CHAPTER II.

by Louisa May Alcott

　　WHIMS."Come, Sylvia, it is nine o'clock! Little slug-a-bed, don't you mean toget up to-day?" said Miss Yule, bustling into her sister's room with thewide-awake appearance of one to whom sleep was a necessary evil, to beendured and gotten over as soon as possible."No, why should I?" And Sylvia turned her face away from the flood oflight that poured into the room as Prue put aside the curtains and flungup the window."Why should you? What a question, unless you are ill; I was afraid youwould suffer for that long row yesterday, and my predictions seldomfail.""I am not suffering from any cause whatever, and your prediction doesfail this time; I am only tired of everybody and everything, and seenothing worth getting up for; so I shall just stay here till I do.Please put the curtain down and leave me in peace."Prue had dropped her voice to the foreboding tone so irritating tonervous persons whether sick or well, and Sylvia laid her arm across hereyes with an impatient gesture as she spoke sharply."Nothing worth getting up for," cried Prue, like an aggravating echo."Why, child, there are a hundred pleasant things to do if you would onlythink so. Now don't be dismal and mope away this lovely day. Get up andtry my plan; have a good breakfast, read the papers, and then work inyour garden before it grows too warm; that is wholesome exercise andyou've neglected it sadly of late.""I don't wish any breakfast; I hate newspapers, they are so full oflies; I'm tired of the garden, for nothing goes right this year; and Idetest taking exercise merely because it's wholesome. No, I'll not getup for that.""Then stay in the house and draw, read, or practise. Sit with Mark inthe studio; give Miss Hemming directions about your summer things, or gointo town about your bonnet. There is a matinée, try that; or makecalls, for you owe fifty at least. Now I'm sure there's employmentenough and amusement enough for any reasonable person."Prue looked triumphant, but Sylvia was not a "reasonable person," andwent on in her former despondingly petulant strain."I'm tired of drawing; my head is a jumble of other people's ideasalready, and Herr Pedalsturm has put the piano out of tune. Mark alwaysmakes a model of me if I go to him, and I don't like to see my eyes,arms, or hair in all his pictures. Miss Hemming's gossip is worse thanfussing over new things that I don't need. Bonnets are my torment, andmatinées are wearisome, for people whisper and flirt till the music isspoiled. Making calls is the worst of all; for what pleasure or profitis there in running from place to place to tell the same polite fibsover and over again, and listen to scandal that makes you pity ordespise your neighbors. I shall not get up for any of these things."Prue leaned on the bedpost meditating with an anxious face till aforlorn hope appeared which caused her to exclaim--"Mark and I are going to see Geoffrey Moor, this morning, just home fromSwitzerland, where his poor sister died, you know. You really ought tocome with us and welcome him, for though you can hardly remember him,he's been so long away, still, as one of the family, it is a propercompliment on your part. The drive will do you good, Geoffrey will beglad to see you, it is a lovely old place, and as you never saw theinside of the house you cannot complain that you are tired of that yet.""Yes I can, for it will never seem as it has done, and I can no longergo where I please now that a master's presence spoils its freedom andsolitude for me. I don't know him, and don't care to, though his name isso familiar. New people always disappoint me, especially if I've heardthem praised ever since I was born. I shall not get up for any GeoffreyMoor, so that bait fails."Sylvia smiled involuntarily at her sister's defeat, but Prue fell backupon her last resource in times like this. With a determined gesture sheplunged her hand into an abysmal pocket, and from a miscellaneouscollection of treasures selected a tiny vial, presenting it to Sylviawith a half pleading, half authoritative look and tone."I'll leave you in peace if you'll only take a dose of chamomilla. It isso soothing, that instead of tiring yourself with all manner of fancies,you'll drop into a quiet sleep, and by noon be ready to get up like acivilized being. Do take it, dear; just four sugar-plums, and I'msatisfied."Sylvia received the bottle with a docile expression; but the next minuteit flew out of the window, to be shivered on the walk below, while shesaid, laughing like a wilful creature as she was--"I have taken it in the only way I ever shall, and the sparrows can tryits soothing effects with me; so be satisfied.""Very well. I shall send for Dr. Baum, for I'm convinced that you