CHAPTER XVIII

HARVEST TIME.

The September days were exceptionally warm ones, but no one seemed to mind them because the evenings were cool. The two pilgrims continued their progress, advancing rapidly and in such a rosy atmosphere that the millennium seemed close at hand. Whatever Homer Forbes’ plans were, and as yet only he and Eleanor seemed to know much about them, they evidently met the entire approval of the lady in the question, for she threw herself into the process of perfecting them with an ardor that nearly drove her family frantic. No matter where they turned, they found plans and specifications lying about, and Eleanor’s room resembled an architect’s drafting-office. Not long after that walk up the mountain there had been a closeted hour’s talk with Mrs. Carruth, and when Homer Forbes came out of the library at the end of it he was in such a perturbed state of mind that he nearly fell over Mammy as he rushed through the hall, out of the front door and across the piazza, to vanish down the road and leave the family staring after him; at least, that portion of the family which happened to be seated there. Hard upon his heels followed Mammy, crying:

“Gawd bress ma soul! what Miss Jinny done ter dat man? ’Pears lak he gone plum loony.” Then, turning to Mrs. Carruth, who followed not far behind, Mammy continued: “Miss Jinny, is dat man gone cl’ar crazy?”

Mrs. Carruth smiled as she replied:

“They sometimes call it ‘a very mid-summer madness,’ Mammy, but mid-summer has passed, hasn’t it? It’s not dangerous, however. You would better go upstairs and ask Miss Nornie. I am sure she can tell you more about Mr. Forbes than I can. At all events, she has decided to let him guide her through life, so she must have an abiding faith in him, and I have told him he may do so if she wishes it. By the spring you will have to climb to the top of Mt. Parnassus if you wish to see your Miss Nornie, I think.”

“Whar _dat_ place at?” demanded Mammy, while Hadyn gave a low whistle, and Constance cried, “What did I tell you, Mumsey?” as Jean jumped up and down in her excitement.

“You had better go upstairs and ask Miss Nornie, Mammy,” and straightway Mammy whirled about and started upstairs to Eleanor’s room, where she found her buried neck-deep in a pile of drafting papers, triangles, compasses and pencils; though just what she was drawing plans for Mammy could not guess. When questioned of late Eleanor had given negative, abstracted replies which more than once nearly convulsed her hearers, and upon one occasion she had brought consternation upon the family by emptying a brimming washbowl of water into her scrap-basket instead of her slop-jar. Evidently the scrap-basket had figured more prominently in her thoughts of late than had her washbowl.

As Mammy appeared at the door Eleanor was bending over a great blueprint plan which she had spread upon the floor. It was a tremendous affair, fully two by four feet, and Eleanor was down upon her knees, hands outspread and locks flying, too absorbed to be aware of Mammy’s presence.

“Peripatos, peristyle penetralia,” murmured the engrossed one, tracing with a slender forefinger the lines upon her plan, then repeating, “Penetralia, penetralia. How interesting.”

“What in de name o’ man is you jabberin’ about, anyway, Miss Nornie?”

Eleanor came to an upright position with a start, crying:

“Goodness, Mammy, how you startled me!”

“Yo’ better had git up f’om dat floor ’stid o’ bendin’ ober dat sky-blue sheet o’ paper what done look lak it got Chinee writin’ an’ drawin’ on it. Yo’ face make out de res’ ob de colors fer de hull ’Merican flag: red, white an’ blue alltergedder. ’Taint no kynd ob a day fer ter be bendin’ ober lak yo’ is. Nex’ t’ing yo’ know yo’ gwine git rush o’ blood ter de haid, an’ dat’s bad, I tells yo’! Wha’ yo’ gwine do wid all dat blue stuff, anyway? Yo’ ain’ tell me one single t’ing ’bout it, an’ I ain’ know wha’ ’tis. An’ I wants fer ter know, too, if yo’ gwine be home ter lunch ter day.” Mammy’s sharp eye scrutinized the rosy face before her.

“O, you needn’t bother about me, Mammy. Mr. Forbes will be over shortly and we are going for a tramp.”

“Tromp! tromp!” echoed Mammy. “Tromp on sich a hot day as dis hyar wid de fermom’ter jist nachelly climbin’ cl’ar out er sight? Is you done gone silly, yo’ an’ dat Perfesser Fo’bes? Yo’ stay ter home in dis cool house what I done darken up fer ter keep out de sizzlin’, billin’ heat. It fa’r scoch de very skin off yo’ body. Don’ yo’ let dat man drag yo’ up dat mountain on sich a day, I tells yo’.”

“Oh, we don’t mind it, and the woods are so cool. Just put up one of your delicious little luncheons for us, and we’ll be more than supplied.”

