GETTING OUT OF DIFFICULTIES
Never had Rindy Crump’s old house witnessed such gayety as it did that
evening. Every one seemed bound to give the hostess a good time. Jeremy
Todd brought his ’cello, Dr. Rowe contributed his stock of funny
stories, and Barry Hale did some imitations which convulsed every one.
The surprise of the evening was when Ellen picked up Jeremy’s violin. He
had left it with her earlier in the day, and he now accompanied her on
the ’cello as she played a lively gavotte. She looked very charming as
she stood in her simple white frock, with the violin tucked under her
chin, and she had at least one adorer in Caro, who watched her
ecstatically.
After the applause had died away Caro rushed forward. “Oh, Ellen,” she
cried, “you never told me you could play the violin. How accomplished
you are.”
Ellen laughed. “If you were but aware how little I do know, you would
never call me accomplished. I knew a very little to begin with, and, as
I have no violin of my own, I have had no chance to practise, but Mr.
Todd has been good enough to instruct me in this one piece and has lent
me his violin so I could do it.”
“Nevertheless it was a very creditable performance,” said the rector,
coming up, “and has certainly added to the pleasure of the evening. Your
party is a big success.”
Ellen felt that so far it was, but the refreshments were yet to be
served, and she could not be quite happy till she was sure that these
were all right. Time was passing, and it now was the hour when she must
look to matters in the kitchen. Miss Rindy had promised not to
interfere, so Ellen felt the entire responsibility, and was anxious.
Suppose salt were to get into the ice-cream, or a bat had fallen into
the punch! She voiced her fears to Caro as they left the front room
together.
“You certainly have a lively imagination,” declared Caro. “I might have
thought of the salt, but I never could have thought of the bat. Do you
want me to serve the punch or just pass around things?”
“Mrs. Hale says she will serve the punch, so you and Sally can pass
around. Mrs. Todd is going to help me with the ice-cream, and Lucilena
is going to wash up the glasses and things.”
“I think you have managed everything wonderfully.”
“Don’t give me the credit; it is chiefly due to the neighbors, who have
been so kind and helpful.”
Mrs. Todd and Mrs. Hale both had followed the girls into the kitchen.
Lucilena had arrived, reporting that she had left Billy sound asleep.
“I’ll cut the cake,” offered Mrs. Todd, “while you attend to the
ice-cream, Marietta. The punch is all ready, isn’t it? Lucilena can
carry it in, can’t she?”
“Yes, indeed she can, and then she can open the freezer.”
“Oh, and please don’t let her get salt in it,” begged Ellen.
Mrs. Hale laughed. “I can promise she won’t do that; she has opened too
many freezers to make a mistake.”
Ellen stood by, anxiously watching the process as Lucilena removed the
ice, carefully wiping the top of the freezer before taking it off. Ellen
peered interestedly in at the contents. “It looks mighty good,” she
remarked.
“It bleedged to be,” responded Lucilena, picking up a spoon and deftly
whipping off a taste which she put into her capacious mouth. “Jes’
sample it to see if all right,” she explained. But immediately her
expression changed. “Law, Miss Mar’etta,” she cried, “it got no mo’
flavah dan nothin’ ’tall. I done fergits to put in dat bernilla. What we
do ’bout it?”
“O dear!” exclaimed Ellen in distress.
Both Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Todd came over to see if Lucilena were really
right about it. “It is as flat as can be; I am so sorry,” said Mrs. Hale
after critically trying a spoonful. “I don’t know what we can do about
it; I suppose we shall have to serve it just as it is.”
Ellen looked ready to cry. After all her efforts, to have such a thing
happen was too much. Lucilena stood, arms akimbo, head one side, looking
down at the freezer as if she expected a genie to appear and set things
right. Ellen, with clasped hands, gazed pleadingly at Mrs. Todd, who
looked aloft as she spatted her hands together thoughtfully. Mrs. Hale
shook her head mournfully at Lucilena.
Presently Mrs. Todd thought of the remedy. “Put the cover back on the
freezer, Lucilena,” she ordered. “We can serve it with chocolate sauce
and no one will know the difference. It won’t take long to make it. I’ll
run over home and get the chocolate; I have plenty.” She hurried off.
Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. This was a way out, but again came a
difficulty when Caro said: “But every one doesn’t like chocolate sauce.
I know my father doesn’t.”
“Oh!” Ellen again clasped her hands in dismay.
But here Mrs. Hale, inspired by Mrs. Todd, came to the rescue. “Don’t
worry, Ellen,” she said; “we can have strawberry sauce, too, for those
that don’t care for the chocolate. Run over, Lucilena, and get that box
of strawberries out of the refrigerator.”
“Oh, but I don’t like to take your strawberries,” protested Ellen.
“It’s up to me to do what I can to correct the mistake,” declared Mrs.
Hale. “We can have some other kind of fruit for breakfast as well as
not. For my own part I’ll enjoy the berries much more with the
ice-cream.”
Mrs. Todd was back in no time with the chocolate, and following her came
Lucilena, the box of berries in one hand, and sleepy Billy slung over
her shoulder. “He jes’ cryin’ pitably,” she explained, “t’arin’ his mouf
open an’ yellin’, ‘Daddy, Daddy! dey ain’t nobody here to tek keer o’ me
but angels, and it’s too dark to see ’em.’”
“The little dear,” murmured Ellen, as she carried the child to his
mother, who cuddled and comforted him, though, with so many to take care
of him, he was soon broad awake and clamoring for ice-cream.
While Mrs. Todd was busy making the chocolate sauce the girls prepared
the strawberries, and before long everything was ready, the delay being
scarcely noticed by the guests. Then the girls scurried to the front
with plates and doilies, these last borrowed from Mrs. Hale, and the
ice-cream was served, praised, and consumed without the least suspicion
that in its original form it lacked flavor. Most of the cakes were
delicious, though, to her mortification, Miss Sophia Bennett’s was found
to be “sad,” and was set aside. Nobody missed it, however, for there was
an abundance without it.
After all, Lucilena didn’t wash the dishes. She had her fill of the
refreshments, gave Billy more than was good for him, then sat down and
rocked him to sleep, crooning over him, and once in a while taking a dip
from the saucer of ice-cream which she kept by her side. At last,
becoming sleepy herself, without further concern she bore Billy off to
his home, put him, sound asleep, in his crib, and went to bed without a
qualm of conscience.
So to the girls fell the task of washing the dishes, but they made so
merry over it that it brought from the front room the last lingering
guests, Doctor and Mrs. Rowe, waiting for their daughter; the Hales, who
were to take home some of the “borrowings”; and the Todds, who wanted to
talk over matters with the rest.
Dr. Rowe was the first to open the kitchen door and peep in. “Here,
here, what’s all this fun about?” he exclaimed. “Let me in on it, can’t
you?”
“Not unless you share the work,” said his daughter saucily.
“Glad to do it. Do I wear an apron? Am I to wash or wipe?”
“Neither,” Ellen told him. “We are in the thick of it, and may as well
finish. Are you willing to make yourself useful in any old way?”
“You have but to command me.”
“Then you can sort out those punch glasses and put them carefully in
that basket; they go back to the Hales, that is, all those with the wall
of Tyre decoration; the others belong to Mrs. Todd.”
“Be sure you don’t break any, Daddy,” sang out Caro. “You know what to
expect from Mrs. Todd, if you do.”
“I’m not in the least afraid of Bessie Todd,” the doctor declared
emphatically. “I’ve ordered her about too many times in the past not to
expect her to stand in awe of me.”
“What’s that about Bessie Todd?” asked that person appearing at the
door.
“I said I wasn’t afraid of you, but that I expected you to be afraid of
me,” retorted the doctor.
“That day has passed,” replied Mrs. Todd.
“Better not be too sure. Wait till you get down with an illness and see
if you dare disobey my orders. I wish you’d come here and finish this
job. You know better than I do which of these glasses belong in your
cupboard.”
Mrs. Todd was not unwilling, and the doctor turned to Ellen, saying: “I
have an understudy. What shall I do now?”
Ellen surveyed the room. “You see that cake over there. You can eat what
you can of it, and I will see what can be done with the rest.”
“That cake? I’d as soon swallow a bullet. Do you want me to die of acute
indigestion? It’s as heavy as lead, girl. Throw it away.”
Mrs. Todd left the glasses and came over to regard the cake critically.
