Peachy's Birthday
Delia Watts, walking one afternoon along the lemon pergola, came across
a small group of Camellia Buds ensconced in a cozy corner at the foot of
the steps by the fountain.
"Hello! You've found a dandy place here. You look so comfy. May I join
on?" she chirped.
"Sure_lee_!" said Jess cordially, pushing Irene farther along to make
room. "Come and squat down, dearie, and add your voice to the powwow.
We're just discussing something fearfully urgent and important. Do you
know it'll be Peachy's birthday next week?"
"Of course I know. Nobody could room with Peachy and not hear about
that. She's the most excited girl on earth. She's been promised a gold
wrist-watch and a morocco hand-bag, and I can't tell you what else, and
she's just living till she gets them. I wish it was my birthday. I'm
jealous!"
"Don't be such a pig," responded Jess. "You got your fun in the
holidays. You can't have things twice over. What we were talking about
was this--the sorority ought to rally somehow and give Peachy a
surprise. Can't we get up a special stunt?"
"Rather! Put me on the committee, please! Couldn't we get leave for a
dormitory tea? I know Miss Rodgers rather frowned on them last term, but
perhaps if we wheedled Miss Morley she'd say 'yes.' We'd promise to
clear up and not make any mess, and to finish promptly before prep time.
That ought to content her. What votes?"
Every hand ascended with enthusiasm.
"Good for you, Delia!" complimented Jess. "We haven't had a dormitory
tea for just ages; not, in fact, since Aggie upset the spirit-lamp. I
think Miss Morley's forgotten that now, though. You must do the asking
yourself. You're our champion wheedler. If anybody can soften Miss
Morley's hard heart it will be you. Tell her Peachy will be homesick,
and we feel it'll be our duty to cheer her up a little."
"I'll pitch it as strong as I can," said Delia, "but of course it's no
use going too far. Peachy doesn't look a homesick subject in need of
cheering. I'm afraid Miss Morley may snort if I put it on that score.
I'd better just explain we want to have a stunt. I believe she'll catch
on. Leave it to me and I'll try my best to manage her."
"Right-o! We give you carte blanche!"
"Then I'll waddle off now."
Delia's success mostly depended upon tact. She judged that if she asked
Miss Morley, tired at the end of a busy morning, she would probably meet
with a curt refusal, but that if she found her, seated in her own
bed-sitting-room, soothed with afternoon tea and reading a delectable
book, her sympathy would be much more readily aroused. On this occasion
Delia's judgment was correct. After a perfectly harmonious interview
with the Principal she scurried back to her fellow Camellia Buds, her
face one satisfied grin.
"She said, 'Certainly, my dear!' We may ask Elvira for a special teapot
and a plate of bread and butter, and we may give Antonio three lira
apiece to buy us cakes. We may do what we like so long as the room is
tidy again before prep. She'll send a prefect at 5.45 to inspect. If the
place is in a muddle it'll be the last time, so we'd better be careful,
for I could see she meant that."
"We're in luck!" cried Irene, giving a bounce of rapture.
"It's great!"
"Yummy!"
"I thought you'd congratulate me," smirked Delia. "Now let's get busy
and decide what sort of a stunt we mean to have. Is Peachy to know, or
is it to be a surprise?"
"That's the question! She'll have to be told and invited and all the
rest of it, but she needn't hear any details beforehand. I vote we all
arrange to come in fancy costume--that would really be a stunt."
"We shall have to tell Peachy _that_!"
"No, you mustn't. We'll have a costume all ready prepared for her, like
the wedding garment in the parable. She'll have nothing to do but slip
it on."
If Peachy was looking forward to her own birthday, her friends were
anticipating the happy event with enthusiasm. They had decided to hold
the festivities in her dormitory, but had required her to give a solemn
pledge not to enter the room after 2 p.m. so as to give them a free
hand. During the half-hour before drawing-class they met, and held a
"Decoration Bee." Nine determined girls, who have prepared their
materials, can work wonders in a short time, and in ten hurried minutes
they accomplished a vast amount.