aregoing to be ill. I shall say no more, but act as I think proper, becauseit's like talking to the wind to reason with you in one of theseperverse fits."As Prue turned away, Sylvia frowned and called after her--"Spare yourself the trouble, for Dr. Baum will follow the chamomilla, ifyou bring him here. What does he know about health, a fat German,looking lager beer and talking sauer-kraut? Bring me _bona fide_sugar-plums and I'll take them; but arsenic, mercury, and nightshade arenot to my taste.""Would you feel insulted if I ask whether your breakfast is to be sentup, or kept waiting till you choose to come down?"Prue looked rigidly calm, but Sylvia knew that she felt hurt, and withone of the sudden impulses which ruled her the frown melted to a smile,as drawing her sister down she kissed her in her most loving manner."Dear old soul, I'll be good by-and-by, but now I'm tired and cross, solet me keep out of every one's way and drowse myself into a cheerierframe of mind. I want nothing but solitude, a draught of water, and akiss."Prue was mollified at once, and after stirring fussily about for severalminutes gave her sister all she asked, and departed to the myriad smallcares that made her happiness. As the door closed, Sylvia sighed a longsigh of relief, and folding her arms under her head drifted away intothe land of dreams, where ennui is unknown.All the long summer morning she lay wrapt in sleeping and waking dreams,forgetful of the world about her, till her brother played the WeddingMarch upon her door on his way to lunch. The desire to avenge the suddendownfall of a lovely castle in the air roused Sylvia, and sent her downto skirmish with Mark. Before she could say a word, however, Prue beganto talk in a steady stream, for the good soul had a habit of jumblingnews, gossip, private opinions and public affairs into a colloquialhodge-podge, that was often as trying to the intellects as the risiblesof her hearers."Sylvia, we had a charming call, and Geoffrey sent his love to you. Iasked him over to dinner, and we shall dine at six, because then myfather can be with us. I shall have to go to town first, for there are adozen things suffering for attention. You can't wear a round hat andlawn jackets without a particle of set all summer. I want some thingsfor dinner,--and the carpet must be got. What a lovely one Geoffrey hadin the library! Then I must see if poor Mrs. Beck has had her legcomfortably off, find out if Freddy Lennox is dead, and order home themosquito nettings. Now don't read all the afternoon, and be ready toreceive any one who may come if I should get belated."The necessity of disposing of a suspended mouthful produced a lull, andSylvia seized the moment to ask in a careless way, intended to bring herbrother out upon his favorite topic,--"How did you find your saint, Mark?""The same sunshiny soul as ever, though he has had enough to make himold and grave before his time. He is just what we need in ourneighborhood, and particularly in our house, for we are a dismal set attimes, and he will do us all a world of good.""What will become of me, with a pious, prosy, perfect creature eternallyhaunting the house and exhorting me on the error of my ways!" criedSylvia."Don't disturb yourself; he is not likely to take much notice of you;and it is not for an indolent, freakish midge to scoff at a man whom shedoes not know, and couldn't appreciate if she did," was Mark's loftyreply."I rather liked the appearance of the saint, however," said Sylvia, withan expression of naughty malice, as she began her lunch."Why, where did you see him!" exclaimed her brother."I went over there yesterday to take a farewell run in the neglectedgarden before he came. I knew he was expected, but not that he was here;and when I saw the house open, I slipped in and peeped wherever I liked.You are right, Prue; it is a lovely old place.""Now I know you did something dreadfully unladylike and improper. Put meout of suspense, I beg of you."Prue's distressful face and Mark's surprise produced an inspiring effectupon Sylvia, who continued, with an air of demure satisfaction--"I strolled about, enjoying myself, till I got into the library, andthere I rummaged, for it was a charming place, and I was happy as onlythose are who love books, and feel their influence in the silence of aroom whose finest ornaments they are.""I hope Moor came in and found you trespassing.""No, I went out and caught him playing. When I'd stayed as long as Idared, and borrowed a very interesting old book--"Sylvia! did you really take one without asking?" cried Prue, lookingalmost as much alarmed as if she had stolen the spoons."Yes; why not? I can apologize prettily, and it will open the way formore. I intend to browse over that