let go of You Dirty 
 Boy simultaneously, and he fell to the floor in 
 two large fragments, the break occurring so 
 happily that the mother and the washcloth were 
 on one half, and the boy on the other, — a sit- 
 uation long desired by the boy, to whom the 
 parting was most welcome! 
 
 "She got off at the wrong station," panted 
 Kathleen at the foot of the stairs, "and had to 
 be driven five miles, or she would have got here 
 as she planned, an hour before we did. She's 
 come to help us settle, and says she was afraid 
 mother would overdo. Did you drop anything? 
 Hurry down, and I'll leave the vases here, in 
 among the furniture; or shall I take back two of 
 them to show that they were our first thought? 
 — And oh ! I forgot. She 's brought Julia ! Two 
 more to feed, and not enough beds!" 
 
 Nancy and Gilbert confronted each other. 
 
 "Hide the body in the corner, Gilly," said 
 Nancy; "and say, Gilly — " 
 
 "Yes, what?" 
 
 "You see he's in two pieces?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' 'What do you say to making him four, or 
 more?" 
 
 "I say you go downstairs ahead of me and 
 into the house, and I follow you a moment later! 
 
 102 
 
The Service on the Threshold 
 
 Close the barn door carefully behind you ! — - 
 Am I understood?" 
 
 "You are, Gilly! understood, and gloried in, 
 and reverenced. My spirit will be with you when 
 you do it, Gilly dear, though I myself will be 
 greeting Cousin Ann and Julia!" 
 
XII 
 
 COUSIN ANN 
 
 Mother Carey, not wishing to make any larger 
 number of persons uncomfortable than neces- 
 sary, had asked Julia not to come to them until 
 after the house in Beulah had been put to rights; 
 but the Fergusons went abroad rather unex- 
 pectedly, and Mr. Ferguson tore Julia from the 
 arms of Gladys and put her on the train with 
 very little formality. Her meeting Cousin Ann 
 on the way was merely one of those unpleasant 
 coincidences with which life is filled, although 
 it is hardly possible, usually, for two such dis- 
 agreeable persons to be on the same small spot 
 at the same precise moment. 
 
 On the third morning after the Careys' 
 arrival, however, matters assumed a more hope- 
 ful attitude, for Cousin Ann became discontented 
 with Beulah. The weather had turned cold, and 
 the fireplaces, so long unused, were uniformly 
 smoky. Cousin Ann's stomach, always delicate, 
 turned from tinned meats, eggs three times a 
 day, and soda biscuits made by Bill Harmon's 
 wife; likewise did it turn from nuts, apples, 
 oranges, and bananas, on which the children 
 
 104 
 
Cousin Ann 
 
 thrived; so she went to the so-called hotel for 
 her meals. Her remarks to the landlady after 
 two dinners and one supper were of a character 
 not to be endured by any outspoken, free-born 
 New England woman. 
 
 "I keep a hotel, and I'll give you your meals 
 for twenty-five cents apiece so long as you eat 
 what's set before you and hold your tongue," 
 was the irate Mrs. Buck's ultimatum. "I'll feed 
 you," she continued passionately, "because it's 
 my business to put up and take in anything 
 that's respectable; but I won't take none o' your 
 sass!" 
 
 Well, Cousin Ann's temper was up, too, by 
 this time, and she declined on her part to take 
 any of the landlady's "sass"; so they parted, 
 rather to Mrs. Carey's embarrassment, as she 
 did not wish to make enemies at the outset. 
 That night Cousin Ann, still smarting under the 
 memory of Mrs. Buck's snapping eyes, high 
 color, and unbridled tongue, complained after 
 supper that her bedstead rocked whenever she 
 moved, and asked Gilbert if he could readjust 
 it in some way, so that it should be as stationary 
 as beds usually are in a normal state. 
 
 He took his tool basket and went upstairs 
 obediently, spending fifteen or twenty minutes 
 with the much-criticised article of furniture, 
 
 105 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 which he suspected of rocking merely because 
 it could n't bear Cousin Ann. This idea so de- 
 lighted Nancy that she was obliged to retire from 
 Gilbert's proximity, lest the family should ob- 
 serve her mirth and Gilbert's and impute undue 
 importance to it. 
 
 "I've done everything to the bedstead I can 
 think of," Gilbert said, on coming downstairs. 
 "You can see how it works to-night, Cousin 
 Ann!" 
 
 As a matter of fact it did work, instead of 
 remaining in perfect quiet as a well-bred bed- 
 stead should. When the family was sound asleep 
 at midnight a loud crash was heard, and Cousin 
 Ann, throwing open the door of her room, speed- 
 ily informed everybody in the house that her 
 bed had come down with her, giving her nerves 
 a shock from which they probably would never 
 recover. 
 
 "Gilbert is far too young for the responsibili- 
 ties you put upon him, Margaret," Cousin Ann 
 exclaimed, drawing her wrapper more closely 
 over her tall spare figure; "and if he was as old 
 as Methuselah he would still be careless, for he 
 was born so ! All this talk about his being skil- 
 ful with tools has only swollen his vanity. A 
 boy of his age should be able to make a bed- 
 stead stay together." 
 
 106 
 
Cousin Ann 
 
 The whole family, including the crestfallen 
 Gilbert, proposed various plans of relief, all ex- 
 cept Nancy, who did not wish to meet Gilbert's 
 glance for fear that she should have to suspect 
 him of a new crime. Having embarked on a ca- 
 reer of villany under her direct instigation, he 
 might go on of his own accord, indefinitely. She 
 did not believe him guilty, but she preferred 
 not to look into the matter more closely. 
 
 Mother Carey's eyes searched Gilbert's, but 
 found there no confirmation of her fears. 
 
 " You need n't look at me like that, mother," 
 said the boy. " I would n't be so mean as to rig 
 up an accident for Cousin Ann, though I'd like 
 her to have a little one every night, just for the 
 fun of it." 
 
 Cousin Ann refused to let Gilbert try again on 
 the bedstead, and refused part of Mrs. Carey's 
 bed, preferring to sleep on two hair mattresses 
 laid on her bedroom floor. "They may not be 
 comfortable," she said tersely, "but at least 
 they will not endanger my life." 
 
 The next morning's post brought business 
 letters, and Cousin Ann feared she would have 
 to leave Beulah, although there was work for 
 a fortnight to come, right there, and Margaret 
 had not strength enough to get through it alone. 
 
 She thought the chimneys were full of soot, 
 107 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 and did n't believe the kitchen stove would ever 
 draw; she was sure that there were dead toads 
 and frogs in the well ; the house was inconvenient 
 and always would be till water was brought into 
 the kitchen sink; Julia seemed to have no lean- 
 ing towards housework and had an appetite that 
 she could only describe as a crime, inasmuch as 
 the wherewithal to satisfy it had to be purchased 
 by others; the climate was damp because of the 
 river, and there was no proper market within 
 eight miles; Kathleen was too delicate to live in 
 such a place, and the move from Charlestown 
 was an utter and absolute and entire mistake 
 from A to Z. 
 
 Then she packed her small trunk and Gilbert 
 ran to the village on glad and winged feet to get 
 some one to take his depressing relative to the 
 noon train to Boston. As for Nancy, she stood 
 in front of the parlor fireplace, and when she 
 heard the hoot of the engine in the distance she 
 removed the four mortuary vases from the man- 
 telpiece and took them to the attic, while Gil- 
 bert from the upper hall was chanting a favorite 
 old rhyme: — 
 
 " She called us names till she was tired, 
 She called ^.s names till we perspired, 
 She called us names we never could spell, 
 She called us names we never may tell. 
 108 
 
Cousin Ann 
 
 She called us names that made us laugh, 
 She called us names for a day and a half, 
 She called us names till her memory failed, 
 But finally out of our sight she sailed." 
 
 a 
 
 It must have been written about Cousin 
 Ann in the first place," said Nancy, joining 
 Kathleen in the kitchen. "Well, she's gone at 
 last! 
 
 " Now every prospect pleases, 
 And only JuhVs vile,'* 
 
 she paraphrased from the old hymn, into Kath- 
 leen's private ear. 
 
 "You oughtn't to say such things, Nancy," 
 rebuked Kathleen. "Mother would n't like it." 
 
 "I know it," confessed Nancy remorsefully. 
 "I have been wicked since the moment I tried 
 to get rid of You Dirty Boy. I don't know what 's 
 the matter with me. My blood seems to be too 
 red, and it courses wildly through my veins, as 
 the books say. I am going to turn over a new 
 leaf, now that Cousin Ann 's gone and our only 
 cross is Julia ! " 
 
 Oh ! but it is rather dreadful to think how one 
 person can spoil the world! If only you could 
 have seen the Yellow House after Cousin Ann 
 went! If only you could have heard the hotel 
 landlady exclaim as she drove past: "Well! 
 Good riddance to bad rubbish!" The weather 
 
 109 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 grew warmer outside almost at once, and Bill 
 Harmon's son planted the garden. The fire- 
 places ceased to smoke and the kitchen stove 
 drew. Colonel Wheeler suggested a new chain 
 pump instead of the old wooden one, after which 
 the water took a turn f :r the better, and before 
 the month was ended the Yellow House began 
 to look like home, notwithstanding Julia. 
 
 As for Beulah village, after its sleep of months 
 under deep snow-drifts it had waked into the 
 adorable beauty of an early New England sum- 
 mer. It had no snow-capped mountains in the 
 distance; no amethyst foothills to enchain the 
 eye; no wonderful canons and splendid rocky 
 passes to make the tourist marvel; no length of 
 yellow sea sands nor plash of ocean surf; no 
 trade, no amusements, no summer visitors; — 
 it was just a quiet, little, sunny, verdant, leafy 
 piece of heart's content, that 's what Beulah was, 
 and Julia couldn't spoil it; indeed, the odds were, 
 that it would sweeten Julia! That was what 
 Mother Carey hoped when her heart had an 
 hour's leisure to drift beyond Shiny Wall into 
 Peacepool and consider the needs of her five 
 children. It was generally at twilight, when she 
 was getting Peter to sleep, that she was busiest 
 making "old beasts into new." 
 
 "People fancy that I make things, my little 
 110 
 
Cousin Ann 
 
 dear/' says Mother Carey to Tom the Water 
 Baby, "but I sit here and make them make 
 themselves!" 
 
 There was once a fairy, so the tale goes, who 
 was so clever that she found out how to make 
 butterflies, and she was so proud that she flew 
 straight off to Peacepool to boast to Mother 
 Carey of her skill. 
 
 But Mother Carey laughed. 
 
 "Know, silly child," she said, "that any one 
 can make things if he will take time and trouble 
 enough, but it is not every one who can make 
 things make themselves." 
 
 "Make things make themselves!" Mother 
 Carey used to think in the twilight. "I suppose 
 that is what mothers are for!" 
 
 Nancy was making herself busily these days, 
 and the offending Julia was directly responsible 
 for such self-control and gains in general virtue 
 as poor impetuous Nancy achieved. Kathleen 
 was growing stronger and steadier and less self- 
 conscious. Gilbert was doing better at school, 
 and his letters showed more consideration and 
 thought for the family than they had done here- 
 tofore. Even the Peter-bird was a little sweeter 
 and more self -helpful just now, thought Mother 
 Carey fondly, as she rocked him to sleep. He 
 was worn out with following Natty Harmon at 
 
 111 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 the plough, and succumbed quickly to the music 
 of her good-night song and the comfort of her 
 sheltering arms. Mother Carey had arms to 
 carry, arms to enfold, arms to comfort and ca- 
 ress. She also had a fine, handsome, strong hand 
 admirable for spanking, but she had so many 
 invisible methods of discipline at her command 
 that she never needed a visible spanker for Peter. 
 "Spanking is all very well in its poor way," she 
 used to say, "but a woman who has to fall back 
 on it very often is sadly lacking in ingenuity." 
 
 As she lifted Peter into his crib Nancy came 
 softly in at the door with a slip of paper in her 
 hand. 
 
 She drew her mother out to the window over 
 the front door. "Listen," she said. "Do you 
 hear the frogs?" 
 
 "I've been listening to them for the last half- 
 hour," her mother said. "Is n't everything 
 sweet to-night, with the soft air and the elms 
 all feathered out, and the new moon!" 
 
 "Was it ever so green before?" Nancy won- 
 dered, leaning over the window-sill by her 
 mother's side. "Were the trees ever so lace-y? 
 Was any river ever so clear, or any moon so 
 yellow? I am so sorry for the city people to- 
 night ! Sometimes I think it can't be so beautiful 
 here as it looks, mother. Sometimes I wonder 
 
 112 
 
Cousin Ann 
 
 if part of the beauty isn't inside of us!" said 
 Nancy. 
 
 "Part of all beauty is in the eyes that look at 
 it," her mother answered. 
 
 "And I've been reading Mrs. Harmon's new 
 reference Bible," Nancy continued, "and here 
 is what it says about Beulah." 
 
 She held the paper to the waning light and 
 read: "Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken, 
 neither shall thy land any more be termed Desolate 
 . . . but it shall be called Beulah, for the Lord 
 delighteth in thee. 
 
 "I think father would be comforted if he 
 could see us all in the Yellow House at Beulah!" 
 Nancy went on softly as the two leaned out of 
 the T window together. "He was so loving, so 
 careful of us, so afraid that anything should 
 trouble us, that for months I could n't think of 
 him, even in heaven, as anything but worried. 
 But now it seems just as if we were over the 
 hardest time and could learn to live here in 
 Beulah; and so he must be comforted if he can 
 see us or think about us at all; — don't you feel 
 like that, mother?" 
 
 Yes, her mother agreed gently, and her heart 
 was grateful and full of hope. She had lost the 
 father of her children and the dear companion 
 of her life, and that loss could never be made 
 
 113 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 good. Still her mind acknowledged the riches 
 she possessed in her children, so she confessed 
 herself neither desolate nor forsaken, but some- 
 thing in a humble human way that the Lord 
 could take delight in. 
 
 
XIII 
 
 THE PINK OF PERFECTION 
 
 That was the only trouble with Allan Carey's 
 little daughter Julia, aged thirteen; she was, and 
 always had been, the pink of perfection. As a 
 baby she had always been exemplary, eating 
 heartily and sleeping soundly. When she felt 
 a pin in her flannel petticoat she deemed it dis- 
 courteous to cry, because she knew that her 
 nurse had at least tried to dress her properly. 
 When awake, her mental machinery moved 
 slowly and without any jerks. As to her moral 
 machinery, the angels must have set it going at 
 birth and planned it in such a way that it could 
 neither stop nor go wrong. It was well meant, 
 of course, but probably the angels who had the 
 matter in charge were new, young, inexperi- 
 enced angels, with vague ideas of human nature 
 and inexact knowledge of God's intentions; be- 
 cause a child that has no capability of doing 
 the wrong thing will hardly be able to manage a 
 right one; not one of the big sort, anyway. 
 
 At four or five years old Julia was always 
 spoken of as "such a good little girl." Many a 
 time had Nancy in early youth stamped her foot 
 
 115 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 and cried: "Don't talk about Julia! I will not 
 hear about Julia!" for she was always held upas 
 a pattern of excellence. Truth to tell she bored 
 her own mother terribly; but that is not strange, 
 for by a curious freak of nature, Mrs. Allan 
 Carey was as flighty and capricious and irre- 
 sponsible and gay and naughty as Julia was 
 steady, limited, narrow, conventional, and dull; 
 but the flighty mother passed out of the Carey 
 family life, and Julia, from the age of five on- 
 ward, fell into the charge of a pious, unimagina- 
 tive governess, instead of being turned out to 
 pasture with a lot of frolicsome young human 
 creatures; so at thirteen she had apparently 
 settled — hard, solid, and firm — into a mould. 
 She had smooth fair hair, pale blue eyes, thin 
 lips, and a somewhat too plump shape for her 
 years. She was always tidy and wore her clothes 
 well, laying enormous stress upon their mate- 
 rial and style, this trait in her character having 
 been added under the fostering influence of the 
 wealthy and fashionable Gladys Ferguson. At 
 thirteen, when Julia joined the flock of Carey 
 chickens, she had the air of belonging to quite 
 another order of beings. They had been through 
 a discipline seldom suffered by "only children." 
 They had had to divide apples and toys, take 
 turns at reading books, and learn generally to 
 
 116 
 
The Pink op Perfection 
 
 trot in double harness. If Nancy had a new 
 dress at Christmas, Kathleen had a new hat 
 in the spring. Gilbert heard the cry of "Low 
 bridge!" very of ten after Kathleen appeared on 
 the scene, and Kathleen's ears, too, grew well 
 accustomed to the same phrase after Peter was 
 born. 
 
 "Julia never did a naughty thing in her life, 
 nor spoke a wrong word," said her father once, 
 proudly. 
 
 "Never mind, she's only ten, and there's 
 hope for her yet," Captain Carey had replied 
 cheerfully; though if he had known her a little 
 later, in her first Beulah days, he might not have 
 been so sanguine. She seemed to have no in- 
 stinct of adapting herself to the family life, 
 standing just a little aloof and in an attitude 
 of silent criticism. She was a trig, smug prig, 
 Nancy said, delighting in her accidental muster of 
 three short, hard, descriptive words. She had n't 
 a bit of humor, no fun, no gayety, no generous 
 enthusiasms that carried her too far for safety 
 or propriety. She brought with her to Beulah 
 sheaves of school certificates, and when she 
 showed them to Gilbert with their hundred per 
 cent deportment and ninety-eight and seven- 
 eighths per cent scholarship every month for 
 years, he went out behind the barn and kicked 
 
 117 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 its foundations savagely for several minutes. 
 She was a sort of continual Sunday child, with 
 an air of church and cold dinner and sermon- 
 reading and hymn-singing and early bed. No- 
 body could fear, as for some impulsive, reckless 
 little creature, that she would come to a bad 
 end. Nancy said no one could imagine her as 
 coming to anything, not even an end ! 
 
 "You never let mother hear you say these 
 things, Nancy," Kathleen remarked once, "but 
 really and truly it's just as bad to say them at 
 all, when you know she would n't approve." 
 
 "My present object is to be as good as goW 
 in mother's eyes, but there I stop!" retorted 
 Nancy cheerfully. "Pretty soon I shall get 
 virtuous enough to go a step further and en- 
 deavor to please the angels, — not Julia's cast- 
 iron angels, but the other angels, who understand 
 and are patient, because they remember our 
 frames and know that being dust we are likely 
 to be dusty once in a while. Julia was n't made 
 of dust. She was made of — let me see — of 
 skim milk and baked custard (the watery kind) 
 and rice flour and gelatine, with a very little 
 piece of overripe banana, — not enough to 
 flavor, just enough to sicken. Stir this up with 
 weak barley water without putting in a trace 
 of salt, sugar, spice, or pepper, set it in a cool 
 
 118 
 
The Pink of Perfection 
 
 oven, take it out before it is done, and you will 
 get Julia." 
 
 Nancy was triumphant over this recipe for 
 making Julias, only regretting that she could 
 never show it to her mother, who, if critical, 
 was always most appreciative. She did send it 
 in a letter to the Admiral, off in China, and he, 
 being "none too good for human nature's daily 
 food," enjoyed it hugely and never scolded her 
 at all. 
 
 Julia's only conversation at this time was on 
 matters concerning Gladys Ferguson and the 
 Ferguson family. When you are washing dishes 
 in the sink of the Yellow House in Beulah it is 
 very irritating to hear of Gladys Ferguson's mo- 
 ther-of-pearl opera glasses, her French maid, her 
 breakfast on a tray in bed, her diamond ring, her 
 photograph in the Sunday "Times," her travels 
 abroad, her proficiency in French and German. 
 
 "Don't trot Gladys into the kitchen, for good- 
 ness' sake, Julia!" grumbled Nancy on a warm 
 day. "I don't want her diamond ring in my 
 dishwater. Wait till Sunday, when we go to the 
 hotel for dinner in our best clothes, if you must 
 talk about her. You don't wipe the tumblers 
 dry, nor put them in the proper place, when your 
 mind is full of Gladys!" 
 
 "All right!" said Julia gently. "Only I hope 
 119 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 I shall always be able to wipe dishes and keep 
 my mind on better things at the same time. 
 That 's what Miss Tewksbury told me when she 
 knew I had got to give up my home luxuries for 
 a long time. ' Don't let poverty drag you down, 
 Julia,' she said: 'keep your high thoughts and 
 don't let them get soiled with the grime of daily 
 living.'" 
 
 It is only just to say that Nancy was not abso- 
 lutely destitute of self-control and politeness, 
 because at this moment she had a really vicious 
 desire to wash Julia's supercilious face and neat 
 nose with the dishcloth, fresh from the frying 
 pan. She knew that she could not grasp those ir- 
 ritating "high thoughts" and apply the grime of 
 daily living to them concretely and actually, but 
 Julia's face was within her reach, and Nancy's 
 fingers tingled with desire. No trace of this 
 savage impulse appeared in her behavior, how- 
 ever; she rinsed the dishpan, turned it upside 
 down in the sink, and gave the wiping towels to 
 Julia, asking her to wring them out in hot water 
 and hang them on the barberry bushes, accord- 
 ing to Mrs. Carey's instructions. 
 
 "It does n't seem as if I could!" whimpered 
 Julia. "I have always been so sensitive, and 
 dish towels are so disgusting! They do smell, 
 Nancy!" 
 
 120 
 
The Pink of Perfection 
 
 "They do," said Nancy sternly, "but they 
 will smell worse if they are not washed! I give 
 you the dish -wiping and take the washing, just 
 to save your hands, but you must turn and turn 
 about with Kathleen and me with some of the 
 ugly, hateful things. If you were company of 
 course w T e could n't let you, but you are a mem- 
 ber of the family. Our principal concern must 
 be to keep mother's 'high thoughts' from grime; 
 ours must just take their chance!" 
 
 Oh! how Julia disliked Nancy at this epoch 
 in their common history ; and how cordially and 
 vigorously the dislike was returned! Many an 
 unhappy moment did Mother Carey have over 
 the feud, mostly deep and silent, that went on 
 between these two; and Gilbert's attitude was 
 not much more hopeful. He had found a time- 
 table or syllabus for the day's doings, over 
 Julia's washstand. It had been framed under 
 Miss Tewksbury's guidance, who knew Julia's 
 unpunctuality and lack of system, and read as 
 follows : — 
 
 Syllabus 
 
 Rise at 6.45. 
 Bathe and dress. 
 Devotional Exercises 7.15. 
 Breakfast 7.45. 
 Household tasks till 9. 
 
 121 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Exercise out of doors 9 to 10. 
 
 Study 10 to 12. 
 
 Preparations for dinner 12 to 1. 
 
 Recreation 2 to 4. 
 
 Study 4 to 5. 
 
 Preparation for supper 5 to 6. 
 
 Wholesome reading, walking, or 
 
 conversation 7 to 8. 
 Devotional exercises 9. 
 Bed 9.30. 
 
 There was nothing wrong about this; indeed, 
 it was excellently conceived; still it appeared to 
 Gilbert as excessively funny, and with Nancy's 
 help he wrote another syllabus and tacked it 
 over Julia's bureau. 
 
 Time Card 
 
 On waking I can 
 
 Pray for Gilly and Nan; 
 
 Eat breakfast at seven 
 
 Or ten or eleven, 
 
 Nor think when it 's noon 
 
 That luncheon 's too soon. 
 
 From twelve until one 
 
 I can munch on a bun. 
 
 At one or at two 
 
 My dinner '11 be due. 
 
 At three, say, or four, 
 
 I 'II eat a bit more. 
 
 When the clock 's striking five 
 
 Some mild exercise, 
 
 m 
 
The Pink of Perfection 
 
 Very brief, would be wise, 
 Lest I lack appetite 
 For my supper at night. 
 Don't go to bed late, 
 Eat a light lunch at eight, 
 Nor forget to say prayers 
 For my cousins downstairs. 
 Then with conscience like mine 
 I '11 be sleeping at nine. 
 
 Mrs. Carey had a sense of humor, and when 
 the weeping Julia brought the two documents 
 to her for consideration she had great difficulty 
 in adjusting the matter gravely and with due 
 sympathy for her niece. 
 
 "The F-f-f-fergusons never mentioned my 
 appetite," Julia wailed. "They were always try- 
 ing to g-g-get me to eat!" 
 
 "Gilbert and Nancy are a little too fond of 
 fun, and a little too prone to chaffing," said Mrs. 
 Carey. "They forget that you are not used to it, 
 but I will try to make them more considerate. 
 And don't forget, my dear, that in a large family 
 Hke ours we must learn to 'live and let live.' " 
 
XIV 
 
 WAYS AND MEANS 
 
 It was late June, and Gilbert had returned from 
 school, so the work of making the Yellow House 
 attractive and convenient was to move forward 
 at once. Up to now, the unpacking and distri- 
 bution of the furniture, with the daily house- 
 work and cooking, had been all that Mrs. Carey 
 and the girls could manage. 
 
 A village Jack-of-all-trades, Mr. Ossian Pop- 
 ham, generally and familiarly called "Osh" 
 Popham, had been called in to whitewash exist- 
 ing closets and put hooks in them; also, with 
 Bill Harmon's consent, to make new ones here 
 and there in handy corners. Dozens of shelves 
 in odd spaces helped much in the tidy stow- 
 ing away of household articles, bed-clothing, 
 and stores. In the midst of this delightful and 
 cheery setting-to-rights a letter arrived from Cou- 
 sin Ann. The family was all sitting together 
 in Mrs. Carey's room, the announced intention 
 being to hold an important meeting of the Ways 
 and Means Committee, the Careys being strong 
 an ways and uniformly short on means. 
 
 The arrival of the letters by the hand of Bill 
 124 
 
Ways and Means 
 
 Harmon's boy occurred before the meeting was 
 called to order. 
 
 "May I read Cousin Ann's aloud?" asked 
 Nancy, who had her private reasons for making 
 the offer. 
 
 "Certainly," said Mrs. Carey unsuspectingly, 
 as she took up the inevitable stocking. " I almost 
 wish you had all been storks instead of chickens ; 
 then you would always have held up one foot, 
 and perhaps that stocking, at least, would n't 
 have had holes in it!" 
 
 "Poor Muddy! I'm learning to darn," cried 
 Kathleen, kissing her. 
 
 Longhampton, New Jersey, June %7th. 
 
 My dear Margaret [so Nancy read], — The 
 climate of this seaside place suits me so badly 
 that I have concluded to spend the rest of the 
 summer with you, lightening those household 
 tasks which will fall so heavily on your shoulders. 
 
 [Groans from the whole family greeted this 
 opening passage, and Gilbert cast himself, face 
 down, on his mother's lounge.] 
 
 It is always foggy here when it does not rain, 
 and the cooking is very bad. The manager of 
 the hotel is uncivil and the office clerks very 
 rude, so that Beulah, unfortunate place of resi- 
 dence as I consider it, will be much preferable. 
 
 125 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 I hope you are getting on well with the work 
 on the house, although I regard your treating it 
 as if it were your own, as the height of extrava- 
 gance. You will never get back a penny you 
 spend on it, and probably when you get it in 
 good order Mr. Hamilton will come back from 
 Europe and live in it himself, or take it away 
 from you and sell it to some one else. 
 
 Gilbert will be home by now, but I should not 
 allow him to touch the woodwork, as he is too 
 careless and unreliable. 
 
 [" She'll never forget that the bed came down 
 with her!" exclaimed Gilbert, his voice muffled 
 by the sofa cushions.] 
 
 Remember me to Julia. I hope she enjoys her 
 food better than when I was with you. Children 
 must eat if they would grow. 
 
 [Mother Carey pricked up her ears at this 
 point, and Gilbert raised himself on one elbow, 
 but Nancy went on gravely.] 
 
 Tell Kathleen to keep out of the sun, or wear 
 a hat, as her complexion is not at all what it used 
 to be. Without color and with freckles she will 
 be an unusually plain child. 
 
 [Kathleen flushed angrily and laid down her 
 work.] 
 
 Give my love to darling Nancy. What a 
 treasure you have in your eldest, Margaret! I 
 
 126 
 
Ways and Means 
 
 hope you are properly grateful for her. Such 
 talent, such beauty, such grace, such discretion — 
 
 But here the family rose en masse and de- 
 scended on the reader of the spurious letter just 
 as she had turned the first page. In the amiable 
 scuffle that ensued, a blue slip fell from Cousin 
 Ann's envelope and Gilbert handed it to his 
 mother with the letter. 
 
 Mrs. Carey, wiping the tears of merriment 
 that came to her eyes in spite of her, so exactly 
 had Nancy caught Cousin Ann's epistolary 
 style, read the real communication, which ran 
 as follows : — 
 
 Dear Margaret, — I have had you much in 
 mind since I left you, always with great anxiety 
 lest your strength should fail under the unex- 
 pected strain you put upon it. I had intended to 
 give each of you a check for thirty-five dollars 
 at Christmas to spend as you liked, but I must 
 say I have not entire confidence in your judg- 
 ment. You will be likelier far to decorate the 
 walls of the house than to bring water into the 
 kitchen sink. I therefore enclose you three 
 hundred dollars and beg that you will have the 
 well piped at once, and if there is any way to 
 carry the water to the bedroom floor, do it, and 
 
 127 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 let me send the extra amount involved. You 
 will naturally have the well cleaned out anyway, 
 but I should prefer never to know what you 
 found in it. My only other large gift to you in 
 the past was one of ornaments, sent, you remem- 
 ber, at the time of your wedding! 
 
 ["We remember!" groaned the children in 
 chorus.] 
 
 I do not regret this, though my view of life, 
 of its sorrows and perplexities, has changed 
 somewhat, and I am more practical than I used 
 to be. The general opinion is that in giving for 
 a present an object of permanent beauty, your 
 friends think of you whenever they look upon it. 
 
 ["That's so!" remarked Gilbert to Nancy.] 
 
 This is true, no doubt, but there are other 
 ways of making yourself remembered, and I am 
 willing that you should think kindly of Cousin 
 Ann whenever you use the new pump. 
 
 The second improvement I wish made with 
 the money is the instalment of a large furnace- 
 like stove in the cellar, which will send up a little 
 heat, at least, into the hall and lower rooms in 
 winter. You will probably have to get the own- 
 er's consent, and I should certainly ask for a 
 five years' lease before expending any consid- 
 erable amount of money on the premises. 
 
 If there is any money left, I should suggest 
 128 
 
Ways and Means 
 
 new sills to the back doors and those in the shed. 
 I noticed that the present ones are very rotten, 
 and I dare say by this time you have processions 
 of red and black ants coming into your house. 
 It seemed to me that I never saw so much insect 
 life as in Beulah. Moths, caterpillars, brown- 
 tails, slugs, spiders, June bugs, horseflies, and 
 mosquitoes were among the pests I specially 
 noted. The Mr. Popham who drove me to the 
 station said that snakes also abounded in the 
 tall grass, but I should not lay any stress on his 
 remarks, as I never saw such manners in my 
 life in any Christian civilized community. He 
 asked me my age, and when I naturally made 
 no reply, he inquired after a few minutes' silence 
 whether I was unmarried from choice or neces- 
 sity. When I refused to carry on any conversa- 
 tion with him he sang jovial songj so audibly 
 that persons going along the street smiled and 
 waved their hands to him. I tell you this be- 
 cause you appear to have false ideas of the 
 people in Beulah, most of whom seemed to me 
 either eccentric or absolutely insane. 
 
 Hoping that you can endure your life there 
 when the water smells better and you do not 
 have to carry it from the well, I am 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Ann Chadwick. 
 129 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 " Children !" said Mrs. Carey, folding the let- 
 ter and slipping the check into the envelope for 
 safety, "your Cousin Ann is really a very good 
 woman." 
 
 "I wish her bed had n't come down with her," 
 said Gilbert. "We could never have afforded to 
 get that water into the house, or had the little 
 furnace, and I suppose, though no one of us ever 
 thought of it, that you would have had a hard 
 time doing the work in the winter in a cold house, 
 and it would have been dreadful going to the 
 pump." 
 
 "Dreadful for you too, Gilly," replied Kath- 
 leen pointedly. 
 
 "I shall be at school, where I can't help," 
 said Gilbert. 
 
 Mrs. Carey made no remark, as she intended 
 the fact that there was no money for Gilbert's 
 tuition at Eastover to sink gradually into his 
 mind, so that he might make the painful dis- 
 covery himself. His fees had fortunately been 
 paid in advance up to the end of the summer 
 term, so the strain on their resources had not 
 been felt up to now. 
 
 Nancy had disappeared from the room and 
 now stood in the doorway. 
 
 "I wish to remark that, having said a good 
 many disagreeable things about Cousin Ann* 
 
 130 
 
Ways and Means 
 
 and regretting them very much, I have placed 
 the four black and white marble ornaments on 
 my bedroom mantelpiece, there to be a perpetual 
 reminder of my sins. You Dirty Boy is in a hun- 
 dred pieces in the barn chamber, but if Cousin 
 Ann ever comes to visit us again, I '11 be the one 
 to confess that Gilly and I were the cause of the 
 accident." 
 
 "Now take your pencil, Nancy, and see where 
 we are in point of income, at the present mo- 
 ment," her mother suggested, with an approv- 
 ing smile. "Put down the pension of thirty 
 dollars a month." 
 
 "Down. — Three hundred and sixty dollars." 
 
 "Now the hundred dollars over and above the 
 rent of the Charlestown house." 
 
 "Down; but it lasts only four years." 
 
 "We may all be dead by that time." (This 
 cheerfully from Gilbert.) 
 
 "Then the interest on our insurance money. 
 Four per cent on five thousand dollars is two 
 hundred; I have multiplied it twenty times." 
 
 "Down. — Two hundred." 
 
 "Of course if anything serious happens, or any 
 great need comes, we have the five thousand to 
 draw upon," interpolated Gilbert. 
 
 "I will draw upon that to save one of us in 
 illness or to bury one of us," said Mrs. Carey 
 
 131 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 with determination, "but I will never live out 
 of it myself, nor permit you to. We are five, — 
 six, while Julia is with us," she added hastily, 
 — "and six persons will surely have rainy days 
 coming to them. What if I should die and leave 
 
 you?" 
 
 "Don't, mother!" they cried in chorus, so 
 passionately that Mrs. Carey changed the sub- 
 ject quickly. "How much a year does it make, 
 Nancy?" 
 
 "Three hundred and sixty plus one hundred 
 plus two hundred equals six hundred and sixty," 
 read Nancy. 'And I call it a splendid big lump 
 of money!" 
 
 "Oh, my dear," sighed her mother with a 
 shake of the head, "if you knew the difficulty 
 your father and I have had to take care of our- 
 selves and of you on five and six times that sum ! 
 We may have been a little extravagant some- 
 times following him about, — he was always so 
 anxious to have us with him, — but that has 
 been our only luxury." 
 
 "We saved enough out of exchanging the 
 grand piano to pay all the expenses down here, 
 and all our railway fares, and everything so far, 
 in the way of boards and nails and Osh Pop- 
 ham's labor," recalled Gilbert. 
 
 "Yes, and we are still eating the grand piano 
 132 
 
Ways and Means 
 
 at the end of two months, but it's about gone, 
 is n't it, Muddy?" Nancy asked. 
 
 "About gone, but it has been a great help, 
 and our dear little old-fashioned square is just 
 as much of a comfort. — Of course there's the 
 tapestry and the Van Twiller landscape Uncle 
 gave me; they may yet be sold." 
 
 "Somebody '11 buy the tapestry, but the Van 
 Twiller '11 go hard," and Gilbert winked at 
 Nancy. 
 
 "A picture that looks just the same upside 
 down as the right way about won't find many 
 buyers," was Nancy's idea. 
 
 "Still it is a Van Twiller, and has a certain 
 authentic value for all time!" 
 
 "The landscapes Van Twiller painted in the 
 dark, or when he had his blinders on, can't be 
 worth very much," insisted Gilbert. "You re- 
 member the Admiral thought it was partridges 
 nesting in the underbrush at twilight, and then 
 we found Joanna had cleaned the dining room 
 and hung the thing upside down. When it was 
 hung the other end up neither father nor the 
 Admiral could tell what it was; they'd lost the 
 partridges and could n't find anything else!" 
 
 "We shall get something for it because it is 
 a Van Twiller," said Mrs. Carey hopefully; 
 "and the tapestry is lovely. — Now we have 
 
 133 
 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 been doing all our own work to save money 
 enough to make the house beautiful; yet, as 
 Cousin Ann says, it does not belong to us and 
 may be taken away at any moment after the 
 year is up. We have never even seen our land- 
 lord, though Mr. Harmon has written to him. 
 Are we foolish? What do you think, Julia?" 
 
XV 
 
 BELONGING TO BEULAH 
 
 The Person without a Fault had been quietly 
 working at her embroidery, raising her head now 
 and then to look at some extraordinary Carey, 
 when he or she made some unusually silly or 
 fantastic remark. 
 
 "I'm not so old as Gilbert and Nancy, and 
 I'm only a niece," she said modestly, "so I 
 ought not to have an opinion. But I should get 
 a maid-of -all-work at once, so that we should n't 
 all be drudges as we are now; then I should not 
 spend a single cent on the house, but just live 
 here in hiding, as it were, till better times come 
 and till we are old enough to go into society. 
 You could scrimp and save for Nancy's coming 
 out, and then for Kathleen's. Father would 
 certainly be well long before then, and Kathleen 
 and I could debut together!" 
 
