THE LADIES' AID
"It's perfectly disgusting, I admit, father," said Prudence sweetly,
"but you know yourself that it very seldom happens. And I am sure the
kitchen is perfectly clean, and the soup is very nice indeed,--if it is
canned soup! Twins, this is four slices of bread apiece for you! You
see, father, I really feel that this is a crisis in the life of the
parsonage----"
"How long does a parsonage usually live?" demanded Carol.
"It wouldn't live long if the ministers had many twins," said Fairy
quickly.
"Ouch!" grinned Connie, plagiarizing, for that expressive word belonged
exclusively to the twins, and it was double impertinence to apply it to
one of its very possessors.
"And you understand, don't you, father, that if everything does not go
just exactly right, I shall feel I am disgraced for life? I know the
Ladies disapprove of me, and look on me with suspicion. I know they
think it wicked and ridiculous to leave the raising of four bright
spirits in the unworthy hands of a girl like me. I know they will all
sniff and smile and--Of course, twins, they have a perfect right to
feel, and act, so. I am not complaining. But I want to show them for
once in their lives that the parsonage runs smoothly and sweetly. If
you would just stay at home with us, father, it would be a big help.
You are such a tower of strength."
"But unfortunately I can not. People do not get married every day in
the week, and when they are all ready for it they do not allow even
Ladies' Aids to stand in their way. It is a long drive, ten miles at
least, and I must start at once. And it will likely be very late when
I get back. But if you are all good, and help Prudence, and uphold the
reputation of the parsonage, I will divide the wedding fee with
you,--share and share alike." This was met with such enthusiasm that
he added hastily, "But wait! It may be only a dollar!"
Then kissing the various members of the parsonage family, he went out
the back door, barnward.
"Now," said Prudence briskly, "I want to make a bargain with you,
girls. If you'll stay clear away from the Ladies, and be very good and
orderly, I'll give you all the lemonade and cake you can drink
afterward."
"Oh, Prudence, I'm sure I can't drink much cake," cried Carol
tragically, "I just can't imagine myself doing it!"
"I mean, eat the cake, of course," said Prudence, blushing.
"And let us make taffy after supper?" wheedled Carol.
Prudence hesitated, and the three young faces hardened. Then Prudence
relented and hastily agreed. "You won't need to appear at all, you
know. You can just stay outdoors and play as though you were model
children."
"Yes," said Carol tartly, "the kind the members used to have,--which
are all grown up, now! And all moved out of Mount Mark, too!"
"Carol! That sounds malicious, and malice isn't tolerated here for a
minute. Now,--oh, Fairy, did you remember to dust the back of the
dresser in our bedroom?"
"Mercy! What in the world do you want the back of the dresser dusted
for? Do you expect the Ladies to look right through it?"
"No, but some one might drop something behind it, and it would have to
be pulled out and they would all see it. This house has got to be
absolutely spotless for once,--I am sure it will be the first time."
"And the last, I hope," added Carol sepulchrally.
"We have an hour and a half yet," continued Prudence. "That will give
us plenty of time for the last touches. Twins and Connie, you'd better
go right out in the field and play. I'll call you a little before two,
and then you must go quietly upstairs, and dress--just wear your plain
little ginghams, the clean ones of course! Then if they do catch a
glimpse of you, you will be presentable.--Yes, you can take some bread
and sugar, but hurry."
"You may take," said Fairy.
"Yes, of course, may take is what I mean.--Now hurry."
Then Prudence and Fairy set to work again in good earnest. The house
was already well cleaned. The sandwiches were made. But there were
the last "rites," and every detail must be religiously attended to.
It must be remembered that the three main down-stairs rooms of the
parsonage were connected by double doors,--double doors, you
understand, not portières! The front room, seldom used by the
parsonage family, opened on the right of the narrow hallway. Beyond it
was the living-room, which it must be confessed the parsonage girls
only called "living-room" when they were on their Sunday
behavior,--ordinarily it was the sitting-room, and a cheery, homey,
attractive place it was, with a great bay window looking out upon the
stately mansion of the Averys. To the left of the living-room was the
dining-room. The double doors between them were always open. The
other pair was closed, except on occasions of importance.
