Only page of title Moderate
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she -- has -- gone -- home! " It was the thin
mysterious voice of little Mary Alice Smith herself
that so often queried and responded as above --
every word accented with a sweet and eery intonation,
and a very gaiety of solemn earnestness that
baffled the cunning skill of all childish imitators. A
slender wisp of a girl she was, not more than ten
years in appearance, though her age had been
given to us as fourteen. The spindle ankles that
she so airily flourished from the sparse concealment
of a worn and shadowy calico skirt seemed scarce
a fraction more in girth than the slim blue-veined
wrists she tossed among the loose and ragged tresses
of her yellow hair, as she danced around the room.
She was, from the first, an object of curious and
most refreshing interest to our family -- to us children
in particular -- an interest, though years and
years have interposed to shroud it in the dull dust
of forgetfulness, that still remains vivid and bright
and beautiful.
with a father that could thus lightly send her adrift,
I do not know now, nor do I care to ask, but I do
recall distinctly that on a raw bleak day in early
winter she was brought to us, from a wild country settlement, by
a reputed uncle -- a gaunt round-
shouldered man, with deep eyes and sallow cheeks
and weedy-looking beard, as we curiously watched
him from the front window stolidly swinging this
little, blue-lipped, red-nosed waif over the muddy
wagon-wheel to father's arms, like so much country
produce. And even as the man resumed his seat
upon the thick board laid across the wagon, and
sat chewing a straw, with spasmodic noddings of
the head, as some brief further conference detained
him, I remember mother quickly lifting my sister
up from where we stood, folding and holding the
little form in unconscious counterpart of father and
the little girl without. And how we gathered round
her when father brought her in, and mother fixed
a cozy chair for her close to the blazing fire, and
untied the little summer hat, with its hectic
trimmings, together with the dismal green veil that had
been bound beneath it round the little tingling ears.
The hollow, pale blue eyes of the child followed
every motion with an alertness that suggested a
somewhat suspicious mind.
scornfully. -- "W'y, Dave's a great big boy! Dave
works on Barnes's place. And he kin purt' nigh
make a full hand, too. Dave's purt' nigh tall as
your pap! He's purt' nigh growed up -- Dave is!
And -- David -- Mason -- Jeffries," she continued,
jauntily teetering her head from left to right, and
for the first time introducing that peculiar deliberation
of accent and undulating utterance that we
afterward found to be her quaintest and most
charming characteristic -- "and -- David -- Mason --
Jeffries -- he -- likes -- Mary -- Alice -- Smith! " And
then she broke abruptly into the merriest laughter,
and clapped her little palms together till they fairly
glowed.
and infectious humor was restored, and we were
soon piloting the little stranger here and there about
the house, and laughing at the thousand funny little
things she said and did. The winding stairway in
the hall quite dazed her with delight. Up and down
she went a hundred times, it seemed. And she
would talk and whisper to herself, and oftentimes
would stop and nestle down and rest her pleased
face close against the steps and pat one softly with
her slender hand, peering curiously down at us
with half-averted eyes. And she counted them and
named them, every one, as she went up and down.
by an entirely novel and original method of her
own -- " 'cause Uncle Tomps ner Aunt 'Lizabeth
don't live here; and when they ever come here to
git their dinners, like they will ef you don't watch
out, w'y, then I kin slip out here on these-here
stairs and play like I was climbin' up to the Good
World where my mother is -- that's why!"
concluding query; "I'll want to go back there lots
o' times; but not to see them! I'll -- only -- go -- back
-- there -- to -- see" -- and here she was holding up
the little flared-out fingers of her left hand, and
with the index finger of the right touching their
pink tips in ordered notation with the accent of
every gleeful word -- "I'll -- only -- go -- back -- there
-- to -- see -- David -- Mason -- Jeffries -- 'cause -- he's
-- the -- boy -- fer -- me! " And then she clapped her
hands again and laughed in that half-hysterical, half-
musical way of hers till we all joined in and made
the echoes of the old hall ring again.
