A HOWL.
The tableaux had to be put off. Frank Scherman was obliged to go down to
Boston, unexpectedly, to attend to business, and nothing could be done
without him. The young girls felt all the reaction that comes with the
sudden interruption of eager plans. A stagnation seemed to succeed to
their excitement and energy. They were thrown back into a vacuum.
"There is nothing on earth to do, or to think about," said Florrie
Arnall dolefully.
"Just as much as there was last week," replied Josie Scherman,
common-sense-ically. Frank was only her brother, and that made a
difference. "There's Giant's Cairn as big as ever, and Feather-Cap, and
Minster Rock, and the Spires. And there's plenty to do. Tableaux aren't
everything. There's your 'howl,' Sin Saxon. That hasn't come off yet."
"'It isn't the fall that hurts,--it's the fetch-up,' as the Irishman
observed," said Sin Saxon, with a yawn. "It wasn't that I doted
particularly on the tableaux, but 'the waters wild went o'er my child,
and I was left lamenting.' It was what I happened to be after at the
moment. When I get ready for a go, I do hate to take off my bonnet and
sit down at home."
"But the 'howl,' Sin! What's to become of that?"
"Ain't I howling all I can?"
And this was all Sin Saxon would say about it. The girls meant to keep
her in mind, and to have their frolic,--the half of them in the most
imaginative ignorance as to what it might prove to be; but somehow their
leader herself seemed to have lost her enthusiasm or her intention.
Leslie Goldthwaite felt neither disappointment nor impatience. She had
got a permanent interest. It is good always to have something to fall
back upon. The tableaux would come by and by; meanwhile, there was
plenty of time for their "bees," and for the Cliff.
They had long mornings in the pines, and cool, quiet afternoons in Miss
Craydocke's pretty room. It was wonderful the cleverness the Josselyns
had come to with little frocks. One a skirt, and the other a body,--they
made nothing of finishing the whole at a sitting. "It's only seeing
the end from the beginning," Martha said, when Leslie uttered her
astonishment. "We know the way, right through; and no way seems
long when you've traveled it often." To be sure, Prissy Hoskins's
delaines and calicoes didn't need to be contrived after Demorest's
fashion-plates.
Then they had their holiday, taking the things over to the Cliff, and
trying them all on Prissy, very much as if they had been a party of
children, and she a paper doll. Her rosy little face and willful curls
came out of each prettier than the last, precisely as a paper dolly's
does, and when at the end of all they got her into a bright violet print
and a white bib-apron, it was well they were the last, for they couldn't
have had the heart to take her out of them. Leslie had made for her a
small hoop from the upper half of one of her own, and laced a little
cover upon it, of striped seersucker, of which there was a petticoat
also to wear above. These, clear, clean, and stiffened, came from Miss
Craydocke's stores. She never traveled without her charity-trunk,
wherein, put at once in perfect readiness for different use the moment
they passed beyond her own, she kept all spare material that waited for
such call. Breadths of old dresses, ripped and sponged and pressed, or
starched, ironed, and folded; flannel petticoats shrunken short;
stockings "cut down" in the old, thrifty, grandmother fashion;
underclothing strongly patched (as she said, "the Lord's mark put upon
it, since it had pleased Him to give her the means to do without
patches"); odds and ends of bonnet-ribbons, dipped in spirits and rolled
tightly upon blocks, from which they unrolled nearly as good as
new,--all these things, and more, religiously made the most of for
whomsoever they might first benefit, went about with her in this, the
biggest of her boxes, which, give out from it as she might, she never
seemed, she said, to get quite to the bottom of.
Under the rounded skirts, below the short, plain trousers, Prissy's
ankles and feet were made shapely with white stockings and new, stout
boots. (Aunt Hoskins believed in "white stockin's, or go athout. Bilin'
an' bleachin' an' comin' out new; none o' yer aggravations 'v
everlastin' dirt-color.") And one thing more, the prettiest of all. A
great net of golden-brown silk that Leslie had begged Mrs. Linceford,
who liked netting, to make, gathered into strong, large meshes the
unruly wealth of hair brushed back in rippling lines from Prissy's
temples, and showing so its brighter, natural color from underneath,
where the outside had grown sun-faded.
