Half a dozen feminine tongues babbled cheerfully. For once the Deacon's
chilly parlor, with its slippery, horse-hair furniture, its
stiff-featured portraits, and its big, black square piano, had lost a
little of its funereal aspect, and a great deal of its oppressive
neatness. Over the chairs, over the Brussels carpet, over the bow-legged
table were scattered pieces of bright sateen, blue, red, orange and
black, scraps of lace and gold tinsel, spangles and feathers. A coal
fire glowed amiably in the grate, adding a deeper color to six blooming
faces, and flashing on the bright needles that were so industriously
plied. Outside, the first heavy snow of the winter was falling, in big,
lazy flakes, which had already covered streets and roofs, and weighted
the twigs and branches of the trees.
"Well, I've got every one of my Christmas presents ready," remarked one
young lady with a comfortable sigh of relief. "I start making them in
June, but somehow I never get done until the _last_ minute."
"I just never try to make mine," said another, "I take a day, and buy
all of them in the city, when I go to visit Cousin Mary. It saves time
and trouble, and _I_ think it's really more economical."
"Oh, but then they don't have the personal touch," said a third, a tall,
thin anaemic-looking girl, with large, soulful eyes, and a tiny mouth.
"And that is what counts. It's what makes Christmas presents mean
something. I always say that I never think of the gift, but of the
thought of the giver."
"But you make such clever things, Amelia," said the one who bought her
Christmas presents, feeling ashamed of her lack of sentiment.
"Very simple things, Dolly," said Amelia, rinsing off her watercolor
brush, and then dabbing it in a square of holly-red paint. "But I think
that just a little card, with a tasteful design, and an appropriate
verse is a very suitable way of expressing the spirit of Christmas."
"And quite right, my dear," boomed in Mrs. Deacon, appearing in the
doorway. "But then you have such a charming gift of poesy. Not all of us
are blessed with _your_ magniloquence." She lifted one of Amelia's
cards, and inspected it, through a pair of lorgnettes, which she held
about six inches from her eyes, spreading out her little finger. "_How_
charming! How effete with taste! Lily, my dear, you too should try to
emulate Amelia's Christmastide mementos. You are not entirely devoid of
poetic genius. Why, I have many little emblems of your youthful flights
of fancy--where is that album, my dear?"
"Oh, mamma!" cried Lily, blushing crimson. "Those silly poems of mine!"
"Indeed they are not silly," said Mrs. Deacon, rummaging in the drawer
of the table. "No, the album is not here. Lily, my dear, when will you
remember that everything has its proper place? Now, I did want to read
Amelia that delightful little Bandeau of yours on the Pine-Tree. She
would be interested, I'm sure. And the Album is not here. Perhaps
though, I put it away myself."
"Oh, mamma, don't get it now," begged Lily, overcome with embarrassment,
adding, desperately, "Do look at the lovely thing Elise is making."
Mrs. Deacon, huge and majestic in her rustling black silk, turned her
lorgnette on Elise's exquisite embroidery.
"Charming. Absolutely charming. Do not rise, my dear. Well, I see that
you are all happily occupied. What are these gay colors?" she asked
presently, indicating the pieces of sateen.
"Oh, I brought some things that I thought might do for costumes, Mrs.
Deacon," said Annie Lee Webster. "For our party you know, on New Year's
Eve."
"Ah! A Masquerade? How charming."
"What are you going as, Amelia?" asked the fourth girl, the lively,
apple-cheeked Dolly Webster. The poetess looked up dreamily.
"As Sappho," she replied. Mrs. Deacon looked astonished, and interested.
"Sappho, my dear? How will you do that? Sappho was a race-horse!"
There was an irrepressible chuckle from the window embrasure, where,
concealed by the long, dark-red curtains, Jane was curled, with a book,
and a half-sucked orange.
Mrs. Deacon turned swiftly, her lorgnette levelled on the younger Miss
Lambert like a microscope.
"Ah, Jane!" she observed a little coldly. Jane stood up respectfully,
concealing her vulgar orange under her pinafore. "What are you laughing
at, my dear?" asked Mrs. Deacon suspiciously.
"I thought it would be funny for Amelia to go as a race-horse," replied
Jane, simply, quite at her ease under Mrs. Deacon's prolonged stare.
Amelia, who took herself very seriously, and hated to appear in a
ridiculous light even for a moment, said rather indignantly,
"A race-horse! Sappho was a poetess."
"Ah, of course!" said Mrs. Deacon hastily, "that will be charming. And
_so_ well chosen. How will you signify yourself?"
"I am going to wear a simple Grecian robe of white muslin, with laurel
leaves in my hair. And I shall carry a lyre," replied Amelia. "I thought
I would let my hair hang loose."
