the little white bird-第5部分

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art。　　〃The　difficulty；〃　she　said；　〃is　not　to　paint　pictures；　but

to　get　frames　for　them。〃　　A　home　thrust　this。



She　could　not　honestly　say　that　she　thought　much　of　her　master's

work。　　Nor；　apparently；　did　any　other　person。　　Result；　tinned

meats。



Yes；　one　person　thought　a　deal　of　it；　or　pretended　to　do　so；　was

constantly　flinging　up　her　hands　in　delight　over　it；　had　even

been　caught　whispering　fiercely　to　a　friend；　〃Praise　it；　praise

it；　praise　it！〃　　This　was　when　the　painter　was　sunk　in　gloom。　

Never；　as　I　could　well　believe；　was　such　a　one　as　Mary　for　luring

a　man　back　to　cheerfulness。



〃A　dangerous　woman；〃　I　said；　with　a　shudder；　and　fell　to

examining　a　painting　over　the　mantel…shelf。　　It　was　a　portrait　of

a　man；　and　had　impressed　me　favourably　because　it　was　framed。



〃A　friend　of　hers；〃　my　guide　informed　me；　〃but　I　never　seed　him。〃



I　would　have　turned　away　from　it；　had　not　an　inscription　on　the

picture　drawn　me　nearer。　　It　was　in　a　lady's　handwriting；　and

these　were　the　words：　〃Fancy　portrait　of　our　dear　unknown。〃　

Could　it　be　meant　for　me？　　I　cannot　tell　you　how　interested　I

suddenly　became。



It　represented　a　very　fine　looking　fellow；　indeed；　and　not　a　day

more　than　thirty。



〃A　friend　of　hers；　ma'am；　did　you　say？〃　I　asked　quite　shakily。

〃How　do　you　know　that；　if　you　have　never　seen　him？〃



〃When　master　was　painting　of　it；〃　she　said；　〃in　the　studio；　he

used　to　come　running　in　here　to　say　to　her　such　like　as；　'What


colour　would　you　make　his　eyes？'〃



〃And　her　reply；　ma'am？〃　I　asked　eagerly。



〃She　said；　'Beautiful　blue　eyes。'　　And　he　said；　'You　wouldn't

make　it　a　handsome　face；　would　you？'　and　she　says；　'A　very

handsome　face。'　　And　says　he；　'Middle…aged？'　and　says　she；

'Twenty…nine。'　And　I　mind　him　saying；　'A　little　bald　on　the　top？'

