Muriel Howe

Chapter I

n^HERE was a crowd in Pliny Talbot's * store. Wheat had taken a rise, and for many days the heavy farm-wagons had rolled into the village ladened with the precious commodity. On this particular Friday, the farmers with their wives and children thronged the main street of Brasfield. The women came to buy their winter's supply of jeans, muslin, and flannel, and the little ones had to be fitted out with hats and shoes. Talbot's had been full since ten o'clock. The proprietor, a broad-chested, affable-looking man of fifty, worked with his assistants ; still there was an evident lack of help. In the afternoon matters became still more compli cated by the arrival of a number of Dunker families, who could not, or would not, speak English. They were from the rich lands of the Blue Rock Prairie, and, if their faces and motions were heavy, their purses were also, and Pliny Talbot had a great respect for them.

He displayed goods to them with unfailing patience, using the very limited supply of German at his command. It was very wearing. Once he stood and rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully, as he groped after the meaning of a question ; and when three or four of his customers chimed in together, and proceeded to make the matter plain in voluble Pennsyl vania Dutch, the confused merchant turned away and wiped his moist brow, while a look of despair settled over his pleasant features. This little scene was observed by a tall young girl, who stood near the counter where the Dunkers were trading. At first one only noticed that she was dark-skinned and slender, with a discontented brow. She wore an unbe coming black dress, finished at the throat with an awkward bow of ribbon. Her face was partly shaded by the drooping brim of a straw hat, whose careless simplicity had a touch of grace in it.

When Mr. Talbot reached the crisis of his perplexity, a glimmer of amusement flittered over the girl's face, changing and brightening it. It was succeeded by a new look of quiet interest and obliging good will. She stepped forward and said : " I can understand these people, Mr. Talbot. Perhaps I can be of some assistance as an interpreter." The words were simple, but the voice ar rested attention. The word musical does not describe it. Indeed, you would somehow know that its owner never sang. It was low keyed, firm, yet tender, delicately modulated, with an articulation very distinct and pure. This beauty of voice may or may not have been lost on Talbot, but the idea of help con veyed by her words was promptly and ade quately recognized. "Can you talk Dutch, Miss Howe?'' he asked in surprise.

" I can speak a little German," she smilingly responded. And turning to a broad-faced mother of a family, she addressed her simply and pleasantly about the matter over which she was puzzling; namely, how many yards of forty-inch cloth it would take to make a garment requiring a known quantity of yard-wide goods. Five minutes later she was behind the counter. A low-spoken word or two from the proprietor explained the cabalistic price marks. The Dunkers gathered around her, pleased and admiring, as she answered their rapid, guttural speech in the purest High Ger man, and waited upon them with hands which — now that the coarse gloves were removed — were bewilderingly white and delicate. Half an hour passed, and Mr. Talbot said to her : "Ask of me what you will, to the half of my kingdom, and it shall be yours."

"Then I will ask for a boy," she promptly responded, "to find things for me, and tie up bundles." Instantly the most intelligent boy in the store was at her side, and for more than an hour she kept him very busy. A tall woman entered the store, with a basket on her arm, which contained sundry packages of groceries. A roll of linen butter-cloths was tucked into one end. She was sallow and angular, with something of the anxious, hurried look, common among farmers' wives. A salesman ap peared with some parcels of dry-goods, which she arranged carefully upon the top of her basket. Then she glanced inquiringly around the store, and seeing the girl behind the counter, approached her with a slight smile of surprise. "What are you doing, Muriel?" she asked. " I am ready to go home now. Come as soon as you can.

