Sunday morning Randy and Prue were early at church, and as they leaned
back against the pew, in expectation of one of Parson Spooner's long
sermons, Randy put her hand in her pocket and lovingly caressed a square
envelope which she had placed there before starting for church.
"Got any candy in your pocket, Randy?" eagerly questioned Prue, as she
leaned toward her sister. Randy shook her head.
"Didn't Jotham give you some when he speaked to you at the door?" she
asked in such a loud whisper that Randy ejaculated "sh-sh," and again
shook her head.
"Then what's in your pocket?" persisted Prue.
Randy drew Helen's precious letter from her pocket, showing just enough
of the envelope to satisfy Prue's curiosity. Then the little girl took a
hymn book from the rack, and with her wee forefinger commenced to point
out, and at the same time name those letters which she knew. She found
every O upon the page, then every S, and Randy thought best to let her
thus amuse herself as, at least, she was quiet--a most unusual thing.
Helen had mailed the letter at once upon reaching Boston, and Mr. Weston
had brought it from the village on the following day and placed it in
Randy's hand as she sat listening to Mrs. Gray, who had called to
deliver Helen's message.
"A letter for me, father?" questioned Randy in surprise. "Why, who's it
from?"
Mr. Weston laughed. "Shouldn't wonder if ye had to open it to find out,
Randy," said he.
Randy opened it and laughed with delight when she found it was from
Helen. She had read it three times and had taken it to church with her,
because she said she "just couldn't leave it at home."
So Sunday morning Randy kept her mind upon the sermon, and her hand upon
the letter. The sermon had been less lengthy than usual, and when the
good old pastor had closed the Bible, he removed his spectacles; and as
he slowly wiped them, he said: "Dear friends, I have a notice to give
to-day, or perhaps I should say an invitation, and there could be no
better time or place for what I have to say.
"A quiet wedding ceremony took place at a little church in New York
City, the contracting parties being our friend and neighbor, Mr. Sandy
McLeod,--or, as the papers have it, Alexander McLeod,--and Miss Margaret
McLean of Scotland, an old playmate and friend, from whom our friend has
been separated many years. I have received a delightful letter from him
in which I am asked to make this announcement, and to say that they will
be at home on Wednesday evening. They extend an invitation to all the
good people of this town to be present, and an especially urgent request
that all the children be there."
What a stir that announcement made! What a great event!
Sandy's farm was one of the finest in the neighborhood, and his house
the largest and most substantial in the place; but Helen and Parson
Spooner were the only people who had ever entered it, save Sandy himself
and the men who worked for him.
Fabulous tales the men had told of the fine things which the house
contained; so curiosity was rife regarding it, and now every one, even
the little ones of the parish, were bidden welcome.
After church Randy stopped a moment to speak to the Babson girls and
Phoebe Small, to tell them of the letter from Helen, promising to read it
to them if they would call on Monday afternoon.
The girls promised, saying, "You can read us the letter, and then we'll
talk over the party, or whatever it is to be, at Sandy McLeod's."
Promptly, on Monday afternoon, the girls arrived, and the letter was
produced and read. How they laughed at Helen's bright description of the
events of her homeward journey. Phoebe Small felt that in receiving the
letter Randy had been especially favored. A little twinge of jealousy
caused her to part her lips to make a sharp little speech; but,
remembering a promise to Helen, and her own resolution, she said
pleasantly, "You must have been pleased to receive it, Randy; I'm glad
she wrote it to you."
It was so unlike her usual remarks that the Babson girls looked at each
other; but Randy slipped her arm around Phoebe as they stood by the
window, and Phoebe felt rewarded.
They talked earnestly over the event of Wednesday evening, and all were
enthusiastically expectant.
As the afternoon waned, the girls took leave of Randy, looking back as
they went down the road to call to her, "We'll see you Wednesday night."
