Flower of the Dusk | Page 7

"Oh, my son," came in the deep, rich voice, vibrant with tenderness;
"my dear little son!"
[Sidenote: The Priceless Legacy]
That was all, save a few old photographs and the priceless legacy of the
books. The library was not a large one, but it had been chosen by a man
of discriminating, yet catholic, taste. The books had been used and
were not, as so often happens, merely ornaments. Page after page had
been interlined and there was scarcely a volume which was not rich in
marginal notes, sometimes questioning in character, but indicating
always understanding and appreciation.
As soon as he learned to read, Roger began to spend his leisure hours in
this library. When he could not understand a book, he put it aside and
took up another. Always there were pictures and sometimes many of
them, for in his later years Laurence Austin had contracted the baneful
habit of extra-illustration. Never maternal, save in the limited physical
sense, Miss Mattie had been glad to have the child out of her way.
Day by day, the young mind grew and expanded in its own way. Year
by year, Roger came to an affectionate knowledge of his father, through
the medium of the marginal notes. He wondered, sometimes, that a
pencil mark should so long outlive the fine, strong body of the man
who made it. It seemed pitiful, in a way, and yet he knew that books
and letters are the things that endure, in a world of transition and decay.
The underlined passages and the marginal comments gave evidence of
an extraordinary love of beauty, in whatever shape or form. And
yet--the parlour, which was opened only on Sunday--was hideous with
a gaudy carpet, stuffed chairs, family portraits done in crayon and

inflicted upon the house by itinerant vendors of tea and coffee, and
there was a basket of wax flowers, protected by glass, on the
marble-topped "centre-table."
The pride of Miss Mattie's heart was a chair, which, with incredible
industry, she had made from an empty flour barrel. She had spoiled a
good barrel to make a bad chair, but her thrifty soul rejoiced in her
achievement. Roger never went near it, so Miss Mattie herself sat in it
on Sunday afternoons, nodding, and crooning hymns to herself.
[Sidenote: An Awful Chasm]
"How did father stand it?" thought Roger, intending no disrespect. He
loved his mother and appreciated her good qualities, but he saw the
awful chasm between those two souls, which no ceremony of marriage
could ever span.
[Sidenote: Roger Austin]
In appearance, Roger was like his father. He had the same clear, dark
skin, with regular features and kind, dark eyes, the same abundant,
wavy hair, strong, square chin, and incongruous, beauty-loving mouth.
He had, too, the lovable boyishness, which never quite leaves some
fortunate men. He was studying law in the judge's office, and hoped by
another year to be ready to take his examinations. After working hard
all day, he found refreshment for mind and body in an hour or so at
night spent with the treasures of his father's library.
"Let us buy our entrance to this guild with a long probation," read
Roger. "Why should we desecrate noble and beautiful souls by
intruding upon them? Why insist upon rash personal relations with your
friend? Why go to his house, and know his mother and brother and
sisters? Why be visited by him at your own? Are these things material
to our covenant? Leave this touching and clawing. Let him be to
me----"
"I've spoke twice," complained Miss Mattie, "and you don't hear me no
more'n your pa did."

"I beg your pardon, Mother. I did not hear you come in. What is it?"
"I was just a-sayin' that maybe those papers would be too expensive.
Maybe I ought not to have 'em."
"I'm sure they're not, Mother. Anyhow, you get them, and we'll make it
up in some other way if we have to." Dimly, in the future, Roger saw
long, quiet evenings in which his disturbing influence should be
rendered null and void by the charms of _Lovely Lulu, or the Doctor's
Darling_.
[Sidenote: A Morning Call]
"Barbara North sent her pa over here this morning to ask for some book.
I disremember now what it was, but it was after you was gone."
Roger's expressive face changed instantly. "Why didn't you tell me
sooner, Mother?" He spoke with evident effort. "It's too late now for
me to go over there."
"There's no call for you to go over. They can send again. Miss Miriam
can come after it any time. They ain't got no business to let a blind old
man like Ambrose North run around by himself the way they do."
"He takes very good care of himself. He