RUFFLED FEATHERS.
“Now, Melly, how can I help it?” Persis was saying a few mornings after
the wedding. “You know perfectly well I didn’t fish for an invitation. I
don’t do such things. And I suppose the reason Aunt Esther asked me was
because you and Lisa have both had such famous trips. Just think, you
have been to Europe and to Egypt, and Lisa to California and Japan, as
well, while I had to stay at home and delve at my studies.”
“Well, you can go anywhere you want to now,” returned Mellicent. “I’m
sure you have money enough. No one ever left me ten thousand dollars as
Cousin Ambrose Peyton did you, and I have no husband to buy me pretty
things as Lisa has. I’m sure I’m much the worst off.” Mellicent was
nothing if not a martyr on all available opportunities, and she spoke
plaintively.
“You know I would willingly share half my income with you, if grandma
had not said that she could do ever so much more now that there was only
one of us to buy extras for.”
Still Mellicent’s air of injured innocence remained, and Persis, looking
at the stubborn set of her chin, was suddenly exasperated into saying,
bluntly, “Well, I can’t help it if Aunt Esther does want me. I know very
well why she’s not so fond of you nowadays.”
Mellicent’s blue eyes took on a coldly defiant look. “Go on, I’d like to
know why.”
“Oh, Mell! I ought not to have said it, maybe,” Persis began,
contritely. “But I do know it is because you haven’t been quite truthful
with Aunt Esther, and she does hate insincerity and deceit.”
“It isn’t true.” Mellicent began to sob. “Call me anything you want. I’m
always misunderstood and abused. I think you might have stood up for me
to Aunt Esther, and have shown some sisterly feeling, instead of
listening to such tales.” And with a handkerchief to her eyes she left
the room.
Persis stood looking after her. “Oh dear!” she sighed, after a moment.
“Perhaps I should not have said it, and I couldn’t tell her that Aunt
Esther never said a word to me about it, but that it was Lisa who told
me. Yet, after all, it is true, and I should be a poor sister if I
didn’t try to help Mell to mend her faults. Maybe, though, I didn’t go
about it the right way,” both of which conclusions were right.
Mellicent could not bear to be blamed. She would twist and turn any
accusation so that it might rebound upon the accuser, and never could
she recognize as a friend one who showed her a fault. Whether she really
believed herself incapable of doing wrong, or whether she thought that
by persistent contradiction she could persuade away a fact, she was a
most slippery person to deal with when it came to the question of a
misdeed. First; denial came promptly; next came an air of injured
innocence, and even in the face of proof positive she took refuge behind
such a martyr-like expression that Persis often felt condemned at
pressing the matter, and dropped the subject, all the time chafing under
the implied charge of persecution and ill-temper, which Mellicent’s
manner conveyed. Such a course, however, was not in the long run to win
Mellicent much respect, and she was fast winning from certain persons a
contempt which could never be felt towards her elder sisters.
As a little child Mellicent had been the favorite of her Aunt Esther
Wickes, her pretty appealing ways having gained her this preference; but
as she grew older, and her character developing showed vanity,
affectation, and a certain vacillation of principle. Persis’s frank,
unaffected manner and her strict integrity won her the first place in
Aunt Esther’s respect and regard, a fact which aroused Mellicent’s
easily awakened envy, and she accused Persis of robbing her of her
rights.
Poor Persis felt quite like a culprit before Mellicent’s attack, but had
no final way of establishing her innocence beyond saying, “Why, Mell, I
haven’t done a thing but be myself.” That was just it. Each had been
herself, and Persis’s self had proved a more acceptable fact than
Mellicent’s; a fact that no amount of persistent protest could deny; a
fact that was visible under every cloak of pretence.
The elder sister stood looking after the younger as she went out of the
room. “Dear me,” she said, “I wonder why here at home I must rub some
one the wrong way. It used to be Lisa, and now it is Mellicent. I get
along beautifully everywhere else, and am never considered unamiable. I
see I will have to do as I used, and go talk it over with grandmother.”
It seemed to Persis that she detected a growing feebleness in her
beloved grandmother, a transparency of the fair pure skin which
betokened a nearer approach to spirituality, but the smile with which
she greeted her favorite granddaughter had nothing of pain in it.
“Oh, grandsie dear,” said this middle one, bending to kiss her, “here
comes the same old sixpence. You’d suppose that three years of college
would have taught me to unravel my difficulties without any one’s help,
but as soon as I get home again I find myself lapsing into the old
ways.”
“Dear child, I’m glad of it. It makes you seem less grown up. I cannot
quite get used to your being a woman.”
“I can’t myself, I think I’ll be a long time getting to the real
grown-up point. Sometimes I actually feel as if I should like to play
with my dolls. I do like to dress them, even yet, and there are some
other infantile delights which still appeal to me strongly.”
“Such as——?”
“Scraping the preserving kettle and eating cake dough.”
“Truly infantile. Anything else?”
“Yes: I like to make faces at myself in the glass. I can get into
shrieks of laughter, when I am entirely alone, at some of my
contortions.”
