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HE night for the first Dancing Assembly had come, and old Peter, John
Thomas's father and the janitor of the Assembly room, had done more
work in the last week than in all the whole five months between the two
seasons of social gayety. In an hour now it would be time for the guests
to arrive, and, arrayed in his best coat and knee-breeches, and with
nothing further to do, Peter sat on a three-legged stool at one end of
the hall, surveying his work with evident satisfaction.
Presently there was the sound of several pairs of feet on the flight of
stairs that led up to the Assembly rooms, and Peter, craning his neck,
tried to make out who it might be without taking the trouble to get up,
for his old knees were very stiff from the unwonted exertions of the
week.
Who it might be was quickly determined, for in a flash there stood
before him what seemed to him a veritable crowd of children, though in
point of fact there were only the two Marberrys, Hazel, Starlight, and
Flutters.
“What you chilluns doin' heah? Dis heah ain't no place fur chilluns. You
better go right 'long home agin, I reckon.”
Peter tried to speak gruffly, but they were not in the least
intimidated, knowing that it was all assumed.
“Peter, we have a great favor to ask of you,”' said Hazel, who seemed
to be the ringleader of the little party.
“'Tain't no sort o' use, Miss Hazel; can't 'low it no how;” for Peter
knew well enough what the favor was; “if I let you chilluns into dat
gall'ry, you'll keep up such a snickerin' and gigglin', you'll 'sturb
the whole Assembly. No, Miss Hazel; can't t'ink of it; can't 'low it no
how.”
“Peter,” said Hazel, looking at him very searchingly, “are you going to
let anybody in there?”
“Not a soul, Miss Hazel--dat is, not a soul 'ceptin' my John Thomas.”
“Ah! I thought so,” said Hazel, exultingly; “and it isn't fair, Peter,
to do for Thomas what you won't do for us. We've come all the way into
town just to see the dancing, 'cause mother said she was sure there
wouldn't be any objection to our peeping through the gallery railing.”
“Did she say dat, sure 'nuff, Miss Hazel?” And Peter put his head on one
side, and looked at Hazel in a very suspicious manner.
“Yes, she did,” said Tilly Marberry, coming to the rescue; “I heard her
myself; and, Peter, we'll promise not to snicker.”
“Nor giggle, either,” said Tilly's other self.
“Which of you is which?” said Peter, slowly looking at the twins with
knitted eyebrows.
“Oh, Peter, please don't stop to bother 'bout that now,” pleaded Hazel,
impatient of any digression from the main point; “but you _will_ let
us in, won't you?” whereupon the other children chimed in with such
imploring entreaties that the old janitor relented, and, getting on
to his feet with an evident twinge in his rheumatic knees, felt in his
coat-tail pocket for the coveted gallery keys. The good deed had its
reward then and there, in the beaming and grateful faces of the troupe
of little beggars.
The gallery in question was a sort of balcony, projecting from the wall
at one end of the hall, midway between floor and ceiling, and to which
access was had by a steep little spiral stairway. This gallery was
intended for the musicians only; but between its gilded, bulging front
and the part of the platform on which they sat was a space where half a
dozen children might be comfortably accommodated. More than once,
when some reception or dance was in progress, Hazel, with a few chosen
friends in her train, had begged her way into this most desirable
retreat, and that was why Peter knew “what was up” the moment he saw
her.
When they entered the little gallery, they found John Thomas there
before them, complacently installed in the most desirable place; but
they were far too thankful to have gotten in at all to grudge him his
privileged position.
It was a funny sight to see the little company established in a row
behind the heavy gilded stucco work, which completely concealed them,
yet offered such convenient little loop-holes and crannies, from which
everything going on on the floor below could be plainly viewed. To be
sure, the arrangement of the platform obliged them all to sit tailor
fashion--rather a constrained position for those unaccustomed to it--but
what did it matter about one's legs and back when one's eyes were to be
feasted with lovely ladies and gallant gentlemen and the music they were
to dance to would be ringing in one's ears.
“Doesn't the hall look lovely?” said Hazel, when at last she had
adjusted her lower extremities as comfortably as circumstances would
admit.
“Lovely!” answered the Marberrys, each with a sigh of deep appreciation,
for it had not been an easy thing for them to gain permission to
accompany Hazel, and this was to be their first introduction to the
glories of a dancing assembly.
“How everything shines!” said Flutters, quite lost in admiration of the
glittering brass sconces, with their bevelled mirrors and beautiful red
candles, and wondering greatly how any floor could ever be brought to
such a high state of polish.
“'Course it shines,” said John Thomas. “It ought to shine. My father
hasn't been reachin' and rubbin', and kneelin' and polishin' fur free
weeks fur nuffin, I reckon.”
