THE MAGIC CITY
The last sweet note hesitated, sighed, and softly merged in the crackling
of the fire, and still their guardian did not move.
For a long moment she sat upright and still, her hands clutching the arms
of her chair, her gaze fixed steadily on the tiny, darting flames.
Perhaps she saw there even more than the girls sensed, for when she
turned to them, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"Girls, dear girls," she cried, unsteadily, "what a welcome you have
given me! And I had begun to think you had forgotten all about your
guardian," and as she spoke she held out her arms so that the girls came
rushing.
Then such a hugging and kissing and asking of foolish questions and
answering of them in like, but delightful manner, until Mrs. Wescott was
forced to say, laughingly and in the same old tone they had heard so
often in camp:
"Girls, don't you think it would be better to hear one at a time?"
The girls laughed gaily and settled themselves so near their guardian
that "they couldn't possibly miss a word," as Jessie explained afterward
when describing the scene to her mother.
"Oh, it's a sight for sore eyes to see all my camp-fire girls again,"
said Mrs. Wescott, as her eyes traveled happily over the little group
about her.
Some threw themselves on the floor at her feet, while others were curled
up on the huge divan, and Marjorie and Jessie perched on the arms of her
chair. But all the bright faces were turned toward her with such happy
and expectant interest that a lump seemed to rise in her throat, and she
had much ado to speak at all.
"It is wonderful to have you here after all this time," cried Jessie,
snuggling close to her guardian as she spoke. "I feel as if any minute
you're likely to fade away just as the ghosts and visions do in the
moving pictures."
There was a general laugh, and then Evelyn broke in, gallantly.
"I protest," she said, stoutly. "I deny that our guardian is a ghost."
"No; but she is a vision," said a voice behind them, and Lucile slipped
noiselessly into the circle.
"Goodness, Lucile, anybody would think you were the redskin you look
like," commented Dorothy, a trifle sharply, for she had started in a most
undignified manner.
"See, you frightened the child, Lucile," said Marjorie, aggravatingly.
"You should be more careful with one so young."
"What do you call yourself?" retorted Dorothy, and Lucile saw it was high
time she took a hand in the argument.
"Don't tease, Marj," she admonished. "And don't get mad about nothing,
Dotty--I mean Dot," she corrected quickly, as Dorothy eyed her
menacingly.
"I don't wonder she draws the line at Dotty," laughed Jessie. "I haven't
called you that for two weeks, Dot; I've kept track."
"When you haven't called me that for two years," said Dorothy,
graciously, "I'll begin to think you're improving."
"That's right, Dot," cried one of the girls, with a merry laugh. "Never
refuse a helping hand to the wicked!"
"Encourage them once in a while and some time, soon or late, you will be
rewarded," chanted Marjorie in a solemn tone that brought a laugh from
every one.
"Lucy was right, just the same," said Margaret, with apparent
irrelevance, and the girls turned inquiring eyes on the speaker as she
sat, chin in hand, gazing into the fire.
Somehow the girls' faces always sobered when they looked at Margaret, and
when they spoke to her their voices softened to an undernote of
tenderness never used among themselves. She had won her way steadily to
every girl's heart. They had marveled at her invariable sweetness of
temper; they had laughed at her quaint, naive sayings, and, most of all,
they had loved her for the warm, grateful heart that found room and to
spare for them all.
So now Evelyn, merry, irresponsible Evelyn, said, with a gentleness that
caused Mrs. Wescott to look at her in surprise:
"What do you mean, Margaret? Pictures in the fire again?"
"No; I was just thinking of what Lucy said when she first came in, before
Dorothy jumped all over her," said Margaret, with a twinkle in her eye
that had only found its way there of late.
"Jumped all over her? What kind of language do you call that, Margaret
Pratt Stillman?" reproved Marjorie, with her best grandmother air. "If
you are not careful, the habit of using slang will grow upon you."
"Oh, do keep still, Marj, for half a minute, can't you?" cried Jessie. "I
suppose you can't," she added, "but you might try, anyway. A great many
impossible things come with time."
"Speak with yourself, Johnette," retorted Marjorie.
"Why the Johnette?" inquired Lucile, with interest.
"Feminine for John, of course," Marjorie explained, patiently.
Jessie broke in upon the laugh that followed. "But we haven't come to the
point yet," she complained. "Speak up, Margaret, before some other rude
person interrupts."
