Sang Raja Pengeluh dan Panglima Yang Penuh Syukur

Hello, SPN readers; bagaimana kabar kalian kali ini? Hehehe, kelihatannya saya sudah agak jarang mengupdate, maaf-maaf karena akhir-akhir ini saya beserta kawan-kawan sedang mengalami kesibukan dan mengalami beberapa masalah. Misalnya saja, bahwa beberapa waktu lalu CPU saya mengalami kerusakan, overheating pada bagian power supply sehingga mengakibatkan terbakarnya bagian kapasitor p/s dan power plugnya; telebih lagi power slot pada mainboard ikut terbakar sehingga saya harus mengganti p/s dan mainboard CPU saya. Lesson from this incident is although computer is not human; they still need a rest to cool of the IC.

Another problem is our correspondent, seperti kita tahu kejadian gempa bumi dan tsunami yang menimpa Jepang; it is greatly affecting our blog too. Teman saya sekaligus koresponded di SPN Asagiri Kumiko kebetulan sedang pulang kampung pada waktu bencana terjadi dan our reference partnership “Japan Web Organization” juga menunda beberapa update mereka, namun saya sangat senang ketika Kumi menghubungi saya, she said that “she and her family are alright” (she’ll back to Bali as soon as her family move to Osaka) dan saya juga dapat notified e-mail dari JWO that they back online plus letter of gratitude untuk simpatik pathnership diluar Jepang terhadap keadaan bangsa Jepang saat ini.

Update news, untuk sementara info untuk anime tidak berjalan efektif due to some delayed anime airing but we still working on VN sharing because we’ve enough DB stock for it. Terlebih lagi nampaknya jaringan internet saya agak bermasalah dan saya sedang dalam proses menyampaikan complain ke ISP saya.

Okay, back to the topic. Sudah agak lama ya saya tidak menulis cerita pendek yang memotivasi sobat sekalian di blog ini? Hehehe maaf, sebenarnya banyak draft ide yang terpikir di kepala namun kemalasan memenangkan saya beberapa waktu lalu; sehingga jaripun terasa berat dalam mengetik. Somehow, I managed to type one right now. Hurray, clap-clap (applause*). Now SPN readers just sit back because it takes awhile to read it, and enjoy!

The Onigiri That Has Fine Umeboshi On The Back

hehehe, I  have a little free time and I used it to write the story up in my blog. Hope, you guys will like it.

Author note: Onigiri is Japanese term for Riceball that beinng salted and has stuff inside such as umeboshi, tuna, etc. While umeboshi is perserved plum and tasted sour. And at last bento is term meal which packed in mealbox that people will eat during lunch.

 

Once upon a time in certain kitchen live an onigiti. This onigiri has a serious lack of confident and so she always timid and laidback, because she always think that she just a stacked plain rice without anything on it. Therefore, she envy every food around her.

 

She envy watermelon and melon, because they taste sweet and people loves to eat them during summer. She said “I wish I taste sweet, I’m sure people would love me but alas I’m just plain rice gather together”

 

She envy chiken soup which has a lot of stuff inside such as carrot, potato, sauted chicken, and others vegetavles. Furthermore, she think it would be fun because many food gather in that bowl and merry around and soup is salty and warm thus people loves to eat it during cold weather. Once again she said “I wish I could join them but I can’t because a whole round of me wouldn’t fit in there”

 

She envy starwberry and lemon jam although they are sour but yet people often used them altogether with bread in the morning. She sighing and said “people wouldn’t eat me as breakfast and they would prefre the gentleness that bread jam have”

 

Even she envy coffe; they might be bitter but people tend to drink them during break time and turn the athomsphere around those people into something that feel luke warm.When she feel down about herself then suddenly, she hear someone talking “Is that all of thing that you thinking about? You know, I never once thinking something bad about you and myself”. Onigiri confused with it and she doesn’t know who was talking with her before,  but she reply anyway “No, I’m sure people won’t eat me because I’m just plain rice, they will never eat me and I’m sure I don’t taste good at all”.

The sound replies once more “Believe me, it will work just fine”.

 

One day, people will go to picnic and they prepare bento so they could eat it during lunch. Onigiri is worried that people won’t bring her along to the picnic. However, a boy look at the ongiri and said “Ah, it’s onigiri; I want to eat onigiri”. Still, the onigiri doesn’t feel confident and said “no, don’t eat me because I’m not good enough”

Then she hear the sound talking once more “relax, you’ll be just fine, you’ll see”

 

Thus, the boy take onigiri to the picnic and then during lucnh break the boy eat the onigiri and cheefully said “whoa, this onigiri is delicious, salty taste is mild and the sour taste from umeboshi also great! I love this onigiri”. Then finally she know whose sound is that it sound of umeboshi from her back. Then umeboshi said “see, like I said everything is going to be fine. You know I used to think as yours but as soon as I see that I put together with you I begin to understand the whole thing and thinking that every thing will be just fine”

 

The onigiri looks around her and during that picnic time she see many others onigiri in there. People cheerfully eating the onigiri while looks at the landscape. Thus, the onigiri didn’t feel low and bad anymore, she think she is special together with umeboshi, more than that people loves them during picnic.

 

The End

 

Author note: well, we often look around us to see how great the people around us and rarely look into ourselves that we have our own umeboshi that acctually very special and couldn’t compare to the others. Have you ever think and feel like this umeboshi? Then I got something to said for you “believe me everything will be just fine ” Sorry if I have made grammar blunder because it’s been awhile since I’m writing something in English. Any advice and help regarding my article in my blog would be appriciated. So any feedback from you my friends?

Ada Tiga Jawaban Atas Doamu

Tentu kita semua pernah berdoa, bukan? Hmm, masih ingat doa – doa apa saja yang kalian ucapkan selama ini? Next kebanyakan kalian berdoa untuk diri sendiri atau orang lain? Dan terakhir berapa banyak doa kalian yang telah diwujudkan Tuhan? Hmm, pertanyaan seputar itu selalu ada di dalam benak, sebenarnya berefek besarkah doa itu? Itu bisa jadi renungan buat anda semua.

Saya punya cerita yang menarik seputar doa. Meskipun lingkungan cerita ini merupakan lingkungan orang Kristen namun tidak tertutup bagi penganut agama lain membacanya sebab cerita ini bersifat universal yang membahas mengenai doa.

Suatu ketika ada konseling antara pendeta di gereja saya dengan salah satu jemaatnya. Well, jemaat tersebut mengeluh terhadap pendeta itu dan sedang mengalami kekecewaan dalam hidupnya. Jemaat itu berkata “Pak pendeta, saya gagal dapat promosi gara – gara bapak tidak mau mendoakan saya”.

Pendeta tersebut berkata “Apa yang saya pernah katakan mengenai hal ini?”

Jemaat itu berkata “Bapak bilang saya harus berdoa kepada Tuhan secara pribadi untuk hal ini”.

Pendeta bertanya “Apakah anda sudah melakukannya?”

Jemaat itu berkata “Tidak lagi sebab saya rasa percuma saya berdoa, Tuhan tidak pernah mendengar doa saya”

Pendeta tersebut terdiam kemudian kembali bertanya “Apakah anda yakin doa anda tidak didengar Tuhan?”

Tanpa berpikir panjang jemaat tersebut menjawab “Ya, tidak didengar”

Pendeta tersebut membalas pernyataan jemaat tersebut “Kalau begitu anda salah besar”

“Mengapa?” Tanya jemaat itu.

“Karena sama seperti saya mendengarkan anda saat ini, Tuhan juga pasti mendengarkan doa anda” jawab pendeta itu.

Jemaat tersebut terdiam kemudian menimpali “Jika doa saya didengar lantas mengapa keinginan saya tidak terwujud? Apa tangan Tuhan terasa berat ketika mencurahkan berkat-Nya kepada saya?”

Pendeta tersebut mengeleng-gelengkan kepala dan berkata “Doa anda pasti didengar tapi saya ingin bertanya lagi. Apakah anda yakin doa anda dijawab Tuhan?”

Kembali jemaat itu dengan nada agak kesal berkata “Mengapa Bapak menjawab pertanyaan saya dengan pertanyaan yang lain dan sudah pasti jawabannya tetap sama. Tidak, doa saya tidak dijawab”

Pendeta tersebut tersenyum dan menjawabnya “Kalau begitu sekali lagi anda salah besar. Sama sepeti saya bertanya dan anda menjawabnya, Tuhan juga pasti berbuat demikian. Bukankah doa sama seperti pertanyaan kita kepada Tuhan?”

Jemaat tersebut marah dan berkata “Jika Tuhan menjawabnya lantas mengapa doa saya tidak diwujudkan?! Saya tidak mengerti!”

Pendeta haya tersenyum dan berkata “Tuhan sebenarnya sudah menjawab doa anda. Apakah anda tahu bahwa ada 3 jawaban Tuhan terhadap doa yang kita ucapkan?”

Kemudian pendeta tersebut mulai menjelaskan.

Tuhan punya jawaban atas doa –doa kita

Jawaban pertama adalah “tidak!”

Tuhan menolak doa kita, Mengapa? Coba bayangkan sejenak.

Jika anda punya anak berumur 5 tahun dan suatu saat anak tersebut meminta pisau tajam sebagai hadiah ulang tahunnya dan alasannya adalah untuk menusuk temannya yang dibencinya. Apakah anda akan mengabulkannya? Tentu anda semua tahu jawaban yang pasti tentu saja “tidak!”

Sama seperti itu Tuhan berbuat demikian kepada doa kita semua, karena Tuhan tahu doa yang kita panjatkan sebenarnya tidak baik bagi diri sendiri. Kita tidak bisa membohongi Tuhan, sebab tidak ada yang tersembunyi bagi-Nya. Tuhan tahu dengan pasti isi hati dan motivasi kita atas doa yang kita ucapkan; baik atau buruk.

Lantas jika sudah begini sikap apa yang harus diambil? Renungkan doa kita; apakah doa kita benar-benar baik atau buruk bagi kita? kemudian pikirkan motivasi kita untuk doa itu baik atau buruk? Jika sudah maka berubahlah!

Jawaban kedua adalah “tunggu dulu…”

Sikap apa yang harus kita ambil bila jawabannya seperti ini? Sikap yang terbaik adalah bersabar. Pada saat tersebut sebenarnya Tuhan hendak menjawab doa kita hanya saja Tuhan berpikir belum saatnya. Coba sekali lagi kita bayangkan.

Andaikan anda pemilik suatu perusahaannya dan anda ingin mewariskan semua asset yang anda miliki kepada keturunan anda, hanya saja pada saat itu anak anda satu-satunya adalah hanya seorang anak berumur 7 tahun. Apakah anda akan mewariskan begitu saja seluruh harta anda sehingga dia kelola secara langsung?  Tentu jawabannya adalah tunggu dulu. Anda mungkin akan mempercayakan kekayaan tersebut kepada orang kepercayaan anda dan akan memberikannya kepada anak anda sampai pada umur yang dianggap sudah siap untuk menerimannya. Kita tak mungkin mempercayakan kekayaan begitu besar kepada seseorang jika dia belum siap memanajenya dengan baik.

Tuhanpun juga berbuat demikian. Terkadang Tuhan menunggu kita siap terlebih dahulu secara kepribadian, mentalitas, keimanan dan ketaatan agar keempat hal tersebut bertumbuh dan berkembang menjadi kesatuan yang kuat. Setia pada tanggung jawab yang diberikan maka kita akan diberikan tanggung jawab yang lebih besar dan ingat waktunya Tuhan berbeda dengan waktu kita, meskipun begitu pertolongan Tuhan selalu tepat pada waktunya.

Jawaban yang ketiga adalah “ya!”

Doa kita dikabulkan yang juga berarti bahwa doa kita memang sesuai dengan kehendak Tuhan dan Dia melihat kita siap menerima berkat tersebut. Maka sikap yang kita ambil adalah bersyukur. Jangan sampai jadi kacang lupa akan kulitnya. Ingat kita tanpa Tuhan bukan siapa-siapa yang berharga; sebab Tuhan berkuasa atas hidup kita, tidak ada kata kebetulan di dunia ini yang ada proses rencana Tuhan.

Kesimpulannya dalam doa kita selalu didengar dan dijawab Tuhan. Tapi doa yang baik adalah berdoa  akan sesuatu hal yang Tuhan pikir baik untuk kita bukan apa yang kita pikir baik untuk kita (dengan kata lain berdoa sesuai kehendak Tuhan), apa yang kita pikirkan baik itu belum tentu baik di mata Tuhan. Kemudian bersabar dan mempersiapkan diri agar diri kita layak menerima perwujudan dari doa tersebut. Setelah itu jangan lupa untuk selalu bersyukur.

Jadi bagaimana dengan jemaat tersebut? Kira-kira jawaban apa yang telah diterimanya dari Tuhan? Who knows? Tapi yang terpenting biarlah cerita ini menjadi berkat tersendiri bagi orang yang membacanya. Tuhan memberkati.

Also, don’t for forget these words! It’s will be ring in your mind:

Salam Damai

Timotius Jaya

Sebuah Lilin Harapan

Dikisahkan ada empat buah lilin menyala di sebuah ruangan. Ruangan tersebut menjadi terang oleh karena keempat lilin tersebut menyala. Keempat lilin tersebut merupakan perumpamaan akan sesuatu.

Lilin tersebut terus meyala hingga suatu ketika lilin pertama berkata “Saya rasa sangat percuma bila saya terus menyala sebab banyak perang dan pertentangan yang terus terjadi dan orang hidup dalam kekhawatiran”. Maka reduplah api lilin tersebut dan padam. Kini ruangan tersebut menjadi lebih gelap. Lilin yang mati tersebut bernama Kedamaian.

