Speaker 1: Perdita by Hildegarde Hawthorne, Part one. Alfalfa Ranch. Alfalfa Ranch,
low wide, with spreading verandahs, all overgrown by roses and woodbine,
and commanding on all sides a wide view of the
rolling alfalfa fields, was a most bewitching place for a
young couple to spend the first few months of their
married life. So Jack and I were naturally much delighted
when Aunt Agnes asked us to consider it our own
for as long as we chose. The ranch, in spite
of its distance from the nearest town, surrounded as it
was by the prairies, and without a neighbor within a
three mile radius, was yet luxuriously fitted with all the
modern conveniences. Aunt Agnes was a rich young widow, and
had built the place after her husband's death, intending to
live there with her child, to whom she transferred all
the wealth of devotion she had lavished on her husband.
The child, however, had died when only three years old,
and aunt Agnes, as soon as she recovered sufficient strength,
had left Alfalfa Ranch, intending never to visit the place again.
All this had happened nearly ten years ago, and the widow,
relinquishing all the advantages her youth and beauty, quite as
much as her wealth could give her, had devoted herself
to work amid the poor of New York at my wedding,
which she heartily app proved, and where to a greater
extent than ever before, she cast off the almost morbid
quietness which had grown habitual with her. She seemed particularly
anxious that Jack and I should accept the loan of
alfalfa ranch, apparently having an old idea that the power
of our happiness would somehow lift the cloud of sorrow
which in her mind brooded over the place. I had
not been strong, And Jack was overjoyed at such an
opportunity of taking me into the country. High as our
expectations were, the beauty of the place far exceeded them.
All what color, what glorious sunsets, and the long rides
we took, seeming to be utterly tireless in that fresh,
sweet air. One afternoon I sat on the verandah at
the western wing of the house. The veranda here was
broader than elsewhere, and it was reached only by a
flight of steps leading up from the lawn on one side,
and by a door opposite these steps that opened into
Jack's study. The rest of this veranda was enclosed by
a high railing and by wire nettings so thickly overgrown
with vines that the place was always very shady. I
sat near the steps, where I could watch the sweep
of the great shadows thrown by the clouds that were
sailing before the west wind. Jack was inside, writing, and
now and then he would say something to me through
the open window. As I sat, lost in delight at
the beauty of the view and the sweetness of the
flower scented air, I marveled that Aunt Agnes could ever
have left so charming a spot. She must still love it,
I thought, getting up to move my chair to where
I might see still further over the prairies, and sometimes
she will come back. At this moment I happened to
glance to the further end of the verandah, and there
I saw, to my amazement, a little child seated on
the floor, playing with the shifting shadows of the tangled creepers.
It was a little girl in a daintily embroidered white
dress with golden curls around her baby head. As I
still gazed, she suddenly turned and with a roguish toss
of the yellow hair, and fixed her serious blue eyes
on me. Baby, I cried, where did you come from?
Where's your mamma, darling? And I took a step towards her.
What's that? Sylvia called Jack from within. I turned my
head and saw him sitting at his desk. Come quick, Jack,
there's the loveliest baby. I turned back to the child,
looked blinked, and at this moment Jack stepped out beside me. Baby.
He inquired, what on earth are you talking about, Sylvia dearest? Why?
But I exclaimed, there was one? How did she get away?
She was sitting right there when I called a baby,
repeated my husband, My dear, babies don't appear and disappear
like East Indian magicians. You have been napping and are
trying to conceal the shameful fact. Jack, I said, decisively,
don't you suppose I know a baby when I see one?
She was sitting right there, playing with the shadows, and
I it's certainly very queer. Jack grinned go and put
on your habit, he replied. The horses will be here
in ten minutes, and remember that when you have accounted
for her disappearance. Her presence still remains to be explained.
Or perhaps you think was Singh produced her from his sleeve,
I laughed, Was Singh was our Chinese cook, and more
apt I thought to put something up his sleeve than
to take anything out. I suppose I was dreaming, I said,
though I could almost as well believe I had only
dreamed our marriage, or rather, observed Jack, that our marriage
had only dreamed us Part two Shadows. About a week
later I received a letter from Aunt Agnes, among other things,
chiefly relating to New York's slums. She said, I am
in need of rest, and if you and Jack could
put up with me for a few days, I believe
I should like to get back to the old place.
As you know, I have always dreaded a return there,
but lately I seem somehow to have lost that dread.
I feel that the time has come for me to
be there again, and I'm sure you will not mind me.
