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standards in college.

YOUTH

But our finishing schools, churchly

or otherwise! Hell is paved with their good intentions. Pat's is not worse than the others, I suppose. But the pity of it; the waste of it for her. Hers is such a vivid mind; such a brave, straightforward little mind; at war with that hungry, passionate temperament of hers, yet instinctively clean if it could be protected from befoulment. I have been talking biology with her and she absorbs it with such swiit, sure appreciation. The day of trial for her will come when the lighter amusements pall and her brain demands something to feed en—unless before that time it becomes totally encysted. “Cary Scott’s inguence on her is good. She likes and

respects him and is a little afraid of him, too.

He has

a quality of quiet contempt for cheap and shoddy things to which she responds, though not always without bursts of her fiery little temper. If he were less of the natural aristocrat in all the outer attributes he would not impress her so. Meantime I am glad to see him take some interest even though it be but a playfully intellectual one, in anyone who will divert his mind from Constance. Sometimes I have thought disaster imminent in that quarter. Disaster! How readily one falls into the moralist’s speech, and how your dear lips would quirk at that tone from me, dearest.

Yet a liaison between those two would

be potentially disastrous. For Connie has nothing to give to a man like Cary Scott except her beauty. If he is the man I think him, he will never take her for that

alone; or, if he does, be long satisfied with it.

Yet her

charm is terribly strong. ... I wonder whether you really loved Cary Scott, Mona, as I have loved and still

love you... .” Coming downstairs after writing this letter, from the dead woman’s

room where a desk had been set aside for

iea nnfebd

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him as executor of her estate, Osterhout

found Cary

Scott, dressed in evening clothes, waiting in the library.

On his return from his trip abroad Scott had unobtrusively resumed his established place at Holiday Knoll. He had seen as much of Constance as before, perhaps more, because Dee, between whom and Scott a very frank

and easy friendship had grown up, was occupied with Jameson James to the partial exclusion of other associations,

and

therefore

Scott

was

less with

her than

formerly. He did not like James. Scott and the doctor greeted each other cordially. “You have a festive air to-night,” remarked Osterhout. “Yes. It’s the special symphony concert this evening. Pm taking Constance.” “No, you’re not,” contradicted a hoarse and gay voice. Pat smiled upon them from the entrance. The two men turned to look at her. She stood, one hand above the tousled shimmer of her short, dark hair,

lightly holding by the lintel. In her eyes were laughter, anticipation, and a plea. Her strong, young figure preserving still much of the adorable awkwardness of undeveloped youth, had fallen into a posture of stilled exShe wore a sweater of some exotic, metallic pectancy. blue, a short, barred

skirt, and woollen

stockings, dis-

playing the firm, rounded legs. “You're taking me. Aren’t you?” she added in the husky, breaking sweetness of her voice. Into the minds of the two men darted diverse responses to the appeal of the interrupter. Cary Scott thought. “What a child it is!” Wiser. and more cognisant, through experience of the years, Robert Osterhout said within himself, “Good Lord!

“Why

It’s a woman.”

the charming substitution!” inquired Scott in

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the manner which, to her unfailing delight, he used toward Pat as toward any of his older associates. “Con’s got a headache.” Cary Scott understood perfectly. This was subterfuge on Constance’s part. She was unready to face the issue. There had been a preamble between them on the previous evening; tacitly it was understood that this evening was to determine their future relations. And now she was shirking the crisis. Or was she merely playing the part of the “teaser,” drawing back the more to inflame his ardour—and perhaps her own? Of the two hypotheses Scott inclined to the former. It was more in consonance with her natural inertia of character. If she were in love with him it was not the kind of love which justified itself by daring, by taking the risks, by boldly facing sacrifice. Inexplicably he felt a quality of relief mingling

with his natural pique.

He was well satisfied to post-

pone, to let the decision go, to find relaxation in taking Pat to the concert. In the companionship of this eager, acute, vivid child he would breathe a clearer atmosphere, with something of a mental stimulus, a tingle in it, that which he most missed in his association with the married sister. All of this rapid cogitation was quite without

reflected effect upon his imperturbable manner as he said: “Tell Constance that I’m so sorry, won’t you? And that I appreciate her sending so delightful a substitute.” “Oh, she didn’t send me,” answered Pat composedly. “Tt’s all my own idea.” “A very good one,” grunted Osterhout. “Pat’s a connoisseur of music. But don’t keep my infant out too late, Scott.”

“All right, Pop,” returned Scott with mocking deference, as the older man left.

“How long can you wait?” demanded Pat of her escort.

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“T can’t wait at all. My car is champing at the leash now.” Pat’s illumined face fell. “But I can’t go this way.” “Why not? I like you that way.” “But you’re always so awfully correct. I look like a mess.” “You look like”’—he searched for and found the picture—“like a medieval page.” She made a grimace. “Yes. A boy.” In frank unconsciousness she set her hands with spread fingers against her breasts.

“Flat, like a board,” she said dis-

consolately. “TI like it,” he reassured her. “It’s part of the charm.” She gave her characteristic soft crow of pleasure. “That’s the nicest thing you could possibly say to me. D’you mean it? Really?” “Of course I mean it. Why not?” “JT thought men liked girls to be just the other way. All rounded.” She peered at him doubtfully. “Perhaps it’s because you’re old,” she surmised. Taken aback for the moment he interpreted the innocent speech too literally. “I’m not as old as that. Though I don’t suppose—I rather wonder what yor meant by that.” “Oh, nothing! Just that the point of view must be different. Isn’t it? Less personal.” “It’s very personal in this case,” he retorted with a real warmth of friendliness for this strange and appealing child, “and quite simple. You’re a very delightful little

Pat.

Ilike your type.

Petite gamine.”

“What's that?”

“Tsn’t French taught in your school?” “Tt’s taught; but it isn’t necessarily learned,” she a=-

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swered, summing up in that flash of criticism the essential falsity of the whole finishing school system. “I see. You know what a gamin is?” “Gamin?” She gave it the English pronunciation. “Oh, yes.” “Gamine is the feminine. But there’s a suggestion in it of something more delicate and fetching; of verve, of —of diablerie. As there is in you. It’s hard to say in English. I could describe you better in French.” “Could you? Then I'll learn French. And I think it’s divine of you,” said she, employing her favourite adjective, “to like my funny, flat figure.

You know,” she

added, sparkling at him mischievously, “you’re taking a chance on this concert thing.” ‘Any special chance other than that of being late?” “Oh, I shan’t be a minute, now

that I needn’t dress.

Yes; you’re taking a big chance. I’m an awful nut over music. It does all kinds of things to me. I’m quite capable of falling on your neck and bursting into sobs if they play anything I awfully like.” Beneath the lightness he sensed a real emotion. “Are you really so fond of it? Then I’m doubly glad that you’re going.” “T adore it. Really good music, I mean. Oh, I do wish I could play or sing or do something worth while.” “Have you ever tried?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Too lazy. If it wasn’t for the boring practice I might do something.” She raised her voice and sang the opening bars of the Hindu Sleep-Song. “The devil!” exclaimed Cary Scott. All the huskiness had passed from the voice, which issued from the full throat, pure, fresh-toned, deep and

eXortless.

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“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he declared so vehemently that she pouted. “Now youw’re scolding me.” “Because you’re letting a voice like that go untrained.” “Lots of people like it as it is,” she said resentfully. “Then they don’t recognise what a really lovely thing it might be, properly handled. Why haven’t you taken lessons?” Again the shrug. “Idid. But Istopped. Too much trouble. Will you teach me?” “I? Heavens, no! You want a professional.” “What! and practice an hour every day?” cried the horrified Pat. “Two hours. Three probably. It would be worth it.” “I'd be bored to a frazz.” “You’re bored with anything that means work, discipline, self-restraint.

Aren’t you, Pat?”

