________________________________________________
_ This was Miss Jane Baxter. She opened her
eyes upon the new-born day, and her first
thoughts were of Mr. Parcher. That is, he was
already in her mind when she awoke, a circumstance
to be accounted for on the ground that his
conversation, during her quiet convalescence in
his library, had so fascinated her that in all
likelihood she had been dreaming of him. Then, too,
Jane and Mr. Parcher had a bond in common,
though Mr. Parcher did not know it. Not without
result had William repeated Miss Pratt's
inquiry in Jane's hearing: ``Who IS that curious
child?'' Jane had preserved her sang-froid, but
the words remained with her, for she was one of
those who ponder and retain in silence.
She thought almost exclusively of Mr. Parcher
until breakfast-time, and resumed her thinking
of him at intervals during the morning. Then,
in the afternoon, a series of quiet events not
unconnected with William's passion caused her to
think of Mr. Parcher more poignantly than ever;
nor was her mind diverted to a different channel
by another confidential conversation with her
mother. Who can say, then, that it was not by
design that she came face to face with Mr.
Parcher on the public highway at about five
o'clock that afternoon? Everything urges the
belief that she deliberately set herself in his path.
Mr. Parcher was walking home from his office,
and he walked slowly, gulping from time to time,
as he thought of the inevitable evening before
him. His was not a rugged constitution, and for
the last fortnight or so he had feared that it was
giving way altogether. Each evening he felt
that he was growing weaker, and sometimes he
thought piteously that he might go away for a
while. He did not much care where, though what
appealed to him most, curiously enough, was not
the thought of the country, with the flowers and
little birds; no, what allured him was the idea
that perhaps he could find lodgment for a time
in an Old People's Home, where the minimum
age for inmates was about eighty.
Walking more and more slowly, as he
approached the dwelling he had once thought of as
home, he became aware of a little girl in a
checkered dress approaching him at a gait varied by
the indifferent behavior of a barrel-hoop which
she was disciplining with a stick held in her right
hand. When the hoop behaved well, she came
ahead rapidly; when it affected to be intoxicated,
which was most often its whim, she zigzagged
with it, and gained little ground. But all the
while, and without reference to what went on
concerning the hoop, she slowly and continuously
fed herself (with her left hand) small, solemnly
relished bites of a slice of bread-and-butter covered
with apple sauce and powdered sugar.
Mr. Parcher looked upon her, and he shivered
slightly; for he knew her to be Willie Baxter's
sister.
Unaware of the emotion she produced in him,
Jane checked her hoop and halted.
``G'd afternoon, Mister Parcher,'' she said,
gravely.
``Good afternoon,'' he returned, without much
spirit.
Jane looked up at him trustfully and with a
strange, unconscious fondness. ``You goin' home
now, Mr. Parcher?'' she asked, turning to walk
at his side. She had suspended the hoop over
her left arm and transferred the bread-and-butter
and apple sauce and sugar to her right, so that
she could eat even more conveniently than
before.
``I suppose so,'' he murmured.
``My brother Willie's been at your house all
afternoon,'' she remarked.
He repeated, ``I suppose so,'' but in a tone
which combined the vocal tokens of misery and
of hopeless animosity.
``He just went home,'' said Jane. ``I was 'cross
the street from your house, but I guess he didn't
see me. He kept lookin' back at your house.
Miss Pratt was on the porch.''
``I suppose so.'' This time it was a moan.
Jane proceeded to give him some information.
``My brother Willie isn't comin' back to your
house to-night, but he doesn't know it yet.''
``What!'' exclaimed Mr. Parcher.
``Willie isn't goin' to spend any more evenings
at your house at all,'' said Jane, thoughtfully.
``He isn't, but he doesn't know it yet.''
Mr. Parcher gazed fixedly at the wonderful
child, and something like a ray of sunshine
flickered over his seamed and harried face. ``Are
you SURE he isn't?'' he said. ``What makes you
think so?''
``I know he isn't,'' said demure Jane. ``It's
on account of somep'm I told mamma.''
