THE FAIRY GOD-MOTHER ARRIVES
They found the schoolhouse already rapidly filling. To Elizabeth, the
little room presented a scene of dazzling splendor. The place was
indeed transformed. It was decorated with festoons of evergreens and
wreaths of paper flowers; and lamps twinkled from every window-sill.
Across the platform was stretched a white curtain, constructed from
Mrs. Robertson's and Mrs. Clegg's sheets, while from behind this magic
screen--hiding one could not guess what wonders--shone all the lanterns
owned by the population of Forest Glen, and across its glowing surface
flitted gigantic shadows.
Martha Ellen Robertson, in a brilliant pink satin waist, and all her
jewelry; and Miss Hillary in a new white dress, were already hurrying
up and down the aisle marshaling their forces. As the artists appeared
they arranged them on the row of improvised benches at the front,
charging them to sit there quietly until their turn came for stepping
behind the magic curtain.
Elizabeth and Rosie found each other immediately, and sat close
together on the very front row. Rosie was a perfect vision in a white
dress, with a string of beads around her neck and her curls tied up by
a broad pink ribbon. Elizabeth, in her Sunday pinafore, starched a
little stiffer than usual, gazed at her in boundless admiration. She
had supposed, before leaving home, that Mary would be the most
beautiful creature present; but Mary's pale flaxen curls and colorless
pinafore were lost in the gorgeous display on all sides. Katie and
Lottie Price were the grandest. They fairly bristled with ribbons and
lace; but indeed all the girls were so gayly dressed that the Gordons
looked like little gray sparrows in a flock of birds of Paradise. Mary
sighed and looked around miserably at the gay throng; but little did
Elizabeth care. She sat on the front bench, with Rosie on one side and
Eppie on the other, and rapturously swung her feet and laughed and
talked, all oblivious of her dun-colored clothes. It was quite
impossible not to be wildly happy at such a grand festive gathering.
The schoolroom seemed some wonderful place she had never seen before.
The middle section of the sheets was drawn back, displaying the
platform with the teacher's desk and the blackboard, all fairly
smothered in cedar and balsam boughs and tissue-paper roses, and
smelling as sweet as the swamp behind the school. It was such a bower
of beauty that Elizabeth could scarcely believe she had stood there
only yesterday, striving desperately to make a complex fraction turn
simple.
The crowd was steadily gathering, and the noise steadily increasing.
Right at the back a group of boys were bunched together, laughing,
talking, and whistling. Elizabeth was ashamed to see that John and
Charles Stuart were amongst those whom Miss Hillary was vainly striving
to bring up to the performers' seats of honor.
In the midst of the pleasant hum and stir there arose a commotion near
the door. A group of strangers was entering. At the sight of them,
Miss Hillary plunged behind the curtains, and Rosie and Elizabeth could
see her through a division in the sheets, anxiously arranging her hair
before the little mirror. Then the wise old Rosie nodded her head
significantly, and standing up, peered between the rows of people's
heads. "I knew it was him!" she cried triumphantly. "I knew just by
the way Miss Hillary jumped,"--and so it was--the owner of the red
cutter! Then Elizabeth, forgetting her aunt's eye, jumped up too, and
almost cried out with joy, for the man with him, the tall one with the
handsome fur collar and cap, was none other than Mr. Coulson! There
were two ladies with him, too--but she did not notice them in her
delight. He was recognized at once by his old pupils, and they all set
up a storm of clapping. The older people, gathered around the stove,
crowded about him, shaking his hand and clapping him on the back. Then
the Red Cutter came with him up to the curtains and introduced him to
Miss Hillary. And all the other young ladies who were helping in the
concert shook hands with the old teacher, and Martha Ellen laughed and
talked so loud that Elizabeth was delighted and wondered what had
pleased her so. Next, Mr. Coulson spied the row of little girls gazing
up at him with eager eyes, and he pulled Rosie's curls and Elizabeth's
braid, and kissed Mary and pinched Katie and patted all the others on
the head. Then he boxed the boys' ears, and told Miss Hillary they
were a bad lot, and he didn't see how she put up with them, and
altogether behaved so funnily that they fairly shouted with delight.
