by Willa Cather
XIII
I NOTICED one afternoon that grandmother had been crying. Her feet seemedto drag as she moved about the house, and I got up from the table where Iwas studying and went to her, asking if she did n't feel well, and if Icould n't help her with her work.
"No, thank you, Jim. I'm troubled, but I guess I'm well enough. Getting alittle rusty in the bones, maybe," she added bitterly.
I stood hesitating. "What are you fretting about, grandmother? Hasgrandfather lost any money?"
"No, it ain't money. I wish it was. But I've heard things. You must 'a'known it would come back to me sometime." She dropped into a chair, andcovering her face with her apron, began to cry. "Jim," she said, "I wasnever one that claimed old folks could bring up their grandchildren. Butit came about so; there was n't any other way for you, it seemed like."
I put my arms around her. I could n't bear to see her cry.
"What is it, grandmother? Is it the Firemen's dances?"
She nodded.
"I'm sorry I sneaked off like that. But there's nothing wrong about thedances, and I have n't done anything wrong. I like all those countrygirls, and I like to dance with them. That's all there is to it."
"But it ain't right to deceive us, son, and it brings blame on us. Peoplesay you are growing up to be a bad boy, and that ain't just to us."
"I don't care what they say about me, but if it hurts you, that settlesit. I won't go to the Firemen's Hall again."
I kept my promise, of course, but I found the spring months dull enough. Isat at home with the old people in the evenings now, reading Latin thatwas not in our High-School course. I had made up my mind to do a lot ofcollege requirement work in the summer, and to enter the freshman class atthe University without conditions in the fall. I wanted to get away assoon as possible.
Disapprobation hurt me, I found,--even that of people whom I did notadmire. As the spring came on, I grew more and more lonely, and fell backon the telegrapher and the cigar-maker and his canaries for companionship.I remember I took a melancholy pleasure in hanging a May-basket for NinaHarling that spring. I bought the flowers from an old German woman whoalways had more window plants than any one else, and spent an afternoontrimming a little work-basket. When dusk came on, and the new moon hung inthe sky, I went quietly to the Harlings' front door with my offering, rangthe bell, and then ran away as was the custom. Through the willow hedge Icould hear Nina's cries of delight, and I felt comforted.
On those warm, soft spring evenings I often lingered downtown to walk homewith Frances, and talked to her about my plans and about the reading I wasdoing. One evening she said she thought Mrs. Harling was not seriouslyoffended with me.
"Mama is as broad-minded as mothers ever are, I guess. But you know shewas hurt about Antonia, and she can't understand why you like to be withTiny and Lena better than with the girls of your own set."
"Can you?" I asked bluntly.
Frances laughed. "Yes, I think I can. You knew them in the country, andyou like to take sides. In some ways you're older than boys of your age.It will be all right with mama after you pass your college examinationsand she sees you're in earnest."
"If you were a boy," I persisted, "you would n't belong to the Owl Club,either. You'd be just like me."
She shook her head. "I would and I would n't. I expect I know the countrygirls better than you do. You always put a kind of glamour over them. Thetrouble with you, Jim, is that you're romantic. Mama's going to yourCommencement. She asked me the other day if I knew what your oration is tobe about. She wants you to do well."
I thought my oration very good. It stated with fervor a great many thingsI had lately discovered. Mrs. Harling came to the Opera House to hear theCommencement exercises, and I looked at her most of the time while I mademy speech. Her keen, intelligent eyes never left my face. Afterward shecame back to the dressing-room where we stood, with our diplomas in ourhands, walked up to me, and said heartily: "You surprised me, Jim. I didn't believe you could do as well as that. You did n't get that speech outof books." Among my graduation presents there was a silk umbrella fromMrs. Harling, with my name on the handle.
I walked home from the Opera House alone. As I passed the MethodistChurch, I saw three white figures ahead of me, pacing up and down underthe arching maple trees, where the moonlight filtered through the lushJune foliage. They hurried toward me; they were waiting for me--Lena andTony and Anna Hansen.
"Oh, Jim, it was splendid!" Tony was breathing hard, as she always didwhen her feelings outran her language. "There ain't a lawyer in Black Hawkcould make a speech like that. I just stopped your grandpa and said so tohim. He won't tell you, but he told us he was awful surprised himself, didn't he, girls?"
Lena sidled up to me and said teasingly: "What made you so solemn? Ithought you were scared. I was sure you'd forget."
Anna spoke wistfully. "It must make you happy, Jim, to have fine thoughtslike that in your mind all the time, and to have words to put them in. Ialways wanted to go to school, you know."
"Oh, I just sat there and wished my papa could hear you! Jim,"--Antoniatook hold of my coat lapels,--"there was something in your speech that mademe think so about my papa!"
"I thought about your papa when I wrote my speech, Tony," I said. "Idedicated it to him."
She threw her arms around me, and her dear face was all wet with tears.
I stood watching their white dresses glimmer smaller and smaller down thesidewalk as they went away. I have had no other success that pulled at myheartstrings like that one.
