"But I checked the words of anger; I wouldn't darken their love: If he doesn't care about me, there's One who does above! Yet still I can see that window, and the well-known features there O God! it is hard, my darling-O God! it is hard to bear! "It was only yesterday evening that they passed us in the street, But he turned his face to the darkness, not to see who lay at his feet; Nor saw the look of sweet compassion that crossed his wife's fair face Little, I trow, she fancied she held my rightful place. "Listen! the bells are telling the Year is dying slow: It was just like this that I heard them, only a year ago! They sound like the bells of our village, rolling up from below the hill Why don't you answer, darling? why do you lie so still? "Why are the blue eyes closed? Why are the limbs so cold? And yet on the pale lip lingers the sunny smile of old— (But while the bells were ringing out through the frosty air, An angel had taken my darling to Heaven, to be happy there!) ""Home,' did you say, my darling? Yes, you've found a home of rest, Although your frail little body hangs lifeless on my breast! 'Home,' did I say, my darling? I haven't got where to go, Only the hard, hard pavement-only the cold, cold snow!" Hunting an Apartment* BY MAY ISABEL FISK. HERE, Dicky, I'm all ready but my veil, and I'm going to let you tie it on for me. Well, you needn't look so frightened, it won't hurt you. It's quite time you learned how, for in just one month and six days-O-o-o-h, Dicky! You'll rub all the powder off-now don't be foolish any more. I wonder when you'll get real sensible? I'll just hate you when you do so! Now tie my veil; we haven't any time to lose. . . No, not another one. Now, just take the ends-no, don't pull it. Waitwait till I get it in the middle. Goodness! It's all come off. There, now-try again. Roll the ends-oh, no, not as though you were twisting a rope. Now tie it, easy-not so loose; it feels floppy. Tighter! U-u-h-h! Untie it quick-I didn't know you were so stupid. Well, I have-Well, just once more. . . . I'll tie it myself. Now, I'm ready. . . . Take Jerry? Oh, no; see, he's asleep. . . . Leave him alone. .. He's so big. . . .Well, I just want you to know, Mr. Dick, I'm not going to be bossed and made to do things I don't want to, and the sooner you understand it the better, and I'm not going to take Jerry, and (Whistles.) Oh, come on, Jerry-come on, old doggy! Have you got the paper with those advertisements I marked?... Then you've lost it. . . . Yes-yes-I did. . . . Dicky, I certainly gave it to you. . . . I don't know where you put it. . . No, I did. . . . No, I didn't. . . You did. . . I'll look just to oblige you, but of * Abridged from "Harper's Magazine," September, 1903. course I know-Well, did you ever! Here it is on the table. I wonder how it got there just where I left it -but I remember perfectly well giving it. Never mind, we've got it-that's the important thing. I have about engaged that girl I spoke of. . . . No, I didn't ask her for her reference. . . . No, I didn't exactly forget it, but I think it's insulting, anyway. However, she's perfectly honest. . . . Well, if you must know, I asked her and she said she was. . . . Very well, but if she doesn't know, who does? Now, answer me that, Mr. Lawyer. . . . Yes, she's colored. Those colored girls don't seem to eat anything, and the Irish ones have awful appetites, so I would rather trust to one stealing something occasionally than to have a girl eating a lot all the time. You'll find in the end the colored one was the cheaper. ... Oh, is this the first on the list? This is lovely. I know I shall like to live here-those cunning little carved heads over the windows. And such nice people in the house, too. . . . What do I mean? Look at those curtains on the second floor-real lace. I guess I know what kind of people live behind those curtains. Now, I'm going to do all the talking, and don't you say one word. . . . I generally do? That is polite. We are going to pretend we're married-it won't be half as embarrassing. And if you say any more rude things like that, I won't even have to imitate it. . . . Never mind, never mind. . . You can't very well kiss me here in the street. .. Let's go in. . . . No, it's not a hint, stupid. (They enter.) I like those palms. . . Why, no, they're not-they are -Well, I'll feel. No, they're not real. Still, if we like the rooms, I wouldn't let that make us decide against the place. We are looking for an apartment, my hus-huswhy, my-just my husband and I. What have you?... Only one vacant? . . . Yes, of course we only want one, but I always like to see two or more, because if you haven't several to choose from, how do you know which one you want? ... Ground floor? ... Have you an elevator? . . . I'm glad of that-I must have an elevator. . . . What difference does it make, if we're on the first floor, Dicky? I don't care if we don't use itI like an elevator-I just like to know it's there if I did want to use it-so! . . . Yes, we will look at―Jerry is always under my feet, Dicky, he's so big-I said not to bring him. ... Oh my! What a very thin hall! It would make a lovely bowling-alley. . . . Yes, I suppose so-the hall doesn't really matter much. As you say, you only use it to get somewhere else. Yes-yes. . . . What lovely big closets! ... What-they're bed-rooms! My goodness, I-why, . . . Yes, that's true, you really only need a bed-room to sleep in, and of course you don't need light when you are asleep, and it's dark everywhere at night, anyway. This is the dining-room? I thought so, because it's too small to put a table in. . . Oh, they make them all that way? . . . It is pretty dark... Yes, that is true-yes, I suppose so— He says, Dicky, no one uses the dining-room except to eat in, and you always can find your mouth even if you can't see. I know this is the parlor-by that mirror over the mantel-shelf. But isn't it rather peculiar having the parlor windows looking out in the back?... Oh, the architect wanted to have this house different from other apartments? I see. I like things a little odd, myself. But, dear me, do those people over there always have their clothes on the line? I shouldn't like that. . . . You would speak to them about it? . . . Oh, that would be all right, then. Thank you. Who lives on the next floor? Is that so? ... How lovely to live in the same house with a real playwright! I've never seen one, but I've heard they are so quiet and refined. I said to D— to-to-to my hus-husband-It's so absurd, but I can't get used to saying "my husband," though we have been married a great many years. Well, I said as we came in I knew the right sort of people lived-why, don't, Dicky-behind those curtains. They are right over our heads, aren't they? . . . They entertain every Sunday afternoon?... How delightfully Bohemian-Good heavens, what's that? Oh, my, I heard something smash. Why, they'll come through the ceiling. . . . Whatthey're just having one of their entertainments? . . ... They are singing-listen! "There will be a hot old time." I don't think that sounds very literary. . . Yes, I've heard geniuses are always eccentric. You say it's only on Sunday? That isn't so bad. . . Yes, it is cheerful. ... Well, now, where is Jerry going to sleep? . . . How old is he? Why, how old is he, Dicky? No, I don't know exactly either-about a year, I should think. . . . Don't allow children? ... Oh, oh-you don't understand. We're only-we aren't-we haven't-Jerry's the dog!... What's the rent of this apartment? .. Strange you should have to go to find out. Well, you might have said something, Dicky. I never was so embarrassed in my life. . . I know I said I wanted to do all the talking, but it came to such a dreadful-Hush! here's the man. Well?.. The apartment is already rented! Then why did you show it?-Dicky, he's looking very strangely at us-do you think it was about Jerry?—It's as well, for my hus-husband and I have just decided we would not care to take the place anyway. I don't like the way the wall-papers are arranged. If you could take this one and put it in the parlor, and put the parlor in the dining-room, and—Oh, of course, I know you couldn't do it-that's why I said it.-Good-after noon. To Anne How many kisses do I ask? -William Maxwell. |