"Mary, lend a hand, and help me stand on the dressing table."
"She won't know the place when she sees it!"
"Aren't we all busy bees!"
"It begins to look rather nice, doesn't it?"
"Don't tug this chain! It's tearing! Now you've done it!"
"I flatter myself she'll get the surprise of her life!"
"_Ra_-ther!"
With flags, paper chains, and garlands of flowers, the decorators
contrived to make dormitory 13 look absolutely _en fête_. They borrowed
a table from another bedroom, placed the two together, covered them with
a cloth, and spread forth the cakes which Antonio had been commissioned
to buy.
"Elvira will fetch us the teapot and the bread and butter at four. We
can yank into our costumes in a few seconds, so we needn't waste much
time. Don't let Miss Darrer keep you dawdling about the studio," urged
Agnes.
"No fear of that. The moment the bell goes it will be 'down pencils.'
She can hold forth to the others to-day if she wants to talk after
school. By the by, everybody's _so_ jealous of us!"
"I know! The seniors are grumbling like anything because they didn't
think of having a bedroom tea for Phyllis. It's their own fault. They
haven't another birthday amongst them this term. That's the grievance.
And Miss Morley won't give leave for a dormitory stunt unless it's
somebody's birthday. She's firm on that point. We've certainly all the
luck."
The Camellia Buds pursued their art studies that afternoon with a
certain abstraction. Peachy worked with her left wrist poised, so that
she could obtain a perpetual view of the new gold watch that had arrived
by post that morning; Delia frittered her time shamelessly; Esther was
guilty of writing surreptitious messages to Joan upon the edges of her
chalk copy of "Apollo"; and Irene, usually interested in her work, had a
fit of the fidgets. The moment the bell sounded and the class was
dismissed they bundled their pencils into their boxes, and left the
studio with almost indecent haste.
"Only an hour and a half altogether for our stunt doesn't leave us much
time to be polite," remarked Aggie, smarting under a rebuke administered
by Miss Darrer, who had restrained their stampede and insisted upon an
orderly retreat. "It's all very well for people to saunter elegantly
when they've nothing particular to do. I dare say the Italians _may_
look dignified, but we can't stalk about as if we were perpetually
carrying water-pots on our heads."
"American girls have more energy than that. I'm just ready to fly to
bits," declared Delia, prancing down the passage like a playful kitten.
"I give everybody five minutes to get on their costumes," decreed Jess.
"Peachy must stay outside in the passage and wait. I'll tinkle my Swiss
goat-bell when you're all to come in."
Peachy, pulling a long face of protest, took her stand obediently in the
corridor, while her three roommates entered dormitory 13. Their fancy
dresses were lying ready on their beds, and they whisked into them with
the utmost haste.
"There! Is my cap on straight? Jess, you look fine! I guess we shan't
keep the crowd waiting. We'd earn our livings as quick-change artistes
any day. Is that Elvira? Oh, thanks! Put the teapot down there, please.
What a huge plate of bread and butter. We'll never eat it! Mary, if
you're ready you might be uncovering the grub."
The girls had laid everything in preparation for their feast, and, to
protect their dainties from flies, had put sheets of tissue paper over
the table. Mary lifted these deftly, but as she removed them her smug
satisfaction changed to a howl of dismay. Instead of the tempting
dainties which they had placed there with their own hands stood a circle
of bricks and stones.
For a moment all three gazed blankly at the awful sight. Then they found
speech.
"Our beautiful cakes!"
"Where are they?"
"Who's done this?"
"Oh! the _brutes_!"
"Who's been in?"
"How _dare_ they?"
"Wherever have they put them?"
"Have they eaten them?"
"Oh! What a shame!"
"What _are_ we to do?"
It was indeed a desperate situation, for loud thumps at the door
proclaimed the advent of the visitors, who seemed likely to be provided
with a decidedly Barmecide feast. Delia, however, had an inspiration.
