ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
There was no happier girl in Wellington one morning than Nance Oldham,
and all because she had been invited to the Thanksgiving dance at Exmoor
College. Nance had never been to a real dance in her life, except a
"shirtwaist" party at the seashore, where she had been a hopeless
wallflower because she had known only one man in the room--her father.
Now, there was no chance of being a wallflower at Exmoor, where a girl's
card was made out beforehand, and she had that warm glow of predestined
success from the very beginning of the festivity.
Molly and Judy were also invited and the girls were to go over to Exmoor
on the 6.45 trolley with Dr. and Mrs. McLean and return on the 10.45
trolley, permission having been granted them to stay up until midnight.
Three other Wellington girls were bound for the dance on the same car.
A young teacher chaperoned this little company, of which Judith Blount
was one.
"I wonder that Judith Blount can make up her mind to go to a dance,"
Judy Kean remarked to Molly. "She's been in such a sullen rage for so
long, she's turned quite yellow. I don't think she will enjoy it."
"It will do her good," answered Molly. "Dancing always makes people
forget their troubles. Just trying to be graceful puts one in a good
humor."
"The scientific reason is, child, that it stirs up one's circulation."
"And brooding is bad for the circulation," added Molly.
It had been a very gloomy holiday, the skies black and lowering and a
dead, warm wind from the south. But there had been no sign of rain, and
now, as they alighted from the car at Exmoor station, they noticed that
the wind had shifted slightly to the east and freshened. The great
blanket of frowning black had broken, and a myriad of small clouds were
flying across the face of the moon like a flock of frightened sheep.
Molly shivered. She had often called herself a human barometer and her
spirits were apt to shift with the wind.
"The wind has changed," she observed to the doctor. "I feel it in my
bones."
"Correct," said the doctor, scanning the heavens critically. "There's no
flavoring extract so strong as a drop of East wind. Let us hope it will
hold back a bit until after the shindig."
With all its penetrating qualities, however, the drop of East wind did
not affect the air in the beautiful old dining hall of Exmoor, used
always for the larger entertainments. Its polished hardwood floor and
paneled walls, its two great open fireplaces, in which immense back logs
glowed cheerfully, made a picture that drove away all memory of bad
weather.
Then the music struck up. The dancers whirled and circled. Nance was in
a seventh heaven. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes shone, and she seemed to
float over the floor guided by the steady hand of young Andy; while his
father looked on and smiled laconically.
"Every laddie maun hae his lassie," he observed to his wife, "and it's
gude luck for him when he draws a plain one with a bonnie brown eye."
"She's not plain," objected Mrs. McLean.
"She has no furbelows in face nor dress that I can see," answered the
doctor.
"They're just a boy and a girl, Andrew. Don't be anticipating. There's
no telling how often they may change off before the settling time
comes."
"And was it your ainsel' that changed so often?" asked the doctor, with
a twinkle in his eye.
"Nay, nay, laddie," she protested, leaning on the doctor's arm
affectionately, "but those were steadier days, I'm thinking."
"There's not so muckle change," said the doctor, "when it comes to
sweethearting."
Many old-fashioned dances were introduced that night: the cottage
lancers, and Sir Roger de Coverly, led off by the doctor and his wife,
whose old-world curtseys were very amusing to the young dancers.
And while the fun waxed fast and furious indoors, outside queer things
were happening. The South wind, gently and insistently battling with the
East wind, had conquered him for the moment. All the little clouds that
had been scuttling across the heavens before the East wind's icy breath,
now melted together into a tumbled, fleecy mass. Snowflakes were
falling, softly and silently, clothing the campus and fields, the
valleys and hills beyond in a blanket of white. Then the angry East wind
returned from his lair with a new weapon: a drenching sheet of cold,
penetrating rain, which changed to drops of ice as it fell and tapped on
the high windows of the dining hall a warning rat-tat-tat quite drowned
in the strains of music. The South wind, conquered and crushed, crept
away and the East wind, summoning his brother from the North to share
the fun, played a trick on the world which people in that part of the
country will not soon forget. Together they covered the soft, white
blanket with a sheet of ice as hard and slippery as plate glass. At
last, having enjoyed themselves immensely, they retired. Out came the
moon again, shining in the frozen stillness, like a great round lantern.
In the meantime, the dance went on and joy was unconfined. Nobody had
the faintest inkling of the drama which had been acted between the East
and the South winds.
Most unconscious of all was Molly, who, having danced herself into a
state of exuberant spirits, sat down to rest with Lawrence Upton in an
ingle-nook of one of the big fireplaces. As chance would have it, they
were joined by Judith Blount and a very dull young man, who, Lawrence
informed Molly, had more money than brains. Judith had not noticed Molly
at first. Probably she would never have chosen that particular spot if
she had. But the destinies of these two girls had been ordained to touch
at intervals in their lives and whenever the meeting occurred something
unfortunate always happened. They were exactly like two fluids which
would not mix comfortably together. There was a general movement of
partners for supper at this juncture and the two girls found themselves
alone for the moment while their escorts departed for coffee and
sandwiches.
