The Little Colonel at Boarding-School

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER XIV.

  THE THREE WEAVERS

  NO better cure could have been found for Lloyd's dejection than hervisit to The Beeches. It was impossible for her to brood over hertroubles while Allison and Kitty were continually saying funny things,and rushing her from one interesting game to another. After a goodnight's sleep the events of the previous day seemed so far away thatwhat she had considered such a disgrace had somehow lost its sting, andshe wondered how she could have suffered so keenly over it.

  Katie Mallard came over soon after breakfast, and they spent nearly theentire day outdoors. The air was frosty and bracing, and when Mrs.Walton saw them come running into the house just before sundown withbright eyes and red cheeks, she felt well pleased with the success ofher plan.

  She was sitting in her room by a front window writing letters when thegirls came rushing up the stairs into the adjoining room. Kitty carrieda basket of apples, and Allison some pop-corn and the popper, andpresently an appetizing odour began to steal in as the white grainsdanced over the open fire.

  As the girls hovered hungrily around, waiting for the popping to cease,they began a lively discussion which caught Mrs. Walton's attention. Shepaused, pen in hand, at the mention of two names, Daisy Dale and theHeiress of Dorn. They were familiar names, for only the day before MissEdith had showed her the pile of books found in Ida's closet, and shewas waiting for a suitable time to speak of them to the girls. As shefolded her letter and addressed it, she decided she would call them in alittle later, when they were through with their apples and their corn,for a quiet little twilight talk. A golden afterglow gleamed above thewestern tree-tops, and, leaning back in her rocking-chair, she satwatching it fade out, so absorbed in a story she was thinking to tellthem that she ceased to hear the girlish chatter in the next room tillLloyd's voice rang out clearly:

  "I've made up my mind. I'm _nevah_ going to get married!"

  "Then you'll be an old maid," was Kitty's teasing rejoinder, "andpeople will poke fun at you and your cats and teacups."

  "I'll not have any," was the prompt reply. "I nevah expect to have anymoah pets of any kind. Whenevah I get to loving anything, somethingalways happens to it. Think of all the pets we have had at Locust.Fritz, and the two Bobs, and Boots, and the gobblah, and the goat, andthe parrot, and deah old Hero! Something happened to every one of them.The ponies are the only things left, and the only kind of a pet I'd evahhave again. If Tarbaby should die, I'd buy me a hawse, for I don'texpect to be the kind of an old maid that sits in a chimney-cawnah witha tabby and a teapot. I expect to dash around the country' on hawsebackand have fun even when I'm old and wrinkled and gray. I'll go tocollege, of co'se, and I'll have interesting people to visit me, so thatI'll keep up my interest in the world and not get cranky."

  "I'll come and live with you," said Allison. "I'll have a studio anddevote my life to making a great artist of myself. We could buyTanglewood, and make a moat all around the house so that we could pullup the drawbridge when we wanted to be alone or were afraid ofburglars."

  "Maybe it would be better for me to be an old maid, too," said Betty,musingly. "I'd have more time to write books than if I had a husband anda family to look after. And, besides, while I like to read about loversand such things in stories, it would make me feel dreadfully foolish tohave any man fall on his knees to me and say the things that Lord Rokebyand Guy said to Daisy Dale. I don't even like to write those speecheswhen I'm in a room by myself. I've tried lots of times, and I've aboutdecided to skip that part in my story. I'll put some stars instead, andbegin, 'A year has passed, and Gladys and Eugene,' etc."

  "I was going to ask mothah how Papa Jack did it," said Lloyd, "but aftahall that's happened, somehow I'd rathah not say anything about suchthings to oldah people. Miss McCannister was so horrified when she foundwe had talked such 'sentimental foolishness,' as she called it. I'llnevah forget the way she screwed up her lips and said, 'It wasn'tconsidahed propah, when I was a child, for little girls to discuss suchsubjects.' I felt as if I had been caught doing something wicked. Itmawtified me dreadfully, and I made up my mind that I'd nevah get to befond of anybody the way Ida was, for fear I might be mistaken in them asshe was."

  "Everything seems to be a warning lately," said Betty. "Even theliterature lessons this week. If the _Lady of Shalott_ hadn't left herweaving to look out of the window when Sir Lancelot rode by, the cursewouldn't have come upon her."

