hacking and prying they finally got off the head of the
formidable-looking barrel and began to unpack the goodies: a ham for the
professor of English cooked by Aunt Mary; a fruit cake for Molly, black
and rich, with an odor to it that Judy said reminded her of the feast in
St. Agnes Eve; a jar of Rosemary pickles; one of brandy peaches; a box
of beaten biscuit; a roasted turkey, stuffed with chestnuts, and a
wonderful bunch of mistletoe full of berries, growing to a knobby
stunted branch of a walnut tree, which Kent had sawed off with great
care and then packed so well with tissue paper that not one berry or
leaf was misplaced.
"This is for Miss Green's party. I asked Kent to get it for me. You know
her party is to be an old English one, and it would not be complete
without mistletoe. What is this little note hitched to it?
"'Dearest Molly:
"'I almost broke my neck getting this, and hope it is what you want.
Tell Miss Judy Kean, who, I hear, is to spend Christmas with you,
not to get under this until I get there.
"'Kent.'
"What can he mean? Judy Kean, is Kent coming here for Christmas? Answer
me."
But Judy only buried her crimson face in the big turkey's bosom and
giggled.
"Answer me, Judy Kean."
"How do I know? Am I your brother's keeper?"
"He couldn't be coming or mother would have written me! I see he means
for you to wait for him until he 'arrives' in his profession. Oh, Judy,
Judy, I do hope you will! But come on now, we must take these things to
the Greens. Miss Grace is very busy with her preparations, while Dodo is
off for the day with young Andy and his Jap friend, revisiting their old
college, Exmoor. We must get the mistletoe hung; and the ham is to be
part of the party, I fancy. I am going to take them some of these
pickles, too, and half of my fruit cake. It is so big that it will take
us months to devour it, besides ruining our complexions."
The girls, weighed down with their heavy contributions--ham, pickle,
fruit cake and mistletoe--rang the bell at Professor Green's house,
fronting on the campus. The door was quickly opened by Miss Alice Fern.
She eyed them haughtily and coldly, hardly responding to Molly's
greeting and barely acknowledging the introduction to Judy, whom she
already knew, but refused to remember.
"My cousin, Miss Green, is very busy and regrets she cannot speak to you
just now."
"Oh, I am sorry not to see her! I have some mistletoe that my brother
sent her from Kentucky, and Miss Kean and I were going to ask her to let
us hang it for her."
"You are very kind, but I am decorating the house for my cousins, and
can do it very well without any assistance from outside."
"Molly, we had better leave our packages and make a chastened
departure," said Judy, the irrepressible. "We have some interior
decorations besides the mistletoe, Miss Fern, in the way of an old ham
and a fruit cake, and some Rosemary pickles. Are you also chairman of
the committee on that kind of interior decorations? If you are not, I
should think it were best for us to interview the secretary of the
interior, if we are not allowed to see the head of the department."
At that moment who should come bounding up the steps but Edwin Green
himself.
"Good morning to both of you! I am so glad to see you back in
Wellington, Miss Kean. I have just come from the Quadrangle, where I
went to call on you, but saw Miss Oldham, who told me you and Miss Molly
were on your way to see my sister. Why don't you come in? Grace is in
the pantry, preparing for the 'astonishment party,' as I am told Miss
Sen calls it. I will call her directly."
"Grace has asked to be excused to callers, Edwin," said the stately Miss
Fern.
"Nonsense, Alice, she was expecting Miss Brown to decorate the parlors,
and Miss Kean is not a stranger to any of us. Come in, come in," and the
indignant professor ushered them into the parlor and went to call his
sister, confiding to her, as she hastened to greet the girls, that if
Alice Fern did not stop trying to run their affairs he was going to do
something desperate.
"I am afraid you brought it on us by being too nice to her two years ago
when she first came home from abroad," teased his sister; and he
remembered that he had been rather attentive to his fair cousin at a
time when Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky had had a little misunderstanding
with him.
"How good of you, you dear, sweet girl, to have this mistletoe sent all
the way from Kentucky for our party, and what a wonderful piece of
walnut it is growing to, this great, knotted, knobby branch! But, Alice,
don't break any of it off! You will ruin it." Miss Green stopped Alice
just in time, as she had begun with rapid tugs to pull the mistletoe
from the branch that Kent had sawed off with such care, and to stick it
in vases among the holly, where it did not show to any advantage. "Of
course, it must be hung from the chandelier just as it is."
"Oh, very well, Cousin Grace; but it seems to me to be a very heavy
looking decoration." And the young woman flounced off, leaving Molly and
Judy feeling very much mystified, to say the least.
"Aunt Mary sent you a ham, Professor Green. I brought it to-day,
thinking maybe your sister would like it for part of the night's
festivities."
"Not a bit of it. That ham is to be brought out when there are not so
many to devour it. I am not usually a greedy glutton, but beech-nut fed,
home-cured ham is too good for the rabble, and I am going to hide it
before Grace casts her eagle eye on it." He accordingly picked it up and
pretended to conceal it from his smiling sister.
"Well, anyhow, Miss Green, you will use my fruit cake for the party,
will you not?" begged Molly.
"Oh, please don't ask me to. I know there is nothing in the world so
good as fruit cake, and Edwin has told me of the wonders that come from
Aunt Mary's kitchen. So if you don't mind, Molly, I am going to keep my
cake for our private consumption. It would disappear like magic before
the young people to-night, and Edwin and I could have it for many nights
to come. Do you think I am as greedy as Edwin is with his ham?"
Molly was very much amused, but her amusement was turned to
embarrassment when she heard Miss Fern say to her Cousin Edwin: "Miss
Brown seems to be trying very hard to give the party."
She did not hear Edwin's answer, but noticed that he hugged his ham even
more fervently, it being, fortunately for him and his coat, well wrapped
in waxed paper. She also noticed that he went around and took out of the
vases the few pieces of mistletoe that his cousin had pulled from the
big bunch, and carefully wired them where they belonged on the walnut
branch, and then got a step ladder and tied the beautiful decoration to
the chandelier, while Judy, ignoring the stately Alice, bossed the job.
"Miss Molly, did you know that Dicky Blount will be here to-night?"
asked the professor. "We can have some good music, which will be a
welcome addition to the program, I think."
"That is fine; but please give him a slice of ham. I feel as though some
were coming to him. Five pounds of Huyler's was too much for the old ham
bone he got that memorable evening at Judith's dinner. By the way,
Professor Green, I want to ask a favor of you and your sister."
"Granted before asked, as far as I am concerned, and Grace is usually
very amiable where you are in question," said the eager Edwin.
"Oh, it isn't so much of a favor, and I have an idea I am doing you one
to ask it of you. My dear friend Melissa Hathaway has a most wonderful
voice, but no one ever knows it, as she is so reserved. I thought, maybe
to-night, you might persuade her to sing. She has some ballads that are
splendid for an Old English celebration."
"I should say we will ask her, and be too glad to! I am so pleased that
she is coming. She seemed rather doubtful whether she could or not."
"Oh, that was just clothes, and clever Nance solved the problem for her
just as she often has for me by making something out of nothing. When
you see our Melissa and realize that her dress is made of eight yards of
Seco silk at twenty cents a yard, you will think Nance is pretty
clever."
CHAPTER V.--DODO'S SURPRISE PARTY.
