EAST AND WEST
AMID the bulk of trunks and packing cases filling the scant space of
the Patty-Pans, Laura's importance loomed impressively. There was much
to be done to get the family belongings ready to vacate the little
apartment on the date set, but though carpets were being taken up,
books packed, walls dismantled of pictures, the whole dismal process of
moving getting done, Laura's sublime sense of what had befallen her had
the effect of narrowing down the entire process to making the genius of
the family ready for Germany.
"She's pitched on high C--for the high seas--and she drowns out all the
other instruments," said Happie, compunctious for feeling disgusted on
the eve of a long separation.
The little girl's outfit was to be simple, for once in Germany she
would be more really a little girl than she had been at home, and a
student little girl at that, whose needs are few. But Laura dove into
literature with a view to getting points on the outfitting of the
heroine who crosses the ocean, and she emerged with convictions as to
steamer chairs, steamer trunks, steamer rugs, sal volatile and numerous
other accessories, down to a cap and veil.
"I should like a veil that fluttered on the breeze when I leaned over
the rail to watch the--the dolphins," she said.
"My goodness! Dolphins, Laura! Drawing Neptune's chariot, or just out
on a lark?" cried Happie. "Porpoises, more likely! And it would be
better if they were porpoises, because you know the Mock Turtle told
Alice that no wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise. He said:
'If any fish came to me and told me he was going on a journey, I should
say: with what porpoise?'" Happie laughed with as much enjoyment as if
she were seven years old, having her Alice read to her for the first
time. She knew most of both the Alice books by heart--not that one can
know Alice any other way!
Laura frowned. "I am not a fish, though I am going on a long, long
journey," she said. "And I am glad to say there is plenty of purpose in
my journey."
"But you know the Mock Turtle replied that he meant what he said,
when Alice suggested that he meant 'purpose,' not porpoise. However,
you never did like Lewis Carroll! As to a veil, Laura, that you shall
have. I'll buy you--no! I'll give you one! Don't you remember that
lovely pale ecru thing I found? The one with chenille dots? I'll give
you that, and it shall flutter on the breeze, just as much as e'er you
please, every near-by nose 'twill tease, till the seasick ones shall
sneeze, while the por-phins sport at ease--isn't that a lonely rhyme to
get started on?" cried Happie.
"Very lovely, and perfectly idiotic!" said Laura, walking out of the
room in rigid disgust.
Laura's offense at ridicule never lasted long, chiefly because she had
the genius' chronic craving for sympathy. She came back after half
an hour dragging with her a Smyrna rug, very much worn, but which in
the course of its wearing had worn more on the Scollard nerves than
on itself. It was one of those ugly gifts to which the most fortunate
mortals are sometimes liable from their friends.
"Do you think I could use this as a steamer rug, Happie?" Laura asked
anxiously.
Happie looked up and out of the packing-case which for the moment
swallowed her. Her laugh was so contagious that Aunt Keren came into
the room laughing, and Margery ran in ready to join the fun.
"Only see, Auntie Keren and Margery, what Laura wants to take with
her for a steamer rug!" cried Happie. "That dreadful, worn floor
rug--Smyrna at that!"
"You funny little Exportation!" smiled Miss Keren. "That would hardly
do. You won't need a chair and a rug, for you won't sit mummified on
the voyage. Be satisfied with your delightful new flat trunk, that is
the only steamer appurtenance you need. Are you going down to close the
tea room this afternoon, girls?"
"Yes, Aunt Keren. The three E's are coming in, and the expressman is
coming after our boxes. We are to send them right to the new house,
aren't we?" Happie arose, dusting fragments of pine from her knees as
she spoke.
"Yes, except the books that you are giving to the hospital; better send
them direct," replied Miss Keren. "I am going there now. I'll stay till
the boxes arrive. Don't you think you ought to be getting started?"
"Immejit, ma'am!" said Happie. She was such a happy Happie these
eventful and promising days that she could not talk sober sense.
