Spring had passed and summer was at hand before Eliza had her letter
from Baltimore. It would be impossible to trace baggage from checks ten
years old. All goods were sold after lying unclaimed for a certain
length of time. That was all. Eliza was rather glad than otherwise. She
had done her duty, satisfied her conscience, and Beth was still hers.
The same mail bore another letter. Miss Good, the president of the
school, had written her, asking her to be one in the receiving line at
the Club reception which would be held in the parlors of the Point
Breeze. The hotel was filled with summer guests, many of whom were club
members elsewhere, and the affair was planned that they might meet each
other.
Eliza's writings were appearing in different periodicals. She knew not
how they got in print. She wrote them merely. The man at the Oliver
place managed the business and brought the checks to her. She had won
quite a little fame and her name had become known over the country. This
was the reason that she had been asked to receive in line. Some of the
younger girls were to act as aids. Beth was popular in school. She was
always sunshiny, and took things as they were without looking for
trouble. She had never felt a distinction of class or clothes and
treated every one with fairness and justice. She and Sally Monroe had
kept up their intimacy. With Helen these made a trio as unlike as could
be and as companionable and full of life as any one could wish.
Carrie Laire and Tilly were friends also, but never within the inner
circle. Carrie was yet the interrogation point and Tilly the animated
price list.
When the letter asking Eliza to assist in receiving and Beth to be one
of the younger set was received, the latter executed a war-dance
immediately and cavorted about like a young lamb.
"Don't be so frolicsome," cried Eliza. "Really, Beth, you make me think
of the young goats which we used to watch up on Goat Hill. They always
jumped about in just such fashion as you are doing now."
[Illustration: _She stood as transfixed, her eyes upon Beth's hands._]
"I'm capricious, Adee. Capra is really Latin for goat. Then if one
gambols around like a goat, one is capricious."
They were both excited and could scarcely eat their evening meal. There
was so much to talk about.
"Adee, you must have a beautiful dress. Something soft and shimmery.
I'll fix your hair too sweet for anything. I'll put a pink rose in it.
I'd get a soft white dress, Adee. You could--couldn't you? You have
money enough from the stories. Haven't you, Adee?"
"Yes," slowly, "but a new dress would cost a great deal. Perhaps, I had
better write a note and tell them I cannot help receive."
"No, please do not, Adee. You'll meet the finest people in the world.
Carrie Laire's mother buys dresses in Williamsport. The place where they
are sold will change them to make them fit. You could go and buy a
dress. You could easily get one to fit you. You're just the right size
to be easily fitted. You could go in one day. I could stay at home. I
wouldn't be afraid. I could ask Sally to come over. But then, maybe, I'd
better go with you. You couldn't see how it would fit, and I'd tell you
perfectly honest. I want you to look perfectly 'scrumptious.' I'm just
positive, Adee, that you'll be the sweetest woman there."
"Beth, you are a flatterer. You'd make me vain as vain could be, if I
listen to you. I'll promise you this: if I go to Williamsport, you shall
go with me. I'll consider the matter."
"It is only ten days, Adee. I would not consider too long. A soft white
dress with a train--"
Beth sighed with satisfaction. In her mind's eyes she saw Adee looking
like the Princess in the fairy tale.
Eliza might not have decided in favor of buying a new gown, had not the
man from the Oliver place come in that evening for his customary
supplies. Beth, who could not keep anything to herself when she was
excited, blurted out immediately that Adee was to help receive and that
Sally, Carrie and herself were to be present as aids.
"I can scarcely wait. It's weeks yet," cried Beth. "I've never been to a
really grown-up party. I know it will be simply grand. I wish it was
this very evening."
"Nonsense, that would give you no time to get your party togs. They tell
me that for such affairs, women 'dike' themselves out as fine as
peacocks. Gowns with trains coming after them like an afterthought,
gloves up to the elbow. No, no, Beth, it is well for you that the
reception is not tonight. It takes time to prepare one's togs for events
as big as this will be."
Eliza, keen as she naturally was, never knew why he had spoken so. He
knew how narrow and hemmed-in her social life had been. He would not
have her go dressed unsuitably and made to feel ill at ease and out of
place among other women. Eliza accepted it as a random remark but
profited by it nevertheless.
"We're going to look fine," laughed Beth. "Adee and I have a plan. We'll
not tell you. We'll keep it as a state secret until we burst upon you in
all our glory. You'll be overcome. I know you'll say that we look fine."
