PILGRIMS AND STRANGERS
The next morning Beth opened her eyes upon a chill gray world. She
jumped out of bed and into her cuddly bedroom slippers and drew aside
her window curtains. The asphalt pavement seemed to have spread out
and up over the whole sky; air, clouds, people and city walls looked
of a piece and a color with the hard iron-gray road, giving the avenue
the effect of an asphalt tube, bottom, sides and top alike. Snowflakes
drifted through the air as if they did not half like it and found it
too bleak to call down their comrades to make a cheerful snow-storm.
Beth remembered that it was Monday morning and that Aunt Rebecca and
Ella Lowndes had deep-seated objections to bad weather on washing day,
“because it made the whole week crooked.” She hoped that the sun was
shining in Massachusetts, and her heart leaped joyously as she realized
that she was in fairy-land-come-true, where there were no washing days
with their hurried, light dinners, but where the sun always shone, no
matter what was the weather. Her feet in their fleecy blue slippers
danced a few steps until the lavish blue satin bows on the slippers
waved blithely, and she hurried to begin dressing, meaning to surprise
Frieda when she came by being nearly ready.
There was to be a holiday from lessons for the Cortlandt children
because it was Thanksgiving week. Alys said “that was a good way to
make sure they were thankful.”
After breakfast Beth found herself alone, and she wandered into the
conservatory. Entering it was to leave November far behind, to breathe
the warm, soft dampness of the southern midsummer. Beth closed the door
behind her and stood still, delicately and ecstatically sniffing the
fragrant air.
“It’s just like a hymn,” said Beth, folding her hands with a sense of
reverence and lifting her happy little face higher as she spoke aloud
after the fashion of her solitary play days. “It’s like:
“‘What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o’er Ceylon’s isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile’--
Mercy, no! It isn’t like that last part one bit, for Uncle Jim isn’t
any more vile than--than nothing at all--than those white carnations
over there! I love him with all my heart and soul! I guess it’s more
like:
“‘And Sharon waves, in solemn praise
Her silent groves of palm,’
because there are whole rows of palms over there. Well, at any rate,
I just wish Janie Little could smell these flowers. Janie loves nice
smells so! She thinks smelling a peppermint stick is ’most as good as
sucking it. I don’t, but I’d rather smell all these flowers mixed up
than pick them. And those birds! I wonder who feeds them.”
“I do, my dear,” said a voice, and Beth faced about with a jump to see
Mrs. Hodgman.
“Do you take care of all of them? Good-morning, Mrs. Hodgman,” said
Beth.
The housekeeper laughed. “Good-morning, Beth,” she said. “I have one
of the maids, or sometimes the gardener here to help me take down the
cages, but I give the little creatures their baths and food--it’s such
a pleasure to do it, and they all know me.”
She whistled a low note and the canaries nearest her, of the fifty
that hung in the conservatory, fluttered to the bars of their cages
and answered her, with their heads inquiringly tilted to see what Mrs.
Hodgman had for them.
“Oh, I should think it would be a pleasure!” cried Beth rapturously.
“It makes you feel as if you would write poetry to be in this warm,
soft, flowery place with all those birds hopping and singing, doesn’t
it? I feel as if poetry would just burst right out--only it doesn’t! Do
you call the man who grows flowers in a greenhouse a gardener? I was
wondering what you would call him.”
“The man who has charge of this conservatory is the gardener
transferred from Mr. Cortlandt’s country house, otherwise we might call
him the florist,” said Mrs. Hodgman. “Now, my dear, I must leave you,
for Mrs. Cortlandt gives a small dinner to-night, and I have much to
look after this morning.”
“Do you think I may stay here a while, all alone with the birds,
and would you mind not telling any one I was here? Because I should
like very much to play something. It would be that I was a kind of
enchantress who could turn a bare day like this into a summer day on
a magic island, and all these birds and flowers would be under the
spell, obey me, you see, and I’d play they all knew me and were bright
and beautiful--as they truly are--but nobody could see them, or get on
the island unless I touched them with my wand, and I never touched any
one unless they had done something lovely and kind to earn the touch,”
explained Beth, feeling that she owed Mrs. Hodgman the explanation if
she asked to be left alone by her. “I could play it better if I knew no
one knew where I was; it makes it more like a secret, invisible island.”