Margery was ready that moment, so Happie and Gretta and Laura hurried
on their hats and took Polly and Penny down to superintend shipping
away the furnishings of the tea room, and to witness the ceremony of
finally locking the door.
It was already a denuded tea room, the melancholy wreck of its pretty
self. It had been a successful room, and more than an important one.
The girls looked around its walls and stripped book-shelves, and
wondered if any other venture could have to its credit in such a
speedy closing so many vitally important results as this one showed.
The reuniting of the von Siegeslieds, Laura's consequent good fortune,
the endowment of Ralph for college--these good things were the direct
consequence of the "Tea Room and Circulating Library Conducted by Six
Girls."
Margery took the card bearing this legend from its hooks with a
reminiscent smile, half pensive, yet wholly glad. Gentle Margery bore
a thankful and a happy heart in these days. Not quite six months had
passed since the Scollards had come back to town, and this half year
had been teeming with good fortune for them all, but it had brought to
Margery--Robert.
A step outside made her look up just as she was creeping out of the
deep window in which their announcement card had hung. An old lady,
very small and somewhat bent, clad in deep mourning, was entering.
She was so unlike her old self that for an instant Margery did not
recognize in her Mrs. Jones-Dexter.
"I wanted to come here once more. The Charlefords told me you were
giving up here to-day," she said as Margery sprang to place a chair for
her.
She looked up in the girl's face and Margery could hardly meet the
wistful, tear-dimmed eyes. She knew they both remembered that Margery
had been little Serena's loving admiration.
"We are very glad to see you, Mrs. Jones-Dexter. But we are not going
away, except for the summer. In the autumn we are coming back to live
with Miss Bradbury in Fifty-eighth Street. Perhaps we shall see you
then?" said Margery, trying to give the pitiable old lady time to gain
the self-control for which she was struggling.
"Ah, yes, I hope to see you, all of you, as long as I live," she said.
"I have brought you something to-day, each of you. It seems rather like
a parting, this breaking up of your pleasant little tea room, even
though we shall meet elsewhere next year. I wanted your little Penny
to have all of Serena's prettiest gowns and ribbons, if you will permit
me to send them to her. She is younger, but my child was small of her
age, and they will fit her. And I want Polly to take care of her dolls,
with Penny's help, and this little ring is for Polly. And to Laura I
have brought this pin. Serena was too young to wear it, but she cared
for it a great deal. And somehow I thought that Happie would be fond
of this worn little copy of Stevenson's "Garden of Verse." Serena used
to sleep with it under her pillow. And you, Margery, will take this
miniature of my child. It is wonderfully like her, and it is beautiful
as a work of art. You loved her and so will doubly care for it. You and
Happie are to take, each of you, one of these chains--Serena has worn
them both. Don't thank me!" Mrs. Jones-Dexter put up her hand to check
Margery. "Such gifts are not for ordinary words. Now, as to Ralph. You
know that I have settled upon him what was Serena's income?"
"We know it with unspeakable pleasure, dear Mrs. Jones-Dexter," replied
Margery folding together the case that hid the lovely child face
looking up to her from the ivory as it used to smile at her up-stairs.
"Tell me truthfully. You like Ralph Gordon? You think he is a good sort
of boy?" asked the old lady making ready to go.
"He is the best boy I have ever known--except our best-of-best Bob!"
said Margery warmly. "He is upright, truthful, kind and tender as a
girl, full of fun, but reliable, and a model son and brother. We think
there never could be better boys than both the Gordons--but Ralph
is--well, Ralph is the elder. Perhaps Snigs--Charley, will be just as
fine at his age."
"Good! I mean to do a great deal for him--for them all--if I approve
them. I knew that your opportunity of judging them was better than mine
could be," said Mrs. Jones-Dexter. "My pretty Margery, did you know
that my grandnephew, whom you praise so warmly, has a boy's love for
your Happie?"