“Are you going to lecture me again? I love it,” she observed unexpectedly and with a brilliant smile. In spite of himself he laughed. “No. I’m going to take you to the concert. Get your hat.” Settling herself in the car like a contented kitten, Pat presently said: “There’s something I want to tell you, Mr. Scott. Only it isn’t too easy to begin.” “Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?” “Right! That makes it easier. You remember at the club; what we talked about?” 6V

ag,”

“P’ve been awfully good—about that. I haven’t, at all. At least, nothing serious.” “J am flattered to have been so good an infiuence,” he remarked with his faintly ironic inflection. Constance would not have caught it. But little Pat’s ear was truer. “Don’t josh me about it,” she protested. ‘“Nobody’s

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ever tried to be a good influence for me really. Except Bobs. And he doesn’t know.” “Why doesn’t he know?” “Too old. But,” she added in afterthought, “you’re old, too, aren’t you!” “Terribly.”

“Vd almost forgotten that,” she said thoughtfully.

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 CHAPTER XIII

Comrne out of the concert hall after the last, culminating burst of harmony, Cary Scott drew a deep breath of the night air. Lover and connoisseur of music though he had always been, never in his recollection had it so penetrated his being as now. Better programmes he had listened to, more perfectly rendered. But the companionship of the intensely responsive young girl, her superb and poignant vitality concentrated upon the great waves of sensation which had swept over their spirits, interpreted the numbers for him in a new measure. Timidly, tentatively at first, then more boldly as the ardent influences took hold upon her, Pat had yearned to him in the semi-darkness

which

surrounded

them.

The sweet, firm

curve of her shoulder first, then the close pressure of her knee; soon her fingers, creeping to his hand, clasping and being enfolded, the fragrance of her light, quick breath, rhythmic upon his cheek. It seemed as if she had become

subtly the medium and instrument of all the splendour of sound, as if the music were flowing in the currents of her woman’s body out upon him and around him in a submerging flood. Now they were in the open air. She walked beside him, her face dreamy and demure, the faintest of smiles implicit in the up-slanted corners of her mouth,

‘Wasn't it—magic!” she breathed. “Yes, magic,” he assented. They located and entered his car. For a time the intricacies of the traffic engrossed his attention. As they passed into the light-shot spaciousness of the park he turned to her.

137

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“Well?”? ‘Don’t let’s talk.

I want to just remember.” He nodded and she leaned to him momentarily again, kitten-like, caressing, grateful for his understanding. He, too, was glad of the respite, for, man of the world

though he was, he had been strangely, unexpectedly shaken. It was Pat who, long minutes later, sighed and broke the silence with the hoarse, enticing sweetness of her tones. “What did you do it for, Mr. Scott?” “I? Do what?” He was surprised by the directness

of the attack. “Oh, well! I, then. You know. What did you let me do it for?” He made no reply. In his stillness was a sense of expectancy to which she responded. “IT warned you what music did to me. But you—you needn’t have let me——” She paused. “Do you like me a little?” she murmured. “Yes. <A little.” “Only a little?” she teased, half child demanding the comfort of affection, half conscious coquette. than that?”

“Not more

“Perhaps a little more,” he smiled. “But not half as much as you do Con,” she said deliberately.

He was silent, his attention apparently engrossed in a heavy truck which gave them bare passing room. “Do you?” she insisted, daring greatly. “Do I what?”

“Like me as much as you do Con?

Half as much, I

mean.” “Tf I did do you think I should tell you?”

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“Why shouldn’t you?

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139

But I thought you were crazy

over Con. She thinks so.” Scott hummed one of the passages from the final number of the concert. “Oh, very well. I’m only making conversation. I

don’t really want to talk at all.

Id rather think.

Al)

the rest of the way home.”

Arrived at Holiday Knoll, he stepped from the car and held out a hand to her. “Good-night, Pat.” “Aren’t you coming in?” “Ah, do,” she wheeedled. “Just for a minute.” He turned to look at the broad, rambling house. A dim light burned in the library; a brighter one in Dee’s room overhead. Constance’s room was dark. He was vaguely glad of that. “J haven’t even thanked you yet,” she observed. “You needn’t.” “Then you ought to thank me,” she asserted daringly, “for taking Connie’s place. Do come in. Perhaps I can find you a drink.” “T don’t want
 * T think not.”

a drink, thank you,” he returned; but

he followed her through the door. “Tt’s us, Dee,” called the girl, projecting her voice up the stairway as she led the way to the library. “Mr. Scot and me.” “All right,” Dee responded. “I’m in my nightie or Vd come down. Have a good time?” &Gee-lorious!” said Pat. She took off her hat, flaffed up her short, heavy hair with a double-handed scuffle characteristic of her, and moved forward to the tuble, In the diffused soft radiance of the one light, Scott stared at her. Her pose was languid, her eyes sombre

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with the still passion of lovely sounds remembered.

Slowly

the lids drooped over them. She tilted her chin and in her effortless, liquid voice of song gave out the exquisite

rhythm of a melody from the Tschaikowsky Fifth which they had just heard. “Don’t, Pat,” muttered Scott.

“Don’t you like it?” “TI Jove it. So—don’t.”

She moved toward him, her throat still quivering with the beauty of sound, and lifted her hand to the bright,

curt waves of hair at his temple, brushing them lightly back. A dusky colour glowed in her cheeks. As the dim echo of the music died, she leaned to him. Her lips, light, fervent, cool, softly firm, met his, lingered upon them for the smallest, sweetest moment as a moth hovers in its flight from a flower. Then she, too, was in flight.

“Good-night,” she whispered back to him from the doorway. Pat’s challenge to Stancia’s supremacy gave Scott plenty to speculate about. His first sentiment was amusement that this daring child should have deliberately elected to enter the lists against her older and more beautiful sister. But what was Pat’s interest in him? Flirtation? Evidently. He guessed that it was the dash of diablerie in her that had inspired the experiment. Nevertheless, he was conscious of a rather excited interest in and curiosity about her, not as a precocious child, but as a reckonable woman with distinct provocations of person and mind. In comparison with her, Scott reflected (and was shocked at his own disloyalty in so reflecting) Stancia was becom-

ing insipid. He discovered, in thinking it over, that there had grown up an impalpable embarrassment between Stancia and himself, and that it seemed to have been growing for some

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time; an inexplicable thing between those two who had approached so near to embarkation upon the loveadventure perilous. Had she noticed it? He wondered. Had he been so bold as to put the query to her, she would have hardly known how to reply. She was conscious that at times she failed to hold his interest;

that his mind

seemed to wander away from her; but, in the self-sufficiency of her beauty, she set that down to a quality of vagueness in his character. He was unfailingly gentle, considerate, and helpful wherever, in her luxurious and hard-pressed life, she allowed him to help. And he asked nothing in return.

This piqued, even while it relieved her. For she was no longer adventurous. The layers of fat were insulating that soft and comfort-enslaved soul. Scott, striving to maintain the appearances of a loyalty which he did not really owe (how he thanked his gods for that now!) found her loveliness growing monotonous,

her inertia of mind,

irritant. “Nothing above the ears,” Pat had said; wicked little Pat, whose vividness so far outshone the mere beauty of the elder. The harsh truth of the slang had stuck. His next encounter with the girl was several days later when he was keeping an appointment with Stancia in the library at the Knoll; the merest fleeting glimpse of the boyish girl-figure as it passed through the hallway, followed by the heart-troubling, deep thrill of her voice raised in the Tschaikowsky melody. ... “I’ve asked you twice,” he was conscious of Stancia saying plaintively, “and you don’t pay any attention.” “TI really beg your pardon,” apologised Scott. “Awfully stupid of me. Of course, I shall be delighted to stay to luncheon.” As he was leaving early in the afternoon, Pat hurried after him to intercept the car.

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“Take me down to the village with you, Mr. Scott?” “Indeed I will.” She jumped in. “I don’t want te go to the village,” said she in quite a different tone, as the car took the curve. “I want to talk.” “It’s a worthy ambition. SodoI. Where shall we go?” “Anywhere.” He whirled the car around an abrupt corner and headed for the open country.

“I cried that night after the concert,” Pat informed him. She was staring straight in front of her. “My dear!” he murmured. “I’m not your dear.” “No. You’re not. I must remember that.” “Not a bit—to-day. I’ve had time to think.” “So have I.” She whirled on him. “Have you changed, too?” she demanded with animation and dismay, quaintly negligent of the implied inconsistency. “No. I haven’t changed.” “T’m glad,” said she naively. Then, stealing a glance at him, “Do you still like me—a little?”

