the walls of the wonderful house rose up straight and shining, pale greenish gold as the slant sunlight on the orchard grass under the apple trees; the windows that sprang arching to the summer blueness let in the scent of the cluster rose at the turn of the fence, beginning to rise above the dusty smell of the country roads, and the evening clamour of the birds in bloombury wood. as it dimmed and withdrew, the shining of the walls came out more clearly. peter saw then that they were all of coloured pictures wrought flat upon the gold, and as the glow of it increased they began to swell and stir like a wood waking. they leaned out from the walls, looking all one way toward the increasing[pg 4] light and tap-tap of the princess' feet along the halls.
"peter, oh, peter!"
the tap-tapping grew sharp and nearer like the sound of a crutch on a wooden veranda, and the voice was ellen's.
"oh, peter, you are always a-reading and a-reading!"
peter rolled off the long settle where he had been stretched and put the book in his pocket apologetically.
"i was just going to quit," he said; "did you want anything, ellen?"
"the picnic is coming back; i thought we could go down to the turn to meet them. mrs. sibley said she would save me some things from the luncheon."
if there was a little sting to peter in ellen's eagerness, it was evidence at least, how completely he and his mother had kept her from realizing that it was chiefly because of their not being able to afford the well-filled basket demanded by a bloombury picnic that they had not accepted the invitation. ellen had thought it was because bet, the mare, could not[pg 5] be spared all day from the ploughing nor peter from hoeing the garden, and her mother was too busy with the plaid gingham dress she was making for the minister's wife, to do any baking. it meant to ellen, the broken fragments of the luncheon, just so much of what a picnic should mean: the ride in the dusty morning, swings under the trees, easy games that she could play, lemonade, pails and pails of it, pink ham sandwiches and frosted cake; and if ellen could have any of these, she was having a little piece of the picnic. what it would have meant particularly to peter over and above a day let loose, the arching elms, the deep fern of bloombury wood, might have been some passages, perhaps, which could be taken home and made over into the groundwork of new and interesting adventures in the house from which ellen had recalled him. there was a girl with june apple cheeks and bright brown eyes at that picnic, who could have given points to princesses.
he followed the tapping of his sister's crutch along the thick, bitter smelling dust of the road, rising more and more heavily as the dew[pg 6] gathered, until they came to the turn by the cluster rose and heard below them on the bridge, the din of the wheels and the gay laughter of the picnickers.
"hi, peter!"
"hello, ellen!"
"awful sorry you couldn't come ... had a bully time.... killed a copperhead and two water snakes."
"here, ellen, catch ahold of this!"
and while she was about it the june apple girl leaned over the end-board of the wagon, and spoke softly to peter.
"we're going over to harvey's pasture next wednesday afternoon, berrying, in the democrat wagon with our team; jim harvey's going to drive. we made it up to-day. surely you can get away for an afternoon?" that was what the voice said. "to be with me," the eyes added.
"i don't know.... i'd like it...."
it was not altogether the calculation as to how much earlier he would have to get up that morning to be able to take an hour off in the afternoon, that made peter hesitate, but the[pg 7] sudden swimming of his senses about the point of meeting eyes. "i'll tell you what," he said, "you come by for ellen, and i'll walk over about four and ride home with you."
"oh," said the girl; she did not know quite whether to triumph at having gained so much or to be disappointed at so little. "i'll be expecting you."
the horses creaked forward in the harness, the dust puffed up from under the wheels and drowned the smell of the wilding rose, it fell thick on the petals and a little on peter's spirit, too, as he followed ellen back to the house, though it never occurred to him to think any more of it than that he had been working too long in the hot sun and was very tired. it did not, however, prevent his eating his share of the picnic dainties as he sat with his mother and ellen on the veranda. then as the soft flitter of the bats' wings began in the dusk, he kissed them both and went early up to bed.
