Cousin Cinderella. A novel

Chapter I

' I am tired of the Pacific,' said Lady Hughes, settling for the hundredth time her well - wrapped - up figure on a long chair placed in as sheltered a position as the deck of the Pacific mail-steamer Magic afforded. ' I am absolutely bored to death with the Pacific. There is nothing to see but a horrid gray mist that feels as if it came from the North Pole, and takes one's hair out of curl.' ' Well, my dear,' responded her husband sleepily, ' if people want to go round the VOL. I. i world, they must cross this ocean, and it is no worse for us than for others.' ' Yes ; it is a great deal worse,' retorted Lady Hughes sharply. ' I am convinced it is more trying to me than to anyone else on board. I have not got a soul to talk to.' ' My dear,' said Sir Richard mildly, 'don't you think that it is your own doing entirely ?

Everybody seems quite anxious to know you, but ' ' They are all simply impossible? inter rupted Lady Hughes, with emphasis. ' I never saw such a set in my life. I have watched them for a week, and I am sure I have not noticed a single redeeming feature in any one of them, except in that dear old American with the brown face and the silver hair. He looks distinctly nice.' ' Very nice,' agreed Sir Richard. ' Do you know, I should like to make his acquaintance!' exclaimed Lady Hughes suddenly, after a pause. ' I am sure he would amuse me. Go and bring him, Richard.' ' But, my dear, he is an utter stranger. I can scarcely go up to him and ' ' Yes, you can, with a little tact. Get into conversation with him, and he is sure to be friendly.' ' How do you know ?: ' He is an American, and they are always dreadfully friendly.

There he is, talking to that horrid loud woman with a yachts man's cap on and diamond earrings.' ' My dear, do be careful ; your voice is very distinct. She will hear you,' remonstrated Sir Richard. ' I don't care if she does,' said Lady Hughes indifferently. ' Go and talk to them at once, and bring the nice old American over here.' ' Well, I must go downstairs first,' said Sir Richard, to gain time. ' I'll speak to him when I come back. COUSLN CINDERELLA 4 'Don't be long,' said Lady Hughes. ' Remember, I am very dull, and I must be amused.' Sir Richard answered submissively, but all the same he made up his mind to stay away as long as possible. Lady Hughes waited for him, unsus piciously at first, but when six bells sounded — meaning three o'clock — and seven bells sounded — meaning half past three — she began to appreciate his diplomatic talents, and she lost her temper accordingly, and determined to go down and look for him.

She dis entangled herself with an effort from several shawls and rugs, and got off her chair. In doing so she disturbed two or three books which she had been trying to read, and they fell on the deck. The nice old American whose acquaint ance she wanted to make happened to see this, and, in spite of some timidity on his part, he came forward and gallantly picked up the books. His timidity did not arise from natural shyness, but from the reputa tion for hauteur Lady Hughes had acquired in the course of the week the voyage had lasted. He did not know how she would accept his civility. To his surprise, she dropped her hard British stare and assumed a most gracious demeanour. ' Thank you so very much,' she said ; and he, much gratified, raised his hat. He had been more or less interested in the Hugheses from the first day of the voyage ; he had learned from the captain of the ship that they were very grand people, and that Lady Hughes was supposed to be a leader of London society.

As Mr. Basset had never seen a leader of London society, he observed Lady Hughes with absorbing attention ; and she had puzzled him, because she was so exceedingly haughty and cold. He had begun to wonder if London society could be run on similar lines, and if large crowds of English people met together to display equal haughtiness and iciness. Now, when Lady Hughes spoke to him so graciously, he suspected that there was another side to her character, and he felt a sudden increase of interest in her. She was a handsome - looking, well - preserved woman of about fifty, with good features and reddish fair hair, and she looked more than ten years younger than Sir Richard. The good baronet himself was not at all haughty, although he was strictly forbidden to be friendly on board the Magic. He had a sort of second-hand diplomatic manner, double eye-glasses, and a very shaky pair of legs ■ his distinguishing characteristic, when he got far enough away from his wife, was a copious flow of anecdote.

Lady Hughes, having made her nice old American's acquaintance by a lucky accident, laid herself out to be agreeable, and suc ceeded so well that they presently went for a few turns up and down the deck together. ' One gets so cramped and tired lying on a deck-chair,' she said, with a kind of spright liness very fascinating to her companion ; ' and it is so dull, too.' 'Why, I admit it isn't very lively,' said the American. ' Not in the least. It is perfectly disagree able ; it bores me to extinction.' ' Perhaps you don't like travelling ? suggested her companion. 'Oh, I don't mind travelling,' she said. ' It is supposed to be good for one, and to enlarge one's mind ; and then, of course, it is so outrageously cheap.' ' Dear me !' said the American, somewhat startled. ' Why, / find it mighty expen sive.' ' Do you ?' asked Lady Hughes with surprise. ' Now, I think it is so cheap.

