America for a friend of mine, who is making a
collection to
pay college expenses. For an
instant last June the series
was completed; when a woman's uncontrolled
temper ruined
this
specimen and the search for it began over. A few
days later a pair was secured, and again the money was
in sight for several hours. Then an accident wrecked
one-fourth of the
collection. I helped
replace those
last June, all but this Yellow Emperor which we could
not secure, and we haven't been able to find, buy or
trade for one since. So my friend was compelled to teach
this past winter instead of going to college. When that
moth came flying in there to-night, it seemed to me like fate.
All I thought of was, that to secure it would complete the
collection and secure the money. So I caught the Emperor and
started it to Elnora. I declare to you that I was not out of
the
pavilion over three minutes at a
liberalestimate. If I
only had thought to speak to the orchestra! I was sure I
would be back before enough couples gathered and formed
for the dance."
The eyes of the father were very bright.
"The friend for whom you wanted the moth is a girl?"
he asked
indifferently" target="_blank" title="ad.不关心地;冷淡地">
indifferently, as he ran the book leaves through
his fingers.
"The girl of whom I wrote you last summer, and told
you about in the fall. I helped her all the time I was away."
"Did Edith know of her?"
"I tried many times to tell her, to interest her, but she
was so
indifferent that it was insulting. She would not
hear me."
"We are neither one in any condition to sleep. Why don't
you begin at the first and tell me about this girl?
To think of other matters for a time may clear our vision
for a sane
solution of this. Who is she, just what is she
doing, and what is she like? You know I was reared among
those Limberlost people, I can understand readily.
What is her name and where does she live?"
Philip gave a man's
version of the
previous summer,
while his father played with the book industriously.
"You are very sure as to her
refinement and education?"
"In almost two months' daily association, could a man
be
mistaken? She can far and away
surpass Polly, Edith,
or any girl of our set on any common, high school, or
supplementary branch, and you know high schools have
French, German, and physics now. Besides, she is a
graduate of two other institutions. All her life she has
been in the school of Hard Knocks. She has the biggest,
tenderest, most human heart I ever knew in a girl. She has
known life in its most cruel phases, and instead of
hardening her, it has set her
trying to save other
people
suffering. Then this nature position of which
I told you; she graduated in the School of the Woods,
before she secured that. The Bird Woman, whose work you
know, helped her there. Elnora knows more interesting
things in a minute than any other girl I ever met knew in
an hour, provided you are a person who cares to understand
plant and animal life."
The book leaves slid rapidly through his fingers as
the father drawled: "What sort of looking girl is she?"
"Tall as Edith, a little heavier, pink, even complexion,
wide open blue-gray eyes with heavy black brows, and
lashes so long they touch her cheeks. She has a rope
of waving, shining hair that makes a real crown on her
head, and it appears almost red in the light. She is as
handsome as any fair woman I ever saw, but she doesn't
know it. Every time any one pays her a compliment,
her mother, who is a
caution, discovers that, for some
reason, the girl is a
fright, so she has no
appreciation of
her looks."
"And you were in daily association two months with
a girl like that! How about it, Phil?"
"If you mean, did I
trifle with her, no!" cried Philip hotly.
"I told her the second time I met her all about Edith.
Almost every day I wrote to Edith in her presence.
Elnora gathered violets and made a fancy basket to put
them in for Edith's birthday. I started to err in
too open
admiration for Elnora, but her mother brought
me up with a whirl I never forgot. Fifty times a day
in the swamps and forests Elnora made a perfect picture,
but I neither looked nor said anything. I never met
any girl so
downright noble in
bearing and actions.
I never hated anything as I hated leaving her, for we were
dear friends, like two
whollycongenial men. Her mother
was almost always with us. She knew how much I admired
Elnora, but so long as I concealed it from the girl,
the mother did not care."
"Yet you left such a girl and came back whole-hearted
to Edith Carr!"
"Surely! You know how it has been with me about
Edith all my life."
"Yet the girl you picture is far her superior to an
unprejudiced person, when thinking what a man would
require in a wife to be happy."
"I never have thought what I would `require' to be happy!
I only thought whether I could make Edith happy. I have
been an idiot! What I've borne you'll never know!
To-night is only one of many outbursts like that,
in varying and
lesser degrees."
"Phil, I love you, when you say you have thought
only of Edith! I happen to know that it is true.