The old red brick house, where Professor Green had his bachelor
quarters, had been put in good order for his sister's regime, and with
the furniture that had been in storage for many years since the death of
their parents was made most attractive. It was designed for parties,
seemingly, as the whole lower floor could be turned practically into one
room. It had begun to snow, which made the glowing fire in the big hall
even more cheerful by contrast.
"Whew! aren't we festive?" exclaimed Dodo, bursting in at the front door
with Lawrence Upton, whom he had picked up at Exmoor. "Looks to me like
a ball, with all of this holly and the bare floors ready for dancing.
Andy and his little Jap are coming around this evening to see you,
Gracey, and I wish we could get some girls to have a bit of a dance. I
have been learning to dance along with my other arduous tasks at the
University, and I'd like to trip the light fantastic toe with some real
flesh and blood. I have had nothing but a rocking chair to practice with
for ever so long. I've got a little broken sofa that is great to 'turkey
trot' with."
"How about the old tune, 'Waltzing 'Round with Sophy, Sophy Just
Seventeen,' for that dance of yours?" laughed his older brother. "I
declare, Dodo, we ought to do better than that for you at a girls'
college, even in holiday time. Let's wait and see if young Andy comes,
and then with his help maybe we can scare up a girl or so."
Miss Grace thanked Edwin with an appreciative pat for keeping up the
game of surprise party. Just then Richard Blount came blowing in from
New York, and they all went in to supper, where the greedy Edwin
permitted them to have a try at his ham.
"What a girl that Miss Brown is!" declared Dicky. "She seems to me to be
the most attractive blonde I have ever seen." Richard, being very fair,
of course, had a leaning toward brunettes. "We were talking about her
the other evening at the Stewarts', and we agreed that when all was told
she was about the best bred person we knew."
Miss Fern, to whom praise of Molly seemed to be bitterness and gall,
gave a sniff of her aristocratic nose and remarked: "There must have
been some question of Miss Brown's breeding for you to have been
discussing it. I have always thought breeding was something taken for
granted."
"So it should be," said Professor Green, laconically.
"Do you know, it is a strange thing to me, but the only two persons in
the world that I know of who don't like Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky are
our two cousins on different sides of the house--Judith Blount and you,
Cousin Alice."
This from Dodo, enfant terrible. Edwin turned the color of his old ham
and looked sternly at Dodo, who was entirely unconscious of having said
anything amiss. Miss Grace and Lawrence Upton giggled shamefully, while
Richard Blount hastened to say, "I think you are mistaken about Judith.
On the contrary, she now speaks very highly of Miss Brown, and looks
upon her as a very good friend."
"As for me," said Alice, "I have never given Miss Brown a thought one
way or the other. I do not know her well enough to dislike her. She
impresses me as being rather pushing."
At this Miss Grace made a sign for them to rise, as she was anxious to
get the dining-room in readiness for the entertainment.
"All of you boys had better put on your dress suits if there is a chance
of scaring up some dancers," she tactfully suggested, so there was a
general rush for their rooms, and she was left in peace to get
everything ready for the surprise party.
The guests, as had been agreed upon, arrived together. The old house was
suddenly filled with dancers enough to satisfy the eager Dodo, and dear
Mrs. McLean, ready to play dance music until they dropped. Dodo was
astonished enough to delight his sister, and the fun began.
Dr. McLean and Mr. Oldham found much to talk about, so Nance felt that
her father was going to have a pleasant evening, and with a glad sigh
gave herself up to having a good time with the rest. Young Andy was not
long in attaching himself to her side, and they picked up conversation
where they had dropped it the year before and seemed to find each other
as agreeable as ever.
All the girls looked lovely, as girls should when they have an evening
of fun ahead of them and plenty of partners to make things lively.
Several more young men came over from Exmoor, in response to a secret
invitation sent by Miss Grace through young Andy, so, as Judy put it,
"There were beaux to burn."
Judy was going in very much for the picturesque in dress, as is the
usual thing with art students, so she was very aesthetically attired in a
clinging green Liberty silk. Molly wore her bridesmaid blue organdy,
which was very becoming. Nance,--who always had the proper thing to wear
on every occasion without having to scrape around and take stitches and
let down hems, and find a petticoat to match, and for that reason had
time to do those necessary things for the other girls,--wore a pretty
little evening gown of white chiffon, and she looked so pretty herself
that Dr. McLean whispered to his wife that he took it all back about
young Andy's having picked out a plain lassie. Little Otoyo had on the
handsomest dress of the evening, a rose pink silk embroidered in cherry
blossoms. The clever child had bought the dress in New York at a swell
shop and taken it to Japan with her, and there had the wonderful
embroidery put on it. Melissa was a revelation to herself and her
friends. The black Seco silk fitted her so well that Nance was really
elated over her success as a mantuamaker. Melissa had never gone
decollete in her life, and at first the girls could hardly persuade her
to wear the low-necked dress; but when she saw Molly she was content.
"Whatever Molly does is always right, and if she wears low neck then I
will, too," said the artless girl.
Her hair was rolled at the sides and done in a low knot on her neck. As
she came into the parlor Richard Blount, who was going over some music
at the piano, did not see her at first. Looking up to speak to Edwin
about a song he was to sing, he was struck dumb by her beauty. Clutching
Edwin he managed to gasp out, "Great Caesar! who is she?"
"She is not Medusa, my dear Dick. Don't stand as though you had turned
to stone. It is Miss Hathaway, a friend of Miss Brown's, and a very
interesting and original young woman, also from Kentucky, but from the
mountains. I will introduce you with pleasure."
Edwin Green did introduce him, and if Richard Blount took his eyes from
Melissa once during the evening he did it when no one was looking.
Mr. Seshu, young Andy's friend, proved to be a charming, educated young
man, who understood English perfectly and spoke with only an occasional
blunder. He made himself very agreeable to Molly, who was eager to talk
with him, hoping to find out if he were worthy of their little Otoyo.
The girls were almost certain that he had come to Wellington with the
idea of viewing Otoyo and passing on her as a possible wife. Otoyo had
let drop two or three remarks that made them feel that this was the
case. She was very much excited, and her little hands were like ice when
Molly took them in hers to tell her how sweet she looked and how
beautiful and becoming her dress was. It was a trying ordeal for any
girl, and Molly wondered that the little thing could go through with it,
but honorable father had thus decreed it and it must be borne.
"I fancy it is better than having the marriage broker putting his finger
in, which is what would have happened if the Sens and Seshus had not
'hugged the Christian faith' and come to America," whispered Molly to
Nance as they took off their wraps.
"I'd see myself being pranced out like a colt, honorable father or not,"
said Nance. "I fancy he is very nice, however, or Andy would not be so
chummy with him."
Molly was amused at the farce of telling Mr. Seshu that one of his
country women was a student at Wellington, and she hoped to have the
pleasure of introducing them. He received the information with a polite
bow, and no more expression than a stone image, but with volubly
expressed thanks and eagerness for the introduction.
"Our little Otoyo is very precious to us," said Molly, "and we are very
proud of her progress in her studies. She takes a fine place with her
class, and will graduate this year with flying colors. She writes
perfect English, but there are times in conversation when adverbs are
too many for her. She is excited to-night over coming to a dance, having
but recently added dancing to her many accomplishments, and her adverbs
may get the better of her." Molly was determined that the seeker for a
wife should not take the poor little thing's excitement to himself.
