Margaret E. Sangster

“ Rose-Marie touched Ella's hand, timidly, with her cool fingers.
"But you'll have to pay for them, Ella," she said. "Think, dear; will the coats and hats be worth the price that you'll have to pay? Will they be worth the price of self-respect—will they be worth the price of honourable wifehood and—motherhood? Will the pretty clothes, Ella, make it easier for you to look into the face of some other woman—who has kept straight? Will they?"
Ella raised her eyes and, in their suddenly vague expression, Rose-Marie saw a glimmering of the faded, crushed mother. ”

“ And a growling gun when the fight was won, and the twilight flickered gray, I have seen men die with their chins raised high, and a curse that was half a prayer— I have fought alone when a comrade's groan was tense on the blinding air. I have tramped a road when a burning load was strapped to my aching back, Through miles of mud that was streaked with blood, when my closing eyes turned back— I have cried aloud to a heedless crowd of a God that they could not know, And have knelt at night when the way was bright with a rocket's sullen glow. ”

“ Volsky, bending over the wash-tubs, straightened up as if she could almost feel the electric quality of the air, as Ella passed her, but Rose-Marie only held tighter to Lily—as if, somehow, the slim little body gave her comfort.
"I wonder what's the matter?" she ventured, after a moment.
Mrs. Volsky, again bending over the wash-tubs, answered.
"Ella, she act so funny, lately," she told Rose-Marie, "an' there is some feller; Bennie, he tell me that he have seen her wit' some feller! A rich feller, maybe; maybe he puts Ella up to her funny business!" ”

“ The birds, with singing, hasten home; And I, who watch them, feel their song Deep in my soul, and nothing wrong, Or mean or small, can touch my heart.... Down in the vale the smoke-wreaths start, To softly curl above the trees; The fingers of a vagrant breeze Steal tenderly across my hair, And toil is fled, and want, and care! The dawn is here! I climb the hill; My very oxen seem to thrill— To feel the mystery of day. The sun creeps out, and far away From man-made law I worship God, Who made the light, the cloud, the sod; I worship smilingly, and sing! ”

“ But none of them had ever stirred her imagination as the Young Doctor stirred it.
There in the dark Rose-Marie felt herself blushing. Could it be possible that she felt an interest in the Young Doctor, an interest that was more than a casual interest? Could it be possible that she liked a man who showed plainly, upon every possible occasion, that he did not like her? Could it be possible that a person who read sensational stories, who did not believe in the greatness of human nature, who refused to go to church, attracted her? ”

“ Roads stretch like arms across the world outside, Roads reach to strife, to happiness, to fame— Here, in the candlelight, I speak your name, Here we are at life's cross way, side by side! OH, THERE ARE BROOKS THERE, AND FIELDS THERE AND NOOKS THERE— NOOKS WHERE A SEEKER MAY FIND FOREST FLOWERS; BLUE IS THE SKY THERE, AND SOFT WINDS CREEP BY THERE, SINGING A SONG THROUGH THE LONG SUMMER HOURS.
WOOD MAGIC The woods lay dreaming in a topaz dream, And we, who silently roamed hand in hand, Were pilgrims in a strange, enchanted land, Where life was love, and love was all a-gleam. ”

“ Her life has been just a surface life. If you go down deep enough into the earth you find water, always. If you go down deep enough into life you invariably find tears. It's one of the unbreakable rules!'" Rose-Marie paused, for a moment, and stole a covert glance at the Superintendent's face. "You don't want me to be a woman whose life is only a surface life," she pleaded, "and it will be just that if you keep me from helping, as I want to help! You don't want me to have a perfectly unlined face when I'm eighty years old?" ”

“ Afraid because a weary stretch of days, Each one a million years, between us lies. My heart—my heart is ever yours to hold, And yet, while I have waited here for you, You have seen faith betrayed, and brave youth sold, You have seen meadows drenched in bloody dew— It may have changed you, and your eyes may be A little harder when they look at me! IV. DREAM Sometimes I dream that you are back with me, And that with hands together clasped we go Like little children, young and glad and free, A-down a magic road we used to know. ”

“ I hate things that's little—that can't take care o' themselves. Everything had oughter be able t' take care of itself!"
"Haven't you"—again Rose-Marie asked a question—"haven't you ever loved anything that was smaller than you are? Haven't you ever had a pet? Haven't you ever felt that you must protect and take care of some one—or something? Haven't you?"
All at once the boy was smiling, and the smile lit up his small, dark face as a candle, slowly flickering, brings cheer and brightness to a dull, lonely room.
"I love Lily," he told her. "I wouldn't let nobody touch Lily! ”

