Master of the Vineyard

il'

y of M

irred beneath the drifting ice, then woke into musical murmuring. Even the dead reeds and dry r

spiration, groping through the labyrinth of darkness with a blind impulse toward the light. Across the valley, on the southern slope, a faint glow

d come and gone before-twenty-five of them-but she had never known one like this. A vague delight possessed her, and her heart thro

mily R

r closely indoors. She and Aunt Matilda had made the year's supply of underwear from the unbleached muslin, and one garment for each from the bolt

d that she should go. Grandmother and Aunt Matilda were deeply religious, but not according to any popular plan. They ha

d the angels and the Starr family. Even the family, it seemed, was not to be admitted as an entity, but separately, according to individual merit. Gr

and Pu

ive snort. Alternately, Rosemary had been rewarded for good behaviour by the promise of Heaven and punished for small misdemeanours by having the gates closed in her face. As she grew older and began to think for herself

d her ears from time to time, and ceased to feel her young flesh creep when the Place of Torment was described with all the power of two separate an

ar out the leaves one by one, especially from a borrowed book, and put them into the fire, saying, each time she put one in: "I will never re

dden

ed when she brought up the bread and milk for the captive's supper. Rosemary had hidden the book under the mattress at the first sound of approaching footsteps, but Aunt Matilda, by des

ar of burning too much oil, he began to supply her with candles. Thus the world of books was opened to her, and many a midnight had found her, absor

onal M

osemary used to go to the schoolhouse occasionally, to sit and talk for an hour or so after school, but some keen-eyed busy-body had told Grandmothe

f the Marshs' big Colonial porch, in Winter, when the trees between were bare, so it was imposs

he purse-strings tightly, and every penny had to be accounted for. On Thursday, Rosemary always went to the post-office, as The House

hour of four, Rosemary was usually too weary to attempt the long climb. Moreover, she must

Abov

ing friendliness and sympathy warmed her heart, though she had never thought of him as a possible lover. In her eyes,

l to the outstanding bough of the lowest birch, and went back to the crest of the hill to wait for him. She ha

and scrubbed, the exquisite melody of the words haunted her, like some far-off strain of music. For the fir

the printed page, glowing

ling

by his wings,

eth

, thrilled by

marshalled marvels on the skirts of May," ..

"if only I didn't ha

I to Love, th

hell he gathers

t-flame shelter

emary. What was she to Love

strikes down th

yes upturned,

ing now thrills t

at to your warm l

he would have torn down the flaming signal, but it was too late. If he

usty and close in spite of two open windows. From where he sat, he could see the vineyard, with its perpetual demand upon him. Since his painful interview with his moth

ntful

in a procession of grey, uneventful days. Breakfast, school, luncheon, school, long evenings spent i

was Rosemary, whom he had not seen for weeks. Brave little Rosemary, for whom life consisted w

e that, but had scarcely exchanged a dozen words with her. When he saw her, rarely, at church, Grandmother or Aunt Matilda was always with

ing In

ll eyes seemed to see nothing, to care for nothing. Within the last few months he had begun to wonder whether her cold and impassive exterior might not be the shield with which she pr

signalling against the grey sky beyond. His interest in her welfare was becoming more surely personal, not merely human. During the Winter,

imprisoned him also. It seemed permanent for them both, and, indeed, the

w Ro

l of the Muses as he locked the door. The red ribbon fluttered like an oriflamme against the blue-and-white of the April

her, though she had made a valiant effort to recover her composure. This was a

oo," he said, seating himself on the

hen as swiftly retreated. "Better take dow

umed, as he folded it and restored it to its plac

ngs, to which a mountain

t a new

rned, trying to keep her voice even. "My wardrobe consists of an endless p

d on Al

marching in and out, to create

've never seen a stage, m

own and let her feast her eyes upon some gorgeous spectacle; to s

ad sold my soul for pretty things in some previous

etty things,

ove them?" she repeated, brokenly. "The

g her, thwarting her, oppressing her on all sides by continual denia

a certain sort, and you've never had a chance to learn the meaning of the word. You're dominated, body

ee

semary, softly, "but it would have

ear girl, wha

dles you've given me-all the times you've climbed this steep hill

ike to talk to you. Don't forget that you've meant something t

could go to see her once in a while. I like to

how 'different' she manages to be. We had it out the other day, about the v

" she answered, half-fearfully. "You're

far from the truth. I wonder, now and then, if any of u

oo

neliness," she ad

it for a while. It's the one thing I'd choose. What w

just a little whi

t gift you'd choose from

w, but far across the valley where the vineyard lay. Her face was wistf

ht of her as a woman; she had been merely another individual to whom he liked to talk. To-day her womanhood carried its own appeal. She was not beautiful and no

e same lot, and must spend all their days in the valley, hedged in by the same narrow restrictions. Even an occasional

e

rd that a girl of twenty-five and a man of thirty should not have some little ind

was endeavouring to brush her mood away as though it we

taking it from her. "I was sure you wo

ough of course some of it seem

now it by heart,

mos

n't this li

lf falters; scarc

ackthorn-blosso

wers the wind's wa

e hill, on the side farthest from the vineyard, and stood facin

strikes down th

es upturned, an

n Sp

tood with her back to him, but her shoulders we

m. "Rosemary," he whispered, slipping

lease herself. "I'm-I'm tired-and f

eal that vibrated through her voice. "No," he said, with quiet mastery, "I won't let you

en turned away. "I don't quite-unde

come to mother and me. We'll

her face was pale and cold. She wa

Birt

be afraid. Oh, Rosemar

es, a thousan

oser. "And lov

he colour surged back in waves. She seemed exalted,

in and lifted her face to hi

er woman's birthright, in