She stooped on hands and knees and foraged under the beds, announcing by
a jubilant screech that she had discovered the lost property. It did not
take long to move away the stones and to transfer the plates from the
floor to the table, after which three much flustered hostesses opened
the door and gushed a welcome to their guests. It was rather a motley
group who entered: Irene as a nun in waterproof and hood; Agnes as a Red
Cross Nurse; Esther a Turk, with a towel for a turban; Joan a sportsman
in her gymnasium knickers; Sheila, in a tricolor cap, represented
France; and Lorna was draped with the Union Jack; Jess with a plaid
arranged as a kilt made a sturdy Highlander; Mary was an Irish colleen;
while Delia, in a wrapper ornamental with fringes of tissue paper, stood
for "Carnival." A white dressing jacket trimmed with green leaves, and a
garland of flowers were waiting for Peachy, and when the latter was
popped on her head she was promptly proclaimed "Queen o' the May." Very
much flattered by these preparations in her honor, the guest of the
occasion took her place at the table.
"I'm absolutely astounded," she announced. "Where did you get all this
spread? You don't mean to tell me Antonio was _allowed_ to go and buy
it! It's too topping for words!"
"We thought it had gone out of the window, a moment ago," said Jess,
explaining their horrible predicament as she wielded the teapot.
The Camellia Buds listened aghast. Somebody had evidently been playing a
shameful trick upon them.
"It's Mabel!"
"Or Bertha!"
"No, no! They'd have taken the cakes quite away instead of only hiding
them!"
"Then it must be Winnie or Ruth!"
"Quite likely. They knew we were having the party."
"The wretches!"
"We'll pay them out afterwards!"
"What a mean thing to do!"
"They were honest, at any rate, and didn't take so much as a biscuit."
"They'd have heard about it if they had!"
"'All's well that ends well!'"
"And we'd better clear the dishes while we can. Have another piece of
iced sandwich, Mary!"
"No, thanks! I really don't want any more."
The Camellia Buds, having disposed of the feast, and having yet half an
hour of the birthday party left on their hands, decided to hold what
they called a "Mixed Recitation Stunt." They sat in a circle on the
floor and counted out till the lot fell upon one of them, whose pleasing
duty it became to act entertainer for the next five minutes, when she
was entitled to hand the part on to somebody else. Fate, aided perhaps
by a little gentle maneuvering, gave the first turn to Jess.
"I adore poetry, but I never can remember it by heart," she protested,
"so don't expect me to 'speak a piece,' please. No, I'm not trying to
get out of it. I'll do my bit the same as everybody else. Stop giggling
and listen, because I'm going to tell you something spooky. It's a real
Highland story. It happened to an aunt of mine. Are you ready? Well then
be quiet, because I'm going to begin:
"I have an aunt who lives in the Highlands. Her name is Jessie
M'Gregor. Yes, I'm named after her! Some of her family had had the gift
of second sight, but not all of them. Her grandmother had it very
strongly, and used to foretell the strangest things, and they always
came true. Aunt Jessie was a seventh child. That's always supposed to
give people the power of seeing visions. If she'd been the seventh child
_of_ a seventh child then she'd have been a 'spey wife' and foreseen the
future, but she wasn't that exactly. She came very near to it once,
though, and that's what I want to tell you about. Uncle Gordon was going
to London, and, the day before he started, Auntie was sitting alone in
the garden. She hadn't been very well, so she was just leaning back in a
deck-chair resting. She wasn't asleep; she was looking at the view and
thinking how lovely it all was. She could see right across the moor and
down the valley where the river ran; the heather was in blossom and it
was a glorious sight. Suddenly it seemed as if everything became blurred
and dark, as if a mist were before her eyes. A patch cleared through the
midst of this and she could see the valley below as if she were looking
through an enormous telescope. The river had burst its banks, and was
flowing all over the line, and through the flood came the train, and
dashed into the water. She saw this vision only for a moment, then it
passed. She rubbed her eyes and wondered if it was a dream. She decided
it was a warning. She's very superstitious. Most Highland people are.
