CHAPTER X
CAPITULATION
When Sylvia finally drew near the kitchen she heard talking andlaughing within. Turning the handle and opening the door, a happydomestic scene was revealed, of which the strange girl was the centre.Her hat and jacket were lying on a calico-covered couch, a large apronenveloped her cloth gown, and she was wiping the dishes as Mrs. Lemwashed them at the sink. Minty was running back and forth putting themaway. Thinkright and Cap'n Lem were seated near the stove, and as thedoor opened a burst of laughter escaped from them at some remark of thevisitor.
At sight of Sylvia's white face her cousin arose.
"I was just beginning to wonder where you were, little girl," he saidkindly. "I want you to know Miss Edna Derwent. This is my cousin,Sylvia Lacey, Edna."
The latter came forward, holding in one hand a plate and towel, whileshe offered the other to Sylvia's cold acceptance.
"I'm fond of the name of Lacey," said the visitor, smiling into theother girl's grave eyes with the same gay, sweet expression that a fewminutes ago had rested on Benny the boatman. Thinkright noted the quickhardening of Sylvia's face.
"Your Miss Lacey is aunt to this one, Edna," he said, "but Sylviadoesn't know Miss Martha yet. She has lived in the West all her life."
Mrs. Lem's sharp ears absorbed this information.
"Your aunt keeps house for Miss Derwent in the summer time at hercottage on Hawk Island," he went on, turning to Sylvia.
"I have a mother who unfortunately doesn't like the island, MissLacey," explained Edna, returning to the sink. "Take this plate, Minty,please."
"Guess you want another wiper, too, don't yer?" asked the child.
"I'll take as many as you'll give me," responded Miss Derwent. "I'dlike a fresh wiper every two plates; but don't you encourage me, Minty,or I shan't be popular with your mother. Fill up the kettle, too,there's a dear. I'm a reckless scalder. Why, the stove lid's under thatkettle. I wondered why it wasn't hotter."
"Wait till I find the hooker," cried Minty, diving down under the stovein search of the iron.
"Minty Foster, how many times have I told you never to take that hookeroff the string?" said her mother reprovingly.
"I jest wanted it to crack nuts with," explained Minty, as she fishedthe lifter out triumphantly.
"Well, don't you never untie it again!" responded her mother severely.
"Yes, you'll crack it some day," remarked Edna, "and then what wouldyou do, miles from a hooker as you are? I was telling you, Miss Lacey,that I have a mother with only one foible,--she doesn't like ourisland. You will see what heresy it is when you come over there. SoMiss Martha has taken pity on me the last few summers, and I think sheloves it as much as I do."
Sylvia's embarrassment was painful, as the speaker paused, looking ather in the natural expectation of a response.
"I don't know her," was all the reply her lips could utter.
"Then perhaps you will meet her first at my house," returned Ednabrightly. "That would be very pleasant for me, I'm sure. I should enjoythe novelty of making near relatives acquainted."
"I shan't be here when she comes," responded Sylvia quickly.
"Indeed? Why, I'm sorry. I supposed you were to be a summer guest. Youknow Judge Trent, of course."
Sylvia's hot blush under the innocent question caused her cousin tocome to the rescue again.
"No, even though he is her uncle," he said. "Strange state of things,isn't it?"
"Her uncle, and Miss Lacey her aunt?" returned Miss Derwent. "I neverknew they were related."
"They aren't. It's the two sides of the house, you see."
"Miss Sylvy's the missin' link," put in Cap'n Lem, softly slapping hisknee and shaking his head while his eyes closed tightly. "Don't lookit, does she?"
"Now, Cap'n, don't git another spell o' the shallers," put in Mrs. Lemas the old man's chuckles threatened a crescendo.
"But you see I got ahead of the other relations," went on Thinkright."I am her mother's cousin, and I put in my claim first."
"Oh, you'll like Judge Trent so much," said Edna, looking at the graveface in its aureole of curls. "He is a dear, but nobody dares to tellhim so. By the way, Thinkright," the quaint name fell charmingly fromthe girl's lips as she turned to him, "I hear that a man I used toknow, a Mr. Dunham, has gone into Judge Trent's office."
"So you know Dunham, do you?" returned her host.
"Yes, for a long time we saw a great deal of each other. Then Harvardfor him and Vassar for me drifted us apart, but we have a lot of mutualfriends, and while I was in New York the past winter a girl wrote memournfully of his departure from Boston."
"I don't blame her for mourning," said Thinkright kindly,--"do you,Sylvia?" turning to the young girl, who was mortified to feel her colormounting again. "Sylvia knows Mr. Dunham."
"How stupid of him! Oh, how stupid of him!" was Sylvia's angry thought.
"I met him once only, on business," she said briefly.
Her manner and the blush mystified Miss Derwent.
"But didn't you like him? He used to be the most popular boy. Onesummer when mother was with me at the island she invited him to come tous, but his vacation had already been bespoken. I should like to renewour acquaintance. Perhaps Judge Trent will ask him here now. I hopeso."
