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Digitized by VjOOQIC
KJ^^lo^
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Digitized by VjOOQIC
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rhe LADDER to
THE STARS
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The LADDER to
THE STARS
By
JANE H. FINDLATER
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK
1906
Digitized byCjOOQlC
tO) ^7D^
f HARVARD
I UNiVhRSITY
I LIBIvARY
Copykight, 1906, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Publithed October, 1906
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THE LADDER TO THE STARS
CHAPTER I
It was a very warm Sunday afternoon in eariy sum-
mer, and Miriam Sadler had walked all the way from
Hindcup-in-the-Fields to Hindcup Manor, to call upon
her Aunt Susan Pillar, Lady Joyce's housekeeper. She
approached the Manor by the back avenue, of course ;
but even this entrance was imposing enough. Miriam
loved the century-old beech trees, their boughs cour-
tesying to the earth, that bordered each side of the
road ; under their green shade the girl stopped, and
turned her remarkable face up to gaze into the flicker-
ing depths above her. After the glare of the mid-
day sunlight it seemed almost dark here under the
trees. She noticed the splendid spring of the tree boles
skyward. "Once they were little beechnuts, hidden
in the earth like a grave," she said to herself ; *' but
they pushed up through the sods and grew and grew,
and now see their splendid growth and stature 1 "
Miriam was fond of words for their own sake, quite
apart from any meaning they might have — ^so fond of
them that sometimes alone in the back kitchen at home
she would repeat over and over to herself strings of
words for nothing but their sound — " Great and glori-
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THE LADDER
ous and supercelestial, evanescent, elemental, majes-
tic, mystical, and melodramatic " — ^they rolled off the
tip of her tongue like a tune. But, as you see, her
thoughts were busy as well as her lips. She was al-
ways thinking, thinking, thinking — unformed, chaotic
thoughts that led nowhere. This afternoon the still-
ness under the beech trees was almost oppressive. It
was so hot that all the world except Miriam seemed
to have gone asleep. Far away in the meadows the
sleepy, slow-running river kept up a gentle reminder
of its flowing, and some rooks in the elm trees in the
park gave sleepy caws every now and then ; but other-
wise there was no sound or murmur of sound. As she
came into the courtyard of the Manor, the stable dog
rushed out from his kennel with a startling rattle of
his chain and a tremendous bark. A kitchen maid
came sleepily to the door, blinking in the afternoon
sunshine, and greeted Miriam to a cold welcome; she
was no favorite in the servants' hall.
"It's you. Miss Sadler; yes, Mrs. Pillar is in her
sittin' room; will you come inside?" she said, holding
open the door to let her pass in. A garden boy had
appeared to see what the dog was barking at, and
Miriam saw that he and the kitchen maid exchanged
a wink at her expense. She did not mind ; but youth
is youth, and even a garden boy's wink wasn't a -to-
gether pleasant. Miriam laid down the yellow cotton
parasol she had carried, and, as she went along the
passage to the housekeeper's room, began to pull off
her white thread gloves, which, owing to the heat,
were adhering firmly to her hands.
"Lor', Miriam!" cried Aunt Pillar, jumping up
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from her armchair where she had been having a well-
earned nap, " to think of you walking across the fields
on such a warm afternoon as this! Whatever pos-
sessed you?"
Miriam sat down by the round table which stood in
the middle of the room, and with a final tug got off the
damp thread gloves and laid them on the table. A
weariness of mind, not of body, overcame her for a
moment at this reception.
'* Oh, I do not know ; I like the exercise and the
freshness of the fields and the quiet," she explained.
Aunt Pillar surveyed her niece disapprovingly,
pursing her lips together.
" It's a blowzing walk, take it any way you please/*
she said ; " but I'm glad to see you, and how is sister? **
" Oh, mother is well, thanks," said Miriam absently*
She took up one of her gloves and began to pull out
the fing&'s of it.
" I do wish you weren't so absent-minded like,**
said Aunt Pillar impatiently. She was a little cross
at being wakened from her delicious Sunday nap by
a girl who apparently had nothing to say, and who
looked as if her thoughts were a hundred miles away.
\A\int Pillar crossed and uncrossed her fat feet on the
f^tstool with ill-concealed impatience, and smoothed
* olb the creases from her black silk skirt.
" I have come to ask you something, aunt," the girl
said at last, with a desperate effort. " That is why I
have come. I want to talk to you about myself."
"There's little else that young persons ever care
to talk about — those I've known," said Aunt Pillar,
not very graciously. But Miriam had never expected
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a gracious reception. Her rather heavy features were
not of the kind that quickly betray emotion ; no one
could have guessed all she felt at that moment.