Kemudian lilin kedua berkata “Saya sependapat dengan kedamaian, saya rasa saya juga percuma saya menyala, di kala banyak kejahatan di dunia, manusia saling menyakiti satu sama lainnya dan mementingkan diri sendiri”. Maka reduplah api lilin tersebut dan padam. Kini ruangan tersebut menjadi lebih gelap dari sebelumnya. Lilin yang mati tersebut bernama Kebaikan.

Setelah itu lilin ketiga berkata “Jika kedua lilin tersebut mati, karena saya sudah tidak berguna lagi jadi untuk apa aku terus menyala; kini manusia saling membenci satu sama lain dan saling menatap penuh kecurigaan, kemanakah ketulusan yang dahulu sering kujumpai”. Maka reduplah api lilin tersebut dan padam. Lilin tersebut bernama Kasih.

Kini ruangan itu menjadi gelap sebab hanya satu lilin saja yang menerangi ruangan tersebut. Kemudian datang seorang anak ke dalam ruangan itu dan berkata “Mengapa ruangan ini begitu gelap? Apa yang telah terjadi? Saya tidak ingin hal ini terjadi” Kemudian menangislah anak tersebut. Ketika anak tersebut menangis terdengar suara dari lilin keempat “Jangan menangis saya masih menyala; api lilin saya sangat berharga dan tidak boleh mati sebab api ini dapat menyalakan lilin-lilin lainnya yang sudah padam; selama masih tersisa api ini maka masih ada kesempatan untuk meyalakan api lilin lainnya yang sudah padam”. Mendengar hal itu maka diambilah lilin tersebut oleh anak itu dan digunakannya untuk menyalakan lilin-lilin lainnya yang sudah padam sehingga ruangan itu menjadi terang kembali. Lilin tersebut bernama Harapan.

Yah, harapan merupakan salah satu hal yang paling penting yang dimiliki manusia. Harapan merupakan salah satu berkat terbesar dari Tuhan yang tidak boleh dihilangkan. Meskipun kita sedang dalam masa-masa suram dimana serba sulit asalkan ada harapan maka ada celah untuk merubah semuanya.

Manusia bisa hidup 40 hari lamanya tanpa makanan, 3 hari tanpa minum, dan 7 menit tanpa udara, tapi manusia hanya bisa hidup 7 detik tanpa Harapan. 7 detik tersisa digunakan untuk melakukan tindakan bodoh terakhir “bunuh diri”. Kita dapat melihat banyak kenyataan orang yang kehilangan harapan mengambil jalan pintas dengan bunuh diri. Mereka pikir that’s the best solution, BUT they thought WRONG! That’s not a best solution that’s a best MISTAKE.

Bagi yang sedang mengalami pergumulan berat dan merasa sudah tidak bersemangat seakan hilang harapan, let me tell you an advice; DON’T LOSE YOUR HOPE!

Saya akan beritahu sesuatu yang terdengar buruk namun sebenarnya kabar baik bagimu. Orang yang bunuh diri pasti MASUK NERAKA. Tuhan memberikan hidupmu yang dirancangnya sedemikian rupa indahnya untuk dirimu, Tuhan membenci bila anda menyia-nyiakannya dan mengutuknya. Jika Anda ingin masuk neraka then so be it; kill yourself; sebab orang yang bunuh diri tak akan dapat kesempatan untuk bertobat.

Kontribusi untuk orang yang hampir kehilangan harapan

My best regards

Timotius Jaya

Thanks to my dear, Felli for the inspiration

Berpikiran Positif Mengenai Hidup Karena Hidup Itu Suatu Pilihan

Membaca ini, dan biarkan itu benar-benar meresap .. Kemudian, pilih bagaimana Anda memulai hari Anda besok …

Jerry adalah jenis orang yang Anda cintai untuk membenci. Dia selalu dalam suasana hati yang baik dan selalu memiliki sesuatu yang positif untuk dikatakan. Ketika seseorang akan bertanya kepadanya bagaimana ia lakukan, ia akan menjawab, “Kalau aku lebih baik, aku akan kembar!” Dia adalah seorang manajer yang unik karena ia memiliki beberapa pelayan yang mengikutinya berkeliling dari satu restoran ke restoran.

Alasan para pelayan mengikuti Jerry adalah karena sikapnya. Dia adalah seorang motivator alami. Jika seorang karyawan sedang mengalami hari yang buruk, Jerry ada di sana mengatakan kepada karyawan bagaimana melihat sisi positif dari situasi.

Melihat gaya ini benar-benar membuat saya penasaran, jadi suatu hari aku pergi ke Jerry dan bertanya padanya, aku tidak mengerti! Anda tidak bisa menjadi orang yang positif sepanjang waktu. Bagaimana Anda melakukannya? “Jerry menjawab,” Setiap pagi aku bangun dan berkata pada diriku sendiri, Jerry, Anda punya dua pilihan hari ini. Anda dapat memilih berada dalam suasana hati yang baik atau Anda dapat memilih berada dalam suasana hati yang buruk.

Aku memilih berada dalam suasana hati yang baik. Setiap kali sesuatu yang buruk terjadi, aku dapat memilih untuk menjadi korban atau aku dapat memilih untuk belajar dari itu. Aku memilih untuk belajar dari itu. Setiap kali seseorang datang kepada saya mengeluh, aku dapat memilih untuk menerima keluhan mereka atau aku dapat menunjukkan sisi positif dari kehidupan. Aku memilih sisi positif kehidupan.

“Ya, benar, itu tidak semudah itu,” aku protes. “Ya, memang,” kata Jerry. “Hidup adalah tentang pilihan. Bila Anda membuang semua sampah, setiap situasi adalah sebuah pilihan. Anda memilih bagaimana Anda bereaksi terhadap situasi. Anda memilih bagaimana orang akan mempengaruhi suasana hati Anda. Anda memilih berada dalam suasana hati yang baik atau buruk. Intinya: Ini pilihan Anda bagaimana Anda menjalani hidup. “

Aku memikirkan apa kata Jerry. Tak lama kemudian, aku meninggalkan industri restoran untuk memulai bisnis saya sendiri. Kami kehilangan kontak, tapi aku sering berpikir tentang dia ketika aku membuat pilihan tentang kehidupan, bukan bereaksi terhadap itu.

Beberapa tahun kemudian, aku mendengar bahwa Jerry melakukan sesuatu yang Anda tidak seharusnya dilakukan dalam bisnis restoran: dia meninggalkan pintu belakang terbuka suatu pagi dan tertahan di titik pistol oleh tiga perampok bersenjata. Ketika mencoba untuk membuka brankas, tangannya, gemetar dari kegugupan, tergelincir dari kombinasi. Para perampok panik dan menembaknya. Untungnya, Jerry ditemukan relatif cepat dan bergegas ke pusat trauma lokal. Setelah 18 jam operasi dan berminggu-minggu perawatan intensif, Jerry keluar dari rumah sakit dengan pecahan peluru masih dalam tubuhnya.

Aku melihat Jerry enam bulan setelah kecelakaan. Ketika saya bertanya bagaimana dia, dia menjawab, “Kalau aku lebih baik, aku akan kembar. Mau lihat bekas luka saya?” Saya menolak untuk melihat luka-lukanya, tapi bertanya padanya apa yang telah melalui pikirannya saat perampokan terjadi. “Hal pertama yang masuk dalam pikiranku adalah bahwa aku harus mengunci pintu belakang,” jawab Jerry. “Lalu, saat aku berbaring di lantai, aku ingat bahwa aku punya dua pilihan: aku dapat memilih untuk hidup atau saya bisa memilih mati. Aku memilih untuk hidup. “

“Apakah kau tidak takut? Apakah Anda kehilangan kesadaran?” Aku bertanya. Jerry melanjutkan, “… paramedis yang besar. Mereka terus mengatakan bahwa aku akan baik-baik saja. Tapi saat mereka mendorongku ke UGD dan aku melihat ekspresi wajah para dokter dan perawat, saya menjadi sangat takut. Di mata mereka, saya membaca ‘dia mati. “

Aku tahu aku harus mengambil tindakan. “” Apa yang Anda lakukan? “Saya bertanya.” Yah, ada perawat kekar besar meneriakkan pertanyaan pada saya, “kata Jerry.” Dia bertanya apakah saya alergi terhadap apa-apa. “Ya,” jawabku. Para dokter dan perawat berhenti bekerja sebagai mereka menunggu jawabanku. Aku menarik napas dalam-dalam dan berteriak, ‘Peluru! ” Lebih dari tawa mereka, aku mengatakan kepada mereka, ‘Aku memilih untuk hidup. Mengoperasi saya seolah-olah saya hidup, tidak mati. “”

Jerry hidup berkat keahlian para dokter, tetapi juga karena sikap yang luar biasa. Aku belajar darinya bahwa setiap hari kita memiliki pilihan untuk hidup sepenuhnya. Sikap, setelah semua, adalah segalanya.

Berpikir positif langkah pertama menuju kehidupan yang bahagia.

Sikap adalah segalanya

Jika setiap orang berlaku hanya ini, seluruh dunia akan hidup dalam kebahagiaan.

Kasih Seorang Ibu

Seorang anak kecil menghampiri ibunya di dapur satu malam sementara ia sedang menyiapkan makan malam, dan menyerahkan selembar kertas yang ia telah menulis di. Setelah Ibu mengeringkan tangannya pada celemek, ia membacanya, dan inilah yang dikatakan:

Untuk memotong rumput: $ 5.00
Untuk membersihkan kamarku minggu ini: $ 1.00
Untuk pergi ke toko untuk Anda: $ ,50
Baby-duduk adik sementara Anda pergi berbelanja: $ ,25
Membuang sampah: $ 1.00
Untuk mendapatkan rapor yang baik: $ 5.00
Untuk membersihkan dan menyapu halaman: $ 2.00
Total berutang: $ 14,75

Yah, ibunya memandangnya berdiri di sana, dan anak itu bisa melihat kenangan berkilau di benaknya. Dia mengambil pena, membalik-balik kertas yang telah ditulis di atas, dan inilah yang ia menulis:

Selama sembilan bulan aku membawa Anda sementara Anda tumbuh dalam diriku:
No Charge

Untuk semua malam bahwa saya telah duduk dengan Anda, mengobati dan berdoa untuk Anda:
No Charge

Untuk semua berusaha kali, dan semua air mata yang Anda telah menyebabkan selama bertahun-tahun:
No Charge

Untuk semua malam yang dipenuhi rasa takut, dan untuk kekhawatiran aku tahu itu depan:
No Charge

Untuk mainan, makanan, pakaian, dan bahkan menyeka hidung Anda:
No Charge

Anak, ketika Anda menambahkan itu, biaya cinta saya adalah:
Gratis.

Ketika anak itu selesai membaca apa yang ditulis ibunya, ada air mata di matanya, dan ia memandang langsung pada ibunya dan berkata, “Bu, saya yakin mencintaimu.” Dan kemudian ia mengambil pena dan dalam huruf besar ia menulis: “PAID IN FULL”.

Pelajaran:

*

Anda tidak akan pernah berapa banyak orangtua Anda bernilai sampai Anda menjadi orangtua
*

Menjadi seorang pemberi bukan penanya, terutama dengan orangtua Anda. ada banyak memberi, selain uang.

Saran: JIKA ibumu masih hidup dan dekat dengan Anda, berikan ciuman dan memintanya untuk pengampunan. Jika dia jauh, meneleponnya. jika ia meninggal, berdoa baginya.

Dimulai Dari Hal Kecil Lalu Merubah Dunia

Ada sebuah kota yang jahat, dikatakan jahat karena tingkat kriminalitas dan pengangguran di kota tersebut sangat tinggi, perekonomian kota terpuruk. Di kota ini banyak penduduknya tidak peduli satu sama lain, mereka mementingkan diri sendiri. Ketika ada orang kelaparan di jalan orang-orang hanya diam tanpa memberi sedikit makanan, disaat ada orang yang sedang dipukuli oleh berandal sekitar tak ada yang menolong. Keadaan tersebut merupakan tempat tinggal seorang anak berumur 10 tahun yang bernama Trevor, yang sudah muak dengan keadaan seperti itu. Kemudian dengan kesungguhan hatinya dia bersumpah kepada Tuhan “Tuhan aku bersumpah aku akan merubah dunia menjadi lebih baik, dan hal itu akan kulakukan dimulai dari orang terdekatku”.

