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ADVANCES
IN TRIAZOLE
CHEMISTRY
ADVANCES
IN TRIAZOLE
CHEMISTRY

TAHIR FAROOQ
Assistant Professor,
Department of Applied Chemistry,
Government College University,
Faisalabad, Pakistan
Elsevier
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The Boulevard, Langford Lane, Kidlington, Oxford OX5 1GB, United Kingdom
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No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
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with organizations such as the Copyright Clearance Center and the Copyright Licensing Agency,
can be found at our website: www.elsevier.com/permissions.
This book and the individual contributions contained in it are protected under copyright by the
Publisher (other than as may be noted herein).

Notices
Knowledge and best practice in this field are constantly changing. As new research and experience
broaden our understanding, changes in research methods, professional practices, or medical
treatment may become necessary.
Practitioners and researchers must always rely on their own experience and knowledge in
evaluating and using any information, methods, compounds, or experiments described herein. In
using such information or methods they should be mindful of their own safety and the safety of
others, including parties for whom they have a professional responsibility.
To the fullest extent of the law, neither the Publisher nor the authors, contributors, or editors,
assume any liability for any injury and/or damage to persons or property as a matter of products
liability, negligence or otherwise, or from any use or operation of any methods, products,
instructions, or ideas contained in the material herein.

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ISBN: 978-0-12-817113-4

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Dedication

I dedicate this piece of work to my lovely kids (Zoraiz and Areshva) and late father
who didn’t live long enough to see me prosper.
Preface

Triazoles are five-membered, π-excessive, heteroaromatic ring structures

containing two pyridine-type and one pyrrole-type ring nitrogen atoms.
Both 1,2,3- and 1,2,4-isomers are widespread in biologically active com-
pounds and functional materials, and as a consequence their synthesis, reac-
tivity, and properties are of high interest.
Prior to the pioneering work of Huisgen developing 1,3-dipolar cycloaddi-
tion reactions in the 1960s, synthetic routes to 1,2,3-triazoles were limited and
the products themselves largely unremarked in the chemical literature save for
their high nitrogen content and consequent potential for exothermic decom-
position.That changed with the Munich group’s discovery that 1,2,3-triazoles
can be readily accessed via the thermal, uncatalyzed [3 + 2]-­cycloaddition re-
action between an azide and an alkyne.This reaction, and 1,3-dipolar cycload-
ditions in general, enjoyed high visibility in the organic chemistry community
in part due to interest in understanding the mechanism of the reactions. This
mechanistic interest endured through the 1970s with the advent of frontier
molecular orbital (FMO), and particularly from the 1980s triazoles began to
find applications as constituents of new materials and as synthetic intermedi-
ates such as the acyl benzotriazoles popularized by Katritsky. Then, in 2002,
Meldal and Sharpless independently reported the copper-catalyzed variant
of the azide/terminal alkyne [3 + 2]-cycloaddition—a reaction that became
known as the click reaction. Whereas the thermal azide/alkyne cycloaddition
generally furnishes mixtures of regioisomers, the copper-catalyzed reaction
provides only 1,4-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles in high yields and under mild
conditions. Suddenly, interest in, and application of, triazoles in almost all areas
of chemistry exploded! Notably, as azides and terminal alkynes are largely ab-
sent in living systems, click reactions with unnatural azide and alkyne-tagged
biomolecules proved to be hugely versatile for performing biorthogonal “liga-
tion” or “coupling” processes in biological fluids, with the 1,2,3-triazole link-
age being considered a “bioisostere” for a secondary amide bond. In 2004,
developments in 1,2,3-triazole synthesis came full-circle as Bertozzi intro-
duced strain-promoted, copper-free click reactions of cyclooctyne derivatives
with azides: biorthogonal Huisgen couplings!
Methods for the synthesis of 1,2,4-triazoles are generally via classical
condensation reactions in which one reactant already contains a ­hydrazine
(i.e., NN bond-containing) moiety. The evolution of methods that are

xiii
xiv Preface

increasingly efficient, versatile, and mild and furthermore allow for regi-
oselective introduction of substituents has been fueled by the ubiquity of
these heterocycles in compounds of interest in the pharmaceutical and ag-
rochemical sectors. Medicinal interest in 1,2,4-triazoles has centered on
their antibacterial and antifungal properties with the discovery by Pfizer of
the antifungal blockbuster fluconazole in 1981 being a notable milestone.
The agrochemical sector’s fascination with these “symmetric” triazoles as
herbicides and fungicides was also intense in the 1970s and 80s following
Bayer’s discovery of the cereal protective triazole fungicide triadimefon.
In Advances in Triazole Chemistry,Tahir Farooq guides the reader expertly
through a myriad of methods for the synthesis of triazoles. He explores the
use of 1,2,3- and 1,2,4-triazoles as bioisosteres in medicinal chemistry and
as novel bases in (oligo)nucleotide chemistry. He also reviews the use of
triazoles as components of smart polymers, glycoconjugates, and function-
alized nanomaterials as well as highlighting the role of the triazole motif
in plant growth regulators, in peptidomimetics, in coordination complexes,
and in myriad areas of materials science. It is a feast of chemistry that beau-
tifully illustrates the incredible versatility and power of synthesis to create
new structures with designed properties of utility across a broad swath of
science.
The humble triazole has come a long way in the last 60 years, and this
book provides a great overview of this journey and the plethora of applica-
tions for which this five-membered aromatic heterocycle has proven to be
a critical structural component. It should prove of value to chemists both
wanting to familiarize themselves with this fascinating area of chemistry
and wanting to appraise themselves of latest developments.

Alan C. Spivey, FRSC, FRSB, SFHEA

Professor of Synthetic Chemistry
Assistant Provost (Teaching and Learning)
Office 501C, Molecular Sciences Research Hub (MSRH)
80 Wood Lane, London W12 0BZ
White City Campus, Imperial College London
Contributors

Tahir Farooq
Department of Applied Chemistry, Government College University, Faisalabad, Pakistan
Amjad Hameed
Nuclear Institute for Agriculture and Biology (NIAB), Faisalabad, Pakistan
Arruje Hameed
Department of Biochemistry, Government College University, Faisalabad, Pakistan
Ali Raza
Department of Applied Chemistry, Government College University, Faisalabad, Pakistan

xi
CHAPTER 1

Introduction, Classification, and

Synthesis of Triazoles
Tahir Farooq∗
Department of Applied Chemistry, Government College University, Faisalabad, Pakistan
*Corresponding author. E-mail: tahirfarooqfsd@gmail.com

Introduction
In recent times, heterocyclic chemistry has been recognized as a most chal-
lenging field, but it is still a significantly rewarding forefront because of
heterocycles as the major class in organic chemistry.1 Predominantly, het-
erocycles are found in biologically active pharmaceuticals, agrochemicals,
and most additives and modifiers commonly employed in various industrial
applications. Owing to their incredible capacity to accommodate a diverse
range of substituents around a core structure, in addition to their charac-
teristic structural features, they have always been under keen consideration
of medicinal chemists for the construction of new bioactive compounds.
In connection to this, the design and development of nitrogen-rich het-
erocycles has attracted much interest over the recent past years. Triazoles
are the most promising heterocycles exhibiting a broad spectrum of chem-
ical, agrochemical, and biological properties.2 Ever-increasing worth of this
privileged motif has quickened the development of many facile synthetic
strategies during the last few years.
Triazole is a five-membered heterocycle containing three nitrogen at-
oms at 1, 2, and 3 or 1, 2, and 4 positions. Triazole exists in the following
forms (Figure 1):

1,2,3-Triazoles
Over the past few years, 1,2,3-triazoles have received much attention by
the scientific community as exhibited by its scope of applications in various
disciplines including material science, organometallic, combinatorial, and
synthetic medicinal chemistry as well as in agrochemicals.2–4 Furthermore,
1,2,3-triazolic compounds are extensively used as dyes and related materials,
corrosion inhibitors, optical brightening agents, and also as p­ hotostabilizers.5

Advances in Triazole Chemistry © 2021 Elsevier Inc.

https://doi.org/10.1016/B978-0-12-817113-4.00005-6 All rights reserved. 1
2 Advances in triazole chemistry

Figure 1 Major types of triazoles.

