A JUNIOR ENTERTAINMENT.
The school year was fast drawing to a close, and every student was
busy preparing for examinations and annual exercises, and also
looking forward to the pleasurable excitement attending class-day
ceremonies, entertainments, receptions, etc.
The first week in June it was customary for the juniors to give a
special exhibition, to be followed by a social, with dancing and a
fine spread, in honor of the retiring seniors, and upon this grand
occasion each student in both classes was privileged to invite
some friend from outside.
So much had been said in praise of Katherine's little play and
paper on "Transcendentalism," it was suggested they be repeated
for the benefit of those who had not heard them, and allow
visitors and strangers to guess the conundrum and charade.
The whole school had heard the story of that Junior League
meeting, for it had been too good to keep, and it had aroused so
much interest, both among teachers and students, the juniors
finally persuaded Katherine to reproduce her clever effort.
Besides this, the programme consisted of another original play,
written by some of the class, two or three choice selections from
the Glee Club, and was to wind up with some fine tableaux.
The important day arrived and was attended by no end of worry,
work and excitement. The final rehearsal of the play proved, as is
often the case, anything but satisfactory; but when it came to the
"last tug of war" in the evening, everything "went off without a
hitch," only those behind the scenes being aware of the strenuous
efforts put forth to achieve this result.
It was accordingly pronounced "a great success." Katherine's
production contributed the element of comedy, while the vocabulary
of adjectives was insufficient to express appreciation of the
tableaux.
The last one, or "grand finale," is worthy of special mention, for
various reasons. It was billed as "The Carnival of Flowers," and
included all the members of the junior class. Each was in evening
dress and was either profusely decorated with, or carried, an
elaborate design of the flower which she had chosen to represent.
Dorothy, who had been unusually comfortable during the two weeks
preceding, had been deeply interested in the preparations for this
great event, and, one day, when Katherine was consulting Mrs.
Seabrook upon some important point, she had exclaimed, with a
longdrawn sigh:
"Oh! how I wish I could be in it, too."
"I wish you could, dear," said Katherine, bending to kiss the
wistful face. "Well--why can't she?" she added, turning suddenly
to Mrs. Seabrook; "she could have a place in the Carnival of
Flowers. Will you allow her to?"
Mrs. Seabrook smiled, but there was a sad yearning in her soft
eyes as they rested upon her helpless child.
"I hardly think it would do. I am afraid it could not be
arranged," she doubtfully replied.
"Indeed it could, and very easily. I have a lovely idea!" said
Katherine, eagerly. "Let her take the Calla Lily--no one has
chosen that because the flowers are too stiff to trim a dress
gracefully. But Dorothy's chair could be transformed into a
chariot of lilies, and I am sure they could be so arranged about
her that she would look like a fairy in the midst of them. If you
are willing I will talk it over with the girls. We will manage
everything, so that she will not be wearied with any of the
preparations, and I will take charge of her while she is on the
stage. I know that she would have a beautiful time."
"Oh, mamma, if I only might!" breathed Dorothy, rapturously, and
carried away by the attractive prospect.
"Well, we will talk it over with papa; if he consents I will not
say no, and certainly Miss Minturn's suggestion is very alluring,"
replied her mother, as she bestowed a grateful smile on Katherine.
Prof. Seabrook could see no objection to the plan, and as
everybody was always glad to contribute to the enjoyment of the
sick girl, the idea was eagerly adopted, and Miss Dorothy was at
once chosen to be the central figure in the tableau.
It proved to be a most effective one, with the bevy of gorgeously
garlanded maidens artistically grouped around their lily queen,
who entered heartily into the spirit of the scene.
The child's chair had indeed been transformed! No one would have
recognized it, covered as it was with a wealth of pure white
blossoms and dark-green leaves, for it looked more like the throne
of a fairy than like anything so ordinary and unpretentious. Mrs.
Seabrook, who possessed exquisite taste, had so massed the
blossoms around her and daintily perched an inverted one on her
head that the effect was exceedingly beautiful and picturesque.
Katherine, who had chosen to be "Lady Poppea," made a brilliant
foil, on one side, with her garlands and basket of vivid scarlet
poppies; while another junior, bedecked with fuchsias, stood on
the opposite side and held an umbrella, made of and fringed with
the same flowers, protectingly over her; and with a score or more
others forming a variegated background, the scene was brilliant
and gorgeous beyond description.
