DAY DREAMS
For the first time since she could remember, Miss Finch felt herself
living in an atmosphere of romance. If a young man's fancy turns to
thoughts of love only under the allurements of spring weather, Zaida
Finch surpassed the average youth by full three seasons. Love and
matrimony occupied her thoughts twelve months in the year, and to an
extent inconceivable in view of her general colorless and withered
aspect.
Though as far as possible removed from the designing spinster of
the comic stage, Miss Finch had not as yet surrendered the hope of
changing her name. From her point of view the unmarried woman was a
self-advertised failure. Husbands, as far as she had been able to
observe, were always disappointing, and not infrequently obnoxious,
yet to lack one somehow proved one's self less than a woman. In those
dreams which never passed the bounds of maidenly reserve, she sometimes
imagined herself addressed by the prefix which indicates the dignity of
wifehood--she would have died sooner than have coupled it with the name
of any man of her acquaintance--and then in the words of a simpler and
more direct age, she felt that her reproach among men had been taken
away. The secret weighing heaviest on her heart was the knowledge that
no man had ever indicated that he wanted her.
Needless to say, Miss Finch's present mood of sentiment was entirely
vicarious. Agatha's prospects absorbed her almost to the exclusion of
her own timid dreams. Miss Finch was constitutionally incapable of
realizing Agatha's vivid beauty, though she sometimes told herself that
if it were not for her red hair, which she innocently assumed to be a
misfortune, Agatha would be a really pretty girl. Forbes had no sooner
made his appearance than Miss Finch had inventoried his qualifications
for Agatha's future husband, and had not found him altogether wanting.
His blindness was a misfortune largely offset by his amiability,
and free use of money, and in her association with him, Agatha had
developed a sympathetic patience her old friend could not regard as
characteristic.
"And it looks to me as if he were taken with her," Miss Finch had
congratulated herself. "He chirks up as soon as she comes near him. If
he likes her so well when he thinks she's an old woman, he ought to
like her better when he finds she's a young one."
There was, to be sure, one serious difficulty to be met in the
readjustment of Forbes' ideas on the important subject of Agatha's
identity. At this point Miss Finch's dreams ended in chaotic confusion
and with her oft-repeated lament, "There's no good going to come from
cheating a blind man."
After Warren's visit, Miss Finch's match-making tendencies took
another direction. If Warren had failed to make an impression on the
unsusceptible Hephzibah, he had nothing to complain of as far as Phemie
and Miss Finch were concerned. In spite of the agitation induced by her
unwonted responsibilities on the occasion of Warren's visit, Miss Finch
had been keenly alive to the young man's cheerful good humor, and his
naive self-enjoyment had communicated itself to the one of his audience
who seemed least responsive. "Exactly the one for dear Agatha,"
declared Miss Finch.
With the discovery of the source of the box of chocolates, Miss
Finch's smoldering hopes leaped into flame. Caution had dictated
Agatha's concealment of Warren's tangible apology, but to a girl
of her temperament the solitary consumption of a five-pound box of
confectionery was a moral impossibility. Her innate generosity forced
her to share the sweets with Forbes and Miss Finch and Howard and
even with Phemie. Three of her beneficiaries accepted their shares
as unthinkingly as the lilies of the field, but Miss Finch showed a
troublesome tendency to ask questions.
"Agatha, you don't mean you've been wasting your money on candy? A box
of that size must have cost something awful."
"No, Fritz, I didn't buy it."
Experience had taught Miss Finch to be on her guard when Agatha
wore that look of wide-eyed innocence. She pondered the seemingly
straight-forward reply.
"Having things charged is the same as buying 'em, Agatha. You've got to
pay for 'em some time."
"But these were given me, Fritz dear. They were an apology."
"Mr. Forbes!" gasped Miss Finch, and at once the strains of the wedding
march rang in her ears.
"Mr. Forbes! The very idea! The only trouble with him is that he never
did anything in his life to apologize _for_. He's so perfect that
people mistake him for a worm and trample on him."
"I didn't mean to make you mad, Agatha," Miss Finch protested timidly,
shrinking from the flame in Agatha's eyes. The inexplicable girl stared
for a moment and then to Miss Finch's great relief, burst into a laugh.
"Fritz, you're funnier than a box of monkeys. If you must know, Mr.
Warren sent the chocolates."
"To you?" Miss Finch almost screamed it. And forthwith the summer
breeze brought to her nostrils the odor of orange blossoms.
"That's the question that's troubling me, Fritz. The box was addressed
to Hephzibah. But as I am her nearest living relative--you might almost
say her mother--"
Miss Finch swept these fine points aside. "I didn't know he'd ever seen
you."
"He walked into the kitchen while you were at church. That's exactly
his style, I imagine. And when he saw me there rolling biscuits, he
talked a lot of nonsense and ended by kissing me."
