A TRIUMPH OF ART
IT was one of those warm, summer-like days of early June, when lessons
and college classes are forgotten in the enjoyment of thoughts of the
summer vacation to come. Such a few days left, and the four girls would
be free for all the reading and the tennis and the sewing and the
tramping which the press of examination preparation had forced aside.
And they would all be together again this summer, which gave promise of
many Quartette larks. The day was so perfect that all four had, as if
of one mind, discarded their lessons for the remainder of the day, and
had drifted over to Amy's.
"Do you know what I've been thinking about all week?" demanded Amy of
the trio occupying her front porch. She did not wait for any of them to
hazard a guess, but gave the answer herself, "Strawberries."
A soft little murmur went the rounds. "We had strawberries for dinner
last night," said Peggy, "the best I've tasted this year."
"And we had strawberry short-cake." Priscilla smacked her lips
reminiscently.
"And I had some strawberry ice cream at Birds'," put in Ruth. "It was
so warm along about nine o'clock, you know, and Nelson and I went down.
My, but it was good!"
Amy listened unmoved. "What I've been thinking about," she explained,
"is strawberries in the patch, sticking their heads out from under the
leaves, as if they were begging to be picked, warm from the sun, and
sweet, and just spilling over with juice."
The girls sat attentive. Something in Amy's manner indicated that there
was a background of reality for this flight of fancy.
"I've got a sort of relation living about ten miles out of town," Amy
continued. "Aunt Phoebe Cummings, only that isn't her name. Five years
ago she married a man named Frost."
"How interesting to get a new uncle at your age," interjected Ruth.
"I don't regard him as much of an addition to the family,"
retorted Amy drily. "When I talk about him, I call him, 'Uncle
Philander-Behind-His-Back.' But to his face, he's Mr. Frost. You see,
Aunt Phoebe isn't exactly an aunt. I believe she's a second cousin of
my grandfather's first wife, but she's nicer than lots of real aunts."
"I do think you have the nicest relations, Amy Lassell," interposed
Peggy. "Now Aunt Abigail, at Doolittle cottage, was a perfect dear."
Priscilla showed signs of impatience. "What has all this to do with
strawberries?"
"Well, I'm coming to that. My Uncle Philander-Behind-His-Back owns a
little farm, and they've got strawberries to burn. And almost every
year Aunt Phoebe says she wishes I'd come out when the strawberries are
ripe and bring some of my friends."
"Amy Lassell!" exclaimed Priscilla reproachfully. "Do you mean that
Mrs. Philander has been begging you to do this for the last five years,
and that this is the first we've heard of it?"
"Well, as a rule she mentions it along about August, or October, and
I forget it by June. But she came in town to shop the other day and
took dinner with us, and when she left, she broached the subject again.
She said the strawberries would be at their best by the middle of next
week and she'd love to meet you all. What do you think of a trip to the
country along about Wednesday?"
There were certain subjects regarding which, in spite of their devoted
friendship, the Friendly Terrace quartette could develop considerable
diversity of opinion. But on this occasion, their unanimity would have
gratified the hospitable instincts of Amy's Aunt Phoebe. Strawberries
boxed and displayed in show windows, or even transformed into such
delicacies as short cake and ice cream, seemed prosaic all at once.
What they wanted was to be turned loose in a strawberry patch, to stain
their fingers plucking the strawberries from the vines. Before leaving
the porch the girls watched Amy pen a note to her relative, accepting
her oft-repeated invitation in behalf of herself and friends, and
suggesting the following Wednesday as a desirable time for their visit.
A rather cloudy Tuesday awakened anxious apprehensions in the minds of
the four girls, apprehensions dissipated, however, by the cloudless
dawn of Wednesday. The height of the strawberry season is the most
charming time of the year. The four ate an early luncheon at Peggy's
home, and then took the trolley for the outskirts of the city. Once
outside the city, the trolley car bowled along at an exhilarating pace,
and in spite of the prospects ahead, the girls were almost sorry when
the ten-miles were up, and the breezy ride was ended.
Aunt Phoebe was a little old lady whose black skirt was quaintly full
and showed signs of wear, partially concealed by a white ruffled apron
of unusual size. She greeted them as affectionately as if they had
all been nieces by adoption, and conducted them indoors to take off
their hats. The living room through which they passed was large and
pleasantly and immaculately neat, the unpainted floor having been
scrubbed to a milky whiteness.
