“A stitch in time saves nine.”
-------
“O PRIS, Pris, I’m really going! Here’s the invitation—rough
paper—Chapel—spreads—Lyceum Hall—everything splendid; and Jack to take
care of me!”
As Kitty burst into the room and performed a rapturous _pas seul_,
waving the cards over her head, sister Priscilla looked up from her work
with a smile of satisfaction on her quiet face.
“Who invites you, dear?”
“Why, Jack, of course,—dear old cousin Jack. Nobody else ever thinks of
me, or cares whether I have a bit of pleasure now and then. Isn’t he
kind? Mayn’t I go? and, O Pris, what _shall_ I wear?”
Kitty paused suddenly, as if the last all-important question had a
solemnizing effect upon both mind and body.
“Why, your white muslin, silk sacque, and new hat, of course,” began
Pris with an air of surprise. But Kitty broke in impetuously,—
“I’ll never wear that old muslin again; it’s full of darns, up to my
knees, and all out of fashion. So is my sacque; and as for my hat,
though it does well enough here, it would be absurd for Class Day.”
“You don’t expect an entirely new suit for this occasion,—do you?” asked
Pris, anxiously.
“Yes, I do, and I’ll tell you how I mean to get it. I’ve planned
everything; for, though I hardly dreamed of going, I amused myself by
thinking how I could manage if I _did_ get invited.”
“Let us hear.” And Pris took up her work with an air of resignation.
“First, my dress,” began Kitty, perching herself on the arm of the sofa,
and entering into the subject with enthusiasm. “I’ve got the ten dollars
grandpa sent me, and with eight of it I’m going to buy Lizzie King’s
organdie muslin. She got it in Paris; but her aunt providentially—no,
unfortunately—died; so she can’t wear it, and wants to get rid of it.
She is bigger than I am, you know; so there is enough for a little
mantle or sacque, for it isn’t made up. The skirt is cut off and gored,
with a splendid train—”
“My dear, you don’t mean you are going to wear one of those absurd,
new-fashioned dresses?” exclaimed Pris, lifting hands and eyes.
“I do! Nothing would induce me to go to Class Day without a train. It’s
been the desire of my heart to have one, and now I _will_, if I never
have another gown to my back!” returned Kitty, with immense decision.
Pris shook her head, and said, “Go on!” as if prepared for any
extravagance after that.
“We can make it ourselves,” continued Kitty, “and trim it with the same.
It’s white with blue stripes and daisies in the stripes; the loveliest
thing you ever saw, and can’t be got here. So simple, yet distingué, I
know you’ll like it. Next, my bonnet,”—here the solemnity of Kitty’s
face and manner was charming to behold. “I shall make it out of one of
my new illusion undersleeves. I’ve never worn them; and the puffed part
will be a plenty for a little fly-away bonnet of the latest style. I’ve
got blue ribbons to tie it with, and have only to look up some daisies
for the inside. With my extra two dollars I shall buy my gloves, and pay
my fares,—and there I am, all complete.”
She looked so happy, so pretty, and full of girlish satisfaction, that
sister Pris couldn’t bear to disturb the little plan, much as she
disapproved of it. They were poor, and every penny had to be counted.
There were plenty of neighbors to gossip and criticize, and plenty of
friends to make disagreeable remarks on any unusual extravagance. Pris
saw things with the prudent eyes of thirty, but Kitty with the romantic
eyes of seventeen; and the elder sister, in the kindness of her heart,
had no wish to sadden life to those bright young eyes, or deny the child
a harmless pleasure. She sewed thoughtfully for a minute, then looked
up, saying, with the smile that always assured Kitty the day was won,—
“Get your things together, and we will see what can be done. But
remember, dear, that it is both bad taste and bad economy for poor
people to try to ape the rich.”
“You’re a perfect angel, Pris; so don’t moralize. I’ll run and get the
dress, and we’ll begin at once, for there is much to do, and only two
days to do it in.” And Kitty skipped away, singing “Lauriger Horatius,”
at the top of her voice. Priscilla soon found that the girl’s head was
completely turned by the advice and example of certain fashionable young
neighbors. It was in vain for Pris to remonstrate and warn.