"I'm just like Cinderella,--with four godmothers!" cried the child; and
she danced up and down, as Leslie let her go from under her hands.
"You're just like--a little heathen!" screamed Aunt Hoskins. "Where's
yer thanks?" Her own thanks spoke themselves, partly in an hysterical
sort of chuckle and sniffle, that stopped each other short, and the
rebuke with them. "But there! she don't know no better! 'T ain't fer
every day, you needn't think. It's for company to-day, an' fer Sundays,
an' to go to Portsmouth."
"Don't spoil it for her, Miss Hoskins. Children hate to think it isn't
for every day," said Leslie Goldthwaite.
But the child-antidote to that was also ready.
"I don't care," cried Prissy. "To-day's a great, long day, and Sunday's
for ever and ever, and Portsmouth'll be always."
"_Can't_ yer stop ter kerchy, and say--Lud-o'-light 'n' massy, I donno
what to _tell_ ye ter say!" And Miss Hoskins sniffled and gurgled again,
and gave it up.
"She has thanked us, I think," said Miss Craydocke, in her simple way,
"when she called us Godmothers!" The word came home to her good heart.
God had given her, the lonely woman, the larger motherhood. "Brothers,
and sisters, and mothers!" She thought how Christ traced out the
relationships, and claimed them even to himself!
"Now, for once, _you_'re to be done up. That's general order number
two," Miss Craydocke said to the Josselyn girls, as they all first met
together again after the Cliff party. "We've worked together till we're
friends. And so there's not a word to be said. We owe you time that
we've taken, and more that we mean to take before you go. I'll tell you
what for, when it's necessary."
It was a nicer matter to get the Josselyns to be helped than to help. It
was not easy for them to bring forth their breadths and their linings,
and their braids that were to be pieced, and their trimmings that
were to be turned, and to lay bare to other eyes all their little
economies of contrivance; but Miss Craydocke managed it by simple
straightforwardness,--by not behaving as if there were anything to be
glossed over or ignored. Instead of hushing up about economies, she
brought them forward, and gave them a most cheery and comfortable, not
to say dignified air. It was all ordinary matter of course,--the way
everybody did, or ought to do. This was the freshest end of this
breadth, and should go down; this other had a darn that might be cut
across, and a straight piecing made, for which the slope of the skirt
would allow,--_she_ should do it so; that hem might be taken off
altogether and a new one turned; this was a very nice trimming, and
plenty of it, and the wrong side was brighter than the right; she knew a
way of joining worsted braid that never showed,--you might have a dozen
pieces in the binding of a skirt and not be noticed. This little blue
frock had no trimming; they would finish that at home. No, the prettiest
thing in the world for it would be pipings of black silk, and Miss
Craydocke had some bits just right for covering cord, thick as a board,
big enough for nothing else; and out they came, as did many another
thing, without remark, from her bags and baskets. She had hooks and
eyes, and button-fasteners, when these gave out; she used from her own
cotton-spools and skeins of silk; she had tailors' twist for
buttonholes, and large black cord for the pipings; and these were but
working implements, like scissors and thimble,--taken for granted,
without count. There was nothing on the surface for the most shrinking
delicacy to rub against; but there was a kindness that went down into
the hearts of the two young girls continually.
For an hour or two at least each day they sat together so, for the being
together. The work was "taken up." Dakie Thayne read stories to them
sometimes: Miss Craydocke had something always to produce and to summon
them to sit and hear; some sketch of strange adventure, or a ghost
marvel, or a bright, spicy magazine essay; or, knowing where to find
sympathizers and helpers, Dakie would rush in upon them uncalled, with
some discovery, or want, or beautiful thing to show of his own. They
were quite a little coterie by themselves. It shaped itself to this more
and more.