Indeed, their notable stability across a range of severe conditions has acti-
vated their usefulness in pure and applied chemical sciences.6
Some of the structural features advantageously required in the context
of developing drug delivery systems and for nanomedicine have also been
represented by triazole moiety. For example, as a consequence of high ar-
omatic stabilization, they can withstand acid or basic hydrolysis, oxidizing
and or reducing conditions. Similarly, this splendid moiety survives over
a wide scale of pH in various solvents. This has also been exhibited by its
remarkable resistance to various metabolic degradation processes in living
systems (Figure 2).7,8
In fact, the 1,4-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles are not a newly intro-
duced category for medicinal chemists. Before the recent notable develop-
ments in strategies for triazole synthesis, more than 7000 1,4-disubstituted
1,2,3-­triazolic compounds were known with excellent bioactivities.9 They
were known to display a broad spectrum of activities including selective β3
adrenergic receptor inhibition,10 antibacterial,11 anti-histamine activity,12
anti-HIV,13 and potent anti-viral14 properties. Desired improvements in
the pharmacokinetic profiles of antibiotics were achieved by incorporating
a triazole motif. The β-lactamase inhibitory potential of tazobactam was
found to be dependent on the presence of triazole ring.15
In Figure 3 are some of the triazolic drugs that are well-known com-
pounds with their bioactive potential before the advent of modern click
chemistry.9,17,18

Synthesis of 1,2,3-triazoles
The broad utility of 1,2,3-triaoles across a range of scientific disciplines
for the construction of novel molecular architectures has resulted in
procedural modifications and development of new synthetic methods

Figure 2 Types of 1,2,3-triazoles.

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 Introduction, classification, and synthesis of triazoles 3

Figure 3 Triazolic-compounds known before advent of CuAAC.16

for their construction.21 Until recently, thermal 1,3-dipolar [3 + 2]-cy-

cloaddition of alkyne and azide was considered a premier method for
the synthesis of 1,2,3-triazoles originally explored by Huisgen during
the years 1950 to 1970.22,23 He thoroughly explored the potential of
1,3-dipolar [3 + 2]-cycloaddition by using alkynes and azides with a
diverse variety of substituents.22 However, these reactions are non-­
selective and usually produce a mixture of 1,4- and 1,5-regioisomers,
because differently substituted azides and alkynes produce no directing
effect (Scheme 1).22 Furthermore, as demonstrated by the following
examples, these reactions require higher temperatures and longer reac-
tion times.

Regioselective approach for 1,4-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles

In 2002, both Sharpless24 and Meldal25 groups observed a remarkable
acceleration of [3 + 2]-cycloadditions of terminal alkyne and organic
azides by up to 107 times by introducing Cu(I) salts as catalysts with-
out higher temperature requirements (Scheme 2).26,27 More importantly,
copper-(I)-catalyzed cycloadditions became regioselective and afford only
1,4-regioisomer with minimum or no work-up involvement.24 These
high-yielding regioselective cycloadditions with a capacity to tolerate a
range of substituents are regarded as the “cream of the crop”.28 However,
Cu(I)-catalysis failed to favor the [3 + 2]-cycloadditions of internal alkynes
with organic azides.
4 Advances in triazole chemistry

Scheme 1 Non-selective thermal 1,3-dipolar cycloaddition reactions.19,20

Scheme 2 Cu(I)-catalyzed alkyne azide cycloaddition reactions.

One can perceive observable differences in yields and regioselectivity by

comparing the following copper-catalyzed reactions with their aforemen-
tioned thermal version (Scheme 3).
Following the distinguished efforts of Sharpless and Meldal, various re-
ports described the synthesis of 1,4-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles with differ-
ent modes to generate active Cu(I) species, as Cu(II) failed to catalyze the
cycloaddition reactions. In this connection, different copper(I) salts,25 in-
situ reduction of copper(II),24 and comproportionation of Cu(II) and Cu(0)
were commonly practiced approaches.31 Such efforts have always been ad-
opted to achieve perfection of copper-based catalysis systems (Scheme 4).

Regioselective synthesis of 1,5-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles

The researchers focused the regioselective synthesis of 1,5-disubstituted
1,2,3-triazole after the successful development of CuAAC regioselective
approach for the synthesis of 1,4-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles. Although
according to one existing procedure, the 1,5-regioisomer could be synthe-
sized as a major product by the reaction of bromomagnesium acetylide with
organic azides (Scheme 5).32 However, this method was found limited in
scope and lost its versatility.
 Introduction, classification, and synthesis of triazoles 5

Scheme 3 Copper(I)-catalyzed [3 + 2]-cycloaddition.29

Scheme 4 Mechanistic explanation proposed for Cu(I)-catalyzed cycloaddition.30

Scheme 5 Reaction of bromomagnesium acetylide with organic azides.

6 Advances in triazole chemistry

In 2005, the Sharpless group33 again came up with excellent development

regarding the regioselective synthesis of 1,5-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles.
According to this new methodology, Ru(II)-catalysts direct 1,3-dipolar cy-
cloaddition of azides and alkynes (RuAAC) to produce a complimentary
regioisomer, the 1,5-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazole as an exclusive product
(Schemes 6 and 7). Furthermore, Ru(II) complexes catalyzed the cycload-
ditions of both terminal and internal alkynes with organic azides while Cu-
catalysis supported cycloadditions of terminal alkynes only.33
According to the given mechanism, initial coordination of alkyne and
azide gives intermediate A, oxidative coupling gives ruthenacycle B or C,
and reductive elimination leads to 1,5-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazole as an ex-
clusive product (Scheme 8).33,35
In general, the copper(I)-catalyzed cycloaddtions are not influenced by
steric or electronic properties of substituents attached to alkynes or azides.
So, alkynes with a variety of substituents react well with azides also carrying
different substituents including electron-deficient or electron-rich groups;
aliphatic, aromatic, or heterocyclic substituents; and primary, secondary, or
tertiary group.30
While structural features of azides could significantly affect the outcome
of Ru-catalyzed 1,3-dipolar cycloaddtions in terms of regioselectivity and
catalytic efficiency, the nature of alkynes never influence such reactions.33

Scheme 6 Ru(II)-catalyzed alkyne azide cycloaddition reactions.

Scheme 7 Ru(II)-catalyzed [3 + 2]-cycloaddition.33,34

 Introduction, classification, and synthesis of triazoles 7

Scheme 8 Proposed mechanism for Ru(II)-catalyzed cycloaddition.

1,4,5-Trisubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles
Ru-catalyzed synthesis of 1,4,5-trisubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles
In addition to earlier well-explained, regioselective, Ru-catalyzed methodol-
ogy for the synthesis of 1,5-disubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles, Sarpless group also
reported the synthesis of 1,4,5-trisubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles. Initially, they
presented the following single case with symmetrical alkyne (Scheme 9).
In 2006, Weinreb35 and his team further explored the scope and gener-
ality of the ruthenium-catalyzed cycloadditions of unsymmetrical alkynes
and alkyl azides (Scheme 10).
As indicated by this outcome, it was observed that during the synthesis
of 1,4,5-trisubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles, the substitution patterns of electron-
ically or sterically biased unsymmetrical alkynes principally control the re-
gioselectivity of the product. However, no rational explanation was given
explaining the regioisomeric ratios.

