One morning Miss Dayton sent a little hastily written note to Mrs.
Weston, saying that she was planning another entertainment which she
believed would be as enjoyable as the picnic had been, and asking if
Randy might come over and help her make some preparations for the event.
Mrs. Weston read the note, then re-read it to Randy.
"Oh, may I go, could you spare me?" said Randy, eagerly.
"Why, yes indeed," said her mother; "there is less than usual to do
to-day, and nothing at all after dinner. Fly 'round and get cleared up,
and you can put on your clean red and white gingham and your new hat and
go over early."
"Fly 'round!" Randy did fly, and by two o'clock she was off down the
road, walking as fast as her feet and her enthusiasm would take her.
What could Miss Dayton be planning, thought Randy, as she hastened
toward the farm-house where Helen was staying.
Helen saw her coming and opened the door, smiling at Randy's questioning
face, which expressed a world of interest in Helen's scheme, whatever it
might be.
"Come right in, take off your hat, and sit down and I will tell you all
about my plan for an evening's pleasure. You know I promised when I
first met you that I would try to make this summer just a bit gay during
my stay here. Now I believe we shall all enjoy an evening of tableaux,"
but here Helen was obliged to pause and explain just what tableaux were,
"and," she continued, "I think that any one of the large girls who
attended the picnic, and a few of the little ones, will make a very nice
set of pictures."
"Oh, I should think it would be lovely, but," Randy added doubtfully,
"what could we wear that would be nice enough for pictures or tab--"
"Tableaux," said Helen.
"Yes, tableaux," said Randy.
"I will agree to furnish the costumes," said Miss Dayton; "they will not
have to be very fine to look extremely pretty in the frame. Mr. Gray has
made me a fine frame which you and I will cover with evergreen. Then
Mrs. Gray has two bracket lamps which we will fasten to the back of the
frame to light up the pictures, and I have a lot of odds and ends of
pretty things in my trunks which will be sufficiently bright and gay for
costumes. Now let us go at once to the barn and decorate the frame."
Mr. Gray's man, Roger, had just brought in an immense load of evergreen.
Randy was all eagerness to help, and together they worked all the
afternoon.
When she left for home the frame was thickly covered. There was
evergreen and asparagus over the pictures in the "best room" where they
were to exhibit to the townspeople their tableaux, and Randy had seen
her costume which Helen had designed.
Miss Dayton was an ardent admirer of Greuze, and she possessed many
photographic reproductions of his paintings. She also owned a number of
photographs of Sir Joshua Reynold's portraits of beautiful women and
children, and knowing the bareness of the walls in the average New
England farm-house, she had brought these pictures with her to decorate
her room during her stay. She intended to copy these beautiful pictures
in the list of tableaux which she arranged.
Randy was spellbound when she saw the photographs. "Oh, Miss Dayton,"
cried she, "do you really think any of us will do?"
"Why, yes indeed," laughed Helen, "I have you all selected now. You are
to be the girl with the broken pitcher in the painting by Greuze. Would
you like to see your costume?"
"I guess I should like to," answered Randy, excitedly clapping her
hands; so Helen showed her a waist with large, loose sleeves, a kerchief
or scarf, and a wide ribbon "to tie up her bonny brown hair."
Randy went home in a fever of excitement. Think of a girl of fifteen who
had never witnessed an entertainment of any kind, and you will
understand with what delight she looked forward to an evening of
tableaux in which she would take part.
Miss Dayton called upon those girls who she thought would like to pose
for the tableaux, and every one was invited to be present.
The girls, both large and small, were delighted, and their elders were
quite as pleased with the promise of an evening's enjoyment, and every
invitation was enthusiastically accepted. Mrs. Gray's attic proved a
perfect treasure room. She generously offered the contents of all the
old trunks to Helen, saying, "If you see anything which you can make use
of, I shall be truly glad." Mrs. Gray had been a city girl, and had
spent the greater part of her married life there, and she brought to the
farm-house many trunks containing faded finery, which, while far too
good to be thrown away, were of but little use in that small country
town. Helen chose those things which she could best utilize and carried
them down to the front room, where she deposited them behind an
improvised screen.