The afternoon is wearing on." The woman's voice was slightly querulous. She, too, had a discontented brow. With a nod to the German people, the girl was slip ping away from them and her work, when Mr. Talbot intercepted her. " You are not going, Miss Howe? How can I spare you ? " " My aunt is waiting for me," she replied. "But if there were anyway for me to get home later, I might perhaps remain, till these people get through trading." They walked down the store together, to where the woman stood with her basket, near the door. There was a little conference, which ended in an arrangement for Muriel to assist in the store the remainder of the after noon and the next day. " To-morrow will be Saturday," said Talbot, " and the store will be crowded with Blue Rock farmers. My German salesman had to be discharged, three days ago, and I have not as yet been able to replace him.

If you will allow your niece to remain, Mrs. Howe, and give me a little temporary help, it will be an act of Christian charity." So Mrs. Howe drove away alone in her square-bodied spring wagon, and her high bred looking niece went back to her Dunkers. Evening brought tea-time, and as Muriel Howe walked down the street with Mr. Talbot, and approached the large, straw-colored wooden house where he lived, it occurred to her as rather strange that this would be her first entrance into any house in Brasfield. Her own house was only three miles distant. She was familiar with the interiors of the various stores, the post-office, and the large, bare church, beside which her uncle's horses were tied, every Sunday of the year. But she had no women acquaintances in town, and never visited there. She and Mrs. Talbot knew each other by sight, and there was scarcely need of the introduction which her new employer gave, as he conducted her into the long, low parlor.

He explained her presence in an extravagant and amusing manner. " I should have been dead or tlistracted in another half hour," he declared. "Were you not alarmed for me, Miss Howe ? " " I certainly did think of apoplexy," said Muriel, with a low laugh. "You looked as though a crisis of some kind was impend ing. " And you looked anxious as well as merci ful, when you came to my relief. I shall al ways regard you as an angel of benevolence. I know now the language they speak in the better land. It's High German ! " "But August Praht speaks High German, too," said a man's voice from the veranda which overlooked the garden, at the rear of the house. Its owner was out of sight, but the faint odor of a cigar, and the rustle of a newspaper, gave a hint of his whereabouts and doings. " Well, what of that ?

" said Talbot. " Nothing, only when you found him drunk, under the counter, you were very emphatic in pronouncing him an angel of another color — a fallen angel, you know ! " The speaker came into the room just then, and was introduced to Miss Howe as Mr. Noble. Later, Muriel heard that he was Mr. Talbot's cotfsin, a lawyer from Fort Wayne, just then attending court in Brasfield. He was tall and slightly built, with a large head and good profile. Muriel had made a mental note of the fact that he was rather thin and old looking for a young man, when the door open ing on the back piazza was darkened again, this time by a woman's figure, and Mrs Talbot said : " Miss Howe, let me make you acquainted with my sister, Mrs. Maldinado." The lady had in her hands a bowl of yellow peaches, just picked from a tree in the ram bling, tangled garden.

A circle of white asters edged the bowl, and she had a full-blown tiger lily in her hair. The flower, with its tawny re curved petals, dropped just behind her ear, and the rust-colored pollen stained her neck and dress. Muriel, wondering over the foreign sounding name, watched her as she passed into the next room, the door of which stood open, and placed her fruit upon the table, already set for tea. The day being a mild one in Septem ber she wore a dress of white, but it was very unlike any white dress that Muriel had ever seen. She herself had a white dress, and some times when the weather was fine she wore it to church. But it was always freshly done up, with a slightly blue cast, and a good deal of starch. This dress was different : it was dead white, and hung about its wearer's form with a limp fulness that was new to Muriel.

Something in this lady's presence affected her strangely. Mrs. Maldinado was perfectly self-possessed and very picturesque, and the girl did not feel her self to be either. She knew something of various sciences and arts, but of the science of personal adornment, and the art of making a studied effort to attract, appear unstudied and natural, she knew nothing. She differed from most girls in many things, but she proved herself to herself to be essentially feminine, by the change her feelings underwent, as this graceful stranger passed through the room with her bowl of peaches. During the tea hour, and the evening that followed, Mrs. Maldinado engrossed her attention. She was not beautiful, but she had an air of acquaintance with the world, and all her ap pointments were exquisite. She wore plain, heavy bracelets of dull, yellow gold, and quaint, beautiful rings.

