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r ; 4 . . . .. ' ' .. . v.- -' -J O yon believe in dreams, Margot?" rancy your asking me such a question, answered wise-looking little Margot, turning her big blue eyes almost reproach fully on her friend: "Of course, I do!" She .was a serious, rather eery little creature, with quite a nimbus of irolden - brown hair about her head. land an eager, delicately shaped face, which how- ever, was so uuiuiimicu u j flM-. she seemed to be nothing but eyes. iLooking at her, one might well believe that if there twere any ghosts about, or any spirit faces in the wind, Margot would see them. 1 Her friend Phoebe Somerset, was a tall, graceful girl, twith dreams, too, in her deep-brown eyes; but they 4were the dream this world can fulfil, and the beauty Jf ber exquisite face was the beauty of this world if any beauty is really of this world. 1 mean that, whereas ' the beauty of little Margot't face was the beauty of a lairy, or a spirit, the beauty of Phoebe Somerset was the beauty of a beautiful woman of this and no other planet. Her brown hair was very thick and glossy on her head, but it was just beautiful human hair, and it made no strange light about her head as Margot s did, and her regular features and creamy skin and laughing red tips r( all, so to say, concretely beautiful without being in the least mysterious. She was as demonstrably beautiful as a rose, and her face might have seemej a little characterless, but for its look of exceptional in telligence, and the observant elves of humor that lived In her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. "Fancy your asking me such a question. Of course, 3 do!" Margot had said. "Well, I don't, you know, Margot." "You pretend you don't or. perhaps, you think you . Won't, like lots of other people. But in your heart jyou do." , I "I wonder if I do," said Phrebe musingly. "Well," jahe added presently, - ou're going to laugh at me, but 3 , certainly had quit- an amusing dream last night, End I cant help thinking about it. You, little wise wnan, shall tell me what it means " I "Well, Fhcche began, I thought 1 was swim- aning " . "Oh, that's a good dream," Margot eagerly inter rupted, "swimming is great good fortune any dream Txjok will tell you that. But, ro on " I "Yes, I wai swimming, and swimming wi:h won derful ease and pleasure. I shall never forget the joy wusness of it, the happy sense of power I had. I swam Just as easily as a bird flies, swam on and on with ndescribable elation. It seemed to mc I could never tire, and that I had only to wish to swim anywhere and ny distance I wanted. First I remember that I was vtimming in a river with the greenest of gras- banks and the brightest rippling water. Then I seemed to Jiave come to a great harbor, and was swimming in and out among the keels of enormous ships; and next II was right out to sea. I shall never forget how blue and fresh-the water was, and how the sun shone, and Jiow wonderfully lonely it was, and yet how perfectly eafe I felt. I remember the sun setting, and the moon ' rising, while I still swam on and on till it seemed I fell asleep somewhere in that sea. I remember waking up for a moment, lazily opening one eye, and dreamily Seeing the stars above me. and feeling my body sway ing luxuriously in the heaving water. Then I rested ack into it apain, and when I next awoke, the sun acf risen and there, a little way off, was an island all white sand and palms, and I swam to it, and presently B big breaker carried me like a shell and laid me upon the beach. I hat up and looked around. The trees were not palms, as I had thought I bad neVer seen any trees quite like them. All 1 can remember of them, Was that they were wonderfully crcen, and that they were clustered thick with shining leaves. Also they teemed filled with invisible birds, which made the whole Island ring with their songs. I have never imagined anything so perfectly happy as the sound of those ISirds singing out there in the middle of the sea. flTiere seemed to be nothing on the island but the trees and the birds Not another living thing, except myself. Presently I stood up and, just a little afraid, valked