Just David

  CHAPTER XVII

  "THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER"

  It was in the early twilight that Mr. Jack told the story. He, Jill,and David were on the veranda, as usual watching the towers ofSunnycrest turn from gold to silver as the sun dropped behind thehills. It was Jill who had asked for the story.

  "About fairies and princesses, you know," she had ordered.

  "But how will David like that?" Mr. Jack had demurred. "Maybe hedoesn't care for fairies and princesses."

  "I read one once about a prince--'t was 'The Prince and the Pauper,'and I liked that," averred David stoutly.

  Mr. Jack smiled; then his brows drew together in a frown. His eyes weremoodily fixed on the towers.

  "Hm-m; well," he said, "I might, I suppose, tell you a story about aPRINCESS and--a Pauper. I--know one well enough."

  "Good!--then tell it," cried both Jill and David. And Mr. Jack beganhis story.

  "She was not always a Princess, and he was not always a Pauper,--andthat's where the story came in, I suppose," sighed the man. "She wasjust a girl, once, and he was a boy; and they played togetherand--liked each other. He lived in a little house on a hill."

  "Like this?" demanded Jill.

  "Eh? Oh--er--yes, SOMETHING like this," returned Mr. Jack, with an oddhalf-smile. "And she lived in another bit of a house in a town far awayfrom the boy."

  "Then how could they play together?" questioned David.

  "They couldn't, ALWAYS. It was only summers when she came to visit inthe boy's town. She was very near him then, for the old aunt whom shevisited lived in a big stone house with towers, on another hill, inplain sight from the boy's home."

  "Towers like those--where the Lady of the Roses lives?" asked David.

  "Eh? What? Oh--er--yes," murmured Mr. Jack. "We'll say the towers weresomething like those over there." He paused, then went on musingly:"The girl used to signal, sometimes, from one of the tower windows. Onewave of the handkerchief meant, 'I'm coming, over'; two waves, with alittle pause between, meant, 'You are to come over here.' So the boyused to wait always, after that first wave to see if another followed;so that he might know whether he were to be host or guest that day. Thewaves always came at eight o'clock in the morning, and very eagerly theboy used to watch for them all through the summer when the girl wasthere."

  "Did they always come, every morning?" Asked Jill.

  "No; sometimes the girl had other things to do. Her aunt would want herto go somewhere with her, or other cousins were expected whom the girlmust entertain; and she knew the boy did not like other guests to bethere when he was, so she never asked him to come over at such times.On such occasions she did sometimes run up to the tower at eighto'clock and wave three times, and that meant, 'Dead Day.' So the boy,after all, never drew a real breath of relief until he made sure thatno dreaded third wave was to follow the one or the two."

  "Seems to me," observed David, "that all this was sort of one-sided.Didn't the boy say anything?"

  "Oh, yes," smiled Mr. Jack. "But the boy did not have any tower to wavefrom, you must remember. He had only the little piazza on his tiny bitof a house. But he rigged up a pole, and he asked his mother to makehim two little flags, a red and a blue one. The red meant 'All right';and the blue meant 'Got to work'; and these he used to run up on hispole in answer to her waving 'I'm coming over,' or 'You are to comeover here.' So, you see, occasionally it was the boy who had to bringthe 'Dead Day,' as there were times when he had to work. And, by theway, perhaps you would be interested to know that after a while hethought up a third flag to answer her three waves. He found an oldblack silk handkerchief of his father's, and he made that into a flag.He told the girl it meant 'I'm heartbroken,' and he said it was a signof the deepest mourning. The girl laughed and tipped her head saucilyto one side, and said, 'Pooh! as if you really cared!' But the boystoutly maintained his position, and it was that, perhaps, which madeher play the little joke one day.

  "The boy was fourteen that summer, and the girl thirteen. They hadbegun their signals years before, but they had not had the black one solong. On this day that I tell you of, the girl waved three waves, whichmeant, 'Dead Day,' you remember, and watched until the boy had hoistedhis black flag which said, 'I'm heart-broken,' in response. Then, asfast as her mischievous little feet could carry her, she raced down onehill and across to the other. Very stealthily she advanced till shefound the boy bent over a puzzle on the back stoop, and--and he waswhistling merrily.

  "How she teased him then! How she taunted him with 'Heart-broken,indeed--and whistling like that!' In vain he blushed and stammered, andprotested that his whistling was only to keep up his spirits. The girlonly laughed and tossed her yellow curls; then she hunted till shefound some little jingling bells, and these she tied to the black badgeof mourning and pulled it high up on the flagpole. The next instant shewas off with a run and a skip, and a saucy wave of her hand; and theboy was left all alone with an hour's work ahead of him to untie theknots from his desecrated badge of mourning.