They seemed loose on her wrists and fingers, the joints of which were rather prominent. She held a fan of ebony and black lace, no movement of which was lost on the country-girl. No plain, really ordi nary woman, ever made a more complete con quest of one of her own sex, who herself had the superior advantages of youth and beauty. For Muriel Howe was beautiful. Mrs. Tal bot had often remarked upon it. Mrs. Maldi nado noted it the instant her eyes fell upon the girl, and Eustace Noble was saying to himself: " What sort of novel farm life can it be that has left the girl that unblemished skin, and those faultless hands and shoulders? "

Chapter II

rUHE veranda was wide and pleasant, and *■ there were willow chairs enough for all. Mr. and Mrs. Talbot did not occupy theirs for very long. Some household matter called the lady away, and the merchant went back to his store. Muriel asked him if she should go, too. " No," said Mr. Talbot, " I am not going to put you to common uses. To-morrow at ten o'clock, you may come and talk Dutch to the Dunker farmers and their wives. But you need not come a minute earlier." With a smile and a bow he went down the steps and out of the yard. " Is German your mother-tongue, Miss Howe ? " It was Noble who made the inquiry. "To use it practically, as you do, is not com mon where the language has been acquired by lessons." " Perhaps not," said Muriel, " yet I learned it at school ; but from a real German teacher, who conversed exclusively in that tongue.

Then I read German a great deal. My knowledge of it is very thorough." She said this quite simply, with a desire to explain. The interest of her listeners was deepened as she added: "Though foreign-born, I am not a German." I "No one could think it," said Mrs. Mal dinado, "who had heard you utter a sentence of English. Foreign-born did you say ? How strange ! You are a foreigner with an Ameri can name ; and I am a pure Yankee with a for eign name. And then you look so entirely like our people, only nicer than most persons one sees." Muriel scarcely noted the mild flattery. Just then she was enjoying a little secret amusement over the lady's evident curiosity. After a little pause she said : " I am a native of India. I was born in the Punjaub." Mr. Noble's deep-set eyes lighted with recognition.

"Ah, now I know!" he said. "You are the daughter of the Rev. Abner Howe. Am I not right ? Is your father still living ? " " You are right," she answered, " and my father, I trust, is alive, though it is long since we heard from him." She diverted the conversation from the sub ject of herself by asking Mrs. Maldinado the name of a climbing-plant whose blossoms mingled with those of the wisteria that covered the porch. Then the talk turned on the won derfully luxuriant flora of the Indiana marshes, and lingered there for a time. Long after Muriel had gone with Mrs. Tal bot to the pretty blue and buff room, where she was to sleep, the lawyer and the lady still sat talking, in the shadows. Noble related all he had ever learned of Muriel's father. He had been a missionary to Hindustan, where the girl was born.

When she was about five or six years old he had returned to America, with his invalid wife and their child. The mother soon after died, and the little girl was brought West and left with a farmer uncle living near Brasfield ; one of the substantial men of the region, who, with his wife, had taken the place of parents to the girl. The Rev. Mr. Howe did not return to India, but had for years been laboring as a missionary among the Indians of north Wisconsin and Michigan. Noble could not distinctly recall how he had gleaned these facts. He remembered once assisting the uncle, Mr. Amos Howe, in hunt ing up some records at the court-house in Brasfield. It seemed that Muriel had a little money — probably inherited from her mother — to be invested, and her uncle was very particu lar about the securities.

The next morning, at ten, Muriel went to the store. She had risen early and spent some delightful hours. First the garden had re freshed her with its wealth of autumnal bloom. Then she had found an old book, which was new to her; it was a genuine book, and had given her pleasure. But after all, her exultant state was attributable less to any particular circumstance than to a sudden upspringing of the youth and hope that was in her. For weeks she had been miserably depressed ; and this night away from home, with the novel experience of finding herself useful to others, and an object of interest, tinged with admira tion, wrought upon her pleasurably and pro duced a reaction from her gloomy mood that was almost intoxicating. One incident of that laborious, hurried, yet happy day remained in her memory.