Scheme 9 1,4,5-Trisubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles from symmetrical alkynes.

Scheme 10 1,4,5-Trisubstituted 1,2,3-triazoles from unsymmetrical alkynes.

Exploring the Variety of Random
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hands. It might kill an invalid to cry like that. If they knew, they
would never let her in again. What if Big Bell should come in now—
or Mr. Langley? How angry he would be! Anna hadn’t supposed he
had it in him until she had heard his voice to-day. He was probably
thinking then that it would be a shock to his wife, and that she was
a hateful thing not to have thought of it.
Poor Mrs. Langley! Her shoulders were shaking. Anna went closer
and put her arm about her gently.
“Don’t cry. Don’t feel badly about me, Mrs. Langley,” she begged
softly. “It’ll grow out again. I’m awfully sorry, but honest and true, I
couldn’t help it.”
Mrs. Langley uncovered her face.
“Couldn’t help it?” she repeated wonderingly, adding with more spirit
than she had ever exhibited before since Anna had known her. “Do
you mean that someone cut it off by force and stole it? O, Anna, if
they did that, I’ll have Mr. Langley put them in prison right away!”
Anna couldn’t help laughing. But she said to herself it wasn’t bad for
Mrs. Langley to believe her husband was Charley-on-the-spot,
whether he really was or not.
“Well, no’m, not just that,” she said, “but——”
“But what?” demanded the invalid rather sharply.
“I haven’t told anyone yet,” replied Anna softly. “I just let them think
that I—just did it, you know, and that I like it better. I thought they
wouldn’t mind so much as if they really knew. But I’ll tell you if you
want me to.”
Mrs. Langley gazed at the girl wonderingly. Anna was pale and there
were bluish shadows under her eyes which looked very big and
rather wistful to-day. Already Mrs. Langley began to feel that if she
could but forget that shimmering mass of gold about her shoulders
of a week since, she might like her even better as she was now. The
short locks curled so gracefully and stood out so picturesquely about
her little face and slender throat that her head was like a bright,
loose-petalled flower upon its stem.
“Do tell me about it, Anna, if you’re not too tired,” she said wistfully,
endeavoring rather vainly to soften her harsh voice. “No, don’t sit
there, poor child. You shall have this soft rocking chair for your sharp
little bones.” And before Anna realised what she was doing, she had
risen and forced the girl into her own padded rocker.
Of course Anna would not keep it, but she drew another close. She
rather shrank from making the explanation; but she said to herself
sagely that it might do Mrs. Langley good to hear it, and it might
forward a certain scheme she had in mind—a wonderful plan that
was to crown all her endeavors and make everyone happy.
Apparently it hadn’t hurt her to cry, for she had hopped out of that
rocking chair and whisked her into it as nimbly and neatly as any
strong person could have done. She should worry!
“Well, Mrs. Langley, you see I found my friend Bessy very bad off,”
she began. “It was all very sad because Joe her husband wasn’t long
dead, and there was the baby, little Joe, Junior, and her chum Hazel
sticking by her through everything and supposing she had lost her
job, though they took her back again. I slept with Hazel Monday
night and woke up towards morning and found her crying. It seemed
that Bessy had enough laid up to bury her; but she’d been sick so
long that Hazel had just had to break into it, what with medicine and
the baby’s milk, and of course she had to have something to eat
herself or she couldn’t have done for Bessy. And here it was almost
gone, and Bessy didn’t know it had been touched, and was feeling
so secure about it. You might not think anyone would mind, Mrs.
Langley, but there’s something frightful in the idea of being buried
by charity.”
“I suppose so,” Mrs. Langley assented absently.
“Charity down there doesn’t mean what it does with us, you see,—
public charity isn’t like the charity of the Bible, you know.”
Mrs. Langley nodded impatiently.
“Well, I managed to get Hazel chirked up so that she went to sleep,
and I lay staring at the smoky ceiling and wondering what to do.
Then suddenly I had a hunch. And the very first thing in the morning
I went down to Mason and Martin’s and talked with a woman in the
hair goods I used to know that had first put me wise about such
things. She gave me a tip and the people she sent me to offered me
sixty-five dollars for my hair—the braid was almost a yard long and
about as thick at one end as at the other, you know. Then I went
back and told Hazel I could get sixty-five dollars for her at any
moment. She thought it was a diamond ring or family jewels I could
put in soak, which wouldn’t of course mean much at a time like that,
and she cheered right up. And Bessy seemed to feel a change and to
be really better, and we all talked about old times in the store and
laughed a lot. But that was Bessy’s last day. She died in the night. In
the morning I went down—and got the money.”
Unconsciously the girl drew a deep sigh even as she forced a little
plaintive smile. Mrs. Langley sighed yet more deeply. She wasn’t
sufficiently practical to ask any of the obvious questions or to
suggest the alternatives with which others were to confront and
confound the girl even though they were quite futile now that the
deed was done.
“It was good of you, Anna,—it was a beautiful thing to do,” she
acknowledged, “only I am afraid you will be sorry.”
“I should worry. It will be good for me, and a lot less strain on the
looking glasses,” the girl owned, shrugging her shoulders. “And
anyhow, Mrs. Langley, I never could be sorry, after seeing real things
like I saw there: Bessy only barely two years older than I and Hazel
just my age, and—O, I’m so thankful it was so long and not thin and
that I had sense to think of it in time. Honest and true, I don’t
believe I could ever be happy again or sleep nights if we had had to
call in—outsiders. But you never could understand that without
being right there.”
Mrs. Langley sighed again.
“Of course I shall sort of miss it,” Anna rattled on. “I used to brush it
at night, have it all over me, you know, and Rusty would tease me.
And I simply loved the feel of that fat braid flopping about. But it’s
just as well, for I sha’n’t have so much time now.”
“You look—O, Anna, at this moment you look just as my baby would
have looked when she began to run about!” cried Mrs. Langley
almost enthusiastically. “But please don’t put on your hat now. You
have only just come.”
“I really must. Ma thought I ought not to come at all, but I felt as if I
must get it over—about my hair, you know.”
“Then you’re staying at home,” remarked Mrs. Langley with her
occasional acuteness as to the present moment. “When do you go
back to Miss Penny?”
The girl hesitated. “Not for some little time, Mrs. Langley.”
It would have seemed that Mrs. Langley must have asked the
desired question. But the invalid was thinking of herself.
“O Anna, how very nice! You won’t be nearly so busy, then, and can
get over here oftener. I wish you would come regularly in the middle
of the week, too. Can you?” she asked promptly.
Anna sighed. “The fact is, I’m going to be a heap busier—that’s why
I’m staying at home,” she returned obscurely. “But Mrs. Langley,
some of the ladies would just love to drop in to see you.”
“Anna Miller, I don’t know what you are thinking of,” Mrs. Langley
complained feebly, falling back in her chair. “I have been an invalid
since my baby died. I couldn’t endure seeing anyone.”
“You see me.”
“That’s very different. Besides, you took an interest in my baby’s
grace. No one else did that. Even the baby’s father——”
“O Mrs. Langley,” Anna interrupted quickly, “Mr. Langley doesn’t—
he’s a real true-blue Christian, you know. He doesn’t think of Ella
May as dead, and so——”
“Never mind that. But I wish that if you aren’t going back to Miss
Penny’s you’d come right here and stay all the time.”
Anna could scarcely restrain a groan. “I’m needed at home,” she said
briefly and drew her jacket together. But after all, the real business
of her call hadn’t been touched upon.
“You knew that there was a baby, too—little Joe, Junior?” she asked.
Mrs. Langley assented without interest.