Siapakah orang terdekat yang pertama kali dia tolong? Ternyata adalah ibunya, Maria. Trevor adalah seorang anak dari single parent sebab ayahnya mencampakan ibunya ketika sedang mengandung Trevor. Ibunya sering minum-minuman keras karena kehidupannya berat dan penuh tekanan, sehingga pada akhirnya dia menjadi pecandu alkohol yang selalu mabuk setiap malam. Trevor bertekad untuk menyelamatkan ibunya dari kecanduannya. Oleh karena itu, dia mengosongkan seluruh botol whiskey yang ada di rumah dan menggantinya dengan air biasa. Hal ini juga berlanjut ketika ibunya membeli botol whiskey yang baru, Trevor selalu saja mengosongkannya dan mengisinya dengan air biasa. Hingga suatu hari ibunya menyadari ada sesuatu yang berubah dan mengetahui bahwa anaknya selalu mengganti botol whiskey tersebut dengan air biasa. Ibunya penasaran dengan tingkah laku anaknya diapun bertanya kepada anaknya “Mengapa engkau melakukan hal ini?”
“Karena aku mengasihimu, bu” jawab Trevor. Mereka berduapun menangis bersama-sama dan berkat tindakan Trevor ini ibunya dapat menghentikan kecanduan alkoholnya. Lalu Trevorpun berkata kepada ibunya “Ibu, jangan lupa; Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya”

Setelah perkataan anaknya itu, Maria termenung dan teringat akan ibunya Anna, yang tentu saja merupakan neneknya Trevor. Maria dengan ibunya telah lama putus hubungan dan tidak bertemu satu sama lainnya, karena dulunya Maria kecewa dengan ibunya pernah melakukan sesuatu yang mengecewakan dirinya yaitu, dulu ibunya pernah menggunakan uang tabungan Maria yang merupakan biaya kuliahnya secara diam-diam sehingga hancurlah cita-cita Maria. Namun, teringat perkataan anaknya menagislah Maria menyesali perbuatannya dahulu. Dengan segera Maria menuju rumah ibunya; dan Anna sangat terkejut karena putrinya mau datang berkunjung ke rumahnya. Maria segera memeluk ibunya dan berkata “Maafkan aku ibu, aku mengasihimu”.
Mendengar hal ini Anna meneteskan air mata karena putrinya telah kembali kepadanya dan diapun berkata “Ibu yang seharusnya minta maaf nak, ibu menyesali perbuatan ibu yang dulu”. Berkat pelukan dan pembicaraan antara ibu dan anak itu akhirnya mereka berdamai kembali. Maria berkata “Ibu, jangan lupa; Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya”

Kemudian suatu waktu Anna sedang bepergian dengan mobilnya. Di saat mengendarai mobilnya dia melihat seorang pemuda yang dihadang oleh 5 orang pria. Pemuda tersebut dipukuli karena berusaha melindungi tas yang hendak direbut oleh kelima pria lainnya. Oleh usaha yang keras pemuda itupun dapat melepaskan cengkaraman perampok tersebut dan melarikan diri. Namun, siapapun juga tahu dengan keadaan pemuda tersebut yang sempoyongan setelah dipukuli cepat atau lambat pemuda tersebut pasti akan tertangkap dan habislah nyawanya. Teringat akan perkataan yang dikatakan putrinya sebelumnya maka Annapun menghentikan mobil tepat di depan pemuda tersebut dan membukakan pintuya. Pemuda tersebut langsung masuk ke dalam dan Annapun segera menjalankan mobilnya meninggalkan tempat itu. Pemuda itu selamat dan berkata “Terima kasih nyonya anda telah menyelamatkan hidupku dan pekerjaanku, jika saja perampok tersebut berhasil merampas tas ini maka seluruh gaji karyawan perusahaan tempat saya bekerja akan hilang semuanya; apakah yang dapat saya lakukan untuk membalas budi?”
Nenek itu teringat perkataan putrinya sambil tersenyum dia berkata “Tidak ada hanya satu; Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya”

Ceritapun berlanjut pada pemuda tersebut. Pemuda ini sekarang sedang berada di rumah sakit mengantri menunggu giliran karena dirinya sedang sakit flu. Kemudian muncul seorang ayah yang menggendong putrinya yang terlihat sakit parah. Ayah dari anak tersebut mulai berlari ke suster meminta agar anaknya segera disembuhkan. Suster tersebut tampaknya tidak terlalu peduli dan berkata kepadanya agar mengammbil kartu urut dan menunggu gilirannya. Akan tetapi saat itu rumah sakit begitu ramai dan antriannya begitu panjang; siapapun juga tahu bila anak tersebut menunggu antrian maka nyawanya tak terselamatkan. Meskipun begitu orang-orang nampaknya lebih mementingkan kepentingan mereka masing-masing. Kebetulan sekali tiba giliran pemuda itu, karena merasa iba dan mengingat perkataan nenek yang menolongnya maka dia pun segera memanggil pria tersebut dan berkata ”Ini tukarlah kartumu dengan punyaku sebab sekarang giliranku, segera periksalah anakmu sebelum terlambat ” Ayah dari anak tersebut segera mengambil kartu tersebut, karenannya nyawa anaknya tertolong. Kemudian dia menghampiri pemuda tersebut dan berkata ”Terima kasih berkat engkau anakku dapat terselamatkan; lalu apakah yang dapat kulakukan untuk membalas budimu?”
Pemuda itu menjawab ”Tidak ada, hanya satu; Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya”

Sekali lagi cerita berlanjut ke keluarga anak tersebut. Setelah anak mereka sembuh, kedua orang tuanya mengajak anaknya jalan-jalan ke taman kota tersebut. Kebetulan di situ sedang ada pidato sebuah senator yang membicarakan upaya pengembangan ekonomi kota tersebut,sehingga banyak wartawan berkumpul untuk mewawancarai senator tersebut. Seorang wartawan bernasib malang dia tedorong kerumunan sehingga menjatuhkan kameranya, kameranya terjatuh dan terinjak sehingga menjadi rusak. Wartawan itu meratapi nasibnya dan melihat kameranya. Keluarga itu melihat keadaan wartawan tersebut. Kebetulan saat itu keluarga itu membawa kamera, akan tetapi mereka berencana menggunakan kamera itu untuk mengabadikan kenang-kenangan bersama anaknya yang baru keluar dari rumah sakit. Namun, keluraga tersebut teingat perkataan anak muda yang pernah menolongnya. Kemudian dia menghampiri wartawan tersebut dan berkata ”Ini kupinjamkan kameraku sekarang ambilah gambar terbaik dan liputlah sebuah berita yang bagus”. Wartawan tersebut hanya terdiam karena tidak percaya apa yang sedang dialaminya, kemudian diapun bergegas kembali ke wawancar tersebut dan akhirnya dia mendapat bahan cerita yang baik bagi surat kabarnya. Diapun kembali kepada keluarga itu dan berkata ”Terima kasih berkat kalian aku dapat sebuah berita yang bagus, apa yang dapat kulakuan sebagai tanda terima kasih?”
Ayah keluarga tersebut menjawab ”Tidak ada, sama seperti seorang pemuda yang dulu telah menolong kami, yang dapat kau lakukan hanya satu; Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya”

Rupanya wartawan ini penasaran dengan maksud keluarga tersebut sehingga dia mencari tahu lebih lanjut mengenai hal tersebut. Sampai akhirnya dia mengetahui keberadaan pemuda yang dulunya menolong keluraga itu dan menghampirnya.
Wartawa itu bertanya kepada pemuda tersebut ”Maaf, apakah anda dulu pernah menolong sebuah keluarga di sebuah rumah sakit?”
Pemuda itu menjawab ”Ya, benar. Memangnya ada apa?”
Wartawan itu mulai bertanya lagi ”Apa maksud anda mengenai lakukan hal ini kepada yang lainnya? Mengapa anda bisa berpikiran untuk berkata seperti itu?”
Pemuda itu kembali menjawab ”Sebernarnya perkataan tersebut bukan berasal dariku aku mendapatkannya dari seorang nenek yang telah menolong aku dari serangan perampok” Mendengar jawaban pemuda tersebut maka tambah rasa penasarannya dan segera mencari tahu keberadaan nenek itu. Selang waktu dia menemukan nenek tersebut yang tak lain adalah Anna nenekny Trevor. Wartawan tersebut bertanya kepada nenek tersebut ”Maaf , nek apakah anda pernah menolong seorang pemuda dari serangan perampok?”
Nenek tersebut menjawab ”yang kulakukan tak banyak, hanya memberi tumpangan kepada seorang pemuda yang kebetulan sedang dikejar perampok”
Wartawan tersebut kembali bertanya ”Mengapa nenek dapat berpikir demikian mengenai perkataan ’lakukan hal ini kepada yang lainnya’?”
Nenek tersebut menjawab dengan tersebut ”kau salah orang nak, perkataan ini kau dapat dari putriku yang telah memaafkanku dan kembali memberiku kasih sayang” Wartawan tersebut tambah penasaran untuk mencari tahu asal muasal dari perkataan tersebut dan ingin bertanya mengapa orang tersebut bisa berkata demikian. Pada akhirnya dengan bertanya kepada nenek tersebut, wartawan tersebut segera menghampiri putrinya yang tidak lain adalah Maria, ibundanya Trevor. Tak lama wartawan tersebut bertamu kerumah Maria dan tak buang waktu segera bertanya ”Saya seringkali mendengar perkataan ”lakukan hal ini kepada yang lainnya”; apa maksud terkandung di dalamnya? Mengapa anda terpikirkan perkataan tersebut?”
Maria hanya menjawab ”Kau tahu? Perkataan tersebut semula berawal dari putraku Trevor yang berumur  10 tahun. Dia yang menyelamatkanku dari kecanduan alkohol sehingga saya dapat terlepas dari kehidupan yang kelam” Alangkah terkejutnya wartawan tersebut ternyata perkataan sehebat itu awalnya diucapkan oleh anak berumur 10 tahun dan bergegaspun ia bertanya mengenai putranya. Kebetulan Trevor sedang berada di rumah sehingga Mariapun memanggilnya ke ruang tamu. Ternyata benar ibunya tidak berbohong Trevor hanyalah seorang anak berumur  10 tahun. Wartawan itu bertanya kepada anak itu ”apa makna kata tersebut?”
Trevor menjawab ”Jika engkau pernah mengalaminya dan melakukan tindakan oleh dasar hal itu maka kau akan pahan makna dari ’lakukan hal ini kepada yang lainnya”
Wartawan tersebut memang mulai menyadari makna terkandung dari kalimat tersebut karena memang di telah mengalami sendiri kehebatan dari kalimat tersebut. Tetapi wartawan tersebut akhirnya menanyakan sebuah pertanyaan terakhir ”apa dasar yang membuatmu dapat berkata demikian?”
Trevor berkata ”karena aku ingin merubah dunia menjadi lebih baik” Sebuah kata-kata terucap membuat wartawan itu kagum bukan karena kata terlontar secara sembarangan tapi wartawan tersebut melihat kesungguhan hati anak tersebut.

Setelah itu, wartawan itu bergegas menulis sebuah artikel mengenai Trevor, mengenai tindakannya, dan mengenai slogannya. Tertulis dalam headline berita koran, Trevor Bocah Berumur 10 Tahun Yang Merubah Dunia; dan apakah yang wartawan tulis mengenai apa yang dilakukan untuk mewujudkan hal tersebut? Cuma 3 hal sederhana kesungguhan hati, kebaikan kecil dan sebuah kalimat ”Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya”. Cerita mengenai Trevorpun diketahui oleh seluruh penduduk kota, semenjak itu Trevor-pun menjadi terkenal. Lantas inikah yang dia harapkan? Apakah dia mendapat kemudahan atas semuanya ini? Apakah dia bernasib baik setelahnya? Tidak sama sekali tidak.
Nasib Trevor justru cukup malang dia tewas seketika ditusuk oleh murid berandal di sekolahnya ketika hendak menolong temannya yang menjadi korban bullying. Dengan demikian apakah cita-cita Trevor untuk mewujudkan dunia menjadi lebih baik tidak terwujud?

Cerita berlanjut, seminggu setelah kematian Trevor, Maria dan Anna hendak melayat ke pemakaman tempat Trevor dikubur dan alangkah terkejutnya mereka melihat banyak orang datang ke kuburan Trevor menangis di depannya, ada yang menghormatinya, dan banyak sekali karangan bunga ditaruh di sekitar kuburan anaknya. Bahkan sampai pembesar negara-pun turut datang ke kota itu untuk menghormati almarhum Trevor. Ternyata kata-kata yang semula diucapkan Trevor ”Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya” ternyata terus bergerak dan menular dari satu orang ke orang lainnya sehingga akhirnya seluruh penduduk kota berubah karenannya, sebuah kota yang dulunya terkenal jahat kini berubah menjadi kota yang baik yang penuh pengharapan. Trevor berhasil merubah dunia; duniannya yaitu tempat dia tinggal sebuah kota yang kini berubah menjadi lebih baik.
Apa yang dibutuhkan Trevor untuk semuanya? Seperti yang disebutkan tadi dia hanya butuh sebuah kesungguhan hati, sebuah kebaikan kecil, dan sepotong kalimat yang diucapkannya setelah berbuat baik ”Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya”, hanya itu; sisanya Tuhan yang bekerja agar semuanya bekerja dengan sendirinya.
Mau tahu makna sebenarnya dari Lakukan Hal Ini Kepada Yang Lainnya? Maknannya adalah lakukan kebaikan yang ’sama’ kepada orang lain yang membutuhkan.

Ditulis oleh Timotius Jaya terinspirasi dari cerita ”Pay Forward To The Others” dan di posting ke Sprucefir Netsphere.

THE PHILOSOPHER IN THE APPLE ORCHARD

It was a charmingly mild and balmy day. The sun shone beyond the
orchard, and the shade was cool inside. A light breeze stirred the
boughs of the old apple-tree under which the philosopher sat. None
of these things did the philosopher notice, unless it might be when
the wind blew about the leaves of the large volume on his knees,
and he had to find his place again. Then he would exclaim against
the wind, shuffle the leaves till he got the right page, and settle to
his reading. The book was a treatise on ontology; it was written
by another philosopher, a friend of this philosopher’s; it bristled
with fallacies, and this philosopher was discovering them all, and
noting them on the fly-leaf at the end. He was not going to review
the book (as some might have thought from his behaviour), or
even to answer it in a work of his own. It was just that he found
a pleasure in stripping any poor fallacy naked and crucifying it.
Presently a girl in a white frock came into the orchard. She picked
up an apple, bit it, and found it ripe. Holding it in her hand,
she walked up to where the philosopher sat, and looked at him. He
did not stir. She took a bite out of the apple, munched it, and
swallowed it. The philosopher crucified a fallacy on the fly-leaf.
The girl flung the apple away.

“Mr. Jerningham,” said she, “are you very busy?”

The philosopher, pencil in hand, looked up.

“No, Miss May,” said he, “not very.”

“Because I want your opinion.”

“In one moment,” said the philosopher, apologetically.