In the afternoon there were some new arrivals of prairie farmers, among them a man of perhaps sixty-five, plainly clad, broad-backed and bushy-browed as the rest, but with handsome, wide open blue eyes, smooth, rosy complexion, and bland mouth. He was a handsome old man, if one could be called old, who had no hint of decrepitude or physical failure about him. His wallet, like those of the other Dun kers, was plethoric with bills, but he seemed to part with them a trifle less reluctantly than his neighbors. He was accompanied and assisted by a tall, angular woman, with iron-gray hair and Ro man nose, who had not a tinge of German brogue on her tongue, but spoke in strongly marked, unmistakable Yankee. She was not his wife, for she addressed him deferentially as Mr. Miller, while the stodgy little girl who held him by the hand, and called him Grandpap, addressed the tall woman as Aunt Swazey.

Muriel was a keenly suscepti ble girl, and her sense of humor was excited by the woman, whose words and movements had a flavor of originality, while a singular sen timent of respect and liking sprang out of her heart toward the man, whose tones were so mellow, whose smile was so warm and sweet. Their purchases included, besides the articles usually bought by farmers of their class, some handkerchiefs of linen and silk, the finest in the store ; some lamb's-wool hose, and a piece of delicate, filmy lawn, " for Miss Miller's caps and neckerchers," so the tall woman with the nose remarked. They were about ready to leave the store, when a stranger in an ex tremely well fitting suit of gray tweed entered and approached them. Mr. Miller turned quickly at the sound of his voice. There was a pleased exclamation from both, and a cordial clasp of right hands ; then the left hands went over each other's shoulders, and Muriel wit nessed the novel sight of two men kissing.

" How do you do, Mrs. Swazey?" said the newcomer, shaking the brown, bony hand of Mr. Miller's companion. Then turning to the little ten-year-old girl, he stooped to kiss her, but the child drew back bashfully. " Sakes alive, Teeny," said Mrs. Swazey, "ye haint forgot yer uncle, now, and ye needn't purtend ye hev! " " How is mother ? " was the next query. "Just mittling, Rudolph, only mittling," said the elder man in answer, and the woman added: " She's just abeout as she was last spring. Don't seem to realize no gret o' strength ; but the sight of her big boy will build her up pow erful. Just arriv on the cars, did you, Ru dolph? An' lucky we was in town to take ye home in the wagon. Come, Sissy, time we was goin'. Is the team ready, Mr. Miller?" And she bustled about getting together bas kets and packages.

" Be them your things by the door, Rudolph ? " " Yes," said the young man, " the brown leather bag, and the big corded parcel. That last is a pair of eider-down quilts for mother's bed — almost the clumsiest bundle I ever took personal charge of." Mr. Miller took it up, and as the little party went out, Muriel heard him say : " Light as fresh snow, and warm as wool I A fine bresent for the little mutter ! " That evening, after an early tea, Mrs. Talbot took Muriel home in the little phaeton, in which she was used to driving about the coun try, in search of choice rolls of butter for her table, and the earliest yellow-legged chickens for her frying-pan. She was a purely domestic person, some years older than the sister who was so unlike her in looks and tastes. When she came out of her own room, with her bon net on, her plump figure buttoned into a smoothly fitting jacket, and her plump hands encased in very yellow driving-gloves, Mrs. Maldinado glanced up from a magazine she was reading, and said with a little smile: " If you are going to ask me to drive with you, Anna, I must tell you what I ought to have told you before.