“Bless you, little Beth, you may stay here as long as you like, and
play all the pretty fancies you can fashion,” said Mrs. Hodgman
heartily, kissing the round, soft cheek turned up to her. Then she
hurried away, leaving Beth to a glorious kingdom of fact and fancy.
This was why no one could tell Beth’s Aunt Alida where the little
girl was when she wanted her an hour later, for Mrs. Hodgman had gone
out and nobody else had seen her. The household had begun to get
excited when Mrs. Cortlandt remembered that nobody had looked in the
conservatory for Beth, and she hurried down herself to try this last
hope of finding the child in the house.
As she opened the door Beth’s happy face met her eyes, flushed with the
warmth of the conservatory and her interest in her fascinating game.
She looked so rapt that Mrs. Cortlandt forgot that she had been anxious
about her and cried out:
“Why, you funny little Bethie! What are you doing here by your serene
self, and why do you look as if you were floating on little pink
clouds, child?”
“I’ve been having such a lovely time, Aunt Alida!” said Beth, coming
down to facts by an effort. “I’ve been playing this was a magic island.
It’s wonderful to play things right in the middle of things more fairy
than your play is! To have all these birds and flowers true when it’s
so cold and snowy! Aunt Alida, your real fairy-land is nicer than book
fairy-land!”
“Dear little girl, the best of all is to have the eyes that see
fairy-land anywhere,” said Aunt Alida, kissing Beth just as Mrs.
Hodgman had kissed her.
Beth had never been kissed in all her life as much as she had been
since she had come to New York, Aunt Rebecca not being prone to kisses,
but she liked it very much and responded with a warmth that showed she
was learning how to show the love that filled her heart.
“I’ve been looking for you, Beth,” Aunt Alida said, “because we have
important matters to decide, you and I. You know that our costume
party is almost beginning--Thursday is Thanksgiving day--and we have
nothing ready for you to wear. I think I shall make you into nothing
more alarming than a little Puritan maiden, Bethie. The kerchief and
cap will suit your serious little face. Will it also suit your serious
little taste, dear?”
Beth laughed. “I don’t know what it will be like, Aunt Alida, but you
know what’s nice for me. I’m afraid to go to your party, Aunt Alida;
I’m afraid of people I don’t know.”
“Nonsense, Beth! You will know these boys and girls when you’ve met
them, so who will there be to fear? Alys is to wear a stiff brocade,
copied after an old portrait of a Cortlandt of the early 1700’s; we
think Alys will rather suit the stiff old gown. And--here’s a secret,
Beth! Natalie is to be a young and pretty witch, all in crimson, with
a black bodice. And we are going to have a dance which Natalie is to
lead alone, all the others following her. The dance will represent the
hunting of a witch in the foolish, cruel old days. Do you think that is
a fine idea, little niece? I’m proud of it, for it is my own.”
“Oh, yes,” breathed Beth, bewildered but impressed.
“Then come along, Bethie, and try on your costume,” cried Aunt Alida
triumphantly. “I ordered it several days ago and the dressmaker has
sent a woman to try it on; she is waiting in your room. You can’t
imagine what fun it is to have three big-little girls to gown for a
costume party! It’s like having one’s dolls come back a thousand times
nicer than they used to be.”
She tucked Beth’s hand under her arm and hurried her to the elevator
and up to her room. A woman arose as they entered, holding in her hands
a soft gray-blue silken gown, straight and full as to skirt, long and
plain as to waist, with delicate muslin sleeves appearing under the
silken ones, and a soft muslin kerchief swinging from its shoulders,
ready to be crossed over Beth’s palpitating heart. Surely she had been
mistaken in thinking this a dull, dreary day, Beth said to herself, and
surely the land of magic was not imaginary, nor bounded by the glass
walls of the conservatory!
“Hallo, Priscilla!” called a gay voice, and Beth turned to see
Natalie’s eyes dancing at her from out the folds of the portière
between her cousin’s dressing room and her own. “You can’t see me, but
I can see you!” laughed Natalie. “You’re not to see me until the great
day--you dear little Priscilla! You’re too sweet to be real. Bethie,
I’d come and hug you and find out if you were real, only I can’t
without showing you my gown.”
“I’m real,” said Beth. “I look like a picture in the glass, but
pictures can’t curtsey, Natalie. Look!” She took her soft gown on each
side between a thumb and forefinger and curtsied solemnly and low. Her
face was all rosy pink and her eyes shining with delight. “If only Aunt
Rebecca could see me!” she sighed. “She loves our Puritan ancestors so,
and she’d never believe how I look.”