"Agatha!" gasped Miss Finch. Her emotions were confused. She was under
the impression that this recital confirmed her wildest hopes and at the
same time outraged her finer sensibilities. Possibly her reprehensibly
exultant feeling was due to an overwhelming certainty that this at
least was life.
Her face aflame as if she and not Agatha had been the recipient of that
kiss, Miss Finch attempted to discharge her responsibilities as mentor
of youth. "Agatha, I can't understand it. I'm afraid you must have
acted bold. I never heard of a gentleman's walking into a kitchen, and
kissing a young lady he'd never seen before."
"Nor I, Fritz. And that leads me to the conclusion that Mr. Warren
isn't exactly a gentleman. At the same time," Agatha added, helping
herself to another chocolate, "he apologized very sweetly."
"Is he coming to see you?" demanded Miss Finch, who in her ignorance of
the ways of the great world assumed that so spontaneous a tribute must
be merely preliminary to an ardent courtship.
"He had an idea of taking my education in hand." Agatha briefly
outlined Warren's philanthropic scheme in behalf of Hephzibah Diggs,
and Miss Finch turned all colors as she listened. Now at last she knew
that the romantic novels with which she solaced her leisure hours had
not misled her. There really _was_ such a thing as love at first sight.
"Agatha!" she ventured tremulously, "you could marry that man to-morrow
if you liked. It's as plain as the nose on your face that he's dead in
love with you."
"If it were as plain as the nose on _his_ face, that would settle it.
But as nothing would induce me to marry him to-morrow or any other day,
the state of his feelings doesn't matter."
"But I'm sure, Agatha," remonstrated Miss Finch, "that you wouldn't
want to break his heart."
Agatha's reply was a paroxysm of laughter that left her gasping and
tearful. "Oh, Fritz," she half sobbed, as she wiped her eyes, "I'm so
glad you didn't die when you were little."
Miss Finch was on her dignity. "I know you're making fun of me, Agatha.
But it's no laughing matter to wreck a man's life."
Again Agatha yielded to mirth. "You've seen Mr. Warren and yet you say
that."
"I can't see why you take that tone, Agatha. I'm sure he's a nice young
man and so lively."
"I'll admit the liveliness but not the heart, at least not the broken
heart. That young man owns a good, tough, thoroughly seasoned organ,
take it from me."
Miss Finch sighed but with less dejection than her manner indicated.
Little as she had learned of the ways of men and women in her guileless
spinsterhood, she had somehow gathered the impression that girls
occasionally abused the admirers who stood highest in their maidenly
affections, for the pleasure of hearing them defended. And though she
could not be sure that this explained Agatha's slighting references
to a most agreeable young man, Miss Finch resolved to lose no
opportunity of sounding Warren's praises. In his case, too, there was
an unfortunate confusion of identity to be cleared up, but from Miss
Finch's point of view, a young man who could give a kiss and a mammoth
box of chocolates to a pretty girl, under the impression that she was
a servant, would not hesitate to lay his heart at her feet when he
discovered that her blood was as good as his own.
Developments convinced Miss Finch of the wisdom of her chosen tactics.
She overlooked no opportunity to speak a good word for the absent
Warren, acquiring a certain irrelevant eloquence on the theme. And
though Agatha gave no indication of agreeing with her, it was evident
that she enjoyed her earnestness and was more inclined to lead her on
than to check her fluency.
Whether because of Miss Finch's judicious opposition or some less
obvious reason, Agatha was in noticeably high spirits. She entered into
playing her rôle with a whimsical abandon that at times moved even Miss
Finch to laughter, in spite of her conscientious misgivings. Indeed the
spirit of cheerful animation pervaded the entire household. Whether
because Forbes had at length resigned himself to hearing from Julia
only once in two or three weeks, or whether the improvement in his
health furnished the necessary elasticity for resisting disappointment,
his moods of depression were becoming very infrequent. He spent less
time on the porch and more on long jaunts with Howard. The two went
fishing frequently and sometimes Agatha made a third, in which case
the pace was regulated strictly according to Forbes' view of what was
due her advanced years. Agatha was sure she would find more enjoyment
on the occasions when the two males went as fast and as far as they
pleased, undeterred by consideration for the aged.
One exhilarating morning Forbes and Howard left soon after breakfast,
taking their luncheon with them, and advising Agatha to expect them
only when she saw them. With her customary knack for utilizing the
moments, Agatha improved their absence to despatch a number of tasks
awaiting her attention, and wound up by washing her hair. She made
her appearance on the lawn in the early afternoon, her splendid mane
falling almost to her waist and reflecting the sunshine like burnished
copper. Already the little tendrils were beginning to curl about her
face while the water dropped from the long ends.
