THE MEANING OF SEMPER FIDELIS
Father Time has an unfortunate habit of scudding along at a tremendously
rapid pace over the delightful roads of life. It is only when the ways
are rough and stony that he is prone to lag and linger. To the
reunionists the prospect of a week spent together had offered limitless
possibilities. Once that coveted period of time had become theirs, it
proceeded to vanish in an alarming fashion. On Monday they had
congratulated themselves and one another that six glorious days were
still theirs. By Wednesday they had begun to mourn that only four were
left them.
Life at the Briggs' cottage offered a ceaseless succession of wholesome
pleasures. Early morning invariably found the reunionists strengthening
their acquaintance with the ocean. Breakfast over, a bathing suit
procession to the nearby beach became the usual order of things. They
spent long sunny hours playing about in the surf, or stretched at ease
on the white sand, exchanging an apparently exhaustless flow of
light-hearted conversation relating to almost everything under the sun.
Imbued with tireless energy, their afternoons brought them fresh
entertainment in the way of long automobile rides to various points of
interest, followed by jolly little teas or dinners along the way. The
annual excursion to Picnic Hollow, which claimed the greater part of a
whole day, was also a memorable occasion. Evening, however, usually
overtook them at the cottage. By common consent they tabooed the more
formal social entertainment which the various hostelries at Wildwood
offered. Only on one occasion did they diverge from their clannish
programme in order to attend an informal hop given by Elfreda's friend,
Madge Morton, at her father's cottage.
During their stay at the Briggs' cottage the previous summer, they had
been given the opportunity of meeting this charming young girl. Shortly
after their arrival she had come over from the Morton cottage to pay
them a friendly call. Greatly attracted to her, on first meeting they
had greeted her warmly and invited her to share their good times.
Madge and Grace had a bond in common in that while Grace was preparing
to be married to Tom Gray, Madge was trying to decide whether or not she
should pledge herself to marry Tom Curtis. Before the week ended she had
confided her problem to Grace and the two girls discussed the subject
long and earnestly. Yet despite such friendly counsel as Grace felt
privileged to give, Madge could come to no definite decision.
Though five days of smiling sunshine had added immeasurably to the
welfare of the devoted company, Saturday morning dawned gray and
threatening. Before breakfast was over the ominous prediction of storm
was fulfilled. Amid reverberating peals of thunder, heavy raindrops
began to fall. They were merely the prelude to a furious downpour which
descended in silvery sheets, and fairly overflowed the discouraged
landscape. A strong wind rose, lashing the leaden expanse of sea into a
white-capped fury quite foreign to its hitherto deceitfully dimpled
aspect.
"It's a horrible day," conceded Elfreda Briggs gloomily. "We can't do
any of the things we've planned. No bathing, no motor trip, either,
unless this deluge stops, which doesn't seem likely."
"Oh, it may clear up," comforted Emma Dean. "I've seen worse days than
this suddenly brace up and smile. Let's possess our souls in patience.
Incidental to the process we might restore the shattered faith of some
of our deluded correspondents. During the past six days it has pained me
to observe the postman arrive, full-handed, to turn away, alas,
empty-handed. I ask you as man to man--why this thusness? Now that we
are about to depart, it might be well to apprise our neglected families
of the fact."
"Emma, you are a noble woman," declared Miriam with deep conviction. "I
may not have noticed it before, but better late than never. I move that
we organize a writing school in the living-room for the purpose of
squaring ourselves with our too-trusting families and friends."
"What's the use in writing home now?" demanded Julia Emerson. "Sara and
I would get there almost as soon as our letters. We have to go
to-morrow, you know."
"I know." Emma held her handkerchief ostentatiously to her eyes. "Never
mind. You may write to _me_. You know I have always admired your nice
vertical handwriting. It takes me back to my first-reader days."
"Sorry I can't oblige you," giggled Julia, "but I'm not in the mood for
letter writing. I'm going to pack my trunk and send it to the station
before Sara has a chance to stuff half of her belongings into it."
"Such sisterly devotion," murmured Emma.
"Oh, I don't mind," was Sara's cheerful comment. "I've already packed my
sweater and two dresses in Julia's trunk. You'd better leave them there,
Julia, I haven't an inch of room left in my trunk to squeeze them into.
It is already jammed so full that you'll have to sit on the lid when I
get ready to lock it."