“Just this once let me do as others do, and thoroughly enjoy myself,”
pleaded Kitty; and Pris yielded, saying to herself, “She shall have her
wish, and if she learns a lesson, neither time nor money will be lost.”
So they snipped and sewed, and planned and pieced, going through all the
alternations of despair and triumph, worry and satisfaction, which women
undergo when a new suit is under way. Company kept coming, for news of
Kitty’s expedition had flown abroad, and her young friends must just run
in to hear about it, and ask what she was going to wear; while Kitty was
so glad and proud to tell, and show, and enjoy her little triumph that
many half hours were wasted, and the second day found much still to do.
The lovely muslin didn’t hold out, and Kitty sacrificed the waist to the
train, for a train she must have or the whole thing would be an utter
failure. A little sacque was eked out, however, and when the frills were
on, it was “ravishing,” as Kitty said, with a sigh of mingled delight
and fatigue. The gored skirt was a fearful job, as any one who has ever
plunged into the mysteries will testify; and before the facing, even
experienced Pris quailed.
The bonnet also was a trial, for when the lace was on, it was discovered
that the ribbons didn’t match the dress. Here was a catastrophe! Kitty
frantically rummaged the house, the shops, the stores of her friends,
and rummaged in vain. There was no time to send to the city, and despair
was about to fall on Kitty, when Pris rescued her by quietly making one
of the small sacrifices which were easy to her because her life was
spent for others. Some one suggested a strip of blue illusion,—and that
could be got; but, alas! Kitty had no money, for the gloves were already
bought. Pris heard the lamentations, and giving up fresh ribbons for
herself, pulled her sister out of a slough of despond with two yards of
“heavenly tulle.”
“Now the daisies; and oh, dear me, not one can I find in this
poverty-stricken town,” sighed Kitty, prinking at the glass, and
fervently hoping that nothing would happen to her complexion over night.
“I see plenty just like those on your dress,” answered Pris, nodding
toward the meadow full of young white-weed.
“Pris, you’re a treasure! I’ll wear real ones; they keep well, I know,
and are so common I can refresh my bonnet anywhere. It’s a splendid
idea.”
Away rushed Kitty to return with an apron full of American daisies. A
pretty cluster was soon fastened just over the left-hand frizzle of
bright hair, and the little bonnet was complete.
“Now, Pris, tell me how I look,” cried Kitty, as she swept into the room
late that afternoon in full gala costume.
It would have been impossible for the primmest, the sourest, or the most
sensible creature in the world to say that it wasn’t a pretty sight. The
long train, the big chignon, the apology for a bonnet, were all
ridiculous,—no one could deny that,—but youth, beauty, and a happy heart
made even those absurdities charming. The erect young figure gave an air
to the crisp folds of the delicate dress; the bright eyes and fresh
cheeks under the lace rosette made one forget its size; and the rippling
brown hair won admiration in spite of the ugly bunch which disfigured
the girl’s head. The little jacket set “divinely,” the new gloves were
as immaculate as white kids could be, and to crown all, Lizzie King, in
a burst of generosity, lent Kitty the blue and white Paris sunshade
which she couldn’t use herself.
“Now I could die content; I’m perfect in all respects, and I know Jack
won’t be ashamed of me. I really owe it to him to look my best, you
know, and that’s why I’m so particular,” said Kitty, in an apologetic
tone, as she began to lay away her finery.
“I hope you will enjoy every minute of the time, deary. Don’t forget to
finish running up the facing; I’ve basted it carefully, and would do it
if my head didn’t ache so, I really can’t hold it up any longer,”
answered Pris, who had worked like a disinterested bee, while Kitty had
flown about like a distracted butterfly.
“Go and lie down, you dear, kind soul, and don’t think of my nonsense
again,” said Kitty, feeling remorseful, till Pris was comfortably
asleep, when she went to her room and revelled in her finery till
bedtime. So absorbed was she in learning to manage her train gracefully,
that she forgot the facing till very late. Then, being worn out with
work and worry, she did, what girls are too apt to do, stuck a pin here
and there, and, trusting to Priscilla’s careful bastings, left it as it
was, retiring to dream of a certain Horace Fletcher, whose aristocratic
elegance had made a deep impression upon her during the few evenings she
had seen him.
