the golden road-第40部分

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　to　change。〃

Felicity　said　nothing。　　She　kept　looking　down　at　the　grass　on　which　she　sat；　absently　pulling　at　the　slender　blades。　　Presently　we　saw　two　big　tears　roll　down　over　her　cheeks。　　The　Story　Girl　looked　surprised。

〃Are　you　crying　because　I'm　going　away；　Felicity？〃　she　asked。

〃Of　course　I　am；〃　answered　Felicity；　with　a　big　sob。　　〃Do　you　think　I've　no　f…f…eeling？〃

〃I　didn't　think　you'd　care　much；〃　said　the　Story　Girl　frankly。　　〃You've　never　seemed　to　like　me　very　much。〃

〃I　d…don't　wear　my　h…heart　on　my　sleeve；〃　said　poor　Felicity；　with　an　attempt　at　dignity。　　〃I　think　you　m…might　stay。　　Your　father　would　let　you　s…stay　if　you　c…coaxed　him。〃

〃Well；　you　see　I'd　have　to　go　some　time；〃　sighed　the　Story　Girl；　〃and　the　longer　it　was　put　off　the　harder　it　would　be。　　But　I　do　feel　dreadfully　about　it。　　I　can't　even　take　poor　Paddy。　　I'll　have　to　leave　him　behind；　and　oh；　I　want　you　all　to　promise　to　be　kind　to　him　for　my　sake。〃

We　all　solemnly　assured　her　that　we　would。

〃I'll　g…give　him　cream　every　m…morning　and　n…night；〃　sobbed　Felicity；　〃but　I'll　never　be　able　to　look　at　him　without　crying。　　He'll　make　me　think　of　you。〃

〃Well；　I'm　not　going　right　away；〃　said　the　Story　Girl；　more　cheerfully。　　〃Not　till　the　last　of　October。　　So　we　have　over　a　month　yet　to　have　a　good　time　in。　　Let's　all　just　determine　to　make　it　a　splendid　month　for　the　last。　　We　won't　think　about　my　going　at　all　till　we　have　to；　and　we　won't　have　any　quarrels　among　us；　and　we'll　just　enjoy　ourselves　all　we　possibly　can。　　So　don't　cry　any　more；　Felicity。　　I'm　awfully　glad　you　do　like　me　and　am　sorry　I'm　going　away；　but　let's　all　forget　it　for　a　month。〃

Felicity　sighed；　and　tucked　away　her　damp　handkerchief。

〃It　isn't　so　easy　for　me　to　forget　things；　but　I'll　try；〃　she　said　disconsolately；　〃and　if　you　want　any　more　cooking　lessons　before　you　go　I'll　be　real　glad　to　teach　you　anything　I　know。〃

This　was　a　high　plane　of　self…sacrifice　for　Felicity　to　attain。　　But　the　Story　Girl　shook　her　head。

〃No；　I'm　not　going　to　bother　my　head　about　cooking　lessons　this　last　month。　　It's　too　vexing。〃

〃Do　you　remember　the　time　you　made　the　pudding〃　began　Peter；　and　suddenly　stopped。

〃Out　of　sawdust？〃　finished　the　Story　Girl　cheerfully。　　〃You　needn't　be　afraid　to　mention　it　to　me　after　this。　　I　don't　mind　any　more。　　I　begin　to　see　the　fun　of　it　now。　　I　should　think　I　do　remember　itand　the　time　I　baked　the　bread　before　it　was　raised　enough。〃

〃People　have　made　worse　mistakes　than　that；〃　said　Felicity　kindly。

〃Such　as　using　tooth…powd〃　but　here　Dan　stopped　abruptly；　remembering　the　Story　Girl's　plea　for　a　beautiful　month。　　Felicity　coloured；　but　said　nothingdid　not　even　LOOK　anything。

〃We　HAVE　had　lots　of　fun　together　one　way　or　another；〃　said　Cecily；　retrospectively。

〃Just　think　how　much　we've　laughed　this　last　year　or　so；〃　said　the　Story　Girl。　　〃We've　had　good　times　together；　but　I　think　we'll　have　lots　more　splendid　years　ahead。〃

