DEAR DELIGHTS.
The prospect of her much-coveted trip, and a little flattery from one of
her admiring friends, had so far restored Mellicent’s good-humor that by
the next day she was all smiles, and Persis felt that she might follow
her own plans without the marring element of envy.
When the time came for them to be starting away in opposite directions,
the two sisters parted with the best sort of feeling. Mellicent was
beaming. She had a pretty new travelling costume, and a trunk full of
such dainty frocks as girls love; she was going to Narragansett, and she
had nothing more to wish. Persis, too, felt very complacent. She was
never very fond of display, but in her well-fitting blue serge, her
sailor hat, neat gloves and shoes, she had an air of elegance which
rather outdid Mellicent, who inclined towards showiness, and was often a
trifle overdressed.
Persis, too, had not a desire beyond that which the summer promised to
fulfil. Mrs. Brown and Annis, Mrs. Phillips and her two sons were her
travelling companions. At Baltimore they were to be joined by Mrs.
Dixon, her son Walter, and Connie Steuart, and at Washington Mrs. Wickes
would welcome them, Captain Wickes being now stationed at this latter
place.
“After all the scatterations, what fun for us all to be together again,”
said Persis. “I wish Lisa and Richard were here. You see,” turning to
Basil, “I am cultivating the habit of speaking of him as a sister
should.”
“Where are the doves?” asked Connie. “Have they finished their
wedding-journey?”
“Oh, yes; they are in Brooklyn now. Mamma and papa are going to see them
soon. They are quite old married folks, and are talking of the most
prosaic sorts of things. Won’t Aunt Esther have a big houseful to-night?
It is what she most enjoys, however, and that roomy old place of hers
over in Georgetown is just fine.”
Washington was looking its fairest, for the June roses still held their
own, although it was the last of the month, and the many pretty houses
with their green and flowery accompaniments seemed a very agreeable
sight after the staring rows of hideous little brick houses which filled
the Monumental City.
“How I do wish Baltimore could add more grace to her other virtues,”
Mrs. Dixon said, looking around. “I love the city so dearly, and yet I
never saw a place where brick walls so crowded one, even to the very
outskirts. So much open country in every direction and scarce a bit of
green before the houses to relieve the eye. Philadelphia does much
better with her western section and her many pretty suburban places, and
New York does not show more monotony in her rows of brown-stone fronts.
However, I suppose we cannot have everything. We surely have a great
deal.”
“Indeed, you have,” Mrs. Phillips agreed, heartily; “but I, too, have
often wondered why there is such an unpleasant sameness in the streets
of Baltimore, and why the houses, if they must be nearly all alike, are
not at least set back so that a variety in gardens might relieve the
lines of red brick. But here we are.”
In a pleasant old-timey house surrounded by a garden they found Mrs.
Wickes expecting them. “The neighbors will think you have suddenly
opened a boarding-house,” were Persis’s first words. “These boys insist
upon going to a hotel, Aunt Esther.”
“They’ll do nothing of the kind,” declared Mrs. Wickes, extending a
cordial hand to her friends. “Come in, every one of you. I have had your
rooms all prepared, and there’s not a sign of a reason why any one
should leave me—unless he prefers to,” she added, with a bright glance
at the three young men.
This was quite enough, and not another word was said about going to a
hotel.
“Now, what is your plan of operation?” Mrs. Dixon asked. “We hear,
Esther, that you have laid out a delightful trip for us, and so we rely
entirely on your generalship.”
“The trip I had planned awaits your endorsement, of course,” Mrs. Wickes
returned. “I will give you it in outline, if you choose to consider
yourselves ‘personally conducted’ by me. I thought we would start by
taking the steamer down the Potomac to Norfolk, see that quaint old
place, and then go to Virginia Beach for a few days; returning, take the
boat up the James River to Richmond, then cut across the country to the
Natural Bridge. There we can settle ourselves and take driving trips to
the many different springs within comfortable distance. After we have
wearied of that we can make our way home by way of Shenandoah Valley,
stopping at Luray if we choose, and will, I think, have made a very
pleasant circuit.”
“Fine!” exclaimed every one.
“Just where I’ve always longed to go,” announced Persis.
“Nothing could be jollier,” the boys declared.
“But how about that sight of the Great Falls of the Potomac? Does that
come in on the trip?” asked Porter.
“Great Falls of the Potomac?” echoed Mrs. Phillips. “I never even heard
of them.”