Mr. Seshu seemed more anxious to talk about Otoyo than to meet her.
"And so you are trying to pump me about my little friend, are you, you
wily young Jap? Well, you have come to the right corner. I'll tell you
all I can, and you shall hear such good things of Otoyo that you will
think I am a veritable marriage broker," said Molly to herself.
"Is Mees Sen of kindly heart and temper good, you say?"
"She has the kindest heart in the world and a good temper, but she is
well able to stand up for herself when it is necessary."
"He shall not think he is getting nothing but a good family horse, but I
am going to try to let him understand that our little Otoyo has a high
spirit and is fit for something besides the plow," added Molly to
herself.
After much talk, in which Molly felt that she had been most diplomatic,
Mr. Seshu was finally presented to Miss Sen. Poor little Otoyo was not
as embarrassed as she would have been had she not learned to converse
with honorable gentlemen quite like American maidens. The practice she
had had with young Andy and Professor Green came in very well now, and
her anxious friends were delighted to see that she was holding her own
with her polished countryman, and that he seemed much interested in her
chatter. At the instigation of Molly and Nance, Andy McLean soon came up
and claimed Otoyo for a dance. She looked very coquettishly at her
Japanese suitor and immediately accepted, and Mr. Seshu was as
disconsolate as any other young man would have been to have a pleasant
companion snatched from him.
"We'll teach him a thing or two," said our girls. "And just look how
well Otoyo is 'step twoing,' as she calls it, with Andy!"
"While the dancers are resting we will have some music," said the
gracious hostess. "I am going to ask you, Miss Hathaway, to sing for
us."
Melissa looked astonished that she should be chosen, but, with that
poise and dignity that years in society cannot give some persons, she
agreed to sing what she could if Molly would accompany her on the
guitar.
"Sing 'Lord Ronald and Fair Eleanor,'" whispered Molly. "I want
Professor Green to hear it."
[Illustration: The two Kentucky girls made a wonderfully charming
picture.--Page 252.]
The two Kentucky girls made a wonderfully charming picture as they took
their places to do their part toward entertaining the guests--Molly so
fair and slender in her pretty blue dress, with her hair "making
sunshine in a shady place," seated with the guitar, while Melissa, tall
and stately, with figure more developed, in her clinging black dress
stood near her. Judy was so overcome at the picturesque effect that she
began to make rapid sketching movements in the air as was her wont.
"Oh, what don't we see when we haven't got a gun! I'd give anything for
a piece of charcoal and some paper."
"I don't know all of this song, but I shall sing all I do. I learned it
from my grandmother, and she learned it from hers. This is all Granny
knows, but she says her grandmother had many more verses," said Melissa
as Molly struck the opening chords of the accompaniment.
"So she dressed herself in scarlet red,
And she dressed her maid in green,
And every town that they went through
They took her to be some queen, queen, queen,
They took her to be some queen.
"'Lord Ronald, Lord Ronald, is this your bride
That seems so plaguey brown?
And you might have married as fair skinned a girl
As ever the sun shone on, on, on,
As ever the sun shone on.'
"The little brown girl, she had a penknife,
It was both long and sharp;
She stuck it in fair Eleanor's side
And it entered at the heart, heart, heart,
It entered at the heart.
"Lord Ronald, he took her by her little brown hand
And led her across the hall;
And with his sword cut off her head,
And kicked it against the wall, wall, wall,
And kicked it against the wall.
"'Mother, dear mother, come dig my grave;
Dig it both wide and deep.
By my side fair Eleanor put,
And the little brown girl at my feet, feet, feet,
And the little brown girl at my feet.'"
* * * * *
As the beautiful girl finished the plaintive air there was absolute
stillness for a few seconds. The audience was too deeply moved to speak.
Melissa's voice was sweet and full and came with no more effort than the
song of the mocking bird heard in her own valleys at dawn. She took high
note or low with the same ease that she had stooped and lifted her
little hair trunk at Wellington station.
* * * * *
The song in itself was very remarkable, being one of the few original
ballads evidently brought to America by an early settler, and handed
down from mother to daughter through the centuries. Edwin Green
recognized it, and noted the changes from the original from time to
time. Richard Blount was the first to find his tongue, although he was
the one most deeply moved by the performance.
"My, that was fine!" was all he could say, but he broke the spell of
silence, and there was a storm of applause. Melissa bowed and smiled,
pleased that she met with their approval, but with no airs or
affectation.
"She has the stage manner of a great artist who is above caring for what
the gallery thinks, but has sung for Art's sake, and, as an artist,
knows her work is good," said Richard to Professor Green. "Miss
Hathaway, you will sing again for us, please. I can't remember having
such a treat as you have just given us, and I have been to every opera
in New York for six years."
The demand was general, so Melissa graciously complied. This time she
gave "The Mistletoe Bough."
"The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
And the holly branch shone on the old oak wall;
And all within were blithe and gay,
Keeping their Christmas holiday.
Oh, the mistletoe bough,
Oh, the mistletoe bough."
And so on, through the many stanzas of the fine old ballad, telling of
the bride who cried, "I'll hide, I'll hide," and then of the search and
how they never found the beautiful bride until years had passed away,
and then, on opening the old chest in the attic, her bones were
discovered and the wedding veil.
When the applause subsided, Miss Grace asked Richard Blount to sing.
"I'll do it, Cousin Grace, but I have never felt more modest about my
little accomplishments. Miss Hathaway has taken all the wind out of my
sails. I am going to sing a little thing that I clipped out of a
newspaper and put to music. 'It is a poor thing, but mine own.' I think
it is appropriate for this party, and hope you will agree with me."
"Now, Dicky, you know we love your singing, and because Miss Hathaway
has charmed us is no reason why you cannot charm us all over. Caruso can
sing, as well as Sembrich," said Miss Grace.
Richard Blount had a good baritone voice, and sang with a great deal of
taste; and he played on the piano with real genius. With a few brilliant
runs he settled down to the simple, sweet air he had composed for the
little bit of fugitive verse, and then began to sing:
"The holly is a soldier bold,
Arrayed in tunic green,
His slender sword is never sheathed,
But always bared and keen.
He stands amid the winter snows
A sentry in the wood,--
The scarlet berries on his boughs
Are drops of frozen blood.
"The mistletoe's a maiden fair,
Enchanted by the oak,
Who holds her in his hoary arms,
And hides her in his cloak.
She knows her soldier lover waits
Among the leafless trees,
And, weeping in the bitter cold,
Her tears to jewels freeze.
"But at the holy Christmas-tide,
Blessed time of all the year,
The evil spirits lose their power,
And angels reappear.
They meet beside some friendly hearth,
While softly falls the snow--
The soldier Holly and his bride,
The mystic Mistletoe."
Richard had been delighted by Melissa's performance, and now she
returned the compliment by being so carried away by his singing and the
song that she forgot all shyness and reserve and openly congratulated
him, praising his music with so much real appreciation and fervor that
the young man was persuaded to sing again. He sang the beautiful Indian
song of Cadman's, "The Moon Hangs Low," and was beginning the opening
chords to "The Land of Sky-blue Water," when there came a sharp ringing
of the bell, followed by some confusion in the hall as the door was
opened and a gust of wind blew in the fast falling snow. Then a man's
voice was heard inquiring for Professor Green.
CHAPTER VI.--MORE SURPRISES.
