winthrop had been at waynewood a week—a week of which one day had been so like the next that winthrop remembered them all with impartial haziness and content. it was delightful to have nothing more startling to look forward to than a quail-shoot, a dinner at sunnyside, or a game of whist in town; to have each day as alike in mellowness and sunshine as they were similar in events, pass softly across the garden, from shadow to shadow, the while he watched its passage with tranquilly smiling eyes and inert body from the seat under the magnolia or a chair on the quiet porch.

the past became the flimsiest of ghosts, the future a mere insignificant speck on the far horizon. what mattered it that once his heart had ached? that he was practically penniless? that somewhere[151] men were hurrying and striving for wealth? the sky was hazily blue, the sunlight was wine of gold, the southern breeze was the soothing touch of a soft and fragrant hand that bade him rest and sleep, for there was no yesterday and no morrow, and the taste of lotus was sweet in his mouth. the mornings danced brightly past to the lilt of bird song; the afternoons paced more leisurely, crossing the tangled garden with measured, somnolent tread so quiet that not a leaf stirred, not a bird chirped in the enfolding silence; the evenings grew from purple haze, fragrant with wood-smoke, to blue-black clarity set with a million silver stars whose soft radiance bathed the still world with tender light. such days and such nights have a spell, and winthrop was bound.

and holly? fate, although she was still unsuspecting of the fact, had toppled the stone into the stream and the ripples were already widening. winthrop’s coming had been an event. holly had her friends, girls of her own age, who came to waynewood[152] to see her and whom she visited in town, and young men in the early twenties who walked or drove out in the evenings, when their duties in the stores and offices were over, and made very chivalrous and distant love to her in the parlor. but for all that many of the days had been long with only aunt india, who was not exactly chatty, and the servants to talk to. but now it was different. this charming and delightfully inexplicable northerner was fair prey. he was never too busy to listen to her; in fact, he was seldom busy at all, unless sitting, sometimes with a closed book in one’s lap, and gazing peacefully into space may be termed being busy. they had quite exciting mornings together very often, exciting, at least, for holly, when she unburdened herself of a wealth of reflections and conclusions and when he listened with the most agreeable attention in the world and always said just the right thing to tempt her tongue to more brilliant ardor.

and then in the afternoons, while aunt[153] india slept and holly couldn’t, just because the blood ran far too fast in her young veins, there were less stimulating but very comforting talks in the shade of the porch. and sometimes they walked, but,—for holly had inherited the characteristic disinclination for overindulgence in that form of exercise,—not very frequently. holly would have indorsed the proverb—persian, isn’t it?—which says, in part, that it is easier to sit than to stand and easier to lie down than to sit. and winthrop at this period would have agreed with her. judged by northern standards, holly might have been deemed lazy. but we must remember that holly came of people who had never felt the necessity of physical exertion, since there had always been slaves at hand to perform the slightest task, and for whom the climate had prohibited any inclination in that direction. holly’s laziness was that of a kitten, which seldom goes out to walk for pleasure but which will romp until its breath is gone or stalk a sparrow for an hour untiringly.

[154]

by the end of the first week she and winthrop had become the very good friends they had agreed to be. they had reached the point where it was no longer necessary to preface their conversation with an introduction. now when holly had anything to say—and she usually did—she plunged right in without any preliminary shivers. as this morning when, having given out the supplies for the day to aunt venus, she joined winthrop under the magnolia, settling her back against the trunk and clasping her hands about her knees, “i reckon there are two sides to everything,” she said, with the air of one who is announcing the result of long study.

winthrop, who had arisen at her approach and remained standing until she had seated herself, settled back again and smiled encouragingly. he liked to hear her talk, liked the soft coo of her voice, liked the things she said, liked, besides, to watch the play of expression on her face.

“father always said that the yankees had no right to interfere with the south[155] and that it wasn’t war with them, it was just homicide. homicide’s where you kill someone else, isn’t it? i always get it mixed up with suicide.”

winthrop nodded.

“that’s what he used to say, and i’m sure he believed it or he’d never have said it. but maybe he was mistaken. was he, do you think?”

“he might have been a trifle biased,” said winthrop.

holly was silent a moment. then——

“uncle major,” she continued, “used to argue with him, but father always had the best of it. i reckon, though, you northerners are sorry now, aren’t you?”

“sorry that there was war, yes,” answered winthrop, smilingly; “but not sorry for what we did.”

