SCHOOL DAYS
September had come, and busy days! For Overlook had to be closed, the
city home cleaned and aired and made ready; Barbara must be sent away
to college and the younger children started off in school.
"I feel all sort of queer inside," said Peggy, astride of a trunk, "the
way you do when you hear sad songs. I wish it was always summer and
nothing but play."
"And no school," chimed in Billy. He was on his knees packing toys. "I
don't see what good school does, anyway! If nobody went to school it'd
all be the same."
"I just hate beginning and then I love it," cried Alice.
"You won't love it when you get into fractions," retorted Billy,
"'course its fun down in the baby grades!" He spoke from the lofty
distinction of a sub-freshman in the Technical High. Some day Billy
was going to make boilers like his father.
"I don't mind school, but it's the fuss getting things ready. I just
despise dressmakers! You wait, Ken, until mother gets after you and you
stand by the hour and have Miss Harris fit you! The only fun is
watching to see how many pins she can put in her mouth without
swallowing any. Did that governess make your clothes?"
Keineth described the funny little shop where Tante took her twice a
year. "They kept my measurements there and Tante would just look at the
materials."
"And you never decided as to what color you wanted or had ribbons and
things?" cried Peggy wonderingly.
Keineth's face colored a little. "Madame Henri thought plain things
better," she explained.
"That's what mother says, but that plain things can be pretty, too. She
always lets us choose our color because she says it trains our tastes.
And this year, if I don't have a pink dress for best I'm going to make
an awful fuss!" "I'd like a pink dress," Keineth agreed shyly, "I never
had one!"
Peggy jumped off the trunk.
"Let's tease for pink dresses just alike; and now what do you say to a
last game of tennis?"
"Make it doubles! I'll play with Alice," cried Billy, eagerly dropping
his work. And with merry laughter they rushed away.
To close Overlook was an almost sacred task to the Lee family. Each did
his or her part tenderly, reluctantly. Mrs. Lee and Barbara folded away
the pretty hangings; Billy made the garden ready for the fall
fertilizing, took Gyp to his winter home at a nearby farm, and put the
barn in order; the younger girls helped Nora polish and cover the
kitchen utensils.
And never had the days seemed more glorious nor inviting, filled with
the hazy September glow that turned everything into gold.
"It's always just the nicest when we have to go to the city," Peggy
complained sadly. They were gathered for the last time on the veranda
watching the sunset. On the morrow they would return to town. Mr. Lee
looked over the young faces--the tanned cheeks and the eyes glowing
with health; the straight backs and limbs strong and supple from the
summer's exercise.
"You're a fine-looking bunch to begin the winter's work," he laughed.
"It ought to be very easy to you youngsters."
"How lucky we are to be able to live like this," Barbara said with a
little sigh. She was thinking as she said it that she was often going
to be very lonesome for home and this dear circle. Eager as she was to
begin her new life in college, she could not bear the breaking of the
home ties.
And bravely she had decided she would tell no one of this heartache,
for one day she had surprised her mother gently crying over the piles
of undergarments they had made ready. Mrs. Lee had tried to laugh as
she wiped away her tears.
"I'm just foolish, darling, only it seems such a little while ago that
you were a baby, my first baby--and here you are going off to college,
away from me!"
So not for the world would Barbara have distressed her mother by
showing the ache in her own heart. In answer she had thrown her arms
about her mother's neck in a passion of affection.
"I'll always, always, always love home best," she vowed.
And this would not be hard, for the Lees' home, made beautiful by love
rather than wealth, was of the sort that would always be "home," and no
matter how far one of them might travel or in what gay places linger,
would always be "best of all!"
The Lees' city home was not at all like Keineth's old home in New York,
nor like Aunt Josephine's pretentious house on Riverside Drive. Though
it seemed right in the heart of the city and only a stone's throw from
the business centre, it was on a quiet, broad street and had a little
yard of its own all around it. The house was built of wood and needed
painting, but the walks and lawns were neatly kept. Within it was
simple and roomy, with broad halls and wide windows, shaded by the elms
outside. Its walls were brown-toned, and yellow hangings covered the
white frilled curtains at the windows. There was one big living-room,
with rows and rows of bookshelves, easy chairs and soft rugs, a worn
davenport in front of the fire, tables with lamps, and books and
magazines spread out upon them in inviting disorder. There were flowers
here, too, as at Overlook, and Peggy's bird had its home in the big bay
of the dining-room, where he welcomed each morning's sunshine with glad
song.
Each little girl had a room of her own, too, hung with bright chintz,
with covers on the bureau and bed to match. Peggy's and Keineth's had a
door opening from one to the other. Billy with his beloved wireless and
other things that Peggy called "truck" was happily established in the
back of the house.
In a twinkling the entire family was settled in the city, "just as
though we'd never been away," Peggy declared. Then two days later
Barbara started off for college.
The parting was merry. The girls had helped her pack her trunks;
sitting on her bed they had superintended the important process of
"doing up" her hair; and then had taken turns carrying to the station
the smart patent-leather dressing-case which had been her father's
gift. Everyone smiled up to the last moment before the train pulled out
of the station--then everyone coughed a great deal and Mr. Lee blew his
nose and Mrs. Lee wiped her eyes and Peggy sighed.
