Ariel Custer (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

trooping back and peopled the empty rooms. The Chippendale desk! The gate-leg table! The portrait of Grandfather over the mantel! It was as if their various spirits had stolen away from their new owners and crept back to bid her farewell.

      There on the other side was her father’s library where she had spent hours poring over his big volumes, while he wrote at his desk and now and again looked up and smiled and said, “Having a good time, little girl?”

      Back of the library was the dining room with windows on the garden and the sunshine flooding it all the morning. There had been blue willow plates against the landscapes on the wall, and the great old mahogany sideboard reached the full length of the space between the windows. If only she might have kept the sideboard! It was so beautiful and old and rare. It seemed so a part of her life and her family. But Ezra Brownleigh had said it would bring more money than anything else she had, and she needed the money so much! But perhaps she would someday save money enough to buy it back when she had a home. Oh when she had a home!

      With the breath of a sob she dropped upon her knees, and a long ray of sunlight stole through the mullioned window over the front door and laid gentle fingers of gold upon her hair like a halo, as with clasped hands and closed eyes she prayed earnestly.

      “Oh, dear Father in heaven, I feel so frightened, and so lonely! Please take hold of my hand and go with me!”

      Then she went with swift steps over to the window seat where her grandmother’s Bible lay beside an old-fashioned traveling bag and, picking it up, opened it and tried to read through blurring tears. She had taken the Bible from her grandmother’s chest of drawers just before the man had come to take the things away. It was bulky to carry, but she felt she must have it with her. It would not seem so lonely in the great strange city to which she was going if she might have Grandmother’s Bible.

      And it opened of itself to an old tried and true passage that had given comfort many times before in days of stress: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

      A look came over her face like unto the look of her illustrious warrior ancestor whose painted portrait had been known to hang on the wall above the stair landing. It was as if she had just received marching orders from her captain. She lifted her firm little chin, and a light was in her eyes like one who sees a vision.

      She was going forth to fight. She did not expect an easy way. But her Lord was with her, even unto the end. With determination she set her face to the going.

      Quickly she ran up the stairs to glance into every room and be sure nothing had been left behind. All was clean and empty as befitted the house that was being handed over from the Custer family to a new owner. Not a bit of dust anywhere. Only a scrap of faded lilac ribbon fallen from the drawer when she opened it to take out the Bible. She picked it up quickly as something precious and hid it in her pocket. It was one of the ribbons from Grandmother’s old needle book. She must not leave it there for strangers to fling away.

      She came downstairs swiftly, gave one last sorrowful glance around the empty rooms, and went out, closing and locking the door. Once more she paused with her hand still on the key and looked abroad at the day that was beginning to glow with springtime. The mockingbird was in the lilac bush now, and an ache grew in her throat as she realized that she was going from it all forever; her home, her lawn, her lilac bush, and her mockingbird, out into an unknown world. In all probability she might never hear a mockingbird sing from that lilac bush again.

      Then she shut her lips tight on the sob that sprang in her throat, turned the key in the lock, and with one last glance at the distant hills just taking on their spring verdure in soft pastel tints, she picked up the old-fashioned satchel that stood ready at her feet and started down the path to the gate, every step carrying her away from her childhood, her dear old home, and all that she counted dear in the world, every step bringing the tears to her eyes and the ache into her throat.

      But being a Custer she did not yield to her mood. She dashed the tears from her eyes, swallowed hard on the lump in her throat, and lifting her chin with a kind of finality, she went out the gate and down the road, walking straight as a young sapling, her little patrician head held high. The morning was early, the dew yet on the young grass by the roadside, but not even a bird should see her go drooping away from Virginia. She would go forth as one goes to battle, a shining mark for an enemy, but a valiant one.

      She hastened her steps as she passed the old Breckenridge place. She had said a sad farewell to old Miss Sally, the sole remaining representative of that family, who had been dear friends with her family. She did not want to go over it again. If Miss Sally should spy her out of the window, she would be sure to stop her for another last word, and perhaps a hot buttered roll or some delicacy to take with her, and Ariel felt she could not bear it.

      But Miss Sally did not see her, and she slipped by safely and reached the straggling village street without encountering any old friends.

      She must stop at the real estate office and leave the key for the new owners. Then she hoped to escape to the station without more difficulty. There had been invitations to breakfast in plenty, and also to stay overnight, but Ariel had declined them all on the ground that there were things to do at the house and she would not have time in the morning to stop for a formal breakfast. She had not let anyone know that her last night was to be spent alone in the old house. They had thought that Dinah, the old faithful servant, was to be with her, or there would have been protests too strenuous to resist; but Dinah had had opportunity to ride to her new home with a farmer who was driving that way the afternoon before, and the girl had insisted upon her going. In fact, she had been glad to be alone for those last hours. Somehow they seemed too sacred for even Dinah to intrude upon. And so she had spent the night alone in the old country home, empty of all furniture save the few things she had saved for her own, which had gone down the road that very morning to be stored indefinitely at Ezra Brownleigh’s house for her.

      The past week had been one long good-bye, and Ariel dreaded another word of it. Her Custer pride was worn almost threadbare. She must not let them suspect how her heart was failing her about going out into a world of uncertainty alone. Someone would try to take her in, or do for her, if anyone suspected, and that must never be. She was a Custer and she was a Christian, and she must face the world alone with God.

      The minister had written to a cousin of his in the North who was librarian in a big city library, and she had promised to take Ariel in and teach her to be a librarian. The minister had felt that the many years spent in her father’s library reading to him and browsing among his fine collection of literary gems had well fitted her for such a position, and she was looking forward with a sad anticipation to the joy of handling books once more. Her father’s books had been sold three years before to provide the necessities of life for herself and her grandmother during her grandmother’s last lingering illness. Even the money from the books was every cent gone now. Ariel longed for books, and she felt that a life spent among them would not be like a life exactly among utter strangers. There were sure to be some old friends among the volumes.

      Ezra Brownleigh had not yet come down to his office. It was early. He doubtless had not expected her to come so soon. So she left the key with the office boy who was shooting marbles in the path outside the step. She was glad to escape the kindly parting from the gentle old man, her father’s friend who would gladly have taken her in and made her his own child if he had had the means to provide for her. As it was he had told her that if everything did not go right she was to come right home to Virginia, and he would take care of her. Ariel never intended to burden him with any care of herself, even though things went very wrong indeed, but she thanked him and smiled into his faded eyes till he cheered up, marveling at the Custer courage, rejoicing in the valiant spirit.

      Arriving at the station, Ariel had almost an hour to wait for her train. There was plenty of time to run over to Aunt Janey Whiting’s and get breakfast, or even to go as far as Martha Ann Gibbons’s little cottage, where she knew there was always delicious corn-pone and plenty of fresh milk for breakfast, and where she would be more than welcome. But Ariel did not feel like eating. There seemed to be a door locked in her throat that prevented her from