The bell in St. Luke's steeple rang out the stroke for three-quarters after
nine in the morning. Nan lay in the hammock, gazing up through the woodbine
of the before-mentioned side veranda. The leaves were beginning to turn
maroon and russet; but evidently she was not looking at these, for her
pretty eyes were taking in a wider angle of light. In truth, there was a
deep little wrinkle between her eyebrows, which implied deep thought.
However, as the bell began on its ten strokes, she withdrew her stare from
the far, unseen horizon, rolled out of the hammock, came down hard on her
two trim boots, stood up straight, and gazed the landscape o'er.
"Not a girl in sight," she said to herself, with an amused laugh; "I
believe the silly things are afraid of me; maybe they think I have become
one of those reformers--oh me, how shy girls are of a _cause_! Well,
anyhow, I have one, or rather a _be_ cause, and they must give me a fair
hearing, though I must be wiser than a whole collection of serpents." She
had reflected thus far, when she espied a blue eye peeping around the
corner of the bay-window.
"Oh, Cathy!" she shouted; "oh, you perfidious foe! Come here! Where are the
girls?"
Cathy brought the companion eye into view, and finally two other pairs
appeared, accompanied by their respective owners, Evelyn carrying a basket
of grapes. How merry they were, and how they laughed in that contagious
girl-fashion as they encamped about Nan! They made a group charming to
behold, and they seemed capable of tossing anybody's blues away as easily
as they now threw grape-skins into the sunny air. But they were not
remarkable in any respect; they had their full share of graces and defects,
of assorted sizes, both of feature and character. No one of them was in the
least a heroine; but the group was very like any other group that might
have been found in many neighborhoods, on that pleasant September morning.
Bert Mitchell, who was the only addition to the party of the night before,
ensconced herself in the hammock with Cathy Drake. The two girls differed
from each other in many respects, but were great friends, as is often the
case.
Bert, who was never called Bertha, as she declared in extravagant phrase
that she "perfectly loathed the name," was tall and cheery, with fine eyes,
a mass of brown hair, and a voice a trifle loud. But the girls forgave her
that; and whenever she began to speak, they would always listen, assured of
hearing something bright. But her most characteristic feature was her
hands. They were white and shapely, but she had a curious way of carrying
them--as though she had just put them on for the first time, and was trying
different effects with them. The girls laughingly cried, "Long may they
wave!" and liked her all the same. She had an abundance of settled
convictions on every possible subject,--"positive opinions hot at all
hours," Cathy's brother Fred said of her,--and she was therefore always in
a definite mood, and very good company.
If, as some say, beauty is tested by the ability to wear one's hair combed
straight back without being a scarecrow, Cathy, of all the girls, came
nearest to being pretty, for she, and she alone, enjoyed the luxury of an
even temper during high winds, damp days, and a vacation at the seashore.
Her forehead was broad and calm, her eyes were blue and calm, and her mouth
was sweet and calm. She was not positive about anything, which greatly
irritated her friend Bert, who, indeed, flew into a comical passion one
day, over her failure to arouse Cathy. Shaking her, she exclaimed, "Will
nothing on earth move you! _Do_ get angry--at something or some one!--at
me!--at anything! Haven't you any depths in you? If you have, stir them
up!"
Cathy raised her crescent brows, and a faint color crept into her smooth
cheek as she quietly said: "Depths don't stir, my dear; and if stirred from
the top, they are apt only to get muddy, you know. However, I'd like to
accommodate you by getting furiously angry--at you, for instance; this is
an inviting opportunity, and I don't know that I ought to miss it--but
somehow it doesn't seem worth while." And even the obstreperous Bert was
silenced by this covert thrust.
When they all had settled themselves into various cozy attitudes, Bert
demanded to know the object of the caucus. "I hope it is something
interesting, for nothing but a command from you would have induced me to
crawl out this morning," she yawned, as she adjusted a sofa-pillow for her
comfort.
Cathy murmured, "Hear! Hear!" but was evidently more absorbed in Evelyn's
explanation of a new Kensington stitch.
Nan rapped sharply with the handle of a tennis racquet, and requested
order. Then she gave a little cough, tossed the grape-vine over her
shoulder, and began:
"Fellow-citizens! I come before you on this auspicious occasion to declare
treason--treason to the tyrant commonly called 'polite society.' I've come
to the solemn conclusion that it is about time I began to prepare to live."
She was at this point interrupted by a groan, and Bert asked:
"Why, aren't you alive, Nan? I am. Life so far is a great success, and it
is all your own fault if you don't think so too. You have all the
conveniences for having an uncommonly favored existence, if you only
_insisted_ on thinking so."
But Nan retorted: "That's just it--_if_ one could only think so! Aye,
there's the rub. This is the place for tears. Oh, dear!--I can't whip my
thoughts into obedience to my will as you can, Bert. I have, as you say,
all the so-called 'opportunities' for having a so-called 'fine time,' and
when I am old and gray, no one can say that I did not improve them with
unflagging diligence. But I don't really enjoy myself, and I don't believe
you do either--only you'll never own to it. Now, girls, honor bright, do
you honestly think we amount to much? Are we getting the most out of life?"