"Stung!" was Julia's inelegant comment. "This is what comes of being a
twin. I think I'd better hurry and gobble up the small trunk space that
is left me; otherwise I may have to carry a large part of my wardrobe
home in a bundle." Dread of such a contingency sent her fleeing up the
stairs in hot pursuit of her own welfare, oblivious to the pleasantries
which Emma and Sara called after her as she ran.
Seated around the long library table in the living-room, the
correspondence party made an attractive picture as, with earnest faces,
they bent themselves to the arduous task of letter-writing. With the
exception of Grace, all present were soon hard at work. One hand resting
lightly on a sheet of the monogrammed paper which Elfreda had provided
in profusion, with her other hand Grace nervously gripped her fountain
pen. Should she or should she not write to Tom? Although she owed the
usual amount of letters to various correspondents, she now thought only
of writing to the man for whose strange silence she could not account.
It was Tom's place to write her. She had answered his first letter. Yet
she could not believe that carelessness was responsible for his silence.
Something must have happened to him. But what? She knitted her brows in
an agony of indecision, then giving her pen an energetic shake that
betokened definite purpose, she began:
"DEAR TOM:
"It is now over a week since last I heard from you. What----"
The loud ring of the doorbell caused her to break off abruptly the
sentence she had begun. With that curious intuition which sometimes
manifests itself unbidden, she was seized with the startled conviction
that the bell had conveyed the news of an arrival important to herself.
Listening with an anxiety she could not yet understand, she heard a
man's deep tones raised in inquiry. Then came the lighter voice of the
maid who had answered the door. Then----
"Miss Harlowe," the maid had entered the living-room and addressed her,
"there's a special delivery letter come for you. Will you please sign
for it?"
"Thank you, Alice." Grace sprang to her feet and hurried into the hall.
The messenger handed her a letter and shoved his book toward her,
indicating the place for her signature. Hastily signing and returning
the book, Grace dismissed the man, and sank to the oak settee in the
hall, her heart thumping wildly. She had already recognized the
handwriting on the envelope, not as Tom's familiar flowing hand, but as
the spidery, wavering script of Mrs. Gray. With trembling fingers she
tore open the envelope and read:
"DEAR GRACE:
"Have you heard from Tom? I am dreadfully worried. I have only
received the one letter from him of which you already know. It is
not in the least like him to thus put off writing me. He knew
before he went that I should be uneasy about him, and promised
faithfully to write me every other day. For the sake of your
anxious and bewildered Fairy Godmother, will you come to me as soon
as possible, if you have not heard from him? If so, then telegraph
me to that effect and I shall rest easier. I have put off writing
you from day to day, in the hope that I might receive news of my
boy, and also because I could not bear to spoil your pleasure. But
as it is now Friday and you will receive this on Saturday, I know
that if you have received no word from him, you will not mind
coming home a day earlier than you had planned. Once we are
together again, we can decide on some method of action. Thus far I
have done nothing. Believe me, my dear, only my great anxiety
compels me to ask you to make this sacrifice.
"Yours lovingly,
"ROSE GRAY."
The letter sliding from her nerveless fingers, Grace saw her
surroundings through a swirling mist. For a moment or two she yielded to
the terror that clutched at her heart. Her sturdy nature reasserting
itself, she rose, recovered the letter and walked slowly into the
living-room.
"Girls," she said, her voice a trifle unsteady, "I must leave you at
once. I--Mrs. Gray needs me and has sent for me. I am sorry I can't tell
you the reason. I am sure you will understand that I am giving you as
much of my confidence as I can." She paused, her gray eyes looking utter
affection on the startled group about the table. "I want you to promise
to finish the reunion just as happily as though I were with you. Later,
perhaps I can tell you what I mayn't tell you now. It is not yet eleven
o'clock, so I am sure I can catch the noon express."
Grace's remarkable announcement drove the business of letter-writing to
the winds. A bevy of sympathetic girls gathered about her, sending up a
concerted lament. Yet none ventured to inquire into the cause of her
departure, or to ask her to reconsider her decision to depart at once.
Loyal to the core, her wish was their law. Each eagerly offered her
services in behalf of the love they bore her. Torn though she was by the
shock of this new sorrow, Grace could not help thinking as she stood
there, how gloriously worthy were these staunch comrades to bear the
name Semper Fidelis.