“She shall see you!” cried Aunt Alida. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,
Bethie. We’ll have a miniature of you painted on ivory, just as you
look this moment, and we’ll send it to your Aunt Rebecca for Christmas!
No photograph could do justice to those soft tints.”
“Painted? Of me?” gasped Beth. “Aunt Rebecca has a miniature; she
says it’s her grandfather Bowen’s second wife; she was a Southerner.
It’s perfectly lovely. Aunt Alida, I’ll have to stop talking to you,
because I can’t say new things when you do new things! Only I’m most
sure Aunt Rebecca will say it’s ministering to my vanity to have my
picture painted; she always was afraid Miss Tappan would make me vain
if she trimmed my dresses much--she always told her not to minister
to my vanity. But Miss Tappan doesn’t know how to make people look
fine enough to be really vain--you do, Aunt Alida! Still, I don’t feel
spoiled; I just feel--happy!”
Once more Aunt Alida kissed Beth, and the little girl felt sure that
the dressmaker’s woman gave her hair a slight caress as she took off
the lovable Puritan gown to which Beth had lost her heart completely.
On the great night of what Beth liked to call in her thoughts “her
first ball,” Thanksgiving night, Beth stood before the mirror in her
beautiful blue room while Frieda fastened the silvery blue gown that
fell to Beth’s slippered feet, and laid over her shoulders the soft
white fichu, and fastened on her flowing hair the tiny lace cap that
added the last touch and turned Beth into something between her own
ancestress and a great doll.
“Oh, oh, oh!” gasped Beth. “I don’t see how they ever let the
Puritans leave England if they wore such things! Isn’t it the dearest,
be-eau-ti-fulest gown, Frieda? Come in,” she added in reply to a knock,
and Anna Mary presented herself in the doorway.
“Mrs. Cortlandt sent me up to make sure everything was as it should
be,” she said. “Frieda, have you that bit of a cap fastened strong?
With Miss Beth’s hair flyin’ like the corn silk that bit of a fairy
gossamer thing will get away from it like a cobweb on the grass of a
May morning. Just a taste more of fold in that lace fish-u,” added
Anna Mary bringing the lace closer around Beth’s round throat and
pronouncing the syllables carefully. “What do you represent now, Miss
Beth? It looks ancient.”
“I’m Priscilla Alden,” said Beth proudly. “I’ll tell you,” she went on
as Anna Mary knelt to sew a little tuck under the broad tuck of Beth’s
skirt in a spot where it was too long. “Priscilla was so lovely that
Captain Miles Standish loved her, but he didn’t dare say so, so he sent
John Alden--he was a nice young man near Priscilla’s age--to ask her to
marry him, but Priscilla saw John liked her himself, so she asked him
why he didn’t ‘speak for yourself, John,’ and I suppose he did, because
they were married.”
“Now it hangs straight,” said Anna Mary, bending down to bite off her
thread and coming up so purple in the face that Beth felt apologetic.
“And that’s a foolish story, Miss Beth, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.
There’s no captain I’ve ever seen at home in Ireland--and I’ve seen
plenty--would be sendin’ a boy to do his wooin’ for him. Let me look
how Frieda’s got it in the back, that fish-u.”
“It’s a lovely story, Anna Mary; I must have told it bad---- Oh, oh,
oh, Natalie! Just look at Natalie!” screamed Beth, forgetting all about
the Pilgrim lovers as Natalie appeared in the doorway, holding back
the portière. All in crimson and black was Natalie, short skirt, high
heeled shoes, pointed hat, black and crimson, with a crimson satin
cloak floating from one shoulder. She was so brilliant of color, so
radiantly handsome that the two maids shared Beth’s enthusiasm.
“Sure they never hung such witches, Miss Natalie!” cried Anna Mary.
Alys followed her sister. Beth and the maids were not able to
appreciate the perfection of her copy of an old portrait in brocades
and laces, still they saw that Alys’s gown was most beautiful. But
Natalie’s glorious dark beauty in the witch costume of shining red silk
swept everything before it.
“We must hurry down, if you’re ready, little cousin,” said Natalie, and
Beth found herself descending to the lower floor in the small elevator
in the wonderful company of a great lady of the seventeenth century
and such a witch as Anna Mary truly said had never been hung on Boston
Common.
