AFTER ALL!
And after all, as every one said, everything went off so beautifully
that people need not have been disturbed. The Processional Festival
Jubilee was given up (really, I think, to Mr. Pindar's relief as well as
that of every one else,--except Miss Luella Slocum), and a reception
substituted for it; not a Pink Tea, but a dignified and really charming
occasion. Mrs. Bliss and Will Jaquith planned it, and the whole village
helped to carry it out. The day was perfection, the very crown jewel of
the summer: the house was thrown open, and the guests were met in the
hall by a Reception Committee, consisting of the Messrs. Hollopeter,
Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, Miss Wax and Mrs. Ware, and Dr. Geoffrey Strong.
First, Doctor Strong made a brief address of welcome, which put every
one into a holiday humor of twinkling anticipation; and then there were
tableaux, framed in the wide low arch of the dining-room door,
illustrating the history of the village since the first Darracott,
Timothy Philo, settled here in 1680. The First Service, the Indian
Massacre (Mr. Pindar superb as King Philip, in full war-paint and
feathers, flourishing a real tomahawk from the Collection over the
prostrate form of Tommy Candy), the departure of the Quahaug Company of
Patriot Militia for Lexington, the women of Quahaug praying for the
success of Washington's arms, and so on down to the last, when the
Guardian Spirit of the village was represented as mourning for the death
of Mrs. Tree. This was dear Miss Wax's idea, and she besought the
Committee so earnestly to carry it out, "as a token of respect for Her
we honor," that they had not the heart to refuse. Mrs. Bliss was
secretly afraid that it might make people smile; and so it might have
done if Annie Lizzie had not looked so sweet, in her white dress and
drooping wings (she got them, after all!), that everybody cried instead.
Between the scenes the band, stationed in the garden, "discoursed
acceptable strains," as the paper said next day; and, after the final
scene, Mr. Homer made a little speech. He had been most unwilling to
speak, but everybody insisted that he, and no one else, must actually
open the Museum. So the dear gentleman got up, very pink and fluttering,
and said that joy and sorrow had woven a mingled wreath to crown this
day, but that it was the proudest one of his life, and that the
proudest action of that life was to open the Captain and Mrs. Ethan Tree
Museum of Quahaug.
And then--then every one sang the Ode. Mr. Homer had written the words,
and Mr. Pindar set them to music, and words and music were printed on
white silk and distributed as souvenirs. The two brothers did not know
that, when the music began, they took hold of hands, and stood so all
through, waving their free arms and bowing their heads in time to the
melody, and opening and shutting their mouths; but the rest of the
company knew it, and cried so that they could hardly sing.
These are the words:
ODE
FOR THE OPENING OF THE CAPTAIN AND MRS.
ETHAN TREE MUSEUM OF QUAHAUG
As smooth the bivalve opes its jaws,
Admitting crystal flood,
So opes our own Museum its doors
To all of native blood.
On honored bier we drop the tear,
And then, with joy agog,
Our village proud doth cry aloud,
Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug!
Our patroness we fondly bless,
And likewise honor him
Who filled so free this treasury,
Then sought the cherubim.
Of objects fair, so rich and rare,
Description would but clog;
So let us sing till welkin ring,
Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug!
Captain and Mrs. Ethan Tree
We honor so this day,
As Muses nine, with fire divine,
Alone could fitly say.
Yet still each heart would bear its part,
With this for epilogue:
While life remains we'll praise thy plains,
Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug!
(The "bangs" were not printed on the souvenirs, but without them one
does not get the effect of the cymbals, which really were superb.)
And then the Museum was open, and the village flowed in through the
rooms, examining, wondering, praising. It was really a fine collection,
and beautifully arranged. Mr. Homer and Tommy Candy had been at work for
a month, with much help from the Jaquiths and Annie Lizzie, and
everything was classified and marked, and displayed to the best
advantage. In one room, the "Captain's room," were the samples of wood,
smooth little slabs of ebony, satinwood, violet, leopard, dragon,
sandal, and every other known wood, polished till they shone like wooden
mirrors. In another were the minerals: rough crystals, rose and
amethyst, smoky yellow and clouded brown; nuggets of gold, of silver, of
copper; uncut gems of every variety, from the great ruby that Captain
Tree took from the Malay pirate's turban down to the pink and lilac
pearls found in our own oysters and mussels in Quahaug harbor.
The carved crystal, jade, ivory, and amber, and the enamels, were
displayed in the parlor, and were so skilfully arranged that the
character of the room was not changed, only the dim richness
accentuated. The light fell softly on bowls and cups of translucent
green, on the rounded backs of ivory elephants, on exquisite shapes of
agate, jasper, and chalcedony, on robes stiff with gold and crusted with
gems; but still it was Mrs. Tree's own parlor, and still the principal
thing in it was the ebony chair, with the crutch-stick leaning against
it.
