THE END OF FAIRY
Now that the twins had attained to the dignity of eighteen years, and
were respectable students at the thoroughly respectable Presbyterian
college, they had dates very frequently. And it was along about this
time that Mr. Starr developed a sudden interest in the evening callers
at his home. He bobbed up unannounced in most unexpected places and at
most unexpected hours. He walked about the house with a sharp sly look
in his eyes, in a way that could only be described as Carol said, by
"downright nosiness." The girls discussed this new phase of his
character when they were alone, but decided not to mention it to him,
for fear of hurting his feelings. "Maybe he's got a new kind of a sermon
up his brain," said Carol. "Maybe he's beginning to realize that his
clothes are wearing out again," suggested Lark. "He's too young for
second childhood," Connie thought. So they watched him curiously.
Aunt Grace, too, observed this queer devotion on the part of the
minister, and finally her curiosity overcame her habit of keeping
silent.
"William," she said gently, "what's the matter with you lately? Is there
anything on your mind?"
Mr. Starr started nervously. "My mind? Of course not. Why?"
"You seem to be looking for something. You watch the girls so closely,
you're always hanging around, and--"
He smiled broadly. "Thanks for that. 'Hanging around,' in my own
parsonage. That is the gratitude of a loving family!"
Aunt Grace smiled. "Well, I see there's nothing much the matter with
you. I was seriously worried. I thought there was something wrong,
and--"
"Sort of mentally unbalanced, is that it? Oh, no, I'm just watching my
family."
She looked up quickly. "Watching the family! You mean--"
"Carol," he said briefly.
"Carol! You're watching--"
"Oh, only in the most honorable way, of course. You see," he gave his
explanation with an air of relief, "Prudence always says I must keep an
eye on Carol. She's so pretty, and the boys get stuck on her,
and--that's what Prudence says. I forgot all about it for a while. But
lately I have begun to notice that the boys are older, and--we don't
want Carol falling in love with the wrong man. I got uneasy. I decided
to watch out. I'm the head of this family, you know."
"Such an idea!" scoffed Aunt Grace, who was not at all of a scoffing
nature.
"Carol was born for lovers, Prudence says so. And these men's girls have
to be watched, or the wrong fellow will get ahead, and--"
"Carol doesn't need watching--not any more at least."
"I'm not really watching her, you know. I'm just keeping my eyes open."
"But Carol's all right. That's one time Prudence was away off." She
smiled as she recognized a bit of Carol's slang upon her lips. "Don't
worry about her. You needn't keep an eye on her any more. She's coming,
all right."
"You don't think there's any danger of her falling in love with the
wrong man?"
"No."
"There aren't many worth-having fellows in Mount Mark, you know."
"Carol won't fall in love with a Mount Mark fellow."
"You seem very positive."
"Yes, I'm positive."
He looked thoughtful for a while. "Well, Prudence always told me to
watch Carol, so I could help her if she needed it."
"Girls always need their fathers," came the quick reply. "But Carol does
not need you particularly. There's only one of them who will require
especial attention."
"That's what Prudence says."
"Yes, just one--not Carol."
"Not Carol!" He looked at her in astonishment. "Why, Fairy and Lark
are--different. They're all right. They don't need attention."
"No. It's the other one."
"The other one! That's all."
"There's Connie."
"Connie?"
"Yes."
"Connie?"
"Yes."
"You don't mean Connie."
Aunt Grace smiled.
"Why, Grace, you're--you're off. Excuse me for saying it, but--you're
crazy. Connie--why, Connie has never been any trouble in her life.
Connie!"
"You've never had any friction with Connie, she's always been right so
far. One of these days she's pretty likely to be wrong, and Connie
doesn't yield very easily."
"But Connie's so sober and straight, and--"
"That's the kind."
"She's so conscientious."
"Yes, conscientious."
"She's--look here, Grace, there's nothing the matter with Connie."
"Of course not, William. That isn't what I mean. But you ought to be
getting very, very close to Connie right now, for one of these days
she's going to need a lot of that extra companionship Prudence told you
about. Connie wants to know everything. She wants to see everything.
None of the other girls ever yearned for city life. Connie does. She
says when she is through school she's going to the city."
"What city?"
"Any city."
"What for?"
"For experience."
Mr. Starr looked about him helplessly. "There's experience right here,"
he protested feebly. "Lots of it. Entirely too much of it."
"Well, that's Connie. She wants to know, to see, to feel. She wants to
live. Get close to her, get chummy. She may not need it, and then again
she may. She's very young yet."
