THE MAGNET AND THE SILVER CHURN.
"Is it your head, dear? Are you sure nothing else is involved? No
indigestion or pains at the neck or burning at the pit of the stomach?"
"Perfectly certain, Miss Campbell," answered Nancy, with a wan smile.
"It's just one of those sick headaches like the one I had when I ate crab
salad and peach ice cream that time. You mustn't stay at home on my
account. O'Haru will look after me."
"But you haven't eaten crab salad and peach ice cream this time, child.
You haven't eaten anything, in fact. Your appetite is getting smaller all
the time."
"It's just the heat," said Nancy meekly. "I only want to stay in a
darkened room and keep as cool as I can. I am sure I shall be all right
by this evening and I wouldn't for anything interfere with the picnic
to-day. It would make my head much worse. Really it would."
Each of the Motor Maids offered to stay home with Nancy, but she objected
and protested so strongly that it looked as if she would work herself
into a fever if they persisted. O'Haru was therefore left in charge of
Nancy for the day, while the others, attired for an all-day picnic,
gathered on the front piazza.
On the driveway stood the "Comet" and behind him at a respectful
distance, like a servant behind his master, stood another car of an
undistinguished character, hired in Tokyo. Into this last climbed Miss
Campbell and Mr. Buxton, while Mr. Campbell took the front seat to run
the car.
"Won't some little maid keep a lonely man company?" he called, and Mary
Price responded promptly to this appeal. "I am the most honored man in
the whole party," he said, gallantly jumping out and helping her in as if
she were a small queen.
Mary smiled happily, but she felt in her heart that she was the most
honored of all. No one had ever treated her with such deference and
courtesy as this splendid big man who gazed down at her with a protecting
air and listened to her rather timid conversation with absorbed interest.
It was a wonderful thing, Mary thought, almost too wonderful to be
believed that a distinguished engineer who had been sent for by
governments to build railroads and give advice about public improvements,
would condescend even to notice a quiet little person like her. But the
famous engineer was really a very simple man, as modest as she herself
was and quite as gentle.
On the front seat beside Billie sat Nicholas, and Reginald was in the
back with Elinor. Every laddie had a lassie that morning, and Billie, who
was a bit skeptical over Nancy's headache, wondered vaguely if this could
have been the reason for her staying at home. But she put the thought
away from her at once as being unworthy. Billie sighed and gave herself
an impatient little shake. Her heart yearned for the old Nancy of the
early days who seemed so changed now. She was determined never to mention
the letter, but somehow it seemed always to stand between them. Both
girls thought of it constantly, Nancy with remorse and bitterness for her
own disloyalty, and Billie with a kind of puzzled sadness. After all, the
two friends had much to learn about each other's natures.
Nancy on her bed in the darkened room was saying:
"If I only could prove to Billie and to all of them that I am not
disloyal!"
Billie, guiding the "Comet" along the country road, was thinking:
"If Nancy would only be frank and tell me what's on her mind! How can we
go on like this when we are drifting farther and farther away?"
The excursion to-day was of special interest to Mr. Campbell and his
guests. They were riding forth to see Fujiyama (or "Fuji San," as the
Japanese call it, "yama," meaning simply "mountain"), the sacred mountain
of perfect beauty and shining whiteness.
Once Saiki, their old gardener, had conducted them to a small elevation
in the garden, and in a manner both reverential and proud, had pointed
to a vista in the trees carefully made by lopping off certain branches.
There, in the background of a long, narrow perspective loomed the great
mountain, exactly as it does in thousands of Japanese scrolls. Here, many
a time, Mary had sat and watched the white cone shining in the sunlight.
She understood why it was called the "Peak of the White Lotus," The low
green hills at its feet were the leaves of the flower and the eight sided
crater, perfect in symmetry, formed the petals.
The beautiful Fuji San, the most precious and revered object in all
Japan, is dedicated to a goddess, "the Princess who makes the blossoms of
the trees to bear"; but pilgrims of every religious sect crowd its paths
in warm weather and on its sides dwell holy men or "mountain
worshippers," who practice great austerities.
It seemed a little unfeeling to be so gay and light-hearted with Nancy
unhappy and ill at home, but there was gaiety in the warm dry air, and it
bubbled into happy laughter and chatter as they flew along the road.
"Have we brought everything?" called Billie over her shoulder. "The
guitar and the tea basket and the luncheon hamper--"
"And the mackintoshes?" finished Nicholas.
Billie frowned and her face darkened.
"Everything but your raincoat, Billie," said Elinor, counting packages in
the bottom of the car with the toe of her boot. "Did you forget it?"
"No, it had a torn place in it," answered Billie, still frowning.