The impressiveness of the moment was ruined by the arrival of a green
grape, plump upon the speaker's nose.
Nan was good-natured enough to laugh with the rest, as she gave it a
well-directed aim back at Bert.
At this point Evelyn rescued the meeting from total disorder, by boldly
announcing: "Stay, girls! I agree with Nan, so far as I know what she
means. Oh, she was sublime last night! I wilted under the heat of her
eloquence, and I proclaim myself her humble follower."
At this encouragement, Nan administered a smothering hug to her noble
champion; but suddenly she seemed to change her tactics from harangue to
intrigue, for, helping herself to a bunch of Dianas, she said languidly:
"Well, the curbed lion of my spirit was rampant last night, for I had a
very inane time at that party--or perhaps I ate too much of the lemon
streak of my Neapolitan ice; at all events, I was rash enough to declare
war to the knife on all inducements from the giddy world again."
"But you will go to the next party as usual," interrupted Bert, as she left
the hammock. "You will go every time, my dear; you can't help it; it is
inevitable fate; so you'd better calm down and meditate on your next gown."
"Ah, Bert! You've said it now!" almost shouted Nan. "_That's_ the very
point! Is it 'inevitable fate' that we go on and on? I want something more
worth the while. Do be patient with me, and let me lay the case before you
as it looks to me. Here we are, every last girl of us out of school, and
doing absolutely nothing. What would we think of young men who dawdled
about at this rate, contenting themselves with a little dusting, arranging
a few flowers, doing a bit of embroidery now and then, and in _very_
energetic moments painting a teacup, but chiefly being 'in society,' and
not earning one square inch even of their manly clothing? Horrors! I
wouldn't recognize such a ninny!"
The silenced audience looked sufficiently awe-struck to encourage Nan to
continue.
"Now, are we one whit more to be envied, just because we are girls? Wake
up, Bert! And now that I'm awake myself, I think I shall actually blush the
next time Father pays me my allowance."
"Well, girls, Nan is in earnest," said Evelyn. "Cathy and I were almost set
to thinking by her burning eloquence last night--and I can assure you she
has a scheme on foot; so, as a humble champion, I request an expression
from the meeting, upon certain points. Firstly, all who agree that the
present state of things isn't very satisfying, will please manifest it by
holding up the right hand."
Cathy's gold thimble gleamed in the air. Bert was ostensibly asleep, with
her head against the pillar, but suddenly she sat erect, and said with
great decision:
"I think that you are running your precious heads against a wall--and, I
assure you, the wall doesn't mind it in the least. You are in the world,
and you would better treat it politely or you will get roundly snubbed in
return. As for me, I _must_ meet people. Until Nan or some other
philosopher offers something enticing, _I_ remain true to the ship."
"But suppose we do offer something in its place," said Evelyn, who had
rolled up her work and stuck her needle through it, as though she were
fastening an idea within.
"You are not much of a sinner, so entice away," said Bert, smilingly,
folding her hands.
"Well," Evelyn proceeded with a comical drawl, "let's be a club----"
"Oh, I'm clubbed black and blue now!" gasped Bert; "do try again, sweet
child!"
"Let's be a club," Evelyn repeated severely, "and let us read, or study, or
work, with all the might that is in us."
Meanwhile, the clouds had been clearing from Nan's brow, and now she called
out delightedly:
"You are getting 'warm', as we used to say when we played 'hunt the
thimble'; you are certainly traveling toward milder climes, Evelyn. Yes,
let us do something in earnest--and I know what I'm going to do, too!'
"What? what?" sounded in chorus.
"I'm going--to--earn--my--own--living."
At each emphatic word, Nan bobbed her head in the most decisive manner.
"I'm going to seek my fortune, and I'm going to try to lead a genuine
existence."
The girls sat stunned, with wide open eyes, till Bert suddenly pounded on
the floor with heavy applause, and Evelyn asked breathlessly:
"Why, Nan, has Father failed, or lost anything?"
"No, _he_ hasn't," answered Nan grimly, "but I have. What have I ever done
since I was graduated but drift about, vainly trying to amuse myself. Why,
girls, we have _futures_ before us----"
"No, not _before_ us?" laughed Bert with mock incredulity.
But Nan, undisturbed by Bert's interruption, went calmly on:
"Do we wish to belong to that class of helpless women who are aghast and
powerless if misfortune overtakes them? Do we wish to depend on others all
our lives--even if we have a fair prospect of property of our own" (looking
hard at Bert). "Remember that the wheel of Fortune turns once in most
lives, and _I_ shouldn't like to be flattened under it!"
The attention of her hearers was suddenly startled by an exclamation from
Bert, who stood up, with both hands at her heart, in apparent agony.
Recovering, however, with astonishing alacrity, she murmured: "Oh, it is
nothing--nothing but a barbed arrow driven home."
And with this mysterious remark, she settled her hat, declared it was
dinner-time, and, refusing to explain her unwonted reserve, laughingly tore
herself away.
(_continued_)
THE PUSSIES' COATS.
[Illustration]
O pussies dear,
It's very queer
That you wear your fur coats all the year!
Mamma, in May,
Put hers away.
I should think you'd be too warm to play.
THE KELP-GATHERERS.
[_A Story of the Maine Coast._]
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.