"Ravishing! Simply ravishing!" cried Mrs. Deacon in perfect raptures.
"So simple. And after all, is there anything like simplicity?"
"How will you get a lyre?" asked the practical Annie Lee.
"I shall try to make one out of card-board and gold paper."
"Or you could borrow old Mr. Poindexter's banjo," suggested Jane,
gravely. "That would really be better, because you _could_ twang on it."
Amelia did not deign to reply to this remark.
"What are you going to wear, Lily?" Elise put in hurriedly, throwing a
reproving look at Jane.
Lily glanced at her mother.
"I wish I could go as--as a Spanish dancer!" she said timidly.
"A Spanish dancer, Lily!" cried Mrs. Deacon. "Indeed I could not permit
anything of the sort! No. But it seems to me that it would be very
delightful if you should affect a character very similar to Amelia's.
Why would it not be sweet for you to go together as the Two Muses, the
one fair, the other brunette, representing, as it were, the poetical
talent of Frederickstown? I would suggest, too, that each of you recite
some little poem of her own composition. Lily, I must find that album."
And with this, Mrs. Deacon hastened from the room.
Lily looked distressed. She was terribly shy, and the thought of having
her poor little verses publicly read and appraised, dyed her smooth
face, with one of her frequent blushes.
"I _would_ like to go as a Spanish Dancer, though," she said, presently,
biting off a thread with her little white teeth, "I don't know why, but
I do. I'd like to wear a comb in my hair, and a black fan, and _scarlet
heels_!"
"You'd look lovely. I'm sure if you beg hard, your mother would let
you," wheedled Annie Lee. Lily shook her head.
"I don't think so. And I'm afraid mamma thinks its awfully bold of me
even to think of such a thing."
"There's nothing bold about a Spanish dancer. Just dashing," said Dolly.
"But Lily isn't at all dashing," remarked Amelia.
"I want to be, though," said Lily suddenly. "I'd like to be very, very
dashing just for once in my life. I want to know what it feels like. I'm
sick of being demure and lady-like. Yes, I am! And I want to wear a comb
in my hair and scarlet heels." The color rose in her cheeks, and her
blue eyes shone with a rebellious light. "I--I want to--to _flirt_!"
"Lily!" cried Amelia, in pained astonishment, "why, whatever is the
matter with you? You want to _flirt_? Why, I never heard of such a
thing. You, of all people! Why, flirting is beneath you!"
"Oh, no, it's not!" returned Lily, audaciously. "Do you think it's
beneath _you_?"
"Of course it's beneath Amelia," interrupted Dolly, whose brown eyes
were twinkling, "Amelia's too intellectual to care about anything like
that, aren't you?"
Amelia hesitated.
"I think that flirting is very trivial," she said at length, in her
superior way, "and no flirt ever wins a man's solid respect. My
brother-in-law says that every man really cares more about good sense,
even though he may show a passing interest in frivolous people."
"I don't care what your brother-in-law thinks," returned Lily, with a
spirit that astounded her friends. "_I_ feel like flirting. I'm tired of
being sensible. I want to be gay, and--and _dangerous_."
"Amelia, you make me weary," said Dolly; "you pretend you aren't the
least bit interested in beaux, but I know that you pose as being
intellectual, just to--well, because you think it's one way of
attracting 'em! And why are you going as Sappho if it isn't to show off
your long hair?"
A titter of mirth greeted this observation, which struck everyone but
Amelia as being remarkably astute.
"Come on, Lily--let's just see how you _would_ look in a Spanish
costume," coaxed Annie Lee. "We can use this yellow stuff for a skirt.
Has anybody got a black lace scarf and a comb?"
"I have," said Lily, herself. "I got them about four years ago and I've
had them hidden in my lowest bureau drawer ever since. I knew I never
could use them, but I couldn't resist them. I--I put them on sometimes
when I'm alone, just to see what I look like. Aren't I silly?"
"Go and get them," commanded Annie Lee. But at that moment, Mrs. Deacon
reappeared.
"Now here is the album," she announced. "I just want to read you these
few little things that I think perfectly dear, Amelia. You with your
veins of poesy will appreciate them."
"Oh, mamma, _please_," implored the hapless Lily, turning red as fire.
"Don't! They are so _awful_!"
"You are so modest, Lily. Now, here is a little thing that Lily wrote
when she was only fifteen, Amelia. It's called The Pinetree." And with a
preparatory "Ahem!" Mrs. Deacon proceeded to read amidst a profound
silence,
"The Pinetree stood lonely and bare, In the ghastly--no,
ghostly, white light of the moon, And I wondered why it made me
Feel so very full of gloom. It made me think of all the friends,
Whom--Lily, dear what is this next word?"