library for the next six months.""But it was such a liberty,--so rude, so--- dear, dear; and he as fondand careful of his books as if they were his children! Well, I wash myhands of it, and am prepared for anything now!"Mark enjoyed Sylvia's pranks too much to reprove, so he only laughedwhile one sister lamented and the other placidly went on--"When I had put the book nicely in my pocket, Prue, I walked into thegarden. But before I'd picked a single flower, I heard little Tillylaugh behind the hedge and some strange voice talking to her. So Ihopped upon a roller to see, and nearly tumbled off again; for there wasa man lying on the grass, with the gardener's children rioting over him.Will was picking his pockets, and Tilly eating strawberries out of hishat, often thrusting one into the mouth of her long neighbor, who alwayssmiled when the little hand came fumbling at his lips. You ought to haveseen the pretty picture, Mark.""Did he see the interesting picture on your side of the wall?""No, I was just thinking what friendly eyes he had, listening to hispleasant talk with the little folks, and watching how they nestled tohim as if he were a girl, when Tilly looked up and cried, 'I seeSilver!' So I ran away, expecting to have them all come racing after.But no one appeared, and I only heard a laugh instead of the 'stopthief' that I deserved.""If I had time I should convince you of the impropriety of such wildactions; as I haven't, I can only implore you never to do so again onGeoffrey's premises," said Prue, rising as the carriage drove round."I can safely promise that," answered Sylvia, with a dismal shake of thehead, as she leaned listlessly from the window till her brother andsister were gone.At the appointed time Moor entered Mr. Yule's hospitably open door; butno one came to meet him, and the house was as silent as if nothing humaninhabited it. He divined the cause of this, having met Prue and Markgoing downward some hours before, and saying to himself, "The boat islate," he disturbed no one, but strolled into the drawing-rooms andlooked about him. Being one of those who seldom find time heavy on theirhands, he amused himself with observing what changes had been madeduring his absence. His journey round the apartments was not a long one,for, coming to an open window, he paused with an expression of mingledwonder and amusement.A pile of cushions, pulled from chair and sofa, lay before the longwindow, looking very like a newly deserted nest. A warm-hued picturelifted from the wall stood in a streak of sunshine; a half-cleared leafof fruit lay on a taboret, and beside it, with a red stain on itstitle-page, appeared the stolen book. At sight of this Moor frowned,caught up his desecrated darling and put it in his pocket. But as hetook another glance at the various indications of what had evidentlybeen a solitary revel very much after his own heart, he relented, laidback the book, and, putting aside the curtain floating in the wind,looked out into the garden, attracted thither by the sound of a spade.A lad was at work near by, and wondering what new inmate the house hadgained, the neglected guest waited to catch a glimpse of the unknownface. A slender boy, in a foreign-looking blouse of grey linen; a whitecollar lay over a ribbon at the throat, stout half boots covered a trimpair of feet, and a broad-brimmed hat flapped low on the forehead.Whistling softly he dug with active gestures; and, having made thenecessary cavity, set a shrub, filled up the hole, trod it downscientifically, and then fell back to survey the success of his labors.But something was amiss, something had been forgotten, for suddenly upcame the shrub, and seizing a wheelbarrow that stood near by, awayrattled the boy round the corner out of sight. Moor smiled at hisimpetuosity, and awaited his return with interest, suspecting fromappearances that this was some _protégé_ of Mark's employed as a modelas well as gardener's boy.Presently up the path came the lad, with head down and steady pace,trundling a barrow full of richer earth, surmounted by a watering-pot.Never stopping for breath he fell to work again, enlarged the hole,flung in the loam, poured in the water, reset the shrub, and when thelast stamp and pat were given performed a little dance of triumph aboutit, at the close of which he pulled off his hat and began to fan hisheated face. The action caused the observer to start and look again,thinking, as he recognized the energetic worker with a smile, "What achangeful thing it is! haunting one's premises unseen, and stealingone's books unsuspected; dreaming one half the day and masquerading theother half. What will happen next? Let us see but not be seen, lest theboy turn shy and run away before the