marm lisa-第2部分

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；　but　the　smile　only　gave　you　a　new　thrill；　it　was　vacant　and　had　no　joy　in　it；　rather　an　uncommunicable　grief。　　As　she　sat　there　with　her　battered　doll；　she　was　to　the　superficial　eye　repulsive；　but　to　the　eye　that　pierces　externals　she　was　almost　majestic　in　her　mysterious　loneliness　and　separation。

The　steam…whistle　of　a　factory　near　by　blew　a　long　note　for　twelve　o'clock；　and　she　rose　from　her　bench；　took　the　children　by　the　hand；　and　dragged　them；　kindly　but　firmly；　up　the　steps　into　the　kitchen。　She　laid　her　doll　under　a　towel；　but；　with　a　furtive　look　at　the　boy；　rolled　it　in　a　cloth　and　tucked　it　under　her　skirt　at　the　waist…line。　She　then　washed　the　children's　faces；　tied　on　their　calico　bibs；　and　pushed　them　up　to　the　pine　table。　　While　they　battered　the　board　and　each　other　with　spoons　and　tin　mugs；　she　went　automatically　to　a　closet；　took　a　dish　of　cold　porridge　and　turned　it　into　three　bowls；　poured　milk　over　it；　spread　three　thick　slices　of　wheat　bread　with　molasses　from　a　cup；　and　sat　down　at　the　table。　　After　the　simple　repast　was　over；　she　led　the　still　reluctant　（constitutionally　reluctant）　twins　up　the　staircase　and　put　them；　shrieking；　on　a　bed；　left　the　room；　locking　the　door　behind　her　in　a　perfunctory　sort　of　way　as　if　it　were　an　everyday　occurrence；　crouched　down　on　the　rug　outside；　and；　leaning　her　head　back　against　the　wall；　took　her　doll　from　under　her　skirt；　for　this　was　her　playtime；　her　hour　of　ease。

Poor　little　'Marm　Lisa；'　as　the　neighbours　called　her！　　She　had　all　the　sorrows　and　cares　of　maternity　with　none　of　its　compensating　joys。



CHAPTER　IIMISTRESS　MARY'S　GARDEN



'〃Mistress　Mary；　quite　contrary；　　　　How　does　your　garden　grow？〃　〃With　silver　bells　and　cockle　shells；　　　　And　little　maids　all　in　a　row。〃'

Mistress　Mary's　Garden　did　grow　remarkably　well；　and　it　was　wonderfully　attractive　considering　the　fact　that　few　persons　besides　herself　saw　anything　but　weeds　in　it。

She　did　not　look　in　the　least　a　'contrary'　Miss　Mary；　as　she　stood　on　a　certain　flight　of　broad　wooden　steps　on　a　sunshiny　morning；　yet　she　was　undoubtedly　having　her　own　way　and　living　her　own　life　in　spite　of　remonstrances　from　bevies　of　friends；　who　saw　no　shadow　of　reason　or　common…sense　in　her　sort　of　gardening。　　It　would　have　been　foolish　enough　for　a　young　woman　with　a　small　living　income　to　cultivate　roses　or　violets　or　lavender；　but　this　would　at　least　have　been　poetic；　while　the　arduous　tilling　of　a　soil　where　the　only　plants　were　little　people　'all　in　a　row'　was　something　beyond　credence。

The　truth　about　Mistress　Mary　lay　somewhere　in　the　via　media　between　the　criticisms　of　her　sceptical　friends　and　the　encomiums　of　her　enthusiastic　admirers。　　In　forsaking　society　temporarily　she　had　no　rooted　determination　to　forsake　it　eternally；　and　if　the　incense　of　love　which　her　neophytes　for　ever　burned　at　her　shrine　savoured　somewhat　of　adoration；　she　disarmed　jealousy　by　frankly　avowing　her　unworthiness　and　lack　of　desire　to　wear　the　martyr's　crown。　　Her　happiness　in　her　chosen　vocation　made　it　impossible；　she　argued；　to　regard　her　as　a　person　worthy　of　canonisation；　though　the　neophytes　were　always　sighing　to


'have　that　little　head　of　hers　Painted　upon　a　background　of　pale　gold。'