Nothing could have been lovelier than the morning, and few hearts
happier than Kitty’s, as she arrayed herself with the utmost care, and
waited in solemn state for the carriage; for muslin trains and dewy
roads were incompatible, and one luxury brought another.
“My goodness, where did she get that stylish suit?” whispered Miss Smith
to Miss Jones, as Kitty floated into the station with all sail set,
finding it impossible to resist the temptation to astonish certain young
ladies who had snubbed her in times past, which snubs had rankled, and
were now avenged.
“I looked everywhere for a muslin for to-day and couldn’t find any I
liked, so I was forced to wear my mauve silk,” observed Miss Smith,
complacently settling the silvery folds of her dress.
“It’s very pretty, but one ruins a silk at Class Day, you know. I
thought this organdie would be more comfortable and appropriate this
warm day. A friend brought it from Paris, and it’s like one the Princess
of Wales wore at the great flower-show this year,” returned Kitty, with
the air of a young lady who had all her dresses from Paris, and was
intimately acquainted with the royal family.
“Those girls” were entirely extinguished by this stroke, and hadn’t a
word to say for themselves, while Kitty casually mentioned Horace
Fletcher, Lyceum Hall, and Cousin Jack, for _they_ had only a little
Freshman brother to boast of, and were _not_ going to Lyceum Hall.
As she stepped out of the cars at Cambridge, Jack opened his honest blue
eyes and indulged in a low whistle of astonishment; for if there was
anything he especially hated, it was the trains, chignons and tiny
bonnets then in fashion. He was very fond of Kitty, and prided himself
on being able to show his friends a girl who was charming, and yet not
over-dressed.
“She has made a regular guy of herself; I won’t tell her so, and the
dear little soul shall have a jolly time in spite of her fuss and
feathers. But I do wish she had let her hair alone and worn that pretty
hat of hers.”
As this thought passed through Jack’s mind he smiled and bowed and made
his way among the crowd, whispering as he drew his cousin’s arm through
his own,—
“Why, Kitty, you’re got up regardless of expense, aren’t you? I’m so
glad you came, we’ll have a rousing good time, and you shall see all the
fun.”
“Oh, thank you, Jack! Do I look nice, really? I tried to be a credit to
you and Pris, and I did have such a job of it. I’ll make you laugh over
it some time. A carriage for me? Bless us, how fine we are!” and Kitty
stepped in, feeling that only one thing more was needed to make her cup
overflow. That one thing was speedily vouchsafed, for before her skirts
were smoothly settled, Jack called out, in his hearty way,—
“How are you, Fletcher? If you are bound for Chapel I’ll take you up.”
“Thanks; good-morning, Miss Heath.”
It was all done in an instant, and the next thing Kitty knew she was
rolling away with the elegant Horace sitting opposite. How little it
takes to make a young girl happy! A pretty dress, sunshine, and somebody
opposite, and they are blest. Kitty’s face glowed and dimpled with
pleasure as she glanced about her, especially when _she_, sitting in
state with two gentlemen all to herself, passed “those girls” walking in
the dust with a beardless boy; she felt that she could forgive past
slights, and did so with a magnanimous smile and bow.
Both Jack and Fletcher had graduated the year before, but still took an
interest in their old haunts, and patronized the fellows who were not
yet through the mill, at least the Seniors and Juniors; of Sophs and
Freshs they were sublimely unconscious. Greeted by frequent slaps on the
shoulder, and hearty “How are you, old fellows,” they piloted Kitty to a
seat in the chapel. An excellent place, but the girl’s satisfaction was
marred by Fletcher’s desertion, and she could not see anything
attractive about the dashing young lady in the pink bonnet to whom he
devoted himself, “because she was a stranger,” Kitty said.
Everybody knows what goes on in the Chapel, after the fight and scramble
are over. The rustle and buzz, the music, the oratory and the poem,
during which the men cheer and the girls simper; the professors yawn,
and the poet’s friends pronounce him a second Longfellow. Then the
closing flourishes, the grand crush, and general scattering.
Then the fun really begins, as far as the young folks are concerned.