Now, this really was a crisis in the life of the parsonage family,--if
not of the parsonage itself. The girls had met, separately, every
member of the Ladies' Aid. But this was their first combined movement
upon the parsonage, and Prudence and Fairy realized that much depended
on the success of the day. As girls, the whole Methodist church
pronounced the young Starrs charming. But as parsonage people,--well,
they were obliged to reserve judgment. And as for Prudence having
entire charge of the household, it must be acknowledged that every
individual Lady looked forward to this meeting with eagerness,--they
wanted to "size up" the situation. They were coming to see for
themselves! Yes, it was undoubtedly a crisis.
"There'll be a crowd, of course," said Fairy. "We'll just leave the
doors between the front rooms open."
"Yes, but we'll close the dining-room doors. Then we'll have the
refreshments all out on the table, and when we are ready we'll just
fling back the doors carelessly and--there you are!"
So the table was prettily decorated with flowers, and great plates of
sandwiches and cake were placed upon it. In the center was an enormous
punch-bowl, borrowed from the Averys, full of lemonade. Glasses were
properly arranged on the trays, and piles of nicely home-laundered
napkins were scattered here and there. The girls felt that the
dining-room was a credit to them, and to the Methodist Church entire.
From every nook and corner of the house they hunted out chairs and
stools, anticipating a real run upon the parsonage. Nor were they
disappointed. The twins and Connie were not even arrayed in their
plain little ginghams, clean, before the first arrivals were ushered up
into the front bedroom, ordinarily occupied by Prudence and Fairy.
"There's Mrs. Adams, and Mrs. Prentiss, and Mrs.----," began Connie,
listening intently to the voices in the next room.
"Yes," whispered Carol, "peek through the keyhole, Lark, and see if
Mrs. Prentiss is looking under the bed for dust. They say she----"
"You'd better not let Prudence catch you repeating----"
"There's Mrs. Stone, and Mrs. Davis, and----"
"They say Mrs. Davis only belongs to the Ladies' Aid for the sake of
the refreshments, and----"
"Carol! Prudence will punish you."
"Well, I don't believe it," protested Carol. "I'm just telling you
what I've heard other people say."
"We aren't allowed to repeat gossip," urged Lark.
"No, and I think it's a shame, too, for it's awfully funny. Minnie
Drake told me that Miss Varne joined the Methodist church as soon as
she heard the new minister was a widower so she----"
"Carol!"
Carol whirled around sharply, and flushed, and swallowed hard. For
Prudence was just behind her.
"I--I--I--" but she could get no further.
Upon occasion, Prudence was quite terrible. "So I heard," she said
dryly, but her eyes were hard. "Now run down-stairs and out to the
field, or to the barn, and play. And, Carol, be sure and remind me of
that speech to-night. I might forget it."
The girls ran quickly out, Carol well in the lead.
"No wedding fee for me," she mumbled bitterly. "Do you suppose there
can be seven devils in my tongue, Lark, like there are in the Bible?"
"I don't remember there being seven devils in the Bible," said Lark.
"Oh, I mean the--the possessed people it tells about in the
Bible,--crazy, I suppose it means. Somehow I just can't help
repeating----"
"You don't want to," said Lark, not without sympathy. "You think it's
such fun, you know."
"Well, anyhow, I'm sure I won't get any wedding fee to-night. It seems
to me Prudence is very--harsh sometimes."
"You can appeal to father, if you like."
"Not on your life," said Carol promptly and emphatically; "he's worse
than Prudence. Like as not he'd give me a good thrashing into the
bargain. No,--I'm strong for Prudence when it comes to punishment,--in
preference to father, I mean. I can't seem to be fond of any kind of
punishment from anybody."
For a while Carol was much depressed, but by nature she was a buoyant
soul and her spirits were presently soaring again.
In the meantime, the Ladies of the Aid Society continued to arrive.
Prudence and Fairy, freshly gowned and smiling-faced, received them
with cordiality and many merry words. It was not difficult for them,
they had been reared in the hospitable atmosphere of Methodist
parsonages, where, if you have but two dishes of oatmeal, the outsider
is welcome to one. That is Carol's description of parsonage life.
But Prudence was concerned to observe that a big easy chair placed well
back in a secluded corner, seemed to be giving dissatisfaction. It was
Mrs. Adams who sat there first. She squirmed quite a little, and
seemed to be gripping the arms of the chair with unnecessary fervor.