gesture of silence -- "and then, after I've been in this --
here house a long, long time, and you all gits so's
you like me awful -- awful -- awful well, then some
day you'll go in that room there -- and that room
there -- and in the kitchen -- and out on the porch --
and down the cellar -- and out in the smoke-house --
and the wood-house -- and the loft -- and all around
-- oh, ever' place -- and in here -- and up the stairs --
and all them rooms up there -- and you'll look behind
all the doors -- and in all the cubboards -- and under
all the beds -- and then you'll look sorry-like, and
holler out, kind o' skeert, and you'll say: 'Where --
is -- Mary -- Alice -- Smith? ' And then you'll wait
and listen and hold yer breath; and then somepin' 'll
holler back, away fur off, and say: 'Oh -- she -- has
gone -- home! ' And then ever'thing'll be all still
ag'in, and you'll be afraid to holler any more -- and
you dursn't play -- and you can't laugh, and yer
throat'll thist hurt and hurt, like you been a-eatin'
too much calamus-root er somepin. '!"
final flourish of her big pale eyes, we glanced
furtively at one another's awestruck faces, with a
superstitious dread of a vague indefinite disaster
most certainly awaiting us around some shadowy
corner of the future. Through all this speech she
had been slowly and silently groping up the winding
steps, her voice growing fainter and fainter,
and the littly pixy form fading, and wholly vanishing
at last around the spiral banister of the upper
landing. Then down to us from that alien recess
came the voice alone, touched with a tone as of
wild entreaty and despair: "Where -- is -- Mary --
Alice -- Smith? " And then a long breathless pause,
in which our wide-eyed group below huddled still
closer, pale and mute. Then -- far off and faint
and quavering with a tenderness of pathos that
dews the eyes of memory even now -- came, like a
belated echo, the voice all desolate: "Oh -- she -- has
-- gone -- home!"
influence she unconsciously exerted over us!
We never tired of her presence; but she, deprived
of ours by the many household tasks that she herself
assumed, so rigidly maintained and deftly executed,
seemed always just as happy when alone as
when in our boisterous, fun-loving company. Such
resources had Mary Alice Smith -- such a wonderful
inventive fancy! She could talk to herself -- a
favorite amusement, I might almost say a popular
amusement, of hers, since these monologues at times
would involve numberless characters, chipping in
from manifold quarters of a wholesale discussion,
and querying and exaggerating, agreeing and
controverting, till the dishes she was washing would
clash and clang excitedly in the general badinage.
saucers, she would improvise a gallant line of march
from the kitchen table to the pantry, heading an
imaginary procession, and whistling a fife-tune that
would stir your blood. Then she would trippingly
return, rippling her rosy fingers up and down the
keys of an imaginary portable piano, or stammering
flat-soled across the floor, chuffing and tooting like
a locomotive. And she would gravely propound to
herself the most intricate riddles -- ponder thoughtfully
and in silence over them -- hazard the most
ridiculous answers, and laugh derisively at her
own affected ignorance. She would guess again
and again, and assume the most gleeful surprise
upon at last giving the proper answer, and then
she would laugh jubilantly, and mockingly scout
herself with having given out "a fool-riddle" that
she could guess "with both eyes shut."
"W'y, them's easy as fallin' off a chunk! First-un's
a man named Fox, and he kilt his wife and chopped
her head off, and they was a man named Wright
lived in that neighberhood -- and he was a-goin'
home -- and it was Saturd'y night -- and he was
a-comin' through the big woods -- and they was a
storm -- and Wright he clumb a tree to git out of
the rain, and while he was up there here come
along a man with a dead woman -- and a pickax,
and a spade. And he drug the dead woman under
the same tree where Mr. Wright was -- so ever'
time it 'ud lightnin', w'y, Wright he could look down
and see him a-diggin' a grave there to bury the
woman in. So Wright, he kep' still tel he got her
buried all right, you know, and went back home;
and then he clumb down and lit out fer town, and
waked up the constabul -- and he got a supeeny and
went out to Fox's place, and had him jerked up
'fore the gran' jury. Then, when Fox was in
court and wanted to know where their proof was
that he kilt his wife, w'y, Wright he jumps up and
says that riddle to the judge and all the neighbers
that was there.
out -- w'y, they tuk old Fox out and hung him under
the same tree where he buried Mrs. Fox under. And
that's all o' that'n; and the other'n -- I promised --
David -- Mason -- Jeffries -- I wouldn't -- never -- tell
-- no -- livin' -- soul -- 'less -- he -- gimme -- leef, -- er --
they -- guessed -- it -- out -- their -- own -- se'f! " And
as she gave this rather ambiguous explanation of
the first riddle, with the mysterious comment on the
latter in conclusion, she shook her elfin tresses back
over her shoulders with a cunning toss of her head
and a glimmering twinkle of her pale bright eyes
that somewhat reminded us of the fairy godmother
in Cinderella.
