NEIGHBORS
Once every year Round Robin gave an entertainment for the children
of Old Harbor. The Camp was rather far from the village, so they
always had the “show” in the Casino, a little wooden building which
the summer residents had put up close by the steamer landing. On
Sunday the Casino was used for services by different groups all day
long; early in the morning Norma, Gilda, and Victor went to hear
Mass; a little later the Batchelders and Cicely had their Communion;
then there was Morning Prayer which many other summer people besides
Beverly and Dick attended. And Sunday evening the Casino was filled
by a large congregation in which Anne joined with Nelly and Captain
Sackett. Dick called it a “Round Robin Church.” Maybe some day all
the Churches will have one getting-together service.
During the week the Casino was used for all sorts of good times. So
here it was that Round Robin was going to give a show for the school
children. The program was practically decided; Norma would sing, Hugh
would black-up and do a negro song and dance; Nancy would tell a
fairy story. But they needed one more “act.” Then Nelly had her great
inspiration. “Anne! You dress up in that sweet Columbine costume and
do your dance. You said you danced Columbine at a party?”
“Oh, I can’t!” protested Anne in horror. “I don’t know the children
here. They don’t like me. I heard the Maguire children say so one
morning when they brought the eggs.”
“They will like you when they know you; when they see you in that
lovely dress!” cried Nelly eagerly. And Nancy added her persuasion,
saying it would be just the thing to illustrate the fairy-story she
was getting ready to tell--about a beautiful fairy who danced at
the King’s ball. At first Anne was sure she could not do it. But
finally she consented. “I suppose it is time I did do something for
my neighbors,” she said, with poor grace.
And Columbine was the hit of the show!
The hall was full of mothers with their little children; about fifty
of them, all “natives” of Old Harbor, or at any rate permanent
residents there. The “summer people” had been invited, too. But they
seemed too busy to come. Anne remembered that she had been asked to
the Round Robin party last year, but had not had time even to answer
the invitation.
Most of the little faces that gazed eagerly at the doings on the
platform were of old Yankee types. But there were several with the
broad, good natured features of the Irish, like the four little
Maguires. And there were several handsome dark French Canadians;
several Poles and Finns, whose fathers worked in the stone quarries.
They loved Norma’s singing, and applauded her rapturously. They burst
into squeals of mirth over Hugh and his funny dancing, blacked up
as he was and wearing his Unc’ Remus costume. They sat very quiet
during Nancy’s fairy-tale, breathless with interest to see what was
going to happen to the plain little beggar-girl who was invited to
the King’s ball, because she had been kind to a Pussy Cat, who was
really the King’s Fairy Godmother.
Anne sat on a little stool at the back of the stage while Nancy told
the story. Over her Columbine dress she wore Tante’s long black cape
that covered her from top to toe, with the hood drawn over her hair.
“This is Goldie the little beggar girl herself,” Nancy finished her
story, stepping aside and pointing a wand at Anne. “Now, I am the
Fairy-Godmother--Pussy Cat, who met the beggar girl in the wood.
Rise, Goldie, and show me how you will dance at the King’s ball
to-night. You will dance so beautifully that he will invite you to be
the Queen!”
Nancy waved the wand, and Anne rose slowly, throwing off the cape as
she did so. There she stood in the beautiful sparkling dress, a crown
of roses on her hair; in dainty stockings and slippers. _One, two,
three!_ Beverly at the piano, who had played the accompaniment for
Norma’s songs, now began a spirited waltz, and Anne danced her fairy
dance on the tips of her toes, circling and pirouetting like a real
fairy.
“Oh!” cried the children rapturously. “Oh!” They had never seen
anything like it. No professional “shows” ever came to their remote
little village. “Do it again!” They begged, so fervently that Anne
had to yield. With cheeks flushed at their pleasure, she repeated
her steps, better even than at first. So that Norma cried out as she
danced off the stage into the dressing-room, “Brava, Anne! I didn’t
know you had it in you!”
“Aren’t they dear children?” said Anne. “I didn’t know there were so
many of them, and such pretty little things!”
“You’ll have to come out and let them see you just as you are,” said
Nancy, delighted with the success of her illustrated fairy-tale.