“You are a child, Persis.”
“I said so. But now, grandsie dear, tell me what is your full and
unbiassed opinion of Mellicent.”
“Mellicent?” Grandmother looked astonished.
“Yes. Do you all spoil her, or is she a little fraud who gulls
everybody, or what?”
Mrs. Estabrook looked sober. “My dear, that is a serious question.”
“I know it.” And then Persis told her late experience.
“I’ve been afraid for some time that Mellicent was not developing the
nobler side of her nature,” was the remark Mrs. Estabrook made when
Persis had finished. “She has been so delicate that your father and
mother have considered her health before anything else. I hope when she
is really a woman, and her health is established, that she will be
stronger morally. Her great trouble is that she wants to be considered
first with every one, just as she is so considered at home.”
“The everlasting Ego again,” returned Persis, laughing.
“Yes, and she does not realize that her very self-adoration, her love of
admiration and attention, are winning her just the opposite from what
she most ardently desires.”
“She poses for an angel, and cannot fly.”
“Something like that. She longs to be beloved as one who possesses the
highest qualities, and the qualities are missing.”
“Emerson goes into all that so well in his ‘Spiritual Laws,’ although,
in a nutshell, what he says is, ‘A man passes for what he is worth.’”
“Yes; but Persis dear, don’t grow exacting and critical to such a degree
as to see faults before virtues. Mellicent has many virtues.”
“I know, grandma, and I wouldn’t confess to any other human being that
she hadn’t them all.”
“Very good, then. She is so young. Let us try to help her by example, by
a steadfast upholding of principle, rather than by hammering at her.”
Persis flashed out a smile. “That’s my way, isn’t it? Thank you for the
_us_ you so deftly inserted into that remark. I am a sad hammerer, I’m
afraid. Now grandma, I do feel very bad about Aunt Esther’s
disaffection, and yet, after all, I think the sole reason she invites me
on this trip is because I’ve had fewer opportunities for travel than
Lisa and Mellicent.”
“I’ve no doubt that is so.”
“But, nevertheless, I’d like to make it up to Mell in some way. Do you
know of any place where she would specially like to go for a couple of
weeks? And could you—would you go with her?”
Mrs. Estabrook gave the question a moment’s thought, then she replied,
“I think Mellicent has a great longing to go to Narragansett Pier, for
she has said so many times.”
“Well, grandma dear, that much is settled. Now the other.”
“About my going with her? Why, yes, I could, but I don’t believe it
would be the cheapest trip in the world.”
“You would want to stop at a nice hotel, and I mean you shall.”
“_You_ mean.”
“Yes, ma’am, if you please. I shall settle all the bills. You see,” she
went on, eagerly, “this invitation from Aunt Esther will save me ever so
much, and I have a little reserve fund, you know.”
“That you are saving towards a trip to Europe.”
“Never mind Europe; it won’t sink, like the lost Atlantis.”
“And how about the new furnishings for your room.”
“My room has served me as it is for many years; I think I shall still
manage to be comfortable in it. Now, don’t say a word, grandma. I know
you think it is an extravagant scheme, and want to tell me that I am not
at all thrifty to lavish my money on a trip like that; but please,
ma’am, let me humor myself this time. It is purely a selfish wish, for I
couldn’t enjoy my own trip if I knew Mell were not having a good time;
besides, it will do you both good. They say the Narragansett air is
delicious, and you both need a change. Say that you’ll do me the favor
to smile on my plan.”
“Well, dear, since you put it that way.”
“And I want Mellicent to think it is just one of the regular summer
plans and no special treat. I don’t want to be mentioned in the matter.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need a little wholesome discipline myself. I might be
top-lofty, and I need some meekness in my composition. Don’t I, truly,
grandma?”
“A little, perhaps, at times.”
“If there is anything I hate, too, it is to see a person make a parade
of any little generous act, assuming an attitude before the world as if
he would say, ‘Now, everybody look at me. I’ve just been real liberal,
and I want all the credit for it I can get.’ It disposes one to think
such acts are rare on the part of that special individual.”
Mrs. Estabrook smiled. “There is another thing which I quite as much
dislike, and that is a lack of recognition of that same generous act by
the person who is the recipient. Now, I think it would be only gracious
and right for Mellicent to be able to say, ‘This outing was given me by
the generosity of my sister.’ A person has no right to accept a thing of
that kind without giving due recognition for it. For my own part, I
think I should be rather ashamed to accept a thing I could not tell
about.”
“Nevertheless, I’m obstinate enough to want my way this time. Perhaps
some time you might tell her, after the summer is over. Will you let it
be that way?”
“Yes, if you so desire it.”
“Thank you. You’re a darling. One thing more. I wish to give and
transfer, without reservation, the amount I intend to be spent into your
hands, and you can find out if Mell would rather spend more of it on
purple and fine linen, or whether she would rather go with what she
would ordinarily have, and let the rest be spent in extending your stay.
That’s all, I believe.”
“And quite enough.”
“Now, do you mean I am a bore?”
“What about that wholesome humility?”
