MOLLY GIVES A PARTY.
The party came off, "according to contract," as Molly observed, and for
a few days kept the child in a flutter of delight. Sara purposely left
the preparations to her, only giving advice as it was requested; and
even she, though so well acquainted with Molly's housekeeping abilities,
was astonished at the result. It gave her real respect for the girl to
see the method with which she planned it all, from her list of invited
guests to her list of grocer's stores, arranged with the probable cost
at the side of each article, that Sara might understand just how much
money would be needed.
Then the dishes she compounded, after intense calculations over the
cook-book, and frequent racings down-stairs to consult with Mrs.
Hoffstott, were really toothsome and delicate; besides being brought
about with precision and forethought, so that all might not crowd
together at the end.
"Now," she said, Friday night, consulting a much-worn bit of paper, and
drawing a long, house-wifely sigh, "now I'm all ready, except the salad,
and laying the table, and the decorating. If I only had a screen to put
before the range, so that we needn't have the table in here! it will
fill up so."
Sara looked up.
"There is one in our cloak-room at the museum. Perhaps the professor
would let you take it for this grand occasion, if Morton will bring it
home for you."
"Would you, Morton? would you?"
"Oh, I suppose so; anything for peace!" growled the latter, just
glancing up from his Burroughs.
"That's a lovely boy! Well, and the flowers--how glad I am they're so
cheap, now"--
"Oh, yes, Molly! I forgot to tell you: Mrs. Macon says she has a
quantity of early blossoms in her hot-bed, and you can have a picking
from them."
"Now, Sara, if you had forgotten that! How good she is! And I'm to have
Mrs. Hoffstott's pretty old china, with the blue forget-me-nots, and--
well, isn't everybody kind, anyhow?"
Sara put down her book with a laugh.
"Go on, dear; what's the use in trying to read when there's a party
going on? Talk to me about it; I want to know all the arrangements;" and
happy Molly ran on like a thoroughly well-oiled windmill for at least
twenty minutes without a stop.
When, at the end of that time, there was a pause for breath, Sara
said,--
"And how about the students?"
Molly gave a merry little laugh.
"It's the greatest fun, Sara! They can't understand at all; they look at
me as if I was a Barnum's fat woman, or something, and I sail right by,
with my head up, and never see them. I think" (reflectively), "if
anything, it's better fun than the other way. That was too much like
every girl you see, and this is just me alone: I really enjoy it."
"Molly, you are incorrigible!"
"What's that? I wish you wouldn't use such big words, Sara; I never
could understand them; but if you mean I don't keep my promise, it isn't
so! I do: you can ask Maud Wheeler if I don't."
"Is she coming to-morrow?"
"Yes; and she's your kind, Sara,--good, you know. You'll like her, and
so do I, when I'm in my right moods, but sometimes I don't. You don't
know, Sara," with a pathetic shake of her curls, "how hard it is to get
along when you have bad streaks through you! Why, sometimes I'll go on
for at least three days as smooth as can be, getting all my lessons, and
being just as good as anybody; and then there comes a day that upsets it
all. I can't study, and I see all the funny things, and how I can make
'em funnier with a touch; and I want to giggle at everything, and--well,
it's that naughty streak, and I can't help myself, any more than you can
help being good."
"Well, Molly," resignedly, "promise me this, that, whatever you do,
you'll be out and out about it: no hiding, no shirking, no lies." "I
never told a lie in my life, Sara Olmstead, never!" with a set of her
bright head that was like the elder sister in her determined moods. "I'd
feel mean forever!"
Sara smiled, and, with a rush of tenderness, bent forward and kissed
her.
"No, darling, you won't lie, thank God! Now go to bed like a good girl,
and be bright and rosy for to-morrow. Good-night!"
"Good-night, you blessed old sweet thing, you!" and with twenty kisses,
and a strangling hug, the merry child ran off to dream,--not of students
in elevated hats, but of creams and comfits, and pleased guests around a
long table; for she was but a large-hearted, hospitable matron in
embryo.
The party was really a brilliant success. Mrs. Macon sent a basketful of
bright flowers, and some pretty draperies and decorations; while the
professor willingly agreed to let the screen go, and insisted on Sara's
taking the whole day off to assist at the _fete_. The madame came
herself, and with deft fingers, and perfect taste, helped the two
convert the little flat into a bower.