“It is rather heavy,” she commented, “but the edges might be used in
cabinet pudding.”
“Then please take it and make the pudding,” cried the doctor, “but I
will not be responsible for your death or Jeremy’s. If I have a hurry
call from you to-morrow night, I shall know what remedies to bring.”
Mrs. Todd laughed. “I was going to invite you to dinner, but now I shall
not.”
“Good thing, too. Here, give me that broom, Ellen. I’ll sweep up.”
With the many hands at work the kitchen was soon in fair order, the last
goodnights were said, and Ellen was left alone with her cousin.
“We haven’t gone very far along with the kisses,” she said. “At this
rate we’ll never get to the forty-sixth.” She put her arms around Miss
Rindy and kissed her. “How did you like your party? How do you feel now
that it is over?”
“I feel ten years younger, though I’m wondering what the tongues will
say when they go clacking to-morrow.”
“What could they say?”
“They could say vanity, extravagance, foolishness. Why couldn’t they
spend their money on something sensible when they have so little of it?
Why did old Rindy Crump doll herself up like a sixteen-year-old? Hadn’t
she any better sense?”
“Now, Cousin Rindy!” Ellen was really hurt. “I don’t see why you should
be so suspicious. I don’t believe there was a person here who would say
or even think such things.”
“Well, maybe not. The fact of the matter is, Ellen, that I have enjoyed
myself so greatly that I feel sort of queer about it, as if I hadn’t any
right to. I told you that I had never had a party in all my life, but I
didn’t tell you that it was something I always longed for but never felt
that I should afford. But when you took the matter into your own hands I
was weak enough not to protest overmuch.”
“You dear thing,” said Ellen, giving her a close hug. “If you could have
heard how everybody rejoiced when I told them you were to have a party,
you could never think they disapproved. I never saw more enthusiasm, nor
such kind friends.”
“What about Sophy Bennett and Bessie Todd?”
“Poor Miss Bennett came out into the kitchen to see her cake cut, and
was so mortified because it was so heavy no one could think of eating
it. I felt really sorry for her. As for Mrs. Todd, well, things might
have fallen flatter than the cake if she hadn’t come to the rescue.”
Then Ellen told of the ice-cream episode, ending up with: “And no one
was the wiser. Indeed I think the two kinds of sauce were a great
addition.”
“I think so myself. Wasn’t it just like that trifling Lucilena to leave
out something? It’s a mercy it wasn’t sugar. I suppose she was of some
use, however.”
Ellen laughed. “I can’t remember that she did anything but take the ice
out of the freezer and go after the strawberries. But, no matter, we all
pitched in, washed up the dishes, and had a lot of fun over it.”
“I feel sort of condemned to have stood back and let you have the entire
responsibility as well as the work.”
“But you promised, you know; besides, this was your day, and——” Ellen
paused, then she said with a little laugh, “I don’t believe that all
these good people would have been so ready to contribute and to help you
if I hadn’t asked them, because, dear Lady Orinda, you are a bit
stand-offish, and are so proud and haughty that you won’t let any one do
things for you if you can avoid it, while I am such a young and humble
little ‘creetur’ that I appeal.”
“Humble, are you? I haven’t seen much humility, though I admit you are
young.”
“But I’m growing older every minute. Just think, it won’t be long before
I am sixteen, and then what?”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” Miss Rindy sighed. “If you are going
to make music your profession, you should have better opportunities than
this little town affords. You’ll never get anywhere living always in
this poky place. Jeremy says there isn’t a doubt but you could make your
way in the city, and it is there you should go to study.”
“Don’t let’s cross that bridge yet. Who knows what may happen? It will
be a long time before I have learned all Mr. Todd can teach me;
meanwhile I am learning lots of other things, and am growing fonder and
fonder of the place, the people, and my own home.”
Miss Rindy took her by the shoulders and looked her straight in the
eyes. “Then you aren’t unhappy, Ellen. You are satisfied to be with me.”
