HAPPIE GRANTS AMNESTY
ALL night long the wind blew furiously. As it came sweeping down
from the higher mountain points there was nothing to allay its force
accumulating down the stretch to Crestville. Such small objects as
presumptuously stood in its way--farmhouses and red barns--it buffeted,
chastising them soundly for attempting to stay it, and sweeping on down
to the Jersey plains which were to calm its wrath.
The old Ark shook almost as though it had been a veritable ark out on
stormy waters. Blinds rattled, and even the beds trembled, but "the
Archaics" slept through the tumult. Coasting is an excellent sedative,
especially when followed by a hearty supper and an evening before a
blazing log fire.
"It's rather like automobiling to spend the night in your front
bedroom, Miss Bradbury," said Robert Gaston at breakfast.
"Funny you thought of that!" cried Happie. "Gretta said last night we
ought to have gone to bed in automobile veils and goggles."
"What's the order of exercises this morning--for all day, in fact?"
inquired Bob. "The wind has gone down, and I don't know how we could
suggest an improvement in the sort of day we've got."
He waved his hand towards the window. The sun was pouring into it, and
beyond the window the fields were shining, brilliantly white in the sun
rays, blue white in the shadows; yellow stubble, where the grain had
been cut, showing in stretches on the upland slopes, black woods and
impressionistic purple mountains as a background to the picture.
"And gittin' warmer yet!" chimed in Rosie. "You do what you want to do
to-day, though. There's more snow comin'. 'Tain't fur off. It's sure to
be here by Monday, if 'tain't here to-morrow."
"We thought we'd go skating, if you boys would come with us," said
Laura.
"This morning you are all going for a straw-ride in the bottom of
Jake's big blue sled," announced Miss Keren.
"When in doubt play trumps," observed Bob. "That's a lead that takes
all our tricks, Aunt Keren. I thought we might put off our skating till
Monday morning--we don't go down till nearly two o'clock--and this
afternoon return to our innocent childhood's ways. Mahlon says the pond
is rough and the skating not much good anyway, because they've been
cutting ice from it and it's made it uneven."
"What ways of innocent childhood, Bob?" asked Margery.
"Snow forts," replied Bob promptly. "And snowball assault of them."
"Good for you!" cried Ralph. "That would beat skating to my mind. I
never had a chance to fight in a snow fort but once in my life, and
then I was too small to stand a chance, even though I had one. We ought
to have a rousing scrimmage here. Oh, what's the use of being young in
a city, anyway!"
"I suppose Mr. Gaston will command one side, as he's the oldest boy,"
began Snigs, but Robert said at the same moment: "I'm the oldest boy
here, and what's more I've had the advantage of college athletics,
football, for muscle training. I'll stand you three fellows, if you'll
let me have Gretta and Happie on my side, for they'll be the best
fighters among the girls I'm pretty certain, and I think that's fair."
"That's all right. Margery and Laura would be best in the Red Cross
department," assented Bob. "So it will be you and the two girls against
us three boys, and we'll do you up, Mr. Robert Gaston. You'll want to
sing 'Maryland, My Maryland' when we get through with you."
"Cockadoodle do-o-o-o!" commented Happie, gently insinuating that
crowing was not always prophetical.
"Now you youngsters go and wrap up in everything you can find, and be
ready to start in half an hour. I laid a pile of robes and blankets,
old coats, furs, all sorts of things, on the couch and table in the
library. Help yourselves, and please don't keep Jake waiting. He is
going to take you up around the hotels on the mountains, where you will
see glorious views, but you will be as cold as Arctic explorers," said
Miss Keren rising.
When the party came out ready for the sleigh ride they were such a
funny lot, bundled in knit scarfs, shabby furs, handsome furs, and
everything else available, and carrying patchwork quilts and thick
comfortables on their arms, that Rosie Gruber laughed at the sight of
them, as the Scollards had never seen her laugh before, and Mahlon
swung his left arm and leg in delirious unison, laughing in precisely
the way he used to cry in his sorrowful time when they first knew him.
"My days, you look like carpet rags come to life and walkin' round!"
cried Rosie. "Penny, leave me carry you out, you can't walk, you poor
little mamma you. You look just like those Egypt mammas I seen once in
some of them books in the room."
It was true that Penny looked mummified in her wrappings, and that her
little legs had short play, swaddled like a papoose. But they bundled
her into the straw, tucked her and Polly down between their elders,
drew up the motley quilts and covered them decently with robes, and
were off, drawn by Don Dolor and a young horse from Jake's neighbor,
Pete Kuntz.