He turned back to the fly-leaf and began to nail the last fallacy
a little tighter to the cross. The girl regarded him, first with
amused impatience, then with a vexed frown, finally with a wistful
regret. He was so very old for his age, she thought; he could
not be much beyond thirty; his hair was thick and full of waves,
his eyes bright and clear, his complexion not yet divested of all
youth’s relics.

“Now, Miss May, I’m at your service,” said the philosopher, with
a lingering look at his impaled fallacy; and he closed the book,
keeping it, however, on his knee.

The girl sat down just opposite to him.

“It’s a very important thing I want to ask you,” she began, tugging
at a tuft of grass, “and it’s very–difficult, and you mustn’t tell
any one I asked you; at least, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I shall not speak of it; indeed, I shall probably not remember
it,” said the philosopher.

“And you mustn’t look at me, please, while I’m asking you.”

“I don’t think I was looking at you, but if I was I beg your pardon,”
said the philosopher, apologetically.

She pulled the tuft of grass right out of the ground, and flung it
from her with all her force.

“Suppose a man–” she began. “No, that’s not right.”

“You can take any hypothesis you please,” observed the philosopher,
“but you must verify it afterward, of course.”

“Oh, do let me go on. Suppose a girl, Mr. Jerningham–I wish you
wouldn’t nod.”

“It was only to show that I followed you.”

“Oh, of course you ‘follow me,’ as you call it. Suppose a girl
had two lovers–you’re nodding again–or, I ought to say, suppose
there were two men who might be in love with a girl.”

“Only two?” asked the philosopher. “You see, any number of men
_might _ be in love with–”

“Oh, we can leave the rest out,” said Miss May, with a sudden
dimple; “they don’t matter.”

“Very well,” said the philosopher, “if they are irrelevant we will
put them aside.”

“Suppose, then, that one of these men was, oh, _awfully_ in
love with the girl, and–and proposed, you know–”

“A moment!” said the philosopher, opening a note-book. “Let me take
down his proposition. What was it?”

“Why, proposed to her–asked her to marry him,” said the girl, with
a stare.

“Dear me! How stupid of me! I forgot that special use of the word.
Yes?”

“The girl likes him pretty well, and her people approve of him,
and all that, you know.”

“That simplifies the problem,” said the philosopher, nodding again.

“But she’s not in–in love with him, you know. She doesn’t
_really_ care for him–_much_. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly. It is a most natural state of mind.”

“Well then, suppose that there’s another man –what are you writing?”

“I only put down (B)–like that,” pleaded the philosopher, meekly
exhibiting his note-book.

She looked at him in a sort of helpless exasperation, with just
a smile somewhere in the background of it.

“Oh, you really are–” she exclaimed. “But let me go on. The other
man is a friend of the girl’s: he’s very clever–oh, fearfully
clever–and he’s rather handsome. You needn’t put that down.”

“It is certainly not very material,” admitted the philosopher, and
he crossed out “handsome”; “clever” he left.

“And the girl is most awfully–she admires him tremendously; she
thinks him just the greatest man that ever lived, you know. And
she–she–” The girl paused.

“I’m following,” said the philosopher, with pencil poised.

“She’d think it better than the whole world if –if she could be
anything to him, you know.”

“You mean become his wife?”

“Well, of course I do–at least, I suppose I do.”

“You spoke rather vaguely, you know.”

The girl cast one glance at the philosopher as she replied:

“Well, yes; I did mean become his wife.”

“Yes. Well?”

“But,” continued the girl, starting on another tuft of grass, “he
doesn’t think much about those things. He likes her. I think he
likes her–”

“Well, doesn’t dislike her?” suggested the philosopher. “Shall we
call him indifferent?”

“I don’t know. Yes, rather indifferent. I don’t think he thinks
about it, you know. But she–she’s pretty. You needn’t put that
down.”

“I was not about to do so,” observed the philosopher.

“She thinks life with him would be just heaven; and–and she thinks
she would make him awfully happy. She would–would be so proud of
him, you see.”

“I see. Yes?”

“And–I don’t know how to put it, quite–she thinks that if he ever
thought about it at all he might care for her; because he doesn’t
care for anybody else, and she’s pretty–”

“You said that before.”

“Oh dear, I dare say I did. And most men care for somebody, don’t
they? Some girl, I mean.”

“Most men, no doubt,” conceded the philosopher.

“Well then, what ought she to do? It’s not a real thing, you know,
Mr. Jerningham. It’s in –in a novel I was reading.” She said this
hastily, and blushed as she spoke.

“Dear me! And it’s quite an interesting case! Yes, I see. The
question is, Will she act most wisely in accepting the offer of the
man who loves her exceedingly, but for whom she entertains only a
moderate affection–”

“Yes; just a liking. He’s just a friend.”

“Exactly. Or in marrying the other whom she loves ex–”

“That’s not it. How can she marry him? He hasn’t–he hasn’t asked
her, you see.”

“True; I forgot. Let us assume, though, for the moment, that he
has asked her. She would then have to consider which marriage would
probably be productive of the greater sum total of–”

“Oh, but you needn’t consider that.”

“But it seems the best logical order. We can afterward make allowance
for the element of uncertainty caused by–”

“Oh no; I don’t want it like that. I know perfectly well which
she’d do if he–the other man you know–asked her.”

“You apprehend that–”

“Never mind what I ‘apprehend.’ Take it as I told you.”

“Very good. A has asked her hand, B has not.”

“Yes.”

“May I take it that, but for the disturbing influence of B, A would
be a satisfactory–er–candidate?”

“Ye–es; I think so.”

“She therefore enjoys a certainty of considerable happiness if she
marries A?”

“Ye–es; not perfect, because of–B, you know.”

“Quite so, quite so; but still a fair amount of happiness. Is it
not so?”

“I don’t–well, perhaps.”

“On the other hand, if B did ask her, we are to postulate a higher
degree of happiness for her?”

“Yes, please, Mr. Jerningham–much higher.”

“For both of them?”

“For her. Never mind him.”

“Very well. That again simplifies the problem. But his asking her
is a contingency only?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

The philosopher spread out his hands.

“My dear young lady,” he said, “it becomes a question of degree.
How probable or improbable is it?”

“I don’t know; not very probable–unless–”

“Well?”

“Unless he did happen to notice, you know.”

“Ah, yes; we supposed that, if he thought of it, he would probably
take the desired step–at least, that he might be led to do so.
Could she not–er–indicate her preference?”

“She might try–no, she couldn’t do much. You see, he–he doesn’t
think about such things.”

“I understand precisely. And it seems to me, Miss May, that in that
very fact we find our solution.”

“Do we?” she asked.

“I think so. He has evidently no natural inclination toward
her–perhaps not toward marriage at all. Any feeling aroused in him
would be necessarily shallow and, in a measure, artificial, and
in all likelihood purely temporary. Moreover, if she took steps to
arouse his attention one of two things would be likely to happen.
Are you following me?”

“Yes, Mr. Jerningham.”

“Either he would be repelled by her overtures, –which you must
admit is not improbable,–and then the position would be unpleasant,
and even degrading, for her; or, on the other hand, he might,
through a misplaced feeling of gallantry–”

“Through what?”

“Through a mistaken idea of politeness, or a mistaken view of what
was kind, allow himself to be drawn into a connection for which
he had no genuine liking. You agree with me that one or other of
these things would be likely?”

“Yes, I suppose they would, unless he did come to care for her.”

“Ah, you return to that hypothesis. I think it’s an extremely
fanciful one. No, she need not marry A; but she must let B alone.”

The philosopher closed his book, took off his glasses, wiped them,
replaced them, and leaned back against the trunk of the apple-tree.
The girl picked a dandelion in pieces. After a long pause she asked:

“You think B’s feelings wouldn’t be at all likely to–to change?”

“That depends on the sort of man he is. But if he is an able man,
with intellectual interests which engross him–a man who has chosen
his path in life–a man to whom women’s society is not a necessity–”

“He’s just like that,” said the girl, and she bit the head off a
daisy.

“Then,” said the philosopher, “I see not the least reason for
supposing that his feelings will change.”

“And would you advise her to marry the other –A?”

“Well, on the whole, I should. A is a good fellow (I think we made
A a good fellow), he is a suitable match, his love for her is true
and genuine–”

“It’s tremendous!”

“Yes–and–er–extreme. She likes him. There is every reason to hope
that her liking will develop into a sufficiently deep and stable
affection. She will get rid of her folly about B, and make A a good
wife. Yes, Miss May, if I were the author of your novel I should
make her marry A, and I should call that a happy ending.”

A silence followed. It was broken by the philosopher.

“Is that all you wanted my opinion about, Miss May?” he asked, with
his finger between the leaves of the treatise on ontology.

“Yes, I think so. I hope I haven’t bored you?”

“I’ve enjoyed the discussion extremely. I had no idea that novels
raised points of such psychological interest. I must find time to
read one.”

The girl had shifted her position till, instead of her full face,
her profile was turned toward him. Looking away toward the paddock
that lay brilliant in sunshine on the skirts of the apple orchard,
she asked in low slow tones, twisting her hands in her lap:

“Don’t you think that perhaps if B found out afterward–when she
had married A, you know–that she had cared for him so very, very
much, he might be a little sorry?”

“If he were a gentleman he would regret it deeply.”

“I mean–sorry on his own account; that–that he had thrown away
all that, you know?”

The philosopher looked meditative.

“I think,” he pronounced, “that it is very possible he would. I
can well imagine it.”

“He might never find anybody to love him like that again,” she
said, gazing on the gleaming paddock.

“He probably would not,” agreed the philosopher.

“And–and most people like being loved, don’t they?”

“To crave for love is an almost universal instinct, Miss May.”

“Yes, almost,” she said, with a dreary little smile. “You see,
he’ll get old, and–and have no one to look after him.”

“He will.”

“And no home.”

“Well, in a sense, none,” corrected the philosopher, smiling. “But
really you’ll frighten me. I’m a bachelor myself, you know, Miss
May.”

“Yes,” she whispered, just audibly.

“And all your terrors are before me.”

“Well, unless–”

“Oh, we needn’t have that ‘unless,’” laughed the philosopher,
cheerfully. “There’s no ‘unless’ about it, Miss May.”

The girl jumped to her feet; for an instant she looked at the
philosopher. She opened her lips as if to speak, and at the thought
of what lay at her tongue’s tip her face grew red. But the philosopher
was gazing past her, and his eyes rested in calm contemplation on
the gleaming paddock.

“A beautiful thing, sunshine, to be sure,” said he.

Her blush faded away into paleness; her lips closed. Without
speaking, she turned and walked slowly away, her head drooping.
The philosopher heard the rustle of her skirt in the long grass of
the orchard; he watched her for a few moments.

“A pretty, graceful creature,” said he, with a smile. Then he opened
his book, took his pencil in his hand, and slipped in a careful
forefinger to mark the fly-leaf.

The sun had passed mid-heaven and began to decline westward before
he finished the book. Then he stretched himself and looked at his
watch.

“Good gracious, two o’clock! I shall be late for lunch!” and he
hurried to his feet.

He was very late for lunch.

“Everything’s cold,” wailed his hostess. “Where have you been,
Mr. Jerningham?”

“Only in the orchard-reading.”

“And you’ve missed May!”

“Missed Miss May? How do you mean? I had a long talk with her this
morning–a most interesting talk.”

“But you weren’t here to say good-by. Now you don’t mean to say
that you forgot that she was leaving by the two-o’clock train? What
a man you are!”

“Dear me! To think of my forgetting it!” said the philosopher,
shamefacedly.

“She told me to say good-bye to you for her.”

“She’s very kind. I can’t forgive myself.”

His hostess looked at him for a moment; then she sighed, and smiled,
and sighed again.

“Have you everything you want?” she asked.

“Everything, thank you,” said he, sitting down opposite the cheese,
and propping his book (he thought he would just run through the
last chapter again) against the loaf; “everything in the world that
I want, thanks.”

His hostess did not tell him that the girl had come in from the
apple orchard and run hastily upstairs, lest her friend should see
what her friend did see in her eyes. So that he had no suspicion
at all that he had received an offer of marriage–and refused it.
And he did not refer to anything of that sort when he paused once
in his reading and exclaimed:

“I’m really sorry I missed Miss May. That was an interesting case
of hers. But I gave the right answer; the girl ought to marry A.”

And so the girl did.

THE BIRD ON ITS JOURNEY

It was about four in the afternoon when a young girl came into the salon

of the little hotel at C—- in Switzerland, and drew her chair up to

the fire.

“You are soaked through,” said an elderly lady, who was herself trying

to get roasted. “You ought to lose no time in changing your clothes.”

“I have not anything to change,” said the young girl, laughing. “Oh, I

shall soon be dry!”

“Have you lost all your luggage?” asked the lady, sympathetically.

“No,” said the young girl; “I had none to lose.” And she smiled a little

mischievously, as though she knew by instinct that her companion’s

sympathy would at once degenerate into suspicion!

“I don’t mean to say that I have not a knapsack,” she added,

considerately. “I have walked a long distance–in fact, from Z—-.”

“And where did you leave your companions?” asked the lady, with a touch

of forgiveness in her voice.

“I am without companions, just as I am without luggage,” laughed the

girl.

And then she opened the piano, and struck a few notes. There was

something caressing in the way in which she touched the keys; whoever

she was, she knew how to make sweet music; sad music, too, full of that

undefinable longing, like the holding out of one’s arms to one’s friends

in the hopeless distance.

The lady bending over the fire looked up at the little girl, and forgot

that she had brought neither friends nor luggage with her. She hesitated

for one moment, and then she took the childish face between her hands

and kissed it.

“Thank you, dear, for your music,” she said, gently.

“The piano is terribly out of tune,” said the little girl, suddenly; and

she ran out of the room, and came back carrying her knapsack.