A little? How much did he “like” this bewitching child? Was “like” a sufficient word at all for the feeling which had taken such puzzling growth within him? He could not have answered the query to himself satisfactorily, and had no intention of defining his attitude. for her benefit. “Tell me,” she whispered. “I think you might.” “J have many things to tell you, little Pat,” he replied with his foreign precision of speech; “but that is not one

of them.”
 * Tt’s the one I want to hear,” said willful Pat.

“First, do you tell me: why did you cry that night?” “Conscience.

No,”

she contradicted

herself thought-

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Idon’t know.

143.

Sort of nervousness,

T expect.” “That is what I feared for you; that you would brood over it and make yourself unhappy ? “It wasn’t that at all,” interrupted Pat simply and promptly. “But I did want to see you again and kno¥ that you didn’t think—that I wasn’t too awfully—th.t I didn’t seem just a fresh kid to you.” “No. You didn’t.” “Was that being ‘petite gamine’?” She threw a sidelong glance at him. “Was it? You should know.” “After all, it was only a white kiss,”

“A what?” “White kiss.

There are white kisses and red kisses,”

she explained unconcernedly. “You have no right to that kind of knowledge,” said he sternly. “Where did you come by it?” “JT told you,” she muttered gloomily, “that I used to be a terrible necker.” “Yes. But—that sort of thing! Don’t you know that’s dangerous?” “Would it be with you?” she asked with direct and naive curiosity. “There is no question of it with me,” he answered rigidly. “But, so far as that goes, no. I am old enough to know how to control myself.” “Then you’re different from most men,” she returned bitterly. “Good God, child! Have you learned that already? At your age?” “Since we’re telling each other our real names,” said Pat in her levelest tones, “the first time I was kissed I

was hardly fifteen.”

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“You seem to have been unfortunately precocious.” She flashed a smile at him. “Are you jealous?” The amazing realisation came to him that he was. But he answered steadily: “What right should I have te be jealous of what you might do?” “Suppose I want you to be?” This he chose to disregard. “I don’t believe that you understand yourself, your temperament.” He was trying to hold himself to a tone of cool diagnosis. “I wish I were

your Dr. Bobs for fifteen minutes.” “Well, I don’t,” she retorted.

“Bobs’s

middle names

are Sterling Worth; but I’d rather have you lecture me. You understand.” “IT understand that you are of a very high-strung, neurotic, excitable temperament.” Gloom overshadowed her face again. “You’re not telling me any news about myself.” “Then you must see how perilous it is for a girl like you to be what you call a necker.” “Oh, as far as that goes,” she answered coolly, “I’ve always got my foot on the brake. Kvery minute. If things get too hectic I can always see the ridiculous side of it and get up a laugh. It’s a grand little safeguard, being able to laugh at yourself.”

“T suppose it is. As long as you are able.” “Anyway, I’ve been terribly proper ever since you talked to me that night at the party. Wise virgin stuff! Do you know you’ve got a lot of influence over me, Mr. Scott?” “Have I? I’m glad of that.” “So am I. But I don’t quite know why you should have.” She pondered. “Unless it’s because there’s some-

thing about you that makes the other men seem clumsy snd—and local.”

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He laughed. “I’m very flattered.” “Don’t make fun of me,” pouted Pat. “I’m serious. Particularly about your having influence over me. Since our talk I’ve passed up all sorts of chances to have a flutter. I don’t believe I’ve kissed three boys, in all.” Despite himself Scott queried acidly: “And were they red or white kisses?” “Well, one of them might have had a dash of pink in it. No; I just said that to tease you,” she added impulsively. “I really have been boringly good. It isn’t too easy, either.” “Pat, why don’t you talk to Dr. Bobs about yourself?” “T will if you want me to,” said she submissively. “It would be a good thing, assuming that you would talk frankly.” ‘Where shall I begin? By telling him about us?” she inquired demurely. Upon this Scott’s inner commentary was, “You little devil!” Aloud he said composedly: “If you think it significant. But what I said was about yourself.” “Oh, I’m well enough,” said she carelessly. “Are you happy enough?” She gave him a startled glance. “Why should you think I’m not happy?” “T didn’t say I thought so. I simply asked you.” “Well,

I am.”

But there was a hint of defiance in her

tone. “And you do think I’m not.” “T think you’re restless and discontented.” “What makes you think that?” she asked, curiously, leaning over to him so that the warm curve of her arm pressed his. He glanced not at her but at her encroaching shoulder. “Because of just that sort of thing.” She snatched her arm away. “I hate you!”

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“Better hate me than yourself. As you did that night at the club.” Tears welled up in her eyes. Her chin trembled and there was a soft, heart-thrilling catch in the huskiness of her voice, barely controlled enough to enunciate: “I don’t see why you’re so mean to me.” “Why, it’s a child!’ he exclaimed in mock self-reproach. “And I keep forgetting and treating it like a grown-up.” “That’s why I love to be with you. I want to be treated that way.” “Oh, no! You merely think you do. In reality you want to be petted and flattered and coddled and approved in all your cunning and silly little ways. That would be very easy. Only—it isn’t part of our compact.” With one of her mercurial changes she flashed a smile at him. “I’d nearly forgotten. You were to be my wise and guiding friend, weren’t you? Is that why you’re telling me that I’m restless and discontented?” “Well, aren’t you?” “Not more than the other girls.” “Ts that an answer?” “No. Yes, it is, too! Why should I be different?” “Because you’re you.” of an elderly but still popular song. “I like to have you say that. How do you think I’m different?” “Ah, that I can’t say. You see, I don’t know the girls of your age much.” “No; you’re always playing around with the married women,” she remarked calmly. ‘Well, you don’t miss much. They’re a lot of dimwits, the girls of my age here. No snap. If they can get a couple of rounds of bridge in the afternoon and a cocktail before dinner and a speedlimit whizz around the country in somebody’s car, or a
 * *Be-cause youre you,” 99> she sang gaily to the measure

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few hours of jazz, or a snuggling party with some goodlooking boy on the porch, that’ll keep them from suicide for quite a spell.” “I see. They seek the same distractions from the prevailing restlessness ” “You

needn’t

finish,” she broke in.

“Yes; we’re

all

alike. There isn’t a girl that doesn’t go in for spooning if she likes the boy—and a lot of ’em aren’t even too particular about that—except maybe the Standish girls, and they’ve been brought up as if their house was a convent.

At that, Ailsa Standish told me the conundrum

about why girls wear their hair covering their ears. D’you know it?” she enquired with a palpable effect of brazen hardihood. But she turned her head away from the quiet disgust of his look as he answered: “Yes, I know it. But you’ve no business to. It strikes me that you’re in a pretty rotten set.” “It’s the only set in Dorrisdale,” defended Pat sullenly. “And we’re slow compared to some of the other towns.” “Well, if you think it’s worth it,” he began slowly when she cut in, with a sort of cry, throwing out her hands, those large, supple, shapely, capable hands, in a gesture of despair and appeal. “But what’s a girl to do?” “Doesn’t your school give you anything?” “Not a dam’ thing that I don’t want to get and get easy. All they try to do is make it easy for you to get through. They won’t even issue diplomas for fear some of the girls couldn’t pass the exams and their people would get sore on the school. I study when I feel like it, and that isn’t too often.” “Will you do something for me, Pat?” “Yes; I’d love to,” was the eager reply. “Make something of your voice. You can do it with a little work.”

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At the last word she assumed an expression of distrust. “How much work?” “Two hours a day, perhaps.” “Two hours a day! For how long?” “A year of it would give you a start.” “Two whole hours out of every day for a year? What do you take me for; a machine?” Scott’s nerves quivered with the strident rasp of the voice, like the squawk of a dismayed and indignant hen. “Why, I wouldn’t have any time for anything else.” “Some days have as much as twenty-four hours in them,” he pointed out. ‘However, you might make a start with an hour.” “T might,” she admitted dubiously, “while I’m in school.

