The Lilac Girl | Page 7

back. But after a
moment of hesitation he turned from the door and went on with his
explorations. In the parlor there was light enough from the front door to
show him the long formal room with its white marble centre-table
adorned with a few gilt-topped books and a spindly lamp, the square
piano, the stiff-looking chairs and rockers, the few pictures against the
faded gold paper, the white mantel, set with shells and vases and a few
photographs, the quaint curving-backed sofa between the side windows.
He closed the door again and turned down the hall.
The stairway was narrow and winding, with a mahogany rail set upon
white spindles. It was uncarpeted and his feet sounded eerily on the
steps. On the floor above doors opened to left and right. The first led

into what had evidently been used as a spare bedroom. It was
uncarpeted and but scantily furnished. The door of the opposite room
was closed. Wade opened it reverently and unconsciously tiptoed to the
window. When the sunlight was streaming in he turned and surveyed
the apartment with a catch of his breath. It had been Her room. He had
never seen her, yet he had heard Ed speak of her so much that it seemed
that he must have known her. He tried not to think of the days when,
lying there on the old four-post bed with the knowledge of approaching
death for company, she had waited and waited for her son to come back
to her. Ed had never forgiven himself that, reflected Wade. He had been
off in Wyoming at the time, and when he had returned the two
telegrams lay one upon the other with a month's dust over them, the one
apprising him of his mother's illness and asking him to hurry home, the
other tersely announcing her death. Well, she knew all about it now,
reflected Wade. Ed had told her long before this.
It was a pleasant little room with its sloping ceilings and cheerful pink
paper. The bed was neatly spread with a patchwork quilt, and the
blankets and counterpane were folded and piled upon the foot. The old
mahogany bureau was just as she had left it, doubtless. The little,
knick-knacks still stood upon the brackets, and in the worsted-worked
pincushion a gold brooch was sticking.
He closed the window and returned to the floor below. A door under
the stairway led from the hall to the kitchen. He crossed the latter and
passed out into the yard. Back of the house the ground sloped slightly
to a distant stone wall, which apparently marked the limit there of
Wade's domain. At one time there had been a fence between the
orchard and the meadow beyond, but now only an occasional
crumbling post remained. Trees had grown up here and there in the
meadow, a few young maples, a patch of locusts, and some straggling
sumacs. Birds sang in the trees, and once, when he listened, Wade
thought he could hear the tinkling of a brook.
Toward the centre of the village his ground ran only to a matter of ten
or twelve yards from the kitchen door. There was just room for the little
garden between house and fence. On that side his nearest neighbor was

distant the width of several untenanted lots. On the other side, however,
there was more space. There were some shade-trees here, and around
one of them, an ancient elm, ran a wooden seat, much carved and
lettered. The boundary here was a continuation of the lilac hedge which
fronted the street, and in it was an arched gate leading to the next yard.
But from the gate all Wade could discern was the end of a white house
and a corner of a brick chimney some forty yards distant; trees and
shrubbery hid more of his neighbor's estate.
Wade returned to the front of the house, hands in his pockets, a tune on
his lips. He had taken his valise from the back of the carryall before the
driver, who was half asleep, discovered his presence. He blinked and
dropped his feet from the dashboard.
"You all ready?" he asked.
Wade shook his head.
"I've changed my mind," he said. "I'm going to stay awhile."

III.
That was a stirring afternoon in Eden Village. Wade's advent was like
the dropping of a stone into the centre of a quiet pool. Prout's Store was
the centre of the pool, and it was there that the splash and upheaval
occurred, and from there the waves of commotion circled and spread to
the farthest margins. By supper time it was known from one length of
Main Street to the other that the Craig place was tenanted again. As to
who the tenant was