“What are you going to do?” asked her companion.

“I am going to tune the piano,” the little girl said; and she took a

tuning-hammer out of her knapsack, and began her work in real earnest.

She evidently knew what she was about, and pegged away at the notes as

though her whole life depended upon the result.

The lady by the fire was lost in amazement. Who could she be? Without

luggage and without friends, and with a tuning-hammer!

Meanwhile one of the gentlemen had strolled into the salon; but hearing

the sound of tuning, and being in secret possession of nerves, he fled,

saying, “The tuner, by Jove!”

A few minutes afterward Miss Blake, whose nerves were no secret

possession, hastened into the salon, and, in her usual imperious

fashion, demanded instant silence.

“I have just done,” said the little girl. “The piano was so terribly out

of tune, I could not resist the temptation.”

Miss Blake, who never listened to what any one said, took it for granted

that the little girl was the tuner for whom M. le Proprietaire had

promised to send; and having bestowed on her a condescending nod, passed

out into the garden, where she told some of the visitors that the piano

had been tuned at last, and that the tuner was a young woman of rather

eccentric appearance.

“Really, it is quite abominable how women thrust themselves into every

profession,” she remarked, in her masculine voice. “It is so unfeminine,

so unseemly.”

There was nothing of the feminine about Miss Blake; her horse-cloth

dress, her waistcoat and high collar, and her billycock hat were of the

masculine genus; even her nerves could not be called feminine, since we

learn from two or three doctors (taken off their guard) that nerves are

neither feminine nor masculine, but common.

“I should like to see this tuner,” said one of the tennis-players,

leaning against a tree.

“Here she comes,” said Miss Blake, as the little girl was seen

sauntering into the garden.

The men put up their eye-glasses, and saw a little lady with a childish

face and soft brown hair, of strictly feminine appearance and bearing.

The goat came toward her and began nibbling at her frock. She seemed

to understand the manner of goats, and played with him to his heart’s

content. One of the tennis players, Oswald Everard by name, strolled

down to the bank where she was having her frolic.

“Good-afternoon,” he said, raising his cap. “I hope the goat is not

worrying you. Poor little fellow! this is his last day of play. He is to

be killed to-morrow for _table d’hote_.”

“What a shame!” she said. “Fancy to be killed, and then grumbled at!”

“That is precisely what we do here,” he said, laughing. “We grumble at

everything we eat. And I own to being one of the grumpiest; though the

lady in the horse-cloth dress yonder follows close upon my heels.”

“She was the lady who was annoyed at me because I tuned the piano,” the

little girl said. “Still, it had to be done. It was plainly my duty. I

seemed to have come for that purpose.”

“It has been confoundedly annoying having it out of tune,” he said.

“I’ve had to give up singing altogether. But what a strange profession

you have chosen! Very unusual, isn’t it?”

“Why, surely not,” she answered, amused. “It seems to me that every

other woman has taken to it. The wonder to me is that any one ever

scores a success. Nowadays, however, no one could amass a huge fortune

out of it.”

“No one, indeed!” replied Oswald Everard, laughing. “What on earth made

you take to it?”

“It took to me,” she said simply. “It wrapped me round with enthusiasm.

I could think of nothing else. I vowed that I would rise to the top of

my profession. I worked day and night. But it means incessant toil for

years if one wants to make any headway.”

“Good gracious! I thought it was merely a matter of a few months,” he

said, smiling at the little girl.

“A few months!” she repeated, scornfully. “You are speaking the language

of an amateur. No; one has to work faithfully year after year; to grasp

the possibilities, and pass on to greater possibilities. You imagine

what it must feel like to touch the notes, and know that you are keeping

the listeners spellbound; that you are taking them into a fairy-land of

sound, where petty personality is lost in vague longing and regret.”

“I confess I had not thought of it in that way,” he said, humbly. “I

have only regarded it as a necessary every-day evil; and to be quite

honest with you, I fail to see now how it can inspire enthusiasm. I wish

I could see,” he added, looking up at the engaging little figure before

him.

“Never mind,” she said, laughing at his distress; “I forgive you. And,

after all, you are not the only person who looks upon it as a necessary

evil. My poor old guardian abominated it. He made many sacrifices to

come and listen to me. He knew I liked to see his kind old face, and

that the presence of a real friend inspired me with confidence.”

“I should not have thought it was nervous work,” he said.

“Try it and see,” she answered. “But surely you spoke of singing. Are

you not nervous when you sing?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, rather stiffly. “But that is slightly

different.” (He was very proud of his singing, and made a great fuss

about it.) “Your profession, as I remarked before, is an unavoidable

nuisance. When I think what I have suffered from the gentlemen of

your profession, I only wonder that I have any brains left. But I am

uncourteous.”

“No, no,” she said; “let me hear about your sufferings.”

“Whenever I have specially wanted to be quiet,” he said–and then he

glanced at her childish little face, and he hesitated. “It seems so

rude of me,” he added. He was the soul of courtesy, although he was an

amateur tenor singer.

“Please tell me,” the little girl said, in her winning way.

“Well,” he said, gathering himself together, “it is the one subject on

which I can be eloquent. Ever since I can remember, I have been worried

and tortured by those rascals. I have tried in every way to escape from

them, but there is no hope for me. Yes; I believe that all the tuners in

the universe are in league against me, and have marked me out for their

special prey.”

“_All the what_?” asked the little girl, with a jerk in her voice.

“All the tuners, of course,” he replied, rather snappishly. “I know

that we cannot do without them; but good heavens! they have no tact, no

consideration, no mercy. Whenever I’ve wanted to write or read quietly,

that fatal knock has come at the door, and I’ve known by instinct that

all chance of peace was over. Whenever I’ve been giving a luncheon

party, the tuner has arrived, with his abominable black bag, and his

abominable card which has to be signed at once. On one occasion I was

just proposing to a girl in her father’s library when the tuner struck

up in the drawing-room. I left off suddenly, and fled from the house.

But there is no escape from these fiends; I believe they are swarming

about in the air like so many bacteria. And how, in the name of

goodness, you should deliberately choose to be one of them, and should

be so enthusiastic over your work, puzzles me beyond all words. Don’t

say that you carry a black bag, and present cards which have to be

filled up at the most inconvenient time; don’t–”

He stopped suddenly, for the little girl was convulsed with laughter.

She laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks, and then she dried

her eyes and laughed again.

“Excuse me,” she said; “I can’t help myself; it’s so funny.”

“It may be funny to you,” he said, laughing in spite of himself; “but it

is not funny to me.”

“Of course it isn’t,” she replied, making a desperate effort to be

serious. “Well, tell me something more about these tuners.”

“Not another word,” he said, gallantly. “I am ashamed of myself as it

is. Come to the end of the garden, and let me show you the view down

into the valley.”

She had conquered her fit of merriment, but her face wore a settled look

of mischief, and she was evidently the possessor of some secret joke.

She seemed in capital health and spirits, and had so much to say that

was bright and interesting that Oswald Everard found himself becoming

reconciled to the whole race of tuners. He was amazed to learn that she

had walked all the way from Z—-, and quite alone, too.

“Oh, I don’t think anything of that,” she said; “I had a splendid time,

and I caught four rare butterflies. I would not have missed those for

anything. As for the going about by myself, that is a second nature.

Besides, I do not belong to any one. That has its advantages, and I

suppose its disadvantages; but at present I have only discovered the

advantages. The disadvantages will discover themselves!”

“I believe you are what the novels call an advanced young woman,” he

said. “Perhaps you give lectures on woman’s suffrage, or something of

that sort?”

“I have very often mounted the platform,” she answered. “In fact, I am

never so happy as when addressing an immense audience. A most unfeminine

thing to do, isn’t it? What would the lady yonder in the horse-cloth

dress and billycock hat say? Don’t you think you ought to go and help

her drive away the goat? She looks so frightened. She interests me

deeply. I wonder whether she has written an essay on the feminine in

woman. I should like to read it; it would do me so much good.”

“You are at least a true woman,” he said, laughing, “for I see you can

be spiteful. The tuning has not driven that away.”

“Ah, I had forgotten about the tuning,” she answered, brightly; “but now

you remind me, I have been seized with a great idea.”

“Won’t you tell it to me?” he asked.

“No,” she answered; “I keep my great ideas for myself, and work them out

in secret. And this one is particularly amusing. What fun I shall have!”

“But why keep the fun to yourself?” he said. “We all want to be amused

here; we all want to be stirred up; a little fun would be a charity.”

“Very well, since you wish it, you shall be stirred up,” she answered;

“but you must give me time to work out my great idea. I do not hurry

about things, not even about my professional duties; for I have a

strong feeling that it is vulgar to be always amassing riches! As I have

neither a husband nor a brother to support, I have chosen less wealth,

and more leisure to enjoy all the loveliness of life! So you see I take

my time about everything. And to-morrow I shall catch butterflies at my

leisure, and lie among the dear old pines, and work at my great idea.”

“I shall catch butterflies,” said her companion; “and I too shall lie

among the dear old pines.”

“Just as you please,” she said; and at that moment the _table d’hote_

bell rang.

The little girl hastened to the bureau, and spoke rapidly in German to

the cashier.

“_Ach, Fraulein_!” he said. “You are not really serious?”

“Yes, I am,” she said. “I don’t want them to know my name. It will only

worry me. Say I am the young lady who tuned the piano.”

She had scarcely given these directions and mounted to her room when

Oswald Everard, who was much interested in his mysterious companion,

came to the bureau, and asked for the name of the little lady.

“_Es ist das Fraulein welches das Piano gestimmt hat_,” answered the

man, returning with unusual quickness to his account-book.

No one spoke to the little girl at _table d’hote_, but for all that she

enjoyed her dinner, and gave her serious attention to all the courses.

Being thus solidly occupied, she had not much leisure to bestow on the

conversation of the other guests. Nor was it specially original; it

treated of the short-comings of the chef, the tastelessness of the

soup, the toughness of the beef, and all the many failings which go

to complete a mountain hotel dinner. But suddenly, so it seemed to the

little girl, this time-honoured talk passed into another phase; she

heard the word “music” mentioned, and she became at once interested to

learn what these people had to say on a subject which was dearer to her

than any other.

“For my own part,” said a stern-looking old man, “I have no words to

describe what a gracious comfort music has been to me all my life. It is

the noblest language which man may understand and speak. And I sometimes

think that those who know it, or know something of it, are able at rare

moments to find an answer to life’s perplexing problems.”

The little girl looked up from her plate. Robert Browning’s words rose

to her lips, but she did not give them utterance:

God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear;

The rest may reason, and welcome; ’tis we musicians know.

“I have lived through a long life,” said another elderly man, “and have

therefore had my share of trouble; but the grief of being obliged to

give up music was the grief which held me longest, or which perhaps has

never left me. I still crave for the gracious pleasure of touching once

more the strings of the violoncello, and hearing the dear, tender voice

singing and throbbing, and answering even to such poor skill as mine.

I still yearn to take my part in concerted music, and be one of those

privileged to play Beethoven’s string-quartettes. But that will have to

be in another incarnation, I think.”

He glanced at his shrunken arm, and then, as though ashamed of this

allusion to his own personal infirmity, he added hastily:

“But when the first pang of such a pain is over, there remains the

comfort of being a listener. At first one does not think it is a

comfort; but as time goes on there is no resisting its magic influence.

And Lowell said rightly that ‘one of God’s great charities is music.’”

“I did not know you were musical, Mr. Keith,” said an English lady. “You

have never before spoken of music.”

“Perhaps not, madam,” he answered. “One does not often speak of what one

cares for most of all. But when I am in London I rarely miss hearing our

best players.”

At this point others joined in, and the various merits of eminent

pianists were warmly discussed.

“What a wonderful name that little English lady has made for herself!”

said the major, who was considered an authority on all subjects. “I would

go anywhere to hear Miss Thyra Flowerdew. We all ought to be very proud

of her. She has taken even the German musical world by storm, and they

say her recitals at Paris have been brilliantly successful. I myself

have heard her at New York, Leipsic, London, Berlin, and even Chicago.”

The little girl stirred uneasily in her chair.

“I don’t think Miss Flowerdew has ever been to Chicago,” she said.

There was a dead silence. The admirer of Miss Thyra Flowerdew looked

much annoyed, and twiddled his watch-chain. He had meant to say

“Philadelphia,” but he did not think it necessary to own to his mistake.

“What impertinence!” said one of the ladies to Miss Blake. “What can she

know about it? Is she not the young person who tuned the piano?”

“Perhaps she tunes Miss Thyra Flowerdew’s piano!” suggested Miss Blake,

in a loud whisper.

“You are right, madam,” said the little girl, quietly. “I have often

tuned Miss Flowerdew’s piano.”

There was another embarrassing silence; and then a lovely old lady, whom

every one reverenced, came to the rescue.

“I think her playing is simply superb,” she said. “Nothing that I ever

hear satisfies me so entirely. She has all the tenderness of an angel’s

touch.”

“Listening to her,” said the major, who had now recovered from his

annoyance at being interrupted, “one becomes unconscious of her

presence, for she _is the music itself_. And that is rare. It is but

seldom nowadays that we are allowed to forget the personality of the

player. And yet her personality is an unusual one; having once seen her,

it would not be easy to forget her. I should recognise her anywhere.”

As he spoke, he glanced at the little tuner, and could not help admiring

her dignified composure under circumstances which might have been

distressing to any one; and when she rose with the others he followed

her, and said stiffly:

“I regret that I was the indirect cause of putting you in an awkward

position.”

“It is really of no consequence,” she said, brightly. “If you think I

was impertinent, I ask your forgiveness. I did not mean to be officious.

The words were spoken before I was aware of them.”

