LITMIR.BIZ

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trees alive for years, watering them with his own back.”

      Marie turned to Carl. “Then I’m thankful to you, Mr. Linstrum. We’d never have bought the place if it hadn’t been for this orchard, and then I wouldn’t have had Alexandra, either.” She gave Alexandra’s arm a little squeeze as she walked beside her. “How nice your dress smells, Alexandra; you put rosemary leaves in your chest, like I told you.”

      She led them to the northwest corner of the orchard, sheltered on one side by a thick mulberry hedge and bordered on the other by a wheatfield, just beginning to yellow. In this corner the ground dipped a little, and the blue-grass, which the weeds had driven out in the upper part of the orchard, grew thick and luxuriant. Wild roses were flaming in the tufts of bunchgrass along the fence. Under a white mulberry tree there was an old wagon-seat. Beside it lay a book and a workbasket.

      “You must have the seat, Alexandra. The grass would stain your dress,” the hostess insisted. She dropped down on the ground at Alexandra’s side and tucked her feet under her. Carl sat at a little distance from the two women, his back to the wheatfield, and watched them. Alexandra took off her shade-hat and threw it on the ground. Marie picked it up and played with the white ribbons, twisting them about her brown fingers as she talked. They made a pretty picture in the strong sunlight, the leafy pattern surrounding them like a net; the Swedish woman so white and gold, kindly and amused, but armored in calm, and the alert brown one, her full lips parted, points of yellow light dancing in her eyes as she laughed and chattered. Carl had never forgotten little Marie Tovesky’s eyes, and he was glad to have an opportunity to study them. The brown iris, he found, was curiously slashed with yellow, the color of sunflower honey, or of old amber. In each eye one of these streaks must have been larger than the others, for the effect was that of two dancing points of light, two little yellow bubbles, such as rise in a glass of champagne. Sometimes they seemed like the sparks from a forge. She seemed so easily excited, to kindle with a fierce little flame if one but breathed upon her. “What a waste,” Carl reflected. “She ought to be doing all that for a sweetheart. How awkwardly things come about!”

      It was not very long before Marie sprang up out of the grass again. “Wait a moment. I want to show you something.” She ran away and disappeared behind the low-growing apple trees.

      “What a charming creature,” Carl murmured. “I don’t wonder that her husband is jealous. But can’t she walk? does she always run?”

      Alexandra nodded. “Always. I don’t see many people, but I don’t believe there are many like her, anywhere.”

      Marie came back with a branch she had broken from an apricot tree, laden with pale yellow, pink-cheeked fruit. She dropped it beside Carl. “Did you plant those, too? They are such beautiful little trees.”

      Carl fingered the blue-green leaves, porous like blotting-paper and shaped like birch leaves, hung on waxen red stems. “Yes, I think I did. Are these the circus trees, Alexandra?”

      “Shall I tell her about them?” Alexandra asked. “Sit down like a good girl, Marie, and don’t ruin my poor hat, and I’ll tell you a story. A long time ago, when Carl and I were, say, sixteen and twelve, a circus came to Hanover and we went to town in our wagon, with Lou and Oscar, to see the parade. We hadn’t money enough to go to the circus. We followed the parade out to the circus grounds and hung around until the show began and the crowd went inside the tent. Then Lou was afraid we looked foolish standing outside in the pasture, so we went back to Hanover feeling very sad. There was a man in the streets selling apricots, and we had never seen any before. He had driven down from somewhere up in the French country, and he was selling them twenty-five cents a peck. We had a little money our fathers had given us for candy, and I bought two pecks and Carl bought one. They cheered us a good deal, and we saved all the seeds and planted them. Up to the time Carl went away, they hadn’t borne at all.”

      “And now he’s come back to eat them,” cried Marie, nodding at Carl. “That IS a good story. I can remember you a little, Mr. Linstrum. I used to see you in Hanover sometimes, when Uncle Joe took me to town. I remember you because you were always buying pencils and tubes of paint at the drug store. Once, when my uncle left me at the store, you drew a lot of little birds and flowers for me on a piece of wrapping-paper. I kept them for a long while. I thought you were very romantic because you could draw and had such black eyes.”

      Carl smiled. “Yes, I remember that time. Your uncle bought you some kind of a mechanical toy, a Turkish lady sitting on an ottoman and smoking a hookah, wasn’t it? And she turned her head backwards and forwards.”

      “Oh, yes! Wasn’t she splendid! I knew well enough I ought not to tell Uncle Joe I wanted it, for he had just come back from the saloon and was feeling good. You remember how he laughed? She tickled him, too. But when we got home, my aunt scolded him for buying toys when she needed so many things. We wound our lady up every night, and when she began to move her head my aunt used to laugh as hard as any of us. It was a music-box, you know, and the Turkish lady played a tune while she smoked. That was how she made you feel so jolly. As I remember her, she was lovely, and had a gold crescent on her turban.”

      Half an hour later, as they were leaving the house, Carl and Alexandra were met in the path by a strapping fellow in overalls and a blue shirt. He was breathing hard, as if he had been running, and was muttering to himself.

      Marie ran forward, and, taking him by the arm, gave him a little push toward her guests. “Frank, this is Mr. Linstrum.”

      Frank took off his broad straw hat and nodded to Alexandra. When he spoke to Carl, he showed a fine set of white teeth. He was burned a dull red down to his neckband, and there was a heavy three-days’ stubble on his face. Even in his agitation he was handsome, but he looked a rash and violent man.

      Barely saluting the callers, he turned at once to his wife and began, in an outraged tone, “I have to leave my team to drive the old woman Hiller’s hogs out-a my wheat. I go to take dat old woman to de court if she ain’t careful, I tell you!”

      His wife spoke soothingly. “But, Frank, she has only her lame boy to help her. She does the best she can.”

      Alexandra looked at the excited man and offered a suggestion. “Why don’t you go over there some afternoon and hog-tight her fences? You’d save time for yourself in the end.”

      Frank’s neck stiffened. “Not-a-much, I won’t. I keep my hogs home. Other peoples can do like me. See? If that Louis can mend shoes, he can mend fence.”

      “Maybe,” said Alexandra placidly; “but I’ve found it sometimes pays to mend other people’s fences. Good-bye, Marie. Come to see me soon.”

      Alexandra walked firmly down the path and Carl followed her.

      Frank went into the house and threw himself on the sofa, his face to the wall, his clenched fist on his hip. Marie, having seen her guests off, came in and put her hand coaxingly on his shoulder.

      “Poor Frank! You’ve run until you’ve made your head ache, now haven’t you? Let me make you some coffee.”

      “What else am I to do?” he cried hotly in Bohemian. “Am I to let any old woman’s hogs root up my wheat? Is that what I work myself to death for?”

      “Don’t worry about it, Frank. I’ll speak to Mrs. Hiller again. But, really, she almost cried last time they got out, she was so sorry.”

      Frank bounced over on his other side. “That’s it; you always side with them against me. They all know it. Anybody here feels free to borrow the mower and break it, or turn their hogs in on me. They know you won’t care!”

      Marie hurried away to make his coffee. When she came back, he was fast asleep. She sat down and looked at him for a long while, very thoughtfully. When the kitchen clock struck six she went out to get supper, closing the door gently behind her. She was always sorry for Frank when he worked himself into one of these rages, and she was sorry to have him rough and quarrelsome with his neighbors. She was perfectly aware that the neighbors had a good deal to put up with, and that they bore with Frank for her sake.

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