and　she　says；　says　she；　'Not　at　all。'〃



The　dear；　grateful　girl；　not　to　make　me　bald　on　the　top。



〃I　have　seed　her　kiss　her　hand　to　that　picture；〃　said　the　maid。



Fancy　Mary　kissing　her　hand　to　me！　　Oh；　the　pretty　love！



Pooh！



I　was　staring　at　the　picture；　cogitating　what　insulting　message　I

could　write　on　it；　when　I　heard　the　woman's　voice　again。　　〃I

think　she　has　known　him　since　she　were　a　babby；〃　she　was　saying；

〃for　this　here　was　a　present　he　give　her。〃



She　was　on　her　knees　drawing　the　doll's　house　from　beneath　the

sofa；　where　it　had　been　hidden　away；　and　immediately　I　thought；

〃I　shall　slip　the　insulting　message　into　this。〃　　But　I　did　not；

and　I　shall　tell　you　why。　　It　was　because　the　engaging　toy　had

been　redecorated　by　loving　hands；　there　were　fresh　gowns　for　all

the　inhabitants；　and　the　paint　on　the　furniture　was　scarcely　dry。

　The　little　doll's　house　was　almost　ready　for　further　use。



I　looked　at　the　maid；　but　her　face　was　expressionless。　　〃Put　it

back；〃　I　said；　ashamed　to　have　surprised　Mary's　pretty　secret；

and　I　left　the　house　dejectedly；　with　a　profound　conviction　that

the　little　nursery　governess　had　hooked　on　to　me　again。





IV



A　Night…Piece



There　came　a　night　when　the　husband　was　alone　in　that　street

waiting。　　He　can　do　nothing　for　you　now；　little　nursery

governess；　you　must　fight　it　out　by　yourself；　when　there　are

great　things　to　do　in　the　house　the　man　must　leave。　　Oh；　man；

selfish；　indelicate；　coarse…grained　at　the　best；　thy　woman's　hour

has　come；　get　thee　gone。



He　slouches　from　the　house；　always　her　true　lover　I　do　believe；

chivalrous；　brave；　a　boy　until　to…night；　but　was　he　ever　unkind

to　her？　　It　is　the　unpardonable　sin　now；　is　there　the　memory　of

an　unkindness　to　stalk　the　street　with　him　to…night？　　And　if　not

an　unkindness；　still　might　he　not　sometimes　have　been　a　little

kinder？



Shall　we　make　a　new　rule　of　life　from　tonight：　always　to　try　to

be　a　little　kinder　than　is　necessary？



Poor　youth；　she　would　come　to　the　window　if　she　were　able；　I　am

sure；　to　sign　that　the　one　little　unkindness　is　long　forgotten；

to　send　you　a　reassuring　smile　till　you　and　she　meet　again；　and；

if　you　are　not　to　meet　again；　still　to　send　you　a　reassuring；

trembling　smile。



Ah；　no；　that　was　for　yesterday；　it　is　too　late　now。　　He　wanders

the　streets　thinking　of　her　tonight；　but　she　has　forgotten　him。

In　her　great　hour　the　man　is　nothing　to　the　woman；　their　love　is

trivial　now。



He　and　I　were　on　opposite　sides　of　the　street；　now　become

familiar　ground　to　both　of　us；　and　divers　pictures　rose　before　me

in　which　Mary　A　walked。　　Here　was　the　morning　after　my　only

entry　into　her　house。　　The　agent　had　promised　me　to　have　the

obnoxious　notice…board　removed；　but　I　apprehended　that　as　soon　as

the　letter　announcing　his　intention　reached　her　she　would　remove

it　herself；　and　when　I　passed　by　in　the　morning　there　she　was　on

a　chair　and　a　foot…stool　pounding　lustily　at　it　with　a　hammer。　

When　it　fell　she　gave　it　such　a　vicious　little　kick。



There　were　the　nights　when　her　husband　came　out　to　watch　for　the

postman。　　I　suppose　he　was　awaiting　some　letter　big　with　the　fate

of　a　picture。　　He　dogged　the　postman　from　door　to　door　like　an

assassin　or　a　guardian　angel；　never　had　he　the　courage　to　ask　if

there　was　a　letter　for　him；　but　almost　as　it　fell　into　the　box　he

had　it　out　and　tore　it　open；　and　then　if　the　door　closed

despairingly　the　woman　who　had　been　at　the　window　all　this　time

pressed　her　hand　to　her　heart。　　But　if　the　news　was　good　they

might　emerge　presently　and　strut　off　arm　in　arm　in　the　direction

of　the　pork　emporium。



One　last　picture。　　On　summer　evenings　I　had　caught　glimpses　of

them　through　the　open　window；　when　she　sat　at　the　piano　singing

and　playing　to　him。　　Or　while　she　played　with　one　hand；　she　flung

out　the　other　for　him　to　grasp。　　She　was　so　joyously　happy；　and

she　had　such　a　romantic　mind。　　I　conceived　her　so　sympathetic

that　she　always　laughed　before　he　came　to　the　joke；　and　I　am　sure