Wednesday proved to be a lovely day, and the evening sky was bright with
stars, the air cold and crisp when the merry party drove up to Sandy's
door. As no one wished to be the first to arrive, a large party met at
Mrs. Weston's house and together they drove to the McLeod farm.
The large house was ablaze with lights, and as the teams stopped, the
door was opened wide and a cheery voice shouted, "It's glad we are to
see ye, friends, come in, come in," and Sandy led the way proudly to a
silver-haired little woman, who stood waiting to greet her husband's
friends and neighbors.
Such a sweet-faced little woman, who had a gentle, gracious word for
every new friend, and a kiss for each one of the children.
When Sandy brought Prue to her, saying, "This is the little lass,
Margaret, wha said 'write the letter,'" she took the child upon her lap
and put her arms about her, saying, "Bless the bairn, will ye come
sometimes to see me? it wad gae me much pleasure."
"Oh, yes, I will come," answered Prue, "if I may bring Randy. She's my
big sister, and there's no one like her anywhere."
Prue was assured that Randy would be more than welcome. Every one was
charmed with the gentle little Scotch woman, who seemed equally pleased
with her new friends.
They sometimes found it a bit difficult to understand her. Sandy had
been so long in America, and had tried so earnestly to be like his
neighbors, that he expressed himself in very good English, with here and
there a bit of his old dialect appearing. His wife, however, had lived
in a little town some miles distant from the city, and used many words
which, while in common use in the Scottish village, were utterly unknown
to her new friends. But her manner could not be misunderstood. It was
unmistakably the manner of a gentle, lovely character, bearing good-will
to all.
[Illustration: "At the Head of a Long Table stood Helen Dayton"]
The hum of conversation rose to a din as the young people laughed and
chatted. All had been admiring the furnishings, which were indeed
charming. There were some quaint old chairs which had belonged to
Sandy's father; a large family portrait hung on the wall above the
fireplace; some beautiful old candlesticks in which bright tapers
burned; and the evident delight of their guests charmed Sandy and his
dear old wife.
"Now, friends," said Sandy, stepping forward, "ye ha' all seen my
Margaret, noo will ye walk this way and I'll gie ye another surprise,"
and he led the way to the end of the parlor, where he opened a door, and
there at the head of a long table, spread with a feast such as no one in
the village had ever seen, stood Helen Dayton.
With a sharp cry of delight Randy ran to greet her, and was folded in
Helen's arms. Then every one crowded about Miss Dayton, and many were
the questions with which she was plied.
"I cannot answer all these questions," she said with a merry laugh; "but
I'll tell you how I happened to be here again so soon. I hastened home,
as many of you know, to see my Uncle Robert, who was to be in Boston but
a few days, and on the day of his departure for the West I received the
glad news of the wedding in a most delightful letter, which also
contained a cordial invitation for me to be present and surprise you all
to-night."
"We're glad enough to see you again," said Jotham Potts, and a chorus of
voices echoed the boy's frank speech.
Then the feast began. Such a treat it was to Sandy's neighbors and
friends. The children were fairly wild with excitement. A giant wedding
cake graced the centre of the table, and the beautiful frosting, with
its garlands of flowers and little sugar cupids, delighted the children,
who thought it the finest thing which they had ever seen.
A huge platter of roast turkey on one end of the table, and one of roast
goose on the other, proved very tempting; and a chicken pie with its
fluted crust was not to be ignored.
When these were removed, Sandy filled their places with huge fancy
baskets of fruit; and still the candles burned and flickered, and the
hum of merry voices filled the old house with gladness. At a late hour
the happy party left, the neighbors, one and all, wishing the dear old
couple every blessing, and promising to be as neighborly as their busy
lives would permit.
To Randy, Helen said: "I shall not run away this time without saying
good-by. I will come to-morrow and spend a little time with you, and
then you may go with me to the village, where I must take the train for
home."
Bright and early on the following day, Randy was up, singing as she
moved about the kitchen, as usual, trying to help.
"She's coming to-day, she's coming to-day," sang Prue, as she skipped
about the room, and Randy's heart joined gladly in the song.
