This is the last day of August, and it is a day
Twickenham Town is going to remember for
a long time. I have done again that which I
should not have done, and I guess I had better go
home. I had expected to stay until the twenty-seventh
of September and return with Father, who
was to spend a week here with me, but he can't come.
I suppose it was the awful disappointment of
knowing Father couldn't come, and being so miserable
myself (not one line yet from that person named
William Spencer Sloane, who is probably married
to an elderly woman by this time), and because
of my sureness that no human being could be
depended on in time of temptation, especially
vigorous, aggressive temptations that come out
of the West, that I gave help where help seemed
to be needed, and now again I am in everybody's
mouth. Also my ankles are still a little sore from
the weight of the window being on them as I hung
out, but they are nearly well, and even if they
were not it would not matter. Two young hearts
are happy and a proud person is not, and the
blame is on me. That also doesn't matter. I am
soon going away.
The thing I did, which maybe I shouldn't have
done, was to help little Amy Frances Winston
get married. She is the property of her
grandmother, who is a very important part of
Twickenham Town. Having no parents or sisters or
brothers, and only enough money of her own for
her keep, and no spunk or spirit, she has gone on
for years loving an awfully nice chap named
Taylor French, with little chance of ever marrying
him, and then in hops this Miss Frisk, who asks
her why she doesn't quit fumbling and stop fearing,
and the thing is done.
There is nothing the matter with Taylor French
except he is not Ancestral. Mrs. Brandon, Amy's
grandmother, is diseased on the subject of
ancestry, and the first thing she asks about a man
is who is he. Knowing she would want to know
who I was, I mentioned to her one day that I
had never had any grandparents on either side
(living ones I meant), and that we were not
historic, and no member of our family had ever
been distinguished (for righteousness, though I
didn't use the word), and that we had made our
own way in life, which was true, for Father didn't
have a thing but what he was making when he
married Mother. I also told her I did not mind
in the least, and if I did I would try to remember
that Christ was a carpenter and St. Paul a
sail-maker, though I'd never care to be intimate
with St. Paul. And I told her I thought it was
yourself that counted most, after all, and not dead
people, though it must be nice to know somebody
in your family had been something if you were not.
All she said was, "Are you a suffragist?" When
I said I was and I hoped I didn't look as if I
were not, for I wouldn't like anybody to be
mistaken about it, she gave me a long look and left
the room.
She did not exactly draw her skirts aside with
her hand as she passed me, but she did it inwardly;
that is, I imagined she did from the expression
of her face, and the next day she must have
fumigated the house, for when I went by an awful
smell of sulphur was coming from it. She is a
low bender and bower in church at the mention
of a name belonging to one she believes a Prince
in disguise, who in another life will receive her
into His kingdom, and whom she professes to
follow in the expectation of being rewarded for so
doing, but her head is held high when she doesn't
care to see the lowly ones He came to give light
and life to. I don't mean she doesn't give old
clothes and food and sometimes a little wood to
old Mrs. Snicker, who can't move, from
rheumatism, but she would no more speak other than
stiffly to some of the people I know here than she
would go in for suffrage. She doesn't realize she
is a living woman. She thinks she is an Ancestor.
For years she has forbidden Taylor French to
come to her house, and Amy has to see him elsewhere.
She has seen a good deal of him lately, Amy
has. Taylor doesn't live in Twickenham Town
now. He is living in North Carolina and has a
good position, and is able to get married (I know
because I asked him), and any minute day or
night in the past eighteen months in which Amy
would have agreed he would have married her
and taken her away, but Amy wouldn't agree.
Things have been dragging along this way so
long that the nerves of both are frazzled out, and
there's nothing to hope for but death, and, of
course, it isn't respectful to think too hopefully
of death and a grandmother. And then I popped
in and gave things a little push and the curtain dropped.
The way it dropped was this. I mean the way
they got married. Taylor was in town the last
two weeks in August, and, as everybody invited
him to their parties, he and Amy managed to see
a good deal of each other (also the seeing wasn't
altogether at places where other people were
around). But she wasn't allowed to meet him
on the square or to receive letters from him
straight. And sometimes, if he wanted to say
something in a hurry, or send her candy or a new
book, or any of the usuals, he had to give a signal
by throwing pebbles on her window at night,
and then she would throw out a string and he
would tie the thing to it and she would haul
up, and the Personage, who was usually asleep,
would be none the wiser. The Personage is deaf,
which is a great help.