"Whose voice is that?" exclaimed Molly and Judy in unison; and without
waiting to be answered they rushed into the hall to find Kent Brown
being warmly greeted by Professor Green. Before he had time to shake the
snow from his broad shoulders, Molly seized him and he seized Judy, and
they had a good old three-cornered Christmas hug.
"Did you get my note tied to the mistletoe?"
"Yes, you goose; but we did not know you were really coming. I thought
you were speaking in parables," said Molly, but Judy only blushed.
"Well, it is powerful fine to get here. My train is four hours late."
"I know you are tired and hungry," said Miss Green, who was as cordial
as her brother in her reception of the young Kentuckian. "But where is
your grip, Mr. Brown?"
"Oh, I left it at the inn in the village. I could not think of piling in
on you in this way without any warning."
"Well, Edwin will 'phone for it immediately. You Southern people think
you are the only ones who can put yourselves out for guests. It would be
a pretty thing for one of Mrs. Brown's sons to be in Wellington and not
at our house."
So Kent was taken into the Greens' house with as much cordiality and
hospitality as Chatsworth itself could have shown. The odor of coffee
soon began to invade the hall and parlors, and in a little while the
dining-room doors were thrown open and the feasting began. Miss Green
was an excellent housekeeper, and knew how to cater to young people's
tastes as well as Mrs. Brown herself, so the food was plentiful and
delicious. Molly noticed with a smile that some of the precious ham was
smuggled to the plates of Dr. and Mrs. McLean and Mr. Oldham, where it
was duly appreciated, and that later on the favored three were regaled
with slices of the fruit cake.
Kent found a cozy seat for Judy by the hall fire, and soon joined her
with trays of supper.
"Oh, Miss Judy, it has been years since last July. I have worked as hard
as a man could, hoping to make the time fly, but it hasn't done much
good,--except that it made my firm suggest that I let up for a few days
at Christmas, and here I am! I am working awfully hard trying to learn
to do water coloring of the architectural drawings. I wish I had you to
help me, you are so clever. I am hoping to get to New York or Paris some
day to learn the tricks of the trade, but in the meantime there are lots
of things to learn in Louisville; and I am getting more money for my
work than I did. Did Molly give you my message tied to the mistletoe?"
"Yes, Kent."
"Will you wait? I was speaking in parables. I think somehow that I must
arrive a little more, before I can catch you under the mistletoe; and
you must do your work, too. Oh, Judy, it is hard to be so wise and
circumspect! But will you wait?"
"Yes, Kent. I am working hard, too, harder than I have ever worked in my
life. I was terribly disappointed when papa would not let me go to Paris
this winter, but insisted on the year of hard drawing in New York, to
test myself and find myself, as it were, and I have been determined to
make good. I am drawing all the time, and you know that is virtuous when
I am simply demented on the subject of color. I let myself work in color
on Saturday in Central Park, but the rest of the time it is charcoal
from the antique or from life, with classes in composition and design.
There is no use in talking about being a decorator if you can't draw. I
hope to be in Paris next year, and then I shall reap my reward and
simply wallow in color."
When supper was over, they were all called on to stand up for the
Virginia Reel, which Mrs. McLean played with such spirit that Mr. Oldham
and Dr. McLean could not keep their feet still; and before the
astonished eyes of Edwin Green and Andy McLean, who had other plans, Mr.
Oldham seized Molly and Dr. McLean Nance, and they danced down the
middle and back again with as much spirit as they had ever shown in
their youth.
"It takes the old timers to dance the old dances, hey, Mr. Oldham?" said
the panting doctor as he came up the middle smiling and cutting pigeon
wings, while Nance arose to the occasion and "chasseed" to his steps
like any belle of the sixties. Even Miss Alice Fern forgot her dignity
and romped, but she was very gay, as Edwin had sought her out when Molly
danced off with Mr. Oldham. He had remembered that he had been rather
remiss in his attentions to his fair cousin.
How they did dance!--and all of the extra men danced with each other, so
there were no wall flowers. Richard Blount claimed Melissa as a partner,
and they delighted the crowd by singing as they danced a song that
Melissa had taught Richard, as she told him of some of the mountain
dance games, the words fitting themselves to Mrs. McLean's lively tunes.
"'Old man, old man, let me have your daughter?'
'Yes, young man, for a dollar and a quarter.
Pick up her duds and pitch 'em up behind her.'
'Here's your money, old man, I've got your daughter.'"
After the dance they drew around the open fire in the hall and roasted
chestnuts and popped corn and told stories, and had a very merry
old-fashioned time capping quotations. And finally the one thing
wanting, as Molly thought, came to pass, and Professor Green read
Dickens' Christmas Carol just as he had three years before, when he and
his sister gave Molly the surprise party at Queen's in her Sophomore
year.
"At the risk of making myself verra unpopular, I am afraid I shall have
to say it is time for all of us to be in bed," said Mrs. McLean, when
the professor closed the worn old copy of Dickens.
"Oh, not 'til we have had a little more dancing, please, dear Mrs.
McLean," came in a chorus from the young people; and Professor Green
told her that it would be a pity to throw Dodo back on a rocking chair
for a partner before he had had a little more practice with flesh and
blood. So up they all sprang, and with Miss Grace at the piano, to
relieve the good-natured Mrs. McLean, who had thrummed her fingers sore,
off they went into more waltzes and two-steps, even the shy Melissa
dancing with Richard Blount as though she had been at balls every night
of her life. Otoyo and Mr. Seshu hopped around together as though
"step-twoing" and "dance-rounding" were the national dances of Japan.
And so ended the delightful surprise party. Before they departed, Dr.
McLean drew his wife under the mistletoe and kissed her.
"Just to show you bashful young fellows how it is done," said the jovial
doctor.
"And I will give the lassies a lesson in how to accept such public
demonstration," said his blushing wife, and she suited the action to the
word by giving him a playful slap, whereupon he kissed her again, but
instead of another slap she hugged him in return, and there was a
general laugh.
"I did that just to show the indignant lassies that they must not hold
with their anger too long. A kiss under the mistletoe has never yet been
offered as an insult, and the forward miss is not the one to get the
kiss."
CHAPTER VII.--DREAMS AND REALITIES.
The holidays were all too soon over. Much feasting went on, what with
Molly's big turkey and her fruit cake and Rosemary pickles; and the
invitations to Mrs. McLean's and Miss Walker's; and Otoyo's Japanese
spread, where she and Melissa charmed the company with the beautifully
arranged rooms and the dainty, delicious refreshments. Mr. Seshu,
throughout, was very attentive to his little countrywoman, and the girls
decided that he was in love with her just like any ordinary American
might be.
"I am so glad it is coming about this way," said Molly. "Just think how
hard it might have been for our little Otoyo, now that she has been in
this country long enough to see how we do such things, had she been
compelled, by filial feeling, to marry some one whom she did not love
and who did not love her. I think she is all over the sentimental
attachment she used to have for the unconscious Andy, don't you, Nance?"
"I fancy she is," said the far from unconscious Nance, who always had a
heightened color when young Andy's name got into the conversation. "I
don't think she ever really cared for Andy. He was just the first and
only young man who was ever nice to her, and it went to her head. Andy
is so kind and good natured."
"You forget Professor Green. He was always careful and attentive, and
Otoyo would chatter like a magpie with him."
"Oh, but he is so much older!" And then Nance wished she had bitten out
her tongue, as Molly looked hurt and sad.