_They_ don’t mind swarming up and down stairs in a solid phalanx; they
can enjoy half a dozen courses of salad, ice and strawberries, with
stout gentlemen crushing their feet, anxious mammas sticking sharp
elbows into their sides, and absent-minded tutors walking over them.
They can flirt vigorously in a torrid atmosphere of dinner, dust, and
din; can smile with hot coffee running down their backs, small
avalanches of ice-cream descending upon their best bonnets, and
sandwiches, butter-side down, reposing on their delicate silks. They
know that it is a costly rapture, but they carefully refrain from
thinking of the morrow, and energetically illustrate the Yankee maxim
which bids us enjoy ourselves in our early bloom.
Kitty did have “a rousing good time;” for Jack was devoted, taking her
everywhere, showing her everything, feeding and fanning her, and
festooning her train with untiring patience. How many forcible
expressions he mentally indulged in as he walked on that unlucky train
we will not record; he smiled and skipped and talked of treading on
flowers in a way that would have charmed Kitty, if some one else had not
been hovering about “The Daisy,” as Fletcher called her.
After he returned, she neglected Jack, who took it coolly, and was never
in the way unless she wanted him. For the first time in her life, Kitty
deliberately flirted. The little coquetries, which are as natural to a
gay young girl as her laughter, were all in full play, and had she gone
no further no harm would have been done. But, excited by the example of
those about her, Kitty tried to enact the fashionable young lady, and,
like most novices, she overdid the part. Quite forgetting her cousin,
she tossed her head, twirled her fan, gave affected little shrieks at
college jokes, and talked college slang in a way that convulsed
Fletcher, who enjoyed the fun immensely.
Jack saw it all, shook his head and said nothing; but his face grew
rather sober as he watched Kitty, flushed, dishevelled, and breathless,
whirling round Lyceum Hall, on the arm of Fletcher, who danced divinely,
as all the girls agreed. Jack had proposed going, but Kitty had frowned,
so he fell back, leaving her to listen and laugh, blush and shrink a
little at her partner’s flowery compliments and admiring glances.
“If she stands that long she’s not the girl I took her for,” thought
Jack, beginning to lose patience. “She doesn’t look like my little
Kitty, and somehow I don’t feel half so fond and proud of her as usual.
I know one thing, _my_ daughters shall never be seen knocking about in
that style.”
As if the thought suggested the act, Jack suddenly assumed an air of
paternal authority, and, arresting his cousin as she was about to begin
again, he said, in a tone she had never heard before,—
“I promised Pris to take care of you, so I shall carry you off to rest,
and put yourself to rights after this game of romps. I advise you to do
the same, Fletcher, or give your friend in the pink bonnet a turn.”
Kitty took Jack’s arm pettishly, but glanced over her shoulder with such
an inviting smile that Fletcher followed, feeling very much like a top,
in danger of tumbling down the instant he stopped spinning. As she came
out Kitty’s face cleared, and, assuming her sprightliest air, she spread
her plumage and prepared to descend with effect, for a party of
uninvited _peris_ stood at the gate of this Paradise casting longing
glances at the forbidden splendors within. Slowly, that all might see
her, Kitty sailed down, with Horace, the debonair, in her wake, and was
just thinking to herself, “Those girls won’t get over this very soon, I
fancy,” when all in one moment she heard Fletcher exclaim, wrathfully,
“Hang the flounces!” she saw a very glossy black hat come skipping down
the steps, felt a violent twitch backward, and, to save herself from a
fall, sat down on the lower step with most undignified haste.
It was impossible for the bystanders to help laughing, for there was
Fletcher hopping wildly about, with one foot nicely caught in a muslin
loop, and there sat Kitty longing to run away and hide herself, yet
perfectly helpless, while every one tittered. Miss Jones and Miss Smith
laughed shrilly, and the despised little Freshman completed her
mortification, by a feeble joke about Kitty Heath’s new man-trap. It was
only an instant, but it seemed an hour before Fletcher freed her, and
snatching up the dusty beaver, left her with a flushed countenance and
an abrupt bow.