Suddenly he turned abruptly, and, marching up to the platform, took his
place at the desk.
Elizabeth was greatly disappointed. She had expected he would at least
shake hands with Annie. She curled round Rosie and peeped through the
rows of people to catch a sight of her sister. Annie, strange to say,
did not look in the least disappointed. She was laughing and chatting
with Jean and Bella Johnstone, and looking just as gay and happy as
possible. Elizabeth gave up the problem. It was really no use trying
to understand the queer ways of grown-up folks.
Mr. Coulson stood up to make his chairman's speech and to tell them he
was very glad to come back to Forest Glen. Elizabeth thought his
address was wonderfully clever, her partial eyes failing to notice that
he was big and awkward, that he did not know what to do with his hands,
and that he was more than usually nervous. There was another pair of
eyes, besides Elizabeth's, that, when they dared lift themselves,
looked upon his blundering performance with tender pride. But Miss
Gordon gazed at him coldly, thanking herself that she had put an end to
all nonsense between him and Annie before it was too late. The
grandson of a tavern-keeper, though he might rise to have good morals,
could never reach the height of genteel manners.
At last the chairman's halting remarks were concluded, and the
programme fairly started. First came a chorus by all the girls of the
school, and such of the boys as could be coaxed or driven to the
platform; the masculine portion of the artists having suddenly
developed an overwhelming modesty. But the girls were all eager to
perform; and they sang "Flow gently, sweet Afton" with great vigor,
and, as Mr. Coulson said afterwards, "just like the robins in
springtime."
As they burst into the second verse, Elizabeth, who stood directly
behind Mary, and had to view the audience through the halo, was
surprised to see a boy down near the stove making vigorous signs to
attract her attention. She stared in amazement, and almost stopped
singing. It was Horace! There he was in a brand new velvet suit,
smiling at her with the greatest glee, and pointing her out to his
companions. He sat between two ladies, the very two Elizabeth had seen
enter with Mr. Coulson. One was a tall, thin lady in a sealskin coat,
probably Horace's mamma, as he called her. The other lady was very
stout and wonderfully dressed. Elizabeth could scarcely see her face
for the enormous plumed hat she wore. She seemed to be a very grand
lady, indeed, for, every time she moved, jewels glittered on her hat or
at her throat.
Elizabeth quite forgot the words of the song watching her, and was
absently singing:
"_There oft as mild evening weeps over the Tea,
There daily I wander as noon rises high,_"
when Rosie poked her back to consciousness.
When they had come down from the platform and the stir of preparation
for the next number was going on behind the billowing sheets, Elizabeth
felt herself pulled vigorously from behind. She whirled about; Horace
was beside her, all smiles.
"Hello," he cried cordially. "Say, you sang just jolly, Lizzie."
"Hello!" responded Elizabeth, forgetting in her delight that this was
not a genteel salutation. "I'm awful glad to see you, Horace." This
was quite true; since he did not appear in the role of beau any more,
she was genuinely pleased at the sight of her old playmate. Rosie
expressed the same sentiment rapturously. Susie and Katie followed,
and even Eppie faltered out some words of welcome.
"How did you come to be here?" Elizabeth asked.
"Mr. Coulson told me there was a concert, and I just coaxed mamma to
let me come until she was nearly crazy and just had to let me. I can
manage her all right. Papa's different, though. He wouldn't let me
come with Mr. Coulson alone, and I wanted to!" His handsome face
curled up in a pout. "They always tag round after me as if I was a
kid. But Mr. Coulson fixed it up. Say, he's a dandy. He came over
and coaxed papa to let me come, and he got Aunt Jarvis to come, too.
That's Aunt Jarvis next the stove. She likes Mr. Coulson awful well
and said she'd come to oblige him, and then mamma said she'd come, too.
Madeline intended to come, too, but she was going to a party. She goes
to one 'most every night. I wish I could, but I always get sick. Say,
Lizzie, I've got a new dog, and I hitch him to my sleigh, and oh, say,
he's the dandiest fun----"
But Elizabeth was not listening. She was too much overcome by the
wonderful news. Mrs. Jarvis, the fairy god-mother, who had always
seemed unreal, was really and truly there in the flesh! She could
scarcely believe it.