No one would have known the back room, with bright rugs covering its
painted floor, and all the kitcheny suggestions hidden behind the ample
screen; while the parlor was really charming in its tasteful dressings.
When the girls began to arrive, Sara watched her little sister with
almost a dazed feeling. How rapidly this flower she had so cherished was
unfolding before her eyes! And what was its quality to be? No modest
daisy or violet certainly, nor yet a gaudy, flaunting tulip, but
something bright, sweet, surprising, and enticing, all at once; and she
thought of a carnation-pink shooting up from amid its ragged foliage,
vivid, brilliant, and of a spicy fragrance. She watched the guests,
also, with a critical eye, and was much pleased to note that Molly had
shown good taste in their selection. They were all ladylike girls,
evidently from good, well-guarded homes, and, though merry and care-
free, had not a touch of vulgarity.
Madame Grandet had begged the privilege of remaining to help with the
supper; and you may be sure every dish was served with a perfection and
daintiness of touch only the French can give. Yes, it was a great
success; and when, after the last guest had departed, Molly came and
told her sister, almost with tears in her eyes, how happy she had been,
Sara felt repaid for the sacrifice of quiet and seclusion she had made.
But she knew one party would not keep Molly. The active, restless,
rapidly-unfolding nature must have constant occupations and interests;
so for the sister's sake she did what she never would have done for her
own.
She began to cultivate the social life of her church; went to Christian
Endeavor meetings, socials, and Y.M.C.A. addresses. She made Morton go
with them too, half dragging, half coaxing him; and soon the three, so
dissimilar, yet all so intelligent and well-bred, came to be looked upon
as most necessary factors in entertainments and social events.
When Sarah left Killamet, though she wore her white cross, she did not
change her membership into any new circle of King's Daughters, but still
remained one of Miss Prue's "Helpful Ten," as they called themselves in
that little town. Now she and Molly joined a Dartmoor circle, and were
soon known as active working members.
All this took time, thought, and money; and many times it was a puzzle
to find the latter, though she had been drawing a slight advance in
salary for several months, and Morton, by working in the college
laboratory at odd hours, was now earning enough to clothe himself.
Yet, even with an occasional extra cheque for her published articles,
the expenses were so increased that she often had difficulty to meet
them; though, to Sara's great credit be it said, the girl had never
allowed herself a useless debt. She dare not; the very thought
frightened her, and Providence having blessed her with health, and
simple wants, it had been possible to live within her income.
Summer advanced with her languid days, and the great event of the year
in Dartmoor--class day--came and passed.
Last year her only interest in the parade had been that of a stranger
seeing for the first time a novel spectacle; but this year things were
different. She and Molly now knew many of the students; knew them in an
orthodox, well-regulated manner, and met them in both private and church
parlors. Morton sometimes brought them home at evening as well, and
occasionally the girls went with one of them to a concert or lecture.
Mrs. Macon often had the sisters to assist at her receptions, and
occasional dinners also; and thus, without being society girls at all,
in a certain sense they yet did see a good deal of the social life in
Dartmoor in one way and another.
Professor and Madame Grandet meanwhile were far away, the former having
joined a governmental party bound for South America, while the latter
had gone to Chicago to be with her nephew during her husband's absence.
She and Sara had agreed to keep up an occasional correspondence; and it
was impossible that these things could be kept out of the letters, when
they occupied so much of her time and attention.
One evening the madame and Robert returned from a drive to Washington
Park, by way of beautiful Michigan Avenue and Drexel Boulevard, and as
they were re-entering their private sitting-room in the house where they
boarded that lady espied a missive slipped into the edge of her door,
and gave a little cry of pleasure as she tore off its end and drew forth
the closely-written sheet.
Robert, too, knew the bold, graceful chirography, and watched her
hungrily as she read.
"I should think," he said at last in an ill-used tone, "you might read
it aloud. It isn't very comforting to try and guess at it second-hand
from your face, if it is a speaking one!"
She looked up with a laugh.
"But thou art cross, then, my poor boy? Well, listen and I will read,
though blame me not if it is not always so pleasant to hear.
"MY DEAR FRIEND,--Time slips by so rapidly in our busy life that I can
hardly realize whence it has flown, or recall in just what manner the
hours have been spent. I told you in my last about the Bazar, and that
an organ-concert was in progress. I'm sure you'll be interested to know
it was a success, and the necessary funds are now nearly raised. Molly
gave a song, also a recitation, and I was so foolish as to consent to
read an original sketch.
