LITMIR.BIZ

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Mrs. Ballard had rejoined; "but we're too busy for neighboring, aren't we, Eliza?"

      Whenever there had been any leisure, Mrs. Ballard had taken her handmaiden to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

      Not for worlds would Eliza mar the joy with which her mistress bestowed upon her this treat. So she climbed endless stairs, and plodded weary miles with fortitude, having ready a response to every worshipful utterance with which Mrs. Ballard pointed out this and that marvel.

      "Wonderful, ain't it!" Eliza would respond with the regularity of clockwork.

      "How I love to get you out of that kitchen, Eliza, up into this atmosphere of genius!" her mistress would say, in a burst of affection for the strong mainspring of her household.

      "Wonderful, ain't it!" returned the beneficiary, stepping on the other foot in the effort to rest one leg.

      The sight of the very exterior of the great repository of art-treasures caused Eliza's bones to ache, if she caught sight of the imposing pile from a car window.

      One day, however, all this was changed. The Metropolitan Museum of Art rose in Eliza's estimation to the level of her own kitchen where a chromo depicting kittens in various attitudes of abandon hung over the table.

      Mistress and maid were doing the well-worn circuit. The faithful echo had repeated "Wonderful, ain't it!" for the twentieth time. The ardor in Mrs. Ballard's eyes was lending wings to her slender body, but Eliza had lagged, spurred on, and rested the other leg, until, to paraphrase a bit from Mr. Lowell —

      "On which leg she felt the worse,

      She couldn't 'a' told you, 'nother," —

      when suddenly an inspiration of deliverance seized her. The fact that it had not seized her months before was simply another proof of devotion to the sun of her existence. Each time she entered the massive gates to her place of torture, she left such mentality as she possessed behind her. As well might a fish be expected to navigate in the free air of heaven as Eliza in these marble halls. This was her mistress's element. Let her guide. But one memorable day the two were standing before a marine.

      "Oh, Eliza, that's new!" exclaimed Mrs. Ballard; and from the vigor of her tone, her handmaid feared the worst. She had believed they were nearly ready to depart. Now her companion seemed inspired for another two hours.

      "Might it not have been painted from your island," continued Mrs. Ballard. "What adorable work!"

      "Wonderful, ain't it!" came Eliza's wooden accents.

      "What feeling!" murmured her rapt companion.

      "I only hope 'tain't sciatica," thought Eliza, wiggling her hip. Her casually roving eye caught sight of one vacancy on the bench in the middle of the room.

      "Don't you want to sit down a spell and look at it, Mrs. Ballard?" she asked. "There's a place."

      "No," was the slow, absent reply. "I seem to prefer to stand in its presence – a royal presence, Eliza."

      Miss Brewster waited no longer. With incontinent haste she limped, as in seven-league boots, toward the desired haven. She saw that a portly gentleman was heading for the same spot. She sprinted. She beat him by a toe's length, and nearly received him on her maiden lap. He recovered himself and glared at her. She maintained an unconscious air, her gaze fixed on the sky of the marine painting. It was all she could see; there were so many standing in front of her, welcoming this new treasure to the home of beauty.

      Presently Mrs. Ballard, missing her shadow, looked about and at last descried Eliza. She approached, her small, veined hands clasped on her breast for joy.

      "It seems as if it must have been done from the island!" she exclaimed. "How can you sit down, Eliza! I should think it would take you straight to your old home!"

      Miss Brewster did not say that she thought there was more likelihood of her again seeing her native place if she did sit down; but for once her clockwork did not act. It seemed as if the succumbing of her legs had impeded the other mechanism.

      "I just felt as if I had to, Mrs. Ballard," she answered numbly.

      "You dear!" exclaimed her mistress impulsively, speaking low. "I might have known it. You felt overcome. I don't wonder. It took me back to the island, too, in a flash! I dare say you often conceal homesickness from me, Eliza. We must try to go there next summer! I did use to think that perhaps Mrs. Fabian – but, no matter; we can go on our own account, Eliza, and we will, too."

      "It would be lots better for you than staying here in summer, that's sure."

      Mrs. Ballard sighed, "Yes, if only the rent didn't keep on, and keep on."

      Eliza knew the arguments. She did not pursue the subject now. She rose, keeping firm pressure, however, against the bench.

      "Take this place, Mrs. Ballard, and rest a minute."

      "Oh, I'm not a bit tired. I thought we'd take one or two more rooms. The light is wonderful to-day."

      Up to the present moment Eliza in this temple of genius had, as has been said, galvanized her energies and followed where her mistress led, at any cost, as unquestioningly as the needle follows the magnet; but this was the moment of her emancipation. Mrs. Ballard herself gave her the cue, for she added with consideration for an unwonted sentiment: —

      "Unless you'd rather stay and look at that reminder of home a while longer, Eliza? I'll come back for you."

      "Oh, would you, just as soon, Mrs. Ballard?"

      The eagerness of the tone touched her mistress.

      "Why, of course, my dear, do so; but I'd get up if I were you." Eliza had sunk back upon the bench with the certainty and impact of a pile-driver. "There is such a crowd you can't see anything from here but the sky."

      "I feel as if I could look at that sky for a week," responded Eliza with a sincerity which admitted of no doubt.

      "It is wonderful, isn't it?" returned her mistress, unconscious of plagiarism. She patted Eliza's shoulder. "I'll be back soon," she assured her, and moved away.

      "The good creature!" she thought. "How selfish I have been to her! I ought occasionally to let her go home; but I know she'd never go without me. She wouldn't believe that I'd eat three meals a day, no matter how faithfully I promised." And Mrs. Ballard laughed a little before becoming engrossed in an old favorite.

      She was gone so long that Eliza cogitated with newly acquired ingenuity.

      "It's a good thing," she reflected, "that the fool-catcher ain't artistic. He'd 'a' caught me here lots o' times. Supposin' I was with that dear crazy critter all this time, hoppin' along in misery, or standin' in front o' some paintin' like a stork." Eliza's light eyes twinkled. "Why shouldn't I set up a taste in pictures, too? Just watch me from this on."

      After this day Mrs. Ballard did observe with joy a transformation in her handmaid's attitude. When they visited the galleries Eliza would move along with her usual calm until suddenly some picture would particularly hold her attention.

      "Is that a very fine paintin'?" she would ask of her cicerone.

      "Which one, Eliza? Oh, yes, I see. Certainly, or it wouldn't be here; but in that next room are those I thought we should make a study of to-day."

      Eliza's light eyes swept the unbroken polished surface of the floor of the adjoining room. "I know I haven't got very far along in understandin' these things," she said modestly, "but to my eyes there is a certain somethin' there," – she paused and let her transfixed gaze toward the chosen picture say the rest.

      Mrs. Ballard held her lip between her teeth reflectively as she looked at it too. On that first occasion it was a summer landscape painted at sunset.

      "We've passed it many times," she thought, "but it's evident that Eliza is waking up!"

      The reflection was exultant. Far be it from Mrs. Ballard to interrupt the birth throes of her companion's artistic consciousness.

      "Then stay right here, Eliza, as long as you wish," she replied sympathetically. "I shall be near by."

      She hurried away in her light-footed fashion,

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