  "There!" cried Allison, scrambling to her feet. "That reminds me that Ihaven't learned the verses that Miss Edith asked us to memorize forMonday."

  She took a worn copy of Tennyson from the table, and began rapidlyturning the leaves.

  "I learned the whole thing yesterday," said Betty. "I can say every wordof part first."

  "It's easy," remarked Kitty. "I know part of it, although I'm not in theclass. I learned it from hearing Allison read it:

  "'Four gray walls and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers. And the silent isle embowers The Lady of Shalott.'

  Isn't that right?"

  "Yes, but that isn't Monday's lesson. It's part second we have tolearn."

  "Let's all learn it," proposed Katie. "It's so pretty and jingles alongso easily I'd like to know it, too. You line it out, Allison, as Frazerdoes the hymns at the coloured baptizings, and we'll run a race and seewho can repeat it first."

  "There she weaves by night and day," read Allison, and then the fivevoices gabbled it all together, "There she weaves by night and day."

  The concert recitation went on for some time, and presently the lines ofthe familiar old poem began weaving themselves into the story Mrs.Walton was thinking about. The red gold of the afterglow had notentirely faded from the sky when she left her seat by the window andwent into the next room. The five girls on the hearth-rug were stillchanting the lesson over and over.

  "Come hear us say it, mother," called Kitty, drawing up a chair for her."Betty learned it first."

  Allison deposited the bowl of pop-corn in her lap and passed her thebasket of apples, and then flourished the popper like a drum-major'sbaton. "Now all together!" she cried, and the five voices rang out likeone:

  "There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she. The Lady of Shalott.

  "And moving through a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near, Winding down to Camelot. There the river eddy whirls, And the surly village churls And the red cloaks of market-girls Pass onward from Shalott.

  "Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad Or long-haired page in crimson clad Goes by to Camelot. And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two by two. She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott."

  "Why, she was an old maid! Wasn't she!" said Katie, so plaintively asthey finished that they all laughed.

  "That's what Allison and Betty and Lloyd are going to be, mother," saidKitty, teasingly. Lloyd, with a very red face, hastened to change thesubject. She snuggled up against Mrs. Walton's knee, saying, as shelooked into the glowing fire, "This is the best time of the day, whenthe wind goes 'Whooo' in the chimney, and it's cold and dark outdoahsand cheerful and bright inside. It's just the time for story-telling.Don't you know one, Mrs. Walton?"

  "Of course she does," Kitty answered for her. "And if you don't knowone, you can make one up to order. Can't you, mamsie?"

  "Your poem suggested a story," answered Mrs. Walton, and with one handsmoothing Lloyd's fair head as it rested against her knee, and the otherstroking Kitty's dark one in her lap, she began:

  "Once upon a time (the same time that the Lady of Shalott wove her magicweb, and near the four gray
towers from which she watched the roadrunning down to Camelot), there lived three weavers. Their houses stoodside by side, and such had been their equal fortunes that whateverhappened under the roof of one had always happened under the roofs ofthe others. They wove the same patterns in their looms, and theyreceived the same number of shillings for their webs. They sang the samesongs, told the same tales, ate the same kind of broth from the samekind of bowls, and dressed in the same coarse goods of hodden gray.

  "But they were unlike as three weavers could possibly be. The firstinsisted on weaving all his webs a certain length, regardless of thesize of the man who must wear the mantle. (Each web was supposed to bejust long enough to make one mantle.) The second carelessly wove his anylength that happened to be convenient, and stretched or cut it afterwardto fit whomsoever would take it. But the third, with great painstakingand care, measured first the man and then the web by the inches and ellsof his carefully notched yardstick.

  "Now to each weaver was born a daughter, all on the same day, and theynamed them Hertha, Huberta, and Hildegarde. On the night after thechristening, as the three men sat smoking their pipes on the same stoop,the father of Hertha said, 'Do not think me puffed up with unseemlypride, good neighbours, but wonderful fortune hath befallen me and minethis day. Clotho, the good fairy of all the weavers, was present at myHertha's christening, and left beside her cradle a gift: a tiny loomthat from beam to shuttle is of purest gold. And she whispered to me inpassing, "Good fortune, Herthold. It is written in the stars that aroyal prince shall seek to wed thy child."'