Leslie did not neglect her own party. She drove and walked with Mrs.
Linceford, and was ready for anything the Haddens really wanted of her;
but Mrs. Linceford napped and lounged a good deal, and could spare her
then; and Jeannie and Elinor seemed somehow to feel the want of her less
than they had done,--Elinor unconsciously drawn away by new attraction,
Jeannie rather of a purpose.
I am afraid I cannot call it anything else but a little loss of caste
which seemed coming to Leslie Goldthwaite just now, through these new
intimacies of hers. "Something always gets crowded out." This, too,--her
popularity among the first,--might have to be, perhaps, one of the
somethings.
Now and then she felt it so,--perceived the shade of difference toward
her in the tone and manner of these young girls. I cannot say that it
did not hurt her a little. She had self-love, of course; yet, for all,
she was loyal to the more generous love,--to the truer self-respect. If
she could not have both, she would keep the best. There came to be a
little pride in her own demeanor,--a waiting to be sought again.
"I can't think what has come over Les'," said Jeannie Hadden, one
night, on the piazza, to a knot of girls. She spoke in a tone at once
apologetic and annoyed. "She was always up to anything at home. I
thought she meant to lead us all off here. She might have done almost
what she pleased."
"Everybody likes Leslie," said Elinor.
"Why, yes, we all do," put in Mattie Shannon. "Only she will take up
queer people, you see. And--well, they're nice enough, I suppose; only
there's never room enough for everybody."
"I thought we were all to be nowhere when she first came. There was
something about her,--I don't know what,--not wonderful, but taking.
'Put her where you pleased, she was the central point of the picture,'
Frank said." This came from Josie Scherman.
"And she's just dropped all, to run after goodness knows what and whom!
I can't see through her!" rejoined Jeannie, with a sort of finality in
her accent that seemed to imply, "_I_ wash my hands of her, and won't be
supposed accountable."
"Knew ye not," broke in a gentle voice, "that she must be about her
Master's business?" It was scarcely addressed to them. Miss Craydocke
just breathed audibly the thought she could not help.
There came a downfall of silence upon the group.
When they took breath again,--"Oh, if she's _religious_!" Mattie
Shannon just said, as of a thing yet farther off and more finally done
with. And then their talk waited under a restraint again.
"I supposed we were all religious,--Sundays, at least," broke forth Sin
Saxon suddenly, who, strangely, had not spoken before. "I don't know,
though. Last Saturday night we danced the German till half past twelve,
and we talked charades instead of going to church, till I felt--as if
I'd sat all the morning with my feet over a register, reading a novel,
when I'd ought to have been doing a German exercise or something. If
she's religious every day, she's seven times better than we are, that's
all. _I_ think--she's got a knot to her thread!"
Nobody dared send Leslie Goldthwaite quite to Coventry after this.
Sin Saxon found herself in the position of many another leader,--obliged
to make some demonstration to satisfy the aroused expectations of her
followers. Her heart was no longer thoroughly in it; but she had
promised them a "howl," and a howl they were determined upon, either
with or against her.
Opportunity arose just now also. Madam Routh went off on a party to the
Notch, with some New York friends, taking with her one or two of the
younger pupils, for whom she felt most constant responsibility. The
elder girls were domesticated and acquainted now at Outledge; there were
several matronly ladies with whom the whole party was sufficiently
associated in daily intercourse for all the air of chaperonage that
might be needed; and one assistant pupil, whom, to be sure, the young
ladies themselves counted as a most convenient nonentity, was left in
nominal charge.
Now or never, the girls declared with one voice it must be. All they
knew about it--the most of them--was that it was some sort of an
out-of-hours frolic, such as boarding-school ne'er-do-weels delight in;
and it was to plague Miss Craydocke, against whom, by this time, they
had none of them really any manner of spite; neither had they any longer
the idea of forcing her to evacuate; but they had got wound up on that
key at the beginning, and nobody thought of changing it. Nobody but Sin
Saxon. She had begun, perhaps, to have a little feeling that she would
change it, if she could.