If it hadn’t been for Jack, Kitty would have burst into tears then and
there, so terrible was the sense of humiliation which oppressed her. For
his sake she controlled herself, and, bundling up her torn train, set
her teeth, stared straight before her, and let him lead her in dead
silence to a friend’s room near by. There he locked the door, and began
to comfort her by making light of the little mishap. But Kitty cried so
tragically, that he was at his wit’s end, till the ludicrous side of the
affair struck her, and she began to laugh hysterically. With a vague
idea that vigorous treatment was best for that feminine ailment, Jack
was about to empty the contents of an ice-pitcher over her, when she
arrested him, by exclaiming, incoherently,—
“Oh, don’t!—it was so funny!—how can you laugh, you cruel boy?—I’m
disgraced, forever—take me home to Pris, oh, take me home to Pris!”
“I will, my dear, I will; but first let me right you up a bit; you look
as if you had been hazed, upon my life you do;” and Jack laughed in
spite of himself at the wretched little object before him, for dust,
dancing, and the downfall produced a ruinous spectacle.
That broke Kitty’s heart; and, spreading her hands before her face, she
was about to cry again, when the sad sight which met her eyes dispelled
the gathering tears. The new gloves were both split up the middle and
very dirty with clutching at the steps as she went down.
“Never mind, you can wash them,” said Jack, soothingly.
“I paid a dollar and a half for them, and they can’t be washed,” groaned
Kitty.
“Oh, hang the gloves! I meant your hands,” cried Jack, trying to keep
sober.
“No matter for my hands, I mourn my gloves. But I won’t cry any more,
for my head aches now so I can hardly see.” And Kitty threw off her
bonnet, as if even that airy trifle hurt her.
Seeing how pale she looked, Jack tenderly suggested a rest on the old
sofa, and a wet handkerchief on her hot forehead, while he got the good
landlady to send her up a cup of tea. As Kitty rose to comply she
glanced at her dress, and, clasping her hands, exclaimed, tragically,—
“The facing, the fatal facing! That made all the mischief, for if I’d
sewed it last night it wouldn’t have ripped to-day; if it hadn’t ripped
Fletcher wouldn’t have got his foot in it, I shouldn’t have made an
object of myself, he wouldn’t have gone off in a rage, and—who knows
what might have happened?”
“Bless the what’s-its-name if it has settled him,” cried Jack. “He is a
contemptible fellow not to stay and help you out of the scrape he got
you into. Follow his lead and don’t trouble yourself about him.”
“Well, he _was_ rather absurd to-day, I allow; but he _has_ got handsome
eyes and hands, and he _does_ dance like an angel,” sighed Kitty, as she
pinned up the treacherous loop which had brought destruction to her
little castle in the air.
“Handsome eyes, white hands, and angelic feet don’t make a man. Wait
till you can do better, Kit.”
With an odd, grave look, that rather startled Kitty, Jack vanished, to
return presently with a comfortable cup of tea and a motherly old lady
to help repair damages and soothe her by the foolish little purrings and
pattings so grateful to female nerves after a flurry.
“I’ll come back and take you out to see the dance round the tree when
you’ve had a bit of a rest,” said Jack, vibrating between door and sofa
as if it wasn’t easy to get away.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” cried Kitty, with a shudder at the bare idea of
meeting any one. “I can’t be seen again to-night; let me stay here till
my train goes.”
“I thought it had gone, already,” said Jack, with an irrepressible
twinkle of the eye that glanced at the draggled dress sweeping the
floor.
“How _can_ you joke about it!” and the girl’s reproachful eyes filled
with tears of shame. “I know I’ve been very silly, Jack, but I’ve had my
punishment, and I don’t need any more. To feel that you despise me is
worse than all the rest.”
She ended with a little sob, and turned her face away to hide the
trembling of her lips. At that, Jack flushed up, his eyes shone, and he
stooped suddenly as if to make some impetuous reply. But, remembering
the old lady (who, by the by, was discreetly looking out of window), he
put his hands in his pockets and strolled out of the room.
