“Now, Harry, where are you going?” said Celia, with dismay in her voice,
as she ran down the stairs and saw that young man with his overcoat on
and his hat in his hand just opening the front door.
He started and looked guilty as she spoke. In truth, he had been sitting
in the parlor for an hour trying to keep himself in the house, and away
from an especially alluring evening the boys had held out as bait; and
one, too, which seemed, from their account of it, to be perfectly
harmless.
He hesitated and stammered out:
“Nowhere, I guess,” and then laughed and sat down in the hall chair. “Is
there anything I can do for you, Miss Murray? The fact is I don’t quite
know what to do with myself to-night, for some reason.”
Celia’s heart filled with pity for the poor lonely fellow and with
remorse that she had not sooner attempted to do something to cheer him
up.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, earnestly, with a true ring to her voice
which he recognized at once. “But if you are lonesome and really have
nothing pressing to do, why take off your coat and come and help me
carry out a scheme. I’m going to make a cozy corner in the parlor. In
fact, I think I’ll make two, one in the bay window and one over there by
the organ. Will you help? You’re such a good carpenter, you know, and
this parlor does look so bare and desolate.”
“All right, I’m with you,” answered the young man, taking off his
overcoat with alacrity. “Only tell me what to do. I don’t know the first
thing about cozy corners, but if you know as much as you did about
lamps, I’ll be willing to say they’ll be a success. Let’s have a
half-dozen of ’em if you say so. Now what’ll I do first?”
“Bring that lamp and come down into the cellar. Wait, I don’t know
whether you can do it alone, they are pretty heavy and there are a good
many. Perhaps Mr. Hartley or Mr. Osborn would help a minute in bringing
up the boards. I’ll show you what we want first, and then you can pick
out the right boards. You see I want a good firm seat here in the bay
window to fill the whole place to the edge of the window frames either
side, just a foot from the floor, so, and then I want another over here,
to reach from here to here, so wide, and the same height from the floor.
Here is my tape measure. Now you can pick out your lumber.” Celia moved
about the dull uninteresting parlor, furnishing it with gesture and
imagination, till the young carpenter was quite interested. He called
the two young men upstairs, who came willingly and helped for a few
minutes showing not a little interest and curiosity in the undertaking.
They all lingered with advice and offers to help, and when Celia had
seen the carpentry work well started, she ran upstairs and knocked at
the door of the two young girls.
“Come in,” drawled the voice of some one chewing, and after a moment’s
hesitation she entered.
Mamie Williams lay across the foot of the bed, the two pillows and a
comforter under her head, the gas turned as high as it would go, and a
paper-covered volume in her hand. She was chewing gum. When she saw that
it was Celia who had entered, her tone of indifference changed to one of
pleased surprise. She sat up quickly and hid her book beneath the
pillows. Then she put her hand up to straighten her hair.
“Why, is it you!” she exclaimed, and Celia knew that her aunt’s
conjecture that she was admired by this girl was true, from the evident
pleasure the visit gave. This unbent Celia still more, and she tried to
be winning. When Celia tried she was very winning indeed.
“We are having some fun downstairs fixing up that old barn of a parlor,”
she explained, still standing by the door, though her hostess had
slipped from the bed and cleared a chair from a pile of clothing thrown
upon it. “I thought maybe you would like to help. Is your friend here?”
“No, she ain’t, she’s gone out with a gentleman friend,” said Mamie,
with a conscious giggle. “It’s a wonder you found me in. I’m mostly out
when she is. Sit down, can’t you? I’m real glad you come up, I was
lonesome. The book I had wasn’t any account either. What did you say you
was doing?”
Celia essayed to explain and succeeded in interesting Mamie to the
extent that she hunted out her thimble from a mass of ribbons and
collars tumbled into a bureau drawer, and went downstairs to see what
was going on, though she confessed she was not much used to doing things
like that.
