While Jack was hopping gayly about on his crutches, poor Jill was
feeling the effects of her second fall, and instead of sitting up, as
she hoped to do after six weeks of rest, she was ordered to lie on a
board for two hours each day. Not an easy penance, by any means, for the
board was very hard, and she could do nothing while she lay there, as it
did not slope enough to permit her to read without great fatigue of both
eyes and hands. So the little martyr spent her first hour of trial in
sobbing, the second in singing, for just as her mother and Mrs. Minot
were deciding in despair that neither she nor they could bear it, Jill
suddenly broke out into a merry chorus she used to hear her father
sing:--
“Faut jouer le mirliton,
Faut jouer le mirlitir,
Faut jouer le mirliter,
Mir--li--ton.”
The sound of the brave little voice was very comforting to the two
mothers hovering about her, and Jack said, with a look of mingled pity
and admiration, as he brandished his crutch over the imaginary foes,--
“That's right! Sing away, and we'll play you are an Indian captive being
tormented by your enemies, and too proud to complain. I'll watch the
clock, and the minute time is up I'll rush in and rescue you.”
Jill laughed, but the fancy pleased her, and she straightened herself
out under the gay afghan, while she sang, in a plaintive voice, another
little French song her father taught her:--
“J'avais une colombe blanche,
J'avais un blanc petit pigeon,
Tous deux volaient, de branche en branche,
Jusqu'au faîte de mon dongeon:
Mais comme un coup de vent d'automne,
S'est abattu là, l'épervier,
Et ma colombe si mignonne
Ne revient plus au colombier.”
“My poor Jean had a fine voice, and always hoped the child would take
after him. It would break his heart to see her lying there trying to
cheer her pain with the songs he used to sing her to sleep with,” said
Mrs. Pecq, sadly.
“She really has a great deal of talent, and when she is able she shall
have some lessons, for music is a comfort and a pleasure, sick or well,”
answered Mrs. Minot, who had often admired the fresh voice, with its
pretty accent.
Here Jill began the Canadian boat-song, with great vigor, as if bound to
play her part of Indian victim with spirit, and not disgrace herself by
any more crying. All knew the air, and joined in, especially Jack, who
came out strong on the “Row, brothers, row,” but ended in a squeak on a
high note, so drolly, that the rest broke down. So the hour that began
with tears ended with music and laughter, and a new pleasure to think of
for the future.
After that day Jill exerted all her fortitude, for she liked to have the
boys call her brave and admire the cheerful way in which she endured two
hours of discomfort. She found she could use her zither as it lay upon
her breast, and every day the pretty music began at a certain hour, and
all in the house soon learned to love and listen for it. Even the old
cook set open her kitchen door, saying pitifully, “Poor darlint, hear
how purty she's singin', wid the pain, on that crewel boord. It's a
little saint, she is. May her bed above be aisy!”
Frank would lift her gently on and off, with a kind word that comforted
her immensely, and gentle Ed would come and teach her new bits of music,
while the other fellows were frolicking below. Ralph added his share to
her amusement, for he asked leave to model her head in clay, and set up
his work in a corner, coming to pat, scrape, and mould whenever he had
a spare minute, amusing her by his lively chat, and showing her how to
shape birds, rabbits, and queer faces in the soft clay, when the songs
were all sung and her fingers tired of the zither.
The girls sympathized very heartily with her new trial, and brought
all manner of gifts to cheer her captivity. Merry and Molly made a
gay screen by pasting pictures on the black cambric which covered the
folding frame that stood before her to keep the draughts from her as she
lay on her board. Bright birds and flowers, figures and animals, covered
one side, and on the other they put mottoes, bits of poetry, anecdotes,
and short stories, so that Jill could lie and look or read without the
trouble of holding a book. It was not all done at once, but grew slowly,
and was a source of instruction as well as amusement to them all, as
they read carefully, that they might make good selections.
But the thing that pleased Jill most was something Jack did, for he gave
up going to school, and stayed at home nearly a fortnight after he might
have gone, all for her sake. The day the doctor said he might try it
if he would be very careful, he was in great spirits, and limped about,
looking up his books, and planning how he would astonish his mates by
the rapidity of his recovery. When he sat down to rest he remembered
Jill, who had been lying quietly behind the screen, while he talked with
his mother, busy putting fresh covers on the books.
“She is so still, I guess she is asleep,” thought Jack, peeping round
the corner.