She passed into the salon, where she found a quiet corner for herself,

and read some of the newspapers. No one took the slightest notice of

her; not a word was spoken to her; but when she relieved the company of

her presence her impertinence was commented on.

“I am sorry that she heard what I said,” remarked Miss Blake; “but she

did not seem to mind. These young women who go out into the world lose

the edge of their sensitiveness and femininity. I have always observed

that.”

“How much they are spared then!” answered some one.

Meanwhile the little girl slept soundly. She had merry dreams, and

finally woke up laughing. She hurried over her breakfast, and then

stood ready to go for a butterfly hunt. She looked thoroughly happy,

and evidently had found, and was holding tightly, the key to life’s

enjoyment.

Oswald Everard was waiting on the balcony, and he reminded her that he

intended to go with her.

“Come along then,” she answered; “we must not lose a moment.”

They caught butterflies; they picked flowers; they ran; they lingered

by the wayside; they sang; they climbed, and he marvelled at her easy

speed. Nothing seemed to tire her, and everything seemed to delight

her–the flowers, the birds, the clouds, the grasses, and the fragrance

of the pine woods.

“Is it not good to live?” she cried. “Is it not splendid to take in the

scented air? Draw in as many long breaths as you can. Isn’t it good?

Don’t you feel now as though you were ready to move mountains? I do.

What a dear old nurse Nature is! How she pets us, and gives us the best

of her treasures!”

Her happiness invaded Oswald Everard’s soul, and he felt like a

school-boy once more, rejoicing in a fine day and his liberty, with

nothing to spoil the freshness of the air, and nothing to threaten the

freedom of the moment.

“Is it not good to live?” he cried. “Yes, indeed it is, if we know how

to enjoy.”

They had come upon some haymakers, and the little girl hastened up to

help them, laughing and talking to the women, and helping them to pile

up the hay on the shoulders of a broad-backed man, who then conveyed his

burden to a pear-shaped stack. Oswald Everard watched his companion for

a moment, and then, quite forgetting his dignity as an amateur tenor

singer, he too lent his aid, and did not leave off until his companion

sank exhausted on the ground.

“Oh,” she laughed, “what delightful work for a very short time! Come

along; let us go into that brown chatlet yonder and ask for some milk.

I am simply parched with thirst. Thank you, but I prefer to carry my own

flowers.”

“What an independent little lady you are!” he said.

“It is quite necessary in our profession, I can assure you,” she

said, with a tone of mischief in her voice. “That reminds me that my

profession is evidently not looked upon with any favour by the visitors

at the hotel. I am heartbroken to think that I have not won the esteem

of that lady in the billycock hat. What will she say to you for coming

out with me? And what will she say of me for allowing you to come? I

wonder whether she will say, ‘How unfeminine!’ I wish I could hear her!”

“I don’t suppose you care,” he said. “You seem to be a wild little

bird.”

“I don’t care what a person of that description says,” replied his

companion.

“What on earth made you contradict the major at dinner last night?” he

asked. “I was not at the table, but some one told me of the incident;

and I felt very sorry about it. What could you know of Miss Thyra

Flowerdew?”

“Well, considering that she is in my profession, of course I know

something about her,” said the little girl.

“Confound it all!” he said, rather rudely. “Surely there is some

difference between the bellows-blower and the organist.”

“Absolutely none,” she answered; “merely a variation of the original

theme!”

As she spoke she knocked at the door of the chalet, and asked the old

dame to give them some milk. They sat in the _Stube_, and the little

girl looked about, and admired the spinning-wheel and the quaint chairs

and the queer old jugs and the pictures on the walls.

“Ah, but you shall see the other room,” the old peasant woman said; and

she led them into a small apartment which was evidently intended for a

study. It bore evidences of unusual taste and care, and one could see

that some loving hand had been trying to make it a real sanctum of

refinement. There was even a small piano. A carved book-rack was

fastened to the wall.

The old dame did not speak at first; she gave her guests time to recover

from the astonishment which she felt they must be experiencing; then she

pointed proudly to the piano.

“I bought that for my daughters,” she said, with a strange mixture of

sadness and triumph. “I wanted to keep them at home with me, and I saved

and saved, and got enough money to buy the piano. They had always wanted

to have one, and I thought they would then stay with me. They liked

music and books, and I knew they would be glad to have a room of their

own where they might read and play and study; and so I gave them this

corner.”

“Well, mother,” asked the little girl, “and where are they this

afternoon?”

“Ah,” she answered sadly, “they did not care to stay; but it was natural

enough, and I was foolish to grieve. Besides, they come to see me.”

“And then they play to you?” asked the little girl, gently.

“They say the piano is out of tune,” the old dame said. “I don’t know.

Perhaps you can tell.”

The little girl sat down to the piano, and struck a few chords.

“Yes,” she said; “it is badly out of tune. Give me the tuning-hammer. I

am sorry,” she added, smiling at Oswald Everard, “but I cannot neglect

my duty. Don’t wait for me.”

“I will wait for you,” he said, sullenly; and he went into the balcony

and smoked his pipe, and tried to possess his soul in patience.

When she had faithfully done her work she played a few simple melodies,

such as she knew the old woman would love and understand; and she turned

away when she saw that the listener’s eyes were moist.

“Play once again,” the old woman whispered. “I am dreaming of beautiful

things.”

So the little tuner touched the keys again with all the tenderness of an

angel.

“Tell your daughters,” she said, as she rose to say good-bye, “that the

piano is now in good tune. Then they will play to you the next time they

come.”

“I shall always remember you, mademoiselle,” the old woman said; and,

almost unconsciously, she took the childish face and kissed it.

Oswald Everard was waiting in the hay-field for his companion; and when

she apologised to him for this little professional intermezzo, as she

called it, he recovered from his sulkiness and readjusted his nerves,

which the noise of the tuning had somewhat disturbed.

“It was very good of you to tune the old dame’s piano,” he said, looking

at her with renewed interest.

“Some one had to do it, of course,” she answered, brightly, “and I am

glad the chance fell to me. What a comfort it is to think that the next

time those daughters come to see her they will play to her and make her

very happy! Poor old dear!”

“You puzzle me greatly,” he said. “I cannot for the life of me think

what made you choose your calling. You must have many gifts; any one who

talks with you must see that at once. And you play quite nicely, too.”

“I am sorry that my profession sticks in your throat,” she answered.

“Do be thankful that I am nothing worse than a tuner. For I might be

something worse–a snob, for instance.”

And, so speaking, she dashed after a butterfly, and left him to recover

from her words. He was conscious of having deserved a reproof; and

when at last he overtook her he said as much, and asked for her kind

indulgence.

“I forgive you,” she said, laughing. “You and I are not looking at

things from the same point of view; but we have had a splendid morning

together, and I have enjoyed every minute of it. And to-morrow I go on

my way.”

“And to-morrow you go,” he repeated. “Can it not be the day after

to-morrow?”

“I am a bird of passage,” she said, shaking her head. “You must not seek

to detain me. I have taken my rest, and off I go to other climes.”

They had arrived at the hotel, and Oswald Everard saw no more of his

companion until the evening, when she came down rather late for _table

d’hote_. She hurried over her dinner and went into the salon. She closed

the door, and sat down to the piano, and lingered there without touching

the keys; once or twice she raised her hands, and then she let them rest

on the notes, and, half unconsciously, they began to move and make sweet

music; and then they drifted into Schumann’s “Abendlied,” and then the

little girl played some of his “Kinderscenen,” and some of his “Fantasie

Stucke,” and some of his songs.

Her touch and feeling were exquisite, and her phrasing betrayed the true

musician. The strains of music reached the dining-room, and, one by one,

the guests came creeping in, moved by the music and anxious to see the

musician.

The little girl did not look up; she was in a Schumann mood that

evening, and only the players of Schumann know what enthralling

possession he takes of their very spirit. All the passion and pathos and

wildness and longing had found an inspired interpreter; and those who

listened to her were held by the magic which was her own secret,

and which had won for her such honour as comes only to the few. She

understood Schumann’s music, and was at her best with him.

Had she, perhaps, chosen to play his music this evening because she

wished to be at her best? Or was she merely being impelled by an

overwhelming force within her? Perhaps it was something of both.

Was she wishing to humiliate these people who had received her so

coldly? This little girl was only human; perhaps there was something of

that feeling too. Who can tell? But she played as she had never played

in London, or Paris, or Berlin, or New York, or Philadelphia.

At last she arrived at the “Carnaval,” and those who heard her declared

afterward that they had never listened to a more magnificent rendering.

The tenderness was so restrained; the vigour was so refined. When

the last notes of that spirited “Marche des Davidsbundler contre les

Philistins” had died away, she glanced at Oswald Everard, who was

standing near her almost dazed.

“And now my favourite piece of all,” she said; and she at once began

the “Second Novelette,” the finest of the eight, but seldom played in

public.

What can one say of the wild rush of the leading theme, and the pathetic

longing of the intermezzo?

. . . The murmuring dying notes,

That fall as soft as snow on the sea;

and

The passionate strain that, deeply going,

Refines the bosom it trembles through.

What can one say of those vague aspirations and finest thoughts which

possess the very dullest among us when such music as that which the

little girl had chosen catches us and keeps us, if only for a passing

moment, but that moment of the rarest worth and loveliness in our

unlovely lives?

What can one say of the highest music except that, like death, it is the

great leveller: it gathers us all to its tender keeping–and we rest.

The little girl ceased playing. There was not a sound to be heard;

the magic was still holding her listeners. When at last they had freed

themselves with a sigh, they pressed forward to greet her.

“There is only one person who can play like that,” cried the major, with

sudden inspiration–”she is Miss Thyra Flowerdew.”

The little girl smiled.

“That is my name,” she said, simply; and she slipped out of the room.

The next morning, at an early hour, the bird of passage took her flight

onward, but she was not destined to go off unobserved. Oswald Everard

saw the little figure swinging along the road, and she overtook her.

“You little wild bird!” he said. “And so this was your great idea–to

have your fun out of us all, and then play to us and make us feel I

don’t know how, and then to go.”

“You said the company wanted stirring up,” she answered, “and I rather

fancy I have stirred them up.”

“And what do you suppose you have done for me?” he asked.

“I hope I have proved to you that the bellows-blower and the organist

are sometimes identical,” she answered.

But he shook his head.

“Little wild bird,” he said, “you have given me a great idea, and I will

tell you what it is: _to tame you_. So good-bye for the present.”

“Good-bye,” she said. “But wild birds are not so easily tamed.”

Then she waved her hand over her head, and went on her way singing.

THE INCONSIDERATE WAITER

Frequently I have to ask myself in the street for the name of the man I bowed to just now, and then, before I can answer, the wind of the first corner blows him from my memory. I have a theory, however, that those puzzling faces, which pass before I can see who cut the coat, all belong to club waiters.

Until William forced his affairs upon me that was all I did know of the private life of waiters, though I have been in the club for twenty years. I was even unaware whether they slept downstairs or had their own homes; nor had I the interest to inquire of other members, nor they the knowledge to inform me. I hold that this sort of people should be fed and clothed and given airing and wives and children, and I subscribe yearly, I believe for these purposes; but to come into closer relation with waiters is bad form; they are club fittings, and William should have kept his distress to himself, or taken it away and patched it up like a rent in one of the chairs. His inconsiderateness has been a pair of spectacles to me for months.

It is not correct taste to know the name of a club waiter, so I must apologise for knowing William’s, and still more for not forgetting it. If, again, to speak of a waiter is bad form, to speak bitterly is the comic degree of it. But William has disappointed me sorely. There were years when I would defer dining several minutes that he might wait on me. His pains to reserve the window-seat for me were perfectly satisfactory. I allowed him privileges, as to suggest dishes, and would give him information, as that some one had startled me in the reading-room by slamming a door. I have shown him how I cut my finger with a piece of string. Obviously he was gratified by these attentions, usually recommending a liqueur; and I fancy he must have understood my sufferings, for he often looked ill himself. Probably he was rheumatic, but I cannot say for certain, as I never thought of asking, and he had the sense to see that the knowledge would be offensive to me.

In the smoking-room we have a waiter so independent that once, when he brought me a yellow chartreuse, and I said I had ordered green, he replied, “No, sir; you said yellow.” William could never have been guilty of such effrontery. In appearance, of course, he is mean, but I can no more describe him than a milkmaid could draw cows. I suppose we distinguish one waiter from another much as we pick our hat from the rack. We could have plotted a murder safely before William. He never presumed to have any opinions of his own. When such was my mood he remained silent, and if I announced that something diverting had happened to me he laughed before I told him what it was. He turned the twinkle in his eye off or on at my bidding as readily as if it was the gas. To my “Sure to be wet to-morrow,” he would reply, “Yes, sir;” and to Trelawney’s “It doesn’t look like rain,” two minutes afterward, he would reply, “No, sir.” It was one member who said Lightning Rod would win the Derby and another who said Lightning Rod had no chance, but it was William who agreed with both. He was like a cheroot, which may be smoked from either end. So used was I to him that, had he died or got another situation (or whatever it is such persons do when they disappear from the club), I should probably have told the head waiter to bring him back, as I disliked changes.

It would not become me to know precisely when I began to think William an ingrate, but I date his lapse from the evening when he brought me oysters. I detest oysters, and no one knew it better than William. He has agreed with me that he could not understand any gentleman’s liking them. Between me and a certain member who smacks his lips twelve times to a dozen of them William knew I liked a screen to be placed until we had reached the soup, and yet he gave me the oysters and the other man my sardine. Both the other member and I quickly called for brandy and the head waiter. To do William justice, he shook, but never can I forget his audacious explanation: “Beg pardon, sir, but I was thinking of something else.”

In these words William had flung off the mask, and now I knew him for what he was.

