holly’s birthday was quite an event at waynewood. aunt venus outdid herself and there never was such a dinner, from the okra soup to the young guineas and on to the snowy syllabub and the birthday cake with its eighteen flaring pink candles. uncle major was there, as were two of holly’s girl friends, and the little party of six proved most congenial. holly was in the highest spirits; everyone she knew had[195] been so kind to her. aunt india had given her dimity for a new dress and a pair of the gauziest white silk stockings that ever crackled against the ear. the dimity was white sprinkled with little dresden flowers of deep pink. holly and rosa and edith had spent fully an hour before dinner in enthusiastic planning and the fate of the white dimity was settled. it was to be made up over pale pink, and the skirt was to be quite plain save for a single deep flounce at the bottom. rosa had just the pattern for it and holly was to drive out to bellair in a day or so and get it.[196] the major had brought a blue plush case lined with maroon satin and holding three pairs of scissors, a bodkin, and two ribbon-runners.

“i don’t know what those flat gimcracks are for, holly,” he said, as she kissed him, “but ‘ham’ he said he reckoned you’d know what to do with them. i told him, ‘ham, you’re a married man and i’m a bachelor, and don’t you go and impose on my ignorance. if there’s anything indelicate about those instruments you take ’em out.’ but he said as long as i didn’t see ’em in use it was all right and proper.”

julian had sent a tiny gold brooch and winthrop had presented a five-pound box of candy. of the two the candy made the more pronounced hit. it had come all the way from new york, and was such an imposing affair with its light blue moire-paper box and its yards of silk ribbon! and then the wonderful things inside! candied violets and rose- and chrysanthemum-petals, grapes hidden in coverings of white cream, little squares of fruit-cake[197] disguised as plebeian caramels, purple raisins and white almonds buried side by side in amber glacé, white and lavender pellets that broke to nothing in the mouth and left a surprising and agreeable flavor of brandy, little smooth nuggets of gold and silver and a dozen other fanciful whims of the confectioner. the girls screamed and laughed with delight, and the major pretended to feel the effects of three brandy-drops and insisted on telling miss india about his second wife. there had been other gifts besides. holly’s old “mammy” had walked in, three miles, with six-guinea-eggs in a nest of gray moss; phœbe had gigglingly presented a yard of purple silk “h’ar ribbon,” aunt venus had brought a brown checked sun-bonnet of her own making, and even young tom, holding one thumb tightly between his teeth and standing embarrassedly on one dusty yellow foot, had brought his gift, a bundle of amulets rolled out of newspaper and artistically dyed in beet juice. yes, everyone had been very kind to holly, and[198] her eighteenth birthday was nothing short of an occasion.

in the afternoon holly and rosa and the major piled into his buggy and went for a ride, while miss india retired for her nap, and winthrop and edith sat on the porch. miss bartram was a tall, graceful, golden-haired beauty of nineteen, with sentimental gray eyes and an affectation of world-weariness which winthrop found for a time rather diverting. they perched on the joggling-board together and discussed holly, affinities, julian wayne, love, richmond, new york, northern customs—which miss edith found very strange and bizarre—marriage in the abstract, marriage in the concrete as concerned with miss edith, flowers, corunna, major cass, milk-shakes, and many other subjects. the girl was a confirmed flirt, and winthrop tired of her society long before relief came in the shape of a laughing trio borne into sight behind a jogging gray mule. after supper they played hearts, after a fashion introduced by miss bartram. whoever[199] held the queen of spades when a game was ended received a smudge on the face from each of the other players, whose privilege it was to rub one finger in the soot of the fireplace and inscribe designs on the unfortunate one’s countenance. as the queen of spades and major cass developed an affinity early in the evening the latter was a strange and fearsome sight when the party broke up. the major was to take miss edith back to town with him, and the latter entered the buggy to a chorus of remonstrances from the other girls.

“oh, don’t you go with him!” cried rosa. “your face will be a perfect sight by the time you reach home!”

“i really think, major,” laughed winthrop, “that maybe you’d better wash the side of your face next to miss bartram.”

“don’t you-all worry so much,” responded the major. “miss edith isn’t saying anything, is she? she knows it’s dark and no one’s going to see her face when she gets home. i don’t know what’s coming to the ladies these days. when i[200] was younger they didn’t let a little thing like a grain of smut interfere with a kiss or two.”

“then don’t you let him have more than two, edith,” said holly. “you heard what he said.”