“He was left pretty much alone, poor little lamb, wasn’t he?”
“I suppose the girl Hazel would look after him?”
Anna’s eyes flashed. “She makes seven dollars and a half a week—
that’s every penny she has to live on. Even if she could work with
him on her hands, she couldn’t buy his milk with what was left each
week.”
“O, I see. I suppose she will put him in an orphan asylum?”
“Orphan asylum nothing!” cried Anna and waited a minute. Then as
Mrs. Langley did not speak she said casually: “I brought him home
with me.”
Mrs. Langley sat up straight. “Anna Miller!” she exclaimed.
“There was nothing else to do and anyhow I wanted to. The little
beggar needs fresh air and sunshine and—Farleigh.”
“You don’t mean that you’re going to keep him?” Mrs. Langley
protested.
Anna’s heart sank. She had truly decided to bring the baby home
because there had seemed no alternative. But no sooner was she
out of the sadness and confusion and settled in the train than she
had realised the fitness, the inevitability of her action. She was
bringing the baby straight to Mrs. Langley. A baby was exactly what
Mrs. Langley needed and wanted and what Mr. Langley would enjoy
most of anything. If she had chosen, she would probably have had a
girl, but she wasn’t sure that that wouldn’t have been a mistake.
And though Anna, who was wild over all young creatures, was
attached to little Joe already, she decided to hand him over to Mrs.
Langley as soon as the transfer could be affected. But even before
she had come to the parsonage to-day, she had realised that it
wasn’t altogether the simple matter it would seem to be and that it
wasn’t to be accomplished without finesse. Still she had expected
one visit to finish the negotiations,—and she had nearly missed
mentioning it at all!
“I hardly know,” she faltered. “That is, I’m going to keep him of
course until I find a good home for him. I’d like to keep him always
only—ma wasn’t so tremendously pleased to have him added to her
family, and of course I wouldn’t have dreamed of taking him to Miss
Penny’s though she would have taken him in forever if I had said the
word. However, I own that it was something of a surprise to ma—
springing the baby on her at the same time she saw my Sampson-
Delilah hair-cut. But heaps of people would give their heads to get a
nice baby ready-made just at the cunning age, or nearly, and with
the worst of his teething over.”
She waited anxiously. Mrs. Langley only stared at her.
“People that haven’t any children or people that have lost children,—
lost them when they were babies, ought to jump at such a chance,”
she went on, longing to have Mrs. Langley ask some question,
however reluctantly, concerning the child. But the invalid held up a
protesting hand.
“Anna! I would never have believed that you would speak in that
unfeeling way about—the loss of a baby!” she cried.
“I didn’t mean to,” said Anna quickly. “I just wanted—perhaps Mr.
Langley might know of some good home where they would take in
the little fellow. Would you mind telling him about little Joe and
asking him?”
“Mind! Of course I would mind, Anna Miller! I—I never could get
through it!”
“Then I suppose I shall have to see him myself,” remarked Anna
tentatively.
“Anna, Mr. Langley is an overworked man,” said his wife rather
surprisingly. “He has a great deal to do as chairman of the school
committee, besides all his church business. Don’t go to him with any
such thing as that. And—O Anna, don’t say anything more about it
to me. Don’t mention the matter at all when you come next
Saturday—or Wednesday, if you can come on Wednesday. I’m all
upset.”
 CHAPTER X
IN the confusion and excitement which prevailed at the two houses
in the South Hollow in which this narrative is concerned, Alice
Lorraine’s secret perturbation either remained unnoticed or was
attributed to the cause which affected them all. But very shortly Mrs.
Lorraine, who had come out of her shell almost unbelievably in her
week of companionship with Miss Penny, so that now in the crisis
she was a very tower of strength not only to Miss Penny but to the
Miller household as well, began to be greatly troubled by her
daughter’s demeanour. She had rejoiced at the manner in which the
girl had bloomed under Anna’s influence, and had been amazed not
only at her capacity for learning and power of adaptability but at the
generous warmth and sweetness of her nature. She had believed
that a real transformation had taken place. Wherefore she was the
more disappointed to discover that, at a moment of crisis, Alice
really wasn’t the useful, helpful, sympathetic, understanding girl she
had seemed. Anna’s arrival, shorn of her wonderful hair and
accompanied by the strange, unattractive, almost uncanny baby, had
upset Miss Penny’s household and all but devastated the Millers’. And
Alice, who might have cheered the former immensely and have been
of great service in restoring equanimity to the other, seemed
completely unstrung by the excitement and a subject rather than a
source of aid.
On Saturday morning, when she caught sight of Alice, who supposed
herself alone, wringing her hands as she stood by a window of the
living-room looking north, Mrs. Lorraine sighed and said to herself, in
Anna’s expressive phrase, that it seemed to be ‘up to’ her. And
summoning all her powers, some of which had been awakened of
late and others which had lain dormant almost all her life, Henrietta
Lorraine started in good earnest to bring some sort of order out of
chaos.
She began with Miss Penny. It did not take long to reconcile that
philosophical and optimistic little lady to the loss of the yard of silken
tresses; and after a bit Mrs. Lorraine convinced her that Anna would
soon pick up again now that she was at home, would regain at least
as many pounds as she seemed to have lost, and would lose the
hurt, mournful look that close association with death in such sad
circumstances had left in her merry eyes. Moreover, the care of the
baby need not fall wholly upon her. There were plenty of people
about to help.
“The fact is, Mrs. Lorraine, Anna knows of people that will take the
child,” Miss Penny owned. “That’s the queer part of it—she wanted a
baby for these very people. Of course, she wouldn’t have had—but
after this afternoon—it’s Saturday, you know—I can probably tell you
all about it. And—O Mrs. Lorraine, I hope you won’t feel that you
must leave me right away. I have enjoyed having you here so much.
And it is such a relief to have an older person to talk to now all this
has happened. Dear me! it’s almost like having Reuben back—and I
have only known you a week.”
Mrs. Lorraine smiled. “We will stay as long as you are alone, Miss
Penny,” she assured her. “There is nothing to call us back after all to
that bare little cottage.”
“Then—O Mrs. Lorraine, why not spend the winter with me?” Miss
Penny cried eagerly. “It would make me so happy. You could have a
separate sitting-room, if you liked and—O, you would be here
Christmas to see Reuben! And Anna ought to be at home while
Rusty’s away, anyhow. It is so hard on her mother lending her to
me. I feel troubled about it all the time—and yet, I cannot get on
alone. And of course I would pay Alice just as I do Anna so that it
needn’t make any difference and you can do your embroidery as well
here as—O Mrs. Lorraine, we could get back my other cow and
make butter! We both love to do it and I am sure you could make
more money in that way and—O don’t say no! Dear me! I wish Mr.
Langley would come in!”
“I won’t say no, and I will think it over. And we will stay on anyhow
until Anna gets rested, and so we may as well get the cow back in
the shed and begin making butter,” returned Mrs. Lorraine quietly
though not without secret excitement.
At dinner, Alice could not eat and her mother was distressed.
Afterwards she persuaded Miss Penny to lie down and then told Alice
to go to her room to rest. Not long afterwards the girl appeared in
the living-room in her prettiest suit with a jaunty little hat over her
dark plaits. Mrs. Lorraine looked up in some surprise.
“You are going out, Alice?”
“Yes, mother, I want—I am going for a walk. I think—I will walk
down to the cottage and bring back—some things.”
“But I can’t go with you and I don’t like your going into that empty
house alone.”
“O it’s perfectly safe. They say it’s safe everywhere about Farleigh,”
murmured Alice uneasily.
