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BOOK I
Chapter Four
The Fate of Liars
The Fate of Liars
June, 1850.
THE LITTLE GIRL sat under the Lilac bushes that clustered together to form the hedge shutting the street from view. Above her head green leaves shook gently, and the great purple blossoms seemed to rise and fall and breathe out sweetness. The glad voice of her little brother joined in joyous chorus with bright soft wings and sweet scents everywhere, and a quiver of light that sang with the birds. That miraculous day, all flowery and intoxicating like childhood's happiness! And the air was so heavy with the breath of lilacs, a peculiar tenacious sweetness, which only later years could teach her was the very essence of Spring.
The little brother on the grass among his toys seemed also aware of blossoms and perfume and shouted in the soft summer air until sister gave him a big spray to play with. The book in her lap had fallen face downward on the carpet of green that stretched from door to gate and all about the yard. The sky of flowery blue bent lovingly above them, for theirs was a blessed heritage, and the two children were being raised with that gentleness of love prophetic of peace and power to serve. It was the little one who cried - "See Mother" as she came smiling towards them so slim and tall. Why did my Mother look always different from other Mothers? - Her hair so curly soft, her face so fair, her gowns so pretty, and now she had on the hat with blue feathers that danced in the circle of sunlight and shadow, and seemed alive as she stopped before us. She wore her fine lace mantilla too, and had a parasol, and now she was going to make visits, and see the Mother of the little girls who lived in the new brick house, and ask them to come and see me. "Take good care of your little brother while I am away. he's only three you know and all the little son I have. And don't go near that gate, or open it. It is a dirty place and the ugly cow lives there" - pointing to the back yard cut off by a high fence. "No Mother," was my swift response, and "No Mother" repeated the three year old charge sitting beside me. His little face looked up at her from under the mass of gold-brown curls. He was a delicate child; but there was no shyness in his manner, and everyone felt the charm of his beauty. "Mother's beautiful boy, Mother's own boy" she said, stooping to kiss him, endearments I had heard so often, for his rare loveliness was the pride of all, and I had heard repeatedly how people stopped Mahaly in the street to ask whose child it was? and she always chuckled when she repeated those praises. "Remember now to be very good and Mother will not be long away, and looking back again, "Remember all I have told you!" And, "Yes Mother" I said, and "Yes Mother" echoed the baby boy, and played on happily in that June sunshine, while the sister's book remained unopened.
Fragrance floated all around to enwrap us in its magic; but strangely I grew restless and curious, those emphatic orders strangely disquieted me. Why couldn't I see just through the gate if the cow had come home? It was a nice back yard with a big tree in it, and the branches came down low. I walked very slowly to the gate, and childish imagination made a fascinating picture that lured me to push it open - just a little bit! Something called loudly as fancy picked out wonderful spots in that forbidden cow-yard. Like other dreamers, something within conspired to make her forget orders, to push the gate wide, to peer in every corner and between slats on one side, as she stepped within, she saw the pretty next door garden where Lily Scammon was playing.
The sun was no more joyous than she as she set her little feet upon the lowest branch of the old, gnarled oak. The tree cast slanting shadows; She was not afraid - she was exultant and there were no foes within or without to terrify her. She had visions to conjure with, as forgetting all troubles she began to climb up higher when a little voice called gleefully - "Take me up, Take me up too." The shock brought the disobedient sister to earth to see little Horace standing in the filth of the place, proud and smiling, both little hands stretched high.
As smoke rises to reach the sky and falls, so she fell to learn of trouble untasted before! She was not repentant, she listened to no voice of conscience or duty, but she was miserable; and hurried back only in time to hear the carriage stop. And the Mother came out suddenly like a gigantic shape. Without one word she pointed to our shoes. That look again, that strange look that greatly hurt that she had seen before in her Mother's eyes when she had asked for her "Little Dishes." It was sharp and piercing now and at the steady gaze she paled in fright. "You have disobeyed Mother. You took little Horace into that yard" - All softness and tenderness gone from her look or voice.
The tide of feeling rising high threatened to submerge me, and I was suddenly hurled into a mad whirl of fear. "No-No-No - I cried, Mother I did not." I was rudely taught by something within to adjust myself to harsh contrasts of life, to the dark side of deceit and disobedience. The ease of falsehood, first showing itself as means of escape to a child who had before only known love and truth. "You have told Mother a lie," and eyes were fixed on me from which all softness had fled. My Mother was suddenly a mystery. - Her voice too was different - Go to your Father's room - shut the door and stay until he comes. Go at once."
There was a damp chill in the room that I do not forget, or that as the hours passed the rain began to drum on the roof and splash upon the windows. The Lake became significant in its noise and nearness; the wind began blowing a gale; low lying mists were travelling quickly as the light faded from the sky. The sound of the Lake like the wild whir of leaves had strange threats. It was a dim night and the twilight very long. I had thought nothing out, I only waited. I had acted on deep seated impulse and many experiences come back to me. thrust me back into the agonizing emotions of childhood and frustrated desires, into dreams - dreams - and waking ones indivisible as daily like. Images come back to me and events shake me even now, for mine is a heart that cherishes memory.
