The White Shield

by Myrtle Reed

  A Child of Silence

  At the end of the street stood the little white house which Jack Wardwas pleased to call his own. Five years he had lived there, he andDorothy. How happy they had been! But things seemed to have gone wrongsome way, since--since the baby died in the spring. A sob came intoJack's throat, for the little face had haunted him all day.

  Never a sound had the baby lips uttered, and the loudest noises had notdisturbed his rest. It had seemed almost too much to bear, but theyhad loved him more, if that were possible, because he was not as otherchildren were. Jack had never been reconciled but Dorothy found a worldof consolation in the closing paragraph of a magazine article on thesubject:

  "And yet we cannot believe these Children of Silence to be unhappy.Mrs. Browning says that 'closed eyes see more truly than ever opendo,' and may there not be another world of music for those to whom ourown is soundless? In a certain sense they are utterly beyond the painthat life always brings, for never can they hear the cruel words besidewhich physical hurts sink into utter insignificance. So pity them not,but believe that He knoweth best, and that what seems wrong and bitteris often His truest kindness to His children."

  Dorothy read it over and over until she knew it by heart. There wasa certain comfort in the thought that he need not suffer--that heneed never find what a world of bitterness lies in that one littleword--life. And when the hard day came she tried to be thankful, forshe knew that he was safer still--tried to see the kindness that hadtaken him back into the Unknown Silence of which he was the Child.

  Jack went up the steps this mild winter evening, whistling softly tohimself, and opened the door with his latch-key.

  "Where are you, girlie?"

  "Up stairs, dear. I'll be down in a minute," and even as she spokeDorothy came into the room.

  In spite of her black gown and the hollows under her eyes, she was apretty woman. She knew it, and Jack did too. That is he had known, buthe had forgotten.

  "Here's the evening paper." He tossed it into her lap as she sat downby the window.

  "Thank you." She wondered vaguely why Jack did not kiss her as he usedto, and then dismissed the thought. She was growing accustomed to thatsort of thing.

  "How nice of you to come by the early train! I didn't expect you untillater."

  "There wasn't much going on in town, so I left the office early. Anymail? No? Guess I'll take Jip out for a stroll." The fox-terrier at hisfeet wagged his tail approvingly. "Want to go, Jip?"

  Jip answered decidedly in the affirmative.

  "All right, come on," and Dorothy watched the two go down the streetwith an undefined feeling of pain.

  She lit the prettily shaded lamp and tried to read the paper, but thepolitical news, elopements, murders, and suicides lacked interest. Shewondered what had come between her and Jack. Something had, there wasno question about that; but--well, it would come straight sometime.Perhaps she was morbid and unjust. She couldn't ask him what was thematter without making him angry and she had tried so hard to make himhappy.

  Jip announced his arrival at the front door with a series of sharpbarks and an unmistakable scratch. She opened it as Jack saunteredslowly up the walk and passed her with the remark:

  "Dinner ready? I'm as hungry as a bear."

  Into the cozy dining-room they went, Jip first, then Jack, thenDorothy. The daintily served meal satisfied the inner man, and hedid not notice that she ate but little. She honestly tried to beentertaining, and thought she succeeded fairly well. After dinner heretired into the depths of the evening paper, and Dorothy stitched awayat her embroidery.

  Suddenly Jack looked at his watch. "Well, it's half past seven, andI've got to go over to Mrs. Brown's and practise a duet with her forto-morrow."

  Dorothy trembled, but only said: "Oh, yes, the duet. What is it thistime?"

  "'Calvary,' I guess, that seems to take the multitude better thananything we sing. No, Jip, not this time. Good-bye, I won't be gonelong."

  The door slammed, and Dorothy was alone. She put away her embroideryand walked the floor restlessly. Mrs. Brown was a pretty widow, alwayswell dressed, and she sang divinely. Dorothy could not sing a notethough she played fairly well, and Jack got into a habit of takingMrs. Brown new music and going over to sing it with her. An obligingneighbour had called that afternoon and remarked maliciously that Mr.Ward and Mrs. Brown seemed to be very good friends. Dorothy smiledwith white lips, and tried to say pleasantly, "Yes, Mrs. Brown is verycharming, don't you think so? I am sure that if I were a man I shouldfall in love with her."

  The neighbour rose to go and by way of a parting shot replied: "Thatseems to be Mr. Ward's idea. Lovely day, isn't it? Come over when youcan."

  Dorothy was too stunned to reply. She thought seriously of tellingJack, but wisely decided not to. These suburban towns were alwaysgossipy. Jack would think she did not trust him. And now he was at Mrs.Brown's again!

  The pain was almost blinding. She went to the window and looked out.The rising moon shone fitfully upon the white signs of sorrow in thelittle churchyard far to the left.

  She threw a shawl over her head and went out. In feverish haste shewalked over to the little "God's Acre" where the Child of Silence wasburied.

  She found the spot and sat down. A thought of Mrs. Browning's ranthrough her mind:

  "Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for----"

  Then someway the tears came, a blessed rush of relief.

  "Oh, baby dear," she sobbed, pressing her lips to the cold turf abovehim, "I wish I were down there beside you, as still and as dreamlessas you. You don't know what it means--you never would have known. I'drather be a stone than a woman with a heart. Do you think that if Icould buy death I wouldn't take it and come down there beside you? Ithurt me to lose you, but it wasn't the worst. You would have loved me.Oh, my Child of Silence! Come back, come back!"

  How long she stayed there she never knew, but the heart pain greweasier after a while. She pressed her lips to the turf again. "Goodnight, baby dear, good night. I'll come again. You haven't lost yourmother even if she has lost you!"