  "But Herthold's news caused no astonishment to his neighbours. What hadhappened under the roof of one had happened under the roofs of all, andthe same good fortune was written in the stars for each, and the samegift had been left by each child's cradle. So the three friends rejoicedtogether, and boasted jestingly among themselves of the three kings'sons who should some day sit down at their tables.

  "But presently Hildgardmar, the father of Hildegarde, said, 'But theremay be a slip twixt cup and lip. Mayhap our daughters cannot fulfil therequired condition.'

  "At that they looked grave for a moment, for Clotho had added inpassing, 'One thing is necessary. She must weave upon this loom I leavea royal mantle for the prince's wearing. It must be ample and fair tolook upon, rich cloth of gold, of princely size and texture. Many willcome to claim it, but if it is woven rightly the destined prince alonecan wear it, and him it will fit in all faultlessness, as the falcon'sfeathers fit the falcon. But if it should not be ample and fine, meetfor royal wearing, the prince will not deign to don it, and the maiden'sheart shall break, as broke the shattered mirror of the Lady ofShalott.'

  "'Oh, well,' said Herthold, when the three had smoked in silence alittle space. 'I'll guard against that. I shall hide all knowledge ofthe magic loom from my daughter until she be grown. Then, under mineown eye, by mine own measurements that I always use, shall she weave thegoodly garment. In the meantime she shall learn all the arts whichbecome a princess to know--broidery and fair needlework, and songs upona lute. But of the weaving she shall know naught until she be grown.That I am determined upon. 'Tis sorry work her childish hands would makeof it, if left to throw the shuttle at a maiden's fickle fancy.'

  "But Hubert shook his head. 'Why stew about a trifle!' he exclaimed.'Forsooth, on such a tiny loom no web of any kind can well be woven.'Tis but a toy that Clotho left the child to play with, and she shallweave her dreams and fancies on it at her own sweet will. I shall notinterfere. What's written in the stars is written, and naught that I cando will change it. Away, friend Hildgardmar, with thy forebodings!'

  "Hildgardmar said nothing in reply, but he thought much. He followed theexample of the others, and early and late might have been heard thepounding of the three looms, for there was need to work harder than evernow, that the little maidens might have teachers for all the artsbecoming a princess--broidery and fair needlework and songs upon thelute.

  "While the looms pounded in the dwellings the little maidens grew apace.They played together in the same garden and learned from the sameskilled teachers their daily lessons, and in their fondness for eachother were as three sisters.

  "One day Huberta said to the others, 'Come with me and I will show you abeautiful toy that Clotho left me at my christening. My father says shegave one to each of us, and that it is written in the stars that we areeach to wed a prince if we can weave for him an ample cloak of cloth ofgold. Already I have begun to weave mine."

  "All silently, for fear of watchful eyes and forbidding voices, theystole into an inner room, and she showed them the loom of gold. But nowno longer was it the tiny toy that had been left beside her cradle. Ithad grown with her growth. For every inch that had been added to herstature an inch had been added to the loom's. The warp was Clotho'sgift, all thread of gold, and it, too, grew with the maiden's growth;but the thread the shuttle carried was of her own spinning--rainbow huedand rose-coloured, from the airy dream-fleece of her own sweet fancies.

  "'See,' she whispered, 'I have begun the mantle for my prince'swearing.' Seizing the shuttle as she had seen her father do so manytimes, she crossed the golden warp with the woof-thread of a rosyday-dream. Hertha and Hildegarde looked on in silent envy, not so muchfor the loom as for the mirror which hung beside it, wherein, as in theLady of Shalott's, moved the shadows of the world. The same picturesthat flitted across hers, flitted across Huberta's.

  "'See!' she cried again, pointing to the mirror, 'That curly shepherdlad! Does he not look like a prince as he strides by with his head high,and his blue eyes smiling upon all the world? He carries his crook likea royal sceptre, forsooth. Well you may believe I am always at my mirrorboth at sunrise and sunset to see him pass gaily by.'

