The Heather-Moon

lk about him, but he would talk about me instead. He asked me questions in quite a different way from his sister's, though I can't put the difference into words

another, and he would help me. I was excited when he went on to say that people who took to writing like ducks to water when they were almost babies, without any one advising them, generally had real talent. This made me wild to begin writing again at once, and I envied him because he and Mrs. West had planned out a story all about their motor trip in Scotland. I thought it would be the greates

because of what happened while we were talking, Mr. Norman's story can't be writ

rse that interrupted our conversation, but Mr. Norman said it must be "continued in our next," like a serial story and we'd make the most of our time between Carlisle and E

th "com" are pleasant. Just as we were giving the last shake, Mr. Somerled appeared, and I felt m

as promised to let me help her up the ladder of fame as an author.

s. West and I have just had a row," said Mr.

; but faces do fall. Mr. Norman's chin seemed suddenly to grow inches longe

it. I fear there's no hope that she'll change her mi

Perhaps that would not have been etiquette. I don't know anything about such things. The

g. His sister would not have bee

. Mrs. West doesn't expect"-he stopped and laughed a little

turned red. I hope he didn't think I was ungrateful. It wasn't that at all which made me clap my hand

s face from falling. He stammered regrets and apologies and suggestions, and Mr. Somerled seemed upset, too, though not excited, like Mr. Norman and me. He went into the house to collect our belongings, and I was thankful not to meet Mrs. West. She kept out of our way, but one of the servants helped Mr. Somerled, who has no man to l

ngs like that, but I begin to see already that it isn't easy to guess what he is like really, unless he chooses to let one do so. As we were on the way to the house, he said to

ot the brooch yet,

inded way, as already his thoughts had ru

st have been surprised, but he had that ineffable marble-statue look which I've noticed on the faces of grand coachmen driving high-nosed old ladies in glittering carriages through the streets of Carlisle. Heppie says that the true test of a well-trained servant is to show no emotion in any circumstances whatever; so I suppose this big chauffeur, whose name is Vedder, must be very well trained indeed. He is a strange looking man, but very smart, and, being a

uggage was put on the car, but he was so loyal to his sister, tha

bile, which has a glass front and a top you can put up or down. But to my joy he got in beside me, and let Vedder take the wheel in those large, well-made han

gate I asked the question burning on m

usted you," was the only answer M

isted. "But I ought to want to go back of my own accord, rat

MacDonald's daughter,

ectly ravenous early bird as go to its grandmother. So I won't do that, even for your sake, though you've been so kind; but I

him; though Mrs. West's one idea apparently is to do what will please him, not fussily, but gently and sweetly; so that must be what men like. I should pity him if he lived with Grandma! I suppose it is my living with her for so long which makes me feel like going against strong, dictator

t he has pathetic, wistful eyes, asking for kindness, whereas M

gently, that he'd promised to motor me to Edinburgh, and t

unbroken, not even cracked,"

ll humiliate me if you refuse to go to Edinburgh

t help laughing. "Aren't you chapero

d to you; but I'm afraid-no, I'm not afraid-to tell you the truth

peron age for a

ven

ong time," I added dreamily, w

in a fury; then he burst out laughing. But his brown face was rather red

w what to answer, not to be impolite, so I said presently that I had always thought of thirty as being the year when you were not middle-aged yet, though anything that happened to you aft

"Now, no doubt, you'll consider me a sort of A

ss. "You're so alive-so strong, so-almost violent. I can't somehow im

n I think Vedder must have reminded him that we were coming into town, wanting to know what he was to do next. In came Mr. Somerled's smooth black head again, and he glared at me in a kind of amused

she loves her. Neither does a mouse love a cat, when it won't try to es

else. Think. Has your

n or two, whom she snubs when they come to see her and scolds if the

es Mrs. J

at the shops; and I was going on to say more about it and about Mrs. James, but before I'd time to draw another breath, Mr. Somerled grabbed up a speaking t

eps it," I hurried to explain, but that

he lady's society,

liar angel; and Grandma doesn't call her a lady,

est, most gracious woman I ever knew or expect to know." I did like him for saying this. And something told me that, in

andma never would let Heppie take me into the Castle, because it's turned into barracks now, and swarming with soldiers. She said that her father called soldiers Men of Bloo

rlisle. Maybe there were Flemish houses on the spot in those days-who knows? I love to think there were; and though there isn't a trace of anything half so ancient as William, Flemish Passage can't have changed much from what it must have been in the Middle Ages. Even the people who live there are mostly old, and as the big gray car turned into the small, quiet cul-de

ion of southern people. Mrs. James was Devonshire, and (in Grandma's eyes) a mésalliance for Richard James. He lodged with the Devonshire girl's mother when he was a medical student in London, Heppie told me once; and even Heppie puts on superior airs with Mrs. James, whom she considers a feckless creature. I have an idea Heppie knew the doctor before he met his wife, and he was her One Romance; so naturally she thinks the "James Mystery" wouldn't have happened if he had married her instead. Of course, though, it could never have occurred to any one to marry Heppie,