"Professor Green is not so terribly old! I think he is much more
agreeable than callow youths who have no conversation beyond their own
affairs."
"Now, Molly Brown, I didn't mean to say a thing to hurt your feelings or
to imply that Professor Green was anything but perfection. He is not too
old for y--us, I mean; but Otoyo is like a child."
"I am ashamed of myself, Nance, but I do get kind of tired of
everybody's taking the stand that Professor Green is so old. He is the
best man friend I ever had, and--and----" But Nance kissed her fondly, and
she did not have to go on with her sentence, which was lucky, as she did
not know how she was going to finish it without committing herself.
Kent had to fly back to Louisville to work at his chosen profession and
try to learn how to do water color renderings of the architectural
elevations; Judy back to New York to dig at her charcoal drawings and
dream of swimming in color, with Kent striking out beside her; Dodo
again at Johns Hopkins, learning much about medicine and how to "turkey
trot" with a broken sofa; young Andy and Mr. Seshu at Harvard, studying
the laws of their country, for was not Mr. Seshu fast becoming an
American? They had their dreams, too, these two young men. Andy was
looking forward to the day when he would not have to stop talking to
Nance just at the most interesting turn of the argument, but could stay
right along with her forever and ever,--and sure he was that they would
never talk out! Mr. Seshu's dreams--but, after all, what do we know of
his dreams? Certain we are that he looked favorably on the little Miss
Sen, and that honorable Father Sen and honorable Father Seshu had a long
and satisfactory talk in the shop in Boston with the beautiful Japanese
prints hanging all around them, representing in themselves money enough
to make the prospective young couple very wealthy.
Mr. Oldham went back to Vermont, also dreaming that the day might come
when his little Nance would keep house for him, and he could leave the
hated boarding house, and have a real home. Richard Blount returned to
New York, dreaming, too, and his dream was of the beautiful mountain
girl with the dignity and poise of a queen, eyes like the clear brown
pools of autumn and a purposeful look on her young face that showed even
a casual observer that she had a mission in life.
Mid-year examinations came and went. Melissa and Otoyo came through
without a scratch, which made Molly rejoice as though it had been her
own ordeal.
Domestic Science grew more thrilling; so interesting, indeed, that Molly
could not decide for a whole day whether she would rather be a
scientific cook or a great literary success. But a note from a magazine
editor accepting her "Basket Funeral" and asking for more similar
stories decided her in favor of literature. And on the same day, too,
Professor Edwin Green said to her, "Please, Miss Molly, don't learn how
to cook so well that you forget how to make popovers. I am afraid all of
these scientific rules you are learning will upset the natural-born
knowledge that you already possess, and your spontaneous genius will be
choked by an academic style of cooking that would be truly deplorable."
Molly laughingly confided in the professor that she would not give one
of Aunt Mary's hot turnovers for all of Miss Morse's scientifically made
bread.
"I know her bread is perfect, but it lacks a certain taste and life, and
is to the real thing what a marble statue is to flesh and blood. Judy
described it, in speaking of the food at a lunchroom for self-supporting
women that she occasionally goes to in New York, as being 'too chaste.'"
"That is exactly it, too chaste," agreed Professor Green.
"Of course, cooking is a small part of what we learn in Domestic
Science,--food values, economic housekeeping, etc. It really is a very
broad and far-reaching science."
They were in the professor's study, where Molly had come to tell him the
good news about her story, and to ask his advice concerning what other
of her character sketches she should send to the magazine. She was
wearing her cap and gown, as she was just returning from a formal
college function. When the young man greeted her, he had quickly rolled
up something, looking a little shamefaced. But as they talked, he rolled
and unrolled and finally determined to show the papers to her.
"Miss Molly, Kent has sent me the plans for my bungalow that I
commissioned him at Christmas to get busy on. I wonder if you would care
to see them."
"Of course I'd be charmed to, Professor Green. There is nothing in the
world that is more interesting to me than plans of a house. Kent and I
have been drawing them ever since we could hold pencils. Kent was the
master hand at outside effects, and I was the housekeeper, who must have
the proper pantry arrangements and conveniences."
"Well, please pass on these. The outside effects seem lovely to me, but
I cannot tell about the interior."
Molly seated herself and pored over the prints, soon mastering the
details with a practiced eye, noting dimensions and windows and doors.
"I think it is splendid, but do you really want my criticism?"
"I certainly do, more than any one's."
"Well, there is waste space here that should be put in the store room.
This little passage from dining-room to kitchen is entirely unnecessary
and should be incorporated in the butler's pantry. These twin doors in
the hall, one leading to the attic and one to the cellar, are no doubt
very pretty, but they are not wide enough. An attic is for trunks, and
how could one larger than a steamer trunk get through such a narrow
door? A cellar is certainly for barrels and the like, and I am sure it
would be a tug to pull a barrel through this little crack of a door. I'd
allow at least nine inches more on each door, and that means a foot and
a half off something. Let me see. It seems a pity to take it off of the
living-room, and rather inhospitable to rob the guest chamber.
"Aunt Clay always puts the new towels in the guest chamber for the
company to break in. She says company can't kick about the slick
stiffness of them, and somehow it would seem rather Aunt Clayish to take
that eighteen inches off of the poor unsuspecting guests, whoever they
may be."
Molly sat a long time studying the plans, and she looked so sweet and so
earnest that Edwin Green thought with regret of the tacit promise he had
made Mrs. Brown: to let Molly stay a child for another year. How he
longed to know his fate! How simple it would be while she was showing
her interest in his little bungalow to ask her to tell him if she
thought she could ever make it her little home, too! Was she the child
her mother thought her? Did she think he was a "laggard in love," and
despise him for a "faint heart"? Or could it be that she thought of him
only as an old and trusted friend, too ancient to contemplate as
anything but a professor of literature, and, at that, one who was
building a home in which to spend his rapidly declining years?
"Time will tell," sighed the poor, conscientious young man, "but if I am
letting my happiness slip through my fingers from a mistaken sense of
duty, then I don't deserve anything but 'single blessedness'."
"I have it!" exclaimed Molly. "Have the cellar entrance outside by the
kitchen door with a gourd pergola over both, and take this inside space
where the cellar door and steps were to be for a large closet in the
poor guests' room, to make up to them for coming so near to losing a
foot and a half off of their room."
"That suits me, if it suits you. Is there anything else?"
"If you won't tell Kent it is my suggestion, I do think the bathroom
door ought to open in and not out. He and I have disagreed about doors
ever since we were children.
"Do you know what plan Kent is making for mother and me? He wants us to
go abroad next winter. Sue is to be married to her Cyrus in June, muddy
lane and all; Paul and John are in Louisville most of the time, now that
Paul is on a morning paper and has to work at night, and John is
building up his practice and has to be on the spot; Kent hopes to be
able to take a course at the Beaux Arts next winter if he can save
enough money, and that would leave no one at Chatsworth but mother and
me. There is no reason why we should not go, and you know I am excited
about it; and, as for mother, she says she is like our country cousin
who came to the exposition in Louisville and said in a grandiloquent
tone, 'I am desirous to go elsewhere and view likewise.' Mother and I
have never traveled anywhere, and it would be splendid for us. Don't you
think so?"
"I certainly do, especially as next year is my sabbatical year of
teaching, and I expect to have a holiday myself and do some traveling. I
have something to dream of now, and that is to meet you and your mother
in Europe and 'go elsewhere and view likewise' in your company!"