〃Eden　is　always　behind　usParadise　always　before；〃　said　Uncle　Blair；　coming　up　in　time　to　hear　her。　　He　said　it　with　a　sigh　that　was　immediately　lost　in　one　of　his　delightful　smiles。

〃I　like　Uncle　Blair　so　much　better　than　I　expected　to；〃　Felicity　confided　to　me。　　〃Mother　says　he's　a　rolling　stone；　but　there　really　is　something　very　nice　about　him；　although　he　says　a　great　many　things　I　don't　understand。　　I　suppose　the　Story　Girl　will　have　a　very　gay　time　in　Paris。〃

〃She's　going　to　school　and　she'll　have　to　study　hard；〃　I　said。

〃She　says　she's　going　to　study　for　the　stage；〃　said　Felicity。　　〃Uncle　Roger　thinks　it　is　all　right；　and　says　she'll　be　very　famous　some　day。　　But　mother　thinks　it's　dreadful；　and　so　do　I。〃

〃Aunt　Julia　is　a　concert　singer；〃　I　said。

〃Oh；　that's　very　different。　　But　I　hope　poor　Sara　will　get　on　all　right；〃　sighed　Felicity。　　〃You　never　know　what　may　happen　to　a　person　in　those　foreign　countries。　　And　everybody　says　Paris　is　such　a　wicked　place。　　But　we　must　hope　for　the　best；〃　she　concluded　in　a　resigned　tone。

That　evening　the　Story　Girl　and　I　drove　the　cows　to　pasture　after　milking；　and　when　we　came　home　we　sought　out　Uncle　Blair　in　the　orchard。　　He　was　sauntering　up　and　down　Uncle　Stephen's　Walk；　his　hands　clasped　behind　him　and　his　beautiful；　youthful　face　uplifted　to　the　western　sky　where　waves　of　night　were　breaking　on　a　dim　primrose　shore　of　sunset。

〃See　that　star　over　there　in　the　south…west？〃　he　said；　as　we　joined　him。　　〃The　one　just　above　that　pine？　　An　evening　star　shining　over　a　dark　pine　tree　is　the　whitest　thing　in　the　universebecause　it　is　LIVING　whitenesswhiteness　possessing　a　soul。　　How　full　this　old　orchard　is　of　twilight！　　Do　you　know；　I　have　been　trysting　here　with　ghosts。〃

〃The　Family　Ghost？〃　I　asked；　very　stupidly。

〃No；　not　the　Family　Ghost。　　I　never　saw　beautiful；　broken…hearted　Emily　yet。　　Your　mother　saw　her　once；　Sarathat　was　a　strange　thing；〃　he　added　absently；　as　if　to　himself。

〃Did　mother　really　see　her？〃　whispered　the　Story　Girl。

〃Well；　she　always　believed　she　did。　　Who　knows？〃

〃Do　you　think　there　are　such　things　as　ghosts；　Uncle　Blair？〃　I　asked　curiously。

〃I　never　saw　any；　Beverley。〃

〃But　you　said　you　were　trysting　with　ghosts　here　this　evening；〃　said　the　Story　Girl。

〃Oh；　yesthe　ghosts　of　the　old　years。　　I　love　this　orchard　　because　of　its　many　ghosts。　　We　are　good　comrades；　those　ghosts　and　I；　we　walk　and　talkwe　even　laugh　togethersorrowful　laughter　that　has　sorrow's　own　sweetness。　　And　always　there　comes　to　me　one　dear　phantom　and　wanders　hand　in　hand　with　mea　lost　lady　of　the　old　years。〃

〃My　mother？〃　said　the　Story　Girl　very　softly。

〃Yes；　your　mother。　　Here；　in　her　old　haunts；　it　is　impossible　for　me　to　believe　that　she　can　be　deadthat　her　LAUGHTER　can　be　dead。　　She　was　the　gayest；　sweetest　thingand　so　youngonly　three　years　older　than　you；　Sara。　　Yonder　old　house　had　been　glad　because　of　her　for　eighteen　years　when　I　met　her　first。〃

〃I　wish　I　could　remember　her；〃　said　the　Story　Girl；　with　a　little　sigh。　　〃I　haven't　even　a　picture　of　her。　　Why　didn't　you　paint　one；　father？〃