But Lily had fled. "That child is perfectly ridiculous," said Mrs.
Deacon, with annoyance. "Now, I think these little things are full of
poetic feeling. So melancholy, you know. Lily was quite a melancholy
child. Just look over some of these little things, Amelia, and tell me,
if you don't think they are sweet. Read the one beginning,
"Alone, alone, why am I so alone?"
Just as this point the clock struck four, followed by the low chimes
from the belfry of the nearby church, and Mrs. Deacon suddenly
remembered that she was due at a committee meeting at four-fifteen.
Lily was persuaded to return, and the unfortunate subject of her "poesy"
was tactfully abandoned, and now that Mrs. Deacon's overwhelming
presence was withdrawn, the discussion of scarf and scarlet heels was
renewed.
"We'll dress you up, anyway. And I'm sure that when she sees you Mrs.
Deacon will let you have your way," said Annie Lee. "Get all your
things, and _I'll_ direct."
Jane, from the window embrasure, watched the proceedings with a critical
eye. Of all the older girls of the town--in fact of all the girls in
general,--the gentle Lily was her favorite. There was not an atom of
heroine-worship in her attitude; on the contrary, she felt almost older
than Lily in many ways, notwithstanding the four years difference in
their ages; and she felt rather sorry for Lily, without exactly knowing
why. Jane, so capable herself of getting what she wanted, had the
tendency of many vigorous natures, to feel a certain good-natured,
wondering contempt for weaker and timid characters; but there was
something about Lily's weakness and timidity that was so perfectly in
keeping with her delicately lovely face, with her daintiness and
maidenliness, that it was really one of her charms, a beauty in itself.
With a sort of benevolent smile Jane observed Lily's face color with
naive pleasure, as she saw her ambition to appear "dashing and
dangerous" gradually being realized under Annie Lee's skillful
manipulation of the very simple materials at hand.
In less than half an hour, the heavy, mahogany-framed mirror, reflected
the gayest vision that had ever peered into its mottled surface. Jane
clapped her hands delightedly.
"_Now_ don't you like yourself!" she crowed. Annie Lee sat back on her
heels, thoroughly satisfied with her achievement. And well she might be.
The vivid yellow skirt, which looked almost exactly like real satin, had
been judiciously shortened to show the prettiest ankles in
Frederickstown, clad in a pair of black silk stockings with scarlet
clocks!--another of Lily's hidden treasures. The black lace scarf,
draped like a mantilla over the high tortoise-shell comb, fell over
Lily's slender white shoulders, and framing her face, made her skin seem
more transparent, her hair blacker, her eyes bluer, and her mouth redder
than before. Mrs. Deacon's spangled black fan had been boldly rifled
from her bureau drawer, and from the humble duty of stirring the
listless air in church on a summer morning, had been promoted to that of
fluttering coquettishly in Lily's hand.
"If you must have scarlet heels," said Annie Lee, "you can tear the
satin off the heels of your black slippers and paint the wooden part
red."
"You _do_ look perfectly scrumptious, Lily," said Dolly; "there isn't a
thing wrong, and you've simply got to wear that costume."
Lily, with her closed fan laid against her lips, gazed into the mirror,
as if uncertain that the reflection that gazed back were really she,
herself.
"I wish--" she began, and then broke off with a shame-faced, confused
little smile.
Just then, Jane, who happened to glance out of the window to see how
deep the snow was getting, remarked,
"There goes Mr. Sheridan. I wonder what on earth--"
"Where?" cried a chorus of voices in great excitement, and instantly
every girl was at the window peering over each other's shoulders, and
fairly bursting with curiosity to see the eccentric young man, whose
habits had for several weeks been the subject of much speculation in
that busybody little town. Even Amelia forgot her dignity and scrambled
to see him. Lily, only, tried to appear indifferent, but without
complete success; for after a moment's hesitation, she too was peeping
out from behind the substantial Dolly.
The object of this flattering interest was sauntering along with his
hands in his pockets, and his head bent; but presently, as if he felt
the magnetism of all this concentrated attention, he looked up to the
window. His expression of surprise,--even of indignation, as if he
resented this notice from the "feminine element"--was almost instantly
replaced by one of alertness. Jane beamed at him, and waved her hand,
and he smiled back at her and lifted his hat; but, in that brief
second--and Jane did not fail to note this--his eye travelled swiftly
over the cluster of pretty faces, and with remarkable keenness, singled
out Lily's, and again he lifted his hat, and bowed slightly.
Jane turned quickly to see Lily blushing pink, and with an answering
smile just fading from her eyes.