"How did you manage about your hauling mine props to-day, Jake?" asked
Bob from his seat of honor--and exposure--beside the driver.
"Let it," said Jake promptly. "He'll have to git along without me
to-day. I had to leave Aaron haul a while still. She'll pay me as much
fer driving you all as I git a day haulin', and it leaves my team work
yet. I like to be obligin'."
The Scollards laughed, Jake did not see why, but he was used to their
laughing when the fun was invisible to him.
"'A wand'ring minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches,'" sang Robert,
drawing his yellow and red quilt, lent by Rosie, around his shoulders.
One of Robert's gifts was a very good voice.
This started the choir and the party sang as the sled went briskly up
the gradual rise in the road to the mountains where the many large
hotels made in themselves, and drew around them, a very different
summer life from the indigenous life of the section.
It was intensely cold, but there was no more wind, and the air was so
dry that the blood flowed faster and off-set the lowly thermometer.
People came out to look as the musical sled spun past, for it carried
an amateur choir of unusual ability; and the harmony sounded so
beautiful through the frosty air that many a listener wished the horses
would loiter before his door.
It was unpleasantly cold coming home. "The wind is right up from the
Gap," said Gretta. "There's a storm coming."
"This isn't much fun," remarked Penny, with stifled pathos, from the
depths of her eclipse under enveloping skirts, quilts, shawls and
robes. "I wish I was home."
"I don't," said Polly stoutly. "I think it's nice to be very
uncomfortable when you go out for fun--sometimes, I mean--so you'll
know how awful it is when it isn't fun." A shout of laughter greeted
this philosophical seeker after experience.
"We'd better sing, 'In the Good Old Summer-time,' and see if we can't
mind-cure ourselves into warmth," said Bob with a shiver.
"What's the matter with, 'A Hot Time in the Old Town To-night'?" asked
Ralph.
"We'll have that in our forts before night," said Robert.
The sled turned into the Ark driveway an hour before dinner, with its
load loudly singing: "Ching-a-ling-a-lu," which was so pretty, with its
chromatic effects given in harmony, Margery's sweet voice sustained by
Laura as another soprano--for with Robert there Laura was not obliged
to sing tenor as she usually did--Happie and Gretta's alto, Ralph and
Bob and Snigs humming baritone and bass, and Robert singing fine tenor,
that Miss Keren dashed out to hear it as well as to welcome her merry
crowd. "You don't know how well that sounded," she cried.
"Don't we!" cried Happie. "Aunt Keren, we have warbled our way up the
hillsides and back, and plaudits are echoing still on our track, we
think that as singers there's nothing we lack, but, oh, you can't
guess how our dinner will smack!"
Happie jumped out over the side of the sled as she uttered this
remarkable inspiration, and the companions she thus left sitting among
the straw burst into applause that actually made Don Dolor plunge and
threaten to get up on his hind legs.
"You ridiculous child!" cried Miss Keren. "Rosie has enough to satisfy
you, and it is almost ready, so get yourselves ready, and don't tell me
anything about the drive until we are at the table."
Dinner was a rapid, but not a slender meal, that day. The snow forts
were as interesting as though the boys were not almost grown up and
Robert Gaston had not cast his first presidential vote for President
Roosevelt.
Margery and Laura were non-combatants. They were to mold the bullets,
which meant that, one on each side, they were to make snowballs for
their warriors.
The forts went up quickly, the object being to make them resistant, but
not too much so. The boys wanted one or the other of them to fall at
the end of the scrimmage. Still, when the walls were up they did pour
a few pails of water over them to stiffen them, for there was not much
doubt that it would freeze.
It was bitterly cold, but the garrison of the two forts, equal in
numbers if not in prowess, marched into them--Robert, with his two
amazons, Gretta and Happie; Bob, Ralph and Snigs to oppose them.
The balls flew hot and heavy. Miss Keren had improvised a flag for the
front of each fort, and the object of the fighters was to down the
opposite flag first of all.
"Where did you learn to throw, Happie?" asked Robert, as Happie sent
her snowballs true. "I don't wonder so much at Gretta, but you throw
well for a city girl."
"Bob," replied Happie, too out of breath for details.
"I hate to hit 'em," murmured Ralph on the other side, sending a ball
just past Happie's ear as she put up her head to do her own throwing.
"You let Happie catch on to your sparing her because she's a girl, and
I pity you, Ralph," replied Bob. "She won't stand fooling. If she plays
with us, she doesn't want favor. You found that out last summer."
"Well she's got to take 'em soft then," grumbled Ralph. It may have
been that his chivalry weakened his strong right arm; for some reason
Ralph did not fight with the zest of his adversaries and comrades.