They went to work in good earnest. Celia had some printed burlap, which
she had brought home from the store one night to make curtains for an
improvised clothespress, in her room. It was cheap and there was plenty
of it. The clothespress could wait. Those cozy corners must be finished
to-night, at least as far as possible. She gave the tick of the cushions
to Mamie to run the seams, while she applied herself to sewing the
burlap cover for it. Meanwhile, the hammering and sawing and directing
went forward, and by half-past nine when Mr. Stafford opened the front
door and came in there were two very solid looking rough wooden shelves
a foot from the floor, in the parlor, one occupying the entire bay
window space in the front of the room, the other one being at the
further end of the room. To the sides of this Harry Knowles was just
nailing some more boards to serve as ends, under the supervision of the
other two young men, while Celia and Mamie were upon their knees in
front of the bay window tacking the dark blue burlap printed in a
heraldic design, in a pleated valance. A nearly completed cushion lay
beside them on the floor, but not tied as yet. Mr. Stafford, attracted
by the unusual noises, entered the room and stood behind them looking at
the work a moment. Then, as Celia turned from the valance and attempted
to thread a large needle with a cord and then vainly endeavored to pull
its short proportions through the thick cushion, which had been stuffed
with excelsior and a layer of cotton on the top, he said quietly:
“You need an upholsterer’s needle for that, Miss Murray. I think I have
one upstairs that we used in fixing up the pulpit chairs at the mission.
I’ll go and get it.”
Celia was pleased that he entered into the work and thanked him. As he
turned toward Harry, he said, “Knowles, why don’t you put springs in? It
would be twice as comfortable.”
“Springs!” said Harry jumping up and facing round. “Do you expect us to
turn into upholsterers the first night?” and he laughed good-naturedly.
“No, but indeed it isn’t a difficult job,” explained the minister, “you
just have to tie them down firmly. I’ll show you if you don’t mind
running out with me to that little upholsterer’s around the corner. I
think it’s open yet. It was when I came by. The people live over the
store and they don’t shut up shop early.”
“By all means, let us have springs,” answered Celia to Harry’s look of
enquiry, “I didn’t look for such luxury as that, but we will take what
grandeur we can get.” Her cheeks had grown red with excitement, and her
eyes were shining. The minister, as he turned to go on his
self-appointed errand, was reminded of the first evening he had come to
that house. Harry and Mr. Stafford were soon back with several sets of
springs and the three young men, with Celia demurely in the background,
took a lesson in putting in springs, which they found to be not such a
very difficult matter after all. The minister had not forgotten to get
some small dark blue cotton upholstery buttons when he was out, and
Mamie and Celia soon learned how to use the queer double pointed needle
and tie the cushion with the little buttons. Altogether it looked very
pretty, and quite like real upholsterer’s work when it was finished.
In spite of the proverbial “many hands” and “light work,” it was nearly
eleven o’clock when the two seats were finished, and a light frame work
over the seat in the back end of the parlor erected. Miss Hannah had
come down to send them all to bed, but found them in a state of childish
enthusiasm to see their work completed. Celia had remembered that she
had upstairs two or three pieces of plain and printed denim and some
turkey red calico. Mounted on the stepladder beside the canopy frame,
she deftly draped the rough wood, being materially assisted by Mr.
Stafford who seemed to understand what she wanted to do, and to be able
to drape a graceful fold of cloth, if he _was_ only a man, and that a
minister. He, by way of contribution, brought down a Chinese sword made
of coins which the Chinese use as a talisman, for the purpose of
frightening away evil spirits, and hung it above the drapery. This
roused the others to emulate his example. The university student thought
he knew where he could get a couple of Arabic spears to help out that
canopy drapery, and Harry Knowles declared he would hunt around and find
one of those dull old filigree bull’s-eye lanterns that hang by long
chains from the centre. Mamie said her contribution should be a couple
of sofa pillows, and Celia promised to make some more. Miss Burns,
coming in just then looking weary and worn, brightened as she came into
the parlor and exclaimed over the new furnishings, “They are
simply,—now—simply—_fine_—aren’t they, Miss Grant? Indeed they
_are_! What _wonderful_ taste and _skill_ has been exhibited here! I
declare it is _simply marvelous_! _Simply fine!_ Indeed—_indeed_—it
is!” she giggled wearily. She asked permission to contribute a pillow
also.