  "'Yon long-haired page in crimson clad is more to my liking,' saidHertha, timidly. 'Methinks he has a noble mien, as of one brought up inpalaces. I wonder why my father has never said aught to me of Clotho'sgift. I, too, should be at my weaving, for I am as old as thou,Huberta.'

  "'And I also,' added Hildegarde.

  "'Ask him,' quoth Huberta. 'Mayhap he hath forgot.'

  "So when Hertha reached home, she went to her father Herthold, and said,timidly, with downcast eyes and blushes, 'Father--where is my loom, likeHuberta's? I, too, would be weaving as it is written in the stars.'

  "But Herthold glowered upon her grimly. 'Who told thee of aught that iswritten in the stars?' he demanded, so sternly that her heart quakedwithin her. 'Hear me! Never again must thou listen to such idle tales.When thou art a woman grown, thou mayst come to me, and I may talk tothee then of webs and weaving, but what hast thou to do with such thingsnow? Thou! a silly child! Bah! I am ashamed that ever a daughter of mineshould think such foolishness!'

  "Hertha, shamed and abashed, stole away to weep, that she had incurredher father's scorn. But next day, when they played in the garden,Huberta said, 'Thy father is an old tyrant to forbid thee the use ofClotho's gift. He cannot love thee as mine does me, or he would not denythee such a pleasure. Come! I will help thee to find it.'

  "So hand in hand they stole into an inner room by a door that Hertholdthought securely bolted, and there stood a loom like Huberta's, and overit a mirror in which the same shadows of the world were repeated inpassing. And as Hertha picked up the shuttle to send the thread of arosy day-dream through the warp of gold, the long-haired page in crimsonclad passed down the street outside, and she saw his image in themirror.

  "'How like a prince he bears himself!' she murmured. 'My father isindeed a tyrant to deny me the pleasure of looking out upon the worldand weaving sweet fancies about it. Henceforth I shall not obey him, butshall daily steal away in here, to weave in secret what he will notallow me to do openly.'

  "At the same time, Hildegarde stood before her father, saying, timidly,'Is it true, my father, what Huberta says is written in the stars?To-day when I saw Huberta's loom I pushed back the bolt which has alwaysbarred the door leading into an inner room from mine, and there I foundthe loom of gold and a
wonderful mirror. I fain would use them asHuberta does, but I have come to ask thee first, if all be well.'

  "A very tender smile lighted the face of old Hildgardmar. Taking thehand of the little Hildegarde in his, he led the way into the innerroom. 'I have often looked forward to this day, my little one,' heexclaimed, 'although I did not think thou wouldst come quite so soonwith thy questions. It is indeed true, what Huberta hast told thee iswritten in the stars. On the right weaving of this web depends thehappiness of all thy future, and not only thine but of those who maycome after thee.

  "''Tis a dangerous gift the good Clotho left thee, for looking in thatmirror thou wilt be tempted to weave thy web to fit the shifting figuresthat flit therein. But listen to thy father who hath never yet deceivedthee, and who has only thy good at heart. Keep always by thy side thissterling yardstick which I give thee, for it marks the inches and theells to which the stature of a prince must measure. Not until the webdoth fully equal it can it be safely taken from the loom.

  "'Thou art so young, 'tis but a little mantle thou couldst weave thisyear, at best. Fit but to clothe the shoulders of yon curly shepherdlad.' He pointed to the bright reflection passing in the mirror. 'But'tis a magic loom that lengthens with thy growth, and each year shallthe web grow longer, until at last, a woman grown, thou canst hold it upagainst the yardstick, and find that it doth measure to the last inchand ell the size demanded by a prince's noble stature.

  "'But thou wilt oft be dazzled by the mirror's sights, and youths willcome to thee, one by one, each begging, "Give _me_ the royal mantle,Hildegarde. _I_ am the prince the stars have destined for thee." Andwith honeyed words he'll show thee how the mantle in the loom is justthe length to fit _his_ shoulders. But let him not persuade thee to cutit loose and give it him, as thy young fingers will be fain to do. Weaveon another year, and yet another, till thou, a woman grown, canstmeasure out a perfect web, more ample than these stripling youths couldcarry, but which will fit thy prince in faultlessness, as falcon'sfeathers fit the falcon.'

