planned and enjoyed with the assistance of their friends. Each year
those who were invited were asked to appear in costumes suited to a
chosen period, the range of which might be several hundred years, but
within the limits of time and place each costume had to be artistically
correct, and meet the approval of the costume committee. This was to be
Brenda's first experience of the Festival, and earlier in the season,
when she and Arthur had talked about it, she had planned a certain style
of fourteenth-century costume, and Arthur was to go as her page. Ralph
had selected the plates, and though the time was then far off, they had
talked very definitely of what they should expect from the Festival. But
now--
Brenda decided to make a final test of Arthur. She would remind him of
the approaching Artists' Festival.
"I shall be mortified to death," she had said to Agnes, "if Arthur does
not return in season for it."
"Oh, I fear that he cannot, Brenda, from what he writes Ralph; I should
judge that he has work enough to keep him busy all the spring."
"Well, it would be nothing for him to come here for two or three days
and then return to Washington; he used to be so fond of travelling."
"You might write," responded Agnes. "Perhaps he may come."
But in answer to Brenda's brief and rather imperative note Arthur wrote
simply that it was impossible for him to leave Washington now, greatly
as he should have enjoyed the Festival. Then after a page of more
personal matter he added that even if he could go to Boston, he should
feel indisposed to take part in gayeties at a season when the affairs of
the country were so unsettled.
"Humph!" said Ralph, when Brenda repeated this part of the letter to
him. "They must be nearer war in Washington than we are here, for I can
contemplate an Artists' Festival without feeling that I am deserting my
country in its hour of need."
As for Brenda herself, when Arthur's letter was closely followed by one
from Belle, in which she described a delightful dinner of the evening
before at Senator Harmon's, she tore Belle's letter as well as Arthur's
into small pieces; for Belle had told her that Arthur was one of the
gayest of the guests at the dinner.
Yet even those who were pretty certain that war was near felt that there
could be no harm in planning for the Festival. Pamela was naturally
interested, but the medieval period chosen demanded more expensive
materials and a more elaborate costume than she felt disposed to
prepare. Julia was uncertain whether she cared to give the time to it,
and Miss South declared that she herself had not the energy to go.
"So you, Anstiss, are the only one of us who will ornament the scene,"
said Julia; "though I really think that Pamela ought to go, it is so
directly in line with the things that she likes."
"As to that, it is ridiculous, Julia, that you shouldn't be there. When
you were out at Radcliffe you used to encourage operettas and tableaux
and all such things, but now--"
"Well, now," responded Julia, "I feel as if I were working for a living
and ought not to waste my time in frivolities."
"That is where you are very foolish. Soon we shall hear loud protests
from your aunt and uncle; indeed, they will probably come and drag you
away. They would be justified, too, if you continue in your
determination to have your whole life bounded by these walls."
"Very comfortable walls they are, too, but I hate to wander too far in
search of costumes, and the thousand and one little things that are
necessary to make them complete. It is too much trouble for one
evening's enjoyment."
"There!" exclaimed Miss South as Julia had finished, "I have an idea;
come with me."
It was late and the pupils had all gone to bed, and Concetta, hearing
unwonted steps going to the upper story, pushed her door open a little,
and was surprised to see the strange procession winding upwards.
It took its way to the end room in the attic, and when she had lit the
gas Miss South asked Anstiss to help her lift out a chest from a corner
of the closet. Selecting a small key from her ring and opening the
trunk, she began to unfold one or two garments.
"Oh, how beautiful! But who could have worn it?" exclaimed Julia, as a
velvet gown trimmed with ermine and with a long train unfolded itself
before them.
"Ah, but this is lovelier!" she added, as a dove-colored brocade with
pattern outlined in pink was shown, intended evidently to be worn with
the pink satin petticoat that accompanied it. Further delving into the
trunk brought out pointed shoes, elaborate head-dresses, and other
fantastic things.
"Did your grandmother ever wear these clothes?" asked Anstiss in
surprise. "I should hardly think that they were of the style even of her
day."