 "Who wants to 'debut' together or any other 
 way," sniffed Nancy scornfully. "I'm coming 
 out right here in Beulah; indeed I'm not sure 
 but I'm out already! Mr. Bill Harmon has 
 asked me to come to the church sociable and 
 Mr. Popham has invited me to the Red Men's 
 
 135 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 picnic at Greentown. Beulah 's good for some- 
 thing better than a place to hide in ! We '11 have 
 to save every penny at first, of course, but in 
 three or four years Gilly and I ought to be 
 earning something/' 
 
 "The trouble is, I can't earn anything in col- 
 lege," objected Gilbert, "though I'd like to." 
 
 "That will be the only way a college course 
 can come to you now, Gilbert," his mother said 
 quietly. "You know nothing of the expenses 
 involved. They would have taxed our resources 
 to the utmost if father had lived, and we had had 
 our more than five thousand a year ! You and 
 I together must think out your problem this 
 summer." 
 
 Gilbert looked blank and walked to the win- 
 dow with his hands in his pockets. 
 
 "I should lose all my friends, and it's hard 
 for a fellow to make his way in the world if he 
 has nothing to recommend him but his gradu- 
 ation from some God-forsaken little hole like 
 Beulah Academy." 
 
 Nancy looked as if she could scalp her brother 
 when he alluded to her beloved village in these 
 terms, but her mother's warning look stopped 
 any comment. 
 
 Julia took up arms for her cousin. " We ought 
 to go without everything for the sake of sending 
 
 136 
 
Belonging to Betjlah 
 
 Gilbert to college," she said. "Gladys Ferguson 
 does n't know a single boy who is n't going to 
 Harvard or Yale." 
 
 "If a boy of good family and good breeding 
 cannot make friends by his own personality and 
 his own qualities of mind and character, I should 
 think he would better go without them," said 
 Gilbert's mother casually. 
 
 "Don't you believe in a college education, 
 mother?" inquired Gilbert in an astonished 
 tone. 
 
 "Certainly! Why else should we have made 
 sacrifices to send you? To begin with, it is much 
 simpler and easier to be educated in college. 
 You have a thousand helps and encouragements 
 that other fellows have to get as they may. The 
 paths are all made straight for the students. A 
 stupid boy, or one with small industry or little 
 originality, must have something drummed into 
 him in four years, with all the splendid teaching 
 energy that the colleges employ. It requires a 
 very high grade of mental and moral power to do 
 without such helps, and it may be that you are 
 not strong enough to succeed without them; — 
 I do not know your possibilities yet, Gilbert, and 
 neither do you know them yourself!" 
 
 Gilbert looked rather nonplussed. "Pretty 
 stiff, I call it!" he grumbled, "to say that if 
 
 137 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 you've got brains enough you can do without 
 college." 
 
 "It is true, nevertheless. If you have brains 
 enough, and will enough, and heart enough, you 
 can stay here in Beulah and make the universe 
 search you out, and drag you into the open, 
 where men have need of you!" (Mrs. Carey's 
 eyes shone and her cheeks glowed.) "What we 
 all want as a family is to keep well and strong 
 and good, in body and mind and soul; to con- 
 quer our weaknesses, to train our gifts, to har- 
 ness our powers to some wished-for end, and 
 then pull, with all our might. Can't my girls be 
 fine women, fit for New York or Washington, 
 London or Paris, because their young days were 
 passed in Beulah? Can't my boys be anything 
 that their brains and courage fit them for, 
 whether they make their own associations or 
 have them made for them? Father would never 
 have flung the burden on your shoulders, Gil- 
 bert, but he is no longer here. You can't have 
 the help of Yale or Harvard or Bowdoin to make 
 a man of you, my son, — you will have to fight 
 your own battles and win your own spurs." 
 
 "Oh! mother, but you're splendid!" cried 
 Nancy, the quick tears in her eyes. "Brace up, 
 old Gilly, and show what the Careys can do 
 without 'advantages.' Brace up, Kitty and 
 
 138 
 
Belonging to Betjlah 
 
 Julia! We three will make Beulah Academy 
 ring next year!" 
 
 "And I don't want you to look upon Beulah 
 as a place of hiding while adversity lasts," said 
 Mother Carey. "We must make it home; as 
 beautiful and complete as we can afford. One 
 real home always makes others, I am sure of 
 that! We will ask Mr. Harmon to write Mr. 
 Hamilton and see if he will promise to leave 
 us undisturbed. We cannot be happy, or pros- 
 perous, or useful, or successful, unless we can 
 contrive to make the Yellow House a home. 
 The river is our river; the village is our vil- 
 lage; the people are our neighbors; Beulah be- 
 longs to us and we belong to Beulah, don't we, 
 Peter?" 
 
 Mother Carey always turned to Peter with 
 some nonsensical appeal when her heart was full 
 and her voice a trifle unsteady. You could bury 
 your head in Peter's little white sailor jacket 
 just under his chin, at which he would dimple 
 and gurgle and chuckle and wriggle, and when 
 you withdrew your flushed face and presented 
 it to the public gaze all the tears would have 
 been wiped off on Peter. 
 
 So on this occasion did Mrs. Carey repeat, 
 as she set Peter down, "Don't we belong to 
 Beulah, dear?" 
 
 139 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "Yes, we does," he lisped, "and I'm going to 
 work myself, pretty soon bimebye just after a 
 while, when I'm a little more grown up, and 
 then I'll buy the Yellow House quick." 
 
 "So you shall, precious!" cried Kathleen. 
 
 "I was measured on Muddy this morning, 
 wasn't I, Muddy, and I was half way to her 
 belt; and in Charlestown I was only a little farder 
 up than her knees. All the time I'm growing 
 up she 's ungrowing down ! She 's smallering and 
 I'm biggering." 
 
 "Are you afraid your mother '11 be too small, 
 sweet Pete?" asked Mrs. Carey. 
 
 "No!" this very stoutly. "Danny Harmon's 
 mother 's more 'n up to the mantelpiece and I 'd 
 hate to have my mother so far away! "said Peter 
 as he embraced Mrs. Carey's knees. 
 
 Julia had said little during this long conversa- 
 tion, though her mind was fairly bristling with 
 objections and negatives and different points of 
 view, but she was always more or less awed by 
 her Aunt Margaret, and never dared defy her 
 opinion. She had a real admiration for her 
 aunt's beauty and dignity and radiant presence, 
 though it is to be feared she cared less for the 
 qualities of character that made her personality 
 so luminous with charm for everybody. She saw 
 people look at her, listen to her, follow her with 
 
 140 
 
Belonging to Beulah 
 
 their eyes, comment on her appearance, her 
 elegance, and her distinction, and all this im- 
 pressed her deeply. As to Cousin Ann's present 
 her most prominent feeling was that it would 
 have been much better if that lady had followed 
 her original plan of sending individual thirty- 
 five-dollar checks. In that event she, Julia, was 
 quite certain that hers never would have gone 
 into a water-pipe or a door-sill. 
 
 "Oh, Kathleen!" sighed Nancy as the two 
 went into the kitchen together. "Is n't mother 
 the most interesting 'scolder' you ever listened 
 to? I love to hear her do it, especially when 
 somebody else is getting it. When it 's I, I grow 
 smaller and smaller, curling myself up like a 
 little worm. Then when she has finished I 
 squirm to the door and wriggle out. Other 
 mothers say: 'If you don't, I shall tell your 
 father ! ' ' Do as I tell you, and ask no questions.' 
 'I never heard of such behavior in my life!' 
 'Have n't you any sense of propriety?' 'If this 
 happens again I shall have to do something 
 desperate.' 'Leave the room at once,' and so on; 
 but mother sets you to thinking." 
 
 "Mother does n't really scold," Kathleen ob- 
 jected. 
 
 "No, but she shows you how wrong you are, 
 just the same. Did you notice how Julia with- 
 
 141 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ered when mother said we were not to look upon 
 Beulah as a place of hiding?" 
 
 "She didn't stay withered long," Kathleen 
 remarked. 
 
 "And she said just the right thing to dear old 
 Gilly, for Fred Bascom is filling his head with 
 foolish notions. He needs father to set him 
 right." 
 
 "We all need father," sighed Kitty tearfully, 
 "but somehow mother grows a little more 
 splendid every day. I believe she's trying to 
 fill father's place and be herself too!" 
 
XVI 
 
 THE POST BAG 
 
 Letter from Mr. William Harmon, storekeeper 
 at Beulah Corner, to Hon. Lemuel Hamilton, 
 American Consul at Breslau, Germany. 
 
 Beulah, June %7tk. 
 
 Dear Lem: The folks up to your house want 
 to lay out money on it and dont dass for fear 
 you'll turn em out and pocket their improve- 
 ments. If you haint got any better use for 
 the propety I advise you to hold on to this 
 bunch of tennants as they are O. K. wash goods, 
 all wool, and a yard wide. I wooden t like Mrs. 
 Harmon to know how I feel about the lady, who 
 is hansome as a picture and the children are a 
 first class crop and no mistake. They will not 
 lay out much at first as they are short of cash 
 but if ever good luck comes along they will fit 
 up the house like a pallis and your granchildren 
 will reep the proffit. I'll look out for your in- 
 terest and see they dont do nothing outlandish. 
 They'd have hard work to beat that fool -job 
 your boys did on the old barn, fixin it up so't 
 
 143 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 nobody could keep critters in it, so no more from 
 your old school frend 
 
 Bill Harmon. 
 
 P. S. We've been having a spell of tumble hot 
 wether in Beulah. How is it with you? I never 
 framed it up jest what kind of a job an American 
 Counsul's was; but I guess he aint never het up 
 with overwork! There was a piece in a Port- 
 land paper about a Counsul somewhere being 
 fired because he set in his shirt-sleeves durin 
 office hours. I says to Col. Wheeler if Uncle 
 Sam could keep em all in their shirtsleeves, 
 hustlin for dear life, it wood be all the better for 
 him and us! 
 
 Bill. 
 
 Letter from Miss Nancy Carey to the Hon. 
 Lemuel Hamilton. 
 
 Beulah, June 11th. 
 
 Dear Mr. Hamilton, — I am Nancy, the 
 oldest of the Carey children, who live in your 
 house. When father was alive, he took us on a 
 driving trip, and we stopped and had luncheon 
 under your big maple and fell in love with your 
 empty house. Father (he was a Captain in the 
 Navy and there was never anybody like him 
 in the world !) — Father leaned over the gate 
 
 144 
 
The Post Bag 
 
 and said if he was only rich he would drive the 
 horse into the barn and buy the place that very 
 day; and mother said it would be a beautiful spot 
 to bring up a family. We children had wriggled 
 under the fence, and were climbing the apple 
 trees by that time, and we wanted to be brought 
 up there that very minute. We all of us look back 
 to that day as the happiest one that we can re- 
 member. Mother laughs when I talk of looking 
 back, because I am not sixteen yet, but I think, 
 although we did not know it, God knew that 
 father was going to die and we were going to live 
 in that very spot afterwards. Father asked us 
 what we could do for the place that had been 
 so hospitable to us, and I remembered a box of 
 plants in the carryall, that we had bought at a 
 wayside nursery, for the flower beds in Charles- 
 town. "Plant something!" I said, and father 
 thought it was a good idea and took a little 
 crimson rambler rose bush from the box. Each 
 of us helped make the place for it by taking a 
 turn with the luncheon knives and spoons; then 
 I planted the rose and father took off his hat and 
 said, "Three cheers for the Yellow House!" 
 and mother added, "God bless it, and the chil- 
 dren who come to live in it!" — There is surely 
 something strange in that, don't you think so? 
 Then when father died last year we had to 
 145 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 find a cheap and quiet place to live, and I 
 remembered the Yellow House in Beulah and 
 told mother my idea. She does not say "Bosh!" 
 like some mothers, but if our ideas sound like 
 anything she tries them; so she sent Gilbert to 
 see if the house was still vacant, and when we 
 found it was, we took it. The rent is sixty dol- 
 lars a year, as I suppose Bill Harmon told you 
 when he sent you mother's check for fifteen 
 dollars for the first quarter. We think it is very 
 reasonable, and do not wonder you don't like 
 to spend anything on repairs or improvements 
 for us, as you have to pay taxes and insurance. 
 We hope you will have a good deal over for your 
 own use out of our rent, as we should n't like 
 to feel under obligation. If we had a million 
 we'd spend it all on the Yellow House, because 
 we are fond of it in the way you are fond of a 
 person; it's not only that we want to paint it 
 and paper it, but we would like to pat it and 
 squeeze it. If you can't live in it yourself, even 
 in the summer, perhaps you will be glad to know 
 we love it so much and want to tak? good care 
 of it always. What troubles us is the fear that 
 you will take it away or sell it to somebody 
 before Gilbert and I are grown up and have 
 earned money enough to buy it. It was Cousin 
 Ann that put the idea into our heads, but every- 
 
 146 
 
The Post Bag 
 
 body says it is quite likely and sensible. Cousin 
 Ann has made us a splendid present of enough 
 money to bring the water from the well into the 
 kitchen sink and to put a large stove like a fur- 
 nace into the cellar. We would cut two registers 
 behind the doors in the dining-room and sitting- 
 room floors, and two little round holes in the 
 ceilings to let the heat up into two bedrooms, 
 if you are willing to let us do it. [Mother says 
 that Cousin Ann is a good and generous person. 
 It is true, and it makes us very unhappy that we 
 cannot really love her on account of her being so 
 fault-finding; but you, being an American Con- 
 sul and travelling all over the world, must have 
 seen somebody like her.] 
 
 Mr. Harmon is writing to you, but I thought 
 he would n't know so much about us as I do. 
 We have father's pension; that is three hundred 
 and sixty dollars a year; and one hundred dol- 
 lars a year from the Charlestown house, but that 
 only lasts for four years; and two hundred dol- 
 lars a year from the interest on father's insurance. 
 That makes six hundred and sixty dollars, 
 which is a great deal if you have n't been used 
 to three thousand, but does not seem to be 
 enough for a family of six. There is the insur- 
 ance money itself, too, but mother says nothing 
 but a very dreadful need must make us touch 
 
 147 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 that. You see there are four of us children, 
 which with mother makes five, and now there 
 is Julia, which makes six. She is Uncle Allan's 
 only child. Uncle Allan has nervous prostration 
 and all of mother's money. We are not poor at 
 all, just now, on account of having exchanged 
 the grand piano for an old-fashioned square and 
 eating up the extra money. It is great fun, and 
 whenever we have anything very good for sup- 
 per Kathleen says, "Here goes a piano leg!" 
 and Gilbert says, "Let's have an octave of white 
 notes for Sunday supper, mother!" I send you a 
 little photograph of the family taken together 
 on your side piazza (we call it our piazza, and I 
 hope you don't mind). I am the tallest girl, with 
 the curly hair. Julia is sitting down in front, 
 hemming. She said we should look so idle if 
 somebody did n't do something, but she never 
 really hems; and Kathleen is leaning over 
 mother's shoulder. We all wanted to lean over 
 mother's shoulder, but Kitty got there first, 
 The big boy is Gilbert. He can't go to college 
 now, as father intended, and he is very sad and 
 depressed; but mother says he has a splendid 
 chance to show what father's son can do with- 
 out any help but his own industry and pluck. 
 Please look carefully at the lady sitting in the 
 chair, for it is our mother. It is only a snap shot, 
 
 148 
 
The Post Bag 
 
 but you can see how beautiful she is. Her hair 
 is very long, and the wave in it is natural. The 
 little boy is Peter. He is the loveliest and the 
 dearest of all of us. The second picture is of me 
 tying up the crimson rambler. I thought you 
 would like to see what a wonderful rose it is. 
 I was standing in a chair, training the long 
 branches and tacking them against the house, 
 when a gentleman drove by with a camera in 
 his wagon. He stopped and took the picture and 
 sent us one, explaining that every one admired 
 it. I happened to be wearing my yellow muslin, 
 and I am sending you the one the gentleman 
 colored, because it is the beautiful crimson of 
 the rose against the yellow house that makes 
 people admire it so. If you come to America 
 please don't forget Beulah, because if you once 
 saw mother you could never bear to disturb 
 her, seeing how brave she is, living without 
 father. Admiral Southwick, who is in China, 
 calls us Mother Carey's chickens. They are 
 stormy petrels, and are supposed to go out over 
 the seas and show good birds the way home. We 
 have n't done anything splendid yet, but we 
 mean to when the chance comes. I have n't told 
 anybody that I am writing this, but I wanted 
 you to know everything about us, as you are 
 our landlord. We could be so happy if Cousin 
 
 149 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Ann would n't always say we are spending 
 money on another person's house and such a 
 silly performance never came to any good. 
 
 I enclose you a little picture cut from the wall 
 paper we want to put on the front hall, hoping 
 you will like it. The old paper is hanging in 
 shreds and some of the plaster is loose, but Mr. 
 Popham will make it all right. Mother says she 
 feels as if he had pasted laughter and good nature 
 on all the walls as he papered them. When 
 you open the front door (and we hope you will, 
 sometime, and walk right in!) how lovely it will 
 be to look into yellow hayfields ! And is n't the 
 boatful of people coming to the haymaking, 
 nice, with the bright shirts of the men and the 
 women's scarlet aprons? Don't you love the 
 white horse in the hay cart, and the jolly party 
 picnicking under the tree? Mother says just 
 think of buying so much joy and color for twenty 
 cents a double roll; and we children think we 
 shall never get tired of sitting on the stairs in 
 cold weather and making believe it is haying 
 time. Gilbert says we are putting another grand 
 piano leg on the walls, but we are not, for we 
 are doing all our own cooking and dishwashing 
 and saving the money that a cook would cost, 
 to do lovely things for the Yellow House. Thank 
 you, dearest Mr. Hamilton, for letting us live in 
 
 150 
 
The Post Bag 
 
 it. We are very proud of the circular steps and 
 very proud of your being an American consul. 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Nancy Carey. 
 
 P. S. It is June, and Beulah is so beautiful 
 you feel like eating it with sugar and cream ! We 
 do hope that you and your children are living in 
 as sweet a place, so that you will not miss this 
 one so much. We know you have five, older than 
 we are, but if there are any the right size for me 
 to send my love to, please do it. Mother would 
 wish to be remembered to Mrs. Hamilton, but 
 she will never know I am writing to you. It is 
 my first business letter. 
 
 N. C. 
 
XVII 
 
 JACK OF ALL TRADES 
 
 Mr. Ossian (otherwise "Osh") Popham was 
 covering the hall of the Yellow House with the 
 hayfield paper. Bill Harmon's father had left 
 considerable stock of one sort and another in 
 the great unfinished attic over the store, and 
 though much of it was worthless, and all of it 
 was out of date, it seemed probable that it would 
 eventually be sold to the Careys, who had the 
 most unlimited ingenuity in making bricks with- 
 out straw, when it came to house decoration. 
 They had always moved from post to pillar and 
 Dan to Beersheba, and had always, inside of a 
 week, had the prettiest and most delightful hab- 
 itation in the naval colony where they found 
 themselves. Beulah itself, as well as all the sur- 
 rounding country, had looked upon the golden 
 hayfield paper and scorned it as ugly and coun- 
 trified; never suspecting that, in its day, it had 
 been made in France and cost a dollar and a 
 half a roll. It had been imported for a govern- 
 or's house, and only half of it used, so for thirty 
 years the other half had waited for the Careys. 
 There always are Careys and their like, and 
 
 152 
 
Jack of All Trades 
 
 plenty of them, in every generation, so old things, 
 if they are good, need never be discouraged. 
 
 Mr. Popham never worked at his bricklaying 
 or carpentering or cabinet making or papering, 
 by the hour, but "by the job"; and a kind 
 Providence, intent on the welfare of the commu- 
 nity, must have guided him in this choice of 
 business methods, for he talked so much more 
 than he worked, that unless householders were 
 well-to-do, the rights of employer and employee 
 could never have been adjusted. If they were 
 rich no one of them would have stopped Ossian's 
 conversation for a second. In the first place it 
 was even better than his work, which was always 
 good, and in the second place he would never 
 consent to go to any one, unless he could talk as 
 much as he liked. The Careys loved him, all but 
 Julia, who pronounced him "common" and said 
 Miss Tewksbury told her never to listen to any 
 one who said "I done it" or "I seen it." To this 
 Nancy replied (her mother being in the garden, 
 and she herself not yet started on a line of con- 
 duct arranged to please the angels) that Miss 
 Tewksbury and Julia ought to have a little 
 corner of heaven finished off for themselves; 
 and Julia made a rude, distinct, hideous "face" 
 at Nancy. I kave always dated the beginning 
 of Julia's final transformation from this critical 
 
 153 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 moment, when the old Adam in her began to 
 work. It was good for Nancy too, who would 
 have trodden on Julia so long as she was an 
 irritating but patient, well-behaved worm; but 
 who would have to use a little care if the worm 
 showed signs of turning. 
 
 "Your tongue is like a bread knife, Nancy 
 Carey!" Julia exclaimed passionately, after 
 twisting her nose and mouth into terrifying and 
 dreadful shapes. "If it was n't that Miss Tewks- 
 bury told me ladies never were telltales, I could 
 soon make trouble between you and your blessed 
 mother." 
 
 "No, you could n't," said Nancy curtly, "for 
 I'd reform sooner than let you do that! — Per- 
 haps I did say too much, Julia, only I can't bear 
 to have you make game of Mr. Popham when 
 he 's so funny and nice. Think of his living with 
 nagging Mrs. Popham and his stupid daughter 
 and son in that tiny house, and being happy as 
 a king." 
 
 "If there was n't something wrong with him 
 he would n't be happy there," insisted Julia. 
 
 Mr. Popham himself accounted for his con- 
 tentment without insulting his intelligence. 
 "The way I look at it," he said, "this world's 
 all the world we'll git till we git to the next 
 one; an' we might 's well smile on it, 's frown! 
 
 154 
 
Jack of All Trades 
 
 You git your piece o' life an' you make what you 
 can of it; — that's the idee! Now the other day 
 I got some nice soft wood that was prime for 
 whittlin'; jest the right color an' grain an' all, an* 
 I started in to make a little statue o' the Duke 
 o' Wellington. Well, when I got to shapin' him 
 out, I found my piece o' wood would n't be long 
 enough to give him his height; so I says, 'Well, 
 I don't care, I'll cut the Duke right down and 
 make Napoleon Bonaparte.' I'd 'a' been all 
 right if I'd cal'lated better, but I cut my block 
 off too short, and I could n't make Napoleon 
 nohow; so I says, 'Well, Isaac W r atts was an 
 awful short man, so I guess I '11 make him ! ' But 
 this time my wood split right in two. Some men 
 would 'a' been discouraged, but I was n't, not 
 a mite; I jest said, 'I never did fancy Ike Watts, 
 an' there 's one thing this blamed chip will make, 
 an' that's a button for the barn door!'" 
 
 Osh not only whittled and papered and 
 painted, but did anything whatsoever that 
 needed to be done on the premises. If the pump 
 refused to draw water, or the sink drain was 
 stopped, or the gutters needed cleaning, or the 
 grass had to be mowed, he was the man ordained 
 by Providence and his own versatility to do the 
 work. While he was papering the front hall the 
 entire Carey family lived on the stairs between 
 
 155 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 meals, fearful lest they should lose any incident, 
 any anecdote, any story, any reminiscence that 
 might fall from his lips. Mrs. Carey took her 
 mending basket and sat in the doorway, within 
 ear shot, while Peter had all the scraps of paper 
 and a small pasting board on the steps, where 
 he conducted his private enterprises. 
 
 Osh would cut his length of paper, lay it flat 
 on the board, and apply the wide brush up and 
 down neatly while he began his story. Some- 
 times if the tale were long and interesting the 
 paste would dry, but in that case he went over 
 the surface again. At the precise moment of 
 hanging, the flow of his eloquence stopped 
 abruptly and his hearers had to wait until the 
 piece was finished before they learned what fin- 
 ally became of Lyddy Brown after she drove her 
 husband ou' doors, or of Bill Harmon's bull ter- 
 rier, who set an entire community quarreling 
 among themselves. His racy accounts of Mrs. 
 Popham's pessimism, which had grown prodi- 
 giously from living in the house with his opti- 
 mism; his anecdotes of Lallie Joy Popham, who 
 was given to moods, having inherited portions 
 of her father's incurable hopefulness, and frag- 
 ments of her mother's ineradicable gloom, — these 
 were of a character that made the finishing of the 
 hall a matter of profound unimportance. 
 
 156 
 
THE ENTIRE FAMILY LIVED ON THE FRONT STAIRS 
 
Jack of All Trades 
 
 "I ain't one to hurry," he would say ge- 
 nially; "that 's the reason I won't work by the 
 . hour or by the day. We 've got one 'hurrier' in 
 the family, and that 's enough for Lallie Joy 'n' 
 me! Mis' Popham does everything right on the 
 dot, an' Lallie Joy 'n' me git tumble sick o' seein' 
 that dot, 'n' hevin' our 'tention drawed to it if we 
 don't see it. Mis' Bill Harmon's another 'hur- 
 rier,' — well, you jest ask Bill, that 's all ! She 
 an' Mis' Popham hev been at it for fifteen years, 
 but the village ain't ready to give out the blue 
 ribbon yet. Last week my wife went over to 
 Harmon's and Mis' Harmon said she was goin' 
 to make some molasses candy that mornin'. 
 Well, my wife hurried home, put on her molasses, 
 made her candy, cooled it and worked it, and 
 took some over to treat Mis' Harmon, who was 
 jest gittin' her kittle out from under the sink!" 
 
 The Careys laughed heartily at this evidence 
 of Mrs. Popham's celerity, while Osh, as pleased 
 as possible, gave one dab with his paste brush 
 and went on : — 
 
 "Maria 's blood was up one while, 'cause Mis' 
 Bill Harmon always contrives to git her wash out 
 the earliest of a Monday morning. Yesterday 
 Maria got up 'bout daybreak (I allers tell her if 
 she was real forehanded she 'd eat her breakfast 
 overnight), and by half past five she hed her 
 
 157 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 clothes in the boiler. Jest as she was lookin' out 
 the kitchen winder for signs o' Mis' Bill Har- 
 mon, she seen her start for her side door with 
 a big basket. Maria was so mad then that she 
 vowed she would n't be beat, so she dug for 
 the bedroom and slat some clean sheets and 
 piller cases out of a bureau drawer, run into 
 the yard, and I 'm blamed if she did n't get 
 'em over the line afore Mis' Harmon found her 
 clothespins!" 
 
 Good old Osh ! He had n't had such an audience 
 for years, for Beulah knew all its own stories 
 thoroughly, and although it valued them highly 
 it did not care to hear them too often; but the 
 Careys were absolutely fresh material, and such 
 good, appreciative listeners ! Mrs. Carey looked 
 so handsome when she wiped the tears of enjoy- 
 ment from her eyes that Osh told Bill Harmon 
 if 't wa'n't agin the law you would want to kiss 
 her every time she laughed. 
 
 Well, the hall papering was, luckily, to be paid 
 for, not by the hour, but by an incredibly small 
 price per roll, and everybody was pleased. Nancy, 
 Kathleen, and Julia sat on the stairs preparing a 
 whiteweed and buttercup border for the spare 
 bedroom according to a plan of Mother Carey's. 
 It was an affair of time, as it involved the deli- 
 cate cutting out of daisy garlands from a wider 
 
 158 
 
Jack of All Trades 
 
 bordering filled with flowers of other colors, and 
 proved a fascinating occupation. 
 
 Gilbert hovered on the outskirts of the hall, 
 doing odd jobs of one sort and another and learn- 
 ing bits of every trade at which Mr. Popham was 
 expert. 
 
 "If we had n't been in such a sweat to git set- 
 tled," remarked Osh with a clip of his big shears^ 
 "I really 'd ought to have plastered this front 
 entry all over ! 'T wa'n't callin' for paper half 's 
 loud as 't was for plaster. Old Parson Bradley 
 hed been a farmer afore he turned minister, and 
 one Sunday mornin' his parish was thornin' him 
 to pray for rain, so he says: 'Thou knowest, O 
 Lord! it's manure this land wants, 'n' not 
 water, but in Thy mercy send rain plenteously 
 upon us.'" 
 
 "Mr. Popham," said Gilbert, who had been 
 patiently awaiting his opportunity, "the pieces 
 of paper are cut for those narrow places each side 
 of the front door. Can't I paste those on while 
 you talk to us?" 
 
 " 'Course you can, handy as you be with tools ! 
 There ain't no trick to it. Most anybody can be 
 a paperer. As Parson Bradley said when he was 
 talkin' to a Sunday-school during a presidential 
 campaign: 'One of you boys perhaps can be a 
 George Washington and another may rise to 
 
 159 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 be a Thomas Jefferson; any of you, the Lord 
 knows, can be a James K. Polk!'" 
 
 "I don't know much about Polk," said Gil- 
 bert. 
 
 "P'raps nobody did very much, but the 
 parson hated him like p'ison. See here, Peter, 
 I ain't made o' paste! You 've used up 'bout a 
 quart a'ready! What are you doin' out there 
 anyway? I 've heerd o' paintin' the town, — I 
 guess you 're paperin' it, ain't you?" 
 
 Peter was too busy and too eager for paste to 
 reply, the facts of the case being that while Mr. 
 Popham held the family spellbound by his con- 
 versation, he himself was papering the outside 
 of the house with scraps of assorted paper as 
 high up as his short arms could reach. 
 
 "There 's another thing you can do, Gilbert," 
 continued Mr. Popham. "I 've mixed a pail o' 
 that green paint same as your mother wanted, 
 an' I 've brought you a tip-top brush. The set- 
 tin' room has a good nice floor; matched boards, 
 no hummocks nor hollers, — all as flat 's one of 
 my wife's pancakes, — an' not a knot hole in it 
 anywheres. You jest put your first coat on, 
 brushin' lengthways o' the boards, and let it dry 
 good. Don't let your folks go stepping on it, 
 neither. The minute a floor 's painted women 
 folks are crazy to git int' the room. They want 
 
 160 
 
Jack of All Trades 
 
 their black alpacky that 's in the closet, an' the 
 lookin' glass that 's on the mantelpiece, or the 
 feather duster that 's hangin' on the winder, an' 
 will you jest pass out the broom that 's behind 
 the door? The next mornin' you '11 find lots o' 
 little spots where they 've tiptoed in to see if the 
 paint 's dry an' how it 's goin' to look. Where 
 I work, they most allers say it 's the cat, — well ! 
 that answer may deceive some folks, but 't 
 would n't me. — Don't slop your paint, Gilbert; 
 work quick an' neat an' even; then paintin' ain't 
 no trick 't all. Any fool, the Lord knows, can 
 pick up that trade! — Now I guess it's about 
 noon time, an' I '11 have to be diggin' for home. 
 Maria sets down an' looks at the clock from half 
 past eleven on. She '11 git a meal o' cold pork 
 'n' greens, cold string beans, gingerbread, 'n' 
 custard pie on t' the table; then she '11 stan' in 
 the front door an' holler: 'Hurry up, Ossian! 
 it 's struck twelve more 'n two minutes ago, 'n' 
 everything 's gittin' overdone!'" 
 
 So saying he took off his overalls, seized his 
 hat, and with a parting salute was off down the 
 road, singing his favorite song. I can give you 
 the words and the time, but alas ! I cannot print 
 Osh Popham's dauntless spirit and serene con- 
 tent, nor his cheery voice as he travelled with 
 tolerable swiftness to meet his waiting Maria. 
 
 161 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 m 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 S 
 
 * i ~^V 
 
 Here comes a maid -en full of woe. Hi - dum- di - dum 
 
 iffe^ 
 
 9 
 
 did-dy - i - o I Here comes a maid-en full of woe. 
 
 IE 
 
 Ik i i 
 
 mJJ J j i jj 
 
 P 
 
 Hi der - ry 01 Here comes a maid-en full of woe, as 
 
 IE 
 
 ffl 
 
 ^^B 
 
 ** 
 
 *y^ 
 
 * * p 
 
 full of woe as she can go! Hi dum did-dy i O I Hi der-ry 01 
 
XVIII 
 
 THE HOUSE OF LORDS 
 
 The Carey children had only found it by acci- 
 dent. All their errands took them down the 
 main street to the village; to the Popham's cot- 
 tage at the foot of a little lane turning towards 
 the river, or on to the post-office and Bill Har- 
 mon's store, or to Colonel Wheeler's house and 
 then to the railway station. One afternoon 
 Nancy and Kathleen had walked up the road in 
 search of pastures new, and had spied down in 
 a distant hollow a gloomy grey house almost 
 surrounded by cedars. A grove of poplars to 
 the left of it only made the prospect more 
 depressing, and if it had not been for a great 
 sheet of water near by, floating with cow lilies 
 and pond lilies, the whole aspect of the place 
 would have been unspeakably dreary. 
 
 Nancy asked Mr. Popham who lived in the 
 grey house behind the cedars, and when he told 
 them a certain Mr. Henry Lord, his two children 
 and housekeeper, they fell into the habit of 
 speaking of the place as the House of Lords. 
 
 "You won't never see nothin' of ? em," said 
 Mr. Popham. "Henry Lord ain't never dark- 
 
 163 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ened the village for years, I guess, and the young 
 ones ain't never been to school so far; they have 
 a teacher out from Portland Tuesdays and Fri- 
 days, and the rest o' the week they study up for 
 him. Henry 's 'bout as much of a hermit 's if he 
 lived in a hut on a mounting, an' he 's bring- 
 ing up the children so they '11 be jest as odd 's 
 he is." 
 
 "Is the mother dead?" Mrs. Carey asked. 
 
 "Yes, dead these four years, an' a good job 
 for her, too. It 's an awful queer world ! Not 
 that I could make a better one! I allers say, 
 when folks grumble, ' Now if you was given the 
 materials, could you turn out a better world than 
 this is? And when it come to that, what if you 
 hed to furnish your own materials, same as the 
 Lord did! I guess you 'd be put to it! ' — Well, 
 as I say, it 's an awful queer world; they clap all 
 the burglars into jail, and the murderers and the 
 wife-beaters (I 've allers thought a gentle re- 
 proof would be enough punishment for a wife- 
 beater, 'cause he probably has a lot o' provoca- 
 tion that nobody knows), and the firebugs (can't 
 think o' the right name — something like een- 
 denaries), an' the breakers o' the peace, an' what 
 not ; an' yet the law has nothin' to say to a man 
 like Hen Lord ! He 's been a college professor, 
 but I went to school with him, darn his pieter, 
 
 164 
 
The House of Lords 
 
 an* I '11 call him Hen whenever I git a chance, 
 though he does declare he 's a doctor." 
 
 "Doctor of what?" asked Mrs, Carey. 
 
 "Blamed if I know! I would n't trust him to 
 doctor a sick cat." 
 
 "People don't have to be doctors of medicine," 
 interrupted Gilbert. "Grandfather was Alexan- 
 der Carey, LL. D., — Doctor of Laws, that is." 
 
 Mr. Popham laid down his brush. "I swan to 
 man!" he ejaculated. "If you don't work hard 
 you can't keep up with the times! Doctor of 
 Laws ! Well, all I can say is they need doetorin', 
 an' I 'm glad they 've got round to 'em; only 
 Hen Lord ain't the man to do 'em any good." 
 
 "What has he done to make him so unpopu- 
 lar?" queried Mrs. Carey. 
 
 "Done? He ain't done a thing he 'd oughter 
 sence he was born. He keeps the thou shalt not 
 commandments first rate, Hen Lord does! He 
 neglected his wife and froze her blood and fright- 
 ened her to death, poor little shadder! He give 
 up his position and shut the family up in that 
 tomb of a house so 't he could study his books. 
 My boy knows his boy, an' I tell you the life he 
 leads them children is enough to make your flesh 
 creep. When I git roun' to it I cal'late to set the 
 house on fire some night. Mebbe I 'd be lucky 
 enough to ketch Hen too, an' if so, nobody in 
 
 165 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 the village 'd wear mournin' ! So fur, I can't get 
 Maria's consent to be a cendenary. She says she 
 can't spare me long enough to go to jail; she 
 needs me to work durin' the summer, an' in the 
 winter time she 'd hev nobody to jaw, if I was 
 in the lockup." This information was delivered 
 in the intervals of covering the guest chamber 
 walls with a delightful white moire paper which 
 Osh always alluded to as the "white maria," 
 whether in memory of his wife's Christian name 
 or because his French accent was not up to the 
 mark, no one could say. 
 
 Mr. Popham exaggerated nothing, but on the 
 contrary left much unsaid in his narrative of the 
 family at the House of Lords. Henry Lord, with 
 the degree of Ph.D. to his credit, had been Pro- 
 fessor of Zoology at a New England college, but 
 had resigned his post in order to write a series 
 of scientific text books. Always irritable, cold, in- 
 different, he had grown rapidly more so as years 
 went on. Had his pale, timid wife been a rosy, 
 plucky tyrant, things might have gone otherwise, 
 but the only memories the two children possessed 
 were of bitter words and reproaches on their 
 father's side, and of tears and sad looks on their 
 mother's part. Then the poor little shadow of a 
 woman dropped wearily into her grave, and 
 a certain elderly Mrs. Bangs, with grey hair 
 
 166 
 
The House of Lords 
 
 and firm chin, came to keep house and do the 
 work. 
 