“Alice, you must not do it,” declared Mrs. Lorraine with new decision
—for it was wise and kind and motherly.
“Very well, I won’t go in,” said Alice in an odd voice.
Her mother looked at her. “You are restless, dear. You are more
upset, now, over Anna’s escapade even than Miss Penny at her age.
You feel as if you wanted to get away from everything for a little and
I don’t blame you. But—we can’t do that any more, dear, you and I.
That is what we have always done, though it isn’t your fault. And
anyhow we have to make up now. Let me tell you what to do. Miss
Penny says Anna feels obliged to go over to the parsonage this
afternoon. Suppose you go over to the Millers’ and stay until she
comes back? You can help take care of the baby. You’d like that,
wouldn’t you?”
“I’ll go right over,” said Alice, and would have started but her mother
arrested her.
“Hadn’t you better change your suit, Alice? To-morrow is Sunday,
and if you get it creased there’d be no chance to press it to-night.”
Already Alice had expended considerable nervous energy on the
subject of her dress. At one moment, she had felt as if she should
don her poorest gown out of consideration for the shabbiness of the
stranger. Again, that had seemed a shabby thing to do and she had
decided to wear her most attractive things to accord, not with the
stranger’s garb but with his manner and bearing. Then she would
think of the dusty shop and waver. She might never have any more
new clothes and perhaps it was foolish to risk spoiling a really
handsome suit for the sake of making a good appearance before a
stranger whom she didn’t know whether she liked and whom she
would probably never see after to-day.
Then she said that she knew that she liked him. And besides, she
had to have excitement after having had that beautiful, romantic
image of Dick Cartwright so cruelly shattered before her eyes. She
didn’t know how she should bear that if it wasn’t for looking forward
to seeing John Converse. And she would see him again after to-day.
She would have to—for she meant to help him in his quest. And to-
day she was to be as nice as she knew how to be and as interested
in helping him plan, and she would also look as well as it was in her
power to look, so that altogether it would seem pleasant to him or
not boresome to see her again.
She said now to her mother that she would be careful not to muss
her skirt, and Mrs. Lorraine did not protest further. But she breathed
a sigh of relief as she saw her at the Miller’s gate. She felt that Alice
would be all right after an hour with the baby. For though he wasn’t
a very attractive baby, he appealed to Mrs. Lorraine. He was quiet,
he didn’t cry nor fuss, and he was a baby-creature.
But he wasn’t to have a chance that day. For not long after, the two
girls left the house together. Alice had explained that her mother
sent her over to help but that she had planned to go to the cottage
to get the keys she had left there the day before. Anna declared that
the baby was asleep and that there was nothing to do, and begged
her to come along and tell her on the way of what had happened
during her absence.
“I can’t get a sane, sensible word out of anyone. Braids of yellow
hair and orphan babies are the only subjects people will mention to-
day,” she added drolly and yet a bit plaintively. “And I’m fed up with
the matter of yellow hair, and if I am going to talk about babies, it’s
with people that appreciate their fine points better than anyone I
have seen thus far.”
As they parted at the lane, Alice begged Anna not to say anything
about her having come to the cottage. Anna assented without
question and went on to the parsonage.
Alice Lorraine stole softly up the lane. There was no one in sight and
no sound. She was earlier than the hour she had named and she
went round the house and sat down on the step of the kitchen
porch. After a little she stole part way down the overgrown path to
the shop and back again. The shop looked as empty as the house,—
nay, emptier. The girl was convinced that there was no one there.
And her heart grew cold at the thought that four o’clock might come
and yet bring no one.
Suppose he shouldn’t come? John Converse had the key not only to
the shop but to the house. Suppose he had been—well, the sort of
person her mother, for example, might guess him to be upon
hearing the story? He wasn’t, but—something might have happened.
He might be ill at the hotel at Marsden Bridge or—any number of
things might have happened to prevent his coming. And he had the
keys! Suppose her mother should want to get into the cottage to-
morrow?
The girl rose and ran swiftly but quietly to the shop. Her heart was
in her mouth as she knocked softly on the door, so softly that the
sound wouldn’t have been heard from the porch she had just left.
The door opened and the stranger held it wide for her.
Another stranger to-day! And it wasn’t only the dear light that made
the difference. John Converse might have been another person from
the man of yesterday. He was dressed well,—almost elegantly.
Certainly his suit, though it had a sack coat, was of fine material and
good make and he wore a silk shirt and jaunty tie as if he were used
to such informal elegance; and all the accessories were in keeping
down to his neat shoes. He was not less thin nor pale—his face was
almost cadaverous in the stronger light. But his eyes were merry and
full of life, his rather large, thin-lipped mouth puckered with
amusement at her wonderment, and there was a boyish eagerness
about him that was flattering and very grateful to the girl’s perturbed
spirit.
They shook hands gravely.
“It is more than good of you to come,” he said.
Alice Lorraine gave a little cry.
“Why, what have you done!” she exclaimed and looked about her as
if frightened.
“Won’t you sit down and take in the magnificence at your ease?” he
asked with a whimsical charm which seemed native to him. And
Alice dropped into the large and comfortable wooden chair he
indicated which was not only free from dust but had apparently been
scrubbed clean.
Likewise the whole place. The room had been cleared of rubbish and
transformed by the magic of strong, eager hands and soap and
water to a quaintly attractive sitting-room. The bareness added to its
apparent size. Odd bits of hand-made furniture were disposed
gracefully about and every natural comeliness made the most of.
Even the stairway added something to the general attractiveness. A
bit of old rug lay before it and another at the door. The windows had
a strip of dark cloth above for a blind and a white curtain over the
lower sash. A small sheet-iron stove, still rusty, but clean, warmed
the place and held a tiny kettle in which the water was boiling. A
stand in the corner was covered by a white tea cloth, apparently just
out of the shop, and held a tea pot and two cups, which were also
new and gaudily pretty, and a plate of sweet biscuit.
“O Mr. Converse, you are a wizard surely!” cried the girl. “I really
believe that you could turn yourself into whatever you wished. You
could be an old gypsy woman or a fat man with bright-red hair and
could walk the streets of Farleigh by day.”
He laughed. “It was soap and water and elbow grease that did this.
I am afraid they wouldn’t presto-change me so easily.”
Then suddenly he paled. “Nevertheless, I have seen the time when
soap and water might have worked wonders with me,” he declared
bitterly. Alice looked at him in consternation.
“Pardon me. It was awfully good of you to come,” he said in another
tone. “I hoped you would, and I believed you would unless you were
prevented. And really——”
“You will stay right here now that you have made it so comfortable,
won’t you?” Alice asked eagerly.
“O, I didn’t do it for that. I wanted to have a decent place for you to
come to,” he said, boyishly ingenuous. Despite his gaunt face, which
was also lined, and his grey hair, he was really youthful as he spoke.
“What a lot of work for a person you never saw but once,” she said.
“I felt last night—when we saw Mr. Langley, you know—that we
hadn’t settled anything—I mean, I thought I might help you—tell
you about people or find out about those I don’t know—but——”
She paused. “I’m talking for all the world like Miss Penny,” she
owned. “What I mean to say is that I am glad I did manage to
arrange to see you to-day and that I was able to get away. And I am
