THE PAINTED FACE
Human life seems so like that depicted in the elements about us; a
patch of blue here, and a streak of blackness stealing up there to
cover it. A glint of gold there and a flurry of smoke almost upon it.
So with life: brightness is so closely followed by shadows that gloom
and glow become inseparable. Perhaps the contrasts save us from the
blinding glare of extremes; it may be well to have even our joys
tempered with moderation.
It had been such a happy day--Tavia felt she had never before known how
to enjoy life. There had been many happy times of course, in Dalton,
and Dorothy had often surprised her with entirely unexpected little
treats; but somehow this was different, there was so much to be enjoyed
at once.
Ah, Tavia! that is why reaction comes so suddenly. You left Nature
behind you in Dalton--human wild flowers have a hard time of it when
first thrust upon the pavements of social concrete.
Dorothy was with Tavia in the pretty bedroom. The moonlight made its
way in at the curtained windows, and the two girls were clinging to
each other there on the cushioned seat, trying to "think it out,"
Dorothy said.
"I had such a lovely time," sobbed Tavia, "and every one had been so
good to me. But I could not help it Doro dear. When that Rosabel came I
saw the difference--I saw I never could be your friend when we grew up.
And then I got to thinking about home--Dorothy, I must go. I must talk
about that money with dear mother and father and even little
Johnnie--he did seem to need me so much! And I have been so selfish--to
leave them all."
"Now, Tavia, you make me feel badly. It is I who am selfish to take you
away, but I am sure your mother particularly wanted you to come, and
your father was so pleased. I tell you, dear it is all that money. You
just feel you cannot wait to talk all about it, and I don't blame you
at all. You shall go home just as soon as you want to."
"But you must stay," said Tavia, brightening up at the thought of going
home. "I came to be company for you, but you do not need me."
Was there just a sign of jealousy in her words? Dorothy instantly
detected a change--Tavia drew herself up so like other girls, but so
unlike Tavia.
"Not need you! Why, Tavia, who in all this world could take your
place," and her arms were wound around the neck of the weeping girl,
while the fondest sister-kiss was pressed to the tear-stained cheek.
"My, what a goose I am!" suddenly exclaimed Tavia, springing up. "I
never was homesick or had the real blues in all my life, and I do not
propose to do the baby act now. So there," and she gave a hearty hug to
Dorothy. "I'm done with blubbering, and I'm more ashamed of myself than
I was the day I ran away after the row with Sarah. Now, I'll beat you
to bed, and to sleep, too, for that matter. We will have to do some
tall snoring to catch up with the rosy Rosabel--her cheeks will make
ours look like putty."
It was late, and Dorothy was glad to feel that Tavia had conquered her
homesickness, for that is what Dorothy insisted the attack was. It was,
however, the first--but the pain it left in Tavia's heart did not heal
at once, nor did it leave the spot unscarred.
Mrs. White had prudently left the girls to themselves, but now, by some
strange intuition she felt the "storm" was over, and sent a maid to ask
Dorothy if some crackers or an ice would not taste good. In replying
the girls discovered they were not the only ones up late, and presently
the entire party had assembled in the beautiful chintz dining room, and
the ices were being served between good-natured "jollyings."
"That hair cut went to your head," Ned told Tavia, "but wait until I go
down for the tresses, I'll scare Mike stiff--make him believe we
thought he had 'cribbed' them."
Tavia was entirely herself now, and had word for word with the jolly
boys.
Mrs. White studied her closely, but of course, unobserved. She was a
fine girl, no doubt of it, and a pleasant companion for Dorothy. Her
humor was as pure as the bubbles in the brook, and just as unfailing.
And what a pretty girl she was! Those hazel eyes and that bronze head.
No wonder even the foreign barber had noted that it was "scarce."
"A veritable wildflower," concluded the hostess, just as others had
said; Major Dale for instance.
Dorothy was of an entirely different type. Her beauty was the sort that
grows more and more attractive, as character develops, not depending
upon mere facial outline.
"Now, children, off to bed with you," said Mrs. White, touching the
bell to tell the maid the late lunch was over, "and to-morrow you know
we go to camp. You will not have a headache, Tavia?"
"I have never had one in my life," answered Tavia, in that polite tone
she always used in speaking to the hostess. "Perhaps my head does not
know enough to ache."
"Blissful ignorance then," replied Mrs. White, "see to it that you
never become so worldly-wise as to learn how. A head that does not ache
is a joy forever."
Hasty good nights were exchanged, and this time there was no "waking
night-mare" for Tavia. She wanted to sleep--young hearts may ache once
in a while, but they have a comfortable habit of deferring to tired
nature at least once in twenty-four hours.
So the Cedars rustled to their hearts' content, and the pines whispered
derisively at their attempt to make themselves heard in the world of
music makers--poor little stunted cedars! So small beside the giant
pines, so useless in a tree's great province--to give shade; but that
file of trees, scarcely taller than a hedge, had for years and years
made the division between one land and another, so they stood for that
at least. As Nat had explained to Tavia "they knew where to draw the
line."
The morning that followed was one of those beautiful streaks of
Nature's capriciousness when she allows spring to turn back and give
orders to summer. It was late in June, yet the air was soft and balmy,
and the sunshine behaved so nicely that Tavia, looking out of her
window actually found dew on the honeysuckle, and saw there was no need
to close blinds at even ten o'clock--which was late for dew certainly,
and late for a girl like Tavia Travers to get her first romp out of
doors.
Dorothy looked in mischievously.
"We didn't call you," she said smiling, "because you were so anxious
about your cheeks, you know. Let me see. I do declare, Tavia Travers,
is that a blush? Or did you dream you were Rosabel? Now don't try to
tell me that's perfectly natural. It isn't--it's simply divine," and
she gave her friend a reassuring kiss.