Horace, finding his audience inattentive, moved away, chatting volubly
to all his old friends, and the next moment Jean came crushing her way
through the crowd to Elizabeth's side, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Lizzie, aunt sent me to tell you to do your very, very best. Mrs.
Jarvis is really and truly down there," she whispered excitedly. "And
she says to be sure and smooth your hair just before your dialogue, and
don't for the world let your boot laces come untied. And when it's all
over, aunt says you're to come down with her and be introduced."
Elizabeth did not hear a word of her sister's admonitions. She
realized only that Mrs. Jarvis was there to watch her act in a
dialogue! Her heart stood still at the thought, and then went on again
madly.
Meanwhile, Mary had spread the news of the town visitors, and all the
girls were in a flutter.
"It's too bad," Katie Price whispered to Rosie, "that Lizzie Gordon's
got that awful lookin' pinny on. Mrs. Jarvis 'll be ashamed of her.
And her hair ain't curled even."
"She can beat anybody in the school at speakin' a dialogue, anyhow,"
declared Rosie loyally. "And Martha Ellen's goin' to dress her up in
long clothes anyway, so it don't matter."
The concert was going steadily on, each performer showing signs of the
epidemic of excitement that the arrival of the town visitors had
produced. Lottie Price stopped short three times in reciting "Curfew
must not ring to-night," and had to be helped from behind the sheets by
Miss Hillary. No one felt very sorry, for, as Teenie Robertson said,
"Lottie Price was just showing off, anyhow, and it served her right."
But everyone else seemed to go wrong from the moment the strangers were
announced, and to Elizabeth's dismay even poor Rosie did not escape.
The programme partook largely of a temperance sentiment, and Rosie's
song was "Father, dear father, come home with me now," a selection
which at the practices had almost moved the spectators to tears. Joel
Davis, because he was the biggest boy in the school, and hadn't
anything to do but sit still, acted the part of Rosie's father. He sat
at a table with three or four companions, all arrayed in rags, and
drank cold tea from a vinegar jar. Rosie came in, and taking Joel by
the sleeve, sang:
"_Father, dear father, come home with me now,
The clock in the steeple strikes one,
You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done._"
Then from behind the curtain some of the bigger girls, led by Martha
Ellen Robertson, sang softly:
"_Come home, come home,
Please, father, dear father, come home._"
Rosie sang another verse at two o'clock, and still another at three,
singing the hands right round to twelve, and still the obdurate Joel
sat immovable and still drank tea.
It had been considered, even by Miss Hillary, one of the best pieces on
the programme, and Elizabeth was almost as excited over it as she was
over her dialogue. And to-night Rosie looked so beautiful in her white
dress and pink bow that Elizabeth felt sure Mrs. Jarvis would think her
the sweetest, dearest girl in the whole wide world.
But what was the dismay of all the singer's friends, and the rage and
humiliation of the singer's mother, when she emerged from Miss
Hillary's hands and stood before the audience! All her glory of sash
and beads and frills was swallowed up in Mrs. Robertson's shawl--the
old, ragged "Paisley" she wore only when she went to milk the cows or
feed the chickens! Miss Hillary had even taken the pink ribbon out of
the poor little singer's curls; and Rosie confided to Elizabeth
afterwards, with sobs, she had actually bidden her take off her boots
and stockings and go barefoot! Rosie had been almost overwhelmed by
this stripping of her ornaments, but she found spirit enough remaining
to rebel at this last sacrifice. And, as Elizabeth indignantly
declared, even a worm would turn at being commanded to take off its
boots, when they were a brand new copper-toed pair with a lovely loud
squeak! But even the copper toes were concealed by the trailing ends
of Mrs. Robertson's barnyard shawl, and the poor little worm was none
the better for her turning.
The song was a melancholy failure. Rosie sang in such a dismayed,
quavering voice that no one could hear her, and everyone was relieved
when she finally broke down and had to leave before the clock in the
steeple had a chance to strike more than ten.