"Oh, Mother and I will be so glad to see you," exclaimed Molly. "I have
brought a letter from Mildred to read to you, Professor Green. It is so
like Mildred and tells so much of her life in Iowa that I thought it
might interest you."
"Indeed it will. I have thought so often of that delightful young couple
and the wonderful wedding in the garden."
So Molly began:
"'Dearest Sister:--You complain of having only second-hand letters
from me and you are quite right. There is nothing more irritating
than letters written to other people and handed down. Your letters
should belong to you, and you only, just as much as your
tooth-brush. You remember how mad it used to make Ernest to have his
letters sent to Aunt Clay, and how he would put in bad words just to
keep Mother from handing them on.
'Crit and I are more and more pleased with our little home out here
in this Western town (not that they call themselves Western, and on
the map they are really more Eastern than Western). The people are
lovely, and so neighborly and hospitable. It is a good thing for
Southern people to get away from home occasionally and come to the
realization that they have not got a corner on hospitality.
Entertaining out here really means trouble to the hostess, as there
are no servants and the ladies of the house have all the work to do;
and still they entertain a great deal and do it very well, too.
'I have never seen anything like the system the women have evolved
for their work. For instance: they wash on Monday morning and have a
"biled dinner." When washing is over, they are too tired to do any
more work, so they usually go calling or have club meetings or some
form of amusement to rest up for Tuesday, ironing day. Wednesday,
they bake. Thursday is the great day for teas and parties. Friday is
thorough cleaning day, and I came very near making myself very
unpopular because in my ignorance, when I first came here, I
returned some calls on that fateful day. I was greeted by irate
dames at every door, their heads tied up in towels and their faces
very dirty. I could hardly believe they were the same elegant ladies
I had met at the Thursday reception, beautifully gowned and showing
no marks of toil. On Saturday they bake again and get ready for
Sunday, and on Sunday no one ever thinks of staying away from church
because of cooking or house work.
'I am so glad our mother taught us how to work some, at least not to
be afraid of work, but I do wish I had been as fond of the kitchen
as you always were and had learned how to cook from Aunt Mary. My
sole culinary accomplishment was cloudbursts, and if Crit is an
angel he has to have something to go on besides cloudbursts. The
restaurants and hotels here are impossible and there are no boarding
houses. There are only twenty servants in the whole town and they
already have a waiting list of persons who want them when the
present employers are through with them, which only death or removal
from the town would make possible, so you see we have to keep house.
I am learning to cook, and simply adore Friday when I can tie up my
head and pull the house to pieces and make the dust fly. Crit calls
me a Sunbonnet Baby because I am so afraid of not keeping to the
schedule set down for me by my neighbors. Crit has bought me every
patent convenience on the market to make the work easy: washing
machine, electric iron and toaster, fancy mop wringer, and a dust
pan that can stand up by itself and let you sweep the dirt in
without stooping, vacuum carpet cleaner (but no carpets as yet),
window washer and dustless dusters, fireless cooker and a steamer
that can cook five things at once and blows a little whistle when
the water gets low in the bottom vessel. I have no excuse for not
being a good cook except that I lack the genius that you have. I
thought I never should learn how to make bread but I have mastered
it at last and can turn out a right good loaf and really lovely
turnovers.
'Thank you so much for your hints from your Domestic Science class.
I really got a lot from them. I had an awfully funny time with some
bread last week. You see, having once learned how to make it, it was
terribly mortifying to mix up a big batch and have it simply refuse
to rise. I didn't want Crit to see it, so I took it out in the
backyard and buried it in some sand the plasterers had left there.
Crit came home to dinner and went out in the yard to see if his
radishes were up and came in much excited: said he had found a new
mushroom growth (you remember he was always interested in mushrooms
and knew all kinds of edible varieties that we had never heard of).
Sure enough there was a brand new variety. That hateful old dough
had come up at last! The hot sand had been too much for it and it
was rising to beat the band. I was strangely unsympathetic with Crit
and his mushroom cult, so he came in to dinner. As soon as Crit went
back to work, I went out and covered up the disgraceful failure with
a lot more sand, hammered it down well and put a chicken coop on it,
determined to get rid of it; but surely murder must be like yeast
and it will out. When Crit came back to supper that old leaven had
found its way through the cracks under the chicken coop and a little
spot was appearing to the side of the sand pile. Crit was awfully
excited and began to pull off pieces to send to Washington for the
Government to look into the specimens, and I had to give in and tell
him the truth. He almost died laughing and decided to send some
anyhow, just to see what Uncle Sam would make out of it. The report
has not come yet. I have lots more things to tell you about my
housekeeping but I must stop now. I am so sorry I can not come home
to Sue's wedding, but it is such an expensive trip out here that I
do not see how Crit and I can manage it just now. Of course Crit
could not come anyhow as the bridge would surely fall down if he
were not here to hold it up, and even if we could afford it I should
hate to leave him more than I can tell you. Oh, Molly, he is so
precious! We have been married almost a year now and when I was
cross about his mushrooms was the nearest we have ever come to a
misunderstanding. That is doing pretty well for me who am a born
pepper pot. It is all Crit, who is an angel, as I believe I remarked
before. Please write to me all about your class reunion, and give my
love to that adorable Julia Kean, and also remember me to that nice
Professor Green.
'Your 'special sister,
Mildred Brown Rutledge.'"
"What a delightful letter and how happy they are," said the professor,
fingering his roll of blue prints with a sad smile. "It was good of her
to remember me. Please give her my love when you write."
"I did not tell you quite all she said," confessed Molly, opening the
letter again and reading. "She says, 'remember me to that nice Professor
Green, who is almost as lovely as Crit,'" and Molly beat a hasty
retreat.
CHAPTER VIII.--THE OLD QUEEN'S CROWD.
"Nance, do you fancy this has really been such a quiet, uneventful
college year, or are we just so old and settled that we don't know
excitement when we see it? It has been a very happy time, and I feel
that I have got hold of myself somehow, and am able to make use of the
hard studying I have done at college. I know you will laugh when I tell
you that one reason I have been so happy is that I have not had to
bother myself over Math. No one can ever know how I did hate and despise
that subject."
"You poor old Molly, I know it was hard on you. You were in good
company, anyhow, in your hatred of it. You remember Lord Macauley hated
it, too, but for that very reason was determined 'to take no second
place' in it. You always managed to get good marks after that first
condition in our Freshman year. I often laugh when I think of you with
your feet in hot water and your head tied up in a cold wet towel, trying
to cure a cold and at the same time grasp higher mathematics," answered
the sympathetic Nance, looking lovingly at her roommate. The girls found
themselves looking at each other very often with sad, loving glances.
Their partnership was rapidly approaching its close. They could not be
room-mates forever and college must end some time.
"The funny thing about me and Math. is that I never did really and truly
understand it," laughed Molly. "I learned how to work one example as
another was worked, but it was never with any real comprehension.
Nothing but memory got me through. I remember so well when I was a
little girl, going to the district school. I came home in tears because
division of decimals had stumped me. My father found me weeping my soul
out with a sticky slate and pencil grasped to my panting breast. 'What's
the matter, little daughter?' he said. 'Oh, father, I can't see how a
great big number can go into a little bits of number and make a bigger
number still.' 'Well, you poor lamb, don't bother your little red head
about it any more, but run and get yourself dressed and come drive to
town with me. I am going to take you to see Jo Jefferson play "Cricket
on the Hearth."' I shall never forget that play, but I never have really
understood decimals; and you may know what higher mathematics meant to
me."