 A lonelier creature than Olive Lord at sixteen 
 could hardly be imagined. She was a tiny thing 
 for her years, with a little white oval face and 
 peaked chin, pronounced eyebrows, beautifully 
 arched, and a mass of tangled, untidy dark hair. 
 Her only interests in life were her younger bro- 
 ther Cyril, delicate and timid, and in continual 
 terror of his father, — and a passion for draw- 
 ing and sketching that was fairly devouring in 
 its intensity. When she was ten she "drew" the 
 cat and the dog, the hens and chickens, and col- 
 ored the sketches with the paints her mother 
 provided. Whatever appealed to her sense of 
 beauty was straightway transferred to paper or 
 canvas. Then for the three years before her 
 mother's death there had been surreptitious les- 
 sons from a Portland teacher, paid for out of 
 Mr. Lord's house allowance; for one of his chief 
 faults was an incredible parsimony, amounting 
 almost to miserliness. 
 
 "Something terrible will happen to Olive, 
 if she is n't taught to use her talent," Mrs. 
 Lord pleaded to her husband. "She is wild to 
 know how to do things. She makes effort af- 
 ter effort, trembling with eagerness, and when 
 she fails to reproduce what she sees, she works 
 
 167 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 herself into a frenzy of grief and disappoint- 
 ment." 
 
 "You'd better give her lessons in self-con- 
 trol," Mr. Lord answered. "They are cheaper 
 than instruction in drawing, and much more 
 practical." 
 
 So Olive lived and struggled and grew; and 
 luckily her talent was such a passion that no cir- 
 cumstances could crush or extinguish it. She 
 worked, discovering laws and making rules for 
 herself, since she had no helpers. When she 
 could not make a rabbit or a bird look "real " on 
 paper, she searched in her father's books for pic- 
 tures of its bones. "If I could only know what 
 it is like inside, Cyril," she said, "perhaps its 
 outside wouldn't look so flat! O! Cyril, there 
 must be some better way of doing; I just draw 
 the outline of an animal and then I put hairs or 
 feathers on it. They have no bodies. They 
 could n't run nor move; they 're just pasteboard." 
 
 "Why don't you do flowers and houses, Olive? " 
 inquired Cyril solicitously. "And people paint 
 fruit, and dead fish on platters, and pitchers of 
 lemonade with ice in, — why don't you try things 
 like those?" 
 
 "I suppose they 're easier," Olive returned 
 with a sigh, "but who could bear to do them 
 when there are living, breathing, moving things; 
 
 168 
 
The House of Lords 
 
 things that puzzle you by looking different every 
 minute? No, I '11 keep on trying, and when you 
 get a little older we '11 run away together and live 
 and learn things by ourselves, in some place 
 where father can never find us ! " 
 
 "He would n't search, so don't worry," replied 
 Cyril quietly, and the two looked at each other 
 and knew that it was so. 
 
 There, in the cedar hollow, then, lived Olive 
 Lord, an angry, resentful, little creature weighed 
 down by a fierce sense of injury. Her gloomy 
 young heart was visited by frequent storms and 
 she looked as unlovable as she was unloved. But 
 Nancy Carey, never shy, and as eager to give 
 herself as people always are who are born and 
 bred in joy and love, Nancy hopped out of Mo- 
 ther Carey's warm nest one day, and fixing her 
 bright eyes and sunny, hopeful glance on the 
 lonely, frowning little neighbor, stretched out her 
 hand in friendship. Olive's mournful black eyes 
 met Nancy's sparkling brown ones. Her hand, 
 so marvellously full of skill, had never held an- 
 other's, and she was desperately self-conscious; 
 but magnetism flowed from Nancy as electric 
 currents from a battery. She drew Olive to her 
 by some unknown force and held her fast, not 
 realizing at the moment that she was getting as 
 much as she gave. 
 
 160 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 The first interview, purely a casual one, took 
 place on the edge of the lily pond where Olive 
 was sketching frogs, and where Nancy went for 
 cat-o'-nine-tails. It proved to be a long and 
 intimate talk, and when Mrs. Carey looked out 
 of her bedroom window just before supper she 
 saw, at the pasture bars, the two girls with their 
 arms round each other and their cheeks close 
 together. Nancy's curly chestnut crop shone 
 in the sun, and Olive's thick black plaits 
 looked blacker by contrast. Suddenly she flung 
 her arms round Nancy's neck, and with a sob 
 darted under the bars and across the fields with- 
 out a backward glance* 
 
 A few moments later Nancy entered her 
 mother's room, her arms filled with treasures 
 from the woods and fields. "Oh, Motherdy ! " she 
 cried, laying down her flowers and taking off 
 her hat. "I 've found such a friend; a real under- 
 standing friend; and it's the girl from the House 
 of Lords. She 's wonderful! More wonderful 
 than anybody we've ever seen anywhere, and 
 she draws better than the teacher in Charles- 
 town! She's older than I am, but so tiny and 
 sad and shy that she seems like a child. Oh, 
 mother, there's always so much spare room in 
 your heart, — for you took in Julia and yet we 
 never felt the difference, — won't you make a 
 
 170 
 
The House of Lords 
 
 place for Olive? There never was anybody- 
 needed you so much as she does, — never." 
 
 Have you ever lifted a stone and seen the 
 pale, yellow, stunted shoots of grass under it? 
 And have you gone next day and next, and 
 watched the little blades shoot upward, spread 
 themselves with delight, grow green and wax 
 strong; and finally, warm with the sun, cool with 
 the dew, vigorous with the flow of sap in their 
 veins, seen them wave their green tips in the 
 breeze? That was what happened to Olive 
 Lord when she and Cyril were drawn into a 
 different family circle, and ran in and out of 
 the Yellow House with the busy, eager group of 
 Mother Carey's chickens. 
 
XIX 
 
 OLD AND NEW 
 
 The Yellow House had not always belonged to 
 the Hamiltons, but had been built by a governor 
 of the state when he retired from public office. 
 He lived only a few years, and it then passed 
 into the hands of Lemuel Hamilton's grand- 
 father, who had done little or nothing in the way 
 of remodelling the buildings. 
 
 Governor Weatherby had harbored no ex- 
 traordinary ambition regarding architectural 
 excellence, for he was not a rich man; he had 
 simply built a large, comfortable Colonial 
 house. He desired no gardens, no luxurious 
 stables, no fountains nor grottoes, no bathroom 
 (for it was only the year 1810), while the old 
 oaken bucket left nothing to be desired as a 
 means of dispensing water to the household. 
 He had one weakness, however, and that was 
 a wish to make the front of the house as im- 
 pressive as possible. The window over the front 
 door was as beautiful a window as any in the 
 county, and the doorway itself was celebrated 
 throughout the state. It had a wonderful fan 
 light and side lights, green blind doors outside 
 
 172 
 
Old and New 
 
 of the white painted one with its massive brass 
 knocker, and still more unique and impressive, 
 it had for its approach, semi-circular stone steps 
 instead of the usual oblong ones. The large 
 blocks of granite had been cut so that each of 
 the four steps should be smaller than the one 
 below it; and when, after months of gossip and 
 suspense, they were finally laid in place, their 
 straight edges towards the house and their 
 expensive curved sides to the road, a procession 
 of curious persons in wagons, carryalls, buggies, 
 and gigs wound their way past the premises. 
 The governor's "circ'lar steps" brought many 
 pilgrims down the main street of Beulah first and 
 last, and the original Hamiltons had been very 
 proud of them. Pride (of such simple things as 
 stone steps) had died out of the Hamilton stock 
 in the course- of years, and the house had been 
 so long vacant that no one but Lemuel, the 
 Consul, remembered any of its charming fea- 
 tures; but Ossian Popham, when he pried up and 
 straightened the ancient landmarks, had much 
 to say of the wonderful steps. 
 
 "There's so much goin' on now-a-days," he 
 complained, as he puffed and pried and strained, 
 and rested in between, "that young ones won't 
 amount to nothin', fust thing you know. My 
 boy Digby says to me this mornin', when I 
 
 173 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 asked him if he was goin' to the County Fair, 
 'No, Pop, I ain't goin',' he says, 'it's the same 
 old fair every year.' Land sakes! when I was a 
 boy, 'bout once a month, in warm weather, I 
 used to ask father if I could walk to the other 
 end o' the village and look at the governor's 
 circ'lar steps; that used to be the liveliest enter- 
 tainment parents could think up for their young 
 ones, an' it was a heap livelier than two sermons 
 of a Sunday, each of 'em an hour and fifteen 
 minutes long." 
 
 Digby, a lad of eighteen and master of only 
 one trade instead of a dozen, like his father, had 
 been deputed to paper Mother Carey's bedroom 
 while she moved for a few days into the newly 
 fitted guest room, which was almost too beauti- 
 ful to sleep in, with its white satiny walls, its 
 yellow and green garlands hanging from the 
 ceiling, its yellow floor, and its old white cham- 
 ber set repainted by the faithful and clever 
 Popham. 
 
 The chintz parlor, once Governor Weather- 
 by's study, was finished too, and the whole 
 family looked in at the doors a dozen times a 
 day with admiring exclamations. It had six 
 doors, opening into two entries, one small bed- 
 room, one sitting room, one cellar, and one china 
 closet; a passion for entrances and exits having 
 
 174 
 
Old and New 
 
 been the whim of that generation. If the truth 
 were known, Nancy had once lighted her candle 
 and slipped downstairs at midnight to sit on the 
 parlor sofa and feast her eyes on the room's 
 loveliness. Gilbert had painted the white mat- 
 ting the color of a ripe cherry. Mrs. Popham 
 had washed and ironed and fluted the old white 
 ruffled muslin curtains from the Charlestown 
 home, and they adorned the four windows. It 
 was the north room, on the left as you entered 
 the house, and would be closed during the cold 
 winter months, so it was fitted entirely for sum- 
 mer use and comfort. The old-fashioned square 
 piano looked in its element placed across one 
 corner, with the four tall silver candlesticks and 
 snuffer tray on the shining mahogany. All the 
 shabbiest furniture, and the Carey furniture was 
 mostly shabby, was covered with a cheap, gay 
 chintz, and crimson Jacqueminot roses clam- 
 bered all over the wall paper, so that the room 
 was a cool bower of beauty. 
 
 On the other side of the hall were the double 
 parlors of the governor's time, made into a great 
 living room. Here was Gilbert's green painted 
 floor, smooth and glossy, with braided rugs 
 bought from neighbors in East Beulah; here all 
 the old-fashioned Gilbert furniture that the 
 Careys had kept during their many wanderings; 
 
 175 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 here all the quaint chairs that Mr. Bill Harmon 
 could pick up at a small price; here were two 
 noble fireplaces, one with a crane and iron pot 
 filled with flowers, the other filled sometimes 
 with sprays of green asparagus and sometimes 
 with fragrant hemlock boughs. The paper was 
 one in which green rushes and cat-o'-nine-tails 
 grew on a fawn-colored ground, and anything 
 that the Careys did not possess for the family 
 sitting room Ossian Popham went straight home 
 and made in his barn. He could make a barrel- 
 chair or an hour-glass table, a box lounge and 
 the mattress to put on top of it, or a low table 
 for games and puzzles, or a window seat. He 
 could polish the piano and then sit down to it 
 and play "Those Tassels on Her Boots" or 
 "Marching through Georgia" with great skill. 
 He could paint bunches of gold grapes and leaves 
 on the old-fashioned high-backed rocker, and, as 
 soon as it was dry, could sit down in it and en- 
 tertain the whole family without charging them 
 a penny. 
 
 The housewarming could not be until the 
 later autumn, Mrs. Carey had decided, for 
 although most of the living rooms could be 
 finished, Cousin Ann's expensive improve- 
 ments were not to be set in motion until Bill 
 Harmon heard from Mr. Hamilton that his ten- 
 
 176 
 
Old and New 
 
 ants were not to be disturbed for at least three 
 years. 
 
 The house, which was daily growing into a 
 home, was full of the busy hum of labor from 
 top to bottom and from morning till night, and 
 there was hardly a moment when Mother Carey 
 and the girls were not transporting articles of 
 furniture through the rooms, and up and down 
 the staircases, to see how they would look some- 
 where else. This, indeed, had been the diversion 
 of their simple life for many years, and was just 
 as delightful, in their opinion, as buying new 
 things. Any Carey, from mother down to Peter, 
 would spring from his chair at any moment and 
 assist any other Carey to move a sofa, a bureau, 
 a piano, a kitchen stove, if necessary, with the 
 view of determining if it would add a new zest 
 to life in a different position. 
 
 Not a word has been said thus far about the 
 Yellow House barn, the barn that the "fool 
 Hamilton boys" (according to Bill Harmon's 
 theories) had converted from a place of prac- 
 tical usefulness and possible gain, into some- 
 thing that would "make a cat laugh"; but it 
 really needs a chapter to itself. You remember 
 that Dr. Holmes says of certain majestic and 
 dignified trees that they ought to have a Chris- 
 tian name, like other folks? The barn, in the 
 
 177 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 same way, deserves more distinction than a 
 paragraph, but et this moment it was being 
 used as a storeroom and was merely awaiting 
 its splendid destiny, quite unconscious of the 
 future. The Hamilton boys were no doubt as 
 extravagant and thriftless as they were insane, 
 but the Careys sympathized with their extrava- 
 gance and thriftlessness and insanity so heartily, 
 in this particular, that they could hardly conceal 
 their real feelings from Bill Harmon. Nothing 
 could so have accorded with their secret desires 
 as the "fool changes" made by the "crazy 
 Hamilton boys"; light-hearted, irresponsible, 
 and frivolous changes that could never have 
 been compassed by the Careys' slender income. 
 They had no money to purchase horse or cow 
 or pig, and no man in the family to take care of 
 them if purchased; so the removal of stalls and 
 all the necessary appurtenances for the care of 
 cattle was no source of grief or loss to them. 
 A good floor had been laid over the old one and 
 stained to a dark color; the ceiling, with its 
 heavy hand-hewn beams, was almost as fine 
 as some old oak counterpart in an English hall. 
 Not a new board met the eye; — old weathered 
 lumber everywhere, even to the quaint settle- 
 shaped benches that lined the room. There was 
 a place like an old-fashioned "tie-up" for musi- 
 
 178 
 
Old and New 
 
 cians to play for a country dance, or for tableaux 
 and charades; in fine, there would be, with the 
 addition of Carey ideas here and there, provision 
 for frolics and diversions of any sort. You no 
 sooner opened the door and peeped in, though 
 few^of the Beulah villagers had ever been in- 
 vited to do so by the gay young Hamiltons, than 
 your tongue spontaneously exclaimed: "What a 
 place for good times!" 
 
 "I shall 'come out' here," Nancy announced, 
 as the three girls stood in the centre of the floor, 
 surrounded by bedsteads, tables, bureaus, and 
 stoves. "Julia, you can 'debut' where you like, 
 but I shall 'come out' here next summer!" 
 
 "You'll be only seventeen; you can't come 
 out!" objected Julia conventionally. 
 
 "Not in a drawing room, perhaps, but per- 
 fectly well in a barn. Even you and Kitty, 
 youthful as you will still be, can attend my 
 coming out party, in a barn!" 
 
 "It doesn't seem proper to think of giving 
 entertainments when everybody knows our 
 circumstances, — how poor we are!" Julia said 
 rebukingly. 
 
 "We are talking of next summer, my child! 
 Who can say how rich we shall be next summer? 
 A party could be given in this barn with mother 
 to play the piano and Mr. Popham the fiddle. 
 
 179 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 The refreshments would be incredibly weak 
 lemonade, and I think we might 'solicit' the 
 cake, as they do for church sociables!" 
 
 Julia's pride was wounded beyond conceal- 
 ment at this humorously intended suggestion of 
 Nancy's. 
 
 "Of course if Aunt Margaret approves, I have 
 nothing to say," she remarked, "but I myself 
 would never come to any private party where 
 refreshments were 'solicited.' The very idea is 
 horrible." 
 
 "I'm 'coming out' in the barn next summer, 
 Muddy!" Nancy called to her mother, who just 
 then entered the door. "If we are poorer than 
 ever, we can take up a collection to defray the 
 expenses; Julia and Kitty would look so attrac- 
 tive going about with tambourines ! I want to do 
 what I can quickly, because I see plainly I shall 
 have to marry young in order to help the family. 
 The heroine always does that in books; she 
 makes a worldly marriage with a rich nobleman, 
 in order that her sister Kitty and her cousin 
 Julia may have a good education." 
 
 "I don't know where you get your ideas, 
 Nancy," said her mother, smiling at her non- 
 sense. "You certainly never read half a dozen 
 novels in your life!" 
 
 "No, but Joanna used to read them by the 
 180 
 
Old and New 
 
 hundred and tell me the stories; and I've heard 
 father read aloud to you; and the older girls and 
 the younger teachers used to discuss them at 
 school ; — oh ! I know a lot about life, — as it 
 is in books, — and I 'm just waiting to see if 
 any of it really happens!" 
 
 "Digby Popham is the only rich nobleman 
 in sight for you, Nancy!" Kitty said teasingly. 
 
 "Or freckled Cyril Lord," interpolated Julia. 
 
 "He looks like an unbaked pie!" This from 
 Kitty. 
 
 Nancy flushed. "He's shy and unhappy and 
 pale, and no wonder; but he's as nice and inter- 
 esting as he can be." 
 
 "I can't see it," Julia said, "but he never 
 looks at anybody, or talks to anybody but you, 
 so it's well you like him; though you like all 
 boys, for that matter!" 
 
 "The boys return the compliment!" asserted 
 Kitty mischievously, "while poor you and I sit 
 in corners!" 
 
 "Come, come, dears," and Mrs. Carey joined 
 in the conversation as she picked up a pillow 
 before returning to the house. " It 's a little early 
 for you to be talking about rich noblemen, is n't 
 it?" 
 
 Nancy followed her out of the door, saying 
 as she thoughtfully chewed a straw, "Muddy, I 
 
 181 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 do believe that when you 're getting on to sixteen 
 the rich nobleman or the fairy prince or the won- 
 derful youngest son does cross your mind now 
 and then!" 
 
XX 
 
 THE PAINTED CHAMBER 
 
 Matters were in this state of forwardness when 
 Nancy and Kathleen looked out of the window 
 one morning and saw Lallie Joy Popham coming 
 down the street. She "lugged" butter and milk 
 regularly to the Careys (lugging is her own 
 word for the act), and helped them in many 
 ways, for she was fairly good at any kind of 
 housework not demanding brains. Nobody 
 could say why some of Ossian Popham's gifts 
 of mind and conversation had not descended to 
 his children, but though the son was not really 
 stupid at practical work, Lallie Joy was in a 
 perpetual state of coma. 
 
 Nancy, as has been intimated before, had a 
 kind of tendency to reform things that appeared 
 to her lacking in any way, and she had early seized 
 upon the stolid Lallie Joy as a worthy object. 
 
 "There she comes!" said Nancy. "She car- 
 ries two quarts of milk in one hand and two 
 pounds of butter in the other, exactly as if she 
 was bending under the weight of a load of hay. 
 I'll run down into the kitchen and capture her 
 for a half hour at five cents. She can peel the 
 
 183 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 potatoes first, and while they're boiling she can 
 slice apples for sauce." 
 
 "Have her chop the hash, do!" coaxed Julia, 
 for that was her special work. "The knife is 
 dull beyond words." 
 
 "Why don't you get Mr. Popham to sharpen 
 it? It's a poor workman that complains of his 
 tools; Columbus discovered America in an open 
 boat," quoted Nancy, with an irritating air of 
 wisdom. 
 
 "That may be so," Julia retorted, "but 
 Columbus would never have discovered America 
 with that chopping-knife, I 'm sure of that. — Is 
 Lallie Joy about our age?" 
 
 "I don't know. She must have been at least 
 forty when she was born, and that would make 
 her fifty-five now. What do you suppose would 
 wake her up? If I could only get her to stand 
 straight, or hold her head up, or let her hair 
 down, or close her mouth! I believe I'll stay in 
 the kitchen and appeal to her better feelings a 
 little this morning; I can seed the raisins for the 
 bread pudding." 
 
 Nancy sat in the Shaker rocker by the sink 
 window with the yellow bowl in her lap. Her 
 cheeks were pink, her eyes were bright, her lips 
 were red, her hair was goldy-brown, her fingers 
 flew, and a high-necked gingham apron was as 
 
 184 
 
The Painted Chamber 
 
 becoming to her as it is to all nice girls. She was 
 thoroughly awake, was Nancy, and there could 
 not have been a greater contrast than that 
 between her and the comatose Lallie Joy, who 
 sat on a wooden chair with her feet on the side 
 rounds. She had taken off her Turkey red sun- 
 bonnet and hung it on the chair-back, where its 
 color violently assaulted her flaming locks. She 
 sat wrong; she held the potato pan wrong, and 
 the potatoes and the knife wrong. There seemed 
 to be no sort of connection between her mind 
 and her body. As she peeled potatoes and Nancy 
 seeded raisins, the conversation was something 
 like this. 
 
 "How did you chance to bring the butter 
 to-day instead of to-morrow, Lallie Joy?" 
 
 "Had to dress me up to go to the store and 
 get a new hat." 
 
 "What colored trimming did you get?" 
 
 "Same as old." 
 
 "Don't they keep anything but magenta?" 
 
 "Yes, blue." 
 
 "Why did n't you try blue for a change?" 
 
 "Dunno; did n't want any change, I guess." 
 
 "Do you like magenta against your hair?" 
 
 "Never thought o' my hair; jest thought o' 
 my hat." 
 
 "Well, you see, Lallie Joy, you can't change 
 185 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 your hair, but you need n't wear magenta hats 
 nor red sunbonnets. Your hair is handsome 
 enough, if you'd only brush it right." 
 
 "I guess I know all 'bout my hair and how 
 red 't is. The boys ask me if Pop painted it." 
 
 "Why do you strain it back so tight?" 
 
 "Keep it out o' my eyes." 
 
 "Nonsense; you need n't drag it out by the 
 roots. Why do you tie the braids with strings?" 
 
 "'Cause they hold, an' I hain't got no rib- 
 bons." 
 
 "Why don't you buy some with the money 
 you earn here?" 
 
 "Savin' up for the Fourth." 
 
 "Well, I have yards of old Christmas ribbons 
 that I'll give you if you'll use them." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 "What do you scrub your face with, that 
 makes those shiny knobs stick right out on your 
 forehead and cheek bones?" 
 
 "Sink soap." 
 
 "Well, you shouldn't; haven't you any 
 other?" 
 
 "It's upstairs." 
 
 "Are n't your legs in good working order?" 
 
 Uncomprehending silence on Lallie Joy's part 
 and then Nancy returned to the onslaught. 
 
 "Don't you like to look at pretty things?" 
 186 
 
The Painted Chamber 
 
 "Dunno but I do, an' dunno as I do." 
 
 "Don't you love the rooms your father has 
 finished here?" 
 
 "Kind of." 
 
 "Not any more than that?" 
 
 "Pop thinks some of 'em's queer, an' so does 
 Bill Harmon." 
 
 Long silence, Nancy being utterly daunted. 
 
 "How did you come by your name, Lallie Joy? " 
 
 "Lallie's out of a book named Lallie Rook, an' 
 I was born on the Joy steamboat line going to 
 Boston." 
 
 "Oh, I thought Joy was Joy!" 
 
 "Joy Line's the only joy I ever heard of!" 
 
 There is no knowing how long this depressing 
 conversation would have continued if the two 
 girls had not heard loud calls from Gilbert up- 
 stairs. Lallie Joy evinced no surprise, and went 
 on peeling potatoes; she might have been a 
 sister of the famous Casabianca, and she cer- 
 tainly could have been trusted not to flee from 
 any burning deck, whatever the provocation. 
 
 "Come and see what we've found, Digby and 
 I!" Gilbert cried. "Come, girls; come, mother! 
 We were stripping off the paper because Mr. 
 Popham said there 'd been so many layers on 
 the walls it would be a good time to get to the 
 bottom of it and have it all fresh and clean. 
 
 187 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 So just now, as I was working over the mantel- 
 piece and Digby on the long wall, look in and see 
 what we uncovered!" 
 
 Mrs. Carey had come from the nursery, Kitty 
 and Julia from the garden, and Osh Popham 
 from the shed, and they all gazed with joy and 
 surprise at the quaint landscapes that had been 
 painted in water colors before the day of wall 
 paper had come. 
 
 Mr. Popham quickly took one of his tools and 
 began on another side of the room. They worked 
 slowly and carefully, and in an hour or two the 
 pictures stood revealed, a little faded in color 
 but beautifully drawn, with almost nothing of 
 any moment missing from the scenes. 
 
 " Je-roosh-y ! ain't they handsome! " exclaimed 
 Osh, standing in the middle of the room with 
 the family surrounding him in various attitudes 
 of ecstasy. " But they 're too faded out to leave 's 
 they be, ain't they, Mis' Carey? You'll have 
 to cover 'em up with new paper, won't you, or 
 shall you let me put a coat of varnish on 'em?" 
 
 Mrs. Carey shuddered internally. "No, Mr. 
 Popham, we must n't have any ' shine ' on the 
 landscapes. Yes, they are dreadfully dim and 
 faded, but I simply cannot have them covered 
 up!" 
 
 "It would be wicked to hide them!" said 
 188 
 
The Painted Chamber 
 
 Nancy. "Oh, Muddy, is it our duty to write 
 to Mr. Hamilton and tell him about them? He 
 would certainly take the house away from us if 
 he could see how beautiful we have made it, 
 and now here is another lovely thing to tempt 
 him. Could anybody give up this painted cham- 
 ber if it belonged to him?" 
 
 "Well, you see," said Mr. Popham assuringly, 
 "if you want to use this painted chamber much, 
 you've got to live in Beulah; an' Lem Hamilton 
 ain't goin' to stop consullin' at the age o' fifty, 
 to come here an' rust out with the rest of us; — 
 no, siree ! Nor Mis' Lem Hamilton would n't 
 stop over night in this village if you give her 
 the town drinkin' trough for a premium!" 
 
 "Is she fashionable?" asked Julia. 
 
 "You bet she is! She's tall an' slim an' so 
 chuck full of airs she'd blow away if you give 
 her a puff o' the bellers ! The only time she come 
 here she stayed just twenty-four hours, but she 
 nearly died, we was all so 'vulgar.' She wore a 
 white dress ruffled up to the waist, and a white 
 Alpine hat, an' she looked exactly like the pic- 
 ture of Pike's Peak in my stereopticon. Mis' 
 Popham overheard her say Beulah was full o' 
 savages if not cannibals. 'Well,' I says to Maria, 
 ' no matter where she goes, nobody '11 ever want 
 to eat her alive ! ' — Look at that meetin' house 
 
 189 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 over the mantel shelf, an' that grassy Common 
 an' elm trees ! 'T wa'n't no house painter done 
 these walls!" 
 
 "And look at this space between the two front 
 windows," cried Kathleen. "See the hens and 
 chickens and the Plymouth Rock rooster!" 
 
 "And the white calf lying down under the 
 maple; he's about the prettiest thing in the 
 room," said Gilbert. 
 
 "We must just let it be and think it out," 
 said Mother Carey. "Don't put any new paper 
 on, now; there's plenty to do downstairs." 
 
 "I don't know 's I should particularly like to 
 lay abed in this room," said Osh, his eyes roving 
 about the chamber judicially. "I should n't hev 
 no comfort ondressin' here, nohow; not with this 
 mess o' live stock lookin' at me every minute, 
 whatever I happened to be takin' off. I s'pose 
 that rooster 'd be right on to his job at sun-up ! 
 Well, he could n't git ahead of Mis' Popham, 
 that's one thing; so't I should n't be any worse 
 off 'n I be now! I don't get any too much good 
 sleep as 't is ! Mis' Popham makes me go to bed 
 long afore I'm ready, so't she can git the house 
 shut up in good season; then 'bout 's soon's I've 
 settled down an' hed one short nap she says, 
 'It's time you was up, Ossian!'" 
 
 "Mother! I have an idea!" cried Nancy sud- 
 190 
 
The Painted Chamber 
 
 denly, as Mr. Popham took his leave and the 
 family went out into the hall. "Do you know 
 who could make the walls look as they used to? 
 My dear Olive Lord!" 
 
 "She's only sixteen!" objected Mrs. Carey. 
 
 "But she's a natural born genius! You wait 
 and see the things she does ! " 
 
 "Perhaps I could take her into town and get 
 some suggestions or some instruction, with the 
 proper materials," said Mrs. Carey, "and I 
 suppose she could experiment on some small 
 space behind the door, first?" 
 
 "Nothing that Olive does would ever be put 
 behind anybody's door," Nancy answered de- 
 cisively. "I'm not old enough to know any- 
 thing about painting, of course (except that good 
 landscapes ought not to be reversible like our 
 Van Twiller) , but there 's something about Olive's 
 pictures that makes you want to touch them 
 and love them!" 
 
 So began the happiest, most wonderful, most 
 fruitful autumn of Olive Lord's life, when she 
 spent morning after morning in the painted 
 chamber, refreshing its faded tints. Whoever 
 had done the original work had done it lovingly 
 and well, and Olive learned many a lesson while 
 she was following the lines of the quaint houses, 
 like those on old china, renewing the green of 
 
 191 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 the feathery elms, or retracing and coloring 
 the curious sampler trees that stood straight 
 and stiff like sentinels in the corners of the 
 room. 
 
XXI 
 
 A FAMILY RHOMBOID 
 
 The Honorable Lemuel Hamilton sat in the 
 private office of the American Consulate in 
 Breslau, Germany, one warm day in July. The 
 post had been brought in half an hour before, 
 and he had two open letters on the desk in front 
 of him. It was only ten o'clock of a bright 
 morning, but he looked tired and worn. He was 
 about fifty, with slightly grey hair and smoothly 
 shaven face. He must have been merry at one 
 time in his life, for there were many nice little 
 laughing-wrinkles around his eyes, but somehow 
 these seemed to have faded out, as if they had 
 not been used for years, and the corners of his 
 mouth turned down to increase the look of 
 weariness and discontent. 
 
 A smile had crept over his face at his old friend 
 Bill Harmon's spelling and penmanship, for a 
 missive of that kind seldom came to the American 
 Consulate. When the second letter postmarked 
 Beulah first struck his eye, he could not imagine 
 why he should have another correspondent in 
 the quaintly named little village. He had read 
 Nancy's letter twice now, and still he sat smok- 
 
 193 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ing and dreaming with an occasional glance at 
 the girlish handwriting, or a twinkle of the eye 
 at the re-reading of some particular passage. 
 His own girls were not ready writers, and their 
 mother generally sent their messages for them. 
 Nancy and Kitty did not yet write nearly as 
 well as they talked, but they contrived to 
 express something of their own individuality in 
 their communications, which were free and flu- 
 ent, though childlike and crude. 
 
 "What a nice girl this Nancy Carey must be!" 
 thought the American Consul. "This is such 
 a jolly, confidential, gossipy, winsome little 
 letter! Her first 'business letter' she calls it! 
 Alas! when she learns how, a few years later, 
 there will be no charming little confidences; no 
 details of family income and expenditures; no 
 tell-tale glimpses of 'mother' and 'Julia.' I 
 believe I should know the whole family even 
 without this photograph ! — The lady sitting 
 in the chair, to whom the photographer's snap- 
 shot has not done justice, is worthy of Nancy's 
 praise, — and Bill Harmon's. What a pretty, 
 piquant, curly head Nancy has! What a gay, 
 vivacious, alert, spirited expression. The boy is 
 handsome and gentlemanly, but he'll have to 
 wake up, or Nancy will be the man of the family. 
 The girl sitting down is less attractive. She's 
 
 194 
 
A Family Rhomboid 
 
 Uncle Allan's daughter, and" (consulting the 
 letter) "Uncle Allan has nervous prostration 
 and all of mother's money." Here Mr. Hamil- 
 ton gave vent to audible laughter for the third 
 time in a quarter of an hour. "Nancy does n't 
 realize with what perfection her somewhat 
 imperfect English states the case," he thought. 
 "I know Uncle Allan like a book, from his resem- 
 blance to certain other unfortunate gentlemen 
 who have nervous prostration in combination 
 with other people's money. Let's see! I know 
 Nancy; friendly little Nancy, about fifteen or 
 sixteen, I should judge; I know Uncle Allan's 
 'Julia,' who hems in photographs, but not other- 
 wise; I know Gilbert, who is depressed at hav- 
 ing to make his own way; the small boy," who 
 'is the nicest of us all'; Kitty, who beat all the 
 others in getting to mother's shoulder; and the 
 mother herself, who is beautiful, and does n't 
 say \ Bosh ' to her children's ideas, and refuses to 
 touch the insurance money, and wants Gilbert 
 to show what 'father's son' can do without any- 
 body's help, and who revels in the color and 
 joy of a yellow wall paper at twenty cents a 
 roll! Bless their simple hearts! They must n't 
 pay any rent while they are bringing water into 
 the kitchen and making expensive improve- 
 ments! And what Hamilton could be persuaded 
 
 195 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 to live in the yellow house? To think of any 
 one's wanting to settle down in that little 
 deserted spot, Beulah, where the only sound that 
 ever strikes one's ear is Osh Popham's laugh or 
 the tinkle of a cow bell! Oh! if my own girls 
 would write me letters like this, letting me see 
 how their minds are growing, how they are tak- 
 ing hold of life, above all what is in their hearts ! 
 Well, little Miss Nancy Carey! honest, out- 
 spoken, confidential, clever little Nancy, who 
 calls me her ' dearest Mr. Hamilton ' and thanks 
 me for letting her live in my yellow house, you 
 shall never be disturbed, and if you and Gilbert 
 ever earn enough money to buy it, it shall go 
 to you cheap ! There 's not one of my brood that 
 would live in it — except Tom, perhaps — for 
 after spending three hundred dollars, they even 
 got tired of dancing in the barn on Saturday 
 nights; so if it can fall into the hands of some 
 one who will bring a blessing on it, good old 
 Granny Hamilton will rest peacefully in her 
 grave!" 
 
 We have discoursed in another place of family 
 circles, but it cannot be truthfully said that at 
 any moment the Lemuel Hamiltons had ever 
 assumed that symmetrical and harmonious 
 shape. Still, during the first eight or ten years 
 
 196 
 
 t 
 
A Family Rhomboid 
 
 of their married life, when the children were 
 young, they had at least appeared to the casual 
 eye as, say, a rectangular parallelogram. A little 
 later the cares and jolts of life wrenched the 
 right angles a trifle "out of plumb," and a 
 rhomboid was the result. Mrs. Hamilton had 
 money of her own, but wished Lemuel to amass 
 enough fame and position to match it. She liked 
 a diplomatic life if her husband could be an 
 ambassador, but she thought him strangely slow 
 in achieving this dignity. No pleasure or pride 
 in her husband's ability to serve his country, 
 even in a modest position, ever crossed her mind. 
 She had no desire to spend her valuable time 
 in various poky Continental towns, and she had 
 many excuses for not doing so; the proper edu- 
 cation of her children being the chief among 
 them. Luckily for her, good and desirable 
 schools were generally at an easy distance from 
 the jewellers' shops and the dressmakers' and 
 milliners' establishments her soul loved, so 
 while Mr. Hamilton did his daily task in Ant- 
 werp, Mrs. Hamilton resided mostly in Brussels 
 or Paris; when he was in Zittau, in Saxony, she 
 was in Dresden. If he were appointed to some 
 business city she remained with him several 
 months each year, and spent the others in a 
 more artistic and fashionable locality. The situ- 
 
 197 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ation was growing difficult because the children 
 were gradually getting beyond school age, 
 although there still remained to her the sacred 
 duty of settling them properly in life. Agnes, 
 her mother's favorite, was still at school, and 
 was devoted to foreign languages, foreign man- 
 ners, and foreign modes of life. Edith had grown 
 restless and developed an uncomfortable fond- 
 ness for her native land, so that she spent most 
 of her time with her mother's relatives in New 
 York, or in visiting school friends here or there. 
 The boys had gone far away; Jack, the elder, 
 to Texas, where he had lost what money his 
 father and mother had put into his first business 
 venture; Thomas, the younger, to China, where 
 he was woefully lonely, but doing well in busi- 
 ness. A really good diplomatic appointment in a 
 large and important city would have enabled 
 Mr. Hamilton to collect some of his scattered 
 sons and daughters and provide them with the 
 background for which his wife had yearned 
 without ceasing (and very audibly) for years. 
 But Mr. Hamilton did not get the coveted 
 appointment, and Mrs. Hamilton did not spe- 
 cially care for Mr. Hamilton when he failed in 
 securing the things she wanted. This was the 
 time when the laughing-wrinkles began to fade 
 away from Mr. Hamilton's eyes, just for lack of 
 
 198 
 
A Family Rhomboid 
 
 daily use; and it was then that the corners of 
 his mouth began to turn down, and his shoulders 
 to stoop, and his eye to grow less keen and brave, 
 and his step less vigorous. It may be a common- 
 place remark, but it is not at these precise 
 moments in life that tired, depressed men in 
 modest positions are wafted by Uncle Sam to 
 great and desirable heights; but to Mrs. Ham- 
 ilton it appeared that her husband was simply 
 indolent, unambitious, and unlucky; not at all 
 that he needed to be believed in, or loved, or 
 comforted, or helped, or braced! It might have 
 startled her, and hurt her wifely pride, if she 
 had seen her lonely husband drinking in little 
 Nancy Carey's letter as if it were dew to a 
 thirsty spirit; to see him set the photograph 
 of the Carey group on his desk and look at it 
 from time to time affectionately, as if he had 
 found some new friends. It was the content- 
 ment, the hope, the unity, the pluck, the mutual 
 love, the confidence, the ambition, of the group 
 that touched his imagination and made his heart 
 run out to them. "Airs from the Eden of youth 
 awoke and stirred in his soul" as he took his pen 
 to answer Nancy's first business communica- 
 tion. 
 