An incident too trivial to mention, but too unusual to put lightly aside
had caused her some annoyance that morning. She had closed the bureau
drawer on a corner of her raincoat, hanging over her arm, and had torn
the hem off one side.
"How stupid," she had exclaimed impatiently, tossing it into a chair.
"You'll have to lend me your blue raincoat, Nancy-Bell. I've just done
for mine completely."
Nancy, lying on the bed with her face turned to the wall, did not reply.
Billie tiptoed to the foot of the bed to see if she was asleep, but the
blue eyes were wide open staring at the wall paper.
"Will you lend me your raincoat, Miss Nancy?" repeated Billie, trying to
be jocular to overcome the peculiar sensation of annoyance that had crept
into her thoughts.
"I'm sorry, but I can't," answered Nancy, in a low voice.
"Why not?"
"I just can't. That's all."
Billie felt as if a rough hand had seized her by her collar and given her
a good shaking.
"Oh, very well, Nancy" she said, and went softly out of the room.
"I am sure she must be really ill," she thought, trying to put a
charitable interpretation on this act of selfishness, but even illness
could hardly account for anything so entirely remote from their usual
relations. And, apparently, Nancy had no fever and was only a little
under the weather with a headache.
Therefore, when the subject of her raincoat had come under discussion,
Billie quickly changed it.
"Do look at that queer-looking crowd," she ejaculated, pointing to a
group of people walking in couples along the roadside. Their white
kirtles were girded high about their waists and they carried staffs.
As the company marched along, always facing Fuji, they began singing a
weird chant. When the motors drew nearer the tourists saw that each
man wore a huge mushroom hat made of lightest pith and from his neck hung
a piece of matting suspended by a cord.
"That must be one of the Pilgrim Clubs," announced Nicholas. "There are
hundreds of them in Japan and they are fearfully expensive to join. The
dues are from eight to fifteen cents a year. Every summer a club selects
a delegate to take a nice little walking trip to a shrine and bring back
blessings for the other members. His expenses are paid and lots of the
other members go on their own hook. All the inns make special rates and
it's come to be a jolly way to spend one's vacation, combining pleasure
and religion. You see they've got the costume down to the finest point,"
he continued. "They wear umbrellas on their heads, and the matting
hanging around their necks serves as a raincoat, seat and bed. It's the
coolest, lightest and most complete walking equipment I ever saw."
"They make me feel terribly worldly-minded and luxurious," exclaimed
Billie. "I never thought of bringing back a holy blessing to a friend."
"We can take back a blessing for Miss Nancy, if you like," said Nicholas,
smiling. "A flask of water from a spring on the sacred mountain would do,
wouldn't it?"
"But we haven't any flask."
"We have the thermos bottle," put in Elinor. "That would keep it cool
enough for her to drink."
"She shouldn't drink it. She should sprinkle herself with it, or bathe in
it," said Nicholas, amused at this ultra-modern way of carrying back a
heavenly blessing.
But Billie recalled the suggestion later and actually did fill the
thermos bottle from a little spring that bubbled at the foot of Fuji and
trickled down a green slope where the company had stopped for luncheon.
"I do wish Nancy had come," she found herself saying while she spread the
white cloth on the grass and opened the treasures of the luncheon hamper,
which consisted of cold chicken and sandwiches and eggs prepared in a
peculiar pickly way, as some one had described it. "It was a shame for
her to miss this lovely trip. I am sure Fuji would have cured anybody's
headache. It's so beautiful and so majestic."
"It's cured mine," remarked Mr. Buxton, "either Fuji or something even
more potent." Here he cast a languishing and eloquent glance toward Miss
Campbell who flicked the grass with the end of her parasol and pretended
not to have heard a word.
Nicholas and Reggie grinned openly. Mr. Campbell stifled a smile behind a
large sandwich and the girls carefully avoided each other's eyes.
"He's got it bad, Miss Billie," whispered Nicholas. "Is this a common
occurrence with Miss Campbell?"
"It is, indeed," answered Billie. "There is always one and sometimes
several wherever we go. Once, in Salt Lake City, it saved us no end of
trouble and brought two lovers together, because a horrid old Mormon
gentleman caught the fever. He had it so badly that we thought he would
just carry Cousin Helen off by force, but he was deathly afraid of her."
"Remember your promise, Miss Elinor," called Mr. Campbell presently.
"Where's your guitar?"
Some one fetched the guitar from the car and Elinor, leaning against a
tree, struck several chords and smiled mischievously.
"Shall it be a love song?" she asked.
"Something religious would be more appropriate in this sacred spot,"
observed Miss Campbell severely. But Elinor, ignoring the suggestion,
began to sing:
"'O, My Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
My Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
"'As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
"'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And rocks melt wi' the sun,
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
"'And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel a while,
And I will come again My Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.'"