The applause was tumultuous; for, aside from the exceeding beauty
of the picture, every heart in the audience was touched by the
happy little face looking out at them from the midst of her
devoted subjects, and the curtain was raised and lowered several
times before they could be satisfied.
Then the proud and happy juniors hastily divested themselves of
their gay trappings and hurried away to join their friends and
trip to inspiring music in the main hall below; thus Katherine was
left with Dorothy alone on the stage.
"Wasn't it perfectly lovely, Miss Minturn?" exclaimed the girl in
a rapturous tone and with shining eyes. "I never saw you look so
pretty, and I never had such a happy time in all my life. I only
wish I could have seen the whole of it."
"I think you will, later; or at least something very like it; for,
when that flash light was thrown on, as the curtain went up the
last time, somebody took a snapshot at us," Katherine replied,
smiling fondly into the eager face.
"Oh! who was it?"
"Some one whom you know. Guess!"
"Uncle Phil?"
"Yes; he asked permission of the president of the class. But now I
must see about getting you out of this place. I wonder where Alice
can be!" said Katherine, looking out towards the deserted dressing
room for the nurse, who had promised to be on hand to receive her
charge as soon as everything was over.
She had been disconnecting several ropes of flowers that had been
attached to the chair while she was talking, and, as no one came
to assist her, she now rolled the girl towards the side of the
stage, thinking, perhaps, she might get her off herself, as it was
not very high.
But she had missed one rope, and, as it trailed along the floor,
it swept over a saucer containing some still smoking Greek fire,
or red light, that had been carelessly left just where it had been
used.
The soft paper ignited in an instant, and the next moment the
lower part of the lily chariot was ablaze.
"Oh! Miss Minturn!" shrieked Dorothy, "save me! save me!"
For a second Katherine thought she would faint.
The next she snatched a portiere that had been used in one of the
tableaux and left upon the floor, and wrapped it closely around
the burning paper, beating it with her hands and doing her utmost
to smother the cruel flames. "Don't be afraid, dear," she said to
the girl, who, after that one half-crazed appeal, seemed to be
paralyzed with fear, "you are God's child--you cannot be harmed.
He is Life, and there are no fatalities in His realm, 'though thou
walk through the fire thou shalt not be burned.'"
She did not know that she was talking aloud; she was not conscious
of what she was saying; she only knew that she was reaching out,
with her whole soul, to the ever-present Love wherein lay
protection and safety, and all the time mechanically pulling the
portiere closer about the chair.
Suddenly she heard a low, startled exclamation, saw Dorothy
snatched from among the smoke-blackened lilies and passed along to
Alice, who at last had appeared upon the scene; then, as in a
dream, she felt herself enveloped in a shawl which was drawn so
tightly about her skirts that she could not move, and saw Dr.
Stanley's pale, anxious face looking down into hers, while he told
her, in calm, reassuring tones, that there was nothing to fear.
"Can you stand so for a minute while I look after that still
smoking chair?" he presently asked, and putting a corner of the
shawl into her hand to hold.
Fortunately it was her left hand, and she grasped it mechanically,
while she tried to mentally deny the well-nigh unbearable pain
that was making itself felt in her right hand and wrist.
It was the work of but two or three minutes to crush out the last
smoldering spark among the ruined lilies, for the flames had been
effectually smothered by Katherine's presence of mind in wrapping
the portiere about them and by her vigorous beating.
Then the physician turned again to her and gently removed the
shawl from her burned and disfigured skirts.
"It is all out, thank God!" he said, after carefully looking her
over. "It was a narrow escape for you and Dorrie, as well as from
a serious conflagration. Now tell me, Miss Minturn, are you
burned?" he concluded, searching her white face with troubled
eyes.
She tried to smile as she glanced down at her ruined dress.
"A few dollars will make it all right, and that doesn't matter,"
she returned evasively, but with lips that quivered in spite of
her effort at self-control.
"You were badly frightened, poor child! but it is over," he gently
observed, the tense lines of his face softening in a reassuring
smile.
Then, seeing that she was keeping her right hand out of sight, he
reached down and drew it forward into the light.
"Miss Minturn!" he exclaimed, as he saw the reddened flesh and
three great blisters, "you did it beating out the fire to save
Dorothy. Come with me and I will dress it immediately."
"No," she said, setting her teeth resolutely; "go to her; I shall
do very well. Go!" she repeated, almost sharply, "for I saw that
she had fainted when Alice took her."