"I'd hate to be grown-up," she admitted, and as she walked away she
held her mother's hand tightly.
Although Barbara's going made a great gap in the little circle,
everyone was too busy to grieve. School began and with it home work;
there was basket-ball and dancing school and shopping, hats and shoes
to buy. Miss Harris arrived for her annual visit and much time was
spent over samples and patterns. And Peggy and Keineth got their pink
dresses! Then there were old friends to see, new ones to make and
relatives to visit. In this whirl of excitement the Overlook days were
soon forgotten!
With the city life a little of Keineth's shyness had returned. She felt
lost among Peggy's many friends; the hours when Peggy was in school
dragged a little. The simplicity of the Lees' city home had made her
homesick for the big house in Washington Square--for its very
emptiness! So because of this loneliness she spent hours at the piano
eagerly practicing the technic that under Tante had been so tiresome.
Mrs. Lee had engaged one of the best masters in the city and Keineth
went almost daily to his funny little studio. At first she had been a
little afraid of him. He was a Pole, a round-shouldered man with long
gray hair that hung over his collar and queer eyes that seemed to look
through and through one. But after she had heard him play she lost her
shyness, for in his music she heard the voices she loved. He called her
"little one," and told her long stories of Liszt and Chopin and the
other masters. "They are the people that live forever," he would say.
One rainy afternoon after school Peggy went to Keineth's room and found
its door shut. Peggy was cross because a cold had kept her home from
basket-ball, and she deeply resented this closed door.
"I s'pose you're doing something you don't want me to know." Her ear
had caught the quick rustle of paper. In a moment Keineth had opened
the door, but Peggy was turning away with a toss of her head.
"Oh, if you don't want me--"
"Please, Peg," begged Keineth. She pulled her into the room. "I didn't
know you were home, honest!"
Peggy glimpsed the corner of a paper half hidden under some books. Upon
it were written bars of music.
"You _have_ got a secret," she cried excitedly, "you're writing music!
Keineth Randolph, if you don't tell your very best friend, now!"
Keineth, her face scarlet, drew out the tell-tale paper.
"It's just a little thing," she explained shyly. "Your mother showed me
how to write last summer, but I wanted to surprise everybody. I was
going to tell you, though, when it was done. Peg, I'm going to try to
sell it!"
"Sell it! Get real money?" cried Peggy.
"Yes--that's what the masters did--only they were nearly always
starving. 'Course I'm not, but I would like to earn some money." "Oh,
wouldn't it be fun?" Peggy caught Keineth's elbows and whirled her
around. "What would you ever do with it? But where do you sell music?
And what is its name?"
"I call it 'The Castle of Dreams,'" answered Keineth with shining eyes.
"And Mr. Cadowitz told me there's a music house right here in the
city--Brown and Co."
"Let's go there together! Let's go _now!_ Mother's away and it's just
the time!"
The sore throat was forgotten. Peggy helped Keineth arrange the sheets
in a little roll and together they started forth on their secret
errand. They found the music house without any difficulty, but
Keineth's courage almost failed her when she found herself confronted
by a long line of clerks. To the one who came forward she explained her
errand. She wanted to see the manager--she had some music she wished to
sell!
At his amused glance her face flushed scarlet.
"Why, you're just a kid!" he answered impudently. "Mr. Brown's pretty
busy!" Then it suddenly occurred to him that it would be something like
a joke on the "boss" to take these two children to his busy office. The
clerk was not overfond of the head of the firm.
"Well, come along," he concluded, winking at the other men. He led the
two girls through a labyrinth of offices and up a stairway to the
manager's door.
"Two young ladies to see you!" he announced and shut the door of the
office quickly behind him.
Keineth, frightened, had to swallow twice before she could make a
sound. Then, holding the manuscript out, she explained her errand to
the manager. Tipped back in his chair he listened with a smile;
however, he took the roll from her and, opening it, glanced over it
indifferently.
"Let me play it for you," begged Keineth desperately.
He led them into an inner room in the centre of which stood an open
grand piano. Keineth went straight to it and began to play. He listened
through to the end.
"Wait a moment;" he waved her back to the stool. "I want Gregory to
hear you." The tone of his voice had changed.
In answer to a summons Gregory came in, a thin, tired-looking man. The
manager turned to him:
"This girl has brought in some music! I want you to hear it," and he
nodded to Keineth to begin.
She played it through again while the two men held the manuscript
between them and read as she played. The man called Gregory nodded
again and again. His face had suddenly lost its tired look!
"Why, we've found a little gem!" Peggy heard him mutter. Then to
Keineth: "What did you say your name was?" Keineth repeated it and the
manager wrote it down with Mr. Lee's address. He took the sheets of
music, rolled them, and put them in a drawer and locked it.
"We will consider it and let you know in a few weeks," he said. Then he
shook hands with Keineth and Peggy. "And if you write anything more,
please bring it to us."
"Oh, Peg, wouldn't it be grand if I could sell lots?" cried Keineth
later, in an ecstasy of ambition.
"If I wasn't on the street I'd whoop," and Peggy squeezed her friend's
arm. "Why, Ken--maybe you'll be a master!"
"And remember, don't tell a soul, Peg! Honor bright, cross your heart!"
"Honor bright, cross my heart!" Peggy promised.