"Speaking of a quiet year, Molly, I have an idea one reason it has been
so uneventful is that our dear old Judy has not been here to get herself
into hot water, sometimes pulling in her devoted friends after her when
they tried to fish her out. Won't it be splendid to see all the old
Queen's crowd again: Judy and Katherine and Edith, Margaret and Jessie?
I wonder if they have changed much! I am so glad they are coming to the
meeting of the alumnae this year, and that we are here without having to
come!"
"I do hope my box from home will get here in time for the first night of
the gathering of the clan. I know it will seem more natural to them if
we can get up a little feast. I want all of the girls to know Melissa.
Isn't she happy at the prospect of her dear teacher's coming? Do you
know the lady's name? I never can remember to ask Melissa, who always
speaks of her with clasped hands and a rapt expression as 'teacher'."
"Yes," answered Nance. "She has a wonderful name for one who is giving
up her life working for mankind: Dorothea Allfriend, all-friendly gift
of God. I believe her name must have influenced her from the beginning."
"We must ask her to our spread on Melissa's account," cried the
impetuously hospitable Molly. "That makes ten, counting the eight
Queen's girls, and while we are about it, let's have----"
"Molly Brown, stop right there. If you ask a lot of outsiders, how can
we have the intimate old talk that we are all of us hungering for? Of
course we can't leave Melissa out, as she has been too close to us all
winter to do anything without her, and her friend must come, too; but in
the name of old Queen's, let that suffice."
"Right, as usual, Nance, but inviting is such a habit with all of my
family that it almost amounts to a vice. Of course we don't want
outsiders, and I shall hold a tight rein on my inclination to entertain
until after the fourth of June. If there are any scraps left, I might
give another party."
"There won't be any, unless all of us have fallen in love and lost our
appetites."
The fourth came at last, and with it our five old friends: the Williams
sisters, Katherine and Edith, as amusing as ever, still squabbling over
small matters but agreeing on fundamentals, which they had long ago
decided was the only thing that mattered; Margaret Wakefield, with the
added poise and gracious manner that a winter in Washington society
would be apt to give one; Jessie Lynch, as pretty as ever but still
Jessie Lynch, not having married the owner of the ring, as we had rather
expected her to do when she left college; and our dear Judy, in the
seventh heaven of bliss because The American Artists' exhibition had
accepted and actually hung, not very far above the line, a small picture
done in Central Park at dusk.
The meeting at No. 5, Quadrangle, was a joyous one. Everybody talked at
once, except of course little Otoyo, whose manners were still so good
that she never talked when any one else had the floor; but her smile was
so beaming that Edith declared it was positively deafening.
"Silence, silence!" and Margaret, the one-time class president, rapped
for order. "I am so afraid I will miss something and I can't hear a
thing. Let's get the budget of news and find out where we stand, and
then we can go on with the uproar."
"Well, what is the matter with refreshments?" inquired the ever-ready
Molly. "That will quiet some of us at least. But before we begin, I must
ask you, Otoyo, where Melissa is. She and her friend Miss Allfriend
understood the time, did they not?"
"Yes, they understood and send you most respectful greetings, but my
dearly friend, Melissa, says she well understands that the meeting of
these eight old friends is equally to her meeting of her one friend, and
she will not intrusive be until we our confidences have bartered, and
then she will bring Miss Allfriend to meet the companions of Miss Brown
and Miss Oldham."
"I haven't heard who Melissa is, but she must be fine to show so much
tact," exclaimed Katherine. "I am truly glad we are alone. I am bursting
with news and drying up for news, and any outsider would spoil it all."
Nance gave a triumphant glance in Molly's direction, and Molly stopped
carving the ham long enough to give an humble bow to Nance before
remarking, "You girls are sure to adore my Melissa, but if Katherine is
already bursting with news, suppose she begins before I get the ham
carved. What is it, Kate? A big novel already accepted?"
"No, but a good job as reader for a publisher, and two magazine stories
in current numbers, and an order for some college notes for a big Sunday
sheet. Isn't that going some for the homeliest one of the Williams
sisters? But that is nothing. My news is as naught to what is to come.
Have none of you noticed the blushing Edith? Look at her fluffy
pompadour, her stylish sleeves, her manicured nails. Compare them with
those of the old Edith. Remember her lank hair and out-of-date blouses
and finger nails gnawed down to the quick. Note the change and guess and
guess again."
"Edith, Edith! Oh, you fraud!" in chorus from the astonished girls.
"Is it a man?"
"Who is he?"
"When is it to be?"
They certainly guessed right the very first time. Edith Williams was to
be the first of the old guard to marry, and she was certainly the last
to expect such a thing. She took the astonishment of her friends very
coolly and accepted their congratulations without the least
embarrassment.
"I can't see what you are making such a fuss about. You must have known
all the time that my hatred of the male sex was a pose, just adopted
because I had a notion that no man in his senses could ever see anything
in me to care for; or if one did, he would be such a poor thing that I
could not care for him. But," with a complacent smile, "I find I was
mistaken."
"Tell us all about him, do please, Edith. I know he is splendid or you
would not want him," said Molly, handing Edith the first plate piled
with all dainties.
"I can't eat and talk, too, so I'll cut my love affair short. His name
is plain James Wilson, but he is not plain, at all. He is very tall,
very good looking and very clever. He is dramatic critic on a big New
York paper and has written a play that is to be produced in the fall.
Oh, girls, I can't keep it up any longer! I mean, this seeming coldness.
He is splendid and I am very happy!" With which outburst, she attempted
to hide her blushes in her plate, but Katherine rescued it, saying
sternly, "Don't ruin the food, but effuse on your napkin," which made
them laugh and restored Edith's equanimity. Then the girls learned that
she was to be married in two weeks and go to Nova Scotia on her
honeymoon.
"Next!" rapped Margaret. "How about you, my Jessica, and what have you
done with your winter?"
Pretty Jessie blushed and held up her fingers, bare of rings. "Not even
any borrowed ones?" laughed Judy. "Why, Jessie, I believe you have
sought the safety that lies in numbers, and have so many beaux you can't
decide among them."
"I have had a glorious debutante winter and do not feel much like
settling down as yet," confessed the little beauty. "There is lots of
time for serious thoughts like matrimony later on."
"So there is, my child, but don't do like the poor princess who was so
choosey that she ended by having to take the crooked stick. My Jessica
must have the best stick in the forest, if she must have any at all,"
said Margaret, putting her arm around her friend. "For my part, I have
had a busy winter and haven't felt the need of a stick, straight or
crooked. What with entertaining for my father and keeping up the social
end necessary for a public man, and a general welfare movement I am
interested in, and the Suffrage League, I have often wished I had an
astral body to help me out. Mind you, I am not opposed to matrimony, but
I am just not interested in it for myself."