"Are you having a good time?" Molly asked, glancing at Judith timidly.
She would have preferred to have said nothing whatever, but she had made
a compact with herself to try and overcome her dislike for this girl
whom she had distrusted from the moment of their first meeting at the
railroad station when Mr. Murphy had given Molly's baggage check
preference.
"Did I appear to be a wallflower?" demanded Judith insolently.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Molly. "I didn't mean that of course."
Then she sighed and turned toward the fire with a trembly, unnerved
feeling.
"I don't believe I'll ever get used to having people cross to me," she
thought. "It always frightens me. I suppose I'm too sensitive." She
began to shiver slightly. "The wind is surely in the East now," she
added to herself.
When the young men came back bearing each a tray with supper for two,
she was grateful for the cup of steaming coffee.
"Will you hold this for a minute, Miss Molly," asked Lawrence Upton,
"while I get a chair to rest it on? Lap tables are about as unsteady as
tables on shipboard."
Judith's partner had followed Lawrence's example, and presently the two
students were seen hurrying through the throng, each pushing a chair in
front of him. By some strange fatality, history was to repeat itself.
Just as he reached the girls, the young person who had more money than
brains slipped on a fragment of buttered bread which had fallen off
somebody's plate, skidded along, bumped his chair into Lawrence, who
lost his balance and fell against poor Molly's tray. Then, oh, dreadful
calamity! over went the cup of coffee straight onto Judith's yellow
satin frock.
Molly could have sunk into the floor with the misery of that moment, and
yet she had not in the least been the cause of the accident. It was the
small-brained rich individual who was to blame. But Judith was not in
any condition to reckon with original causes. Molly had been carrying
the tray with the coffee cups and that was enough for her. She leapt to
her feet, shaking her drenched dress and scattering drops of coffee in
every direction.
"You awkward, clumsy creature!" she cried, stamping her foot as she
faced Molly. "Why do you ever touch a coffee cup? Are you always going
to upset coffee on me and my family? You have ruined my dress. You did
it on purpose. I saw you were very angry a moment ago and you did it for
revenge."
Molly shrank back in her seat, her face turning from crimson to white
and back to crimson again.
"Don't answer her," said a small voice in her mind. "Be silent! Be
silent!"
"But, Miss Blount," began her supper partner, feeling vaguely that
justice must be done, "I stumbled, don't you know? Awfully awkward of
me, of course, but I slipped on an infernal piece of banana peel or
something and fell against Upton. Hope your gown isn't ruined."
"It is ruined," cried Judith, her face transformed with rage. "It's
utterly ruined and she did it. It isn't the first time she's flung
coffee cups around. Last winter she ruined my cousin's new suit of
clothes. She's the most careless, awkward, clumsy creature I ever saw.
I----"
A curious little group had gathered over near the fireplace, but Judith
was too angry to care who heard what she was saying. In the meantime,
Lawrence Upton had taken his stand between Judith and Molly, feeling
somehow that he might protect poor Molly from the onslaught. Presently
he took her hand and drew it through his arm.
"Suppose we join the McLeans," he said. "I see they are having supper
all together over there." As they turned to leave, he said to Judith in
a cold, even voice that seemed to bring her back to her senses:
"I upset the coffee. Blanchard fell against me and joggled my arm. If
there is any reparation I can make, I shall be glad to do it."
Whereupon, Judith departed to the dressing room and was not seen again
until it was time to leave.
"What a tiger-cat she is!" whispered Lawrence to Molly, as he led her
across the room.
Molly did not answer. She was afraid to trust her voice just then, and
still more afraid of what she might say if she dared speak.
"What was all that rumpus over there?" demanded Judy when the young
people had joined their friends.
"Oh, just a little volcanic activity on the part of Mount AEtna and a
good deal of slinging of hot lava. Miss Molly and I are refugees from
the eruption, and Mount AEtna has gone upstairs."
"You mean Miss AEtna Blount?" asked Judy.
"The same," said Lawrence.
When it was time for the Wellington party to catch the trolley car home,
they emerged from the warm, cheerful dining hall into a world of
dazzling whiteness. The trees were clothed in it, and the ground was
covered with a crust of ice as hard and shining as marble.
A path of ashes was sprinkled before them, so that they walked safely as
far as the station.
"Heaven help us at the other end," Mrs. McLean exclaimed, clinging to
the doctor's arm.
The car was late in arriving at Exmoor station. At last it hove into
sight, moving at a hesitating gait along the slippery rails. But it had
a comfortably warm interior and they were glad to climb in out of the
bitter cold.