It was Gretta who came up and held her place while snowballs whizzed
around her, and sent a big, icy ball that carried off the flag and
snapped the flagstaff on the fort of her foes.
A cheer and the Harvard yell from Robert was answered by a defiant
howl and the "yell of the Ark," which these same young people had
compiled during the summer:
"Hark, hark! keep it dark.
Keren-happuchs in the Ark.
Weather-tight, we're all right.
Gretta, Gretta, glad we met her,
Zintz, blintz, Bittenbender!"
"Flag's down! Now for the sortie, girls!" cried Robert, his face
flushed with his enthusiastic efforts to carry the opposing fort.
It had been agreed that if either flag fell the combatants from
the other fort were to be allowed to rush out and try to carry the
adversaries' fort by assault. Robert tore out of his fort, followed
closely by Happie and Gretta. The foe was ready to receive them. A
storm of snowballs fell on them, but like a well-disciplined legion
the three attacking warriors wavered, but did not halt. Two of
them--the amazonian wing of the army--bent down and came on somewhat
like jackknives, doubled over, but came on, nevertheless, presenting
their backs to the foe in a sense that was not cowardice.
If the defending garrison had had ammunition in supply equal to their
need they might have held their fort against their foes, at least much
longer. But Laura was a languid snowball maker at best, and was very
tired of her task, so that one of the boys had to reinforce her while
the other two fought, and with the garrison thus handicapped the
victory was quick and sure for the besiegers.
Robert had been rolling snowballs as he advanced, and Happie, catching
his idea, helped him. With her arms full of ammunition, and Robert's
left arm laden, there was no delay between the shots which fell on
the devoted heads of the defenders of the fort every time one of them
popped up to fight off the assailants.
"Surrender!" ordered Robert.
"With honors?" stipulated Bob.
"Certainly. March out with colors flying, gallant garrison--provided
you can find your colors, which my amazonian general knocked to
smithereens," returned Robert. Bob and Ralph had provided themselves
against defeat. Three combs were the main part of their provision,
supplemented by tissue paper--the instruments of a military band. Bob
picked up the broken flagstaff with its flag still pendant. Shouldering
it, he placed himself at the head of his men, Ralph, Snigs, Laura,
the ammunition maker. These three played "Down Went Maginty," in the
slowest possible time, with immense expression--it sounded like a dirge.
"We shall proceed to raze your fort, under the terms of the surrender,"
announced Robert. Strictly speaking there had been no terms stipulated
in the surrender, but before the siege began it had been agreed that
the defeated fort should be destroyed. "I feel like Marius," Robert
added.
"Suppose we take a hand," suggested Bob.
"Take a foot," corrected Ralph, setting the example by kicking a hole
in the wall he had just been defending. "The sooner it's over the
sooner to eat."
It did not take long to knock down the walls. "Now, this cruel war is
over," announced Robert. "What time do we sup to-night?"
"It's really dreadful!" cried Margery. "If I were Aunt Keren I would
never have a house party of young people again in winter."
The storm did not set in on Sunday until night. A cloudy, gray morning
showed new beauties of a country winter. The air was less cold; it was
still and significant, as if the atmosphere hung low with its weather
secrets reluctantly concealed. "No matter how they have treated me, I'm
going to see Eunice and Reba," announced Gretta. "They never wanted
to let me live with them, but they did give me what home I had when I
was small, and they are my cousins. It isn't right not to try to do my
part."
"They may be civil now that you own the farm and have friends, Gretta.
But you'll see there's no use in trying--still, you are right enough to
try. I am going to stay with Aunt Keren this morning, no matter what
she says, or the others do," said Happie positively.
"The boys are going over to the Shales', partly to see them and partly
to bring back nuts which they are going to take to New York to-morrow,
because we are going skating in the morning and there won't be time to
get them then," said Gretta. "And Mr. Gaston is going to take Don Dolor
and the sleigh, and Margery is to show him Eden Valley."
Happie sighed. "He thinks she shows him Eden no matter where she is. I
suppose they will take the children? There are two seats," she said.
"Now, Happie! I don't suppose any such thing!" Gretta laughed aloud.
"The second seat can be taken out."
"It wouldn't be proper for Margery to drive unchaperoned in town, but I
suppose it doesn't matter here," said Happie gloomily.
"There weren't any chaperons in the Garden of Eden, and there won't
be one in the Valley of Eden," said Gretta, buttoning her coat, and
pulling on her gloves. "Miss Bradbury knows, Happie. Now I'm going
down to Eunice's, and I'd just as lief go to a dentist, with a jumping
nerve."
