Told in a French Garden | Page 7

tree, touched an
imaginary mandolin, concluding: "A most terrible plague."
The Critic leaped to his feet.
"A corking idea," he cried.
"Mine, mine own," replied the Sculptor. "I propose that what those who,
in the days of the terrible plague, took refuge at the Villa Palmieri, did
to pass away the time, we, who are watching the war approach--as our
host says it will--do here. Let us, instead of disputing, each tell a story
after dinner--to calm our nerves,--or otherwise."
At first every one hooted.
"I could never tell a story," objected the Divorcée.
"Of course you can," declared the Journalist. "Everybody in the world
has one story to tell."

"Sure," exclaimed the Lawyer. "No embargo on subjects?"
"I don't know," smiled the Doctor. "There is always the Youngster."
"You go to blazes," was the Youngster's response, and he added: "No
war stories. Draw that line."
"Then," laughed the Doctor, "let's make it tales of our own, our native
land." And there the matter rested. Only, when we separated that night,
each of us carried a sealed envelope containing a numbered slip, which
decided the question of precedence, and it was agreed that no one but
the story-teller should know who was to be the evening's entertainer,
until story-telling hour arrived with the coffee and cigarettes.

I
THE YOUNGSTER'S STORY
IT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT
THE TALE OF A BRIDE'S NEW HOME
The daytimes were not ever very bad. Short-handed in the pretty garden,
every one did a little work. The Lawyer was passionately fond of
flowers, and the Youngster did most of the errands. The Sculptor had
found some clay, and loved to surprise us at night with a new centre
piece for the table, and the Divorcée spent most of her time tending
Angéle's baby, while the Doctor and the Nurse were eternally fussing
over new kinds of bandages and if ever we got together, it was usually
for a little reading aloud at tea-time, or a little music. The spirit of
discussion seemed to keep as far away before the lights were up as did
the spirit of war, and nothing could be farther than that appeared.
The next day we were unusually quiet.
Most of us kept in our rooms in the afternoon. There were those stories
to think over, and that we all took it so seriously proved how very

much we had been needing some real thing to do. We got through
dinner very comfortably.
There was little news in the papers that day except enthusiastic
accounts of the reception of the British troops by the French. It was
lovely to see the two races that had met on so many battle
fields--conquered, and been conquered by one another--embracing with
enthusiasm. It was to the credit of all of us that we did not make the
inevitable reflections, but only saw the humor and charm of the thing,
and remembered the fears that had prevented the plans of tunnelling the
channel, only to find them humorous.
The coffee had been placed on the table. The Trained Nurse, as usual,
sat behind the tray, and we each went and took our cup, found a
comfortable seat in the circle under the trees, where a few yellow
lanterns swung in the soft air.
Then the Youngster pulled a white head-band with a huge "Number
One" on it, out of his pocket, placed it on his head after the manner of
the French Conscripts, struck an attitude in the middle of the circle,
drew his chair deftly under him, and with the air of an experienced
monologist began:
* * * * *
Not so very many years ago there was a pretty wedding at Trinity
Church in Boston. It was quite the sort of marriage Bostonians believe
in. The man was a rising lawyer, rather a sceptic on all sorts of
questions, as most of us chaps pride ourselves on being, when we come
out of college. They were married in church to please the Woman.
What odds did it make?
Before they were married they had decided to live outside the city. She
wanted a garden and an old house. He did not care where they lived so
long as they lived together. Very proper of him, too. They spent the last
year of their engaged life, the nicest year of some girls' lives, I have
heard--in hunting the place. What they finally settled on was an old
colonial house with a colonnaded front, and a round tower at each end,

standing back from the road, and approached by a wide circular drive.
It was large, substantial, with great possibilities, and plenty of ground.
It had been unoccupied for many years, and the place had an evil report,
and, at the time when they first saw it, appeared