 Having completed his letter he lighted an- 
 other cigar, and leaning back in his revolving 
 
 199 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 chair clasped his hands behind his head and fell 
 into a reverie. The various diplomatic posts 
 that might be opened to him crossed his mind 
 in procession. If A or B or C were possible, his 
 wife would be content, and their combined in- 
 comes might be sufficient to bring the children 
 together, if not quite under one roof, then to 
 points not so far separated from each other but 
 that a speaking acquaintance might be devel- 
 oped. Tom was the farthest away, and he was 
 the dearest; the only Hamilton of the lot; the 
 only one who loved his father. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton leaned forward abstractedly, 
 and fumbling through one drawer of his desk 
 after another succeeded in bringing out a photo- 
 graph of Tom, taken at seventeen or eighteen. 
 Then by a little extra search he found his wife 
 in her presentation dress at a foreign court. 
 There was no comfort or companionship in that, 
 it was too furbelowed to be anybody's wife, — 
 but underneath it in the same frame was one 
 taken just after their marriage. That was too 
 full of memories to hold much joy, but it stirred 
 his heart, and made it beat a little; enough at 
 any rate to show it was not dead. In the letter 
 case in his vest pocket was an almost forgotten 
 picture of the girls when they were children. 
 This with the others he stood in a row in front 
 
 200 
 
A Family Rhomboid 
 
 of him, reminding himself that he did not know 
 the subjects much more intimately than the 
 photographers who had made their likenesses. 
 He glanced from one family to the other and 
 back again, several times. The Careys were 
 handsomer, there was no doubt of that; but 
 there was a deeper difference that eluded him. 
 The Hamiltons were far more stylishly dressed, 
 but they all looked a little conscious and a little 
 discontented. That was it; the Careys were 
 happier! There were six of them, living in the 
 forgotten Hamilton house in a half-deserted 
 village, on five or six hundred dollars a year, 
 and doing their own housework, and they were 
 happier than his own brood, spending forty or 
 fifty times that sum. Well, they were grown up, 
 his sons and daughters, and the only change in 
 their lives now would come from wise or unwise 
 marriages. No poverty-stricken sons-in-law 
 would ever come into the family, with Mrs. 
 Hamilton standing at the bars, he was sure of 
 that! As for the boys, they might choose their 
 mates in Texas or China; they might even have 
 chosen them now, for aught he knew, though 
 Jack was only twenty-six and Tom twenty-two. 
 He must write to them oftener, all of them, no 
 matter how busy and anxious he might be; 
 especially to Tom, who was so far away. 
 
 201 
 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 He drew a sheet of paper towards him, and 
 having filled it, another, and yet another. Hav- 
 ing folded and slipped it into an envelope and 
 addressed it to Thomas Hamilton, Esq., Hong 
 Kong, China, he was about to seal it when he 
 stopped a moment. " I '11 enclose the little Carey 
 girl's letter," he thought. "Tom's the only one 
 who cares a penny for the old house, and I've 
 told him I have rented it. He's a generous boy, 
 and he won't grudge a few dollars lost to a good 
 cause. Besides, these Careys will increase the 
 value of the property every year they live in it, 
 and without them the buildings would gradually 
 have fallen into ruins." He added a postscript 
 to his letter, saying: "I've sent you little Miss 
 Nancy's letter, the photograph of her tying up 
 the rambler rose, and the family group; so that 
 you can see exactly what influenced me to write 
 her (and Bill Harmon) that they should be un- 
 disturbed in their tenancy, and that their repairs 
 and improvements should be taken in lieu of 
 rent." This done and the letters stamped, he 
 put the photographs of his wife and children 
 here and there on his desk and left the office. 
 
 Oh! it is quite certain that Mother Carey's 
 own chickens go out over the seas and show 
 good birds the way home; and it is quite true, 
 as she said, "One real home always makes an- 
 
 202 
 
A Family Rhomboid 
 
 other, I am sure of that!" It can even send a 
 vision of a home across fields and forests and 
 lakes and oceans from Beulah village to Breslau, 
 Germany, and on to Hong Kong, China. 
 
XXII 
 
 CRADLE GIFTS 
 
 Mrs. Henry Lord sent out a good many invi- 
 tations to the fairies for Cyril's birthday party, 
 but Mr. Lord was at his critical point in the first 
 volume of his text book, and forgot that he had 
 a son. Where both parents are not interested 
 in these little affairs, something is sure to be 
 forgotten. Cyril's mother was weak and ill at 
 the time, and the upshot of it was that the 
 anger of The Fairy Who Was n't Invited was 
 visited on the baby Cyril in his cradle. In the 
 revengeful spirit of that fairy who is omitted 
 from these functions, she sent a threat instead 
 of a blessing, and decreed that Cyril should 
 walk in fear all the days of his life. Of course, 
 being a fairy, she knew very well that, if Cyril, 
 or anybody very much interested in Cyril, were 
 to declare that there was no power whatever 
 behind her curse, she would not be able to 
 gratify her spite; but she knew also, being a 
 fairy, that if Cyril got into the habit of believing 
 himself a coward, he would end by being one, 
 so she stood a good chance of winning, after all. 
 Cyril, when he came into the world, had come 
 204 
 
Cradle Gifts 
 
 with only half a welcome. No mother and 
 father ever met over his cradle and looked at 
 him together, wondering if it were "well with 
 the child." When he was old enough to have his 
 red-gold hair curled, and a sash tied around 
 his baby waist, he was sometimes taken down- 
 stairs, but he always fled to his mother's or his 
 nurse's knee when his father approached. How 
 many times he and his little sister Olive had 
 hidden under the stairs when father had called 
 mother down to the study to scold her about 
 the grocer's bill! And there was a nightmare of 
 a memory concerning a certain birthday of 
 father's, when mother had determined to be gay. 
 It was just before supper. Cyril, clad in his first 
 brief trousers, was to knock at the study door 
 with a little purple nosegay in his hand, to show 
 his father that the lilac had bloomed. Olive, 
 in crimson cashmere, was to stand near, and 
 when the door opened, present him with her 
 own picture of the cat and her new kittens; 
 while mother, looking so pretty, with her own 
 gift all ready in her hand, was palpitating on 
 the staircase to see how the plans would work. 
 Nothing could have been worse, however, in the 
 way of a small domestic tragedy, than the event 
 itself when it finally came off. 
 
 Cyril knocked. "What do you want?" came 
 205 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 from within, in tones that breathed vexation 
 at being interrupted. 
 
 "Knock again!" whispered Mrs. Lord. "Fa- 
 ther does n't remember that it 's his birthday, 
 and he does n't know that it's you knocking." 
 
 Cyril knocked again timidly, but at the first 
 sound of his father's irritable voice as he rose 
 hurriedly from his desk, the boy turned and fled 
 through the kitchen to the shed. 
 
 Olive held the fort, picture in hand. 
 
 "It's your birthday, father," she said. 
 "There's a cake for supper, and here's my pre- 
 sent." There was no love in the child's voice. 
 Her heart, filled with passionate sympathy for 
 Cyril, had lost all zest for its task, and she 
 handed her gift to her father with tightly closed 
 lips and heaving breast. 
 
 "All right; I'm much obliged, but I wish you 
 would not knock at this door when I am writ- 
 ing, — I 've told you that before. Tell your 
 mother I can't come to supper to-night, but to 
 send me a tray, please!" 
 
 As he closed the door Olive saw him lay the 
 picture on a table, never looking at it as he 
 crossed the room to one of the great book-cases 
 that lined the walls. 
 
 Mrs. Lord had by this time disappeared for- 
 lornly from the upper hall. Olive, aged ten, 
 
 206 
 
Cradle Gifts 
 
 walked up the stairs in a state of mind ferocious 
 in its anger .^Entering her mother's room she 
 tore the crimson ribbon from her hair and began 
 to unbutton her dress. " I hate him ! I hate him ! " 
 she cried, stamping her foot. "I will never 
 knock at his door again! I'd like to take Cyril 
 and run away! I'll get the birthday cake and 
 fling it into the pond; nothing shall stop me!" 
 Then, seeing her mother's white face, she wailed, 
 as she flung herself on the bed: "Oh, mother, 
 mother, — why did you ever let him come to 
 live with us? Did we have to have him for a 
 father? Could n't you help it, mother?" 
 
 Mrs. Lord grew paler, put her hand to her 
 heart, wavered, caught herself, wavered again, 
 and fell into the great chair by the window. 
 Her eyes closed, and Olive, frightened by the 
 apparent effect of her words, ran down the back 
 stairs and summoned the cook. When she 
 returned, panting and breathless, her mother 
 was sitting quite quietly by the window, look- 
 ing out at the cedars. 
 
 "It was only a sudden pain, dear! I am all 
 well again. Nothing is really the matter, Bridget. 
 Mr. Lord will not be down to supper; spread a 
 tray for him, please," 
 
 "I'd like to spread a tray for him at the bot- 
 tom of the Red Sea; that's where he belongs!" 
 
 207 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 muttered Bridget, as she descended to the 
 kitchen to comfort Cyril. 
 
 "Was it my fault, mother?" asked Olive, 
 bending over her anxiously. 
 
 Her mother drew the child's head down and 
 leaned her own against it feebly. "No, dear," 
 she sighed. "It's nobody's fault, unless it's 
 mine!" 
 
 "Is the pain gone?" 
 
 "Quite gone, dear." 
 
 Nevertheless the pain was to prove the final 
 wrench to a heart that had been on the verge 
 of breaking for many a year, and it was not long 
 before Olive and Cyril were motherless. 
 
 Mr. Lord did not have the slightest objection 
 to the growing intimacy between his children 
 and the new family in the Yellow House, so 
 long as. he was not disturbed by it, and so long 
 as it cost him nothing. They had strict orders 
 not to play with certain of their village acquaint- 
 ances, Mr. Lord believing himself to be an 
 aristocrat; the fact being that he was almost 
 destitute of human sympathy, and to make a 
 neighbor of him you would have had to begin 
 with his grandfather and work for three gener- 
 ations. He had seen Nancy and Gilbert at the 
 gates of his place, and he had passed Mrs. Carey 
 in one of his infrequent walks to the post-office. 
 
 208 
 
Cradle Gifts 
 
 She was not a person to pass without mental 
 comment, and Mr. Lord instantly felt himself 
 in the presence of an equal, an unusual fact in 
 his experience; he would not have known a su- 
 perior if he had met one ever so often ! 
 
 "A very tine, unusual woman," he thought. 
 "She accounts for that handsome, manly boy. 
 I wish he could knock some spirit into Cyril!" 
 
 The process of "knocking spirit" into a boy 
 would seem to be inconsistent with educational 
 logic, but by very different methods, Gilbert 
 had certainly given Cyril a trifling belief in him- 
 self, and Mother Carey was gradually win- 
 ning him to some sort of self-expression by the 
 warmth of her frequent welcomes and the de- 
 lightful faculty she possessed of making him feel 
 at ease/ 
 
 "Come, come!" said the petrels to the molly- 
 mocks in " Water Babies." "This young gentle- 
 man is going to Shiny Wall. He is a plucky one 
 to have gone so far. Give the little chap a cast 
 over the ice-pack for Mother Carey's sake." 
 
 Gilbert was delighted, in a new place, to find a 
 boy friend of his own age, and Cyril's speedy at- 
 tachment gratified his pride. Gilbert was doing 
 well these summer months. The unceasing ac- 
 tivity, the authority given him by his mother 
 and sisters, his growing proficiency in all kinds 
 
 209 
 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 of skilled labor, as he " puttered " about with Osh 
 Popham or Bill Harmon in house and barn and 
 garden, all this pleased his enterprising nature. 
 Only one anxiety troubled his mother; his unre- 
 signed and mutinous attitude about exchanging 
 popular and fashionable Westover for Beulah 
 Academy, which seat of learning he regarded 
 with unutterable scorn. He knew that there was 
 apparently no money to pay Westover fees, but 
 he was still child enough to feel that it could be 
 found, somewhere, if properly searched for. He 
 even considered the education of Captain Carey's 
 eldest son an emergency vital enough to make 
 it proper to dip into the precious five thousand 
 dollars which was yielding them a part of their 
 slender annual income. Once, when Gilbert was 
 a little boy, he had put his shoulder out of 
 joint, and to save time his mother took him at 
 once to the doctor's. He was suffering, but still 
 strong enough to walk. They had to climb a 
 hilly street, the child moaning with pain, his 
 mother soothing and encouraging him as they 
 went on. Suddenly he whimpered: "Oh! if this 
 had only happened to Ellen or Joanna or Addy 
 or Nancy, I could have borne it so much better! " 
 There was a good deal of that small boy left in 
 Gilbert still, and he endured best the economies 
 that fell on the feminine members of the family. 
 
 210 
 
Cradle Gifts 
 
 It was the very end of August, and although 
 school opened the first Monday in September, 
 Mrs. Carey was not certain whether Gilbert 
 would walk into the old-fashioned, white painted 
 academy with the despised Beulah "hayseeds," 
 or whether he would make a scene, and author- 
 ity would have to be used. 
 
 "I declare, Gilly!" exclaimed Mother Carey 
 one night, after an argument on the subject; "one 
 would imagine the only course in life open to a 
 boy was to prepare at Westover and go to col- 
 lege afterwards ! Yet you may take a list of the 
 most famous men in America, and I dare say 
 you will find half of them came from schools like 
 Beulah Academy or infinitely poorer ones. I 
 don't mean the millionaires alone. I mean the 
 merchants and engineers and surgeons and poets 
 and authors and statesmen. Go ahead and try to 
 stamp your school in some way, Gilly ! — don't 
 sit down feebly and wait for it to stamp you!" 
 
 This was all very well as an exhibition of spirit 
 on Mother Carey's part, but it had been a very 
 hard week. Gilbert was sulky; Peter had had a 
 touch of tonsilitis; Nancy was faltering at the 
 dishwashing and wishing she were a boy; Julia 
 was a perfect barnacle; Kathleen had an aching 
 tooth, and there being no dentist in the village, 
 was applying Popham remedies, — clove-chew- 
 
 211 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ing, roasted raisins, and disfiguring bread poul- 
 tices; Bill Harmon had received no reply from 
 Mr. Hamilton, and when Mother Carey went to 
 her room that evening she felt conscious of a las- 
 situde, and a sense of anxiety, deeper than for 
 months. As Gilbert went by to his own room, he 
 glanced in at her door, finding it slightly ajar. 
 She sat before her dressing table, her long hair 
 flowing over her shoulders, her head bent over 
 her two hands. His father's picture was in its 
 accustomed place, and he heard her say as she 
 looked at it: "Oh, my dear, my dear! I am so 
 careworn, so troubled, so discouraged! Gilbert 
 needs you, and so do I, more than tongue can 
 tell!" The voice was so low that it was almost 
 a whisper, but it reached Gilbert's ears, and 
 there was a sob strangled in it that touched his 
 heart. 
 
 The boy tiptoed softly into his room and sat 
 down on his bed in the moonlight. 
 
 "Dear old Mater!" he thought. "It's no go! 
 I 've got to give up Westover and college and all 
 and settle down into a country bumpkin! No 
 fellow could see his mother look like that, and 
 speak like that, and go his own gait; he 's just 
 got to go hers!" 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Carey had put out the lamp 
 and lay quietly thinking. The last words that 
 
 212 
 
 
Cradle Gifts 
 
 floated through her mind as she sank to sleep 
 were those of a half -forgotten verse, learned, she 
 could not say how many years before : — 
 
 You can glad your child or grieve it! 
 You can trust it or deceive it; 
 
 When all 's done 
 
 Beneath God's sun 
 You can only love and leave it. 
 
XXIII 
 
 NEARING SHINY WALL 
 
 Another person presumably on the way to 
 Shiny Wall and Peacepool, but putting small 
 energy into the journey, was that mass of posi- 
 tively glaring virtues, Julia Carey. More than 
 one fairy must have been forgotten when Julia's 
 christening party came off. No heart-to-heart 
 talk in the twilight had thus far produced any 
 obvious effect. She had never, even when very 
 young, experienced a desire to sit at the feet of 
 superior wisdom, always greatly preferring a 
 chair of her own. She seldom did wrong, in her 
 own opinion, because the moment she enter- 
 tained an idea it at once became right, her van- 
 ity serving as a pair of blinders to keep her from 
 seeing the truth. The doctors did not permit 
 any one to write to poor Allan Carey, so that 
 Julia's heart could not be softened by continual 
 communication with her invalid father, who, 
 with Gladys Ferguson, constituted the only tri- 
 bunal she was willing to recognize. Her con- 
 sciousness of superiority to the conditions that 
 surrounded her, her love of luxury, the silken 
 selfishness with which she squirmed out of un- 
 
 214 
 
Nearing Shiny Wall 
 
 pleasant duties, these made her an unlikable and 
 undesirable housemate, and that these faults 
 could exist with what Nancy called her "ever- 
 lasting stained-glass attitude' ' made it difficult 
 for Mother Carey to maintain a harmonious fam- 
 ily circle. It was an outburst of Nancy's impetu- 
 ous temper that Mrs. Carey had always secretly 
 dreaded, but after all it was poor Kathleen who 
 precipitated an unforgettable scene which left an 
 influence behind it for many months. 
 
 The morning after Mother Carey's interview 
 with Gilbert she looked up as her door was 
 pushed open, and beheld Julia, white and rigid 
 with temper, standing on the threshold. 
 
 "What is the matter, child?" exclaimed her 
 aunt, laying down her work in alarm. 
 
 Close behind Julia came Kathleen, her face 
 swollen with tears, her expression full of unut- 
 terable woe. 
 
 Julia's lips opened almost automatically as she 
 said slowly and with bitter emphasis, "Aunt 
 Margaret, is it true, as Kathleen says, that my 
 father has all your money and some of Uncle 
 Peter's?" 
 
 Something snapped in Mother Carey! One 
 glance at Kathleen showed only too well that she 
 had committed the almost unpardonable sin of 
 telling Julia what had been carefully and ten- 
 
 215 
 
Mother Caret's Chickens 
 
 derly kept from her. Before she could answer, 
 Kathleen had swept past Julia and flung herself 
 on the floor near her mother. 
 
 "Oh, mother, I can't say anything that will 
 ever make you understand. Julia knows, she 
 knows in her heart, what she said that provoked 
 me! She does nothing but grumble about the 
 work, and how^f ew dresses we have, and what a 
 drudge she is, and what common neighbors we 
 have, and how Miss Tewksbury would pity her 
 if she knew all, and how Uncle Allan would suffer 
 if he could see his daughter living such a life! 
 And this morning my head ached and my tooth 
 ached and I was cross, and all at once something 
 leaped out of my mouth!" 
 
 "Tell her what you said," urged Julia inexor- 
 ably. 
 
 Sobs choked Kathleen's voice. "I said — I 
 said — oh! how can I tell it! I said, if her father 
 had n't lost so much of my father's and my mo- 
 ther's money w T e should n't have been so poor, 
 any of us." 
 
 " Kathleen, how could you ! " cried her mother. 
 
 If Julia wished to precipitate a tempest she 
 had succeeded, and her face showed a certain se- 
 date triumph. 
 
 "Oh! mother! don't give me up; don't give me 
 up!" wailed Kathleen. "It was n't me that said 
 
 216 
 
Nearing Shiny Wall 
 
 it, it was somebody else that I did n't know lived 
 inside of me. I don't expect you to forgive it or 
 forget it, Julia, but if you '11 only try, just a little 
 bit, I '11 show you how sorry I feel. I 'd cut my- 
 self and make it bleed, I 'd go to prison, if I could 
 get back to where I was before I said it! Oh! 
 what shall I do, mother, if you look at me like 
 that again or say 'How could you!'" 
 
 There was no doubting Kathleen's remorse; 
 even Julia saw that. 
 
 "Did she tell the truth, Aunt Margaret?" she 
 repeated. 
 
 "Come here, Julia, and sit by me. It is true 
 that your Uncle Peter and I have both put money 
 into your father's business, and it is true that he 
 has not been able to give it back to us, and per- 
 haps may never do so. There is just enough left 
 to pay your poor father's living expenses, but we 
 trust his honor; we are as sorry for him as we can 
 be, and we love him dearly. Kathleen meant 
 nothing but that your father has been unfortu- 
 nate and we all have to abide by the conse- 
 quences; but I am amazed that my daughter 
 should have so forgotten herself as to speak of it 
 to you!" (Renewed sobs from the prostrate 
 Kathleen). 
 
 "Especially," said Julia, "when, as Gladys 
 Ferguson says, I have n't anybody in the world 
 
 217 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 but you, to turn to in my trouble. I am a father- 
 less girl" (her voice quivered here), "and I am a 
 guest in your house." 
 
 Mrs. Carey's blood rose a little as she looked 
 at poor Kitty's shaken body and streaming eyes, 
 and Julia's unforgiving face. "You are wrong 
 there, Julia. [I fail to see why you should not take 
 your full share of our misfortunes, and suffer as 
 much as we, from our too small income. It is not 
 our fault, it is not yours. You are not a privi- 
 leged guest, you are one of the family. If you are 
 fatherless just now, my children are fatherless 
 forever; yet you have not made one single burden 
 lighter by joining our forces. You have been an 
 outsider, instead of putting yourself loyally into 
 the breach, and working with us heart to heart. 
 I welcomed you with open arms and you have 
 made my life harder, much harder, than it was be- 
 fore your coming. To protect you I have had to 
 discipline my own children continually, and all 
 the time you were putting their tempers to quite 
 unnecessary tests! I am not extenuating Kath- 
 leen, but I merely say you have no right to be- 
 have as you do. Y~ou are thirteen years old, quite 
 old enough to make up your mind whether you 
 wish to be loved by anybody or not; at present 
 you are not!" 
 
 Never had the ears of the Paragon heard such 
 218 
 
Nearing Shiny Wall 
 
 disagreeably plain speech. She was not inclined 
 to tears, but moisture began to appear in her eyes 
 and she looked as though a shower were immi- 
 nent. Aunt Margaret was magnificent in her 
 wrath, and though Julia feared, she admired her. 
 Not to be loved, if that really were to be her lot, 
 rather terrified Julia. She secretly envied Nancy's 
 unconscious gift of drawing people to her in- 
 stantly; men, women, children, — dogs and 
 horses, for that matter. She never noticed that 
 Nancy's heart ran out to meet everybody, and 
 that she was overflowing with vitality and joy 
 and sympathy; on the contrary, she considered 
 the tribute of affection paid to Nancy as a part 
 of Nancy's luck. Virtuous, conscientious, intel- 
 ligent, and well-dressed as she felt herself to be, 
 she emphatically did not wish to be disliked, and 
 it was a complete surprise to her that she had not 
 been a successful Carey chicken. 
 
 "Gladys Ferguson always loved me," she ex- 
 postulated after a brief silence, and there was a 
 quiver in her voice. 
 
 "Then either Gladys has a remarkable gift of 
 loving, or else you are a different Julia in her com- 
 pany," remarked Mother Carey, quietly, raising 
 Julia's astonishment and perturbation to an im- 
 measurable height. 
 
 "Now, Kathleen," continued Mother Carey, 
 219 
 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "Mrs. Godfrey has often asked you to spend a 
 week with Elsie, and you can go to Charlestown 
 on the afternoon train. Go away from Julia and 
 forget everything but that you have done wrong 
 and you must find a way to repair it. I hope 
 Julia will learn while you are away to make it 
 easier for you to be courteous and amiable. There 
 is a good deal in the Bible, Julia, about the sin of 
 causing your brother to offend. Between that 
 sin and Kathleen's offence, there is little, in my 
 mind, to choose!" 
 
 " Yes, there is ! " cried Kathleen. " I am much, 
 much worse than Julia. Father could n't bear to 
 know that I had hurt Julia's feelings and hurt 
 yours too. I was false to father, and you, and 
 Uncle Allan, and Julia. Nothing can be said for 
 me, nothing I I am so ashamed of myself that I 
 shall never get over it in the world. Oh, Julia, 
 could you shake hands with me, just to show me 
 you know how I despise myself?" 
 
 Julia shook hands considerably less like a 
 slug or a limpet than usual, and sohiething very 
 queer and unexpected happened when her hand 
 met poor Kitty's wet, feverish little paw and she 
 heard the quiver in her voice. She suddenly 
 stooped and kissed her cousin, quite without 
 intention. Kathleen returned the salute with 
 grateful, pathetic warmth, and then the two fell 
 
 220 
 
Nearing Shiny Wall 
 
 on Mother Carey's neck to be kissed and cried 
 over for a full minute. 
 
 "I '11 go to the doctor and have my ugly tooth 
 pulled out," exclaimed Kathleen, wiping her 
 eyes. "If it had n't been for that I never could 
 have been so horrible!" 
 
 "That would be all very well for once," an- 
 swered her mother with a tired smile, "but if 
 you pluck out a supposed offending member 
 every time you do something wrong, I fear you 
 will not have many left when you are an old 
 lady!" 
 
 "Mother!" said Kathleen, almost under her 
 breath and not daring to look up, "could n't I 
 stay at home from Gharlestown and show you 
 and Julia, here, how sorry I am?" 
 
 "Yes, let her, Aunt Margaret, and then I can 
 have a chance to try too," pleaded Julia. 
 
 Had the heavens fallen? Had the Paragon, 
 the Pink of Propriety and Perfection, confessed 
 a fault? Had the heart of the smug one, the prig, 
 melted, and did she feel at last her kinship to 
 the Carey chickens? Had she suffered a real 
 grievance, the first amongst numberless deeds of 
 tenderness, and having resented it like an "old 
 beast," forgiven it like a " new " one? It certainly 
 seemed as if Mother Carey that week were at her 
 
 221 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 old trade of making things make themselves. 
 Gilbert, Kathleen, and Julia had all fought their 
 way under the ice-pack and were getting a glimpse 
 of Shiny Wall. 
 
XXIV 
 
 A LETTER FROM GERMANY 
 
 Mother Carey walked down the village street 
 one morning late in August, while Peter, milk 
 pail in hand, was running by her side and mak- 
 ing frequent excursions off the main line of travel. 
 Beulah looked enchanting after a night of rain, 
 and the fields were greener than they had been 
 since haying time. Unless Mr. Hamilton were 
 away from his consular post on a vacation some- 
 where on the Continent, he should have received, 
 and answered, Bill Harmon's letter before this, 
 she was thinking, as she looked at the quiet 
 beauty of the scene that had so endeared itself 
 to her in a few short months. 
 
 Mrs. Popham had finished her morning's work 
 and was already sitting at her drawing-in frame 
 in the open doorway, making a very purple rose 
 with a very scarlet centre. 
 
 "Will you come inside, Mis' Carey?" she asked 
 hospitably, "or do you want Lallie Joy to set 
 you a chair on the grass, same as you had last 
 time?" 
 
 "I always prefer the grass, Mrs. Popham," 
 smiled Mrs. Carey. " As it 's the day for the fish- 
 
 223 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 man to come I thought we 'd like an extra quart 
 of milk for chowder." . 
 
 "I only hope he'll make out to come," was 
 Mrs. Popham's curt response. "If I set out to 
 be a fishman, I vow I'd be one! Mr. Tubbs stays 
 to home whenever he 's hayin', or his wife 's sick, 
 or it 's stormy, or the children want to go to the 
 circus!" 
 
 Mrs. Carey laughed. "That's true; but as 
 your husband reminded me last week, when Mr. 
 Tubbs disappointed us, his fish is always fresh- 
 caught, and good." 
 
 "Oh! of course Mr. Popham would speak up 
 for him!" returned his wife. "I don't see myself 
 as it makes much diff'rence whether his fish is 
 good or bad, if he stays to home with it ! Mebbe 
 I look on the dark side a little mite; I can't 
 hardly help it, livin' with Mr. Popham, and he 
 so hopeful." 
 
 "He keeps us all very merry at the Yellow 
 House," Mrs. Carey ventured. 
 
 "Yes, he would," remarked Mrs. Popham 
 drily, "but you don't git it stiddy; hopefulness 
 at meals, hopefulness evenin's, an' hopefulness 
 nights ! — one everlastin' stiddy stream of hope- 
 fulness! He was jest so as a boy; always lookin' 
 on the bright side whether there was any or not. 
 His mother 'n' father got tumble sick of it; so 
 
 224 
 
A Letter from Germany 
 
 much sunshine in the house made a continual 
 drouth, so old Mis' Popham used to say. For 
 her part, she said, she liked to think that, once 
 in a while, there was a cloud that was a first- 
 class cloud; a thick, black cloud, clean through 
 to the back! She was tired to death lookin' for 
 Ossian's silver linin's ! Lallie Joy 's real moody 
 like me; I s'pose it's only natural, livin' with 
 a father who never sees anything but good, no 
 matter which way he looks. There's two things 
 I trust I shan't hear any more when I git to 
 heaven, — that's 6 Cheer up Maria!' an' 'It's all 
 for the best ! ' As for Mr. Popham, he says any 
 place '11 be heaven to him so long as I ain't there, 
 callin' ' Hurry up Ossian ! ' so we have it, back 
 an' forth!" 
 
 "It's a wonderful faculty, seeing the good in 
 everything," sighed Mrs. Carey. 
 
 "Wonderful tiresome," returned Mrs. Pop- 
 ham, "though I will own up it's Ossian's only 
 fault, and he can't see his own misfortunes any 
 clearer than he can see those of other folks. His 
 new colt run away with him last week and stove 
 the mowin' machine all to pieces. 6 Never mind, 
 Maria!' he says, 'it'll make fust-rate gear for 
 a windmill!' He's out in the barn now, fussin' 
 over it; you can hear him singin'. They was all 
 here practicin' for the Methodist concert last 
 
 225 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 night, an' I did n't sleep a wink, the tunes kep' 
 a-runnin' in my head so! They always git 
 Ossian to sing 'Fly like a youthful hart or roe, 
 over the hills where spices grow,' an' I tell him 
 he's too old; youthful harts an' roes don't fly 
 over the hills wearin' spectacles, I tell him, but 
 he '11 go right on singin' it till they have to carry 
 him up on the platform in a wheeled chair!" 
 
 "You go to the Congregational church, don't 
 you, Mrs. Popham?" asked Mrs. Carey. "I've 
 seen Lallie and Digby at Sunday-school." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Popham is a Methodist and I'm a 
 Congregationalist, but I say let the children 
 go where they like, so I always take them with 
 me." 
 
 Mrs. Carey was just struggling to conceal her 
 amusement at this religious flexibility on Mrs. 
 Popham's part, when she espied Nancy flying 
 down the street, bareheaded, waving a bit of 
 paper in the air. 
 
 "Are you 'most ready to come home, Muddy? " 
 she called, without coming any nearer. 
 
 "Yes, quite ready, now Lallie has brought 
 the milk. Good morning, Mrs. Popham; the 
 children want me for some new enterprise." 
 
 "You give yourself most too much to 'em," 
 expostulated Mrs. Popham; "you don't take 
 no vacations." 
 
 226 
 
A Letter from Germany 
 
 "Ah, well, you see 'myself is all I have to 
 give them," answered Mrs. Carey, taking Peter 
 and going to meet Nancy. 
 
 "Mother," said that young person breath- 
 lessly, "I must tell you what I did n't tell at 
 the time, for fear of troubling you. I wrote to 
 Mr. Hamilton by the same post that Mr. Har- 
 mon did. Bill is so busy and such a poor writer 
 I thought he would n't put the matter nicely 
 at all, and I did n't want you, with all your 
 worries, brought into it, so I wrote to the Con- 
 sul myself, and kept a copy to show you exactly 
 what I said. I have been waiting at the gate for 
 the letters every day for a week, but this morn- 
 ing Gilbert happened to be there and shouted, 
 'A [letter from Germany for you, Nancy!' So 
 all of them are wild with curiosity; Olive and 
 Cyril too, but I wanted you to open and read 
 it first because it may be full of awful blows." 
 
 Mrs. Carey sat down on the side of a green 
 bank between the Pophams' corner and the 
 Yellow House and opened the letter, — with 
 some misgivings, it must be confessed. Nancy 
 sat close beside her and held one edge of the 
 wide sheets, closely filled. 
 
 "Why, he has written you a volume, Nancy!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Carey. " It must be the complete 
 story of his life! How long was yours to him?" 
 
 227 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "I don't remember; pretty long; because 
 there seemed to be so much to tell, to show him 
 how we loved the house, and why we could n't 
 spend Cousin Ann's money and move out in a 
 year or two, and a lot about ourselves, to let 
 him see we were nice and agreeable and respect- 
 able." 
 
 "I'm not sure all that was strictly necessary," 
 commented Mrs. Carey with some trepidation. 
 
 This was Lemuel Hamilton's letter, dated 
 from the office of the American Consul in 
 Breslau, Germany. 
 
 My dear Miss Nancy, — As your letter to me was a 
 purely "business" communication I suppose I ought to be- 
 gin my reply: "Dear Madam, Your esteemed favor was 
 received on the sixth inst. and contents noted," but I shall 
 do nothing of the sort. I think you must have guessed that 
 I have two girls of my own, for you wrote to me just as if 
 we were sitting together side by side, like two friends, not a 
 bit as landlord and tenant. 
 
 Mother Carey's eyes twinkled. She well 
 knew Nancy's informal epistolary style, and 
 her facile, instantaneous friendliness ! 
 
 Every word in your letter interested me, pleased me, 
 touched me. I feel that I know you all, from the dear mo- 
 ther who sits in the centre — 
 
 What does he mean by that?" 
 
 228 
 
A Letter from* Germany 
 
 "I sent him a snap shot of the family." 
 
 "Nancy! What for?" 
 
 "So that he could see what we were like; so 
 that he'd know we were fit to be lifelong ten- 
 ants!" 
 
 Mrs. Carey turned resignedly to the letter 
 again. 
 
 From the dear mother who sits in the centre, to the lov- 
 able little Peter who looks as if he were all that you describe 
 him ! I was about his age when I went to the Yellow House 
 to spend a few years. Old Granny Hamilton had lived there 
 all her life, and when my mother, who was a widow, was 
 seized with a serious illness she took me home with her for 
 a long visit. She was never well enough to go away, so my 
 early childhood was passed in Beulah, and I only left the 
 village when I was ten years old, and an orphan. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" interpolated Nancy. "It seems, 
 lately, as if nobody had both father and mother ! " 
 
 Granny Hamilton died soon after my mother, and I 
 hardly know who lived in the house for the next thirty years. 
 It was my brother's property, and a succession of families 
 occupied it until it fell to me in my turn. I have no happy 
 memories connected with it, so you can go ahead and make 
 them for yourselves. My only remembrance is of the west 
 bedroom, where my mother lived and died. 
 
 "The west bedroom; that isn't the painted 
 one; no, of course it is the one where I sleep," 
 
 229 
 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 said Mrs. Carey. "The painted one must always 
 have been the guest chamber." 
 
 She could only move from bed to chair, and her greatest 
 pleasure was to sit by the sunset window and look at the 
 daisies and buttercups waving in that beautiful sloping 
 stretch of field with the pine woods beyond. After the 
 grass was mown, and that field was always left till the last 
 for her sake, she used to sit there and wait for Queen 
 Anne's lace to come up; its tall stems and delicate white 
 wheels nodding among the grasses. 
 
 "Oh! I do like him!" exclaimed Nancy im- 
 petuously. "Can't you see him, mother? It's 
 so nice of him to remember that they always 
 mowed the hayfield last for his mother's sake, 
 and so nice of him to think of Queen Anne's lace 
 all these years!" 
 
 Now as to business, your Cousin Ann is quite right when 
 she tells you that you cught not to put expensive improve- 
 ments on another person's property lest you be disturbed 
 in your tenancy. That sort of cousin is always right, what- 
 ever she says. Mine was not named Ann; she was Emma, 
 but the principle is the same. 
 
 "Nancy!" asked Mrs. Carey, looking away 
 from the letter again, "did you say anything 
 about your Cousin Ann?" 
 
 "Yes, some little thing or other; for it was her 
 money that we could n't spend until we knew 
 
 230 
 
A Letter from Germany 
 
 we could stay in the house. I did n't describe 
 her, of course, to Mr. Hamilton ; I just told him 
 she was very businesslike, and yes, I remember 
 now, I told him you said she was a very fine 
 person; that's about all. But you see how clever 
 he is! he just has 'instinks,' as Mr. Popham says, 
 and you don't have to tell him much about any- 
 thing." 
 
 If you are intending to bring the water from the well into 
 the house and put a large stove in the cellar to warm some 
 of the upper rooms; if you are papering and painting inside, 
 and keeping the place in good condition, you are preserv- 
 ing my property and even adding to its value; so under the 
 circumstances I could not think of accepting any rent in 
 money. 
 
 "No rent! Not even the sixty dollars!" ex- 
 claimed Nancy. 
 