"Oh, these things are intended for costume parties," returned Miss
South. "My grandmother described some of the occasions when she first
wore them abroad. She took the greatest care of them, and every spring
she herself supervised her maid when she shook them and did them up
again in camphor. Strangely enough I have been so busy the past year
that I had forgotten about these particular things. There are two
complete costumes. One of them is entirely in the period of the
Festival, and the other needs so little alteration that you and Pamela,
Julia, will be completely equipped, with almost no thought in the
matter."
"But why won't you go yourself?"
"I have quite made up my mind about that; for the present, at least, I
have no desire for gayety."
It was really amazing that these two costumes should have been found so
perfectly to meet all the requirements of the Festival. Julia, of
course, could have had a costume especially designed for her by a
costumer, but as she had said, in talking it over with Brenda, she was
by no means in the mood for this, and she would have stayed home rather
than waste the time in this way.
Brenda threw herself into the preparations for the Festival as if she
had no other interest in the world. She was to be a principal figure in
the group that Ralph had arranged. With an artist's sense of beauty, and
an accuracy that no one had ever before suspected, Ralph planned the
costumes, and insisted that they should deviate in no particular from
his design. To effect this proved an unending occupation for Brenda and
Agnes.
"There's one thing, Ralph, that has come out of this," said his wife one
day after he had given her a lecture on the unsuitability of certain
trimmings that she had selected. "After this I shall never worry about
our future."
"Have you been doing so?" he asked in some surprise.
"Well, I have had misgivings as to what might happen if you should
become blind, or if your pictures should fail to sell, or if Papa should
lose his money, or--"
"How many more 'ifs,'" he asked; "I had no idea that you were a borrower
of trouble. What have I done to deserve this thoughtfulness, or perhaps
I should say thoughtlessness, on your part; for you say that now you
have ceased to worry."
"Why, I am sure that you could transform yourself into a man milliner;
in fact, I'm not sure that I may not try to persuade you to change to a
more lucrative profession than that of a mere painter of portraits. From
the very way in which you hold that little pincushion under your arm, I
am sure that you would be a great success."
Ralph only smiled as he snipped a bit from the end of a velvet train.
Then he moved off a little, that he might survey his work from a
distance.
"It looks like a milliner's shop," said Brenda, pointing to the litter
of silk and velvets, embroideries and fur, strewn over chairs, tables,
and divan.
"Yes, and I feel much as if I were waiting for customers. I believe,
however, that no more are expected this afternoon. I can therefore
attend to my mail orders. Tom Hearst, by the way, is coming on, and I am
designing something for him."
"Well, if Tom can spare the time, I should think that Arthur might."
"Ah, Arthur writes that he is too much concerned at the prospect of war.
He apparently does not approve of our frivolous doings. The times are
too serious."
"I do not see why he need take things so to heart. He is not a--a
reconcentrado." Brenda's words may have seemed like an attempt at
levity, but, indeed, she felt far from cheerful. She concluded with a
weak, little "But you don't think that there will be a war, do you,
Ralph?"
"I do, indeed, think that there will be a war, dear sister-in-law, but I
also think that it may be some distance off, and that we might as well
eat, drink, and be merry, in other words, enjoy the Artists' Festival,"
he rejoined.
XVI
THE ARTISTS' FESTIVAL
It was unfortunate that the Artists' Festival should have fallen on the
evening of the day succeeding the formal declaration of war, or, as some
of the younger people put it, that war should have been declared on the
eve of the Festival; for, they urged, the arrangements for the Festival
had been made before war had been even thought of, and so, if the
President and Congress had only waited a day--
But public affairs take their course, and Boston is a very small corner
of this large country, and though some persons may have absented
themselves from a sense of duty to their country, Brenda agreed with
Ralph that these never would be missed, so crowded did the hall prove
after the French play had ended and the seats had been removed.
The patronesses, seated on a dais on one side of the hall, were gorgeous
in robes of cloth of gold, with the elaborate head-dresses of the time.
The procession as it passed along was well worth seeing,--the trumpeters
at the head, the craftsmen and village folk, the brown-robed monks
singing a solemn chant, crusaders in scarlet coats, knights in armor,
ladies in sweeping trains, and everywhere the high-horned cap with its
graceful and inconvenient veil.