You can travel all over the world for two thousand a year comfortably, and in London I could easily spend two thousand pounds in one month.' ' Well, if you look at it that way,' said the American, rather crushed, ' I grant it does seem cheap. But from my own ex perience I should not have thought of the subject from that standpoint.' 'No? How very odd!' said Lady Hughes ; ' I think everyone has different ideas,' she added tolerantly. Her companion believed that the difference extended to people's incomes as well, but he kept this sentiment to himself. ' Now I think I have walked enough,' she said, when they came up to her chair. ' Oh, thanks !' as he arranged her shawls and rugs. ' My books ? Oh yes ; but I am so tired of them — they are so utterly unin teresting. Have you anything you could lend me ?' ' I have some stories in my cabin.

Shall I bring a few volumes for you to choose from ?' ' It would be very good of you to do so,' said Lady Hughes ; and he went down to fetch the books. Just then Sir Richard ventured to return, hoping that his wife had forgotten about wanting to know the nice old American. To his relief she seemed in a very amiable temper, and not in the least inclined to reproach him for his absence of over an hour. ' Are you ready for tea, my dear ?' he asked. ' Quite ready,' she answered. ' Tell Brierley to bring it up at once.' ' Will you have it up here ? I thought you didn't like the mist.' ' Oh, the mist is horrid !' said Lady Hughes cheerfully; 'but I feel ill in the saloon. By the way, tell Brierley to bring an extra cup.' ' Why ?' asked Sir Richard. ' Because my nice old American is going to have tea with us.' ' My dear,' said Sir Richard uncomfortably, ' we don't know him.' ' I know him.

I have made his acquaint ance since you went down below,' said Lady Hughes calmly. ' He turns out quite as nice as he looked — nicer, I think.' ' What is his name ?' asked Sir Richard blankly. ' Oh, I don't know his name !' said Lady Hughes impatiently. 'We can easily find it out. Besides, what does his name matter ? He is only an American.' ' That is nonsense, Caroline !' said Sir Richard with suppressed irritation. ' Of course his name matters ; there are Americans and Americans.' ' Don't prose,' said Lady Hughes languidly ; ' I like him, and that is enough for me.' ' Well, all I can say is, that it is very odd of you to go on like this, Caroline,' grumbled Sir Richard, conscious ofa grievance. ' Here you have been snubbing everyone for a week, and insisting on my doing the same — al though I don't at all like it — and now you suddenly throw yourself at an old American, whose name even you don't know.' ' You see, I trusted too much to your powers of amusing me,' said Lady Hughes maliciously ; ' that is why I began snubbing the dreadful passengers on board here.

But really, dear, I can't keep it up, since you positively bore me to death. And as for this American — at whom, by the way, I have not thrown myself — he is quite nice ; if he had no horrid relations I shouldn't in the least mind knowing him in London. Now, do try and look pleasant, for here he comes.' Sir Richard obediently smoothed his features into a semblance of amiability, and stood by blandly while his wife looked at the books the American had brought. ' I really must read them all,' she said effusively, dexterously turning them over until she found the owner's name, Peter J. Basset, on one page. 'Are you sure you are not reading them yourself ? No? Then I shall be delighted to borrow them for a few days. And now let me introduce my husband to you,' she added, indicating Sir Richard. ' Sir Richard Hughes — Mr. Basset.' ' It has been a pleasant voyage so far,' said Sir Richard, responding as heartily as he could to the other's firm handshake. ' I don't agree with you,' cut in Lady Hughes before Mr. Basset could reply. ' Mr. Basset, we are just going to have a cup of tea ; won't you join us ?' ' I thank you, with pleasure,' said Mr. Basset, colouring with delight. ' Then sit down here.

Richard, go and tell Brierley to bring the tea up at once.' Sir Richard tottered away meekly, and Mr. Basset sat down beside Lady Hughes, feeling very happy but for an awestruck consciousness that he might be found un worthy of his new acquaintances. However, he got on admirably with the Hugheses by talking to the lady and listening to Sir Richard, and their friendship ripened with the rapidity of voyage ac quaintanceships. Especially did it prosper after Lady Hughes had found out that he did not possess a relation in the wide world. ' Positively he has no horrid people,' she hastened to tell Sir Richard ; ' I told you he was all right. He has been through the most wonderful adventures, and is so in teresting.' ' Yes, Caroline, he seems exceedingly pleasant,' said Sir Richard. This was when they had known Mr. Basset two days, and he had amused her ladyship with idle tales of his early life, and COUSIN CINDERELLA 14 conciliated Sir Richard by listening to interminable and complicated anecdotes, chiefly about the British Constitution and the House of Commons.