“They are just crazy, Anne!” So after Norma had sung another song,
and Hugh had declared the “show” ended, the performers came out in
front and made friends with the children. At first the little ones
were shy of Anne, but gathered about her in an admiring group.
“Are you really a Fairy?” lisped one little tot, touching a fold of
the tarlatan dress. “Can you make my dress look like that?”
“I wish I could!” said Anne, stooping over the baby, and patting her
yellow curls. “Where do you live, Dear?”
“We live at the lighthouse,” volunteered the baby’s elder sister.
“She’s Patty and I’m Alice Hopkins. We used to see you riding on a
pony,” she added shyly. “But you looked cross, then. You didn’t look
like a nice Fairy. Do you wear this all the time now?”
These were the nearest neighbors to Idlewild, except the Sacketts.
But Anne had never noticed them till now. Their father had care of
the great light that made the Harbor safe for boats.
The other children pressed close to Anne, eager to feel her costume
and see if she were real. One little black-haired Finn stepped up.
“Can’t I have one o’ _them_?” he asked, pointing to the flowers on
Anne’s head.
“Of course you can!” she said, and taking off the wreath she untied
it and gave a flower to each child as far as they would go around.
“They will bring you good luck,” she declared.
Little Tom Maguire, pushing forward, boasted to the other children.
“I know her! I seen her washin’ dishes when I went to the Camp
’tother day. She didn’t see me, though!”
“_She_ never washed dishes!” protested Alice Hopkins. “Never!”
“When the beggar girl went to be Queen,” Nancy added a postscript to
her story for their benefit, “of course she took right hold of the
housekeeping in the palace. And after that it was always done right.
Because if you keep house in a fairy way, it is fun. That’s what the
Fairy Godmother brought Goldie to the palace for--to make things
jollier all around.”
(“Good for you, Nancy!” Beverly squeezed her hand on the sly.)
The mothers were talking and whispering together in the back of
the hall, pleased to see their children so happy. Some of them had
recognized Anne.
“It’s that Poole girl!” one exclaimed in amazement. “That proud
piece! I didn’t know she could unbend so far.”
“It’s the childher done it,” observed Mrs. Maguire with her hands
on her hips, nodding wisely. “If she loves the childher, she’ll
be all right, believe me; rich though she may be, and spoiled, no
doubt. Look at her now wid me Bridget in her arms! She’ll spoil that
swate dress of hers, entirely! But I daresay she can get another one
aisy-like.”
The children were loth to go away. But finally the hall was cleared,
after Anne had made promises to come to see them all in turn, and
Nancy had agreed to tell them some day what happened to the Beggar
Girl who became Queen, and who taught the people how to put magic
into chores.
The teacher of the little village school lingered for a word with
the Round Robin. “Well!” she congratulated them. “You certainly did
give those children a good time. I don’t believe you realize all it
means to them. They haven’t much to exercise their imagination on, of
course. It was a great idea to give them an illustrated fairy-story.”
Nancy said she thought they were unusually attractive children.
“I wish I could do more for them,” said Miss Merritt wistfully. “In
the winter after you all go away there’s nobody but me who can spare
time to do much for them. I wish I knew more! I wish I knew about
medicines, for instance. We are healthy folks here, on the whole; but
things do happen, of course. You know, we haven’t any doctor here in
the winter. Doctor Black goes away when the summer people do.”
Anne looked at her in horror. In Mr. Poole’s house the doctor was
always running in and out at the least “symptom” exhibited by one of
the family. Her step-mother was continually ailing.
“What do you do when anybody is sick?” she asked Miss Merritt.
“We do the best we know how,” answered the teacher. “Most of the
women know about herbs and simple remedies. Some of them are quite
skilled nurses, indeed. But it’s pretty hard sometimes!”
“I should think so!” cried Anne. “Something ought to be done. I
wonder if Father knows?”
“Children in ’most any place need more than they get,” said Miss
Merritt pathetically. “If only all the summer people would be
interested in these little neighbors of theirs. For they are
neighbors, even if it is only for a few weeks.”
The Round Robin agreed that this was another case where a “getting
together” was needed. And Anne Poole said to herself--“I will ask
Father if I can’t help those children some way.” But she wished she
need not have to ask; Father was so queer nowadays!