But when I get out I want to have some fun. And I’m going to.” So, it seems this influence which I am supposed to have over you doesn’t go very far.” “Now youre disgusted with me again. But I can’t help it. I’m not going to be a slave just to be able to sing a little.” “It might be more than a little. And it seems to be the one quality you have which might be susceptible of development.” “Now you’re talking like a school teacher. And you’re not too flattering, are you? Don’t you think I’ve got any brains?” “Yes. But I don’t think you’re going to find them of much use.” “I suppose you’d like me to go to college,” said Pat contemptuously, “and learn the college cheer and how to play basketball.” “You might even learn more than that. However, if

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you’re satisfied with your present status, that settles that. Suppose we talk of something else.” This did not suit Pat at all. She promptly said so. “YT want to talk about me. You almost always do talk to me about myself. I wonder if that’s why I like to be with you more than anyone else,” she concluded with one of her accesses of insight. “It’s an ESrenely interesting subject. i “Now you’re laughing at me again. And a moment ago you were angry.

But you’re still disappointed,

aren’t

you! p29

‘A little.” “JY think that’s rotten of you!” she murmured. “I suppose we ought to be going back.” She sighed. “I don’t want to a bit. Can you turn here?” It was a narrow and tricky road. As the car came to a stop after backing she laid her hand on his. “Kiss little Pattie and tell her to be a good child and she'll be awfully good,” she murmured elfishly. Scott completed the turn before he answered: “No, little Pat. No more of that between you and me.” On the return journey she was silent and thoughtful. At the post office in the village she asked to be set down, and, getting out, looked up at him, her eyes limpid with sincerity. “Please, Mr. Scott, keep on liking me,” she said.

awfully good for me,”

“It’s

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 CHAPTER

XIV

Semictrcies of weariness hollowed Robert Osterhout’s eyes as he opened the door and entered Mona’s room. It had been a hard night for him. Memory had been delicately dissecting his nerves. Striving in vain to lose himself in his experiments he had turned, early in the morning, to his communion with the dead woman. The letter, that pitiful solace for the unremitting pain of loss and loneliness, was in his hand now as he closed the door

behind him. «. ..

As for Pat,” he had written, “she is one of those

born to trouble the hearts of men and to take fire from their trouble. Of the tribe of Helen! If I could see her safely married Safely! As if there were any safety in marriage! Not under our present system. Look at Connie. Though, for that matter, my misgivings about her and Cary Scott seem to have been misplaced. That flame has flickered out. She will perhaps settle down from sheer inertia. But hers is hardly what one would call a safe or successful marriage. Dee’s may be better. Not that she is specially in love with James. But her training at sports will stand her in good stead. She will go through with it. Dee is first and last a good sport. Nevertheless, I sometimes wish she had waited for the really right man, if there be any such for her. “Mona, there are times when I could believe in triai ' marriage, with suitable safeguards, of course, against

children. If I were a philosopher instead of a medical man I should certainly favour the system. But my technical training prejudices my judgment. Of course, we do 150

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15]

have trial marriages, and commonly;

or trial alliances,

which is the same thing without the same name.

If the

truth were known I suppose that most men who marry the second time, marry their mistresses. How many other experiments may previously have gone into the discard as having proved unsuitable, is another question. Selection of the fittest. The notion that men never marry the women who give themselves is fictional cant, one of those many falsities which society propagates under the silly delusion that they are safeguards of virtue. “What an experiment it would be to bring up a young girl in an atmosphere clear of all the common lies and illusions! You had begun to do it with Pat, I think. I wish that I could carry on. But it-is too blind a venture for a worn and uncertain bachelor like myself. Nevertheless, when Pat does put questions to me I give her the truth. And she has a flair for truth. An enquiring’ and Pioneering sort of mind, too, which would be a fine equipment if only it were trained and disciplined. As it is, it is a danger.

She will explore, and exploration, with

her temperament—Pat ought to marry some man much older than herself; a man of thirty at least, clever enough to understand her, patient enough to bear with her caprices, and strong enough to compel her respect. He could make something real of her, for there is essential character in Pat. Or is it only the charm of her person-

ality that makes one think so?

I could wish that Cary

Scott were not married. Though, of course, he is too old for her. He takes a great deal of interest in her and has much influence over her mind; but his interest is not that kind of interest, naturally. He has been talking to me about her; very shrewdly, too.

dangerously inflammable type.

making a confidant of him.

He thinks her of the

I fancy that she has been

He thinks that I should talk

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to her plainty. I feel rather alarmed at the the modern flapper knows so formidably much! = Opening thesafe toaddthis letter tothe accumulating — pile in the centre compartment, Osterhout was conscious — of a subtle and troubling impression. He felt that some —

alien hand had intruded there, some alien eye had seem _

those words, so sacredly confidential, sealed in the invie~ _ lable silences of death, Yet that, he kmew, was impossible,— No one in the world except himself had the combination— of the safe. Could Mona herself, Mona's spirit, returning— te the reom she had so loved and so permeated with her —

personality, have entered there to absorb the essence of the confidences which she had demanded of him? But if — that were so, why should he feel that sense of invasion,

since the letters belonged more to Mona than te him? Nevertheless, the thought was a blessed appeasement to the thirst of his heart. He clasped it to him. But presently his underlying materialistic hard sense reasserted its ascendancy. He set it all down to imagination; | smiled tolerantly at himself for a sentimental self-deluder. For a long time Pat did not come to pay him the” expected visit. But the day before her return te schoat she appeared in his laboratory. “Bobs,” she announced pathetically, “ve got a sare throat.” “Let's have a Jock at it,” he directed, leading her to the

window. She tilted back her face, while he explored the recesses of the aceused organ.

“Sore throat, ch?" he remarked.

“At least your mouth >

is clean, which is more than could have been said of it a

year ago. You've got a breath ike a cow.” “*Snice.” purred Pat. “I'm a good hitle dieter.

But”

what about my throat?”

bag ie be ae Li+

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“Well,” answered the physician judicially, “it might be diphtheria or it might be scarlet fever, but I think it’s that guilty feeling that comes of telling lies about itself. Your throat is no more sore than my pipe.” “I know it isn’t,” admitted the unabashed Pat.

“But

Tm kind of wrong inside. Way-way inside, I mean.” “The patient must be more specific if the physician is to be of use.” “Bobs, am I a fool?” “I suppose so. Most people are.”

“Am I a dam’ fool?” “As to degree we come to a consideration of definition which & “Mr. Scott thinks I am.” “Hello! Who’s making this diagnosis? Cary Scott, or you, or I?” “Do you think I ought to go to college?”

“Too late. You couldn’t get in now, thanks to that infernal, mind-coddling, brain-softening school of yours.” “It isn’t! I love the school. They let you do whatever you like.” “Which

is, of course, the best possible course

for a

finished product like you.” “Oh, well! Who cares? I don’t.” “Then why come to me?” “TI don’t think I’m getting everything cut of—of things that I might,” said Pat plaintively. “That’s the beginning of wisdom. Why this divine discontent? Have the movies begun to pall?” “Oh, have you seen Doug Fairbanks in his last? He’s too flawless.” “Evidently they haven’t begun to pall. If I could be assured of its being his last I would gladly go to see the too-flawless Doug. But my dull artistic appreciations

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do not rise above Charley Chaplin. But we wander. We were discussing your way-way inside, weren’t we? Why its sudden discomposure?” “I thought you could tell me. You know so much, Bobs. I’m getting bored with the things I used to like. I think it’s talking with Mr. Scott. He’s so different, and he makes the rest seem dull.” “Yes; Scott is a bit of a prig,” said Osterhout with intention. “He isn’t! flashed Pat indignantly. “He’s the best dressed man at the club. Jimmie James says so.” As

the physician smiled at this naive refutation she added: “Well, a man can’t be a prig and look the way Mr. Scott always does, can he?”

“Obviously not.”

“Tt’s only because he’s been about the world so much and knows such a lot about music and art and books and —and things.”

“Well, you’ve had the advantages of a liberal and ladylike education yourself. Kindred spirits. Don’t fall in love with Cary Scott, Infant. Remember he’s a married man,” smiled Osterhout.

“Fall in Jove with him? falling in love with you!

grandfather!

Why, Id as soon think of He’s old enough to be my

But I think he’s awfully good for me,”

she added naively. Scott, Bobs?”

“Don’t

you love to talk with Mr.

