Part 5 (1/2)

”Oh yes, yes, yes!” she cried, scarcely knowing what she said. The boy's eyes followed hers to the mirror, and in that brief, awful s.p.a.ce he tasted of the Tree of Knowledge.

With a little cry he stumbled backward into the lighted hall. There was a slip, and the sound of a soft little body bounding down the polished stairs.

A good while afterwards Bobby opened his eyes wonderingly. There seemed to be people near him, but he could not see them at all distinctly. A faint, wonderful perfume crept to him.

”It's very dark, isn't it?” he said, in surprise. ”I can smell a beautiful smell, but I can't see it. Why, why! It isn't you, is it?--not my mother? Why, I wasn't 'specting to find-- Oh, I morember it now--I morember it all! Then I'm glad it's dark. I shouldn't want it to be as light as _that_ again. Oh no! oh no! I shouldn't want her to see-- Why, she's crying! What is she crying for?”

He put out a small weak hand and groped towards the sound of bitter sobbing. Instinctively he knew it was she.

”I'm very sorry. I guess I know what the matter is. It's me, and I'm very sorry. I never knew it before; no, I never. I'm glad it's dark now--aren't you?--'count o' that. Only I'm a little speck sorry it isn't light enough for you to see my legs. They're very straight ones--you can ask Olga. You might feel of 'em if you thought 'twould help any to. P'r'aps it might make you feel a very little--just a _very_ little--better to. They're cert'nly very straight ones. But then of course they aren't like a--like a--a _face_. They're only legs. But they're the best I can do.”

He ended wearily, with a sigh of pain. The bitter sobbing kept on, and seemed to trouble him. Then a new idea occurred to him, and he made a painful effort to turn on his pillow and to speak brightly.

”I didn't think of that-- P'r'aps you think I'm feeling bad 'count o'

the U in the middle o' my name. Is that what makes you cry? Why, you needn't. _That's_ all right! After--after I looked in _there_, of course I knew 'bout how it was. I wish you wouldn't cry. It joggles my--my heart.”

But it was his little broken body that it joggled. The mother found it out, and stopped sobbing by a mighty effort. She drew very close to Bobby in the dark that was light to every one else, and laid her wet cheek against the little, scarred, red face. The motion was so gentle that it scarcely stirred the yellow tendrils of his soft hair.

An infinite tenderness was born out of her anguish. There was left her a merciful moment to be a mother in. Bobby forgot his pain in the bliss of it.

”Why, why, this is very nice!” he murmured, happily. ”I never knew it would be as nice as this--I never knew! But I'm glad it's dark,--aren't you? I'd rather it would--be----dark.”

And then it grew altogether dark for Bobby, and the little face against the new-born, heart-broken mother's cheek felt cold, and would not warm with all her pa.s.sionate kisses.

Chapter V

The Little Girl Who Should Have Been a Boy

There was so much time for the Little Girl who should have been a Boy to ponder over it. She was only seven, but she grew quite skilful in pondering. After lessons--and lessons were over at eleven--there was the whole of the rest of the day to wander, in her little, desolate way, in the gardens. She liked the fruit-garden best, and the Golden Pippin tree was her choicest pondering-place. There was never any one there with her. The Little Girl who should have been a Boy was always alone.

”You see how it is. I've told you times enough,” she communed with herself, in her quaint, unchildish fas.h.i.+on. ”You are a mistake. You went and was born a Girl, when they wanted a Boy--oh, my, how they wanted a Boy! But the moment they saw you they knew it was all up with them. You wasn't wicked, really,--I _guess_ it wasn't wicked; sometimes I can't be certain,--but you did go and make such a silly mistake! Look at me,--why didn't you know how much they wanted a Boy and _didn't_ want you? Why didn't you be brave and go up to the Head Angel, and say, 'Send me to another place; for pity sake don't send me _there_. They want a Little Boy.' Why didn't you--oh, why didn't you? It would have saved such a lot of trouble!”

The Little Girl who should have been a Boy always sighed at that point. The sigh made a period to the sad little speech, for after that she always sat in the long gra.s.s under the Golden Pippin tree and rocked herself back and forth silently. There was no use in saying anything more after that. It had all been said.

It was a great, beautiful estate, to east and west and north and south of her, and the Boy the Head Angel should have sent instead of the sad Little Girl was to have inherited it all. And there was a splendid t.i.tle that went with the estate. In the sharp mind of the Little Girl nothing was hidden or undiscovered.

”It seems a pity to have it wasted,” she mused, wistfully, with her grave wide eyes on the beautiful green expanses all about her, ”just for a mistake like that,--I mean like _me_--too. You'd think the Head Angel would be ashamed of himself, wouldn't you? He prob'ly is.”

The s.h.i.+ning Mother--it was thus the Little Girl who should have been a Boy had named her, on account of her sparkling eyes and wonderful sparkling gowns; everything about the s.h.i.+ning Mother sparkled--the s.h.i.+ning Mother was almost always away. So was the Ogre. Somewhere outside--clear outside--of the green expanses there was a gay, frivolous world where almost always they two stayed.

The Little Girl called her father the Ogre for want of a better name.

She was never quite satisfied with the name, but it had to answer till she found another. Prob'ly ogres didn't wear an eye-gla.s.s in one of their eyes, or flip off the sweet little daisy heads with cruel canes, but they were oldish and scare-ish, and of course they wouldn't have noticed you any, even if you were their Little Girl.

Ogres would have prob'ly wanted a Boy too, and that's the way they'd have let you see your mistake. So, till she found a better name, the Little Girl who had made the mistake called her father the Ogre. She was very proud and fond of the s.h.i.+ning Mother, but she was a little afraid of the Ogre. After all, one feeling mattered about as much as the other.

”It doesn't hurt you any to be afraid, when you do it all alone by yourself,” she reasoned, ”and it doesn't do you any good to be fond.

It only amuses you,” she added, with sad wisdom. As I said, she was only seven, but she was very old indeed.

So the time went along until the weeks piled up into months. The summer she was eight, the Little Girl could not stand it any longer.

She decided that something must be done. The s.h.i.+ning Mother and the Ogre were coming back to the green expanses. She had found that out at lessons.