 "Look; that is precisely what he says." 
 "There never was such a dear since the world 
 began!" cried Nancy joyously. "Oh! do read 
 on; there's a lot more, and the last may contra- 
 dict the first." 
 
 Shall I tell you what more the Careys may do for me, 
 they who have done so much already? 
 
 "So much!" quoted Nancy with dramatic 
 emphasis. "Oh, he is a dear!" 
 
 231 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 My son Tom, when he went down to Beulah before start- 
 ing for China, visited the house and at my request put away 
 my mother's picture safely. He is a clever boy, and instead 
 of placing the thing in an attic where it might be injured, 
 he tucked it away, — where do you think, — in the old 
 brick oven of the room that is now, I suppose, your dining 
 room. It is a capital hiding-place, for there had been no fire 
 there for fifty years, nor ever will be again. I have other 
 portraits of her with me, on this side of the water. Please 
 remove the one I speak of from its wrappings and hang it 
 over the mantel shelf in the west bedroom. 
 
 "My bedroom! I shall love to have it there," 
 said Mother Carey. 
 
 Then, once a year, on my mother's birthday, — it is the 
 fourth of July and an easy date to remember, — will my 
 little friend Miss Nancy, or any of the other Careys, if she 
 is absent, pick a little nosegay of daisies and buttercups 
 (perhaps there will even be a bit of early Queen Anne's lace) 
 and put it in a vase under my mother's picture? That shall 
 be the annual rent paid for the Yellow House to Lemuel 
 Hamilton by the Careys ! 
 
 Tears of joy sprang to the eyes of emotional 
 Nancy. She rose to her feet and paced the 
 greensward excitedly. 
 
 "Oh, mother, I didn't think there could be 
 another such man after knowing father and the 
 Admiral. Is n't it all as wonderful as a fairy 
 story?" 
 
A Letter from Germany 
 
 "There's a little more; listen, dear." 
 
 As to the term of your occupancy, the Careys may have 
 the Yellow House until the day of my death, unless by 
 some extraordinary chance my son Tom should ever want 
 it as a summer home. 
 
 "Oh, dear! there comes the dreadful 'unless'! 
 6 My son Tom' is our only enemy, then!" said 
 Nancy darkly. 
 
 "He is in China, at all events," her mother 
 remarked cheerfully. 
 
 Tom is the only one who ever had a bit of sentiment about 
 Beulah, and he was always unwilling that the old place 
 should be occupied by strangers. The curious thing about 
 the matter is that you and yours do not seem to be strang- 
 ers to me and mine. Do you know, dear little Miss Nancy, 
 what brought the tears to my eyes in your letter? The in- 
 cident of your father's asking what you could do to thank 
 the Yellow House for the happy hour it had given you on 
 that summer day long ago, and the planting of the crimson 
 rambler by the side of the portico. I have sent your pic- 
 ture tying up the rose, — and it was so charming I was loath 
 to let it go, — with your letter, and the snap shot of the 
 family group, all out to my son Tom in China. He will 
 know then why I have let the house, to whom, and all the 
 attendant circumstances. Trust him never to disturb you 
 when he sees how you love the old place. The planting of 
 that crimson rambler will fix Tom, for he *s a romantic 
 boy. 
 
 233 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "The planting of the rose was a heavenly in- 
 spiration if it does ' fix Tom ! ' We '11 call Tom the 
 Chinese Enemy. No, we'll call him the Yellow 
 Peril," laughed Nancy in triumph. 
 
 I am delighted with the sample of paper you have chosen 
 for the front hall. 
 
 "I don't see why you did n't go over to Ger- 
 many yourself, Nancy, and take a trunk of 
 samples!" cried Mrs. Carey, wiping the tears 
 of merriment from her eyes. "I can't think 
 what the postage on your letter must have 
 been." 
 
 "Ten cents," Nancy confessed, "but wasn't 
 it worth it, Muddy? — Come, read the last few 
 lines, and then we '11 run all the way home to tell 
 the others." 
 
 Send me anything more, at any time, to give me an idea 
 of the delightful things you are doing. I shall be proud if 
 you honor me with an occasional letter. Pray give my re- 
 gards to your mother, whom I envy, and all the "stormy 
 petrels," whom I envy too. 
 Believe me, dear Miss Nancy, 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Lemuel Hamilton. 
 
 "I can't remember why I told him about 
 Mother Carey's chickens," said Nancy reflect- 
 
 234 
 
A Letter from Germany 
 
 ively. "It just seemed to come in naturally. 
 The Yellow Peril must be rather nice, as well as 
 his father, even if he is our enemy. That was 
 clever of him, putting his grandmother in the 
 brick oven!" And here Nancy laughed, and 
 laughed again, thinking how her last remark 
 would sound if overheard by a person unac- 
 quainted with the circumstances. 
 
 "A delightful, warm, kind, friendly letter," 
 said Mother Carey, folding it with a caressing 
 hand. "I wish your father could have read it." 
 
 "He does n't say a word about his children," 
 and Nancy took the sheets and scanned them 
 again. 
 
 "You evidently gave him the history of your 
 whole family, but he confines himself to his own 
 life." 
 
 "He mentions 'my son Tom' frequently 
 enough, but there's not a word of Mrs. Hamil- 
 ton." 
 
 "No, but there's no reason there should be, 
 especially!" 
 
 "If he loved her he could n't keep her out," 
 said Nancy shrewdly. " She just is n't in the story 
 at all. Could any of us write a chronicle of any 
 house we ever lived in, and leave you out?" 
 
 Mrs. Carey took Nancy's outstretched hands 
 and was pulled up from the greensward. "You 
 
 235 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 have a few 'instinks' yourself, little daughter," 
 she said with a swift pat on the rosy cheek. 
 "Now, Peter, put your marbles in the pocket 
 of your blue jeans, and take the milk pail from 
 under the bushes; we must hurry or there'll be 
 no chowder." 
 
 As they neared Garden Fore-and-Aft the 
 group of children rushed out to meet them, 
 Kitty in advance. 
 
 "The fish man did n't come," she said, "and 
 it's long past his time, so there's no hope; but 
 Julia and I have the dinner all planned. There 
 was n't enough of it to go round anyway, so 
 we've asked Olive and Cyril to stay, and we've 
 set the table under the great maple, — do you 
 care?" 
 
 "Not a bit; we'll have a real jollification, 
 because Nancy has some good news to tell you!" 
 
 "The dinner isn't quite appropriate for a 
 jollification," Kitty observed anxiously. "Is 
 the news good enough to warrant opening a jar 
 or a can of anything?" 
 
 "Open all that doth hap to be closed," cried 
 Nancy, embracing Olive excitedly. "Light the 
 bonfires on the encroaching hills. Set casks 
 a-tilt, and so forth." 
 
 "It's the German letter!" said Gilbert at a 
 venture. 
 
 236 
 
A Letter from Germany 
 
 "What is the dinner, Kitty?" Mother Carey 
 asked. 
 
 "New potatoes and string beans from the aft 
 garden. Stale bread made into milk toast to 
 be served as a course. Then, not that it has 
 anything to do with the case, but just to give 
 a style to the meal, Julia has made a salad out 
 of the newspaper." 
 
 Nancy created a diversion by swooning on the 
 grass; a feat which had given her great fame in 
 charades. 
 
 "It was only the memory of Julia's last news- 
 paper salad!" she murmured when the usual 
 restoratives had been applied. "Prithee, poppet, 
 what hast dropped into the dish to-day?" 
 
 Julia was laughing too much to be wholly 
 intelligible, but read from a scrap in her apron 
 pocket: "'Any fruit in season, cold beans or 
 peas, minced cucumber, English walnuts, a few 
 cubes of cold meat left from dinner, hard boiled 
 eggs in slices, flecks of ripe tomatoes and radishes 
 to perfect the color scheme, a dash of onion 
 juice, dash of paprika, dash of rich cream.' I 
 have left out the okra, the shallot, the estragon, 
 the tarragon, the endive, the hearts of artichoke, 
 the Hungarian peppers and the haricot beans 
 because we had n't any ; — do you think it will 
 make any difference, Aunt Margaret?" 
 
 237 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "It will," said Nancy oracularly, "but all to 
 the good." 
 
 "Rather a dull salad I call it," commented 
 Gilbert. "Lacks the snap of the last one. No 
 mention of boned sprats, or snails in aspic, 
 calves' foot jelly, iced humming birds, pickled 
 edelweiss, or any of those things kept habitually 
 in the cellars of families like ours. No dash of 
 Jamaica ginger or Pain-killer or sloe gin or sarsa- 
 parilla to give it piquancy. Unless Julia can find 
 a paper that gives more up-to-date advice to its 
 country subscribers, we'll have to transfer her 
 from the kitchen department to the woodshed." 
 
 Julia's whole attitude, during this discussion 
 ofjher recent culinary experiments, was indica- 
 tive of the change that was slowly taking place 
 in her point of view. The Careys had a large 
 sense of humor, from mother down as far as 
 Peter, who was still in the tadpole stage of it. 
 They chaffed one another on all occasions, for 
 the most part courteously and with entire good 
 nature. Leigh Hunt speaks of the anxiety of 
 certain persons to keep their minds quiet lest 
 any motion be clumsy, and Julia's concern had 
 been of this variety; but four or five months 
 spent in a household where mental operations, 
 if not deep, were incredibly quick, had made her 
 a little more elastic. Mother Carey had always 
 
 238 
 
A Letter from Germany 
 
 said that if Julia had any sense of humor she 
 would discover for herself what a solemn prig 
 she was, and mend her ways, and it seemed as 
 if this might be true in course of time. 
 
 "What '11 we do with all the milk?" now de- 
 manded Peter, who had carried it all the way 
 from the Pophams', and to whom it appeared 
 therefore of exaggerated importance. 
 
 "Angel boy!" cried Nancy, embracing him. 
 "The only practical member of the family! 
 What wouldst thou suggest?" 
 
 "Drink it," was the terse reply. 
 
 "And so't shall be, my liege! Fetch the 
 beaker, lackey," identifying Cyril with a royal 
 gesture. "Also crystal water from the well, 
 which by the command of our Cousin Ann will 
 speedily flow in a pipe within the castle walls. 
 There are healths to be drunk this day when we 
 assemble under the Hamilton maple, and first 
 and most loyally the health of our American 
 Consul at Breslau, Germany!" 
 
 
XXV 
 
 "FOLLOWING THE GLEAM" 
 
 If the summer months had brought many changes 
 to the dwellers in the Yellow House and the 
 House of Lords, the autumn was responsible 
 for many more. Cousin Ann's improvements 
 were set in motion and were promised to be in 
 full force before cold weather set in, and the 
 fall term at Beulah Academy had opened with 
 six new, unexpected, and interesting students. 
 Happily for the Careys and happily for Beulah, 
 the old principal, a faithful but uninspired 
 teacher, had been called to Massachusetts to fill 
 a higher position; and only a few days before 
 the beginning of the term, a young college man, 
 Ralph Thurston, fresh from Bowdoin and need- 
 ing experience, applied for and received the 
 appointment. The thrill of rapture that ran 
 like an electric current through the persons of 
 the feminine students when they beheld Ralph 
 Thurston for the first time, — dignified, schol- 
 arly, unmistakably the gentleman, — beheld him 
 mount the platform in the assembly room, and 
 knew. him for their own, this can better be 
 imagined than described ! ] He was handsome, 
 
 240 
 
Following the Gleam 
 
 he was young, he had enough hair (which 
 their principals seldom had possessed), he did 
 not wear spectacles, he had a pleasing voice, 
 and a manner of speaking that sent tremors 
 of delight up and down a thirteen-year-old 
 spine. He had a merry wit and a hearty laugh, 
 but one had only to look at him closely to feel 
 that he had borne burdens and that his attain- 
 ments had been bought with a price. He was 
 going to be difficult to please, and the girls of 
 all ages drew deep breaths of anticipation and 
 knew that they should study as never before. 
 The vice-principal, a lady of fine attainments, 
 was temporarily in eclipse, and such an astound- 
 ing love for the classics swept through young 
 Beulah that nobody could understand it. Ralph 
 Thurston taught Latin and Greek himself, but 
 parents did not at first observe the mysterious 
 connection between cause and effect. It was all 
 very young and artless and innocent; helpful 
 and stimulating too, for Thurston was no bud- 
 ding ladies' man, but a thoroughly good fellow, 
 manly enough to attract the boys and hold their 
 interest. 
 
 The entrance of the four Careys and two 
 Lords into the list of students had an inspiring 
 effect upon the whole school. So far as scholar- 
 ship was concerned they were often outstripped 
 
 241 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 by their country neighbors, but the Careys had 
 seen so much of the world that they had a great 
 deal of general culture, and the academy atmo- 
 sphere was affected by it. Olive, Nancy, and 
 Gilbert went into the highest class; Kathleen, 
 Julia, and Cyril into the one below. 
 
 ^The intimacy of Nancy and Olive was a 
 romantic and ardent one. Olive had never had 
 a real companion in her life ; Nancy's friends 
 dotted the universe wherever she had chanced 
 to live. Olive was uncommunicative, shy, and 
 stiff with all but a chosen few; Nancy was at 
 ease in all assemblies. It was Nancy's sympa- 
 thy and enthusiasm and warmth that attracted 
 Olive Lord, and it was the combination of 
 Olive's genius and her need of love, that held 
 Nancy. 
 
 Never were two human creatures more unlike 
 in their ways of thought. Olive had lived in 
 Beulah seven years, and knew scarcely any one 
 because of her father's eccentricities and his 
 indifference to the world; but had you immured 
 Nancy in a convent she would have made a 
 large circle of acquaintances from the window 
 of her cell, before a month passed over her head. 
 She had an ardent interest in her fellow crea- 
 tures, and whenever they strayed from the strict 
 path of rectitude, she was consumed with a 
 
 242 
 
Following the Gleam 
 
 desire to set them straight. If Olive had seen 
 a drunken man lying in a ditch, ^she would 
 scarcely have looked at him, much less inquired 
 his name. Nancy would have sat by until he 
 recovered himself, if possible, or found some- 
 body to take him to his destination. As for the 
 delightful opportunity of persuading him of his 
 folly, she would have jumped at the chance 
 when she was fifteen or sixteen, but as she grew 
 older she observed a little more reticence in 
 these delicate matters, at least when she was 
 endeavoring to reform her elders. She had 
 succeeded in making young Nat Harmon stop 
 cigarette smoking, but he was privately less 
 convinced of the error of his ways than he was 
 bewitched by Nancy. She promised readily to 
 wear a blue ribbon and sit on the platform in the 
 Baptist Chapel at the Annual Meeting of the 
 Junior Temperance Eeague. On the eve of the 
 affair she even would gladly have made a speech 
 when the president begged her to do so, but the 
 horror-stricken Olive succeeded in stopping her, 
 and her mother firmly stood by Olive. 
 
 "Oh! all right; I don't care a bit about it, 
 Muddy," she answered nonchalantly. "Only 
 there is something splendid about rising from 
 a band of blue-ribboned girls and boys and 
 addressing the multitude for a great cause." 
 
 US 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "What do you know about this great cause, 
 Nancy dear, at your age?" 
 
 "Oh, not much! but you don't have to know 
 much if you say it loud and clear to the back 
 settees. I've watched how it goes! It was 
 thrilling when we gave 'Esther the Beautiful 
 Queen' in the Town Hall; when we waved our 
 hands and sang 'Haman! Haman! Long live 
 Haman!' I almost fainted with joy." 
 
 "It was very good; I liked it too; but perhaps 
 if you "faint with joy' whenever your feet touch 
 a platform, it will be more prudent for you to 
 keep away!" and Mother Carey laughed. 
 
 "Very well, madam, your will is my law! 
 When you see the youth of Beulah treading the 
 broad road that Ieadeth to destruction, and 
 looking on the wine when it is red in the cup, 
 remember that you withheld my hand and 
 voice!" 
 
 Gilbert and Cyril were much together, partic- 
 ularly after CyrilY'standing had been increased 
 in Beulah by the news that Mr. Thurston 
 thought him a remarkable mathematician and 
 perhaps the leading student in his class. Cyril 
 himself, too pale for a country boy of fourteen, 
 narrow-shouldered, silent, and timid, took this 
 unexpected fame with absolute terror, but 
 Olive's pride delighted in it and she positively 
 
 £44 
 
Following the Gleam 
 
 bloomed, in the knowledge that her brother 
 was appreciated. She herself secretly thought 
 books were rather a mistake when paints and 
 brushes were at hand, and it was no wonder 
 that she did not take high rank, seeing that 
 she painted an hour before school, and all day 
 Saturday, alternating her work on the guest 
 chamber of the Yellow House with her por- 
 trait of Nancy for Mother Carey's Christmas 
 present. 
 
 Kathleen and Julia had fallen into step and 
 were good companions. Kathleen had never 
 forgotten her own breach of good manners and 
 family loyalty; Julia always remembered the 
 passion of remorse that Kathleen felt, a remorse 
 that had colored her conduct to Julia ever since. 
 Julia was a good plodder, and Mr. Thurston 
 complimented her on the excellence of her 
 Latin recitations, when he had his wits about 
 him and could remember that she existed. He 
 never had any difficulty in remembering Nancy. 
 She was not, it must be confessed, especially 
 admirable as a verbatim et literatim "reciter." 
 Sometimes she forgot entirely what the book 
 had said on a certain topic, but she usually had 
 some original observation of her own to offer 
 by way of compromise. At first Mr. Thurston 
 thought that she was trying to conceal her lack 
 
 245 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 of real knowledge, and dazzle her instructor at 
 the same time, so that he should never discover 
 her ignorance. Later on he found where her 
 weakness and her strength lay. She adapted, in- 
 vented, modified: things naturally, — embroid- 
 ered all over her task, so to speak, and delivered 
 it in somewhat different shape from the other 
 girls. (When she was twelve she pricked her 
 finger in sewing and made a blood-stain on the 
 little white mull apron that she was making. 
 The stuff was so delicate that she did not dare 
 to attempt any cleansing process, and she was 
 in a great hurry too, so she embroidered a green 
 four ( leaf clover over the bloodstain, and all the 
 family exclaimed, "How like Nancy!") Gram- 
 mar teased Nancy, algebra and geometry routed 
 her, horse, foot, and dragoons. No room for em- 
 broidery there! Languages delighted her, map- 
 drawing bored her, and composition intoxicated 
 her, although she was better at improvising than 
 at the real task of setting down her thoughts in 
 black and white. The class chronicles and pro- 
 phecies and songs and poems would flow to her 
 inevitably, but Kathleen would be the one who 
 would give new grace and charm to them if she 
 were to read them to an audience. 
 
 HowBeulah Academy beamed, and applauded, 
 and wagged its head in pride on a certain day 
 
 246 
 
Following the Gleam 
 
 before Thanksgiving, when there were exercises 
 in the assembly room. Olive had drawn The 
 Landing of the Pilgrims on the largest of the 
 blackboards, and Nancy had written a merry 
 little story that caused great laughter and ap- 
 plause in the youthful audience. Gilbert had 
 taken part in a debate and covered himself with 
 glory, and Kathleen closed the impromptu pro- 
 gramme by reciting Tennyson's — 
 
 O young Mariner, 
 You from the haven 
 Under the sea-cliff, 
 You that are watching 
 The gray Magician 
 With eyes of wonder, . . . 
 follow the Gleam. 
 
 Great the Master, 
 And sweet the Magic, 
 When over the valley, 
 In early summers, 
 Over the mountain, 
 On human faces, 
 And all around me, 
 Moving to melody 
 Floated the Gleam. 
 
 O young Mariner, 
 Down to the haven, 
 Call your companions, 
 Launch your vessel 
 
 247 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 And crowd your canvas, 
 And, ere it vanishes 
 Over the margin, 
 After it, follow it, 
 Follow the Gleam. 
 
 Kathleen's last year's brown velveteen dis- 
 closed bronze slippers and stockings, — a novelty 
 in Beulah, — her hair fell in such curls as Beulah 
 had rarely beheld, and her voice was as sweet as 
 a thrush's note; so perhaps it is not strange that 
 the poem set a kind of fashion at the academy, 
 and "following the gleam" became a sort of text 
 by which to study and grow and live. 
 
 [Thanksgiving Day approached, and every- 
 body was praying for a flurry of snow, just 
 enough to give a zest to turkey and cranberry 
 sauce. On the twentieth it suddenly occurred to 
 Mother Carey that this typical New England 
 feast day would be just the proper time for the 
 housewarming, so the Lord children, the Pop- 
 hams, and the Harmons were all bidden to come 
 at seven o'clock in the evening. Great prepara- 
 tions ensued. Rows of Jack o' Lanterns decorated 
 the piazza, and the Careys had fewer pumpkin 
 pies in November than their neighbors, in con- 
 sequence of their extravagant inroads upon the 
 golden treasures of the aft garden. Inside were 
 a few late asters and branches of evergreen, and 
 
 248 
 
Following the Gleam 
 
 the illumination suggested that somebody had 
 been lending additional lamps and candles for 
 the occasion. The original equipment of clothes 
 possessed by the Careys on their arrival in Beu- 
 lah still held good, and looked well by lamplight, 
 so that the toilettes were fully worthy of so im- 
 portant a function. 
 
 Olive's picture of Nancy was finished, and she 
 announced the absolute impossibility of keeping 
 it until Christmas, so it reached the Yellow 
 House on Thanksgiving morning. When it was 
 unwrapped by Nancy and displayed for the first 
 time to the family, Mother Carey's lips parted, 
 her eyes opened in wonder, but no words came 
 for an instant, in the bewilderment of her mind. 
 Olive had written the title "Young April" under 
 the picture. Nancy stood on a bit of dandelion- 
 dotted turf, a budding tree in the background, 
 her arm flung over the neck of a Jersey calf. The 
 calf had sat for his portrait long before, but 
 Nancy had been added since May. Olive, by a 
 clever inspiration, had turned Nancy's face away 
 and painted her with the April breeze blowing 
 her hair across her cheek. She was not good at 
 painting features, her art was too crude, but 
 somehow the real thing was there; and the like- 
 ness to Nancy, in figure, pose, and hair, was so 
 unmistakable that her mother caught her breath. 
 
 249 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 As for the calf, he, at least, was distinctly in 
 Olive's line, and he was painted with a touch 
 of genius. 
 
 "It is better of the calf than it is of you, 
 Nancy," said Gilbert critically. 
 
 "Is n't Mr. Bossy lovely? " his sister responded 
 amiably. " Would n't he put any professional 
 tjeauty out of countenance? I am proud to be 
 painted beside him! Do you like it, Muddy 
 dear?" 
 
 "Like it?" she exclaimed, "it is wonderful! It 
 mustibe sent to Boston for criticism, and we 
 must invent some way of persuading Mr. Lord 
 to give Olive the best instruction to be had. This 
 picture is even better than anything she has 
 done in the painted chamber. I should n't won- 
 der a bit, Nancy, if little Beulah were to be very 
 proud of Olive in the years to come ! " 
 
 Nancy was transported at her mother's praise. 
 "I felt it, I knew it! I always said Olive was a 
 genius," she cried, clapping her hands. "Olive 
 is ' following the gleam ' ! Can't you feel the wind 
 blowing my hair and dress? Don't you see that 
 the calf is chewing his cud and is going to move 
 in just a minute? Olive's animals are always just 
 going to move! — Oh, Muddy dear! when you 
 see Olive nowadays, smiling and busy and happy, 
 are n't you glad you stretched your wings and 
 
 250 
 
Following the Gleam 
 
 took her under them with the rest of us? And 
 don't you think you could make a 'new beast' 
 out of Mr. Henry Lord, or is he too old a beast 
 even for Mother Carey?" 
 
XXVI 
 
 A ZOOLOGICAL FATHER 
 
 That was just what Mother Carey was wonder- 
 ing when Nancy spoke, and as the result of sev- 
 eral hours' reflection she went out for a walk just 
 before dusk and made her way towards The 
 Cedars with a package under her cloak. 
 
 She followed the long lane that led to the 
 house, and knocked at the front door rather tim- 
 idly. In her own good time Mrs. Bangs answered 
 the knock and admitted Mrs. Carey into the 
 dreariest sitting room she had ever entered. 
 
 "I am Mrs. Carey from the Hamilton house," 
 she said to Mrs. Bangs. "Will you ask Mr. Lord 
 if he will see me for a moment?" 
 
 Mrs. Bangs was stupefied at the request, for, 
 in her time, scarcely a single caller from the vil- 
 lage had crossed the threshold, although there 
 had been occasional visitors from Portland or 
 Boston. 
 
 Mrs. Carey waited a few moments, silently re- 
 garding the unequalled bareness, ugliness, and 
 cheerlessness of the room. "Olive has a sense of 
 beauty," she thought, "and Olive is sixteen; it 
 is Olive who ought to make this place different 
 
 252 
 
A Zoological Father 
 
 from what it is, and she can, unless her father is 
 the stumbling-block in the way." 
 
 [At this moment the possible stumbling-block, 
 Henry Lord, Ph.D., came in and greeted her 
 civilly. His manner was never genial, for there 
 was neither love in his heart nor warm blood in 
 his veins; but he was courteous, for he was an 
 educated fossil, of good birth and up-bringing. 
 He" had been dissecting specimens in his work- 
 room, and he looked capable of dismembering 
 Mother Carey; but bless your heart, she had 
 weapons in her unseen armory that were capa- 
 ble of bringing confusion to his paltry appa- 
 ratus ! — among others a delicate, slender little 
 sword that pierced deep on occasion. 
 
 Henry Lord was of medium height; spare, 
 clean-shaven, thin-lipped, with scanty auburn 
 hair, high forehead, and small keen eyes, espe- 
 cially adapted to the microscope, though ill 
 fitted to use in friendly conversation. 
 
 "We are neighbors, Professor Lord, though 
 we have never met," said Mrs. Carey, rising and 
 giving him her hand- 
 
 "My children know you better than I," he 
 answered, "and I feel it very kind in you to allow 
 them to call on you so frequently." They had 
 lived at the Yellow House for four months save 
 at meal times, but as their father was unaware 
 
 253 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 of the number and extent of their visits Mrs. 
 Carey thought it useless to speak of them, so 
 she merely said: 
 
 "It is a great pleasure to have them with us. 
 My children have left many friends behind them 
 in Massachusetts and elsewhere, and might have 
 been lonely in Beulah; besides, I often think the 
 larger the group (within certain limits), the bet- 
 ter chance children have of learning how to live." 
 
 "I should certainly not have permitted Olive 
 and Cyril to attend the local academy but for 
 your family," said Professor Lord. " These coun- 
 try schools never have any atmosphere of true 
 scholarliness, and the speech and manners of 
 both teachers and pupils are execrable." 
 
 "I dare say that is often the case. If the aca- 
 demies could furnish such teachers as existed 
 fifty years ago; and alas! if we parents could fur- 
 nish such vigorous, determined, ambitious, self- 
 denying pupils as used to be sent out from coun- 
 try homes, we should have less to complain of. 
 Of course we are peculiarly fortunate here in 
 Beulah." 
 
 Mr. Lord looked faintly amused and infinitely 
 superior. "I am afraid, my dear lady," he re- 
 marked, "that you have not had long enough ex- 
 perience to comprehend the slenderness of Mr. 
 Philpot's mental equipment." 
 
 254 
 
A Zoological Father 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Philpot resigned nearly three months 
 ago," said Mrs. Carey easily, giving Henry Lord, 
 Ph.D., her first stab, and a look of amusement 
 on her own behalf. "Ralph Thurston, the pre- 
 sent principal, is a fine, unusual fellow." 
 
 "Really? The children have never mentioned 
 any change, but I regret to say I am absent- 
 minded at meals. The death of my wife left 
 many gaps in the life of the household." 
 
 "So that you have to be mother and father in 
 one!" (Stab two: very delicately delivered.) 
 
 " I fear I am too much of a student to be called 
 a good family man." 
 
 "So I gathered." (Stab three. She wanted 
 to provoke curiosity.) 
 
 Mr. Lord looked annoyed. He knew his un- 
 popularity, and did not wish any village gossip 
 to reach the ears of strangers. "You, my dear 
 ladam, are capable of appreciating my devo- 
 tion to my life work, which the neighbors natu- 
 rally wholly misunderstand," he said. 
 
 "I gathered nothing from the neighbors," re- 
 sponded Mrs. Carey, "but a woman has only to 
 know children well to see at a glance what they 
 need. You are so absorbed in authorship just 
 now, that naturally it is a little hard for the 
 young people; but I suppose there are breathing 
 places, 'between books'?" 
 
 255 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "There are no breathing places between mine; 
 there will be six volumes, and I am scarcely half 
 through the third, although I have given seven 
 years to the work. Still, I have an excellent 
 housekeeper who attends to all our simple needs. 
 My children are not fitted for society." 
 
 "No, not quite." (Stab four). "That is the 
 reason they ought to see a good deal of it, but 
 they are very fine children and very clever." 
 
 "I am glad you think so, but they certainly 
 write bad English and have no general know- 
 ledge whatsoever." 
 
 "Oh, well, that will come, doubtless, when 
 you have more time with them." (Stab five.) 
 " I often think such mysterious things as good 
 speech and culture can never be learned in 
 school. I should n't wonder if that were our 
 department, Dr. Lord!" (Stab six.) "However, 
 you will agree, modest parent as you are, that 
 your Olive is a genius?" 
 
 "I have never observed it," replied her father. 
 "I cannot, of course, allow her to practice on 
 any musical instrument, because my studies 
 demand quiet, but I don't think she cares for 
 music." 
 
 "She dtaws and paints, however, in the most 
 astonishing way, and she has a passionate energy, 
 and concentration, and devotion to her work 
 
 256 
 
A Zoological Father 
 
 that I have never seen coupled with anything 
 but an extraordinary talent. She is destined to 
 go very far, in my opinion.' ' 
 
 "Not too far, I hope," remarked Mr. Lord, 
 with an icy smile. " Olive can paint on plush and 
 china as much as she likes, but I am not partial 
 to 'careers' for young women." 
 
 "Nor am I; save when the gift is so com- 
 manding, so obvious, that it has to be reckoned 
 with; — but I must not delay my business any 
 longer, nor keep you from your work. We are 
 having a housewarming this evening at seven. 
 Olive and Cyril are there now, helping in the 
 preparations, and I want to know if they may 
 stay to supper, and if you can send for them at 
 half past nine or ten." 
 
 "Certainly they may stay, though I should 
 think your supper table could hardly stand the 
 strain." 
 
 "Where there are five already, two more 
 make no difference, save in better appetite for 
 all," said Mother Carey, smiling and rising. 
 
 "If you will allow me to get my hat and coat 
 I will accompany you to the main road," said 
 Mr. Lord, going to the front hall, and then 
 opening the door for Mrs. Carey. "Let me take 
 your parcel, please." 
 
 He did not know in the least why he said it 
 257 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 and why he did it. The lady had interfered with 
 his family affairs to a considerable extent, and 
 had made several remarks that would have 
 appeared impertinent, had they not issued from 
 a very winsome, beautiful mouth. Mrs. Ossian 
 Popham or Mrs. Bill Harmon would have been 
 shown the door for saying less, yet here was 
 Henry Lord, Ph.D., ambling down the lane by 
 Mother Carey's side, thinking to himself what 
 a burden she lifted from his shoulders by her 
 unaccountable interest in his unattractive chil- 
 dren. He was also thinking how "springy" was 
 the lady's step in her short black dress, how 
 brilliant the chestnut hair looked under the 
 black felt hat, and how white the skin gleamed 
 above the glossy lynx boa. A kind of mucil- 
 aginous fluid ran in his veins instead of blood, 
 but Henry Lord, Ph.D., had his assailable side 
 nevertheless, and he felt extraordinarily good 
 natured, almost as if the third volume were 
 finished, with public and publishers clamoring 
 for its appearance. 
 
 "I don't know where Olive could have got any 
 such talent as you describe," he said, as they were 
 walking along the lane. "She had some lessons 
 long ago, I remember, and her mother used to 
 talk of her amusing herself with pencil and paint, 
 but I have heard nothing of it for years." 
 
 258 
 
A Zoological Father 
 
 "Ask to see her sketches when you are talking 
 with her about her work some day," suggested 
 Mother Carey. (Stab seven.) "As a matter of 
 fact she probably gets her talent from you." 
 
 "From me!" Printed letters fail to register 
 the amazement in Professor Lord's tone. 
 
 "Why not, when you consider her specialty?" 
 
 "What specialty?" 
 
 Really, a slender sword was of no use with this 
 man; a bludgeon was the only instrument, yet 
 it might wound, and she only wanted to prick. 
 Had the creature never seen Olive sketching, 
 nor noted her choice of subjects? 
 
 "She paints animals; paints nothing else, if 
 she can help it; though she does fairly well with 
 other things. Is it impossible that your study 
 of zoology — your thought, your absorption for 
 years and years, in the classification, the struc- 
 ture, the habits of animals — may have been 
 stamped on your child's mind? She has an ardor 
 equal to your own, only showing itself in a 
 different manner. You may have passed on, 
 in some mysterious way, your knowledge to 
 Olive. She may have unconsciously blended it 
 with some instinct for expression of her own, 
 and it comes out in pictures. Look at this, 
 Professor Lord. Olive gave it to me to-day." 
 
 They stood together at the gate leading out 
 259 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 into the road, and Mrs. Carey unwrapped the 
 painting and poised it against the top of the 
 gate. 
 
 Olive's father looked at it for a moment and 
 then said, "I am no judge of these things, tech- 
 nically or otherwise, but it certainly seems very 
 creditable work for a girl of Olive's age." 
 
 "Oh, it is surely more than that! My girl 
 Nancy stands there in the flesh, though her face 
 is hidden. Look at the wind blowing, look at the 
 delightful, the enchanting calf; above all look 
 at the title ! Who in the world but a little genius 
 could have composed that sketch, breathing 
 youth in every inch of it, — and called it ' Young 
 April ' ! Oh ! Professor Lord, I am very bold, 
 because your wife is not living, and it is women 
 who oftenest see these budding tendencies in 
 children; forgive me, but do cherish and develop 
 this talent of Olive's." 
 
 The eyes the color of the blue velvet bonnet 
 were turned full upon Henry Lord, Ph.D. They 
 swam in tears and the color came and went in 
 her cheek; she was forty, but it was a lovely 
 cheek still. 
 
 "I will think it over," he replied with some 
 embarrassment as he wrapped the picture again 
 and handed it to her. "Meantime I am cer- 
 tainly very much obliged to you. You seem to 
 
 260 
 
A Zoological Father 
 
 have an uncommon knowledge of young people. 
 
 May I ask if you are, or have been, a teacher?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" Mrs. Carey remarked with a smile, 
 
 " I am just a mother, — that 's all ! Good night." 
 
XXVII 
 
 THE CAREY HOUSEWARMING 
 
 The housewarming was at its height, and every- 
 body agreed once in every ten minutes that it 
 was probably the most beautiful party that had 
 ever happened in the history of the world. 
 
 Water flowed freely through Cousin Ann's 
 expensive pipes, that had been buried so deep 
 in their trenches that the winter frosts could 
 not affect them. Natty Harmon tried the 
 kitchen pump secretly several times during the 
 evening, for the water had to run up hill all the 
 way from the well to the kitchen sink, and he 
 believed this to be a continual miracle that 
 might "give out" at any moment. The stove 
 in the cellar, always alluded to by Gilbert as 
 the "young furnace, ,, had not yet been used, 
 save by way of experiment, but it was believed 
 to be a perfect success. To-night there was no 
 need of extra heat, and there were great cere- 
 monies to be observed in lighting the fires on the 
 hearthstones. They began with the one in the 
 family sitting room; Colonel Wheeler, Ralph 
 Thurston, Mr. and Mrs. Bill Harmon with 
 Natty and Rufus, Mr. and Mrs. Popham with 
 
 262 
 
The Carey Housewarming 
 
 Digby and Lallie Joy, all standing in admiring 
 groups and thrilling with delight at the order 
 of events. Mother Carey sat by the fireplace; 
 little Peter, fairly radiant with excitement, 
 leaning against her knee and waiting for his own 
 great moment, now close at hand. 
 
 "When ye come into a house, salute it; and if 
 the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it. 
 
 " To all those who may dwell therein from gen- 
 eration to generation may it be a house of God, a 
 gate of heaven. 
 
 "For every house is builded by some man, but 
 he that built all things is God, seeing that he giveth 
 to every one of us life and breath and all good 
 things." 
 
 jMother Carey spoke these words so simply 
 and naturally, as she looked towards her neigh- 
 bors one after another, with her hand resting 
 on Peter's curly head, that they hardly knew 
 whether to keep quiet or say Amen. 
 
 "Was that the Bible, Osh?" whispered Bill 
 Harmon. 
 
 "Don't know; 'most everything she says 
 sounds like the Bible or Shakespeare to me." 
 
 In the hush that followed Mother Carey's 
 salutation Gilbert approached with a basket 
 over his arm, and quickly and neatly laid a 
 little fire behind the brass andirons on the 
 
 263 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 hearth. Then Nancy handed Peter a loosely 
 bound sheaf, saying: "To light this fire I give 
 you a torch. In it are herbs of the field for health 
 of the body, a fern leaf for grace, a sprig of elm 
 for peace, one of oak for strength, with evergreen 
 to show that we live forever in the deeds we 
 have done. To these we have added rosemary 
 for remembrance and pansies for thoughts." 
 