  Fred Bennett passed by the unfrequented spot, returning from an errandto that part of town, and he heard the last words. He drew back intothe shadow. The slight black figure appeared on the sidewalk a few feetahead of him and puzzled him not a little. He followed cautiously andfinally decided to overtake her. As she heard his step behind her shelooked around timidly.

  "Mrs. Ward!"

  His tone betrayed surprise, and he saw that her eyes were wet and herwhite, drawn face was tear-stained. She shuddered. A new trouble facedher. How long had he been following her?

  He saw her distress and told his lie bravely. "I just came around thecorner here."

  Her relieved look was worth the sacrifice of his conscientiousscruples, he said to himself afterward.

  "I may walk home with you, may I not?"

  "Certainly."

  She took his offered arm and tried to chat pleasantly with her oldfriend. Soon they reached the gate. She dropped his arm and said goodnight unsteadily. Bennett could bear it no longer and he took both ofher hands in his own.

  "Mrs. Ward, you are in trouble. Tell me, perhaps I can help you." Shewas silent. "Dorothy, you will let me call you so, will you not? Youknow how much I cared for you in a boy's impulsive fashion, in the olddays when we were at school; you know that I am your friend now--astrue a friend as a man can be to a woman. Tell me, Dorothy, and let mehelp you."

  There was a rustle of silk on the pavement and her caller of theafternoon swept by without speaking. Already Dorothy knew the storywhich would be put in circulation on the morrow. Bennett's clasptightened on her cold fingers. "Tell me, Dorothy, and let me help you!"he said again.

  The impulse to tell him grew stronger, and she controlled it withdifficulty. "It is nothing, Mr. Bennett, I--I have a headache."

  "I see, and you came out for a breath of fresh air. Pardon me. I amsure you will be better in the morning
. These cool nights are sobracing. Good night, and God bless you--Dorothy."

  Meanwhile Bennett was on his way to Mrs. Brown's cottage. His mindwas made up, and he would speak to Jack. He had heard a great deal ofidle gossip, and it would probably cost him Jack's friendship, but hewould at least have the satisfaction of knowing that he had tried to dosomething for Dorothy. He rang the bell and Mrs. Brown herself answeredit.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Brown. No, thank you, I won't come in. Just askJack if I may see him a minute on a matter of business."

  Ward, hearing his friend's voice, was already at the door.

  "I'll be with you in a minute, Fred," he said. "Good night, Mrs. Brown;I am sure we shall get on famously with the duet." And the two men wentslowly down the street.

  They walked on in silence until Jack said: "Well, Bennett, what is it?You don't call a fellow out like this unless it is something serious."

  "It is serious, Jack; it's Dor--it's Mrs. Ward."

  "Dorothy? I confess I am as much in the dark as ever."

  "It's this way, Jack, she is in trouble."

  Ward was silent.

  "Jack, you know I'm a friend of yours; I have been ever since I'veknown you. If you don't take what I am going to say as I mean, you arenot the man I think you are."

  "Go on, Fred, I understand you. I was only thinking."

  "Perhaps you don't know it, but the town is agog with what it ispleased to term your infatuation for Mrs. Brown." Jack smothered aprofane exclamation, and Bennett continued. "Dorothy is eating herheart out over the baby. She was in the cemetery to-night sobbing overhis grave and talking to him like a mad woman. I came up the backstreet, and after a little I overtook her and walked home with her.That's how I happen to know. And don't think for a moment that shehasn't heard the gossip. She has, only she is too proud to speak of it.And Jack, old man, I don't believe you've neglected her intentionally,but begin again and show her how much you care for her. Good night."

  Bennett left him abruptly, for the old love for Dorothy was strongto-night; not the fitful flaming passion of boyhood, but the deeper,tenderer love of his whole life.

  Jack was strangely affected. Dear little Dorothy! He had neglected her."I don't deserve her," he said to himself, "but I will."

  He passed a florist's shop, and a tender thought struck him. He wouldbuy Dorothy some roses. He went in and ordered a box of AmericanBeauties. A stiff silk rustled beside him and he lifted his hatcourteously.

  "Going home, Mr. Ward? It's early, isn't it?" "But," with scarcelyperceptible emphasis, "it's--none--too soon!" Then as her eager eyecaught a glimpse of the roses, "Ah, but you men are sly! For Mrs.Brown?"

  Jack took his package and responded icily, "No, for Mrs. Ward!" "Cat!"he muttered under his breath as he went out. And that little word inthe mouth of a man means a great deal.

  He entered the house, and was not surprised to find that Dorothy hadretired. She never waited for him now. He took the roses from the boxand went up-stairs.

  "Hello, Dorothy," as the pale face rose from the pillow in surprise."I've brought you some roses!" Dorothy actually blushed. Jack hadn'tbrought her a rose for three years; not since the day the baby wasborn. He put them in water and came and sat down beside her.

  "Dear little girl, your head aches, doesn't it?" He drew her up besidehim and put his cool fingers on the throbbing temples. Her heart beatwildly and happy tears filled her eyes as Jack bent down and kissed hertenderly. "My sweetheart! I'm so sorry for the pain."

  It was the old lover-like tone and Dorothy looked up.

  "Jack," she said, "you do love me, don't you?"

  His arms tightened about her. "My darling, I love you better thananything in the world. You are the dearest little woman I ever saw. Itisn't much of a heart, dear, but you've got it all. Crying? Why, whatis it, sweetheart?"

  "The baby," she answered brokenly, and his eyes overflowed too.

  "Dorothy, dearest, you know that was best. He wasn't like--" Jackcouldn't say the hard words, but Dorothy understood and drew his facedown to hers again.

  Then she closed her eyes, and Jack held her until she slept. The dawnfound his arms around her again, and when the early church bells awokeher from a happy dream she found the reality sweet and beautiful, andthe heartache a thing of the past.

  The Dweller in Bohemia