"All right, I will. It is well I have some one to steer me along the
proper road." He looked regretfully out of the window. "I ought to be
able to see these things for myself, but the girls seem perfectly all
right to me. They always have. I suppose it's because they're mine."
Aunt Grace looked at him affectionately. "It's because they're the
finest girls on earth," she declared. "That's why. But we want to be
ready to help them if they need it, just because they are so fine. They
will every one be splendid, if we give them the right kind of a chance."
He sat silent a moment. "I've always wanted one of them to marry a
preacher," he said, laughing apologetically. "It is very narrow-minded,
of course, but a man does make a hobby of his own profession. I always
hoped Prudence would. I thought she was born for it. Then I looked to
Fairy, and she turned me down. I guess I'll have to give up the notion
now."
She looked at him queerly. "Maybe not."
"Connie might, I suppose."
"Connie," she contradicted promptly, "will probably marry a genius, or a
rascal, or a millionaire."
He looked dazed at that.
She leaned forward a little. "Carol might."
"Carol--"
"She might." She watched him narrowly, a smile in her eyes.
"Carol's too worldly."
"You don't believe that."
"No, not really. Carol--she--why, you know when I think of it, Carol
wouldn't be half bad for a minister's wife. She has a sense of humor,
that is very important. She's generous, she's patient, she's unselfish,
a good mixer,--some of the ladies might think her complexion wasn't
real, but--Grace, Carol wouldn't be half bad!"
"Oh, William," she sighed, "can't you remember that you are a Methodist
minister, and a grandfather, and--grow up a little?"
After that Mr. Starr returned to normal again, only many times he and
Connie had little outings together, and talked a great deal. And Aunt
Grace, seeing it, smiled with satisfaction. But the twins and Fairy
settled it in their own minds by saying, "Father was just a little
jealous of all the beaux. He was looking for a pal, and he's found
Connie."
But in spite of his new devotion to Connie, Mr. Starr also spent a great
deal of time with Fairy. "We must get fast chums, Fairy," he often said
to her. "This is our last chance. We have to get cemented for a
lifetime, you know."
And Fairy, when he said so, caught his hand and laughed a little
tremulously.
Indeed, he was right when he said it was his last chance with Fairy in
the parsonage. Two weeks before her commencement she had slipped into
the library and closed the door cautiously behind her.
"Father," she said, "would you be very sorry if I didn't teach school
after all?"
"Not a bit," came the ready answer.
"I mean if I--you see, father, since you sent me to college I feel as if
I ought to work and--help out."
"That's nonsense," he said, drawing the tall girl down to his knees. "I
can take care of my own family, thanks. Are you trying to run me out of
my job? If you want to work, all right, do it, but for yourself, and not
for us. Or if you want to do anything else," he did not meet her eyes,
"if you want to stay at home a year or so before you get married, it
would please us better than anything else. And when you want to marry
Gene, we're expecting it, you know."
"Yes, I know," she fingered the lapel of his coat uneasily. "Do you care
how soon I get married?"
"Are you still sure it is Gene?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Then I think you should choose your own time. I am in no hurry. But
any time,--it's for you, and Gene, to decide."
"Then you haven't set your heart on my teaching?"
"I set my heart on giving you the best chance possible. And I have done
it. For the rest, it depends on you. You may work, or you may stay at
home a while. I only want you to be happy, Fairy."
"But doesn't it seem foolish to go clear through college, and spend the
money, and then--marry without using the education?"
"I do not think so. They've been fine years, and you are finer because
of them. There's just as much opportunity to use your fineness in a home
of your own as in a public school. That's the way I look at it."
"You don't think I'm too young?"
"You're pretty young," he said slowly. "I can hardly say, Fairy. You've
always been capable and self-possessed. When you and Gene get so crazy
about each other you can't bear to be apart any longer, it's all right
here."
She put her arm around his neck and rubbed her fingers over his cheek
lovingly.
"You understand, don't you, father, that I'm just going to be plain
married when the time comes? Not a wedding like Prudence's. Gene, and
the girls, and Prue and Jerry, and you, father, that is all."
"Yes, all right. It's your day, you know."
"And we won't talk much about it beforehand. We all know how we feel
about things. It would be silly for me to try to tell you what a grand
sweet father you've been to us. I can't tell you,--if I tried I'd only
cry. You know what I think."