"Dear me, no, Mrs. Jones-Dexter!" cried Margery looking over to where
Happie was busy with Gretta, putting into boxes the last remaining cups
for the expressman's taking.
"He has," nodded Mrs. Jones-Dexter. "It is too early to be important,
but it might be!"
"We girls have been brought up not to play at romance. Happie and
Ralph are fond of each other, as Happie and Bob are--not as much so,
of course, but in that same frank, chummy way," said Margery. "Mother
doesn't like to have us think of romance--till it comes!" Margery
stopped, with a laugh and a blush.
"As it has, and early too, to you!" commented Mrs. Jones-Dexter. "Quite
right your mother is! Yet Ralph is dreaming of Happie. We will keep
our own counsel, Maid Margery, and hope that the dream may grow into
something more than a boy's first romance, if my grandnephew is the
boy you think him. Happie, Gretta, come here and say how do you do and
good-bye to me! I am going. Laura, _bon voyage_, little girl! Kiss me,
Polly and Penny." She stooped to kiss the children, and Polly gave her
a gratuitous hug, moved by the expression in the desolate old eyes.
But Penny did not get her kiss. Dropping her veil over her face Mrs.
Jones-Dexter fled from Penny's warm, living embrace.
There was not time to dwell on the sadness aroused by this visit, for
the expressman arrived earlier than he was expected, and proved to
be so dense-minded that Margery and Happie committed their boxes to
his care with the firm conviction that the cups and other tea room
belongings would go to the hospital and the books to the new house, in
spite of the cards attached to them and the girls' reiterated charges.
The three E's swept down like three of the four winds at the last
moment, just when the girls were giving them up. They were standing
taking mental farewell of the now empty room, bare of all save Mrs.
von Siegeslied's piano. This stood crated and ready for its voyage to
Germany. It had been too integral a part of the reunion of the husband
and wife to be abandoned. Had it not been for this piano the mysterious
Herr Lieder would not have haunted the tea room, nor been discovered as
but the disguise of the Herr Baron von Siegeslied.
"We can't stay one single second," panted Edith Charleford, proving
her words by dropping on an empty box, the only remaining seat, and
fanning herself with the hat she promptly removed. "We got late going
to a photographer and getting our pictures taken. Those strip pictures,
Hapsie--six views of the face in the cutest ovals, all for twenty-five
cents! We had them done to give Laura, and they are so nice we are
going to get some printed for you. Here are yours, Laura. Take them
over to the Vaterland, and remember we when these you see! Please look
at the left profile on the strip of me! I had no idea the right side of
my face was so different!"
"Let me see, Laura!" cried Happie, crowding up. "It isn't, Edith. It's
alike. It's the left side that is different!"
"Happie, you are such a delicious idiot!" sighed Edith with the most
sincerely complimentary intentions. "There isn't one of the girls
says the lovely nonsense foolish things you do. That's why we can't
get along without you all summer! Do you know what? I've got mamma to
promise to go up to one of the hotels--you're to select it--in your
mountains, for awhile this year. We'd like to see Crestville, the Ark
and our Happiness this summer."
"Hurrah!" remarked Happie. "We are worth seeing, all three of us.
Gretta and I will drive up to call on you in state at the big hotel,
and when you return the call you shall come down and play in our barn
and ride on our hay wagon in no state at all."
"Hurrah!" echoed Edith. "That sounds fine. Now we must go home. Oh,
there are the boys; that nice, independent, kind-hearted Ralph Gordon,
your Bob--and Margery's Robert! Is my hat on straight, Eleanor? And am
I mashing my bows with my hat pins?"
"No, only trying to," remarked Elsie with a glance that pointed her
remark. Elsie did not disdain slang nor a pun.
"Gretta, there is a package mother sent you. She said that you were not
to think she considered it in any sense payment for what you did for me
last winter. But she did want to give you some remembrance, since you
wouldn't go to school."
