NEW SCENES, NEW FRIENDS
So another leaf was turned in the Book of Fate, and Smiles' life
underwent another metamorphosis as complete as the one fifteen years
previous.
There was a sudden severance of all old ties, save that of memory, an
abrupt entrance into a new existence, so utterly different from the one
that she had known that it could scarcely have seemed stranger to her if
she had actually been translated into another sphere.
Yet that same Fate, which had tried her heart in its crucible fires, and
found its gold as unalloyed as her smile, now smiled, in turn, and Rose
was deeply appreciative of that fact. She knew that in Gertrude Merriman
she had found a friend who was a blessed comforter for her in her days
of trial; in truth, the nurse was destined to be more than that, a wise
counsellor as well. Herself a girl of breeding, a college graduate, and
a product of the same mill through which the mountain child had set her
heart and fixed her mind upon going, she would be able to smooth many a
rough spot from that path which Donald had pictured in his allegory,
draw the thorns from many a bramble.
For the first time Rose parted from the friends whom she had known
practically all her life, and from the rugged, picturesque mountain
which had been home to her, and turned her face toward a new life. Like
a child venturing into the fairyland of dreams, she journeyed with her
companion through the teeming cities of the East, Miss Merriman so
arranging it that they should spend a day in each, for--with wisdom born
of experience--she realized that such travel was in itself a broadening
education, and that, moreover, in the new wonders and new delights which
each hour held, Smiles' grief would find its best assuagement.
There was another reason in Miss Merriman's mind for making the trip a
leisurely one. She knew that the girl was as far from being ready to
step into the new existence, without material readjustment in her
manners, as she was already mentally removed from the old. To be sure,
she possessed a natural grace of manner which could not but charm any
one who met her; but she was almost as free from external conventions as
one of her own wild birds, except for the few which she had
unconsciously acquired by her association with the older woman, and with
Donald; and, in her love for, and pride in, her protege, Miss Merriman
wanted Rose to be able to fit, without embarrassment, into whatever
company she might find herself.
Hers was a comparatively easy task, for Smiles took to "manners" as
readily as a chameleon adapts its exterior to suit the color of its
surroundings. In the woods she had learned to mimic the note of the
birds or the chattering of the squirrels; in the hotel dining-room she
copied the behavior of her companion just as faithfully, and if, on
occasion, she found herself perplexed as to the proper use of some
strange implement of eating, she frankly, and without a thought of
embarrassment, sought information on the subject. People regarded her
with open amusement, sometimes; but more often their gaze spelt
admiration, and Rose was happily unconscious of both kinds of glances.
Furthermore, in obedience to instructions from Donald, contained in a
special delivery letter which reached her just before they started
North, and in which he purported to be speaking and acting as the
child's guardian _ipso facto_, Miss Merriman fitted her charge out with
a simple, but complete, wardrobe, to Smiles' never-failing surprise and
delight that so many pretty things should be all her own.
When the two were ready to leave the metropolis--whose size, splendor
and feverish bustle left Smiles mentally gasping--the nurse sent a
telegram to Donald, and one raw February evening found him impatiently
pacing the South Terminal Station, awaiting the arrival of the train
from New York.
Six months before, the prospect of some day being Smiles' guardian had
seemed vaguely pleasant. Now it was an immediate fact, and the
responsibilities engendered, the possible difficulties attendant on it,
lay heavily upon his mind. He, too, thanked Heaven for Miss Merriman.
The train gates were opened at last, and Donald hastened down the long
platform, his eyes searching eagerly for those whom he sought. They fell
first upon the nurse, just descending the steps, then turned and stayed
upon the graceful, slender figure which followed her. Was it really
Rose? Could that young woman, clad in a simple black traveling dress
and long coat which, even to his masculine perception, appeared modishly
stylish and amazingly becoming, be the mountain child whom his memory
clothed in homemade calico? Her face was unwontedly pale beneath the
small, close-fitting black hat, yet it was so utterly sweet that Donald
felt his pulses start again with the old strange thrill.
If his mind harbored any idea that she might run into his embrace, it
was doomed to disappointment, for, with the habiliments of city
civilization, Smiles had acquired its reserve. Her greeting was a very
demure and somewhat weary one,--it both pleased and irritated him,
somehow. Indeed, she spoke scarcely a word, and it was not until they
had finished dinner in the quiet, homelike hotel, whither Donald had
taken them, that her new shyness began to yield to his presence. Then
the story of the marvels which her eyes had beheld came pouring forth
with all the old-time childlike eagerness.
