A GIFT FROM HEAVEN
The first of April in the Mount Mark parsonage was a time of trial and
tribulation, frequently to the extent of weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The twins were no respecters of persons, and feeling that the first of
April rendered all things justifiable to all men, they made life as
burdensome to their father as to Connie, and Fairy and Prudence lived in
a state of perpetual anguish until the twins fell asleep at night well
satisfied but worn out with the day's activities. The twins were
bordering closely to the first stage of grown-up womanhood, but on the
first of April they swore they would always be young! The tricks were
more dignified, more carefully planned and scientifically executed than
in the days of their rollicking girlhood,--but they were all the more
heart-breaking on that account.
The week before the first was spent by Connie in a vain effort to ferret
out their plans in order that fore-knowledge might suggest a sufficient
safe-guard. The twins, however, were too clever to permit this, and
their bloody schemes were wrapped in mystery and buried in secrecy. On
the thirty-first of March, Connie labored like a plumber would if
working by the job. She painstakingly hid from sight all her cherished
possessions. The twins were in the barn, presumably deep in plots. Aunt
Grace was at the Ladies' Aid. So when Fairy came in, about four in the
afternoon, there was only Prudence to note the vengeful glitter in her
fine clear eyes. And Prudence was so intent upon feather-stitching the
hems of pink-checked dish towels, that she did not observe it.
"Where's papa?" Fairy asked.
"Up-stairs."
"Where are the twins?"
"In the barn, getting ready for THE DAY."
Fairy smiled delightfully and skipped eagerly up the stairs. She was
closeted with her father for some time, and came out of his room at last
with a small coin carefully concealed in the corner of her
handkerchief. She did not remove her hat, but set briskly out toward
town again.
Prudence, startled out of her feather-stitching, followed her to the
door. "Why, Fairy," she called. "Are you going out again?"
Fairy threw out her hands. "So it seems. An errand for papa." She lifted
her brows and pursed up her lips, and the wicked joy in her face pierced
the mantle of Prudence's absorption again.
"What's up?" she questioned curiously, following her sister down the
steps.
Fairy looked about hurriedly, and then whispered a few words of
explanation. Prudence's look changed to one of unnaturally spiteful
glee.
"Good! Fine! Serves 'em right! You'd better hurry."
"Tell Aunt Grace, will you? But don't let Connie in until morning. She'd
give it away."
At supper-time Fairy returned, and the twins, their eyes bright with the
unholy light of mischief, never looked at her. They sometimes looked
heavenward with a sublime contentment that drove Connie nearly frantic.
Occasionally they uttered cryptic words about the morrow,--and the
older members of the family smiled pleasantly, but Connie shuddered.
She remembered so many April Fool's Days.
The family usually clung together on occasions of this kind, feeling
there was safety and sympathy in numbers--as so many cowards have felt
for lo, these many years. And thus it happened that they were all in the
dining-room when their father appeared at the door. He had his hands
behind him suggestively.
"Twins," he said, without preamble, "what do you want more than anything
else?"
"Silk stockings," was the prompt and unanimous answer.
He laughed. "Good guess, wasn't it?" And tossed into their eager hands
two slender boxes, nicely wrapped. The others gathered about them with
smiling eyes as the twins tremulously tore off the wrappings.
"A. Phoole's Pure Silk Thread Hose,--Guaranteed!" This they read from
the box--neat golden lettering. It was enough for the twins. With cries
of perfect bliss they flung themselves upon their father, kissing him
rapturously wherever their lips might touch.
"Oh, papa!" "Oh, you darling!" And then, when they had some sort of
control of their joy, Lark said solemnly, "Papa, it is a gift from
Heaven!"
"Of course, we give you the credit, papa," Carol amended quickly, "but
the thought was Heaven-prompted."
Fairy choked suddenly, and her fit of coughing interfered with the
twins' gratitude to an all-suggesting Providence!
Carol twisted her box nervously. "You know, papa, it may seem very
childish, and--silly to you, but--actually--we have--well, prayed for
silk stockings. We didn't honestly expect to get them, though--not until
we saved up money enough to get them ourselves. Heaven is kinder to us
than we--"
"You can't understand such things, papa," said Lark. "Maybe you don't
know exactly how--how they feel. When we go to Betty Hill's we wear her
silk stockings and lie on the bed--and--she won't let us walk in them,
for fear we may wear holes. Every girl in our class has at least one
pair,--Betty has three, but one pair's holey, and--we felt so awfully
poor!"