over tbe sand up among the trees. And there streamed out from the trees a fragrance of such sweet ies tnat i can no more describe it than l can describe he sweet singing of the birds. A soft breere blew like a happy sigh over the island, and as it passed among he trees the hidden birds seemed to sing together like he ringing of innumerable golden chimes. But still could see no birds, and suddenly I saw that there hvas fruit shining under the leaves, clusters of a small aolden fruit that glittered with an almost blinding fr-adiance where it caught the light " Phoebe stopped a moment. "And now," she continued, fthe mischievous Pnck of dreams had, of course, to turn the whole beautiful dream into a jest for what Jflo you think the fruit under the leaves turned out to be?" Margot couldn't guess. "Wedding-rings!" answered Phoebe Mughing "Just plain, rarthlv, guinea-gold wedding-rings." "Well!" said Margot. "Well!" Yes, just wedding-rings, and it wasn't birds at all that made that wonderful chiming it was just the reere playing among the wedding-rings but 1 must ay, added rhoebe, laughing, i never heard sucn weet iusic as thev made ; I can hear them yet chim- ng, chiming there on that green island right away in he middle ef the sea." "Well, that's not a very difficult dream to read, is tr" said Margot. "You mean I'm to be married this year, or some guch nonsense, I suppose. It was too silly for such ft- pretty dream to end like that. You must be sure Sever to tell anyone about it. They would say I was (dying; to be married." "And, aren't you, Phoebe?" asked Margot, coming closer to her friend, and looking up into her face with asly innocence. "Margot!" almost shrieked Phoebe, taking Margot aSy the shoulders, and shaking her with mock indigna tion. "You perfectly awful child. What do you mean? T dying to be married f Wrhy ?" ( "Yes, dear," Margot interrupted, smiling, "we all know that you could have been married over and over ".again, and that you've had as many proposals as there re wedding-rings on your island. But don't you see that having rejected almost every kind of man possible, your case grows the more desperate" i "Not exactly desperate, Margot say exciting." r JVell, exciting then, and the harder it seems to find the more anxious, or anyway curious, you become as to what, when he does arrive, the wonder-man will lie like." "Yes, I wonder what he will be like. I wonder," said Thoebe dreamily. . . "Have vou no idea, no picture of him in your mmd "Not the least I shall know him the instant I set eyes on him, that's all; and my heart will say, "There he h ; be has come at last.' " "Suppose he were never to come ?" '"But he will I know he will come " "He doesn't always, yon know. I don't think mine will ever come," said Margot wistfully. "Yon silly child. What do you mean?" "I mesm that I want the impossible." s "So do I." answered Phoebe, laughing. "We all want the impossible; aad, if we want H hard enough, it sure ty come to us- one day oat of the sky." But little Margot shook her head incredulously. "I shall never marry," she said with a solemn shake of her head. Margot was just nineteen. "I wonder what it is that makes the difference be tween the man we reject and the man we marry," said Phoebe after a pause. "I mean : Take a number of nice men; they have all. we will say, attractive qualities. Gifts and good looks, manliness and so forth, are all fairly equally divided amongst them. Yet one of them is your man of destiny, and the rest are a million miles away. I'm sure any girl might have been proud of the love of some of the dear boys that have loved us, Margot and et, here we are two old maids, heart whole and fancy-free. Oh, Mr. Fairy Prince, where art thou, this fine spring morning?" "I think I know what it was we missed in those dear boys, as you call them," said Margot presently. "Thev, hadn't the power of appealing to our imagination; "Love,'1 she went on, like a little wiseacre, "wants something more than love and devotion and a good home. It is very silly of it, but it's true all the same. Ixive wants romance. And somehow or other, those dear boys haven't been able to give it to us so far. I dare say they make