Aunt Alida came to meet them. “You dear, satisfactory trio!” she
cried. “If you’ll have as good a time as you look--dear me! That’s a
queer sentence! However, I mean I’ll be delighted if you are as happy
as you are nice to look at, little daughters and niece. Jim, Jim, do
come here and see our Court Lady, our Priscilla--and our witch.”
Beth caught the slight emphasis that Aunt Alida put on the last three
words, and hoped that Alys would not notice it. Uncle Jim beamed on
them, all three; it seemed to Beth that Uncle Jim cared more for the
frolic than for his elder daughter’s beauty. “There’s Dirk!” cried
Beth. There _was_ Dirk in doublet, boots and a sword.
“What are you?” asked Beth eagerly.
“I’m a fool to let ’em get me such togs,” growled Dirk. “Mama says I’m
Miles Standish. Search me! I don’t know what I look like! Say, though,
Beth, the sword’s decent, ain’t it?”
“You look fine, Dirk,” cried Beth, and Dirk could not detect mockery in
her honest eyes.
No one could hear what they said so the boy unbent a little to her
sweetness. “You’re a peach,” he said earnestly. “You look like one of
the kids they take out in the mall, in that long dress and baby cap.
But you’re out of sight, all right. I guess I’ll dance with you, ’cause
I’ve got to dance with somebody and you’re the best there is.”
“Yes; I’d rather dance with you,” agreed Beth “When are they coming?”
“Who? The rest of the show? Some of ’em are here now, getting their
things off, and----”
“Oh, there’s the music!” cried Beth, as the small orchestra of strings
began to play in the music room.
“Sure. They’ll put ’em in the ballroom when the time comes,” said
Dirk, wondering to see the rapture in Beth’s eyes.
After that Beth hardly knew what happened. She floated on the lovely
music through an enchanted region, into which there began to come
quaint and beautiful figures, some of them tall and nearly grown up,
like Natalie, some of them midway, like Alys, some of them small like
herself; figures in strange, picture garments that made them seem
unreal, even when they were introduced to her by her cousins and she
found herself dancing with them. Because it was a dream and she was not
really Beth Bristead!
Beth was not shy and afraid as she had expected to be. She danced down
and around the great ballroom, carried along by that fairy music, so
happy that there was no room for fear. Never had she heard such music,
trod such a slippery floor, reflecting hundreds of lights, making the
space under her feet as brilliant as the high ceiling. She could not
be afraid of the children whom she met in fairy-land! So Beth smiled
blissfully at them all and answered happily when they spoke to her,
feeling as if these strangers in old-time costume were all old friends.
She had no idea of how proudly, with what pleasure her aunt and uncle
watched her, nor that Natalie and Alys had to acknowledge many kind
speeches made by the older girls about their pretty little cousin. She
did not know that Dirk’s gloom was increasing; she hardly knew that
she was happy, because she was so full of happiness that there was not
room left for knowing it. A blissful little Beth, she danced through
an evening of hours which she had never before sat up to see, floating
through fairy-land on the wings of fairy music.
Dirk looked sullen and cross when he came to take Beth to supper, but
Beth did not see it.
“Oh, Dirk,” she sighed, “isn’t it lovely, lovely! There’s a book at
home, an old history all full of pictures, and it’s just as if they had
come to life! Yet I think it’s more as if the garden had come alive.
And the music! I feel as if I was a little pink cloud! You know; the
kind that is so fluffy and looks so happy when it blows along in the
sunset.”
“Well, I’m glad you like it!” growled Dirk disgustedly. “If ever you
catch me togging out like this again! It’s hotter’n fury in this
double-thing-doublet! And even the sword bothers the life out of me. If
I was up in the gym and had some of the fellers I could get some good
out of this sword. Come on, Beth; we’ll have a supper anyhow that’ll be
big enough to bust this old doublet--wish ’twould!”
“Oh, Dirk; I thought everybody was having such a lovely time; I’m so
sorry! But you will have a good time when we dance the dance that
Natalie leads, the one that means chasing the witch, won’t you?” cried
Beth falling into line with her discontented cousin for the supper
march.
“Not on your life!” returned Dirk glumly.
