A SPRING MEETING.
The winter passed with busy days crowding each other closely. Lisa
fretted more than any one else against enforced economies, but,
after all, managed to enjoy herself by taking on new duties and
new pleasures. Her kindergarten studies gave her plenty of mental
application, and she also became interested in a church guild, talking
with a little womanly air about her “girls” and their needs. There was
less friction between her and Persis now, for the latter was obliged to
concede that Lisa, as a society lady, must have more latitude than a
school-girl, and enjoyed nothing more than to see her handsome sister
arrayed for a dance or a theatre party. “Lisa, you are a beauty,” she
said one evening, as she sat rolled up in a warm wrapper upon the bed.
“This is my last german,” replied Lisa, “for Lent begins this week, and
then I shall devote my leisure hours to my girls.”
“Oh, I wish I could peep in on you to-night. I suppose the dear
Popinjay escorts you.”
“Yes,” replied Lisa, indifferently, as she threw her pretty cloak over
her shoulders.
“Aren’t you just a little bit tired of him?” Persis asked,
mischievously.
Lisa threw her a look which spoke volumes, but the only answer she
vouchsafed was, “He dances perfectly.”
“‘What did you do all summer? I sang, said the grasshopper,’” quoted
Persis. “What’s he going to do when his summer-time is over?”
“Oh, he will dance while he can totter,” replied Lisa, laughing. “He
will be a fine old beau. I can see him in my mind’s eye. Very shaky,
but very spruce, and still devoting himself to pretty girls.”
Persis clapped her hands. “Then he is not to marry you!”
“Do you suppose I am going to make an idiot of myself?”
“Then why do you keep him dangling after you?”
“I don’t know.” And picking up her fan, Lisa went out.
“I’d know,” thought Persis, nodding her head with decision. And getting
down from the bed, where she had perched herself that Lisa might have
full swing, she began to gather up her books and papers. “Now for the
midnight oil,” she said, and she had but just gone to bed when Lisa
returned.
Some weeks later Basil came in with the announcement that the spring
meeting of the college athletic association would soon take place.
“I want to have a real jolly party to go from here,” he said to Mrs.
Holmes. “Won’t you let Perse go? I am going to get a three-seated
conveyance that will hold nine of us, so we can drive out in fine
style, and then we want to go to the Inn for supper.”
“Who else will be in the party?” asked Mrs. Holmes.
“I should like to have Lisa and Persis, and Annis Brown. Walter Dixon
is coming on, and I think—at least, I’d like to ask Mr. Dan to go.”
Mrs. Holmes continued her sewing, thoughtfully. “Who will chaperon the
party?” she asked.
“Why, I don’t know. Won’t you, Mrs. Holmes?”
“I think a nice plan would be to invite your aunt, Mrs. Dixon, to come
on with Walter. We are all so fond of her, and she was so kind to
Persis, it would be a great pleasure to us to have her here.”
“I’d like that too,” returned Basil. “That is a fine plan, Mrs. Holmes;
thank you for thinking of it. Will you write to her, or shall I?”
“I will write, and I am sure the girls will be heartily glad to be of
your party.”
Persis was exuberant over the prospect. “Are you sure Mr. Dan will go,
Basil?” she asked. “I should like to have him. I wonder why he hasn’t
been to see us lately.”
“I haven’t seen him, myself, lately,” Basil told her. “His mother has
been very ill, and he has been away for weeks, but he is back again
now, and I think he will go.”
“Tell me all about it,” said Persis. “When, how, and where are we to
go?”
“The twenty-fourth of April is the date; we are to go in a big
three-seated affair that can be hired from Dunn’s stables; and I
want you girls to deck yourselves out in the college colors. We’ll
have streamers on the whip, and ‘fustunes,’ as Prue calls them, on
the wagon. Then we will go to the Inn for supper, and come home by
moonlight.”
“Oh, what a lovely arrangement!” cried Persis. “We shall enjoy it so
much. I do hope it will be a nice clear day, not too cold.”
Mrs. Dixon accepted the invitation, and on the eventful afternoon,
which proved to be bright and clear, there was quite an excited little
company ready to start for the grounds.
Lisa cast a swift look at the big vehicle as it drove up. There were
three young men within,—Walter Dixon, Basil, and—not Mr. Danforth, but
Wilson Vane.
“I was afraid Mr. Dan couldn’t come,” Basil informed them, “so Wilson
is going out with us, and we may meet Mr. Dan out there. If he finds
he can come, we can easily make room for him.” And taking the reins he
started up the horses, and they were soon on their way.
“I’d like to sit with the driver,” Persis said to Lisa, “but Annis
ought to have first choice, and I know she wants the place, so I’ll sit
back with Mrs. Dixon.”