the best husbands, but if we were to marry them, there would always be a pining deep down in our hearts for The One We Should Have Waited For." "I do believe you are right, Margot. I had never thought it out before. I never quite knew why I couldn't marry Jack Spender, for instance. You know what a dear he is in every way. He's so strong and good and brave and true anil clever and handsome and rich and everything. . . I was tremendously fond of him, and yet. . . yes ! you are right we are waiting lor the man who appeals to the imagination." "And perhaps when he does come," added Margot, "we'll wish he hadn't." "Ah, no!" said Phoebe, with a sudden serious light in her face "He can bring us no sorrow so great as the sorrow of his never having come." "Margot," she continued presently, with an unwonted softness and shyness in her voice. "Shall I confess another silly thing' Will you promise never to tell a living soul and not to laugh at me?" Margot promised, and Phoebe drew her to a secluded corner- of the garden, and pointed to a bed of golden crocuses, particularly vivid and thickly massed to gether. "Do you see those crocuses? Do you notice how they are growing in what shape, I mean .'" "Let us go and see if he is hiding in the pavilion, said Phoebe laughing, as she led the way up a grassy slope to a little shingled house that stood at the edge of a pine wood overhanging the garden. , This was Margofs first visit to the Priory, iifl she was looking round the shelve of the pavilion with de lighted recognition of many a favorite volume. "What a delightful person your landlord seems to be!" she exclaimed. "Doesn't he?" "Do you know anything about him?" "Nothing except that he lives in Italy. His wife died here, I believe and he has not lived here since." "I wonder if this is her picture," said Margot, look ing at a pastel of a delicately beautiful face hanging Skover the mantel. "I have often wondered," said Phoebe. "I suppose this is his writing," said Margot, pointing to the name, "Robert Stamforik," written on the fly leaf ' of one of the volumes. "What a fascinating hand !" "Isn't it?" said "Why, it's all Phoebe. like an enchanted palace just like Cupid and Psyche," continued Margot. "You ara the princess, and you come nere hnauig everytning pre pared for you, just as if some thoughtful hand had done it all on purpose, and you go from room to room, everywhere feeling the touch of the 'unseen hand but the master of it all is nowhere to be seen." "Yes! I almost expect to find him sitting here some times, and see him raise bis eyes from his book, as I open the door. I have half feared sometimes lest I "We might enquire of the house agent," she added, mockingly. "Perhaps he would write and tell the land lord that two charming and romantic young ladies are lying to know what he means by having two unex plained butterflies so conspicuously on his mantel piece." . . "You absurd thing!" rejoined Phoebe; "but he is irri tating, isn't he?" One day as the friends were looking among the stranger's books for something to read, a sheet of paper fluttered on to the floor. Margot picked it up. It was covered with the same small writing as the "Robert Stanifortk" which stood on the fly-leaves of some of the books. , "I think I may read it don't you think?" asked Mar got. "It doesn't seem to be anything personal. Only poetry." And Margot read: "Always keep the dream, "Though each hope you had Though all else may go, Life should take away, Never part with that Though naught else remain Never lose the dream. Still, oh, still, the dream ! Let the others laugli "Girlhood's heart of dawn, 'Nothing but a dream f Dreams shall keep you girl; Eyes like fairy pools. Though all else may go- Dreams shall keep you pnre.Never lose the dream." "I wonder if he wrote that himself?" said Phoebe. "Evidently not. He has only copied them. They are signed by another name." "I'm glad." "Whatever for, you strange child ! Don't you think they are rather sweet lines ?" "But a man must be somethinir " T " I , ' i suppose ae must, answered Photht O want the man I marry to be anu! man, or a soiaier man, or a saiior ", letters not a man of anythir.gociJ',H now aoout a