"You should have heard and seen Molly! I was surprised at her myself! Her
singing is so easy and natural, and her manner so vivacious, that no one
seems to notice that she hasn't any voice. At any rate, they recalled
her twice, and it was then she gave the recital on, which is half a
song, you know, of 'Christmas at the Quarters.'
"They fairly shook the house with applause then, but she would not go
back again.
"No," she said to me in her frank way, "it's time for the other girls to
show off now--I'm done."
"(I'm sure Molly will never be too highly cultivated to call a spade a
spade!)
"Morton is developing a good voice, and sang in the choruses. I think I
have spoken to you of the young man he meets so often in the laboratory,
and so greatly admires, Mr. Preston Garth. He also sang that night--he
has a magnificent baritone--and it was quite funny to hear his and
Molly's sparring, when he went home with us afterwards.
"He tells her frankly that she has no method, no voice, no tone, etc.,--I
am not used to musical terms,--and she saucily replies by telling him
that, where one person will enjoy his studied renderings of the old
masters, a score will appreciate and be the happier for her little
ballads, simply because she discards all methods and sings from the
heart; and usually Molly talks him into silence, I suppose because he is
too much of a gentleman to set her down as she deserves--the pert little
Miss!
"It is useless for me to interfere, however, as both insist on finishing
the argument in their own way. Mrs. Smythe has a party tonight; you
remember Mrs. Smythe's parties--'a little gossip, less lemonade, and no
cordiality'--to quote Mr. Garth"--
A sudden exclamation from Robert, as he sprang to his feet, interrupted
the reading.
"What does that insufferable puppy mean? Who would ever have thought
that Sara, little Princess Sara, would stoop to quote, and run around
with, some fool of a singing student, an ill-natured one at that! I
can't"--
"Robert," said his aunt severely, "how can I then read if you do thus
make a jack-that-jumps of yourself? Can you not sit down once again
while I continue?"
He sat down, frowning fiercely, and she read on,--
"'which is too severe, but made it easier for me to refuse his kind
invitation to accompany me there. I often wish I could learn to like
society better, if only for Molly's sake; but it is still too much in
the way of a duty that I take what, to a well-regulated mind, should be
a pleasure.'"
"Humph!" muttered the nephew, with a relieved look; and his aunt read
the remaining page in peace.
It spoke of the Macons, her last article, etc., ending with the modest
sentence, "and now, pray remember us all most kindly to your nephew."
Robert's face lighted up at this, though there was a lurking trouble in
his eye. "Aunt Felicie," he said abruptly, "what am I waiting for?"
"How can I that thing tell, my nephew? Is it that you have need of me to
mend a button, or"--
"Don't tease, auntie! You know I don't mean any such trivial thing. See
here," fiercely, "it's been nearly three years, instead of one, and I've
never changed, not for a minute. I've kept myself as pure and true as a
man could; I've done everything you told me to; and now how do I know
but some fellow, with a voice, has stepped in and spoiled it all! I say,
what am I waiting for? I've a good salary."
"Good enough for four, Robert? If you do marry Sara, it must be to adopt
the twins also."
"Well, I will! We can scrimp along somehow; and Morton will soon look
after himself. I wish you were back at Dartmoor this minute so I
could"--
"A thousand thanks, my boy, it is a truly kind and filial wish," said
his aunt demurely.
"Aunt Felicie, you're enough to make a man wild! Why don't you help me
out of this, instead of tormenting me so?"
"Ah, Robare, my too impatient one, could I then help you? No; if she
loves you, then what is it to matter if there may be a hundred of fine
young men about her now? And if she loves you not, then alas! could I
create that love? Do not so foolish be, my son."
He felt the force of her remarks, but inwardly chafed at the way he
seemed to be tied up here for the present, both by business and his
aunt's presence. He dared not put his happiness to the test of a letter.
That would seem abrupt and strange, with so little to lead up to it. No,
he must do as he had been doing all along--just wait.
"But not for long!" he muttered, as he bade his aunt a pre-occupied
good-night and strode off to his room. "We'll 'bide a wee,' Sara, but
only a wee, or my name is not Robert Glendenning!"