THE GILPINS HAVE A PARTY
The young ladies of Oak Knowe went out for their afternoon exercise
for the half hour before supper. Those who had been long at the school
were allowed to roam about the spacious grounds without a teacher, but
newcomers, or those who wished to go further afield, were always
attended by one.
Most of Winifred's motherless life had been passed at Oak Knowe, even
few of her vacations elsewhere. Her father was a very wealthy man, of
large affairs which carried him often from the Province, to England or
countries further away, so that his home was seldom opened. But to
compensate his daughter for this state of things he had arranged with
the authorities that her school life should be made as homelike as
possible. She had her own private room with a tiny parlor and private
bath adjoining. She was allowed to entertain her schoolmates there as
she would have done in her father's house; always, of course, within
the limits set by the faculty.
But Winifred cared little for all this unusual luxury. She rarely
asked for any money "banked" with the Lady Principal beyond the
twenty-five cents a week which any pupil might spend; and she liked
the common parlor far better than her own richly furnished one.
Nothing hurt her feelings more than to have her mates refer to her
wealth or to treat her differently from the poorest pupil.
But there were times when she enjoyed her privileges to the utmost,
and that first day of Dorothy's life at Oak Knowe was one such. Not
having been "in disgrace" for a week at least she confidently asked
permission to entertain the newcomer in her rooms, "Just we two by
ourselves. She's lonely and I like her. Please, Miss Tross-Kingdon."
"You'll be quiet, Winifred, and keep out of mischief?" asked the Lady
Principal, with more gentleness than ordinary. It was natural that she
should feel great interest in the girl she had almost reared and whose
own power for good or ill Winifred herself could not yet comprehend.
"Ah, now, Miss Muriel, you know I will! Why, surely, I've been as good
for a whole week as if I were a kindergarten Minim. You should trust
me more. I read the other day that people are just what you think they
are. So, whatever you want me to be, please just think I _am_ and
I'll be it!" and the audacious creature actually dabbed a kiss on the
Lady Principal's own cheek.
"Wheedler! Well, I'll try to fancy you're a saint, but I'm not so
fanciful about this Dorothy Calvert. She's a pretty little thing and
my Grace made friends with her at once and the Bishop says she is of
good blood. That counts, of course, but she seems to me a little
headstrong and very stupid. I don't yet understand how Miss Hexam came
to put her into so high a Form. However, I know that she is very
homesick, as all new pupils are, so you may entertain her if you wish.
A maid shall send you in a tray and you are excused from school
supper; but see to it, Winifred, that you use your influence aright.
The more favored a person is in this world the more that individual
should watch her own actions."
Winifred thanked the teacher and backed out of the room as if in the
presence of royalty itself. This action in itself was offensive to the
teacher but was one she could hardly criticise; nor did she guess
that, once out of sight, the "wheedler" should first stamp her foot
and exclaim:
"I'm sick to death of hearing about my 'influence' and being an
'individual.' Makes me feel like a spider, that time the German count
came to visit Father and called his attention to 'that individual
crawling down the wall.' He meant 'one, a solitary thing.' But I'm no
'solitary' just because Father has a little money. I often wish he
hadn't a pound, especially when some of the 'Peers' try to make me
believe he is at least a 'Sir'."
Then hurrying to Dorothy she danced about in delight at her success.
"Yes, she says you may come, and she's sure to send us in a fine
supper. Miss Muriel Tross-Kingdon never does a thing by halves, not
even a lecture on 'individual influence.' Queen Baltimore, aren't you
glad you're poor?"
"Neither glad nor sorry, Winifred, because I'm neither rich nor poor.
Anyway neither of us can help being just as we are, I reckon."
"Come on, though, and hurry up. 'If it were done, when 'tis done, then
'twere well it were done quickly,'" quoted Winifred, whose class
reading just then was "Macbeth"; and seizing the smaller girl whirled
merrily down the hall.
Five minutes later, with hats and jackets on, they joined the other
pupils out of doors. To Dorothy it seemed the beautiful grounds were
alive with all sorts and conditions of girls, pacing rapidly up and
down, "sprinting" to warm themselves against the chill of the coming
evening, playing tennis for the brief half-hour, or racing one another
from point to point. There were girls so many and so various, from
Seventh Form young ladies to the wee little Minims, that Dolly
wondered if she would ever know them all or feel herself a member of
the great company.
But Winifred gave her little time to gaze about her.
"Oh! don't bother with them now. Our way is that lower gate, and it's
a good bit of a distance, I hope you're a good walker."
"Pretty good, I reckon," answered Dolly falling into step with the
taller girl and hurrying forward at even a swifter pace.
"But, begging your pardon, that's no way. We Canadians learn
pedestrianism--whew! what a long word!--just as we learn our letters.
Begin very slowly at first. Then when your muscles are limbered, walk
faster--and faster--and faster! Till it seems as if your legs swing up
and down of their own accord, just like machines. It's wonderful then
how little you tire and how far you can go. Slack up a bit and I'll
show you."