In the supper room Beth forgot Dirk as soon as he had gone to get her
refreshments, for here was another realm of enchantments. There were
clear soups in fairy cups, cold turkey, salads, dear little triangles
enclosing turkey or lettuce; a sort of unearthly delicate bread, cakes
such as no mere mortal could have made, of which Ella Lowndes would
never dare to dream on her baking day, little cakes iced in all colors,
flavored by fairies with unknown, haunting flavors. There were ices in
the form of little turkeys, as a reminder of the day, and chocolate
with whipped cream on its surface, served in cups that were surely
flowers changed by enchantment into porcelain. In the middle of the
table stood a mammoth turkey and when everybody had had all and more
than they could possibly eat Natalie, as the witch, was called upon to
cast a spell upon him and make him give up his treasures.
So Natalie thrice waved her witch’s stick around his head, and the
mammoth turkey, by some secret magic, spread his wings and showered
upon the table bonbons, snapping mottoes, little flags and candies that
looked like cranberries, but which proved to be something beyond and
above the flavor of any candy that Beth had ever tasted.
Then the music called “the Pilgrims and Strangers,” as Uncle Jim
dubbed his young guests in their ancient gowns, back to the dance. Beth
went gladly, delicious though the feast had been. Never in her life
before had she danced except around a crowded parlor at home with one
of the little girls as partner while another played for their dancing
tingling tunes with an unvaried bass. This vast room, ice-smooth floor,
these throbbing violins, ’cellos, and harps--ah, that made dancing
another matter!
“Happy, Bethie?” asked Aunt Alida, detaining Beth for an instant as
she passed her, moving with a light, floating step of her own to the
exquisite music that recalled the guests.
“Oh, happy, Aunt Alida! You think we’re all awake, don’t you? I’m so
afraid I’ll wake up!” said Beth leaning her head against Aunt Alida’s
pale gray gown. “What do you represent, auntie dearest? Are you
anything historical or Thanksgivingy?”
“It is only the children who represent something, Bethie. This isn’t my
party, you know; I’m not a part of the party. But perhaps I represent
Plymouth Rock--I’m nearly its color,” laughed Aunt Alida.
Beth found herself one of the last to enter the ballroom after she had
kissed Aunt Alida and hurried on. Dirk was looking for her, for they
were to be partners in this merry witch chase. The children were paired
and drawn up in a long line with beautiful Natalie at their head. Beth
and Dirk slipped into their places in the line, the few stragglers were
summoned, and all was ready.
The orchestra burst forth in a strain of wild, sweet, strange music
which Beth did not know was Hungarian, but which she dimly felt
harmonized with Natalie’s crimson figure as she darted forward in a
swinging, swift dance-step down the room. The others followed her at a
signal, giving her a good start. Then Natalie “led them a dance” indeed!
Up and down, over, across, straight, zigzagging, darting, turning,
Natalie danced, and ever following her came the pretty line of boys and
girls in their quaint costumes, following as if Natalie were a sort of
Pied Piper and they were her victims, or as though she were a witch,
indeed, who had bewitched them.
Faster and faster the thrilling music rose, faster and faster Natalie
led her winding pursuers, till at last, at a signal from Mrs.
Cortlandt, the whole long train broke and spread out, encircling
Natalie and taking her captive.
“The witch! We’ve caught the witch! What shall we do with her?” cried
Dirk who had long ago forgotten his dislike of costumes and had danced
the game-dance with gusto.
“Burn her! Hang her! Set her free! Hold her! Make her pay her forfeit!”
cried various voices. They all turned to Mrs. Cortlandt for her
verdict; she was to decide what should be the witch’s sentence.
“If she can lead you in singing as she has in dancing she shall go
free!” cried Natalie’s mother.
The orchestra began to play “My Country ’Tis of Thee,” and Natalie
began to sing. She had a sweet, clear young voice and she was fully
able to redeem herself. The dancers followed her in this, as they had
in dancing. It was a pretty chorus. But a strange thing happened. One
by one the singers fell silent as they failed to remember the words.
Only Beth, out of her careful training in such things in her old,
so-different home in the Massachusetts hills, knew the anthem quite
to the end. She sang it fearlessly in her sweet little voice, like a
little song sparrow. And the Thanksgiving dance ended with Beth in
her soft, silvery blue Priscilla gown singing “My Country ’Tis of
Thee,” standing amid the silent circle of costumed young “Pilgrims and
Strangers,” her happy, flushed little round face uplifted, her heart
overflowing with true Thanksgiving gratitude and love. And Uncle Jim,
watching the child, said under his breath: “God bless the dear little
soul!”