And upon this a gentle glow began to radiate
throughout Mr. Parcher. A new feeling budded
within his bosom; he was warmly attracted to
Jane. She was evidently a child to be cherished,
and particularly to be encouraged in the line of
conduct she seemed to have adopted. He wished
the Bullitt and Watson families each had a little
girl like this. Still, if what she said of William
proved true, much had been gained and life might
be tolerable, after all.
``He'll come in the afternoons, I guess,'' said
Jane. ``But you aren't home then, Mr. Parcher,
except late like you were that day of the Sunday-
school class. It was on account of what you
said that day. I told mamma.''
``Told your mamma what?''
``What you said.''
Mr. Parcher's perplexity continued. ``What
about?''
``About Willie. YOU know!'' Jane smiled fraternally.
``No, I don't.''
``It was when I was layin' in the liberry, that
day of the Sunday-school class,'' Jane told him.
``You an' Mrs. Parcher was talkin' in there about
Miss Pratt an' Willie an' everything.''
``Good heavens!'' Mr. Parcher, summoning his
memory, had placed the occasion and Jane
together. ``Did you HEAR all that?''
``Yes.'' Jane nodded. ``I told mamma all
what you said.''
``Murder!''
``Well,'' said Jane, ``I guess it's good I did,
because look--that's the very reason mamma did
somep'm so's he can't come any more except in
daytime. I guess she thought Willie oughtn't
to behave so's't you said so many things about
him like that; so to-day she did somep'm, an' now
he can't come any more to behave that loving
way of Miss Pratt that you said you would be in
the lunatic asylum if he didn't quit. But he
hasn't found it out yet.''
``Found what out, please?'' asked Mr. Parcher,
feeling more affection for Jane every moment.
``He hasn't found out he can't come back to
your house to-night; an' he can't come back to-
morrow night, nor day-after-to-morrow night,
nor--''
``Is it because your mamma is going to tell
him he can't?''
``No, Mr. Parcher. Mamma says he's too old
--an' she said she didn't like to, anyway. She
just DID somep'm.''
``What? What did she do?''
``It's a secret,'' said Jane. ``I could tell you
the first part of it--up to where the secret
begins, I expect.''
``Do!'' Mr. Parcher urged.
``Well, it's about somep'm Willie's been
WEARIN','' Jane began, moving closer to him as
they slowly walked onward. ``I can't tell you
what they were, because that's the secret--but
he had 'em on him every evening when he came
to see Miss Pratt, but they belong to papa, an'
papa doesn't know a word about it. Well, one
evening papa wanted to put 'em on, because he
had a right to, Mr. Parcher, an' Willie didn't
have any right to at all, but mamma couldn't
find 'em; an' she rummidged an' rummidged
'most all next day an' pretty near every day since
then an' never did find 'em, until don't you
believe I saw Willie inside of 'em only last night!
He was startin' over to your house to see Miss
Pratt in 'em! So I told mamma, an' she said it 'd
haf to be a secret, so that's why I can't tell you
what they were. Well, an' then this afternoon,
early, I was with her, an' she said, long as I had
told her the secret in the first place, I could come
in Willie's room with her, an' we both were
already in there anyway, 'cause I was kind of
thinkin' maybe she'd go in there to look for 'em,
Mr. Parcher--''
``I see,'' he said, admiringly. ``I see.''
``Well, they were under Willie's window-seat,
all folded up; an' mamma said she wondered
what she better do, an' she was worried because
she didn't like to have Willie behave so's you an'
Mrs. Parcher thought that way about him. So
she said the--the secret--what Willie wears,
you know, but they're really papa's an' aren't
Willie's any more'n they're MINE--well, she said
the secret was gettin' a little teeny bit too tight
for papa, but she guessed they--I mean the
secret--she said she guessed it was already pretty
loose for Willie; so she wrapped it up, an' I went
with her, an' we took 'em to a tailor, an' she told
him to make 'em bigger, for a surprise for papa,
'cause then they'll fit him again, Mr. Parcher.
She said he must make 'em a whole lot bigger.