Before the end of the voyage Lady Hughes had managed to possess herself of nearly all the main facts of Mr. Basset's history. She had listened with great interest to the account of his father's hardships as a pioneer, in the earlier part of the century, pushing out West. ' How well you seem to remember it all !' she said one afternoon, when he had told her some of these early adventures. ' Yes, I remember it only too well,' he answered sadly ; and when the London grande dame had gone down to her cabin, he still sat gazing into the cold mist that lay on the gray swelling waters of the Pacific, while a crowd of memories came over him. He felt as if he were back in the primeval forest with his father and mother, his little sister, and his mother's cousin. What hard ships they had suffered ! He could remember his thin, gaunt father, with a deeply-tanned face and hair rusty from exposure, pushing on eagerly in the expectation of finding El Dorado in the unsettled and uncleared State of Indiana.

His poor mother, worn and faded, shared her husband's trials, but not his hopes. She was a very silent woman, who endured her misery uncom plainingly ; Peter Basset could remember that. Even when his little baby sister Susy died, and his father, startled out of his delusions concerning Indiana, had dug the child's grave as well as he could for grief, Peter had seen no tears in his mother's eyes. He remembered how they laid the babv sister in her little grave under a tall tree, and his father's sobs, as he filled it in with earth ; and he had never forgotten — although it was nearly sixty years ago — that before they left Susy his father raised his axe, and cut a rough star deep into the bark of the tree. ' What makes you do that ?' Peter remembered hearing his mother say in her faint voice. ' We can never come back to her.' ' No,' sobbed Enoch Basset, ' we can never come back ; but maybe God will see — and watch over her.' Peter never forgot those few words, nor the way in which his mother's cousin ' improved ' the occasion, and succeeded in puzzling him thoroughly between the Susy who lay under the tall tree with the dark earth hiding her. and the other Susy who wore a nice white frock, and carried a gold harp, somewhere up in the blue sky over his head.

Even now, when he was an old man nearer seventy than sixty, he felt as if he had two little -sisters — one lying under a tall tree with a rude star cut deeply into its bark, and the other with a gold harp in her hand, walking blissfully about the shining streets of heaven. He liked better to think of these early days than of something that had happened later on, namely, his running away from home. As he grew up he had come to hate the log cabin on the clearing in Indiana, and just when he arrived at the age to be useful to his poor old father and mother he left them, worked his way to New York, and went to sea. He was full of himself, his own importance, and his own career, and he chafed under his parents' control, dis liking his father's querulous enthusiasm as much as his mother's dumb acquiescence in her hard fate.

He never thought then of the duty he owed them, but years afterwards, when he learned that they were dead and gone, he began to understand that he had sinned against them, and he felt bitter remorse. This feeling, with others, operated VOL. I. 2 V to prevent his marrying. He had a vague dread that Fate would pay him back through his children if he ever became a father. The worst of it was that seeing the world had not amounted to very much after the first few years. The novelty soon wore off the process, and a good deal of hard dis cipline remained. Still, Mr. Basset could not fairly complain ; he had made his way up very creditably from being a sailor to occupying the position of United States Consul in the East. He had risen by degrees, had made useful friends occasionally, and found himself returning to his native land under tolerably prosperous circum stances, and with an unbroken constitution, before he was seventy.

He was not rich by any means, but he had a small income, suffi cient for his needs. He became exceedingly retrospective as he got nearer his native shores, and his spirits would have flagged seriously but for the Hugheses. They really took a con siderable fancy to him, which was not sur prising, as he was a genial and sympathetic old soul, and had kept a good deal of fresh ness of heart in spite of a somewhat chequered career. Lady Hughes found him more and more interesting, and at last confided to Sir Richard that she would be quite sorry when the voyage was over. ' I dare say we shall run up against him again,' said Sir Richard philosophically ; 'really, nowadays the world is so small that ' ' He isn't coming our way,' she interrupted — ' at least, not for the present.' Mr. Basset had told her he must go straight to Indiana, and try to find his parents' graves, in order to set up a head stone. ' It is really very nice of him,' she added, after explaining this to Sir Richard. ' But it seems to me completely unnecessary.' ' Not at all,' said Sir Richard with dignity. ' It does him great credit.' ' I suppose so,' said Lady Hughes ; ' but it is tiresome of him.

