The Brimming Cup
CHAPTER II
INTERLUDE
March 15, 1920.
8:30 A.M.
Marise fitted little Mark's cap down over his ears and buttoned
his blue reefer coat close to his throat.
"Now you big children," she said, with an anxious accent, to
Paul and Elly standing with their school-books done up in straps,
"be sure to keep an eye on Mark at recess-time. Don't let him run
and get all hot and then sit down in the wind without his coat.
Remember, it's his first day at school, and he's only six."
She kissed his round, smooth, rosy cheek once more, and let him
go. Elly stooped and took her little brother's mittened hand in
hers. She said nothing, but her look on the little boy's face was
loving and maternal.
Paul assured his mother seriously, "Oh, I'll look out for Mark,
all right."
Mark wriggled and said, "I can looken out for myself
wivout Paul!"
Their mother looked for a moment deep into the eyes of her older
son, so clear, so quiet, so unchanging and true. "You're a good
boy, Paul, a real comfort," she told him.
To herself she thought, "Yes, all his life he'll look out for
people and get no thanks for it."
She followed the children to the door, wondering at her heavy
heart. What could it come from? There was nothing in life for her
to fear of course, except for the children, and it was absurd to
fear for them. They were all safe; safe and strong and rooted deep
in health, and little Mark was stepping off gallantly into his own
life as the others had done. But she felt afraid. What could she be
afraid of? As she opened the door, their advance was halted by the
rush upon them of Paul's dog, frantic with delight to see the
children ready to be off, springing up on Paul, bounding down the
path, racing back to the door, all quivering eager exultation. "Ah,
he's going with the children!" thought Marise wistfully.
She could not bear to let them leave her and stood with them in
the open door-way for a moment. Elly rubbed her soft cheek against
her mother's hand. Paul, seeing his mother shiver in the keen March
air, said, "Mother, if Father were here he'd make you go in. That's
a thin dress. And your teeth are just chattering."
"Yes, you're right, Paul," she agreed; "it's foolish of me!"
The children gave her a hearty round of good-bye hugs and
kisses, briskly and energetically performed, and went down the
stone-flagged path to the road. They were chattering to each other
as they went. Their voices sounded at first loud and gay in their
mother's ears. Then they sank to a murmur, as the children ran
along the road. The dog bounded about them in circles, barking
joyfully, but this sound too grew fainter and fainter.
When the murmur died away to silence, there seemed no sound left
in the stark gray valley, empty and motionless between the steep
dark walls of pine-covered mountains.
Marise stood for a long time looking after the children. They
were climbing up the long hilly road now, growing smaller and
smaller. How far away they were, already! And that very strength
and vigor of which she was so proud, which she had so cherished and
fostered, how rapidly it carried them along the road that led away
from her!
They were almost at the top of the hill now. Perhaps they would
turn there and wave to her.
No, of course now, she was foolish to think of such a thing.
Children never remembered the people they left behind. And she was
now only somebody whom they were leaving behind. She felt the cold
penetrate deeper and deeper into her heart, and knew she ought to
go back into the house. But she could not take her eyes from the
children. She thought to herself bitterly, "This is the beginning
of the end. I've been feeling how, in their hearts, they want to
escape from me when I try to hold them, or when I try to make them
let me into their lives. I've given everything to them, but they
never think of that. I think of it! Every time I look at
them I see all those endless hours of sacred sacrifice. But when
they look at me, do they see any of that? No! Never! They only see
the Obstacle in the way of their getting what they want. And so
they want to run away from it. Just as they're doing now."
She looked after them, yearning. Although they were so far, she
could see them plainly in the thin mountain air. They were running
mostly, once in a while stopping to throw a stone or look up into a
tree. Then they scampered on like squirrels, the fox-terrier
bounding ahead.
Now they were at the top where the road turned. Perhaps, after
all, they would remember and glance back and wave their
hands to her.
Now they had disappeared, without a backward look.
She continued gazing at the vacant road. It seemed to her that
the children had taken everything with them.
A gust of icy wind blew down sharply from the mountain, still
snow-covered, and struck at her like a sword. She turned and went
back shivering, into the empty house.