On the stage at the end of the hall a French play was given, perfectly
rendered, complete in every detail of dress and scenery as well as of
acting. But it was a tragedy, acted so perfectly that Brenda, perhaps,
was not the only one who found it too gloomy for the occasion. The
tournament that followed, in which two hobby-horse knights tilted
against each other, was much more to her taste.
"Why, Brenda Barlow! I was wondering if we should see you."
Brenda looked up in surprise. The voice was surely Belle's, and
immediately she recognized her friend. Belle did not wait for questions
after the first greetings.
"Oh, a party of us came on from Washington last night. The rest are
going back on Thursday, but I shall stay in New York for a month.
Annabel didn't come, nor Arthur either. You must have been awfully
disappointed that he wouldn't take any interest. I've always thought he
was a little uncertain. How do you like my costume? We ordered them at
the last minute from a costumer. I think he did very well, considering
the time. Tell me, is mine frightfully unbecoming? I've been trying to
make Mr. De Lancey tell me, but he simply says it's indescribably
fetching. I can't be sure whether or not he's in earnest. Oh, let me
present him to you; I forgot that you did not know each other."
A moment later, separated from her own party, she was walking with Belle
and Mr. De Lancey into the adjacent supper-room, which had been
arranged in semblance of a rose-garden. They ate sandwiches and currant
buns served to them in baskets, and drank lemonade from pewter mugs. The
rooms had been rather cool.
"It's the medieval chill," replied Brenda, when Belle asked her why she
was so quiet.
"I believe it's worse in this rose-garden than in the large hall. I'm
afraid that these paper roses will become frostbitten."
Soon Tom Hearst and Julia, in their search for Brenda, came upon her in
the garden.
"Well, here you are! We've been looking everywhere. The rest of the
group has gone upstairs to be photographed. There's a man with a
flashlight in one of the studios. Aren't you coming?"
The posing of the group took some time, and then there were single
pictures, and Agnes and Ralph were taken together.
An idea came to Brenda. "Why shouldn't we form a group by ourselves?"
Brenda had turned to Tom Hearst with her question.
"I should say so," he responded enthusiastically. "I mean certainly. How
shall I stand, or rather mayn't I prostrate myself at your feet as your
humble page?"
"No, no, how absurd you are!" for Tom was already kneeling in an
attitude of devotion.
"It's after twelve," the photographer reminded them, "and there are
several waiting."
"In other words," said Tom, "we ought to hurry. So look pleasant, Miss
Barlow,--that is, as pleasant as you can under the circumstances," and
Brenda assumed her stateliest pose, having first seen that her train was
spread out to its broadest extent.
"Really," exclaimed Ralph, who stood near, "you must send a copy of the
picture to Arthur."
Brenda did not reply, but when they were again among the gay crowd she
was quieter than she had been before, and to the astonishment of Agnes
she was ready to go home long before the carriage came.
But, strange to say, Pamela, the conscientious, was much less disturbed
than she should have been by the thought that this was the hour of her
country's danger. The artistic beauty of the whole scene was such that
for the time it occupied her mind completely, and she and Julia, with
Tom and Philip as attendant cavaliers, were quite care free as they
wandered among the gay throng. Yet her mind was turned a little toward
the war when Philip began to tell her of his difficulties.
"In the natural course of events," he said, "I should have been in the
Cadets. But I had thought I'd wait a year or two. Now the only thing is
for me to enlist, or get an appointment as officer. They say that the
President will appoint any number of officers. There is only one
thing--"
Pamela waited for him to continue, and at last he took up the broken
thread.
"I haven't said much about it to other people, but my father is far from
well this spring. I notice this in little things, and he depends so on
me that I hesitate about taking a step that will lead to my leaving home
just now."
"It is often hard to choose between two duties," said Pamela; "but I
believe the general rule is to choose the nearest, and in this case that
is evidently your father."
"Where have you been all the evening, Philip? I have looked everywhere
for you." Edith's voice had an unwonted note of irritation.
"Why, Edith, child, aren't you having a good time?"
"Oh, I don't know; I've had to listen to such a lot of stuff from Belle,
and I haven't seen half the people I promised to meet."
"There, there, child, I know how you feel; Belle has been talking too
much, but I will take care of you," and Philip pulled Edith's arm within
his own. "A big brother is useful sometimes," he added, for he saw that
Edith was a little perturbed. A moment later Nora joined the group,
followed by Julia and Tom Hearst, and soon Brenda joined them.