I go home this evening, and my train leaves in an hour." Mrs. Talbot glanced at her watch. " I was not going to take you driving. I must take Muriel Howe home from the store, and I fear I shall not be back in time to see you off. Why go this evening, Bell ? Why not stay till Monday?" " I ought not. Infanta would mind my ab sence more on Sunday than any other time. It don't matter about your being away when I start. Pliny said he would order a hack for me, and be at the depot himself to see me off." The sisters kissed and said good-by. " Run out again, soon, Bell. I'll match your fringe the first of the week, and let you know the date of Marsh's cloak-opening." These were the last words, as Mrs. Talbot drove away to pick Muriel up at the store and carry her home to her uncle's house. At the depot Mrs. Maldinado found her brother-in-law, rather to her surprise; also Mr. Noble, as she expected.

The latter gentle man was heated by a hurried walk from the Court House. He carried a package of law-books in a strap, and complained of the burden. The lady kindly relieved him of it. She also preceded him into the car, and ad vised him where to sit, with a whimsically pro tecting air. When they were fairly started she remarked : "You lost your case, just as I predicted." And he responded : " Your unusually good spirits, I take it, are the natural results of being able to say, ' I told you so.' " " Well, I did tell you so, and of course it's a satisfaction to have one's prophetic instinct verified." Noble took a crumpled newspaper from his pocket, and as he smoothed it out upon his knee, he said, with a dry smile : " If our conversation could be overheard, we might be mistaken fora married couple."

She laughed gleefully. " For once the supposition would not be al together absurd. You look old enough, to night, to give a shade of reasonableness to the mistake. That's right ; read and forget your troubles." The lamps in the car were lighted, as they neared the end of their journey of forty miles. Mr. Noble put aside his paper and turned to his companion, who sat comfortably in her seat with her face toward the window. " I am curious to know, Isabel," he said, "what led you to anticipate the failure of this suit. Would you mind telling me ? " She glanced up with her usual air of banter ing playfulness, but recognizing a certain un wonted gravity of voice and look, she dropped at once into his mood and replied seriously: "A woman's impressions are not always explainable, but as soon as I understood enough of the case to know that you were on the side of plain justice, I felt sure you would not win.

You must have observed yourself, Eustace, that your most signal victories have been with cases where the weight of convincing testi mony was on the other side." He remained silent a moment, the serious look deepening to severity. He smote his white palm once or twice with the folded paper, then threw it down, and beamed upon her with a worldly, slightly sarcastic, yet beau tiful smile. " So the fact stands that I am a wicked lawyer. My forte is not to enlighten the honest twelve, but to mislead them ; to make black appear white, and play tricks upon the blindfold goddess of the balances." She seemed in no haste to contradict him. She looked admiringly at him in his changed mood, laughed a little, and polished with her handkerchief the silver hawk's head that finished the stick of her parasol.

" You always catch my meaning, and some times catch a little more. I have never attrib uted to your practice the turpitude which your words would imply. I think you always desire to believe in every cause you under take ; and the effort required to bring your own mind to a full recognition of all its merits is the best possible training for the work of influencing a jury. Therein, I think, lies the secret of your success with off-color cases — aided, of course, by the fact that you are, in court, quick as light, and really eloquent. There are always two sides to every question, and two ways of looking at each side. Good is never absolutely good, nor evil wholly evil. In fact, they are relative terms." He looked at her curiously. Did she be lieve her own words? The train was entering the city in the peculiar, halting, interrupted manner in which trains enter cities.

" Our conversation has carried us into deep water," said the lawyer, " and is likely to leave us there." " Come and see me to-morrow, and we will try and flounder out," were Mrs. Maldinado's last words, as the cars came to a halt, and glancing out of the window, she caught a glimpse of her own carriage, in waiting for her arrival.