What is the good of making a fuss about people who died at least thirty years ago ?' ' It won't take long,' said Sir Richard ; ' and then he will be free to travel about again.' ' Do you know, Richard, I quite wish he would come to London. Shall I suggest it to him ?' said Lady Hughes, after debating the matter within herself. ' If you like. He seems to take a great interest in England,' said Sir Richard cordially. Lady Hughes broached the subject to Mr. Basset in the course of their last evening on board. 'Why don't you come over to England later on ?' she said coquettishly. ' You have never been in England, have you ?' ' Not to stop,' said Mr. Basset. ' Well, then, you positively ought to come. I am sure you would like it,' said Lady Hughes. ' 1 reckon I should,' said Mr. Basset politely, ' only I must go home first, and see after my folks' graves.' ' Have you no living relations you could trust to do it ?' asked Lady Hughes. 'Abso lutely no one ?' - Absolutely no one,' returned Mr. Basset sadly. ' What a good thing !' thought her lady ship selfishly. ' Then there is really nothing to keep you in America ?' she added. ' Nothing,' he replied, with some doubts, however, as to whether the shallowness of his purse did not constitute a very good reason for his keeping quiet. ' Well, we shall not despair of seeing you in London,' said Lady Hughes, with extreme graciousness. ' So I will give you my card COUSLN CINDERELLA 22 and you must promise to remember the address, and to come and see me if you ever find yourself in London.' Mr. Basset was quite overcome by this vague but flattering invitation.

It came as a great surprise, for he had never imagined that a fine lady, who knew crowds of duchesses and other titled people, should care to see him in her London house. ' I promise,' he said, with emotion. ' I shall quite expect to see you, so mind you come. I'll give you such a nice, nice English cup of tea, and show you the photo graphs of all the interesting people I have told you about,' said Lady Hughes. ' Don't forget.' Mr. Basset thanked her fervently, and said he would not forget. He put the card away safely, and felt exceedingly gratified and pleased by Lady Hughes's unexpected friendliness. They parted next day, and Lady Hughes's farewell words were to the effect that he must certainly come and have a cup of tea with her in London. In this way, almost without his knowing it, Mr. Basset got bitten with Anglo-mania.

It was destined to come out later, for at that moment his mind was occupied with his idea of performing a long-neglected act of filial respect towards his parents' memories

Chapter II

Mr. Basset was glad to find himself again in one corner of his vast native land. He was not allowed to enjoy himself long, for a plague of interviewing came on him at once. Reporters, with note - books and pencils, haunted him. He was American enough to like it for a short time, but he got tired of it before the reporters did. Lady Hughes's cup of tea seemed better worth living for than columns of rubbish in the local papers, garnished with odious caricatures that purported to be his faithful likeness. He soon discovered that he was the kind of American who cannot sive comfortably in his own country. So he set about finding his parents' graves and discharging his filial duties as quickly as might be. He put himself in the train, and travelled east by easy stages until he reached the small town in Indiana where his father and mother had lived and died.

There a disappointment awaited him. He could find no trace of their graves. He knew the graveyard where they had been buried, and that was all. He could only walk about mournfully and wonder which two of the nameless mounds covered the mortal remains of Enoch and Amanda Basset. Poor Mr. Basset ! He felt very miserable and full of remorse. He took himself and his remorse and dilemma to the local Baptist minister, the Rev. Calvin G. Sprague. This good man was sorry for Mr. Basset, but could see no way of helping him except by sympathy and prayer. Mr. Sprague's professional gravity was tinged with a fair share of the national humour. He accompanied poor Mr. Basset on a painful visit to the cemetery, where the rather venerable prodigal son stopped a long time at each grave which had no tombstone, the pastor following him and listening kindly to his remarks. ' My father liked trees ; I should think he was buried under a tree.' he said at last with a happy thought. ' These are young trees,' said the minister. ' They have grown since your folks died.' ' Is that so ?' said Mr. Basset, sadly re linquishing the clue. 'Well, minister, if I had done my duty and stayed with my parents, I wouldn't have had to hunt for their neglected graves like this.

You preach to young people sometimes, I guess ?' ' Yes, I guess I do.' ' Then let them have it on the Command ment about honouring their parents, and you may tell them about me — I deserve it,' said Mr. Basset bitterly. 'Well, well!' said the minister, 'we have all a touch of the prodigal son in us, Mr. Basset.' ' He came back in time, any way,' mur mured Mr. Basset. ' I am too late.' ' Well, maybe it is little use our figuring around here detecting graves; but I'll tell vou what to do,' said the minister with grim humour. ' Come right back here when you hear the last trump sounding, and no doubt this will be cleared up, like many another thing.' Mr. Basset laughed, but the tears came too, and he had to take out his handkerchief and hide his face. ' Brother,' said the minister, ' don't fret.