Randy thought the evening would never come; so did little Prue, for she,
too, was to be one of the "tab things," as she called them. She could
not remember the word "tableaux."
But the evening did arrive, and with it all the girls whom Helen had
drilled for the proper posing, all of the boys who were curious to see
the girls "fixed up for pictures," as Reuben Jenks had expressed it, and
all of the farmers and their wives, who were nearly as excited as the
young people.
Mrs. Gray and Helen received the friends and neighbors as they arrived,
showing them the photographs on the walls and telling them that the
girls, correctly dressed, would look very much like pictures when seen
in the frame.
The frame was in place with a dark background behind it, and stretching
from either side of the frame to the side walls of the room were some
old brocatelle curtains which Helen had found in Mrs. Gray's attic.
These curtained spaces served as dressing rooms.
Besides the tableaux Helen had planned quite a little programme, and
although much drilling had been necessary, each performer was perfect in
her part.
Jotham Potts had, after much urging, agreed to read the programme, and
Helen had promised to contribute a song, and a piano solo which should
be the opening number.
The hum of conversation rose loud and cheery, and so lively did it
become that it was impossible to hear a completed sentence.
"They say your Phoebe's goin' to be a dreadful pretty picture to-night."
"What's she goin' to--"
"Wal', I dunno, seems Miss Dayton thinks our Jotham has a good voice, so
she asked him to read the--I forgit what you call it, but anyhow I
guess--"
"Yes, Miss Dayton says my hair is auburn and not red, and she says--"
"Why, ef here isn't Mis' Weston's little Prue!"
"Yes'm, I'm going to be one of the tab things, and sing a little tune
what Miss Dayton learned--no, taught me," said the little girl, very
proud to think that she had remembered the correction.
"Well, I think she's real nice to come up here and plan such good
times," but here Helen tapped upon the piano, and the conversation
ceased so abruptly that one might think that the audience held its
breath.
The girls rushed behind the curtains on either side of the frame, and
Jotham Potts, clearing his throat, read the first number for the
evening.
Helen had drilled him in pronouncing those names which he found
difficult, and very clearly he read,--
"Our first number will be a piano solo by Miss Dayton, entitled, 'Marche
Militaire.'"
Mr. Potts nudged his wife, saying, in a loud whisper, "Our Jotham did
that just like a city feller, didn't he?" His wife ejaculated "Sh--," but
she smiled and nodded, for she was of the same opinion.
Helen in her white muslin looked very beautiful, as she took her seat at
the piano. That piano was the only one in town, and the only one that
many of the audience had ever heard. Helen was a good musician, and the
piece, grand in itself, rang out brilliantly, to the great delight of
every one present, and many were the words of praise which reached her
ears when she arose. One voice, bolder than the others, said, "That's
what I call great; just one more piece, Miss Dayton, ef it ain't asking
too much."
This was an honest if unceremonious encore, so Helen seated herself once
more, and for those simple country people played a brilliant polacca.
"Wal', 'twas all I could do to keep from dancin', I dew declare," said
old Deacon Turnbull, which made every one laugh, as the deacon was a
very dignified old man.
Helen rose and saying, "Now, Jotham," she stepped behind the curtains.
"Our next number," announced Jotham, "will be a tableau as nearly as
possible like the painting entitled 'The Age of Innocence.'"
"That's it over there," said Mrs. Buffum to her husband, pointing at the
photograph on the wall, and every one looked that way. When the curtain
was drawn aside, there was chubby little Hitty Buffum, her hands clasped
upon her breast, a wee bit of a smile on her parted lips--a very good
counterpart of Sir Joshua Reynolds's picture.
"Oh! oh my! She looks just like it. Isn't she cunnin'?" and similar
remarks greeted the little girl in the first tableau. She had done her
very best for Miss Dayton. Then the curtain swung across the frame and
Jotham announced, "The next number will be a song by little Miss
Weston."
"I didn't know as the Weston children could sing, did you?" queried one
neighbor, but there was no time for an answer, for little Prue had taken
her place on the improvised platform, and Helen was playing a little
prelude.
Mrs. Weston laid her hand upon her husband's arm. Would Prue, her little
Prue, get through the song without faltering? She need not have feared.
Out rang the childish treble in the song which Miss Dayton had taught
her. How fresh and clear the little voice sounded!
