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Page 72
Cleric said he thought Virgil, when he was dying at Brindisi, must have
remembered that passage. After he had faced the bitter fact that he was to
leave the `Aeneid' unfinished, and had decreed that the great canvas,
crowded with figures of gods and men, should be burned rather than survive
him unperfected, then his mind must have gone back to the perfect utterance
of the `Georgics,' where the pen was fitted to the matter as the plough is
to the furrow; and he must have said to himself, with the thankfulness of a
good man, `I was the first to bring the Muse into my country.'
We left the classroom quietly, conscious that we had been brushed by the
wing of a great feeling, though perhaps I alone knew Cleric intimately
enough to guess what that feeling was. In the evening, as I sat staring at
my book, the fervour of his voice stirred through the quantities on the
page before me. I was wondering whether that particular rocky strip of New
England coast about which he had so often told me was Cleric's patria.
Before I had got far with my reading, I was disturbed by a knock. I
hurried to the door and when I opened it saw a woman standing in the dark
hall.
`I expect you hardly know me, Jim.'
The voice seemed familiar, but I did not recognize her until she stepped
into the light of my doorway and I beheld--Lena Lingard! She was so
quietly conventionalized by city clothes that I might have passed her on
the street without seeing her. Her black suit fitted her figure smoothly,
and a black lace hat, with pale-blue forget-me-nots, sat demurely on her
yellow hair.
I led her toward Cleric's chair, the only comfortable one I had,
questioning her confusedly.
She was not disconcerted by my embarrassment. She looked about her with
the naive curiosity I remembered so well. `You are quite comfortable here,
aren't you? I live in Lincoln now, too, Jim. I'm in business for myself.
I have a dressmaking shop in the Raleigh Block, out on O Street. I've made
a real good start.'
`But, Lena, when did you come?'
`Oh, I've been here all winter. Didn't your grandmother ever write you?
I've thought about looking you up lots of times. But we've all heard what
a studious young man you've got to be, and I felt bashful. I didn't know
whether you'd be glad to see me.' She laughed her mellow, easy laugh, that
was either very artless or very comprehending, one never quite knew which.
`You seem the same, though--except you're a young man, now, of course. Do
you think I've changed?'
`Maybe you're prettier--though you were always pretty enough. Perhaps it's
your clothes that make a difference.'
`You like my new suit? I have to dress pretty well in my business.'
She took off her jacket and sat more at ease in her blouse, of some soft,
flimsy silk. She was already at home in my place, had slipped quietly into
it, as she did into everything. She told me her business was going well,
and she had saved a little money.
`This summer I'm going to build the house for mother I've talked about so
long. I won't be able to pay up on it at first, but I want her to have it
before she is too old to enjoy it. Next summer I'll take her down new
furniture and carpets, so she'll have something to look forward to all
winter.'
I watched Lena sitting there so smooth and sunny and well-cared-for, and
thought of how she used to run barefoot over the prairie until after the
snow began to fly, and how Crazy Mary chased her round and round the
cornfields. It seemed to me wonderful that she should have got on so well
in the world. Certainly she had no one but herself to thank for it.
`You must feel proud of yourself, Lena,' I said heartily. `Look at me;
I've never earned a dollar, and I don't know that I'll ever be able to.'
`Tony says you're going to be richer than Mr. Harling some day. She's
always bragging about you, you know.'
`Tell me, how IS Tony?'
`She's fine. She works for Mrs. Gardener at the hotel now. She's
housekeeper. Mrs. Gardener's health isn't what it was, and she can't see
after everything like she used to. She has great confidence in Tony.
Tony's made it up with the Harlings, too. Little Nina is so fond of her
that Mrs. Harling kind of overlooked things.'
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