peter's room was close under the roof and that was close under the elm boughs; all hours he could hear them finger it with soft rustling touches. the bed was pulled to[pg 8] the window that gave upon the downslope of the hill; at the foot of it one saw the white bloom-faces of the alders lift and bow above the folded leaves, and the rising of the river damp across the pastures. all the light reflected from the sky above bloombury wood was no more than enough to make a glimmer on the glass of a picture that hung at the foot of peter's bed. it served to show the gilt of the narrow frame and the soft black of the print upon which peter had looked so many times that he thought now he was still seeing it as he lay staring in the dusk—a picture of a young man in bright armour with loosened hair, riding down a particularly lumpy and swollen dragon. flames came out of the creature's mouth in the immemorial fashion of dragons, but the young man was not hurt by them. he sat there lightly, his horse curvetting, his lance thrust down the dragon's throat and coming out of the back of his head, doing a great deed easily, the way people like to think of great things being done. it was a very narrow picture, so narrow that you might think that it had something to do with the dragon's doubling on[pg 9] himself and the charger's forefeet being up in the air to keep within the limits of the frame, and the exclusion from it of the princess whom, as his father had told him the story, the young knight george had rescued from those devouring jaws. it came out now, quite clearly, that she must have had cheeks as red as june apples and eyes like the pools of spring rain in bloombury wood, and her not being there in the picture was only a greater security for her awaiting him at this moment in the house with the shining walls.
there was, for the boy still staring at it through the dusk, something particularly personal in the picture, for ever since his father had died, three years ago, peter had had a dragon of his own to fight. its name was mortgage. it had its lair in lawyer keplinger's office, from which it threatened twice yearly to come out and eat up his mother and ellen and the little house and farm, and required to have its mouth stopped with great wads of interest which took all peter's laborious days to scrape together. this year, however, he had hopes, if the garden turned out well, of[pg 10] lopping off a limb or a claw of the dragon by way of a payment on the principal, which somehow seemed to bring the princess so much nearer, that as peter lay quite comfortably staring up at the glimmer on the wall, the four gold lines of the frame began to stretch up and out and the dark block of the picture to recede until it became the great hall of a palace again, and there was the princess coming toward him in a golden shimmer.
there was just such another glow on the afternoon when peter walked over to the berrying and came up with the apple-cheeked girl whose name was ada, a good half mile from the others. as they climbed together over uneven ground she gave him her hand to hold, and there was very little to say and no need of saying it until they came to the hill overlooking the pasture, yellowing toward the end of summer, full of late bloom and misty colour passing insensibly into light. threads of gossamer caught on the ends of the scrub or floated free, glinting as they turned and bellied in the windless air, to trick the imagination with the hint of robed, invisible presences.[pg 11]
"oh, peter, don't you wish it would stay like this always?"
"like this," peter gave her hand the tiniest squeeze to show what there was about this that he would like to keep. "it's just as good to look at any season though," he insisted. "i was here hunting rabbits last winter, in february, and you could find all sorts of things in the runways where the brambles bent over and kept off the snow; bunches of berries and coloured leaves, and little green fern, and birds hopping in and out."
ada spread her skirts as she sat on a flat boulder and began sticking leaves into peter's hat.
"peter, what are you going to do this winter?"
"i don't know, i should like to go over to the high school at harmony, but i suppose i'll try to get a place to work near home."
"we've been getting up a dancing and singing school, to begin in october. the teacher is coming from dassonville. it will be once a week; we sing for an hour and then have dancing. it will be cheap as cheap—only two dollars a month. i hope you can come."[pg 12]
"i don't know; i'll think about it." he was thinking then that two dollars did not sound much, but when you come to subtract it from the interest it was a great deal, and then there would be ellen to pay for, and perhaps a dress for her, and dancing shoes for himself and singing books. and no doubt at the dances there would be basket suppers.
"i should think you could come if you wanted to. jim harvey's getting it up.... he wants to keep company with me this winter." ada was a little nervous about this, but as she stole a glance at peter's face as he lay biting at a stem of grass, she grew quite comfortable again. "but i don't know as i will," she said. "i don't care very much for jim harvey."
peter picked up a stone and shied it joyously at a thrush in the bushes.
"and i don't know as i want you to," he declared boldly. "i'll come to that dancing school if i possibly can, ada, and if i can't you'll know it isn't because i don't wish to."
"you must want to with all your might and that'll make it come true. you can wish it on my amethyst ring."[pg 13]
"you won't take it off until october, ada?"