Nevertheless, with such show of heartiness as she found possible, she
assented to their demand, and the time was fixed. Her merry, mischievous
temperament asserted itself as she went on, until she really grew into
the mood for it once more, from the pure fun of the thing.
It took two days to get ready. After the German on Thursday night, the
howl was announced to come off in Number Thirteen, West Wing. This, of
course, was the boudoir; but nobody but the initiated knew that. It was
supposed to be Maud Walcott's room. The assistant pupil made faint
remonstrances against she knew not what, and was politely told so;
moreover, she was pressingly invited to render herself with the other
guests at the little piazza door, precisely at eleven. The matronly
ladies, always amused, sometimes a little annoyed and scandalized, at
Sin Saxon's escapades, asked her, one and another, at different times,
what it was all to be, and if she really thought she had better, and
among themselves expressed tolerably grave doubts about proprieties, and
wished Madam Routh would return. The vague mystery and excitement of the
howl kept all the house gently agog for this Tuesday and Wednesday
intervening. Sin Saxon gave out odd hints here and there in confidence.
It was to be a "spread;" and the "grub" (Sin was a boarding-school girl,
you know, and had brothers in college) was all to be stolen. There was
an uncommon clearance of cakes and doughnuts, and pie and cheese, from
each meal, at this time. Cup-custards, even, disappeared,--cups and all.
A cold supper, laid at nine on Wednesday evening, for some expected
travelers, turned out a more meagre provision on the arrival of the
guests than the good host of the Giant's Cairn had ever been known to
make. At bedtime Sin Saxon presented herself in Miss Craydocke's room.
"There's something heavy on my conscience," she said, with a disquiet
air. "I'm really worried; and it's too late to help it now."
Miss Craydocke looked at her with a kind anxiety.
"It's never too late to _try_ to help a mistake. And _you_, Miss
Saxon,--you can always do what you choose."
She was afraid for her,--the good lady,--that her heedlessness might
compromise herself and others in some untoward scrape. She didn't like
these rumors of the howl,--the last thing she thought of being her own
rest and comfort, which were to be purposely invaded.
"I've let the chance go by," said Sin Saxon desperately. "It's of no use
now." And she rocked herself back and forth in the Shaker chair of which
she had taken possession.
"My dear," said Miss Craydocke, "if you would only explain to
me,--perhaps"--
"You _might_!" cried Sin, jumping up, and making a rush at the good
woman, seizing her by both hands. "They'd never suspect you. It's that
cold roast chicken in the pantry. I _can't_ get over it, that I didn't
take that!"
Sin was incorrigible. Miss Craydocke shook her head, taking care to
turn it aside at the same moment; for she felt her lips twitch and her
eyes twinkle, in spite of herself.
"I won't take this till the time comes," said Sin, laying her hand on
the back of the Shaker chair. "But it's confiscated for to-morrow night,
and I shall come for it. And, Miss Craydocke, if you _do_ manage about
the chicken,--I hate to trouble you to go downstairs, but I dare say you
want matches, or a drink of water, or something, and another time I'll
wait upon you with pleasure,--here's the door, made for the emergency,
and I on the other side of it dissolved in tears of gratitude!"
And so, for the time, Sin Saxon disappeared.
The next afternoon, Jimmy Wigley brought a big basket of raspberries to
the little piazza door. A pitcher of cream vanished from the tea-table
just before the gong was struck. Nobody supposed the cat had got it. The
people of the house understood pretty well what was going on, and who
was at the bottom of it all; but Madam Routh's party was large, and the
life of the place; they would wink hard and long before complaining at
anything that might be done in the west wing.