pretty play is done!"Holding the curtain between the window and himself, Moor peeped throughthe semi-transparent screen, enjoying the little episode immensely.Sylvia fanned and rested a few minutes, then went up and down among theflowers, often pausing to break a dead leaf, to brush away some harmfulinsect, or lift some struggling plant into the light; moving among themas if akin to them, and cognizant of their sweet wants. If she hadseemed strong-armed and sturdy as a boy before, now she was tenderfingered as a woman, and went humming here and there like anyhappy-hearted bee."Curious child!" thought Moor, watching the sunshine glitter on heruncovered head, and listening to the air she left half sung. "I've agreat desire to step out and see how she will receive me. Not like anyother girl, I fancy."But, before he could execute his design, the roll of a carriage washeard in the avenue, and pausing an instant, with head erect like astartled doe, Sylvia turned and vanished, dropping flowers as she ran.Mr. Yule, accompanied by his son and daughter, came hurrying in withgreetings, explanations, and apologies, and in a moment the house wasfull of a pleasant stir. Steps went up and down, voices echoed throughthe rooms, savory odors burst forth from below, and doors swung in thewind, as if the spell was broken and the sleeping palace had wakenedwith a word.Prue made a hasty toilet and harassed the cook to the verge ofspontaneous combustion, while Mark and his father devoted themselves totheir guest. Just as dinner was announced Sylvia came in, as calm andcool as if wheelbarrows were myths and linen suits unknown. Moor waswelcomed with a quiet hand-shake, a grave salutation, and a look thatseemed to say, "Wait a little, I take no friends on trust."All through dinner, though she sat as silent as a well-bred child, shelooked and listened with an expression of keen intelligence thatchildren do not wear, and sometimes smiled to herself, as if she saw orheard something that pleased and interested her. When they rose fromtable she followed Prue up stairs, quite forgetting the disarray inwhich the drawing-room was left. The gentlemen took possession beforeeither sister returned, and Mark's annoyance found vent in a philippicagainst oddities in general and Sylvia in particular; but his father andfriend sat in the cushionless chairs, and pronounced the scene amusinglynovel. Prue appeared in the midst of the laugh, and having discoveredother delinquencies above, her patience was exhausted, and her regretsfound no check in the presence of so old a friend as Moor."Something must be done about that child, father, for she is gettingentirely beyond my control. If I attempt to make her study she writespoetry instead of her exercises, draws caricatures instead of sketchingproperly, and bewilders her music teacher by asking questions aboutBeethoven and Mendelssohn, as if they were personal friends of his. If Ibeg her to take exercise, she rides like an Amazon all over the Island,grubs in the garden as if for her living, or goes paddling about the baytill I'm distracted lest the tide should carry her out to sea. She is sowanting in moderation she gets ill, and when I give her proper medicinesshe flings them out of the window, and threatens to send that worthy,Dr. Baum, after them. Yet she must need something to set her right, forshe is either overflowing with unnatural spirits or melancholy enoughto break one's heart.""What have you done with the little black sheep of my flock,--notbanished her, I hope?" said Mr. Yule, placidly, ignoring all complaints."She is in the garden, attending to some of her disagreeable pets, Ifancy. If you are going out there to smoke, please send her in, Mark; Iwant her."As Mr. Yule was evidently yearning for his after-dinner nap, and Markfor his cigar, Moor followed his friend, and they stepped through thewindow into the garden, now lovely with the fading glow of summersunset."You must know that this peculiar little sister of mine clings to someof her childish beliefs and pleasures in spite of Prue's preaching andmy raillery," began Mark, after a refreshing whiff or two. "She isoverflowing with love and good will, but being too shy or too proud tooffer it to her fellow-creatures, she expends it upon the necessitousinhabitants of earth, air, and water with the most charmingphilanthropy. Her dependants are neither beautiful nor very interesting,nor is she sentimentally enamored of them; but the more ugly anddesolate the creature, the more devoted is she. Look at her now; mostyoung ladies would have hysterics over any one of those pets of hers."Moor looked, and thought the group a very pretty one, though a plumptoad sat at Sylvia's feet, a roly-poly caterpillar was walking