"How?"

"Well, I was in my bare feet after I got undressed--before you came up-stairs--mamma, an' I was kind of walkin' around in the hall--"

"You shouldn't do that, Jane."

"No'm. An' I heard Willie say somep'm kind of to himself, or like deckamation. He was inside his room, but the door wasn't quite shut. He started out once, but he went back for somep'm an' forgot to, I guess.

Anyway, I thought I better look an' see what was goin' on, mamma. So I just kind of peeked in--"

"But you shouldn't do that, dear," Mrs. Baxter said, musingly. "It isn't really quite honorable."

"No'm. Well, what you think he was doin'?" (Here Jane's voice betrayed excitement and so did her eyes.) "He was standin' up there in papa's clo'es before the lookin'-gla.s.s, an' first he'd lean his head over on one side, an' then he'd lean it over on the other side, an' then he'd bark, mamma."

"He'd what?"

"Yes'm!" said Jane. "He'd give a little, teeny BARK, mamma--kind of like a puppy, mamma."

"What?" cried Mrs. Baxter.

"Yes'm, he did!" Jane a.s.serted. "He did it four or five times. First he'd lean his head way over on his shoulder like this--look, mamma!--an'

then he'd lean it way over the other shoulder, an' every time he'd do it he'd bark. 'Berp-werp!' he'd say, mamma, just like that, only not loud at all. He said, 'Berp-werp! BERP-WERP-WERP!' You could tell he meant it for barkin', but it wasn't very good, mamma. What you think he meant, mamma?"

"Heaven knows!" murmured the astonished mother.

"An' then," Jane continued, "he quit barkin' all of a sudden, an' didn't lean his head over any more, an' commenced actin' kind of solemn, an'

kind of whispered to himself. I think he was kind of pretendin' he was talkin' to Miss Pratt, or at a party, maybe. Anyways, he spoke out loud after while not just exactly LOUD, I mean, but anyway so's 't I could hear what he said. Mamma--he said, 'Oh, my baby-talk lady!' just like that, mamma. Listen, mamma, here's the way he said it: 'Oh, my baby-talk lady!'"

Jane's voice, in this impersonation, became sufficiently soft and tremulous to give Mrs. Baxter a fair idea of the tender yearning of the original. "'OH, MY BABY-TALK LADY!'" cooed the terrible Jane.

"Mercy!" Mrs. Baxter exclaimed. "Perhaps it's no wonder Mr. Parcher--"

She broke off abruptly, then inquired, "What did he do next, Jane?"

"Next," said Jane, "he put the light out, an' I had to--well, I just waited kind of squeeged up against the wall, an' he never saw me. He went on out to the back stairs, an' went down the stairs tiptoe, mamma.

You know what I think, mamma? I think he goes out that way an' through the kitchen on account of papa's clo'es."

Mrs. Baxter paused, with her hand upon the key of the shaded electric lamp. "I suppose so," she said. "I think perhaps--" For a moment or two she wrapped herself in thought. "Perhaps"--she repeated, musingly--"perhaps we'll keep this just a secret between you and me for a little while, Jane, and not say anything to papa about the clothes. I don't think it will hurt them, and I suppose Willie feels they give him a great advantage over the other boys--and papa uses them so very little, especially since he's grown a wee bit stouter. Yes, it will be our secret, Jane. We'll think it over till to-morrow."

"Yes'm."

Mrs. Baxter turned out the light, then came and kissed Jane in the dark.

"Good night, dear."

"G' night, mamma." But as Mrs. Baxter reached the door Jane's voice was heard again.

"Mamma?"

"Yes?" Mrs. Baxter paused.

"Mamma," Jane said, slowly, "I think--I think Mr. Parcher is a very nice man. Mamma?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Mamma, what do you s'pose Willie barked at the lookin'-gla.s.s for?"

