RANDY'S JOURNEY
"Jest the moment I git these dishes done and a few other little chores
that I can't leave standin', I'll run over to Almiry's and see 'f she's
heerd 'bout the Boston letter that Randy Weston got. My! but that was a
letter wuth gittin'.
"I don't b'lieve Almiry's heerd 'bout it, an' I'm baound to be the fust
one ter tell her," said Mrs. Sophrony Hodgkins.
Soon her tasks were completed, and she went the shortest way across the
fields to tell the news, as if she feared that it might spoil if kept too
long.
Mrs. Jenks, on her way home from the village paused at the gate to ask her
friend, Mrs. Marvin, if she had heard the news, and found that she had
already been told of the contents of the letter, and was glad to hear of
Randy's good luck.
"'Tain't every girl I'd be so glad fer," said Mrs. Marvin, "but Randy's
such a sweet girl I like ter think of this plan which will, no doubt, give
her pleasure."
"So do I," said Matilda Jenks, "an' I fer one shall be on hand ter wish
her joy."
In the little workroom over Barnes' store, Janie Clifton sat humming
cheerfully, her needle flying in and out of the long ruffle which she was
hemming.
"I'm making the people here look better than they ever did before,"
thought Janie, with pardonable pride in her ability. "I make Mrs.
Brimblecom look ever so much less hefty, and I'm sure Mrs. Hodgkins says
she never looked as well in any gown she ever wore, as in the one I
finished for her last week.
"And that skinny woman, now whatever was her name? She looked almost plump
in her new dress last Sunday."
As she stopped to thread her needle, she gave utterance to the thought
which at that moment occupied her mind.
"I b'lieve I'll go over to call on Mrs. Weston to-night, and p'raps she'll
ask me to help her, in fact, I should think she'd _have_ to."
A passing figure caused her to look out of the window.
"Well what a looking piece of headgear!" she remarked. "Lucky I took up
millinery when I was learning dressmakin'. I'll go over to the Weston's
to-night, see if I don't," and she nodded approvingly to her reflection in
the long mirror, a bit of furniture which Janie had felt to be a necessary
adjunct to her rooms.
Even old Mrs. Brimblecom had a word to say.
"I declare, Jabez," she remarked at the dinner table, "I'm reel glad fer
Randy Weston. This doos seem ter be a chance fer her ter see somethin' an'
gain a leetle extry in the way of edication."
"Umph!" remarked Jabez, as he helped himself to a third potato, "'S you
say, it's a chance fer her, an' she's a likely sort er girl,--pass the
salt, will ye?--but I hope it won't poke her head full er notions,--I'll
thank ye fer a biscuit,--so's when she comes home she won't remember who
any of us be."
At the table Jabez Brimblecom's conversation was always a mixture of
gossip and numerous requests for food, so that his wife, accustomed to
this trait, was able to understand what he wished to say, and could make
connected meaning out of what seemed to be a jumble of ideas.
"Oh, Randy will be Randy wherever she is," said Mrs. Brimblecom.
"Wal, I guess she will,--I'll take a leetle more tea," replied Jabez.
"And one of the best girls I ever knew," said his wife.
"I've always known ye set a store by Randy,--I'm ready fer pie naow,"
replied Jabez, and when he had finished his dinner, he darted out of the
house as if in another moment the farm would have been ruined had it not
received his immediate attention.
Every one who met Randy stopped her saying, "Got a letter from Boston,
didn't ye?" until Prue who was usually with her would say,
"Why, Randy, how _does_ everybody know you got a letter?"
"In the same way that everyone knows everything in this village," Randy
would answer with a laugh.
In the midst of all this excitement Randy walked as if on air. Could it be
true, really true that she, Randy Weston, was actually going to Boston?
The letter which had filled Randy's heart with delight had come from her
friend Helen Dayton, the lovely young girl who had spent one summer as a
guest of Mrs. Gray, a near neighbor of the Weston's.
She had made a flying trip to the village at Christmas, bringing with her
the choicest of gifts for Randy and Prue, assuring Randy that they should
soon meet again. Randy had thought much of the promise, but never dreamed
of so delightful a fulfilment.