The smiles on the family faces were rather stereotyped by this
time, but the exulting twins did not notice. Lark looked at Carol
fondly. Carol sighed at Lark blissfully. Then, with one accord,
they lifted the covers from the boxes and drew out the shimmering
hose. Yes,--shimmering--but--they shook them out for inspection!
Their faces paled a little.
"They--they are very--" began Carol courageously. Then she stopped.
The hose were a fine tissue-paper imitation of silk stockings! The
"April Fool, little twins," on the toes was not necessary for their
enlightenment. They looked at their father with sad but unresentful
reproach in their swiftly shadowed eyes.
"It--it's a good joke," stammered Carol, moistening her dry lips with
her tongue.
"It's--one on us," blurted Lark promptly.
"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Carol, slowly, dryly, very dully.
"Yes--ha, ha, ha," echoed Lark, placing the bitter fruit carefully back
in its box. Her fingers actually trembled.
"It's a--swell joke, all right," Carol said, "we see that well
enough,--we're not stupid, you know. But we did want some silk stockings
so--awfully bad. But it's funny, ha, ha, ha!"
"A gift from Heaven!" muttered Lark, with clenched teeth. "Well, you got
us that time."
"Come on, Lark, we must put them sacredly away--Silk stockings, you
know, are mighty scarce in a parsonage,--"
"Yes, ha, ha, ha," and the crushed and broken twins left the room, with
dignity in spite of the blow.
The family did not enjoy the joke on the twins.
Mr. Starr looked at the others with all a man's confused incomprehension
of a woman's notions! He spread out his hands--an orthodox, ministerial
gesture!
"Now, will some one kindly tell me what there is in silk stockings,
to--" He shook his head helplessly. "Silk stockings! A gift from
Heaven!" He smiled, unmerrily. "The poor little kids!" Then he left the
room.
Aunt Grace openly wiped her eyes, smiling at herself as she did so.
Fairy opened and closed her lips several times. Then she spoke. "Say,
Prue, knock me down and sit on me, will you? Whatever made me think of
such a stupid trick as that?"
"Why, bless their little hearts," whispered Prudence, sniffing. "Didn't
they look sorry? But they were so determined to be game."
"Prudence, give me my eight cents," demanded Connie. "I want it right
away."
"What do you want it for?"
"I'm going down to Morrow's and get some candy. I never saw a meaner
trick in my life! I'm surprised at papa. The twins only play jokes for
fun." And Connie stalked grimly out of the parsonage and off toward
town.
A more abashed and downcast pair of twins probably never lived. They sat
thoughtfully in their room, "A. Phoole's Silk Thread Hose" carefully
hidden from their hurt eyes.
"It was a good joke," Lark said, now and then.
"Yes, very," assented Carol. "But silk stockings, Larkie!"
And Lark squirmed wretchedly. "A gift from Heaven," she mourned. "How
they must be laughing!"
But they did not laugh.
Connie came back and shared her candy. They thanked her courteously and
invited her to sit down. Then they all ate candy and grieved together
silently. They did not speak of the morning's disaster, but the twins
understood and appreciated the tender sympathy of her attitude, and
although they said nothing, they looked at her very kindly and Connie
was well content.
The morning passed drearily. The twins had lost all relish for their
well-planned tricks, and the others, down-stairs, found the usually wild
and hilarious day almost unbearably poky. Prudence's voice was gentle as
she called them down to dinner, and the twins, determined not to show
the white feather, went down at once and took their places. They bore
their trouble bravely, but their eyes had the surprised and stricken
look, and their faces were nearly old. Mr. Starr cut the blessing short,
and the dinner was eaten in silence. The twins tried to start the
conversation. They talked of the weather with passionate devotion. They
discussed their studies with an almost unbelievable enthusiasm. They
even referred, with stiff smiles, to "papa's good joke," and then
laughed their dreary "ha, ha, ha," until their father wanted to fall
upon his knees and beg forgiveness.
