Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

Helène—the beautiful, reserved, lily-like maiden—was worshipped by all. From the scullery-maid with the Kerry accent to Mrs. Kane, the kindly autocrat of this little commonwealth, all bowed to her in delighted homage. The women admired her without a taint of jealousy; the two men who lived there reverenced her from afar. She seemed to them like some rare lily that had been transplanted into a city yard.

One of the men was a librarian at one of the city colleges—a ripe, old scholar; the other, a young Baltimorean, of a retiring manner, was struggling as an obscure civil engineer. They considered themselves fortunate to sit at the table and would gaze in awe on the charming young foreigner—perfectly content to behold her across the six feet of tablecloth. If either ventured on a nearer acquaintance, he would find that Miss Fisher had interposed her ample form between them.

Helène had not imparted to her protectress much more of her early life than had transpired at their meeting in Hanover and on the voyage across the ocean. Margaret, in the confidential atmosphere engendered by the close companionship, found the need of telling her friend all about herself. It was a simple tale, but the pathos of it drew a sympathetic response from her listener.

Margaret’s father, an educated German of good family, had come to America during the Civil War. He had been compelled to leave the Fatherland because of his activity in politics of a somewhat republican tendency. In New York he became the city editor of one of the more influential of the German newspapers. It was during this period that he met and married a German girl whose elder brother kept a small jewelry and watch-repairing shop on the East Side. He was a kind-hearted old bachelor and had been Margaret’s earliest admirer and playmate.

It was to this uncle’s home above the store that she and her mother went when her father died. A year after her father’s death, when she was fifteen, Margaret went to work at a dressmaker’s in the neighborhood. They managed to get along very comfortably together. Her uncle was kindness itself and a genius at his trade. There was no style of watch or clock he could not fix up and make keep correct time. He was an expert at chronometer work and was regularly consulted by captains of ships and even by the Navy Yard.

Six years ago, Margaret’s mother died, leaving her alone with her uncle. The old man had aged and grown quite feeble then. He longed to go back to Germany. So strong was this homesickness for his beloved Harz Mountains that the doctor thought it best to urge him to go. He went, promising to come back soon, but he never returned. He died among the pine-clad hills of his birthplace. The little property he left fell to Margaret and became the foundation for the now greatly discussed bank account.

About three years after her mother’s death she met a young man—a decent, quiet fellow, an assistant in a drug-store. She liked him. He dressed well and was very attentive and kind to her. A year later she consented to become engaged to him. They were to be married as soon as his employer had fulfilled his promise to raise his salary and give him a percentage of the business.

She was sure she did not love him; but she was in no doubt that he needed some good, capable girl to look after him. He was rather weak and vacillating; but he was good-looking and any girl would be rather proud to go out with him. Margaret put it that way, because it really expressed her mind. She didn’t see what else men were good for any way, except to be mothered and to walk out with. It was nice for them to take you out, and it felt good to have a man lean on you and come to you for advice and the help that a woman could give him.

Well, things went on very happily for some months and then she noticed that he came less frequently to the house. He would send notes instead, excusing himself for one reason or another. One evening, when she had stayed later than usual at the store to finish some dresses for the Easter season, she went into Krugler’s restaurant, at the corner of Second Avenue, for her supper, and sat down near a slight partition or screen of plants. She had scarcely begun her meal when she heard a familiar voice from the other side of the screen. Peering through the leaves of the palm she saw her Bert seated at a table with a young woman. He had his back to her, but she could hear quite distinctly what he was saying. He was talking in the most endearing words, exactly as he had talked to her. Then she heard the girl remind him of the young lady—the serious girl with the money in bank—she had seen him with. Wasn’t he engaged to be married to her? He passionately protested. It was not true, he said. He only loved her—the girl he was with now. The other couldn’t compare with her. The other was all right, but she had no heart—she was always preaching and talking about getting on. Margaret waited to hear no more. She had heard too much as it was. The next day she returned him the little gifts he had made her, including the engagement ring, and when he called she declined to see him. Since then she did not care to know any man. Of course, Bert was no loss. She knew that now, but she had liked him once. Oh, yes, men were all right in their way; but a girl was far better off not to bother herself about them. She’d get along just as well.

Helène kept a discreet silence as to her own opinions on that subject. She was afraid to trust herself with Margaret, least she might betray her own heart, and Margaret never again broached the subject.