“merely a figure of speech, ladies,” replied the major. “i’ve heard there wasn’t such a thing as a single kiss and i reckon there ain’t such a thing as a pair of ’em; eh, mr. winthrop?”

“always come by the dozen, as i understand it,” answered winthrop.

miss edith gave a shriek.

“i’m powerful glad i’m not riding home with you, mr. winthrop!”

“oh, it washes off quite easily, really!”

the buggy trundled out of sight around the corner of the drive to an accompaniment of laughter and farewells. miss rosa was to spend the night at waynewood, and she and holly and winthrop returned to the joggling-board, the girls spreading wraps over their shoulders. there were clouds in the sky, and the air[201] held promise of rain. holly was somewhat silent and soon dropped out of the conversation altogether. winthrop and rosa talked of books. neither, perhaps, was a great reader, but they had read some books in common and these they discussed. winthrop liked miss rosa far better than miss bartram. she was small, pretty in a soft-featured way, quiet of voice and manner, and all-in-all very girlish and sweet. she was a few months younger than holly. she lived with her brother, phaeton carter, on his plantation some eight miles out on the quitman road. her parents were dead, but before their deaths, she told him wistfully, she had been all through the north and knew washington well. her father had served as representative for two terms. she aroused winthrop’s sympathies; there seemed so little ahead of her; marriage perhaps some day with one of their country neighbors, and after that a humdrum existence without any of the glad things her young heart craved. his sympathy showed in his voice, which could[202] be very soft and caressing when it wanted to, and if rosa dreamed a little that night of an interesting northerner with sympathetic voice and eyes it wasn’t altogether her fault. meanwhile they were getting on very well, so well that they almost forgot holly’s existence. but they were reminded of it very suddenly. holly jumped off the board and seized rosa by the hand.

“bed time,” she announced, shortly.

“oh, holly!” cried the girl, in dismay. “why, it can’t be half-past ten yet!”

“it’s very late,” declared holly, severely. “come along!”

rosa allowed herself to be dragged off the seat and into the house. winthrop followed. at the foot of the stairs he said good-night, shaking hands as the custom was.

“good-night, mr. winthrop,” said rosa, regretfully, smiling a trifle shyly at him across the rail.

“good-night, miss carter. we’ll settle our discussion when there is no ogress about to drag you away. good-night, miss[203] holly. i hope there’ll be many, many more birthdays as pleasant as this one.”

“good-night,” answered holly, carelessly, her hand lying limply in his. “i’m not going to have any more birthdays—ever; i don’t like birthdays.” the glance which accompanied the words was hard, antagonistic. “will you please lock the door, mr. winthrop?”

“i’m sorry,” thought winthrop, as he made his way to his room. “she’s only a child, and a child’s friendship is very jealous. i should have remembered that.”

miss rosa returned to bellair the next afternoon, and with her departure holly’s spirits returned. winthrop smiled and sighed at the same time. it was all so palpable, so childish and—so sweet. there was the disturbing thought. why should he find his heart warming at the contemplation of holly’s tiny fit of jealousy? was he really going to make a fool of himself and spoil their pleasant comradeship by falling in love with her? what arrant nonsense! it was the silly romantic atmosphere[204] that was doing the mischief! hang it all, a man could fall in love with an alaskan totem-pole here if he was in company with it for half an hour! there were three very excellent reasons why he mustn’t let himself fall in love with holly wayne, and it was plainly his duty to keep a watch on himself. with that thought in mind he spent more time away from waynewood than theretofore, throwing himself on the companionship of the major, who was always delighted to have him drop in at his office or at the palmetto house, where he lived; or riding out to sunnyside to spend the day with colonel byers. the major had loaned him a shotgun, an antiquated 12-bore, and with this and ’squire parish’s red setter lee, he spent much time afield and had some excellent sport with the quail. holly accused him many times of being tired of her company, adding once that she was sorry she wasn’t as entertaining as rosa carter, whereupon winthrop reiterated his vows of fealty, but declared that his lazy spell had passed,[205] that he was at last acclimated and no longer satisfied with sweet inaction. and holly professed to believe him, but in her heart was sure that the fault lay with her and decided that when she was married to julian she would make him take her travelling everywhere so that she could talk as well as rosa.

december rains

december came in with a week of rainy days, during which the last of the roses were beaten from their stalks and the garden drooped dank and disconsolate. blue violets, moist and fragrant under their dripping leaves, were the only blooms the garden afforded those days. holly, to whose pagan spirit enforced confinement in-doors brought despair, took advantage of every lift of the clouds to don a linen cluster, which she gravely referred to as her rain-coat, and her oldest sun-bonnet, and get out amidst the drenched foliage. those times she searched the violet-beds and returned wet and triumphant to the house. winthrop coming back from a tramp to town one afternoon rounded the[206] curve of the carriage-road just as she regained the porch.

