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Finally, the last day at Hillside came.

Charles drove Diana and Lawson to town, to get things ready there, leaving Constance to see the last load off, and to make sure that everything was in good shape for the Clarks, who intended to take possession in the spring. Constance went into every room, list in hand, checking the things the new owners had purchased. Then she tried the window bolts, and snapped the key in the lock of the front door.

She blew the horn for the brougham. The coachman came up. In a business-like, everyday manner, she ordered him to drive to town, and, getting in, without one look from the window, she left Hillside.

When she arrived at the new home, she was pleased to find that Diana and Lawson had arranged the furniture in the small rooms, and had a dainty little luncheon awaiting. As she was sitting down to enjoy it, her first visitor rang the bell--Aunt Sarah, just returned from the East and the latest fashions, looking younger than ever, and with a torrent of society gossip that was almost Sanscrit to Constance, occupied so long with the realities.

"What was your idea, Constance, in coming to this tiny place?" she asked, when she had given a full account of the delights of her summer.

Constance hesitated, but only for a moment. "Economy," she said, boldly.

Aunt Sarah looked anxious. "My dear child, has your husband been preaching? Don't let him fool you; they all try it. It's a trick.

Every now and then they think it their duty to cry hard times, when it is no such thing. You go to scrimping and saving, like an obedient wife, and the first thing you know he buys an automobile or a yacht, or wants you to give a ball."

Constance smiled. "But this is real, Aunt Sarah. You know we are fighting a big trust, and while, eventually, we expect to win, we have to be content with little or no profits for a few years."

"Trusts! Profits! What difference do they make as long as you have a steady income of your own?"

Constance was debating with herself whether she ought to speak plainly and have it out with the Parker pride then and there, or wait until she were not quite so tired and unstrung, when she was happily spared a decision by her aunt's switching off to another track.

"Talking of money reminds me that I heard a piece of news to-day," she said, lowering her voice in deference to Diana's presence behind thin walls. "I heard that Horace Vendire made a will shortly after his engagement to ---- and has left her millions."

"Oh, aunt! I wonder if it is true! How dreadful it would be!"

Aunt Sarah put up her jeweled lorgnette. "Constance Parker, what on earth is the matter with you to-day? You seem to be getting everything distorted, looking at the world upside down. It's that country business--" she continued emphatically; "the very moment you developed a fondness for that sort of life, I knew you were bound to grow careless and indifferent in thoughts, ways, and opinions. People who love the country always seem to think they have to sneer at civilization."

Constance was too tired to argue, and too disturbed over the last piece of gossip to explain; so she said weakly that she supposed she had changed, and let the rest of the visit pass in banalities.

The next day a little lawyer sprang a sensation by notifying those whom it concerned that he held the last Will and Testament of Horace Vendire, duly signed, attested, and sealed in his presence, a month before the disappearance.

Charles came to tell the two women.

"No, no!" cried Diana: "It's a mistake! He did not intend it to stand!"

"You surmise the contents of the will?"

"If it was made only a month before he disappeared. Had he lived, he would have altered it. I begged him to. Must I go to the meeting of the heirs?"

"I think it is best. Cheer up; there are many things worse than money.

Constance and I will go with you. Mr. James is back, and has asked us."

So Diana went, and she could not have looked more terrified had she been listening to the last trump, instead of to the smooth voice of a young lawyer reading the bequests of her dead lover.

The will was dated, July 26th, 1900. By it, Horace Vendire's life insurance was left to his brother James, an annuity of five thousand dollars to his mother, and an income of only three thousand a year to his fiancee, Diana Frewe, as long as she remained unmarried. It was evident to Charles that Vendire did not wish to give her enough to help her friends. The residue, and, eventually, the principal, were to be used in building and endowing the Horace Vendire Public Library in the city of New York.

In a codicil, he directed that his stock in the American Blade and Trigger Company should be sold, the directors of that company being given the option of buying it at par before it was offered elsewhere.