Sin Saxon opened her door upon Miss Craydocke when she was dressed for
the German, and about to go downstairs. "I'll trust you," she said,
"about the rocking-chair. You'll want it, perhaps, till bedtime, and
then you'll just put it in here. I shouldn't like to disturb you by
coming for it late. And please step in a minute now, won't you?"
She took her through the boudoir. There lay the "spread" upon a long
table, contrived by the contribution of one ordinary little one from
each sleeping-chamber, and covered by a pair of clean sheets, which
swept the floor along the sides. About it were ranged chairs. Two
pyramids of candles, built up ingeniously by the grouping of bedroom
tins upon hidden supports, vine-sprays and mosses serving gracefully for
concealment and decoration, stood, one on each side, half way between
the ends and centre. Cake-plates were garnished with wreathed
oak-leaves, and in the midst a great white Indian basket held the red,
piled-up berries, fresh and fragrant.
"That's the little bit of righteousness to save the city. That's paid
for," said Sin Saxon. "Jimmy Wigley's gone home with more scrip than he
ever got at once before; and if your chicken-heartedness hadn't taken
the wrong direction, Miss Craydocke, I should be perfectly at ease in my
mind."
"It's very pretty," said Miss Craydocke; "but do you think Madam Routh
would quite approve? And why couldn't you have had it openly in the
dining-room? And what do you call it a 'howl' for?" Miss Craydocke's
questions came softly and hesitatingly, as her doubts came. The little
festival was charming--but for the way and place.
"Oh, Miss Craydocke! Well, you're not wicked, and you can't be supposed
to know; but you must take my word for it, that, if it was tamed down,
the game wouldn't be worth the candle. And the howl? You just wait and
see!"
The invited guests were told to come to the little piazza door. The
girls asked all their partners in the German, and the matronly ladies
were asked, as a good many respectable people are civilly invited where
their declining is counted upon. Leslie Goldthwaite, and the Haddens,
and Mrs. Linceford, and the Thoresbys were all asked, and might come if
they chose. Their stay would be another matter. And so the evening and
the German went on.
Till eleven, when they broke up; and the entertainers in a body rushed
merrily and noisily along the passages to Number Thirteen, West Wing,
rousing from their first naps many quietly disposed, delicate people,
who kept early hours, and a few babies whose nurses and mammas would
bear them anything but gratefully in mind through the midnight hours to
come.
They gained two minutes, perhaps, upon their guests, who had, some of
them, to look up wraps, and to come round by the front hall and piazzas.
In these two minutes, by Sin Saxon's order, they seated themselves
comfortably at table. They had plenty of room; but they spread their
robes gracefully,--they had all dressed in their very prettiest
to-night,--and they quite filled up the space. Bright colors, and soft,
rich textures floating and mingling together, were like a rainbow
encircling the feast. The candles had been touched with kerosene, and
matches lay ready. The lighting-up had been done in an instant. And then
Sin Saxon went to the door, and drew back the chintz curtains from
across the upper half, which was of glass. A group of the guests, young
men, were already there, beneath the elms outside. But how should she
see them, looking from the bright light into the tree-shadows? She went
quietly back, and took her place at the head, leaving the door fast
bolted.
There came a knock. Sin Saxon took no heed, but smilingly addressed
herself to offering dainties right and left. Some of the girls stared,
and one or two half rose to go and give admittance.
"Keep your seats," said Sin, in her most lady-like way and tone, with
the unchanged smile upon her face. "_That_'s the _howl_!"
They began to perceive the joke outside. They began to knock
vociferously. They took up their cue with a readiness, and made plenty
of noise, not doubting, as yet, that they should be admitted at last.
Some of the ladies came round, gave a glance, saw how things were going,
and retreated,--except a few, parties from other houses who had escorts
among the gentlemen, and who waited a little to see how the frolic would
end, or at least to reclaim their attendants.
