CHAPTER XIV

“I AND MYSELF.”

KITTY stopped and looked around, for she heard a muttering as of two people talking confidentially together.

Yes, there were two figures in front of her, standing with their arms round each other’s necks. They were so like that Kitty felt sure they were twins. They had satisfied round eyes and big faces and double chins, and wore steeple-crowned hats, tilted on one side, which gave them a jaunty look.

All at once Kitty started back, for she perceived that one of the figures was solid and the other quite transparent; through it she could see the tree against which it leaned.

“Why—who—who—what is that?” she gasped nervously.

“That is Myself,” said the opaque one, rolling his eyes with an affectionate grin in the direction of his comrade, who rolled his pale round eyes and grinned a ghostly grin in answer.

“Then who are you?” asked Kitty timidly.

“I—why, I am I,” he answered rather sullenly.

“That’s what we are—Myself and I,” said a voice hard and thin like a spectral rattle, which Kitty perceived emanated from the vapory figure.

“I never knew there was a difference between Myself and I,” murmured Kitty, who felt compelled to gaze at that transparent form, although she would much rather not have looked. It was so very uncomfortable to see that tree through it.

“I made him; is he not a beauty?” said I, proudly pointing with his thumb, and a grin to his companion.

Myself acknowledged the compliment by bowing his misty head, and grinning likewise.

“How did you make him?” asked Kitty with a little shiver.

“I made him,” said I, “with my thoughts. I thought of myself night and day, talking, eating, walking, sleeping, I thought of myself, and one day there was Myself before me—the dear—he never quits me—never—we gaze at each other—we love each other.”

“And we love nobody else—nobody—nobody—nobody else,” joined in the thin rattle of a voice.

“Are you never tired of each other?—I—mean—of—of—well, I don’t know how to put it—quite—for you are not each other,” said Kitty.

“Tired!” shrieked the two voices together; and then the two beings fell into each other’s arms.

“If you please,” said Kitty, after having watched this scene of affection, and feeling rather neglected, “will you tell me if it is a long way out of this wood?”

“A very long way,” said I, cheerily looking up.

“We don’t care a dump how long it is, provided we have not to walk it,” chimed Myself, airily wagging its head.

“I am very tired,” said Kitty despondently, and tears rushed into her eyes.

“I suppose you are,” remarked I indifferently.

“That is no matter to us,” said Myself, grinning his ghostly smile.

“I cannot offer you this seat,” said I, “for Myself must sit there. I am afraid of tiring Myself. It is a duty I owe to Myself, never to tire Myself—precious one—never to let Myself be hungry or thirsty—dearest creature—or any harm come to Myself—excellent fellow.” Saying this I and Myself sat down side by side on the mossy roots of a tree, and looked up at Kitty with a grin that made the spectral face of Myself more than ever like that of I.

“Selfish thing!” muttered Kitty indignantly. “It must be Goblin Selfishness.”

“Yes, Goblin Selfishness,” whispered the guardian child, and his voice was anxious. “Take care!”

“Oh!” said Kitty, once more setting off at a run, “there’s no danger for me. It will be enough to think of that creepy, misty, ugly Myself, never to think of myself again, lest—”

But she stopped.

“Well, here is some one coming who is not running,” cried Kitty, laughing.

“The walking picture of Cleverness,” the naughty sprite chuckled.

If it was a little old man or a very old-looking boy who now approached Kitty could not determine. He wore a pair of blue spectacles astride upon his hooked nose, which jutted out over very thin lips, and was rather blue and frost-bitten. Altogether he was uncommonly like an owl, Kitty thought. Whoever he was, this personage walked slowly, holding a sun-shade open in one hand, and a warm overcoat slung over his other arm. He was apparently prepared to meet every sort of weather. Kitty noticed also that his ears were stuffed with cotton-wool.

“Well,” she said aloud, addressing nobody in particular, and with a broad smile, “this must be Mr. Take-care-of-himself.”

“An excellent name,” answered the little old man, or the very old-looking boy. The cotton-wool in his ears did not seem to deafen sound. “And I would advise you to deserve such a name.”

“Not if I must wear those big spectacles to deserve it,” laughed Kitty.

“Don’t say a word against my spectacles till you have looked through them,” answered her new acquaintance.

He had a cold, crisp voice, and he seemed to peck his words as a fowl pecks grain. From his pocket he pulled out another pair of blue glasses. “Just try this pair and tell me what you see.”

“Don’t!” whispered the guardian child.

“Do, just for the fun of it,” urged the naughty sprite in a coaxing tone.

“I shall wait till I want spectacles to make a fright of myself,” said Kitty, and she would have walked on.

“What do you see?” asked the blue-spectacled personage, rubbing the glasses he had taken out of his breast-pocket.

