The Master's Violin Part 5

"I have never felt so," answered Margaret. "I have never for a moment begrudged it to you. You know my father died suddenly, and his will, made long before I was born, had not been changed. So what was more natural than for my mother to have the house during her lifetime, with the provision that it should revert to his favourite sister afterward, if she still lived?"

"I have cheated you by living, Margaret, and your mother was cut off in her prime. She was a hard woman."

"Yes," sighed Margaret, "she was. But I think she meant to be kind."

"I knew her very little; in fact, the only chance that I ever had to get acquainted with her was when I came here for a short visit just after you were married. The house had been closed for a long time. She took you away with her, and when she came back she was alone. Then she wrote to me, asking me to share her loneliness for a time, and I consented."

The way was open for confidences, but Margaret made none, and Aunt Peace respected her for it.

"We never knew each other very well, did we?" asked the old lady, in a tone that indicated no need of an answer. "I remember that when I was here I yearned over you just as I did over Iris several years later. I wanted to give to you out of my abundance; to make you happy and comfortable."

"Dear Aunt Peace," said Margaret, softly, "you are doing it now, when perhaps I need it even more than I did then. All your life you have been making people happy and comfortable."

"I hope so--it is what I have tried to do. By the way, when I am through with it, this house goes to you, then to Lynn and his children after him."

"Thank you." For an instant Margaret's pulses throbbed with the joy of possession, then the blood retreated from her heart in shame.

"I have made ample provision for Iris," Miss Field went on. "She is my own dear daughter, but she is not of our line."

At this moment, Iris came around the house, laughing and screaming, with Lynn in full pursuit. Mrs. Irving went to the window and came back with an amused light in her eyes.

"What is the matter?" asked Aunt Peace.

"Lynn is chasing her. He had something in his fingers that looked like an angle-worm."

"No doubt. Iris is afraid of worms."

"I'll go out and speak to him."

"No--let them fight it out. We are never young but once, and Youth asks no greater privilege than to fight its own battles. It is mistaken kindness to s.h.i.+eld--it weakens one in the years to come."

"Youth," repeated Margaret. "The most beautiful gift of the G.o.ds, which we never appreciate until it is gone forever."

"I have kept mine," said Aunt Peace. "I have deliberately forgotten all the unpleasant things and remembered the others. When a little pleasure has flashed for a moment against the dark, I have made that jewel mine.

I have hundreds of them, from the time my baby fingers clasped my first rose, to the night you and Lynn came to bring more suns.h.i.+ne into my old life. I call it my Necklace of Perfect Joy. When the world goes wrong, I have only to close my eyes and remember all the links in my chain, set with gems, some large and some small, but all beautiful with the beauty which never fades. It is all I can take with me when I go. My material possessions must stay behind, but my Necklace of Perfect Joy will bring me happiness to the end, when I put it on, to be nevermore unclasped."

"Aunt Peace," asked Margaret, after an understanding silence, "why did you never marry?"

Miss Field leaned forward and methodically stirred the fire. "I may be wrong," she said, "but I have always felt that it was indelicate to allow one's self to care for a gentleman."

IV

Social Position

On Wednesday, the dullest person might have felt that there was something in the air. The old house, already exquisitely clean, received further polis.h.i.+ng without protest. Savoury odours came from the kitchen, and Iris rubbed the tall silver candlesticks until they shone like new.

"What is it?" asked Lynn. "Are we going to have a party and am I invited?"

"It is Wednesday," explained Iris.

"Well, what of it?"

"Doctor Brinkerhoff comes to see Aunt Peace every Wednesday evening."

"Who is Doctor Brinkerhoff?"

"The family physician of East Lancaster."

"He wasn't here last Wednesday."

"That was because you and your mother had just come. Aunt Peace sent him a note, saying that her attention was for the moment occupied by other guests from out of town. It was the first Wednesday evening he has missed for more than ten years."

"Oh," said Lynn. "Are they going to be married?"

"Aunt Peace wouldn't marry anybody. She receives Doctor Brinkerhoff because she is sorry for him.

"He has no social position," Iris continued, feeling the unspoken question. "He is not of our cla.s.s and he used to live in West Lancaster, but Aunt Peace says that any gentleman who is received by a lady in her bedroom may also be received in her parlour. Another lady, who thinks as Aunt Peace does, entertains him on Sat.u.r.day evenings."

Iris sat there demurely, her rosy lips primly pursed, and vigorously rubbed the tall candlestick. Lynn fairly choked with laughter. "Oh," he cried, "you funny little thing!"

"I am not a little thing and I am not funny. I consider you very impertinent."

"What is 'social position'?" asked Irving, instantly sobering. "How do we get it?"

"It is born with us," answered Iris, dipping her flannel cloth in ammonia, "and we have to live up to it. If we have low tastes, we lose it, and it never comes back."

"Wonder if I have it," mused Lynn.

"Of course," Iris a.s.sured him. "You are a grand-nephew of Aunt Peace, but not so nearly related as I, because I am her legal daughter. I was born of poor but honest parents," she went on, having evidently absorbed the phrase from her school Reader, "so I was respectable, even at the beginning. When Aunt Peace took me, I got social position, and if I am always a lady, I will keep it. Otherwise not."

The girl was very lovely as she leaned back in the quaint old chair to rest for a moment. She was still regarding the candlestick attentively and did not look at Lynn. "It is strange to me," she said, "that coming from the city, as you do, you should not know about such things." Here she sent him the quickest possible glance from a pair of inscrutable eyes, and he began to wonder if she were not merely amusing herself. He was tempted to kiss her, but wisely refrained.

"Iris," called Aunt Peace, from the doorway, "will you wash the Royal Worcester plate? And Lynn, it is time you were practising."

Lynn worked hard until the bell rang for luncheon. When he went down, he found the others already at the table. "We did not wait for you," Aunt Peace explained, "because we were in a hurry. Immediately after luncheon, on Wednesdays, I take my nap. I sleep from two to three. Will you please see that the house is quiet?"

She spoke to Margaret, but she looked at Lynn. "Which means," said he, "that those who are studying the violin will kindly not practise until after three o'clock, and that it would be considered a kindness if they would not walk much in the house, their feet being heavy."

"Lynn," said the old lady, irrelevantly, "you are extremely intelligent.

I expect great things of you."

That weekly hour of luxury was the only relaxation in Miss Field's busy, happy life. Breakfast at seven and bed at ten--this was the ironclad rule of the house. Ever since she came to East Lancaster, Iris had kept solemn guard over the front door on Wednesdays, from two to three. Rash visitors never reached the bell, but were met, on the doorstep, by a little maid whose tiny finger rested upon her lip. "Hush," she would say, "Aunt Peace is asleep!" Interruptions were infrequent, however, for East Lancaster knew Miss Field's habits--and respected them.

"Good-bye, my dears," she said, as she paused at the foot of the winding stairs, "I leave you for a far country, where, perhaps, I shall meet some of my old friends. I shall visit strange lands and have many new experiences, some of which will doubtless be impossible and grotesque. I shall be gone but one short hour, and when I return I shall have much to tell you."