  "And yet they were wonderfully good friends--this boy and girl. Fromthe very first, when they were seven and eight, they had said that theywould marry each other when they grew up, and always they spoke of itas the expected thing, and laid many happy plans for the time when itshould come. To be sure, as they grew older, it was not mentioned quiteso often, perhaps; but the boy at least thought--if he thought of itall--that that was only because it was already so well understood."

  "What did the girl think?" It was Jill who asked the question.

  "Eh? The girl? Oh," answered Mr. Jack, a little bitterly, "I'm afraid Idon't know exactly what the girl did think, but--it was n't that,anyhow--that is, judging from what followed."

  "What did follow?"

  "Well, to begin with, the old aunt died. The girl was sixteen then. Itwas in the winter that this happened, and the girl was far away atschool. She came to the funeral, however, but the boy did not see her,save in the distance; and then he hardly knew her, so strange did shelook in her black dress and hat. She was there only two days, andthough he gazed wistfully up at the gray tower, he knew well enoughthat of course she could not wave to him at such a time as that. Yet hehad hoped--almost believed that she would wave two waves that last day,and let him go over to see her.

  "But she didn't wave, and he didn't go over. She went away. And thenthe town learned a wonderful thing. The old lady, her aunt, who hadbeen considered just fairly rich, turned out to be the possessor ofalmost fabulous wealth, owing to her great holdings of stock in aWestern gold mine which had suddenly struck it rich. And to the girlshe willed it all. It was then, of course, that the girl became thePrincess, but the boy did not realize that--just then. To him she wasstill 'the girl.'

  "For three years he did not see her. She was at school, or travelingabroad, he heard. He, too, had been away to school, and was, indeed,just ready to enter college. Then, that summer, he heard that she wascoming to the old home, and his heart sang within him. Remember, to himshe was still the girl. He knew, of course, that she was not the LITTLEgirl who had promised to marry him. But he was sure she was the merrycomrade, the true-hearted young girl who used to smile frankly into hiseyes, and whom he was now to win for his wife. You see he hadforgotten--quite forgotten about the Princess and the money. Such afoolish, foolish boy as he was!

  "So he got out his flags gleefully, and one day, when his mother wasn'tin the kitchen, he ironed out the wrinkles and smoothed them all readyto be raised on the pole. He would be ready when the girl waved--for ofcourse she would wave; he would show her that he had not forgotten. Hecould see just how the sparkle would come to her eyes, and just how thelittle fine lines of mischief would crinkle around her nose when shewas ready to give that first wave. He could imagine that she would liketo find him napping; that she would like to take him by surprise, andmake him scurry around for his flags to answer her.

  "But he would show her! As if she, a girl, were to beat him at theirold game! He wondered which it would be: 'I'm coming ove
r,' or, 'Youare to come over here.' Whichever it was, he would answer, of course,with the red 'All right.' Still, it WOULD be a joke to run up the blue'Got to work,' and then slip across to see her, just as she, so longago, had played the joke on him! On the whole, however, he thought thered flag would be better. And it was that one which he laid uppermostready to his hand, when he arranged them.

  "At last she came. He heard of it at once. It was already past fouro'clock, but he could not forbear, even then, to look toward the tower.It would be like her, after all, to wave then, that very night, just soas to catch him napping, he thought. She did not wave, however. The boywas sure of that, for he watched the tower till dark.

  "In the morning, long before eight o'clock, the boy was ready. Hedebated for some time whether to stand out of doors on the piazza, orto hide behind the screened window, where he could still watch thetower. He decided at last that it would be better not to let her seehim when she looked toward the house; then his triumph would be all themore complete when he dashed out to run up his answer.

  "Eight o'clock came and passed. The boy waited until nine, but therewas no sign of life from the tower. The boy was angry then, at himself.He called himself, indeed, a fool, to hide as he did. Of course shewouldn't wave when he was nowhere in sight--when he had apparentlyforgotten! And here was a whole precious day wasted!

  "The next morning, long before eight, the boy stood in plain sight onthe piazza. As before he waited until nine; and as before there was nosign of life at the tower window. The next morning he was there again,and the next, and the next. It took just five days, indeed, to convincethe boy--as he was convinced at last--that the girl did not intend towave at all."

  "But how unkind of her!" exclaimed David.