This girl had everything, everything. It wasn't fair. Sylvia bit herlip to keep back the excited tears. Her host saw the agitation in herface and quickly changed the conversation, talking to Edna of heraffairs at Hawk Island, occasionally turning to Sylvia to explain somereference, but giving her the opportunity to keep silence.
At last, to the great relief of one of the company, bedtime arrived.
"Do forgive me for yawning," said Edna, "but I've had a strenuous daywith Benny Merritt. I'll warrant the poor boy has been asleep forhours, I worked him so hard; but the cottage is in fine shape and allready for Miss Martha and me to descend upon it. Oh, you must stay,"turning suddenly to Sylvia. "You must come over to Anemone Cottage andmake me a visit." Edna did not say a long visit, for the impressionmade upon her by this mute, cold girl in black was chilling; but sheseemed to need cheering, and Edna was prepared to do any missionarywork which would be a help to her dear Thinkright.
"Thank you, but I couldn't," returned Sylvia hastily. "I couldn't,possibly."
"I wonder what is the matter with her?" thought Miss Derwent, as shemade ready for bed that night. "Perhaps her bereavement is very recent.At all events, she has come to the right place to be helped."
Sylvia, as soon as she had closed the door of her chamber, went to thewindow and knelt down with her hot forehead against the cold glass. Thestars were twinkling in an invisible sky, and she could hear a rhythmicsound of many waters.
That girl had everything. It wasn't fair. She knew Mr. Dunham well. Hewas popular, he was admired. He was of Edna Derwent's world. She wasdoubtless popular and admired. What would they both think of Nat?Nat,--stout, red-faced, not too careful of his hands. Sylvia had oftendemurred concerning his careless habits. Now she knew that they alonemade him impossible. There were many other things that made himimpossible, and strangely, they were all points which were the oppositeof certain characteristics she had observed in Mr. Dunham during theirbrief but informal and almost intimate relation. Miss Derwent's speechand pronunciation reminded her sharply of his, and as her thought dweltupon this enviable girl making ready for her healthful, care-freeslumber in the apartment usually sacred to Judge Trent, the burden ofSylvia's vague and helpless future bore down upon her and seemedheavier than she could bear. Long-repressed tears were risingscaldingly to her eyes when she heard a light tap on her door.
It might be she! She shouldn't come in! With a light bound Sylvia wasat the door, pressing upon it.
"Who is it?" she demanded in a choked voice.
It was Thinkright's voice that answered her. "Gone to bed, or sittingup, little one?" he asked.
"Well--I'm sitting up--so far," she answered, and she opened the doorslowly.
"I thought you might be feeling a little homesick, the first night in astrange place," he went on, "and I wanted to say good-night to you onceagain."
A great, resentful sob rose in the girl's breast, and with a suddenimpulse she flung both her arms around his neck.
"Kiss me," she said chokingly. "You kissed her. How did she dare tokiss you!"
Thinkright drew the speaker out into the corridor as he caressed hercheek. "Come downstairs a few minutes," he said. "We might disturb Ednaif we talked up here. Can't have you go to bed thinking wrong," he wenton when they had reached the living-room where one tiny lamp stilltwinkled. "Now sit right down here by me, Sylvia. My heart feels foryou. You miss your father, I know, and I wish I could be the comfort toyou I'd like to be; but we must all at last find comfort in the greatFather of all. We learn little by little that we can't lean on any armof flesh."
Sylvia bit back her sobs and pressed her eyes. "Poor father is betteroff," she said. "I wouldn't want him back. He suffered, and he saidthere wasn't any place for him here any more,--and there isn't for me,there isn't for me!" she added passionately in a voice that shook.
"Wait, little Princess. The King's daughter is distrusting her Father,and pitying herself, Sylvia. That's low thinking, child."
"Of course I pity myself," the girl flashed back, "and ten times moresince Miss Derwent came, taking possession of you, and Aunt Martha, andUncle Calvin. She has everything. Why should she, while I havenothing?"
In the silence that followed Sylvia could see the patient lines in hercompanion's forehead, and the shining of his deep eyes.
"Except you," she added contritely, clasping her hands around hisshabby coat sleeve, "I have you, but it kills me to cling to you like adrowning man, while that girl smiles at you from the top of thewave,--and owns everybody and everything!"
"Edna does some very good thinking," was the quiet response. "Hertemptations are different from yours, and she has struggled with them."
"What has _she_ to bear?"
"Sickness,--not her own, but that of dear ones, and an overdose ofwealth."
"Oh!" The exclamation was scornful and skeptical.