" The fact is that I want more education," she said
quietly. " I have such a craving for truth and knowl-
edge, aunt, and I did not learn much at Miss Cumper's ;
all she taught me was superficial and provincial. I
wish to go to London to study, and I have no money —
will you help me?"
Nothing could well have surprised or displeased
Aunt Pillar more than this request. Intellectual
woman, and her place in the scheme of things, did
not appeal to Aunt Pillar. In her eyes, woman was a
marrying, child-bearing creature, or else a house-
keeper; she laughed to scorn any further pretensions
of her sex.
Putting on a pair of spectacles, she gazed at her
niece for a full minute before making any answer.
During that minute Miriam counted the heavy beating
of her own heart in horrid trepidation. At last Aunt
Pillar took off her spectacles, replaced them in their
case, laid the case on a table that stood by her chair,
and spoke:
" Well, no, Miriam, that I won't. YouVe had, in
my opinion, education enough to ruin your prospects
already, and I won't be the one to help you to more.
It's no kindness."
" My prospects ! " cried the girl. " What pros-
pects?"
"Your prospects of a good husband — what every
young woman should look out for; what else would
you be after?"
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TO THE STARS
" Aunt Pillar," she cried, rising in her excitement,
and resting her hand on the table, " Aunt Pillar, Fm
made for better things than that ! " Her voice trem-
bled with emotion, her eyes filled with tears, and the
hand which rested on the table shook.
" Better things ! " Aunt Pillar ejaculated. " Better
things, indeed I The girl's crazed to speak such non-
sense ! "
" I am not crazed, or even conceited ; I know only
too well the depths of my own ignorance. I must have
education — ^and then I shall surprise you all."
" You surprise me already, Miriam, with your silly
pride, and talking wild nonsense like that," said Aunt
Pillar. " What you have to do is to settle down in
your mother's house, and take the first good man that
asks you. Youll never get one with book-learning;
there's nothing the men dislike more — mind you that."
" Well, if they do, they will never like me, for I
have been bom that way, and I must follow my bent,"
said Miriam. She paused again, and then broke out
with ; " Oh, aunt, don't refuse to help me ! I've never
asked a penny of you before ; but it's life I am asking
of you now — ^life and hope ! "
Aunt Pillar was seriously alarmed now. In her es-
timation nothing except an unhinged brain could pos-
sibly account for all this nonsense. She rose from her
chair and stood confronting her niece; her short
portly figure in its black silk gown seemed the very
epitome of what she was, a decent, vulgar-minded
Englishwoman of the lower middle class. Strange
that tragedy should center round such a figure ; but it
did. To Miriam the tragedy of that refusal could not
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be exaggerated ; it meant to her the loss, as she had
said, of life and hope.
As the aunt and niece stood thus facing each other
in silence, a sound of footsteps came down the passage,
and a light little tap sounded on the panel of the door.
In a moment the whole expression of Aunt Pillar's
face had altered.
"That's some of the Family," she whispered to
Miriam. It must have been by some subtle inner sense
that this was revealed to her, for one knock is after
all much like another; she ran to open the door and
usher in the august intruders.
" Why, Miss Eve, is this you ? and am I to have the
honor of a visit? I'm sure I'm very proud, indeed.
Miss Eve. Will you step in? and this is Mr. Alan
Gore too; step in, sir, I'm very pleased to see you,"
she exclaimed all in a breath. " And, Miss Eve, this
is my niece, Miriam Sadler, who has walked over to
see me this afternoon ; it will be a great day for her,
getting a sight of you, I'm sure; girls like her have
few advantages. Come here, Miriam, and speak to
Miss Eve."
She spoke for all the world as though her niece were
still a child in a pinafore, instead of a young woman
of four-and-twenty.
Miss Joyce evidently meant to be affable, for she
held out her hand to the girl, and asked if she had not
had a very hot walk.
" No," said Miriam, " I like the walk."
Miss Joyce sat down, and begged Aunt Pillar to re-
sume her seat, which she did with some show of re-
luctance. The man who had come in with Miss Joyce
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looked round to find himself a seat, too, and Aunt
Pillar told her niece to fetch a chair for Mr. Gore.
Miriam lugged out a great old chair from a comer
for him. He thanked her and sat down, wondering
what he would say to this heavy-featured young
woman.
" We have come to see the old lead cistern which
lives somewhere in these r^ons," he said. " I dare-
say you have often seen it — it has curious figures
carved on it."
"Oh, yes, I love the beauty of it," said Miriam.
The young man looked up sharply at her words.
" Are you interested in such things? " he asked.
" Surely, everyone must be ; they link us on to the
famous past," she answered. He looked at her even
more curiously, and leaned forward as he said :
"The famous past? Do you think the past is any
more famous than the present? I incline to think
this is the accepted time, this is the day of salvation."
It was almost the first time in her life that Miriam
had heard anyone start an abstract subject of conver-
sation. She drew in a long breath of surprise and
delight.