“violets?” he asked, his eyes travelling from the little cluster of blossoms and leaves in her hand to the soft pink of her cool, moist cheeks.

“yes, for the guest chamber,” answered holly.

“you are expecting a visitor?” he asked, his thoughts turning to julian wayne.

“stupid!” said holly. “your room is the guest room. didn’t you know it? wait, please, and i’ll put them in water for you.”

she came back while winthrop was taking off his rain-coat. the violets were nodding over the rim of a little glass. winthrop thanked her and bore them up-stairs. the next morning holly came from her aunt’s room, the door of which was opposite winthrop’s across the broad hall. his door was wide open and on the bureau stood the violets well in the angle of a two-fold photograph frame of crimson leather. holly paused in the middle of[207] the hall and looked. it was difficult to see the photographs, but one was the likeness of a child, while the other, in deeper shadow, seemed to be that of a woman. she had never been in the room since winthrop had taken possession, but this morning the desire to enter was strong. she listened, glancing apprehensively at the closed door of her aunt’s room. there was no danger from that direction, and she knew that winthrop had gone to the village.[208] fearsomely, with thumping heart and cheeks that alternately paled and flushed, she stole across the floor to the bureau. clasping her hands behind her, lest they should unwittingly touch something, she leaned over and examined the two portraits. the one on the left was that of a young woman of perhaps twenty-two years. so beautiful was the smiling oval face with its great dark eyes that holly almost gasped as she looked. the dress, of white shimmering satin, was cut low, and the shoulders and neck were perfect. a rope of small pearls encircled the round throat and in the light hair, massed high on the head, an aigrette tipped with pearls lent a regal air to beauty. holly looked long, sighing she scarcely knew why. finally she drew her eyes away and examined the other photograph, that of a sturdy little chap of four or five years, his feet planted wide apart and his chubby hands holding tight to the hoop that reached to his breast. round-faced, grave-eyed and curly-haired, he was yet a veritable[209] miniature of winthrop. but the eyes were strongly like those in the other picture, and holly had no doubts as to the identity of each subject. holly drew away, gently restored a fallen violet, and hurried guiltily from the room.

winthrop did not return for dinner that day, but sent a note by a small colored boy telling them that he was dining with the major. consequently the two ladies were alone. when the dessert came on miss india said:

“i think mr. winthrop would relish some of this clabber for his supper, holly. it will do him good. i’ll put it in the safe, my dear, and don’t let me forget to get it out for him this evening.”

“i don’t reckon he cares much for clabber, auntie.”

“not care for clabber! nonsense, my dear; everyone likes clabber. besides, it’s just what he ought to have after taking dinner at the hotel; i don’t reckon they’ll give him a thing that’s fit to eat. when your father was alive he took me to augusta[210] with him once and we stopped at a hotel there, and i assure you, holly, there wasn’t a thing i could touch! such tasteless trash you never saw! i always pity folks that have to live at hotels, and i do wish the major would go to mrs. burson’s for his meals.”

“but the bursons live mighty poorly, auntie.”

“because they have to, my child. if the major went there mrs. burson could spend more on her table. she has one of the best cooks in the town.” holly made no reply and presently miss india went on: “have you noticed,” she asked, “how mr. winthrop has improved since he came here, holly?”

“yes, auntie. he says himself that he’s much better. he was wondering the other day whether it wasn’t time to stop taking the medicine.”

“the tonic? sakes, no! why, that’s what’s holding him up, my dear, although he doesn’t realize it. i reckon he’s a much sicker man than he thinks he is.”

[211]

“he appears to be able to get around fairly well,” commented holly. “he’s always off somewhere nowadays.”

“yes, and i’m afraid he’s overdoing it, my dear. i must speak to him about it.”

“then we mightn’t get any more quail or doves, auntie.”

“it would be just as well. why he wants to kill the poor defenceless creatures i don’t see.”

“but you know you love doves, auntie,” laughed holly.

“well, maybe i do; but it isn’t right to kill them, i know.”

