DREAM PLACES
“It isn’t so impracticable as you think, Mr. William Webster,” said
Polly O’Neill Burton from the depth of a big camp chair.
It was a warm April afternoon and tea was being served out under the
elms not far from the Webster house. Mollie Webster sat before a big
wicker table covered with the Webster tea service and china over a
hundred years old.
Dan Webster, who was a big, dark-haired fellow with blue eyes and his
mother’s sweet nature, was carrying about teacups. He was followed by
Ralph Marshall, who was spending a spring vacation from college at the
Webster farm, and was now making himself useful by serving the hot
muffins and cakes.
Billy Webster sat apart from the others reading, while Bettina and Polly
were on either side of Mrs. Burton’s camp chair; and Mr. Webster stood
upright, smiling down on its occupant.
“When was there anything that Polly O’Neill wanted from her girlhood up
that wasn’t practical according to her view?” he demanded.
The Polly in the camp chair reached up and took hold of his hand.
“Do sit down, William, I suppose I must call you by that bugbear of a
name, since we have another Billy and are getting so hopelessly old. We
shall have to find another name for Polly as well, now that we are going
to be together for a long time.” And having persuaded her brother-in-law
to sit down beside her, the older Polly pulled one of the younger’s
curls, “Why not Peggy, ‘Peg o’ My Heart,’ after the charming play? But
see here, William, I have persuaded my husband to come around to my way
of thinking, and he is not an easy person to manage.
“Although she won’t confess it, Mollie is half persuaded; and when I can
lead you to the light, then I must see Betty and Anthony. But,
seriously, why not? It will be a wonderful experience for the girls and
one we shall never forget in this life and perhaps in another. I have to
spend a year outdoors. For that length of time I am not to be allowed to
act for a single night. Richard must, of course, go on with his
engagements. Now I never am able to see my family or my friends when I
am working and I regret it a great deal more than any of you realize.
“Instead of being sent off somewhere with my maid to a horrid hotel,
where I shall probably die of the blues and the lonesomes, as I did once
years ago before Bobbin and Richard rescued me, why won’t all of you or
some of you come and camp in the desert with me?”
Polly’s cheeks were glowing with two bright spots of color and her eyes
darkening as they always did in moments of excitement or pleading. She
had forgotten the sofa pillows back of her, upon which she was supposed
to recline, like an invalid, and had raised herself upright in her chair
with one foot twisted up under her.
Mrs. Richard Burton was still as slender as Polly O’Neill had been, but,
unlike Mollie, her black hair had no gray in it. Her years of work and
success had kept her extraordinarily young; but then she had that vivid
quality which keeps people from ever growing old. She was not beautiful
and never had been, even as a girl; yet her face was extraordinarily
fascinating and her voice had an almost magic quality in it, which had
come from her long years of training as an actress.
Everybody watched her now, as they always did whenever she talked.
“I’ll come with pleasure, Mrs. Burton,” Ralph Marshall answered, walking
over toward her chair with his offerings from the tea table.
Looking at him in a friendly but half critical fashion, she shook her
head. Her sister had explained that Ralph was a college student and the
son of one of the richest men in the state, who was also a friend of her
husband’s and of Senator Graham’s.
“Sorry, but this is a Camp Fire girls’ expedition and no male persons
are allowed except relatives,” Mrs. Burton returned good-naturedly.
Then, moving her head in order to speak to her sister, she observed
Ralph drop a small piece of paper into Bettina’s lap. Also she saw
Bettina flush as her hand closed quickly over it.
“You know, Mollie, years ago when we started our Sunrise Camp Fire club
we began to wish then that we might live outdoors some day in a climate
where it would be possible the whole year through. Well, it has taken
half a lifetime to accomplish, but the idea is practical now. And even
if we have become somewhat elderly Camp Fire girls, your Polly and
Bettina’s Betty are not. Then I want to ask some other girls—Dick and
Esther’s two daughters—enough to form another Sunrise Hill club.”