The shells, in glass cases, lined the sides of the long room known as
the Workshop; and, as Seth said, "Gosh! if they didn't beat the
everlastin' Dutch!"
"Why," he said, turning to Salem Rock, who was behind him in the slowly
moving throng that filled the room, "you wouldn't think, to look at all
these, that that man had done anything all his life only pick up
shells."
"He certingly was the darndest!" replied Salem, soberly.
"I wouldn't use language, Pa!" said Mrs. Rock, who rustled beside him in
her best black silk.
"I expect you would, Ma," retorted her husband, "if things came home to
you as they do to me this day. They had that way with 'em, both Cap'n
and Mis' Tree, that when we had shore leave, and they said: 'Pick up
some shells, will you, boys?' that was every livin' thing any man aboard
that ship desired to do. Jerusalem! I can feel the crick in my back
still, stoopin' over them blazin' beaches, pickin' up--Here, Ma! look at
this beauty, with the pink and yeller stripes. See them sharp spines,
and one of 'em broke off? Wal, that broke off in my foot. It was wropped
up in seaweed, and I trod square on it. I don't know as it would be real
becomin' to repeat what I said, here and now."
"I don't know as it would be real improvin' to hear it, either, Pa!"
replied his consort, calmly. "Let's us move on a mite further, shall
we?"
Refreshments were served in the dining-room and on the broad piazza
outside it, and here Direxia Hawkes was in her glory. The ladies might
sit at the tables, and did so, Miss Bethia Wax pouring tea, Mrs. Bliss
coffee, while Miss Slocum and Miss Goby simpered and bridled, twin
sirens of the lemonade table; but Direxia's Dramatic Moment had struck,
and she was taking full advantage of it. She had assumed the rigid
little bonnet and cape, which were her badge of equality with anybody in
the land except "the Family," and she moved among the guests, apparent
queen. Annie Lizzie, all smiles and roses, came and went at her bidding,
with a tendency to gravitate toward the piazza railing, on which Tommy
Candy sat, beaming good-will to all mankind, ladling out frozen pudding
and ice-cream from the great freezers.
"Annie Lizzie, Miss Wax ain't eatin' a thing. You tell her to let the
folks wait for their tea a spell, and have somethin' herself. Here! take
her this orange cream, and tell her I made it, and I expect her to eat
it. And--Annie Lizzie, look here! you tell Mr. Homer I don't want he
should touch that frozen puddin'. It's too rich, tell him; but he can
have all the strawberry and vanilla he wants. I ain't goin' to have him
sick after this, all worked up as he is."
There were forty-seven different kinds of cake, all "named varieties,"
as the flower catalogues say. Every housewife in the village had sent
her "specialty," from Miss Wax's famous harlequin round down to the
Irish christening loaf of good old Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, who was
helping Diploma Crotty wash cups and plates in the kitchen. Mrs.
Flanagan refused to come in, spite of Mr. Homer's urgent invitation.
"I thank ye, dear!" she said. "I thank ye kindly, but I'll not come in
among the Quality. I wish ye well, Mr. Homer. May no dog ever bite ye
but mine, and I'll kape a cat!"
Through the crowd, here and there, moved Mr. Homer and Mr. Pindar,
bowing and smiling, waving and flapping, happiest of all the happy
throng. Under the genial sun of cheer and encouragement that had been
shining on him during the last two weeks, since the Procession had been
given up, Mr. Pindar had grown less and less abrupt and jerky, and more
and more like his brother; and the village readily accorded him a share
of the benevolent affection with which they regarded Mr. Homer.
"I always said there warn't a mite of harm in Home," said Seth Weaver,
"and I begin to think there ain't none in Pindar, either. They come out
the same nest, and I expect they're the same settin' of aigs, if they be
speckled different. Hatched out kinder queer chicks, old Mis' Hollopeter
did, but, take 'em all round, I dunno but they're full as good as
barn-door fowls, and they certingly do better when it comes to crowin'."
"That's right!" said Salem Rock.
And when at last it was over, and, with hand-shakings and
congratulations, the tide of visitors had flowed out through the door
and down the garden path, the two brothers stood and looked at each
other with happy eyes.
"It has been a great occasion, Brother Pindar!" said Mr. Homer.
"It has!" said Mr. Pindar, fervently. "Flourish of trumpets. Enter
Herald proclaiming victory. It has been a Dramatic Moment, sir."
"It has been the happiest occasion of my life!" Mr. Homer went on. "I
wish Mother could have been present, Pindar; it would have been a
gratification to her;--a--an oblectation;--a--a--but where are you
going, my dear brother?"
Mr. Pindar, before replying, cast a glance toward the garden gate,
through which at that moment a tall, slender figure was passing slowly,
almost lingeringly; then he met his brother's eye hardily.
"Brother Homer," he said, and, though he blushed deeply, his voice was
firm and cheerful, "I am going to see Bethia home!"