You are my only son, and I have had a right to watch
you closely. I believe you utterly. Any one who cares
for you as I do, and has had my years of experience in
this world over yours, knows that in some ways, to-night
would be a
blessedrelease, if you could take it; but
you cannot! Go to bed now, and rest. To-morrow, go back
to her and fix it up."
"You heard what I said when I left her! I said it because
something in my heart died a minute before that, and
I realized that it was my love for Edith Carr. Never again
will I voluntarily face such a scene. If she can act
like that at a ball, before hundreds, over a thing of which
I thought nothing at all, she would go into
actual physical
fits and spasms, over some of the household crises I've
seen the mater meet with a smile. Sir, it is truth that
I have thought only of her up to the present. Now, I
will admit I am thinking about myself. Father, did you
see her? Life is too short, and it can be too sweet, to
throw it away in a battle with an unrestrained woman.
I am no fighter--where a girl is
concerned, anyway.
I respect and love her or I do nothing. Never again is
either respect or love possible between me and Edith Carr.
Whenever I think of her in the future, I will see her as
she was to-night. But I can't face the crowd just yet.
Could you spare me a few days?"
"It is only ten days until you were to go north for the
summer, go now."
"I don't want to go north. I don't want to meet people
I know. There, the story would
precede me. I do not
need pitying glances or rough condolences. I wonder if
I could not hide at Uncle Ed's in Wisconsin for awhile?"
The book closed suddenly. The father leaned across
the table and looked into the son's eyes.
"Phil, are you sure of what you just have said?"
"Perfectly sure!"
"Do you think you are in any condition to decide to-night?"
"Death cannot return to life, father. My love for
Edith Carr is dead. I hope never to see her again."
"If I thought you could be certain so soon! But, come
to think of it, you are very like me in many ways. I am
with you in this. Public scenes and disgraces I would
not
endure. It would be over with me, were I in your
position, that I know."
"It is done for all time," said Philip Ammon. "Let us
not speak of it further."
"Then, Phil," the father leaned closer and looked at the
son
tenderly, "Phil, why don't you go to the Limberlost?"
"Father!"
"Why not? No one can comfort a hurt heart like a
tender woman; and, Phil, have you ever stopped to think
that you may have a duty in the Limberlost, if you
are free? I don't know! I only suggest it. But, for a
country
schoolgirl, unaccustomed to men, two months
with a man like you might well
awaken feelings of which
you do not think. Because you were safe-guarded is no
sign the girl was. She might care to see you. You can
soon tell. With you, she comes next to Edith, and you
have made it clear to me that you
appreciate her in many
ways above. So I repeat it, why not go to the Limberlost?"
A long time Philip Ammon sat in deep thought. At last
he raised his head.
"Well, why not!" he said. "Years could make me
no surer than I am now, and life is short. Please ask
Banks to get me some coffee and toast, and I will bathe
and dress so I can take the early train."
"Go to your bath. I will attend to your packing
and everything. And Phil, if I were you, I would
leave no addresses."
"Not an address!" said Philip. "Not even Polly."
When the train pulled out, the elder Ammon went home
to find Hart Henderson waiting.
"Where is Phil?" he demanded.
"He did not feel like facing his friends at present, and
I am just back from driving him to the station. He said
he might go to Siam, or Patagonia. He would leave no address."
Henderson almost staggered. "He's not gone? And left
no address? You don't mean it! He'll never
forgive her!"
"Never is a long time, Hart," said Mr. Ammon. "And it
seems even longer to those of us who are well acquainted
with Phil. Last night was not the last straw. It was
the whole straw-stack. It crushed Phil so far as she
is
concerned. He will not see her again voluntarily, and
he will not forget if he does. You can take it from him,
and from me, we have accepted the lady's decision. Will you
have a cup of coffee?"
Twice Henderson opened his lips to speak of Edith
Carr's
despair. Twice he looked into the stern, inflexible
face of Mr. Ammon and could not
betray her. He held
out the ring.
"I have no instructions as to that," said the elder
Ammon,
drawing back. "Possibly Miss Carr would have
it as a keepsake."
"I am sure not," said Henderson curtly.
"Then suppose you return it to Peacock. I will phone him.
He will give you the price of it, and you might add
it to the children's Fresh Air Fund. We would be obliged
if you would do that. No one here cares to handle the object."
"As you choose," said Henderson. "Good morning!"
Then he went to his home, but he could not think of sleep.
He ordered breakfast, but he could not eat. He paced the
library for a time, but it was too small. Going on the
streets he walked until exhausted, then he called