“It is needed this moment. You needn’t answer my question. I’m going to
hunt up Annis. Doesn’t she look sweet and pretty these days?”
“She does, truly. Where are you off to?”
“A game of golf, I think.”
“Isn’t it too warm for exercise?”
“Oh, we can sit down between strokes if we choose.”
“Is Mellicent going?”
“I don’t know. I suppose she is preparing her garments for the stake, or
is reading ‘Joan of Arc,’ maybe, or Fox’s ‘Book of Martyrs.’”
“Now, Persis.”
“That wasn’t nice of me, was it? Can’t help it, grandma; I’se drefful
wicked sometimes.”
“If Mellicent isn’t going out, send her to me.”
“And you’ll sweeten her misery by giving her our scheme to turn over in
her mind. That’s good of you. I go much more serenely now I know that
she will not be weaving the sacrificial robes. There! don’t say anything
more. I repent. I shall be covered with dust, and will probably sit in
it before long.” And Persis fled. She gave Mellicent her grandmother’s
message, after finding out that golf was not included in her sister’s
plans for the afternoon, and then she went out to find Basil and Porter
Phillips, with Annis, waiting for her on the porch, and they all started
for the golf links together.
“Some day,” Persis said, as she switched a pebble with her stick, “some
day I hope so to focus my mind that I shall be able to avoid all
angles.”
“What does that remarkably deep and occult observation mean?” asked
Basil, who was walking beside her.
“It means that although angles may be necessary in the structure of
human existence, nevertheless there is no reason why one should be
forever bruising one’s self by running against them.”
“Somewhat more lucid, but still veiled in semiobscurity.”
“In other words, you’d like to know what has been ruffling my feathers.”
“That’s it.”
“The general contemplation of problems in general and my own life
problem in particular. What’s the reason, Basil, to come down to plain
hard sense, what is the reason that one may live for years with certain
persons and be considered amiable and sweet-tempered, and suddenly a
change of base discovers him or her to be as full of angles as a
polygon?”
“‘A prophet is not without honor save in his own country and among his
own kin,’” quoted Basil, sententiously.
“That’s not it, altogether.”
“No; but who is it says that two human beings are like globes which can
touch only in one point, and while these remain in contact all other
points remain inert?”
“Very true, to a certain limit; but when even a sphere is covered with
sharp protuberances there is no telling where the opposite one may be
touched.”
“What in the world is all that metaphysical talk about?” asked Porter,
turning around. “Come down out of the clouds, you two. Say, Perse, why
didn’t Mellicent come?”
“She had other fish to fry, she informed me. She was going to talk to
grandma about a proposed trip to Narragansett.”
“Narragansett!”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Humph!” Porter gave his golf stick a thwack against an unoffending
stone by the way.
“You do not approve, fair sir.”
“I approve right enough, but I thought we were all going on that trip
through Virginia. It would have been lots more fun than playing the
society act at a fashionable watering-place.”
“For you, maybe; but, as I heard a woman say once, ‘Some’s ideas
differs.’”
“I believe, after all,” Porter remarked, “I don’t care to play golf
to-day. Don’t let us go to the links; suppose we go to the cricket club
instead, and have a game of tennis. We can get rackets there.”
“I’d rather play with my own,” Persis said.
“That’s mean of you, Porter, to want to desert us,” interposed Basil.
“We started out for golf.”
“I’ve a right to change my mind,” Porter retorted. “You all can go
golfing if you like. I’m going to the club.”
“Never mind then,” Annis’s gentle voice broke in. “Let’s all go to the
club. We’ll see lots of the girls there, Persis, and it will be fun to
talk to them, even if we don’t play. The boys can do as they choose, and
we can come home together when we are ready.”
Persis agreed, and they turned towards the pretty little club-house
nestled in among the trees. It was a favorite resort for the young
people of the neighborhood, and generally showed groups of pretty girls
in their outing dresses or little parties of young men in their
flannels. To-day there was quite a merry company gathered, and the girls
were soon the centre of a jolly crowd. Several of their old
school-fellows and the college-mates of Porter and Basil collected in
one corner of the porch, and the youthful spirits made the most of the
occasion, the place ringing with their merriment.
It was innocent fun, and Persis thoroughly enjoyed it. She had been so
long under a certain restraint at college that this entire freedom was
very acceptable.
“You’re not a bit spoiled, Persis, by being a college graduate,” said
Kitty Carew. “I thought you’d be too much of a bluestocking ever to
glance at the club or its frivolous members.”
“I enjoy _frivole_,” returned Persis. “I believe I enjoy it more than
ever after so much digging. It doesn’t make boys feel themselves too
superior to have fun when they go to college, and I don’t see why it
should make girls feel so.”
“And now, what do you intend to do?” Kitty asked.
“Enjoy myself for a season, and then, like the traditional bee, ‘I’ll be
busy, too.’”
“‘For Satan finds some mischief still,’” Porter quoted; “and there’ll be
the mischief to pay if we don’t all get home. There’s a thunder-storm
‘bruisin,’ as Patrick says.” And the company scattered at sight of the
threatening clouds.
[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’]