  "Hildegarde, awed by his solemn words of warning, took the silveryardstick and hung it by the mirror, and standing before old Hildgardmarwith bowed head, said, 'You may trust me, father; I will not cut thegolden warp from out the loom until I, a woman grown, have woven such aweb as thou thyself shalt say is worthy of a prince's wearing.'

  "So Hildgardmar left her with his blessing, and went back to his work.After that the winter followed the autumn and the summer the spring manytimes, and the children played in the garden and learned their lessonsof broidery and fair needlework and songs upon the lute. And every dayeach stole away to the inner room, and threw the shuttle in and outamong the threads of gold.

  "Hertha worked always in secret, peering ever in the mirror, lestperchance the long-haired page in crimson clad should slip by and shenot see him. For the sheen of his fair hair dazzled her to all othersights, and his face was all she thought of by day and dreamed of bynight, so that she often forgot to ply her needle or finger her lute. Hewas only a page, but she called him prince in her thoughts until shereally believed him one. When she worked at the web she sang to herself,'It is for him--for him!'

  "Huberta laughed openly about her web, and her father often teased herabout the one for whom it was intended, saying, when the village ladswent by, 'Is _that_ thy prince?' or, 'Is it for this one thou weavest?'But he never went with her into that inner room, so he never knewwhether the weaving was done well or ill. And he never knew that she cutthe web of one year's weaving and gave it to the curly shepherd lad. Hewore it with jaunty grace at first, and Huberta spent long hours at themirror, watching to see him pass by all wrapped within its folds. But itgrew tarnished after awhile from his long tramps over the dirty moorsafter his flocks, and Huberta saw other figures in the mirror whichpleased her fancy, and she began another web. And that she gave to astudent in cap and gown, and the next to a troubadour strolling past herwindow, and the next to a knight in armour who rode by one idle summerday.

  "The years went by, she scattering her favours to whomsoever called hersweetheart with vows of devotion, and Hertha faithful to the page alone.Hildegarde worked on, true to her promise. But there came a time when aface shone across her mirror so noble and fair that she started back ina flutter.

  "'Oh, surely 'tis he,' she whispered to her father. 'His eyes are soblue they fill all my dreams.' But old Hildgardmar answered her, 'Doeshe measure up to the standard set by the sterling yardstick for afull-grown prince to be?'

  "'No,' she answered, sadly. 'Only to the measure of an ordinary man. Butsee how perfectly the mantle I have woven would fit him!'

  "'Nay, weave on, then,' he said, kindly. 'Thou hast not yet reached thebest thou canst do. This is not the one written for thee in the stars.'

  "A long time after a knight flashed across the mirror blue. A knightlike Sir Lancelot:

  "His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. From underneath his helmet flowed, His coal-black curls, as on he rode As he rode down to Camelot."

  "So noble he was that she felt sure that he was the one destined to wearher mantle, and she went to her father, saying, 'He has asked for therobe, and measured by thy own sterling yardstick, it would fit him infaultlessness, as the falcon's feathers fit the falcon.'

  "Hildgardmar laid the yardstick against the web. 'Nay,' he said. 'Thisis only the size of a knight. It lacks a handbreadth yet of the measureof a prince.'

  "Hildegarde hesitated, half-pouting, till he said, beseechingly, 'I aman old man, knowing far more of the world and its ways than thou, mydaughter. Have I ever deceived thee? Have I ever had aught but thy goodat heart? Have patience a little longer. Another year and thou wilt beable to fashion a still larger web.'

  "At last it came to pass, as it was written in the stars, a prince cameriding by to ask for Hertha as his bride. Old Herthold, taking her bythe hand, said, '_Now_ I will lead thee into the inner room and teachthee how to use the fairy's sacred gift. With me for a teacher, thoucanst surely make no mistake.'

  "When they came into the inner room there stood only the empty loom fromwhich the golden warp had been clipped.

  "'How now!' he demanded, angrily. Hertha, braving his ill-humour, said,defiantly, 'Thou art too late. Because I feared thy scorn of what thouwast pleased to call my childish foolishness, I wove in secret, and whenmy prince came by, long ago I gave it him. He stands outside at thecasement.'