Connie, still solicitous, helped them wash the dishes. The others
disappeared. Fairy got her hat and went out without a word. Their father
followed scarcely a block behind her. Aunt Grace sought all over the
house for Prudence, and finally found her in the attic, comforting
herself with a view of the lovely linens which filled her Hope Box.
"I'm going for a walk," announced Aunt Grace briefly.
"All right," assented Prudence. "If I'm not here when you get back,
don't worry. I'm going for a walk myself."
Their work done irreproachably, the twins and Connie went to the haymow
and lay on the hay, still silent. The twins, buoyant though they were,
could not so quickly recover from a shock like this. So intent were they
upon the shadows among the cobwebs that they heard no sound from below
until their father's head appeared at the top of the ladder.
"Come up," they invited hospitably but seriously.
He did so at once, and stood before them, his face rather flushed, his
manner a little constrained, but looking rather satisfied with himself
on the whole.
"Twins," he said, "I didn't know you were so crazy about silk stockings.
We just thought it would be a good joke--but it was a little too good.
It was a boomerang. I don't know when I've felt so contemptible. So I
went down and got you some real silk stockings--a dollar and a half a
pair,--and I'm glad to clear my conscience so easily."
The twins blushed. "It--it was a good joke, papa," Carol assured him
shyly. "It was a dandy. But--all the girls at school have silk stockings
for best, and--we've been wanting them--forever. And--honestly, father,
I don't know when I've had such a--such a spell of indigestion as when I
saw those stockings were April Fool."
"Indigestion," scoffed Connie, restored to normal by her father's
handsome amends.
"Yes, indigestion," declared Lark. "You know, papa, that funny, hollow,
hungry feeling--when you get a shock. That's nervous indigestion,--we
read it in a medicine ad. They've got pills for it. But it was a good
joke. We saw that right at the start."
"And we didn't expect anything like this. It--is very generous of you,
papa. Very!"
But he noticed that they made no move to unwrap the box. It still lay
between them on the hay, where he had tossed it. Evidently their
confidence in him had been severely shattered.
He sat down and unwrapped it himself. "They are guaranteed," he
explained, passing out the little pink slips gravely, "so when they wear
holes you get another pair for nothing." The twins' faces had brightened
wonderfully. "I will never play that kind of a trick again, twins, so
you needn't be suspicious of me. And say! Whenever you want anything so
badly it makes you feel like that, come and talk it over. We'll manage
some way. Of course, we're always a little hard up, but we can generally
scrape up something extra from somewhere. And we will. You mustn't--feel
like that--about things. Just tell me about it. Girls are so--kind of
funny, you know."
The twins and Connie rushed to the house to try the "feel" of the first,
adored silk stockings. They donned them, admired them, petted Connie,
idolized their father, and then removing them, tied them carefully in
clean white tissue-paper and deposited them in the safest corner of the
bottom drawer of their dresser. Then they lay back on the bed, thinking
happily of the next class party! Silk stockings! Ah!
"Can't you just imagine how we'll look in our new white dresses, Lark,
and our patent leather pumps,--with silk stockings! I really feel there
is nothing sets off a good complexion as well as real silk stockings!"
They were interrupted in this delightful occupation by the entrance of
Fairy. The twins had quickly realized that the suggestion for their
humiliating had come from her, and their hearts were sore, but being
good losers--at least, as good losers as real live folks can be--they
wouldn't have admitted it for the world.
"Come on in, Fairy," said Lark cordially. "Aren't we lazy to-day?"
"Twins," said Fairy, self-conscious for the first time in the twins'
knowledge of her, "I suppose you know it was I who suggested that
idiotic little stocking stunt. It was awfully hateful of me, and so I
bought you some real silk stockings with my own spending money, and here
they are, and you needn't thank me for I never could be fond of myself
again until I squared things with you."
The twins had to admit that it was really splendid of Fairy, and they
thanked her with unfeigned zeal.
"But papa already got us a pair, and so you can take these back and get
your money again. It was just as sweet of you, Fairy, and we thank you,
and it was perfectly dear and darling, but we have papa's now, and--"
"Good for papa!" Fairy cried, and burst out laughing at the joke that
proved so expensive for the perpetrators. "But you shall have my burnt
offering, too. It serves us both right, but especially me, for it was my
idea."
And Fairy walked away feeling very gratified and generous.