 Peter crouched on the hearth and lighted the 
 fire in three places, then handed the torch to 
 Kathleen as he crept again into his mother's 
 lap, awed into complete silence by the influence 
 of his own mystic rite. Kathleen waved the 
 torch to and fro as she recited some beautiful 
 lines written for some such purpose as that 
 which called them together to-night. 
 
 "Burn, fire, burn! 
 Flicker, flicker, flame! 
 Whose hand above this blaze is lifted 
 Shall be with magic touch engifted, 
 To warm the hearts of chilly mortals 
 Who stand without these open portals. 
 The touch shall draw them to the fire 
 
 Higher, higher 
 
 By desire. 
 Whoso shall stand at this hearth-stone, 
 
 Flame-fanned, 
 Shall never, never stand alone; 
 Whose house is dark and bare and old, 
 
 264 
 
The Carey Housewarming 
 
 Whose hearth is cold, 
 This is his own. 
 Flicker, flicker, nicker, flame! 
 Burn, fire, burn!" 
 
 Next came Olive's turn to help in the cere- 
 monies. Ralph Thurston had found a line of 
 Latin for them in his beloved Horace: Tibi 
 splendet focus (For you the hearth-fire shines). 
 Olive had painted the motto on a long narrow 
 panel of canvas, and, giving it to Mr. Popham, 
 stood by the fireside while he deftly fitted it 
 into the place prepared for it. The family 
 had feared that he would tell a good story 
 when he found himself the centre of attraction, 
 but he was as dumb as Peter, and for the same 
 reason. 
 
 "Olive has another lovely gift for the Yellow 
 House," said Mother Carey, rising, "and to 
 carry out the next part of the programme we 
 shall have to go in procession upstairs to my 
 bedroom." 
 
 "Guess there wan't many idees to give round 
 to other folks after the Lord made her!" ex- 
 claimed Bill Harmon to his wife as they went 
 through the lighted hall. 
 
 Gilbert, at the head of the procession, held 
 Mother Hamilton's picture, which had been 
 taken from the old brick oven where "my son 
 
 265 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Tom" had hidden it. Mother Carey's bedroom, 
 with its bouquets of field flowers on the wall 
 paper, was gaily lighted and ready to receive 
 the gift. Nancy stood on a chair and hung the 
 portrait over the fireplace, saying, "We place 
 this picture here in memory of Agatha, mother 
 of Lemuel Hamilton, owner of the Yellow House. 
 Underneath it we lay a posy of pressed daisies, 
 buttercups, and Queen Anne's lace, the wild 
 flowers she loved best." 
 
 Now Olive took away a green garland cov- 
 ering the words "Mater Cara," that she had 
 painted in brown letters just over the bricks of 
 the fireplace. The letters were in old English 
 text, and a riot of buttercups and grasses twined 
 their way amongst them. 
 
 "Mater Cara stands for 'mother dear,'" said 
 Nancy, "and thus this room will be full of 
 memories of two dear mothers, an absent and a 
 present one." 
 
 Then Kathleen and Gilbert and Julia, Mother 
 Carey and Peter bowed their heads and said 
 in chorus: "0 Thou who dwellest in so many 
 homes, possess Thyself of this. Thou who settest 
 the solitary in families, bless the life that is sheltered 
 here. Grant that trust and peace and comfort may 
 abide within, and that love and light and usefulness 
 may go out from this house forever. Amen.' 9 
 
 266 
 
The Carey Housewarming 
 
 There was a moment's silence and then all 
 the party descended the stairs to the dining 
 room. 
 
 "Ain't they the greatest?" murmured Lallie 
 Joy, turning to her father, but he had disap- 
 peared from the group. 
 
 The dining room was a blaze of glory, and 
 great merriment ensued as they took their 
 places at the table. Mother Carey poured coffee, 
 Nancy chocolate, and the others helped serve 
 the sandwiches and cake, doughnuts and tarts, 
 
 "Where is Mr. Popham?" asked Nancy at 
 the foot of the table. "We cannot be happy 
 without Mr. Popham." 
 
 At that moment the gentleman entered, 
 bearing a huge object concealed by a piece of 
 green felt. Approaching the dining table, he 
 carefully placed the article in the centre and 
 removed the cloth. 
 
 It was the Dirty Boy, carefully mended! 
 
 The guests naturally had no associations with 
 the Carey Curse, and the Careys themselves 
 were dumb with amazement and despair. 
 
 "I've seen this thing layin' in the barn cham- 
 ber in a thousand pieces all summer!" explained 
 Mr. Popham radiantly. "It wan't none o' my 
 business if the family throwed it away thinkin' 
 it wan't no more good. Thinks I to myself, I 
 
 267 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 never seen anything Osh Popham could n't 
 mend if he took time enough and glue enough; 
 so I carried this little feller home in a bushel 
 basket one night last month, an' I've spent 
 eleven evenin's puttin' him together! I don't 
 claim he's good 's new, 'cause he ain't; but he's 
 consid'able better 'n he was when I found him 
 layin' in the barn chamber!" 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Popham!" said Mrs. Carey, 
 her eyes twinkling as she looked at the laughing 
 children. "It was kind of you to spend so much 
 time in our behalf." 
 
 "Well, I says to myself there's nothin' too 
 good for 'em, an' when it comes Thanksgivin' 
 I'll give 'em one thing more to be thankful for!" 
 
 "Quit talkin', Pop, will yer?" whispered 
 Digby, nudging his father. "You've kep' us 
 from startin' to eat 'bout five minutes a'ready, 
 an' I'm as holler as a horn!" 
 
 It was as cheery, gay, festive, neighborly, and 
 friendly a supper as ever took place in the dining 
 room of the Yellow House, although Governor 
 Weatherby may have had some handsomer 
 banquets in his time. When it was over all 
 made their way into the rosy, bowery, summer 
 parlor. Soon another fire sparkled and snapped 
 on the hearth, and there were songs and poems 
 and choruses and Osh Popham's fiddle, to say 
 
 268 
 
The Carey Housewarming 
 
 nothing of the supreme event of the evening, 
 his rendition of "Fly like a youthful hart or 
 roe, over the hills where spices grow," to Mother 
 Carey's accompaniment. He always slipped up 
 his glasses during this performance and closed 
 his eyes, but neither grey hairs nor "specs" 
 could dim the radiant smile that made him seem 
 about fifteen years old and the junior of both 
 his children. 
 
 Mrs. Harmon thought he sang too much, 
 and told her husband privately that if he was 
 a canary bird she should want to keep a table 
 cover over his head most of the time, but he was 
 immensely popular with the rest of his audience. 
 
 Last of all the entire company gathered round 
 the old-fashioned piano for a parting hymn. The 
 face of the mahogany shone with delight, and 
 why not, when it was doing everything (almost 
 everything !) within the scope of a piano, and yet 
 the family had enjoyed weeks of good nourish- 
 ing meals on what had been saved by its exer- 
 tions. Also, what rational family could mourn 
 the loss of an irregularly shaped instrument 
 standing on three legs and played on one corner? 
 The tall silver candle sticks gleamed in the fire- 
 light, the silver dish of polished Baldwins blushed 
 rosier in the glow. Mother Carey played the 
 dear old common metre tune, and the voices rang 
 
 269 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 out in Whittier's hymn. The Careys all sang like 
 thrushes, and even Peter, holding his hymn book 
 upside down, put in little bird notes, always on 
 the key, whenever he caught a familiar strain. 
 
 " Once more the liberal year laughs out 
 O'er richer stores than gems or gold; 
 Once more, with harvest-song and shout 
 Is Nature's bloodless triumph told. 
 
 " We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on; 
 We murmur, but the corn-ears fill; 
 We choose the shadow, but the sun 
 That casts it shines behind us still. 
 
 " O favors every year made new! 
 
 O gifts with rain and sunshine sent ! 
 The bounty overruns our due, 
 
 The fulness shames our discontent." 
 
XXVIII 
 
 "TIBI SPLENDET FOCUS" 
 
 There was one watcher of all this, and one list- 
 ener, outside of the Yellow House, that none of 
 the party suspected, and that was Henry Lord, 
 Ph.D. 
 
 When he left Mrs. Carey at the gate at five 
 o'clock, he went back to his own house and or- 
 dered his supper to be brought him on a tray in 
 his study. He particularly liked this, always, as 
 it freed him from all responsibility of serving his 
 children, and making an occasional remark; and 
 as a matter of fact everybody was as pleased 
 as he when he ate alone, the occasional meals 
 Olive and Cyril had by themselves being the only 
 ones they ever enjoyed or digested. 
 
 He studied and wrote and consulted heavy 
 tomes, and walked up and down the room, and 
 pulled out colored plates from portfolios, all with 
 great satisfaction until he chanced to look at the 
 clock when it struck ten. He had forgotten to 
 send for the children as he had promised Mother 
 Carey ! He went out into the hall and called Mrs. 
 Bangs in a stentorian voice. No answer. Irri- 
 
 271 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 tated, as he always was when crossed in the 
 slightest degree, he went downstairs and found 
 the kitchen empty. 
 
 " Her cub of a nephew has been staying to sup- 
 per with her, guzzling and cramming himself at 
 my expense," he thought, "and now she has 
 walked home with him! It 's perfect nonsense 
 to go after a girl of sixteen and a boy of thirteen. 
 As if they could n't walk along a country road at 
 ten o'clock! Still, it may look odd if some one 
 does n't go, and I can't lock the house till they 
 come, anyway." 
 
 He drew on his great coat, put on his cap, and 
 started down the lane in no good humor. It was 
 a, crisp, starlight night and the ground was freez- 
 ing fast. He walked along, his hands in his pock- 
 ets, his head bent. As he went through the gate 
 to the main road he glanced up. The Yellow 
 House, a third of a mile distant, was a blaze of 
 light ! There must have been a candle or a lamp 
 in every one of its windows, he thought. The 
 ground rose a little where the house stood, and 
 although it could not be seen in summer because 
 of the dense foliage everywhere, the trees were 
 nearly bare now. 
 
 "My handsome neighbor is extravagant," he 
 said to himself with a grim smile. "Is the illu- 
 mination for Thanksgiving, I wonder? Oh, no, I 
 
 272 
 
Tibi Splendet Focus 
 
 remember she said the party was in the nature 
 of a housewarming." 
 
 As he went up the pathway he saw that the 
 shades were up and no curtains drawn anywhere. 
 The Yellow House had no intention of hiding its 
 lights under bushels that evening, of all others; 
 besides, there were no neighbors within a long 
 distance. 
 
 Standing on the lowest of the governor's "circ- 
 'lar steps" he could see the corner where the 
 group stood singing, with shining faces: — 
 
 "Once more the liberal year laughs out 
 O'er richer stores than gems or gold." 
 
 Mother Carey's fine head rose nobly from her 
 simple black dress, and her throat was as white 
 as the deep lace collar that was her only orna- 
 ment. 
 
 Nancy he knew by sight, and Nancy in a crim- 
 son dress was singing her thankful heart out. 
 Who was the dark-haired girl standing by her 
 side, the two with arms round each other's waists, 
 — his own Olive! He had always thought her 
 unattractive, but her hair was smoothly braided 
 and her eyes all aglow. Cyril stood between Gil- 
 bert and Mother Carey. Cyril, he knew, could 
 not carry a tune to save his life, but he seemed to 
 be opening his lips and uttering words all the 
 
 273 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 same. Where was the timid eye, the "hangdog 
 look," the shrinking manner, he so disliked in 
 his son? Great Heavens! the boy laid his hand 
 on Mrs. Carey's shoulder and beat time there 
 gently with a finger, as if a mother's shoulder 
 could be used for any nice, necessary sort of pur- 
 pose. 
 
 If he knocked at the door now, he thought, he 
 should interrupt the party; which was seemingly 
 at its height. He, Henry Lord, Ph.D., certainly 
 had no intention of going in to join it, not with 
 Ossian Popham and Bill Harmon as fellow guests. 
 
 He made his way curiously around the outside 
 of the house, looking in at all the windows, and 
 by choosing various positions, seeing as much as 
 he could of the different rooms. Finally he went 
 up on the little back piazza, attracted by the 
 firelight in the family sitting room. There was a 
 noble fire, and once, while he was looking, Digby 
 Popham stole quietly in, braced up the logs with 
 a proprietary air, swept up the hearth, replaced 
 the brass wire screen, and stole out again as 
 quickly as possible, so that he might not miss too 
 much of the party. 
 
 "They seem to feel pretty much at home," 
 thought Mr. Lord. 
 
 The fire blazed higher and brighter. It lighted 
 up certain words painted in dark green and 
 
 274 
 
" 
 
 FOR YOU THE HEARTH-FIRE GLOWS 
 
Tibi Splendet Focus 
 
 gold on the white panel under the mantelpiece. 
 He pressed his face quite close to the window, 
 thinking that he must be mistaken in seeing such 
 unconnected letters as T-i-b-i, but gradually 
 they looked clearer to him and he read distinctly 
 "Tibi splendet focus." 
 
 "Somebody knows his Horace/' thought 
 Henry Lord, Ph.D., as he stumbled off the 
 piazza. "' For you the hearth-fire glows.' I shan't 
 go in; not with that crew; let them wait; and if 
 it gets too late, somebody else will walk home 
 with the children." 
 
 ,"For you the hearth-fire glows." 
 
 He picked his way along the side of the house 
 to the front, every window sending out its candle 
 gleam. 
 
 "For you the hearth-fire glows." 
 
 From dozens of windows the welcome shone. 
 Its gleams and sparkles positively pursued him 
 as he turned his face towards the road and his 
 own dark, cheerless house. Perhaps he had bet- 
 ter, on the whole, keep one lamp burning in the 
 lower part after this, to show that the place was 
 inhabited? 
 
 "For you the hearth-fire glows." 
 
 He had "bricked up" the fireplace in his study 
 and put an air-tight stove in, because it was sim- 
 
 275 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ply impossible to feed an open fire and write a 
 book at the same time. He did n't know that 
 you could write twice as good a book in half the 
 time with an open fire to help you! He did n't 
 know any single one of the myriad aids that can 
 come to you from such cheery, unexpected sources 
 of grace and inspiration! 
 
 "For you the hearth-fire glows/' 
 
 Would the words never stop ringing in his ears? 
 Perhaps, after all, it would look queer to Mrs. 
 Carey (he cared nothing for Popham or Harmon 
 opinion) if he left the children to get home by 
 themselves. Perhaps — 
 
 "for you the hearth-fire glows." 
 
 Henry Lord, Ph.D., ascended the steps, and 
 plied the knocker. Digby Popham came out of 
 the parlor and opened the front door. 
 
 Everybody listened to see who was the late 
 comer at the party. 
 
 "Will you kindly tell Miss Olive and Master 
 Cyril Lord that their father has called for them?" 
 
 Mr. Lord's cold, severe voice sounded clearly 
 in the parlor, and every word could be distinctly 
 heard. 
 
 Gilbert and Nancy were standing together, 
 and Gilbert whispered instantly to his sister: 
 
 £76 
 
Tibi Splendet Focus 
 
 "The old beast has actually called for Olive and 
 Cyril!" 
 
 " Hush, Gilly ! He must be a * new beast ' or he 
 would n't have come at all!" answered Nancy. 
 
XXIX 
 
 "TH' ACTION FINE" 
 
 December, January, and February passed with 
 a speed that had something of magic in it. The 
 Careys had known nothing heretofore of the 
 rigors of a State o' Maine winter, but as yet they 
 counted it all joy. They were young and hearty 
 and merry, and the air seemed to give them all 
 new energy. Kathleen's delicate throat gave no 
 trouble for the first time in years ; Nancy's cheeks 
 bloomed more like roses than ever; Gilbert, grow- 
 ing broader shouldered and deeper chested daily, 
 simply revelled in skating and coasting; even 
 Julia was forced into an activity wholly alien to 
 her nature, because it was impossible for her to 
 keep warm unless she kept busy. 
 
 Mother Carey and Peter used to look from a 
 bedroom window of a clear cold morning and see 
 the gay little procession start for the academy. 
 Over the dazzling snow crust Olive and Cyril 
 Lord would be skimming to meet the Careys, al- 
 ways at the same point at the same hour. There 
 were rough red coats and capes, red mittens, 
 squirrel caps pulled well down over curly and 
 smooth heads; glimpses of red woolen stockings; 
 
 278 
 
Th' Action Fine 
 
 thick shoes with rubbers over them; great par- 
 cels of books in straps. They looked like a flock 
 of cardinal birds, Mother Carey thought, as the 
 upturned faces, all aglow with ruddy color, smiled 
 their morning good-bye. Gilbert had "stoked" 
 the great stove in the cellar full of hard wood logs 
 before he left, and Mrs. Carey and Peter had a 
 busy morning before them with the housework. 
 The family had risen at seven. Julia had swept 
 and dusted; Kathleen had opened the bedroom 
 windows, made the washstands tidy, filled the 
 water pitchers, and changed the towels. Gilbert 
 had carried wood and Peter kindlings, for the 
 fires that had to be laid on the hearths here and 
 there. Mother had cooked the plain breakfast 
 while Nancy put the dining room in order and 
 set the table, and at eight o'clock, when they sat 
 down to plates piled high with slices of brown 
 and white bread, to dishes of eggs or picked-up 
 cod fish, or beans warmed over in the pot, with 
 baked potatoes sometimes, and sometimes milk 
 toast, or Nancy's famous corn muffins, no fam- 
 ily of young bears ever displayed such appetites ! 
 On Saturday mornings there were griddle cakes 
 and maple syrup from their own trees; for Osh 
 Popham had shown them in the spring how to 
 tap their maples, and collect the great pails of 
 sap to boil down into syrup. Mother Carey and 
 
 279 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Peter made the beds after the departure of the 
 others for school, and it was pretty to see the 
 sturdy Peter-bird, sometimes in his coat and 
 mittens, standing on the easiest side of the beds 
 and helping his mother to spread the blankets 
 and comforters smooth. His fat legs carried him 
 up and downstairs a dozen times on errands, while 
 his sweet piping voice was lifted in a never ending 
 stream of genial conversation, as he told his mo- 
 ther what he had just done, what he was doing at 
 the present moment, how he was doing it, and 
 what he proposed to do in a minute or two. Then 
 there was a lull from half past ten to half past 
 eleven, shortened sometimes on baking days, when 
 the Peter-bird had his lessons. The old-fashioned 
 kitchen was clean and shining by that time. The 
 stove glistened and the fire snapped and crackled. 
 The sun beamed in at the sink window, doing 
 all he could for the climate in the few hours he 
 was'permitted to be on duty in a short New Eng- 
 land winter day. Peter sat on a cricket beside 
 his mother's chair and clasped his "Reading 
 without Tears" earnestly and rigidly, believing 
 it to be the key to the universe. Oh! what an 
 hour of happiness to Mother Carey when the boy 
 would lift the very copy of his father's face to 
 her own; when the well-remembered smile and 
 the dear twinkle of the eyes in Peter's face 
 
 280 
 
Th' Action Fine 
 
 would give her heart a stab of pain that was 
 half joy after all, it was so full to the brim of 
 sweet memories. In that warm still hour, when 
 she was filling the Peter-bird's mind and soul 
 with heavenly learning, how much she learned 
 herself! Love poured from her, through voice 
 and lips and eyes, and in return she drank it in 
 thirstily from the little creature who sat there at 
 her knee, a twig growing just as her bending hand 
 inclined it; all the buds of his nature opening out 
 in the mother-sunshine that surrounded him. 
 Eleven thirty came all too soon. Then before 
 long the kettle would begin to sing, the potatoes 
 to bubble in the saucepan, and Mother Carey's 
 spoon to stir the good things that had long been 
 sizzling quietly in an iron pot. Sometimes it 
 was bits of beef, sometimes mutton, but the re- 
 sult was mostly a toothsome mixture of turnips 
 and carrots and onions in a sea of delicious gravy, 
 with surprises of meat here and there to vary any 
 possible monotony. Once or twice a week dump- 
 lings appeared, giving an air of excitement to the 
 meal, and there was a delectable "poor man's 
 stew" learned from Mrs. Popham; the ingre- 
 dients being strips of parsnip, potatoes cut in 
 quarters, a slice or two of sweet browned pork 
 for a flavor, and a quart of rich milk, mixed 
 with the parsnip juices into an appetizing sauce. 
 
 281 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 The after part of the dinner would be a dish of 
 baked apples with warm gingerbread, or some- 
 times a deep apple pandowdy, or the baked In- 
 dian pudding that was a syrupy, fragrant con- 
 coction made of corn meal and butter and 
 molasses baked patiently in the oven for hours. 
 
 Mother had the dishes to wash after she had 
 tucked the Peter-bird under the afghan on the 
 sitting room sofa for his daily nap, but there was 
 never any grumbling in her heart over the weary 
 days and the unaccustomed tasks; she was 
 too busy "making things make themselves." If 
 only there were a little more money! That was 
 her chief anxiety; for the unexpected, the outside 
 sources of income were growing fewer, and in a 
 year's time the little hoard would be woefully 
 small. Was she doing all that she could, she won- 
 dered, as her steps flew over the Yellow House 
 from attic to cellar. She could play the piano 
 and sing; she could speak three languages and 
 read four; she had made her curtsy at two for- 
 eign courts ; admiration and love had followed her 
 ever since she could remember, and here she was, 
 a widow at forty, living in a half -deserted New 
 England village, making parsnip stews for her 
 children's dinner. Well, it was a time of prepara- 
 tion, and its rigors and self-denials must be cheer- 
 
 282 
 
Th' Action Fine 
 
 fully faced. She ought to be thankful that she 
 was able to get a simple dinner that her children 
 could eat; she ought to be thankful that her beef 
 and parsnip stews and cracker puddings and corn 
 bread were being transmuted into blood and 
 brawn and brain-tissue, to help the world along 
 somewhere a little later ! She ought to be grate- 
 ful that it was her blessed fortune to be sending 
 four rosy, laughing, vigorous young people down 
 the snowy street to the white-painted academy; 
 that it was her good luck to see four heads bend- 
 ing eagerly over their books around the evening 
 lamp, and have them all turn to her for help and 
 encouragement in the hard places. Why should 
 she complain, so long as the stormy petrels were 
 all working and playing in Mother Carey's water 
 garden where they ought to be; gathering 
 strength to fly over or dive under the ice-pack 
 and climb Shiny Wall? There is never any gate 
 in the wall ; Tom the Water Baby had found that 
 out for himself; so it is only the plucky ones who 
 are able to surmount the thousand difficulties 
 they encounter on their hazardous journey to 
 Peacepool. How else, if they had not learned 
 themselves, could Mother Carey's chickens go 
 out over the seas and show good birds the way 
 home? At such moments Mrs. Carey would look 
 at her image in the glass and say, "No whimper- 
 
 283 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ing, madam! You can't have the joys of mother- 
 hood without some of its pangs ! Think of your 
 blessings, and don't be a coward ! — 
 
 Who sweeps a room as by God's laws 
 Makes that and th' action fine." 
 
 Then her eyes would turn from blue velvet to 
 blue steel, and strength would flow into her from 
 some divine, benignant source and transmute 
 her into father as well as mother! 
 
 Was the hearth fire kindled in the Yellow 
 House sending its glow through the village as well 
 as warming those who sat beside it? There were 
 Christmas and New Year's and St. Valentine par- 
 ties, and by that time Bill Harmon saw the wood- 
 pile in the Carey shed grow beautifully less. He 
 knew the price per cord, — no man better; but 
 he and Osh Popham winked at each other one 
 windy February day and delivered three cords 
 for two, knowing that measurement of wood had 
 not been included in Mother Carey's education. 
 Natty Harmon and Digby Popham, following 
 examples a million per cent better than parental 
 lectures, asked one afternoon if they should n't 
 saw and chop some big logs for the fireplaces. 
 
 Mrs. Carey looked at them searchingly, won- 
 dering if they could possibly guess the state of 
 her finances, concluded they could n't and said 
 
 284 
 
Th' Action Fine 
 
 smilingly: "Indeed I will gladly let you saw for 
 an hour or two if you '11 come and sit by the fire 
 on Saturday night, when we are going to play 
 spelling games and have doughnuts and root 
 beer." 
 
 The Widow Berry, who kept academy board- 
 ers, sent in a luscious mince pie now and then, 
 and Mrs. Popham and Mrs. Harmon brought 
 dried apples or pumpkins, winter beets and Bald- 
 win apples. It was little enough, they thought, 
 when the Yellow House, so long vacant, was like 
 a beacon light to the dull village; sending out its 
 beams on every side. 
 
 "She ain't no kind of a manager, I 'm 'fraid!" 
 said Bill Harmon. "I give her 'bout four quarts 
 and a half of kerosene for a gallon every time she 
 sends her can to be filled, but bless you, she ain't 
 any the wiser ! I try to give her as good measure 
 in everything as she gives my children, but you 
 can't keep up with her ! She 's like the sun, that 
 shines on the just 'n' on the unjust. Hen Lord's 
 young ones eat their lunch or their supper there 
 once or twice a week, though the old skinflint 's 
 got fifty thousand dollars in the bank.'* 
 
 "Never mind, Bill," said Osh Popham; 
 "there's goin'to be an everlastin' evenupness 
 somewheres! Probably God A 'mighty hez his 
 eye on that woman, and He '11 see her through! 
 
 285 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 The young ones are growin' up, and the teacher 
 at the academy says they beat the devil on book 
 learnin'! The boy '11 make a smart man, pretty 
 soon, and bring good wages home to his mother. 
 The girls are handsome enough to pick up hus- 
 bands as soon as they 've fully feathered out, so 
 it won't be long afore they 're all on the up grade. 
 I 've set great store by that family from the out- 
 set, and I 'm tumble glad they 're goin' to fix up 
 the house some more when it comes spring. I 'm 
 willin' to work cheap for such folks as them." 
 
 "You owe 'em somethin' for listenin' to you, 
 Osh! Seems if they moved here jest in time to 
 hear your stories when you 'd 'bout tuckered 
 out the rest o' the village!" 
 
 "It 's a pity you didn't know a few more 
 stories yourself, Bill," retorted Mr. Popham; 
 "then you 'd be asked up oftener to put on the 
 back-log for 'em, and pop corn and roast apples 
 and pass the evenin'. I ain't hed sech a gay win- 
 ter sence I begun settin' up with Maria, twenty 
 years ago." 
 
 "She 's kept you settin' up ever since, Osh!" 
 chuckled Bill Harmon. 
 
 "She has so!" agreed Osh cheerfully, "but 
 you ain't hardly the one to twit me of it; bein* 
 as how you 've never took a long breath yourself 
 sence you was married ! But you don't ketch me 
 
 286 
 
Th' Action Fine 
 
 coniplainin' ! It 's a poor rule that won't work 
 both ways! Maria hurried me into poppin' the 
 question, and hurried me into marryin' her, an' 
 she ain't let up on me a minute sence then; but 
 she '11 railroad me into heaven the same way, you 
 see if she don't. She '11 arrive 'head o' time as 
 usual and stan' right there at the bars till she 
 gits Dig 'n' Lallie Joy 'n' me under cover!" 
 
 "She 's a good woman, an' so 's my wife," re- 
 marked Bill sententiously; "an' Colonel Wheeler 
 says good women are so rigged inside that they 
 can't be agreeable all the time. The couple of 
 'em are workin' their fingers to the bone for the 
 school teacher to-day; fixin' him up for all the 
 world as if he was a bride. He 's got the women 
 folks o' this village kind o' mesmerized, Thurs- 
 ton has." 
 
 "He 's a first-rate teacher; nobody that ain't 
 hed experience in the school room is fitted to 
 jedge jest how good a teacher Ralph Thurston is, 
 but I have, an' I know what I 'm talkin' about." 
 
 "I never heard nothin' about your teachin' 
 school, Osh." 
 
 "There's a good deal about me you never 
 heard; specially about the time afore I come to 
 Beulah, 'cause you "ain't a good hearer, Bill! I 
 taught the most notorious school in Digby once, 
 and taught it to a finish; I named my boy Digby 
 
 287 
 
Mother Caret's Chickens 
 
 after that school ! You see my father an' mother 
 was determined to give me an education, an* I 
 wa'n't intended for it. I was a great big, strong, 
 clumsy lunkhead, an' the only thing I could do, 
 even in a one-horse college, was to play base ball, 
 so they kep' me along jest for that. I never got 
 further than the second class, an' I would n't 'a' 
 got there if the Faculty had n't 'a' promoted me 
 jest for the looks o' the thing. Well Prof. Mil- 
 lard was off in the country lecturin' somewheres 
 near Bangor an' he met a school superintendent 
 who told him they was awful hard up for a teacher 
 in Digby. He said they 'd hed three in three 
 weeks an' had lost two stoves besides; for the 
 boys had fired out the teachers and broke up the 
 stoves an' pitched 'em out the door after 'em. 
 When Prof. Millard heard the story he says, 
 'I 've got a young man that could teach that 
 school; a feller named Ossian Popham.' The 
 superintendent hed an interview with me, an' I 
 says : ' I '11 agree to teach out your nine weeks o* 
 school for a hundred dollars, an' if I leave afore 
 the last day I won't claim a cent ! ' ' That 's the 
 right sperit,' says the Supe, an' we struck a bar- 
 gain then an' there. I was glad it was Saturday, 
 so 't I could start right off while my blood was 
 up. I got to Digby on Sunday an' found a good 
 boardin' place. The trustees did n't examine me, 
 
 288 
 
Th' Action Fine 
 
 an' 't was lucky for me they did n't. The last 
 three teachers hed been splendid scholars, but 
 that did n't save the stoves any, so they just 
 looked at my six feet o' height, an' the muscle 
 in my arms, an' said they 'd drop in sometime 
 durin' the month. 'Look in any time you like 
 after the first day,' I says. "I shall be tumble 
 busy the first day!' « 
 
 "I went into the school house early Monday 
 mornin' an' built a good fire in the new stove. 
 When it was safe to leave it I went into the next 
 house an' watched the scholars arrive. The lady 
 was a widder with one great unruly boy in the 
 school, an' she was glad to give me a winder to 
 look out of. It was a tumble cold day, an' when 
 't was ten minutes to nine an' the school room 
 was full I walked in as big as Cuffy. There was 
 five rows of big boys an' girls in the back, all 
 lookin' as if they was loaded for bear, an' they 
 graded down to little ones down in front, all of 
 'em hitchin' to an' fro in their seats an' snicker- 
 in'. I give 'em a surprise to begin with, for I 
 locked the door when I come in, an' put the key 
 in my pocket, cool as a cucumber. 
 
 "I never said a word, an' they never moved 
 their eyes away from me. I took off my fur cap, 
 then my mittens, then my overcoat, an' laid 'em 
 in the chair behind my desk. Then my under- 
 
 289 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 coat come off, then my necktie an' collar, an' by 
 that time the big girls begun to look nervous; 
 they 'd been used to addressin', but not un- 
 dressin', in the school room. Then I wound my 
 galluses round my waist an' tied 'em; then I says, 
 clear an' loud : ' I 'm your new teacher ! I 'm goin' 
 to have a hundred dollars for teachin' out this 
 school, an' I intend to teach it out an' git my 
 money. It 's five minutes to nine. I give you 
 just that long to tell me what you 're goin' to do 
 about it. Come on now!' I says, 'all o' you big 
 boys, if you 're comin', an' we '11 settle this thing 
 here an' now. We can't hev fights an' lessons 
 mixed up together every day, more 'n 's nec- 
 essary; better decide right now who 's boss o* 
 this school. The stove 's new an' I 'm new, an' 
 we call'ate to stay here till the end o' the term!' 
 "Well, sir, not one o' that gang stirred in their 
 seats, an' not one of 'em yipped ! I taught school 
 in my shirt sleeves consid'able the first week, but 
 I never hed to afterwards. I was a little mite 
 weak on mathematics, an' the older boys an' 
 girls hed to depend on their study books for their 
 information, — they never got any from me, — 
 but every scholar in that Digby school got a 
 hundred per cent in deportment the nine weeks 
 I taught there!" 
 
XXX 
 
 THE INGLENOOK 
 
 It was a wild Friday night in March, after 
 days of blustering storms and drifting snow. 
 Beulah was clad in royal ermine; not only clad, 
 indeed, but nearly buried in it. The timbers of 
 the Yellow House creaked, and the wreaths of 
 snow blew against the windows and lodged there. 
 King Frost was abroad, nipping toes and ears, 
 hanging icicles on the eaves of houses, and de- 
 corating the forest trees with glittering pen- 
 dants. The wind howled in the sitting room 
 chimney, but in front of the great back-log the 
 bed of live coals glowed red and the flames danced 
 high, casting flickering shadows on the children's 
 faces. It is possible to bring up a family by 
 steam heat, and it is often necessary, but nobody 
 can claim that it is either so simple or so delight- 
 ful as by an open fire! 
 
 The three cats were all nestled cosily in Nancy's 
 lap or snuggled by her side. Mother Carey had 
 demurred at two, and when Nancy appeared one 
 day after school with a third, she spoke, with 
 some firmness, of refusing it a home. 
 
 291 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "If we must economize on cats," cried Nancy 
 passionately, " don't let 's begin on this one ! She 
 does n't look it, but she is a heroine. When 
 the Hideout's house burned down, her kittens 
 were in a basket by the kitchen stove. Three 
 times she ran in through the flames and brought 
 out a kitten in her mouth. The tip of her tail is 
 gone, and part of an ear, and she 's blind in one 
 eye. Mr. Harmon says she 's too homely to live; 
 now what do you think?" 
 
 "I think nobody pretending to be a mother 
 could turn her back on another mother like that," 
 said Mrs. Carey promptly. "We '11 take a pint 
 more milk, and I think you children will have to 
 leave something in your plates now and then; 
 you polish them until it really is indecent." 
 
 To-night an impromptu meeting of the Ways 
 and Means Committee was taking place by the 
 sitting room fire, perhaps because the family 
 plates had been polished to a terrifying degree 
 that week. 
 
 "Children," said Mother Carey, "we have 
 been as economical as we knew how to be; we 
 have worked to the limit of our strength; we 
 have spent almost nothing on clothing, but the 
 fact remains that we have scarcely money enough 
 in our reserve fund to last another six months. 
 What shall we do?" 
 
 292 
 
The Inglenook 
 
 Nancy leaped to her feet, scattering cats in 
 every direction. 
 
 "Mother Carey!" she exclaimed remorsefully. 
 f You have n't mentioned money since New 
 Year's, and I thought we were rubbing along as 
 usual. The bills are all paid; what 's the matter? " 
 
 "That is the matter!" answered Mrs. Carey 
 with the suspicion of a tear in her laughing voice. 
 "The bills are paid, and there 's too little left! 
 We eat so much, and we burn so much wood, and 
 so many gallons of oil!" 
 
 "The back of the winter 's broken, mother 
 dear!" said Gilbert, as a terrific blast shook the 
 blinds as a terrier would a rat. "Don't listen to 
 that wind; it 's only a March bluff! Osh Pop- 
 ham says snow is the poor man's manure; he 
 says it 's going to be an early season and a grand 
 hay crop. We '11 get fifty dollars for our 
 field." 
 
 "That will be in July, and this is March," said 
 his mother. "Still, the small reversible Van 
 Twiller will carry us through May, with our 
 other income. But the saving days are over, and 
 the earning days have come, dears! I am the 
 oldest and the biggest, I must begin." 
 
 "Never!" cried Nancy. "You slave enough 
 for us, as it is, but you shall never slave for any- 
 body else; shall she, Gilly?" 
 
 293 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "Not if I know it!" answered Gilbert with 
 good ringing emphasis. 
 
 "Another winter I fear we must close the Yel- 
 low House and — " 
 
 The rest of Mother Carey's remark was never 
 heard, for at Nancy's given signal the four 
 younger Careys all swooned on the floor. Nancy 
 had secretly trained Peter so that he was the best 
 swooner of the family, and his comical imitation 
 of Nancy was so mirth-compelling that Mother 
 Carey laughed and declared there was no such 
 thing as talking seriously to children like hers. 
 
 "But, Muddy dear, you were n't in earnest?" 
 coaxed Nancy, bending her bright head over her 
 mother's shoulder and cuddling up to her side; 
 whereupon Gilbert gave his imitation of a jeal- 
 ous puppy; barking, snarling, and pushing his 
 frowzly pate under his mother's arm to crowd 
 Nancy from her point of vantage, to which she 
 clung valiantly. Of course Kitty found a small 
 vacant space on which she could festoon herself, 
 and Peter promptly climbed on his mother's lap, 
 so that she was covered with — fairly submerged 
 in — children ! A year ago Julia used to creep 
 away and look at such exhibitions of family affec- 
 tion, with a curling lip, but to-night, at Mother 
 Carey's outstretched hand and smothered cry of 
 "Help, Judy!" she felt herself gathered into the 
 
 294 
 
The Inglenook 
 
 heart of the laughing, boisterous group. That 
 hand, had she but known it, was stretched out 
 to her because only that day a letter had come, 
 saying that Allan Carey was much worse and 
 that his mental condition admitted of no cure. He 
 was bright and hopeful and happy, so said Mr. 
 Manson ; — forever sounding the praises of the 
 labor-saving device in which he had sunk his last 
 thousands. " We can manufacture it at ten cents 
 and sell it for ten dollars," he would say, rubbing 
 his hands excitedly. "We can pay fifty dollars 
 a month office rent and do a business of fifty 
 thousand dollars a year!" "And I almost be- 
 lieve we could!" added Mr. Manson, "if we had 
 faith enough and capital enough!" 
 