Presently I heard the step upon the stairs, ascending, drawing near, heavily it sounded. Never shall I forget that first startled impression. How large and strange and grave and terrifying! He had in hand a book and a long switch. Did it come from the biggest Lilac bush that had great roots and strong branches? He laid it down on the table near. My heart beat very fast at my Father's look. There was oppression in the air and a threat that stirred to fright. Suddenly he opened his arms and the sorrow and tenderness in his face I can see again and again as he lifted me close, and I burst into a passion of crying.
He waited patiently until the tempest of tears should pass, and the tearing sobs that shook the little body cease, and then opening the Bible read the verses - "He that overcometh shall inherit all things. I shall be his God and he shall be my son; - but the unbelieving and idolaters and all liars shall have their part in the Lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death." My little girl did not know how terrible it was to lie? God is our Father - He hates a lie. It would break Mother's heart to have her little girl a liar - Liars' - why listen to the Fate of Liars. "All liars shall have their part in the Lake which burneth with fire and brimstone which is the second death." I was curiously fascinated by the picture of a burning fiery Lake. My nascent dramatic sense immediately painted it, and I kept whispering to myself "The Fate of Liars - The Fate of Liars," while my Father prayed his lovely prayer to his God of Love to forgive his child who would try to never lie again. And forgiveness blesses me now as if I had gone to Heaven which I felt was all about me as he prayed.
I clung happily as we passed from the room, restored and comforted by that Child of the Most High - My Father - who was teaching me that humiliation and shame attached to falsehood. The crime of telling a lie had been impressed upon a mind that worked quickly. I began to understand how it chokes and destroys. A vivid lesson in the idea, so dim at first, of loyalty, of the dividing line between truth and falsehood, honour and dishonour, which he illustrated in my case. My Father was a source of joy forever after, - A refuge - A belief. Something unfelt, unknown yet intimate and close stirred warmly and merged again into the right merry humour that for hours had forgotten to smile. Was it the sight of that unused switch, and the droll imitation of the drama that had made him cut and bring it before me, which added to the joy of escape? Had he merely felt the desire to impress me by a suggested punishment that he never could have administered?
My Puritan ancestors some way left out the stuff that makes either martyrs or saints. There was in me no genius for suffering, to prolong trouble was unnatural. I was soon above its remembrance even; my liking was for laughter and frolic and I never knew then or since whether it was flesh or devil, or what notion or impetuosity of impulse unchecked might lie in wait to destroy the soul I had not understood I possessed. Joy and gaiety the native quality quickly expressed itself as, afraid no longer that memorable night, gladness and cheer returning, father and child descended the stairs together.
"I like to be lively, Father. You know I like to be lively," I said simply clinging to his hand, tears wet on my lashes; but joy in my heart.
The years go by and explain many vital facts patiently, and I was slowly succumbing without knowledge or clear recognition to the magic of beauty and the love of truth.
The little brother on the grass among his toys seemed also aware of blossoms and perfume and shouted in the soft summer air until sister gave him a big spray to play with. The book in her lap had fallen face downward on the carpet of green that stretched from door to gate and all about the yard. The sky of flowery blue bent lovingly above them, for theirs was a blessed heritage, and the two children were being raised with that gentleness of love prophetic of peace and power to serve. It was the little one who cried - "See Mother" as she came smiling towards them so slim and tall. Why did my Mother look always different from other Mothers? - Her hair so curly soft, her face so fair, her gowns so pretty, and now she had on the hat with blue feathers that danced in the circle of sunlight and shadow, and seemed alive as she stopped before us. She wore her fine lace mantilla too, and had a parasol, and now she was going to make visits, and see the Mother of the little girls who lived in the new brick house, and ask them to come and see me. "Take good care of your little brother while I am away. he's only three you know and all the little son I have. And don't go near that gate, or open it. It is a dirty place and the ugly cow lives there" - pointing to the back yard cut off by a high fence. "No Mother," was my swift response, and "No Mother" repeated the three year old charge sitting beside me. His little face looked up at her from under the mass of gold-brown curls. He was a delicate child; but there was no shyness in his manner, and everyone felt the charm of his beauty. "Mother's beautiful boy, Mother's own boy" she said, stooping to kiss him, endearments I had heard so often, for his rare loveliness was the pride of all, and I had heard repeatedly how people stopped Mahaly in the street to ask whose child it was? and she always chuckled when she repeated those praises. "Remember now to be very good and Mother will not be long away, and looking back again, "Remember all I have told you!" And, "Yes Mother" I said, and "Yes Mother" echoed the baby boy, and played on happily in that June sunshine, while the sister's book remained unopened.
Fragrance floated all around to enwrap us in its magic; but strangely I grew restless and curious, those emphatic orders strangely disquieted me. Why couldn't I see just through the gate if the cow had come home? It was a nice back yard with a big tree in it, and the branches came down low. I walked very slowly to the gate, and childish imagination made a fascinating picture that lured me to push it open - just a little bit! Something called loudly as fancy picked out wonderful spots in that forbidden cow-yard. Like other dreamers, something within conspired to make her forget orders, to push the gate wide, to peer in every corner and between slats on one side, as she stepped within, she saw the pretty next door garden where Lily Scammon was playing.
