delight. Drums throbbed, and her heart quickened. The sky had never been so lighted; the trees hardly moved in the silence except at the tops, where they were illuminated and touched with fluttering gilt. The still facades of the houses across the wide street dreamed in the sun, spangled with the shadows of leaves. The sleeping lawns twinkled, for they had been recently hosed. The scent of water from the river came to Ellen, fresh and exciting. The sawmills were silent. All was peace. There was no grinding of phonographs, no beating of mechanical pianos. Ellen knew the precious surcease from all that was ugly and discordant. She did not as yet know the meaning of harmony, but she felt it.
She went back into the gardens, where she had never been permitted to go before, and marveled and rejoiced at the multitude of tumescent flowers. She saw their color, their succulent stems, their glistening leaves. There were white and pink low borders enclosing summer lilies the color of oranges, and rose beds, and the last iris in tints of copper and purple, and long pink and white sheaves of gladioli, and coral bells and a low tree covered with huge red flowers. There were birches and spruces and maples and vaulted elms. She sat down in shade and leaned her body against a trunk and it seemed to her that she could feel a mystic life flowing into her own from the contact. Fido, from the door of his kennel, panted and looked at her with disfavor, and barked once. Sighing with a surfeit of pleasure and content, she dozed, the sweetness of breezes cooling her face. Her hair moved and was touched with fire. Her sore hands lay simply and in childish relaxation in her lap. She did not know that she was the most beautiful thing in that garden and that she looked like a sleeping nymph. Drowsy birds in the tree peered down at her and questioned. Bees blew about her and one lighted on her hair for a moment. A white butterfly came to rest on her knee, raising and dropping its wings.
It was there that Jeremy Porter found her. When he had discovered the house empty he remembered that his family went to the park on the Fourth of July and after refreshing himself with his father’s whiskey—the Mayor was a strenuous teetotaler in public—he wandered out into the garden. He had expected it to be deserted also. He was interested to see the distant flutter of a light dress near a tree and he went to investigate. He came upon the sleeping Ellen and stood and gazed and could not believe it.
The sun was sloping to the west and still Ellen slept, dreaming of another garden she had never seen, and a waiting, a waiting compounded of happiness and deep yearning, a scented misty garden with no borders, and groves of trees pearly-clouded with evening. She heard a bird singing poignantly and knew it for a nightingale, though she had never heard one before. She lifted her dreaming eves to the opalescent sky and sighed deeply and with felicity. Her apricot-flushed lips curved and smiled, the smile of a woman and not of a child.
Good God, thought Jeremy, where did this beauty come from? Who is she? He approached her nearer, and saw the whiteness of her throat and her arms, the perfect contour of her face, the flood of red hair which seemed to possess a life of its own, for it appeared to breathe, fluttering a little, moving. Jeremy studied that dreaming face, and he saw the intelligence in it, the profound innocence and peace. Not more than sixteen, he thought, and the loveliest thing I have ever seen. He studied her more acutely, and saw the blistered and calloused hands, the long slender hands with their broken nails, and then he knew that this must be the new housemaid who had replaced Alice.
Cautiously, he lit a cigarette and stood smoking and delighting his eyes. The soft and nubile breast rose and fell slowly; the lax legs were beautifully formed and were outlined under the dress which was too small and was almost ragged. Ellen had removed her shoes to rest
She went back into the gardens, where she had never been permitted to go before, and marveled and rejoiced at the multitude of tumescent flowers. She saw their color, their succulent stems, their glistening leaves. There were white and pink low borders enclosing summer lilies the color of oranges, and rose beds, and the last iris in tints of copper and purple, and long pink and white sheaves of gladioli, and coral bells and a low tree covered with huge red flowers. There were birches and spruces and maples and vaulted elms. She sat down in shade and leaned her body against a trunk and it seemed to her that she could feel a mystic life flowing into her own from the contact. Fido, from the door of his kennel, panted and looked at her with disfavor, and barked once. Sighing with a surfeit of pleasure and content, she dozed, the sweetness of breezes cooling her face. Her hair moved and was touched with fire. Her sore hands lay simply and in childish relaxation in her lap. She did not know that she was the most beautiful thing in that garden and that she looked like a sleeping nymph. Drowsy birds in the tree peered down at her and questioned. Bees blew about her and one lighted on her hair for a moment. A white butterfly came to rest on her knee, raising and dropping its wings.
It was there that Jeremy Porter found her. When he had discovered the house empty he remembered that his family went to the park on the Fourth of July and after refreshing himself with his father’s whiskey—the Mayor was a strenuous teetotaler in public—he wandered out into the garden. He had expected it to be deserted also. He was interested to see the distant flutter of a light dress near a tree and he went to investigate. He came upon the sleeping Ellen and stood and gazed and could not believe it.
The sun was sloping to the west and still Ellen slept, dreaming of another garden she had never seen, and a waiting, a waiting compounded of happiness and deep yearning, a scented misty garden with no borders, and groves of trees pearly-clouded with evening. She heard a bird singing poignantly and knew it for a nightingale, though she had never heard one before. She lifted her dreaming eves to the opalescent sky and sighed deeply and with felicity. Her apricot-flushed lips curved and smiled, the smile of a woman and not of a child.
Good God, thought Jeremy, where did this beauty come from? Who is she? He approached her nearer, and saw the whiteness of her throat and her arms, the perfect contour of her face, the flood of red hair which seemed to possess a life of its own, for it appeared to breathe, fluttering a little, moving. Jeremy studied that dreaming face, and he saw the intelligence in it, the profound innocence and peace. Not more than sixteen, he thought, and the loveliest thing I have ever seen. He studied her more acutely, and saw the blistered and calloused hands, the long slender hands with their broken nails, and then he knew that this must be the new housemaid who had replaced Alice.
Cautiously, he lit a cigarette and stood smoking and delighting his eyes. The soft and nubile breast rose and fell slowly; the lax legs were beautifully formed and were outlined under the dress which was too small and was almost ragged. Ellen had removed her shoes to rest
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