Near Miss Dayton's home a fine private school had been opened, which
offered every advantage for girls of Randy's age. One of Helen's friends
had been chosen for one of its teachers, and it had occurred to her that
Randy might attend this school during the winter months, making her home
with herself and her aunt.
"I should like to meet this young girl who has so pleased you, Helen," her
aunt had said, "but how would she like city girls, do you think, and on
the other hand, would they like and appreciate her?"
"I would trust Randy to make friends anywhere," Helen had said, and
seating herself at her dainty desk, she wrote the letter containing the
invitation and full particulars in regard to the school.
Randy, with a heart filled with anticipation, promptly answered the letter
telling of her eager acceptance, and rode to the Centre with her father to
mail it.
Then followed such a wonderful series of shopping trips to Barnes' store,
and over to the next town which boasted an establishment called the Dry
Goods Emporium.
With Mrs. Weston and Randy went Janie Clifton to advise them in regard to
the wisest choice of pretty things for Randy's appearance in the city.
Fortunately Janie was possessed of good taste and while learning her trade
in the city she had, whenever possible, snatched a few moments to study
the best models of gowns and millinery which the great stores displayed.
She had invested in all the leading fashion books and fashion plates, and
her room over Barnes' store was gay with pictured figures of women and
children in rainbow attire.
To say that Mrs. Weston was astonished when she had first looked upon the
fashion plates would be to express it very mildly.
"Well, Janie Clifton!" she had ejaculated, "I can't think er lettin' you
make Randy look like that!" as she pointed to the figure of a young girl
in a street costume of flaming red, her head adorned with a walking hat
which was decorated with a phenomenally long quill.
"Look at the toe er that shoe!" was the next remark. "The whole foot ain't
bigger'n my spectacle case, and 'bout as much shape to it."
But Janie comforted her by assuring her that the plates usually showed the
extreme in fashion, and that Randy could be made to look very nice indeed
without following exactly any one pattern in every detail.
Thus far Janie's orders had been but a single dress for a customer, so she
was much elated when commissioned to make three for Randy, and also to
select and trim two hats for her. Mrs. Weston's idea of "one for best and
one for everyday" had, by cautious urging upon Janie's part, been
stretched to the extent of adding "one more for second best."
During the drive over to the "Emporium," Janie asked abruptly, "Didn't
Miss Dayton say somethin' 'bout a party in that letter she sent to Randy?"
"Why yes," said Mrs. Weston, "she says that while Randy's there, she'll
give a little party for her, but why did ye ask?"
"Well, I was thinkin' that means a party dress," remarked Janie.
"A party dress!" gasped Mrs. Weston in astonishment. "Why that would be
her best dress, wouldn't it? Probably that's what the other girls would
wear."
Now it happened that during her apprenticeship Janie had helped to make a
number of party dresses for young girls, so it was with a deal of
assurance that she answered her patron.
"I don't know what a lot of city misses would think if Miss Dayton was
kind enough to give the party for Randy, and Randy appeared in just her
_best dress_," said Janie with a bit of emphasis.
"Well, well I didn't know ye was expected ter dress different fer a party,
excepting that ye'd likely 'nough dress up some. Her father said when we
started out this morning,
"'Git whatever Randy needs ter make her look right, and at the same time
honor Miss Dayton, since she's kind 'nough to ask Randy to her home,' so
if she needs a party gown why we'll choose one, but I tell ye again,
Janie, don't ye make her look like one er them wooden-lookin' girls er
prancin' about on the fashion plates, fer I couldn't stand that."
With a commendable determination to make for Randy a dainty party gown
which should at the same time be sufficiently simple in style to please
Mrs. Weston, Janie chose a thin white muslin with white ribbons for its
only trimming.
"I like that for a party dress, only it seems a little cool fer winter,"
remarked Mrs. Weston, "but I s'pose she will wear extry flannels under
it."
"Not if I know it," said Janie under her breath, for she had her own ideas
for making the dress, and thick flannels to completely hide the
transparency of the muslin were not included in her plan. Janie laid the
muslin and ribbon aside and commenced work upon the other gowns.
The "best" gown was a dark blue cloth with velvet trimmings, and the hat
which she was to wear with it was of the same shade with dark blue
feathers drooping over the brim.