“but if it was wrong?” argued holly. “’pears to me you ought to be sorry! just see the heaps and heaps of trouble you made for the south! julian says that you ought to have paid us for every negro you took away from us.”

[156]

“indeed? and who, may i ask, is julian?”

“julian wayne is my cousin, my second cousin. he graduated from medical college last year. he lives in marysville, over yonder.” holly nodded vaguely toward the grove.

“practising, is he?”

“he’s dr. thompson’s assistant,” said holly. “he’s getting experience. after awhile he’s going to come to corunna.” there was a pause. “he’s coming over to-morrow to spend sunday.”

“really? and does he make these trips very often?”

“oh, every now and then,” answered holly, carelessly.

“perhaps there is an attraction hereabouts,” suggested winthrop.

“maybe it’s aunt india,” said holly, gravely.

winthrop laughed.

“is he nice, this cousin julian?” he asked.

holly nodded.

[157]

“he’s a dear boy. he’s very young yet, only twenty-three.”

“and eighteen from twenty-three leaves five,” teased winthrop. “i’ve heard, i think, that ten is the ideal disparity in years for purposes of marriage, but doubtless five isn’t to be sneezed at.”

holly’s smooth cheeks reddened a little.

“a girl ought to marry a man much older than herself,” she said, decisively.

“oh! then julian won’t do?”

“i haven’t decided,” holly laughed. “maybe. he’s nice. i wonder if you’ll like him. will you try to, please? he—he’s awfully down on northerners, though.”

“that’s bad,” said winthrop, seriously. “perhaps he won’t approve of me. do you think i’d better run away over sunday? i might go out to visit colonel byers; he’s asked me.”

“silly!” said holly. “he won’t eat you!”

“well, that’s comforting. i’ll stay, then. the dislike of northerners seems to[158] be a strong trait in your family, miss holly.”

“oh, some northerners are quite nice,” she answered, with a challenging glance.

“i wonder,” he asked, with intense diffidence, “i wonder—if i’m included among the quite nice ones?”

“what do you think, mr. winthrop?”

“well, i’ve always thought rather well of myself until i came to corunna. but now that i have learned just how poor a lot northerners are, i find myself rather more modest.”

winthrop sighed depressedly.

“i’ll change it,” said holly, her eyes dancing. “i’ll say instead that one northerner is very nice.”

“you said ‘quite nice’ before.”

“that just shows that i like you better every minute,” laughed the girl.

winthrop sighed.

“it’s a dangerous course you’re pursuing, miss holly,” he said, sadly. “if you aren’t awfully careful you’ll lose a good slave and find a poor admirer.”

[159]

“my admirers must be my slaves, too,” answered holly.

“i am warned. i thank you. i could never play a dual rôle, i fear.”

holly pouted.

“then which do you choose?” she asked, aggrievedly.

“to be your slave, my dear young lady; i fancy that rôle would be more becoming to middle-age and, at all events, far less hazardous.”

“but if i command you to admire me you’ll have to, you see; slaves must obey.”

“i haven’t waited for the command,” replied winthrop.

“you blow hot and cold, sir. first you refuse to be my admirer and then you declare that you do admire me. what am i to believe?”

“that my heart and brain are at war, miss holly. my heart says: ‘down on your knees!’ but my brain says: ‘don’t you do it, my boy; she’ll lead you a dance that your aged limbs won’t take kindly to, and in the end she’ll run out of your sight,[160] laughing, leaving you to sorrow and liniment!”

“you have as good as called me a coquette, mr. winthrop,” charged holly, severely.

“have i? and, pray, what have you been doing for the last ten minutes but coquetting with me, young lady? tell me that.”

“have i?” asked holly, with a soft little laugh. “do you mind?”

“mind? on the contrary, do you know, i rather like it? so go right ahead; you are keeping your hand in, and at the same time flattering the vanity of one who has reached the age when to be used even for target practice is flattering.”

“your age troubles you a great deal, doesn’t it?” asked holly, ironically. “please, why do you always remind me of it? are you afraid that i’ll lose my heart to you and that you’ll have to refuse me?”

“well, you have seen me for a week,” answered winthrop, modestly, “and know my irresistible charm.”

[161]

holly was silent a moment, her brown eyes fixed speculatively on the man’s smiling face. then——

“you must feel awfully safe,” she said, with conviction, “to talk the way you do. and i reckon i know why.”