Well, it was very unpardonable,--outrageous, the scandalized neighbors
were beginning already to say in their rooms. Even Sin Saxon had a
little excitement in her eye beyond the fun, as she still maintained the
most graceful order within, and the exchange of courtesies went on
around the board, and the tumult increased without. They tree-toaded,
they cat-called, they shouted, they cheered, they howled, they even
hissed. Sin Saxon sat motionless an instant when it came to that, and
gave a glance toward the lights. A word from her would put them out, and
end the whole. She held her _coup_ in reserve, however, knowing her
resource, and sat, as it were, with her finger on the spring, determined
to carry through coolly what she had begun.
Dakie Thayne had gone away with the Linceford party when they crossed to
the Green Cottage. Afterward, he came out again and stood in the open
road. Some ladies, boarders at Blashford's, up above, came slowly away
from the uproar, homeward. One or two young men detached themselves from
the group on the piazza, and followed to see them safe, as it belonged
to them to do. The rest sat themselves down, at this moment, upon the
steps and platform, and struck up, with one accord, "We won't go home
till morning." In the midst of this, a part broke off and took up,
discordantly, the refrain, "Polly, put the kettle on, we'll all have
tea;" others complicated the confusion further with, "Cruel, cruel Polly
Hopkins, treat me so,--oh, treat me so!" till they fell, at last,
into an indistinguishable jumble and clamor, from which extricated
themselves now and again and prevailed, the choruses of "Upidee," and
"Bum-bum-bye," with an occasional drum-beat of emphasis given upon the
door.
"Don't go back there, James," Dakie Thayne heard a voice from the
retiring party say as they passed him; "it's disgraceful!"
"The house won't hold Sin Saxon after this," said another. "They were
out in the upper hall, half a dozen of them, just now, ringing their
bells and calling for Mr. Biscombe."
"The poor man don't know who to side with. He don't want to lose the
whole west wing. After all, there must be young people in the house,
and if it weren't one thing it would be another. It's only a few fidgets
that complain. They'll hush up and go off presently, and the whole thing
will be a joke over the breakfast-table to-morrow morning, after
everybody's had a little sleep."
The singing died partially away just then, and some growling, less
noisy, but more in earnest, began.
"They don't _mean_ to let us in! I say, this is getting rather rough!"
"It's only to smash a pane of glass above the bolt and let ourselves in.
Why shouldn't we? We're invited." The latent mob-element was very near
developing itself in these young gentlemen, high-bred, but irate.
At this moment, a wagon came whirling down the road around the ledges.
Dakie Thayne caught sight of the two white leaders, recognized them, and
flew across to the hotel. "Stop!" cried he. At the same instant a figure
moved hastily away from behind Miss Craydocke's blinds. It was a mercy
that the wagon had driven around to the front hall door.
A mercy in one way; but the misfortune was that the supper-party within
knew nothing of it. A musical, lady-like laugh, quite in contrast to the
demonstrative utterances outside, had just broken forth, in response to
one of Sin Saxon's brightest speeches, when through the adjoining
apartment came suddenly upon them the unlooked-for apparition of "the
spinster." Miss Craydocke went straight across to the beleaguered door,
drew the bolt, and threw it back. "Gently, young gentlemen! Draw up the
piazza chairs, if you please, and sit down," said she. "Mr. Lowe, Mr.
Brookhouse, here are plates; will you be kind enough to serve your
friends?"
In three minutes she had filled and passed outward half a dozen saucers
of fruit, and sent a basket of cake among them. Then she drew a seat for
herself, and began to eat raspberries. It was all done so quickly--they
were so either taken by surprise--that nobody, inside or out, gain-said
or delayed her by a word.
It was hardly done when a knock sounded at the door upon the passage.
"Young ladies!" a voice called,--Madam Routh's.
She and her friends had driven down from the Notch by sunset and
moonlight. Nobody had said anything to her of the disturbance when she
came in: her arrival had rather stopped the complaints that had begun;
for people are not malignant, after all, as a general thing, and there
is a curious propensity in human nature which cools off indignation even
at the greatest crimes, just as the culprit is likely to suffer. We are
apt to check the foot just as we might have planted it upon the noxious
creature, and to let off great state criminals on parole. Madam Routh
had seen the bright light and the gathering about the west wing. She had
caught some sounds of the commotion. She made her way at once to look
after her charge.