up hersleeve, a blind bird chirped on her shoulder, bees buzzed harmlesslyabout her head, as if they mistook her for a flower, and in her hand alittle field mouse was breathing its short life away. Any tender-heartedgirl might have stood thus surrounded by helpless things that pity hadendeared, but few would have regarded them with an expression like thatwhich Sylvia wore. Figure, posture, and employment were so childlike intheir innocent unconsciousness, that the contrast was all the morestrongly marked between them and the sweet thoughtfulness that made herface singularly attractive with the charm of dawning womanhood. Moorspoke before Mark could dispose of his smoke."This is a great improvement upon the boudoir full of lap-dogs,worsted-work and novels, Miss Sylvia. May I ask if you feel norepugnance to some of your patients; or is your charity strong enough tobeautify them all?""I dislike many people, but few animals, because however ugly I pitythem, and whatever I pity I am sure to love. It may be silly, but Ithink it does me good; and till I am wise enough to help myfellow-beings, I try to do my duty to these humbler sufferers, and findthem both grateful and affectionate."There was something very winning in the girl's manner as she spoke,touching the little creature in her hand almost as tenderly as if it hadbeen a child. It showed the newcomer another phase of this many-sidedcharacter; and while Sylvia related the histories of her pets at hisrequest, he was enjoying that finer history which every ingenuous soulwrites on its owner's countenance for gifted eyes to read and love. Asshe paused, the little mouse lay stark and still in her gentle hand; andthough they smiled at themselves, both young men felt like boys again asthey helped her scoop a grave among the pansies, owning the beauty ofcompassion, though she showed it to them in such a simple shape.Then Mark delivered his message, and Sylvia went away to receive Prue'slecture, with outward meekness, but such an absent mind that the wordsof wisdom went by her like the wind."Now come and take our twilight stroll, while Mark keeps Mr. Moor in thestudio and Prue prepares another exhortation," said Sylvia, as herfather woke, and taking his arm, they paced along the wide piazza thatencircled the whole house."Will father do me a little favor?""That is all he lives for, dear.""Then his life is a very successful one;" and the girl folded her otherhand over that already on his arm. Mr. Yule shook his head with aregretful sigh, but asked benignly--"What shall I do for my little daughter?""Forbid Mark to execute a plot with which he threatens me. He says hewill bring every gentleman he knows (and that is a great many) to thehouse, and make it so agreeable that they will keep coming; for heinsists that I need amusement, and nothing will be so entertaining as alover or two. Please tell him not to, for I don't want any lovers yet.""Why not?" asked her father, much amused at her twilight confidences."I'm afraid. Love is so cruel to some people, I feel as if it would beto me, for I am always in extremes, and continually going wrong whiletrying to go right. Love bewilders the wisest, and it would make mequite blind or mad, I know; therefore I'd rather have nothing to do withit, for a long, long while.""Then Mark shall be forbidden to bring a single specimen. I very muchprefer to keep you as you are. And yet you may be happier to do asothers do; try it, if you like, my dear.""But I can't do as others do; I've tried, and failed. Last winter, whenPrue made me go about, though people probably thought me a stupid littlething, moping in corners, I was enjoying myself in my own way, andmaking discoveries that have been very useful ever since. I know I'mwhimsical, and hard to please, and have no doubt the fault was inmyself, but I was disappointed in nearly every one I met, though I wentinto what Prue calls 'our best society.' The girls seemed all made onthe same pattern; they all said, did, thought, and wore about the samethings, and knowing one was as good as knowing a dozen. Jessie Hope wasthe only one I cared much for, and she is so pretty, she seems made tobe looked at and loved.""How did you find the young gentlemen, Sylvia?""Still worse; for, though lively enough among themselves they neverfound it worth their while to offer us any conversation but such as wasvery like the champagne and ice-cream they brought us,--sparkling,sweet, and unsubstantial. Almost all of them wore the superior air theyput on before women, an air that says as plainly as words, 'I may askyou and I may not.' Now that is very exasperating to those who care nomore for them than so many grasshoppers, and I often longed to take theconceit out of them by telling