Most assuredly we would not mind her. We sat in
the moonlight that night on the Verandah, Jack swinging my
hammock slowly, and talked of Aunt Agnes. The moon silvered,
the waving Alfalfa and sifted through the twisted vines that
fenced us in, throwing intricate and ever changing patterns on
the smooth flooring. There was a hum of insects in
the air, and the soft wind, ever and Anon blew
a fleecy cloud over the moon, dimming for a moment
her serene splendor. Who knows, said Jack, lighting another cigar.
This may be a turning point in Aunt Agnes's life,
and she may once more be something like the sunny,
happy girl your mother describes. She is beautiful, and she
is yet young. It may mean the beginning of a
new life for her. Yes, I answered, it isn't right
that her life should always be shadowed by that early sorrow.
She is so lovely and could be so happy now
that she has taken the first step. There's no reason
why she shouldn't go on. We'll do what we can
to help her, responded my husband, let me fix your cushions, darling,
they have slipped. He rose to do so, and suddenly
stood still, facing the further end of the Verandah. His
expression was so peculiar that I turned following the direction
of his eyes, even before his smothered exclamation of Sylvia,
look there reached me. Standing in the fluttering moonlight and shadows,
was the same little girl I had seen already. She
still wore white, and her tangled curls floated shining around
her head. She seemed to be smiling and slightly shook
her head at us. What does it mean, jack, I whispered,
slipping out of the hammock. How did she get there? Come?
Said he? And we walked hastily towards the little thing,
who again shook her head. Just at this moment, another
cloud obscured the moon for a few seconds, and though
in the uncertain twilight I fancied I still saw her.
Yet when the cloud passed, she was not to be found.
Part three Perditta. Aunt Agnes certainly did look as though
she needed rest. She seemed very frail, and the color
had entirely left her face, But her curling hair was
as golden as ever, and her figure as girlish and graceful.
She kissed me tenderly and kept my hand in hers
as she wandered over the house and took long looks
across the prairie. Isn't it beautiful? She asked softly, Just
the place to be happy in I've always had a
strange fancy that I should be happy here again some day,
and now I feel as though that day had almost come.
You are happy, aren't you, dear? I looked at Jack
and felt the tears coming into my eyes. Yes, I
am happy. I did not know one could be so happy,
I answered. After a moment. Aunt Agnes smiled her sweet
smile and kissed me again. God bless you and your Jack.
You almost make me feel young again, as though you
could possibly feel anything else, I retorted, laughing, you little
humbug to pretend you're old, and slipping my arm round
her waist, for we had always been dear friends, I
walked off to chat with her in her room. We
took a ride that afternoon, for aunt Agnes wanted another
gallop over that glorious prairie. The exercise and the perfect
afternoon brought back the color to her cheeks. I think
I shall be much better tomorrow, she observed as we
trotted home. What ache country this is, and what horses,
slipping her hand down her mount's glossy neck. I did
right to come back here. I do not believe I
will go away again, and she smiled on Jack and me,
who laughed and said she would find it a difficult
thing to attempt. We all three came out on the
verandah to see the sunset. It was always a glorious sight,
but this evening it was more than usually magnificent. Immense
rays of pale blue and pink spread over the sky,
and the clouds, which stretched in horizontal masses, glowed rose
and golden. The whole sky was luminous and tender, and
seemed to tremble with light. We sat silent, looking at
the sky and at the shadowy grass that seemed to
meet it. Slowly the color deepened and faded. There can
never be a lovelier evening, said aunt Agones, with a sigh.
Don't say that, replied Jack. It is only the beginning
of even more perfect ones. Aunt Agnes rose with a
slight shiver. It grows chilly when the sun goes, she murmured,
and turned lingeringly to enter the house. Suddenly she gave
a startled exclamation. Jack and I jumped up and looked
at her. She stood with both hands pressed to her heart,
looking the child again, said Jack in a low voice,
laying his hand on my arm. He was right there
in the gathering shadow stood the little girl in the
white dress. Her hands were stretched towards us, and her
lips parted in a smile. A belated gleam of sunlight
seemed to linger in her hair. Perdita cried aunt Agnes
in a voice that shook with a kind of terrible joy.
Then with a stifled sob, she ran forward and sank
before the baby, throwing her arms about her. The little
girl leaned back her golden head and looked at aunt
Agnes with her great serious eyes. Then she flung both
baby arms round her neck and lifted her sweet mouth.
Jack and I turned away, looking at each other with
tears in our eyes. A slight sound made us turn back.
Aunt Agnes had fallen forward to the floor, and the
child was nowhere to be seen. We rushed up, and
Jack raised my aunt in his arms and carried her
into the house, but she was quite dead. The little
child we never saw again, and of Perdita