Absorbed in this new lesson Dorothy scarcely noticed when they left
Oak Knowe limits and struck out along a country lane, with hedgerows
at either side; nor when having climbed a stile they set out across a
plowed field, till her feet grew heavy with the soil they gathered.
"Oh! dear! What mud! Why do you walk in it, Winifred?"
"It's the shortest road. Here's a stone. Stop a bit and scrape it
off--as I do. See?" answered the other, calmly illustrating her
advice.
"But I don't like it. My shoes will be ruined!" wailed Dolly who was
always finical about "dirt."
"Humph! Haven't you another pair? But they ought to be--such
flimsy-wimpsy affairs! Look at mine. A bit of mud more or less can't
hurt them and it's the boot-boy's business to clean them."
The English girl held forth a good sized foot clad in a still larger
shoe of calfskin, which though soiled with the clay had not absorbed
much of its moisture: while the finer affairs of Dorothy's were
already wet through, making her uncomfortable.
"I couldn't walk in such heavy boots. And it's raining again. It
rained last night. Does it rain every day in Canada? We ought to go
back. Do let's, and try this some other time. I reckon this will
finish my new suit, entirely."
Winifred put her arms akimbo and stared at her new friend. Then burst
into a hearty laugh over Dorothy's disgusted face.
"Ha, ha, ha! And 'I reckon,' little southerner, that you'll be a more
sensible girl after you've lived up here a while. The idea of turning
back because it rains! absurd! Why, it's fine, just fine! The Lady
Principal will overhaul your fair-weather-clothes and see that you get
some fit to stand anything. This homespun suit of mine couldn't get
wet through if it tried! But I shan't stand here, in the middle of a
plowed field, and let it try. Come on. Its the States against the
Province! Who'll win?"
"I will! For old Maryland and the President!" cried Dorothy, and
valiantly strode forward again.
"For our Province and the King!" shouted the Canadian; and after that
neither spoke, till the long walk ended before the cottage door of old
John Gilpin and his dame. There Winifred gave a smart tap to the panel
and holding her hand toward Dorothy, cried:
"Quits, Queen Baltimore! We'll call it even and I'll never doubt your
pluck again. But you certainly must get some decent clothes--if I have
to buy them myself!"
Then the door opened and there stood old John, peering from the
lamp-lighted room into the twilight without. After a second he
recognized Dorothy and drew her in, exclaiming joyfully:
"Why, Dame, 'tis our little lass herself! Her of the night last spent
and the helping hand! Step ben, step ben, and 'tother miss with ye.
You're surely welcome as the flowers in spring."
Mrs. Gilpin came ponderously forward, a smile on her big but comely
face, and silently greeted both visitors, while her more nimble
husband promptly "step-an'-fetched" the best chairs in the room and
placed them before the fire.
"Dry yourselves, lassies, whilst I tell the Robin you've come to see
him. He'll be that proud, poor laddie, to have Oak Knowe young ladies
pay him that honor! and he's mending fine, mending fine, doctor says.
The mother--"
He disappeared within that inner chamber still talking and as happy
now as he had seemed sorrowful when Dorothy parted from him on the
night before. Then he had anticipated nothing less than death for the
boy he loved, despite the doctor's assurance to the contrary. He came
back leading a woman by the hand, as protectingly as if she had been a
child, and introduced her as:
"The bit mother hersel'! Look at her well. Isn't she the very sight
and image of Robin, the lad? And mind how she's pickin' up already.
Just one day of good victuals and Dame's cossetting and the pink's
streamin' back to her cheeks. Please the good Lord they'll never get
that thin again whilst I have my ox-team to haul with and the Dame's
good land to till. I'll just step-an'-fetch the rocker out--"
At that point in his remarks the Dame laid a hand on his shoulder,
saying:
"That'll do, John Gilpin. Just brew a cup of tea. I'll tell the lad."
Winifred was amused at this wifely reprimand, but no offense seemed
meant nor taken. The farmer stopped talking and deftly made the tea
from the boiling kettle, added a couple of plates to the waiting
supper table, and drew from the oven a mighty dish of baked beans that
might have been cooked in Yankee-land, and flanked this by a Yorkshire
pudding.
"Oh! how nice that smells!" cried Dorothy, springing up to add the
knives and forks from the dresser; while Winifred clapped her hands in
a pretended ecstasy and sniffed the savory odors, admitting: "I'm as
hungry as hungry! And this beats any supper I asked for at Oak Knowe.
I hope they'll want us to stay!"
Her frankness made timid little Mrs. Locke smile as she had not been
able to do since she had known of Robin's accident, and smiling was
good for her. Indeed, the whole atmosphere of this simple, comfortable
home was good for her, and the high spirits of these three young
people delightful to her care-burdened heart.
