"My wife wass young like you," he said brokenly, "and she sang the same song. It wass a long time ago. She lifed only three months."
"I am sorry, Mr. Schultzsky," was all Beatrice found to say. She thought of the picture of the beautiful lady, hung crooked and high on the wall, opposite the old harness. "Perhaps grief and loneliness have made him what he is," she thought pityingly. "Miss Billy is right. There is a tender side to everybody, if we can only find it."
Outside on a platform improvised from an over-turned tub Policeman Canary was selling off the packages with neatness and despatch. Mr. Hennesy disported a pair of ladies' side combs in his hair. Mrs. Hennesy had a mouse-trap. Margaret Van Courtland became the happy possessor of a pound of dried codfish, Francis had a pair of red mittens, three sizes too small. Miss Billy drew a fire shovel, John Thomas got a mouth organ, and Mrs. Canary revelled in a dream book. Theodore was going round with an ornamental and very sticky candy heart that one of the children had contributed, begging every one to accept it,—and finally traded it to Marie Jean Hennesy for a bottle of catsup.
"We'll open ours together," said Beatrice, coming back to Mr. Schultzsky in the parlour.
Inside the wrappings in Mr. Schultzsky's hand lay a dainty thing, tied in tissue paper and blue ribbon. "Oh, it's what Margaret Van Courtland brought," exclaimed Beatrice. It was a lady's handkerchief, sheer and fine, edged about with a delicate lace. It lay in the old man's palm, yielding up a faint perfume and he gazed at it without speaking.
"And I," said Beatrice brightly, "have a package of smoking tobacco! Now that will be handy next Spring to pack away my furs."
The children grew sleepy, and the torches burned out, before the guests departed. Every one was in holiday humour. Every one voted it a success, and begged Miss Billy to set an early date for another. Miss Billy, tired but elated, counted the money in the tin box. "Twenty-five dollars!" she announced jubilantly. "With that amount the Improvement Club shall work wonders. There is a five-dollar bill here. I wonder if anybody could have contributed that amount?"
"Mr. Schultzsky put that in,—that is, he gave it to me to put in for him," answered Beatrice quietly.
"Now what do you suppose can have come over the spirit of the old fellow's dream?" said Theodore. "Maybe he's enamoured of you, Bea."
"No, I think not," said Beatrice soberly. "I believe it was the stirring of a tender memory. He talked to me to-night of a girl wife, who died."