While Elinor sang this charming song Mr. Buxton regarded Miss Helen
Campbell with an expression so abjectly adoring that Mr. Campbell gave a
roar of boyish laughter and laid himself flat on the ground in the
ecstasy of his amusement. They all laughed, indeed. Even Miss Campbell
joined in, in spite of her annoyance.
"I should think you might sing your own songs, Buxton, instead of letting
a young lady do it for you," said Mr. Campbell at last.
"Allow me," answered the bachelor calmly.
He seized the guitar, re-tuned it with great care, and began strumming
lightly on the strings. Suddenly he lifted up his voice in song and
nobody attempted to keep a serious countenance because he seemed entirely
oblivious to all jests at his expense. Here is the song he sang:
"A Magnet hung in a hardware shop,
And all around was a loving crop
Of scissors and needles, nails and knives,
Offering love for all their lives;
But for iron the Magnet felt no whim;
Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him;
From needles and nails and knives he'd turn,
For he'd set his heart on a Silver Churn!
"A Silver Churn! A Silver Churn!
His most esthetic
Very magnetic
Fancy took this turn:
If I can wheedle
A knife or a needle,
Why not a Silver Churn?
"And Iron and Steel expressed surprise;
The needles opened their well-drilled eyes,
The penknives felt shut up, no doubt;
The scissors declared themselves cut out.
The kettles, they boiled with rage, 'tis said;
While every nail went off its head
And hither and thither began to roam,
Till a hammer came up and drove them home.
"It drove them home! It drove them home!
While this magnetic,
Peripatetic
Lover, he lived to learn,
By no endeavor
Can a Magnet ever
Attract a Silver Churn!"
"Well, really," cried Mr. Campbell, at the end of the song when the
laughter had somewhat died down, "really, I think Buxton, you are the
most shameless old soul I ever met in my life. Come along and start home.
A shower is coming up, and we'd better get the cars into the valley
before it catches us and wets the Silver Churn, and the scissors, and
needles, and nails, and knives."
A shower did come up, a big one that lasted most of the way home, and
Billie's gray linen suit was wet through, but the weather was warm and
except that she looked extremely bedraggled, she was none the worse and
refused to accept the loan of Nicholas' coat. They left the three guests
in Tokyo with the hired motor car, and Mr. Campbell with Miss Helen and
Mary joined the others in the "Comet." So it was that the subject of the
raincoat came up again. Miss Campbell, seeing her young cousin's wet
suit, exclaimed:
"Child! Where is your raincoat? How often have I told you never to leave
it behind, especially in this country where it rains more than it
shines."
"It's torn, Cousin Helen," answered Billie meekly.
"But why, pray, didn't you take Nancy's?"
Billie considered a moment what she should say and ended by saying
nothing at all.
"Why didn't you borrow Nancy's, Billie?" asked Elinor.
"Nancy didn't seem willing to lend it," answered Billie at last, slowly.
There was a strained silence. Then Miss Campbell remarked:
"I believe the child must be seriously ill. It sounds like typhoid fever.
I think we'd better send for the doctor as soon as we reach home."
However, this was not necessary. There was Nancy waiting for them on the
piazza. Her headache had gone, she said, and she looked quite well and
much more cheerful than usual. She did not notice the faintest tinge of
coldness in their greetings. Even Mr. Campbell was not so cordial as
usual.
"You must have been caught in the worst of the rain," she said, looking
at Billie's dripping clothes.
"We were," put in Mary quickly, trying to cover the silence of the
others.
Somehow Billie felt just a bit savage at the moment.
"I've brought you some sacred water from Fujiyama, Nancy," she said
presently, in order to hide her hurt feelings.
"Oh, thanks. What am I to do with it? Drink it down?"
"Oh, no. Anoint yourself with it. Sprinkle it over the top of your head
for luck."
"Better put on your mackintosh first, Nancy," broke in Elinor coldly.
"You'll be wetter than Billie if you don't."
Nancy's face flushed scarlet and she turned and walked into the house
without a word.
"Oh, Elinor, I wish you hadn't said that," said Billie. "See how you hurt
her."
"She needed to be hurt," replied Elinor. "She needs to be brought to her
senses."
All the world was topsy turvy. The Motor Maids were quarreling among
themselves and there was mystery in the air. Their happy little kingdom
was being destroyed by internecine wars, and for what reason, Billie
could not understand. It was inevitable that Mary and Elinor would come
over to her side, now, that is, if Nancy persisted in this strange
behavior.
That night, lying beside Nancy in the dark, Billie's hand crept out to
meet her unhappy friend's. But Nancy's hands were clasped in front of her
and she lay quite still, staring at the wall, the most miserable young
person in all the universe.