“ The foreign women pass him by, their tarnished coins held tight, They toss their heads and will not hear his music's wistful hum— But through each alley way and street, like moths that seek the light, With eager eyes and laughing lips the little chil- dren come. He plays his ancient, shaky song, his mouth moves to its sway, He does not know the tune of it is old and out of key; For, through his eyes, a soul stares out that wanders far away, In some fair land of youth and love—some land that used to be. ”

“ In almost the exact center of this district is the Settlement House—a brown building that is tall and curiously friendly. Between a great hive-like dwelling place and a noisy dance-hall it stands valiantly, like the soldier of God that it is! And through its wide-open doorway come and go the girls who will gladly squander a week's wage for a bit of satin or a velvet hat; the shabby, dull-eyed women who, two years before, were care-free girls themselves; the dreamers—and the ones who have never learned to dream. ”

“ SUMMER SONG If I might go with my True Love, To some far, dream-swept land, I'd be content to sit all day Upon the silver sand, And watch the sea come creeping in, The sighing, singing sea— If I might go to some far land, And take True Love with me! If I could go with my True Love, To some far, lonely place; The world might well be lost, and I Could look upon Love's face. And wealth would seem a little thing, While happiness might be— If I could go to some far land, And take True Love with me. Ah, Love would smile, and ruffle up, The hair above my brow ”

“ And, during her talk with Ella, she had felt a real kinship to the whole of the Volsky family! But now that she had come face to face with a crisis—now that she was meeting her big test—she knew that her strong beliefs were weakening and that she was no longer at all sure of herself! And as for being kin to the Volskys—the idea was quite unthinkable.
Always, Rose-Marie had imagined that a proposal of marriage would be the greatest compliment that a man could pay a girl. But the proposal of the man in front of her did not seem in the least complimentary. ”

“ A love like mine is surely strong to go The little way from earth to where you wait me, Although it be beyond the stars' faint glow. I want you dear; my tired heart is calling; My eyes are searching, though they may not see; I wonder if you're lonely, there in heaven, For all the golden dreams that used to be.
THE SACRIFICE I started out in a cloak of pride, With talent, too, that I did not hide; I started out on Life's stony road, Ambition's weight was my only load, And the way seemed fair in the dawn's first glow, And I hurried—ran—FOR I DID NOT KNOW! ”

“ Think of all the little joys that a hard world misses- What though bitter loneliness always follows after? Gangster with the shifty eyes, listen to the sighing Of the hymn tune that you heard at your mother's knee; Listen to the restless ghost of the used-to-be, Listen to a wistful ghost's empty-hearted crying. (Tenements on either side—menacing they stand— Light-flecked in the softness of the late spring weather.... But young love and broken life are standing close together, And all a city slum is out to listen to the band.) ”

“ If Rose-Marie was out with a young man I'm sure that she had every right to be. Rose-Marie"—was it possible that her eyes were fixed a shade inquiringly upon the blushing girl—"would have nothing to do with any one who had not been approved by her aunts. And she realizes that she is, in a way, under my care—that I am more or less responsible for her safety and welfare. Rose-Marie is trustworthy, absolutely trustworthy. And she is old enough to take care of herself. You must not bother her, Billy Blanchard!" ”

“ L'ENVOI Only we two, dear... and the candlelight, Seems to be softer than it was before, Country and city, vivid dream lands, war— Dear, they are very far from us to-night! Woven of promise from life's golden loom, Pale threads of light have bound us heart to heart; Laughter and sorrow—they are things apart— ALL OF OUR WORLD IS IN THIS LITTLE ROOM. Outside the branches sway, and winter weather Sweeps, with a cry of triumph, through the land Dear, it is springtime, when you touch my hand— Only we two, and magic, here together! ”

“ But the consciousness of the Young Doctor's eyes, fixed upon her face, prohibited all speech. She could not tell him about the Volskys—neither could she admit that no young man was interested in her. Every girl wants to seem popular in the eyes of some member of the opposite sex—even though that member may be an unpleasant person—whom she dislikes. And so, with a feeling of utter meanness in her soul—with a real weight of deceit upon her heart—she smiled into the Superintendent's anxious face. ”

“ ANSWER I am myself—you cannot take my dreams And pull the filmy stuff of them apart! I am myself—and life IS what it seems. I am myself, and love is in my heart! You cannot make me think by fast set rule, You cannot laugh beliefs like mine away, Experience MAY be a bitter school, And yet.... The golden sun shines every day, And stars at night lend magic to the sky, And all the world is vividly a-glow, You cannot make me pause to question why For we who dare to dream have learned to know! THE WORLD IS RIGHT! ”

“ You've got youth, and all of the world at your feet. You've got beauty, and confidence, and faith. And I—well, I'm getting to be an old woman! I feel sometimes as if I've been sitting on the window sill, watching life go by, for centuries. You mustn't—" She paused, and there was a sudden change in her voice, "You're not tiring yourself, Rose-Marie? You're not doing more than your strength will permit? If you could have read the letter that your aunts sent to me, when you first came to the Settlement House! ”