His face was against hers, and his eyes were away from her, so Fairy did
not see the moisture in his eyes when he said in a low voice:
"Yes, I know Fairy. And I don't need to say what fine girls you are, and
how proud I am of you. You know it already. But sometimes," he added
slowly, "I wonder that I haven't been a bigger man, and haven't done
finer work, with a houseful of girls like mine."
Her arm pressed more closely about his neck. "Father," she whispered,
"don't say that. We think you are wonderfully splendid, just as you are.
It isn't what you've said, not what you've done for us, it's just
because you have always made us so sure of you. We never had to wonder
about father, or ask ourselves--we were sure. We've always had you." She
leaned over and kissed him again. "There never was such a father, they
all say so, Prudence and Connie, and the twins, too! There couldn't be
another like you! Now we understand each other, don't we?"
"I guess so. Anyhow, I understand that there'll only be three daughters
in the parsonage pretty soon. All right, Fairy. I know you will be
happy." He paused a moment. "So will I."
But the months passed, and Fairy seemed content to stay quietly at home,
embroidering as Prudence had done, laughing at the twins as they tripped
gaily, riotously through college. And then in the early spring, she sent
an urgent note to Prudence.
"You must come home for a few days, Prue, you and Jerry. It's just
because I want you and I need you, and I know you won't go back on me. I
want you to get here on the early afternoon train Tuesday, and stay till
the last of the week. Just wire that you are coming--the three of you. I
know you'll be here, since it is I who ask it."
It followed naturally that Prudence's answer was satisfactory. "Of
course we'll come."
Fairy's plans were very simple. "We'll have a nice family dinner Tuesday
evening,--we'll get Mrs. Green to come and cook and have her niece to
serve it,--that'll leave us free to visit every minute. I'll plan the
dinner. Then we'll all be together, nice and quiet, just our own little
bunch. Don't have dates, twins,--of course Gene will be here, but he's
part of the family, and we don't want outsiders this time. His parents
will be in town, and I've asked them to come up. I want a real family
reunion just for once, and it's my party, for I started it. So you must
let me have it my own way."
Fairy was generally willing to leave the initiative to the eager twins,
but when she made a plan it was generally worth adopting, and the other
members of the family agreed to her arrangements without demur.
After the first confusion of welcoming Prudence home, and making fun of
"daddy Jerry," and testing the weight and length of little Fairy, they
all settled down to a parsonage home-gathering. Just a few minutes
before the dinner hour, Fairy took her father's hand.
"Come into the lime-light," she said softly, "I want you." He passed
little Fairy over to the outstretched arms of the nearest auntie, and
allowed himself to be led into the center of the room.
"Gene," said Fairy, and he came to her quickly, holding out a slender
roll of paper. "It's our license," said Fairy. "We think we'd like to be
married now, father, if you will."
He looked at her questioningly, but understandingly. The girls clustered
about them with eager outcries, half protest, half encouragement.
"It's my day, you know," cried Fairy, "and this is my way."
She held out her hand, and Gene took it very tenderly in his. Mr. Starr
looked at them gravely for a moment, and then in the gentle voice that
the parsonage girls insisted was his most valuable ministerial asset, he
gave his second girl in marriage.
It surely was Fairy's way, plain and sweet, without formality. And the
dinner that followed was just a happy family dinner. Fairy's face was
so glowing with content, and Gene's attitude was so tender, and so
ludicrously proud, that the twins at last were convinced that this was
right, and all was well.
But that evening, when Gene's parents had gone away, and after Fairy and
Gene themselves had taken the carriage to the station for their little
vacation together, and Jerry and Prudence were putting little Fairy to
bed, the three girls left in the home sat drearily in their bedroom and
talked it over.
"We're thinning out," said Connie. "Who next?"
"We'll stick around as long as we like, Miss Connie, you needn't try to
shuffle us off," said Lark indignantly.
"Prudence, and Fairy,--it was pretty cute of Fairy, wasn't it?"
"Let's go to bed," said Carol, rising. "I suppose we'll feel better in
the morning. A good sleep is almost as filling as a big meal after a
blow like this. Well, that's the end of Fairy. We have to make the best
of us. Come on, Larkie. You've still got us to boss you, Con, so you
needn't feel too forlorn. My, but the house is still! In some ways I
think this family is positively sickening. Good night, Connie. And,
after this, when you want to eat candy in bed, please use your own. I
got chocolate all over my foot last night. Good night, Connie. Well,
it's the end of Fairy. The family is going to pieces, sure enough."