She　had　been　born　with　a　capacity　for　helping　lame　dogs　over　stiles；　accordingly；　her　pathway；　from　a　very　early　age；　had　been　bestrewn　with　stiles；　and　processions　of　lame　dogs　ever　limping　towards　them。　Her　vocation　had　called　her　so　imperiously　that　disobedience　was　impossible。　　It　is　all　very　well　if　a　certain　work　asks　one　in　a　quiet　and　courteous　manner　to　come　and　do　it；　when　one　has　time　and　inclination；　but　it　is　quite　another　matter　if　it　coaxes　one　so　insistently　that　one　can　do　nothing　else　properly；　and　so　succumbs　finally　to　the　persuasive　voice。　　Still；　the　world　must　be　mothered　somehow；　and　there　are　plenty　of　women　who　lack　the　time　or　the　strength；　the　gift　or　the　desire；　the　love　or　the　patience；　to　do　their　share。　　This　gap　seems　to　be　filled　now　and　then　by　some　inspired　little　creature　like　Mistress　Mary；　with　enough　potential　maternity　to　mother　an　orphan　asylum；　too　busy；　too　absorbed；　too　radiantly　absent…minded　to　see　a　husband　in　any　man；　but　claiming　every　child　in　the　universe　as　her　very　own。　　There　was　never　anywhere　an　urchin　so　dirty；　so　ragged；　so　naughty；　that　it　could　not　climb　into　Mistress　Mary's　lap；　and　from　thence　into　her　heart。　　The　neophytes　partook　of　her　zeal　in　greater　or　less　degree；　and；　forsaking　all　probability　of　lovers　（though　every　one　of　them　was　young　and　pretty）；　they　tied　on　their　white　aprons　and　clave　only　unto　her。　　Daily　intercourse　with　a　couple　of　hundred　little　street　Arabs　furnished　a　field　for　the　practice　of　considerable　feminine　virtue；　and　in　reality　the　woman's　kingdom　at　the　top　of　the　broad　wooden　steps　was　a　great　'culture　engine'　of　spiritual　motherhood。

It　certainly　was　a　very　merry　place；　and　if　its　presiding　geniuses　were　engaged　in　conscious　philanthropy；　the　blighting　hallmark　was　conspicuous　by　its　absence。　　Peals　of　laughter　rang　through　the　rooms；　smiling　faces　leaned　from　the　upstairs　windows；　bowing　greeting　to　the　ashman；　the　scissors…grinder；　the　Italian　and　Chinese　vegetable…vendors；　the　rag…sack…and…bottle　man；　and　the　other　familiar　figures　of　the　neighbourhood。

It　was　at　the　end　of　a　happy；　helpful　day　that　Mistress　Mary　stood　in　the　front　door　and　looked　out　over　her　kingdom。