Mr. James Vendire was the first to congratulate Diana.

"Oh, don't!" she cried, shrinking from his proffered hand. "I cannot bear it. It is yours; you must take it." She grew almost incoherent.

Constance petted and soothed. "Be still, dear. Remember you are weak and unstrung. We will go home now, and see what can be done later."

FOOTNOTE:

[27] Copyright, 1909, by B. W. Huebsch and Company.

JOHN PATTERSON

John Patterson, "a Greek prophet not without honor in his own American land," was born near Lexington, Kentucky, June 10, 1861. He was graduated from Kentucky State University in 1882; and the following year Harvard granted him the degree of Bachelor of Arts. He took his Master's degree from Kentucky University in 1886. The late Professor John Henry Neville, one of Kentucky's greatest classical scholars, first taught John Patterson Greek; and to his old professor he is indebted for much of his success as a teacher of Greek and a translator and critic of its literature. Professor Patterson's first school after leaving Harvard was a private one for boys near Midway, Kentucky; and he was for several years principal of the high school at Versailles, Kentucky. His first book, _Lyric Touches_ (Cincinnati, 1893), is his only really creative work so far. It contains several fine poems and was widely admired at the time of its appearance. In 1894 Professor Patterson was made instructor of Greek in the Louisville High School, which position he held for seven years. His first published translation was _The Medea of Euripides_ (Louisville, 1894), which he edited with an introduction and notes. This was followed by _The Cyclops of Euripides_ (London, 1900), perhaps his finest work hitherto. In 1901 Kentucky University conferred the honorary degree of Master of Literature upon Professor Patterson; and in the same year he helped to establish the Patterson-Davenport school of Louisville. In 1907 he became professor of Greek in the University of Louisville; and since September, 1908, he has been Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences of the University with full executive powers, practically president. His institution granted him the honorary degree of LL. D. in 1909. Doctor Patterson's latest work is a translation into English of _Bion's Lament for Adonis_ (Louisville, 1909). At the present time he is engaged upon a critical edition of the Greek text of the _Lament_.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1909), v.

ix; _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913).

A CLUSTER OF GRAPES[28]

[From. _Lyric Touches_ (Cincinnati, 1893)]

Misty-purple globes, Beads which brown autumn strings Upon her robes, Like amethyst ear-rings Behind a bridal veil Your veils of bloom their gems reveal.

Mellow, sunny-sweet, Ye lure the banded bee To juicier treat, Aiding his tipsy spree With more dulcet wine Than clover white or wild woodbine.

Dripping rosy dreams To me of happy hall Where laughter trims The lamps till swallow-call; Of flowery cup and throng Of men made gods in wit and song.

Holding purer days Your luscious fruitfulness, When prayer and praise The bleeding ruby bless, And memory sees the blood Of Christ, the Savior, God and good.

Monks of lazy hills, Stilling the rich sunshine Within your cells, Teach me to have such wine Within my breast as this, Of faith, of song, of happiness.

CHORAL ODE (ERIPIDES' MEDEA, LINES 627-662.)

[From the same]

The loves in excess bring nor virtue nor fame, But if Cypris gently should come, No goddess of heaven so pleasing a dame: Yet never, O mistress, in sure passion steeped, Aim at me thy gold bow's barbed flame.

May temperance watch o'er me, best gift of the gods, May ne'er to wild wrangling and strifes Dread Cypris impel me soul-pierced with strange lust; But with favoring eye on the quarrelless couch Spread she wisely the love-beds of wives!

Oh fatherland! Oh native home!

Never city-less May I tread the weary path of want Ever pitiless And full of doom; But on that day to death, to death be slave!

Without a country's worse than in a grave.

Mine eye hath seen, nor do I muse On other's history.

Nor home nor friend bewails thy nameless pangs.-- Perish dismally The fiend who fails To cherish friends, turning the guileless key Of candor's gate! Such friend be far from me!

FOOTNOTE:

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