When they were nearly ready to leave, Miss Merriman said, with a half
real, half assumed show of firmness, "Now, Doctor MacDonald, since I am
off duty I can speak my mind plainly, and I mean to. I know that you are
Smiles' guardian; but you can't have her. She's mine, and she's going to
live with my family until she enters the hospital. So there."
Donald breathed a mental sigh of relief, and responded, laughingly, "And
I, apparently, haven't anything to say about it! Oh, very well. I've
lived long enough to learn that there is no use arguing with a woman, so
I yield gracefully, although I'm afraid that it is establishing a bad
precedent. If I begin to take orders from you like this, it is going to
be hard to put you back in your place and to act the role of stern
superior myself. I warn you, though, that I mean to get even with you on
our next case, so prepare yourself to be bullied frightfully.
"You see what a horrible disposition I really have, little sister," he
added, smiling at Rose, who informed him that she was not in the least
frightened, and to prove it, slipped her hand into his for a moment with
the childlike confidence that he loved.
So it was arranged; a taxicab bore them to the homey little apartment in
the Fenway, where Smiles was taken to Mrs. Merriman's maternal bosom,
and, after humbly begging his ward from them for the next afternoon,
when he meant to introduce her to his family, Donald departed,
whistling.
Tired, but strangely contented, Rose was at last shown to her dainty
pink and white bedroom, with its inviting brass bed, beside which she
knelt for a long time in thankful prayer. Nor was it strange, perhaps,
that her pillow was moist with tears of gratitude and happiness before
she fell asleep.
Smiles awoke early. The air in the room was very cold, but during her
trip northward she had learned the mysteries of steam radiators, and she
sprang up, closed the windows, and turned on the heat with a little
silent laugh as her thoughts travelled back to the rude cabin on the
mountain. In memory she saw herself crawl shiveringly from her bed, in
the cold gray of a Winter daybreak, clad only in a plain nightgown, to
build a blaze in the big stone fireplace so that the room might be warm
for Big Jerry when he awoke. The smile faded from her lips, and they
trembled slightly as she whispered his name. Poor grandpap, he had
suffered sadly from the cold during those last few months when he could
not keep the circulation up in his massive body by accustomed exercise.
Below her lay the still sleeping city. Snow covered the untenanted
portions of the Fens, and hid its ugly nakedness with a soft mantle,
which seemed to hold a silken sheen, as the first flush of morning
touched it. How strange all her surroundings appeared. Gone was the far
sweeping expanse of forest-clad mountain side, stretching off to the
sunrise; in its place lay a level space closed in by substantial
buildings of marble, granite and brick--the Art Museum, Latin School and
clustered hospitals,--their walls changing from ghostly gray to growing
rose and gold. She drew a comfortable dressing gown--the gift of her new
friend--about her girlish form, and sat down by the window in the
familiar posture with her chin on her cupped hands. By Miss Merriman's
description of the view which the window gave upon she recognized the
creamy brick building of the Children's Hospital, snuggled like a gentle
sister by the side of the impressive marble walls of its big brother,
the Harvard Medical School, and, as the light grew and gave definition
to its outlines, she felt as though it were actually drawing nearer to
her. In imagination she went to meet it; she entered its doors and took
her place among those who toiled there with loving hearts and skillful
hands; and thus Miss Merriman found her, half an hour later, when she,
similarly clad, came to bid her little guest good morning. With silent
understanding, which is born of true companionship, she drew the girl
into her arms.
"I'm not going to let you do a single thing but rest this morning," she
said at length. "You look pale and tired still--like a very white
rose--and I want you to appear your very sweetest when you go to meet
Dr. MacDonald's family this afternoon, dear. Come, let's decide what you
shall wear. The black silk that we bought in New York?"
Smiles hesitated. "I think that ... would it be all right if I wore that
pretty white woollen one?"
"Why, yes, if you like, but it is very plain and simple."
"And so am I," laughed Rose a bit unsteadily. "I want them to see me
just as I am, and ... Oh, how I hope that they will like me!"
"Never fear. They will," answered Miss Merriman, giving her a reassuring
kiss.