glad you have done this because it will make it comfortable for you.
You can stay here as long as you choose—make it your
headquarters.” And she went on to say that she and her mother
were to remain at the Hollow for some time.
“You will stay, won’t you?” she begged.
“It would be perfectly bully if I could,” he cried eagerly. “I could—
well, reconnoiter from here in grand style.”
But as he referred to his purpose in this region, the boyish look fled
and he looked sad and perhaps old. And Alice remembered Enoch
Arden and her heart ached for him.
But he was a boy again as he made the tea, served her, and sat
down with his own cup. Alice, too, was a younger girl than she
would have been if she had never known Anna Miller. They dallied
happily over the ceremony and afterwards went to the top of the
stair so that Alice might see the change in the upper chamber, which
was as wonderful as that below. The upper room, indeed, with its
tent roof, beams, rafters and brick chimney, its window at either end
and its built-in benches was more attractive than the lower. Alice
rather hoped John Converse would suggest their sitting there, but he
did not, and they returned to their chairs in the lower apartment to
begin finally upon the real business of the afternoon.
“I don’t really know how to start out,” Alice remarked. “The people I
know best are Miss Penny and the Miller family.”
“In my day there were no Millers in Farleigh—except the moth
millers,—dusty-millers, we used to call them. I remember Miss
Penny, however,—a little old maid who always came to church. She
drove a fat pony. I suppose that is dead long ago?”
“I’m learning to drive him. I feed him sugar every day,” said Alice.
“But I am wasting time. Suppose you ask me questions.”
“Well, suppose you tell me a bit more about that Cartwright fellow
you mentioned yesterday.”
Alice paled. She didn’t want to think of Dick Cartwright now.
“I was all wrong,” she said in a low, pained voice. “He wasn’t good.
He was—O, a dreadful man.”
“Why Miss Lorraine! what do you mean?” he asked. And she thought
he had noticed her secret pain.
“I can’t tell you what he did. Mr. Langley told me in confidence and I
really ought not to say anything,” she returned sadly. “Mr. Langley’s
the only one who—well, he’s very anxious that this Richard
Cartwright should be forgotten.”
“But I thought—didn’t you tell me yesterday that Mr. Langley was
this man’s friend?”
“O yes. But this is on account of the son, Reuben. He’s a fine boy,
everyone says, and he’s in college. Mr. Langley doesn’t want him to
know how bad his father was. And he doesn’t want people to be
thinking and talking of him for fear—well, he says it is best that he
be forgotten.”
“I told you I knew Mr. Langley once. I should have thought of him as
being faithful to the end of things,” he said bitterly.
“He was faithful to the end of things,” the girl rejoined warmly. “He
——”
“Nonsense. There’s no such thing to-day as faithfulness,” he
declared bitterly.
Afterwards, as she lay in her bed at night—Alice remembered Enoch
Arden and wondered if he had learned of his wife’s unfaith and that
had made him so bitter. At this moment, however, the girl was too
wrought up to think of aught but the matter under discussion.
“There is, too. There is—ever so much!” she cried hotly.
“Not at all. One faces this way—a tiny breath of wind, and round
goes the weather-cock!”
“I should think—” the girl began indignantly. She didn’t pause
because she didn’t exactly know what it was she should think but
because he was looking at her with a strange, half-hurt, half-angry
look in his eyes.
“Even you, Miss Lorraine,—pardon me, but aren’t you really an
example? Wasn’t it only yesterday that you were saying that it
wasn’t fair that this man who had loved music and planned higher
things than his weakness could fulfill should be utterly forgotten
because he ran amuck when his head was turned by grief? And to-
day—apparently you can’t think badly enough of him!”
The girl’s heart throbbed wildly. A flaming colour came to her cheeks
giving her real beauty.
“Well, you yourself!” she cried hotly. “You—you said nasty things
yesterday about Dick Cartwright and now, to-day, one would think
he was your best——”
Suddenly she stopped. She was aware of a disturbance from
without. Someone was calling her name and banging on the door of
the cottage. Now she realised that it had been going on some time
and she had been vaguely aware of it. She sprang to her feet, her
face horror-stricken. Her mother had come for her!
 CHAPTER XI
ANNA reached home worn and fatigued on that Saturday afternoon
only to learn that Alice Lorraine was still absent. Without the
knowledge of anyone, she slipped out and returned to the lane. It
was she whom Alice heard pounding on the kitchen door.
Recognizing Anna, Alice clasped her in a hysterical embrace.
“I thought it was—mother!” she sobbed.
“Good heavens! is her mother such an ogre as all that!” Anna said to
herself. Aloud she said lightly: “What, with my bobbed hair? I like
that. No, Alice my child, your mother is waiting for you to join her at
supper, and we must hike. Don’t cry any more and they won’t know.
They’ll think it’s from running—for we’d better run.”
Something in her brave, tired voice went to Alice’s heart. She kissed
her warmly.
“I’ll run, Anna dear, but you take your time,” she bade her. But Anna
stood firm. And though they did not run, they walked fast and were
not long in reaching the Hollow. Just before they came to Miss
Penny’s, Alice spoke with effort.
“Anna, I want awfully to get down to the cottage to-morrow. Do you
suppose I can?”
“It won’t be so easy, being Sunday. Could you possibly wait until
Monday?” Anna asked in troubled tone.
“O Anna, not possibly!” cried the other girl vehemently, remembering
her parting with John Converse. For they had been interrupted in the
midst of what was virtually a quarrel. Alice felt as if she could not
possibly let a day go by without seeing him and straightening it out.
Besides, if he didn’t see her to-morrow he might feel that she was
offended, or that it had been her mother and she had forbidden her
to come near again.
“All right. We’ll fix it somehow,” Anna assured her, and asked Alice if
she wished her to go in with her.
“O Anna, if you would!” cried Alice, throwing her arm about her and
embracing her warmly.
Thereafter for many days Anna Miller had an additional burden upon
her shoulders—the burden of Alice Lorraine’s mystery. The change in
Alice which was inexplicable to Anna but which seemed painfully
obvious, she tried to keep from the knowledge of others as she
endeavored to cover up her secret visits to the cottage she and her
mother had occupied. She did this cheerfully and willingly, but her
heart was heavy. For Alice did not seem happy at all. She seemed
nervous and apprehensive, so that Anna feared the secret she was
helping her to conceal was anything but a pleasant one.
But for this, Anna would have been serene. For Mrs. Langley’s
unexpected behaviour in respect to the baby troubled her less and
less as the days passed. She still expected to hand the child over to
the household at the parsonage on some fine day, but she was
ready to wait. Indeed, but for the fact that the care of little Joe
during school hours fell upon her mother, she would have been glad
to wait indefinitely.
And as it was, the girl had never been so happy with anyone or
anything as she was with this forlorn baby orphan. No one shared
her enthusiasm in any considerable measure. Alice Lorraine went
into ecstasies over little Joe by fits and starts and then forgot all
about him. Mrs. Lorraine was becoming attached to him, and Anna’s
father and the boys took kindly to him. But Mrs. Miller disapproved
thoroughly of the whole affair,—the only instance of her disapproval
Anna had known since her return home. And she remained
unresigned to her part of minding little Joe when Anna was at
school, though he slept a good part of the time and for the rest was,
she had to own, as little trouble as a child could be. She even
confessed, when pressed, that he was hardly more bother than a
kitten.
This was not exaggeration. Joe, Junior, occasioned little trouble. On
the other hand, he paid as little in the coin of babyhood for such
trouble as he gave as could any human being at his interesting age.
Not only was he not irresistible but he was quite negligible, unless,