“No, I suppose not,” replied Mrs. Wickes. “If they were in Europe all
the guide-books would mention them as one of the wonderful sights of the
continent, or if they were even in the region of our Yankee neighbors,
they would not be left unsung. But they are certainly worth seeing.
However, they do not lie on the route of our journey, but are only
fourteen miles above us here on the river, and we can drive there any
day when we get back, if you can wait, Porter. I am short one hand, and
my household arrangements are not quite so complete as they will be
later.”
“And we pounced down upon you in this way!” exclaimed Mrs. Phillips.
“That does not make the slightest difference. It is only that my butler
can more easily be pressed into doing duty as one of our coachmen a
little later. I always prefer to have him drive a second carriage
instead of depending upon a strange man. Pardon my discussing my
domestic affairs, but you are all such old friends, and I wanted Porter
to know why I postpone the expedition. I think I must tell you, however,
of the absurd trick my house-maid had played upon her, and which
accounts for her absence. She came to me in great distress yesterday,
saying, ‘Mis’ Wickes, I got word that my sister’s ve’y low, ma’am, an’ I
is ’bleedged to go home fo’ a few days.’ I knew refusal meant simply
that Eliza would take French leave, so I gave her the permission. This
morning my cook told me that it was all a scheme to get Eliza home; that
her mother wanted her, and had bidden her sister to go lie down in the
cellar. ‘Aun’ Philly say Rosy kyarnt be much lower’n dat,’ said Sophy,
‘an’ she ain’t tellin’ no lie to ‘Liza, for Rosy sutt’nly are ve’y low.’
‘Why didn’t you tell Eliza before she went?’ I asked. ‘I aint heerd it
mahse’f twel to-day,’ Sophy said. ‘’Liza tol’ me dis mawnin’.’ ‘You saw
Eliza this morning. Why didn’t she come back to her work when she found
out the trick?’ ‘’Liza say you done tell her she kin stay away a few
days,’ was the reply. Such are the ideas of service which prevail about
here among the colored people.”
They all laughed, and the company broke up into little groups, the elder
ladies finding comfortable chairs in one corner of the wide porch, where
they could drink in sweet odors of roses and honeysuckle, and the young
folks flocking together.
Persis and Annis had long been devoted friends. There was a little
jealousy in Persis’s composition, and she liked to have Annis all to
herself. She had for a little time suspected that Annis liked Basil more
than she cared to suppose, but this idea had vanished altogether, and
she was learning to conquer the impulse which led her to be exacting,
and was trying to see that real love would cause her to desire her
friend’s happiness at any cost. More and more was Persis learning this.
So when Annis said she should enjoy a little walk, Persis saw her wander
off with Basil, and turned to join the others. “You come too,” said
Basil; but Persis shook her head, for Annis did not second the
invitation. Walter and Porter were both given over to fun, and in a few
moments Connie and Persis were laughing at their nonsense, and were
surprised when Basil and Annis returned, so short a time had they been
away.
“Come, Persis,” said Basil; “Annis and I are no help to each other. I
want you to tell me about such a fine old place up beyond here.”
“Oh, I know where you mean. It is the old Tudor place, of course.”
Persis arose and joined Basil. “Aren’t you coming, too?” she asked
Annis, who lingered.
“No, I have seen it. I’ll stay.” And Persis took her turn.
“It is a beautiful old place,” she agreed with Basil. “It was built
about the time that Mount Vernon was.”
“I should like to own just such a spot. When are we going to start on
our trip, Persis? I want to see something of Washington. There have been
some good buildings put up since I was here.”
“Yes; and we ought to go to Mount Vernon. Annis has never been there,
but we can do all that when we get back. I think Aunt Esther would
rather we’d start on our longer trip first, and I, for one, should like
to consider her convenience.”
“You are given to considering the convenience of every one, aren’t you,
Persis?”
“I? No, I don’t believe I do always. I’m very likely to look to my own.
Isn’t this a contradictory old town: decayed elegance, tumble-down
poverty, pretentious newness, and solid comfort all combined, one next
door to the other, as like as not. See, Basil! I know you’ll like that
place.”
“Yes, I do. That’s another thing: you always know just what I’m going to
like.”
“It seems to me that you’re very appreciative of my good qualities this
evening.”
“I have always been, I think; and since we are together again after so
long a separation, they strike me more forcibly than ever. Tell me,
Persis, what about Mr. Dan?”
“What about him? Why, I don’t know. What should there be about him?”
“I didn’t know but that he was to be everlastingly about you?”
“Oh, Basil, don’t you, like so many others, get that notion. I never
have had, and never will have, any but a real good, comfortable,
all-around feeling of comradeship for Mr. Dan.”