"That is a dangerous sentiment to express," teased Judy. "I find that a
statement like that from a handsome young woman usually means she is
taking notice. Come now, Margaret, if, instead of having an astral body
to do part of the work you are planning for yourself, you had been born
triplets, you would have let one of you get married, wouldn't you? Now
'fess up. Margaret could attend the suffrage meetings, and Maggie could
look after the child's welfare, while dear, handsome, wholesome Peggy
could be the beloved wife of some promising public man. I don't believe
Margaret or Maggie would mind at all if Peggy had to hurry home from the
meetings to have the house attractive for a brilliant young Senator from
the western states whom we shall call 'the Baby of the Senate' just for
euphony, and who would come dashing up to the door in his limousine
whistling 'Peg o' my Heart' in joyful anticipation of his welcome."
Margaret, the stately and composed, was blushing furiously at Judy's
nonsense.
"Judy Kean, who has been telling you things?"
"No one, I declare, Margaret. I was just visualizing. I wouldn't have
presumed to hit the nail on the head had I realized I was doing it. You
must forgive me, dear, but I am rather proud of being able to predict,
and if I ever meet the 'Baby of the Senate' I shall tell him to 'try,
try again'."
Molly interfered at this point and stopped Judy's naughty mouth with a
beaten biscuit. "Aren't you ashamed, Judy? How should you like to be
teased as you have teased Margaret?"
"Shouldn't mind in the least. If in a moment of ambitious dreaming I
have said 'nay, nay' to any handsome young western senators, Margaret
has my permission to tell them to 'try, try again,' that I was just
a-fooling. I am perfectly frank about my intentions in regard to the
husband question. I am wedded to my art, but it is merely a temporary
arrangement, and I may get a divorce any day if more attractive
inducements are offered than my art can furnish. It is fine, though, to
get my picture accepted and almost well hung by The American Artists. I
have an idea its size had something to do with the judges taking it. It
would have been cruel to refuse such a little thing; and then it is so
easy to hang a tiny picture, and there are so many gaps in galleries
that have to be filled in somehow."
"What a rattler you are, Judy," broke in Edith. "Your picture is lovely,
and it made me proud to tell James, who took me to the exhibition, that
you were my classmate and one of the immortal eight."
"Three more to report," rapped Margaret, "Molly and Nance and Otoyo.
Otoyo first, to punish her for being so noisy," and Margaret drew the
little Japanese to her side with an affectionate smile.
"It is not for humble Japanese maidens to bare lay their heart
throbbings, so my beloved friends will have to excuse the little Otoyo."
And it spoke well for the breeding of the other seven that they
respected the reticence of their little foreign friend and did not try
to force her confidence, although they were none of them ignorant of the
intentions of the wily Mr. Seshu.
"Otoyo is right," declared Nance. "I have nothing to confess, but if I
had, I should be Japanesque and keep it to myself."
"Oh, you 'copy cat'," sang Judy. "I'll wager anything that Nance has
more up her sleeve than any of us. Look, look! It has gone all the way
up her sleeve and is crawling out at her neck."
Nance made a wild grab at her neck, where, sure enough, the sharp eyes
of Judy had discovered a tiny gold chain that Nance had not meant to
show above her neat collar. She clutched it so forcibly that the
delicate fastening broke, and a small gold locket was hurled across the
room right into Molly's lap. Molly caught it up and handed it back to
the crimson and confused Nance amid the shrieks of the girls.
"I reckon a girl has a right to carry her father's picture around her
neck if she has a mind to," said Molly.
Just then there was a knock at the door and Melissa and Miss Allfriend
were ushered in, much to the relief of Molly, who by their coming had
escaped the ordeal of the teasing from her friends that she knew was
drawing near; and it also gave Nance the chance to compose herself.
Miss Allfriend proved to be delightful. She was overjoyed to be back at
her Alma Mater and eager to know Melissa's friends and to thank them for
their kindness to her protegee. Personalities were dropped and the
program for the entertainment of the alumnae was soon under discussion.
Miss Allfriend had been president of her class and she and Margaret
found many subjects of mutual interest. Melissa was anxious to know the
old Queen's girls, having heard so much of them from Otoyo, and the
girls were equally anxious to know the interesting mountain girl. The
party was a great success, and Nance was delighted to see that there
were no "scraps" left for Molly to give another, as there were many
things on foot for the alumnae meeting for the next week and Nance felt
sure Molly would have enough to do without any more entertaining.
* * * * *
And now we will leave our girls. Their postgraduate year is over. A very
happy one it has been, with little excitement but much good, hard work.
Nance is to go to Vermont and rescue her long-suffering father from the
boarding house, and give the poor man the taste of home life that he has
never known. Mrs. Oldham cannot keep house in Vermont and make speeches,
now at the International Peace Conference at The Hague, and then at a
Biennial of Woman's Clubs in San Francisco, with a stop over in New York
to address the Equal Suffrage League between boat and train!
Molly is going back to Kentucky to assist at her sister's wedding, this
wedding a formal affair in a church, to suit the notions of the
formidable Aunt Clay. Molly has many plots in her head to work out. Her
little success with "The Basket Funeral" has fired her ambition, and she
is longing for time to write more. French must be studied hard all
summer if they are to go abroad, and Kent must be coached, as he is very
rusty in his French and must rub up on it for lectures at the Beaux
Arts. She has promised Edwin Green to write to him, and he has offered
to criticize her stories, which will be a great help to her. The place
of meeting in Europe has not been decided on, but Professor Green is
determined that meeting there shall be.
Melissa will go back to her beloved mountains and try to give out during
her well-earned vacation some of the precious knowledge she has gained
in her freshman year to the less fortunate children of her county. She
will in a measure repay the noble woman who has spent her life in the
mountain mission work for all the care and labor she has expended on
her, and will go back to Wellington for the sophomore course with her
purpose stronger and deeper: to help her people and uplift them as she
herself has become uplifted.
One more incident only we must record before this volume ends. After
Molly got home she received by express a box wrapped in Japanese paper,
so carefully and wonderfully done up that it seemed a pity to break the
fastenings. In the box was the most beautiful little stunted tree in a
pot that looked as though it had come out of a museum. The tree had all
the characteristics of a "gnarled oak olden," with thick twisted
branches and one limb that looked as though little children might have
had a swing on it, so low did it sag. And this tiny tree, with all the
dignity of a great "father of the forest," was, pot and all, only eight
inches high! With it, came the following letter:
"Will the honorably and kindly graciously Miss Brown be so stoopingly as
to accept this humble gift from the father of Otoyo Sen, who has by the
most graciously help of Miss Brown passed her difficulty examinations at
Wellington College and now is to become the humble wife of honorable
Japanese gentleman, Mr. Seshu? The honorable gentleman gave greatly
praise to graciously Miss Brown for her so kindly words about humble
Japanese maiden and is gratefully that his humble wife is the friend of
so kindly lady."
With this little note, it seemed to Molly that the last ties that bound
her to the precious life at Wellington and the old, complete Queen's
group had suddenly snapped. Little Otoyo had outstripped them all! She
was quietly entering the school of Life, while the rest were only
standing at the threshold.
Molly, knowing the serene satisfaction with which the Japanese maiden
awaited the new bonds, and remembering the transforming happiness of
Edith Williams in anticipation of a similar experience, thoughtfully
pondered upon her own future.
She had the eye of faith but she was not a seer; and she could not
travel in advance those devious paths by which Destiny was to lead her.
How she finally came to her own and fulfilled the promise of college
days, it remains for "Molly Brown's Orchard Home" to disclose.
The End.
End of Project Gutenberg's Molly Brown's Post-Graduate Days, by Nell Speed