some of the criticisms passed upon themby the amiable young ladies who looked as if waiting to say meekly,'Yes, thank you.'""Don't excite yourself, my dear; it is all very lamentable andlaughable, but we must submit till the world learns better. There areoften excellent young persons among the 'grasshoppers,' and if you caredto look you might find a pleasant friend here and there," said Mr.Yule, leaning a little toward his son's view of the matter."No, I cannot even do that without being laughed at; for no sooner do Imention the word friendship than people nod wisely and look as if theysaid, 'Oh, yes, every one knows what that sort of thing amounts to.' Ishould like a friend, father; some one beyond home, because he would benewer; a man (old or young, I don't care which), because men go wherethey like, see things with their own eyes, and have more to tell if theychoose. I want a person simple, wise, and entertaining; and I think Ishould make a very grateful friend if such an one was kind enough tolike me.""I think you would, and perhaps if you try to be more like others youwill find friends as they do, and so be happy, Sylvia.""I cannot be like others, and their friendships would not satisfy me. Idon't try to be odd; I long to be quiet and satisfied, but I cannot; andwhen I do what Prue calls wild things, it is not because I amthoughtless or idle, but because I am trying to be good and happy. Theold ways fail, so I attempt new ones, hoping they will succeed; but theydon't, and I still go looking and longing for happiness, yet alwaysfailing to find it, till sometimes I think I am a born disappointment.""Perhaps love would bring the happiness, my dear?""I'm afraid not; but, however that may be, I shall never go runningabout for a lover as half my mates do. When the true one comes I shallknow him, love him at once, and cling to him forever, no matter what mayhappen. Till then I want a friend, and I will find one if I can. Don'tyou believe there may be real and simple friendships between men andwomen without falling into this everlasting sea of love?"Mr. Yule was laughing quietly under cover of the darkness, but composedhimself to answer gravely--"Yes, for some of the most beautiful and famous friendships have beensuch, and I see no reason why there may not be again. Look about,Sylvia, make yourself happy; and, whether you find friend or lover,remember there is always the old Papa glad to do his best for you inboth capacities."Sylvia's hand crept to her father's shoulder, and her voice was full ofdaughterly affection, as she said--"I'll have no lover but 'the old Papa' for a long while yet. But I willlook about, and if I am fortunate enough to find and good enough to keepthe person I want, I shall be very happy; for, father, I really think Ineed a friend."Here Mark called his sister in to sing to them, a demand that would havebeen refused but for a promise to Prue to behave her best as anatonement for past pranks. Stepping in she sat down and gave Mooranother surprise, as from her slender throat there came a voice whosepower and pathos made a tragedy of the simple ballad she was singing."Why did you choose that plaintive thing, all about love, despair, anddeath? It quite breaks one's heart to hear it," said Prue, pausing in amental estimate of her morning's shopping."It came into my head, and so I sung it. Now I'll try another, for I ambound to please you--if I can." And she broke out again with an airymelody as jubilant as if a lark had mistaken moonlight for the dawn andsoared skyward, singing as it went. So blithe and beautiful were bothvoice and song they caused a sigh of pleasure, a sensation of keendelight in the listener, and seemed to gift the singer with anunsuspected charm. As she ended Sylvia turned about, and seeing thesatisfaction of their guest in his face, prevented him from expressingit in words by saying, in her frank way--"Never mind the compliments. I know my voice is good, for that you maythank nature; that it is well trained, for that praise Herr Pedalsturm;and that you have heard it at all, you owe to my desire to atone forcertain trespasses of yesterday and to-day, because I seldom sing beforestrangers.""Allow me to offer my hearty thanks to Nature, Pedalsturm, andPenitence, and also to hope that in time I may be regarded, not as astranger, but a neighbor and a friend."Something in the gentle emphasis of the last word struck pleasantly onthe girl's ear, and seemed to answer an unspoken longing. She looked upat him with a searching glance, appeared to find some 'assurance givenby looks,' and as a smile broke over her face she offered her hand as ifobeying a sudden impulse, and said, half to him, half to herself--"I think I have found the friend already."