For, presently, it was the three--not least of these her idol, her
Robin! Dorothy had followed the Dame into the boy's room and Winifred
had promptly followed her; and because he was the sunny-hearted lad
which the farmer had claimed him to be, he put all thought of his own
pain or trouble out of mind, and laughed with the two girls at their
awkward attempts at feeding him from the tray on the stand beside the
bed. Having to lie flat upon his back he could still use one arm and
could have fed himself fairly well. But this his visitors would not
allow; and he was obliged to submit when Winifred, playfully
struggling with Dolly for "My time now!" thrust a spoon into his ear
instead of his mouth.
The truth was that under the girl's assumed indifference to the fact
that she was breaking rules by "visiting without permission" lay a
feeling of guilt. "Double guilt" she knew, because she had imposed
upon Dorothy's ignorance by stating that during "exercise hour" any
long resident pupil was free to go where she chose. This was true, but
only in a measure. What was not true was that so distant a point as
John Gilpin's cottage should be chosen, much less entered without
permission.
But curiosity had been too strong for her and she had resented, on
Dorothy's account, the refusal of Dr. Winston's invitation in the
morning. Besides, she argued with her own conscience:
"We're excused from school supper and free to entertain each other in
my room till chapel. What difference does it make, and who will know?
To-morrow, I'll go and 'fess to Miss Muriel and if she is displeased
I'll take my punishment, whatever it is, without a word. Anyhow, Dolly
can't be punished for what she doesn't know is wrong."
So, feeling that she "was in for it, anyway" Winifred's mood grew
reckless and she "let herself go" to a positive hilarity.
Dorothy watched and listened in surprise but soon caught her
schoolmate's spirit, and jested and laughed as merrily as she. Even
Robin tried to match their funny remarks with odd stories of his own
and after a little time, when he had eaten as much as they could make
him, began to sing a long rigmarole, of innumerable verses, that began
with the same words and ended midway each verse, only to resume. It
was all something about the king and the queen and the "hull r'yal
famblely" which Dorothy promptly capped with an improved version of
Yankee Doodle.
Whereupon, the absurd jumble and discord of the two contrasting tunes
proved too much for old John's gravity. Springing up from his chair in
the outer room he seized his fiddle from its shelf and scraped away on
a tune of his own. For his fiddle was his great delight and his one
resort at times when his wife silenced his voluble tongue.
The old fiddle was sadly out of tune and Dorothy couldn't endure that.
Running to him she begged him:
"Oh! do stop that, please, please! Here, let me take and get it into
shape. You make me cringe, you squawk so!"
"You fix it? you, lassie! Well, if that don't beat the Dutch! What
else do they l'arn children over in the States? Leave 'em to go
sky-larkin' round the country in railway carriages all by themsel's,
and how to help doctors set broken bones, and how to fiddle a
tune--Stars an' Garters! What next? Here, child, take her and make her
hum!"
Presently, the preliminary squeaks and discords, incident to "tuning
up," were over and Dorothy began a simple melody that made all her
hearers quietly listen. One after another the familiar things which
Aunt Betty and her guardian loved best came into her mind; and
remembering the beloved scenes where she had last played them, her
feeling of homesickness and longing made her render them so movingly
that soon the little widow was crying and Robin's sensitive face
showed signs of his own tears following hers.
The tempting supper had remained untouched thus far. But now the
sight of his guests' emotion, and a warning huskiness in his own
throat, brought John Gilpin to his feet.
"This isn't no mournin' party, little miss, and you quit, you quit
that right square off. Understand? Something lively's more to this
occasion than all that solemcholy 'Old Lang Synin', 'or 'Wearin' Awa''
business. Touch us off a 'Highland Fling,' and if that t'other girl,
was gigglin' so a few minutes gone, 'll do me the honor"--here the old
fellow bowed low to Winifred--"I'll show you how the figger should be
danced. I can cut a pigeon-wing yet, with the supplest."
Away rolled the table into the further corner of the room: even the
Dame merely moving her own chair aside. For she had watched the
widow's face and grieved to see it growing sad again, where a little
while before it had been cheerful.
Dorothy understood, and swiftly changed from the "Land O' the Leal" to
the gay dance melody demanded. Then laughter came back, for it was so
funny to see the farmer's exaggerated flourish as he bowed again to
Winifred and gallantly led her to the middle of the kitchen floor, now
cleared for action.
Then followed the merriest jig that ever was danced in that old
cottage, or many another. The cuts and the capers, the flings and
pigeon-wings that bald-headed John Gilpin displayed were little short
of marvelous. Forgotten was the dragging foot that now soared as high
as the other, while perspiration streamed from his wrinkled face,
flushed to an apoplectic crimson by this violent exercise.
Winifred was no whit behind. Away flung her jacket and then her hat.
Off flew the farmer's smock, always worn for a coat and to protect the
homespun suit beneath. The pace grew mad and madder, following the
movement of the old fiddle which Dorothy played to its swiftest.
Robin's blue eyes grew big with wonder and he whistled his liveliest,
to keep up with the wild antics he could see in the outer room.
Nobody heard a knock upon the door, repeated until patience ceased,
and then it softly opened. A full moment the visitor waited there,
gazing upon this orgy of motion; then with an ultra flourish of her
skirts Winifred faced about and beheld--the Lady Principal!