The garden fete came off yesterday, and on the surface was a roaring
success. The weather was ideal; the vicarage garden proved all that was
necessary in the way of a background, and the arrangements were so
extraordinarily complete that my practical mind was constantly
confronted with the question, "Won't this _cost_ far more than it
gains?" In a big city a charity entertainment may throw out expensive
baits with a fair chance of catching a shoal of fat and unwary fish; but
in a small village the catch can be calculated to a sou. The big fish
of the neighbourhood will heave a sigh of duteous resignation, put a
five-pound note in the purse, and start for the fray prepared to spend
it all, but not one penny more! The smaller fry carry out the same
policy with ten or fifteen shillings. The minnows take half-a-crown,
with which they pay for tea, and purchase soap at the provision stall,
reporting to their husbands at night that, after all, the money was not
wasted. The Vicar might just as well have it as the grocer. All the
attractions in the world cannot worm shillings out of a public which is
so prudent and canny that it has self-guarded itself by leaving its cash
at home!
Many times over yesterday afternoon I saw the flicker of longing in
feminine eyes as they gazed upon the tempting novelties displayed upon
the stalls, but the next moment the lips would screw, the feet pass by.
Guild garments must be bought; tea paid for; tickets bought for the
novel Treasure Hunt, wherein--with luck!--one might actually _gain_ by
the outlay. The visitors lingered to gaze at the pretty china, and
glass, and embroideries with which Delphine had filled her stall; but
the afternoon wore on, and it looked as full as ever--horribly full!
There were none of those bare, blank spaces which stall-holders love to
see. At five o'clock we marked off the odd sixpences; at six o'clock we
dropped a whole shilling, but still--hardly a sale!
Delphine looked--a vision! At the first glimpse of her in her cobweb
fineries, I was ill-bred enough to gape, whereat she blushed and said
hurriedly:--
"_Your_ dressmaker! Yes! Isn't it a duck?"
And knowing the prices which Celeste charges for ducks with such
feathers, I wondered, and--feared! Did the Vicar know? Was it possible
that with his small stipend he could afford such extravagances? Had the
silly little thing ordered, and never _asked_? Was it my fault for
having given the address? Could I have helped doing so, when I was
asked? I _had_ said she was expensive. It was some small comfort to
remember that, and Charmion would say it was no concern of mine. A
dozen such disconcerting thoughts raced through my mind, but I shook
them off, and said heartily:--
"It is lovely! _You_ are lovely! I had no idea you were such a beauty.
What does your husband say?"
Her face clouded.
"Nothing. Doesn't notice. Likes me as much in an old print. But
I--_love_ it! Oh, you don't know what bliss it is to feel `finished
off'. Everything new, good, pretty, and to match!" She gave a rapid
swirling movement of the hand to call my attention to such details as
shoes and stockings, embroidered bag, and glorified garden hat. "It's
nothing to _you_. You have had them all your life, but I have only
longed and--_starved_!"
She spoke with a passionate emphasis, which to many people would seem
out of all keeping with the subject; but I am young, and a girl, so I
understood. There are many empty-headed women in whom the craving for
pretty things is as strong as the masculine craving for drink and cards.
Circumstances have compelled these women to wear the plainest, most
useful of clothes, while every shop window shows a tantalising display
of colour and beauty, and other women not half so pretty as themselves
bloom with a borrowed radiance!
No mere man can understand the inborn feminine joy in the feel of fine
smooth fabric, nor the blending of delicate colours, the dainty ruffling
of lace. To the rich these things come as a matter of course, and the
working classes are satisfied with garish imitations; it is the poor
gentlewoman with the cultivated taste, the cultivated longing for
beauty, to whom temptation comes in its keenest form. It had come to
Delphine, and she had succumbed. I devoutly hoped and prayed that the
shock of the coming bill would prevent further extravagances!
Charmion and I took charge of the Treasure Hunt. We had given the
treasures, which were laboriously chosen with a view to suitability.
Umbrellas (lashed flat to the trunks of trees!) bags, photograph frames,
writing cases, boxes of handkerchiefs, chocolate, cigarettes, scent,
and--this was a cunning idea!--cash orders on a big London store.
There was a great rush for tickets, and the Vicar--very flurried, and
out of his element, poor man!--dragged in the Squire to help us. The
Squire had arrived with his mother an hour before, and had sat under a
cedar, drinking tea with a selection of old ladies and gentlemen,
looking as though he liked it quite well. Whenever he met my eye, he
glowered, as if to say, "How dare you look at me!" and I smiled back, as
that seemed to annoy him most. Now, as the Vicar brought him up, I
could hear his muttered protests: "Rather not! Can't _you_--isn't there
something else?" Pleasing thing, I must say, to have a man forced to
help you against his will!
Well, it was no use making a fuss before a score of curious eyes, so for
the next half-hour we stood side by side, selling tickets, explaining
the rules of the Hunt, marshalling the seekers in readiness for the
signal to start. He is capable enough, I will say that for him, and has
a patent knack of silencing garrulous questioners. It was the funniest
thing in the world to stand at the end of the lawn, and watch these
rustic backs--young, old, and fat middle-aged--all poised on one leg,
swaying to and fro, straining to be off! Excruciatingly funny to watch
the stampede, after the loud "One--two--three--and away!" The plunges,
the waddles, the skelter of flying heels! One might have thought the
gold of Klondyke was hidden in the kitchen garden. I laughed, and
laughed, in a good old Irish paroxysm of merriment, until the tears
rolled down my cheeks. Mr Maplestone stared, turned on his heel, and
stalked away.
I strolled back to the upper lawn, and the first person I saw was old
General Underwood sitting in his bath-chair, which had been drawn under
the shade of a tree, so that he might see everything, and yet be well
out of the way. He was too much out of the way, poor old dear! to judge
by his looks, and agreeably pleased to see my approach.
"Well, young lady, and how are you to-day? You look very fresh and
charming!"
"That's very nice of you, General! I do like to be admired. Isn't this
rather a dull corner for you? Wouldn't you like to be moved?"
He looked around with his old, blue eyes.
"Everyone seems to have gone. There was quite a crowd here a few
minutes ago. I sent my man to the village to post some letters."
"We can manage without him. There is a Treasure Hunt going on at the
other end of the garden. That is why this part is so empty. Mrs
Merrivale has hidden a lot of parcels among the trees and shrubs, and
everyone who pays a shilling can go and search for a treasure."
"Ha!" His face lit up with the hunting instinct, which seems dormant in
us all. "Treasures--I see! A good idea. Worth more, I presume, than
the entrance shilling?"
"Oh, much, much more." The pride of the donor sounded in my voice; then
I looked at the poor, old, tired, wistful face, and had a brilliant
idea. "General, shall _we_ go hunting--you and I? I'll push and you'll
steer, and we'll both look, and if it's a man's present, it's yours, and
if it's a woman's, it's mine, and if it's neutral, we'll toss! They've
only just started, so we're in time."