“I see,” said Kitty, “the wood. A little way off I see a delicious swing-swong seat made of moss, hanging between two trees. Yes, I see a little pale child, all in rags, a cripple, leaning on his crutch. He wants to get on the swing-swong. Oh, I shall run and help him!”

“Just take a peep at the same scene through these spectacles,” said the odd-looking being.

“Don’t!” whispered the guardian child.

“Just a peep to please him,” urged the sprite good-naturedly.

“Well, only a peep,” said Kitty, and she set the blue spectacles on her nose.

At first she saw nothing at all. Everything was dancing, whirling about her. The earth seemed to rush up into the sky, the sky seemed to swoop down upon the earth.

Then the scene began to clear. She saw the same tree, but it looked more shady and delightful; the same mossy seat, but now it appeared more inviting. The sunshine seemed brighter in that spot, the shade cooler; it appeared the loveliest nook she had ever set eyes upon. The child struck her as a white, dwarfish, ugly little intruder—a sort of small monster. What right had it to be there? He spoiled the place.

“We’ll drive him off,” said the owl-faced being.

“But he’ll cry,” said Kitty uncomfortably.

“Just put a small piece of this cotton-wool into your ear,” suggested her new acquaintance, offering her some that he drew out of his breast-pocket.

Kitty took a morsel hesitatingly and put it into her right ear; the naughty sprite extended its paw, took a larger bit, and clapped it into her left ear.

At first Kitty thought she had grown quite deaf—a great silence seemed to close around her, yet she heard the swish of the trees and the song of the birds; but some sound was missing, some sound that she was accustomed to hear. Then she knew that there had been ever present a murmur in her ear, as that of other children weeping, other children laughing.

It was this little throbbing music, sad and gay, that she no longer heard. Through the silence the naughty sprite in her own voice cried: “I want to swing in this mossy seat, in the place of that ugly, sick-looking child.”

So lovely appeared that sheltered nook, so aggravatingly comfortable the pale child, that Kitty set off at a run. As she ran she shivered; as if winter had suddenly overtaken her on that sunshiny day.

What was it? Colder and colder, like a chain of ice round her throat. Kitty put up her hands to feel what was there. The naughty sprite was hugging her close.

She stopped running. Where was the guardian child? She could see it nowhere. Could the spectacles be blinding her to the sight of its sweet face? She tried to take them off; but they seemed to have become part of her nose.

Pull, pull went Kitty. At last, with a wrench that seemed to root up her nose, she detached them and threw them a long way off.

Yes, high above her, restlessly hovering, wringing its hands, she now could just see her guardian child, white as the winter moon when the sun is still shining. Its lips moved, but she could not hear what it said. The wool in her ears made her deaf to the sound of its voice.

With a tug Kitty pulled out the horrid, clinging cotton-wool; then she heard the voice of her guardian child, crying, “Don’t turn away the cripple!” and with that voice back came the old sound, like a familiar song, sad and gay, crooning in her ear, and the clamp of a little crutch, telling a pitiful story of tiny feet that would never run or dance.

The cripple grasped his crutch and was hurrying away, when Kitty ran to him, took his thin hand, and led him back to the mossy seat. She kissed the pale, thin face, and her tears dropped upon it, and down came the guardian child on her shoulder, more beautiful than ever, its wings like pink flowers, its hair like a crown of light. In another moment the naughty sprite had dropped its arms from Kitty’s neck, and out pealed the distant Christmas bells.

“Oh, I never thought I should have been so selfish!” sobbed Kitty; “and the child was a cripple like Johnnie.”

The hot tears blinded her, but the guardian child dried them as they fell with his bright wings. Never had he looked so sweet, so good, so bright, so like a tiny angel Johnnie. Kitty stretched out her hands; she would have liked to press him to her heart, but the guardian child shook his head. “Wait, wait! The journey is not over yet,” he murmured.

“It is so long, so difficult!” cried Kitty as once more she stood upon the narrow path, and the star moved above it, seeming more than ever like a bird of fire winging its fearless way. “I shall not fall into another temptation. I shall not listen to what any one says whom I may meet. I shall do just what you tell me, you darling, pretty Johnnie spirit.”

The way lay now through a lovely bit of country; the honeysuckle twined above, the soft grass was thick with flowers. A little breeze carried the sweetest, quaintest perfumes; it was as if everything was rejoicing and in amity with her. The path seemed to be growing less difficult; it ascended with a pleasant easy swell. Kitty now went merrily along; the hard journey must be near its close. The guardian child fluttered hither and thither, sometimes hiding among the flowers and laughing at her through the petals. The sprite remained silent and quiet.

All at once the guardian child flew back to its post on Kitty’s shoulder; the self-sprite picked up its pointed ears.

“Something is going to happen,” thought Kitty; “but I shall be wise, I shall not talk to any one, however beautiful or comical.”

She looked ahead, but no one was advancing. The road went in and out through the pleasant trees, the star glided above them.