“Oh, I just adore it!’ simpered the doctor, clasping fervent hands. “Now you’re laughing at me,” she pouted. “He’s always

laughing at me.

That doesn’t help much.”

“Sometimes it does, Bambina.

to laugh at yourself.”

It might even teach you

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“I do that, too.

YOUTH

155

And sometimes I cry at myself.

All

night.” “Do you?” He scrutinised her. “At your age? What do you cry about?” “Just about myself. Because nothing seems worth while except—except queer things.” “That’s morbid. Or else it’s a pose.” “It isn’t a pose. I even don’t like school as much as I did. Bobs, I want to leave after this term. D’you think if you went to Dad you could talk him into letting me?” “Much more likely that you could. What’s your plan? Launch yourself socially on a waiting world?” “Don’t be spit-catty; it doesn’t suit you. No; I want to come back home and run the house for Dad and have some fun. I’ve been taking domestic science, and I know I could do it better than Con. She’d be glad to be

rid of the bother, anyway. I thought I’d work at music, too. Do you think I could do anything with my voice, Bobs?” “Don’t ask me. Any crow knows more music than I do. I think it would be good for you to tackle anything steady and regular. It would keep you from being too introspective.” “Nice Bobs, to give me all the big words for nothing! That means that I think too much about myself, doesn’t -

it? I know I do. And I talk too much about myself too. I came over here just to talk about myself and te get you to talk about me,” she confessed simply. With’an air of considered

maturity,

she added:

fun for me to talk to boys of my own

“It isn’t much

age.

They’re

always wanting to tell you about themselves, or else to

make love to you. Generally it’s love-stuff.” “Indeed! Do you go in much for that particular indoor sport, Pat?”

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FLAMING

“Oh, it isn’t all indoors. limousines; all that helps.

YOUTH

There’s porch swings, and Are you shocked, Bobs?”

“I’m interested. The habits of the young of the species are bound to be interesting to a scientist.” “You said something when you said ‘habits.? Everybody does it. Didn’t you when you were young?” “Tt’s so long ago that I’ve forgotten. But I don’t think my sisters did. Not promiscuously.” “If they did you’d be the last one that knew about it,” the sapient Pat informed him. “And I hate the word ‘promiscuously.’ Besides, it isn’t true. I don’t. Not any more.” “Great grief, Infant! You talk as if you’d been at this sort of thing for uncounted years!” “T’ve been over twelve for some

time, you know,” she

observed lightly. “Perhaps it’s as well that you reminded me. You seem so permanently young to me. However, speaking medically, I should say cut it out, Infant. Cut it out for good. It’s no good for you. It’s no good for any young girl; but particularly not for you.” She knitted her pretty brows at him, thinking it through. “I get you, Stephen,” she said presently. “Though I’m not so different from other girls, only a little more so than some, maybe. But you’re right. Sometimes I’ve felt like a nervous wreck. I wish that I didn’t know 60 much about myself. Or else that I knew a little more.” “You know quite enough. At any rate you spend quite enough time thinking about yourself. Where do you suppose all this leads to, Pat?” “JT don’t know. Lots of time to think about that, isn’t there? I suppose I'll get married and have a lot of kids some day. I like kids.” “It would probably be the best thing for you.”

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20 the truest satisfaction, I beheld him return home to his suffering parent. But my turn was to come. I had no fears for the consequence, having been accustomed to violate the rules of school, with impunity. Harding appearing without his badge, was questioned, and firmly refused to answer. I boldly pronounced my handiwork, no one else venturing to speak, fearing my vengeance, though several in the school, had been cognizance of the whole affair. At the usual hour of dismissal, I was instructed to remain, and when all had departed, I was taken by the master, into a small adjoining apartment, in which he usually studied and kept his books, and which formed the passage way from his school-room to his dwelling-house. Here I was conducted, and wondering curious, at these preliminaries, here I


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Rh record details of these disputes in a summary the result was, that in the year 463, Pope Hilarius employed Victorinus of Aquitaine to correct the Calendar, and Victorinus formed a rule which lasted until the sixteenth century. He combined the Metonic cycle and the solar cycle, presently described. But this cycle bears the name of Dionysius Exiguus, a Scythian settled at Rome, about 530, who adapted it to his new yearly reckoning, when he abandoned the æra of Diocletian as a commencement, and constructed that which is now in common use.

4. With Dionysius, if not before, terminated all difference as to the mode of keeping Easter which is of historical note: the increasing defects of the Easter Cycle produced in time the remonstrance of persons versed in astronomy, among whom may be mentioned Roger Bacon, Sacrobosco, Cardinal Cusa, Regiomontanus, &c. From the middle of the sixth to that of the sixteenth century, one rule was observed.

5. The mode of applying astronomy to chronology has always involved these two principles. First, the actual position of the heavenly body is not the object of consideration, but what astronomers call its mean place, which may be described thus. Let a fictitious sun or moon move in the heavens, in such manner as to revolve among the fixed stars at an average rate, avoiding the alternate accelerations and retardations which take place in every planetary motion. Thus the fictitious (say mean) sun and moon are always very near to the real sun and moon. The ordinary clocks show time by the mean, not the and it was always laid down that Easter depends on the real, sun opposition (or full moon) of the mean sun and moon, not of the real ones. Thus we see that, were the Calendar ever so correct as to the mean moon, it would be occasionally false as to the true one: if, for instance, the opposition of the mean sun and moon took place at one second before midnight, and that of the real bodies only two seconds afterwards, the calendar day of full moon would be one day before that of the common almanacs. Here is a way in which the discussions of 1818 and 1845 might have arisen: the British legislature has defined the moon as the regulator of the paschal calendar. But this was only a part of the mistake.

6. Secondly, in the absence of perfectly accurate knowledge of the solar and lunar motion (and for convenience, even if such knowledge existed), cycles are, and always have been taken, which serve to represent those motions nearly. The famous Metonic cycle, which is introduced into ecclesiastical chronology under the name of the cycle of the golden numbers, is a period of 19 Julian years. This period, in the old Calendar, was taken to contain exactly 235 lunations, or intervals between new moons, of the mean moon. Now the state of the case is this:—


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222 19 average Julian years make 6939 days 18 hours.

235 average lunations make 6939 days 16 hours 31 minutes.

So that successive cycles of golden numbers, supposing the first to start right, amount to making the new moons fall too late, gradually, so that the mean moon of this cycle gains 1 hour 29 minutes in 19 years upon the mean moon of the heavens, or about a day in 300 years. When the Calendar was reformed, the calendar new moons were four days in advance of the mean moon of the heavens so that, for instance, calendar full moon on the 18th usually meant real full moon on the 14th.

7. If the difference above had not existed, the moon of the heavens (the mean moon at least), would have returned permanently to the same days of the month in 19 years; with an occasional slip arising from the unequal distribution of the leap years, of which a period contains sometimes five and sometimes four. As a general rule, the days of new and full moon in any one year would have been also the days of new and full moon of a year having 19 more units in its date. Again, if there had been no leap years, the days of the month would have returned to the same days of the week every seven years. The introduction of occasional 29ths of February disturbs this, and makes the permanent return of month days to week days occur only after 28 years. If all had been true, the lapse of 28 times 19, or 532 years, would have restored the year in every point: that is, 1, for instance, and 533, would have had the same almanac in every matter relating to week days, month days, sun, and moon (mean sun and moon at least). And on the supposition of its truth, the old system of Dionysius was framed. Its errors are, first, that the moments of mean new moon advance too much by 1h. 29m. in 19 average Julian years; secondly, that the average Julian year of 365$1⁄4$ days is too long by 11m. 10s.

8. The Council of Trent, moved by the representations made on the state of the Calendar, referred the consideration of it to the Pope. In 1577, Gregory XIII. submitted to the Roman Catholic Princes and Universities a plan presented to him by the representatives of Aloysius Lilius, then deceased. This plan being approved of, the Pope nominated a commission to consider its details, the working member of which was the Jesuit Clavius. A short work was prepared by Clavius, descriptive of the new Calendar: this was published The title of this work, which is the authority on all points of the new Calendar, is 'Kalendarium Gregorianum Perpetuum. Cum Privilegio Summi Pontifis Et Aliorum Principum. Romæ, Ex Officina Dominici Basæ. MDLXXXII. Cum Licentia Superiorum' (quarto, pp. 60)./ref> in 1582, with the Pope's bull (dated February 24, 1581) prefixed. larger work was prepared by Clavius, containing fuller explanation, and entitled 'Romani Calendarii a Gregorio XIII. Pontifice Maximo restituti Explicatio.' This was published at Rome in 1603, and again in the collection of the works of Clavius in 1612.