"Do _you_ know him too?" she demanded. Lily pretended not to hear.
Shrinking back, and pursing up her lips, she said primly,
"Aren't you all ashamed of yourselves--rushing to stare at a stranger
like that, and letting him see you, too?"
"I'd like to know why I shouldn't," said Annie Lee. "Anyone who is as
queer as he is, deserves to be stared at."
"What's queer about him?" cried Lily, quite indignantly.
"Well, he never goes anywhere, and never sees anyone, and lives all
alone in that big house. You may not call that queer, but _I_ do."
returned Annie Lee.
"And he's _so_ handsome," murmured Dolly, sentimentally. "I'm sure he's
had some unhappy love-affair."
"Pooh!" said Jane, who was not romantic, "he's no more heart-broken than
I am."
"You know very little, as yet, concerning the secret sorrows that many
people hide," said Amelia.
"When they hide them that's one thing," retorted Jane, "but he
advertises his like a breakfast food." Then once more she turned on
Lily, remorselessly, "Do _you_ know him, too, Miss Lily?" she repeated.
"I? Why, n-no," said Lily, pretending to be studying her own dimpled
chin in the mirror.
"He bowed to you," insisted Jane.
"To me? Why, he didn't do anything of the sort!"
"Lily Deacon!" cried Dolly, "you know very well he did! Any why are you
blushing?"
"I'm not blushing. I don't know him. How could that be? I-I only--"
"You only what?"
"Why, nothing!"
"Lily, you're concealing something!" cried Annie Lee.
"Oh, I'm not. Don't be so silly. It isn't anything at all. Only last
Thursday, when I was coming home from Mrs. McTavish's I happened to take
a short cut through the field there, and that hateful dog that belongs
to Mr. Jenkins started to run after me, barking and growling the way he
always does. I got over the stile, but he crawled under the fence, and
followed me again. And I started to run, and he ran after me, and jumped
up at me and frightened me to death. And Mr. Sheridan happened to be
coming through the field. And he caught the dog, and told me I was a
silly to run. And that's all."
"My _dear_!" breathed Dolly, "and is that all he said?"
"Oh, he just asked me if I was afraid of dogs, and I said only of some.
And he said he liked them, they were so intelligent. And--and then I
said I hated cats, and he said he did too; and asked me if I liked
horses--"
"How long did this keep up?" inquired Annie Lee.
"There are lots of animals," said Jane. "Did you find out how he liked
cows and pigs and ducks and porcupines--"
"I think you are all mean to laugh!" cried Lily indignantly. "It was
perfectly natural to say _something_. And he was very nice and polite."
"And what was the dog doing meanwhile?"
"The dog? What dog? Oh--I guess it must have gone home."
"Well!" said Amelia, "I must say, Lily, that I think it would have been
quite enough if you had simply thanked him, and gone on your way. And
_I_ think that Mr. Sheridan should hardly have asked you if you liked
dogs when he had never been introduced to you."
Lily, who was easily crushed, hung her head at this reproof, and did not
attempt to defend herself. Now that she thought of it in the light that
Amelia's words threw on it, it seemed nothing short of shocking that she
had spoken in such a familiar vein with a young man to whom she had
never been introduced. Why had she said anything about it? Now, it was
all spoiled, that innocent little episode, which had given her so much
pleasure just to think about. Jane, however, quickly came to her
defense.
"How silly! I don't think anyone but a prig would be as proper as all
that."
"Jane!" remonstrated Elise, "that isn't a very nice thing to say."
"How do _you_ happen to know him Janey?" asked Annie Lee.
"Oh, I called on him," replied Jane, nonchalantly.
"_Called_ on him!"
"Well, I thought someone ought to see what he was like. And he was very
nice. What I've been wondering is what he does with himself all the
time. He says he wants solitude, and that he doesn't want to have to see
any people, but I think that's all nonsense. _I_ think he's bored to
death with himself."
"Do you know what?" said Annie Lee, "I'm going to ask mother to invite
him to our party. If he doesn't want to he doesn't have to come; but
everyone else in Frederickstown _is_ invited, and its all so informal
and everything, I don't see why we shouldn't ask him too. It would be
perfectly all right, because I think father knows him. I _know_ father
used to know Major Sheridan, because I've heard him talk about when they
were in the Spanish American war."
This idea became popular immediately. Even Amelia had no objections to
make, and was in fact already making certain mental improvements on the
costume she had planned.
But Lily was silent. Amelia's criticism of her behavior had wounded her
to the quick, and with a sober face she began quietly to take off her
finery, as if some of the fascination had evaporated from that dashing
Spanish comb, and even from the thought of scarlet heels.