" The present to me always seems ignoble compared
with the past," she stammered out.
" Ah, but isn't that only— only the glamour of time?
After all, the past was the present to the men of those
days, just the same as ours is to us."
" Then you do not think the old days were finer,
more romantic than our times?" asked Miriam. It
was an entirely new idea to her.
The young man smiled — a smile that lit up his face
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THE LADDER
as suddenly as if a lamp had been lighted behind his
eyes. It seemed to express a world of meaning, that
smile — ^pleasant, pleasant experiences stored in his
memory, grand views of a brave and worthy world.
" Not a bit finer or more romantic than the present
time ; men and women and their lives are what make
the interest of the world, and the outward conditions
have little to do with it."
Miriam gave a gasp of interest ; but at this moment
Aunt Pillar broke in upon the conversation.
" Miriam, will you fetch two candles from the pan-
try ? " she said. " The passage is dark, and Miss Eve
wishes to see the old cistern."
When the candles had been fetched and lighted,
Aunt Pillar, with many apologies for preceding her
visitors down the passage, advanced in the direction
of the cistern. Miss Joyce followed close behind the
housekeeper, holding up her beautiful frilled skirts
above wonderful shoes, and Miriam followed her, in
company with Mr. Alan Gore. He walked with his
hand thrust deep down into his pocket — a habit he
had — ^turning when he spoke, and looking down at
her with an amused, pleased expression.
Miriam was in a vast state of excitement, for she
had grasped the fact that she was at this moment, and
for the first time in her life (and probably the last),
talking to one of those distinguished men whose names
one read in the papers, whose speeches were quoted
all over the country ; one of the men who made things
happen in the world. And instead of being difficult to
speak to, this man seemed, as the Bible said, to under-
stand her thoughts afar off. She longed to grasp such
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a golden opportunity, and, of course, failed to do so,
just because she was too eager about it. Probably
never again in life would she be able to exchange a
word with Mr. Alan Gore, and here she was, walking
beside him, tongue-tied and stupid as any schoolgirl.
Gore, on his part, was wondering what sort of crea-
ture this niece of the Joyces* housekeeper could be.
He looked down at her strange, large-featured, immo-
bile face and thought he read something unusual there.
"What books do you read?" he asked suddenly,
without any preamble, taking for granted that she
read.
" I have few books," said Miriam. " There is no
good library at Hindcup-in-the-Fields, and I have read
all the books I can borrow." She could not avoid this
sententiousness which overtakes those who attempt to
reform their original speech.
" I wonder if I could lend you any," Gore began.
But just as this suggestion had fallen from his lips.
Aunt Pillar stood still beside the old cistern and began
to explain the carvings upon it. It took some time
for the visitors to examine these, and then Miss Joyce
suggested that they had seen enough.
" It's dark and drippy down in these cellar places,"
she said. " Come, Mr. Gore, we will ascend into the
upper regions again. Good afternoon, Mrs. Pillar,
and thank you. I'm afraid we have disturbed the quiet
of your Sunday. Good afternoon, Miriam." And she
swept away down the passage without leaving Gore
time for another word with Miriam.
" Here, take one of the candles, and look to your
gown; they do drip dreadful in this draught; better
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put yours out, or your dress will be alla-spot with
grease," said Aunt Pillar. She gathered up her skirts
and stepped off down the passage toward the house-
keeper's room, puffing from her exertions. Miriam
followed slowly, the extinguished candle in her hand.
" I feel like that," she said to herself as she looked
at the cold, black wick — " a flame one minute and then
blown out. I don't suppose he will remember an)rthing
about the books. Miss Joyce said, ' Let us come up
into the upper regions ' ; that also is like me. I remain
down below ; happier people breathe an upper air."
Aunt Pillar's voice broke in upon her melancholy
thoughts :
" You'll be ready for your tea now, Miriam ; I will
be having mine directly. That new kitchen maid is
worritting the life out of me ; never a meal in time. —
It's her duty to set them, you see. — ^I think the stable
boy's courting her, she's that forgetful. I have a
business keeping them all at their work, I can tell
you!"
Miriam followed her aunt into the parlor as if she
walked in a dream, and listened, throughout the meal
that followed, to her aunt's comments on their visitors.
" I daresay it will be a match between them," she
said. " She is a fine-looking young lady, to be sure."
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CHAPTER II
The Sadlers were Wesleyans; that is to say, Mrs.
