THE JAPANESE FÊTE
When the disappointed girls left Mrs. Johnson's home at the conclusion
of the surprise party, Marjorie probably looked most dejected of all.
She resolutely avoided Ruth's society, feeling that she could not bear
her "I told you so" attitude; instead, she sought Lily, who seemed to
understand how she felt. The girls walked in silence; Lily knew her
room-mate well enough now to realize that talking would not help, and
she discreetly refrained from intruding upon her thoughts.
When they reached their own room, Marjorie threw herself upon the bed
with a sob. Lily sat down beside her and put her arm around her neck.
"Marj, please don't take it so hard," she begged. "It won't do any
good."
"Of course it won't," Marjorie replied, brokenly. "But I cared so much
about her liking us."
"Well, she may, yet. Maybe she was frightened--and homesick. Why don't
you go down to see her all by yourself?"
The suggestion brought Marjorie a ray of hope. She dried her eyes, and
squeezed Lily's hand gratefully.
"I certainly will do that!" she exclaimed. "Thank you for suggesting
it."
The following day, Sunday, was mild and beautiful; Marjorie was so glad
to see that the rain was gone, and so hopeful about her new project,
that she felt quite cheerful again. She selected one of her prettiest
dresses--a pale pink voile--and also wore her pink silk sweater which
matched it so perfectly.
"I won't bother with a hat," she thought. "It's so warm, and it will
seem more informal without one."
It was only a few minutes' walk to Mrs. Johnson's house, and she reached
it in no time. With trembling fingers, she rang the doorbell. The woman
herself answered the summons.
"How do you do, Mrs. Johnson?" she said pleasantly. And then, just as if
she were paying an ordinary call on one of her own friends, "Is Frieda
in?"
Mrs. Johnson smiled. "Yes. Do come in, and sit down--Marjorie--isn't
that your name? Let's talk a little first, and then I'll call her."
Marjorie sat down upon the edge of the sofa, and leaned forward eagerly.
She was curious for news of this strange girl, who so baffled everybody,
even Miss Phillips and kind Mrs. Johnson.
"She isn't civilized, Marjorie," said the older woman. "That's exactly
what it is; she has lived with people all of her life who have no
conception of morals, or manners, or training, and she simply acts like
a sort of mental savage."
"But there were the Brubakers--her father worked for Mr. Brubaker. Don't
you suppose----?"
"No; I don't suppose she ever saw anything of them. She is used to
wandering about just as she pleases. Whatever education she has acquired
was probably beaten into her by some rough, country schoolmaster."
Marjorie sighed hopelessly.
Mrs. Johnson read her thoughts. "But it isn't hopeless, my dear," she
added softly. "Frieda is a human being, with a soul. And she is young,
too. If we can keep her here, away from her parents' bad influence, we
may yet be able to civilize her. Don't give up yet!"
Marjorie was unconsciously encouraged by these words. But she wanted
more definite details of the girl's behavior.
"I sent her supper to her last night," said Mrs. Johnson, "by Annie, the
girl who comes in to help me cook and wash dishes. She said that Frieda
opened the door and snarled at her something which she could not
understand, except the word 'servant,' and snatched the food and slammed
the door in her face.
"She did not appear at breakfast, but I heard her go out for a walk;
and when she came back, I was home from church and had dinner on the
table. I asked her to come in, and she followed me to the dining-room.
"When I introduced her to father and mother, and Mr. Johnson, she paid
not the slightest attention. Her manners at the table were terrible; she
evidently knew nothing about the use of a knife and fork. She ate
greedily, as if she were very hungry. And, by the way, I think the girl
is decidedly undernourished.
"Immediately after dinner she went to her room again. Now, if you want
to go up and see her, you can do as you like. You know the facts."
Marjorie jumped to her feet.
"Oh, I will go!" she cried impulsively. "There must be some good in
her."
"Yes," agreed Mrs. Johnson, "or else she would not have consented to
come here."
Marjorie lowered her eyelids. She was thinking of that remark of Ruth's:
that Frieda had only seized the opportunity as another chance to steal
something. But she resolutely suppressed the idea; she did not want to
antagonize Mrs. Johnson to any greater extent against the girl.
Up the steps she ran, two at a time, so that she might not have time to
lose courage and change her mind. She knocked at the door of the room.
"Who is it?" This, gruffly.
"It's Marjorie--Marjorie Wilkinson! The girl with the canoe. I want to
take you for a ride in my boat!" This last proposal was made on the
inspiration of the moment.
To her surprise, she heard Frieda step forward and unlock the door.
"Whew!" she whistled, gazing at Marjorie's costume in open-mouthed
amazement. "Some dress!"
Marjorie smiled, all the while noting with pleasure the changed
appearance of the other. For Frieda wore the pleated skirt and middy
that Miss Phillips had bought for her the day before, and her hair was
arranged quite simply in the style Frances Wright adopted, without, of
course, the artificial ear-puffs.
"How nice you look, Frieda!" she observed, admiringly.
"None of that!" shouted the other girl. "This dress makes me sick, when
I look at yours!"
Marjorie perceived the jealousy in Frieda's eyes, and hastened to change
the subject.
"Will you go out in my canoe with me now?"
"Nope! Not in this rig!"
"But Frieda----"
"If you like it so much," she interrupted, "you wear it--and give me
yours!"