Randy felt this to be almost too fine to wear and she touched the soft
feathers with caressing fingers before placing the hat upon her pretty
head.
"Oh, it looks just a little like Miss Dayton's hats," exclaimed Randy, as
she looked in the mirror at this triumph of Janie's millinery skill.
For the long ride in the cars and for general street and school wear,
there was a cute little suit of gray wool, and a hat of gray felt with
some smart gray wings.
Randy was delighted with the suit and her eyes sparkled when she
experienced the joy of "trying it on."
The party gown, the first which she had ever seen, was to her a dream of
loveliness. It was very simply made, as befitted this fair little country
maid. The skirt made quite plain, the waist cut out ever so little in the
neck, just enough to show the round, white throat, the modest elbow
sleeves and white satin ribbon trimmings filled Randy with speechless
delight as she stared at the sweet reflection in the mirror.
When at last she spoke she said,
"Oh, Janie, how _could_ you make me look so nice?"
"I guess some of the good looks are your own, Randy," Janie answered,
which caused Randy to blush most becomingly.
Monday was a busy day at the farm-house, and Mrs. Weston had said, "I
can't spare the time to go over to Janie's this afternoon, but she wants
ye ter try on one of yer gowns and ye can run over there after school.
She'll know whether it looks right or not without any help from me."
So leaving Prue to trudge home with Johnny Buffum as an escort, she had
experienced great delight in seeing herself for the first time in a dainty
party gown.
"Won't mother be surprised when I try on the pretty party dress for her to
see?" thought Randy as she hurried on toward home.
Like many another bit of gossip set afloat in a country town, the story of
the letter from Boston together with descriptions of Randy's costumes
gained with every repetition, until one day on the way from the Centre,
Randy was astonished to be thus addressed,
"Wal, how be ye Randy? I hear ye're havin' a tremenjous lot er gaowns made
ter take ter Boston with ye."
The speaker was a woman whom Randy had seen but a few times, and she was
therefore surprised when the team stopped at the side of the road and its
occupant accosted her.
"It is true that mother is having Janie Clifton make some things for me,"
said Randy.
"Wal, I live on the other side er the place," the woman continued, "an' so
I'm a leetle out er the way er hearin' news, so I'd like reel well ter
know; _be_ ye goin' ter have twelve gaowns, five cloaks, an' a half er
dozen hats as they say ye be?"
"No, that isn't true," said Randy, her flushed cheeks showing that she
resented being thus questioned by a woman who was almost a stranger.
Turning, she hurried on toward home, and the curious one, giving the horse
a smart clip drove off muttering,
"Gitting uppish 'fore she gits ter Boston. Do'no what she'll be when she's
stayed there a spell."
At school, her mates were glad that Randy was to have so delightful a
winter, and many and varied were the comments and speculations regarding
it.
"It'll be stupid here without you, Randy," said Dot Marvin, "I don't know
but that we shall all go to sleep, while you're a flyin' round in the
city."
"I don't expect to do much flying," said Randy, laughing. "I shall be
working at school there instead of this school at home. You must all write
to me and tell me what you are doing, and I'll be glad enough to answer
you."
"Indeed we will," said Reuben Jenks. "Let's write Randy a long letter,
each one of us writing a part of it and send it along to Boston, just to
show her what we can do when we try."
"Oh, what fun!" said Randy, "it will seem as if you were with me when I
read a long letter in which all my friends are represented."
"Lemme print something in it, Reuben, will you? I want to be in the big
letter, too," cried little Prue.
"I guess I will let you," Reuben answered heartily. "What kind of a letter
would it be if you didn't have a hand in it, Prue?"
"I'd like to be going to Boston if it wasn't for one thing," said Molly
Wilson, "and that's those city girls."
"Oh, ho, Molly. I thought you were shy, and it ain't city girls you hanker
for? Then it must be city boys," said Reuben.
"'Tis not, Reuben Jenks," said Molly, with unusual vim; "'tis not any such
thing, it's just that I'd be 'fraid those horrid city girls were watching
everything I did and thinking me countryfied."