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240

did Pohjola’s old Mistress,

Crone of Sariola the misty,

Sometimes out of doors employ her,

Sometimes in the house was busied;

And she heard how whips were cracking,

On the shore heard sledges rattling,

And her eyes she turned to northward,

Towards the sun her head then turning,

And she pondered and reflected,

“Wherefore are these people coming

On my shore, to me unhappy?

Is it perhaps a hostile army?”

So she went to gaze around her,

And observe the portent nearer;

It was not a hostile army,

But of guests a great assembly,

And her son-in-law amid them,

With a mighty host of people.

Then did Pohjola’s old Mistress,

Crone of Sariola the misty,

When she saw the bridegroom’s party,

Speak aloud the words which follow:

“As I thought, the wind was blowing

And a faggot-stack o’erthrowing,

On the beach the billows breaking,

On the strand the shingle rattling.

So I went to gaze around me,

And observe the portent nearer;

But I found no wind was blowing,

Nor the faggot-stack was falling,

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Mid the agitated billows of life thou maintainest a steadfast heart.

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Runo XXI]

On the beach no waves were breaking,

On the strand no shingle rattling.

’Twas my son-in-law’s assemblage,

Twice a hundred men in number.

“How shall I detect the bridegroom

In the concourse of the people?

He is known among the people,

As in clumps of trees the cherry,

Like an oak-tree in the thickets,

Or the moon, ’mid stars in heaven.

“Black the steed that he is driving;

Which a ravenous wolf resembles;

Or a raven, keen for quarry,

Or a lark, with fluttering pinions.

Six there are of golden song-birds,

On his shafts all sweetly singing,

And of blue birds, seven are singing

Sitting on the sledge’s traces.”

From the road was heard a clatter,

Past the well the runners rattled,

In the court arrived the bridegroom,

In the yard the people with him,

In the midst appeared the bridegroom,

With the greatest of the party.

He was not the first among them,

But by no means last among them.

“Off, ye youths, and out ye heroes,

To the court, O ye who loiter,

That ye may remove the breastbands,

And the traces ye may loosen,

That the shafts may quick be lowered:

Lead into the house the bridegroom.”

Then the bridegroom’s horse sped onward,

And the bright-hued sledge drew forward

Through the courtyard of the Master,

When said Pohjola’s old Mistress:

“O my man, whom I have hired,

Best among the village servants,

Take the horse that brought the bridegroom,

With the white mark on his frontlet,

Rh

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Noah's Ark

 * "Mrs. Noah's Ark" (1904), a short story by Frank Gelett Burgess
 * Noah's Ark (1928), a part-talkie film directed by Michael Curtiz
 * Noah's Ark (1881), a nonfiction book by Phil Robinson

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Author:Michael Curtiz

Director

 * Noah's Ark (1928)

title: Author:Michael Curtiz


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Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/262

242

From the copper-plated harness,

From the tin-decked breastband likewise,

From the best of reins of leather,

And from harness of the finest.

Lead the courser of the bridegroom,

And with greatest care conduct him

By the reins, of silken fabric,

By the bridle, decked with silver,

To the softest place for rolling,

Where the meadow is the smoothest,

Where the drifted snow is finest,

And the land of milky whiteness.

“Lead the bridegroom’s horse to water,

To the spring that flows the nearest,

Where the water all unfrozen,

Gushes forth, like milk the sweetest,

’Neath the roots of golden pine-trees,

Underneath the bushy fir-trees.

“Fodder thou the bridegroom’s courser,

From the golden bowl of fodder,

From the bowl adorned with copper,

With the choicest meal of barley,

And with well-boiled wheat of summer,

And with pounded rye of summer.

“Then conduct the bridegroom’s courser

To the best of all the stables,

To the best of resting-places,

To the hindmost of the stables.

Tether there the bridegroom’s courser,

To the ring of gold constructed,

To the smaller ring of iron,

To the post of curving birchwood,

Place before the bridegroom’s courser,

Next a tray with oats o’erloaded,

And with softest hay another,

And a third with chaff the finest.

“Curry then the bridegroom’s courser,

With the comb of bones of walrus,

That the hair remain uninjured,

Nor his handsome tail be twisted;

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text:
Author:Darryl Francis Zanuck

Producer

 * Lady Windermere's Fan (1925)
 * The First Auto (1927)
 * The Jazz Singer (1927)
 * Noah's Ark (1928)

Screenwriter

 * Noah's Ark (1928)

title: Author:Darryl Francis Zanuck


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Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/263

Runo XXI]

Cover then the bridegroom’s courser

With a cloth of silver fabric,

And a mat of golden texture,

And a horse-wrap decked with copper.

“Now my little village laddies,

To the house conduct the bridegroom,

Gently lift his hat from off him,

From his hands his gloves take likewise.

“I would fain see if the bridegroom

Presently the house can enter,

Ere the doors are lifted from it,

And they have removed the doorposts,

And have lifted up the crossbars,

And the threshold has been sunken,

And the nearer walls are broken,

And the floor-planks have been shifted.

“But the house suits not the bridegroom,

Nor the great gift suits the dwelling,

Till the doors are lifted from it,

And they have removed the doorposts,

And have lifted up the crossbars,

And the threshold has been sunken,

And the nearer walls been broken,

And the flooring-planks been shifted,

For the bridegroom’s head is longer,

And the bridegroom’s ears are higher.

“Let the crossbars then be lifted,

That his head the roof may touch not,

Let the threshold now be sunken,

That his footsoles may not touch it,

Let them now set back the doorposts,

That the doors may open widely,

When at length the bridegroom enters,

When the noble youth approaches.

“Praise, O Jumala most gracious,

For the bridegroom now has entered.

I would now the house examine,

Cast my gaze around within it,

See that washed are all the tables,

And the benches swabbed with water,

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Author:George O'Brien

 * George Augustine Thomas O'Brien (1892–1973), Irish politician
 * George O'Brien (1899–1985), American actor

title: Author:George O'Brien


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Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/264

244

Scoured the smooth planks of the boarding,

And the flooring swept and polished.

“Now that I the house examine,

’Tis so changed I scarcely know it,

From what wood the room was fashioned,

How the roof has been constructed.

And the walls have been erected,

And the flooring been constructed.

“Side-walls are of bones of hedgehog,

Hinder-walls of bones of reindeer,

Front-walls of the bones of glutton,

And of bones of lamb the crossbar.

All the beams are wood of apple,

And the posts of curving birchwood,

Round the stove rest water-lilies,

Scales of bream compose the ceiling.

“And one bench is formed of iron,

Others made from Saxon timber,

Gold-inlaid are all the tables;

Floor o’erspread with silken carpets.

“And the stove is bright with copper,

And the stove-bench stone-constructed,

And the hearth composed of boulders,

And with Kaleva’s tree is boarded.”

Then the house the bridegroom entered,

Hastened on beneath the roof-tree,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“Grant, O Jumala, thy blessing

Underneath this noble roof-tree,

Underneath this roof so splendid.”

Then said Pohjola’s old Mistress,

“Hail, all hail, to thee, who enters

In this room of small dimensions,

In this very lowly cottage,

In this wretched house of firwood,

In this house of pine constructed.

“O my little waiting-maiden,

Thou the village maid I hired,

Bring a piece of lighted birchbark,

To a tarry torch apply it,

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Author:George O'Brien (1899-1985)

Cast member

 * Sunrise (1927), as the man
 * Noah's Ark (1928), as Travis / Japheth

title: Author:George O'Brien (1899-1985)


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Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/265

Runo XXI]

That I may behold the bridegroom,

And the bridegroom’s eyes examine,

Whether they are blue or reddish;

Whether they are white as linen.”