"That," said Mrs. Baxter, "is beyond me. Young people and children do the strangest things, Jane! And then, when they get to be middle-aged, they forget all those strange things they did, and they can't understand what the new young people--like you and Willie mean by the strange things THEY do."

"Yes'm. I bet _I_ know what he was barkin' for, mamma."

"Well?"

"You know what I think? I think he was kind of practisin'. I think he was practisin' how to bark at Mr. Parcher."

"No, no!" Mrs. Baxter laughed. "Who ever could think of such a thing but you, Jane! You go to sleep and forget your nonsense!"

Nevertheless, Jane might almost have been gifted with clairvoyance, her preposterous idea came so close to the actual fact, for at that very moment William was barking. He was not barking directly at Mr. Parcher, it is true, but within a short distance of him and all too well within his hearing.

X

MR. PARCHER AND LOVE

Mr. Parcher, that unhappy gentleman, having been driven indoors from his own porch, had attempted to read Plutarch's Lives in the library, but, owing to the adjacency of the porch and the summer necessity for open windows, his escape spared only his eyes and not his suffering ears. The house was small, being but half of a double one, with small rooms, and the "parlor," library, and dining-room all about equally exposed to the porch which ran along the side of the house. Mr. Parcher had no refuge except bed or the kitchen, and as he was troubled with chronic insomnia, and the cook had callers in the kitchen, his case was desperate. Most unfortunately, too, his reading-lamp, the only one in the house, was a fixture near a window, and just beyond that window sat Miss Pratt and William in sweet unconsciousness, while Miss Parcher entertained the overflow (consisting of Mr. Johnnie Watson) at the other end of the porch. Listening perforce to the conversation of the former couple though "conversation" is far from the expression later used by Mr.

Parcher to describe what he heard--he found it impossible to sit still in his chair. He jerked and twitched with continually increasing restlessness; sometimes he gasped, and other times he moaned a little, and there were times when he muttered huskily.

"Oh, cute-ums!" came the silvery voice of Miss Pratt from the likewise silvery porch outside, underneath the summer moon. "Darlin' Flopit, look! Ickle boy Baxter goin' make imitations of darlin' Flopit again.

See! Ickle boy Baxter puts head one side, then other side, just like darlin' Flopit. Then barks just like darlin' Flopit! Ladies and 'entlemen, imitations of darlin' Flopit by ickle boy Baxter."

"Berp-werp! Berp-werp!" came the voice of William Sylva.n.u.s Baxter.

And in the library Plutarch's Lives moved convulsively, while with writhing lips Mr. Parcher muttered to himself.

"More, more!" cried Miss Pratt, clapping her hands. "Do it again, ickle boy Baxter!"

"Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp!"

"WORD!" muttered Mr. Parcher.

Miss Pratt's voice became surcharged with honeyed wonder. "How did he learn such marv'lous, MARV'LOUS imitations of darlin' Flopit? He ought to go on the big, big stage and be a really actor, oughtn't he, darlin'

Flopit? He could make milyums and milyums of dollardies, couldn't he, darlin' Flopit?"

William's modest laugh disclaimed any great ambition for himself in this line. "Oh, I always could think up imitations of animals; things like that--but I hardly would care to--to adop' the stage for a career.

Would--you?" (There was a thrill in his voice when he p.r.o.nounced the ineffably significant word "you.")

Miss Pratt became intensely serious.

"It's my DREAM!" she said.

William, seated upon a stool at her feet, gazed up at the amber head, divinely splashed by the rain of moonlight. The fire with which she spoke stirred him as few things had ever stirred him. He knew she had just revealed a side of herself which she reserved for only the chosen few who were capable of understanding her, and he fell into a hushed rapture. It seemed to him that there was a sacredness about this moment, and he sought vaguely for something to say that would live up to it and not be out of keeping. Then, like an inspiration, there came into his head some words he had read that day and thought beautiful. He had found them beneath an ill.u.s.tration in a magazine, and he spoke them almost instinctively.