nooieman-lnlr.u M ' : say "asked Margot, making her tJ . with Phoebe in pursuit. tj But, whatever Phoebe's opinion, . .1 i poets and poetry, it is a remark f !A went to sleep that night, she was saymf "Always keep the drean, It was i nuugn ail else may grj Never part with that-' JNever lose the dream.' a recognized instituting lPLl-tTy Friday Zb usually looks askance, is regarded br uri li particularly favorable for the practice of aT5 after dinner on Fridays, Margot was nW? of a little group of young, and even omZaJ to consult the sybil for it is a strarZ old people are no less interested m tietej young. Margot's solemnity of manner mAJ sions was almost indescribable, and she 1 firm believer in her own gifts as a diviner tal 1 : 1 1 . 1 . . ' 1 a smii inai one couia not well escape a cotsji ness in consulting her. She had a way of past that made the least superstitious Sstal voluntary respect to her prognostications (J Phoebe always affected a certain tarW cism as they sat down to the table and iW, ever to her the twenty-eight cards, biddbM kiiu tui mice unici. "Suppose we assume the oreliminir. would tease, " the skirmishing of fan sth shortly to have a letter ! That is oerhant m sit thine rnnciHr1 Tti.r, T' . ... , o- .-w..v.. itit.i uii ourc 1 TOO is coming to me. Of course, I am goini tony journeys 10 Duy a nat in London, perhip-f mustn't forget that I am to have a ssrprist-J Be quiet, Phoebe ; how ran ycro expect tkt ten anyining wnen you approach tbem m atl Now, listen, ' and Margot would begin On this particular Friday, Mjrpt wu al usually impressive, and though the wpkfcrt W fessed it for the world, Phoebe wm 1 bftle W fuL "Some one is going to tell you a lit," beju impressively pointing to the three loaves. "Never mind that. Tell me about theftir and the Dark Man," said Phoebe. "Did you remember to wish ?" asked Mrr garding her friend's flippancy. Yes! Phof wished, she said with a smile ; but Margot n sorbed in her friend's future as hardh to bees swer. Presently she came out of her study. "Your rard are wonderfnlrv hririit to-ttilk she said solemnly. "You hold your wish, wis is and with a rapid gesture she indicated tunate coniunetion of the cards. Then ike reading the mystic scheme of hearts and diass pictured kings and queens. "Look," she said presently, pointing cards. "Do vou see those three aces? hasty news. And well 1 Did you ever set amH that I Phoebe, listen. A dark maa is coon deep water to your wish " 'To my wish nonsense," said Phoebe, b "Look here, then," continued Margot, w this mean ? The king of dubs, as ywij" to the nine and ten and ace of dubv That 11 a dark man is coming across deep water, than that, the ace of hearts so close meats 1 coming to the house, and the three of hearts 1 k. ; t. ,cK There are TM, of clubs and he is a club-man, too-tbe m. Do you see?" "Well, there are the cards," said Mirg "Come" into the garden, jam rmx, .table. "Look how the moon u sb:ffin "Yes Let us tro and see it 1 wedding-ring," assented Margot ' went inro me garaen. ... -ri Zi ,,c i,ttfTir.r wtifl dtTOl A IIC UWU 1 "S wa-i fe" o moonshine. . "Oh. the ring is covered m ,tjn' Phoebe. "No, only diamonds,' "DO YOU BKLISVS IN D BEAMS, MAXGOT? "Yes." said Margot "Oh, I can't tell you. It's too childish. But don't you see they make a perfect ring?" "Yes?" said Margot, rather pouled. "WelL that is my wedding-ring. I phmted them three or four years ago, and I said to myself that whenever they came up in an unbroken circle, that year I should meet him him we have been talking about. Two Springs they came up with gaps here and there-so I knew he wasn't coming those years; but this Spring look at them, Margot. . It was true ; they made an unbroken ring of shining gold. . "And yon call me superstitious!" laughed Margot, kissing her., "Well, between your dream and the cro cuses, there seems no doubt, poor Phoebe, that yoor hour has come. By all tha omens, the Prince is already riding toward you on his coal-black charger. I think' he must be very near. I feel almost as if he were in the garden." . should sef her a gentle wraith, stealing wistfully about her old home." "Poor little woman !" said Margot, looking again at the picture. At other times she found herself wishing she could ask him why he liked that picture, or why he had marked that passage in a certain book, or where he picked on this or that "delightful old thing" about the house. One object which particularly teased the curi osity of the two girls was a small glass case containing two tiny blue butterflies, neatly mounted on pins after the fashion of entomologists. 