WHEN the mood takes my friend Annabel Lee she will, if I beg her, tell me quaint and fantastic stories, such as are hidden away in the dusty crevices of this world. These tales have lain away there for centuries, and spiders have spun webs over and about them, so that when, perchance, they are brought out, bits of fine gray fiber are to be found among the lines.

Yesterday a pretty, plain story by my friend Annabel Lee that runs through my mind.

“Long ago,” said my friend Annabel Lee, “there lived in Egypt a family of well-born but poorly-bred Spoon-bills in a green marsh by the side of the great green river Nile. This family numbered five, and they were united and dwelling in peace. There were the father and mother and two daughters and a son. And there had been another son, but he was dead. And their names were Maren Spoon-bill, the mother; and OliverW. Spoon-bill, the father; and Lilith Spoon-bill, the elder daughter; and Delilah Spoon-bill, the younger daughter. And the son’s name was LePage Spoon-bill.

“The son who had died was named Roland Spoon-bill. He was buried at the edge of the marsh, and his name and the date were carved upon a square, black, wooden tablet to his memory at the head of the grave. There was also this legend upon the tablet: ‘Age 15. Gone in the hey-day of youth to his last rest. But his virtues are with us still.’

“And little Delilah Spoon-bill, who was an elementary, fanciful child of nine, used to stand staring at this legend and wondering about it. A weeping willow hung low over the grave, and Delilah would stand near it picking gnats from its branches with her bill, and speculating about the legend. She wondered for one thing what ‘hey-day’ meant. Was it anything like a birth-day? Or was it, on the contrary, a day when everything went wrong and ended by a person’s being shut into a dark bed-room? Or was it, perhaps, a picnic day—with tarts made of red jam? In that case Delilah felt very sorry for her brother that he should have died on such a day, for if there is an article of diet that spoon-bills really like it is tarts of red jam—made the way Canadians make them.

“But she never could decide.

“And another thing about the epitaph that puzzled her was the concluding clause—‘but his virtues are with us still.’ What could virtues be? she asked herself. Were they anything like feathers, or were they good to eat, or were they something she had never seen and knew nothing about? But the letters said plainly, ‘his virtues are with us still.’ Truly, if they were among the family possessions, why had she not seen them? For anything that belonged to any of the Spoon-bill family that was at all out of the ordinary was always placed in an oak cabinet with glass doors that stood in a corner of the hall in their marsh home. Delilah had often looked in this cabinet to see if the virtues of her brother were not there. There were dried snake skins, and curious white stones, and Spanish moss, and devil’s snuff-boxes—but no, there were no virtues. Of that she was convinced. She appealed to her older sister. ‘Lilith,’ said Delilah, ‘what are virtues, and where do we keep Roland’s? Don’t you know, on the tombstone it says, “his virtues are with us still.”’

“‘Aren’t you a silly!’ said Lilith, laughing in Spoon-billish derision. Lilith was twelve, and one knows vastly more at twelve than at nine. ‘Virtues aren’t anything. And as for Roland’s—that doesn’t mean that he left them with us, any more than that he took them with him.’

“‘Then what does it mean?’ said Delilah. ‘I’ve thought so much about it.’

“‘You’ll have to think some more,’ said Lilith—‘a good deal more, I should say—of your kind of thinking!’

“Delilah did not often appeal to her sister in these matters. She did not enjoy Lilith’s habit of laughing. In truth, she didn’t enjoy being laughed at at all—not the least in the world. She was like a great many other people.

“And so was Lilith.

“But oh, there were many things that Delilah wished to know!

“The Spoon-bill family was, as I have said, well born but poorly bred. Maren Spoon-bill and OliverW. Spoon-bill both came of very good stock, but they had been the black sheep of their families and had forgotten the traditions and customs of their race. ‘They had left no more pride,’ Maren Spoon-bill’s mother once said, ‘than a sand-hill crane—no, nor a duck.’

“‘No, nor a duck,’ echoed Maren Spoon-bill and her husband, and gloried in it.

“And the children ran wild.

“But the children, though they ran wild, were not without ambition. On summer evenings, when the family took tea on the back porch and it was too warm for the children to run about much, they used to sit and tell their ambitions.

“‘I’m going to be an actress when I get big,’ declared Lilith. ‘I’m going to have a splendid career on the stage, and I shall earn heaps of money. And I shall have magnificent clothes, and every one will look at me and say, “Isn’t she in stunning form to-night!”’

“And Le Page and Delilah were so overcome by the vision thus presented of their sister that they could but stare, awed and silent.

“And Delilah wondered how it must seem to be so very clever.

“But Le Page, who was eleven years old himself, soon rallied.

“‘Well, then,’ said he, ‘when I get big I’m going to be a pirate. I’ll lay over all the pirates that ever were, a-firing and a-pillaging—and I’ll wear magnificent clothes, and everyone will look at me and say, “Isn’t he in stunning form to-night!”’