No, not asleep, but lying with her eyes fixed on the sunny window,
beyond which the bright winter world sparkled after a fresh snow-fall.
The jingle of sleigh-bells could be heard, the laughter of boys and
girls on their way to school, all the pleasant stir of a new day of
happy work and play for the rest of the world, more lonely, quiet, and
wearisome than ever to her since her friend and fellow-prisoner was set
free and going to leave her.
Jack understood that patient, wistful look, and, without a word, went
back to his seat, staring at the fire so soberly, that his mother
presently asked: “What are you thinking of so busily, with that pucker
in your forehead?”
“I've about made up my mind that I won't go to school just yet,”
answered Jack, slowly lifting his head, for it cost him something to
give up the long-expected pleasure.
“Why not?” and Mrs. Minot looked much surprised, till Jack pointed to
the screen, and, making a sad face to express Jill's anguish, answered
in a cheerful tone, “Well, I'm not sure that it is best. Doctor did not
want me to go, but said I might because I teased. I shall be sure to
come to grief, and then every one will say, 'I told you so,' and that is
so provoking. I'd rather keep still a week longer. Hadn't I better?”
His mother smiled and nodded as she said, sewing away at much-abused old
Caesar, as if she loved him, “Do as you think best, dear. I always want
you at home, but I don't wonder you are rather tired of it after this
long confinement.”
“I say, Jill, should I be in your way if I didn't go to school till the
first of February?” called Jack, laughing to himself at the absurdity of
the question.
“Not much!” answered a glad voice from behind the screen, and he knew
the sorrowful eyes were shining with delight, though he could not see
them.
“Well, I guess I may as well, and get quite firm on my legs before I
start. Another week or so will bring me up if I study hard, so I shall
not lose my time. I'll tackle my Latin as soon as it's ready, mother.”
Jack got a hearty kiss with the neatly covered book, and Mamma loved him
for the little sacrifice more than if he had won a prize at school. He
did get a reward, for, in five minutes from the time he decided, Jill
was singing like a bobolink, and such a medley of merry music came from
behind the screen, that it was a regular morning concert. She did not
know then that he stayed for her sake, but she found it out soon after,
and when the time came did as much for him, as we shall see.
It proved a wise decision, for the last part of January was so stormy
Jack could not have gone half the time. So, while the snow drifted, and
bitter winds raged, he sat snugly at home amusing Jill, and getting on
bravely with his lessons, for Frank took great pains with him to show
his approbation of the little kindness, and, somehow, the memory of it
seemed to make even the detested Latin easier.
With February fair weather set in, and Jack marched happily away to
school, with Jill's new mittens on his hands, Mamma nodding from the
door-step, and Frank ready to give him a lift on the new sled, if the
way proved too long or too rough.
“I shall not have time to miss him now, for we are to be very busy
getting ready for the Twenty-second. The Dramatic Club meets to-night,
and would like to come here, if they may, so I can help?” said Jill, as
Mrs. Minot came up, expecting to find her rather low in her mind.
“Certainly; and I have a basket of old finery I looked up for the club
when I was rummaging out bits of silk for your blue quilt,” answered
the good lady, who had set up a new employment to beguile the hours of
Jack's absence.
When the girls arrived, that evening, they found Mrs. Chairwoman
surrounded by a strew of theatrical properties, enjoying herself very
much. All brought such contributions as they could muster, and all were
eager about a certain tableau which was to be the gem of the whole, they
thought. Jill, of course, was not expected to take any part, but her
taste was good, so all consulted her as they showed their old silks,
laces, and flowers, asking who should be this, and who that. All wanted
to be the “Sleeping Beauty,” for that was the chosen scene, with the
slumbering court about the princess, and the prince in the act of
awakening her. Jack was to be the hero, brave in his mother's velvet
cape, red boots, and a real sword, while the other boys were to have
parts of more or less splendor.
“Mabel should be the Beauty, because her hair is so lovely,” said
Juliet, who was quite satisfied with her own part of the Queen.
“No, Merry ought to have it, as she is the prettiest, and has that
splendid veil to wear,” answered Molly, who was to be the maid of honor,
cuffing the little page, Boo.
“I don't care a bit, but my feather would be fine for the Princess, and
I don't know as Emma would like to have me lend it to any one else,”
said Annette, waving a long white plume over her head, with girlish
delight in its grace.
“I should think the white silk dress, the veil, and the feather ought to
go together, with the scarlet crape shawl and these pearls. That would
be sweet, and just what princesses really wear,” advised Jill, who was
stringing a quantity of old Roman pearls.