"When we get to talking such nonsense," said Tavia with as much
severity as she could summon on short notice, "I think we should do
something for it--get busy at something you know. It is plainly the
result of downright idleness."
"Dr. Gray's prescription, you know. But now for camp. The boys have
gone on ahead, and Aunt Winnie is going to stop at the hotel for lunch,
She said she thought we would enjoy it."
"Oh, I will, I am sure," answered Tavia, promptly. "That's what worries
me, I am getting to enjoy everything. What in the world will I do when
I get back to Dalton?"
"Write letters to Nat, I suppose. Now don't get any deeper shade of
red, dear. The one that you woke up with is so becoming."
"How much time have we?" asked Tavia, bestowing more care on the
brushing of her short hair now than she had ever thought of giving the
mass that the barber still had in his keeping.
"Perhaps an hour, but we want to get out on the lawn, for a game of
ball before we start. I am just dying to play real ball! I do miss Joe
and Roger so!"
"I am sure they miss you, too, Doro. I have been wondering how you have
managed to keep away from them."
"Well, I have to you know. Besides I get a letter every day. Joe said
yesterday that your folks had taken the Baldwin house."
"Father said in his letter he expected to. But do you know, Doro, I
would never advise a poor girl to go out of her own territory, I think
I shall be unhappy now--at home."
"Nonsense. You will enjoy the simple life more thoroughly than ever.
That is only a scruple, you are afraid you shouldn't enjoy anything but
Dalton. You know perfectly well you would rather dig
Jacks-in-the-pulpit out by our back wall, than snatch those
honeysuckles at your window."
"Perhaps," said Tavia vaguely. "But I guess you are right, Doro. You
always are. I am just afraid to think of anything but what we've got."
"Not even the five hundred?"
"Oh, that is what upsets me. I shall expect it to make us millionaires."
"And so it will in happiness. I can't blame you one bit for wanting to
get home to talk it over."
"Oh, that was yesterday. To-day I want to go to camp."
Dorothy looked at her uneasily. She remembered it was told her once
that sudden changes were always unwholesome to young people.
"It must be that," she told herself, "Tavia has had too many sudden
changes lately. And she always was so sentimental. I believe, after
all, it is best for girls to keep busy at practical things. Tavia has
never been trained."
"Now," said Tavia, who had been fixing before the pretty dressing
table, "I'm ready. But I have a plan--to help Nat out with Rosabel's
complexion test."
"Oh, he was only joking," exclaimed Dorothy. "He wouldn't be so rude."
"It's no harm, I'm sure; I've done it lots of times. Come out and I'll
show you."
Out on the lawn Tavia ran about like the girl she used to be. She was
looking for something. Down behind the hedge of Cedars then out on the
open fields patches of clover and daisies were tangled--they grew
outside the Cedars; beyond the line.
"Here it is!" she called to Dorothy. "Such a lovely bunch."
Then running back she brought to Dorothy a long stem of mullen leaves.
"What are they for?" asked Dorothy, for she knew the common plant well
enough.
"To paint our cheeks with, and it doesn't come off! Won't Rosabel be
surprised."
"But I wouldn't think of putting those sticky leaves to my face,"
objected Dorothy.
"Why, they're not poison," said Tavia, beginning to unfold the velvet
leaves that look so soft and are really so very "scratchy."
"Don't!" begged Dorothy. "It is just as bad as paint, and paint is
positively vulgar. I am sure you were mistaken about Rosabel. No
respectable girl would be so foolish."
But Tavia was rubbing the leaves to her pink cheeks with absolute
disregard of everything but "rubbing." That seemed to be the one thing
necessary in the operation.
Presently a deep red stained her cheeks. She felt the sting but wanted
to make sure it was all rubbed on.
"Does it burn?" asked Dorothy in surprise that Tavia should really
carry out her threat to make her cheeks redder than Rosabel's.
"A little," admitted Tavia. "Don't you want to try it?"
"Not for worlds," answered Dorothy. "Since you say it will not wash off
how are you going to explain it?"
"Sunburn," promptly answered the other, with a subtlety surprising to
Dorothy.
"You really must not help the boys play any joke on Miss Glen," said
Dorothy. "You know they are Aunt Winnie's neighbors, and we are her
guests."
"Oh, all right, if you feel that way about it," said Tavia a little
stiffly, "perhaps, Dorothy, I had better have a headache and not go out
to camp--I don't mean to be pouty," she hurried on, "but really,
Dorothy, I have never been able to withstand that sort of temptation
and I might embarrass you. I wouldn't do it for anything, Doro."
Dorothy Dale was perplexed. First Tavia had said sunburn instead of
mullen leaves, and now she was willing to substitute headache for
rudeness. Wasn't she learning a trifle too fast? Aunt Winnie never
advocated that sort of thing--the rich may be just as honest as the
poor, and more so, for they have opportunities of discerning the great
difference between a gentle and polite way of saving persons' feelings
and the rude unpardonable way of seeking refuge behind little quibbles
at the expense of truth.
"We were only joking, of course," said Dorothy finally, jumping up from
her seat on the old tree stump, "But it is different where some one
else is concerned. Everybody is not willing to take a joke you know."
"I've noticed that lately," replied Tavia, pressing both hands to her
cheeks to stop, if possible, the burning of the mullen leaves. "But you
know I once promised to show you how I looked painted. Now I've kept my
promise."
The flaming red of her cheeks seemed to make her eyes blaze as well,
and it could not be denied she looked wonderfully pretty--or would look
so at longer range, through opera glasses, perhaps. But in calm
daylight there was something strange about her face. The short bronze
hair, the dancing hazel eyes,--
"Tavia," exclaimed Dorothy, dismay in her voice, "I am so sorry--you
look like--an actress."