“I’ve lost them both by this day’s folly,” thought Kitty, as Mrs. Brown
departed with the teacup. “I don’t care for Fletcher, for I dare say he
didn’t mean half he said, and I was only flattered because he is rich
and handsome and the girls glorify him. But I shall miss Jack, for I’ve
known and loved him all my life. How good he’s been to me to-day! so
patient, careful, and kind, though he must have been ashamed of me. I
know he didn’t like my dress; but he never said a word and stood by me
through everything. Oh, I wish I’d minded Pris! then he would have
respected me, at least; I wonder if he ever will, again?”
Following a sudden impulse, Kitty sprang up, locked the door, and then
proceeded to destroy all her little vanities as far as possible. She
smoothed out her crimps with a wet and ruthless hand; fastened up her
pretty hair in the simple way Jack liked; gave her once cherished bonnet
a spiteful shake, as she put it on, and utterly extinguished it with a
big blue veil. She looped up her dress, leaving no vestige of the now
hateful train, and did herself up uncompromisingly in the Quakerish gray
shawl Pris had insisted on her taking for the evening. Then she surveyed
herself with pensive satisfaction, saying, in the tone of one bent on
resolutely mortifying the flesh,—
“Neat but not gaudy; I’m a fright, but I deserve it, and it’s better
than being a peacock.”
Kitty had time to feel a little friendless and forlorn, sitting there
alone as twilight fell, and amused herself by wondering if Fletcher
would come to inquire about her, or show any further interest in her;
yet when the sound of a manly tramp approached, she trembled lest it
should be the victim of the fatal facing. The door opened, and with a
sigh of relief she saw Jack come in, bearing a pair of new gloves in one
hand and a great bouquet of June roses in the other.
“How good of you to bring me these! They are more refreshing than oceans
of tea. You know what I like, Jack; thank you very much,” cried Kitty,
sniffing at her roses with grateful rapture.
“And you know what I like,” returned Jack, with an approving glance at
the altered figure before him.
“I’ll never do so any more,” murmured Kitty, wondering why she felt
bashful all of a sudden, when it was only cousin Jack.
“Now put on your gloves, dear, and come out and hear the music; your
train doesn’t go for two hours yet, and you mustn’t mope here all that
time,” said Jack, offering his second gift.
“How did you know my size?” asked Kitty, putting on the gloves in a
hurry; for though Jack had called her “dear” for years, the little word
had a new sound to-night.
“I guessed,—no, I didn’t, I had the old ones with me; they are no good
now, are they?” and too honest to lie, Jack tried to speak carelessly,
though he turned red in the dusk, well knowing that the dirty little
gloves were folded away in his left breast-pocket at that identical
moment.
“Oh, dear, no! these fit nicely. I’m ready, if you don’t mind going with
such a fright,” said Kitty, forgetting her dread of seeing people in her
desire to get away from that room, because for the first time in her
life she wasn’t at ease with Jack.
“I think I like the little gray moth better than the fine butterfly,”
returned Jack, who, in spite of his invitation, seemed to find “moping”
rather pleasant.
“You are a rainy-day friend, and he isn’t,” said Kitty, softly, as she
drew him away.
Jack’s only answer was to lay his hand on the little white glove resting
so confidingly on his arm, and, keeping it there, they roamed away into
the summer twilight.
Something had happened to the evening and the place, for both seemed
suddenly endowed with uncommon beauty and interest. The dingy old houses
might have been fairy palaces, for anything they saw to the contrary;
the dusty walks, the trampled grass, were regular Elysian fields to
them, and the music was the music of the spheres, though they found
themselves “Right in the middle of the boom, jing, jing.” For both had
made a little discovery,—no, not a little one, the greatest and sweetest
man and woman can make. In the sharp twinge of jealousy which the sight
of Kitty’s flirtation with Fletcher gave him, and the delight he found
in her after conduct, Jack discovered how much he loved her. In the
shame, gratitude, and half sweet, half bitter emotion that filled her
heart, Kitty felt that to her Jack would never be “only cousin Jack” any
more. All the vanity, coquetry, selfishness, and ill-temper of the day
seemed magnified to heinous sins, for now her only thought was, “seeing
these faults, he _can’t_ care for me. Oh, I wish I was a better girl!”
She did not say “for his sake,” but in the new humility, the ardent wish
to be all that a woman should be, little Kitty proved how true her love
was, and might have said with Portia,—
“For myself alone, I would not be
Ambitious in my wish; but, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair,
Ten thousand times more rich.”