Agatha seated herself in the sun, lifting the coppery mass strand by
strand, that it might dry more quickly. Had Miss Finch been versed in
classical lore, she might have been reminded of the golden fleece for
which men risked so much. As it was she said chidingly, "Agatha, you
will freckle terribly if you're not careful."
"This sun is worth a peppering of freckles," Agatha answered
recklessly, but she pulled her hair over her face and then she
resembled Danäe veiled by a shower of gold. It was several minutes
before she made a peek-hole in the screen, and looked at Miss Finch
apprehensively.
"Fritz, I hear wheels. Don't tell me that in spite of my repeated
warnings, we're going to have callers."
Miss Finch stood up. The very slight advantage due to an upright
position was sufficient to enable her to recognize the occupant of the
approaching vehicle. "It looks to me like Jim Doolittle."
"Jim Doolittle!" exclaimed Agatha, amazed. "Why, what can he want? He
must be coming to see you, Fritz."
"Agatha!" quavered Miss Finch, and flushed a painful purple.
"Well, he certainly isn't coming to see me, and I find it hard to
believe that Phemie is the magnet. He doesn't know Mr. Forbes and
Howard is a trifle young to attract him. Please see what he wants,
Fritz."
"I--I'd rather not, Agatha."
"Why, Fritz, what ails you? You can see for yourself that I'm in no
condition to interview Mr. Doolittle. His modesty would never survive
the shock. Send him away as soon as you can. It won't do to have all
the busybodies of the neighborhood dropping in whenever they feel like
it."
Reluctantly Miss Finch departed on her inhospitable mission. But it
seemed that Agatha had done Mr. Doolittle an injustice. He had come on
an entirely altruistic errand.
"There was a telegram at the office for Aggie's boarder, and I offered
to bring it out, being as I was driving by."
"A telegram for Mr. Forbes!" fluttered Miss Finch, forgetting her
shyness in sympathetic concern. "I hope there's no more trouble in
store for that poor young man."
"Wal, the Bible says to him that hath shall be given, and I've noticed
that's likely to come true, as far as trouble's concerned. How's the
poor feller getting on? I had a little talk with him one day, and I
made up my mind he warn't the June-bug sort of crazy, just the glum,
hold-your-tongue kind."
"I guess Mr. Forbes' brains would hold their own alongside yours or
mine!" Miss Finch spoke with some heat and realized her mistake in time
to add, "Though of course he thinks a lot of things that aren't so."
It soothed her conscience to realize the absolute truth of her closing
statement.
"I know, hallucinations they call 'em," said Mr. Doolittle, proud of
his mastery of the polysyllable.
Miss Finch was not sure whether Agatha could be reckoned a
hallucination or not and she evaded the issue by adding pointedly,
"He's got quite an aversion to company."
"I could see that. You'd have thought it would be a real relief to
him to talk with me, man to man, after being shut up with a passel of
women-folks, but no! I couldn't scarcely get a word out of him." Mr.
Doolittle shook his head in sad wonder over the vagaries of a mind
distraught, and then his attention wandered to a patch of color on the
lawn. "Is that Aggie Kent in the brown dress with her hair hanging?"
"Yes."
"Looks like a haycock struck by lightning." Again Mr. Doolittle shook
his head. "Aggie's a lucky girl to have you on hand to steady her and
keep her acting sensible. I guess everybody 'round here knows who's the
backbone in this house."
"Agatha's an awful capable girl," said Miss Finch. She was aware that
she did not deserve the compliment, yet because of that contrary twist
in human nature from which the most exemplary are not altogether free,
it gave her pleasure. "Agatha don't need any backbone but her own," she
insisted.
Mr. Doolittle straightened his sagging figure and tightened his lines.
"Wal, if the young man should get vi'lent any time just call on me." He
clucked to his horse and the ramshackle buggy creaked away.
The great moments of life come and go while we remain oblivious. As Mr.
Doolittle jogged down the shaded drive, he said to himself that Zaida
Finch would make some man a good wife. He even turned his head to look
back, and the prim little figure hurrying across the grass seemed to
his elderly eyes to radiate a certain maidenly charm.
All unconscious of this momentous occurrence, Miss Finch carried the
telegram to Agatha, and that young woman shared her apprehension,
though for a somewhat different reason.
"It's not so likely to mean trouble for him as for me. Perhaps some
more of his city friends are coming to visit him. If they do, I think
I'll have an attack of smallpox and quarantine the place." She stood up
extending her hand for the message. "I must hunt him up right away and
find out."
"You're not going that way, are you, Agatha, with your hair all down?
You look like a crazy girl."
"What's the difference? Mr. Forbes won't be scandalized, because he
can't see me. And the birds and the squirrels won't mind. It's not dry
enough to put up yet."
Telegram in hand, she started up the slope behind the house. Miss
Finch's faded, troubled eyes saw her silhouetted in glowing relief
against the intense blue of the summer sky, and then lost her as she
passed out of sight over the brow of the hill.