Sin Saxon was not a pupil now, and there was no condign punishment
actually to fear; but her heart stood still a second, for all that, and
she realized that she had been on the verge of an "awful scrape." It was
bad enough now, as Madam Routh stood there gravely silent. She could not
approve. She was amazed to see Miss Craydocke present, countenancing and
matronizing. But Miss Craydocke _was_ present, and it altered the whole
face of affairs. Her eye took in, too, the modification of the
room,--quite an elegant little private parlor as it had been made. The
young men were gathered decorously about the doorway and upon the
platform, one or two only politely assisting within. They had taken this
cue as readily as the other; indeed, they were by no means aware that
this was not the issue intended from the beginning, long as the joke had
been allowed to go on, and their good-humor and courtesy had been
instantly restored. Miss Craydocke, by one master-stroke of generous
presence of mind, had achieved an instantaneous change in the position,
and given an absolutely new complexion to the performance.
"It is late, young ladies," was all Madam Routh's remark at length.
"They gave up their German early on purpose; it was a little surprise
they planned," Miss Craydocke said, as she moved to meet her.
And then Madam Routh, with wise, considerate dignity, took _her_ cue.
She even came forward to the table and accepted a little fruit; stayed
five minutes perhaps, and then, without a spoken word, her movement to
go broke up, with unmistakable intent, the party. Fifteen minutes after,
all was quiet in the west wing.
But Sin Saxon, when the doors closed at either hand, and the girls alone
were left around the fragments of their feast, rushed impetuously across
toward Miss Craydocke, and went down beside her on her knees.
"Oh, you dear, magnificent old Christian!" she cried out, and laid her
head down on her lap, with little sobs, half laughter and half tears.
"There, there!"--and Miss Craydocke softly patted her golden hair, and
spoke as she would soothe a fretted and excited child.
Next morning, at breakfast, Sin Saxon was as beautifully ruffled,
ratted, and crimped, as gay, as bewitching, and defiant as ever, seated
next Madam Routh, assiduously devoted to her in the little attentions
of the meal, in high spirits and favor; even saucily alluding, across
the table, to "_our_ howl, Miss Craydocke!"
Public opinion was carried by storm; the benison of sleep had laid
wrath. Nobody knew that, an hour before, she had been in Madam Routh's
room, making a clean breast of the whole transaction, and disclosing
the truth of Miss Craydocke's magnanimous and tactful interposition,
confessing that without this she had been at her wits' ends how to put a
stop to it, and promising, like a sorry child, to behave better, and
never do so any more.
Two hours later she came meekly to Miss Craydocke's room, where the
"bee" was gathered,--for mere companionship to-day, with chess and
fancy-work,--her flourishes all laid aside, her very hair brushed close
to her pretty head, and a plain gingham dress on.
"Miss Craydocke!" she said, with an air she could not divest of a little
comicality, but with an earnestness behind it shining through her eyes,
"I'm good; I'm converted. I want some tow-cloth to sew on immediately."
And she sat down, folding her hands, waiting.
Miss Craydocke laughed. "I don't know. I'm afraid I haven't anything to
be done just now, unless I cut out some very coarse, heavy homespun."
"I'd be glad if you would. Beggars mustn't be choosers; but if they
might, I should say it was the very thing. Sackcloth, you know; and
then, perhaps, the ashes might be excused. I'm in solemn earnest,
though. I'm reformed. You've done it; and you," she added, turning
round short on Leslie Goldthwaite,--"you've been at it a long time,
_unbeknownst_ to yourself; and you, ma'am,--you finished it last night.
It's been like the casting out of the devils in Scripture. They always
give a howl, you know, and go out of 'em!"