“doesn’t it seem strange,” asked holly presently, her eyes on the bread she was crumbling between her fingers, “that mr. winthrop never says anything about his wife?”

“i’ve never yet heard him say he had a wife,” answered miss india.

“oh, but we know that he has. uncle major said so.”

“i don’t reckon the major knows very much about it. maybe his wife’s dead.”

[212]

“oh,” said holly, thoughtfully. then: “no, i don’t think she could be dead,” she added, with conviction. “do you—do you reckon he has any children auntie?”

“sakes, child, how should i know? it’s no concern of ours, at any rate.”

“i reckon we can wonder, though. and it is funny he never speaks of her.”

“northerners are different,” said miss india sagely. “i reckon a wife doesn’t mean much to them, anyhow.”

“don’t you think mr. winthrop is nice, auntie?”

“i’ve seen men i liked better and a heap i liked worse,” replied her aunt, briefly. “but i’ll say one thing for mr. winthrop,” she added, as she arose from her chair and drew her shawl more closely around her shoulders, “he has tact; i’ve never heard him allude to the war. tact and decency,” she murmured, as she picked her keys from the table. “bring the plates, phœbe.”

four sundays passed without the appearance of julian. winthrop wondered.[213] “either,” he reflected, “they have had a quarrel or he is mighty sure of her. and it can’t be a quarrel, for she gets letters from him at least once a week. perhaps he is too busy at his work to spare the time, although——” winthrop shook his head. he had known lovers who would have made the time.

the rainy weather passed northward with its draggled skirts, and a spell of warm days ushered in the christmas season. the garden smiled again in the sunlight, and a few of the roses opened new blooms. winthrop took a trip to jacksonville a week before christmas, spent two days there, and purchased modest gifts for miss india, holly, and the major. the former had flatteringly commissioned him to make a few purchases for her, and winthrop, realizing that this showed a distinct advance in his siege of the little lady’s liking, spent many anxious moments in the performance of the task. when he returned he was graciously informed that he had purchased wisely and well. christmas[214] fell on saturday that year and julian put in an appearance friday evening. christmas morning they went to church and at two o’clock sat down to a dinner at which were present besides the family and winthrop, major cass, edith bartram, and mr. and mrs. burson. burson kept the livery stable and was a tall, awkward, self-effacing man of fifty or thereabouts, who some twenty years before had in an unaccountable manner won the toast of the county for his bride. a measure of mrs. burson’s former beauty remained, but on the whole she was a faded, depressing little woman, worn out by a long struggle against poverty.

the major, who had been out in the country in the morning, arrived late and very dusty and went up to winthrop’s room to wash before joining the others. when he came down and, after greeting the assembled party, tucked his napkin under his ample chin, he turned to winthrop with twinkling eyes.

“mr. winthrop, sir,” he said, “i came[215] mighty near not getting out of your room again, sir. i saw that picture on your bureau and fell down and worshipped. gad, sir, i don’t know when i’ve seen a more beautiful woman, outside of the present array! yes, sir, i came mighty near staying right there and feasting my eyes instead of my body, sir. and a fine-looking boy, too, mr. winthrop. your family, i reckon, sir?”

“my wife and son,” answered winthrop, gravely.

the conversation had died abruptly and everyone was frankly attentive.

“i envy you, sir, ’pon my word, i do!” said the major emphatically, between spoonfuls of soup. “as handsome a woman and boy as ever i saw, sir. they are well, i trust, mr. winthrop?”

“the boy died shortly after that portrait was taken,” responded winthrop. there were murmurs of sympathy.

“dear, dear, dear,” said the major, laying down his spoon and looking truly distressed. “i had no idea, mr. winthrop——![216] you’ll pardon me, sir, for my—my unfortunate curiosity.”

“don’t apologize, major,” answered winthrop, smilingly. “it has been six years, and i can speak of it now with some degree of equanimity. he was a great boy, that son of mine; sometimes i think that maybe the lord was a little bit envious.”

“the picture of you, sir,” said the major, earnestly. “but your lady, sir? she is—ah—well, i trust?”

“quite, i believe,” answered winthrop.

“i am glad to hear it. i trust some day, sir, you’ll bring her down and give us the pleasure of meeting her.”