  "She couldn't have been nice one bit!" decided Jill.

  "You forget," said Mr. Jack. "She was the Princess."

  "Huh!" grunted Jill and David in unison.

  "The boy remembered it then," went on Mr. Jack, after a pause,--"aboutthe money, and that she was a Princess. And of course he knew--when hethought of it--that he could not expect that a Princess would wave likea girl--just a girl. Besides, very likely she did not care particularlyabout seeing him. Princesses did forget, he fancied,--they had so much,so very much to fill their lives. It was this thought that kept himfrom going to see her--this, and the recollection that, after all, ifshe really HAD wanted to see him, she could have waved.

  "There came a day, however, when another youth, who did not dare to goalone, persuaded him, and together they paid her a call. The boyunderstood, then, many things. He found the Princess; there was no signof the girl. The Princess was tall and dignified, with a cold littlehand and a smooth, sweet voice. There was no frank smile in her eyes,neither were there any mischievous crinkles about her nose and lips.There was no mention of towers or flags; no reference to wavings or tochildhood's days. There was only a stiffly polite little conversationabout colleges and travels, with a word or two about books and plays.Then the callers went home. On the way the boy smiled scornfully tohimself. He was trying to picture the beauteous vision he had seen,this unapproachable Princess in her filmy lace gown,--standing in thetower window and waving--waving to a bit of a house on the oppositehill. As if that could happen!

  "The boy, during those last three years, had known only books. He knewlittle of girls--only one girl--and he knew still less of Princesses.So when, three days after the call, there came a chance to join asummer camp with a man who loved books even better than did the boyhimself, he went gladly. Once he had refused to go on this very trip;but then there had been the girl. Now there was only the Princess--andthe Princess didn't count."

  "Like the hours that aren't sunshiny," interpreted David.

  "Yes," corroborated Mr. Jack. "Like the hours when the sun does n'tshine."

  "And then?" prompted Jill.

  "Well, then,--there wasn't much worth telling," rejoined Mr. Jackgloomily. "Two more years passed, and the Princess grew to betwenty-one. She came into full control of her property then, and aftera while she came back to the old stone house with the towers and turnedit into a fairyland of beauty. She spent money like water. All mannerof artists, from the man who painted her ceilings to the man whoplanted her seeds, came and bowed to her will. From the four corners ofthe earth she brought her treasures and lavished them through the houseand grounds. Then, every summer, she came herself, and lived amongthem, a very Princess indeed."

  "And the boy?--what became of the boy?" demanded David. "Didn't he seeher--ever?"

  Mr. Jack shook his head.

  "Not often, David; and when he did, it did not make him any--happier.You see, the boy had become the Pauper; you must n't forget that."

  "But he wasn't a Pauper when you left him last."

  "Wasn't he? Well, then, I'll tell you about that. You see, the boy,even though he did go away, soon found out that in his heart thePrincess was still the girl, just the same. He loved her, and he wantedher to be his wife; so for a little--for a very little--he was wildenough to think that he might work and study and do great things in theworld until he was even a Prince himself, and then he could marry thePrincess."

  "Well, couldn't he?"

  "No. To begin with, he lost his health. Then, away back in the littlehouse on the hill something happened--a something that left a veryprecious charge for him to keep; and he had to go back and keep it, andto try to see if he couldn't find that lost health, as well. And thatis all."

  "All! You don't mean that that is the end!" exclaimed Jill.

  "That's the end."

  "But that isn't a mite of a nice end," complained David. "They alwaysget married and live happy ever after--in stories."

  "Do they?" Mr. Jack smiled a little sadly. "Perhaps they do, David,--instories."

  "Well, can't they in this one?"

  "I don't see how."

  "Why can't he go to her and ask her to marry him?"

  Mr. Jack drew himself up proudly.

  "The Pauper and the Princess? Never! Paupers don't go to Princesses,David, and say, 'I love you.'"

  David frowned.

  "Why not? I don't see why--if they want to do it. Seems as if somehowit might be fixed."

  "It can't be," returned Mr. Jack, his gaze on the towers that crownedthe opposite hill; "not so long as always before the Pauper's eyesthere are those gray walls behind which he pictures the Princess in themidst of her golden luxury."

  To neither David nor Jill did the change to the present tense seemstrange. The story was much too real to them for that.

  "Well, anyhow, I think it ought to be fixed," declared David, as herose to his feet.

  "So do I--but we can't fix it," laughed Jill. "And I'm hungry. Let'ssee what there is to eat!"