She didn't want Uncle Gordon to go next day by the little train that ran
down the valley, but she knew if she told him her 'vision' he would only
laugh at her. So she pretended she wanted to do some shopping at
Aberfylde, a town fifteen miles away, where the local railway joins the
main line. She told Uncle Gordon that if they motored there together she
could see him off on the London express, and then have a day's shopping.
So he agreed, and they went in the car. There was a tremendous storm in
the night, and it was still raining when they started. Auntie spent the
day in Aberfylde and motored back, and when she reached home she noticed
the valley had turned into a lake. The terrific rain had swollen all the
streams and made the river burst its banks, and the line was flooded,
and it was impossible for the train to run. So her 'vision' really did
come true after all. She's ever so proud of it, and wrote it all down so
that she shouldn't forget it. That's my story. Now it's somebody else's
stunt. Let's count out again."
Fortune cast the lot this time on Agnes, who wrinkled up her forehead
and protested she didn't know anything to tell, but, when urged,
remembered something she had heard during the summer holidays.
"It's true too!" she assured them. "We were staying at Tarana. We had
a villa there. Water was very scarce, and we used to have two barrels of
it brought every day on donkeyback by a woman whose business it was to
act as carrier. Her name was Luigia, and she was very picturesque
looking, and had the most beautiful dark eyes, though she always looked
fearfully sad. Daddy is fond of sketching, and he painted a picture of
her standing with her donkey under the vines. We guessed somehow that
she had a history, and we asked Sareda, our cook, about her. Sareda knew
everybody in the place. She was a dear old gossip. She got quite excited
over Luigia's story. She said it had been the talk of Tarana at the
time. Luigia used to be a lovely girl when she was young, and she was
quite wealthy for a peasant, because she owned a little lemon grove on
the hillside. She inherited it from her father, who was dead. Of course,
because she was beautiful and a village heiress, she soon found a
sweetheart, and became engaged to Francesco, a fisherman who lived down
on the Marina. Everything was going on very happily, and the wedding was
fixed, when suddenly it was found there was something wrong with
Luigia's glorious eyes. She went to a doctor in Naples, and he told her
that unless a certain operation were performed she would go blind. If
she went to Paris, to a specialist whom he named, her sight might be
saved. Poor Luigia sold her lemon grove in a hurry, to get the necessary
money, and packed up and started for Paris immediately. She was away six
months, and she came back penniless, but seeing as well as ever. She
trudged all the way from Liparo to Tarana, along the coast road, because
she could not afford to take the train. When she walked into her own
village, the first thing she saw was a wedding party leaving the church.
She stopped to watch, and as the procession passed her who should the
gayly-dressed bridegroom prove to be but her own faithless sweetheart
Francesco. She screamed and fainted, and some kindly neighbors took her
in and cared for her. She got work afterwards in the village, but she
did not find a husband, because her lemon grove was sold, and these
peasants will not marry a wife without a dowry. No wonder she looked so
sad. We were always frightfully sorry for her."
Sheila, who was the next entertainer, recited a ballad; and Delia also
"spoke a piece," an amusing episode of child life, which she rendered
with much humor. The next turn was Irene's, and the girls, who were in a
mood for listening, clamored for a story.
"I haven't any first-hand or original adventures," she declared. "My
aunts never have psychic experiences, and the people who brought us
things to the door in London weren't interesting in the least. If you
like romance, though, I remember a tale in a little old, old book that
belonged to my great grandmother. It was supposed to be true, and I dare
say it may have really happened, more than a hundred years ago, just as
'The Babes in the Wood' really happened in Norfolk in Elizabethan times.