"i truly won't." and it took peter such a long time to get the ring on and held in place while the wish was properly made, that it was practically no time at all until the others found them on the way home as they came laughing up the hill.
as it happened, however, peter did not get to the dancing school once that winter. the first of the cold spell ellen had slipped on the ice, to the further trying of her lame back, and there were things to be done to it which the doctor said could not possibly be put off, so it happened that the mortgage dragon did not get his payment and peter gave up the high school to get a place in greenslet's grocery at bloombury. and since there were the books to be made up after supper, and as bet, the mare, after being driven in the delivery wagon all day, could not be let stand half the night in the cold at the schoolhouse door, it turned out that peter had not been once to the dancing school. in the beginning he had done something for himself in the way of a hall for dancing, thrown out from the house of the shining[pg 14] walls, in which he and the princess ada, to lovely, soundless strains, had whirled away, and found occasion to say things to each other such as no ballroom could afford;—bright star pointed occasions which broke and scattered before the little hints of sound that crept up the stair to advise him that ellen was stifling back the pain for fear of waking him. they had moved ellen's bed downstairs as a way of getting on better with the possibility of her being bedridden all that winter, and the tiny whispered moan recalled him to the dread that as the half yearly term came around, what with doctor's bills and delicacies, the mortgage dragon would have not even his sop of interest, and remain whole and threatening as before.
when ellen was able to sit up in bed the mother moved her sewing in beside it. then peter would sit on the other side of the lamp with a book, and the walls of the house rose up from its pages gilded finely, and the lights would come out and the dancing begin, but before he could get more than a word with the princess, he would hear ellen:
"peter, oh, peter! i wish you wouldn't be[pg 15] always with your nose in a book. i wish you would talk sometimes."
"what about, ellen?"
"oh, peter, you are the worst. i should think you would take some interest in things."
"what sort of things?" peter wished to know.
"why, who comes in the store, and what they say, and everything."
"mrs. sleason wanted us to open a kit of mackerel to see if she'd like it," began peter literally, "and we persuaded her to take two cans of sardines instead. does that interest you?"
"have you sold any of the blue tartan yet?"
"ada brown bought seven yards of it."
"oh, peter! and trimmings?"
"six yards of black velvet ribbon—yes, i forgot—mrs. blackman is to make it up for her. i heard mrs. brown say she would call for the linings."
"she's having it made up for jim harvey's birthday," ellen guessed shrewdly. "he's twenty-one, you know.... people say she's engaged to him."
peter felt the walls of the house which had[pg 16] stood out waiting for him during this interlude, fall inward into the gulf of blackness. nobody said anything for two or three ticks of the large kitchen clock, and then ellen burst out:
"i think she's a nasty, flirty, stuck-up thing; that's what i think!"
"shs—hss! ellen," said her mother.
"peter," demanded ellen, "are you reading again?"
"i beg your pardon, ellen." peter did not know that he had turned a page.
"don't you ever wish for anything for yourself, peter? don't you wish you were rich?"
"no, ellen, i don't know that i ever do."
but as the winter got on and the news of ada brown's engagement was confirmed, he must have wished it a great many times.
one evening late in january he was sitting with his mother very quietly by the kitchen stove, the front of which was opened to throw out the heat; there was the good smell of the supper in the room, for though he had a meal with the greenslets at six, his mother always made a point of having something hot for him when he came in from bedding down the mare,[pg 17] and the steam of it on the window-panes made dull smears of the reflected light. the shade of the lamp was drawn down until the ceiling of the room was all in shadow save for the bright escape from the chimney which shone directly overhead, round and yellow as twenty dollars, and as peter leaned back in his chair, looking up, it might have been that resemblance which gave a turn to his thoughts and led him to say to his mother:
"why did my father never get rich?"
"i hardly know, peter. he used to say that he couldn't afford it. there were so many other things he wished to do; and i wished them, too. when we were young we did them together. then your father was the sort of man who always gave too much and took too little. i remember his saying once that no one who loved his fellowman very much, could get rich."
"do you wish he had?"