"You remember the tale where the members of a community by commonagreement met in the city's public square, and each one laid down hisburden, and taking up some one else's went home with it? The story runsthat on the following day every man and woman returned to discard thenew burden and take up his own again. Supposing Edna took yours"--
Sylvia broke in: "She would be a girl who is a stranger in a strangeland with no rights anywhere; whose nearest ones cast her off; who hasno future, no money, no home, no plans. A girl who doesn't know how toclear a table or wash a dish in her cousin's house, while a strangegirl comes in and takes charge of everything. I didn't even know how tokiss you!"
Thinkright smiled. "Edna," he said, "began that when she was twelveyears old. It was the year I first came here, and I let her ride on thehay-wagon and gave her the sort of good times she had never known inher life. Her father is a chronic invalid. The doctors recommended thesea, and quiet, and great simplicity of life, so they built AnemoneCottage. Mrs. Derwent is a woman devoted to the world and fashion, butshe made heroic efforts to endure Hawk Island for her husband's sakeduring several seasons. But there wasn't any right thinking done inthat cottage except what Edna did, a child as happy there as a bird letloose from a cage; and after a while they gave it up. Edna continues tocome, every season they'll let her, and I can assure you, little one,she needs the refreshment. She needs it. Brave, beautiful Edna!"
The peroration was uttered as an audible soliloquy, and it caused thelistener to pull her hand from the calloused palm where it had beenclinging.
"Good-night," she said abruptly, and started to rise.
Thinkright seized her arm gently and drew her back beside him. "Just amoment," he said quietly. "You said a minute ago that you had me; as ifI counted for something."
"What's the use, when your interest is all wrapped up in that girl?"
"Oh, you poor little thing, you poor little thing!" he murmured.
His thoughtful tone made Sylvia hot.
"And every word I say you despise me more," she flashed forth. "Youknow you're sorry you came to Boston to get me. I can't be anydifferent; I'm just myself."
"Of course you are. That's the comfort that we have. You'll findyourself some time, and discover a very different being from the oneyou are conscious of now. I'd like to see you get well, little one, foryour mother's sake and your own, and mine."
"I am nearly well," returned Sylvia, surprised at the suddendigression.
Her companion shook his head. "Fevers of body are bad, but fevers ofmind are worse. Will you take me for your doctor, child, and let mehelp you to find the sane, sweet, capable Sylvia Lacey who manifestsher inheritance from the Father of us all?"
The girl's eyes grew moist, and she bit her lip. Her poor, vain sensestruggled, but she was sore at the heart which this tone of his alwayspressed strangely.
"I'd better go away," she said in a voice that trembled.
Her companion placed a kind hand on her shoulder. "If you were to goaway, you would not escape from Love," he answered. "Love enfolds youthis moment and all moments. It needs only to be recognized and trustedto begin its transforming work in your consciousness. Even life is onlyconsciousness, Sylvia, and you cannot be conscious without thinking.Then what it means to guard the thought,--to think truth, and notfalsity!"
"How are we to know when we are thinking truth?" returned the girl, herbreast heaving.
"As we are told to judge everything,--by its fruits. The fruit of yourthinking has not brought you happiness; then let us get a new set ofthoughts. That is all you need to begin with, Sylvia, a new set ofthoughts; and you can't get them until you welcome a new guest intoyour heart." He paused.
"Who? You?" asked the girl.
Her companion smiled. "No, not I, little one. The guest's name isHumility." He waited a moment and then proceeded. "You are entertainingtwo guests now who are eating you out of house and home; devouring yoursubstance literally. Their names are Vanity and Self-love. Vanity has athin skin, is very easily injured. The other one whispers to you tohate your aunt and uncle, and to be jealous of Edna Derwent. They can'tstay where Humility enters. Take her in. Listen to her. She willwhisper to you that it isn't of so much consequence what comes to theSylvia Lacey you are conscious of at present. She will promise you thatif you will listen to her and make her your own, you will learn ahappier Sylvia, a better consciousness in God's good time. 'Great peacehave they who love His law. Nothing shall offend them.' What a newworld you would enter, my girl, when you found that nothing could giveyou offense!"
A strange wrestling was going on in his listener's breast and herbreathing was unsteady. Seeing that she was not ready to speak,Thinkright proceeded:--
"You have heard of the Brotherhood of Man. It isn't a mere phrase whenyou think right. All,--all of us, children of one Father, all withrights to the same inheritance, what should make us cold or grudging,one toward another? What is to prevent our spontaneous gladness inanother's success. His happiness and good fortune become ours. It isall in the family, you see. There are no limitations to be placed on an_infinite_ inheritance, are there? Our Father's love is impartial, andall that we ask in His name He has promised to give us. You couldn'task in His name to eclipse Edna Derwent, could you? or to receive anyother gift which would appeal to those two guests I hope you will turnout. These are small beginnings of great thoughts, Sylvia, but theypoint to that 'large place' where your consciousness belongs, and whereLove waits to lead you."
The pressure on the door of the girl's heart overwhelmed itsresistance. She leaned her forehead against the shoulder so near her.Her breath caught in a sob. "I'll try," she breathed humbly, "I'lltry."