“and may i know, too?”

“no; that is, you do know already, and i’m not going to tell you. oh, what time is it, please?”

winthrop drew out his watch and then, with a shrug, dropped it back into his pocket.

“i can’t tell you. the fact is, i forgot to wind it last night. why should i wind it, anyhow? what does it matter what time it is in this place? if the sun is there, i know it’s morning; if it’s somewhere overhead, i know it’s noon; when it drops behind the trees, i know it’s evening; when it disappears, i know it’s night—and i go to sleep. watches and clocks are anachronisms here. like arctics and fur overcoats.”

“i shall go and find out,” said holly, rising.

[162]

“why waste time and effort in the pursuit of unprofitable knowledge?” sighed winthrop. but he received no answer, for his companion was already making her way through the garden. winthrop laid his head back against the tree and, with half-closed eyes, smiled lazily and contentedly up into the brown-and-green leafage above. and as he did so a thought came to him, a most ridiculous, inappropriate thought, a veritable serpent-in-eden thought; he wondered what “a. s. common” was selling for! he drove the thought away angrily. what nonsense! if he wasn’t careful he’d find himself trying to remember the amount of his balance in bank! odd what absurd turns the mind was capable of! well, the only way to keep his mind away from idle speculation was to turn his thoughts toward serious and profitable subjects. so he wondered why the magnolia leaves were covered with green satin on top and tan velvet beneath. but before he had arrived at any conclusion holly came back, bearing a glass containing[163] a milky-white liquid and a silver spoon.

“it’s past the time,” she said.

“then you shouldn’t have bothered to bring it,” answered winthrop, regretfully. “but never mind; we’ll try and remember it at supper time.”

“but you must take it now,” persisted holly, firmly.

“but i fear it wouldn’t do any good. you see, your aunt said distinctly an hour before meals. the psychological moment has passed, greatly to my rel—regret.”

“please!” said holly, holding the glass toward him. “you know it’s doing you heaps of good.”

“yes, but that’s just it, don’t you see, miss holly? if i continue to take it i’ll be quite well in no time, and that would never do. would you deprive your aunt of the pleasure she is now enjoying of dosing[164] me thrice a day with the most nauseous mixture that was ever invented?”

“shucks! it isn’t so terribly bad,” laughed holly.

winthrop observed her sternly.

“have you sampled it, may i ask?”

holly shook her head.

“then please do so. it will do you lots of good, besides preventing you from making any more well-meant but inaccurate remarks. and you have been looking a bit pale the last day or two, miss holly.”

holly viewed the mixture dubiously, hesitatingly.

“besides, you said ‘shucks,’ and you owe yourself punishment.”

“well——” holly swallowed a spoonful, tried not to shiver, and absolutely succeeded in smiling brightly afterwards.

“well?” asked winthrop, anxiously.

“i—i think it has calomel in it,” said holly.

“i feared it.” he shook his head and warded off the proffered glass. “i am a homœopath.”

[165]

“you’re a baby, that’s what you are!” said holly, tauntingly.

“ha! no one shall accuse me of cowardice.” he clenched his hands. “administer it, please.”

holly moved toward him until her skirt brushed his knees. as she dipped the spoon a faint flush crept into her cheeks. winthrop saw, and understood.

“no, give it to me,” he said. “i will feed myself. then, no matter what happens—and i fear the worst!—you will not be implicated.”

holly yielded the glass and moved back, watching him sympathetically while he swallowed two spoonfuls of the medicine.

“was it awfully bad?” she asked, as he passed the glass to her with a shudder.

winthrop reflected. then:

“frankly, it was,” he replied. “but it’s a good deal like having your teeth filled; it’s almost worth it for the succeeding glow of courage and virtue and relief it brings. put it out of sight, please, and let us talk of pleasant things.”

[166]

“what?” asked holly, as she sat down once more on the bench.

“well, let me see. suppose, miss holly, you tell me how you came to have such a charming and unusual name.”

“my mother gave it to me,” answered holly, softly. “she was very fond of holly.”

“i beg your pardon,” exclaimed winthrop. “it was an impertinent question.”