Presently she stammered an excuse, and rising, went into the other
room. After that, Mrs. Miller tried the corner chair, and soon moved
away. Then Mrs. Jack, Mrs. Norey, and Mrs. Beed, in turn, sat
there,--and did not stay. Prudence was quite agonized. Had the awful
twins filled it with needles for the reception of the poor Ladies? At
first opportunity, she hurried into the secluded corner, intent upon
trying the chair for herself. She sat down anxiously. Then she
gasped, and clutched frantically at the arms of the chair. For she
discovered at once to her dismay that the chair was bottomless, and
that only by hanging on for her life could she keep from dropping
through. She thought hard for a moment,--but thinking did not
interfere with her grasp on the chair-arms,--and then she realized that
the wisest thing would be to discuss it publicly. Anything would be
better than leaving it unexplained, for the Ladies to comment upon
privately.
So up rose Prudence, conscientiously pulling after her the thin cushion
which had concealed the chair's shortcoming. "Look, Fairy!" she cried.
"Did you take the bottom out of this chair?--It must have been horribly
uncomfortable for those who have sat there!--However did it happen?"
Fairy was frankly amazed, and a little inclined to be amused.
"Ask the twins," she said tersely, "I know nothing about it."
At that moment, the luckless Carol went running through the hall.
Prudence knew it was she, without seeing, because she had a peculiar
skipping run that was quite characteristic and unmistakable.
"Carol!" she called.
And Carol paused.
"Carol!" more imperatively.
Then Carol slowly opened the door,--she was a parsonage girl and rose
to the occasion. She smiled winsomely,--Carol was nearly always
winsome.
"How do you do?" she said brightly. "Isn't it a lovely day? Did you
call me, Prudence?"
"Yes. Do you know where the bottom of that chair has gone?"
"Why, no, Prudence--gracious! That chair!--Why, I didn't know you were
going to bring that chair in here--Why,--oh, I am so sorry! Why in the
world didn't you tell us beforehand?"
Some of the Ladies smiled. Others lifted their brows and shoulders in
a mildly suggestive way, that Prudence, after nineteen years in the
parsonage, had learned to know and dread.
"And where is the chair-bottom now?" she inquired. "And why did you
take it?"
"Why we wanted to make----"
"You and Lark?"
"Well, yes,--but it was really all my fault, you know. We wanted to
make a seat up high in the peach tree, and we couldn't find a board the
right shape. So she discovered--I mean, I did--that by pulling out two
tiny nails we could get the bottom off the chair, and it was just fine.
It's a perfectly adorable seat," brightening, but sobering again as she
realized the gravity of the occasion. "And we put the cushion in the
chair so that it wouldn't be noticed. We never use that chair, you
know, and we didn't think of your needing it to-day. We put it away
back in the cold corner of the sitting--er, living-room where no one
ever sits. I'm so sorry about it."
Carol was really quite crushed, but true to her parsonage training, she
struggled valiantly and presently brought forth a crumpled and sickly
smile.
But Prudence smiled at her kindly. "That wasn't very naughty, Carol,"
she said frankly. "It's true that we seldom use that chair. And we
ought to have looked." She glanced reproachfully at Fairy. "It is
strange that in dusting it, Fairy--but never mind. You may go now,
Carol. It is all right."
Then she apologized gently to the Ladies, and the conversation went on,
but Prudence was uncomfortably conscious of keen and quizzical eyes
turned her way. Evidently they thought she was too lenient.
"Well, it wasn't very naughty," she thought wretchedly. "How can I
pretend it was terribly bad, when I feel in my heart that it wasn't!"
Before long, the meeting was called to order, and the secretary
instructed to read the minutes.
"Oh," fluttered Miss Carr excitedly, "I forgot to bring the book. I
haven't been secretary very long, you know."
"Only six months," interrupted Mrs. Adams tartly.
"How do you expect to keep to-day's minutes?" demanded the president.
"Oh, I am sure Miss Prudence will give me a pencil and paper, and I'll
copy them in the book as soon as ever I get home."
"Yes, indeed," said Prudence. "There is a tablet on that table beside
you, and pencils, too. I thought we might need them."