The sun was no more joyous than she as she set her little feet upon the lowest branch of the old, gnarled oak. The tree cast slanting shadows; She was not afraid - she was exultant and there were no foes within or without to terrify her. She had visions to conjure with, as forgetting all troubles she began to climb up higher when a little voice called gleefully - "Take me up, Take me up too." The shock brought the disobedient sister to earth to see little Horace standing in the filth of the place, proud and smiling, both little hands stretched high.
As smoke rises to reach the sky and falls, so she fell to learn of trouble untasted before! She was not repentant, she listened to no voice of conscience or duty, but she was miserable; and hurried back only in time to hear the carriage stop. And the Mother came out suddenly like a gigantic shape. Without one word she pointed to our shoes. That look again, that strange look that greatly hurt that she had seen before in her Mother's eyes when she had asked for her "Little Dishes." It was sharp and piercing now and at the steady gaze she paled in fright. "You have disobeyed Mother. You took little Horace into that yard" - All softness and tenderness gone from her look or voice.
The tide of feeling rising high threatened to submerge me, and I was suddenly hurled into a mad whirl of fear. "No-No-No - I cried, Mother I did not." I was rudely taught by something within to adjust myself to harsh contrasts of life, to the dark side of deceit and disobedience. The ease of falsehood, first showing itself as means of escape to a child who had before only known love and truth. "You have told Mother a lie," and eyes were fixed on me from which all softness had fled. My Mother was suddenly a mystery. - Her voice too was different - Go to your Father's room - shut the door and stay until he comes. Go at once."
There was a damp chill in the room that I do not forget, or that as the hours passed the rain began to drum on the roof and splash upon the windows. The Lake became significant in its noise and nearness; the wind began blowing a gale; low lying mists were travelling quickly as the light faded from the sky. The sound of the Lake like the wild whir of leaves had strange threats. It was a dim night and the twilight very long. I had thought nothing out, I only waited. I had acted on deep seated impulse and many experiences come back to me. thrust me back into the agonizing emotions of childhood and frustrated desires, into dreams - dreams - and waking ones indivisible as daily like. Images come back to me and events shake me even now, for mine is a heart that cherishes memory.
Presently I heard the step upon the stairs, ascending, drawing near, heavily it sounded. Never shall I forget that first startled impression. How large and strange and grave and terrifying! He had in hand a book and a long switch. Did it come from the biggest Lilac bush that had great roots and strong branches? He laid it down on the table near. My heart beat very fast at my Father's look. There was oppression in the air and a threat that stirred to fright. Suddenly he opened his arms and the sorrow and tenderness in his face I can see again and again as he lifted me close, and I burst into a passion of crying.
He waited patiently until the tempest of tears should pass, and the tearing sobs that shook the little body cease, and then opening the Bible read the verses - "He that overcometh shall inherit all things. I shall be his God and he shall be my son; - but the unbelieving and idolaters and all liars shall have their part in the Lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death." My little girl did not know how terrible it was to lie? God is our Father - He hates a lie. It would break Mother's heart to have her little girl a liar - Liars' - why listen to the Fate of Liars. "All liars shall have their part in the Lake which burneth with fire and brimstone which is the second death." I was curiously fascinated by the picture of a burning fiery Lake. My nascent dramatic sense immediately painted it, and I kept whispering to myself "The Fate of Liars - The Fate of Liars," while my Father prayed his lovely prayer to his God of Love to forgive his child who would try to never lie again. And forgiveness blesses me now as if I had gone to Heaven which I felt was all about me as he prayed.
I clung happily as we passed from the room, restored and comforted by that Child of the Most High - My Father - who was teaching me that humiliation and shame attached to falsehood. The crime of telling a lie had been impressed upon a mind that worked quickly. I began to understand how it chokes and destroys. A vivid lesson in the idea, so dim at first, of loyalty, of the dividing line between truth and falsehood, honour and dishonour, which he illustrated in my case. My Father was a source of joy forever after, - A refuge - A belief. Something unfelt, unknown yet intimate and close stirred warmly and merged again into the right merry humour that for hours had forgotten to smile. Was it the sight of that unused switch, and the droll imitation of the drama that had made him cut and bring it before me, which added to the joy of escape? Had he merely felt the desire to impress me by a suggested punishment that he never could have administered?
My Puritan ancestors some way left out the stuff that makes either martyrs or saints. There was in me no genius for suffering, to prolong trouble was unnatural. I was soon above its remembrance even; my liking was for laughter and frolic and I never knew then or since whether it was flesh or devil, or what notion or impetuosity of impulse unchecked might lie in wait to destroy the soul I had not understood I possessed. Joy and gaiety the native quality quickly expressed itself as, afraid no longer that memorable night, gladness and cheer returning, father and child descended the stairs together.
"I like to be lively, Father. You know I like to be lively," I said simply clinging to his hand, tears wet on my lashes; but joy in my heart.
The years go by and explain many vital facts patiently, and I was slowly succumbing without knowledge or clear recognition to the magic of beauty and the love of truth.
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