"I'll believe that you do; but I'll not be at Shintown to see you. I'm
going away tomorrow. The boards will go up on the log house again for--I
cannot say how long."
"Going to leave?" Eliza was foolish enough to feel a strange sinking of
the heart.
"Isn't this departure rather unexpected?"
"I always take to the woods and roads when fair weather sets in. I
should have gone weeks ago. Now some of my old friends have warned me
that the time has come to cut loose and show a good pair of heels. You
see, Miss Eliza, not even a year of happy domesticity can make me break
old habits. I'm starting out to visit old places. New cities have no
attraction for me. By daylight, I'll be off."
He took up his milk-jug and was off. He had not even said good-bye or
thanked Eliza for the little kindnesses she had shown him. Yet she felt
herself his debtor. He had given her life a new impulse. He had opened a
new line of work. Her pen would help her provide for her own old age and
educate Beth. More than that, she found joy in expressing herself. She
had gone from the beaten path, and had found the glorious possibilities
which lay within her own soul, just as they lie in the soul of each one;
though some are never discovered.
When Eliza and Beth went down the slope the following day, neither song
nor whistling was heard from the Oliver log house. The windows and door
had been boarded up. Already the place had an appearance of being
abandoned.
"It makes me feel queer--sort of lonesome," said Beth. "I wonder if
we'll ever see him again. I thought he was very nice, Adee. I think I
never met any other man that I liked quite so well. I wish he had not
gone. I wish he would come back and live here forever. We'll miss him
dreadfully. Don't you wish he'd come back to live here always, Adee?"
Eliza had stopped to pluck a flower and had nothing at all to say.
During the walk to town, Beth did all the talking.
The time until the reception did pass. To Beth it dragged. It was as
though the little god Time had hung leaden balls on his feet. Beth
counted the nights between. They passed at last. The evening of the
Woman's Club reception was at hand. Adee had yielded to Beth and bought
a soft white gown of embroidered mull. It was just a little low at the
neck and the sleeves ended in soft lace frills, just at the elbow. Best
of all to Beth's way of thinking, there was a little sweep to it. The
ruffles of val lace floated about Eliza's feet. Beth had put up her hair
so that it was loose about the forehead and in a great coil like a crown
upon her head. A pink rose finished it, to Beth's satisfaction.
When all was completed, the girl stood aside to contemplate her work.
"You look like a dream, a perfect poem. You'll be the sweetest thing
there, Adee. Oh, I'm glad I belong to you. Put on your gloves. Sally
says to let the tops wrinkle; not to draw them tight. There."
Beth wore a simple white frock that had been made for the senior
reception. When she had finished dressing, she came to the door of
Eliza's room with a little box in her hand.
"Adee--I'll have no gloves, you know. The girls do not intend to wear
them; but Sally and Helen both wear rings. Don't you think it would be
all right if I would wear these?" She opened the box, and taking out the
rings which she believed belonged to the woman who had been killed when
Old Prince had taken fright, she held them up for Eliza to see.
"They fit me, Adee. I'd dearly love to wear them. They're rather odd,
but I think they are prettier than the ones the girls wear. May I wear
them, Adee?"
Eliza considered. "The only thing against your wearing them is that they
might be lost. You may need them sometime if you ever meet your own
people. You know that I have always had a feeling, Beth, that sometime
you'll find, somewhere, sisters or brothers; perhaps you have a father
living."
"It's strange he did not try to find me. Sometime, I feel, Adee, that no
one but my mother wanted me. When she was killed, no one came. If any
one had cared, don't you think they would have hunted for me everywhere.
I'd walk from town to town until I dropped from weariness. But no one
looked for me, Adee. I'm to be your girl always and forever, Adee. No
one else ever wanted me, it seems." She smiled up at Eliza. She was
really very happy and contented. Only a few times had she permitted
herself to think that she was without kin of any kind. Sometimes she
longed for her mother. She knew that no one, however kind and lovable,
could ever take a mother's place. But she loved Adee dearly, and had
made up her mind that she would make neither her foster-mother nor
herself miserable about that which could not be remedied. She stood
looking at Eliza with an appealing look in her eyes.
"Well, I presume it really will make no difference. They are your rings
and you are surely old enough now to take care of them. Wear them if you
wish, Beth."