"All aboard!" called the conductor. "Last car to-night."
There is always a gloomy fatality in the announcement, "Last car
to-night." It is just as if a doctor might say: "Nothing more can be
done."
Clang, clang, went the bell, and they moved slowly forward.
After an age of slipping and sliding, frequent stopping and starting and
exchanges of loud confidences between the motorman and the conductor,
the car came to a dead stop.
Dr. McLean, who had been sound asleep and snoring loudly, waked up.
"Bless my soul, are we there?" he demanded.
"No, sir, and far from it," answered the conductor, who had opened the
door and come inside, beating his hands together for warmth.
"Far from it? What do you mean by that, my good man?" asked the doctor.
"There ain't no more power, sir," answered the man. "The trolley's just
a solid cable of ice and budge she won't. You couldn't move her with a
derrick."
"But what are we to do?" asked the doctor.
"I couldn't say, sir, unless you walked. It's only a matter of about two
miles. Otherwise, you'd have to spend the night here and it'll be a
cold place. There ain't no more heat, is there, Jim?"
"There ain't," was Jim's brief reply.
"I guess Jim and I'll foot it into Wellington and the best you can do is
to come along."
The doctor and his wife conferred with the young teacher who had
chaperoned the other party. The question was, would it not be a greater
risk to walk two miles in thin-soled shoes and party dresses over that
wilderness of ice than to remain snugly in the car until they could get
help? The motorman and conductor were well protected from the cold and
from slipping, too, with heavy overcoats and arctic shoes. While they
were talking, these two individuals took their departure, letting in a
cold blast of air as they slid the door back to get out.
The Wellington crowd sat huddled together, hoping to keep warm by human
contact. They tried to beguile the weary hours with conversation, but
time dragged heavily and the car grew colder and colder. Some of the
girls began to move up and down, practicing physical culture exercises
and beating their hands together.
"I think it would be better to walk," announced Mrs. McLean at last. "We
are in much greater danger of freezing to death sitting here than
moving. We'll stick to the track. It won't be so slippery between the
rails."
Even the doctor was relieved at this suggestion, fearful as he was of
slipping on the ice. The gude wife was right, as she always was, and the
lassies had better take the risk and come along quickly. Before they
realized it, they were on the track with faces turned hopefully toward
Wellington. Scarcely had they taken six steps, before three of the girls
tumbled flat, and while they were picking themselves up, Dr. and Mrs.
McLean sat down plump on the ice, hand in hand, like two astonished
children. It was quite impossible to keep from laughing at this
ludicrous situation, especially when the doctor's great "haw-haw" made
the air tremble. The ones who were standing helped the ones who had
fallen to rise and fell themselves in the effort.
"If we only had on skates," cried Judy, "wouldn't it be glorious? We
could skate anywhere, right across the fields or along the road. It's
just like a sea of solid ice."
For an hour they took their precarious way along the track, which was
now on the edge of a high embankment.
"A grand place for coasting," remarked Judy, peeping over the edge.
Suddenly her heels went over her head and her horrified friends beheld
her sliding backwards down the hill.
"Are you hurt at all, my lass?" called the doctor, peeping fearfully
over the side, and holding onto his wife as a drowning man catches at a
life preserver.
"Hurt? No," cried Judy, convulsed with laughter.
"Do you think you can crawl back?" asked Mrs. McLean doubtfully.
Then Judy began the most difficult ascent of her life, on hands and
knees. There was nothing to take hold of and, when she had got half-way
up, back she slipped to the bottom again.
A second time she had almost reached the top when she lost her footing
and once more slipped to the base of the embankment.
"You'd better go on without me," she cried, half sobbing and half
laughing.
The doctor was very uncomfortable. Not for worlds would he have put foot
outside the trolley rails, but something had to be done.
"Let's make a human ladder," suggested Molly, "as they do in melodramas.
I'll go first. Nance, you take my foot and someone hold on to yours and
so on. Then, Judy can climb up, catching hold of us."
The doctor considered this a good scheme and the human chain was
accordingly formed, the doctor himself grasping the ankle of the last
volunteer, who happened to be Judith Blount. But hardly had Judy
commenced the upward climb, when the doctor's heels went over his head
and the entire human ladder found itself huddled together at the foot of
the embankment.
"It's a case of every mon for himself and the divvel tak' the hindmost,"
exclaimed the doctor, sitting up stiffly and rubbing his shins. "Help
yoursel's, lassies. I can do nae mair."
Some of them reached the track at last and some of them didn't, and
those who couldn't make it were Molly and Judith Blount.
"You'll have to follow along as best you can down there," called Mrs.
McLean, grasping her husband's arm. "We'll keep an eye on you from
above."
Once more the belated revellers started on their way, while Molly and
Judith Blount pursued a difficult path between a frozen creek and the
trolley embankment.