Then the president made a few remarks, but while she talked, Miss Carr
was excitedly opening the tablet. Miss Carr was always excited, and
always fluttering, and always giggling girlishly. Carol called her a
sweet old simpering soul, and so she was. But now, right in the midst
of the president's serious remarks, she quite giggled out.
The president stared at her in amazement. The Ladies looked up
curiously. Miss Carr was bending low over the tablet, and laughing
gaily to herself.
"Oh, this is very cute," she said. "Who wrote it? Oh, it is just real
cunning."
Fairy sprang up, suddenly scarlet. "Oh, perhaps you have one of the
twins' books, and they're always scribbling and----"
"No, it is yours, Fairy. I got it from among your school-books."
Fairy sank back, intensely mortified, and Miss Carr chirped brightly:
"Oh, Fairy, dear, did you write this little poem? How perfectly sweet!
And what a queer, sentimental little creature you are. I never dreamed
you were so romantic. Mayn't I read it aloud?"
Fairy was speechless, but the Ladies, including the president, were
impatiently waiting. So Miss Carr began reading in a sentimental,
dreamy voice that must have been very fetching fifty years before. At
the first suggestion of poetry, Prudence sat up with conscious
pride,--Fairy was so clever! But before Miss Carr had finished the
second verse, she too was literally drowned in humiliation.
"My love rode out of the glooming night,
Into the glare of the morning light.
My love rode out of the dim unknown,
Into my heart to claim his own.
My love rode out of the yesterday,
Into the now,--and he came to stay.
Oh, love that is rich, and pure, and true,
The love in my heart leaps out to you.
Oh, love, at last you have found your part,--
To come and dwell in my empty heart."
Miss Carr sat down, giggling delightedly, and the younger Ladies
laughed, and the older Ladies smiled.
But Mrs. Prentiss turned to Fairy gravely. "How old are you, my dear?"
And with a too-apparent effort, Fairy answered, "Sixteen!"
"Indeed!" A simple word, but so suggestively uttered. "Shall we
continue the meeting, Ladies?"
This aroused Prudence's ire on her sister's behalf, and she squared her
shoulders defiantly. For a while, Fairy was utterly subdued. But
thinking it over to herself, she decided that after all there was
nothing absolutely shameful in a sixteen-year-old girl writing
sentimental verses. Silly, to be sure! But all sixteen-year-olds are
silly. We love them for it! And Fairy's good nature and really good
judgment came to her rescue, and she smiled at Prudence with her old
serenity.
The meeting progressed, and the business was presently disposed of. So
far, things were not too seriously bad, and Prudence sighed in great
relief. Then the Ladies took out their sewing, and began industriously
working at many unmentionable articles, designed for the intimate
clothing of a lot of young Methodists confined in an orphans' home in
Chicago. And they talked together pleasantly and gaily. And Prudence
and Fairy felt that the cloud was lifted.
But soon it settled again, dark and lowering. Prudence heard Lark
running through the hall and her soul misgave her. Why was Lark going
upstairs? What was her errand? And she remembered the wraps of the
Ladies, up-stairs, alone and unprotected. Dare she trust Lark in such
a crisis? Perhaps the very sight of Prudence and the Ladies' Aid would
arouse her better nature, and prevent catastrophe. To be sure, her
mission might be innocent, but Prudence dared not run the risk.
Fortunately she was sitting near the door.
"Lark!" she called softly. Lark stopped abruptly, and something fell
to the floor.
"Lark!"
There was a muttered exclamation from without, and Lark began fumbling
rapidly around on the floor talking incoherently to herself.
"Lark!"
The Ladies smiled, and Miss Carr, laughing lightly, said, "She is an
attentive creature, isn't she?"
Prudence would gladly have flown out into the hall to settle this
matter, but she realized that she was on exhibition. Had she done so,
the Ladies would have set her down forever after as thoroughly
incompetent,--she could not go! But Lark must come to her.
"Lark!" This was Prudence's most awful voice, and Lark was bound to
heed.
"Oh, Prue," she said plaintively, "I'll be there in a minute. Can't
you wait just five minutes? Let me run up-stairs first, won't you?
Then I'll come gladly! Won't that do?"
Her voice was hopeful. But Prudence replied with dangerous calm:
"Come at once, Lark."
"All right, then," and added threateningly, "but you'll wish I hadn't."
