THE TRANSFORMATION OF STAR BARTON.
To Star Barton, it was like going into a fairyland. Edith was the fairy,
Star the lowly nymph. Edith was the sparkling diamond that gave it its
setting, Star was the rough jewel come to be recast.
The rich, velvety, orange-colored rug, with pale pink flowers blooming
like butterfly eyes peeping at her, was as soft as snow to the rough
maiden's touch; only it gave back, instead of a chill, an enthralling
sensation like the sound of a distant harp that beats upon a wayfarer's
ears. The creamy, snow-fringed curtains evolved themselves into
miniature cascades of dazzling frost, to her eyes; and gave back,
instead of a shiver, a lulling peace to her disturbed imagination. The
gilded furniture, the beautifully crocheted lavender cushions, the
paintings, the photos of friends, the pink tint of the walls, the
shining chandeliers, with sparkling globes and translucent shades, gave
back, instead of a frown, a smile.
Edith was, on this occasion, the advent of Star Barton into her life, an
animated piece of pinkness, which gave the room its vitality. To Star's
eyes, unused to such things, she was an angel without the wings. Her
gossimer gown of pink, her gold, her diamonds, her fine face, all
appealed to the poor girl of such lowliness to such an ecstatic degree
that she was astonished beyond belief.
It was all so entrancing, so enrapturing, so overpowering to her
theretofore undemonstrative spirit that she sat down and burst into
tears. This was the outward sign of her joy over her disenthrallment.
Poor simple maiden! To be brought from a hovel to this place of glory,
so suddenly, was even more than her strong nature could endure. The
transition was too sudden. The climax to the fanciful things she had
conjured up in the short time she had put into such imaginings was too
real. No pathway had ever been struck out by her with such beautiful
borderings as this. No, no; not in her limited sphere. Simple,
uneducated, modest, as she was, with a pure soul and a heart that beat
for better things, she gave way when the door of chance was thrown open
for her, at last, and poured out her joy in the agony of tears.
Edith, who had been so radiantly happy, and who had formulated such
great plans for this girl, ceased in her joyous behavior when she saw
Star sink into a chair and put her soiled handkerchief to her eyes.
Edith at once divined the cause of Star's weeping, and knelt down by her
side in commiseration. She took both of Star's rough hands between hers,
so soft and delicate, and cried herself in the fullness of her heart.
"Do not weep, dear girl; it grieves me so," she said, looking up into
the blue eyes of her poor benighted sister.
"Dear, kind lady, I cannot help it," returned Star, in an effort to stop
her tears.
"Come, come, my dear girl, you must prepare yourself to be my
companion," said Edith. "Be brave; that is a good girl. I shall love
you."
"Dear lady, I am not fit to be here," said Star, still weeping. "These
are all the good clothes I have."
"I have new clothing for you, my dear; come, and make ready to go down
to dinner with me," said Edith, rising, and still holding Star's hands.
"Oh, I am so rough, I am afraid I will contaminate this place should I
remain," replied Star, hesitatingly.
"No, no; you must not think of such a thing, my dear girl. Cheer up and
follow me," said Edith, as Star arose from her chair. Edith kissed her.
Star wiped away her tears, and smiled.
Then Edith lead her to her private bath room, which glistened so in its
whiteness that Star drew back when she came to the door of it. This was
something that Star had never seen before; but she entered, as if it
were a place to be shunned, and was seated. Edith knelt down, in all her
finery, and unfastened Star's coarse shoes, and removed them, revealing
a foot that was as small as Edith's, but reeking with water. Edith then
prepared the bath, and gave Star instructions how to use such a modern
thing of sanitation--all foreign to Star. Then Edith left to fetch new
garments, when Star should give the signal that her ablutions had been
performed. In the course of time, Star gave the signal as agreed upon,
when Edith opened the door and entered, with both arms piled to her chin
with sweet smelling clothing, and a merry smile on her face, and a
laughing twinkle in her eyes. Modesty caused Star to conceal herself
behind the door, in the attitude of the statue of Venus.
"My dear girl, do not be alarmed at me; I am as harmless as a kitten,"
said Edith, as she beheld how naturally modest Star impelled herself to
be, even in the presence of her own sex.
"It is my nature, dear good lady," replied Star, reaching for something
to conceal her person.
"In deference to your modesty, dear, I shall retire, if it is your
wish," said Edith, laughing, as she put down her bundle of clothing.
"Just for a moment, if you please, kind lady," said Star.
So Edith sidled out of the room without looking around at her protege,
while Star pulled on her unmentionables. After which she called Edith to
assist in the furtherance of her dressing in some of the new things she
was thereafter to be seen in.
"These must have been made for me," said Star, as one article after
another was adjusted to her form, seeing that they all fit so well and
so charmingly.
"They were," said Edith, buttoning up the back of Star's dress, an act
she had never done before, being as she always had a maid for that
performance.
"Made for me?" replied Star, with some surprise.
"Yes, you, my dear girl."
"By whose orders?"
"Mine."
"I don't understand," said Star, still more surprised.
"Didn't you know you were to come here?"
"Why, no; I thought I came by chance!"
"You apparently did."
"I wonder who had that much interest in me?" asked Star, for the first
time realizing that she had not been so altogether overlooked as she
imagined she had been.
"I had--I have."
"How? Tell me, dear lady."
"It is a long story, dear girl, and I will tell it you some other time.
Dinner is about ready. You must go down with me. Put your hair up
quickly, so we will not keep them waiting. Oh, let me help twist it
round for you! How do you do it? I will learn some day, perhaps. Yes,
this way. Now, look in the mirror. Isn't that better? It certainly is.
You are charming. Why, I didn't know you were so sweet. Let me kiss you
now to bind our companionship henceforward. There!"