 " Of course you know, darlings, I would never 
 leave Beulah save for the coldest months; or only 
 to earn a little money," said Mrs. Carey, smooth- 
 ing her dress, flattening her collar, and pinning 
 up the braids that Nancy's hugs had loosened. 
 
 "I must put my mind on the problem at once," 
 said Nancy, pacing the floor. "I 've been so in- 
 terested in my Virgil, so wrapped up in my rhe- 
 toric and composition, that I have n't thought 
 of ways and means for a month, but of course we 
 will never leave the Yellow House, and of course 
 we must contrive to earn money enough to live 
 in it. We must think about it every spare min- 
 
 295 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ute till vacation comes; then we '11 have nearly 
 four months to amass a fortune big enough to 
 carry us through the next year. I have an idea 
 for myself already. I was going to wait till my 
 seventeenth birthday, but that 's four months 
 away and it 's too long. I 'm old enough to be- 
 gin any time. I feel old enough to write my 
 Reminiscences this minute." 
 
 "You might publish your letters to the Ameri- 
 can Consul in Breslau; they 'd make a book!" 
 teased Gilbert. 
 
 "Very likely I shall, silly Gilly," retorted 
 Nancy, swinging her mane haughtily. "It is n't 
 every girl who has a monthly letter from an Ad- 
 miral in China and a Consul in Germany." 
 
 "You would n't catch me answering the Queen 
 of Sheba's letters or the Empress of India's," ex- 
 claimed Gilbert, whose pen was emphatically 
 less mighty than his sword. "Hullo, you two! 
 what are you whispering about?" he called to 
 Kathleen and Julia, who were huddled together 
 in a far corner of the long room, gesticulating 
 eloquently. 
 
 "We've an idea! We've an idea! We've 
 found a way to help ! " sang the two girls, pirouet- 
 ting back into the circle of firelight. " We won't 
 tell till it 's all started, but it 's perfectly splen- 
 did, and practical too." 
 
 296 
 
The Inglenook 
 
 "And so ladylike!" added Julia triumphantly. 
 
 "How much?" asked Gilbert succinctly. 
 
 The girls whispered a minute or two, and ap- 
 peared to be multiplying twenty-five first by fif- 
 teen, and then again by twenty. 
 
 "From three dollars and seventy-five cents to 
 four dollars and a half a week according to cir- 
 cumstances!" answered Kathleen proudly. 
 
 "Will it take both of you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "All your time?" 
 
 More nods and whispers and calculation. 
 
 "No, indeed; only three hours a day." 
 
 "Any of my time?" 
 
 "Just a little." 
 
 " I thought so! " said Gilbert loftily. " You al- 
 ways want me and my hammer or my saw; but 
 I '11 be busy on my own account; you '11 have to 
 paddle your own canoe!" 
 
 "You '11 be paid for what you do for us," said 
 Julia slyly, giving Kathleen a poke, at which 
 they both fell into laughter only possible to the 
 very young. 
 
 Then suddenly there came a knock at the front 
 door; a stamping of feet on the circular steps, and 
 a noise of shaking off snow. 
 
 "Go to the door, Gilbert; who can that 
 be on a night like this, — although it is only 
 
 297 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 eight o'clock after all! Why, it's Mr. Thurs- 
 ton!" 
 
 Ralph Thurston came in blushing and smiling, 
 glad to be welcomed, fearful of intruding, afraid 
 of showing how much he liked to be there. 
 
 "Good-evening, all!" he said. "You see I 
 couldn't wait to thank you, Mrs. Carey! No 
 storm could keep me away to-night." 
 
 "What has mother been doing, now?" asked 
 Nancy. "Her right hand is forever busy, and 
 she never tells her left hand a thing, so we chil- 
 dren are always in the dark." 
 
 "It was nothing much," said Mrs. Carey, 
 pushing the young man gently into the high- 
 backed rocker. "Mrs. Harmon, Mrs. Popham, 
 and I simply tried to show our gratitude to Mr. 
 Thurston for teaching our troublesome children." 
 
 "How did you know it was my birthday?" 
 asked Thurston. 
 
 "Did n't you write the date in Lallie Joy's 
 book?" 
 
 "True, I did; and forgot it long ago; but I 
 have never had my birthday noticed before, and 
 I am twenty-four!" 
 
 "It was high time, then!" said Mother Carey 
 with her bright smile. 
 
 "But what did mother do?" clamored Nancy, 
 Kathleen and Gilbert in chorus. 
 
 298 
 
The Inglenook 
 
 " She took my forlorn, cheerless room and made 
 it into a home for me/' said Thurston. "Per- 
 haps she wanted me to stay in it a little more, 
 and bother her less ! At any rate she has created 
 an almost possible rival to the Yellow House!" 
 
 Ralph Thurston had a large, rather dreary 
 room over Bill Harmon's store, and took his meals 
 at the Widow Berry's, near by. He was an or- 
 phan and had no money to spend on luxuries, be- 
 cause all his earnings went to pay the inevitable 
 debts incurred when a fellow is working his way 
 through college. 
 
 Mrs. Carey, with the help of the other two 
 women, had seized upon this stormy Friday, 
 when the teacher always took his luncheon with 
 him to the academy, to convert Ralph's room into 
 something comfortable and cheerful. The old, 
 cracked, air-tight stove had been removed, and 
 Bill Harmon had contributed a second-hand 
 Franklin, left with him for a bad debt. It was of 
 soapstone and had sliding doors in front, so that 
 the blaze could be disclosed when life was very dull 
 or discouraging. The straw matting on the floor 
 had done very well in the autumn, but Mrs. Carey 
 now covered the centre of the room with a bright 
 red drugget left from the Charlestown house- 
 furnishings, and hung the two windows with cur- 
 tains of printed muslin. Ossian Popham had 
 
 299 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 taken a clotheshorse and covered it with red 
 felting, so that the screen so evolved could be 
 made to hide the bed and washstand. Ralph's 
 small, rickety table had been changed for a big, 
 roomy one of pine, hidden by the half of an old 
 crimson piano cloth. When Osh had seen the 
 effect of this he hurried back to his barn chamber 
 and returned with some book shelves that he had 
 hastily glued and riveted into shape. These he 
 nailed to the wall and filled with books that he 
 found in the closet, on the floor, on the foot of 
 the bed, and standing on the long, old-fashioned 
 mantel shelf. 
 
 "Do you care partic'larly where you set, 
 nights, Ossian?" inquired Mrs. Popham, who 
 was now in a state of uncontrolled energy bor- 
 dering on delirium. "Because your rockin'chair 
 has a Turkey red cushion and it would look splen- 
 did in Mr. Thurston's room. You know you fid- 
 dle 'bout half the time evenin's, and you always 
 go to bed early." 
 
 "Don't mind me!" exclaimed Ossian face- 
 tiously, starting immediately for the required 
 chair and bringing back with it two huge yellow 
 sea shells, which he deposited on the floor at each 
 end of the hearth rug. 
 
 "How do you like 'em?" he inquired of Mrs. 
 Carey. 
 
 300 
 
The Inglenook 
 
 "Not at all," she replied promptly. 
 
 " You don't? " he asked incredulously. " Well, 
 it takes all kinds o' folks to make a world ! I 've 
 been keepin' 'em fifteen years, hopin' I'd get 
 enough more to make a border for our parlor fire- 
 place, and now you don't take to 'em ! Back they 
 go to the barn chamber, Maria; Mis' Carey's 
 bossin' this job, and she ain't got no taste for sea 
 shells. Would you like an old student lamp? I 
 found one that I can bronze up in about two 
 minutes if Mis' Harmon can hook a shade and 
 chimbly out of Bill's stock." 
 
 They all stayed in the room until this last feat 
 was accomplished; stayed indeed until the fire 
 in the open stove had died down to ruddy coals. 
 Then they pulled down the shades, lighted the 
 lamp, gave one last admiring look, and went 
 home. 
 
 It had meant only a few hours' thought and 
 labor, with scarcely a penny of expense, but you 
 can judge what Ralph Thurston felt when he en- 
 tered the door out of the storm outside. To him 
 it looked like a room conjured up by some magi- 
 cian in a fairy tale. He fell into the rocking- 
 chair and looked at his own fire; gazed about at 
 the cheerful crimson glow that radiated from the 
 dazzling drugget, in a state of puzzled ecstasy, 
 till he caught sight of a card lying near the lamp, 
 
 301 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 — "A birthday present from three mothers who 
 value your work for their boys and girls." 
 
 He knew Mrs. Carey's handwriting, so he sped 
 to the Yellow House as soon as his supper was 
 over, and now, in the presence of the whole fam- 
 ily, he felt tongue-tied and wholly unable to ex- 
 press his gratitude. 
 
 It was bed time, and the young people melted 
 away from the fireside. 
 
 "Kiss your mother good-night, sweet Pete," 
 said Nancy, taking the reluctant cherub by the 
 hand. "'Hoc opus, hie labor est' Mr. Thurston, 
 to get the Peter-bird upstairs when once he is 
 down. Shake hands with your future teacher, 
 Peter; no, you must n't kiss him; little boys don't 
 kiss great Latin scholars unless they are asked." 
 
 Thurston laughed and lifted the gurgling Peter 
 high in the air. " Good night, old chap ! " he said. 
 "Hurry up and come to school!" 
 
 "I 'm 'bout ready now!" piped Peter. "I can 
 read ' Up - up - my - boy - day - is - not -the - time - 
 for - sleep - the - dew - will - soon - be - gone ' with 
 the book upside down, — can't I, Muddy?" 
 . "You can, my son; trot along with sister." 
 
 Thurston opened the door for Nancy, and his 
 eye followed her for a second as she mounted the 
 stairs. She glowed like a ruby to-night in her old 
 red cashmere. The sparkle of her eye, the gloss 
 
 302 
 
The Inglenook 
 
 of her hair, the soft red of her lips, the curve and 
 bend of her graceful young body struck even her 
 mother anew, though she was used to her daugh- 
 ter's beauty. "She is growing !" thought Mrs. 
 Carey wistfully. "I see it all at once, and soon 
 others will be seeing it!" 
 
 Alas! young Ralph Thurston had seen it for 
 weeks past! He was not perhaps so much in love 
 with Nancy the girl, as he was with Nancy the 
 potential woman. Some of the glamour that sur- 
 rounded the mother had fallen upon the daughter. 
 One felt the influences that had rained upon 
 Nancy ever since she had come into the world. 
 One could not look at her, nor talk with her, 
 without feeling that her mother — like a vine in 
 the blood, as the old proverb says — was breath- 
 ing, growing, budding, blossoming in her day by 
 day. 
 
 The young teacher came back to the fireplace, 
 where Mother Carey was standing in a momen- 
 tary brown study. 
 
 "I 've never had you alone before," he stam- 
 mered, "and now is my chance to tell you what 
 you 've been to me ever since I came to Beulah." 
 
 "You have helped me in my problems more 
 than I can possibly have aided you," Mrs. Carey 
 replied quietly. " Gilbert was so rebellious about 
 country schools, so patronizing, so scornful of 
 
 303 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 their merits, that I fully expected he would never 
 stay at the academy of his own free will. You 
 have converted him, and I am very grateful." 
 
 "Meantime I am making a record there," said 
 Ralph, "and I have this family to thank for it! 
 Your children, with Olive and Cyril Lord, have 
 set the pace for the school, and the rest are fol- 
 lowing to the best of their ability. There is not 
 a shirk nor a dunce in the whole roll of sixty pu- 
 pils ! Beulah has not been so proud of its academy 
 for thirty years, and I shall come in for the chief 
 share in the praise. I am trying to do for Gilbert 
 and Cyril what an elder brother would do, but I 
 should have been powerless if I had not had this 
 home and this fireside to inspire me ! " 
 
 " Tibi splendet focus ! " quoted Mrs. Carey, 
 pointing to Olive's inscription under the mantel- 
 piece. "For you the hearth fire glows!" 
 
 "Have I not felt it from the beginning?" 
 asked Ralph. "I never knew my mother, Mrs. 
 Carey, and few women have come into my life; 
 I have been too poor and too busy to cultivate 
 their friendship. Then I came to Beulah and 
 you drew me into your circle; admitted an un- 
 known, friendless fellow into your little group! 
 It was beautiful; it was wonderful!" 
 
 "What are mothers for, but to do just that, 
 and more than all, for the motherless boys?" 
 
 304 
 
The Inglenook 
 
 "Well, I may never again have the courage to 
 say it, so just believe me when I say your influ- 
 ence will be the turning-point in my life. I will 
 never, so help me God, do anything to make me 
 unworthy to sit in this fireglow! So long as I 
 have brains and hands to work with, I will keep 
 striving to create another home like this when 
 my time comes. Any girl that takes me will get 
 a better husband because of you; any children I 
 may be blessed with will have a better father be- 
 cause I have known you. Don't make any mis- 
 take, dear Mrs. Carey, your hearth fire glows a 
 long, long distance!" 
 
 Mother Carey was moved to the very heart. 
 She leaned forward and took Ralph Thurston's 
 young face, thin with privation and study, in 
 her two hands. He bent his head instinctively, 
 partly to hide the tears that had sprung to his 
 eyes, and she kissed his forehead simply and ten- 
 derly. He was at her knees on the hearth rug in 
 an instant; all his boyish affection laid at her 
 feet; all his youthful chivalry kindled at the 
 honor of her touch. 
 
 And there are women in the world who do not 
 care about being mothers! 
 
XXXI 
 
 GROOVES OP CHANGE 
 
 The winter passed. The snow gradually melted 
 in the meadows and the fields, which first grew 
 brown and then displayed patches of green here 
 and there where the sun fell strongest. There 
 was deep, sticky mud in the roads, and the dis- 
 couraged farmers urged their horses along with 
 the wheels of their wagons sunk to the hub in 
 ooze. Then there were wet days, the wind ruf- 
 fling the leaden surface of the river, the sound of 
 the rain dripping from the bare tree-boughs, the 
 smell of the wet grass and the clean, thirsty soil. 
 Milder weather came, then blustery days, then 
 chill damp ones, but steadily life grew, here, 
 there, everywhere, and the ever-new miracle of 
 the awakening earth took place once again. Sap 
 mounted in the trees, blood coursed in the chil- 
 dren's veins, mothers began giving herb tea and 
 sulphur and molasses, young human nature was 
 restless; the whole creation throbbed and sighed, 
 and was tremulous, and had growing pains. 
 
 April passed, with aJl its varying moods of sun 
 and shower, and settled weather came. 
 
 306 
 
MOTHER CAREY WAS MOVED TO THE VERY HEART 
 
Grooves of Change 
 
 All tke earth was gay. 
 
 Land and sea 
 Gave themselves up to jollity 
 
 And with the heart of May 
 Did every Beast keep holiday. 
 
 The Carey girls had never heard of "the joy 
 of living" as a phrase, but oh! they knew a deal 
 about it in these first two heavenly springs in 
 little Beulah village! The sunrise was so won- 
 derful; the trees and grass so marvellously 
 green; the wild flowers so beautiful! Then the 
 river on clear days, the glimpse of the sea from 
 Beulah's hill tops, the walks in the pine woods, 
 — could Paradise show anything to compare? 
 
 And how good the food tasted; and the books 
 they read, how fresh, how moving, how glorious ! 
 Then when the happy day was over, sleep came 
 without pause or effort the moment the flushed 
 cheek touched the cool pillow. 
 
 "These," Nancy reflected, quoting from her 
 favorite Wordsworth as she dressed beside her 
 open window, "These must be 
 
 The gifts of morn, 
 Ere life grows noisy and slower-footed thought 
 Can overtake the rapture of the sense. 
 
 I was fifteen and a half last spring, and now, 
 though it is only a year ago, everything is differ- 
 ent!" she mused. "When did it get to be differ- 
 
 307 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 ent, I wonder? It never was all at once, so it 
 must have been a little every day, so little that 
 I hardly noticed it until just now." 
 
 A young girl's heart is ever yearning for and 
 trembling at the future. In its innocent depths 
 the things that are to be are sometimes rustling 
 and whispering secrets, and sometimes keeping 
 an exquisite, haunting silence. In the midst of the 
 mystery the solemn young creature is sighing to 
 herself, "What am I meant for? Am I every- 
 thing? Am I nothing? Must I wait till my future 
 comes to me, or must I seek it?" 
 
 This was all like the sound of a still, small 
 voice in Nancy's mind, but it meant that she 
 was "growing up," taking hold on life at more 
 points than before, seeing new visions, dreaming 
 new dreams. Kathleen and Julia seemed ridicu- 
 lously young to her. She longed to advise them, 
 but her sense of humor luckily kept her silent. 
 Gilbert appeared crude, raw; promising, but 
 undeveloped; she hated to think how much 
 experience he would have to pass through before 
 he could see existence as it really was, and as 
 she herself saw it. Olive's older view of things, 
 her sad, strange outlook upon life, her dislike 
 of anything in the shape of man, her melancholy 
 aversion to her father, all this fascinated and 
 puzzled Nancy, whose impetuous nature ran 
 
 308 
 
Grooves op Change 
 
 out to every living thing, revelling in the very- 
 act of loving, so long as she did not meet rebuff. 
 
 Cyril perplexed her. Silent, unresponsive, 
 shy, she would sometimes raise her eyes from 
 her book in school and find him gazing steadily 
 at her like a timid deer drinking thirstily at a 
 spring. Nancy did not like Cyril, but she pitied 
 him and was as friendly with him, in her off- 
 hand, boyish fashion, as she was with every 
 one. 
 
 The last days of the academy term were close 
 at hand, and the air was full of graduation 
 exercises and white muslin and ribbon sashes. 
 June brought two surprises to the Yellow House. 
 One morning Kathleen burst into Nancy's room 
 with the news: "Nancy! The Fergusons offer to 
 adopt Judy, and she does n't want to go. Think 
 of that! But she's afraid to ask mother if she 
 can stay. Let's us do it; shall we?" 
 
 "I will; but of course there is not enough 
 money to go around, Kitty, even if we all suc- 
 ceed in our vacation plans. Julia will never 
 have any pretty dresses if she stays with us, 
 and she loves pretty dresses. Why did n't the 
 Fergusons adopt her before mother had made 
 her over?" 
 
 "Yes," chimed in Kathleen. "Then every- 
 body would have been glad, but now we shall 
 
 309 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 miss her! Think of missing Judy! We would 
 never have believed it!" 
 
 "It's like seeing how a book turns out, to 
 watch her priggishness and smuggishness all 
 melting away," Nancy said. "I shouldn't like 
 to see her slip back into the old Judyisms, and 
 neither would mother. Mother '11 probably keep 
 her, for I know Mr. Manson thinks it's only a 
 matter of a few months before Uncle Allan dies." 
 
 "And mother would n't want a Carey to grow 
 up into an imitation Gladys Ferguson; but that's 
 what Judy would be, in course of time." 
 
 Julia took Mrs. Ferguson's letter herself to 
 her Aunt Margaret, showing many signs of 
 perturbation in her usually tranquil face. 
 
 Mrs. Carey read it through carefully. "It is 
 a very kind, generous offer, Julia. Your father 
 cannot be consulted about it, so you must de- 
 cide. You would have every luxury, and your 
 life would be full of change and pleasure; while 
 with us it must be, in the nature of things, busy 
 and frugal for a long time to come." 
 
 "But I am one more to feed and clothe, Aunt 
 Margaret, and there is so little money!" 
 
 "I know, but you are one more to help, after 
 all. The days are soon coming when Nancy and 
 Gilbert will be out in the world, helping them- 
 selves. You and Kathleen could stay with Peter 
 
 310 
 
Grooves of Change 
 
 and me, awaiting your turn. It does n't look 
 attractive in comparison with what the Fergu- 
 sons offer you!" 
 
 Then the gentle little rivers that had been 
 swelling all the past year in Julia's heart, rivers 
 of tenderness and gratitude and sympathy, 
 suddenly overflowed their banks and, running 
 hither and thither, softened everything with 
 which they came in contact. Rocky places 
 melted, barren spots waked into life, and under 
 the impulse of a new mood that she scarcely 
 understood Julia cried, "Oh! dear Aunt Mar- 
 garet, keep me, keep me! This is home; I never 
 want to leave it! I want to be one of Mother 
 Carey's chickens!" 
 
 The child had flung herself into the arms that 
 never failed anybody, and with tears streaming 
 down her cheeks made her plea. 
 
 "There, there, Judy dear; you are one of us, 
 and we could not let you go unless you were to 
 gain something by it. If you really want to 
 stay we shall love you all the better, and you 
 will belong to us more than you ever did; so 
 dry your eyes, or you will be somebody's duck- 
 ling instead of my chicken ! " 
 
 The next surprise was a visit from Cousin 
 Ann Chadwick, who drove up to the door one 
 morning quite unannounced, and asked the 
 
 311 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 driver of the depot wagon to bring over her two 
 trunks immediately. 
 
 "Two trunks!" groaned Gilbert. "That 
 means the whole season ! " 
 
 But it meant nothing of the kind; it meant 
 pretty white dresses for the three girls, two pairs 
 of stockings and two of gloves for the whole 
 family, a pattern of black silk for Mrs. Carey, 
 and numberless small things to which the Carey 
 wardrobe had long been a stranger. 
 
 Having bestowed these offerings rather grimly, 
 as was her wont, and having received the family's 
 grateful acknowledgments with her usual lack 
 of grace, she proceeded in the course of a few 
 days to make herself far more disagreeable than 
 had been the case on any previous visit of her 
 life. She had never seen such dusty roads as in 
 Beulah; so many mosquitoes and flies; such 
 tough meat; such a lack of fruit, such talkative, 
 over-familiar neighbors, such a dull minister, 
 such an inattentive doctor, such extortionate 
 tradesmen. 
 
 "What shall we do with Cousin Ann!" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Carey to Nancy in despair. "She 
 makes us these generous presents, yet she cannot 
 possibly have any affection for us. We accept 
 them without any affection for her, because we 
 hardly know how to avoid it. The whole situa- 
 
 312 
 
Grooves op Change 
 
 tion is positively degrading! I have borne it for 
 years because she was good to your father when 
 he was a boy, but now that she has grown so 
 much more difficult I really think I must talk 
 openly with her." 
 
 "She talked openly enough with me when I 
 confessed that Gilbert and I had dropped and 
 broken the Dirty Boy!" said Nancy, "and she 
 has been very cross with me ever since." 
 
 "Cousin Ann," said Mrs. Carey that after- 
 noon on the piazza, "it is very easy to see that 
 you do not approve of the way we live, or the 
 way we think about things in general. Feeling 
 as you do, I really wish you would not spend 
 your money on us, and give us these beautiful 
 and expensive presents. It puts me under an 
 obligation that chafes me and makes me un- 
 happy." 
 
 "I don't disapprove of you, particularly," 
 said Miss Chadwick. "Do I act as if I did?" 
 
 "Your manner seems to suggest it." 
 
 "You can't tell much by manners," replied 
 Cousin Ann. "I think you're entirely too soft 
 and sentimental, but we all have our faults. 
 I don't think you have any right to feed the 
 neighbors and burn up fuel and oil in their behalf 
 when you have n't got enough for your own 
 family. I think you ought n't to have had four 
 
 313 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 children, and having had them you need n't 
 have taken another one in, though she's turned 
 out better than I expected. But all that is none 
 of my business, I suppose, and, wrong-headed 
 as you are, I like you better than , most folks, 
 which is n't saying much." 
 
 "But if you don't share my way of thinking, 
 why do you keep fretting yourself to come and 
 see us? It only annoys you." 
 
 "It annoys me, but I can't help coming, 
 somehow. I guess I hate other places and other 
 ways worse than I do yours. You don't grudge 
 me bed and board, I suppose?" 
 
 "How could I grudge you anything when you 
 g£ve us so much, — so much more than we ought 
 to accept, so much more than we can ever thank 
 you for?" 
 
 "I don't want to be thanked; you know that 
 well enough; but there's so much demonstration 
 in your family you can't understand anybody's 
 keeping themselves exclusive. I don't like to 
 fuss over people or have them fuss over me. 
 Kissing comes as easy to you as eating, but I 
 never could abide it. A nasty, common habit, 
 I call it! I want to give what I like and where 
 and when I like, and act asl'ma mind to after- 
 wards. I don't give because I see things are 
 needed, but because I can't spend my income 
 
 314 . 
 
Grooves of Change 
 
 unless I do give. If I could have my way I'd 
 buy you a good house in Buffalo, right side of 
 mine; take your beggarly little income and man- 
 age it for you ; build a six-foot barbed wire fence 
 round the lot so 't the neighbors could n't get 
 in and eat you out of house and home, and in a 
 couple of years I could make something out of 
 your family!" 
 
 Mrs. Carey put down her sewing, leaned her 
 head back against the crimson rambler, and 
 laughed till the welkin rang. 
 
 "I suppose you think I'm crazy?" Cousin 
 Ann remarked after a moment's pause. 
 
 "I don't know, Cousin Ann," said Mrs. Carey, 
 taking up her work again. "Whatever it is, you 
 can't help it ! If you '11 give up trying to under- 
 stand my point of view, I won't meddle with 
 yours!" 
 
 "I suppose you won't come to Buffalo?" 
 
 "No indeed, thank you, Cousin Ann!" 
 
 "You'll stay here, in this benighted village, 
 and grow old, — you that are a handsome 
 woman of forty and might have a millionaire hus- 
 band to take care of you?" 
 
 "My husband had money enough to please 
 me, and when I meet him again and show him 
 the four children, he will be the richest man in 
 Paradise." 
 
 315 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Cousin Ann rose. "I'm going to-morrow, and 
 I shan't be back this year. I've taken passage 
 on a steamer that's leaving for Liverpool next 
 week!" 
 
 "Going abroad! Alone, Cousin Ann?" 
 
 "No, with a party of Cook's tourists." 
 
 "What a strange idea!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Carey. 
 
 "I don't see why; 'most everybody 's been 
 abroad. I don't expect to like the way they live 
 over there, but if other folks can stand it, I 
 guess I can. It'll amuse me for a spell, maybe, 
 and if it don't, I 've got money enough to break 
 away and do as I'm a mind to." 
 
 The last evening was a pleasant, friendly one, 
 every Carey doing his or her best to avoid risky 
 subjects and to be as agreeable as possible. 
 Cousin Ann Chadwick left next day, and Mrs. 
 Carey, bidding the strange creature good-bye, 
 was almost sorry that she had ever had any 
 arguments with her. 
 
 "It will be so long before I see you again, 
 Cousin Ann, I was on the point of kissing you, — 
 till I remembered!" she said with a smile as she 
 stood at the gate. 
 
 "I don't know as I mind, for once," said Miss 
 Chadwick. "If anybody's got to kiss me I'd 
 rather it would be you than anybody!" 
 
 316 
 
/ 
 
 '/*U. 
 
 >Mf 
 
 
 . 
 
 I WAS ON THE POINT OF KISSING YOU " 
 
Grooves of Change 
 
 She drove away, her two empty trunks in the 
 back of the wagon. She sailed for Liverpool the 
 next week and accompanied her chosen party 
 to the cathedral towns of England. There, in a 
 quiet corner of York Minster, as the boy choir 
 was chanting its anthems, her heart, an organ she 
 had never been conscious of possessing, gave 
 one brief sudden physical pang and she passed 
 out of what she had called life. Neither her 
 family affairs nor the names of her relations were 
 known, and the news of her death did not reach 
 far-away Beulah till more than two months 
 afterward, and with it came the knowledge that 
 Cousin Ann Chadwick had left the income of 
 five thousand dollars to each of the five Carey 
 children, with five thousand to be paid in cash 
 to Mother Carey on the settlement of the estate. 
 
XXXII 
 
 DOORS OF DARING 
 
 Little the Careys suspected how their fortunes 
 were mending, during those last days of June! 
 Had they known, they might almost have been 
 disappointed, for the spur of need was already 
 pricking them, and their valiant young spirits 
 longed to be in the thick of the fray. Plans had 
 been formed for the past week, many of them in 
 secret, and the very next day after the close of 
 the academy, various business projects would 
 burst upon a waiting world. One Sunday night 
 Mother Carey had read to the little group a 
 poem in which there was a verse that struck 
 on their ears with a fine spirit : — 
 
 "And all the bars at which we fret, 
 That seem to prison and control, 
 Are but the doors of daring set 
 Ajar before the soul." 
 
 They recited it over and over to themselves 
 afterwards, and two or three of them wrote it 
 down and pinned it to the wall, or tucked it in 
 the frame of the looking glass. 
 
 Olive Lord knocked at her father's study door 
 318 
 
Doors of Daring 
 
 the morning of the twenty-first of June. Walk- 
 ing in quietly she said, "Father, yesterday was 
 my seventeenth birthday. Mother left me a 
 letter to read on that day, telling me that I 
 should have fifty dollars a month of my own 
 when I was seventeen, Cyril to have as much 
 when he is the same age." 
 
 "If you had waited courteously and patiently 
 for a few days you would have heard this from 
 me," her father answered. 
 
 "I couldn't be sure!" Olive replied. "You 
 never did notice a birthday; why should you 
 begin now?" 
 
 "I have more important matters to take up 
 my mind than the consideration of trivial 
 dates," her father answered. "You know T that 
 very well, and you know too, that notwithstand- 
 ing my absorbing labors, I have endeavored for 
 the last few months to give more of my time to 
 you and Cyril." 
 
 "I realize that, or I should not speak to you 
 at all," said Olive. "It is because you have 
 shown a little interest in us lately that I consult 
 you. I want to go at once to Boston to study 
 painting. I will deny myself everything else, if 
 necessary, but I will go, and I will study! It is 
 the only life I care for, the only life I am likely 
 to have, and I am determined to lead it." 
 
 319 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "You must see that you are too young to 
 start out for yourself anywhere; it is simply 
 impossible." 
 
 "I shall not be alone. Mrs. Carey will find 
 me a good home in Charlestown, with friends of 
 hers. You trust her judgment, if no one else's." 
 
 "If she is charitable enough to conduct your 
 foolish enterprises as well as those of her own 
 children, I have nothing to say. I have talked 
 with her frequently, and she knows that as soon 
 as I have finished my last volume I shall be able 
 to take a more active interest in your affairs 
 and Cyril's." 
 
 "Then may I go?" 
 
 "When I hear from the person in Charles- 
 town, yes. There is an expedition starting for 
 South America in a few months and I have been 
 asked to accompany the party. If you are deter- 
 mined to leave home I shall be free to accept 
 the invitation. Perhaps Mrs. Carey would allow 
 Cyril to stay with her during my absence." 
 
 "I dare say, and I advise you to go to South 
 America by all means; you will be no farther 
 away from your family than you have always 
 been ! " With this parting shot Olive Lord closed 
 the study door behind her. 
 
 "That girl has the most unpleasant disposi- 
 tion, and the sharpest tongue, I ever met in the 
 320 
 
Doors of Daring 
 
 course of my life!" said Henry Lord to himself 
 as he turned to his task. 
 
 Mother Carey's magic was working very 
 slowly in his blood. It had roused him a little 
 from the bottomless pit cf his selfishness, but 
 much mischief had been done on all sides, and 
 it would be a work of time before matters 
 could be materially mended. Olive's nature was 
 already warped and embittered, and it would 
 require a deal of sunshine to make a plant bloom 
 that had been so dwarfed by neglect and in- 
 difference. 
 
 Nancy's door of daring opened into an edi- 
 torial office. An hour here, an hour there, when 
 the Yellow House was asleep, had brought about 
 a story that was on its way to a distant city. It 
 was written, with incredible care, on one side 
 of the paper only; it enclosed a fully stamped 
 envelope for a reply or a return of the manu- 
 script, and all day long Nancy, trembling be- 
 tween hope and despair, went about hugging 
 her first secret to her heart. 
 
 Gilbert had opened his own particular door, 
 and if it entailed no more daring than that of 
 Nancy's effort, it required twice the amount of 
 self-sacrifice. He was to be, from June twenty- 
 seventh till August twenty-seventh, Bill Har- 
 mon's post-office clerk and delivery boy, and the 
 
 321 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 first that the family would know about it would 
 be his arrival at the back door, in a linen jacket, 
 with an order-book in his hand. Bravo, Gilly! 
 One can see your heels disappearing over the 
 top of Shiny Wall! 
 
 The door of daring just ready to be opened 
 by Kathleen and Julia was of a truly dramatic 
 and unexpected character. 
 
 Printed in plain letters, twenty-five circulars 
 reposed in the folds of Julia's nightdresses in her 
 lower bureau drawer. The last thing to be done 
 at night and the first in the morning was the 
 stealthy, whispered reading of one of these 
 documents, lest even after the hundredth time, 
 something wrong should suddenly appear to the 
 eye or ear. They were addressed, they were 
 stamped, and they would be posted to twenty- 
 five families in the neighborhood on the closing 
 day of the academy. 
 
 SUMMER VACATION SCHOOL 
 
 The Misses Kathleen and Julia Carey announce the opening of 
 classes for private instruction on July 1st, from two to four 
 o'clock daily in the 
 
 Hamilton Barn. 
 Faculty. 
 Miss Kathleen Carey Reading & Elocution 2 p. M. 
 
 Miss Julia Carey Dancing, Embroidery $-30 p. m. 
 
 322 
 
Doors of Daring 
 
 Mrs. Peter Carey Vocal Music, Part Singing 3 p. M< 
 
 Miss Nancy Carey Composition 4 p. m. 
 
 Mr. Gilbert Carey Wood carving, Jig Sawing, Manual 
 Training from 4 to 5 Fridays only. 
 
 Terms cash. 25 cents a week. 
 
 N. B. Children prepared for entrance to the academy at 
 special prices. 
 
 Meantime the Honorable Lemuel Hamilton 
 had come to America, and was opening doors of 
 daring at such a rate of speed that he hardly 
 realized the extent of his own courage and what 
 it involved. He accepted an official position of 
 considerable honor and distinction in Washing- 
 ton, rented a house there, and cabled his wife 
 and younger daughter to come over in Septem- 
 ber. He wrote his elder daughter that she might 
 go with some friends to Honolulu if she would 
 return for Christmas. ("It's eleven years since 
 we had a Christmas tree," he added, "and the 
 first thing you know we shall have lost the 
 habit!") 
 
 To his son Jack in Texas he expressed himself 
 as so encouraged by the last business statement, 
 which showed a decided turn for the better, 
 that he was willing to add a thousand dollars to 
 the capital and irrigate some more of the unim- 
 proved land on the ranch. 
 
 323 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "If Jack has really got hold out there, he can 
 come home every two or three years," he 
 thought. "Well, perhaps I shall succeed in 
 getting part of them together, part of the time, 
 if I work hard enough; all but Tom, whom I care 
 most about! Now that everything is in train 
 I'll take a little vacation myself, and go down 
 to Beulah to make the acquaintance of those 
 Careys. If I had ever contemplated returning 
 to America I suppose I should n't have allowed 
 them to settle down in the old house, still, 
 Eleanor would never have been content to pass 
 her summers there, so perhaps it is just as well." 
 
 The Peter-bird was too young to greatly dare; 
 still it ought perhaps to be set down that he 
 sold three dozen marbles and a new kite to 
 Billy Harmon that summer, and bought his 
 mother a birthday present with the money. All 
 Peter's "doors of daring" had hitherto opened 
 into places from which he issued weeping, with 
 sprained ankles, bruised hands, skinned knees 
 or burned eyelashes. 
 
XXXIII 
 
 MOTHER HAMILTON'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 It was the Fourth of July; a hot, still day when 
 one could fairly see the green peas swelling in 
 their pods and the string beans elimbing their 
 poles like acrobats ! Young Beulah had rung the 
 church bell at midnight, cast its torpedoes to 
 earth in the early morning, flung its fire-crack- 
 ers under the horses' feet, and felt somewhat 
 relieved of its superfluous patriotism by break- 
 fast time. Then there was a parade of Antiques 
 and Horribles, accompanied by the Beulah 
 Band, which, though not as antique, was fully 
 as horrible as anything in the procession. 
 
 From that time on, the day had been som- 
 nolent, enlivened in the Carey household only 
 by the solemn rite of paying the annual rent of 
 the Yellow House. The votive nosegay had 
 been carefully made up, and laid lovingly by 
 Nancy under Mother Hamilton's portrait, in the 
 presence not only of the entire family, but also 
 of Osh Popham, who had called to present early 
 radishes and peppergrass. 
 
 "I'd like to go upstairs with you when you 
 get your boquet tied up," he said, "because it's 
 
 325 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 an awful hot day, an' the queer kind o' things 
 you do 't this house allers makes my backbone 
 cold! I never suspicioned that Lem Hamilton 
 hed the same kind o' fantasmic notions that 
 you folks have, but I guess it's like tenant, 
 like landlord, in this case! Anyhow, I want to 
 see the rent paid, if you don't mind. I wish't 
 you'd asked that mean old sculpin of a Hen 
 Lord over; he owns my house an' it might put 
 a few idees into his head!" 
 
