Chicago did not offer much by way of magnificence but Mary Isabel made the most of what we took her to see. The gold room of the hotel was a part of her imaginary kingdom, conceivably the home of royalty. Standing timidly at the door, she surveyed the golden chairs, the gorgeous ceiling and the deep-toned pictures with a gaze which absorbed every detail. At last she whispered, "Is this the Queen's room?"
"Yes," I replied. "If the Queen should come to Chicago she would live here," and I comforted myself by saying, "You shall have your hour of wonder and romance, even at the expense of a prevarication."
With a sigh she turned away, or rather permitted me to lead her away. "I'm glad I saw it," she said. "Will the Queen ever come to Chicago again?"
"Yes, next spring she will come again," I answered, thus feeding her illusion without a moment's hesitation or a particle of remorse.
Her love of royal robes, gold chariots and Queens' houses did not prevent her from listening with deep delight while I read Jock Johnstone, the Tinkler Lad, or sang O'er the Hills In Legions, Boys. She loved most of the songs I was accustomed to sing but certain of the lines vaguely distressed her. She could not endure the pathos of Nellie Gray.
|
"Oh, my poor Nellie Gray They have taken you away And I'll never see my darling any more" |
put her into deepest anguish.
"Why did they take her away?" she sobbed. "Didn't they ever see her any more?"
Only after I explained that they met "down the river" and were very happy ever afterward, would she permit me to finish the ballad. She was similarly troubled by the words,
|
"I can hear the children calling I can see their sad tears falling." |