“Now we need a low bookcase running along that wall and turning that
corner,” said the minister, as they turned to go to their rooms. “Can’t
you manage that, Knowles?” and Celia’s eyes sparkled over the idea. The
minister evidently understood esthetics anyway. The bookcase would be a
great addition. She went upstairs so excited over her new work she could
hardly sleep. She had almost forgotten her three-cent protégée, till
Mamie squeezed her hand over the stair railing and said, “Good-night,
Miss Murray, I’ve enjoyed myself ever so much. And say, would you mind
coming into my room a few minutes to-morrow night? I want to ask you
some questions very particular.”
Celia promised readily enough, though the prospect was not a pleasant
one, but she had made up her mind to try to help this girl, so she might
as well accept the situation and the opportunity together.
But aunt Hannah sat up that night till nearly one o’clock, and looked
over the stair railing till she heard the night key click, and saw the
befeathered hat of Carrie Simmons as she came airily in.
“Poor child!” murmured the watcher, as she turned out the hall light and
went to bed, “something must be done! Out till one o’clock and with that
kind of a young man!”
The next morning she noticed that Carrie had dark rings under her eyes,
and was developing thin, sharp lines about her nose and mouth, which did
not add beauty to her pert, weak face.
The next evening as Celia started for Mamie Williams’ room, Carrie
having again departed with the aforementioned youth, aunt Hannah called
her. “Celia dear, two things,” she said, with her hand on Celia’s arm.
“Don’t forget to pray before you go, and if you get a chance mention
soap and water. Don’t forget that cleanliness is next to godliness.
Perhaps in this case it comes first.” Celia laughed and said, “All
right, auntie,” and went back to her room to take the first advice
given.
Reinforced by a turning of her heart to her heavenly Father for
guidance, she went to her unpleasant task, her mind more than half full
of the new bookcase and some other plans she had for the adornment of
the parlor. The minister seemed to have taken Harry Knowles away with
him immediately after dinner, so she had no one to help her carry out
any parlor schemes just at present, and she could not help being
disappointed that she must turn aside to another piece of work.
Mamie was evidently expecting her this time. She had given the room some
semblance of a clearing up: that is, she had picked up Carrie’s old
store dress from the floor where she left it, and tumbled everything
that was out of place on the bureau and table into a drawer, for the
confusion of some future hour of need.
She seemed to be in earnest, and plunged at once into her subject when
she had seated Celia.
“Say, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind telling me how you do it. You
see I thought you wasn’t any more pretty than I, and you haven’t got
expensive clo’es, but you manage somehow to look awful stylish and
pretty in spite of it. I know it takes a knack, but don’t you think I
could learn? I’ve been trying ever since you came here to do my hair the
way you do, but I can’t make it act right. I thought maybe you wouldn’t
mind doing it a few times for me, to get me started, and perhaps you
could tell me what the difference is between you and me. I know it ain’t
very polite to ask you things like this, but I thought you was so kind
last night asking me to help that I’d just be bold and ask you. You
ain’t mad, are you?”
Celia ignored the doubtful compliments and tried to smile, albeit her
very soul shrank within her. What, handle the coarse greasy hair of that
girl who seemed actually dirty to her? How could she? Surely the Lord
did not require that sacrifice. Why had she undertaken this task anyway?
It was _dreadful_. She half rose from her chair, as she began to foresee
the magnitude of the possible proportions of this proposition. What
might she not be asked to do? Then she remembered whose she was and whom
she served, and sank back again in her chair, putting up a petition for
help to her heavenly Father.
“What is prayer?
’Tis the telegraphic cord,
Holding converse with the Lord;
’Tis the key of promise given
Turning in the lock of heaven.”