"Why, here we have almost all the old crowd," exclaimed Tom. "If only
Will were here--"
"And Ruth; you mustn't forget her."
"Indeed, no, and I dare say that he is thinking of us. I fancy that at
this present moment he is just wild to be on this side of the world.
With his exalted ideas of patriotism, it must be torture to him that he
isn't on hand when there's fighting to be done."
"It seems to me that your sword hasn't been brandished very fiercely, at
least, since the President's proclamation."
"Ah! just wait. Within a month I may be waving a flag in Cuba. This
sound of revelry by night may be the last that I shall hear for a long
time. My uniform may not be as becoming to me as this costume," and Tom
threw back his head and strutted a few steps, as if to display to the
best advantage the artistic costume that Mr. Weston had designed for
him,--a most effective one with its crimson doublet, slashed sleeves,
and long, silk trunk hose.
"Oh, don't talk about war," cried Brenda, almost pettishly, while Nora,
whose sparkling eyes and bright smile showed that she, at least, had
enjoyed the evening, said gently, "Come, Brenda, there are Agnes and
Ralph beckoning to us; I suppose they wish to count us all to see that
we are safe and sound before they start for home."
A little bantering, a word or two of good-bye to passing friends, and
the merry group started for home, never, although they knew it not
then,--never to be together again as they had been that evening.
In the next few weeks war news was of chief importance, and Brenda,
never a newspaper reader, now turned to the daily papers with great
interest.
One afternoon she came into Julia's room at the Mansion with her eyes
suspiciously red.
"You haven't been crying?"
"Oh, no, not exactly crying, but--"
At this time a tell-tale tear fell, and Brenda dabbed her eyes fiercely
with a crumpled handkerchief.
"There, there, tell me all about it," said Julia.
"Oh, it's nothing. Only I've just been at a meeting at the State House."
Then, by dint of a little questioning, Julia learned that Brenda had
read the notice of a meeting to be held at the State House in the
interests of the Massachusetts troops that should go to the war, and
that she had decided to attend it.
"Oh, it was dreadful," she said, not restraining the tears that were now
undeniably falling. "They talked about bandages and ambulances and the
hundreds that would be killed, and the dreadful things that happened in
the Civil War, and I couldn't help thinking how terrible it would be for
Arthur and Tom and all the others we know."
"Arthur?" queried Julia; "I knew that Tom was going, but with his
regiment from New York--but Arthur, why, he has never been in the
militia?"
"Oh, no," responded Brenda, "it's all his being in Washington. I wish
that he had never heard of Senator Harmon. It seems that he's to have a
commission in the regular army. The President is to make any number of
new officers, and you have to have influence. Ralph had a letter this
morning,--and I know he'll be killed."
"Nonsense, child! If there is any fighting, it will be only on sea."
"Oh, you should have heard them talk at the meeting to-day; and Papa
says that every young man should be ready to fight. He only wishes that
he was young enough. Amy writes that Fritz Tomkins is crazy to leave
college and volunteer, but his uncle won't let him, because his father
is in China. But lots of men are leaving college to go into the army.
Don't you think 'tis very noble in Arthur?"
The last sentence was a change from the main subject, for Arthur's
college years were far away; but it showed where Brenda's heart lay, and
Julia did not laugh at her.
"Come," she said, "let us go upstairs; you have never visited the home
economics class, and you are just in time for it."
So hand in hand the two cousins went upstairs, and if Brenda was less
cheerful than usual, only Julia noticed this.
"The dusty class," as some of the younger girls called it, because "Dust
and its dangers" had been the subject of the lessons.
"How businesslike it is!" exclaimed Brenda, glancing around the plain
room, fitted with its long wooden table, plain walls, at one end of
which were many glass bottles and tubes.
"Test tubes," explained Julia, as Brenda asked a question; "and these
gas jets that rise from the table are very useful in some of their
experiments."
"Yes, that is some of Pamela's Ruskin," Julia added, as Brenda stopped
before a simply framed card on which in illuminated text was the
following:
"There are three material things, not only useful, but essential to
life. No one knows how to live till he has got them.
"These are Pure Air, Water, and Earth.