Then Lark opened the door,--a woeful figure! In one hand she carried
an empty shoe box. And her face was streaked with good rich Iowa mud.
Her clothes were plastered with it. One shoe was caked from the sole
to the very top button, and a great gash in her stocking revealed a
generous portion of round white leg.
Poor Prudence! At that moment, she would have exchanged the whole
parsonage, bathroom, electric lights and all, for a tiny log cabin in
the heart of a great forest where she and Lark might be alone together.
And Fairy laughed. Prudence looked at her with tears in her eyes, and
then turned to the wretched girl.
"What have you been doing, Lark?"
The heart-break expressed in the face of Lark would have made the
angels weep. Beneath the smudges of mud on her cheeks she was pallid,
and try as she would, she could not keep her chin from trembling
ominously. Her eyes were fastened on the floor for the most part, but
occasionally she raised them hurriedly, appealingly, to her sister's
face, and dropped them again. Not for worlds would she have faced the
Ladies! Prudence was obliged to repeat her question before Lark could
articulate a reply. She gulped painfully a few times,--making
meanwhile a desperate effort to hide the gash in one stocking by
placing the other across it, rubbing it up and down in great
embarrassment, and balancing herself with apparent difficulty. Her
voice, when she was able to speak, was barely recognizable.
"We--we--we are making--mud images, Prudence. It--it was awfully
messy, I know, but--they say--it is such a good--and useful thing to
do. We--we didn't expect--the--the Ladies to see us."
"Mud images!" gasped Prudence, and even Fairy stared incredulously.
"Where in the world did you get hold of an idea like that?"
"It--it was in that--that Mother's Home Friend paper you take,
Prudence." Prudence blushed guiltily. "It--it was modeling in clay,
but--we haven't any clay, and--the mud is very nice, but--Oh, I know I
look just--horrible. I--I--Connie pushed me in the--puddle--for fun.
I--I was vexed about it, Prudence, honestly. I--I was chasing her, and
I fell, and tore my stocking,--and--and--but, Prudence, the papers do
say children ought to model, and we didn't think of--getting caught."
Another appealing glance into her sister's face, and Lark plunged on,
bent on smoothing matters if she could. "Carol is--is just fine at it,
really. She--she's making a Venus de Milo, and it's good. But we
can't remember whether her arm is off at the elbow or below the
shoulder----" An enormous gulp, and by furious blinking Lark managed
to crowd back the tears that would slip to the edge of her lashes.
"I--I'm very sorry, Prudence."
"Very well, Lark, you may go. I do not really object to your modeling
in mud, I am sure. I am sorry you look so disreputable. You must
change your shoes and stockings at once, and then you can go on with
your modeling. But there must be no more pushing and chasing. I'll
see Connie about that to-night. Now----"
"Oh! Oh! Oh! What in the world is that?"
This was a chorus of several Ladies' Aid voices,--a double quartette at
the very least. Lark gave a sharp exclamation and began looking
hurriedly about her on the floor.
"It's got in here,--just as I expected," she exclaimed. "I said you
would be sorry, Prue,--Oh, there it is under your chair, Mrs. Prentiss.
Just wait,--maybe I can shove it back in the box again."
This was greeted with a fresh chorus of shrieks. There was a hurried
and absolute vacation of that corner of the front room. The Ladies
fled, dropping their cherished sewing, shoving one another in a most
Unladies-Aid-like way.
And there, beneath a chair, squatted the cause of the confusion, an
innocent, unhappy, blinking toad!
"Oh, Larkie!"
This was a prolonged wail.
"It's all right, Prue, honestly it is," urged Lark with pathetic
solemnity. "We didn't do it for a joke. We're keeping him for a good
purpose. Connie found him in the garden,--and--Carol said we ought to
keep him for Professor Duke,--he asked us to bring him things to cut up
in science, you remember. So we just shoved him into this shoe box,
and--we thought we'd keep him in the bath-tub until morning. We did it
for a good purpose, don't you see we did? Oh, Prudence!"
Prudence was horribly outraged, but even in that critical moment,
justice insisted that Lark's arguments were sound. The professor had
certainly asked the scholars to bring him "things to cut up." But a
toad! A live one!--And the Ladies' Aid! Prudence shivered.