Gretta almost laughed. "That would have been a reminder!" she said as
she took the small square package. She opened it while the others were
diverted by the arrival of the boys. It was a dark green leather case,
in which rested a beautiful tiny watch. The watch was held by a pin,
its design the seal of the State of Pennsylvania, dark blue and green
enamel on a gold ground. A card lay on the satin cushion of the box. On
it was written: "To Miss Angela Key-Stone, from Elsie Barker and her
grateful mother."
Gretta closed the box. Bob looked at her, wondering at the pleasure in
her face and thinking, as he thought of late more often than ever: "My,
but Gretta's a beauty!"
He said aloud: "We four came to take you girls home from the ex-tea
room for the last time. Nice little place, we're sorry to say good-bye!"
The girls gathered in the doorway. They looked back as Margery put her
key in the lock--the key that she was to relinquish to an agent in the
morning--just as she had done when, nearly half a year ago, they had
come down to see that everything was in order for their opening. But
then Robert had not been there!
"All together say good-bye, and then, Margery, shut and lock the door!"
cried Bob. "Now then: One, two, three--Good-bye!"
Margery pulled the door together, turned her key took it out and handed
it to Bob, tried the door to make sure it was fast, and they all walked
away. The tea room was no more!
There were not many days left in the Patty-Pans. Mrs. Scollard was at
home to attend to the duties with which they were filled, at home for
good and all, in fact. The foreign correspondence was over and done
with. It all seemed like a dream, but to prove that it was not one
there was the new house down in Fifty-eighth Street to which frequent
visits were necessary, and the trunks into which she was packing summer
clothing for the Ark.
Laura began to realize the great change that lay before her as these
last days slipped past. Her pompous manner began to shrink; in its
place came a timidity and wistfulness that was most becoming. Laura
forgot that she was a genius and remembered only that she was a little
girl about to separate from the best mother in the world for the first
time and for a long time. Although she had grown too tall for rocking,
she fell into the habit of creeping into her mother's room every night
at dusk to be held in her low chair and rocked as if she had been three
instead of thirteen. Her heels scraped on the floor, bare except for
a rug left out to lay in front of the bed, but if the heels scraped,
Laura's arms were tight around her mother's neck, and mother and
daughter talked and talked, laying in a store of confidence and advice
against the days of separation. There was so much that was comforting
and intimate in these twilight confidences that they consoled Mrs.
Scollard for the coming parting, even while they made her feel that
she could ill spare this queer and somewhat remote child from out her
little flock.
At last there came the morning when, everything finished, the Scollards
were to leave the Patty-Pans. Jeunesse Dorée was protestingly strapped
in his basket; the two least children were ready, Polly in charge of
the yellow cat, Penny intrusted with Phyllis Lovelocks, Polly's doll;
Penny's family was never fit to travel in the public eye. Laura's ship
sailed in the forenoon, and from Hoboken, so that her family was to see
her off, dine as best they could in their station and take the train
for Crestville which left at two in the afternoon.
Bob was going with them. He was tempted to regret the added twelve
months which entailed upon him the responsibility of increased age, and
prevented his spending an uninterrupted summer in the country, as he
had done the preceding year.
Miss Keren, crisp and brisk as usual in the excitement of marshaling
her adopted family forever out of the pleasant little flat into a life
of greater leisure and more opportunity, tied the strings of her little
black straw bonnet with a snap. Then she picked up her gloves and
turned from the window, with its background of jutting wall, which had
been serving her as a mirror in lieu of mirrors packed and being moved
out and into the vans below.
"Now, Laura, little girl, bid your old Aunt Keren good-bye, for I am
going down to the Fifty-eighth Street house to receive these vans
when they get there. I will meet you at the station, Charlotte, on
the Hoboken side, of course. If anything happened that I didn't get
there--as I shall unless these drivers are more than slow!--go right
on to Crestville, and send Don Dolor down to the noon train to meet me
to-morrow. Good-bye, Laura child. Remember to work hard at your music,
but harder at your character. God bless you, dear."