“We all want to wear the nice things, so let us draw lots. Wouldn't
that be the fairest way?” asked Merry, looking like a rosy little bride,
under a great piece of illusion, which had done duty in many plays.
“The Prince is light, so the Princess must be darkish. We ought to
choose the girl who will look best, as it is a picture. I heard Miss
Delano say so, when the ladies got up the tableaux, last winter, and
every one wanted to be Cleopatra,” said Jill decidedly.
“You choose, and then if we can't agree we will draw lots,” proposed
Susy, who, being plain, knew there was little hope of her getting a
chance in any other way.
So all stood in a row, and Jill, from her sofa, surveyed them
critically, feeling that the one Jack would really prefer was not among
the number.
“I choose that one, for Juliet wants to be Queen, Molly would make
faces, and the others are too big or too light,” pronounced Jill,
pointing to Merry, who looked pleased, while Mabel's face darkened, and
Susy gave a disdainful sniff.
“You'd better draw lots, and then there will be no fuss. Ju and I
are out of the fight, but you three can try, and let this settle the
matter,” said Molly, handing Jill a long strip of paper.
All agreed to let it be so, and when the bits were ready drew in turn.
This time fate was evidently on Merry's side, and no one grumbled when
she showed the longest paper.
“Go and dress, then come back, and we'll plan how we are to be placed
before we call up the boys,” commanded Jill, who was manager, since she
could be nothing else.
The girls retired to the bedroom and began to “rig up,” as they called
it; but discontent still lurked among them, and showed itself in sharp
words, envious looks, and disobliging acts.
“Am I to have the white silk and the feather?” asked Merry, delighted
with the silvery shimmer of the one and the graceful droop of the other,
though both were rather shabby.
“You can use your own dress. I don't see why you should have
everything,” answered Susy, who was at the mirror, putting a wreath of
scarlet flowers on her red head, bound to be gay since she could not be
pretty.
“I think I'd better keep the plume, as I haven't anything else that is
nice, and I'm afraid Emma wouldn't like me to lend it,” added Annette,
who was disappointed that Mabel was not to be the Beauty.
“_I_ don't intend to act at all!” declared Mabel, beginning to braid up
her hair with a jerk, out of humor with the whole affair.
“_I_ think you are a set of cross, selfish girls to back out and keep
your nice things just because you can't _all_ have the best part.
I'm ashamed of you!” scolded Molly, standing by Merry, who was sadly
surveying her mother's old purple silk, which looked like brown in the
evening.
“I'm going to have Miss Delano's red brocade for the Queen, and I shall
ask her for the yellow-satin dress for Merry when I go to get mine, and
tell her how mean you are,” said Juliet, frowning under her gilt-paper
crown as she swept about in a red table-cloth for train till the brocade
arrived.
“Perhaps you'd like to have Mabel cut her hair off, so Merry can have
that, too?” cried Susy, with whom hair was a tender point.
“Light hair isn't wanted, so Ju will have to give hers, or you'd better
borrow Miss Bat's frisette,” added Mabel, with a scornful laugh.
“I just wish Miss Bat was here to give you girls a good shaking. Do let
someone else have a chance at the glass, you peacock!” exclaimed Molly
Loo, pushing Susy aside to arrange her own blue turban, out of which she
plucked the pink pompon to give Merry.
“Don't quarrel about me. I shall do well enough, and the scarlet shawl
will hide my ugly dress,” said Merry, from the corner, where she sat
waiting for her turn at the mirror.
As she spoke of the shawl her eye went in search of it, and something
that she saw in the other room put her own disappointment out of her
head. Jill lay there all alone, rather tired with the lively chatter,
and the effort it cost her not to repine at being shut out from the
great delight of dressing up and acting.
Her eyes were closed, her net was off, and all the pretty black curls
lay about her shoulders as one hand idly pulled them out, while the
other rested on the red shawl, as if she loved its glowing color and
soft texture. She was humming to herself the little song of the dove and
the donjon, and something in the plaintive voice, the solitary figure,
went straight to Merry's gentle heart.
“Poor Jilly can't have any of the fun,” was the first thought; then came
a second, that made Merry start and smile, and in a minute whisper
so that all but Jill could hear her, “Girls, I'm not going to be the
Princess. But I've thought of a splendid one!”
“Who?” asked the rest, staring at one another, much surprised by this
sudden announcement.