Well, one night three of the town girls and
myself, with a boy apiece, had been to see Amy,
and when we went up-stairs (just the girls) to
see a new hat a city cousin had sent her, we heard
a little tap at the west window. It had been
raining, which accounted for our being indoors
with the windows lowered, and when we heard
the tapping we were so excited we could hardly
breathe. It was fearfully thrilly, just like things
one reads about in books, and I told the girls
to put out the light quick, and when it was out
I went to the window and saw Taylor standing
in the shadow of a big tree. He signaled me to
drop the line, but when I threw the piece of
twine Amy gave me I threw it wrong and it got
caught in a broken piece of shingle on the edge
of the porch and hung there. I couldn't get it
back and Taylor couldn't get it down, and,
seeing it was necessary for something to be done, I
pushed aside the curtains (they were made of
striped calico, blue and white) and told the girls
I was going to lean out of the window on the roof
of the porch to get the string loose, and they
must hold on to my feet, for the roof sloped and
I might slip if they didn't. They tried to stop
me, and Amy wrung her hands, being very
nervous from living on a strain and loving in
secret, but I was out head foremost in a jiffy,
and all four made a grab for my feet and legs.
Being flat on my stomach, and having long arms,
I got the string off from the piece of shingle, and
just as I did it and threw it to Taylor I heard
a noise and a little cry from the girls, something
about, "Oh, my goodness! here she comes!" and
I knew what had happened.
"Pull the window down on my feet and let
go," I called, as loud as I dared, "and draw the
curtains so she won't see my shoes. If she asks
where I am, tell her I am outdoors. Quick!
Let it down!"
They got it down and drew the curtains just
as her Royal Highness walked in, and as she went
toward the window Katherine Hardy says that
never before had she prayed as she prayed that
minute, and then she thought of mice, which was
a quick answer. She gave a little scream and
jumped with her hands over her eyes and bumped
into the lady, who, being a woman first, was also
afraid of mice, and she moved, too. Seeing the
girls flying around, she told them to stop, told
them Maud Hendren's mother had telephoned
that she must come home at once and, not
missing me, owing to the girls moving about so
she wouldn't notice, she went out of the room,
skirts still held up, and the minute she was out
they rushed for the window and pulled me in.
My dress was a sight when I got in, and I
didn't have much skin on my elbows, and my
hands were stuck up with splinters, as I had to
hold on to anything I could clutch, being afraid
the window would not hold my feet and the
shingles being rotten. But otherwise no damage
was done, and I got the note Taylor had tied
to the string, which I had pulled up by the time
the Ogress had departed. I gave it to Amy and
told her to read it quick.
She read it, and after doing it turned so white
and looked so queer we were frightened. For a
minute she couldn't speak, then she handed me
the note, and when I asked if I must read it
aloud she nodded her head and sat down, as if
to stand up was impossible. I glanced over it
first so as to leave out the little love decorations
and just read the practical part, and what
Taylor told her was that he had just gotten a
telegram from his house (it's iron-works I think)
saying he must leave on important business for
South America on the 6th of September. The
house had been talking of sending him for some
time, and had been waiting for certain developments
which had suddenly developed, and he
would have to go. Would she go with him, and
if she would not he never expected to come back
again, but would stay over there and take charge
of the South-American branch of the house he was
going to establish. She would have to decide
at once, as he couldn't stay a minute later
than the 30th. They could be married anywhere
she said, only it must be quickly done. He had
gotten the telegram an hour before, and in the
morning she must get Kitty Canary to fix things
so he could see her and talk more fully. Kitty
could be depended on and would manage
somehow. The rest being private and personal, I
skipped it and gave the note back to Amy, who
was as white as the dress she had on, and her
hands as limp as wet kid gloves.
Excited! To my dying day I will never
forget the thrill of it. Being in love myself, as I
had once thought, wasn't a circumstance to it,
and the other girls were as bad as I. To help
a heart-yearning, backboneless young girl
escape from the captivity of a cast-iron
grandparent was something no red-blooded person
could refuse, and every one of us agreed that the
only thing for Amy to do was to walk into the
den of lions and tell the head lioness the truth;
ask her permission to many the man she loved,
and, if she would not give it, to take it, anyhow,
and tell her farewell and leave at once for South
America. That, at least, was what I thought
ought to be done, and after a while the others
thought so, too. At first there was a lot of
argument, but I told them I would never agree to
Amy's running away to be married without her
first telling her grandmother she was going to do
it. That is, if she would not let her be married
at home. If the G. M. would not let, then Amy
could take the first train out, but she mustn't
take it until she had shown her grandmother the
respect she did not deserve. I never could bear
runaway marriages. There's always something
so common about them, and I wasn't going to be
party to one if I could help it.
All the time we were talking we left Amy out
of it, and never once asked her what she
preferred in the matter. The reason we didn't was
the poor little thing was so frightened and
distressed that she could not open her lips. We
would not let her come down-stairs with us, and
when we said good night I whispered that I would
see Taylor on my way to Rose Hill, and at ten
o'clock the next morning we would meet her at
the back of Miss Susanna's vegetable garden
under the big locust-tree, and that she mustn't
worry, we'd fix it, he and I. Also I told her she
might bring up some toilet things and little
traveling necessities and leave them with me;
and though she clung to me like a frightened
child and didn't speak, she was down by the
barn the next morning at ten, and so was Taylor.
I let them get there a little ahead of me.