Gretta walked away with such stiff resolution that Happie knew she
dared not let herself hesitate. When she had gone Happie went in quest
of Miss Bradbury. She found her alone before the log fire, Laura being
at the piano, the two least girls out in the kitchen with Rosie, the
boys gone after their nuts and character study at Jake Shale's, and
Margery and Robert departed to find Eden Valley.
Miss Keren was not inclined to talk. She sat looking into the fire,
and Happie imagined a gently pensive mood upon her usually abrupt name
donor.
That day the noon dinner was to be done away with in favor of a
mid-afternoon meal, and a tea served in the library shortly before
bedtime.
Gretta came back with slow step, and clouded face.
"Never mind, Gretta dear, I knew you could not make anything of that
material," whispered Happie, passing her on the stairs.
Gretta shook her head. "I thought I knew them but I didn't realize what
they were when I was seeing them every day," she said.
Happie went off for a solitary walk, to renew alone and under winter
conditions her acquaintance with some of her favorite nooks. The brook,
especially, she wanted to see, as one can see a brook only by standing
on its bank with the greenness of its summer setting replaced by snow
and ice pushed high on either side and its waters flowing black in the
contrast.
She was gone some time and came back peacefully happy. She stopped
at yesterday's fort, and glanced in. There was Robert Gaston groping
about the floor of the fort. He looked up, and sprang to his feet as he
recognized her.
"Ah, dear little Happie!" he cried, to Happie's amazement. "I had a
fountain pen yesterday, which has disappeared. I thought I might have
dropped it here. But it doesn't matter. Happie, I have seen Bob since I
came in, and he has made me welcome in my new rôle. I wanted to speak
to you myself, for I'm afraid you aren't going to live fully up to your
nickname. Will you take me for your brother, and love me a wee bit, as
Margery's dearest sister should?"
"Already? Now?" gasped Happie, looking up at him with horrified eyes.
"Dear Happie, Margery took me to Eden this morning," said Robert.
"Before we came up here--the night of our theatre party--I asked your
mother if I might ask Margery to--well, might ask her if some day she
would be my wife. Your mother said yes, and now, this morning, Margery
has said yes also. I am so happy, little Happie, that there is no
way to describe my happiness. I'm afraid it is hard for you to share
Margery with me, but will you try to be generous? And the best way to
get at it is to be fond of me, if you can. Oh, Happie, don't, my dear!"
For Happie, as the full realization of what had taken place, and that
her fears were fulfilled so much sooner than she had expected, and as
Robert's caressing voice touched her emotionally, sat down on the snow
floor of the fort and burying her face in her hands cried and cried.
"Is it I--no, I'm sure that you don't dislike me, Happie. We were
friends at our very first meeting. Don't cry like this, Happie. It is
dreadful. And don't sit on that cold snow----"
Robert had endured Happie's tears as long as he could, pacing the fort
and looking desperately at her as she cried. To his surprise she
interrupted him, sobbing out: "There--isn't anything but--cold snow
here to sit on."
He stared at her an instant, and then he laughed with great relief.
"Nothing like a sense of nonsense to tide one over hard places,
Happiness! Come, get up then. If there is nothing but cold snow to sit
on, then sit on nothing! Happie, you're much too big-hearted a girl to
grudge Margery her happiness, and she's happy to-day, as happy as I
am! And please God I'll make her happy all her life--our pretty, sweet
Margery!"
Happie liked that. She essayed to dry her eyes, and accepted the hand
which Robert held out to raise her. "Oh, I won't be silly--if I can
help it," she sighed. "I won't be mean and selfish, anyway, whether
I can help it or not. It's only that Margery was waiting to be the
dearest sister in the world when I was born, and I worship her, and I
can't breathe without her. But if she has to marry I'm glad it's you;
I'll say that. I meant to live with her always. I planned the dearest
little house! If you're going to take her to Baltimore----"
Happie paused, her eyes tragic under the new apprehension.
"I'm not. I am going to enter a New York law office, and you shall
never be separated from Margery," promised Robert. "Your hand, little
sister, and say, 'Robert, I'll forgive you, and by and by I'll like
you--for Margery's sake.'"
Happie's lips still quivered, and her voice quivered still more, but
she looked up with a pale smile making a supreme effort to acquit
herself as Margery would have wished her to.
She put both hands into her new, almost-brother's, and said, "There
isn't anything to forgive, and I like you now for your own sake,
Robert."
"You dear little soul!" said Robert very sincerely. And he drew
Happie's hand through his arm to take her to the house.
"It was appropriate for you to grant amnesty in the fort, Happie," he
said, as he left her at the library door.