"There are three immaterial things, not only useful, but essential
to life. No one knows how to live till he has got them also.
"These are Admiration, Hope, and Love."
"It looks very scientific," said Brenda, "with all those bottles and
tubes. I should call it a regular laboratory."
"So it is," responded Julia; "and though the girls are untrained, and
rather young to understand thoroughly the scientific value of much that
is taught them, they do enjoy the experiments."
At this moment the teacher entered the room.
"Tell me, Miss Soddern," said Julia, after introducing Brenda to the
teacher,--"tell me if the girls have had any success with their
bacteria; I know that they are very much interested in their little
boxes."
"Oh, I'm going to have them report this morning. You must wait until
they come."
In a moment the girls filed in, Concetta, Luisa, Gretchen, Haleema, and
the rest whom Brenda knew best, and with them two or three girls from
outside who were members of the League; for in this, as in other
classes, it had seemed wise to enlarge the work a little. So the class
had taken in some of those whom the membership in the League had
interested in things that otherwise they might not have had the interest
to study.
As they stood at their places around the table, Miss Soddern gave a
resume of what they had already learned about dust and its dangers. They
talked with a fluency that surprised Brenda about bacteria and yeasts
and spores and moulds, and in most cases showed by examples that they
knew what they were talking about.
"I am glad that all these bacteria are not harmful," said Brenda, "for
otherwise I should stand in fear of instant death when caught in one of
our east winds," and she looked with interest at the plate that showed a
great many little spots irregularly distributed within a circle. Each
spot represented a colony of bacteria, and though the showing was rather
overwhelming, it was not nearly as bad as another exposure made at a
crossing in a certain city where the old-fashioned street-cleaning
methods prevailed. An exposure made just after the carts had been
collecting heaps of dirt showed an almost incredible number, quite
beyond counting.
So interesting did Miss Soddern make her lesson that Brenda stayed quite
through the hour.
"I've gathered one or two new ideas on the subject of trailing skirts,"
she whispered to Julia in one of the intervals of the lesson. "I always
thought it was just a notion, this talk about their being so unclean,
but now I shall always think of them as regular bacteria collectors.
Also I've learned one or two things about dusting, and I'm going to
watch our maid to-morrow, and if she isn't using a moist cloth, I'll
frighten her by asking her why she insists on distributing death-dealing
germs around the room."
Half of the class that day had to report the result of their own
observation of bacteria colonies collected on the gelatine plate, and
half were to prepare the little glass boxes to take home. Brenda watched
the process with great interest,--the preparation of the boxes in a
vacuum, so that there would be no air inside them when they should be
first exposed in the new locality.
"It's something," said Julia, "to get these girls to acquire habits of
accuracy."
"Oh, it reminds me of the class in physics at Miss Crawdon's," replied
Brenda. "I never would take it myself, but some of the girls said that
it was splendid; it taught one to be accurate."
At that moment Miss Soddern began to address the girls. They had been so
absorbed in their work that they had talked very little during the hour.
"How many of you have anything to report regarding the boxes that you
took home last week."
One by one the outside girls gave accounts of their observations, each
one vying with the others to describe the most prolific growth of
bacteria.
"As the boxes were to be exposed simply in their living-rooms, I am
surprised at the results," said the teacher in an aside to Julia; "I'm
afraid that some one must have been stirring up the dust. What does your
family think of these experiments?" she continued, turning to a
bright-eyed American girl.
"Oh, they're so interested," the girl replied. "You've no idea how
they've watched it; and since the bacteria have begun to develop,"--she
said this with an important air--"they show it to company. Why, you may
like to know that our visitors consider it more entertaining than the
family album."
Miss Soddern herself did not dare to smile at this remark, but Julia and
Brenda hastily excused themselves.
"Audible smiling," said Brenda, "is more excusable out here than it
would be in the school-room," and then both laughed outright.
"I never did care for family photograph albums," said Julia, "and now I
see how easy it would be to have a scientific substitute."
XVII
IDEAL HOMES
The triangular quarrel between Concetta, Haleema, and Angelina had
reached such a state that the three spoke only when actually under the
eyes of their elders. Even as Maggie had felt jealousy at first, did
Angelina now feel jealousy of Concetta.