"Well, I shall not let that idea make me uncomfortable," said Randy,
stoutly. "I _am_ a country girl, and if they say so, they will not be
telling me anything new or surprising; beside, I think that there must be
nice girls in the city as well as among us here. I intend to like them,
and I hope that they will like me."
"They'll be precious queer girls if they don't," said Jack Marvin.
"I wanted to go to boarding school," said Phoebe Small, "but I didn't
mean a city school. Seems to me I'd rather 'twouldn't be city girls to get
acquainted with. Don't you wish they were not city girls, Randy?"
"I believe that there are just as pleasant girls in Boston as there are
here, and I look forward to meeting them," said Randy.
She spoke bravely and truthfully, yet afterward when in her little chamber
the conversation recurred to her, Randy found herself wondering if the
meeting between herself and these girls who were to be her classmates
during her stay in Boston would, after all, be as delightful as she had
fondly believed.
Randy's pleasure at the thought of meeting them had been genuine, and so
friendly and sincere was she, that until the idea was suggested by Dot
Marvin it had never occurred to her that the meeting could be aught but
delightful.
"I ought not to think that there could be anything which is not charming
where Miss Dayton is, and I believe I'm silly to let Dot's remarks make
me the least bit uneasy. I'll start intending to like every girl I meet,
and who knows? Perhaps I shall," she said with a laugh, and a nod at her
happy face reflected in the tiny mirror.
During all the planning and preparation for Randy's departure, Prue had
been eager to see the pretty new dresses, had insisted upon seeing the
hats and gloves, and had talked of little else at home or at school.
Indeed, the little girl had been so happy in the thought of the promised
pleasure for her sister, that she had not seemed to realize how much the
parting would really mean.
But when the morning arrived on which Randy was to start, and dressed in
her smart gray suit she stood waiting for her trunk to be placed in the
back of the wagon, Prue seemed all at once to understand that Randy's long
stay in Boston meant loneliness for her little self. As the thought swept
through her mind, its full meaning came to her, and she did what she had
never been known to do in all her sunny little life. Throwing herself
upon the great braided rug near the door she cried out,
"O Randy, my Randy, I can't let you go!"
Randy stooped and gathered the dear little sister to her breast, saying,
"I'm not going to stay always, dear. Look up, Prue, while I tell you. I'll
write you nice long letters, and you shall write to me, and I'll send you
something 'way from Boston. Won't that be nice? Come, kiss me, Prue. I
want to think of you smiling instead of crying, dear."
Choking back her sobs, Prue made a brave effort to smile, but it was not
much of a success, and Randy found it difficult to say good-bye with even
a semblance of cheerfulness. She possessed a singularly loving and tender
nature, and this was the first time that she had left home, so that while
her heart was full of anticipation, it was impossible for her to go
without feeling keenly the parting.
Tears filled her sweet eyes, as turning to her mother she said,
"The planning has been so delightful, and I have been anticipating so much
that I have looked forward to this morning when I should start, but now
the time has come I almost wish I'd never said I'd go."
"I know just how ye feel, Randy," said Mrs. Weston, "an' I must say 'twas
easier ter plan ter have ye go than ter say good-bye. Ye must cheer up,
though, and look bright an' happy when ye meet Miss Dayton in Boston. The
long ride in the cars will be new to ye, and ye must remember that yer
Aunt Prudence is ter be with us while ye're away, ter help me an' ter keep
me from bein' too lonesome, fer mercy knows how I shall miss ye.
"I want ye should go, though; it's a great chance fer ye, and don't forget
ter write, Randy. I couldn't stand that," and Mrs. Weston's voice had in
it a suspicion of a sob.
"Oh, I could not forget you all," said Randy, then with a kiss and a
clinging embrace she clambered into the wagon to a seat beside her father,
and her mother's waving handkerchief and Prue's little face with its
quivering lip were photographed upon her mind as she rode to the Centre to
take the train.
They talked but little on the way to the depot. Randy found it a task to
keep her tears from falling, and the expression of her father's face told
more plainly than words what this parting cost. When her trunk had been
taken charge of and Randy had chosen a seat, her father bent to kiss her,
saying as he did so,
"God bless ye, child! I never knew 'till ter-day what it meant ter say
good-bye ter ye. I only hope the visit will bring ye joy enough ter repay
ye fer this partin' and then I shall be satisfied. Write often to us, that
we may know ye are safe, and spend the money I put in yer little wallet.