indeed, he aroused vague irritation in the mind of the beholder
because of his utter want of attractiveness. He was thin and scrawny
and sallow; his head was too big for his emaciated little body, and
his pale-coloured eyes too big for his mite of an old man’s face. His
feet and hands were ugly claws, his legs mere sticks—one would as
quickly have looked for dimples in the living skeleton of the circus.
He had a mere wisp of tow-coloured hair and never showed the
teeth he possessed. He never smiled, never, indeed, looked other
than woe-begone. Though he never cried out and seldom whined or
whimpered, he always seemed to want sadly something that was
never by any chance what was proffered him.
But he clung to Anna, and though he was never other than mournful
even with her, he was passively content. And Anna adored him. It
was no task for her to hurry home from school to relieve her mother
—she could scarcely wait to get at the baby after any absence. He
slept in an old cradle (salvaged from Miss Penny’s garret) by the side
of her bed, and the girl was ready to get up at any hour of the night
for milk or water, and sang to him by the hour in her sweet young
voice. She spent nearly all the money she had saved in a year in the
purchase of a wardrobe for the baby, who was the best-dressed child
of his age, or perhaps of any age, in the two villages. She took pride
and pleasure in ironing the frills and laces of his little frocks and
petticoats and in keeping him immaculately tidy,—the latter being
easy, as the baby never played, and if he was placed on the floor
never moved from the spot. She brushed the scanty hair on top of
his head, longing for the time when there should be enough to make
a curl.
But one day as she did this, it came to the girl that when that time
should come, in all likelihood Joe, Junior, wouldn’t be with her. Her
heart sank. And it was borne in upon her that if she was to give the
baby away, it must happen very soon. A little later, and it would be
utterly impossible. Even now, she wouldn’t have been able even to
contemplate the idea if it had been anyone but Mr. Langley who was
to benefit thereby.
Mr. Langley had been in to see little Joe and had taken to him more
warmly than anyone else had done, unless one counted Alice in one
mood. He had held the baby all the while he stayed and hadn’t
seemed to know how to get away. He hadn’t seemed to feel any
want in him; he had admired him apparently as much as Anna
herself. He needed him more than she did, of course, but O, he
didn’t want him more!
He didn’t know that he wanted him, for he did not dream that there
was any chance of having him. Mrs. Langley kept it dark—trust her!
—and Anna didn’t feel like saying anything until she was ready to
receive the child. Miss Penny was the only other person who knew,
and she, though she couldn’t keep a secret of her own, was quite
safe with that of another. But he should know as soon as it was
prudent, and that, Anna decided, must be very soon. She said to
herself it was up to her to make what Caesar calls a forced march.
 Anna took pride and pleasure in ironing the frills and
laces of his little frocks.
Already she had talked to Mrs. Langley of the baby for half an hour
at a time, and had repeated her request to be allowed to bring him
to the parsonage. Mrs. Langley always declared that it would break
her heart to see him but Anna felt that one glimpse of him would
settle the whole matter. Wherefore on the next Saturday she
announced that she meant to bring Joe, Junior, with her that day-
week.
For an instant the invalid’s eyes brightened. Then she sighed deeply.
“O no, Anna, I couldn’t bear the sight of a baby. It would break my
heart,” she declared. And her emotion was unfeigned.
“But it isn’t the same, Mrs. Langley, Joe, Junior, being a boy,” Anna
protested. “If he made you think of anyone it wouldn’t be Ella May, it
would be of that little lamb.”
“O, is his hair curly?” asked the invalid eagerly.
“Well, no, not yet,” Anna admitted regretfully. “But he has such a
sober, meek little face, young, and yet sort of sedate and oldish, too,
you know, that he makes me think of the little lamb.”
“Dear me, you are like a pretty lamb yourself, Anna, with your fuzzy
yellow hair. I believe I really like you better with it cut so,” declared
Mrs. Langley with sudden enthusiasm.
“You’d better take a good look at it then, for it will be longer before
you see it again,” Anna suggested mischievously. “I shan’t be hiking
down to the parsonage for some time, you see. I can’t come any
more unless you let me bring Joe, Junior.”
Mrs. Langley clasped her thin hands. “O Anna, don’t speak so even
in fun,” she begged. “Of course you will come next Saturday—or
sooner if you have a chance. Only please don’t mention that baby to
me again. It stirs me all up.”
“I won’t,” the girl assented meekly, adding: “for I sha’n’t be here to
mention him or anything else. Honest and true, I can’t come any
more without him. Whenever I am not in school, my place is with
that blessed little monkey, Mrs. Langley. It’s mighty good of ma to
mind him as much as she does since she doesn’t take to him, but I
don’t mean to put it over with her unless I have to. And now it’s cold
weather, the boys want to skate Saturday afternoons—and before
long there’ll be sliding.”
“There’s that Alice Lorraine. How about her?” demanded Mrs.
Langley.
Anna opened her eyes very wide. Extremely vague in general,
unaware apparently of the existence of anyone outside her own four
walls, sometimes, when her own interests were concerned, the
woman was uncannily acute.
“O Mrs. Langley, I wouldn’t go off and leave that precious child with
Alice Lorraine. She’s dear, but she’s absent-minded and I should be
on pins and needles all the while for fear he was being drowned or
scalded or kidnapped,” she declared.
“There’s that neighbor of Miss Penny’s, Mrs. Phelps,” Mrs. Langley
persisted.
“For the love of Mike!” cried the girl in utter amazement. “Why, I
should as soon think of asking the Lord Mayor of London to run over
every Saturday afternoon.”
“Well, there must be someone who lives near,” Mrs. Langley
murmured with unusual meekness.
“There isn’t, and anyhow, I wouldn’t trust Junior with ’em!” cried
Anna. And suddenly she lost her temper,—something that was
extremely rare with the other Miller girl. “I simply can’t come again
without the baby and what’s more I won’t, so there! That’s all there
is to it. Cash down or no goods delivered!”
And she flung herself from the place like a small whirlwind.
She had passed the lane, when she recollected Alice Lorraine and
paused. She had agreed to meet her at the lane as near five as
possible, and strolling back she seated herself on the stone wall to
consider. On other occasions she had either just made the hour or
had been late, and she felt a certain hesitation about hanging
around the place for a matter of twenty minutes. She said to herself
sadly that it was just as if she suspected Alice of meeting someone
there, though she knew—she hoped with all her heart she knew—
that Alice wouldn’t do such a thing. But O, what was her secret?
What was she doing, haunting the lane and the cottage almost
daily?
As she was pondering sadly, she heard a step, and looked up to see
Mr. Langley. Her heart sank. She supposed he would reproach her
for leaving Mrs. Langley so rudely. But apparently he knew nothing
about it.
“O Anna, I wanted to speak to you and tried to get home before you
should leave,” he said. “Do you mind coming back to my study for a
few minutes?”
“What now?” the girl said to herself. But he was all kindness as he
led her back through the gate, helped her off with her jacket and
established her in the most comfortable chair in his study.
“I want to speak to you in regard to Miss Lorraine. You know her
well, I think, Anna?” he began at once.
“Why yes, Mr. Langley,” she faltered.
“And you like her? You—believe in her?”
“Of course.”
“I am glad to hear that. I like the girl so far as I know her and I
believe in her. But things look a bit odd and I want to talk a little
with you. People in the village are talking about Miss Lorraine.
Someone said to me that at least two persons have seen her walking
at dusk with a strange man.”
“O Mr. Langley, I don’t believe that. There must be some mistake!”
cried Anna.