Miss Keren walked away without a backward glance at the little
Patty-Pans. But its proper tenants gave it many last looks as they
slowly filed out. It had been home for nearly six years, and, "be it
ever so flat, home is home," as Bob truthfully said. The Scollards
left their own furniture slowly starting away from the house. The
janitor and the hall boy waved them a farewell, but the Gordon flat was
blank.
First among the crowd on the dock of the great white liner was Ralph,
and just behind him was Snigs with their mother, and to their right all
of Happie's E's, Robert Gaston and the von Siegeslieds, waiting the
coming of the Scollards.
There was not much time for lingering; the Scollards were somewhat
later in arriving than they had meant to be. The entire party crowded
over the gangway and on to the swarming deck of the ship, amid the
groups of gay, tearful, excited and tired people about to sail or to
say good-bye.
There was time to inspect the stateroom which Laura was to share with
Mrs. von Siegeslied, time to peep at the salon, and rapidly to glance
at the decks and then to return to the stateroom to admire the flowers
which had been sent by her pupils to her who had been Mrs. Stewart,
and whose interesting change of name and fortune had been an absorbing
topic for a day or two among her friends.
"Must you go, mamma?" asked Laura, looking white and helpless.
"I go west and you go east, Laura. Suppose I leave you here? Then after
a little while Mrs. von Siegeslied will bring you out on deck and you
will see us and wave to us as you steam out and we watch you from the
dock!" proposed Mrs. Scollard cheerfully.
But Laura felt her mother's arms tighten around her as the little girl
clutched her. "I'll say good-bye to you all here: Penny first," said
Laura.
Penny kissed her again and again as Laura devoured the Scollard
baby's soft cheek. Next Polly, quiet and staid and deeply impressed,
kissed good-bye this first sister to leave her. Happie hugged Laura
speechlessly and relinquished her to Margery, who folded her in her
arms in an embrace almost maternal.
"I'll kiss you good-bye, Robert, because you may be my brother while
I'm gone," sobbed Laura, overcome by this leave taking.
Robert kissed the child and put into her hot hands a small package. "A
consolation prize; open it after you start," he whispered.
Ralph, Snigs, Mrs. Gordon, Mrs. Charleford, all the E's, bade Laura
good-bye with warm good wishes.
"Mamma, dear, dearest mamma!" whispered Laura, and mother and daughter
held each other close for a minute.
"But I'm glad, I'm very glad I'm going, and I shall come back famous!"
declared Laura bravely, though tears made the prophecy difficult.
The Scollards drew up in line on the dock. Bob had joined them. He had
lingered to say good-bye to Laura after the others, with a word of
elder brotherly council that he had not cared to let any one else hear.
The great white ship swung out of the slip and into the open stream.
The bright May sunshine lighted her clean scrubbed decks and illumined
the pale and tear-stained, yet jubilant face of the little aspirant for
glory. Laura waved her hands to her assembled family, held fast on one
side by Mrs. von Siegeslied's arm, and on the other by the hand of him
who had been Herr Lieder, laid caressingly and with a promise in its
touch, on her shoulder.
"We are a fortunate family!" declared Happie. "The six luckiest girls
in the world."
"And boy," supplemented Bob. "Laura eastward, we westward! Now to dine,
and then: Ho for Crestville and our mountains and green fields once
more!"
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
page 22 Magaret changed to Margaret (our beloved sisters
Margaret and Keren-happuch)
page 43 solt changed to soft (Laura's a soft, faded pink)
page 137 forgiveingly changed to forgivingly (with a soul far from
forgivingly at peace)
page 190 hasband changed to husband (Elizabeth Spencer and her
husband)
page 194 sphagetti changed to spaghetti (steaming dishful of
spaghetti)
page 283 Leider changed to Lieder (You are her husband, Herr Lieder)
Happie, Happy, Hapsie are used as nicknames for Keren-happach.