"Ah, don't say a word, Randy, I could well afford it, an' I put it there
jest fer a little surprise."
As Randy was about to speak, the conductor entered saying, that those
persons who intended leaving the train must do so at once, as it was about
to start.
With a hasty kiss and embrace, Randy saw her father leave the car and she
waved her hand to him as he stood upon the platform, then in a sudden
panic of desolation she hid her face in her handkerchief and cried like a
little child. A long time she crouched upon the seat, her head against its
plush back and her eyes hidden by her handkerchief, but after a time it
occurred to her that she was not doing as her father would wish.
"I'm crying like a child," thought Randy, "and father and mother have done
every generous thing which they could think of to make me enjoy the long
ride and the visit.
"Father would wish me to be brave, and mother would not like to see me
crying."
Accordingly she sat up, and wiping her tears, made a determined effort to
look as she felt sure that a girl should look who was starting out for a
delightful visit.
As she looked from the window and saw the flying landscape, it seemed as
if the rumbling wheels were saying, "Going away, going away," and again
the tears lay upon her lashes, but after a time the novelty of the
situation dawned upon her, and her sunny disposition found much that was
amusing in what was going on about her.
Mrs. Weston had put up a tempting lunch in a pretty basket, so when a boy
came through the car bearing a large tray covered with doubtful looking
viands, and shouting in stentorian tones:
"Poy, coiks, tawts an' sanditches," Randy was not tempted to buy, but she
watched the boy and wondered how he had the courage to walk the aisle
loudly bawling his wares.
At one station a woman entered carrying an infant whose pudgy face lay
upon her shoulder, and about whose tiny body her right arm was tightly
clasped. In her left hand she carried a large and apparently heavy bag.
Four other children trotted after her down the aisle, and like a rear
guard a burly looking man followed the children carrying a tiny parcel.
"What a horrid man," thought Randy, as he proceeded immediately to make
himself comfortable by occupying the larger part of a seat.
He did permit one child to sit beside him, but he allowed the other three
to crowd around his wife who held the sleeping infant in her arms, and
kept a watchful eye upon the big bag which sat on the floor at her feet.
Randy's attention was about evenly divided between watching the passengers
and enjoying the beauties of the autumn landscape as the flying train
passed first a village nestling at the foot of a mountain, then a forest,
then a lake whose surface reflected the gorgeous coloring of the trees
upon its shore, then another village, then a winding river which,
mirror-like, repeated the blue sky and the floating clouds. This endless
panorama was to Randy a most wonderful thing, and the beauty of it all as
it passed before her, filled her with delight.
At noon the train stopped at a large depot which was far more pretentious
than any which she had yet seen, and Randy wondered why nearly everyone
left the car. When she noticed that many of the passengers had left their
parcels in their seats, she was amazed at what seemed to be gross
carelessness. That they went forth in search of lunch never occurred to
her, but realizing that she was hungry and that nearly all the seats were
vacant, she opened her basket and was touched when she saw that her mother
had remembered her little freaks of taste, and had made up a lunch of what
she knew would tempt her. In one corner was a tiny paper bag on which was
printed in little Prue's best manner,
"For my Randy."
Poor little Prue! The bag of candy which her father had brought from the
Centre to cheer the little girl and help to turn her attention from the
thought of loneliness when Randy should say "good-bye," proved
inefficient. Nothing could make Randy's departure less hard for little
Prue, and she had evidently found a bit of comfort in tucking the little
bag into a corner of the lunch basket, thus contributing her mite toward
Randy's pleasure.
"Dear little Prue," murmured Randy, "she shall have the loveliest doll I
can find in Boston."
The afternoon ride seemed longer and less amusing than that of the
morning. The novelty was wearing off, and Randy was beginning to feel
weary.
When it grew dusky and in the towns along the way bright lights appeared,
a sudden fear took possession of her. What if she should be unable to see
Miss Dayton when she stepped from the train at Boston?