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Page 45 text:
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THE BLUE MOON 41 time looms up too soon of an evening. I have long since passed the six o'clock age, and have attained the zero hour of ten, unknown in former days: and yet it is no easier to stop my work of the day. With firm resolution I start the evening. At nine o'clock I have only started my book, and at nine-thirty its interest has claimed me. At the end of the last chapter I said that I had time for just one more, but I must see how D'Artagnan returns from England: and so it goes. If not a book, then a report. or an unexpected telephone call, or a pair of dirty shoes, by or mending left for several days, abbreviates my sleep. Am I possessed with a little black spirit, whose hand is raised against the hour of ten? Perhaps he is responsible for making my evenings as enjoyable as they are, in order to alleviate my natural desire for rest, For, Was never evening yet But seemed far beautifuller than its day. The warm iireside, a cozy room shadowed by soft lights, a strain of magic melody, the presence of loved ones - this is Milton's grateful ev'ning mild, Another solution of my nightly procrastination is a human desire for the 'Afruit of that forbidden tree. Just as seven o'clock was an unexplored and coveted hour in my six o'clock age, so eleven is for should bej in my ten o'clock age. Does it present any unusual opportunity, which makes it so appealing? Not so: it is only coveted, like most of life's pleasures, because it is precluded, and, when it becomes a possession, it loses its lure. Thus might I keep rambling on, had I not glanced at a timepiece a moment ago, and seen how near to the top the hands have traveled. The little black imp is hard on my trail, but this time he has used the new device of composi- tion to stay me. However, I beg forgiveness to-night, because the culprit is, in truth, the person who gave me such a prolonged assignment. ELIZABETH Wooo, 1932 DISILLUSIONMENT SOME one there was, a star to me, Which shone and sparkled in the night, More bright than any other I could see. It fell, trailing a whitish lane, And left a black and lone expanse. Will ever star shine forth so bright again? ELIZABETH WOOD, 1932
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Page 46 text:
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42 THE BLUE MOON ON PRETENDING TO BE SICK WHEN one reads the Bible, it is as clear as the snow on the housetops that Eve did not get up to be attacked by a raging blizzard and a howling wind. Nor did she have to pretend she was sick when she wanted to sleep longer. During the week I often consider what a relief it would be to get sick and rest for a day or two. Friends would bring Howers and jellies, the telephone would be rung all day long by people inquiring for my health, and at school everybody would miss my sunny presence. Certainly that would be Hthe life ! Although Friday dawned a glorious day, it was so cold that I could not possibly resolve to get up. The wide-open windows were blurred with frost, the bed-clothes exposed to the air were cold as ice, and the snow had swept in on the carpet without melting. I decided that it was time for me to take a day off. When the maid came in to close the windows, I took delight in say- ing, No, Mary, I am not going to get up today. I have a bad cold. The clock slowly moved around to 8:30, and my decision was irrevocable. Soon the telephone would begin to ring, and flowers would arrive. Although twelve o'clock came without the realization of either hope, my spirits soared when I scented the odor of beef-steak and onions rising from the kitchen. I surely was hungry. About half an hour later, when I heard footsteps on the stairs and the clatter of dishes, I propped myself up in bed in preparation for the royal feast. I have never known such disappointment as when I saw on the tray some bouillon with a few saltines, and what a time I had balancing the tray on my knees. Why did I have to be on a liquid diet when I was not really sick after all? Shortly after one o'clock the telephone rang, and I listened to the conver- sation, or monologue I should say. Barbara? Barbara is not feeling well today. fHere I almost ventured to cry out that I had never felt better in my life, but refrained lest the family see through my ruse.j O, I am afraid she cannot. She will be so sorry to have missed your sleighing party, Charles. So that was it. Mother! Mother! I called, but there was no response. What a fool I was to have chosen to stay in bed this one day out of a million. I decided to throw all my fury into the Pythagorean theorem, but after working on it ten minutes, I tossed the book away in disgust, What right did Pythagorus have to invent such a puzzling problem? Like the rest of the Greeks he probably had everything his own way. He did not have to stay in bed all day when he wished to prolong his night's sleep into the morning hours. He always had clear warm weather to inspire him to arise, anyway. How could he have known what it is to miss a sleigh-ride? By supper time I was bored, stiff, and hungry, but I was allowed neither to read the paper, nor to eat any solids for supper, When I was put to bed at seven-thirty, I was fully convinced that it was a very poor idea to take a
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