Then the little waiting-maiden,

She, the little village maiden,

Brought a piece of lighted birchbark,

To a tarry torch applied it.

“From the bark the flame springs spluttering,

From the tar black smoke’s ascending,

So his eyes might perhaps be sooted,

And his handsome face be blackened,

Therefore bring a torch all flaming,

Of the whitest wax constructed.”

Then the little waiting-maiden,

She the little village maiden,

Lit a torch, and brought it flaming,

Of the whitest wax constructed.

White like wax the smoke was rising,

And the flame ascended brightly,

And the bridegroom’s eyes were shining,

And his face was all illumined.

“Now the bridegroom’s eyes I gaze on!

They are neither blue nor reddish,

Neither are they white like linen,

But his eyes they shine like lake-foam,

Like the lake-reed are they brownish,

And as lovely as the bulrush.

“Now my little village laddies,

Hasten to conduct the bridegroom

To a seat among the highest,

To a place the most distinguished,

With his back towards the blue wall,

With his face towards the red board,

There among the guests invited,

Facing all the shouting people.”

Then did Pohjola’s old Mistress,

Feast her guests in noble fashion,

Feast them on the best of butter,

And with cream-cakes in abundance;

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text:
Author:Dolores Costello

Cast member

 * Old San Francisco (1927), as Dolores Vasquez
 * When a Man Loves (1927), as Manon
 * Noah's Ark (1928), as Marie / Miriam

title: Author:Dolores Costello


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Author:Noah Nicholas Beery

Cast member

 * The Mark of Zorro (1922), as Sergeant Pedro Gonzales
 * The Fighting Coward (1924), as Captain Blackie
 * Noah's Ark (1928), as Nickoloff / King Nephilim

title: Author:Noah Nicholas Beery


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Author:Guinn Terrell Williams

Cast member

 * Noah's Ark (1928), as Al / Ham

title: Author:Guinn Terrell Williams


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Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/266

246

Thus she served the guests invited,

And among them first the bridegroom.

On the plates was placed the salmon,

At the sides the pork was stationed,

Dishes filled to overflowing,

Laden to the very utmost,

Thus to feast the guests invited;

And among them first the bridegroom.

Then said Pohjola’s old Mistress,

“O my little waiting-maiden,

Bring me now the ale in measures,

Bring it in the jugs two-handled,

For the guests we have invited,

And the bridegroom chief among them.”

Then the little waiting-maiden,

She, the servant hired for money,

Brought the measures as directed,

Handed round the five-hooped tankards,

Till, with ale from hops concocted,

All the beards with foam were whitened;

All the beards of guests invited;

And among them most the bridegroom’s.

What about the ale was spoken,

Of the ale in five-hooped tankards,

When at length it reached the minstrel,

Reached the greatest of the singers,

He the aged Väinämöinen,

First and oldest of the singers,

He the minstrel most illustrious,

He the greatest of the Sages?

First of all the ale he lifted,

Then he spoke the words which follow:

“O thou ale, thou drink delicious,

Let the drinkers not be moody!

Urge the people on to singing,

Let them shout, with mouth all golden,

Till our lords shall wonder at it,

And our ladies ponder o’er it,

For the songs already falter,

And the joyous tongues are silenced.

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text:
Page:The House at Pooh Corner (1961).pdf/145

 was trying to blow the branches off, Pooh and Piglet were sitting in the Thoughtful Spot and wondering.

“What I think,” said Pooh, “is I think we’ll go to Pooh Corner and see Eeyore, because perhaps his house has been blown down, and perhaps he’d like us to build it again.”

“What I think,” said Piglet, “is I think we’ll go and see Christopher Robin, only he won’t be there, so we can’t.”

“Let’s go and see everybody,” said Pooh. “Because when you’ve been walking in the wind for miles, and you suddenly go into somebody’s house, and he says, ‘Hallo, Pooh, you’re just in time for a little smackerel of something,’ and you are, then it’s what I call a Friendly Day.”

Piglet thought that they ought to have a Reason for going to see everybody, like Looking for Small or Organizing an Expotition, if Pooh could think of something.

Pooh could.

“We’ll go because it’s Thursday,” he said, “and we’ll go to wish everybody a Very Happy Thursday. Come on, Piglet.”

They got up; and when Piglet had sat down again, because he didn’t know the wind was so strong, and had been helped up by Pooh, they started off. They went to Pooh’s house first, and


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Page:The House at Pooh Corner (1961).pdf/147

 “Rabbit’s clever,” said Pooh thoughtfully.

“Yes,” said Piglet, “Rabbit’s clever.”

“And he has Brain.”

“Yes,” said Piglet, “Rabbit has Brain.”

There was a long silence.

“I suppose,” said Pooh, “that that’s why he never understands anything.”

Christopher Robin was at home by this time, because it was the afternoon, and he was so glad to see them that they stayed there until very nearly teatime, and then they had a Very Nearly tea, which is one you forget about afterwards, and hurried on to Pooh Corner, so as to see Eeyore before it was too late to have a Proper Tea with Owl.

“Hallo, Eeyore,” they called out cheerfully.

“Ah!” said Eeyore. “Lost your way?”

“We just came to see you,” said Piglet. “And to see how your house was. Look, Pooh, it’s still standing!”

“I know,” said Eeyore. “Very odd. Somebody ought to have come down and pushed it over.”

“We wondered whether the wind would blow it down,” said Pooh.

“Ah, that’s why nobody’s bothered, I suppose. I thought perhaps they’d forgotten.”

“Well, we’re very glad to see you, Eeyore, and now we’re going on to see Owl.”

“That’s right. You’ll like Owl. He flew past a day


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text: Noah's Ark (film)

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text:
Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/267

Runo XXI]

When the ale is ill-concocted,

And bad drink is set before us,

Then the minstrels fail in singing,

And the best of songs they sing not,

And our cherished guests are silent,

And the cuckoos call no longer.

“Therefore who shall chant unto us,

And whose tongue shall sing unto us,

At the wedding feast of Pohja,

This carouse at Sariola held?

Benches will not sing unto us,

Save when people sit upon them,

Nor will floors hold cheerful converse,

Save when people walk upon them,

Neither are the windows joyful,

If the lords should gaze not from them,

Nor resound the table’s edges,

If men sit not round the tables,

Neither do the smoke-holes echo,

If men sit not ’neath the smoke-holes.”

On the floor a child was sitting,

On the stove-bench sat a milkbeard,

From the floor exclaimed the infant,

And the boy spoke from the stove-bench:

“I am not in years a father,

Undeveloped yet my body,

But however small I may be,

If the other big ones sing not,

And the stouter men will shout not,

And the rosier cheeked will sing not,

Then I’ll sing, although a lean boy,

Though a thin boy, I will whistle,

I will sing, though weak and meagre,

Though my stomach is not rounded,

That the evening may be cheerful,

And the day may be more honoured.”

By the stove there sat an old man,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“That the children sing befits not,

Nor these feeble folk should carol.

title: Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/267


text:
Page:Journal of Conversations with Lord Byron.pdf/101

 distance we enjoyed a more expanded view of the sea, which reminded Byron of his friend Moore's description, which he quoted: -

The fanale casting its golden blaze into this silvery lake, and throwing a red lurid reflection on the sails of the vessels that passed near it; the fishermen, with their small boats, each having a fire held in a sort of grate fastened at the end of the boat, which burns brilliantly, and by which they not only see the fish that approach, but attract them; their scarlet caps, which all the Genoese sailors and fishermen wear, adding much to their picturesque appearance, all formed a picture that description falls far short of; and when to this are joined the bland odors of the richest and rarest flowers, with which the balconies are filled, one feels that such nights are never to be forgotten, and while the senses dwell on each, and all, a delicious melancholy steals over the mind, as it reflects that, the destinies of each conducting to far distant regions, a time will arrive when all now before the eye will appear but as a dream.

This was felt by all the party; and after a silence of many minutes, it was broken by Byron, who remarked, "What an evening, and what a view! Should we ever meet in the dense atmosphere of London, shall we not recall this evening,


text:
Page:The Floral Fortune-teller.djvu/77

There are many things which may be grasped with eagerness; others can only become ours through abstinence and moderation. Such is the love thou covetest.