“ And there is a ship with turquoise sails, With sails like a living light! Ah, the ship is bringing us dreams come true, And hopes that are all dew-kissed; It is bringing us days that are all aglow With scarlet and amethyst;... Bringing us faith to find our way Through a world that is wrapped in mist. Our window looks on the city street, We can glimpse the city sky; But our hearts are gay at the close of day, Though the tired crowds pass by With heavy feet through the blinding heat, Like a sullen, sluggish tide.... For hand in hand through a magic land. ”

“ I don't want any one so young, and trusting and—yes, beautiful—as you are, to be forced by experience into my point of view. We love having you here, at the Settlement House. But I almost wish that you'd go home—back to the place and the people that you're lonesome for—after the lights are out!"
Rose-Marie, watching the play of expression across his keen dark face, was struck, first of all by his sincerity. ”

“ And, dreaming there, I saw it when sunset's golden rays Had touched it with the glory of other, sweeter days. They say the house is haunted, and—well, it is, I guess, For every empty window just aches with loneliness; With loneliness that tortures and memory that flays; Ah, yes, the house is haunted with ghosts of other days. The ghost of childish laughter rings on the narrow stair, And, from a silent corner, the murmur of a prayer Steals out, and then a love song, and then a bugle call, And steps that do not falter along the quiet hall. ”

“ You're a nice girl, Ella—or you wouldn't be in the same family with Bennie and Lily. And you're a sensible girl, so you must realize how important and sacred marriage is. Who told you that it was a mistake, Ella? Who," her childish face was very grave, indeed, "who told you such a terrible thing?"
Ella's eyes were blazing—Rose-Marie almost thought that the girl was going to strike her! But the blazing eyes wavered, after a moment, and fell.
"My gentleman fren' says marriage is wrong," said Ella. "He knows a lot. ”

“ I know that Love will wait beside the way And smile at me. The tender skies above Will be alight with all the joy of spring, And flowers will life their heads above the earth, And some far bird will stay its flight and sing, And fill the land with silver throated mirth. I know that Love, at last, with smiling eyes, Will pause beside my half-swung cottage door, And I will lift my gaze, without surprise, To see his shadow dance across the floor. I know that Love will come to me, some day, When springtime blossoms, shyly, into May! ”

“ All at once Rose-Marie felt the blindness of rage—unreasoning, deadly anger. Only two things she knew—that she hated Jim and that she would not let him kiss her. She spoke sudden defiant words that surprised even herself.
"No," she told him, and her voice was hysterically high, "no, you're not good enough! You're not good enough for any decent girl! You're bad—too bad to lay your fingers upon me. You're—you're unclean! ”

“ You who are dream of my dreams, and a part of me— Sleep with your head lying warm on my breast. Dear, there's a land that is filled with red flowers, Poppies, they call them, that sway in the breeze; Sometimes their petals, in soft scarlet showers, Fall in warm drifts that are high as your knees.... Dear, in your dreams you will laugh as you roll through them, Waving your arms in an effort to creep; Gently they nod as the wind sings its soul through them, Sleep, little tired eyes, sleep.... Dear, in this land there's a sky like a feather, Blue in some places, or white as a star ”

“ TWO LULLABYS I. To A DREAM BABY Oh, little child whose face I cannot see, I feel your presence very near tonight, I feel the warmth of you creep close to me... The grey moths drift across the candlelight, And tiny shadows sway across the floor, Like wistful elves who do a fairy dance; The wind is tapping softly at the door, And rain is beating, like a silver lance, Against the tightly curtained window pane. Oh, little child whose face I cannot see, The loneliness, the twilight, and the rain, Have brought your dearness very close to me. ”

“ And, oh, I wonder if you knew when I had paused beside you To pat you, porcelain puppy dog, that I could understand?
COLORS I love color. I love flaming reds, And vivid greens, And royal flaunting purples. I love the startled rose of the sun at dawning, And the blazing orange of it at twilight. I love color. I love the drowsy blue of the fringed gentian, And the yellow of the goldenrod, And the rich russet of the leaves That turn at autumn-time.... I love rainbows, And prisms, And the tinsel glitter Of every shop-window. I love color. ”

“ They cross forgotten meadows in the gloaming, Through forest aisles at even-time they creep; Where trenches were, their little feet are roaming, And where the heroes of the conflict sleep, They stop, a moment, wistful—and their singing Dies down into the semblance of a prayer; And tiny bells in far-off elf land ringing, Sound, like a silver promise, on the air. NOW THAT THE TUMULT OF THE WAR IS OVER, ONCE MORE THE COUNTRY WAKENS TO ROMANCE; FOR, THROUGH THE TANGLE OF THE GRASS AND CLOVER, THE FAIRY FOLK ARE COMING BACK TO FRANCE. ”