〃She　would　never　let　me。　　She　had　some　queer；　funny；　half…playful；　half…earnest　superstition　about　it。　　But　I　always　meant　to　when　she　would　become　willing　to　let　me。　　And　thenshe　died。　　Her　twin　brother　Felix　died　the　same　day。　　There　was　something　strange　about　that；　too。　　I　was　holding　her　in　my　arms　and　she　was　looking　up　at　me；　suddenly　she　looked　past　me　and　gave　a　little　start。　　'Felix！'　she　said。　　For　a　moment　she　trembled　and　then　she　smiled　and　looked　up　at　me　again　a　little　beseechingly。　　'Felix　has　come　for　me；　dear；'　she　said。　　'We　were　always　together　before　you　cameyou　must　not　mindyou　must　be　glad　I　do　not　have　to　go　alone。'　Well；　who　knows？　　But　she　left　me；　Sarashe　left　me。〃

There　was　that　in　Uncle　Blair's　voice　that　kept　us　silent　for　a　time。　　Then　the　Story　Girl　said；　still　very　softly：

〃What　did　mother　look　like；　father？　　I　don't　look　the　least　little　bit　like　her；　do　I？〃

〃No；　I　wish　you　did；　you　brown　thing。　　Your　mother's　face　was　as　white　as　a　wood…lily；　with　only　a　faint　dream　of　rose　in　her　cheeks。　　She　had　the　eyes　of　one　who　always　had　a　song　in　her　heartblue　as　a　mist；　those　eyes　were。　　She　had　dark　lashes；　and　a　little　red　mouth　that　quivered　when　she　was　very　sad　or　very　happy　like　a　crimson　rose　too　rudely　shaken　by　the　wind。　　She　was　as　slim　and　lithe　as　a　young；　white…stemmed　birch　tree。　　How　I　loved　her！　　How　happy　we　were！　　But　he　who　accepts　human　love　must　bind　it　to　his　soul　with　pain；　and　she　is　not　lost　to　me。　　Nothing　is　ever　really　lost　to　us　as　long　as　we　remember　it。〃

Uncle　Blair　looked　up　at　the　evening　star。　　We　saw　that　he　had　forgotten　us；　and　we　slipped　away；　hand　in　hand；　leaving　him　alone　in　the　memory…haunted　shadows　of　the　old　orchard。



CHAPTER　XXVIII

THE　PATH　TO　ARCADY


October　that　year　gathered　up　all　the　spilled　sunshine　of　the　summer　and　clad　herself　in　it　as　in　a　garment。　　The　Story　Girl　had　asked　us　to　try　to　make　the　last　month　together　beautiful；　and　Nature　seconded　our　efforts；　giving　us　that　most　beautiful　of　beautiful　thingsa　gracious　and　perfect　moon　of　falling　leaves。　　There　was　not　in　all　that　vanished　October　one　day　that　did　not　come　in　with　auroral　splendour　and　go　out　attended　by　a　fair　galaxy　of　evening　starsnot　a　day　when　there　were　not　golden　lights　in　the　wide　pastures　and　purple　hazes　in　the　ripened　distances。　　Never　was　anything　so　gorgeous　as　the　maple　trees　that　year。　　Maples　are　trees　that　have　primeval　fire　in　their　souls。　　It　glows　out　a　little　in　their　early　youth；　before　the　leaves　open；　in　the　redness　and　rosy…yellowness　of　their　blossoms；　but　in　summer　it　is　carefully　hidden　under　a　demure；　silver…lined　greenness。　　Then　when　autumn　comes；　the　maples　give　up　trying　to　be　sober　and　flame　out　in　all　the　barbaric　splendour　and　gorgeousness　of　their　real　nature；　making　of　the　hills　things　out　of　an　Arabian　Nights　dream　in　the　golden　prime　of　good　Haroun　Alraschid。

You　may　never　know　what　scarlet　and　crimson　really　are　until　you　see　them　in　their　perfection　on　an　October　hillside；　under　the　unfathomable　blue　of　an　autumn　sky。　　All　the　glow　and　radiance　and　joy　at　earth's　heart　seem　to　have　broken　loose　in　a　splendid　determin