she　had　filmy　eyes　from　the　very　start　of　a　pathetic　story。



And　so；　laughing　and　crying；　and　haunted　by　whispers；　the　little

nursery　governess　had　gradually　become　another　woman；　glorified；

mysterious。　　I　suppose　a　man　soon　becomes　used　to　the　great

change；　and　cannot　recall　a　time　when　there　were　no　babes

sprawling　in　his　Mary's　face。



I　am　trying　to　conceive　what　were　the　thoughts　of　the　young

husband　on　the　other　side　of　the　street。　　〃If　the　barrier　is　to

be　crossed　to…night　may　I　not　go　with　her？　　She　is　not　so　brave

as　you　think　her。　　When　she　talked　so　gaily　a　few　hours　ago；　O　my

God；　did　she　deceive　even　you？〃



Plain　questions　to…night。　　〃Why　should　it　all　fall　on　her？　　What

is　the　man　that　he　should　be　flung　out　into　the　street　in　this

terrible　hour？　　You　have　not　been　fair　to　the　man。〃



Poor　boy；　his　wife　has　quite　forgotten　him　and　his　trumpery　love。

If　she　lives　she　will　come　back　to　him；　but　if　she　dies　she　will

die　triumphant　and　serene。　　Life　and　death；　the　child　and　the

mother；　are　ever　meeting　as　the　one　draws　into　harbour　and　the

other　sets　sail。　　They　exchange　a　bright　〃All's　well〃　and　pass

on。



But　afterward？



The　only　ghosts；　I　believe；　who　creep　into　this　world；　are　dead

young　mothers；　returned　to　see　how　their　children　fare。　　There　is

no　other　inducement　great　enough　to　bring　the　departed　back。　

They　glide　into　the　acquainted　room　when　day　and　night；　their

jailers；　are　in　the　grip；　and　whisper；　〃How　is　it　with　you；　my

child？〃　but　always；　lest　a　strange　face　should　frighten　him；　they

whisper　it　so　low　that　he　may　not　hear。　　They　bend　over　him　to

see　that　he　sleeps　peacefully；　and　replace　his　sweet　arm　beneath

the　coverlet；　and　they　open　the　drawers　to　count　how　many　little

vests　he　has。　　They　love　to　do　these　things。



What　is　saddest　about　ghosts　is　that　they　may　not　know　their

child。　　They　expect　him　to　be　just　as　he　was　when　they　left　him；

and　they　are　easily　bewildered；　and　search　for　him　from　room　to

room；　and　hate　the　unknown　boy　he　has　become。　　Poor；　passionate

souls；　they　may　even　do　him　an　injury。　　These　are　the　ghosts　that

go　wailing　about　old　houses；　and　foolish　wild　stories　are

invented　to　explain　what　is　all　so　pathetic　and　simple。　　I　know

of　a　man　who；　after　wandering　far；　returned　to　his　early　home　to

pass　the　evening　of　his　days　in　it；　and　sometimes　from　his　chair

by　the　fire　he　saw　the　door　open　softly　and　a　woman's　face

appear。　　She　always　looked　at　him　very　vindictively；　and　then

vanished。　Strange　things　happened　in　this　house。　　Windows　were

opened　in　the　night。　　The　curtains　of　his　bed　were　set　fire　to。　

A　step　on　the　stair　was　loosened。　　The　covering　of　an　old　well　in

a　corridor　where　he　walked　was　cunningly　removed。　　And　when　he

fell　ill　the　wrong　potion　was　put　in　the　glass　by　his　bedside；

and　he　died。　How　could　the　pretty　young　mother　know　that　this

grizzled　interloper　was　the　child　of　whom　she　was　in　search？



All　our　notions　about　ghosts　are　wrong。　　It　is　nothing　so　petty

as　lost　wills　or　deeds　of　violence　that　brings　them　back；　and　we

are　not　nearly　so　afraid　of　them　as　they　are　of　us。



One　by　one　the　lights　of　the　street　went　out；　but　still　a　lamp

burned　steadily　in　the　little　window　across　the　way。　　I　know　not

how　it　happened；　whether　I　had　crossed　first　to　him　or　he　to　me；

but；　after　being　for　a　long　time　as　the　echo　of　each　other's

steps；　we　were　together　now。　　I　can　have　had　no　desire　to　deceive

him；　but　some　reason　was　needed　to　account　for　my　vigil；　and　I

may　have　said　something　that　he　misconstrued；　for　above　my　words

he　was　always　listening　for　other　sounds。　　But　however　it　came

about　he　had　conceived　the　idea　that　I　was　an　outcast　for　a

reason　similar　to　his　own；　and　I　let　his　mistake　pass；　it　seemed

to　matter　so　little　and　to　draw　us　together　so　naturally。　　We

talked　together　of　many　things；　such　as　worldly　ambition。　　For

long　ambition　has　been　like　an　ancient　memory　to　me；　some

glorious　day　recalled　from　my　springtime；　so　much　a　thing　of　the

past　that　I　must　make