“Did you help him?” asked Flutters, with admiration.
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“No, sah, I did not. I hasn't no time for polishin'. I assists in
Colonel Hamilton's law office,” and John Thomas proudly drew himself
up till his woolly head grazed the ridge of the gallery rail above
him.
“What,” said Starlight', “are you the boy in Colonel Hamilton's office?”
“I assists Colonel Hamilton,” John Thomas repeated, not being willing to
bring himself down to Starlight's offensive way of putting things.
“Yes, I've heard about _you_!' said Starlight, with a mischievous
twinkle in his eye.
“W'at you heard, I'd like to know!”
“John Thomas,” came a voice from below, “don't let me hear anoder word
from you dis ebenin', else home you go to mammy right smart, I can tell
you, and de oder chiliuns long wid you too.” Old Peter had shambled out
to the middle of the floor to take one more satisfactory view of things
in general, and just in time to hear John Thomas's excited tones. His
words had the desired effect; the little gallery instantly relapsed into
absolute silence, the six children fairly holding their breath for fear
of the threatened banishment. People were beginning to come now. A few
gentlemen were already on the floor, and the musicians, who had taken
their places on the gallery platform, were drawing instruments, which
would look funny enough to-day, from the depths of clumsy green baize
bags, and beginning to “tune up.”
“Tell me w'at you heard?” demanded John Thomas of Starlight, as soon as
he dared to speak again.
“Oh, John Thomas, please don't!” begged Milly Marberry, putting her
little hand most beseechingly on his sleeve; “we've never been to an
Assembly before. We'd cry our eyes out if your father sent us home.”
John Thomas yielded to this entreaty, but sullenly, as though he meant
to have it out with Starlight some day or other. Any slur upon his
character was just one thing that that young gentleman was determined
not to endure, and the sooner Job Starlight and the rest of the world
came to that wise conclusion, why, so much the better for everybody
concerned--at least, so thought john Thomas.
It was a pity that at the commencement of the Assembly Hazel, Milly,
and Tilly could not have been in two places at once, for while only an
occasional couple strolled on to the dancing floor, the dressing-rooms
were crowded. There would have been a peculiar pleasure for those little
lovers of finery to see the pretty toilets gradually emerge from the
concealment of long cloaks and shawls, and to have studied the charming
vanities of peak-toed, high-heeled little slippers as the protecting
pattens were shaken off into the hands of maids, upon their knees before
their “ladies.” But at last the Assembly floor offered more attractions
than the dressing-room, and a long line of couples, constantly
reinforced by new arrivals, were promenading in stately fashion around
the hall.
“There come the Van Vleets,” exclaimed Starlight, as Miss Francesca and
Miss Heide entered, each on the arm of an escort.
“And if there isn't Miss Pauline,” whispered Tilly Marberry; “does _she_
dance?”
“Dance!” said Starlight; “well, I guess you'll think so when you see
her. She's just as graceful as a fairy.”
“She's just as queer as a fairy, too,” remarked Flutters. “I wouldn't
care to be the one to dance with her; there'd be no telling what she
might fly off and do next.”
“It's very distressing about Miss Pauline,” said Hazel, reprovingly;
“and, Flutters, you have no occasion to speak like that.” Hazel always
seemed to be specially successful in mustering large words when she felt
called upon to administer any reproof to this little servant of hers.
“No occasion!” said Flutters, significantly, for the recollection of an
apple-tree and a crying maiden was not so far removed as to lose any of
its poignancy.
“What do you mean?” questioned Hazel, with a puzzled frown.
“Oh, nothing particular,” Flutters said, quickly, seeing what an
explanation might lead up to, and then he succeeded in changing the
subject by announcing the arrival of Captain and Mrs. Boniface.
“Oh, doesn't mamma look lovely!” and Hazel's happy little face flushed
with pride.
“Yes; and just look at Josephine!” sighed the Marberrys, simultaneously,
for those little women were so overcharged with delight as scarce to
be able either to speak or breathe in quite regular and commonplace
fashion.
“Ah! _she's_ the girl,” said Starlight, who, whether from honest
admiration or a spirit of mischief, never lost an opportunity for
extolling the virtues and attractions of Hazel's older sister.
“And she's drawn Harry Avery,” added Hazel, for once in her life adroit
enough not to betray any annoyance; “I don't believe she minds, either.”
“Well, Harry doesn't mind, I know that much. Shouldn't wonder myself
if he managed to have it come that way.” Starlight evidently spoke from
knowledge of facts, for, like as not, Cousin Harry had foolishly taken
that small boy somewhat into his confidence.
This “drawing” that Hazel spoke of was a queer custom of the olden days.