 In the afternoon Nancy took her writing pad 
 and sat on the circular steps, where it was cool. 
 The five o'clock train from Boston whistled at 
 the station a mile away as she gathered her 
 white skirts daintily up and settled herself in 
 the shadiest corner. She was unconscious of the 
 passing time, and scarcely looked up until the 
 rattling of wheels caught her ear. It was the 
 station wagon stopping at the Yellow House gate, 
 and a strange gentleman was alighting. He had 
 an unmistakable air of the town. His clothes 
 were not as Beulah clothes and his hat was not 
 as Beulah hats, for it was a fine Panama with 
 a broad sweeping brim. Nancy rose from the 
 steps, surprise dawning first in her eyes, then 
 wonder, then suspicion, then conviction; then 
 two dimples appeared in her cheeks. 
 
 The stranger lifted the foreign-looking hat 
 326 
 
Mother Hamilton's Birthday 
 
 with a smile and said, "My little friend and 
 correspondent, Nancy Carey, I think?" 
 
 "My American Consul, I do believe !" cried 
 Nancy joyously, as she ran down the path with 
 both hands outstretched. " Where did you come 
 from? Why did n't you tell us beforehand? 
 We never even heard that you were in this 
 country ! Oh ! I know why you chose the Fourth 
 of July! It's pay day, and you thought we 
 should n't be ready with the rent; but it's all 
 attended to, beautifully, this morning!" 
 
 "May I send my bag to the Mansion House 
 and stay a while with you?" asked Mr. Hamil- 
 ton. "Are the rest of you at home? How are 
 Gilbert and Kathleen and Julia and Peter? How, 
 especially, is Mother Carey?" 
 
 "What a memory you have!" exclaimed 
 Nancy. "Take Mr. Hamilton's bag, please, Mr. 
 Bennett, and tell them at the hotel that he won't 
 be there until after supper." 
 
 It was a pleasant hour that ensued, for Nancy 
 had broken the ice and there was plenty of con- 
 versation. Then too, the whole house had to be 
 shown, room by room, even to Cousin Ann's 
 stove in the cellar and the pump in the kitchen 
 sink. 
 
 "I never saw anything like it!" exclaimed 
 Hamilton. "It is like magic! I ought to pay you 
 
 327 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 a thousand dollars on the spot ! I ought to try 
 and buy the place of you for five thousand! 
 Why don't you go into the business of re- 
 creating houses and selling them to poor be- 
 nighted creatures like me, who never realize 
 their possibilities?" 
 
 "If we show you the painted chamber will 
 you promise not to be too unhappy?" asked 
 Nancy. "You can't help crying with rage and 
 grief that it is our painted chamber, not yours; 
 but try to bear up until you get to the hotel, 
 because mother is so soft-hearted she will be 
 giving it back to you unless I interfere." 
 
 "You must have spent money lavishly when 
 you restored this room," said the Consul; "it 
 is a real work of art." 
 
 "Not a penny," said Mrs. Carey. "It is the 
 work of a great friend of Nancy's, a seventeen- 
 year-old girl, who, we expect, will make Beulah 
 famous some day. Now will you go into your 
 mother's room and find your way downstairs 
 by yourself? Julia, will you show Mr. Hamilton 
 the barn a little later, while Nancy and I get 
 supper? Kitty must go to the Pophams' for 
 Peter; he is spending the afternoon with them." 
 
 Nancy had enough presence of mind to inter- 
 cept Kitty and hiss into her ear: "Borrow a loaf 
 of bread from Mrs. Popham, we are short; and 
 
 328 
 
Mother Hamilton's Birthday 
 
 see if you can find any way to get strawberries 
 from Bill Harmon's; it was to have been a 
 bread-and-milk supper on the piazza to-night, 
 and it must be hurriedly changed into a Con- 
 sular banquet! Verb. sap. Fly!" 
 
 Gilbert turned up a little before six o'clock 
 and was introduced proudly by his mother as a 
 son who had just "gone into business." 
 
 "I'm Bill Harmon's summer clerk and de- 
 livery boy," he explained. "It's great fun, and 
 I get two dollars and a half a week." 
 
 Nancy and her mother worked like Trojans in 
 the kitchen, for they agreed it was no time for 
 economy, even if they had less to eat for a week 
 to come. 
 
 "Mr. Hamilton is just as nice as I guessed he 
 was, when his first letter came," said Nancy. 
 "I went upstairs to get a card for the supper 
 menu, and he was standing by your mantel- 
 piece with his head bent over his arms. He had 
 the little bunch of field flowers in his hand, and 
 I know he had been smelling them, and look- 
 ing at his mother's picture, and remembering 
 things!" 
 
 What a merry supper it was, with a jug of 
 black-eyed Susans in the centre of the table and 
 a written bill of fare for Mr. Hamilton, "because 
 he was a Consul," so Nancy said. 
 
 329 * 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Gilbert sat at the head of the table, and Mr. 
 Hamilton thought he had never seen anything 
 so beautiful as Mrs. Carey in her lavender 
 challie, sitting behind the tea cups; unless it was 
 Nancy, flushed like a rose, changing the plates 
 and waiting on the table between courses. He 
 had never exerted himself so much at any 
 diplomatic dinner, and he won the hearts of 
 the entire family before the meal was finished. 
 
 "By the way, I have a letter of introduction 
 to you all, but especially to Miss Nancy here, 
 and I have never thought to deliver it," he said. 
 "Who do you think sent it, — all the way from 
 China?" 
 
 "My son Tom!" exclaimed Nancy irrepressi- 
 bly; "but no, he could n't, because he does n't 
 know us." 
 
 "The Admiral, of course!" cried Gilbert. 
 
 "You are both right," Mr. Hamilton an- 
 swered, drawing a letter from his coat pocket. 
 "It is a Round Robin from the Admiral and my 
 son Tom, who have been making acquaintance 
 in Hong Kong. It is addressed : 
 
 FROM THE YELLOW PERIL, IN CHINA 
 
 to 
 
 THE YELLOW HOUSE, IN BETJLAH, 
 
 Greeting! " 
 330 
 
Mother Hamilton's Birthday 
 
 Nancy crimsoned. " Did the Admiral tell your 
 son Tom I called him the Yellow Peril? It was 
 wicked of him! I did it, you know, because you 
 wrote me that the only Hamilton who cared any- 
 thing for the old house, or would ever want to 
 live in it, was your son Tom. After that I always 
 called him the Yellow Peril, and I suppose I 
 mentioned it in a letter to the Admiral." 
 
 "I am convinced that Nancy's mind is always 
 empty at bedtime," said her mother, "because 
 she tells everything in it to somebody during the 
 day. I hope age will bring discretion, but I doubt 
 it." 
 
 "My son Tom is coming home!" said his fa- 
 ther, with unmistakable delight in his voice. 
 
 Nancy, who was passing the cake, sat down 
 so heavily in her chair that everybody laughed. 
 
 "Come, come, Miss Nancy! I can't let you 
 make an ogre of the boy," urged Mr. Hamilton. 
 "He is a fine fellow, and if he comes down here 
 to look at the old place you are sure to be good 
 friends." 
 
 "Is he going back to China after his visit?" 
 asked Mrs. Carey, who felt a fear of the young 
 man something akin to her daughter's. 
 
 "No, I am glad to say. Our family has been 
 too widely separated for the last ten years. At 
 first it seemed necessary, or at least convenient 
 
 331 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 and desirable, and I did not think much about it. 
 But lately it has been continually on my mind 
 that we were leading a cheerless existence, and 
 I am determined to arrange matters differently." 
 
 Mrs. Carey remembered Ossian Popham's de- 
 scription of Mrs. Lemuel Hamilton and forebore 
 to ask any questions with regard to her where- 
 abouts, since her husband did not mention her. 
 
 "You will all be in Washington then," she 
 said, "and your son Tom with you, of course?" 
 
 "Not quite so near as that," his father replied, 
 "Tom's firm is opening a Boston office and he 
 will be in charge of that. When do you expect 
 the Admiral back? Tom talks of their coming 
 together on the Bedouin, if it can be arranged." 
 
 "We have n't heard lately," said Mrs. Carey; 
 "but he should return within a month or two, 
 should he not, Nancy? My daughter w T rites all 
 the letters for the family, Mr. Hamilton, as you 
 know by this time." 
 
 "I do, to my great delight and satisfaction. 
 Now there is one thing I have not seen yet, some- 
 thing about which I have a great deal of senti- 
 ment. May I smoke my cigar under the famous 
 crimson rambler?" 
 
 The sun set flaming red, behind the Beulah 
 hills. The frogs sang in the pond by the House 
 of Lords, and the grasshoppers chirped in the 
 
 332 
 
Mother Hamilton's Birthday 
 
 long grass of Mother Hamilton's favorite hay- 
 field. Then the moon, round and deep-hued as 
 a great Mandarin orange, came up into the sky 
 from which the sun had faded, and the little group 
 still sat on the side piazza, talking. Nothing 
 but their age and size kept the Carey chick- 
 ens out of Mr. Hamilton's lap, and Peter finally 
 went to sleep with his head against the consul's 
 knee. He was a "lappy" man, Nancy said next 
 morning; and indeed there had been no one like 
 him in the family circle for many a long month. 
 He was tender, he was gay, he was fatherly, he 
 was interested in all that concerned them ; so no 
 wonder that he heard all about Gilbert's plans 
 for earning money, and Nancy's accepted story. 
 No wonder he exclaimed at the check for ten dol- 
 lars proudly exhibited in payment, and no won- 
 der he marvelled at the Summer Vacation School 
 in the barn, where fourteen little scholars were 
 already enrolled under the tutelage of the Carey 
 Faculty. "I never wanted to go to anything in 
 my life as much as I want to go to that school!" 
 he asserted. "If I could write a circular as en- 
 ticing as that, I should be a rich man. I wish 
 you 'd let me have some new ones printed, girls, 
 and put me down for three evening lectures ; I 'd 
 do almost anything to get into that Faculty." 
 "I wish you 'd give the lectures for the benefit 
 333 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 of the Faculty, that would be better still," said 
 Kitty. "Nancy's coming-out party was to be in 
 the barn this summer; that 's one of the things 
 we 're earning money for; or at least we make 
 believe that it is, because it 's so much more fun 
 to work for a party than for coal or flour or 
 meat!" 
 
 A look from Mrs. Carey prevented the chil- 
 dren from making any further allusions to econ- 
 omy, and Gilbert skilfully turned the subject by 
 giving a dramatic description of the rise and fall 
 of The Dirty Boy, from its first appearance at[his 
 mother's wedding breakfast to its last, at the 
 house-warming supper. 
 
 After Lemuel Hamilton had gone back to the 
 little country hotel he sat by the open window 
 for another hour, watching the moonbeams shim- 
 mering on the river and bathing the tip of the 
 white meeting-house steeple in a flood of light. 
 The air was still and the fireflies were rising above 
 the thick grass and carrying their fairy lamps 
 into the lower branches of the feathery elms. 
 "Haying" would begin next morning, and he 
 would be wakened by the sharpening of scythes 
 and the click of mowing machines. He would 
 like to work in the Hamilton fields, he thought, 
 knee-deep in daisies, — fields on whose grass he 
 had not stepped since he was a boy just big 
 
 334 
 
Mother Hamilton's Birthday 
 
 enough to go behind the cart and "rake after." 
 What an evening it had been ! None of them 
 had known it, but as a matter of fact they had all 
 scaled Shiny Wall and had been sitting with Mo- 
 ther Carey in Peacepool ; that was what had made 
 everything so beautiful! Mr. Hamilton's last 
 glimpse of the Careys had been the group at the 
 Yellow House gate. Mrs. Carey, with her brown 
 hair shining in the moonlight leaned against Gil- 
 bert, the girls stood beside her, their arms locked 
 in hers, while Peter clung sleepily to her hand. 
 
 "I believe they are having hard times!" he 
 thought, "and I can't think of anything I can 
 safely do to make things easier. Still, one can- 
 not pity, one can only envy them! That is the 
 sort of mother I would have made had I been Na- 
 ture and given a free hand ! I would have put a 
 label on Mrs. Carey, saying: 'This is what I 
 meant a woman to be! ' " 
 
XXXIV 
 
 NANCY COMES OUT 
 
 Nancy's seventeenth birthday was past, and it 
 was on the full of the August moon that she fin- 
 ally "came out "in the Hamilton barn. It was 
 the barn's first public appearance too, for the vil- 
 lagers had not been invited to the private Satur- 
 day night dances that took place during the brief 
 reign of the Hamilton boys and girls. Beulah 
 was more excited about the barn than it was 
 about Nancy, and she was quite in sympathy 
 with this view of things, as the entire Carey fam- 
 ily, from mother to Peter, was fairly bewitched 
 with its new toy. Day by day it had grown 
 more enchanting as fresh ideas occurred to one or 
 another, and especially to Osh Popham, who 
 lived, breathed, and had his being in the barn, 
 and who had lavished his ingenuity and skill 
 upon its fittings. Not a word did he vouchsafe 
 to the general public of the extraordinary nature 
 of these fittings, nor of the many bewildering 
 features of the entertainment which was to take 
 place within the almost sacred precincts. All 
 the Carey festivities had heretofore been in the 
 house save the one in honor of the hanging of the 
 
 336 
 
Nancy Comes Out 
 
 weather vane, which had been an out-of-door 
 function, attended by the whole village. Now 
 the community was all agog to disport itself in 
 pastures new; its curiosity being further piqued 
 by the reception of written invitations, a conven- 
 tion not often indulged in by Beulah. 
 
 The eventful day dawned, clear and cool; a 
 day with an air like liquid amber, that properly 
 belonged to September, — the weather prophet 
 really shifting it into August from pure kindness, 
 having taken a sticky dogday out and pitch- 
 forked it into the next month. 
 
 The afternoon passed in various stages of plot- 
 ting, planning, and palpitation, and every girl in 
 Beulah, of dancing age, was in her bedroom, try- 
 ing her hair a new way. The excitement in- 
 creased a thousand fold when it was rumored 
 that an Admiral (whatever that might be) had 
 arrived at the hotel and would appear at the 
 barn in full uniform. After that, nobody's 
 braids or puffs would go right ! 
 
 Nancy never needed to study Paris plates, for 
 her hair dressed itself after a fashion set by all 
 the Venuses and Cupids and little Loves since 
 the world began. It curled, whether she would 
 or no, so the only method was to part the curls 
 and give them a twist into a coil, from which 
 vagrant spirals fell to the white nape of her neck. 
 
 337 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Or, if she felt gay and coquettish as she did to- 
 night, the curls were pinned high to the crown 
 of her head and the runaways rioted here and 
 there, touching her cheek, her ear, her neck, 
 never ugly, wherever they ran. 
 
 Nancy had a new yellow organdy made "al- 
 most to touch/' and a twist of yellow ribbon in 
 her hair. Kathleen and Julia were in the white 
 dresses brought them by Cousin Ann, and Mrs. 
 Carey wore her new black silk, made with a 
 sweeping little train. Her wedding necklace 
 of seed pearls was around her neck, and a tall 
 comb of tortoise shell and pearls rose from the 
 low-coiled knot of her shining hair. 
 
 The family "received" in the old carriage 
 house, and when everybody had assembled, to 
 the number of seventy-five or eighty, the door 
 into the barn was thrown open majestically by 
 Gilbert, in his character as head of the house of 
 Carey. Words fail to describe the impression 
 made by the barn as it was introduced to the 
 company, Nancy's debut sinking into positive 
 insignificance beside it. 
 
 Dozens of brown japanned candle-lanterns 
 hung from the beamed ceiling, dispensing little 
 twinkles of light here and there, while larger ones 
 swung from harness pegs driven into the sides of 
 the walls. The soft gray-brown of the old weath- 
 
 338 
 
Nancy Comes Out 
 
 ered lumber everywhere, made a lovely back- 
 ground for the birch-bark brackets, and the white 
 birch-bark vases that were filled with early golden- 
 rod, mixed with tall Queen Anne's lace and golden 
 glow. The quaint settles surrounding the sides 
 of the room were speedily rilled by the admiring 
 guests. Colonel Wheeler's tiny upright piano 
 graced the platform in the "tie up." Miss Susie 
 Bennett, the church organist, was to play it, aided 
 now and then by Mrs. Carey or Julia. Osh Pop- 
 ham was to take turns on the violin with a cousin 
 from Warren's Mills, who was reported to be the 
 master fiddler of the county. 
 
 When all was ready Mrs. Carey stood between 
 the master fiddler and Susie Bennett, and there 
 was a sudden hush in the room. "Friends and 
 neighbors," she said, "we now declare the Hall 
 of Happy Hours open for the general good of the 
 village. If it had not been for the generosity of 
 our landlord, Mr. Lemuel Hamilton, we could 
 never have given you this pleasure, and had not 
 our helpers been so many, we could never have 
 made the place so beautiful. Before the general 
 dancing begins there will be a double quadrille of 
 honor, in which all those will take part who 
 have driven a nail, papered or painted a wall, 
 dug a spadeful of earth, or done any work in or 
 about the Yellow House." 
 
 339 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 "Three cheers for Mrs. Carey!" called Bill 
 Harmon, and everybody complied lustily. 
 
 "Three cheers for Lemuel Hamilton!" and the 
 rafters of the barn rang with the response. 
 
 Just then the Admiral changed his position 
 to conceal the moisture that was beginning to 
 gather in his eyes; and the sight of a person- 
 age so unspeakably magnificent in a naval 
 uniform induced Osh Popham to cry spontane- 
 ously: "Three cheers for the Admiral! I don't 
 know what he ever done, but he looks as if he 
 could, all right!" at which everybody cheered 
 and roared, and the Admiral to his great sur- 
 prise made a speech, during which the telltale 
 tears appeared so often in his eyes and in his 
 voice, that Osh Popham concluded privately that 
 if the naval hero ever did meet an opposing bat- 
 tleship he would be likelier to drown the enemy 
 than fire into them! 
 
 The double quadrille of honor passed off with 
 much elegance, everybody not participating in 
 it being green with envy because he was not. 
 Mrs. Carey and the Admiral were partners; 
 Nancy danced with Mr. Popham, Kathleen with 
 Digby, Julia with Bill Harmon. The other cou- 
 ples were Mrs. Popham and Gilbert, Lallie Joy 
 and Cyril Lord, Olive and Nat Harmon, while 
 Mrs. Bill led out a very shy and uncomfortable 
 
 340 
 
Nancy Comes Out 
 
 gentleman who had dug the ditches for Cousin 
 Ann's expensive pipes. 
 
 Then the fun and the frolic began in earnest. 
 The girls had been practising the old-fashioned 
 contra dances all summer, and training the 
 younger generation in them at the Vacation 
 School. The old folks needed no rehearsal! If 
 you had waked any of them in the night sud- 
 denly they could have called the changes for 
 Speed the Plough, The Soldier's Joy, The Maid 
 in the Pump Room, or Hull's Victory. 
 
 Money Musk brought Nancy and Mr. Henry 
 Lord on to the floor as head couple; a result at- 
 tained by that young lady by every means, fair 
 or foul, known to woman ; at least a rudimentary, 
 budding woman of seventeen summers ! His com- 
 ing to the party at all was regarded by Mother 
 Carey, who had spent the whole force of her be- 
 ing in managing it, as nothing short of a miracle. 
 He had accepted partly from secret admiration 
 of his handsome neighbor, partly to show the vil- 
 lage that he did not choose always to be a hermit 
 crab, partly out of curiosity to see the unusual 
 gathering. Having crawled out of his selfish 
 shell far enough to grace the occasion, he took 
 another step when Nancy asked him to dance. 
 It was pretty to see her curtsey when she put the 
 question, pretty to see the air of triumph with 
 
 341 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 which she led him to the head of the line, and 
 positively delightful to the onlookers to see Hen 
 Lord doing right and left, ladies' chain, balance 
 to opposite and cast off, at a girl's beck and call. 
 He was not a bad dancer, when his sluggish blood 
 once got into circulation; and he was consider- 
 ably more limber at the end of Money Musk, 
 considerably less like a wooden image, than at 
 the beginning of it. 
 
 In the interval between this astounding ex- 
 hibition and the Rochester Schottisch which fol- 
 lowed it, Henry Lord went up to Mrs. Carey, 
 who was sitting in a corner a little apart from 
 her guests for the moment. 
 
 "Shall I go to South America, or shall I not?" 
 he asked her in an undertone. "Olive seems 
 pleasantly settled, and Cyril tells me you will 
 consent to take him into your family for six 
 months; still, I would like a woman's advice." 
 
 Mother Carey neither responded, "I should 
 prefer not to take the responsibility of advising 
 you," nor "Pray do as you think best"; she sim- 
 ply said, in a tone she might have used to a frac- 
 tious boy: 
 
 "I wouldn't go, Mr. Lord! Wait till Olive 
 and Cyril are a little older. Cyril will grow into 
 my family instead of into his own; Olive will 
 learn to do without you; worse yet, you will learn 
 
 342 
 
Nancy Comes Out 
 
 to do without your children. Stay at home and 
 have Olive come back to you and her brother 
 every week end. South America is a long dis- 
 tance when there are only three of you ! " 
 
 Prof. Lord was not satisfied with Mrs. Carey's 
 tone. It was so maternal that he expected at any 
 moment she might brush his hair, straighten his 
 necktie, and beg him not to sit up too late, but 
 his instinct told him it was the only tone he was 
 ever likely to hear from her, and so he said re- 
 luctantly, "Very well; I confess that I really 
 rely on your judgment, and I will decline the 
 invitation." 
 
 "I think you are right," Mrs. Carey answered, 
 wondering if the man would ever see his duty 
 with his own eyes, or whether he had deliberately 
 blinded himself for life. 
 
XXXV 
 
 THE CRIMSON RAMBLER 
 
 While Mrs. Carey was talking with Mr. Lord, 
 Nancy skimmed across the barn floor intent on 
 some suddenly remembered duty, went out into 
 the garden, and met face to face a strange 
 young man standing by the rose trellis and look- 
 ing in at the dance through the open door. 
 
 He had on a conventional black dinner-coat, 
 something never seen in Beulah, and wore a soft 
 travelling cap. At first Nancy thought he was a 
 friend of the visiting fiddler, but a closer look at 
 his merry dark eyes gave her the feeling that she 
 had seen him before, or somebody very like him. 
 He did not wait for her to speak, but taking off 
 his cap, put out his hand and said: "By your re- 
 semblance to a photograph in my possession I 
 think you are the girl who planted the crimson 
 rambler." 
 
 "Are you 'my son Tom '?" asked Nancy, open 
 astonishment in her tone. "I mean my Mr. 
 Hamilton's son Tom?" 
 
 "I am my Mr. Hamilton's son Tom; or shall 
 we say our Mr. Hamilton's? Do two 'mys' make 
 one 'our'?" 
 
 344 
 
The Crimson Rambler 
 
 "Upon my word, wonders will never cease ! 9> 
 exclaimed Nancy. "The Admiral said you were 
 in Boston, but he never told us you would visit 
 Beulah so soon!" 
 
 "No, I wanted it to be a secret. I wanted to 
 appear when the ball was at its height; the ghost 
 of the old regime confronting the new, so to 
 speak." 
 
 "Beulah will soon be a summer resort; every- 
 body seems to be coming here." 
 
 "It 's partly your fault, is n't it?" 
 
 "Why, pray?" 
 
 "'The Water Babies' is one of my favorite 
 books, and I know all about Mother Carey's 
 chickens. They go out over the seas and show 
 good birds the way home." 
 
 "Are you a good bird?" asked Nancy saucily. 
 
 "I 'm home, at all events!" said Tom with an 
 emphasis that made Nancy shiver lest the 
 young - man had come to Beulah with a view of 
 taking up his residence in the paternal mansion. 
 
 The two young people sat down on the piazza 
 steps while the music of The Sultan's Polka 
 floated out of the barn door. Old Mrs. Jenks 
 was dancing with Peter, her eighty-year-old 
 steps as fleet as his, her white side-curls bob- 
 bing to the tune. Her withered hands clasped 
 his dimpled ones and the two seemed to be of the 
 
 345 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 same age, for in the atmosphere of laughter and 
 goodwill there would have been no place for the 
 old in heart, and certainly Mrs. Jenks was as 
 young as any one at the party. 
 
 "I can't help dreading you, nice and amiable 
 as you look," said Nancy candidly to Tom Ham- 
 ilton; "I am so afraid you '11 fall in love with the 
 Yellow House and want it back again. Are you 
 engaged to be married to a little-footed China 
 doll, or anything like that?" she asked with a 
 teasing, upward look and a disarming smile that 
 robbed the question of any rudeness. 
 
 "No, not engaged to anything or anybody, 
 but I 've a notion I shall be, soon, if all goes 
 well! I'm getting along in years now!" 
 
 "I might have known it!" sighed Nancy. "It 
 was a prophetic instinct, my calling you the Yel- 
 low Peril." 
 
 "It isn't a bit nice of you to dislike me before 
 you know me; I did n't do that way with you!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, in the first letter you ever wrote father 
 you sent your love to any of his children that 
 should happen to be of the right size. I chanced 
 to be just the right size, so I accepted it, grate- 
 fully; I've got it here with me to-night; no, I left 
 it in my other coat," he said merrily, making a 
 fictitious search through his pockets. 
 
 346 
 
The Crimson Rambler 
 
 Nancy laughed at his nonsense; she could not 
 help it. 
 
 "Will you promise to get over your foolish and 
 wicked prejudices if I on my part promise never 
 to take the Yellow House away from you unless 
 you wish?" continued Tom. 
 
 "Willingly," exclaimed Nancy joyously. 
 "That 's the safest promise I could make, for I 
 would never give up living in it unless I had to. 
 First it was father's choice, then it was mother's, 
 now all of us seem to have built ourselves into it, 
 as it were. I am almost afraid to care so much 
 about anything, and I shall be so relieved if you 
 do not turn out to be really a Yellow Peril after 
 all!" 
 
 "You are much more of a Yellow Peril your- 
 self!" said Tom, "with that dress and that rib- 
 bon in your hair ! Will you dance the next dance 
 with me, please?" 
 
 "It's The Tempest; do you know it?" 
 
 "No, but I 'm not so old but I may learn. I '11 
 form myself on that wonderful person who makes 
 jokes about the Admiral and plays the fiddle." 
 
 "That 's Ossian Popham, principal prop of the 
 House of Carey!" 
 
 "Lucky dog! Have you got all the props you 
 need?" 
 
 Nancy's hand was not old or strong or ex- 
 347 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 perienced enough to keep this strange young man 
 in order, and just as she was meditating some 
 blighting retort he went on: — 
 
 "Who is that altogether adorable, that un- 
 speakably beautiful lady in black? — the one 
 with the pearl comb that looks like a crown?" 
 
 "That 's mother," said Nancy, glowing. 
 
 "I thought so. At least I did n't know any 
 other way to account for her." 
 
 "Why does she have to be accounted for?" 
 asked Nancy, a little bewildered. 
 
 "For the same reason that you do," said the 
 audacious youth. "You explain your mother 
 and your mother explains you, a little, at any 
 rate. Where is the celebrated crimson rambler, 
 please?" 
 
 "You are sitting on it," Nancy answered tran- 
 quilly. 
 
 Tom sprang away from the trellis, on which he 
 had been half reclining. " Bless my soul ! " he ex- 
 claimed. "Why didn't you tell me? I have a 
 great affection for that rambler; it was your 
 planting it that first' made me — think favorably 
 of you. Has it any roses on it? I can't see in 
 this light." 
 
 "It is almost out of bloom; there may be a few 
 at the top somewhere; I '11 look out my window 
 to-morrow morning and see." 
 
 348 
 
PICK THAT LITTLE CLUSTER 
 
The Crimson Rambler 
 
 "At about what hour?" 
 
 "How should I know?" laughed Nancy. 
 
 " Oh ! you 're not to be depended on ! " said Tom 
 rebukingly. "Just give me your hand a moment; 
 step on that lowest rung of the trellis, now one 
 step higher, please; now stretch up your right 
 hand and pick that little cluster, do you see 
 it? — That 's right; now down, be careful, there 
 you are, thank you ! A rose in the hand is worth 
 two in the morning." 
 
 "Put it in your button hole," said Nancy. " It 
 is the last; I gave your father one of the first a 
 month ago." 
 
 "I shall put this in my pocket book and send 
 it to my mother in a letter," Tom replied. ("And 
 tell her it looks just like the girl who planted it," 
 he thought; "sweet, fragrant, spicy, graceful, 
 vigorous, full of color.") 
 
 "Now come in and meet mother," said Nancy. 
 "The polka is over, and soon they will be 'form- 
 ing on' for The Tempest." 
 
 Tom Hamilton's entrance and introduction 
 proved so interesting that it delayed the dance 
 for a few moments. Then Osh Popham and the 
 master fiddler tuned their violins and Mrs. Carey 
 assisted Susie Bennett at the piano, so that there 
 were four musicians to give fresh stimulus to the 
 impatient feet. 
 
 349 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 Tom Hamilton hardly knew whether he would 
 rather dance with Nancy or stand at the open 
 door and watch her as he had been doing earlier 
 in the evening. He could not really see her now, 
 although he was her partner, his mind was so oc- 
 cupied with the intricate figures, but he could 
 feel her, in every fibre of his body, the touch of 
 her light hand was so charged with magnetism. 
 
 Somebody swung the back doors of the barn 
 wide open. The fields, lately mown, sloped gently 
 up to a fringe of pines darkly green against the 
 sky. The cool night air stirred the elms, and the 
 brilliant moon appeared in the very centre of the 
 doorway. The beauty of the whole scene went 
 to Tom Hamilton's head a little, but he kept his 
 thoughts steadily on the changes as Osh Pop- 
 ham called them. 
 
 To watch Nancy Carey dance The Tempest 
 was a sight to stir the blood. The two head 
 couples joined hands and came down the length 
 of the barn four abreast; back they went in a 
 whirl; then they balanced to the next couple, then 
 came four hands round and ladies' chain, and 
 presently they came down again flying, with an- 
 other four behind them. The first four were Nancy 
 and Tom, Ralph Thurston and Kathleen, the 
 last two among the best dancers in Beulah; but 
 while Kitty was slim and straight and graceful as 
 
 350 
 
The Crimson Rambler 
 
 a young fawn, Nancy swept down the middle of 
 the barn floor like a flower borne by the breeze. 
 She was Youth, Hope, Joy incarnate! She had 
 washed the dishes that night, would wash them 
 again in the morning, but what of that? What 
 mattered it that the years just ahead (for aught 
 she knew to the contrary) were full of self-denial 
 and economy? Was she not seventeen? Any- 
 thing was possible at seventeen! What if the 
 world was to be a work-a-day world? There was 
 music and laughter in it as well as work, and 
 there was love in it, too, oceans of love, so why 
 not trip and be merry and guide one's young 
 partner safely through the difficult mazes of the 
 dance and bring him out flushed and triumphant, 
 to receive mother's laughing compliments? 
 
 Everybody was dancing The Tempest in his or 
 her own fashion, thought the Admiral, looking 
 on. Mrs. Popham was grave, even gloomy from 
 the waist up, but incredibly lively from the waist 
 down, moving with the precision of machinery, 
 while her partner, a bricklayer from Beulah Cen- 
 tre, engaged the attention of the entire company 
 by his wonderful steps. She was fully up to time 
 too, you may be sure, as her rival, Mrs. Bill Har- 
 mon, was opposite her in the set. Lallie Joy, 
 clad in one of Kathleen's dresses, her hair dressed 
 by Julia, was a daily attendant at the Vacation 
 
 351 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 School, but five weeks of steady instruction 
 had not sufficed to make her sure of ladies' 
 grand chain. Olive moved like a shy little 
 wild thing, with a bending head and a grace 
 all her own, while Gilbert had great ease and 
 distinction. 
 
 There was a brief interval for ice cream, accom- 
 panied by marble cake, gold cake, silver cake, 
 election cake, sponge cake, cup cake, citron cake, 
 and White Mountain cake, and while it was 
 being eaten, Susie Bennett played The Sliding 
 Waltz, The Maiden's Prayer, and Listen to the 
 Mocking Bird with variations; variations requir- 
 ing almost supernatural celerity. 
 
 "I guess there ain't many that can touch Sutey 
 at the piano!" said Osh Popham, who sat beside 
 the Admiral. "Have you seen anybody in the 
 cities that could play any faster 'n she can? 
 And do you ever ketch her landin' on a black 
 note when she started for a white one ? I guess 
 not!" 
 
 "You are right! "replied the Admiral, "and 
 now there seems to be a general demand for you. 
 What are they requesting you to do, — fly?" 
 
 "That 's it," said Osh. "Mis' Carey, will you 
 play for me? Maria, you can go into the carriage 
 house if you don't want to be disgraced." 
 
 352 
 
The Crimson Rambler 
 
 " Come, my beloved, haste away, 
 Cut short the hours of thy delay. 
 Fly like a youthful hart or roe 
 Over the hills where spices grow." 
 
 At length the strains of the favorite old tune 
 faded on the ears of the delighted audience. Then 
 they had The Portland Fancy and The Irish 
 Washerwoman and The College Hornpipe, and 
 at last the clock in the carriage house struck mid- 
 night and the guests departed in groups of twos 
 and threes and fours, their cheerful voices sound- 
 ing far down the village street. 
 
 Osh Popham stayed behind to cover the piano, 
 put out the lanterns, close the doors and windows, 
 and lock the barn, while Mrs. Carey and the Ad- 
 miral strolled slowly along the greensward to the 
 side door of the house. 
 
 "Good-night," Osh called happily as he passed 
 them a few minutes later. "I guess Beulah never 
 see a party such as ourn was, this evenin' ! I 
 guess if the truth was known, the State o' Maine 
 never did, neither ! Good-night, all ! Mebbe if I 
 hurry along I can ketch up with Maria!" 
 
 His quick steps brushing the grassy pathway 
 could be heard for some minutes in the clear still 
 air, and presently the sound of his mellow tenor 
 came floating back: — 
 
 353 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 " Come, my beloved, haste away, 
 Cut short the hours of thy delay. 
 Fly like a youthful hart or roe 
 Over the hills where spices grow." 
 
 Julia had gone upstairs with the sleepy Peter- 
 bird, who had been enjoying his first experience 
 of late hours on the occasion of Nancy's coming 
 out; the rest of the young folks were gathered in 
 a group under the elms, chatting in couples, — 
 Olive and Ralph Thurston, Kathleen and Cyril 
 Lord, Nancy and Tom Hamilton. Then they 
 parted, Tom Hamilton strolling to the country 
 hotel with the young school teacher for com- 
 panion, while Olive and Cyril walked across the 
 fields to the House of Lords. 
 
 It was a night in a thousand. The air was 
 warm, clear, and breathlessly still; so still that 
 not a leaf stirred on the trees. The sky was cloud- 
 less, and the moon, brilliant and luminous, shone 
 as it seldom shines in a northern clime. The 
 water was low in Beulah's shining river and it ran 
 almost noiselessly under the bridge. While Kath- 
 leen and Julia were still unbraiding their hair, ex- 
 claiming at every twist of the hand as to the 
 "loveliness" of the party, Nancy had kissed her 
 mother and crept silently into bed. All night 
 long the strains of The Tempest ran through her 
 dreams. There was the touch of a strange hand 
 
 354 
 
The Crimson Rambler 
 
 on hers, an altogether new touch, warm and com- 
 pelling. There was the gay trooping down the 
 centre of the barn in fours, — some one by her 
 side who had never been there before, — and a 
 sensation entirely new and intoxicating, that 
 whenever she met the glance of her partner's 
 merry dark eyes she found herself at the bottom 
 of them. 
 
 Was she a child when she heard Osh Popham 
 cry: "Take your partners for The Tempest!" 
 and was she a woman when he called: "All prom- 
 enade to seats!" She hardly knew. Beulah was 
 a dream; the Yellow House was a dream, the 
 dance was a dream, the partner was a dream. At 
 one moment she was a child helping her father to 
 plant the crimson rambler, at another she was a 
 woman pulling a rose from the topmost branch 
 and giving it to some one who steadied her hand 
 on the trellis; some one who said "Thank you" 
 and "Good-night" differently from the rest of 
 the world. 
 
 Who was the young stranger? Was he the 
 Knight of Beulah Castle, the Overlord of the Yel- 
 low House, was he the Yellow Peril, was he a good 
 bird to whom Mother Carey's chicken had shown 
 the way home ? Still the dream went on in bewil- 
 dering circles, and Nancy kept hearing mysteri- 
 ous phrases spoken with a new meaning. — "Will 
 
 355 
 
Mother Carey's Chickens 
 
 you dance with me?" "Doesn't the House of 
 Carey need another prop?" "Won't you give 
 me a rose?" and above all: "You sent your love 
 to any one of the Hamilton children who should 
 be of the right size; I was just the right size, and 
 I took it!" 
 
 "Love could n't be sent in a letter!" expostu- 
 lated Nancy in the dream; and somebody, in the 
 dream, always answered, "Don't be so sure! 
 Very strange things happen when Mother Carey's 
 messengers go out over the seas. Don't you re- 
 member how they spoke to Tom in ' The Water 
 Babies '? — Among all the songs that came across 
 the water one was more sweet and clear than all, 
 for it was the song of a young girl's voice. . . . 
 And what was the song that she sung? . . . Have 
 patience, keep your eye single and your hands 
 clean, and you will learn some day to sing it your- 
 self, without needing any man to teach you!" 
 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S . A