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IN APPLE-BLOSSOM TIME
A Fairy-Tale to Date
by
CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM
With Illustrations
Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Copyright, 1919, by Clara Louise Burnham
All Rights Reserved
[Illustration: Lifted the Girl in after it]
CONTENTS
I. The Princess
II. The Ogre
III. The Prince
IV. The Good Fairy
V. The New Help
VI. The Dwarf
VII. A Midnight Message
VIII. The Meadow
IX. The Bird of Prey
X. The Palace
XI. Mother and Son
XII. The Transformation
XIII. The Goddess
XIV. The Mermaid Shop
XV. The Clouds Disperse
XVI. Apple Blossoms
ILLUSTRATIONS
_Drawn by B. Morgan Dennis_
Lifted the Girl in after it
Tingling with the Increasing Desire to knock down his Host
and catch this Girl up in his Arms
"Geraldine Melody belongs to me. Her father gave her to me"
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
In the Order of their Appearance
The Good Fairy _Mehitable Upton_
The Princess _Geraldine Melody_
The Ogre _Rufus Carder_
The Dwarf _Pete_
The Slave _Mrs. Carder_
The Prince _Benjamin Barry_
The Grouch _Charlotte Whipp_
The Queen _Mrs. Barry_
IN APPLE-BLOSSOM TIME
CHAPTER I
The Princess
Miss Mehitable Upton had come to the city to buy a stock of goods for
the summer trade. She had a little shop at the fashionable resort of
Keefeport as well as one in the village of Keefe, and June was
approaching. It would soon be time to move.
Miss Upton's extreme portliness had caused her hours of laborious
selection to fatigue her greatly. Her face was scarlet as she entered a
popular restaurant to seek rest and refreshment. She trudged with all
the celerity possible toward the only empty table, her face expressing
wearied eagerness to reach that desirable haven before any one else
espied it.
Scarcely had she eased herself down into the complaining chair, however,
before a reason for the unpopularity of this table appeared. A steady
draught blew across it strong enough to wave the ribbons on her hat.
"This won't do at all," muttered Miss Mehitable. "I'm all of a sweat."
She looked about among the busy hungry horde, and her eye alighted on a
table at which a young girl sat alone.
"Bet she'll hate to see me comin', but here goes," she added, slipping
the straps of her bag up on her arm and grasping the sides of the table
with both hands.
Ben Barry was wont to say: "When Mehit is about to rise and flee, it's a
case of Yo heave ho, my hearties. All hands to the ropes." But then it
was notorious that Ben's bump of reverence was an intaglio.
Miss Upton got to her feet and started on her trip, her eyes expressing
renewed anxiety.
A lantern-faced, round-shouldered man, whose ill-fitting clothes, low
collar several sizes too large, and undecided manner suggested that he
was a visitor from the rural districts, happened to be starting for the
young girl's table at the same moment.
Miss Upton perceived his intention.
"Let him set in the draught," she thought. "He don't look as if he'd
ever been het up in his life."
With astonishing swiftness her balloon-like form took on an extra
sprint. The man became aware of her object and they arrived at the
coveted haven nearly simultaneously.
Miss Mehitable's umbrella decided the victory. She deftly moved it to
where a hurdle would have intervened for her rival in their foot-race,
and the preoccupied girl at the table looked up somewhat startled as a
red face atop a portly figure met her brown eyes in triumph. The girl
glanced at the defeated competitor and took in the situation. The man
scowled at Mehitable's umbrella planted victoriously beside its owner
and his thin lips expressed his impatience most unbecomingly. Then he
caught sight of the vacant table and started for that with the haste
which, like many predecessors, he was to find unnecessary.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," said Miss Upton, still excited from her
Marathon, "but you'd have had him if you hadn't had me."
The girl was a sore-hearted maiden, and the geniality and good-humor in
the jolly face opposite had the effect of a cheery fire in a gloomy and
desolate room.
"I would much rather have you," she replied. "I couldn't have sat
opposite that Adam's apple."
Miss Mehitable laughed. "He wasn't pretty, was he?" she replied; "and
wasn't he mad, though?"
Then she became aware that if the disappointed man had not been
prepossessing, her present companion was so. A quantity of golden hair,
a fine pink-and-white skin, with dark eyebrows, eyes, and lashes, were
generous gifts of Nature; and the curves of the grave little mouth were
very charming. The girl's plain dark suit and simple hat, and above all
her shrinking, cast-down demeanor made her appear careless, even unaware
of these advantages, and Miss Mehitable noticed this at once.
