The Portland daily press., 1883-09-17
[Harper's Bazar.l
A Symphony in Lavender.
BY MARY E. WILKINS.

rainy. WleD L dTIlf6u3 anu suppose the
first object in Ware, outside of my immedi
ate personal surroundings, which arrested
nv attention was the Munson house. When
/ looked out of my window next morning il
doomed up, directly opposite, across the
road. dark and moist from the rain of the
night before. There were so many elm trees
in front of it and in front of the house / was
in that the little pools of rain water still
standing in the road here and there, did not
glisten ard shine at ALL although the sun
was bright and quite high. The house itseh
stood back far enough to allow of good
square yard in front, and was raised from
the street level to the height of face wall
Three or four steps led up to the front walk
On each side of the steps, growing near the
edge of the wall, was an enormous lilac tree
in full blossom. / could see them tossing
their purple clusters between the elm
branches; there was quite wind blowing
that morning. A hedge of lilacs, kept low
by constant cropping, began al the blooming
lilac trees, and reached around the rest Of
the yard at the top of the face wall. The
yard was gay with flowers, laid out in fan.
tastic little beds, all bordered trinity with
box. The house was one of those square,
solid, white-painted, green blinded editices
which marked the wealth and Importance of
the dweler therein half century or so ago,
and still cast dim halo of respect over his
memory. 1t had no beauty in itself, being
boldly plain and glazing, like all of its kind
but the green waving boughs of the elms and
lilacs and the undulatting shadows they cast
toned it down, and gave it an air of GOODNESS
and quiet and lovely reserve. l began to
feel sort of pleasant, idle curiosity con-
corning it as 1 stood there at my chamber
window, and after breakfast, when 1 had
gone into the sitting room, whose front win
dows also faced that way, took occasion to
ask my hostess, who had come in with me.
who lived there.
''Of course it's nobody / have ever seen
or heard Of" said /; "but was looking at
the house this morning, and have taken a
fancy to know.
Mrs. Leonard gazed refectively across at
the house and then at me. 1t was an Eodd
way she had before speaking always.
"There's maiden lady lives there. she
answered at length, turning her gaze from
me to the house again; "all alone; that is.
all alone except old Margaret. She's always
been in the family-ever since Caroline was
a baby, guess; faithful old creature as
ever lived, but she's pretty feeble now. |
reckon Caroline has to do pretty much all
the work, and don't suppose she's much
company, or anything but care. There
she comes now"
"Who?' said l, feeling little bewildered.
"Why, Caroline-Caroline Munson.''
A slim, straight little woman, with a
white pitcher in her hand, was descending
the stone steps between the blooming lilac
trees opposite. She had on lilac-colored
calico dress and a white apron. She wore
nQehlsat or bonnet, and her gray hair seemed
10 be arranged in cluster of soft little curls
at the top of her head. Her face, across the
street, looked like that of woman of 40,
fair and pleasing.
sShe's going down to Mrs Barnes's after
milk" Mrs. Leonard explained. ''She al
ways goes herself, every morning just about
this time. She never sends old Margaret; l
reckon she amt fit to go. l guess she can
do some things about the house, but when it
comes to travelling outside Caroline has to
do it herself"
Then Mrs. Leonard was called into the
kitchen, and thought over the information,
at once vague and definite, had received,
and watched Miss Caroline Munson walk
down the shady street. She had pretty,
gentle gait.
About week later 1 received an invita-
ton to take tea with her. / was probably
never more surprised in my life, as l had
not the slightest acquaintance with her. I
had sometimes happened to watch her
morning pilgrimage down the street after
milk, and occasionally had observed her
working over her flower beds in her front
yard. That was all, as far as l was con-
cerned, and l did not suppose she knew
there was such person as myself in exis-
tence. But Mrs. Leonard, who was also
hidden, explained it.
''Its CaIoline's way" said she. ''She's
always had a sort of mania for asking folks
to tea. Why, reckon there's hardly fort
night, ON an average, the year round, but
what she invites somebody or other TO tea.
r Oh ind "a 3,,H Al
little excitement about it, getting ready
for company. Anyhow. she must like it, OF
she wouldn't ask people. She probably has
heard you are going to board here this
summer-Ware's little place, you know,
and folks hear everything about each other
and thought she would invite you over
with me. You had better go; you'll enjoy
it. It's nice place to go to, and she's a
beautiful cook, or Margaret is; don't know
which does the cooking, but l guess they
both have a hand in it. Anyhow, you'll
have pleasant time. Well take our sew
ing and go early-by O'Clock. That's the
way people go out to take tea in Ware"
So the next afternoon, at o'clock, Mrs.
Leonard and 1 sailed across the street to
Miss Caroline Munson's. She met us at
the door. in response to tap of the old
fashioned knocker. Her manner of greeting
us was charming from its very quaintness.
She hardly said three words, but showed at
the same time a simple courtesy and a
pleased shyDess, like child overcome with
the delight of tea party in her honor. She
ushered us into beautiful old parlor on
the right of the hall, and we seated our
selves with our sewing. The conversation
was not very brisk nor very general so far as
] was concerned. There was scarcely any
topic of common interest to the three of US
probably. Mrs. Leonard was one of those
women who converse only of matters per-
tanning to themselves or their own circle of
aequaintances, and seldom digress. Miss
Munson l could not judge of as to converse
tional habits, of course; she seemed now to
be merely listening with a sort of gentle in
terest, scarcely saying word herself, to
2 Mrs. Leonard's remarks, but l was a total
stranger to Ware and Ware people, and con-
sequently could neither talk nor listen to
much purpose.
But was interested in observing Miss
Munson. She was a nice person to observe,
for If she was conscious of being an object
of scrutiny she did not show it. Her eyes
never flashed up and met mine fixed upon
her with suddenness startling aud embar-
RAISING to both of US. / could stare at her
as guilelessly and properly as l could at a
flower.
Indeed, Miss Munson did make me think
Oh hover, duQ VI Oue pIoNdleub Ill ueT lEOuI
yard, too-a lilac; there was the same dull
bloom about her, and shy, Anticipated
grace. A lilac always does seem a little old
er than some other flowers. Miss Munson,
come to see her, was probably nearer so
than 40. There were little lines and shad-
ows in her face that one could not discern
across the street. 1t seemed to me that she
must have been very lovely in her youth,
with that sort of loneliness which does not
demand attention, but holds it with no eff
fort. An exquisite, delicate young creature
she ought to have been, aud had been, IN
less her present appearance told lies.
Lilac seemed to be her favorite color for
gowns, for she wore that afternoon deli.
cious old-fashioned lilac muslin that looked
as if it has been laid away in lavender every
winter for the last 30 years. The waist was
cut surplice fashion, and she wore dainty
lace handkerchief tucked into it. Take it
altogether, suppose l never spent a pleas
anter afternoon in my life, although it was
pleasant in quiet, uneyentful sort of way.
There was an atmosphere of gentle grace
and comfort about everything; about Miss
Munson, about the room, and about the
lookout from the high, deep-seated windows
There was not one vivid tint 10 that parlor;
everything had the dimness of age over it.
All the. brightness was gone out of the car
pet Large, shadowy figures sprawed over
the floor, their indistinctness giving them
the suggestion of grace, and the polish on