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text:
Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/268

Rh

Children’s songs are only falsehoods,

And the songs of girls are foolish.

Let the wisest sing among us,

Who upon the bench is seated.”

Then the aged Väinämöinen,

Answered in the words which follow:

“Are there any who are youthful,

Of the noblest of the people,

Who will clasp their hands together,

Hook their hands in one another,

And begin to speak unto us,

Swaying back and forth in singing,

That the day may be more joyful,

And the evening be more blessed?

From the stove there spoke the old man,

“Never was it heard among us,

Never heard or seen among us,

Nor so long as time existed,

That there lived a better minstrel,

One more skilled in all enchantment,

Than myself when I was warbling,

As a child when I was singing,

Singing sweetly by the water,

Making all the heath re-echo,

Chanting loudly in the firwood,

Talking likewise in the forest.

“Then my voice was loud and tuneful,

And its tones were most melodious,

Like the flowing of a river,

Or the murmur of a streamlet,

Gliding as o’er snow the snowshoes,

Like a yacht across the billows;

But ’tis hard for me to tell you

How my wisdom has departed,

How my voice so strong has failed me,

And its sweetness has departed.

Now it flows no more like river,

Rising like the tossing billows,

But it halts like rake in stubble,

Like the hoe among the pine-roots,

title: Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/268


text:
Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/269

Runo XXI]

Like a sledge in sand embedded,

Or a boat on rocks when stranded.”

Then the aged Väinämöinen

In such words as these expressed him:

“If no other bard comes forward

To accompany my singing,

Then alone my songs I’ll carol,

And will now commence my singing,

For to sing was I created,

As an orator was fashioned;

How, I ask not in the village,

Nor I learn my songs from strangers.”

Then the aged Väinämöinen

Of the song the lifelong pillar,

Set him to the pleasant labour,

Girt him for the toil of singing,

Loud he sang his songs so pleasing,

Loud he spoke his words of wisdom.

Sang the aged Väinämöinen,

Sang by turns, and spoke his wisdom,

Nor did words that suited fail him,

Neither were his songs exhausted,

Sooner stones in rocks were missing,

Or a pond lacked water-lilies.

Therefore thus sang Väinämöinen

Through the evening for their pleasure,

And the women all were laughing,

And the men in high good-humour,

While they listened and they wondered

At the chants of Väinämöinen,

For amazement filled the hearers,

Wonder those who heard him singing.

Said the aged Väinämöinen,

When at length his song he ended,

“This is what I have accomplished

As a singer and magician,

Little can I thus accomplish,

And my efforts lead me nowhere:

But, if sang the great Creator,

Speaking with his mouth of sweetness,

title: Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/269


text: Page:The Floral Fortune-teller.djvu/78

title: Page:The Floral Fortune-teller.djvu/78


text:
Page:Journal of Conversations with Lord Byron.pdf/102

 and the scenery now before us? but no! most probably there we should not feel as we do here; we should fall into the same heartless, loveless apathy that distinguishes one half of our dear compatriots, or the bustling, impertinent importance to be considered supreme bon ton that marks the other."

Byron spoke with bitterness, but it was the bitterness of a fine nature soured by having been touched too closely by those who had lost their better feelings through a contact with the world. After a few minutes' silence, he said, "Look at that forest of masts now before us! from what remote parts of the world do they come! o'er how many waves have they not passed, and how many tempests have they not been, and may again be exposed to! how many hearts and tender thoughts follow them! mothers, wives, sisters, and sweethearts, who perhaps at this hour are offering up prayers for their safety."

While he was yet speaking, sounds of vocal music arose; national hymns and barcaroles were sung in turns by the different crews, and when they had ceased, "God save the King" was sung by the crews of some English merchantmen lying close to the pier. This was a surprise to us all, and its effect on our feelings was magnetic. Byron was no less touched than the rest; each


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text:
Page:International Criminal Court Act 2001 (UKPGA 2001-17 qp).pdf/55

International Criminal Court Act 2001 (c. 17) Schedule 2—Delivery up of persons subject to criminal proceedings, &c. Part 2—Extradition proceedings Meaning of “extradition proceedings”

7 In this Part of this Schedule “extradition proceedings” means proceedings before a court in the United Kingdom under—
 * (a) the Extradition Act 1989 (c. 33), or
 * (b) the Backing of Warrants (Republic of Ireland) Act 1965 (c. 45).

Extradition proceedings in England and Wales or Northern Ireland

8 (1) Where—
 * (a) the Secretary of State receives a request from the ICC for the arrest and surrender, or provisional arrest, of a person, and
 * (b) extradition proceedings against that person are pending or in progress before a court in England and Wales or Northern Ireland,

the Secretary of State shall inform the court of the request.

(2) The court shall (if necessary) adjourn the proceedings before it, for such period or periods as it thinks fit, so as to enable proceedings to be taken to determine whether a delivery order should be made.

(3) If a delivery order is made and the extradition proceedings are still pending or in progress, the Secretary of State—
 * (a) shall consult the ICC before giving directions for the execution of the order, :and

(b) may direct that the extradition proceedings shall be discontinued.

(4) Where the Secretary of State directs that extradition proceedings shall be discontinued, the court before which the proceedings are pending or in progress shall—
 * (a) order their discontinuance, and
 * (b) make any other order necessary to enable the delivery order to be executed (including any necessary order as to the custody of the person concerned).

(5) The discontinuance under this paragraph of extradition proceedings in respect of an offence does not prevent the institution of fresh extradition proceedings in respect of the offence.

Extradition proceedings in Scotland

9 (1) Where—
 * (a) the Secretary of State receives a request from the ICC for the arrest and surrender, or provisional arrest, of a person, and
 * (b) extradition proceedings against that person are pending or in progress before a court in Scotland,

the Secretary of State shall inform the Scottish Ministers of the request and they shall inform the court.

(2) The court shall (if necessary) adjourn the proceedings before it, for such period or periods as it thinks fit, so as to enable proceedings to be taken to determine whether a delivery order should be made.


text:
Page:International Criminal Court Act 2001 (UKPGA 2001-17 qp).pdf/56

52 Schedule 2—Delivery up of persons subject to criminal proceedings, &c. Part 2—Extradition proceedings (3) If a delivery order is made and the extradition proceedings are still pending or in progress, the Secretary of State shall consult the ICC before giving directions for the execution of the order.

Power to suspend or revoke warrant or order

10 (1) Where a court makes a delivery order in respect of a person—
 * (a) who has been committed under section 9 of, or paragraph 7 of Schedule 1 to, the Extradition Act 1989 (c. 33), or
 * (b) who has been ordered to be delivered up under section 2(1) of the Backing of Warrants (Republic of Ireland) Act 1965 (c. 45),

the court may make any such order as is necessary to enable the delivery order to be executed.

(2) The court may, in particular, suspend or revoke any warrant or other order made by a court or judicial officer in respect of the person.

Meaning of “other delivery proceedings”

11 In this Part of this Schedule “other delivery proceedings” means proceedings before a court in the United Kingdom for a delivery order under—
 * (a) the United Nations (International Tribunal) (Former Yugoslavia) Order 1996 (S.I. 1996/716), or
 * (b) the United Nations (International Tribunal) (Rwanda) Order 1996 (S.I. 1996/1296);

and “the relevant International Tribunal”, in relation to such proceedings, means the international tribunal to which the Order in question relates.

Delivery proceedings in England and Wales

12 (1) Where—
 * (a) the Secretary of State receives a request from the ICC for the arrest and surrender, or provisional arrest, of a person, and
 * (b) other delivery proceedings against that person are pending or in progress before a court in England and Wales,

the Secretary of State shall consult the ICC and the relevant International Tribunal.

(2) The Secretary of State shall inform the court of the request and of the outcome of the consultations.

(3) The court shall (if necessary) adjourn the proceedings before it, for such period or periods as it thinks fit, so as to enable proceedings to be taken to determine whether a delivery order should be made under this Part of this Act.

(4) If a delivery order is made under this Part of this Act and the other delivery proceedings are still pending or in progress, the Secretary of State—
 * (a) shall consult the ICC before giving directions for the execution of the order, and
 * (b) may direct that the other delivery proceedings shall be discontinued.