"Hasn't the child got a looking-glass?" she thought; and even as she
thought it and took the menu she observed a tear gather on the dark
lashes opposite.
As the girl wiped it away quickly, she glanced up and saw the look of
kindly concern in her neighbor's face.
"I'd rather you would be the one to see me cry, too," she said. "I can't
help it," she added desperately. "They just keep coming and coming no
matter what I do, and I must eat."
"Well, now, I'm real sorry." Miss Upton's hearty sincerity was a sort of
consolation. After she had given her luncheon order she spoke again to
her vis-a-vis who was valiantly swallowing.
"Do your folks live here in town?" she asked in the tone one uses toward
a grieving child.
"Oh, if I had folks!" returned the other. "Do people who have folks ever
cry?"
"Why, you poor child," said Miss Mehitable. For the girl caught her
lower lip under her teeth and for a minute it seemed that she was not
going to be able to weather the crisis of her emotion: but her
self-control was equal to the emergency and she bit down the battling
sob. Miss Mehitable saw the struggle and refrained from speaking for a
few minutes. Her luncheon arrived and she broke open a roll. She
continued to send covert glances at the young girl who industriously
buttered small pieces of bread and put them into her unwilling mouth,
and drank from a glass of milk.
When Miss Upton thought it was safe to address her again, she spoke:
"Who have you got to take care of you, then?" she asked.
"Nobody," was the reply, but the girl spoke steadily now. Apparently she
had summoned the calm of desperation.
"Why, that don't seem possible," returned Miss Mehitable, and her voice
and manner were full of such sympathetic interest that the forlorn one
responded again; this time with a long look of gratitude that seemed to
sink right down through Miss Upton's solicitous eyes into her good
heart.
"You're a kind woman. If there are any girls in your family they know
where to go for comfort. I'm sure of that."
"There ain't any girls in my family. I'm almost without folks myself;
but then, I'm old and tough. I work for my livin'. I keep a little
store."
"That is what I wanted to do--work for my living," said the girl. "I've
tried my best." Again for a space she caught her lip under her teeth.
"First I tried the stores; then I even tried service. I went into a
family as a waitress. I"--she gave a determined swallow--"I suppose
there must be some good men in the world, but I haven't found any."
Miss Upton's small eyes gave their widest stare and into them came
understanding and indignation.
"I'm discouraged"--said the girl, and a hard tone came into her low
voice--"discouraged enough to end it all."
"Now--now--don't you talk that way," stammered Miss Mehitable. "I s'pose
it's because you're so pretty."
"Yes," returned the girl disdainfully. "I despise my looks."
"Now, see here, child," exclaimed Miss Upton, prolonging her troubled
stare, "perhaps Providence helped me nearly trip up that slab-sided
gawk. Perhaps I set down here for a purpose. Desperate folks cling to
straws. I'm the huskiest straw you ever saw, and I might be able to give
you some advice. At least I've got an old head and you've got a young
one, bless your poor little heart. Why don't we go somewheres where we
can talk when we're through eating?"
"You're very good to take an interest," replied the girl.
"I'm as poor as Job's turkey," went on Miss Upton, "and I haven't got
much to give you but advice."
The girl leaned across the table. "Yes, you have," she said, her soft
dark eyes expressive. "Kindness. Generosity. A warm heart."
"Well, then, you come with me some place where we can talk; but," with
sudden cheerfulness, "let's have some ice-cream first. Don't you love
it? I ought to run a mile from the sight of it; and these fried potatoes
I've just been eatin' too. I've no business to look at 'em; but when I
come to town I just kick over the traces. I forget there is such a thing
as Graham bread and I just have one good time."
She laughed and the young girl regarded her wistfully.
"It's a pity you haven't any daughters," she said.
"I haven't even any husband," was the cheerful response, "and I never
shall have now, so why should I worry over my waistline? Queen Victoria
had one the same size and everybody respected _her_. Now I'm goin' to
order the ice-cream. That's my treat as a proof that you and I are
friends. My name is Upton. What's yours, my dear?"
"Melody."
"First or last?"
"Last. Geraldine Melody."
"It's a _nawful_ pretty name," declared Miss Upton impressively. "There
ain't any discord in melody. Now you take courage. Which'll you have?
Chocolate or strawberry?"