prognostications regarding the visits of her Uncle
Tomps and Aunt 'Lizabeth. Many times through
the winter they "jest dropped in," as Aunt 'Lizabeth
always expressed it, "to see how we was a-gittin' on
with Mary Alice. " And once, "in court week,"
during a prolonged trial in which Uncle Tomps and
Aunt 'Lizabeth rather prominently figured, they
"jest dropped in" on us and settled down and dwelt
with us for the longest five days and nights we
children had ever in our lives experienced. Nor
was our long term of restraint from childish sports
relieved wholly by their absence, since Aunt 'Lizabeth
had taken Mary Alice back with them, saying
that "a good long visit to her dear old home -- pore
as it was -- would do the child good."
we were looking for her coming, and knew a week
beforehand the very day she would arrive -- for had
not Aunt 'Lizabeth sent special word by Uncle
Tomps, who "had come to town to do his millin', and
git the latest war news, not to fail to jest drop in
and tell us that they was layin' off to send Mary
Alice in next Saturd'y."
metropolis throughout the country at that time, was,
to the children at least, a scene of continuous
holiday and carnival. The nation's heart was
palpitating with the feverish pulse of war, and already
the still half-frozen clods of the common highway
were beaten into frosty dust by the tread of marshaled
men; and the shrill shriek of the fife, and
the hoarse boom and jar and rattling patter of the
drums stirred every breast with something of that
rapturous insanity of which true patriots and heroes
can alone be made.
to return -- what was all the gallant tumult of the
town to us? I remember how we ran far up
the street to welcome her -- for afar off we had
recognized her elfish face and eager eyes peering
expectantly from behind the broad shoulders of a
handsome fellow mounted on a great high-stepping
horse that neighed and pranced excitedly as we ran
scurrying toward them.
would be the attempt to detail here a tithe of its
glory, or our happiness in having back with us our
dear little girl, and her hysterical delight in seeing
us so warmly welcome to the full love of our childish
hearts the great, strong, round-faced, simple-
natured "David -- Mason -- Jeffries"! Long and
long ago we had learned to love him as we loved
the peasant hero of some fairy tale of Christian
Andersen's; but now that he was with us in most
wholesome and robust verity, our very souls seemed
scampering from our bodies to run to him and be
caught up and tossed and swung and dandled in
his gentle giant arms.
him. In his tender charge we were permitted to go
down among the tumult and the music of the
streets, his round good-humored face and big blue
eyes lit with a luster like our own. And happy
little Mary Alice Smith -- how proud she was of
him! And how closely and how tenderly, through
all that golden morning, did the strong brown hand
clasp hers! A hundred times at least, as we promenaded
thus, she swung her head back jauntily to
whisper to us in that old mysterious way of hers
that "David -- Mason -- Jeffries -- and -- Mary -- Alice
-- Smith -- knew -- something -- that -- we -- couldn't
-- guess! " But when he had returned us home, and
after dinner had started down the street alone, with
little Mary Alice clapping her hands after him
above the gate and laughing in a strange new voice,
and with the backs of her little fluttering hands
vainly striving to blot out the big tear-drops that
gathered in her eyes, we vaguely guessed the secret
she and David kept. That night at supper-time we
knew it fully. He had enlisted.
moaning on and on, and "Where is Mary Alice? " it
cries, and "Where -- is -- Mary -- Alice -- Smith? "
And the still belated echo, through the high depths
of the old hall overhead, answers quaveringly back,
"Oh -- she -- has -- gone -- home! " But her voice --
it is silent evermore!
us how to call her thus -- and now she will not
answer us! Have we no voice to reach her with?
How sweet and pure and glad they were in those old
days, as we recall the accents ringing through the
hall -- the same we vainly cry to her. Her fancies
were so quaint -- her ways so full of prankish
mysteries! We laughed then; now, upon our knees,
we wring our lifted hands and gaze, through streaming
tears, high up the stairs she used to climb in
childish glee, to call and answer eerily. And now,
no answer anywhere!
hands, how smooth and delicate to lull and soothe!
And the strange music of her lips! The very
crudeness of their speech made chaster yet the
childish thought her guileless utterance had caught
from spirit-depths beyond our reach. And so her
homely name grew fair and sweet and beautiful
to hear, blent with the echoes pealing clear and
vibrant up the winding stair: "Where -- where is Mary
Alice Smith? " She taught us how to call her thus
-- but oh, she will not answer us! We have no
voice to reach her with.
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