Lisa nodded and moved aside to make room for Wilson Vane. But Persis
was very well content, and the flying streamers, flower-decked maidens,
and prancing horses attracted all eyes as they drew up to one side of
the field. Numbers of other teams had already arrived, and salutations
were exchanged while the college lads were preparing for their feats.
“Oh, there is Mr. Dan!” cried Persis, after a time. “Go bring him here,
Basil.” And she leaned eagerly forward, while Lisa shrank farther back
in her seat, as Basil proceeded to hunt up his friend, after calling on
Wilson to look after the horses.
“He has nearly forgotten me by this time,” thought Lisa, a sudden wave
of humility rushing over her. “How silly to suppose he ever gave me
more than a passing thought!”
In another moment Mr. Danforth was answering Persis’s welcoming words,
and then Annis in her turn received his greeting. Lisa was the last to
give recognition. She held out her hand timidly, and since Wilson had
clambered down to take the driver’s place for a moment the new-comer
took the vacant seat by Lisa’s side.
“It is quite a gay sight, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes,” replied Lisa, laconically.
Persis leaned over. “Basil is going to be in the running-match, and
that comes next. Oh, Mr. Dan, don’t you hope he will win?”
“I do, indeed,” returned he over his shoulder. “Basil is a good runner.”
“I know he is. There he comes!” And all eyes were turned toward the
race-course. Three slim lads stood abreast, each intent, alert. “Go!”
And they dart forward. Basil is ahead. No. Harvey Dana has passed him.
Persis, with parted lips, watches breathlessly, unconsciously rising to
her feet as the runners appear on the opposite side of the ring. Once
around and Harvey Dana is ahead. “Oh!” cried Persis, sinking down in
disappointment.
“It is the best out of three,” Mr. Danforth told her, consolingly.
“Basil is not the boy to give up yet, and if I’m not mistaken he has a
reserve force which will show itself later.”
“Oh, look, what jumpers!” cried Persis, all attention. “The Grasshopper
should be one of them; shouldn’t he, Lisa?”
Lisa laughed. “He is. Didn’t you know it?” she replied, with a slight
blush.
Persis turned squarely around. “You don’t say so! Why didn’t you tell
me? I think that’s a great joke.”
“What’s the joke?” asked Mr. Danforth, with a smile.
“Oh, some of Persis’s nonsense!” Lisa replied; but Persis merrily told
him that she had found a new name for Ned Carew. “The Grasshopper is
beaten; it is the Toad that has won,” she cried.
“And who is the Toad?” asked Mrs. Dixon, quite enjoying the spirit of
the thing.
“Why that pop-eyed fellow with the long legs and bumpy face. He always
reminds me of a toad. I have often seen him, but I don’t know his name.”
“I know him,” said Mr. Danforth. “And he does look like a toad. He
is a very _blasé_ sort of chap. I wonder he joins these sports. He
is a great friend of Ned Carew’s. Yes, that is Steve Boyd. I didn’t
recognize him at first.”
“There comes Basil,” cried Annis. “Now, let us see.”
“It lies between Harvey and Basil. See, Jim Harper is ’way behind,”
exclaimed Walter. “Basil is gaining.”
“Yes, he is! he is! There! he has passed Harvey. No! Yes, he has! Oh,
Basil, keep ahead! do! do!” And Persis clasped her hands excitedly.
“Phillips! Phillips!” rang out from all sides. “Dana! Dana!” came a
second encouraging shout.
Steadily Basil gained, and at last Persis drew a sigh of relief. “Oh,
I can’t wait for the third heat,” she said. “The next thing is that
throwing of weights, and I don’t care much about it. Isn’t it exciting
to have Basil and Mr. Dana so close? Oh, dear, I’m afraid I shall be
very much disappointed if Basil comes in second. I wish I could take
things more calmly.”
Mr. Danforth smiled at the girl’s excitement. “Don’t try to outgrow
your enthusiasm,” he said. “The more appreciation the more enjoyment.”
Persis made no reply, for the final trial of speed for Basil was about
to be made. The eyes of the two lads measured each other as they
stepped into the ring, and Persis nervously settled herself in the best
position to catch sight of every movement of the runners. Off they go,
heads up, shoulders back, neck to neck. Harvey is ahead, Basil gaining.
One quick glance behind causes Harvey to lose ground, and Basil, seeing
his advantage, darts ahead with a sudden spurt. Faster! faster!
faster! There is no hope for Harvey; he has used his best strength too
soon. On, on goes the winner, until with one last effort he reaches the
goal, passes beyond, and drops exhausted.
