two people--his mother and Kitty. If other people
thought him ugly, they thought him beautiful. If others thought him
dull, they thought him wonderfully clever; if others thought him
ignorant, they knew how wise he was.
Mrs. Upton's eyes were bad; but she saw enough to see Jim: the light
came into the house with him; Kitty sat and gazed at him with
speechless admiration; hung on his words, which were few; watched
for his smile, which was rare. He repaid it to her by being--Jim. He
slaved for her; waited for her (when a boy waits for his little sister it is
something); played with her when he had time.
They always went to church--old St. Ann's--whenever there was service.
There was service there since the war only every first and third Sunday
and every other fifth Sunday. The Uptons and the Duvals had been
vestrymen from the time they had brought the bricks over from
England, generations ago. They had sat, one family in one of the front
semicircular pews on one side the chancel, the other family in the other.
Mrs. Upton, after the war, had her choice of the pews; for all had gone
but herself, Jim, and Kitty. She had changed, the Sunday after her
marriage, to the Upton side, and she clung loyally to it ever after. Mrs.
Wagoner had taken the other pew--a cold, she explained at first, had
made her deaf. She always spoke of it afterward as "our pew." (The
Billings, from which Mrs. Wagoner came, had not been Episcopalians
until Mrs. Wagoner married.) Carry Wagoner, who was a year older
than Kitty, used to sit by her mother, with her big hat and brown hair.
Jim, in right of his sex, sat in the end of his pew.
On this Sunday in question Jim drove his mother and Kitty to church in
the horse cart.
The old carriage was a wreck, slowly dropping to pieces. The chickens
roosted in it. The cart was the only vehicle remaining which had two
sound wheels, and even one of these "wabbled" a good deal, and the
cart was "shackling." But straw placed in the bottom made it fairly
comfortable. Jim always had clean straw in it for his mother and sister.
His mother and Kitty remarked on it. Kitty looked so well. They
reached church. The day was warm, Mr. Bickersteth was dry. Jim went
to sleep during the sermon. He frequently did this. He had been up
since four. When service was over he partially waked--about
half-waked. He was standing in the aisle moving toward the door with
the rest of the congregation. A voice behind him caught his ear:
"What a lovely girl Kitty Upton is." It was Mrs. Harrison, who lived at
the other end of the parish. Jim knew the voice. Another voice replied:
"If she only were not always so shabby!" Jim knew this voice also. It
was Mrs. Wagoner's. Jim waked.
"Yes, but even her old darned dress cannot hide her. She reminds me of
------" Jim did not know what it was to which Mrs. Harrison likened her.
But he knew it was something beautiful.
"Yes," said Mrs. Wagoner; then added, "Poor thing, she's got no
education, and never will have. To think that old Colonel Duval's
fam'bly's come to this! Well, they can't blame me. They're clean run to
seed."
Jim got out into the air. He felt sick. He had been hit vitally. This was
what people thought! and it was true. They were "clean run to seed."
He went to get his cart. (He did not speak to Kitty.) His home came
before his eyes like a photograph: fences down, gates gone, houses
ruinous, fields barren. It came to him as if stamped on the retina by a
lightning-flash. He had worked--worked hard. But it was no use. It was
true: they were "clean run to seed." He helped his mother and Kitty into
the cart silently--doggedly. Kitty smiled at him. It hurt him like a blow.
He saw every worn place, every darn in her old dress, and little, faded
jacket. Mrs. Wagoner drove past them in her carriage, leaning out of
the window and calling that she took the liberty of passing as she drove
faster than they. Jim gave his old mule a jerk which made him throw up
his head and wince with pain. He was sorry for it. But he had been
jerked up short himself. He was quivering too.
II.
On the following Friday the President of one of the great railway lines
which cross Virginia was in his office when the door opened after a
gentle knock and some one entered. (The offices of presidents of
railroads had not then become the secret and mysterious sanctums
which

Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the
Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.