Fredericksburg College - Quips and Quibbles Yearbook (Fredericksburg, VA)

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QUIPS AND QUIBBLES The Aspen Leaf “Eight now—” His hands were taking hold of the butterfly. “May I serve you, sir?” He threw the net at the intruding interloper, and the butterfly started up in alarm. Christmas bells were ringing. Every heart was filled with the echoes of the glad story. Songs of joy were on every lip. Good will was the motive power which turned the wheels of Christendom. And all was merry and bright. She received a present that morning—a little cube of a box. And packed in blue velvet a sparkling gem lay, transforming the light of the one sun into ten thousand miniature sun-bursts. She stood and gazed wistfully, charmed with its splendor, the same old war in her soul. Which would win this time? The smoke of battle broke from her brow, and from those eyes shot forth once more the gleam of mischief and the excitement of the dare. He received a package the next morning—a little cube of a box, and with it a dainty note redolent of violets: “I don’t accept presents of jewelry—except from my brother. Do you remember him this time?” He cursed the whole order of butterflies. A skating rink. The air intoxicating in its very brilliancy. The ice cracking with frostiness. Nature’s bosom hid in a very net work of snow-crystals, gorgeous in unsullied white, reveling in Winter’s embrace. He was glad with the mere joy of living; she with cheeks Page 89 aglow, tell-tale spots betraying the Wind’s kiss. “Won’t you promise?” “I won’t promise any such thing—I won’t, I won’t.” “Why, that don’t mean anything—I won’t make you obey. You just say so.” “You won’t make me promise to obey! Thank you. Have you ever tried to make me do anything I didn’t want to do?’ ’ “Only once!’ ’ “But you said at Easter; Easter’s just two months off.” “I will be ready tomorrow.” “The man I’m looking for would have said ‘I am ready this moment.’ ” “I am ready this very moment.” “Oh, no, you old parrot!” “No, not a parrot, but a phonograph playing from the record of the sweetest tones ever sung. ’ ’ “My, how smoothly that comes! To how many women have you sighed that out before?” “What smoothness that possesses comes from its repetition again and again as it rings through my head as I ponder over those sweet tones. ’ ’ A slight tremor, and silence for a moment: “You frighten me. I want to go home. Take my skates off ” “You might be more gracious in making your command.” ‘ ‘Take niv skates off. ’ ’ “Won’t you say please?” “No, but I will call the attendant unless you take my skates off right now.” He stooped and unbuckled the skates. “ ‘Love, honor and obey’; yes, you will obey me. The naturalist cleared his whole cabinet of all old specimens. All the space was needed for one beautiful new butterfly. Nature had awakened. Things were growing. Buds were swelling in excess of fullness. Flowers were putting their

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Page 88 The Aspen Leaf mysteries of the woman’s heart beneath the face. “Then why did you write this note?” One quick glance she gave from the fire to his hand; one quick move she made from his hand toward the fire; and the note was feeding the flame. “Now I never wrote you any note!” “But why did you throw my note into the fire?” “Because I wanted to.” “I asked you why you threw my note into the fire.” “Yes, and I have told you why.” ‘ ‘You have told me nothing except ‘because you wanted to. ’ ” “Isn’t that reason enough for you—it was enough for me.” “If you will tell me why you wanted to.” “Because I did, that’s all ” “That reason won’t do.” He became silent; she didn’t break his silence. A seeming eternity passed. The little flame shot up, unconscious of its part in the scene, fluttered and died away in hunger for further food. The diminutive gold and diamond timepiece on the tall white mantle ticked away in rhythmical sweetness, all unconscious that it alone broke the silence. The quarter-hour sounded its silver note; the half-hour marked its close by another chime; the three-quarters passed with one more sweet reminder that time was flying. His eye turned toward the little mentor, and his movement betrayed his impatience; she was exasperating patience itself. The first stroke of the hour sounded: “Must I take that as your final answer?” “Excuse me, what did you say?” “Must I take that as your final answer?” “Must you take what as my final answer?” “You wanted to ‘because you did, that’s all!”’ “Oh, I had forgotten—I was thinking about-something else. Suit yourself about that.” And he never even raised the net to see whether he had caught the butterfly. QUIPS AND QUIBBLES Days passed, they seemed weeks; weeks passed, they seemed months; months passed, they seemed years. Pride, the jealous ruler, had come in and had vanished from his soul Hope, the bright angel. Within her soul a battle waged; on the one side, fear lest he might never come back; on the other, a nature to dare and a resolve to tease; and a strong alliance were these two. In her hand was the balance. Which way would she tip it? The fate of the butterfly was hanging in the balance. A dazzling sea of brilliancy, of splendor, of beauty; and the music was a veritable invitation to the dance. “Stags out,” was called, and how did it happen? The naturalist was by the side of the butterfly. “Who has the next figure?” “I have saved it for you.” Fly, butterfly! A retreat among the palms. The laugh of merriment, the alluring strains of music, the noise of the dancing, came but as echoes from another world. He had lost his tongue; over her was a strange new charm; she was irresistible demureness itself. He looked upon her and found his tongue. “Why did you throw my note into the fire?” “Haven’t- Because I wanted-” He waited; she gave a little laugh: “Haven’t you learned yet to know that a woman can give no reason for anything she does; that it is her innate privilege to do as she pleases, and her will to be accountable for nothing? Don’t you know that when I gave you my reason ‘because’ that was sufficient an answer even if it had been yourself that I threw into the fire? When will you learn to take me as I am—”

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Page 90 QUIPS AND QUIBBLES The Aspen Leaf heads above ground with bold assurance that winter was past. Birds were mating. Blossoms lent fragrance to the moisture¬ laden air. Life was bursting forth on every hand. A church, a fairy-land of flowers; a priest, in festive robes; a gathering, exuberant with joy. The naturalist, the butterfly—which was the happier? “ ‘I pronounce you man and wife: Whom God hath joined together let not man put asunder.’ ” A couple inside a rapidly moving carriage- The naturalist looked triumphantly at the butterfly in his arms. “I have caught you at last!” The butterfly fluttered coyly as if to break loose: “Yes, but what a chase I’ve led you.” F. II. S., ’99 A PRAYED The way seemed long and dark, I struggled with the feelings in my heart Which tried to whisper to me, And I bade them from me to depart. The voice of the tempter murmured— And we know sometimes his tone is sweet— “Child, for you the battle is too hard, You can but perish in your sad defeat; Give up the struggle now for aye, Strive not for what you call the good, Make cease the conflict ’gainst the evil. Then you ' ll be happy, as you should.” Thus far I listened and tempted was, Then o ' er me poured a mighty tide Of shame for harkening thus. And yielding to the tempter at my side. And I shook my shoulders settling Beneath their load of care, And with trusting eyes looked upward, Breathing out this heartfelt prayer— “Father, I am thine own servant, Here to do Thy holy will, Look in pity now upon me, Say unto me ‘Peace, be still ' ; And my soul will loose its burden Which just now so great did seem, And ' twill pass into the distance As the memory of some dream. ' ’ Brighter seemed each thing around, And my path was plain before me, As the birds sang up above, And a great, sweet calm came o ' er me. S. T. L., ’02.