“Humph!”
“Don’t be humphing at me. It is true. Cross my heart.”
Basil walked along, absently striking at a little stick with the switch
he carried. “I’m glad I asked,” he said presently.
“I am, too. I’ve been thinking for some time that you were carrying
about with you some such idea. Here we are at the top of the hill. I
wish it were light enough for us to see the beautiful view of the river
from the college grounds. We could walk over that way, but I’m afraid it
is too dark. Shall we go back?”
“As you say.”
“I think it hardly seems quite fair to leave the others very long, and
it is scarce light enough to see any more architecture to-night. Basil,
we will see some ideal old places in Virginia. You’ll just love them.”
“Yes, I expect to. I think we are going to have a fine time for the next
few weeks, don’t you?”
“Don’t I?” There was a ring of utter gladness in Persis’s voice. “It is
an Elysian dream, Basil.”
“Seems pretty much that way to me. I could ask nothing better than just
such a trip in just such company.”
Persis flashed him an answering smile. “What a bright face she has, and
how pretty she looks to-night!” thought Basil.
Annis seemed very quiet that evening, Persis thought, and after a while
the latter managed to get close to her friend and slip an arm around
her. “Tired, Annis?” she whispered.
“A little.”
“We won’t sit up late. I hope Aunt Esther has put us in a room
together.”
“Very likely she has arranged to have me room with mamma.”
“And put Connie with me? I’d so much rather it would be you, dear. I’m
going to ask.”
A little later Persis followed her aunt into the house, and upon coming
out again she nodded to Annis. “It’s all right,” she told her. “There
are nine of us; the three boys bunk in one big room together, Connie is
to have a cot in the little dressing-room off Mrs. Dixon’s room, Mrs.
Phillips and Mrs. Brown each has a room to herself, and we go shares.
Aunt Esther always does just the right thing.”
“These are fine large rooms, aren’t they?” Annis observed, when they had
reached their quarters.
“Yes, it is a nice, old-fashioned, roomy house, and I like it. Don’t you
remember, Annis, how we discussed the old and the new when you were
looking for a house? Doesn’t that seem ages ago?”
“It does, indeed. I don’t believe I was ever so happy.”
“Why, dearie, aren’t you happy now?” Persis put her arms around the
slender figure, and looked down anxiously with eyes full of love.
Annis gave a little sigh. “Yes, I am sometimes, and I could be under
some circumstances, but as one grows up there are so many unexpected
experiences coming to one. It scares me sometimes to look ahead.”
“Well, there is only pleasure to look forward to just now. Don’t you
think so?”
“Oh, yes, I do, indeed.”
“Then don’t get vaporish, dear little cuzzy-wuzzy. It’s a beautiful
world. We ought to, we must, be happy.” Persis could see no possibility
of any other condition on this night.
But Annis did not respond as her cousin felt that she ought, and after
they were in bed Persis turned the matter over in her mind as she lay
quietly by Annis’s side. Then she said, suddenly, “Annis, did you see
any one in Europe that you liked immensely, more than—more than you ever
did?”
Annis was silent for a moment, then she said, hesitatingly, “Yes, I
did.” And having confessed this much, nothing further could be had from
her that night.
Persis, however, in silent sympathy, slipped an arm over and felt for
Annis’s hand, which she held closely till both were asleep.
“Six young persons start on a trip with four chaperons, how many does
each one have? That is a question in mental arithmetic which will take
all our spare time while we are away to solve.” Persis gave utterance to
this as they were seating themselves on the deck of the steamer, the
boys having brought them chairs, placing them where they could be the
most comfortable.
“Nonsense,” replied Mrs. Wickes. “It is easy enough to solve that. Each
takes her proper charge. Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Dixon, and I take a girl
apiece, leaving the boys to their respective mothers.”
“That gives my mother more than her share,” Walter put in. “I should say
that the fairest plan would be to leave me out. I don’t mind; I always
was ready to give up to others. Or else each chaperon could give
two-thirds of her time to each one, and the remaining one-third of the
time we could go scot free.”
“Either would be much more to your liking, I’ve no doubt; but you will
have to walk a chalk line, I tell you, sir,” returned his mother.
As Walter did precisely as he pleased, and managed to convince his
mother that whatever he did was all right, this was an idle threat, and
amused every one.