His brow contracted, and for an instant he seemed on the point of
insisting upon taking care of her first.
Then he drew forth his handkerchief and folded it gently about her
hand, saying:
"Well, if I must; but go you directly to your room and I will come
to you as soon as I can."
Katherine could bear no more, and, turning abruptly from him, sped
from the place.
As she passed out of the lecture hall, she almost ran into Miss
Reynolds, who was on her way downstairs.
"Katherine!" she cried, aghast, as she caught sight of her pain-
contracted face, the handkerchief on her hand and her smoke-
blackened clothes, "what has happened?"
"Oh! may I go to your room?" gasped the girl.
"Of course; come," and without another word the woman turned and
led the way.
"Lock the door and don't let anyone in," said Katherine, as she
sank into the nearest chair and covered her face with her well
hand.
Miss Reynolds quietly obeyed, then went to her desk and began to
read aloud, in a calm, clear voice, from the open "Science and
Health" that lay upon it.
For half an hour she kept on without stopping; but she then began
to be conscious that effectual work was being done, for, at first,
the sufferer sitting behind her had been unable to keep still a
moment; but gradually she became less restless, and at the end of
forty-five minutes had grown perfectly quiet and lay back in her
chair, her face pale but peaceful.
"Dear Miss Reynolds, you must go now. I must not keep you any
longer," she said, at length.
"My child, I shall not leave you while you need me," her teacher
returned, and, going to her side, she tenderly smoothed back the
dark hair from her forehead.
"I am much easier, so do not mind leaving me. You will be missed,
and some one will be coming for you; just let me stay here for a
while and be sure not to tell anyone where I am, or why I am among
the missing," Katherine pleaded, for she did not wish Dr. Stanley
to learn her whereabouts, knowing he would seek her and insist
upon dressing her burns.
"I will be very discreet; but I am going to keep you with me all
night," her teacher replied. "Now, if you can bear it, I will help
you off with your clothes. You shall have one of my night-robes
and go straight to bed."
With fine tact she had refrained from asking a single question;
but the suffering face, the pretty dress all burned and
discolored, the handkerchief wrapped about her hand, told her
something of what had occurred, and she could wait until later for
details.
She dexterously assisted her to undress; but while doing so the
handkerchief was displaced and dropped to the floor and she had to
shut her lips resolutely to repress the cry of pity that almost
escaped her as she saw what it had covered. The next instant she
was mentally repeating the "scientific statement of being,"
[Footnote: "Science and Health," page 468.] while she quietly
replaced the square of linen and pinned it to keep it in place.
Then, with a grateful smile and a sigh of content, Katherine
slipped into bed and sank upon her pillow.
"Now go, please," she begged again, "and find out, if you can, how
Dorothy is."
"No, Kathie, I am not going just yet," was the decided reply,
though there was a startled heart-bound at the girl's reference to
Dorothy. She asked no questions, however, but, going back to her
desk, continued her reading as before.
In about fifteen minutes she glanced towards the bed and saw by
her regular breathing that Katherine had fallen asleep. She bowed
her head upon her book for a moment, and when she lifted it again
there were tears on her cheeks, and in her eyes "a light that was
ne'er on sea or land."
Turning the gas low, she slipped softly out of the room and went
downstairs to join the gay company who were all unconscious of
what had been going on above.
Five minutes later Dr. Stanley came to her, his fine face overcast
and anxious.
"Miss Reynolds, can you give me any information regarding Miss
Minturn?" he inquired, adding: "I have been looking for her for
nearly an hour, and no one seems to know where she is. I suppose
you have heard about the accident?"
"An accident?" repeated the lady, inquiringly. "Yes," and he
proceeded to give a brief account of the narrow escape in the
lecture hall. "I told Miss Minturn to go to her room," he
continued, "and I would come to her as soon as I had ascertained
if all was well with Dorothy. The child is all right; she was
simply frightened and lost consciousness for a few moments. But
Miss Minturn was badly burned, on her hand and arm, and her
beautiful dress is a wreck. Mrs. Seabrook and I have been to her
room; no one was there, nor can anyone give us a clew to her
whereabouts," and the gentleman looked really distressed as he
concluded.
Miss Reynolds had been doing some practical thinking while he was
talking, and now observed:
"Well, Dr. Stanley, to relieve your anxiety, I will tell you that
she is in my room, where she will remain all night. But I have
disobeyed her injunction to tell no one where she is. Fortunately,
I met her just as she was leaving the lecture hall, and she begged
shelter with me. I have but just left her."