Rosie's mother had sat through the pitiful performance, fairly boiling
over with indignation, and as soon as the Paisley shawl, heaving with
sobs, had disappeared behind the sheets, she followed it and "had it
out" violently with Miss Hillary. Wasn't her girl as good as anybody
else's girl, was what she wanted to know, that she had to be dressed up
like a tinker's youngster before all those people from town? Miss
Hillary tried to explain that the play's the thing, and the artist must
make sacrifices to her art, but all in vain. Mrs. Carrick took Rosie
away weeping, before the concert was over, and Miss Hillary sat down
behind the sheets and cried until the Red Cutter had to come up and
make her stop.
One disaster was followed by another. Elizabeth suffered even more
agony in the next number, for this was a reading by John. Why he
should have been chosen for an elocutionary performance no one could
divine, except that he flatly refused to do anything else in public,
and his teacher was determined he should do something. With
Elizabeth's help, John had faithfully practiced in the privacy of his
room, but had never once got through his selection without breaking
down with laughter. It was certainly the funniest story in the world,
Elizabeth was sure--so funny they had not submitted it to Aunt
Margaret. It was about a monkey named Daniel that had been trained to
wait upon his master's table, and Elizabeth would dance about and
scream over the most comical passages, and had been of little
assistance to her brother in his efforts at self-control.
At first the elocutionist did fairly well, reading straight ahead in
his low monotone, and, hoping all would be well, Elizabeth ceased to
squirm and twist her braid. But as John approached the funniest part,
he forgot even the elegant strangers. Daniel grew more enchanting
every moment; grew irresistible at last, and the droning voice of his
exponent stopped short--lost in a spasm of silent laughter. He
recovered, read a little further, and collapsed again. Once more he
started, his face twisted in agony, his voice husky, but again he fell
before the side-splitting antics of Daniel.
The audience had not caught any of the monkey's jokes as yet, but they
fully appreciated the joke of the performance; and as the elocutionist
labored on, striving desperately to overcome his laughter and always
being overcome by it, the schoolhouse fairly rocked with merriment.
Elizabeth, who had begun to fear no one would hear all Daniel's
accomplishments, was greatly relieved, and laughed louder than anyone
else. John was enjoying himself, and the audience was enjoying itself,
and she was so proud of him and so glad everyone was having such a good
time!
But, as the reader finally choked completely and had to retire amidst
thunderous applause before Daniel's last escapade was finished, she was
brought to a realization of the real state of affairs by glancing back
at her aunt. Miss Gordon was sitting up very straight, with crimson
checks, and an air of awful dignity which Elizabeth's dismayed senses
told her belonged only to occasions of terrible calamity. Annie, too,
was looking very much distressed, and Jean and Malcolm wore expressions
of anger and disgust. Elizabeth's heart sank. Evidently John had
disgraced the family, poor John, and she thought he had made such a
hit! This was awful! First Rosie and then John! There came over her
a chill of terror, a premonition of disaster. When those two stars had
fallen from the firmament, how could she expect to shine with Mrs.
Jarvis sitting there in front of her?
Had she guessed how much her aunt was depending upon her, she would
have been even more terrified. Miss Gordon was keenly alive to the
fact that this evening might make or mar Elizabeth's fortune. Mrs.
Jarvis had from time to time recognized her namesake by a birthday gift
and had often intimated that she should like to see the little girl.
Miss Gordon had dreams of her adopting Elizabeth, and making the whole
family rich. And now she was to see the child for the first time, and
under favorable auspices. Elizabeth certainly showed talent in her
acting. The others were like wooden images in comparison to her.
As the curtains were drawn back for the dialogue in which she figured,
Miss Gordon drew a great breath. If Mrs. Jarvis didn't feel that she
must give that child an education after seeing how she could perform,
then all the stories of that lady's generosity, which she had heard,
must be untrue.