At that very moment Helen was coming up the walk, and as she tapped
lightly at the door, Prue ran to let her in.
How bright she looked in her cloth gown and trim jacket, her feather
collar and bewitching hat. She took off her wraps, as Mrs. Weston
suggested, and sat down to chat with Randy.
"What is the news?" said Helen. "What has happened during my absence,
Randy?"
"Very little has happened," said Randy, "only a few things. School is to
open next week; that's a week earlier than last year, and Mr. Lawton
says he'll keep his best room warm enough for us if it takes his whole
woodpile."
"And I'm going to school," said Prue, and she looked at Helen as if she
expected to see that young lady stunned by such an announcement.
"I'm going to study reading and rifm-tic," she added, hoping to produce
even more of an impression.
Helen and Randy laughed, "I hope they will reserve 'rifm-tic,'" said
Helen, "until a little later."
"When there is snow," said Randy, "we can coast on our sled down to Mr.
Lawton's house, without stopping; and although I'm pretty tall this
winter, I think I shall coast just as I did last season, only this year
Prue will sit behind me."
"And Jotham 'most always drags her home, so she don't have to walk 't
all," said Prue, anxious to tell all the particulars.
"Randy is fortunate to have such an accommodating friend," said Helen,
"and now I have something to tell you. I have been helping my aunt to
make some plans for the winter, and I have really found three days at
the Christmas holidays for which I have made no engagements, and, if it
will please you, Randy, I will give those days to you."
Mrs. Weston paused in her work to say, "We shall all be pleased to have
you with us, and Randy will be wild until you come."
Helen had taken leave of Sandy and his wife at their home, so when
Randy's father brought the old horse and wagon to the door, she said
good-by to Mrs. Weston and little Prue, and with Randy and her father
rode to the depot at the centre.
They arrived just a few moments before the train was due, and Helen and
Randy walked up and down the platform, talking earnestly over the
promised visit and the winter schooldays so soon to commence.
"I shall think of you every day," said Randy, "and I mean to study so
hard this winter that some day, when I write, I shall be able to tell
you that I am at the head of my class."
"That is right," said Helen; "ambition and hard work will accomplish
wonders."
Just then the whistle sounded, and soon the train came around the curve
and stopped at the little station.
Very gently Helen kissed Randy, saying, "Remember I shall soon be here
again."
Then the train started, and through her tears Randy saw Helen's
beautiful, smiling face at the window. When the last car was out of
sight, Randy turned toward her father a face which was a combination of
smiles and tears.
"Well, Randy," said he, "which is it, laughing or crying?"
"Both," said Randy, "crying because I am sorry to have her go, and
smiling because I know just when she will come again. And, now, father,
I am going to tell you something. I mean to be the best scholar in
school this year. I'd like to be able to talk and write as well as Miss
Dayton does. I don't suppose I could do that, but I will come as near as
I can," and Randy looked to her father for his approval.
"That's right, Randy, that's right," said her father, heartily, "and
now, I'll tell _you_ something. Sandy McLeod says that if Nathan Lawton
gives the use of his best room for a schoolroom to the children, he
isn't going to have Nathan outdo him, so he's offered a prize of a
five-dollar gold piece to be given to the best scholar at the school
this winter. I am glad that you spoke your mind before you knew about
the prize. I'm willing you should try for it, but I'm glad to know that
you intended to study before you had any idea of a prize to be won."
"I'll make myself a good scholar," said Randy, "and I'll get the prize,
too." Randy never forgot that morning.
Years after, the scene, in all its completeness, would rise before her
with a perfection of detail that would for a moment startle her; the old
mare leisurely crawling up the road toward home; the stone walls along
the sides of the road, still covered with blackberry vines, their
foliage russet-colored against the cold gray stones, and their thorny
stems red in the October sunshine.