Nevertheless, it was a very quiet and timid Smiles who sat beside Donald
in his coupe at four that afternoon, as he drove to the richly sombre
home on Beacon Street, where had dwelt many generations of Thayers. He,
too, although he attempted to be jovial, was strangely uneasy.
"You chump!" he said to himself. "You're more disturbed about whether
this child will make a good impression, than you would be over
performing a major operation. Supposing that Ethel _doesn't_ go wild
about her, what of it?"
A trim maid ushered them into the drawing room, where softly shaded
lights were already burning, for the afternoon was dull and gray, and
they gave a mellow homelike appearance to the mahogany furniture, rich
tapestries, oriental rugs and costly paintings. Ethel, Mr. MacDonald,
Senior, and little Muriel were in the room when Donald entered with the
girl's slim hand held tightly in his, for she had slipped it there
impulsively, just as he stepped through the broad doorway.
"This," he said simply, "is Smiles."
They all arose, and Ethel stepped quickly forward with outstretched
hands. She had told herself that she meant to be very kind to the little
savage to whom her brother had taken such an astonishing fancy; but
now, something in the slender form and the half-frightened expression in
the pale, sweet face caused her to forget everything else except that
the stranger was alone and ill at ease. Both her arms went out to Rose
with a motherly gesture, and, as she drew her within them, she said,
"Why, my dear child."
"Yes, she _is_ a child," broke in Muriel, eagerly seizing one of Smiles'
hands. "I thought that she was a grown-up woman; but see, she wears her
hair down on her neck just like a school girl."
Let it be said that Miss Merriman had caught the note struck by Rose
that morning, and had arrayed her to appear as young and simple as
possible.
"A child? Of course she is," echoed Mr. MacDonald in a hearty voice. "My
dear, Donald has told us so much about you that I feel almost as though
I had known you all your life. But," he added with little wrinkles
forming at the corners of his kindly gray eyes, "I would like to have
seen you, as my son did first, in that one-piece calico dress. He
described the picture that you made very graphically."
"Oh, look, mother. She's going to _smile_. Remember how pretty Uncle Don
told us she looked when ..."
Rose's shyly budding smile changed to silvery laughter in which all the
rest joined, and with it was sealed the bond of an enduring friendship.
Then baby Don was brought down from the nursery for inspection and,
before he had been contentedly curled in the newcomer's arms many
minutes, he was actually trying to lisp "Mileth," which Ethel proudly
pronounced to be the first articulate word in his vocabulary, if those
universal sounds, which doting parents have ever taken to mean Mother
and Father, be excepted. He liked it so well that he insisted upon
repeating it over and over, with eyes screwed up tight and mouth opened
very wide, which gave him so comical an expression that every one
laughed, including himself.
Manlike, Donald had planned to get all the meetings over with at once,
and had asked his sister to invite Marion in for afternoon tea and to
meet his "protege and prodigy"--as Ethel had phrased it in her
invitation. He had, however, purposely refrained from mentioning the
fact to Rose, and when Miss Treville entered, stately as a goddess, very
beautiful and a trifle condescending in manner, as she extended her
white-gloved hand and said, "So this is little Rose," the girl felt a
sudden chill succeed the warmth of hospitality which had served to
banish all her timid reserve, had brought a glow of happy color to her
cheeks and a sparkle to her luminous eyes, and had made her as wholly
natural as she would have been at home among her simple neighbors of the
mountains.
Donald felt the psychological change, and sensed the reason for it; but
although, in a clumsy manner, he did his best to restore the atmosphere
of comradeship, he knew that he was failing. Marion also tried, and
tried sincerely, to bring Rose into the conversation; but the girl had
become embarrassed and silent, and to her own surprise the society woman
vaguely realized that she, too, was embarrassed and not at her best. She
tried to shake off the feeling with the thought that it was absurd that
one who had been at ease in the presence of royalty should feel so in
that of a simple mountain girl; but she could not wholly banish the
feeling or the impression that the girl's deep, unusual eyes were
looking down beneath the surface, which she knew was perfectly
appointed--had she not, for no reason at all she told herself, taken
special pains in dressing?--and that, although there was something of
awed admiration in her frank gaze, it also held a suggestion of
something which was not entirely approval. Donald felt it, too, and it
irritated him; so much so that he was frankly glad when his fiancee
announced that she must depart to attend a social engagement. Perhaps it
was because he was ashamed of such a feeling that he kissed her with
unusual warmth, as he handed her into the waiting motor car, and he
found himself flushing deeply, without reason, when he returned to the
drawing room and saw Rose standing by one of the windows, looking out at
the departing limousine with its two liveried attendants.