Chapter III. Mrs

MALDINADO had said : "Come and *** see me to-morrow," and Noble went. He would probably have made that Sunday call without an invitation, for between himself and the widow with the Spanish name a great friendship existed. There was a faint trace of family connection to excuse whatever familiar ity of address might be noticeable ; and the essential honesty of their mutual regard was marked by a conspicuous frankness that had its effect upon the world. No one questioned their right to be often seen together. No one wondered at the freedom with which the wealthy widow asked favors of and laid com mands upon the young man, whom she seemed to patronize, or rather matronize, on account of her four years' seniority. They met first in California some ten years earlier than the time I write about. He was then a youth of four-and-twenty.

Both were strangers on that coast, and the fact that both = were from the same State was hailed as a delightful discovery. Then it transpired that Noble was a cousin of Pliny Talbot, his new friend's brother-in-law ; and this slender thread of relationship drew them very closely together. They understood each other, foi bles and all, like brother and sister, and their mutual affection was more charitable and patient than that of many brothers and sis ters. Noble had grave faults of temper, which Mrs. Maldinado knew how to condone, and as for her small vanities and affectations, the way in which he vexed her through them, and teased her about them, and overlooked them, was brotherly indeed. The subject of the lost suit was not referred to that Sunday afternoon. He brought a bunch of creamy tea-roses to Mrs. Maldinado's invalid step-daughter, and a late review to the widow herself.

She glanced at the ragged edges of the pamphlet and reprimanded her visitor for cutting them in such a slovenly manner. Infanta took the flowers with an. exclamation of delight, and rang for a servant, who filled a slender silver vase with water and brought it to her. She put the long stems in the water and sat with the vase in her hand, in haling the sweet breath of the roses with great content. She had a look that went well with her Spanish name. Illness had marred her immature beauty — she was only eighteen — still there was beauty about her, to those that find it in the darker types. Her hair was black and abundant. Her eyes were dark and heavy-lashed — long, dreamy Creole eyes. They rested on Mr. Noble, as he drew an easy-chair beside her, with a gentle, grateful expression. " You are so kind, sir," she said.

" I do not see how mamma can bear to find fault with your gift." " It was such a very little fault," he respond ed, smiling into the pale, peaked face, " that I do not mind it at all. It runs in her family to scold, and her child being too delicate and pretty for that sort of thing, there are only Stanley and me for the scoldings to fall upon." A silky setter, hearing his name spoken, came and stood before them, waving his plume like tail and looking from one to the otherwith melting eyes. Mrs. Maldinado withdrew to a window and lost herself in the review, while Noble chatted on with Infanta. After a time the young girl said : " Mamma has been telling me of a beautiful young lady, whom you both met in Brasfield ; but she could not describe her. She never can describe a lady. If it were a horse or a man, she could, with a word or two, make you see just what she saw.

Please tell me about this Miss Howe. Mamma says you admired her very much." " Your mamma should not particularize my admirations. They are of a very general character, where young ladies are concerned." " But is she very lovely ? " " Very lovely indeed, my child." " What did you notice about her most ? " " I think I noticed her face and figure, and her hands." Infanta laughed lightly. "What more was there to notice?" she asked. " Well, her voice, which was excellent, and her dress, which was very bad.'' " Was she ill-dressed ? What a pity ! Now, I am not vain ; mamma says I am not," said the girl, patting one of the satin bows that fastened her rich-hued wrapper, " and I always remember how plain I am. Yet I find such pleasure in beautiful things to wear ! Just as much, I believe, here where almost nobody sees me, as though.

I went out like other girls." Less than fifty miles distant, Muriel was spending her Sunday in a house the exact op posite, in many respects, of the one we have just looked into. Perfect cleanliness, perfect order prevailed ; but there was bareness of or nament, and a forced subservience to the strictest utility. Mrs. Talbot's house in Bras field was a wide departure from the schooled taste that characterized her sister's. Her walls were literally covered with a multitude of nameless knicknacks, the effect of which, if a little confusing, was suggestive of painstaking feminine thought, and so, upon the whole, cosey and agreeable. Muriel marked the difference as she looked about her that Sunday after noon. In her uncle's house the walls were white and bare; not even papered. Every thing seemed bare and pure.