Their heavenly Father knows their graves if we don't, and He has their souls safe in the new Jerusalem.' Mr. Basset sobbed. ' I am so much alone,' he said. ' I have no folks left, not even their graves. My poor little sister lies somewhere in the great forest, and my good old father and mother haven't even a stone.' Here Mr. Basset broke down utterly. Presently a bird flew across the graveyard, lightly perching on one shrub first and then another, and an idea struck Mr. Basset. If it was overstrained, so was he at that moment. ' Minister,' he said, choking back his tears, ' do you believe in God ?' I hope so,' said Mr. Sprague. 'Is it a usual thing for a bird to alight on a grave ?' asked Mr. Basset, with great earnestness if seeming irrelevance. ' I can't say,' said the minister. ' Well, never mind ; I want you to pray that the Lord may direct that bird that is flying around here to settle on my father's or mother's grave,' said Mr. Basset with deep feeling.

The Rev. Calvin G. Sprague had a keen mind, but it was blunted by theology on one COUSLN CLNDERELLA 29 side, so he took off his hat, closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and engaged fervently in prayer, and with all the fine old phrases put Mr. Basset's request, also praying a little over Mr. Basset, who stood with his hat off likewise and listened with an overflowing heart to the minister, echoing the Amen with fervour at the end of the prayer. Then the two old men opened their eyes and looked round in touching faith for the result and the bird. He was gone — clean gone, and nobody ever seed a feather on him arterwards, as Sam Weller remarked of the stuffed par tridge. The minister shook his head and put on his hat, but did not refer verbally to the catastrophe. Mr. Basset's overstrung feelings gave way to something like irritability.

He felt himself an injured man, and left the graveyard without more ado. In the bottom of his heart he was inclined to lay the blame on the Rev. Calvin G. for starting on what he could not put through. He left that night for the nearest large centre, which chanced to be Chicago, and in that somewhat over-practical and grimy city Mr. Basset indulged his spleen. He wandered about gloomily, and fell into a state of despising everything. He looked upon human beings as miserable ants on a miserable ant-hill, unnecessary and disgusting. He took a dislike to the colour of Lake Michigan, and considered the Auditorium a detestable experiment in architecture. He met none of his friends, and he was glad of it. What did he want with friends, he asked himself sourly. In short, the disappointment over his parents' graves, coupled with his own folly about that bird, seemed to have upset him very seriously.

He was morally much in need of a shaking, and he got it one Sunday afternoon as he went for a morose ride in a tramcar. They ran into a crowd, and found themselves on the scene of an accident. Mr. Basset hastily scrambled out of the car, and tried to discover what had happened. Everyone in the crowd looked white and shaken, and Mr. Basset learned that a young fellow had just been killed. He had tried to get on in front of a car while it was going very fast ; he had missed his footing, fallen under the wheels, and been mangled to death in a moment. His companion had jumped on behind, landed safely, and turned to look for him. It had all happened sive minutes before, and the blood freshly stained the rails. They had lifted the poor boy on to the pavement and covered him. He was an awful sigiit from the chest down, but his face was un touched.

His companion stood over him petrified, and the crowd shuddered. 'Who was he?' everyone asked with horror. Mr. Basset went up to his companion and asked him how it happened. The boy could scarcely speak, but he gasped out a few particulars. It seemed that they were two wealthy young fellows just beginning life, having graduated that year, and they were going about America. The dead boy was about twenty-two, and the only son of a well-known judge in Philadelphia — a lad of great promise, and in whom many hopes were centred ; and there he lay, crushed to death, hurried out of life in a moment. Half an hour before he had been laughing and chatting and smoking ; now everything earthly was over for him for ever, and his life's blood stained his cigarettes, his money, and his theatre-tickets. They had to search his pockets for his home address, as his com panion was not sure of it, and in the search they came on all the above articles smeared with his blood.

Mr. Basset helped to do what was re quired, and then, as a stranger, had to retire. But the scene haunted him. He could not chase it from his mind. He kept going over the horror of it : the crushed figure, the young face masked by death, the trivial articles soaking in the red blood. 'And I, ' thought Mr. Basset, 'have been all over the world, and in every sort of danger, with no one to care if I lived or died, and my graceless life has been spared.' His moroseness and gloom slipped from him. There seemed to be so many sad things in the world that he felt ashamed of grumbling at his own lot. He began to see that there was no real reason for his settling down into a morose old age because he could not set up a headstone to his parents, and he recovered sufficiently to smile a little over the episode of the bird.