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that needs all it can get； but to no individual has she
given more than to her queer old aunt in Moonstone。 The
legend of Kronborg； the artist； fills Tillie's life； she feels
rich and exalted in it。 What delightful things happen in
her mind as she sits there rocking！ She goes back to those
early days of sand and sun； when Thea was a child and
Tillie was herself； so it seems to her； 〃young。〃 When
she used to hurry to church to hear Mr。 Kronborg's won…
derful sermons； and when Thea used to stand up by the
organ of a bright Sunday morning and sing 〃Come； Ye
Disconsolate。〃 Or she thinks about that wonderful time
when the Metropolitan Opera Company sang a week's
engagement in Kansas City； and Thea sent for her and
had her stay with her at the Coates House and go to
every performance at Convention Hall。 Thea let Tillie
go through her costume trunks and try on her wigs and
jewels。 And the kindness of Mr。 Ottenburg！ When Thea
dined in her own room； he went down to dinner with
Tillie； and never looked bored or absent…minded when
she chattered。 He took her to the hall the first time
Thea sang there； and sat in the box with her and helped
her through 〃Lohengrin。〃 After the first act； when Tillie
turned tearful eyes to him and burst out； 〃I don't care；
she always seemed grand like that； even when she was a
girl。 I expect I'm crazy； but she just seems to me full of
all them old times！〃Ottenburg was so sympathetic
and patted her hand and said； 〃But that's just what she
is； full of the old times； and you are a wise woman to see
it。〃 Yes； he said that to her。 Tillie often wondered how
she had been able to bear it when Thea came down the
stairs in the wedding robe embroidered in silver； with a
train so long it took six women to carry it。
Tillie had lived fifty…odd years for that week； but she
got it； and no miracle was ever more miraculous than that。
When she used to be working in the fields on her father's
Minnesota farm； she couldn't help believing that she
would some day have to do with the 〃wonderful；〃 though
her chances for it had then looked so slender。
The morning after the sociable； Tillie； curled up in bed；
was roused by the rattle of the milk cart down the street。
Then a neighbor boy came down the sidewalk outside her
window； singing 〃Casey Jones〃 as if he hadn't a care in
the world。 By this time Tillie was wide awake。 The
twin's question； and the subsequent laughter； came back
with a faint twinge。 Tillie knew she was short…sighted
about facts； but this time Why； there were her scrap…
books； full of newspaper and magazine articles about Thea；
and half…tone cuts； snap…shots of her on land and sea； and
photographs of her in all her parts。 There； in her parlor； was
the phonograph that had come from Mr。 Ottenburg last
June； on Thea's birthday； she had only to go in there and
turn it on； and let Thea speak for herself。 Tillie finished
brushing her white hair and laughed as she gave it a smart
turn and brought it into her usual French twist。 If Moon…
stone doubted； she had evidence enough： in black and
white； in figures and photographs； evidence in hair lines
on metal disks。 For one who had so often seen two and
two as making six； who had so often stretched a point；
added a touch； in the good game of trying to make the
world brighter than it is； there was positive bliss in having
such deep foundations of support。 She need never tremble
in secret lest she might sometime stretch a point in Thea's
favor。 Oh； the comfort； to a soul too zealous； of having
at last a rose so red it could not be further painted； a lily
so truly auriferous that no amount of gilding could exceed
the fact！
Tillie hurried from her bedroom； threw open the doors
and windows； and let the morning breeze blow through
her little house。
In two minutes a cob fire was roaring in her kitchen
stove； in five she had set the table。 At her household work
Tillie was always bursting out with shrill snatches of song；
and as suddenly stopping； right in the middle of a phrase；
as if she had been struck dumb。 She emerged upon the
back porch with one of these bursts； and bent down to get
her butter and cream out of the ice…box。 The cat was
purring on the bench and the morning…glories were thrust…
ing their purple trumpets in through the lattice…work in a
friendly way。 They reminded Tillie that while she was
waiting for the coffee to boil she could get some flowers
for her breakfast table。 She looked out uncertainly at a
bush of sweet…briar that grew at the edge of her yard； off
across the long grass and the tomato vines。 The front
porch； to be sure； was dripping with crimson ramblers
that ought to be cut for the good of the vines； but never
the rose in the hand for Tillie！ She caught up the kitchen
shears and off she dashed through grass and drenching dew。
Snip； snip； the short…stemmed sweet…briars； salmon…pink
and golden…hearted； with their unique and inimitable woody
perfume； fell into her apron。
After she put the eggs and toast on the table； Tillie
took last Sunday's New York paper from the rack beside
the cupboard and sat down； with it for company。 In the
Sunday paper there was always a page about singers； even
in summer； and that week the musical page began with a
sympathetic account of Madame Kronborg's first per…
formance of ISOLDE in London。 At the end of the notice；
there was a short paragraph about her having sung for the
King at Buckingham Palace and having been presented
with a jewel by His Majesty。
Singing for the King； but Goodness！ she was always
doing things like that！ Tillie tossed her head。 All through
breakfast she kept sticking her sharp nose down into the
glass of sweet…briar； with the old incredible lightness of
heart； like a child's balloon tugging at its string。 She had
always insisted； against all evidence； that life was full of
fairy tales； and it was！ She had been feeling a little down；
perhaps； and Thea had answered her； from so far。 From
a common person； now； if you were troubled； you might
get a letter。 But Thea almost never wrote letters。 She
answered every one； friends and foes alike； in one way；
her own way； her only way。 Once more Tillie has to re…
mind herself that it is all true； and is not something she has
〃made up。〃 Like all romancers； she is a little terrified at