But, alas, for any hopes centered upon Elizabeth! Miss Gordon told
herself bitterly, when the dialogue was over, that she might have known
better. The vivacious actress, who had thrown herself into her part at
home, making it seem real, came stumbling out upon the little stage,
hampered by Annie's long skirts, and mumbled over her lines in a tone
inaudible beyond the front row of seats. Poor Elizabeth, the honor of
performing before Mrs. Jarvis had been too much for her. She did her
part as badly as it was possible to do it, growing more scared and
white each moment, and finally forgetting it altogether. Miss Gordon
hung her proud head, and Mrs. Oliver exclaimed quite audibly, "Dear me,
how did that poor child ever come to be chosen to take part?"
Elizabeth had not awakened from her stage-struck condition when the
concert was over, and her aunt, with set face, came to straighten her
pinafore, smooth her hair, and get her ready for presentation to the
ladies from town.
Many, many times had Elizabeth pictured this meeting, each time
planning with greater elaboration the part she should act. But when at
last she stood before the lady in the sealskin coat, realizing only
what a miserable failure she had been, she could think of not one of
the clever speeches she had prepared, but hung her head in a most
ungenteel manner and said nothing.
Her aunt's voice sounded like a forlorn hope as she presented her.
"This is your namesake, Mrs. Jarvis," she said.
Mrs. Jarvis was a tall, stately lady, with a sallow, discontented face.
Her melancholy, dark eyes had a kindly light in them, however, and
occasionally her face was lit up with a pleasant smile. She was richly
but quietly dressed, and in every way perfectly met Miss Gordon's
ideal. Her companion was something of a shock, however. Mrs. Oliver
was stout and red-faced, and was dressed to play the part of twenty
when Manager Time had cast her for approaching fifty. Miss Gordon
would have pronounced any other woman, with such an appearance and a
less illustrious relative, not only ungenteel but quite common, and the
sort of person Lady Gordon would never have recognized on the streets
of Edinburgh.
But Mrs. Jarvis was Mrs. Jarvis, and whoever was related to her must
surely be above the ordinary in spite of appearances.
Mrs. Jarvis was looking down at Elizabeth with a smile illuminating her
sad face. "So this is the little baby with the big eyes my dear
husband used to talk so much about." She heaved a great sigh. "Ah,
Miss Gordon, you cannot understand what a lonely life I have led since
my dear husband was taken from me."
Miss Gordon expressed warm sympathy. She was a little surprised at the
expression of grief, nevertheless, for she had always understood that,
as far as the companionship of her husband went, Mrs. Jarvis had always
led a lonely life.
"Mr. Jarvis was always very much interested in Elizabeth," she said
diplomatically. "I understand it was he who named her."
"She doesn't seem to have inherited your talent for the stage, Aunt
Jarvis," said the stout lady, laughing. "Horace, did you hear me
telling you to put on your overcoat? We must go at once."
Miss Gordon looked alarmed. It would be fatal if they left without
some further word.
"I am sure Elizabeth would like to express her pleasure at meeting you,
Mrs. Jarvis," she said, suggestively. "She has been wanting an
opportunity to thank you for your many kind remembrances."
She glanced down at her niece, and Elizabeth realized with agony that
this was the signal for her to speak. She thought desperately, but not
a gleam of one of those stately speeches she had prepared showed
itself. She was on the verge of disgracing her aunt again when Mrs.
Oliver mercifully interposed.
"Aunt Jarvis," she cried sharply, "we really must be going. The horses
are ready. Come, Horace, put on your overcoat this instant, sir."
But Master Horace was not to be ordered about by a mere mother. He
jerked himself away from her and caught his aunt's hand.
"Aunt Jarvis," he said in a wheedling tone, "we're coming out here to
visit Lizzie's place some day, ain't we? You promised now, don't you
remember?"
Mrs. Jarvis patted his hand.
"Well, I believe I did, boy," she said, "and we'll come some day," she
added graciously, "provided the owners of The Dale would like to have
us."
Miss Gordon hastened to reply. "The owners of The Dale." That sounded
like the reprieve of a sentence. "Indeed we should all be very much
pleased," she said, striving to hide her excitement. "Just tell me
when it would be most convenient for you to come. You see, since
leaving my old associations in Edinburgh, I have dropped all social
duties. You can understand, of course, that one in my position would
be quite without congenial companionship in a rural community. So I
shall look forward to your visit with much pleasure."