She said he must let 'em way, WAY out! So I
guess Willie would look too funny in 'em after
they're fixed; an' anyway, Mr. Parcher, the secret
won't be home from the tailor's for two weeks,
an' maybe by that time Miss Pratt'll be gone.''
They had reached Mr. Parcher's gate; he
halted and looked down fondly upon this child
who seemed to have read his soul. ``Do you
honestly think so?'' he asked.
``Well, anyway, Mr. Parcher,'' said Jane,
``mamma said--well, she said she's sure Willie
wouldn't come here in the evening any more
when YOU're at home, Mr. Parcher--'cause after
he'd been wearin' the secret every night this way
he wouldn't like to come and not have the secret
on. Mamma said the reason he would feel like
that was because he was seventeen years old. An'
she isn't goin' to tell him anything about it,
Mr. Parcher. She said that's the best way.''
Her new friend nodded and seemed to agree.
``I suppose that's what you meant when you said
he wasn't coming back but didn't know it yet?''
``Yes, Mr. Parcher.''
He rested an elbow upon the gate-post, gazing
down with ever-increasing esteem. ``Of course
I know your last name,'' he said, ``but I'm afraid
I've forgotten your other one.''
``It's Jane.''
``Jane,'' said Mr. Parcher, ``I should like to do
something for you.''
Jane looked down, and with eyes modestly
lowered she swallowed the last fragment of the
bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar
which had been the constantly evanescent
companion of their little walk together. She was
not mercenary; she had sought no reward.
``Well, I guess I must run home,'' she said.
And with one lift of her eyes to his and a shy
laugh--laughter being a rare thing for Jane--
she scampered quickly to the corner and was
gone.
But though she cared for no reward, the
extraordinary restlessness of William, that evening,
after dinner, must at least have been of
great interest to her. He ascended to his own
room directly from the table, but about twenty
minutes later came down to the library, where
Jane was sitting (her privilege until half after
seven) with her father and mother. William
looked from one to the other of his parents and
seemed about to speak, but did not do so. Instead,
he departed for the upper floor again and
presently could be heard moving about energetically
in various parts of the house, a remote
thump finally indicating that he was doing something
with a trunk in the attic.
After that he came down to the library again
and once more seemed about to speak, but did
not. Then he went up-stairs again, and came
down again, and he was still repeating this process
when Jane's time-limit was reached and she
repaired conscientiously to her little bed. Her
mother came to hear her prayers and to turn out
the light; and--when Mrs. Baxter had passed out
into the hall, after that, Jane heard her speaking
to William, who was now conducting what seemed
to be excavations on a serious scale in his own
room.
``Oh, Willie, perhaps I didn't tell you, but--
you remember I'd been missing papa's evening
clothes and looking everywhere for days and
days?''
``Ye--es,'' huskily from William.
``Well, I found them! And where do you
suppose I'd put them? I found them under
your window-seat. Can you think of anything
more absurd than putting them there and then
forgetting it? I took them to the tailor's to
have them let out. They were getting too tight
for papa, but they'll be all right for him when the
tailor sends them back.''
What the stricken William gathered from this
it is impossible to state with accuracy; probably
he mixed some perplexity with his emotions.
Certainly he was perplexed the following evening
at dinner.
Jane did not appear at the table. ``Poor
child! she's sick in bed,'' Mrs. Baxter explained
to her husband. ``I was out, this afternoon, and
she ate nearly ALL of a five-pound box of candy.''
Both the sad-eyed William and his father
were dumfounded. ``Where on earth did she
get a five-pound box of candy?'' Mr. Baxter
demanded.
``I'm afraid Jane has begun her first affair,''
said Mrs. Baxter. ``A gentleman sent it to her.''
``What gentleman?'' gasped William.
And in his mother's eyes, as they slowly came
to rest on his in reply, he was aware of an
inscrutability strongly remindful of that inscrutable
look of Jane's.
``Mr. Parcher,'' she said, gently. _
Read next: CHAPTER XII. PROGRESS OF THE SYMPTOMS
Read previous: CHAPTER X. MR. PARCHER AND LOVE
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