“oh, no. my mother only lived a little while after i was born—about five weeks. she died on new year’s morning. on christmas day father picked a spray of holly from one of the bushes down by the road. it was quite full of red berries and so pretty that he took it in to my mother. father said she took it in her hands and cried a little over it, and he was sorry he had brought it to her. they had laid me beside her in the bed and presently she placed the holly sprig over me and kissed me and looked at father. she couldn’t talk very much then. but father understood what she meant. ‘holly?’ he asked,[167] and mother smiled, and—and that was ‘how come.’” holly, her hands clasped between her knees, looked gravely and tenderly away across the sunny garden. winthrop kept silence for a moment. then——

“i fancy they loved each other very dearly, your father and mother,” he said.

“oh, they did!” breathed holly. “father used to tell me—about it. he always said i was just like my mother. it—it must have been beautiful. do you reckon,” she continued wistfully, “people love that way nowadays?”

“to-day, yesterday, and to-morrow,” answered winthrop. “the great passions—love, hate, acquisitiveness—are the same now as in the beginning, and will never change while the earth spins around. i hope, miss holly, that the years will bring you as great a love and as happy a one as your mother’s.”

holly viewed him pensively a moment. then a little flush crept into her cheeks and she turned her head away.

[168]

“no,” she said, “i’m not dear and sweet and gentle like my mother. besides, maybe i’d never find a man like my father.”

“perhaps not,” replied winthrop, “although i hope you will. but even if not, i wouldn’t despair. love is a very wonderful magician, who transmutes clay into gold, transforms baseness into nobility, and changes caitiffs into kings.” he laughed amusedly. “great scott! i’m actually becoming rhetorical! it’s this climate of yours, miss holly; there is something magical about it; it creeps into one’s veins like wine and makes one’s heart thump at the sound of a bird’s song. why, hang it, in another week i shall find myself singing love songs under your window on moonlight nights!”

“oh, that would be lovely!” cried holly, clapping her hands. “i haven’t been serenaded for the longest time!”

“do you mean that such things are really done here?”

“of course! the boys often serenade.[169] when i came home from the academy, julian and a lot of them serenaded me. it was a white, white night and they stood over there under my windows; i remember how black their shadows were on the path. julian and jim stuart played guitars and some of the others had banjos, and it was heavenly!”

“and such things still happen in this prematurely-aged, materialistic world!” marvelled winthrop. “it sounds like a fairy tale!”

“i reckon it sounds silly to you,” said holly.

“silly! oh, my dear young lady, if you could only realize how very, very rich you are!”

“rich?”

“yes, rich and wise with the unparalleled wealth and wisdom of youth! hearken to the words of age and experience, miss holly,” he continued, half jestingly, half seriously. “the world belongs to you and your kind; it is the kingdom of youth. the rest of us are here on sufferance;[170] but you belong. the world tolerates age, but to youth it owes allegiance and love. but your days are short in your kingdom, o queen, so make the most of them; laugh and play and love and live; above all, live! and above all be extravagant, extravagant of laughter—and of tears; extravagant of affection; run the gamut of life every hour; be mad, be foolish—but live! and so when the world thrusts you to one side, saying: ‘the king is dead! long live the king!’ you will have no regrets for a wasted reign, but can say: ‘while i ruled, i lived!’”

“i—i don’t understand—quite!” faltered holly.

“because you are too wise.”

“i reckon you mean too stupid,” mourned holly.

“too wise. you are youth, and youth is perfect wisdom. when you grow old you will know more but be less wise. and the longer you live the more learning will come to you and the more wisdom will depart. and in proof of this i point to myself[171] as an example. for no wise person would try to convince youth of its wisdom.” winthrop stopped and drew his cigarette-case from his pocket. when he had lighted a cigarette he smiled quizzically across at the girl’s sober, half-averted face. “it’s very warm, isn’t it?” he asked, with a little laugh.

but holly made no reply for a minute. then she turned a troubled face toward him.

“why did you say that?” she cried. “you’ve made me feel sad!”

with a gesture of contrition winthrop reached across and laid his hand for an instant on hers.

“my dear, i am sorry; forget it if it troubles you; i have been talking nonsense, sheer nonsense.”

but she shook her head, examining his face gravely.

“no, i don’t reckon you have; but—i don’t understand quite what you mean. only——” she paused, and presently asked:

[172]

“didn’t you live when you ruled? are you regretting?”

winthrop shrugged his shoulders.

“that,” he answered, smilingly, “is the sorry part of it; one always regrets. come, let’s go in to dinner. i heard the bell, didn’t i?”