Mrs. Jarvis appeared visibly impressed. Evidently Miss Gordon was not
of common clay. "Now let me see," she said, "perhaps Horace and I
might drive out."
"I don't see how you can possibly find time, Aunt Jarvis," cried Mrs.
Oliver, who was forcing her unwilling son into his overcoat. "We have
engagements for three months ahead, I am sure!"
Miss Gordon drew herself up rigidly. She had heard enough of Horace's
artless chatter the summer before, to understand his mother's jealousy.
Mrs. Oliver lived in a panic of fear lest the money that should be her
children's might stray elsewhere.
There was further enlightenment waiting. Mrs. Jarvis deliberately
turned her back upon her niece.
"You are so kind," she said to Miss Gordon with elaborate emphasis,
"and indeed I shall be exceedingly glad to accept. Horace and I shall
come, you may be sure, provided he has not too many engagements; and
then," her words became more emphatic and distinct, "we shall have more
opportunity to discuss what is to be done with little Elizabeth." She
turned to where her namesake was standing, her kindly smile
illuminating her face.
"What do you want most in the world, little Elizabeth?" she asked
alluringly.
Miss Gordon held her breath. This surpassed even her brightest dreams!
"Elizabeth," she said, her voice trembling. "Do you hear what Mrs.
Jarvis is asking you?"
Yes, Elizabeth had heard, and was looking up with shining eyes, her
answer ready. But as usual she was busy exercising that special talent
she possessed for doing the unexpected.
She had been glancing about her for some means of escape from her
embarrassing position, when she had espied Eppie. The little girl,
muffled in her grandfather's old tartan plaid, for the cold drive
homeward, was slipping past, glancing wistfully at Elizabeth, the
center of the grand group from town. Elizabeth instantly forgot her
own troubles in a sudden impulse to do Eppie a good turn. This was an
opportunity not to be lost. She caught her little friend by the hand
and drew her near.
"Oh, Mrs. Jarvis!" she cried, grown quite eloquent now that she had
found a subject so near her heart, "I'd rather have Eppie stay on the
farm than anything else in the wide, wide world!"
"Elizabeth!" cried her aunt in dismay, "what are you saying?"
Mrs. Jarvis looked down with a puzzled expression at the quaint little
figure wrapped in the old plaid. But she smiled in a very kindly way.
"What is she talking about?" she inquired.
Elizabeth hung her head, speechless again. She had been importuned to
speak only a moment before, but, now that she had found her tongue,
apparently she had made a wrong use of it.
Horace came to the rescue. He spoke just whenever he pleased, and he
knew all about this matter. He had not been Elizabeth's and Rosie's
chum for two weeks without hearing much of poor Eppie's wrongs.
"That's Eppie, auntie, Eppie Turner, and that's her grandpa over
there," he explained, nodding to where old Sandy stood with a group of
men. "Mr. Huntley sold his farm, and he won't leave it."
Mrs. Jarvis glanced at the bent figure of the old Highlander, and then
at the shy face of his little granddaughter; those two whose lives
could be made or marred by a word from her. But this was not the sort
of charity that appealed to Mrs. Jarvis. It meant interfering in
business affairs and endless trouble with lawyers. She remembered that
romantic young Mr. Coulson had bothered her about either this or some
affair like it not so long ago.
"Horace, my dear," she said wearily, "don't you know by this time that
the very mention of lawyers and all their business gives your poor
auntie a headache?" She patted Eppie's cheek with her gloved fingers.
"A sweet little face," she murmured. "Good-by, Miss Gordon. I shall
see you and your charming family very soon, I hope."
She shook hands most cordially, but Miss Gordon was scarcely able to
hide her chagrin. Elizabeth had let the great chance of her life slip
through her fingers! The good-bys were said, even Mrs. Oliver, now
that her aunt had for the moment escaped temptation, bidding the lady
of The Dale a gracious farewell.
And not until Miss Gordon had collected her family and was seated in
Wully Johnstone's sleigh, ready for the homeward drive, did she
remember that in her anxiety over Elizabeth she had not once within the
last dangerous half-hour given a glance towards Annie!