  "The astonished Herthold, turning in a rage, saw the long-haired pageclad in the mantle which she had woven in secret. He tore it angrilyfrom the youth, and demanded she should give it to the prince, whowaited to claim it, but the prince would have none of it. It was of toosmall a fashion to fit his royal shoulders, and had been defiled by thewearing of a common page. So with one look of disdain he rode away.

  "Stripped of the robe her own fancy had woven around him, the page stoodshorn before her. It was as if a veil had been torn from her eyes, andshe no longer saw him as her fond dreams had painted him. She saw him inall his unworthiness; and the cloth of gold which was her maiden-love,and the rosy day-dreams she had woven into it to make the mantle of ahigh ideal, lay in tattered shreds at her feet. When she looked from theone to the other and saw the mistake she had made and the opportunityshe had lost, she covered her face with her hands and cried out toHerthold, 'It is thy fault. Thou shouldst not have laughed my childishquestions to scorn, and driven me to weave in ignorance and in secret.'But all her upbraiding was too late. As it was written in the stars, herheart broke, as broke the shattered mirror of the Lady of Shalott.

  "That same day came a prince to Hubert, asking for his daughter. Hecalled her from the garden, saying, gaily, 'Bring forth the mantle now,Huberta. Surely it must be a goodly one after all these years of weavingat thy own sweet will.'

  "She brought it forth, but when he saw it he started back aghast at itspigmy size. When he demanded the reason, she confessed with tears thatshe had no more of the golden warp that was Cl
otho's sacred gift. Shehad squandered that maiden-love in the bygone years to make the mantlesshe had so thoughtlessly bestowed upon the shepherd lad and thetroubadour, the student and the knight. This was all she had left togive.

  "'Well,' said her father, at length, ''tis only what many another hasdone in the wanton foolishness of youth. But perchance when the princesees how fair thou art, and how sweetly thou dost sing to thy lute, hemay overlook the paltriness of thy offering. Take it to him.'

  "When she had laid it before him, he cast only one glance at it, sosmall it was, so meagre of gold thread, so unmeet for a true prince'swearing. Then he looked sorrowfully into the depths of her beautifuleyes and turned away.

  "The gaze burned into her very soul and revealed to her all that she hadlost for evermore. She cried out to her father with pitiful sobs thatset his heartstrings in a quiver, 'It is _thy_ fault! Why didst thou notwarn me what a precious gift was the gold warp Clotho gave me! Why didstthou say to me, "Is _this_ the lad? Is that the lad?" till I looked onlyat the village churls and wove my web to fit their unworthy shoulders,and forgot how high is the stature of a perfect prince!' Then, hidingher face, she fled away, and as it was written in the stars, her heartbroke, as broke the shattered mirror of the Lady of Shalott.

  "Then came the prince to Hildegarde. All blushing and aflutter, sheclipped the threads that held the golden web of her maiden-love, throughwhich ran all her happy girlish day-dreams, and let him take it fromher. Glancing shyly up, she saw that it fitted him in all faultlessness,as the falcon's feathers fit the falcon.

  "Then old Hildgardmar, stretching out his hands, said, 'Because even inchildhood days thou ever kept in view the sterling yardstick as I badethee, because no single strand of all the golden warp that Clotho gavethee was squandered on another, because thou waitedst till thy woman'sfingers wrought the best that lay within thy woman's heart, allhappiness shall now be thine! Receive it as thy perfect crown!'

  "So with her father's blessing light upon her, she rode away beside theprince; and ever after, all her life was crowned with happiness as ithad been written for her in the stars."

  There was a moment's silence when Mrs. Walton ceased speaking. The firehad died down until only a fitful glimmer lighted the thoughtful facesof the girls grouped around her on the hearth-rug. Then Kitty said,impulsively:

  "Of course Hertha means Ida, and you want us all to be Hildegardes, butwho is Huberta?"

  "Mittie Dupong, of course!" answered Allison. "And Flynn Willis and CadBailey and all that set we were so disgusted with at Carter Brown'sparty. Didn't you mean them, mother?"