"Sometimes I am a daisy bloom,
I make believe 'tis true,
I play that all I ever eat
Is early morning dew.
"Sometimes I am a butterfly,--
Just see my gauzy wings!
Sometimes I play I am a bird,
Who only sits and sings.
"But always I am mama's girl,
And papa's girlie, too,
And next to them I love the best,
I love each one of you."
Putting up her dimpled hands she daintily kissed her finger tips, made a
very cunning little bow, and tripped back to Miss Dayton, saying, "Did I
do it nice?"
"Just splendid, little Prue," said Jotham.
"Couldn't have been better," said old Mrs. Green.
Then Prue crept up on her father's lap to see "all the other tabs," she
said.
"The 'Chapeau Blanc,' which Miss Dayton says means the White Hat,"
announced Jotham. This time the curtain swept aside to disclose Phoebe
Small's little face beneath a hat with white gauzy ruffles upon the
brim, and a feather held in place by a knot of blue ribbon. A pearly
kerchief about the shoulders was most becoming to Phoebe, whose usually
expressionless face looked almost piquant under the saucy white hat and
feather.
"Don't she look like a photograph?" whispered Mrs. Small, "and a good
deal nicer, if I do say it as shouldn't," and Mrs. Small looked around
with a sniff at those present who possibly thought their daughters
prettier.
Now, Phoebe's principal defects were an abundance of freckles, and an
absence of character in her small face; but the costume was becoming,
and the freckles not apparent in the light in which she was posed; so
her heart was delighted with words of commendation, and she hoped that
Jotham Potts had seen her tableau.
As a matter of fact, Jotham had not seen her; for, having announced that
number, he had sat down and waited for Miss Dayton to appear. The next
number on the programme was his, and now Helen stepped from behind the
curtain to announce it.
"We will now listen to a solo by Jotham Potts."
"Oh! oo! oo! Does your Jotham sing?" asked Mrs. Brimblecom of Mrs.
Potts.
"Why, no; leastways I never heard him," said Jotham's mother, with a
twinkle in her eyes, for did she not know of Jotham's evenings spent in
practising this very solo with Miss Dayton's accompaniment?
Randy had said one day to Helen, "You'd ought to hear Jotham Potts
whistle. He does it just splendid. It sounds just like the brook
rippling."
When Helen made her plans for the entertainment, she invited him to give
a whistling solo.
"Oh, I'd do anything to 'blige you, Miss Dayton, but who'd want to hear
me whistle?" said Jotham.
Then Helen told the boy how many people gave whistling solos in the
city, with a piano accompaniment, and Jotham consented to "jest try it"
with the piano.
After announcing the number, Helen seated herself, and played a pretty
little prelude, and then Jotham commenced to whistle a simple piece
which Helen played, called "The Alpine Echo," in which there was an
imitation of an Alpine horn, followed by echoing notes an octave higher.
Jotham was, indeed, a charming whistler, and as his courage rose, his
notes sounded true and flutelike, making the song and echoes, the piano
ever aiding him, until with a final thrill and flourish he finished his
solo, and, blushing and bowing, retired.
The little assembly was much excited and there were repeated calls for
one more whistling solo, and cries of "fine," and "that beats all," and
"whistle just once more, Jotham." So Helen resumed her seat at the
piano, and this time Jotham whistled a medley in which were heard "The
Girl I Left Behind Me," "Yankee Doodle," and "The Star-Spangled Banner."
[Illustration: "There stood Randy as the Demure little Maid"]
"Hooray for Jotham and Miss Dayton, I say!" shouted Reuben Jenks, and
everybody cheered.
Jotham was very happy over his musical success, and with a beaming face
he announced, "Our next tableau is a copy of the large photograph on the
right wall called 'The Broken Pitcher,' by Greuze."
This time the curtain drew aside and there stood Randy, sweet Randy, as
the demure little maid with the broken pitcher hanging to her wrist, her
beautiful hair loosely bound, and her large gray eyes looking out at one
for all the world like the Greuze model.
"Isn't she lovely, mother?" said Jotham, who had stolen out in front of
the frame in order to make sure of seeing this tableau.