There　was　a　rosy　Swedish　girl　sitting　on　the　floor　of　a　shop　window　opposite　and　washing　the　glass。　　She　had　moved　the　fresh　vegetables　aside　and　planted　herself　in　the　midst　of　them。　　There　she　sat　among　the　cabbages　and　turnips　and　other　sweet　things　just　out　of　the　earth；　piles　of　delicate　green　lettuce　buds；　golden　carrots　bursting　into　feathery　tops；　ruddy　beets；　and　pink…checked。　　It　was　pretty　to　see　the　honest　joy　of　her　work　and　the　interest　of　her　parted　lips；　when；　after　polishing　the　glass；　it　shone　as　crystal　clear　as　her　own　eyes。　　A　milkman　stopping　to　look　at　her　（and　small　wonder　that　he　did）　poured　nearly　a　quart　of　cream　on　the　ground；　and　two　children　ran　squabbling　under　the　cart　to　see　if　they　could　catch　the　drippings　in　their　mouths。　　They　were　Atlantic　and　Pacific　Simonson　with　Marm　Lisa；　as　usual；　at　their　heels。　　She　had　found　her　way　to　this　corner　twice　of　late；　because　things　happened　there　marvellous　enough　to　stir　even　her　heavy　mind。　　There　was　a　certain　flight　of　narrow；　rickety　steps　leading　to　a　rickety　shanty；　and　an　adjacent　piece　of　fence　with　a　broad　board　on　top。　　Flower…pots　had　once　stood　there；　but　they　were　now　lying　on　the　ground　below；　broken　into　fragments。　　Marm　Lisa　could　push　the　twins　up　to　this　vantage…ground；　and　crawl　up　after　them。　　Once　ensconced；　if　they　had　chosen　the　right　time　of　day；　interesting　events　were　sure　to　be　forthcoming。　In　a　large　playground　within　range　of　vision；　there　were　small　children；　as　many　in　number　as　the　sands　of　the　seashore。　　At　a　given　moment；　a　lovely　angel　with　black　hair　and　a　scarlet　apron　would　ring　a　large　bell。　　Simultaneously；　a　lovely　angel　with　brown　hair　and　a　white　apron　would　fly　to　the　spot；　and　the　children　would　go　through　a　mysterious　process　like　the　swarming　of　bees　around　a　queen。　Slowly；　reluctantly；　painfully；　the　swarm　settled　itself　into　lines　in　conformance　with　some　hidden　law　or　principle　unknown　to　Marm　Lisa。　　Then；　when　comparative　order　had　been　evolved　from　total　chaos；　the　most　beautiful　angel　of　all　would　appear　in　a　window；　and　the　reason　she　always　struck　the　onlookers　as　a　being　of　beauty　and　majesty　was　partly；　perhaps；　because　her　head　seemed　to　rise　from　a　cloud　of　white　（which　was　in　reality　only　a　fichu　of　white　mull）；　and　partly　because　she　always　wore　a　slender　fillet　of　steel　to　keep　back　the　waves　of　her　fair　hair。　　It　had　a　little　point　in　front；　and　when　the　sun　shone　on　its　delicate；　fine…cut　prisms　it　glittered　like　a　halo。　　After　the　appearance　of　this　heavenly　apparition　the　endless　lines　of　little　people　wended　their　was　into　the　building；　and　enchanting　strains　of　music　were　wafted　through　the　open　windows；　supplemented　sometimes　by　the　inspiring　rattle　of　drums　and　the　blare　of　instruments　hitherto　indissolubly　associated　with　street　parades。

Who？　　Why？　　Whence？　　Whither？　　What　for？　　These　were　some　of　the　questions　that　assailed　Marm　Lisa's　mind；　but　in　so　incoherent　a　form　that　she　left　them；　with　all　other　questions；　unanswered。　　Atlantic　and　Pacific　were　curious；　too；　but　other　passions　held　greater　sway　with　them；　for　when　the　children　disappeared　and　the　music　ceased；　they　called　loudly　for　more；　and　usually　scratched　and　pinched　Marm　Lisa　as　they　were　lifted　down　from　the　fence；　not　seeing　daily　how　anybody　else　could　be　held　answerable　for　the　cessation　of　the　entertainment；　and　scratches　and　pinches　being　the　only　remedial　agencies　that　suggested　themselves。

On　this　particular　occasion　there　were　no　bells；　no　music；　and　no　mysterious　swarming；　but　the　heavenly　apparition　sat　on　the　broad　steps。　　Yes；　it　was　she！　　Blue…grey　eyes　with　darker　lashes　sweeping　the　warm　ivory　of　her　cheeks；　sweet　true　lips　for　ever　parting　in　kind　words；　the　white　surplice　and　apron；　and　the　rememberable　steel　fillet。　　She　had　a　little　child　in　her　lap　（she　generally　had；　by　the　way）；　and　there　were　other　tots　clinging　fondly　to　her　motherly　skirts。　　Marm　Lisa　stood　at　the　foot　of　the　steps；　a　twin　glued　to　each　side。　　She　stared　at　Mistress　Mary　with　open…mouthed　wonder　not　unmixed　with　admiration。

'That　same　odd　child；'　thought　Mary。　　'I　have　seen　her　before；　and　always　with　those　two　little　vampires　hanging　to　her　skirts。　　She　looks　a　trifle　young　to　have　such　constant　family　cares；　perhaps　we　had　better　〃lend　a　hand。〃'

'Won't　you　come　in？'　she　asked；　with　a　smile　that　would　have　drawn　a　sane　person　up　the　side　of　a　precipice。

Atlantic　turned　and　ran；　but　the　other　two　stood　their　ground。

'Won't　you　come　up　and　see　us？'　she　repeated。　　'There　are　some　fishes　swimming　in　a　glass　house；　come　and　look　at　them。'

Marm　Lisa　felt　herself　dragged　up　the　steps　as　by　invisible　chains；　and　even　Pacific　did　not　attempt　to　resist　the　irresistible。　Atlantic；　finding　himself　deserted　by　his　comrades；　gave　a　yell　of　baffled　rag