LITMIR.BIZ

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custom-house officer at the dock yesterday when he was going through my trunks. 'What's this, Miss?' he asked; I guess he thought it was a diamond in the rough. 'Oh, that's from Wagner's grave,' I said. And what do you think the wretch did?”

      “I'm sure I don't know, my love.”

      “He threw it back, saying it wasn't worth anything; I think he must have been a Brahmsite.”

      “It took the longest time going through all my treasures,” Helen prattled on, after laughing at her own joke; “you know Aunt Polly let us have everything we wanted, bless her heart!”

      “I'm afraid Aunt Polly must have spoiled you,” said the other.

      “She has,” laughed Helen; “I really think she must mean to make me marry a rich husband, or else she'd never have left me at that great rich school; Lucy and I were the 'star-boarders' you know, and we just had everybody to spoil us. How in the world could you ever manage to spare so much money, Daddy?”

      “Oh, it was not so much,” said Mr. Davis; “things are cheaper abroad.” (As a matter of fact, the grimly resolute Aunt Polly had paid two-thirds of her niece's expenses secretly, besides distributing pocket money with lavish generosity.)

      “And you should see the wonderful dresses I've brought from Paris,” Helen went on. “Oh, Daddy, I tell you I shall be glorious! Aunt Polly's going to invite a lot of people at her house next week to meet me, and I'm going to wear the reddest of red, red dresses, and just shine like a lighthouse!”

      “I'm afraid,” said the clergyman, surveying her with more pride than was perhaps orthodox, “I'm afraid you'll find it hard to be satisfied in this poor little home of ours.”

      “Oh, that's all right,” said Helen; “I'll soon get used to it; and besides, I've got plenty of things to fix it up with—if you'll only get those dreadful theological works out of the front room! Daddy dear, you can't imagine how hard it is to bring the Valkyries and Niebelungs into a theological library.”

      “I'll see what I can do, my love,” said Mr. Davis.

      He was silent for a few moments, perhaps wondering vaguely whether it was well that this commanding young lady should have everything in the world she desired; Helen, who had her share of penetration, probably divined the thought, for she made haste to change the subject.

      “By the way,” she laughed, “we got so interested in our chattering that we forgot all about Arthur.”

      “Sure enough,” exclaimed the other. “Pray where can he have gone?”

      “I don't know,” Helen said; “it's strange. But poets are such queer creatures!”

      “Arthur is a very splendid creature,” said Mr. Davis. “You have no idea, Helen, how hard he has labored since you have been away. He carried off all the honors at college, and they say he has written some good poetry. I don't know much about that, but the people who know tell me so.”

      “It would be gloriously romantic to know a great poet,” said Helen, “and perhaps have him write poetry about you—'Helen, thy beauty is to me,' and 'Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss,' and all sorts of things like that! He's coming to live with us this summer as usual, isn't he, Daddy?”

      “I don't know,” said the other; “I presume he will. But where can he have gone to-day?”

      “He acted very queerly,” said the girl; and then suddenly a delighted smile lit up her face. “Oh, Daddy,” she added, “do you know, I think Arthur is in love!”

      “In love!” gasped Mr. Davis.

      “Yes, in love!”

      “Pray, with whom?”

      “I'm sure I can't imagine,” said Helen gravely; “but he seemed so abstracted, and he seemed to have something to tell me. And then he ran away!”

      “That is very strange indeed,” remarked the other. “I shall have to speak to him about it.”

      “If he doesn't come back soon, I'll go to look for him,” said the girl; “I'm not going to let the water nixies run off with my Arthur; there are such things in that stream, because the song I was singing about it says so.” And then she chanted as merrily as ever:

      “Why speak I of a murmur?

       No murmur can it be;

       The Nixies they are singing

       'Neath the wave their melody!”

      “I will tell you what,” said Mr. Davis, rising from his chair as he realized that the sermon had entirely vanished for the present. “You may go part of the way with me, and we'll stop in to see the Vails.”

      “The Vails!” gasped Helen. (Mr. Vail was the village dairyman, whose farm lay on the outskirts of the town; the village dairyman's family was not one that Helen cared to visit.)

      “My love,” said Mr. Davis, “poor Mrs. Vail has been very ill, and she has three little children, you know. You told me that you liked to bring joy wherever you could.”

      “Yes, but, Daddy,” protested Helen, “those children are dirty! Ugh! I saw them as I came by.”

      “My love,” answered the other, “they are God's children none the less; and we cannot always help such things.”

      “But we can, Daddy; there is plenty of water in the world.”

      “Yes, of course; but when the mother is ill, and the father in trouble! For poor Mr. Vail has had no end of misfortune; he has no resource but the little dairy, and three of his cows have been ill this spring.”

      And Helen's incorrigible mirth lighted up her face again. “Oh!” she cried. “Is that it! I saw him struggling away at the pump as I came by; but I had no idea it was anything so serious!”

      Mr. Davis looked grieved; Helen, when her first burst of glee had passed, noticed it and changed her mood. She put her arms around her father's neck and pressed her cheek against his.

      “Daddy, dear,” she said coaxingly, “haven't I done charity enough for one day? You will surfeit me at the start, and then I'll be just as little fond of it as I was before. When I must let dirty children climb all over me, I can dress for the occasion.”

      “My dear,” pleaded Mr. Davis, “Godliness is placed before Cleanliness.”

      “Yes,” admitted Helen, “and of course it is right for you to inculcate the greater virtue; but I'm only a girl, and you mustn't expect sublimity from me. You don't want to turn me into a president of sewing societies, like that dreadful Mrs. Dale!”

      “Helen,” protested the other, helplessly, “I wish you would not always refer to Mrs. Dale with that adjective; she is the best helper I have.”

      “Yes, Daddy,” said Helen, with the utmost solemnity; “when I have a dreadful eagle nose like hers, perhaps I can preside over meetings too. But I can't now.”

      “I do not want you to, my love; but—”

      “And if I have to cling by the weaker virtue of cleanliness just for a little while, Daddy, you must not mind. I'll visit all your clean parishioners for you—parishioners like Aunt Polly!”

      And before Mr. Davis could make another remark, the girl had skipped into the other room to the piano; as her father went slowly out the door, the echoes of the old house were laughing with the happy melody of Purcell's—

      Nymphs and shepherds, come a-way, come a-way,

       Nymphs and shepherds, come a-way, come a-way, Come,

       come, come, come a-way!

CHAPTER III

      

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