“thank you,” winthrop replied, quietly.

holly began an eager conversation with julian and the talk became general, the major holding forth on the subject of cuban affairs, which were compelling a good deal of attention in that winter of 1897–8. after dinner they went out to the porch, but not before the major had, unnoticed, stationed himself at the dining-room door with a sprig of mistletoe in his hand.[217] holly and julian reached the door together and with a portentous wink at julian the major held the little bunch of leaves and berries over holly’s head. winthrop, the last to leave the room, saw what followed. julian imprisoned holly’s hands in front of her, leaned across her shoulder and pressed a kiss on her cheek. there was a little cry of alarm from holly, drowned by the major’s chuckle and julian’s triumphant laugh. holly’s eyes caught sight of the mistletoe, the blood dyed her face, and she smiled uncertainly.

“he caught you, my dear,” chuckled the major.

“you’re a traitor, uncle major,” she answered, indignantly. with a quick gesture she seized the mistletoe from his grasp and threw it across the room. as she turned, her head in air, her eyes encountered winthrop’s and their glances clung for an instant. he wondered afterwards what she had read in his eyes for her own grew large and startled ere the lids fell over them and she turned and ran out[218] through the hall. the rest followed laughing. winthrop ascended to his room, closed his door, lighted a pipe and sat down at an open window. from below came the sound of voices, rising and falling, and the harsh song of a red-bird in the magnolia-tree. from the back of the house came the sharp explosions of firecrackers, and winthrop knew that young tom was beatifically happy. the firecrackers had been winthrop’s “chrismus gif.” but his thoughts didn’t remain long with the occupants of the porch or with young tom, although he strove to keep them there. there was something he must face, and so, tamping the tobacco down in his pipe with his finger, he faced it.

he was in love with holly.

the sudden rage of jealousy which had surged over him down there in the dining-room had opened his eyes. he realized now that he had been falling in love with her, deeper and deeper every day, ever since his arrival at waynewood. he had been blinding himself with all sorts of excuses,[219] but to-day they were no longer convincing. he had made a beastly mess of things. if he had only had the common sense to look the situation fairly in the face a month ago! it would have been so simple then to have beat a retreat. now he might retreat as far as he could go without undoing the damage. well, thank heaven, there was no harm done to anyone save himself! then he recalled the startled look in holly’s brown eyes and wondered what she had read in his face. could she have guessed? nonsense; he was too old to parade his emotions like a school-boy. doubtless he had looked annoyed, disgusted, and holly had seen it and probably resented it. that was all. had he unwittingly done anything to cause her to suspect? he strove to remember. no, the secret was safe. he sighed with relief. thank heaven for that! if she ever guessed his feelings what a fool she would think him, what a middle-aged, sentimental ass! and how she would laugh! but no, perhaps she wouldn’t do just that; she was[220] too kind-hearted; but she would be amused. winthrop’s cheeks burned at the thought.

granted all this, what was to be done? run away? to what end? running away wouldn’t undo what was done. now that he realized what had happened he could keep guard on himself. none suspected, none need ever suspect, holly least of all. it would be foolish to punish himself unnecessarily for what, after all, was no offense. no; he would stay at waynewood; he would see holly each day, and he would cure himself of what, after all, was—could be—only a sentimental attachment evolved from propinquity and idleness. holly was going to marry julian; and even were she not——. winthrop glanced toward the photograph frame on the bureau—there were circumstances which forbade him entering the field. holly was not for him. surely if one thoroughly realized that a thing was unobtainable he must cease to desire it in time. that was common sense. he knocked the ashes from his pipe and arose.

[221]

“that’s it, robert, my boy,” he muttered. “common sense. if you’ll just stick to that you’ll come out all right. there’s nothing like a little, hard, plain common sense to knock the wind out of sentiment. common sense, my boy, common sense!”

he joined the others on the porch and conducted a very creditable flirtation with miss edith until visitors began to arrive, and the big bowl of eggnog was set in the middle of the dining-room table and banked with holly. after dark they went into town and watched the fireworks on the green surrounding the school-house. holly walked ahead with julian, and winthrop thought he had never seen her in better spirits. she almost seemed to avoid him that evening, but that was perhaps only his fancy. returning, there were only holly and julian and winthrop, for miss bartram and the bursons returned to their homes and the major had been left at waynewood playing bezique with miss india. for awhile the conversation lagged, but winthrop[222] set himself the task of being agreeable to julian and by the time they reached the house that youth had thawed out and was treating winthrop with condescending friendliness. winthrop left the young pair on the porch and joined the major and miss india in the parlor, watching their play and hiding his yawns until the major finally owned defeat.