'What can he want with those?" Phoebe had asked. "Perhaps he collects butterflies," Margot had sug gested. "No; if that were it there would be mere of them,' Phoebe had decided. "No, these are evidently some old sentimental memoranda." "It's a shame," said Margot ; "he ought to have labelled them, oughtn't he?" "Yest But I'm glad he didn't write them." "What on earth for ?" "Well, I don't want him to be a poet" "You don't want him, Phoebe. Why, I believe you're falling in love with him.-' 1 "Nonsense," retorted Phoebe, with quite a deep blush nevertheless ; "but it doesn't fit in with my imagination of him for him to be a poet" "A poet !" said Margot her big eyes filling with dreams. If ever I were to marry I should wish to marry a poet " "Marrv a ooet. Ma rami ' Vr InUa..a. - . v viiixrcsc enemy couldn t wish you a more cruel fate. Poets are won- husbandT" fS' but never meant thn to be '"WhK 4nd st0d Nothing" answered Margot on second thought Besides, Phoebe continued, with a certain vague Im pulse ofself-protection, "poets nowadays don't look like poets. They make a pose of looking as commonplace as they can, and hate anyone to take them for what they are. Their aim seems to be to look as like commercial travelers as possible. Perhaps it is the natural desire -?L :"tnMS . attention, and to go incognito, like longs, with check suits and big cigars. I'nTsure the man who wrote those lines looks like , volunteer or a bank clerk and prides himself on it The poets my Margot is dreaming of were very different. They looked the pm as well as played it The, were not ashamed of being poets, but, in fact, rathef proud of it just as a soldier Js proud of looking a soldier " "How would you like to marry a soldier r inter rupted Margot "No," Phoebe shook her head. "Soldiers have no humor. They are too serious." "Ifs rather a serious profession, isn't it?" "All professions are serious. I should dread any man who had a profession. It would be sure (a show on ' him somewhere like a uniform." tireot. rtasstal . , --"V.V' i.f,.. tr somerset jncxi morning ai uirdivi from 9 Uttr h was readinc i. "We are to have a visitor. k h( J lord. Mr. Staniforth-why. what ' n"j is , ..rnrKf 0 l"c 1 ine suoaert jump 01 a not escapea mm. . lfrt)ei terious that one hardly t?M 01 nm Th. of Mr Siri.onu , have struck Mr. Somerset Quite to realize it now Kfr CSfrirt handed tpe riA it t-.ee ther small "fascinating hand Nra at each other Well, Mr. St rttf ,;tr over to ri j -t bet aniforth came a j- that one visit did not supe .- ut(( srt his old papers. In fact, inc. -v- . in the course of which he a , ...A . n,4r,l liL-ir,z tor ..,vtei those occasions of their to- jb)Wf very soon the Somerset h'd- 1 thaT'Mr. Staniiorth was the ti-- 1 that Sonne had come an-n. ' ,: , sucf the two butterflies ai.d. ",(lffa-,am,iofd thi intimacy with her mysteries fg K$ liant mornintr she had 'vtn L -AA '.r .rr, J l mttf On this occasion, he had ta i 11.. fnanrfi- uvt I in a most tmiancuorvii.- . - v . Inwur h liwH that rin? jerteq a perfect, unbroken emblft" -' 0(- which he thereon p'edped aV! "If we have to buy up J world he had added. M ' "Oh. yesl I think my J Phabe, "if ny year it J tiniest bit or worn the "Don't fear," her ,ovffr W 3 ring is not "only made "t un';) the -warm, faithful earth. ' '"J keeping, and all the 4ttr,i Ijfcj over ftlike Druatdian angels i ' A & For sweetheart, was it ajffi the elements, that element ra rry-1 finmdei and threaten ard - lYl1iJ. ttA. but the sap ' ?,rc?.T ttw iflffnene ftf the nvn.,rt,tlr Inmwri m an IS l0rf frf so soft of voice, the m ttrioo5 ments . covngotn, im$ A mm
The Charlotte Observer (Charlotte, N.C.)
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June 10, 1909, edition 1
14
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