The tapping of the girls' heels on the boards emphasized their
bareness. "Got your rugs up for the summer, I see," remarked Amy
casually. The comment was natural enough under the circumstances, but
unluckily it opened the door of the closet which contained the Frosts'
family skeleton. Aunt Phoebe reddened as if Amy's innocent remark had
been a slap in the face. "My sitting room carpet's worn out," she said.
"It was worn out when I came here. I patched it and I pieced it and I
made it last a good three years after anybody else would have put it in
the rags, and now he says there's no sense buying a new one."
"Mr. Frost, you mean?"
"Yes. He's got awful queer notions, Philander has. He talks about bare
floors being healthy. Good gracious! It gives me a chill to think of
this room in November without a carpet on the floor. I've done without
lots of things in my life, but I never was too poor to have my floors
carpeted."
Amy was sorry she had broached the subject, for now that Aunt Phoebe
was started, she seemed to find it difficult to stop talking about her
grievance. Like many people who do not ask a great deal of life, she
was the more insistent regarding the few things she counted essential.
The bare floor, echoing noisily under the tread of her guests, stirred
her indignation and almost spoiled her childlike satisfaction in
entertaining Amy and her friends.
But worse was coming. It appeared that Aunt Phoebe had a heaped glass
dish of berries to be served in the conventional fashion with sugar
and cream, but she suggested that first the girls might enjoy helping
themselves from the patch. As this was really what they had come for,
they acquiesced heartily, and Aunt Phoebe led the way. Her kindly old
face lost its pensiveness as she watched the laughing girls picking the
berries from the vines, their lips and fingers reddening as the feast
proceeded. Then without any warning, a deep voice spoke out of the
shrubbery, and only too much to the point. "The commission men," said
the voice, "are paying twelve cents a box for them strawberries."
Four berry-pickers straightened themselves and looked at one another
aghast. Aunt Phoebe rushed furiously to their defense. "Philander
Frost, this is my niece, Amy Lassell, and she's brought out some young
friends to eat strawberries, because I asked her to." Her faded blue
eyes emitted electric sparks as she defied him.
"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," said Mr. Frost, still with an air of
profound melancholy. "I don't grudge a few strawberries any more than
the next man, but with them bringing twelve cents a box--"
"Philander!" The little wrinkled wife was fairly beside herself
with mortification. Her withered skin, suffused by a burning blush,
rivalled the vivid coloring of youth. "Philander, I don't care if the
strawberries are a dollar a quart--"
"Oh, well," said Mr. Frost patiently. "I just thought I'd mention it."
He turned away while four girls stood motionless in the strawberry
patch, as if there had been a Medusa-like quality in his gaze, turning
them all to stone.
"Go right on, dearies," commanded Aunt Phoebe, raising her voice
defiantly, so that it should reach the ears of her departing lord and
master. "Eat all you want to." But though as a matter of principle,
the girls attempted to obey, the sweetness had gone from the luscious
fruit. They ate half-heartedly, ashamed to meet one another's eyes,
calculating, in spite of themselves, how much Mr. Frost was out of
pocket because of their visit.
Aunt Phoebe was plainly disappointed when they declared that they had
had enough. She tried to encourage them to think better of it, and
when they still insisted, led the way to the house. "I don't think
much of strawberries without trimmings, myself," she declared over her
shoulder. "When you taste them with sugar and cream, I guess you'll
find your appetites coming back."
The porch at the side of the house was shaded and inviting. Aunt Phoebe
insisted on their seating themselves, while she waited on them. Against
the snowy covering of the small, round table, the big dish of choice
berries made a fine showing. Then Aunt Phoebe brought out a pitcher of
rich yellow cream, and the spirits of the crest-fallen group began to
revive. The appearance of a heaping plate-full of cookies was hailed
with appreciative smiles.
"Plenty more cookies in the jar," said Aunt Phoebe, helping them with
lavish hand. "And plenty more berries. Eat all you can."
They had almost reached the point of forgetting Mr. Frost and his
discomforting comments, when he again made his appearance. Peggy lost
the thread of the story she was telling and stopped short, but as no
one was listening, that made no difference.
Mr. Frost seated himself and sighed heavily. "Some folks is afraid to
eat too many strawberries," he said. "They're likely to cause a rash."
The girls, not knowing what to say, went on eating mechanically. Aunt
Phoebe, however, straightened herself over her saucer. "I don't mind a
rash," she announced, "not in such a good cause."
"It ain't that I care for the expense," Mr. Frost said feelingly,
"though of course, with the cost of living so high, sensible folks
ought to do without everything that ain't necessary. Now Phoebe's got
an idea that she wants a new carpet for the sitting room--"
"I've got an idea that I'm going to have one, too," said Aunt Phoebe,
breathing hard.