"i don't know that either. no, not if he was happier the way he was. and we were happy. things would have come out all right if it hadn't been for the accident when the[pg 18] thresher broke, and his being ill so long afterward. and my people weren't so kind as they might have been. you see, they always thought him a little queer. before we were married, before we were even engaged, he had had a little money. it had been left him, and instead of investing it as anybody in bloombury would, he spent it in travel. i remember his saying that his memories of italy were the best investment he could have made. but afterward, when he was in trouble, they threw it up to him. we had never got in debt before ... and then just as he was getting round, he took bronchitis and died."
she wiped her eyes quietly for a while, and the kettle on the stove began to sing soothingly, and presently peter ventured:
"do you wish i would get rich?"
"yes, peter, i do. we are all like that, i suppose, we grown-ups. things we manage to get along without ourselves, we want for our children. i hope you will be a rich man some day; but, peter, i don't want you to think it a reflection on your father that he wasn't. he had what he thought was best. he might[pg 19] have left me with more money and fewer happy memories—and that is what women value most, peter;—the right sort of women. there are some who can't get along without things: clothes, and furniture, and carriages. ada brown is that kind; sometimes i'm afraid ellen is a little. she takes after my family."
"it is partly on account of ellen that i want to get rich."
"you mustn't take it too hard, peter; we've always got along somehow, and nobody in bloombury is very rich."
peter turned that over in his mind the whole of a raw and sleety february. and one day when nobody came into the store from ten till four, and loose winds went in a pack about the village streets, casting up dry, icy dust where now and then some sharp muzzle reared out of the press as they turned the corners, he spoke to mr. greenslet about it. it was so cold that day that neither the red apples in the barrels nor the crimson cranberries nor the yellowing hams on the rafters could contribute any appearance of warmth to the interior of the grocery. a kind of icy varnish of cold overlaid[pg 20] the gay lables of the canned goods; the remnants of red and blue tartan exposed for sale looked coarse-grained with the cold, and cold slips of ribbons clung to the glass of the cases like the tongues of children tipped to the frosted panes. even the super-heated stove took on a purplish tinge of chilblains, roughed by the wind.
a kind of arctic stillness pervaded the place, out of which the two men hailed each other at intervals as from immeasurable deeps of space.
"mr. greenslet," ventured peter at last, "are you a rich man?"
"not by a long sight."
"why?" questioned peter.
"not built that way."
the grocer lapsed back into the silence and seemed to lean against it meditatively. the wolf wind howled about the corners and cast snow like powdered glass upon the windows contemptuously, and time went by with a large deliberate movement like a fat man turning over, before peter hailed again.
"did you ever want to be?"
mr. greenslet reached out for the damper of[pg 21] the stove ostensibly to shake down the ashes, but really to pull himself up out of the soundless spaces of thought.
"when i was your age, yes. thought i was going to be." the shaking of the damper seemed to loosen the springs of speech in him. "i was up in the city working for siegel brothers; began as a bundle boy and meant to be one of the partners. but by the time i worked up to fancy goods i realized that i would have to be as old as methuselah to make it at that rate. and mrs. greenslet didn't like the city; she was a bloombury girl. it wasn't any place for the children."
"so you came back?"
"we had saved a little. i bought out this place and put in a few notions i'd got from siegel's. i'm comfortably off, but i'm not rich."
"would you like to be?"
"i don' know, i don' know. i'd like to give the boys a better start than i had, but i'm my own boss here and one of the leading men. that's always something."
peter went and looked out of the smudged[pg 22] windows while he considered this. the long scrapes of the wind in the loose snow were like the scratches of great claws. it was now about mail time and a few people began to stir in the street; the clear light and the cold gave them a poverty-bitten look.
"does anybody ever get rich in bloombury?"
"not that i know of. there's mr. dassonville in harmony—dave dassonville, the richest man in these parts."
"i suppose he could tell me how to go about it?"
"i suppose he would if he knows. mostly these things just happen."
peter did not say anything more just then; he was watching a man and a girl of about his own age who had come out of a frame house farther down the street. the young man was walking so as to shield her from the wind, her rosy cheek was at his shoulder, and she smiled up at him over her muff, from dark, bright eyes.
"what's set you on to talk about riches? thinking of doing something in that line yourself?"[pg 23]
"yes," said peter, kicking at the baseboard with his toes. "i don't know how it is to be done, but i've got to be rich. i've just simply got to."