stions weren't encouraged; but he operated on the person when he ought not, or else didn't operate when he ought; anyhow the person was a high personage, so there was trouble, and then might have been a legal inquiry if Doctor James hadn't gone one day to Seascale, and from there disappeared. His hat

desperately to keep her looks that he mayn't find her changed when (she doesn't say "if") they meet again. It is the most pathetic thing I ever heard of, because in spite of all the troubles she has had, enough to make he

ornaments, and jewels, old china and glass, old samplers and bits of embroidery or brocade, old furniture, old pictures and transparencies, and everything of value except old books, which she adored because his library had been her husband's life. It was clever of her, I think, to group the treasures together in the little drawing-room with its oak panelling and beams, its uneven, polished oak floor, and the two diamond-paned windows which she enlarged and threw into one. It is not like a shop, but just a charming room crowded full of lovely things, and every one of them for sale, even the chairs. She wrote cards of advertiseme

k left by the professional name-plate of Doctor James. His wife had that taken off before she opene

dma, who invariably snorts and says something to dishearten or humiliate the poor humble

reads nearly every book in her husband's library, so that she may be an intelligent companion for him if he comes back. The walls of the parlour are covered with his books, on shelves reaching up nearly as high as the low-beamed ceiling. Behind the parlour is the kitchen, which looks into a tiny garden with one lovely apple tree in it; and a back stairway almost like a ladder leads to what used to be servants' rooms. Now Mrs. James sleeps in one; and next door is the young girl, rescued from something or other by the

out, because she opened the door herself, exclaiming in her soft Devonshire voice, which

ot reserved enough for a true lady; but I like it when Mrs. James does it, because it sounds

ty. I shouldn't have known that, if Mr. Norman hadn't mentioned it: and Moore with the teeth told me, too, that she'd heard Mrs. West say he was "a millionaire." I'm not sure if Mrs. James knew about the millions, and even if she did, they wouldn't seem half as important to her as his pictures, which she began to chat about. Of course they're not as important, because anybody can h

ncy to Mrs. James herself. I am so used to her looks, from seeing her once a month ever since I can remember, that I can hardly judge what she is like: and I suppose she is peculiar. But why shouldn't she try to keep young for the sake of her dream? I think it's romantic and beautiful, and all one with her efforts t

et it measure an inch more than it did then. A big man could span it with his hands. Perhaps Doctor James could. She dresses her hair now as he liked best seventeen years ago, though the fringe looks old-fashioned and odd. Grandma says her hair is bleached, otherwise it couldn't have kept its yellow colour at her age, forty-fi

which give her an innocent, expectant expression. Heppie says she blacks them; but H

g. She had on a lavender muslin dress, very becoming to her fair complexion, which would be perfect if she hadn't a very few little veins showing in the pink of her cheeks, and some faint, smiling-lines round her eyes, which you see only if you stare r

in to interrupt; but luckily there wasn't much danger at that hour, as it wasn't yet half-past two, and people had scarcely finished their luncheons. As I talked, s

that, how could Mrs. James refuse him what he called "a great favour" even if she'd wished to say no, which she didn't. On the contrary, she was enchanted. Everything had worked together to make her going possible. The curate had gone off for a holiday, giving her permission to use his two rooms if she liked. I could have them till we started; and she would ask a friend from next door to attend to the shop, a nice girl who oft

eem to issue forth one by one like neatly formed birds being let out of a cage. She is making a speciality of

h a treasure. But it does seem wonderful! Mrs. James herself must have felt flush after making such good sales, and her eyes lit at the thought of a motor hat and coat-they seemed exciting purchases. But when Mr. Somerled mentioned the fact that mother is one of the best-dressed women in the world, the little woman looked frightened. "I

knew nothing about such things-or "articles," according to Mrs. James. But instead, he snapped at the suggestion

mother had been making, off we three went in the gray automobile, Mrs. James trying not to look self-cons

are her two largest cities: but, in order to impress the great artist, she patronized Carlisle, saying we "mustn't hope for London shops." I longed to catc

white chiffon, I think the girl called it. Actually it has short sleeves above my elbows, and quite a low neck, that shows where my collar-bone used to be when I was thinner than I am now. It seems an epoch to have a dress like that. It was Mr. Somerled who picked it out from among others, and insisted on my having it, though, simple as it looked, it was terribly expensive. Mrs. James thought I couldn't afford it, as I had so many things to do with my fifty pounds, but Mr. Somerled brushed aside her objections in that determined way he has even in little things. He said that it would be money in his pocket, as an artist, to paint m

feel that Mr. Somerled was the sort of man I could ever think of as a kind uncle, and I

Somerled said that we could visit both, and then "slip over the border." Oh, that border! How I have thought of it, as if it were the door of Romance; and so it is, because it is the door of Scotland. I am afraid it must be a dream that I shall cross at last, to see the glories on the other side, and find the lovely lady who to me is Queen of a

see Moore again! But I should like to see Mr. Norman. I could feel toward him as if he were a brother. But I don't know what to say about my feeling toward Mr. Somerled. I think of him as of a knight, come to the rescue of a forlorn damsel in an