"Well, I must say, she is," said Mrs. Potts. "She's always a pretty
girl, but I do declare to-night she's nothin' short of handsome."
"So I say," said Jotham, and even Randy's parents were surprised at her
beauty. The tableau was recalled, and this time Randy blushed most
becomingly because of the encore.
"Oh, do see my Randy!" called little Prue, who had been nodding when the
tableau was first shown, and awoke with a start to see her dear Randy
looking out from the frame.
"The next number will be a solo by Katie Buffum." Immediately wee Katie
was in position. She was not diffident in the least, and clasping her
chubby hands she at once piped up with cheery voice:--
"Once there was a little mouse
No bigger than my fumb;
He crept into my pocket,
Where he hunted for a crumb.
"I put my finger in there,
Just to see what there was in it;
But the little mouse was naughty,
And he bit me in a minute."
This solo, so cunningly sung by the pudgy little mite, "brought down the
house," and little Katie and her family were delighted with the praise
which she received. Still the little girl stood upon the platform until
the audience began to think that she wished to sing another verse.
"Go on, Katie," called her brother Jack, "what yer waiting for?"
"I forgot somefin and I dunno what. Oh, yes, I do. It's dis," and,
making a comical little bow, this very conscientious little soloist left
the platform, feeling that now her performance was complete.
Every one laughed and gave Katie more praise, and she curled up in her
mother's lap, feeling her wee self to be a very successful singer.
"We will now look at a tableau called 'Titian's Daughter,'" announced
Jotham.
Away flew the curtain and Jemima Babson stood in the fine pose, copying
to perfection the engraving of that subject. Jemima was resplendent.
"Oh! oh!" ejaculated every one. A glint of bright light shone in her
eyes. She had liked that picture better than any which Miss Dayton had
shown the girls when they had called for the first rehearsal, and was
delighted when Helen chose it for her tableau.
Next came her sister Belinda as the "Magdalene." Belinda always wore her
yellow hair in braids, but to-night it shone like rippling gold over her
shoulders. With her blue eyes uplifted, and the shimmering mass of
yellow hair, who could believe that the "Magdalene" was Belinda Babson,
the girl who climbed every apple tree in her father's orchard, and
laughed at chance passers-by from the highest branches.
"A solo by Miss Dayton will close the entertainment."
Helen had sung at church with the congregation, but until to-night no
one, not even Randy, had heard her sing a solo.
Ah, how sweet and clear sounded her voice as, looking across at old
Sandy McLeod, she sang "The Bluebells of Scotland."
The proverbial pin could have been heard had it been dropped. As the
last notes ceased, old Sandy arose, and, stoutly thumping on the floor
with his cane, shouted, "Well, noo, that's bonny, say I, Sandy McLeod."
"That's so," said little Reuben Jenks, under his breath, for he sat
quite near old Sandy and was a bit afraid of him. The old Scotchman
owned a large farm on the outskirts of the town and was reported to have
a deal of money, which most people said he never spent. He lived alone
and was said to be rather crusty.
One day, when out for a walk, Helen, in passing his door, saw old Sandy
sitting on his door-stone, trying to thread a needle. Helen paused for a
moment, saying kindly, "Please let me thread it for you."
The old man scowled and hesitated, then surrendered the needle. Helen
threaded it; then, after a few pleasant words, resumed her walk.
The old fellow mumbled something, possibly thanks, and ever after that
morning pulled off his cap to Helen when he met her.
Mrs. Gray laughed when Helen said she intended to invite him to the
entertainment, saying that he would never come. He came, however, very
promptly, and it was for him she sang the old Scotch ballad.
"Now," said Helen, "let us all sing, 'Should Auld Acquaintance be
Forgot,'" and with a will they sang it, old Sandy joining in the chorus.
It was now quite late, but good old Parson Spooner rose and proposed
three cheers for the young lady who had planned such a beautiful
entertainment. They were given heartily, and then every one crowded
around Helen to clasp her hand and thank her again, and of all the merry
party no one was happier than she.
Turning to Mrs. Gray, after the last guest had departed, Helen said, "I
have often helped to entertain, with some success, but in the city one
does not always feel the thanks so enthusiastically expressed to be
sincere, but who could doubt the genuineness of the kind words spoken
to-night?"