"That's right," said Lucile, ignoring the irony in her tone. "Now is your
chance, Peggy."
"Why, you said that our guardian was a vision," said Margaret, dreamily.
"I quite agree with you."
"Come, come, I can't allow this," cried the vision, gaily, as the girls
turned adoring eyes upon her. "I've been thinking sundry little thoughts
on my own account since I've seen my girls again."
"Oh, doesn't it seem great to be back?" cried Dorothy. "I know I should
be terribly homesick if I stayed away six weeks, let alone six months."
"Indeed it did. Just the same, New York is fascinating, with its great
buildings, its busy, absorbed throng of people, each intent on getting
ahead of the next one. There is something about it all that draws one
irresistibly. The very air seems charged with electricity, and just to
walk down Broadway gave me more real excitement and enjoyment than the
most thrilling play could have done." Helen Wescott's face flushed and
her eyes sparkled as she talked.
"Go on," cried Evelyn breathlessly. "Do tell us all about it. Oh, I can't
even imagine it!"
"I don't believe I could tell you everything if I should talk for a
month," she went on. "But I do remember a conversation Jack and I had
soon after our arrival. We were walking up Fifth Avenue one exceptionally
busy day--I don't know why I should say that, for every day over there
seems busier than the last--when Jack asked why I was so quiet. 'Because
everything else is making so much noise,' I answered. Which, indeed, was
almost reason enough. But when he insisted, I said what had been in my
thoughts for the past two days:
"'I've been wondering, as I looked at all these people rushing along as
if their lives depended on their getting to a certain place on a certain
second--these people with set faces and eyes that seem to see a long way
off--I've just been wondering what they all find to do.'
"'My dear,' said Jack, and he laughed in a way I could not understand,
'It's easy to see you have lived a long way from little old New York, and
I'm mighty glad you have. I'd rather you would face all these people for
the first time with me along.'
"'But you haven't answered my question,' I insisted, for I was still
filled with wonder at the great throng surging past us, whose purpose
never seemed to change or falter.
"'You asked what they were all doing,' said Jack. 'Well, for the most
part, they are busily and congenially engaged in doing to the best
advantage the next poor victim that comes to their net.'
"Somehow, that little remark put a different aspect on everything and
Fifth Avenue didn't hold quite the same charm for me that it had. Just
the same," she added, brightly, "I like New York mighty well. The only
thing I didn't like about it was that it didn't hold my girls, and I did
miss you all so much!"
"Oh, I don't see how you would ever find time to miss anybody with all
those wonderful new sights and sounds around you all the time," said
Evelyn, naively.
Marjorie sniffed. "Of course, we know you wouldn't," she said.
"I wouldn't," said Evelyn, unabashed. "I'd be too awfully excited all the
time."
"Oh, Evelyn, Evelyn!" said Lucile, laughing. "Won't you ever learn to
cover up your faults?"
"I'll have to get some first," she retorted, impishly; and the girls, who
were in a mood when everything strikes them funny, began to laugh. The
more they laughed, the more they tried to stop, the more impossible it
became, until the whole house rang with merriment. Lucile was the first
to recover herself.
"That's quite enough for some time to come, Evelyn," she cried, choking
back her laughter. "We all know you are wonderful, but please remember
that no human being is perfect."
Gradually they quieted down, with only an occasional explosion, and
Lucile returned to her guardian again.
"I suppose you have gone to all the theaters and restaurants and things
in the city," she asked. "Are they just as wonderful as people make them
out to be?"
"More," said Mrs. Wescott, emphatically, dimpling happily at her
memories. Indeed, she was very young and very enthusiastic, and the
girls, looking at her, thought they had never seen her so entrancingly
lovely.
"It is almost impossible to describe," she went on. "At first you have
only a confused impression that the world is on fire with electric
lights. To ride through the crowded theater district at night, with the
great electric signs blinking at you from all sides--with the honking of
the motor horns making a very Babel--with the crowds on the sidewalk,
still hurrying, but for such a different reason--men and women in evening
dress, all bound for one or other of the gay restaurants or theaters
close by. And then the theater itself! To walk from the street to the
gaily lighted lobby, its walls paneled from floor to ceiling with great
mirrors that reflect lovely women and distinguished men. Then in the
theater where the rich carpet deadens every footfall and you feel rather
than hear the murmur of many voices speaking softly--the subtle rustle of
a crowded place--the lights--the music--oh, girls, it was wonderful,
wonderful! I can't describe it!"