“Hush! Speak low, or you will spoil it all. Look in the Bird Room, and
tell me if that isn't a prettier Princess than I could make?”
They all looked, but no one spoke, and Merry added, with sweet
eagerness, “It is the only thing poor Jill can be, and it would make
her so happy; Jack would like it, and it would please every one, I know.
Perhaps she will never walk again, so we ought to be very good to her,
poor dear.”
The last words, whispered with a little quiver in the voice, settled
the matter better than hours of talking, for girls are tender-hearted
creatures, and not one of these but would have gladly given all the
pretty things she owned to see Jill dancing about well and strong again.
Like a ray of sunshine the kind thought touched and brightened every
face; envy, impatience, vanity, and discontent flew away like imps at
the coming of the good fairy, and with one accord they all cried,--
“It will be lovely; let us go and tell her!”
Forgetting their own adornment, out they trooped after Merry, who ran
to the sofa, saying, with a smile which was reflected in all the other
faces, “Jill, dear, we have chosen another Princess, and I know you'll
like her.”
“Who is it?” asked Jill, languidly, opening her eyes without the least
suspicion of the truth.
“I'll show you;” and taking the cherished veil from her own head, Merry
dropped it like a soft cloud over Jill; Annette added the long plume,
Susy laid the white silk dress about her, while Juliet and Mabel lifted
the scarlet shawl to spread it over the foot of the sofa, and Molly tore
the last ornament from her turban, a silver star, to shine on Jill's
breast. Then they all took hands and danced round the couch, singing, as
they laughed at her astonishment, “There she is! There she is! Princess
Jill as fine as you please!
“Do you really mean it? But can I? Is it fair? How sweet of you! Come
here and let me hug you all!” cried Jill, in a rapture at the surprise,
and the pretty way in which it was done.
The grand scene on the Twenty-second was very fine, indeed; but the
little tableau of that minute was infinitely better, though no one saw
it, as Jill tried to gather them all in her arms, for that nosegay of
girlish faces was the sweeter, because each one had sacrificed her own
little vanity to please a friend, and her joy was reflected in the eyes
that sparkled round the happy Princess.
“Oh, you dear, kind things, to think of me and give me all your best
clothes! I never shall forget it, and I'll do anything for you. Yes!
I'll write and ask Mrs. Piper to lend us her ermine cloak for the king.
See if I don't!”
Shrieks of delight hailed this noble offer, for no one had dared to
borrow the much-coveted mantle, but all agreed that the old lady would
not refuse Jill. It was astonishing how smoothly everything went
after this, for each was eager to help, admire, and suggest, in the
friendliest way; and when all were dressed, the boys found a party
of very gay ladies waiting for them round the couch, where lay the
brightest little Princess ever seen.
“Oh, Jack, I'm to act! Wasn't it dear of the girls to choose me? Don't
they look lovely? Aren't you glad?” cried Jill, as the lads stared and
the lasses blushed and smiled, well pleased at the frank admiration the
boyish faces showed.
“I guess I am! You are a set of trumps, and we'll give you a first-class
spread after the play to pay for it. Won't we, fellows?” answered
Jack, much gratified, and feeling that now he could act his own part
capitally.
“We will. It was a handsome thing to do, and we think well of you for
it. Hey, Gus?” and Frank nodded approvingly at all, though he looked
only at Annette.
“As king of this crowd, I call it to order,” said Gus, retiring to the
throne, where Juliet sat laughing in her red table-cloth.
“We'll have 'The Fair One with Golden Locks' next time; I promise you
that,” whispered Ed to Mabel, whose shining hair streamed over her blue
dress like a mantle of gold-colored silk.
“Girls are pretty nice things, aren't they? Kind of 'em to take Jill
in. Don't Molly look fine, though?” and Grif's black eyes twinkled as he
planned to pin her skirts to Merry's at the first opportunity.
“Susy looks as gay as a feather-duster. I like her. She never snubs a
fellow,” said Joe, much impressed with the splendor of the court ladies.
The boys' costumes were not yet ready, but they posed well, and all had
a merry time, ending with a game of blind-man's-buff, in which every one
caught the right person in the most singular way, and all agreed as they
went home in the moonlight that it had been an unusually jolly meeting.
So the fairy play woke the sleeping beauty that lies in all of us, and
makes us lovely when we rouse it with a kiss of unselfish good-will,
for, though the girls did not know it then, they had adorned themselves
with pearls more precious than the waxen ones they decked their Princess
in.