"I tell her that bare floors is all the rage," said Mr. Frost, looking
from one to another of the girls, as if he hoped to find an ally in
one of them. "Carpets are hiding-places for all sorts of germs. The
swellest folks there is have bare floors nowadays, I tell her."
"I guess their bare floors don't look much like mine," exploded Aunt
Phoebe, "just common pine boards, not even painted."
"I wouldn't mind letting you paint 'em," said Mr. Frost. "Of course
paint is very expensive these days, but if it would make you feel any
better--"
"What I want," Aunt Phoebe was beginning wrathfully, when Amy
interrupted. She addressed herself to Mr. Frost, and her manner was
propitiatory. "A painted floor isn't so bad," she said. "Lots of folks
have painted floors."
"A body's feet would freeze in winter," exclaimed Aunt Phoebe, plainly
bewildered at Amy's taking sides against her.
"You want to wear good thick shoes and stockings," replied Mr. Frost,
eyeing Amy approvingly. His manner indicated that as far as she was
concerned, he did not grudge the strawberries.
"I was going to say," continued Amy, returning his friendly gaze with
interest, "that I wouldn't mind coming out and painting the floors for
you some day."
The other Friendly Terrace girls looked at one another in surprise.
They could not understand Amy. Apparently she was trying to curry
favor with Mr. Frost by taking sides with him against Aunt Phoebe,
yet none of them considered this the real explanation. Whatever
her intention, it was plain that Amy had made a conquest of Uncle
Philander-Behind-His-Back. For the rest of their stay, he addressed
most his remarks to her, and though his conversation dealt largely
with the high cost of living and the necessity for thrift, their
inexplicable friend seemed highly edified.
When they took their departure, Mr. Frost again brought up the subject
of the floor. "If you should happen to feel like painting it some
day--"
"Oh, I'm coming," said Amy smiling up at him. "I'll get the other girls
to help me, and we'll make short work of it."
"I think I've got pretty near enough paint left from painting the
barn--"
Aunt Phoebe's accession of color suggested an attack of apoplexy, for
the barn was the color of a ripe pumpkin. Amy hastily interposed, "Oh,
I'll bring the paint."
"Will you now? Well, I call that the right spirit. I like to see young
folks appreciative," declared Mr. Frost. "Strawberries are bringing a
good price this year, but I'm sure you're welcome to every one you et."
On the way to the car Amy walked beside Aunt Phoebe, holding fast
to her arm and chattering like a magpie. And as she kissed the old
lady good-by, she pulled her close and whispered in her ear. It
was impossible to know what she said, but Aunt Phoebe's lugubrious
countenance showed an immediate improvement. She stared at Amy with an
expression of incredulity which presently became a bewildered smile.
The uncertainty of the other Friendly Terrace girls, as to whether or
not Amy had intended her promise to be taken literally, was dissipated
about a week later when she called on them to accompany her and assist
in the painting of Aunt Phoebe's sitting-room floor. Thoughtlessly Amy
had selected a date when Peggy had an imperative engagement. Peggy
urged her to choose another day, but Amy found insuperable objections
to a change.
"But I don't like this," said Peggy. "I ate as many strawberries
as anybody, and if you're painting the floor to pay your uncle
Philander-Behind-His-Back, I want to do my share." And to this,
Amy replied imperturbably that she need not worry, for Uncle
Philander-Behind-His-Back would be paid in full, without her assistance.
"It really is a pity Peggy couldn't come." The trio was fairly on its
way. "She knows more about such work than any of us."
"I'm afraid Peggy wouldn't be much of a help to-day," replied Amy.
"Peggy not a help? Why not?" Priscilla's manner indicated that if any
criticism of Peggy were implied, she would not stand for it.
"Peggy's conscience is such a Johnny-on-the-spot," Amy explained. "It
never seems to take a vacation the way ours do, and I'm afraid it would
be dreadfully in the way to-day."
"Why, what do you mean?" demanded Priscilla and Ruth together.
Amy opened the little grip she carried, produced a small-sized can of
paint and handed it to Priscilla. A similar one was bestowed on the
perplexed Ruth, and then Amy leaned back and looked from one to the
other triumphantly.
"What do you want me to do with it?" frowned Priscilla. Then with a
violent start, "Why, Amy Lassell!"
"Well?"
"This paint is moss green."
"And this," cried Ruth excitedly, "is yellow."