Then a mighty cheer goes up, led by the little company of his nearest
friends. “Hurrah for Phillips! Baz! Baz! Baz!” Persis, hardly knowing
what she is doing, fairly shouts the triumph she feels, standing up,
waving hat, handkerchief, even carriage whip. Quiet Annis, too, is
borne away by the excitement, and snatching from her belt the roses she
wears, tosses them to the victorious lad as he passes the carriage on
his way inside. A bright smile answers the girls’ enthusiastic cries of
congratulation, and Persis sinks down on her seat, with cheeks scarlet
from excitement, saying, “Oh, Annis, why didn’t I think to throw him
my flowers. Never mind, he shall have them when he comes out. Isn’t it
fine to have such a champion runner for a brother. I love, I just love
to see all this, and soon it will be over.”
It was a merry crowd which met at the Inn, for the Holmes party was not
the only one which went there from the athletic grounds for supper.
Audrey Vane, Kitty Carew, Margaret Greene, Harvey Dana, the Toad, and
the Grasshopper were all there before them.
“Isn’t this jolly?” cried Kitty, as she greeted Basil’s company. “Oh,
you have that quiet Mr. Danforth with you. Is there any fun in him?”
she whispered to Persis.
“Lots,” returned Persis; “just get him started, and you’ll see.”
“Is that true?” returned Kitty, “We girls all thought he was too
dignified to recognize a joke when he met one.”
“Dignified! I wish you could have seen him last summer,” replied
Persis. And then, being called by Mrs. Dixon, she returned to her
special party of friends, who were by this time ready to take supper.
Great fun they had over it, getting once in a while so uproarious that
Mrs. Dixon had to remind them that they were in a public place, and
must not make themselves conspicuous by such loud laughter.
“I know you are extremely funny and witty, you children,” she said,
“but moderate your transports, if you please. It isn’t quite like
ladies and gentlemen to make yourselves the centre of attraction in a
place of this kind.”
“We know it, Aunt Agnes,” said Basil, “but Walter should have been
better trained at home, for he is the ringleader of this nonsense.”
“You saucy boy,” returned Mrs. Dixon, laughing; “I am perfectly aware
that Walter is at the head of it, but I’d like any one to curb his wit
when he gets started, and if the rest of you don’t stop your hilarity
he will disgrace his mother.”
“Then we’ll be good, for your sake,” returned Basil, and the mirth
subsided somewhat.
The long porch of the Inn faced a grassy slope, below which ran a
winding river. Lisa stood in one corner of the porch, having escaped
from the others, who were established at the other end of the building
and were continuing their nonsense.
The spring was still too young for the trees to show much leafage, but
there was the thrill of expectancy perceptible in the waiting world.
One could imagine it already passing through each fibre and rootlet
hidden by the brown earth. There was a spring-like odor in the air
which hinted of bursting buds and overturned sods. That vague fulness
of heart which the season brings to young people and lovers of nature
Lisa felt overpower her, and when Mr. Danforth joined her she met his
first question with a sweet seriousness.
“Of what were you thinking, off here by yourself?” he asked.
“I was thinking of many things. One was this waiting world, and another
was your mother. I only heard of her illness a day or two ago. I
remembered your saying that a mother is the best friend one has, and I
was hoping she was out of danger.”
“Thank you for the kind thought. It has been an anxious time, but she
is out of danger, and I am able to face my duties again. Will you tell
me what you have been doing since I saw you?”
Lisa’s eyes were downcast. “I have not been so very frivolous,” she
said, with a little smile. “I have been studying and working.” And she
told him of her interest in the kindergarten, of her guild, of certain
hopes in herself, while he listened gravely.
“I don’t know why I am boring you with this exhaustive account of my
doings and my wonderings and my wishings,” she said, suddenly, with a
realizing sense of having unfolded her heart more fully than she had
meant to do.
“You are telling me because you know I understand, and because I am
interested in hearing about you all. Even if I do not see you all very
often, I do not feel myself a stranger in your father’s household, and
each one of you has a claim upon my friendship.”
Lisa did not reply, but she was vaguely conscious of a dissatisfaction
at such generalizing.
They were interrupted by a “Where are you?” from Persis. “We must
go, Lisa. Isn’t this moonlight lovely? The wagonette is waiting at
the door, and Mrs. Dixon says we must be off. Isn’t she a nice jolly
chaperon, and haven’t we had a good time?”
Mr. Danforth looked at Persis as if suddenly realizing a new fact. “You
are not a little girl any more, are you, Miss Persis?” he said.
“No,” she replied; “not such a very little one, but I am not a
full-fledged young lady like Lisa. I am still only a school-girl.”
But to Lisa’s discomfiture it was this younger sister to whom Mr.
Danforth devoted himself on the drive home, which was enlivened by
college songs and the gay humor of young people full of life and
care-free.
[Illustration: Decoration]