“Delilah thought this latter sounded strangely like Lilith—but perhaps in some subtle way a pirate was like an actress, and so must need be described in the same terms.

“‘And Delilah,’ said her father, ‘what shall you be—what kind of clothes are you going to wear?’

“Delilah had before tried the experiment of relating her ambition to the assembled family, and the result had been bad. The high laughter of Lilith and LePage always rose on the still evening air, and even her father, who was a kind person, would smile. Delilah’s ambition was always the same, but she nearly always varied it a little at each telling—and the amusement evinced by her sister and brother varied accordingly.

“Sometimes they even flapped their wings.

“Which was too cruel.

“Forsooth, children are always cruel.

“But while Delilah’s ambition was always the same, those of Lilith and LePage covered an exceeding wide range. Some evenings Lilith would draw a glowing picture of herself as a lecturer of renown with a wonderful personal magnetism and a telling style—she would move the multitudes and draw tears from stony eyes by lifting up her voice. Whereupon LePage, when he had recovered his breath, would portray himself as a celebrated scientist delving in marvelous chemical mysteries and discovering things of untold benefit to the race. He also would move the multitudes and draw tears from stony eyes.

“And Delilah would wonder what were lecturers and scientists, and how they could do these things.

“And when Lilith would announce her intention of becoming a famous sculptor whose work in the passionate would be the delight of her day, then LePage would turn his mind to the idea of becoming a noted explorer who would penetrate into Darkest Africa and Farthest North, and whose work in the passionate would be the delight of his day.

“And Delilah would marvel still more.

“Forsooth, children are always like that—and fascinating they are.

“And each summer evening after Lilith and LePage had related their ambitions, their father would ask Delilah what was hers. Then always Delilah would whisper; ‘I’m going to study tombstones, papa! And when I get big perhaps I shall know what every single tombstone in the world means. And perhaps after I’ve studied a long time and hard I can read Roland’s right off and know what it means without thinking. And perhaps I can explain them all to people who don’t know about them.’

“Which to Delilah was a daring ambition indeed—quite hitching her wagon to a star.

“Well, then,” said my friend Annabel Lee, “this was when the Spoon-bill family was in its youngness.

“The years followed one after another, and the three children grew. And it came about that Lilith was three-and-twenty, and LePage was two-and-twenty, and Delilah was twenty.

“They were much as they had been when they were children. Lilith, I may say in passing, was not an actress, nor a lecturer, nor yet a sculptor—and LePage was merely LePage.

“Also Delilah was Delilah, but had ceased to be elementary in some ways, while in others she was still, and so would be until the finish.

“It so happened that a young spoon-bill of masculine persuasion, from the other side of the great green river Nile, fell in love with Delilah.

“Likewise Delilah fell in love with a young spoon-bill, but not that young spoon-bill.

“It happens frequently so.

“And Delilah did not fancy the spoon-bill from the other side of the river, and the spoon-bill with whom Delilah was in love did not fancy her in just that way.

“Which also happens frequently.

“On a day when the river Nile was very green, and heavy sickening-sweet flowers of dead white color hung from black trees on the banks, and the sky was, oh, so blue, and all was summer, the young spoon-bill from over the river would come to see Delilah. He loved so well—so hopelessly—that young spoon-bill! But Delilah on such a day would walk where the green water was shallow, and her thoughts would be with the young spoon-bill who had gone to her heart.

“And the young spoon-bill from over the river would come and stand a little way from Delilah under a tree with broad thick leaves. How fine was he to look upon, with his white feathers glistening like silver and his eyes of topaz!

“And Delilah was most adorable with feathers of soft, soft gray—a so soft gray that one, if one were human, would wish to rest one’s forehead upon the fluffy down of her breast.

“Then he from over the river—his name was Gerald Spoon-bill—would say: ‘Delilah, come with me over the river to the damp meadows, where there is a pool with a thousand pond-lilies, and fair blooms the way. We should be happy there, you and I.’

“But Delilah would say: ‘Oh, go back over the river, Gerald Spoon-bill! You and I never should be happy together. Why do you stand there by the rubber-tree day after day? And why do you waste your life-nerves and your heart-nerves? Why are you not giving your good heart to some one who can take it?’

“‘But you would be happy with me, Delilah,’ he under the dark leaves would answer her eagerly. ‘We will stand in the midst of a new day and watch the sun come up out of the sand—we will stand in pale shallows at midday—we will feel our hearts beat high when the lightnings come down through branches—we will fly a little in high winds—we will stand still and silent in the midst of golden solitudes when the sun is going off the sand—and in all these things my heart will be yours.’

“‘Go back over the river, Gerald Spoon-bill!’ said Delilah.