"But she must have attention--her burns must be dressed," said the
physician, in a tone of professional authority.
"That will not be necessary, for she is asleep and resting
quietly."
"Asleep! impossible!" interposed the man, emphatically; "that is,
unless she has taken a powerful opiate."
"She has had nothing of the kind," was the quiet answer.
"Then I repeat--it would be impossible for her to sleep," Dr.
Stanley asserted, with a note of impatience in his tone. "Why,
only an hour has elapsed since the accident, and, with those
burns, it would be many hours before she could get any rest or
relief without an opiate. I know," he added, flushing, "she is a
Christian Scientist, but I can't quite swallow such a miracle as
that."
"Nevertheless, my friend, the dear girl, is sleeping peacefully--
or was, ten minutes ago," the lady smilingly returned.
"Did she put anything on those burns?"
"Nothing."
"Do you believe she 'demonstrated,' as they express it, over the
pain?"
"I know," she softly replied.
"Ah!"--with a start--"are you--"
Again she smiled as she interposed:
"I must not say too much about that just now. I will say this,
however: I have seen and learned enough to make me wish to know
more, for Katherine Minturn is an earnest, honest exponent of her
religion. I am very fond of her--she is one of the loveliest girls
I have ever known."
"I can heartily agree with you on that point," replied Phillip
Stanley, gravely. "But I was hoping that I could be of service to
her, for we owe her much for her wonderful presence of mind and
practical common sense. But for that Dorothy would have been badly
burned and a great sufferer at this moment, instead of having gone
to bed the happiest girl in the building and full of gratitude to
Miss Minturn for giving her so much pleasure. Will you say to her,
if there is any way I can serve her, I shall be only too glad of
the opportunity?"
"Indeed I will, and I shall slip away very soon and go back to
her, although I am sure she does not really need me. I am glad for
her sake, however, that tomorrow will be Saturday."
"May I tell my sister what you have told me?" Dr. Stanley
inquired. "I know it would greatly relieve her mind, for she is
much disturbed because Miss Minturn cannot be found."
"Yes; I am sure Kathie would be willing, under the circumstances.
I know her only fear was that she might be found before her work
was done," Miss Reynolds said, after considering a moment. "I
think," she added, "she would prefer not to have Dorothy told
anything, except, perhaps, that her dress was injured."
"Yes; it would mar her pleasure," her companion observed; "in
fact, we have said nothing about the contretemps to anyone but the
faculty as yet, fearing it might spoil the evening for many. We
cannot be too thankful that it was no worse; if it had occurred
before that last tableau was over, there is no telling how serious
it might have been, with so many thin dresses and all those paper
flowers," he concluded, gravely, then bowed himself away.
After making the round of the room, Miss Reynolds sought Sadie and
told her that as Katherine was not feeling quite herself, she
would spend the night with her; then she stole away and went back
to her charge.
Katherine aroused when she entered the room, but showed no signs
of present suffering.
"How is Dorothy?" she questioned, eagerly.
"She was not harmed in the least, and 'went to bed the happiest
girl in the building,' so I was told."
Katherine heaved a sigh of relief.
She asked for a glass of water and drank thirstily when it was
brought to her.
"Can I do anything more for you, Kathie?" her friend inquired.
The girl's eyes wandered to the books on her desk.
"Shall I read?--what?"
"The twenty-third psalm, please."
Miss Reynolds found and read it as given and interpreted in
"Science and Health": "Divine Love is my Shepherd; I shall not
want. Love maketh me to lie down in green pastures; Love leadeth
me beside still waters;" [Footnote: "Science and Health," page
16.] and so on to the end.
Then she turned to her own marker and read for herself a while.
The room was very quiet, for the revelers below were so far away
they could not be heard. Only a strain of music from the orchestra
was now and then wafted on a gentle breeze to them through an open
window.
Suddenly a deep sigh from the bed fell upon the reader's ear. She
started and turned toward her charge.
"'Love'--'still waters,'" murmured Katherine, then turned like a
tired child on her pillow and was again locked in slumber.
Softly, Miss Reynolds laid aside her festal attire, made a nest
for herself on her roomy couch and, to the faintly flowing rhythm
of "The Beautiful Blue Danube," soon lost herself in dreamland,
never waking until the brilliant sun of a glorious June morning
flooded her room and warned her that a new day had begun.