Across the roads the fields were dry and dun-colored, but in places the
grass was still green, and over all the bright blue sky with its
floating clouds. Birds twittered in the tree-tops or flew in swirling
lines above the sunny fields, and everywhere, although the trees were
bare and the flowers gone, a feeling of gladness and cheer seemed
present.
Randy turned to speak to her father and found that he was looking
curiously at her. "Oh, father," said she, "I was just thinking that it
seems as if everything was glad for some reason this morning. I don't
know how to tell you just how I feel, but the sky seems so bright, the
birds are singing, and when I looked at you I thought that you looked
glad too."
"Well, Randy, I see just what you mean. It is bright and glad and sunny
to-day, and as to my looking glad, I think I ought to. I've got your
mother, and Prue, and you, Randy, and I've got something more to be
thankful for--something to be thankful to _you_ for."
"Thankful to _me_!" gasped Randy, in amazement.
"Yes, Randy, yes. I got a letter last night. Ye know I went down to the
centre after supper, and I didn't get home 'til after you and Prue was
in bed. Well, I wasn't expecting to hear from anybody, special, and I
never opened the letter 'til I'd put the cat out and fastened up. Then I
thought of the letter and sat down at the table to read it. Yer mother
was puttin' the last stitches into a stockin' she was mendin' when I
came to a place in the letter that made me hop. Mother came, and looking
over my shoulder read the line I put my finger on.
"Randy, do ye remember that day last summer when ye listened at the
roadside to what Jason Meade was sayin' 'bout makin' me sell my pasture
land to him? Do yer rec'lect how ye run 'til ye was 'bout beat out to
reach me 'fore he could, and how ye begged me not to sell?"
"Why, yes," said Randy; then in sudden fear, "he didn't make you, did
he, father?"
The girl's wide open eyes looked anxiously up into his face as she
grasped his arm and waited for an answer.
"Make me! Well, I guess not! Randy, that letter was from the big
railroad company, and, val'ble as I thought the land would be, they've
offered me more'n I ever dreamed of. I shan't be what city folks would
call wealthy, but I'll be 'stonishin' well off. Your mother and I will
be able to take things a little easier; and, Randy, you shall have all
the schoolin' ye want, and so shall little Prue. I'd 'bout made up my
mind to let Meade have that land, he seemed to have set his mind on it;
and I b'lieve I should have let him have it, ef you had gone on ter Mis'
Gray's and stopped to tea with Miss Dayton, as you intended. But for you
my land would have been in Jason Meade's hands, and I might 'a' whistled
fer it. You gave up your pleasure to do the right thing at the right
time; as I said that day, I've got a daughter to be thankful for."
"Oh, father," said Randy, "it seemed a little thing to do, but I was so
anxious to reach you in time that I forgot everything else, even Miss
Dayton and the tea at Mrs. Gray's."
"Well, ye did yer duty, Randy, even when ye feared the men would find ye
listening and be angry. Always be brave to do right, as ye did that
time, and ye'll make a fine woman."
Small wonder that Randy remembered that morning's ride! The bright
sunlight of her father's commendation seemed to outshine nature's
sunshine. The thought that she had been instrumental in bringing good
fortune to her parents, who had toiled early and late, filled Randy's
heart with a gladness which she would have found difficult to describe.
Mr. Weston accepted the company's offer for his land, and with their
good fortune he and his wife seemed to have regained a bit of their
youth; and they were never happier than when making plans for Randy and
Prue or lending a helping hand to some friend or neighbor less fortunate
than themselves.
Randy still indulges in day-dreams which, at present, are filled with
anticipations of schooldays so near at hand, and the winter's pleasures
which the boys and girls of the village are already planning; and when
next we meet Randy and Prue, it will be in "Randy's Winter."
AMERICAN GIRLS' SERIES
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Betty Seldon, Patriot
_A Revolutionary Tale for Girls_
By ADELE E. THOMPSON, Author of "Beck's Fortune."
Illustrated by Lilian Crawford True.
12mo. Cloth. 300 pages. $1.25
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