“But Gerald Spoon-bill felt that he loved so well that he could not go back over the river.

“’Tis not possible to go back over the river when one’s best-loved is standing by herself in green shallows.

“Then along the bank from the direction of the date palms came Auden Spoon-bill, he who had gone to Delilah’s heart. Likewise he was good to see—not from the handsomeness of his feathers or his eyes, but from the strength of his physical being. Though, too, his eyes were of amethyst.

“Auden Spoon-bill went along parallel to the shore of the river until he saw Delilah standing in the pale green water. Then he crossed over and came toward her.

“‘There are lotus flowers blooming down below where the steep cataract breaks over stones,’ said he. ‘Delilah, will you come with me to eat some?’

“‘Oh, yes, I will come,’ said Delilah, eagerly.

“For she still was elementary enough to say things eagerly.

“So they went down to where the lotus-flowers grew, where the steep cataract broke over stones.

“It so happened that it was almost the time when the great green river Nile flows out over its banks and makes all wet with water for miles around. At such a time it was the custom of Spoon-bills and cranes and adjutant-birds and others of their ilk, and animals of divers kinds, to leave their homes and move away out of reach of the green and purple flood. But no one had thought of moving yet, for it was too early in the season. Maren Spoon-bill and OliverW. Spoon-bill had not even begun to gather up their household goods, nor had they, as their wont was, removed the black tablet from the head of Roland Spoon-bill’s grave, which was on the very edge of the river.

“The river-god is a person of whims like the rest of us. And so that year, on the day that Delilah and Auden Spoon-bill went down the river to eat lotus flowers, he gave vent to one of them. He thought to send a premonition of the yearly flood in the shape of one beautiful green and purple and white wave, one which would not go so very far but which should be damaging in its effects.

“‘Delilah,’ said Auden Spoon-bill, ‘since we are here eating lotus flowers, life is very fine, isn’t it?’

“‘Oh, very fine—yes, very fine,’ said Delilah, and was thrilled.

“‘You are a so dear friend,’ said Auden Spoon-bill.

“‘Yes,’ said Delilah, and was not thrilled.

“‘Life,’ said Auden Spoon-bill, ‘is pretty fine, no matter how it is arranged.’

“‘But life is a very strange thing,’ said Delilah. ‘I can’t begin to tell you how strange I have found it. For one thing, I may have what is not my heart’s desire, and what is my heart’s desire I may not have.’

“‘It is strange,’ admitted Auden Spoon-bill. ‘But why have any heart’s desires aside from what is already yours in this fine, fair world?’

“‘One can not rule one’s heart,’ cried Delilah. ‘One’s heart goes on before one’s mind can stop to think. One’s heart rushes in before everything. One’s heart plays with brilliant-colored things when all else is dead-color. One’s heart loves——’

“But Delilah never finished. Before their eyes rose up a magnificent wall—a wall of water that was fire and cloud and silver, and in it were ineffable rainbows of the purple that gathers up the soul in its brilliance and shows it wondrous possibilities; and in it were lines of the pale lavender that caresses the senses—and one breathes from it almost a fragrance of heliotrope; and in it were broad sheets of deep black and dazzling white that were of the seeming of life and death; and in it, last of all, was a world of infinite green: it had come from a place of great things; it had come to a place where all went down before it, where lives exulted but shrank from it because of its green.

“An exquisite whim, was that of the river-god.

“Delilah and Auden Spoon-bill gazed for a brief moment. They saw the magnificent things. They saw death in the brilliancies, but nevertheless their spirits rose high. They saw also a wild flight of live things before the wave. Delilah beheld her family—Lilith and the rest—struggling and half-covered with water, and their home made of reeds was loosed from its foundations and borne down the river.

“Presently the flood overtook themselves and the life of Delilah was merged in water. She was borne high on a dark swell, and at the turning was suddenly struck a stunning blow upon the gray of her breast by a square black wooden tablet.

“Before death came to her out of the brilliancies she was conscious of several things. She saw before her eyes for an instant with startling plainness the words on the tablet, ‘Gone in the hey-day of youth to his last rest. But his virtues are with us still.’

“She even fancied for the first time that she knew what it meant.

“‘The hey-day of youth,’ she murmured to herself, ‘is the day I go to eat lotus flowers with my best-beloved—and virtues are two eyes of amethyst that are with me still as I am drowning.’

“Auden Spoon-bill was drowning together with her.—

“That’s all of the story,” said my friend Annabel Lee.

“Thank you,” said I. “It is lovely in its quaintness. What does it mean, Annabel Lee?”

“Mean?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “I didn’t say it meant anything.”

“But I suppose,” said I, “everything that’s true means something.”

“Very likely,” said my friend Annabel Lee. “But this story isn’t true. I made it up.”

Because it isn’t true, or for some other reason, the story still runs in my head. How like my friend Annabel Lee it is!