Book-bot.com - read famous books online for free

Mr. Achilles by Jennette Barbour Perry Lee
page 83 of 149 (55%)

She questioned him and moved a little away, and he came and sat at her
feet, telling her of himself--with quiet slowness. As she questioned him
he told her all that he knew. And they chatted in the sunshine--subtly
drawn to each other--happy in something they could not have said.

The boy had grown refined by his illness--the sturdy hands that had
guided the push-cart had lost their roughened look and seemed the shape
of some old statue; and the head, poised on the round throat, was as if
some old museum had come to life and laughed in the sun. If Mrs. Philip
Harris had seen Alcibiades shoving his cart before him, along the
cobbled street, his head thrown back, his voice calling "Ban-an-nas!"
as he went, she would not have given him a thought. But here, in her
garden, in the white clothes that he wore, and sitting at her feet, it
was as if the gates to another world had opened to them--and both looked
back together at his own life. The mystery in the boy's eyes stirred
her--and the sound of his voice... there was something in it... beauty,
wonder--mystery. She drew a quick breath. "I think I will go in," she
said, and the boy lifted himself to help her--and only left her, under
the loggia, with a quick, grateful flash of the dark smile.

Mrs. Philip Harris slept that night--the chloral, on the little table
beside her, untouched. And the next day found her in the garden.

All the household watched--with quickened hope. The mistress of the
house had taken up her life, and the old quick orders ran through the
house. And no one spoke of the child. It was as if she were asleep--in
some distant room--veiled in her cloud. But the house came back to its
life. Only, the social groups that had filled it every summer were not
there. But there was the Greek boy, in the garden, and Miss Stone, and
DigitalOcean Referral Badge