Michael Angelo Buonarroti | Page 9

the next morning.
Sunday had not been an unalloyed joy. Mrs. Howland and her niece
had attended church, but to Kate the sermon was too long, and the
singing too loud. The girl mentioned both in a listless way, at the same
time saying that it was always like that except when the sermon was
interesting, then it was too short and the choir took up all the time there
was with their tiresome singing.
Dinner had been long in preparation, and, in spite of Mrs. Rowland's
gladly given assistance, the dish-washing and the kitchen-tidying had
been longer still. All day Kate's step had been more than lagging, and
her face more than discontented. In the twilight, as the two women sat
together, Mrs. Rowland laid hold of her courage with both hands and
spoke.
"Kate, dear, is n't there something, anything, worth while to you?"
"Nothing, auntie. I feel simply buried alive."
"But can't you think of anything--"
"Think of anything!" interrupted the girl swiftly. "Of course I can! If I
had money--or lived somewhere else--or could go somewhere, or see
something once in a while, it would be different; but here--!"

Mrs. Howland shook her head.
"But it would n't be different, my dear," she demurred.
"Why, of course it would!" laughed Kate bitterly. "It could n't help it."
Again Mrs. Howland shook her head. Then a whimsical smile crossed
her face.
"Kate," she said, "there are crumbs on the plates out in the world just
the same as there are here; and if here you teach yourself to see nothing
but crumbs, you will see nothing but crumbs out there. In short,
dissatisfaction with everyday living is the same joy-killer whether in
town or city, farmhouse or palace. Oh, I 'm preaching, I know, dear,"
went on Mrs. Howland hurriedly, as she saw the angry light in the
other's eyes, "but--I had to speak--you don't know how it's growing on
you. Come, let's kiss and make up; then think it over."
Kate frowned, then laughed constrainedly.
"Don't worry, aunt," she replied, rising, and just touching her aunt's lips
with her own. "I still think it would be different out there; but--I
suppose you 'll always remain unconvinced, for I shall never have the
chance to prove it. My plates won't belong anywhere but in
Hopkinsville cupboards! Come, will you play to me?"
When Mrs. Rowland returned from England, one of the first letters she
received after reaching home was a cordial invitation from her dead
brother's daughter, Kate, to visit her.
In the last five years Mrs. Howland had seen her niece but once. That
was during the sad, hurried days just following Mr. Merton's sudden
death four years before. Since then Mrs. Howland had been abroad and
there had been many changes at the little farmhouse in Hopkinsville.
The farm had been sold, and Kate had married and had gone to Boston
to live. Beyond the facts that Kate's husband was older than she, and
was a man of considerable means, Mrs. Howland knew little of her
niece's present circumstances. It was with curiosity, as well as pleasure,

that she accepted Kate's invitation, and took the train specified.
At the South Station Mrs. Howland found a stylishly gowned, smiling
young woman with a cordial welcome. An imposing carriage with a
liveried coachman waited to take her to Kate's home.
"Oh, what handsome horses!" cried Mrs. Howland appreciatively, as
she stepped into the carriage.
"Yes, are n't they," agreed Kate. "If only they matched better, they'd be
perfect. I wish both had stars on their foreheads!"
"Let me see, you are on Beacon Street, I believe," remarked Mrs.
Howland, as the carriage left the more congested quarter of the city.
Kate frowned. "Yes," she answered. "I wanted Commonwealth Avenue,
but Mr. Blake preferred Beacon. All his people live on Beacon, and
have for years."
"Oh, but Beacon is lovely, I think."
"Do you? Well, perhaps; but Commonwealth is so much wider and
more roomy. I could breathe on Commonwealth Avenue, I think!"
"And don't you, where you are?" laughed Mrs. Howland.
Her niece made a playfully wry face.
"Just pant--upon my word I do! Not one full breath do I draw," she
asserted.
"Hm-m; I've always understood that deep breathing was necessary for
health," commented Mrs. Howland, with a critical, comprehensive
glance; "but--you seem to thrive all right! You are looking well, Kate."
"I don't feel so. I have the most shocking headaches," the other retorted.
"Ah, here we are!"
Mrs. Howland followed her hostess up a short flight of stone steps into

a handsome hall. A well-trained maid was at once in attendance, and
another, a little later, helped her unpack.
"My dear," Mrs. Howland said to her niece when she came downstairs,
"what a lucky woman you are