“ A PRAYER ON EASTER FOR OUR BOYS KILLED IN ACTION Dear God, they will not come again, those lads of ours, Who went to fight with honor's foe across the sea— Who died with eyes set straight ahead, amid the showers Of shrapnel, as they cleared a path to victory, They will not come again... And it is Easter weather, And all the world is waking to the call of life, But they lie sleeping, Over There, our lads, together, Who died before their hearts could know the end of strife. ”

“ It's lots of fun to live my life, Beneath the sky; To have no one who owns the right To question "Why"? It's lots of fun to come and go, Through storm and strife, With no one by my side who hopes To mould my life. (But sometimes at the twilight time, When night birds cry; I dream, perhaps, that something fair Has passed me by!) ”

“ A blind man stumbles, groping past; He cannot see their scarlet shine; And yet some memory seems to twine About his soul. For, oh, he turns As trusting as a child who yearns For some vague dream, and smilingly He lifts the eyes that cannot see.... A blind man stumbles, groping past. The window box across the street Is filled with scarlet flowers; They tell a secret, tender, sweet, Through all the dreary hours. And folk who hurry on their way Dream of some other brighter day.... ”

“ And light as the wind that sways in the wheat, or the dust on the broad highway, They march to their rendezvous with the ones who died in the yesterday.
SHADOWS You come to me at twilight, when the others, Are laughing in the fullness of their joy; When glad-eyed women folk, when wives and mothers, Are welcoming some other bronze-cheeked boy. You come to me, all silent, in the gloaming, A shadow form, with curly shadow hair— And, dear, I somehow feel that you are roaming Between two shadow worlds—the Here and There. ”

“ Often, when I cry At some vague beauty that has caught my eye, You laugh! You cannot dream the dreams I find, In forest places where dim pathways wind Up to the Heaven-land so far and high. I know that I should never learn to care, And yet, sometimes the blueness of your eyes Can make me half forget the smiling skies.... And, when I see the sunlight on your hair, I do not stop to reason, dear, for oh— My heart throbs faster, and I know—I know! ”

“ And a Romeo with fat legs, Is telling a Juliet with dyed hair and tired, disillusioned eyes, That love—real love—is the only thing in the world. And up in the balcony of the theatre Where the seats cost twenty-five cents, A slim little girl in a shiny serge frock, And a boy with a wistful mouth Are holding hands. And as they listen, breathlessly, to the studied voice of the actor, Their fingers are all a-thrill, With the music of the ages. ”

“ THE WRITING Sometimes a mist of sunlight across a stranger's hair, Sometimes the vague expression upon a stranger's face, Can make me feel your presence—can fill a lonely place With dreams of life half realized. Faint music through the air Can make me hear your foot-fall, again, upon the stair— Sometimes a dancer moving with quite unconscious grace, Can make my pulse beat faster; and for a breathless space Can make me turn, expecting to find you standing there! You have not gone! The passing of every empty day Has only brought you nearer. ”

“ Hours pass Like beads of amber that are strung Upon a rainbow, frail and young. Through mellow glass, on hallowed walls, The twilight, like faint music, falls; And in each corner, cool and dim, The music is a splendid hymn. And, arch on arch, the ceilings high Seem like a hand stretched toward the sky To touch a Hand that clasped a Cross— FOR FRANCE, NEW-RISEN FROM THE LOSS, AND PAIN AND FEAR OF BATTLE-HELL, KNOWS PEACE, AT LEAST, AND ALL IS WELL! ”

“ The broken walls, when war is but a dream, Will be a monument to those who died; And every shell-torn scar will stand for One Whose hands were scarred, the Christ men crucified! I think, perhaps, the very morning sun, Will slant more gently through the broken tower— And, in good season, that some tender flower Will bloom beside the ruined threshold, where Folk paused before they entered in to prayer.... ”

“ Or will the city's misery Mould the song in a tragic key— Making its sweetest, faintest breath Thrill with sorrow, and throb with death? Maker of music—who can know Where the work of his hand shall go? Maybe its slightest phrase will bring, Comfort to ease the suffering— Maybe his dreams will have their part Buried deep in the music's heart.... Out of a chain of dreary days, Joy may come as some master plays! ”

“ FROM PARIS TO CHATEAU THIERRY The road winds out its weary way, Where fields are torn with sorrow; It is a road of yesterday, That dreams no fair tomorrow. It is silent, saddened road, A lonely road to follow; For in its dust red rivers flowed, And now, from every hollow, The crows rise up in sullen flight The crows that, blackly flying Against the skyline, speak of night, And bitterness, and dying. It is a road that creeps around Farmhouses that lie broken ”