Partners for the evening were chosen by lot; they danced, walked, and
chatted with no one else, and when the dancing was over partook together
of such modest refreshment as rusks and tea. This arrangement was most
advantageous for the young ladies who were not specially attractive, for
by means of it the fairest and the plainest were treated exactly alike.
Now, for all this information, and much more beside, as I told you in
the preface, we are indebted to that delightful first chapter of Mr.
McMasters's History; but although you may not be old enough to care to
read that chapter for yourself, nor half old enough to be allowed to
attend a Dancing Assembly, nor fortunate enough to gain entrance to a
little mid-air gallery, where you could watch all the fine goings on
unobserved, yet I believe you are quite old enough to understand one
thing--and that is that the pleasure of those old-time assemblies must
have depended altogether upon the partner that fell to one's lot. A
wretched sort of a time, or an indifferent sort of a time, or a very
good time indeed--all lay within the possibilities of that one little
chance. So do you wonder very much, or do you blame them very much,
if those old-fashioned beaux, with their powdered hair, velvet knee
breeches, and silver shoe-buckles, “sometimes managed things,” as
Starlight said? At any rate, Harry Avery was supremely happy to have
Josephine Boniface fall to his lot, and if he hadn't been guilty of
“managing things” at all, why, all that remains to be said is that he
was a very lucky fellow. Miss Pauline formed the only exception to this
rigidly observed rule, as it was always an understood thing that her
brother Hans should be her partner, but being, as Starlight said, “as
graceful as a fairy,” and quite as light on her feet, it often happened
that some friend of the Van Fleets would beg a dance of Pauline, and
give the faithful brother a chance for “a turn” with his partner in
exchange.
“Why, there's Aunt Frances,” exclaimed Starlight, suddenly spying her
seated in a chair at the farther corner of the room. “Did she come in
with the Van Vleets?”
“Yes, I think so; and doesn't she look a picture!” said Hazel, fairly
feasting her eyes upon that much-loved lady. “And her dress, girls!
_isn't_ it lovely!” and Hazel, in her eagerness, gave Tilly Mar-berry,
who sat next to her, a good hard hug. “When I am forty or fifty, or
whatever age Aunt Frances is, I shall wear black velvet and soft old
lace about my neck just like that. Now I shouldn't wonder”--Hazel spoke
slowly, as if really giving the matter most thoughtful consideration--“I
shouldn't wonder if Aunt Frances was as pretty as Josephine when she was
a real young lady.”
“I half believe I think she's as pretty now,” answered Starlight,
notwithstanding his constant championship of Josephine's superior
charms.
“Who's she talking to, Starlight?”
“I'm sure I don't know,” said Starlight.
“Why, dat's Major Potter, a lawyer what practices down our way,”
volunteered John Thomas, “and dere! dere comes _my_ Colonel and Lady
Hamilton. Isn't she a booty? Where's your Aunt Frances now, Mars
Starlight?”
“Just where she was before, John Thomas, the loveliest-looking lady in
the room. Lady Hamilton _is_ very handsome, though.”
“Handsome! well, you'd better believe it; and de Colonel! now jus' look
at him, chilluns. Isn't he just too elegant! He jus' ought to be a king,
Colonel Hamilton ought ter, and he's dat kind, he wouldn't speak cross
to de laziest pickaninny in de land.”
“Then I suppose he never speaks cross to you, John Thomas,” said Hazel,
significantly.
“Dere ain't neber no 'casion, Miss Hazel,” and John Thomas looked as
though he considered her remark altogether uncalled for.
“Ain't dere neber no _'casion?_” asked Starlight, perfectly imitating
the darkey dialect. “How 'bout dat mornin' when you upset de trash
basket in de middle of de office flo'?”
“Dat mornin' was a 'ception, Mars Starlight, and it seems to me your
cousin, Mr. Avery, might fin' somethin' better to talk 'bout dan to be
detailin' de little events of de office.”
It was great fun to hear John Thomas go on in this fashion. He had the
reputation of being the most amusing little darkey in the city, and when
they were not completely absorbed in watching the dancing, Hazel and
Starlight managed between them to keep him “going,” to the delighted
amusement of the Marberrys.
Meantime the minute hand of the great white-faced clock at the end of
the hall was marking quarter to eight in no uncertain characters, and
Hazel had faithfully promised that at eight o'clock her little party
should turn their backs on the festivities, no matter how alluring and
absorbing they might happen to be at that particular moment. But it
sometimes happens that matters of considerable importance come to pass
within the limits of fifteen minutes--often, in fact, in much shorter
time than that, and this was true of the particular fifteen minutes in
question.
And now, as this is already a pretty long chapter, I propose that we
stop right where we are, make a new one, and call it----