Only girls who have wanted silk stockings for a "whole lifetime" can
realize the blissful state of the parsonage twins. They lay on the bed
planning the most impossible but magnificent things they would do to
show their gratitude, and when Aunt Grace stopped at their door they
leaped up to overwhelm her with caresses just because of their gladness.
She waved them away with a laugh. "April Fool, twins," she said, with a
voice so soft that it took all the sting from the words. "I brought you
some real silk stockings for a change." And she tossed them a package
and started out of the room to escape their thanks. But she stopped in
surprise when the girls burst into merry laughter.
"Oh, you silk stockings!" Carol cried. "Three pairs! You darling sweet
old auntie! You would come up here to tease us, would you? But papa gave
us a pair, and Fairy gave us a pair, and--"
"They did! Why, the silly things!" And the gentle woman looked as
seriously vexed as she ever did look--she had so wanted to give them
the first silk-stocking experience herself.
"Oh, here you are," cried Prudence, stepping quickly in, and speaking
very brightly to counterbalance the gloom she had expected to encounter.
She started back in some dismay when she saw the twins rolling and
rocking with laughter, and Aunt Grace leaning against the dresser for
support, with Connie on the floor, quite speechless.
"Good for you, twins,--that's the way to take hard knocks," she said.
"It wasn't a very nice trick, though of course papa didn't understand
how you felt about silk stockings. It wasn't his fault. But Fairy and I
ought to be ashamed, and we are. I went out and got you some real
genuine silk ones myself, so you needn't pray for them any more."
Prudence was shocked, a little hurt, at the outburst that followed her
words.
"Well, such a family!" Aunt Grace exclaimed. And then Carol pulled her
bodily down beside her on the bed and for a time they were all incapable
of explanations.
"What is the joke?" Prudence asked, again and again, smiling,--but
still feeling a little pique. She had counted on gladdening their sorry
little hearts!
"Stockings, stockings--Oh, such a family!" shrieked Carol.
"There's no playing jokes on the twins," said Aunt Grace weakly. "It
takes the whole family to square up. It's too expensive."
Then Lark explained, and Prudence sat down and joined the merriment,
which waxed so noisy that Mr. Starr from the library and Fairy from the
kitchen, ran in to investigate.
"April Fool, April Fool," cried Carol, "We never played a trick like
this, Larkie--this is our masterpiece."
"You're the nicest old things that ever lived," said Lark, still
laughing, but with great warmth and tenderness in her eyes and her
voice. "But you can take the stockings back and save your money if you
like--we love you just as much."
But this the happy donors stoutly refused to do. The twins had earned
this wealth of hose, and finally, wiping their eyes, the twins began to
smooth their hair and adjust their ribbons and belts.
"What's the matter?" "Where are you going?" "Will you buy the rest of us
some silk stockings?" queried the family, comic-opera effect.
"Where are we going?" Carol repeated, surprised, seeming to feel that
any one should know where they were going, though they had not spoken.
"We're going to call on our friends, of course," explained Lark.
"Of course," said Carol, jabbing her hair pins in with startling energy.
"And we've got to hurry. We must go to Mattie's, and Jean's, and
Betty's, and Fan's, and Birdie's, and Alice's, and--say, Lark, maybe
we'd better divide up and each take half. It's kind of late,--and we
mustn't miss any."
"Well, what on earth!" gasped Prudence, while the others stared in
speechless amazement.
"For goodness' sake, Carol, hurry. We have to get clear out to Minnie's
to-night, if we miss our supper."
"But what's the idea? What for? What are you talking about?"
"Why, you silly thing," said Carol patiently, "we have to go and tell
our friends that we've got four pairs of silk stockings, of course. I
wouldn't miss this afternoon for the world. And we'll go the rounds
together, Lark. I want to see how they take it," she smiled at them
benignly. "I can imagine their excitement. And we owe it to the world to
give it all the excitement we can. Prudence says so."
Prudence looked startled. "Did I say that?"
"Certainly. You said pleasure--but excitement's very pleasing, most of
the time. Come on, Larkie, we'll have to walk fast."
And with a fond good-by to the generous family, the twins set out to
spread the joyful tidings, Lark pausing at the door just long enough to
explain gravely, "Of course, we won't tell them--er--just how it
happened, you know. Lots of things in a parsonage need to be kept dark.
Prudence says so herself."