I must not be accused of bad form for looking at William on the following evening. What prompted me to do so was not personal interest in him, but a desire to see whether I dare let him wait on me again. So, recalling that a caster was off a chair yesterday, one is entitled to make sure that it is on to-day before sitting down. If the expression is not too strong, I may say that I was taken aback by William’s manner. Even when crossing the room to take my orders he let his one hand play nervously with the other. I had to repeat “Sardine on toast” twice, and instead of answering “Yes, sir,” as if my selection of sardine on toast was a personal gratification to him, which is the manner one expects of a waiter, he glanced at the clock, then out at the window, and, starting, asked, “Did you say sardine on toast, sir?”

It was the height of summer, when London smells like a chemist’s shop, and he who has the dinner-table at the window needs no candles to show him his knife and fork. I lay back at intervals, now watching a starved-looking woman sleep on a door-step, and again complaining of the club bananas. By-and-by I saw a girl of the commonest kind, ill-clad and dirty, as all these Arabs are. Their parents should be compelled to feed and clothe them comfortably, or at least to keep them indoors, where they cannot offend our eyes. Such children are for pushing aside with one’s umbrella; but this girl I noticed because she was gazing at the club windows. She had stood thus for perhaps ten minutes when I became aware that some one was leaning over me to look out at the window. I turned round. Conceive my indignation on seeing that the rude person was William.

“How dare you, William?” I said, sternly. He seemed not to hear me. Let me tell, in the measured words of one describing a past incident, what then took place. To get nearer the window he pressed heavily on my shoulder.

“William, you forget yourself!” I said, meaning—as I see now—that he had forgotten me.

I heard him gulp, but not to my reprimand. He was scanning the street. His hands chattered on my shoulder, and, pushing him from me, I saw that his mouth was agape.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

He stared at me, and then, like one who had at last heard the echo of my question, seemed to be brought back to the club. He turned his face from me for an instant, and answered shakily:

“I beg your pardon, sir! I—I shouldn’t have done it. Are the bananas too ripe, sir?”

He recommended the nuts, and awaited my verdict so anxiously while I ate one that I was about to speak graciously, when I again saw his eyes drag him to the window.

“William,” I said, my patience giving way at last, “I dislike being waited on by a melancholy waiter.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, trying to smile, and then broke out passionately, “For God’s sake, sir, tell me, have you seen a little girl looking in at the club windows?”

He had been a good waiter once, and his distracted visage was spoiling my dinner.

“There,” I said, pointing to the girl, and no doubt would have added that he must bring me coffee immediately, had he continued to listen. But already he was beckoning to the child. I have not the least interest in her (indeed, it had never struck me that waiters had private affairs, and I still think it a pity that they should have); but as I happened to be looking out at the window I could not avoid seeing what occurred. As soon as the girl saw William she ran into the street, regardless of vehicles, and nodded three times to him. Then she disappeared.

I have said that she was quite a common child, without attraction of any sort, and yet it was amazing the difference she made in William. He gasped relief, like one who had broken through the anxiety that checks breathing, and into his face there came a silly laugh of happiness. I had dined well, on the whole, so I said:

“I am glad to see you cheerful again, William.”

I meant that I approved his cheerfulness because it helped my digestion, but he must needs think I was sympathising with him.

“Thank you, sir,” he answered. “Oh, sir! when she nodded and I saw it was all right I could have gone down on my knees to God.”

I was as much horrified as if he had dropped a plate on my toes. Even William, disgracefully emotional as he was at the moment, flung out his arms to recall the shameful words.

“Coffee, William!” I said, sharply.

I sipped my coffee indignantly, for it was plain to me that William had something on his mind.

“You are not vexed with me, sir?” he had the hardihood to whisper.

“It was a liberty,” I said.

“I know, sir; but I was beside myself.”

“That was a liberty also.”

He hesitated, and then blurted out:

“It is my wife, sir. She—”

I stopped him with my hand. William, whom I had favoured in so many ways, was a married man! I might have guessed as much years before had I ever reflected about waiters, for I knew vaguely that his class did this sort of thing. His confession was distasteful to me, and I said warningly:

“Remember where you are, William.”

“Yes, sir; but you see, she is so delicate—”

“Delicate! I forbid your speaking to me on unpleasant topics.”

“Yes, sir; begging your pardon.”

It was characteristic of William to beg my pardon and withdraw his wife, like some unsuccessful dish, as if its taste would not remain in the mouth. I shall be chided for questioning him further about his wife, but, though doubtless an unusual step, it was only bad form superficially, for my motive was irreproachable. I inquired for his wife, not because I was interested in her welfare, but in the hope of allaying my irritation. So I am entitled to invite the wayfarer who has bespattered me with mud to scrape it off.

I desired to be told by William that the girl’s signals meant his wife’s recovery to health. He should have seen that such was my wish and answered accordingly. But, with the brutal inconsiderateness of his class, he said:

“She has had a good day; but the doctor, he—the doctor is afeard she is dying.”

Already I repented my questions. William and his wife seemed in league against me, when they might so easily have chosen some other member.

“Pooh! the doctor,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“Have you been married long, William?”

“Eight years, sir. Eight years ago she was—I—I mind her when . . . and now the doctor says—”

The fellow gaped at me. “More coffee, sir?” he asked.

“What is her ailment?”

“She was always one of the delicate kind, but full of spirit, and—and you see, she has had a baby lately—”

“William!”

“And she—I—the doctor is afeard she’s not picking up.”

“I feel sure she will pick up.”

“Yes, sir?”

It must have been the wine I had drunk that made me tell him:

“I was once married, William. My wife—it was just such a case as yours.”

“She did not get better sir?”

“No.”

After a pause he said, “Thank you, sir,” meaning for the sympathy that made me tell him that. But it must have been the wine.

“That little girl comes here with a message from your wife?”

“Yes; if she nods three times it means my wife is a little better.”

“She nodded thrice to-day.”

“But she is told to do that to relieve me, and maybe those nods don’t tell the truth.”

“Is she your girl?”

“No; we have none but the baby. She is a neighbour’s; she comes twice a day.”

“It is heartless of her parents not to send her every hour.”

“But she is six years old,” he said, “and has a house and two sisters to look after in the daytime, and a dinner to cook. Gentlefolk don’t understand.”

“I suppose you live in some low part, William.”

“Off Drury Lane,” he answered, flushing; “but—but it isn’t low. You see, we were never used to anything better, and I mind when I let her see the house before we were married, she—she a sort of cried because she was so proud of it. That was eight years ago, and now—she’s afeard she’ll die when I’m away at my work.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Never; she always says she is feeling a little stronger.”

“Then how can you know she is afraid of that?”

“I don’t know how I know, sir; but when I am leaving the house in the morning I look at her from the door, and she looks at me, and then I—I know.”

“A green chartreuse, William!”

I tried to forget William’s vulgar story in billiards, but he had spoiled my game. My opponent, to whom I can give twenty, ran out when I was sixty-seven, and I put aside my cue pettishly. That in itself was bad form, but what would they have thought had they known that a waiter’s impertinence caused it! I grew angrier with William as the night wore on, and next day I punished him by giving my orders through another waiter.

As I had my window-seat, I could not but see that the girl was late again. Somehow I dawdled over my coffee. I had an evening paper before me, but there was so little in it that my eyes found more of interest in the street. It did not matter to me whether William’s wife died, but when that girl had promised to come, why did she not come? These lower classes only give their word to break it. The coffee was undrinkable.

At last I saw her. William was at another window, pretending to do something with the curtains. I stood up, pressing closer to the window. The coffee had been so bad that I felt shaky. She nodded three times, and smiled.

“She is a little better,” William whispered to me, almost gaily.

“Whom are you speaking of?” I asked, coldly, and immediately retired to the billiard-room, where I played a capital game. The coffee was much better there than in the dining-room.

Several days passed, and I took care to show William that I had forgotten his maunderings. I chanced to see the little girl (though I never looked for her) every evening, and she always nodded three times, save once, when she shook her head, and then William’s face grew white as a napkin. I remember this incident because that night I could not get into a pocket. So badly did I play that the thought of it kept me awake in bed, and that, again, made me wonder how William’s wife was. Next day I went to the club early (which was not my custom) to see the new books. Being in the club at any rate, I looked into the dining-room to ask William if I had left my gloves there, and the sight of him reminded me of his wife; so I asked for her. He shook his head mournfully, and I went off in a rage.

So accustomed am I to the club that when I dine elsewhere I feel uncomfortable next morning, as if I had missed a dinner. William knew this; yet here he was, hounding me out of the club! That evening I dined (as the saying is) at a restaurant, where no sauce was served with the asparagus. Furthermore, as if that were not triumph enough for William, his doleful face came between me and every dish, and I seemed to see his wife dying to annoy me.

I dined next day at the club for self-preservation, taking, however, a table in the middle of the room, and engaging a waiter who had once nearly poisoned me by not interfering when I put two lumps of sugar into my coffee instead of one, which is my allowance. But no William came to me to acknowledge his humiliation, and by-and-by I became aware that he was not in the room. Suddenly the thought struck me that his wife must be dead, and I—It was the worst cooked and the worst served dinner I ever had in the club.

I tried the smoking-room. Usually the talk there is entertaining, but on that occasion it was so frivolous that I did not remain five minutes. In the card-room a member told me excitedly that a policeman had spoken rudely to him; and my strange comment was:

“After all, it is a small matter.”

In the library, where I had not been for years, I found two members asleep, and, to my surprise, William on a ladder dusting books.

“You have not heard, sir?” he said, in answer to my raised eyebrows. Descending the ladder, he whispered tragically: “It was last evening, sir. I—I lost my head, and I—swore at a member.”

I stepped back from William, and glanced apprehensively at the two members. They still slept.

“I hardly knew,” William went on, “what I was doing all day yesterday, for I had left my wife so weakly that—”

I stamped my foot.

“I beg your pardon for speaking of her,” he had the grace to say, “but I couldn’t help slipping up to the window often yesterday to look for Jenny, and when she did come, and I saw she was crying, it—it sort of confused me, and I didn’t know right, sir, what I was doing. I hit against a member, Mr. Myddleton Finch, and he—he jumped and swore at me. Well, sir, I had just touched him after all, and I was so miserable, it a kind of stung me to be treated like—like that, and me a man as well as him; and I lost my senses, and—and I swore back.”

William’s shamed head sank on his chest, but I even let pass his insolence in likening himself to a member of the club, so afraid was I of the sleepers waking and detecting me in talk with a waiter.

“For the love of God,” William cried, with coarse emotion, “don’t let them dismiss me!”

“Speak lower!” I said. “Who sent you here?”

“I was turned out of the dining-room at once, and told to attend to the library until they had decided what to do with me. Oh, sir, I’ll lose my place!”

He was blubbering, as if a change of waiters, was a matter of importance.

“This is very bad, William,” I said. “I fear I can do nothing for you.”

“Have mercy on a distracted man!” he entreated. “I’ll go on my knees to Mr. Myddleton Finch.”

How could I but despise a fellow who would be thus abject for a pound a week?

“I dare not tell her,” he continued, “that I have lost my place. She would just fall back and die.”

“I forbade your speaking of your wife,” I said, sharply, “unless you can speak pleasantly of her.”

“But she may be worse now, sir, and I cannot even see Jenny from here. The library windows look to the back.”

“If she dies,” I said, “it will be a warning to you to marry a stronger woman next time.”

Now every one knows that there is little real affection among the lower orders. As soon as they have lost one mate they take another. Yet William, forgetting our relative positions, drew himself up and raised his fist, and if I had not stepped back I swear he would have struck me.

The highly improper words William used I will omit, out of consideration for him. Even while he was apologising for them I retired to the smoking-room, where I found the cigarettes so badly rolled that they would not keep alight. After a little I remembered that I wanted to see Myddleton Finch about an improved saddle of which a friend of his has the patent. He was in the newsroom, and, having questioned him about the saddle, I said:

“By the way, what is this story about your swearing at one of the waiters?”

“You mean about his swearing at me,” Myddleton Finch replied, reddening.

“I am glad that was it,” I said; “for I could not believe you guilty of such bad form.”

“If I did swear—” he was beginning, but I went on:

“The version which has reached me was that you swore at him, and he repeated the word. I heard he was to be dismissed and you reprimanded.”

“Who told you that?” asked Myddleton Finch, who is a timid man.

“I forget; it is club talk,” I replied, lightly. “But of course the committee will take your word. The waiter, whichever one he is, richly deserves his dismissal for insulting you without provocation.”

Then our talk returned to the saddle, but Myddleton Finch was abstracted, and presently he said:

“Do you know, I fancy I was wrong in thinking that the waiter swore at me, and I’ll withdraw my charge to-morrow.”

Myddleton Finch then left me, and, sitting alone, I realised that I had been doing William a service. To some slight extent I may have intentionally helped him to retain his place in the club, and I now see the reason, which was that he alone knows precisely to what extent I like my claret heated.

For a mere second I remembered William’s remark that he should not be able to see the girl Jenny from the library windows. Then this recollection drove from my head that I had only dined in the sense that my dinner-bill was paid. Returning to the dining-room, I happened to take my chair at the window, and while I was eating a deviled kidney I saw in the street the girl whose nods had such an absurd effect on William.

The children of the poor are as thoughtless as their parents, and this Jenny did not sign to the windows in the hope that William might see her, though she could not see him. Her face, which was disgracefully dirty, bore doubt and dismay on it, but whether she brought good news it would not tell. Somehow I had expected her to signal when she saw me, and, though her message could not interest me, I was in the mood in which one is irritated at that not taking place which he is awaiting. Ultimately she seemed to be making up her mind to go away.