Now Marjorie's pink voile was one of her favorite dresses, and she had
counted upon wearing it in the evenings all winter. But it was not
really expensive, and she felt that she would gladly part with it if it
would effect a reconciliation. The sweater would be a weightier matter;
it had been a birthday gift from her father. Still, she would sacrifice
that, too, on the altar of this, her greatest desire of the present
time.
She considered making a bargain and extracting a promise of friendship
from the girl, but this, she felt, might antagonize her. So she merely
said,
"All right, Frieda; but you can't wear this to school. I'll wear yours
back to the dormitory, and then I'll put on another dress and give this
back to you again."
Frieda could hardly believe her ears when she saw Marjorie actually take
off her sweater and start to unfasten her dress. Then she clapped her
hands with delight; she was not so uncivilized as to lack the feminine
characteristic of love of pretty clothing.
The change was effected quickly, and the girls walked out together and
back to Miss Allen's where Marjorie changed the dress; and then to the
lake. Marjorie tried to talk naturally, but, only receiving
monosyllables as replies, finally gave up. Untying the canoe, and taking
the paddle from the bottom, she bade Frieda get in, and pushed off.
"Ain't it locked?" asked Frieda in astonishment.
"No, everybody here is honest. And people from outside the school don't
know about it."
They drifted on, Marjorie glancing now and then at her companion, who
sat back lazily--in fact, almost contentedly--watching the sky and the
water, and listening to the rhythmic dip of the paddle. A wave of great
happiness surged over Marjorie; she felt that she had progressed farther
than she would have dreamed possible, after the previous day's
experience.
"Frieda, will you come to our Japanese party on Friday evening, if I
give you a ticket?" asked Marjorie, as she left the girl at Mrs.
Johnson's.
"Maybe. What's it going to be like?"
Marjorie explained the plans, but she saw that they conveyed little
meaning to the country girl. Nevertheless, she resolved to send her a
ticket.
It happened that Friday night, which was the last of September, was
clear and mild; the stars twinkled brightly over the pretty scene at the
edge of the lake. Japanese lanterns were strung all about the trees, and
the tables, containing refreshments, were decorated with gay autumn
flowers. Robed in Japanese kimonas, with long, Oriental pins in their
hair, the girls flitted about from place to place, welcoming their
guests and serving the dainty food. Out on the lake, where Marjorie was
drifting in her canoe, a victrola was playing soft music.
"The boat reminds one of Venice," observed Miss Allen, who was one of
the first to arrive. "I believe I'd enjoy a ride!"
Lily, to whom the remark was directed, whistled softly to her room-mate.
Instantly, the girl turned around, and made for the shore.
"Venice or Japan, whichever you like, Miss Allen," laughed Lily, "just
so long as we make the money--for the cause is a good one, you know."
Teachers, girls from the school, people from the village,--a larger
crowd than the Scouts had dared to hope for--continued to arrive.
Charmed by the novel idea, they bought lavishly; and few escaped without
first visiting the fortune-telling booth presided over by Miss Phillips,
or taking a ride in one of the row-boats, or in Marjorie's canoe.
All the while, however, Marjorie watched anxiously for the appearance of
Frieda. Would the girl disappoint her? Marjorie had been so busy during
the week that she had not been able to go to see her, but Mrs. Johnson
had told Miss Phillips that Frieda had gone regularly to school, and
that her teacher reported progress.
Towards nine o'clock, however, just as Marjorie was landing her canoe
with two of the teachers who had been for a ride, she caught sight of a
familiar pink dress.
Ruth, who had joined their group in order to serve the guests with
ice-cream, also noticed the newcomer.
"I wonder who that is!" remarked Ruth, vainly attempting to identify the
girl in the dim light. "She's all dolled up, too!"
A smile spread over Marjorie's face, and she waved her hand in welcome.
Frieda advanced slowly, as if she were not sure that she desired to
join the group. When she was within half a dozen steps of them, Ruth
recognized her.
"Frieda Hammer!" announced Ruth, in a stage whisper that was perfectly
audible to the girl herself. Then, turning to the others, and laughing,
she added, "Hold on to your jewelry! Nothing's safe----"
"Sh!" cautioned Marjorie, in the deepest distress. "Do be careful, Ruth.
She'll hear you!"
But the girl had evidently overheard the remark, for a hard look came
into her eyes. She grit her teeth fiercely, but said nothing; then,
turning swiftly around, she disappeared among the trees.
The older women, sensing a scene, sauntered away; but Ruth stood where
she was, smiling defiantly. Marjorie might have cried, had she not been
so angry.
"It's all your fault!" she exclaimed; "Frieda was just getting friendly,
and here you had to spoil it! Just the way you spoil everything I try to
do!"
"Calm yourself, Marj!" remarked Ruth, with a superior air. "She can't
feel things like we do! Besides, she is a thief, so why not call her
one?"
"Would you like to have all your sins thrown in your face?" retorted
Marjorie. "And you know----"
"May I have a canoe ride?" said a pleasant voice behind them, and the
girls turned around to see Mrs. Johnson, with her husband, standing near
them.
"Certainly," murmured Marjorie, ashamed of her loss of temper, and
hoping that the others had not heard the angry words. Ruth turned away,
and Marjorie once more paddled out on the lake. But the evening was
spoiled for her.
For Frieda Hammer had again been antagonized!