"I am sure you meant well, Larkie," she said in a low voice, striving
hard to keep down the bitter resentment in her heart, "I know you did.
But you should not have brought that--that thing--into the house. Pick
him up at once, and take him out-of-doors and let him go."
But this was not readily done. In spite of her shame and deep dismay,
Lark refused to touch the toad with her fingers.
"I can't touch him, Prudence,--I simply can't," she whimpered. "We
shoved him in with the broom handle before."
And as no one else was willing to touch it, and as the Ladies clustered
together in confusion, and with much laughter, in the far corner of the
other room, Prudence brought the broom and the not unwilling toad was
helped to other quarters.
"Now go," said Prudence quickly, and Lark was swift to avail herself of
the permission.
Followed a quiet hour, and then the Ladies put aside their sewing and
walked about the room, chatting in little groups. With a significant
glance to Fairy, Prudence walked calmly to the double doors between the
dining-room and the sitting-room. The eyes of the Ladies followed her
with interest and even enthusiasm. They were hungry. Prudence slowly
opened wide the doors, and--stood amazed! The Ladies clustered about
her, and stood amazed also. The dining-room was there, and the table!
But the appearance of the place was vastly different! The snowy cloth
was draped artistically over a picture on the wall, the lowest edges
well above the floor. The plates and trays, napkin-covered, were
safely stowed away on the floor in distant corners. The kitchen scrub
bucket had been brought in and turned upside down, to afford a fitting
resting place for the borrowed punch bowl, full to overflowing with
fragrant lemonade.
And at the table were three dirty, disheveled little figures, bending
seriously over piles of mud. A not-unrecognizable Venus de Milo
occupied the center of the table. Connie was painstakingly at work on
some animal, a dog perhaps, or possibly an elephant. And----
The three young modelers looked up in exclamatory consternation as the
doors opened.
"Oh, are you ready?" cried Carol. "How the time has flown! We had no
idea you'd be ready so soon. Oh, we are sorry, Prudence. We intended
to have everything fixed properly for you again. We needed a flat
place for our modeling. It's a shame, that's what it is. Isn't that a
handsome Venus? I did that!--If you'll just shut the door one minute,
Prudence, we'll have everything exactly as you left it. And we're as
sorry as we can be. You can have my Venus for a centerpiece, if you
like."
[Illustration: "If you'll just shut the door one minute, Prudence,
we'll have everything exactly as you left it."]
Prudence silently closed the doors, and the Ladies, laughing
significantly, drew away.
"Don't you think, my dear," began Mrs. Prentiss too sweetly, "that they
are a little more than you can manage? Don't you really think an older
woman is needed?"
"I do not think so," cried Fairy, before her sister could speak, "no
older woman could be kinder, or sweeter, or more patient and helpful
than Prue."
"Undoubtedly true! But something more is needed, I am afraid! It
appears that girls are a little more disorderly than in my own young
days! Perhaps I do not judge advisedly, but it seems to me they are a
little--unmanageable."
"Indeed they are not," cried Prudence loyally. "They are young,
lively, mischievous, I know,--and I am glad of it. But I have lived
with them ever since they were born, and I ought to know them. They
are unselfish, they are sympathetic, they are always generous. They do
foolish and irritating things,--but never things that are hateful and
mean. They are all right at heart, and that is all that counts. They
are not bad girls! What have they done to-day? They were
exasperating, and humiliating, too, but what did they do that was
really mean? They embarrassed and mortified me, but not intentionally!
I can't punish them for the effect on me, you know! Would that be just
or fair? At heart, they meant no harm."
It must be confessed that there were many serious faces among the
Ladies. Some cheeks were flushed, some eyes were downcast, some lips
were compressed and some were trembling. Every mother there was asking
in her heart, "Did I punish my children just for the effect on me? Did
I judge my children by what was in their hearts, or just by the trouble
they made me?"
And the silence lasted so long that it became awkward. Finally Mrs.
Prentiss crossed the room and stood by Prudence's side. She laid a
hand tenderly on the young girl's arm, and said in a voice that was
slightly tremulous:
"I believe you are right, my dear. It is what girls are at heart that
really counts. I believe your sisters are all you say they are. And
one thing I am very sure of,--they are happy girls to have a sister so
patient, and loving, and just. Not all real mothers have as much to
their credit!"