A boy was passing with the evening papers, and I hurried out to get one, rather thoughtlessly, for we have all the papers in the club. Unfortunately, I misunderstood the direction the boy had taken; but round the first corner (out of sight of the club windows) I saw the girl Jenny, and so asked her how William’s wife was.

“Did he send you to me?” she replied, impertinently taking me for a waiter. “My!” she added, after a second scrutiny, “I b’lieve you’re one of them. His missis is a bit better, and I was to tell him as she took all the tapiocar.”

“How could you tell him?” I asked.

“I was to do like this,” she replied, and went through the supping of something out of a plate in dumb-show.

“That would not show she ate all the tapioca,” I said.

“But I was to end like this,” she answered, licking an imaginary plate with her tongue.

I gave her a shilling (to get rid of her), and returned to the club disgusted.

Later in the evening I had to go to the club library for a book, and while William was looking in vain for it (I had forgotten the title) I said to him:

“By the way, William, Mr. Myddleton Finch is to tell the committee that he was mistaken in the charge he brought against you, so you will doubtless be restored to the dining-room to-morrow.”

The two members were still in their chairs, probably sleeping lightly; yet he had the effrontery to thank me.

“Don’t thank me,” I said, blushing at the imputation. “Remember your place, William!”

“But Mr. Myddleton Finch knew I swore,” he insisted.

“A gentleman,” I replied, stiffly, “cannot remember for twenty-four hours what a waiter has said to him.”

“No, sir; but—”

To stop him I had to say: “And, ah, William, your wife is a little better. She has eaten the tapioca—all of it.”

“How can your know, sir?”

“By an accident.”

“Jenny signed to the window?”

“No.”

“Then you saw her, and went out, and—”

“Nonsense!”

“Oh, sir, to do that for me! May God bl—”

“William!”

“Forgive me, sir; but—when I tell my missis, she will say it was thought of your own wife as made you do it.”

He wrung my hand. I dared not withdraw it, lest we should waken the sleepers.

William returned to the dining-room, and I had to show him that if he did not cease looking gratefully at me I must change my waiter. I also ordered him to stop telling me nightly how his wife was, but I continued to know, as I could not help seeing the girl Jenny from the window. Twice in a week I learned from this objectionable child that the ailing woman had again eaten all the tapioca. Then I became suspicious of William. I will tell why.

It began with a remark of Captain Upjohn’s. We had been speaking of the inconvenience of not being able to get a hot dish served after 1 A.M., and he said:

“It is because these lazy waiters would strike. If the beggars had a love of their work they would not rush away from the club the moment one o’clock strikes. That glum fellow who often waits on you takes to his heels the moment he is clear of the club steps. He ran into me the other night at the top of the street, and was off without apologising.”

“You mean the foot of the street, Upjohn,” I said; for such is the way to Drury Lane.

“No; I mean the top. The man was running west.”

“East.”

“West.”

I smiled, which so annoyed him that he bet me two to one in sovereigns. The bet could have been decided most quickly by asking William a question, but I thought, foolishly doubtless, that it might hurt his feelings, so I watched him leave the club. The possibility of Upjohn’s winning the bet had seemed remote to me. Conceive my surprise, therefore when William went westward.

Amazed, I pursued him along two streets without realising that I was doing so. Then curiosity put me into a hansom. We followed William, and it proved to be a three-shilling fare, for, running when he was in breath and walking when he was out of it, he took me to West Kensington.

I discharged my cab, and from across the street watched William’s incomprehensible behaviour. He had stopped at a dingy row of workmen’s houses, and knocked at the darkened window of one of them. Presently a light showed. So far as I could see, some one pulled up the blind and for ten minutes talked to William. I was uncertain whether they talked, for the window was not opened, and I felt that, had William spoken through the glass loud enough to be heard inside, I must have heard him too. Yet he nodded and beckoned. I was still bewildered when, by setting off the way he had come, he gave me the opportunity of going home.

Knowing from the talk of the club what the lower orders are, could I doubt that this was some discreditable love-affair of William’s? His solicitude for his wife had been mere pretence; so far as it was genuine, it meant that he feared she might recover. He probably told her that he was detained nightly in the club till three.

I was miserable next day, and blamed the deviled kidneys for it. Whether William was unfaithful to his wife was nothing to me, but I had two plain reasons for insisting on his going straight home from his club: the one that, as he had made me lose a bet, I must punish him; the other that he could wait upon me better if he went to bed betimes.

Yet I did not question him. There was something in his face that—Well, I seemed to see his dying wife in it.

I was so out of sorts that I could eat no dinner. I left the club. Happening to stand for some time at the foot of the street, I chanced to see the girl Jenny coming, and—No; let me tell the truth, though the whole club reads: I was waiting for her.

“How is William’s wife to-day?” I asked.

“She told me to nod three times,” the little slattern replied; “but she looked like nothink but a dead one till she got the brandy.

“Hush, child!” I said, shocked. “You don’t know how the dead look.”

“Bless yer,” she answered, “don’t I just! Why, I’ve helped to lay ‘em out. I’m going on seven.”

“Is William good to his wife?”

“Course he is. Ain’t she his missis?”

“Why should that make him good to her?” I asked, cynically, out of my knowledge of the poor. But the girl, precocious in many ways, had never had any opportunities of studying the lower classes in the newspapers, fiction, and club talk. She shut one eye, and, looking up wonderingly, said:

“Ain’t you green—just!”

“When does William reach home at night?”

“‘Tain’t night; it’s morning. When I wakes up at half dark and half light, and hears a door shutting, I know as it’s either father going off to his work or Mr. Hicking come home from his.”

“Who is Mr. Hicking?”

“Him as we’ve been speaking on—William. We calls him mister, ’cause he’s a toff. Father’s just doing jobs in Covent Gardens, but Mr. Hicking, he’s a waiter, and a clean shirt every day. The old woman would like father to be a waiter, but he hain’t got the ‘ristocratic look.”

“What old woman?”

“Go ‘long! that’s my mother. Is it true there’s a waiter in the club just for to open the door?”

“Yes; but—”

“And another just for to lick the stamps? My!”

“William leaves the club at one o’clock?” I said, interrogatively.

She nodded. “My mother,” she said, “is one to talk, and she says Mr. Hicking as he should get away at twelve, ’cause his missis needs him more’n the gentlemen need him. The old woman do talk.”

“And what does William answer to that?”

“He says as the gentlemen can’t be kept waiting for their cheese.”

“But William does not go straight home when he leaves the club?”

“That’s the kid.”

“Kid!” I echoed, scarcely understanding, for, knowing how little the poor love their children, I had asked William no questions about the baby.

“Didn’t you know his missis had a kid?”

“Yes; but that is no excuse for William’s staying away from his sick wife,” I answered, sharply. A baby in such a home as William’s, I reflected, must be trying; but still—Besides, his class can sleep through any din.

“The kid ain’t in our court,” the girl explained. “He’s in W., he is, and I’ve never been out of W.C.; leastwise, not as I knows on.”

“This is W. I suppose you mean that the child is at West Kensington? Well, no doubt it was better for William’s wife to get rid of the child—”

“Better!” interposed the girl. “‘Tain’t better for her not to have the kid. Ain’t her not having him what she’s always thinking on when she looks like a dead one?”

“How could you know that?”

“Cause,” answered the girl, illustrating her words with a gesture, “I watches her, and I sees her arms going this way, just like as she wanted to hug her kid.”

“Possibly you are right,” I said, frowning; “but William had put the child out to nurse because it disturbed his night’s rest. A man who has his work to do—”

“You are green!”

“Then why have the mother and child been separated?”

“Along of that there measles. Near all the young ‘uns in our court has ‘em bad.”

“Have you had them?”

“I said the young ‘uns.”

“And William sent the baby to West Kensington to escape infection?”

“Took him, he did.”

“Against his wife’s wishes?”

“Na-o!”

“You said she was dying for want of the child?”

“Wouldn’t she rayther die than have the kid die?”

“Don’t speak so heartlessly, child. Why does William not go straight home from the club? Does he go to West Kensington to see it?”

“‘Tain’t a hit, it’s an ‘e. Course he do.”

“Then he should not. His wife has the first claim on him.”

“Ain’t you green! It’s his missis as wants him to go. Do you think she could sleep till she knowed how the kid was?”

“But he does not go into the house at West Kensington?”

“Is he soft? Course he don’t go in, fear of taking the infection to the kid. They just holds the kid up at the window to him, so as he can have a good look. Then he comes home and tells his missis. He sits foot of the bed and tells.”

“And that takes place every night? He can’t have much to tell.”

“He has just.”

“He can only say whether the child is well or ill.”

“My! He tells what a difference there is in the kid since he seed him last.”

“There can be no difference!”

“Go ‘long! Ain’t a kid always growing? Haven’t Mr. Hicking to tell how the hair is getting darker, and heaps of things beside?”

“Such as what?”

“Like whether he larfed, and if he has her nose, and how as he knowed him. He tells her them things more ‘n once.”

“And all this time he is sitting at the foot of the bed?”

“‘Cept when he holds her hand.”

“But when does he get to bed himself?”

“He don’t get much. He tells her as he has a sleep at the club.”

“He cannot say that.”

“Hain’t I heard him? But he do go to his bed a bit, and then they both lies quiet, her pretending she is sleeping so as he can sleep, and him ‘feard to sleep case he shouldn’t wake up to give her the bottle stuff.”

“What does the doctor say about her?”

“He’s a good one, the doctor. Sometimes he says she would get better if she could see the kid through the window.”

“Nonsense!”

“And if she was took to the country.”

“Then why does not William take her?”

“My! you are green! And if she drank port wines.”

“Doesn’t she?”

“No; but William, he tells her about the gentlemen drinking them.”

On the tenth day after my conversation with this unattractive child I was in my brougham, with the windows up, and I sat back, a paper before my face lest any one should look in. Naturally, I was afraid of being seen in company of William’s wife and Jenny, for men about town are uncharitable, and, despite the explanation I had ready, might have charged me with pitying William. As a matter of fact, William was sending his wife into Surrey to stay with an old nurse of mine, and I was driving her down because my horses needed an outing. Besides, I was going that way at any rate.

I had arranged that the girl Jenny, who was wearing an outrageous bonnet, should accompany us, because, knowing the greed of her class, I feared she might blackmail me at the club.

William joined us in the suburbs, bringing the baby with him, as I had foreseen they would all be occupied with it, and to save me the trouble of conversing with them. Mrs. Hicking I found too pale and fragile for a workingman’s wife, and I formed a mean opinion of her intelligence from her pride in the baby, which was a very ordinary one. She created quite a vulgar scene when it was brought to her, though she had given me her word not to do so, what irritated me even more than her tears being her ill-bred apology that she “had been ‘feared baby wouldn’t know her again.” I would have told her they didn’t know any one for years had I not been afraid of the girl Jenny, who dandled the infant on her knees and talked to it as if it understood. She kept me on tenter-hooks by asking it offensive questions, such as, “‘Oo know who give me that bonnet?” and answering them herself, “It was the pretty gentleman there;” and several times I had to affect sleep because she announced, “Kiddy wants to kiss the pretty gentleman.”

Irksome as all this necessarily was to a man of taste, I suffered even more when we reached our destination. As we drove through the village the girl Jenny uttered shrieks of delight at the sight of flowers growing up the cottage walls, and declared they were “just like a music-’all without the drink license.” As my horses required a rest, I was forced to abandon my intention of dropping these persons at their lodgings and returning to town at once, and I could not go to the inn lest I should meet inquisitive acquaintances. Disagreeable circumstances, therefore, compelled me to take tea with a waiter’s family—close to a window too, through which I could see the girl Jenny talking excitedly to the villagers, and telling them, I felt certain, that I had been good to William. I had a desire to go out and put myself right with those people.

William’s long connection with the club should have given him some manners, but apparently his class cannot take them on, for, though he knew I regarded his thanks as an insult, he looked them when he was not speaking them, and hardly had he sat down, by my orders, than he remembered that I was a member of the club, and jumped up. Nothing is in worse form than whispering, yet again and again, when he thought I was not listening, he whispered to Mrs. Hicking, “You don’t feel faint?” or “How are you now?” He was also in extravagant glee because she ate two cakes (it takes so little to put these people in good spirits), and when she said she felt like another being already the fellow’s face charged me with the change. I could not but conclude, from the way Mrs. Hicking let the baby pound her, that she was stronger than she had pretended.

I remained longer than was necessary, because I had something to say to William which I knew he would misunderstand, and so I put off saying it. But when he announced that it was time for him to return to London,—at which his wife suddenly paled, so that he had to sign to her not to break down,—I delivered the message.

“William,” I said, “the head waiter asked me to say that you could take a fortnight’s holiday just now. Your wages will be paid as usual.”

Confound them! William had me by the hand, and his wife was in tears before I could reach the door.

“Is it your doing again, sir?” William cried.

“William!” I said, fiercely.

“We owe everything to you,” he insisted. “The port wine—”

“Because I had no room for it in my cellar.”

“The money for the nurse in London—”

“Because I objected to being waited on by a man who got no sleep.”

“These lodgings—”

“Because I wanted to do something for my old nurse.”

“And now, sir, a fortnight’s holiday!”

“Good-bye, William!” I said, in a fury.

But before I could get away Mrs. Hicking signed to William to leave the room, and then she kissed my hand. She said something to me. It was about my wife. Somehow I—What business had William to tell her about my wife?

They are all back in Drury Lane now, and William tells me that his wife sings at her work just as she did eight years ago. I have no interest in this, and try to check his talk of it; but such people have no sense of propriety, and he even speaks of the girl Jenny, who sent me lately a gaudy pair of worsted gloves worked by her own hand. The meanest advantage they took of my weakness, however, was in calling their baby after me. I have an uncomfortable suspicion, too, that William has given the other waiters his version of the affair; but I feel safe so long as it does not reach the committee.