Adventures in Friendship | Page 7

it by any chance a goose?"
"It is," I said, "a goose--a big one."
He heaved a sigh of complete satisfaction. "You have comforted my
mind," he said, "with the joys of anticipation--a goose, a big goose."
So I left him and went onward toward the Starkweathers'. Presently I
saw the great house standing among its wintry trees. There was smoke
in the chimney but no other evidence of life. At the gate my spirits,
which had been of the best all the morning, began to fail me. Though

Harriet and I were well enough acquainted with the Starkweathers, yet
at this late moment on Christmas morning it did seem rather a
hair-brained scheme to think of inviting them to dinner.
"Never mind," I said, "they'll not be displeased to see me anyway."
I waited in the reception-room, which was cold and felt damp. In the
parlour beyond I could see the innumerable things of beauty--furniture,
pictures, books, so very, very much of everything--with which the
room was filled. I saw it now, as I had often seen it before, with a
peculiar sense of weariness. How all these things, though beautiful
enough in themselves, must clutter up a man's life!
Do you know, the more I look into life, the more things it seems to me I
can successfully lack--and continue to grow happier. How many kinds
of food I do not need, nor cooks to cook them, how much curious
clothing nor tailors to make it, how many books that I never read, and
pictures that are not worth while! The farther I run, the more I feel like
casting aside all such impedimenta--lest I fail to arrive at the far goal of
my endeavour.
I like to think of an old Japanese nobleman I once read about, who
ornamented his house with a single vase at a time, living with it,
absorbing its message of beauty, and when he tired of it, replacing it
with another. I wonder if he had the right way, and we, with so many
objects to hang on our walls, place on our shelves, drape on our chairs,
and spread on our floors, have mistaken our course and placed our
hearts upon the multiplicity rather than the quality of our possessions!
Presently Mr. Starkweather appeared in the doorway. He wore a velvet
smoking-jacket and slippers; and somehow, for a bright morning like
this, he seemed old, and worn, and cold.
"Well, well, friend," he said, "I'm glad to see you."
He said it as though he meant it.
"Come into the library; it's the only room in the whole house that is

comfortably warm. You've no idea what a task it is to heat a place like
this in really cold weather. No sooner do I find a man who can run my
furnace than he goes off and leaves me."
"I can sympathize with you," I said, "we often have trouble at our
house with the man who builds the fires."
He looked around at me quizzically.
"He lies too long in bed in the morning," I said.
By this time we had arrived at the library, where a bright fire was
burning in the grate. It was a fine big room, with dark oak furnishings
and books in cases along one wall, but this morning it had a dishevelled
and untidy look. On a little table at one side of the fireplace were the
remains of a breakfast; at the other a number of wraps were thrown
carelessly upon a chair. As I came in Mrs. Starkweather rose from her
place, drawing a silk scarf around her shoulders. She is a robust, rather
handsome woman, with many rings on her fingers, and a pair of glasses
hanging to a little gold hook on her ample bosom; but this morning she,
too, looked worried and old.
"Oh, yes," she said with a rueful laugh, "we're beginning a merry
Christmas, as you see. Think of Christmas with no cook in the house!"
I felt as if I had discovered a gold mine. Poor starving millionaires!
But Mrs. Starkweather had not told the whole of her sorrowful story.
"We had a company of friends invited for dinner to-day," she said, "and
our cook was ill--or said she was--and had to go. One of the maids went
with her. The man who looks after the furnace disappeared on Friday,
and the stableman has been drinking. We can't very well leave the place
without some one who is responsible in charge of it--and so here we are.
Merry Christmas!"
I couldn't help laughing. Poor people!

"You might," I said, "apply for Mrs. Heney's place."
"Who is Mrs. Heney?" asked Mrs. Starkweather.
"You don't mean to say that you never heard of Mrs. Heney!" I
exclaimed. "Mrs. Heney, who