Annis and Porter had never been on the best of terms, at least they were
not congenial, and consequently Persis usually felt that she must not
couple them together, and often allowed herself to be paired off with
Porter when another arrangement would have suited her better. Since her
questioning of Annis she had felt a new jealousy for her cousin, and
wondered more than once who it could be who had won her heart. Once she
asked Basil, “Did you see any one specially attentive to Annis while she
was abroad?”
Basil considered for a moment. “No-o, I can’t say that I did. I believe
there were two or three fellows who hung around the party, but I never
noticed any one specially gone on her. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. I just wondered.”
“Harvey Dana used to be with us more than any one; but then you know I
was only with the crowd a comparatively short time, and there might have
been all sorts of goings on which I didn’t see.”
“True,” agreed Persis. “Well, whoever does fall in love with Annis will
get a treasure.”
“Yes, she’s a mighty nice girl. Hasn’t quite as much go as you have,
Persis.”
“But she is a dear, and is twice as sweet-tempered as I am,” interrupted
Persis, eagerly; “and she is as true as steel.”
“No one contradicts you, you fierce little body. You always amuse me,
Perse, when you bristle up that way, like a hen when a hawk is after her
chickens.”
“Do I bristle up? Well, I can’t help it, I love my friends so hard,
Basil. Love isn’t worth anything unless it is given unstintedly, it
seems to me. I believe I care more for my friends than they do for me.”
Basil gave her a slow side glance. “Exceptions prove the rule,” he said,
enigmatically. They were leaning over the side of the boat watching the
light dancing on the waves. The stars were out, and the night was still
and calm. Neither seemed to be in a very talkative mood, but yet Persis
felt strangely peaceful and happy. Anything, everything worth living for
seemed possible, and yet, and yet, ambition was slowly fading away at
the approach of another mysterious presence.
She gave a long sigh just as Porter sauntered up and said, “What are you
two mooning about off here? You’re as silent as two clams.”
“It is so delightfully serene under this sky,” Persis replied.
“And I disturb the serenity. I’ll go back.”
“No.” She laid a detaining hand on his arm. “We’ll all go together in a
moment. What are they all doing?”
“Oh, the chaperons are reminiscing. And Walt and Connie are chaffing and
frivoling, as ‘’tis their nature to.’”
“Why don’t you frivol likewise?”
“I can’t go off by myself and poke my own ribs and cackle, can I?”
“No, you poor, neglected creature, you can’t. We’ll all have to hang
together. Come.”
Just such little situations were all that marred the trip. Connie and
Walter seemed daily to show a more decided preference for each other’s
society, so the other four young people were apt to make up a party to
drive or walk together.
Of all places, Persis declared herself the most entirely pleased with
the Natural Bridge. “It is the most satisfying place I ever saw,” she
declared. “It does not disappoint one a bit. It’s just as big and just
as wonderful as I imagined it would be.”
They had arrived late in the afternoon, and Persis could hardly wait to
see the great arch. Basil had quietly made a few inquiries, and gravely
piloted her down a piece of road quite near the hotel.
“Is it far?” asked she.
“No; quite near.”
“Which direction shall I look?”
“Come here.” Basil stepped to the side of the road on which they were
walking and held aside the bushes. “I want to show you something,
Perse,” he said. “Give me your hand. There, look over.”
“Oh!” cried she, in amazement; “we’re on it! Oh, Basil, why didn’t you
tell me? I never dreamed of it. Isn’t it strange? Why, it looks just
like any old road till you look over.”
“That’s just what it does. I wanted to surprise you, Persis.”
“Well, you succeeded. Can we go down under it?”
“Yes, we will after supper. I believe there is a special party here,
which gives a definite occasion for lighting it up, and we’ll have a
fine show.”
True enough, it was weirdly and bewilderingly grand, and thrilled them
to look up from below at the huge chasm with its noble span.
“That is what I call a bridge of size,” remarked Walter to Connie.
She laughed, and Porter groaned. “Even here we have to listen to such
things from you, Walter.”
“I feel as if I were in a queer sort of a dream,” Persis whispered. “As
we came down that dim woodsy path lighted by torches, I was more and
more assured that I was living in a fairy story. Oh, see, they are
sending off fire-works! How mysterious it makes everything seem! Oh, I’d
like to stay here always.”
“Wait till the daylight comes. You may be disenchanted,” her aunt
suggested.
But Persis was not disappointed even then, and from the moment that she
sprang out of bed to see the mists rolling from the peaks about her,
till the sun dipped behind them that evening, she was in a state of
exaltation that surprised most of the others. “It has been such a
reverential day,” she said to Basil that night.
He nodded. Basil always understood.
[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’]