This from Edith while she was acting as maid, in her finery, for this
poor girl, who but an hour before exhibited all the characteristics of
having been pulled from the ruins of Peter Dieman's junk heap. Indeed,
such a transformation had Star gone through in that short hour that the
fair Edith herself hardly recognized her as the same untidy being who
had come to her boudoir for what she knew not.
"It is all so strange, dear lady, that it seems more like a dream," said
Star, now with her cheeks aflame from the bathing and the attending
excitement of the ordeal through which she had passed.
"Oh, stranger things than what has already happened you may come to
pass," replied Edith, as she turned to take the lead down the stairs.
"What about my old clothes?" asked Star.
"I will send the washer-woman after them," answered Edith.
"I shall want to send them home to mother."
"Never mind them," returned Edith; "your mother will be provided for."
"Oh," said Star, mystified.
Star Barton was now a fit subject of envy for any young lady, even with
less aspiring thoughts than she. Edith might have been jealous of Star's
good looks, had it been her nature; but Edith was not so inclined, in
this instance. The fact is, that Edith was so pleased over her
handiwork, in rejuvenating this fair damsel, that she bubbled over with
happiness. Star was now clothed as became a lady of rank, except that
sparkling jewelry was lacking as yet. Star's dress was almost a
counterpart of Edith's, and set her off to advantage, in a comparative
sense. Her mild blue eyes, pink cheeks, noble white forehead, dark wavy
hair, caused the dining room attendants to stare when she came down the
great staircase and passed under the brilliant lights into the presence
of the mighty man of wealth and his bouncing little wife. Hah, even
those two august personages held their breath for a moment when they
cast their searching, but kindly, eyes upon her.
"This is Miss Barton, papa," said Edith, as she came up to him with her
fair charge and presented her, "and my mamma, whom you have met before."
Both parents received her so graciously that Star was dumfounded, and
exceedingly awkward in returning their salutation.
"Miss Barton, I am happy to make your acquaintance," said Mr. Jarney. "I
assure you that you are welcome."
Neither Mr. Jarney's pride, nor vanity, nor money, prevented him from
taking kindly to this young maiden, for he knew already whom she was,
and often longed for the time to help her, although at present he must
act with some circumspection toward her for reasons that he did not wish
her to know. And Mrs. Jarney, for the same reasons, had to conduct
herself accordingly, and meet Star on the basis of a stranger to the
name of Jarney. So keeping her in ignorance of her true relationship to
them, they hoped to make a lady of her, and do all that generous hearts
could do, under cover of being Edith's companion, to help her to a
brighter life.
Star needed some instruction in the art of being a grand lady, which
function she never conceived in acting when she humbly presented
herself, so recently, at the back door of this mansion. The
transposition of her habitat was so expeditiously executed that she saw
in it something of the miraculous. In nowise, on so short a notice,
could she be expected to conform to the spirit and the letter of the
laws of usage in this undiscovered country to which she had been
unceremoniously transported. So, recognizing these deficiencies in Star,
Edith took it upon herself to be her teacher and took a seat by her side
at the table. But Star was not so uncouth that she was wholly deficient
in quickness of perception, and constantly kept on guard; noting every
move that the others made; noting every move of Edith with sly glances;
noting every action of those opposite, so that she should not, if
possible to prevent it, make herself ridiculous in her first appearance
on the stage of grandeur. Thus, with much carefulness on her part, in
this respect at least, she got through the dinner fairly well,
considering the great length of time--one hour--they took in
mastication, conversation, deglutition. Finally, when it was all over
with, she arose, with the rest of them, with a gladsome thanksgiving
beating in her breast.
But the worst ordeal yet, for her, was to come. The entire family
adjourned to the parlor, where Edith sat down to the piano, and ran her
hands across the key-board so rapidly and with such a wild harmonious
result that Star almost had the ague. Then Edith sang a song--a
lullaby--so appealing in its sentimentality that Star was lost in
oblivion for a time. She let her agitated thoughts wander, unrestrained,
back to her own haunts--to the misery, want and woe she had left behind;
to the crooning mother attempting a similar lullaby; to her dark old
face, to her tearless eyes, to her faded cheeks; to her hopeless life,
in her sad, dull, stupid, sullen contentment in her wretchedness.
Verily, what mortal, with a heart, could withstand the contrasts as were
revealed to this tender maiden? No one could. She broke down under it,
like the strongest of us break down, sometimes, under the strain of
sentiment when dear ones are under the ban of misfortune. The sweet
voice of Edith was to her an angelic orison to heaven for a lost soul;
and who knows but that the angels then were pleading with the Great
Father to send His benediction down upon that other home and save it
from further damnation.
Without being the least concerned as to who might take notice, or
without any effort to control herself in the company of those grand
people, Star let her emotions have full swing, and the tears flowed down
her cheeks as freely as they flowed when her father beat her as a child.
The dainty handkerchief that she now carried was soon soaked with the
lachrymose outburst of her misery. Her eyes became red, her cheeks
paled, and her hair, which had not been put up by trained hands, fell
down over her shoulders. Despair! despair! despair!
Edith played on, and sang, wholly unconscious of Star's sad moments. But
her mother, happening to look Star's way, noticed her despairing plight,
and went to her side with a consoling smile and a sympathetic word. When
Edith had finished playing, she wheeled about on her seat, with beaming
face, to receive the plaudits of her auditors; but a mournful silence
greeted her. Her smiling face calmed to a serious tone when she saw her
friends standing about Star in all manner of comforting attitudes. Then
Edith, grasping the situation at once, glided to her side, and, kneeling
down, took Star's two red hands in hers, and cried. Dear Edith, so good
of you. Then she assisted Star to rise, placed her arm around her waist,
and conducted her up the great white stairs, like a guiding angel going
into Heaven with a new soul.