“Cool in de woods! Yis, when yo’ gits to em, but yo’s got right smart ter walk fo’ yo’ comes ter dem, an’ I ain’ pinin’ fer no sich ’xertion on such a frazzlin’-out day. But I reckons I jist better save ma’ bref dan spend it a-talkin’. Yo’ lunch gwine be ready fo’ yo’ when yo’ ready fo’ it; but what I wants ter know now is, what all _dat_ meanin’,” and Mammy pointed again to the big blueprint.

Eleanor was not given to emotion but there come times in every life when one’s emotions are more easily played upon than at others. The past week had held such moments for Eleanor. Of all Mammy’s children Eleanor had been the least demonstrative. She rarely caressed the old woman as Constance and Jean did. Now, however, she bounded to her feet and, rushing to Mammy, cried:

“Oh, Mammy! Mammy! Do you believe in dreams? Don’t you think they come true sometimes?”

“A heap o’ times!” interjected Mammy.

Eleanor sighed ecstatically. I _knew_ you would say so, Mammy. “And _ours_ will, won’t it?”

“Who ‘ours?’” demanded Mammy, her lips pursed up, and distrust in her eyes.

“Homer’s and mine! Homer! Isn’t that a name to inspire one? Fate must have ordained that he should bear such a name. Only a classic poet’s could be in harmony. It must be the purest, the best, the finest, the most perfect,” rhapsodized Eleanor.

Mammy looked at her a little anxiously, and asked:

“Isn’t yo’ better lay down on dat baid yonder? Yo’s been a bendin’ ober dose papers twell yo’ haid’s achin’, I’se feered.”

“Ah, no, Mammy, but think of it! To live in a Grecian dwelling! A perfect reproduction of an Athenian temple. With the fountain of Hippocrene in it’s center, from which a rill will flow murmuring all the day. Helicon’s harmonious stream. We shall call it Helicon Hall, and there we shall train the youthful mind to a deep appreciation of true beauty. In the central court, overroofed with glass and filled with tropical plants, will be our hearth stone, our altar, on either side of which will stand our lares and penates. Could any other mind have conceived this wonderful dream in this prosaic age? See, see our plans, Mammy? How clear, how concise, how graphic. Ah, I can picture it all—all.”

“Well den I cyant!” cried Mammy, losing patience, “and I don’ reckon yo’ Ma nor none ob de yethers kin. At any rate, I got sumpin else ter do ’sides standin’ hyar listenin’ at what I sets down as jist foolishness; an’ ef I was yo’ Ma I’d tell yo’ not ter go a-climbin’ up dat mountain no mo’ twell de wedder done cool off some,” and with this admonition Mammy left the dreamer to her dreams. But before we take a long leave of her, we will add, by the way, that in the course of time this dream crystallized into a large building, in the form of the Parthenon, wherein this modern Socrates, Professor Homer Forbes, and a charming Hypatia, his wife, led the minds of affluent youths, whose parents were willing to indulge them in such luxuries, along paths of learning literally flower-strewn. Reclining at length upon the green sward of the court of Helicon Hill, they drank in the words of wisdom falling from the lips of their preceptors. Eleanor had achieved her ideals: Homer Forbes his. What more could mortals ask?

And the lares and penates? Well, Jean was rather practical. Those old Greek fireside gods might be all very well in their way, but Greece had seen _her_ day. In the present one there was a quaint little grinning “god of things, as they ought to be,” to which Jean pinned greater faith; and when, one beautiful April day, Homer Forbes and his bride returned from their wedding journey, and entered the inner court of Helicon Hall, where the (let us hope) sacred fire burned upon the hearth, the first thing upon which Eleanor’s eyes rested in these classic surroundings was “Billykin,” perched above the blazing logs.

And in the interval between that warm September day and the lighting of that hearth by loving hands for the home-coming of the idealists? Ah, life holds some sweet moments, and this old world is not such a bad one, after all. But we anticipate.

October came again, and all the world was beautiful in its golden haze. With Eleanor’s engagement to Homer Forbes, and her complete absorption in her demi-god, who had changed her plans so completely, her future so entirely, Eleanor plunged headlong into consummating his dreams so far as in her power lay. This left Constance largely to herself and her own plans. All had gone well with her, and, with the beginning of the social season in Riveredge and elsewhere, Constance’s business grew very brisk. She was kept busy from morning to evening. It was a wonderfully happy life for her. To be the chief support of her family, to give to her mother the thousand little luxuries she had known in earlier life, to give to Jean every possible advantage, both educational and social, and still have time to enjoy life at its heyday herself—why—surely, no more could be asked.

Mary and Fanny Willing were as happy and content as two girls well could be, and worked and sang from dawn to twilight. With the autumn even more help became necessary to keep abreast of the orders; and, through Hadyn, Constance secured the services of a man in whom Hadyn was deeply interested. He had known him in college days, but days of adversity had overtaken him, and for two years he had seemed to be the very toy of an adverse fate. In that interval his family had slipped into the Great Beyond, and the small nest-egg left him had been swept from him by the failure of the company in which it was invested, throwing Edward DeLaney upon his own resources.