Ellen took the two hands laid on her shoulders and kissed first one and
then the other. “Dear Cousin Rindy,” she said, “I don’t know what I
should have done without you. Of course I was very unhappy at first,
while it was all so strange, and the time had been so short since I had
lost my dear ones. I would have been unhappy anywhere and with any one,
but think what it is to have you, and Jeremy Todd, and Caro, not to
mention all the other dear people. I have had to get used to the
different way of looking at things, the different standards, but it
doesn’t matter a particle now when they call me red-head, and think
buttonhole mouths and wasp waists and——”
“High foreheads,” put in Miss Rindy.
“Yes, it was hard to think that all those old-fashioned standards of
beauty were the correct ones. I was sort of bewildered at first, because
I had lived with artists who don’t admire such things, but now I don’t
care, and there is no one in the world who is as much to me as you are.”
“That is a satisfaction to me. Well, Ellen, I reckon we’ll hit it off
pretty well as long as we are destined to live together. When the time
comes to separate, as it must some day, neither of us will feel like
chuckling,” which was as near as Miss Rindy could come to expressing her
real affection. “Come along, now,” she added, changing the subject
abruptly, “it is long past bedtime; we won’t want to get up in the
morning.”
They went up to their rooms. The scent of roses and honeysuckle was
wafted into their windows. Ellen went to hers and knelt down to look up
at the quiet stars. “Dear Mother, dear Father,” she murmured, “I hope
that you can see me, and that you know how good a home I have. It will
comfort you to know.”
Then suddenly upon the balmy air of the June night came the sound of
music near, very near. Jeremy Todd was playing on his violin directly
under the windows. Ellen ran to her cousin’s room. “Cousin Rindy, Cousin
Rindy,” she whispered, “do you hear? It is Mr. Todd, and he is
serenading you.”
“Now isn’t that just like Jeremy Todd to do a sentimental thing like
that? The end of a perfect day, I suppose he’d call it.”
“But isn’t that just what it is?” said Ellen.
“Well, yes, I suppose it is; it’s the end, anyway.” She did not object,
however, to kneeling down with Ellen by the open window into which the
light from a half moon streamed.
“Isn’t it lovely?” sighed Ellen, as Jeremy, with a high, fine,
long-drawn note, finished what he was playing. Then he began the air of
one of the Schumann songs. Ellen leaned out to toss a rose to the
serenader. “Troubadour, troubadour,” she called, “I’m coming down.”
“Why in the world do you want to do that?” inquired Miss Rindy.
“I’ll show you when I get down there. Now please do stay just where you
are. I won’t be gone very long. Please stay, Cousin Rindy.” And Miss
Rindy stayed.
Ellen ran out upon the moonlit grass plot where intricate shadows were
swaying. She said something in a low tone to Jeremy, and he tuned his
violin anew. Then upon the quiet night arose Ellen’s sweet, fresh voice
in the song her mother loved, Schumann’s “Moonlight.”
“That was well done,” said Mr. Todd as the last note died away. “When
you are a little older, your voice should be cultivated, Ellen.”
Ellen shook her head. “We can’t talk about that now. I think Cousin
Rindy has had a perfectly fine birthday, don’t you, Mr. Todd? And it was
so dear of you to finish it up with the lovely music, like a good-night
blessing, wasn’t it? I am sure Cousin Rindy enjoyed it, though she may
not say so, and I’m not quite sure that she would understand
‘Moonlight.’ I felt that I must sing it—for Mother. On this lovely night
she seems so near.”
“I think she is,” responded Mr. Todd. “The music was for you, Ellen, as
much as for Miss Rindy.”
“I knew that as soon as you began. I must go in. Cousin Rindy will think
I am crazy to stay out so long. Good-night, and thank you, thank you,
thank you for the serenade.”
She ran in to find Miss Rindy had arisen from her knees and was taking
down her hair and preparing for bed.
“Did you ever have a serenade before?” asked Ellen. “How did you like
it?”
“Oh, pretty well. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard Jeremy scraping on
his fiddle. You’ve got a right pretty voice, Ellen, but I can’t say
there was much tune to the thing you sang. What was it?”
“It is called ‘Moonlight,’ and this seemed just the time to sing it.
Mother loved it. I thought she’d like me to sing it for you on your
birthday.”
“Maybe so, maybe so. Well, Ellen, it’s high time you were in bed. Trot
along.” Then she took the girl in her arms and gave her a warm kiss, a
most unusual thing for Rindy Crump to do.