A Colony of Girls

by Kate Livingston Willard

He paused a moment, and then resumed bitterly:

"I never knew half how miserable the story would sound to you until I listened to you this afternoon, and realized all that I had missed out of my life."

Jean looked at him sympathetically, and her eyes urged him to continue, although she did not speak.

"I am going to try not to bore you with any complaints, Miss Jean, and I must beg you not to be distressed if I speak plainly in regard to my family, with whom I am on exceedingly bad terms."

"Surely that does not include Clarisse?"

"Oh, no; not Clarisse, bless her heart. She and I have always stood faithfully by each other. My troubles began when my father died. I was quite a little chap at the time, but I loved my poor old governor dearly. My mother is a woman of great strength of character and with an unbounded love of power, and she and I were decidedly antagonistic. My father, who was the mildest of men, had the greatest admiration for her and in most things yielded readily to her stronger will, but where I was concerned he took a firm stand; so, although I was in great awe of my mother, I always had a refuge in my father. My older brothers, Lansing and Fred, never took to me at all. They were wise in their day and generation, and even when they were youngsters studied to please, and so in our quarrels and disputes my mother invariably took their part. I felt the injustice without being able to reason about it, and grew daily more surly and defiant. From the day my father died I had a very bad time of it, and was always in disgrace. I know I was by no means blameless, but there was something in my mother's cold disregard of me that roused a very demon of defiance in me. Clarisse was the only person in the world whom I honestly loved, and the first serious trouble with my mother was on her account," and even at this day Farr's face grew black at the remembrance. "It was a rainy day, and we children were all playing in the nursery. Clarisse was just recovering from an illness, and was not yet very strong. In some way she accidentally broke a new boat of Fred's. He was angry and, after scolding her until she began to cry, finally struck her across the face. I sprang toward him, my blind rage lending me unusual strength, and beat him unmercifully. Lansing, nurse, and Clarisse set up a great hue and cry, and in the midst of it all my mother walked into the room. Fred, who certainly did present a rather battered appearance, rushed to her and bawled out a garbled version of the affair and I slunk off into a corner, looking thoroughly guilty, I have not a doubt. My mother did not wait for any explanation, but summarily sent Clarisse and myself to Coventry. I might have forgiven her for the injustice to myself. I was so used to it as to have hardly noticed it, but I never forgave the unkindness to poor little Clarisse."

There was a brief silence, broken at length by Jean.

"I cannot understand it, Mr. Farr; surely a mother must love all her children."

"I suppose my mother did in her way. I do not tell you this, Miss Jean, to prejudice you against her nor to exonerate myself, but only to, in a measure, explain subsequent events. There was never any sympathy between us. My manner, my character, my very looks were distasteful to her, and she made no attempt to conceal this from me. Up to the time of this occurrence I had had moments of feeling very contrite, when I had striven to overcome my faults; but from that time I hardened myself and never tried to break down the barrier that had been raised. Clarisse shared my feeling to a great extent, but she was far too gentle and loving to oppose my mother. She did her best to soften me and to prevent circumstances from embittering me. As I grew older my relationship with my family became more and more strained, and it was my great ambition to enter the navy and cut adrift from my home. When finally I broached the subject to my mother, I learned for the first time that my father had left his entire estate, which was a considerable one, to my mother, and that I was entirely dependent upon her. My mother was exceedingly generous in those matters, and in justice to her I must say that, however much she may have denied me her affection, she always treated me most liberally in a material way. I had been given every advantage without stint, and had been brought up in the greatest comfort and luxury, and without any adequate knowledge of the value of money. She did not favor the idea of my entering the navy, but I was troublesome at home, so she made a concession and I was allowed to go to Annapolis. In the meantime my brothers had obediently followed the careers my mother had marked out for them, and having furthermore married in accordance with her wishes, she provided each of them with a most liberal allowance, retaining, however, a controlling hand in their affairs. Those years at Annapolis were the happiest I had ever known. I had been very much touched by my mother's yielding, and when I was at home I did my best not to annoy or antagonize her in any way, and we really got along very smoothly."

Farr had reached a difficult point in his story, and hesitated a moment to mentally review the past, and then began again in the same quiet voice that had characterized his telling of it so far.