  "Yes," said Mrs. Walton, well pleased that the tale had been interpretedso quickly. "I must confess that I told the story solely for the moral Iwanted to tack on to the end of it. You do not know how my heart hasached for Ida. Poor misguided child! From what I have heard of her auntI think she must be like Hertha's father, and made Ida feel that she hadno sympathy with her childish love-affairs. Then Ida made the mistakethat Hertha did, wove her ideals in secret, and fitted them on the firstboy who pleased her fancy. Once wrapped in them she was blind to all hisfaults, and could not judge him as other people did. She made a hero ofhim. I blame her aunt as much as I do her, because she did not teach herlong ago, as Hildgardmar did his daughter.

  "Little girls begin very early sometimes to dream about that far-awayland of Romance. The teasing questions older people ask them often setthem to thinking seriously of it. They call their little playmates theirsweethearts, and imagine the admiration and fondness they have for themis the love that is written in the stars. Nobody explains to them thatthey will outgrow their early ideals as they do their dresses.

  "I can remember how my ideals used to change. When I was a little girl,about as old as Elise, I thought that my Prince Charming would be likethe one in the story of the Sleeping Beauty. I dreamed of sitting allday beside him on a crystal throne, with a crown on my head and asceptre in my hand. But as I grew older I realized how stupid that wouldbe, and I fashioned him after the figures that flitted across my mirrorin the world of books. He was as handsome as a Greek god, and the featshe performed could have been possible only in the days of the RoundTable.

  "Then I outgrew that ideal. Others took its place, but when a womangrown, I held up the one that was the best my woman's heart couldfashion, I found that my prince measured just to the stature of anhonest man, simple and earnest and true. That was all--no Greek god, nodashing knight, but a strong, manly man, whose love was my life's crownof happiness."

  She glanced up at the portrait over the mantel, and there was animpressive pause. Lloyd broke the silence presently, speaking very fastin an embarrassed sort of way.

  "But, Mrs. Walton, don't you think there was some excuse for Ida besidesher being blinded to Mistah Bannon's faults? He made her believe she hadsuch a good influence ovah him that she thought it was her _duty_ todisobey her aunt, because it was moah important that he should bereformed than that she should be obeyed in a mattah that seemedunreasonable to Ida."

  "Yes," was the hesitating answer. "But Ida was largely influenced totake that stand by the books she had been reading. That's another matterI want to speak about, since my little girls have confessed to thereading of 'Daisy Dale' and the 'Heiress of Dorn.' While there isnothing particularly objectionable in such books in one way, in anothertheir influence is of the very worst. The characters are either unrealor overdrawn, or they are so interestingly coloured that they are likethe figures of the shepherd lad and the long-haired page in the mirrorsof Hertha and Huberta. In watching them a girl is apt to weave her web'to fit _their_ unworthy shoulders, and forget how high is the statureof a perfect prince.' Such books are poor yardsticks, and give one falseideas of value and measurement.

  "Ned's plea is what nearly every wild young fellow makes, and nine timesout of ten it appeals to a girl more than any other argument he coulduse. 'Give _me_ the mantle, Hildegarde. It will help me to live right.'So she takes him in hand to reform him. Nothing could be purer andhigher than the motives which prompt her to sacrifice everything to whatshe considers her duty. I had a schoolmate once who married a brightyoung fellow because he came to her with Ned's plea. Her father said,'Let him reform first. What he will not do for a sweetheart, he willnever do for a wife.' But she would not listen, and to-day she is livingin abject poverty and cruel unhappiness. He is rarely sober.

  "In olden times a man didn't come whining to a maiden and say, 'I longto be a knight, but I am too weak to do battle unaided. Be my ladye fairand help me win my spurs.' No, she would have laughed him to scorn. Hewon his spurs first, and only after he had proved himself worthy andreceived his accolade, did she give him her hand.

  "Oh, my dear girls, if you would _only_ do as Hildegarde did, ask firstif all be well before you clip the golden web from the loom and give itto the one who begs for it! He is not the one written for you in thestars--he does not measure to the stature of a true prince if he comeswith such a selfish demand as Ned did."

  "That is a story I'll nevah forget," said Lloyd, soberly. "I think itought to be printed and put in the seminary library for all the othahgirls to read."

  "And some of the fathers and mothers, too," added Betty. "Ida's auntought to have a copy."

  "No, it is too late," remarked Katie. "It's a case of what grandpa wouldcall 'locking the stable after the horse is stolen.'"

  There was a knock at the door. "Supper is served," announced Barbry'svoice in the hall.