"Oh, but you have described it--beautifully!" cried Lucile. "I feel as if
I had been there!"
"Oh, just to go there once!" breathed Jessie, rapturously. "If I could
only see those things once, I think I'd be willing to die!"
The girls raised laughing protests, and Lucile cried, "For goodness'
sake, don't speak of dying yet awhile, Jessie. I'm going to see lots
before my end comes. Oh, if we could only go back with you, Miss How--I
mean Mrs. Wescott," she stammered, blushing furiously at her mistake.
The lovely guardian of the fire looked down upon Lucile, a quizzical
smile curling the corners of her mouth.
"I don't wonder you make that mistake once in a while," she said. "It
took me a long while to get used to it."
"I should think it would seem strange just at first," ventured Margaret,
amazed at her own temerity and looking up at her guardian shyly. "I mean
not being Miss Howland any longer."
The girls laughed and Margaret flushed confusedly.
"You shouldn't say such things, Margaret; it ill befits your age," said
Jessie patronizingly.
There followed another burst of laughter, out of which Margaret's voice
rose defiantly. "I don't care," she cried. "It seemed mighty funny to me
to call our guardian Mrs. Wescott, and if it seemed strange to me, what
must it have seemed to her? I was almost afraid----" her voice trailed
off into silence, and Mrs. Wescott prompted, gently, "Afraid of what,
dear?"
"Oh, just afraid that you might be--different."
It was the vague, half-formed fear that all the girls had felt, yet none
had dared express, and the silence that followed was pregnant with
meaning.
"Different, Margaret?" their guardian's voice was low and tremulous.
"Never! Happier, oh, so very much happier, girls; but never changed in my
love for you except as it grows stronger. Do I seem different?" she
asked, turning swimming eyes upon them.
"Oh, no--except that you are twice as dear," cried Lucile, and the cry
found an echo in each girl's heart.
"I'm so happy I'm afraid I'm going to have hysterics or something," cried
Jessie, dabbing her eyes with a square inch or so of handkerchief. "I
want to laugh and cry, and you can't do both at once."
The girls laughed shakily and Mrs. Wescott said, with a gay little laugh,
"Here, this will never do. Now that that question is settled forever and
ever, I want to hear what you girls have been doing all this time, and
what you expect to do this summer. Come, who's first?"
"Lucile," cried Dorothy. "You just ask her what she intends to do this
summer. All our plans are tame beside hers."
The girls had completely forgotten the wonderful topic that had seemed
all absorbing before this guardian's arrival, but now it took on an
added importance, and the girls waited eagerly for Lucile's disclosure.
"What great plans have you been making now, Lucile?" said Mrs. Wescott,
with that ever-ready interest that had won the girls completely. "I can
see there is something great in the wind. Tell me about it."
"I'd never have thought of it if Dorothy hadn't reminded me," said
Lucile, amazed that it should have slipped her mind for two minutes, let
alone two hours. "Why, it's only that Mother and Dad are going to Europe
this summer and they have decided to take Phil and me along with them;
and then Dad said I might ask Jessie and Evelyn to go with us if they'd
like to, and so they are coming--to make trouble," she added, slyly.
"Oh, no doubt of that last," said Mrs. Wescott, laughing, and then added,
with enthusiasm, "It certainly is splendid for you to have the chance. I
know your pet hobby has always been to visit Switzerland, Lucy, and now
you will, provided you get that far. Do you suppose you will?"
"I really don't know," said Lucile. "I've been too stunned by the mere
fact of going to Europe to think of asking for details. If I have
anything to say about it, we'll go to Switzerland, if we don't go
anywhere else."
"Just hear her talk of Switzerland, as if it were just around the
corner," marveled Ruth. "It has always seemed to me like some myth or
fable."
"And you feel as it you ought to speak of it in whispers," agreed
Marjorie. "That's the way I feel about it."
"Oh, I almost forgot about tea," Lucile interrupted, springing to her
feet and making a dash for the door. "It's getting late, and everybody
must be starved. Come on, Jessie, and help me, for goodness' sake!"
"Coming," said Jessie, stopping at the door to make a low bow and
declaim, "Ladies and gentlemen, we crave your indulgence----"
"You'd better come out here, or I'll use force," cried Lucile's voice
from somewhere in the rear, and the orator fled precipitately.