Sadler was one heart and soul, while her daughter
was one in name only. Twice every Sunday they went
to chapel, and every Sunday evening Mr. Hobbes, the
Wesleyan minister, and his wife came to supper with
the Sadlers, " for it saves Mrs. Hobbes the trouble
of cooking," as Mrs. Sadler invariably remarked, as
each Sunday came round. This recurrence of tiny,
scarcely noticeable incidents often becomes very irk-
some to young creatures ; Miriam found herself wait-
ing for the invariable " it saves Mrs. Hobbes " to come,
and it always came. With changeless regularity, too,
the Hobbeses sat down to the cold Sunday supper,
year in and year out ; Mr. Hobbes said the same long
grace before meat and (so it seemed to Miriam) they
spoke about the same things each night. Now it is not
of the nature of woman to be an Ishmael ; she likes
to conform to the views of those about her; it does
not please her to be in revolt from custom ; but deep
down in this young woman's heart was a savage feel-
ing of revolt from her surroundings. She still went
unresistingly to chapel with her mother, still listened
without dissent to all that Mr. Hobbes said; but she
knew it was not going to be for long — sl time must
come when she would rebel.
This Sunday evening was, of course, no exception
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to the general rule. Miriam had to hurry on the way
home, and arrived hot and tired, just in time to go
to chapel with her mother. A smell of new varnish
filled the building, which had been freshly " done up "
by the local house painter. The walls were a bright
shade of flesh pink, "picked out" at their junction
with the boarding by a floral design in darker red.
The congregation, this fine evening, was small and
sleepy, and Mr. Hobbes tried to awaken the sleepers
by very energetic methods ; his over-emphasis offended
every sensibility of Miriam's nature; but she was a
girl of extremely impartial judgment, and as she lis-
tened to the preacher she kept saying to herself, " Even
though I dislike his style of preaching, I should respect
his beliefs because they are genuine ; he is a good man
in his own way, though it is such an objectionable
way ! " And then, having tried to be impartial, she
would confess her own entire separation of heart from
all Mr. Hobbes's creeds and methods of promulgating
them. As he waxed more and more urgent in appeal,
she felt colder and colder. " This is not God's way,
this is man's way," she said to herself. The hymns,
too, provoked her by their stridency, their urgency,
their familiarity. Only now and again some of the
more old-fashioned verses made a true appeal to her
heart ; then she thought : " I might find God if I were
left alone to find Him, with fine, dignified, worthy
words like these to help me, and without being irri-
tated and disgusted by other people."
One such h3min was sung this evening. Miriam
loved the undecorated short meter of the verse, and
the simple metaphor:
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'' Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand decked in living greoi."
How beautiful it was! Long ago, when she was a
little child, she had cried aloud in chapel during the
singing of this hymn, because she thought it meant
that some awful day, all alone, with no grown person
near to help her, she must wade through the Hindcup
river, which was so terribly black and deep, or else
be forever shut out of heaven. But time had softened
this terrible impression, and she now felt only pleasure
in the beauty of the words, the truth of the imagery.
When this h)rmn had been sung, the benediction was
pronounced, and the heated congregation streamed
out into the cool evening air. Miriam and her mother
always hurried home at a great pace, so as to be ready
to receive Mr. and Mrs. Hobbes. Supper, as I have
said, was cold, but a cup of Symington's Essence of
Coffee (a thick brown liquid, a teaspoonful of which
was poured from a bottle into each cup and filled up
with boiling water) cheered the coldly furnished feast
toward its close.
Conversation during this meal always followed the
same lines — ^the niunber of persons at chapel ; who had
seemed attentive; who inattentive; whether such or
such a preacher was expected shortly in Hindcup—
these were the usual topics. But this evening a remark
from Mrs. Sadler that Miriam had been at the Manor
to see her aunt, provided fresh subject for discussion.
Mr. Hobbes had drawn his chair nearer to the open
window and was enjo3ring his essence of coffee when
Mrs. Sadler imparted this bit of news to him. He
turned at once to Miriam and asked her with a would-
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be sarcastic emphasis whether she had seen anything
of the "big people" at the Manor, adding: "I hear
Mr. Alan Gore arrived there last night; I should like
to see him ; I am afraid that he holds dangerous views."
" He'll be one of those dreadful freethinkers," said
Mrs. Sadler, shaking her head.
" I doubt it is so ; I doubt it is so ; a speech of his
which I saw reported not long ago was strongly fla-
vored with doubt and unbelief."
"Dear, dear!" sighed Mrs. Sadler, and the sigh
over Gore's defections was echoed by both Mr. and
Mrs. Hobbes. Miriam kept her own counsel ; worlds
would not have made her reveal that she had that af-
ternoon spoken with the subject of their animadver-
sions.
" I feel like a dog with a bone whenever I have
anything that I like to think about," she thought. " I
go away and hide it, and only dig it up again when I
am quite alone." She smiled to herself then, and sat
silent. But not for long was she to be let alone.
Mr. Hobbes belonged to what he would himself have
called the aggressive school of Christian workers ; his
motto was " Instant in season and out of season " ; so,