Upon Hadyn’s advice he was engaged by Constance as bookkeeper and a sort of general superintendent, dividing his time between the Candy Kitchen, the Arcade, and the other booths, which, in the course of time had been established elsewhere. He was only twenty-five, but an able, manly fellow, quick-witted and resourceful. He took firm hold of affairs instantly, and, during the course of the ensuing winter, Constance more than once thanked the lucky star which had guided this tall, clear-eyed, finely-set-up six-foot laddie to her Candy Kitchen. No one could look into those fine, hazel eyes without trusting them instantly, nor see the lines of that resolute, yet tender mouth without reading the man’s character. His skin was as fair and as clear as a child’s, and his smile as winning. He speedily found his way into the home circle, and just the degree of happiness it brought to him few guessed.

But this is dipping into the future by several months. At present we are in October’s golden glow.

“What a day!” cried Hadyn, as he and Constance came out upon the piazza one beautiful afternoon when luncheon was over.

“Isn’t it simply heavenly? It seems to me we never have such days excepting during October. Look at the coloring over on that mountain and on our own hills. It is perfectly intoxicating. It makes me feel like doing something out of the usual order, and yet I ought to go out yonder to the Candy Kitchen and lend a hand with the thousand and one things to be attended to. I tell you, Hadyn Stuyvesant, I am rapidly becoming a power in the commercial world,” laughed Constance.

“You are a greater power already than you guess. Before you know it that business will have grown beyond its boundaries again, and even greater expansion will be necessary. But just now let’s ‘forget it,’ and go for a ride up that glorious mountain. I’ll ’phone down to Pringle’s for Lightfoot, and we’ll have an afternoon fit for the gods.”

“Done! I’m only human, and the call of the woods on such a day as this drowns the call of duty. But I hate to take Comet from you; you seem so much a part of each other.”

“Since he came to live here he has become a part of you all, and more nearly _human_ than ever. Jean has seen to that. How that child loves animals! I’ve a little scheme in the back part of my head which I mean shall take tangible form when her next birthday comes around.”

“Oh, what is it?” cried Constance, for everything concerning Jean held the keenest interest for her.

“Tell you after we’ve had our ride. I’m off now for my togs. See you inside half an hour. Tell Parsons to saddle Comet for you,” and with a wave of his hand Hadyn hurried away to get into his riding clothes. An hour later they rode away from the house, as bonny a pair as eyes could rest upon, and upon which one pair did rest with the love and devotion one often sees in the eyes of a dog; Mammy raised her apron, wiped a tear from her lids, and said softly to herself:

“_Dem’s ma chillen._ Yis, jist ma own God-blessedest ones what ever _is_ live! Him, too. Miss Nornie kin tek up wid dat Perfesser man ef she wanter, but _gimme dat one ridin’ ’way yonder_. He’s de very cream ob all creation, an’ he gwine be mighty good ter ma baby, too. I ain’t need no secon’ sight fer ter read _dat_ writin’. An’ he gwine fin’ out what a pearl o’ price he gettin’, too, dough I reckons he got some notion o’ dat a’reddy. An’ he gwine git somepin’ he ain’ countin’ ’pon a mite, an’ would be clar _’bove_ countin’ ’pon anyhow; he gwine git a wife wha’ got her _own nes’aig_. Charles an’ me ain’ run dat ar’ lunch counter all dis time jist fer fun an’ de reppitation it done give us; no, sir-ee! We done put ’side ’nough fer ter give each o’ ole Massa’s gran’chillen dey _dots_, as dose French folks calls it. Yis, we is, an’ I’s proud ob it, too. It’s de onlies’ way we kin eber show em dat dey’s ours, an’ we’s deirs. Mebbe Massa Stuyvesant got a-plenty, an’ mebbe Massa Fo’bes is got, too, a-plenty fer ’em bofe—I dunno—but I knows dis much: A ’omans a mighty sight mo’ self-respectin’ an’, an’ sort o’ stan’in’ firm on her own foots ef she knows dars a stockin’full o’ gol’ wha’ she kin turn inside-out ef she want ter ’thout axin’ ’by yo’ leave, Mr. Man,’ no matter how she love him or he love her. An’ me an’ Charles done fix dat all right, so we has. Gawd bress ma chillen! Gawd bress em! Dey’s filled ma soul wid joy all de days of ma life, and dey’s made Charles’ foots fer ter walk in de green past’ers endurin’ his declinin’ years. Oh, we’s happy, we is, wid de Gawd-blessedes’ white folks two ol’ cullered folks ever is know.”