All about them other pairs were wandering under the patriarchal elms,
enjoying music, starlight, balmy winds, and all the luxuries of the
season. If the band had played
“Oh, there’s nothing half so sweet in life
As love’s young dream—”
it is my private opinion that it would have suited the audience to a T.
Being principally composed of elderly gentlemen with large families,
they had not that fine sense of the fitness of things so charming to
see, and tooted and banged away with waltzes and marches, quite
regardless of the flocks of Romeos and Juliets philandering all about
them.
Under cover of a popular medley, Kitty overheard Fletcher quizzing her
for the amusement of Miss Pink-bonnet, who was evidently making up for
lost time. It was feeble wit, but it put the finishing stroke to Kitty’s
vanity, and she dropped a tear in her blue tissue retreat, and clung to
Jack, feeling that she had never valued him half enough. She hoped he
didn’t hear the gossip going on at the other side of the tree near which
they stood; but he did, for his hand involuntarily doubled itself up
into a very dangerous-looking fist, and he darted such fiery glances at
the speaker, that, if the thing had been possible, Fletcher’s ambrosial
curls would have been scorched off his head.
“Never mind, and don’t get angry, Jack. They are right about one
thing,—the daisies in my bonnet _were_ real, and I _couldn’t_ afford any
others. I don’t care much, only Pris worked so hard to get me ready I
hate to have my things made fun of.”
“He isn’t worth a thrashing, so we’ll let it pass this time,” said Jack,
irefully, yet privately resolving to have it out with Fletcher by and
by.
“Why, Kitty, I thought the real daisies the prettiest things about your
dress. Don’t throw them away. I’ll wear them just to show that noodle
that I prefer nature to art;” and Jack gallantly stuck the faded posy in
his button-hole, while Kitty treasured up the hint so kindly given for
future use.
If a clock with great want of tact hadn’t insisted on telling them that
it was getting late, Kitty never would have got home, for both the young
people felt inclined to loiter about arm in arm through the sweet summer
night forever. Jack had meant to say something before she went, and was
immensely surprised to find the chance lost for the present. He wanted
to go home with her and free his mind; but a neighborly old gentleman
having been engaged as escort, there would have been very little
satisfaction in a travelling trio; so he gave it up. He was very silent
as they walked to the station with Dr. Dodd trudging behind them. Kitty
thought he was tired, perhaps glad to be rid of her, and meekly accepted
her fate. But as the train approached, she gave his hand an impulsive
squeeze, and said very gratefully,—
“Jack, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness to your silly little
cousin; but I never shall forget it, and if I ever can return it in any
way, I will with all my heart.”
Jack looked down at the young face almost pathetic now with weariness,
humility, and pain, yet very sweet, with that new shyness in the loving
eyes, and, stooping suddenly, he kissed it, whispering in a tone that
made the girl’s heart flutter,—
“I’ll tell you how you may return it ‘with all your heart,’ by and by.
Good-night, my Kitty.”
“Have you had a good time, dear?” asked Pris, as her sister appeared an
hour later.
“Don’t I look as if I had?” and, throwing off her wraps, Kitty revolved
slowly before her that she might behold every portion of the wreck. “My
gown is all dust, crumple, and rags, my bonnet perfectly limp and flat,
and my gloves are ruined; I’ve broken Lizzie’s parasol, made a spectacle
of myself, and wasted money, time, and temper; yet my Class Day isn’t a
failure, for Jack is the dearest boy in the world, and I’m very, very
happy!”
Pris looked at her a minute, then opened her arms without a word, and
Kitty forgot all her little troubles in one great joy.
When Miss Smith and Miss Jones called a few days after to tell her that
Mr. Fletcher was going abroad, the amiable creatures were entirely
routed by finding Jack there in a most unmistakable situation. He
blandly wished Horace “bon voyage,” and regretted that he wouldn’t be
there to the wedding in October. Kitty devoted herself to blushing
beautifully, and darning many rents in a short daisy muslin skirt,
“which I intend to wear a great deal, because Jack likes it, and so do
I,” she said, with a demure look at her lover, who laughed as if that
was the best joke of the season.
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