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THIS STORY IS TOLD BY

JOHN GAYTHER

AND IS CALLED

THE LADY IN THE BOX

John Gayther was busy putting the finishing touches to a bed in which he intended to sow his latest planting of bush-beans, or string-beans, or snaps, as they are called in different parts of the country. These were very choice seeds which had been sent to him by a friend abroad, and, consequently, John wanted to get them into the ground as soon as possible. But when he saw entering the garden not only the Daughter of the House but also her mother, the Mistress of the House, a sudden conviction shot through him that there would be no beans planted that morning.

The elder of these two ladies was not very elderly, and she was handsomer than her daughter. She was pleasant to look upon and pleasant to talk to, but she had a mind of her own; John Gayther had found that out long before. She was very fond of flowers, and there were many beds of them which were planted and treated according to her directions and fancies. These beds did not, in fact, form part of the gardener’s garden; they belonged to her, and nobody else had anything to say about them. Many things grew there which were not often found in gardens: weeds, for instance, from foreign countries, and some from near-by regions, which the Mistress of the House thought might be made to grow into comely blossoms if they were given the chance. Here she picked and planted, and put in and pulled out, according to her own will; and her pulling out was often done after a fashion which would have discouraged any other gardener but John Gayther, who had long since learned that the Mistress of the House knew what she wanted, and that it would be entirely useless for him to trouble himself about her methods.

The gardener was not altogether happy when he saw these two ladies coming toward him. He felt sure that they were coming for a story, for when the elder lady came to the garden it was not her habit to bring her daughter with her; and neither of them was likely, on ordinary occasions, to walk along in a straightforward way, loitering neither here nor there. Their manner and their pace denoted a purpose.

John Gayther had never dug into a garden-bed as earnestly and anxiously as he now dug into his mind. These ladies were coming for a story. The younger one had doubtless told her mother that there had been stories told in the garden, and now another one was wanted, and it was more than likely that he was expected to tell it. But he did not feel at all easy about telling a story to the Mistress of the House. He knew her so well, and the habits of her mind, that he was fully assured if his fancies should blossom too luxuriantly she would ruthlessly pull them up and throw them on the path. Still he believed she would like fancies, and highly colored ones; but he must be very careful about them. They must be harmonious; they must not interfere with each other; they might be rare and wonderful, but he must not give them long Latin names which meant nothing.

One thing which troubled him was the difficulty of using the first person when telling a story to the Mistress of the House. He could tell his stories best in that fashion, but he did not believe that this hearer would be satisfied with them; she would not be likely to give them enough belief to make them interesting. He had a story all ready to tell to the Daughter of the House, for he had been sure she would want one some day soon, and this one, told in a manner which would please him, he thought would please her; but it was very different with her mother. He must be careful.