“I hope so and think so. And yet, do you know, I thought myself I
saw her walking one night with a stranger. The other person
disappeared and she was alone when I met her. But I couldn’t shake
off the impression.”
Anna stared at him helplessly.
“There’s still more,” he went on reluctantly. “There is, I fear, no
doubt but that there is a strange man hanging about the village—the
Farleigh end. More than two or three persons have declared they
saw a man peering in their windows. They connect this man with
Miss Lorraine. They say it is the same man she walks with, and—
dear me, her father being in prison, it is so easy for people to lose
their common sense and originate all sorts of rumors.”
“But Mr. Langley, surely you don’t believe that—about a man looking
into people’s windows?” Anna demanded.
“I don’t know what to think. The truth is, that before I heard any
rumors—it was last Sunday evening—I felt that there was someone
looking in at me through yonder window. I have always left the blind
up—until this week.”
“I feel stunned, Mr. Langley,” said Anna mournfully.
“Poor child! No wonder! I hated to bother you with this, but dear me
—I seem to be following the lead of others and bringing my burdens
to lay upon your youthful shoulders. However—we cannot let this go
on. I am convinced that there is a mistake and that Miss Lorraine
can explain. Shall I speak to her or would you rather, Anna?”
Anna considered. “Perhaps I’d better,” she said. “But—I guess I
won’t do anything until after to-morrow. I’d better think it over first.”
Mr. Langley begged to drive her home, but recollecting her promise
to Alice she made an excuse. And there was Alice waiting for her at
the lane.
To-night Alice was in high spirits. First she asked about the baby in a
pathetically perfunctory way, then she put a careless query in regard
to Reuben. Anna’s heart grew cold. What did it mean? Why was she
asking so many questions of late, particularly about Reuben?
Reaching Miss Penny’s she went in with Alice, understanding clearly
now that Alice wished her mother to think they had been together
all afternoon. Mrs. Lorraine looked up with troubled face.
“O Alice, I didn’t know you were going out this afternoon,” she said.
“We looked everywhere for you. I wanted you to go over to Wenham
to the bank to see Mr. Clarke. If we are to stay here until after
Christmas, I feel as if we ought to give up the cottage.”
Alice became very white. “We can’t give it up so suddenly,” she said
with a curious gasp. “You have to—give notice.”
“It’s different in our case,” said Mrs. Lorraine, paling herself. “But
never mind now. I will write a note and send it to-night. Miss Penny
says Mr. Phelps will take it.”
“Not to-night, mother,” the girl said quickly and with a certain
fierceness of determination. “Wait till—next Saturday perhaps. I
have—lost the key. I’ll go over to-morrow and see if I can find it.”
 CHAPTER XII
WHEN Anna Miller had a concrete problem to solve, it was her habit
—rather more unconscious, however, than deliberate—to put herself
in touch with the situation or the matter itself and trust to her
mother-wit for suggestions as to procedure. Wherefore, as soon as
Joe, Junior, fell asleep the following afternoon, she betook herself
over to Miss Penny’s to see Alice. She had no plan. She only wished
to spend an hour in Alice’s company, after which she might have
something to meditate upon.
She found Mrs. Lorraine just finishing the washing-up and was
surprised that Alice would have left it to her. Then she recollected
the hour and wondered why the work should have been delayed. As
she enquired for Alice with apparent unconcern, she saw that Mrs.
Lorraine’s face was flushed and that Miss Penny showed traces of
excitement, and guessed that something had happened directly after
dinner. It wasn’t unlikely that there had been a discussion between
Alice and her mother and that Alice had flown.
“Alice is up in her chamber lying down, Anna dear,” Miss Penny
informed her. “She may be asleep, but you are so quiet you may
steal up to see if you like.”
Anna gazed enquiringly at Mrs. Lorraine, who begged her to sit
down.
“Have you noticed anything strange about Alice lately, Anna?” she
asked in a troubled voice.
“Why Mrs. Lorraine, now you speak of it—Alice does seem—
nervous,” the girl admitted.
“She does. Decidedly. I cannot understand it. She gets wrought up
over such trifles. You saw how it was last night about giving up the
cottage? And to-day she wanted to rush off the minute dinner was
over to look for the key she lost. She seemed all used up over it. I
told her Mr. Clarke very likely had others, and that anyhow it wasn’t
such a serious matter as she made it to lose a key in a quiet
community like this, but she was too excited to be reasonable.
Finally, I persuaded her to go up and lie down and put this off until
to-morrow, but I feel worn out myself from the struggle.”
“You don’t think the work she does here is tiring her?” asked Miss
Penny anxiously.
“She did more at the cottage, and besides of late she hardly does
anything,” said Mrs. Lorraine.
“Alice is high-strung and goes into things too intensely,” remarked
Miss Penny. “She took to going off for long walks when you were
away, Anna, and I think she overdid. I don’t think she went so far as
going to the cemetery as you did; but she seems to have become
interested in old-time things and people—antiquities and relics—not
relicts,—and yet, I don’t know—there’s Enoch Arden, you know.”
“Enoch Arden!” cried Anna aghast.
Miss Penny smiled. “My dear, my head is all right,—as good, that is
to say, as it ever was. I was simply—but naturally you didn’t see the
point. One night some time ago—it was, O, a month ago, I should
say, though it might not have been, Alice read Enoch Arden aloud to
her mother and me. We all talked about it afterwards but Alice
couldn’t seem to get through. She kept questioning me. She wanted
to find out whether it could be true—here, for instance, right here in
this village. She started me to thinking of the different widows, you
know, and whether any husbands had left Farleigh and never come
back. Reuben’s father wasn’t exactly a husband, you know, though
he went away and never returned. But he was a widower. And his
wife even if she had been alive would never have married again. And
if she had, it wouldn’t have been Enoch Arden, for he was killed in a
wreck—that’s more certain than being lost at sea.”
“But—Enoch Arden?” asked Anna still perplexed.
“That’s just it. That’s why it took so long to get through—if we ever
got through? Alice would get me started and then I would be
reminded of something else and lose the point. There are so many
different stories connected with everyone, you see. And yet, I don’t
know that anyone in Farleigh ever had so many stories that could be
told at his age as Reuben has.”
Anna put the kitten tenderly down on the hearth.
“You’re not going upstairs, Anna?” asked Mrs. Lorraine.
“I think I’ll run straight home and see my baby,” returned Anna, who
knew well that Alice Lorraine was not in her room or in the Hollow at
all. And she acted upon her words.
She sighed as she climbed the stair at home to her own chamber.
The problem of Alice seemed too big for the like of her. But she
sighed yet more deeply when Freddy came up to say that Mr.
Langley was down in the sitting-room. Had something happened?
she asked herself in terror; or was it only that he had come to ask
her if she had spoken to Alice? But no, he had given her until to-
morrow. Looking over the baby to see that he was immaculate, she
picked him up and went down, not even stopping to glance at the
mirror, though she had been lying on her bed.
“Anna looks almost as much a child as the baby himself,” Mr. Langley
remarked to Mrs. Miller, rising as the girl entered with little Joe on
her arm, his starched frock standing out over his frilled petticoats,
his mournful, colourless face against her rosy one, the wisp of hair
on top of his head contrasting oddly with her thick yellow mop of
short locks.
“She’s just wearing herself out with that child, Anna is,” remarked
her mother rather fretfully.
“Let me have him, pray Anna,” said the minister eagerly holding out
his arms. The baby went to him indifferently.
He was equally indifferent to the remainder of the company that
filled the room. Miss Penny and Mrs. Lorraine had come over to be in