"She is very beautiful," the girl whispered to him, as he joined her.
There was another guest that afternoon, who came in, unexpectedly--a
young man, in appearance Donald's antithesis, for, although he was of
more than medium height, he was slender and almost as graceful as a
woman. Wavy light hair crowned a merry, boyish face which, with its
remarkably blue eyes, was almost too good looking for a man, although
saved from a hint of weakness by a firm, well-rounded chin.
"Called at your office and learned that you were loafing on the job
again, and that I might find you up here, visiting a baby--for a
change," he ran on, as he entered after the manner of one who feels
himself perfectly at home. Then he caught sight of Rose, blushed like a
girl himself and stammered, "Oh, I beg pardon. I didn't know that I was
..."
"You're not," laughed Donald, seizing the newcomer's hand with a
vicelike grasp. "Come in. I've told you about my little mountain rose,
and now is your chance to meet her, for here she is. Smiles, this is my
closest friend and associate, Dr. Philip Bentley--the man who steps into
my shoes when I am summarily ordered to board the next train for the
Cumberland Mountains, or elsewhere."
"Who steps into his practice, perhaps, but not into his shoes, Miss
Rose," added the other. "I could not fill _them_, figuratively or
physically."
"Go ahead, make all the fun of me that you like," answered Donald. "I'm
not ashamed of having a broad understanding."
"You would not think Dr. Donald's boots large if you could have seen my
Granddaddy's," interposed Smiles, pretending to think that reflection
was being cast upon her idol. "I could get _both_ my feet inside one of
them--really I could."
"I don't wonder," answered Philip with a return to seriousness. And the
girl hastily tucked her diminutive shoes underneath her chair, as she
saw the man's gaze fastened upon them.
For nearly an hour she lived in unaccustomed delight, as she listened to
the merry badinage of this group of educated city dwellers and, although
it was something new to her, her quick mind soon realized that Philip
was a most entertaining conversationalist, with a wit like a rapier
which flashed and touched, but never hurt, and that Donald, in his
slower way, possessed a dry humor which she had not suspected. At the
end of that time a telephone call came for Donald which sent him forth,
pretending to grumble over the lack of consideration of modern children,
who insisted upon getting sick at the most inconvenient times, and of
their parents, who permitted it.
"Your loss, my gain," chuckled Philip. "I'll be only too pleased to take
Miss Rose home."
"Indeed, I'll not allow such a thing," promptly responded Ethel. "Rose
stays here for dinner, and _you're_ not invited. This is to be strictly
a family party."
"'Family?' Is Don going to be a Mormon, then?" challenged Philip.
It was Rose, who--blushing prettily--answered, "I hope not, for he is
my brother, too, by blood adoption." And she told the story.
"Then why can't _I_ be? I'm ready, nay, anxious, to shed quarts and
quarts of blood to attain a like relationship," persisted Philip. And
thus the conversation ran on through dinner, for Ethel relented and
allowed Dr. Bentley to remain, and, as Donald was again summoned away,
it was he who, after all, took Rose to the Merriman apartment.
"Oh," she cried, in telling Gertrude all about it, "I think that it was
the happiest evening I ever spent, or it _would_ have been if Big Jerry
might only have been there, too."
A slight suggestion of a smile passed over the face of the older woman
as she pictured the mountaineer in a Beacon Street drawing room. Rose
saw, and interpreted it.
"Grandpap would not have been out of place there, or in a king's palace.
He _was_ a king, Miss Merriman."
"Yes, dear, he truly was," the other responded seriously.
There was a pause.
"Isn't Dr. Bentley nice," said Smiles, softly. "He must be splendid, for
Dr. Donald likes him a lot."
"He likes _you_ a lot, too! My, aren't we vain?" smiled Gertrude.
"Oh, I didn't think how that was going to sound!"
Rose's distress was real and the other hastened to say, "Yes, Dr.
Bentley is splendid. We used to call them 'David and Jonathan,' for
they were always together, and, before Dr. McDonald become engaged, we
said that neither would ever marry, since they couldn't marry each
other. Now I suppose that Dr. Bentley will be looking around for
consolation. Perhaps...."
"Don't be silly," laughed Smiles. But she became suddenly silent again.