It's about a girl named Mary Howard. Her father and mother died when she
was only four years old, and she was left an orphan. She was heiress to
a very great property, and her uncle, Mr. John Howard, was made her
guardian. She also had another uncle, Mr. Dallas, her mother's brother,
but he lived in Calcutta and she had never seen him. Mr. John Howard
wished to get hold of Mary's estates for himself, so he laid a careful
plot. First, he sent all the servants away, including her nurse, Betty
Morris, who was devoted to her. Betty offered to stay on without wages,
but when this was refused she became suspicious, and wrote a letter to
Mr. Dallas warning him to look after his sister's child. But it took
many months in those days for a letter to get to Calcutta, and meantime
Mr. Howard was pursuing a wicked scheme. Soon afterwards Betty heard
that her charge had been stolen by gypsies for the sake of her amber
beads, and could not be found anywhere. What had really happened was
worse even than Betty had feared. Mr. Howard had hired a sailor, who was
in desperate need of money, and bribed him to decoy the child away, take
her to the seaside and there drown her. Robert, the sailor, fulfilled
the first part of his bargain but not the second. He carried little Mary
into a remote part of Wales, but he did not do her any harm. Instead, he
became extremely fond of her and determined to save her from her uncle.
So he bought a passage in a vessel bound for New Zealand and took her to
sea with him, pretending she was his daughter. She was a sweet, gentle
little creature, and soon became a favorite on board.
"Among the crew was a Maori boy named Duaterra, whose father was a great
chief in New Zealand. The Captain, for some offense, ordered this boy to
be flogged, and Duaterra could not forgive the indignity. He planned a
terrible revenge. When they reached New Zealand he persuaded the Captain
and crew to land in his father's territory; then, summoning his savage
friends he ordered a general massacre and killed them all, saving only
Robert and little Mary. Robert had been good to him and had given him
tobacco, and Duaterra adored Mary, and called her his Mocking Bird. The
Maoris plundered and burnt the ship after they had murdered the crew,
but they were kind to Robert and Mary, and built a native house for
them. Here they lived for four years, for they had no opportunity to
escape. Robert married the chief's daughter and settled down as a member
of the tribe, but he became very anxious about little Mary. He knew that
Duaterra looked upon her as his prospective bride, and he could not bear
to think of the lovely child ever becoming the wife of a savage.
"One day a marvelous opportunity occurred for sending Mary home. A ship
put in to obtain fresh water, and on the vessel happened to be an old
friend of Robert's, named John Morris, actually the brother of Betty
Morris, Mary's former nurse. Robert told John the whole story and begged
him to take the little girl to England, and deliver her into Betty's
hands. He paid for her passage with the money which Mr. Howard had given
him as a bribe, and which, as he could not use money in New Zealand, he
had kept buried in the ground. Mary was carried on board ship when she
was fast asleep at night, and poor Robert cried like a child at parting
from her. John Morris proved a faithful friend. He took Mary to London,
and sent a message to his sister Betty who was then living in
Devonshire. When she arrived she was able to identify her nursling, and
to tell John that Mr. Dallas had arrived from Calcutta and had offered a
large reward for the recovery of his niece. So Mary was placed under the
guardianship of her mother's brother, who took good care both of her and
her estates, and the wicked uncle was so overcome with shame, when the
story of his crime got about, that he went crazy and ended his days in a
lunatic asylum."
"And the best place for him, too!" commented Jess. "He must have been a
brute. I dare say things like that really _did_ happen before there were
daily papers to publish photos of lost children, and when the Maoris in
New Zealand were still savages. Look here, my hearties! Do you realize
it's 5.35? We've got exactly ten minutes to clear up before Rachel
arrives on the rampage."
"Gracious! Help me out of these duds! Rachel would never let me hear
the end of it if she caught me as a May Queen. I know her sarcastic
tongue," squealed Peachy. "Thanks just fifty thousand times for my
birthday party. It's been absolutely prime, and I've never enjoyed
anything as much for years. Sorry to send you others into the cold, cold
world, but I'm afraid you'll have to scoot and change."