“But it is the most extravagant project I ever heard of in my life,
Polly,” Mrs. Webster remonstrated. “I suppose you haven’t the shadow of
an idea what it may cost to have a dozen young persons living with you
in a tent in Arizona, or half a dozen tents. It all sounds too hot and
terrifying to me for anything. Please do forget all about it, my dear,
or we shall all be so uncomfortable,” she ended plaintively, as if there
were no escape had her twin sister made up her mind.
The others laughed.
“But you are not to come with us, Mollie, if you don’t like the idea,
and perhaps you would be frightened. Once years ago, I spent a night
alone near the desert and I have never forgotten the wonder of it. But
you will let me have Polly with me for the summer at least, and perhaps
the boys. The children have never been away from New England and it will
be a part of their education to see this western country of ours.”
At a short distance from the family group Billy Webster had suddenly
ceased reading. He was white and delicate looking for a country boy.
“Under no circumstances can the boys go with you, Polly,” Mr. Webster
said positively.
And Polly Webster, although appreciating her own selfishness, gave a
sigh of relief. This speech of her father’s gratified the desire of her
own heart, since it meant that she was to be allowed to go.
But the older Polly seemed not to have heard.
“Yes, I do know in a way what it will cost,” she argued. “At least,
Richard says I can perfectly afford it and he looks after the money we
both earn. Besides, Mollie dear, as I have no children of my own, I
don’t see why I can’t do for yours and a few others now and then.”
And Mollie, at the moment, said nothing more, for Polly’s one baby had
died a few years before.
“I have written to Esther in Boston that I want her two daughters, and I
am going to Washington to see Betty as soon as I am strong enough.”
Then she turned to Bettina. Since the beginning of their conversation
Bettina had not spoken. Polly scarcely remembered her making a dozen
speeches since her arrival, unless they were answers to questions. As
she had been talking all her life whenever there was the least
opportunity, Polly Burton feared that she was not going to be able to
understand Bettina. Then Betty had written such odd letters about her
only daughter, as if she herself did not altogether understand her.
But Betty’s letters had placed Bettina on a kind of pedestal, suggesting
that she lived in a finer, purer atmosphere than other girls. Mrs.
Burton was not so sure. At this moment she did not like the fashion in
which Bettina had received a mysterious note from Ralph Marshall. It
looked secretive. And Bettina was still flushed and embarrassed.
Polly felt a sudden qualm. After all, she knew little about girls, and
if anything happened to Betty’s or Mollie’s daughter while under her
care, would she not always feel responsible?
Bettina at this instant suddenly jumped up, her face growing warm and
lovely as she started running across the grass lawn like a graceful
child.
The next moment, forgetting her years and everything else, Mrs. Burton
fled after her.
For they had both discovered almost simultaneously that a carriage was
entering the gate which divided the Webster farm from the grounds about
the house. And out of the carriage a handkerchief was being riotously
waved.
At their approach the carriage stopped and a woman alighted.
She put her hands on Bettina’s shoulders kissing her on both cheeks.
“You are looking better, darling.”
Then she turned.
“Polly O’Neill, didn’t you know I would come from Washington as soon as
I learned you were in this part of the world? How can you look so
exactly like you always did as a girl, in spite of your age and honors?
You are thin as a rail.”
It was Betty Ashton—Mrs. Anthony Graham—exquisitely dressed and perhaps
more beautiful than ever. She was now recognized as one of the loveliest
women in Washington; indeed in the United States.
Yet she and the really great actress came gaily walking across the lawn,
with their arms about each other like school girls.
“Don’t tell me you think I have gained a pound, Polly O’Neill Burton, or
I shall never forgive you, though of course I know I have gained twenty.
How did I find out you were here? Why, Bettina telegraphed me. Isn’t she
lovely. She said you had some wonderful scheme on hand. Whoever saw
Polly without a problem. Have your own way, dear, as far as I am
concerned. It isn’t such a bad way as it sometimes seems. But I do wish
you looked stronger.”
Then Mollie joined her sister and friend.