"And in here," explained Amy, patting her bag tenderly, "are all the
colors of the rainbow in half pint cans. Did you ever see an exhibition
of cubist pictures?"
"Yes, once," replied Priscilla mechanically, while Ruth too amazed for
words, stared dumbly at her friend.
"Well, that is the way Aunt Phoebe's floor is going to look when we are
through with it."
"Why, Amy," gasped Ruth, suddenly finding her voice. "You can't do
anything like that. He wouldn't let you."
"He won't be there. I've arranged for Aunt Phoebe to take him off for
the day. The key to the house has been left hanging on the back porch."
"Does she know?"
"She doesn't, for I thought it was best for her to be able to say she
didn't know a thing about it. But she suspects that something's in the
wind."
Priscilla hesitated. "I suppose your idea is--"
"My idea is to make such a looking floor that he will be only too glad
to buy a carpet to cover it."
The three girls looked at one another, and then Ruth gave a little
nervous giggle. After a minute Priscilla joined in. And then all three
leaned back in the seats in a paroxysm of silent laughter, while their
fellow passengers regarded them enviously.
"Well, I don't know but you're right about Peggy," admitted Priscilla,
at length, wiping her eyes. "I'm pretty sure she would not have
approved."
"I think it serves him just right," declared Ruth. "I detest stingy
people."
"It does serve him right," said Amy. "He has plenty of money, but he
hates to part with any of it. Poor Aunt Phoebe has a little money of
her own, and before she married him she got no end of fun out of doing
things for other people. And now the dear old soul can't even treat her
friends to strawberries without being humiliated. Anyway," concluded
Amy with decision, "I'm bound she shall have a carpet for her living
room next winter."
They found the farm house on the hill silent and deserted, the back
door locked, and the key hanging in such plain view that it seemed an
invitation to enter. Indoors they found the living room made ready
against their coming. All the furniture had been moved into adjoining
rooms and the floor had been given an extra and quite unnecessary
scrubbing.
The girls hastily arrayed themselves for the work. Priscilla and Amy
had brought along the outfits they had worn as farmerettes, while
Ruth donned a worn-out bathing suit. Then Amy pried off the covers
of her array of cans, and presented each of her friends with a small
paintbrush. The fun began.
Amy's suggestion that a striking design should be painted in the middle
of the room, and at each of the four corners, was enthusiastically
accepted, and Priscilla at once undertook the execution of a Chinese
dragon in the corner of the room which was most in evidence to one
standing in the doorway. Amy taking possession of the can of yellow
paint, set herself to reproduce a sunrise in the center of the room,
the yellow rays radiating from the central golden orb in the most
realistic manner. Ruth, her imagination stimulated by the discovery of
a can of black paint, promptly set about balancing Priscilla's dragon
by a black cat in the opposite corner, its back arched like a bow, and
its tail standing upright like an ebony plume.
They splashed about, admiring one another's work enthusiastically and
complacently accepting compliments for their own. And when the various
masterpieces had been executed to the satisfaction of the artists,
they fell to work filling in the remaining spaces with gaily colored
rhomboids, red, yellow, green, black, and purple. Nothing more gorgeous
than Aunt Phoebe's painted floor could possibly be imagined. Even the
highly colored chromos on the wall paled before it. In some respects
it suggested an old-fashioned crazy-quilt, though when the dragon and
the black cat were taken into account, it was more like a bad case of
nightmare. After the girls had finished, they withdrew to the next
room and, gazing upon it, tried to imagine the sensations of Uncle
Philander-Behind-His-Back when its kaleidoscopic magnificence should
break upon his astonished gaze.
Suddenly they were panic-stricken for fear the occupants of the farm
house should return before they had taken their departure. They dressed
in such haste that they failed to get the full benefit of the bottle of
turpentine Amy had brought along for cleansing purposes, and they went
back to town with green and purple smudges on their fingers. As soon
as they had reached home, they descended on Peggy to tell her of the
manner in which they had fulfilled Amy's promise, and Peggy listened
with amazement tinged with admiration.
"I'm rather glad you didn't tell me, for I'm afraid I should have
thrown cold water, and I can't help thinking it's exactly what Uncle
Philander-Behind-His-Back deserves. And if it really drives him into
buying a new carpet, I shall feel satisfied that you've done the right
thing."
The four girls had agreed to play tennis Saturday of that week, but
early Saturday morning Amy called Peggy up to ask to be excused.
"Aunt Phoebe is coming in town for some shopping," she explained, and
interrupted herself by an ecstatic giggle. "And she wants me to go with
her. She wants me to help her select a carpet for the sitting room."