THE ARBOR DAY FESTIVAL
ARBOR DAY was the most beautiful day you ever saw. Not too warm, or too
cool, or too wet, or too dry, or too cloudy, or too bright—but just
perfect in every way. The festival was to be held both afternoon and
evening, and Miss Larkin told the children they might go at two o’clock,
when it opened, and stay until nine at night.
Of course, this meant they would eat their supper there, which was a
satisfactory arrangement to them all.
Marjorie and Delight had dresses just alike, of orange-colored
cheesecloth, bordered with green leaves. The leaves had been added,
because they were suggestive of trees, and also because they made the
dresses more becoming. Indeed, the orange color suited Marjorie’s dark
eyes and curls better than it did Delight’s fair hair and pink-and-white
complexion; but the decoration of green leaves made Delight look like a
sort of wood-nymph. The Maynard carriage took the two girls over first,
before Miss Larkin and her aids went, and Miss Merington welcomed them
warmly.
She had not desired their help in the arranging of her tree, so Marjorie
and Delight had not seen the festival before at all.
As they entered the door, they stopped, enchanted.
Surely, the old Town Hall had never before responded so nobly to
beautifying efforts. Across one end was a grape-vine, trained over a
rustic pergola.
Here, young ladies, garbed as Italian peasants, served such refreshments
as grape-juice, grape-sherbert, white grapes, grape-salad, grape-jelly,
and preserved grapes. The little tables looked very tempting, and though
the grape-vine and leaves were all artificial, the effect was very fine
indeed.
The girls laughed heartily at the next “tree,” for it was a pair-tree!
Suspended from its branches were _pairs_ of all sorts of things:
scissors, slippers, gloves, mittens, earrings, bracelets, cuffs—in
fact, everything that comes in pairs seemed to be there. This tree was
presided over by two young ladies who were twins, and as they were
dressed exactly alike, they made a most pleasing “pair.”
“Ho! look at that tall tree!” cried Marjorie, as they came to an affair
that looked like a flagpole with a lot of palm-leaf fans at its top.
“Don’t be disrespectful of my tree!” returned Flip Henderson, who was
assisting his mother at this very tree. “This is a Date Palm, and I
rigged it myself. Isn’t it fine?”
The tree was picturesque, though comical, and a vivid imagination
_could_ think that it resembled a date palm from the tropics.
“What do you sell?” asked Delight; “dates?”
“Yes,” replied Flip. “But not dates to eat. We have calendars, and
diaries, and memorandum blocks, and year-books of the best authors. Want
a few?”
“Not now,” said Marjorie; “I’ve only two dollars to spend, and I want to
see the other tables—trees, I mean—before I decide what I’ll buy.”
“And we must go on, and see the trees, so we can go to our own,” said
Delight.
Hand-in-hand, the two girls went round the room, looking at the novel
sights.
In a grove of Rubber Trees, many sorts of rubber goods were sold.
Under a beautiful tree, loaded with cherry-blossoms, Japanese maidens
dispensed tea, and sold fans and paper parasols.
The Cork Tree was most amusing. Corks dangled from its branches, and
stuck on the ends of its twigs. On its counter were sold bottles of
perfume, of ink, of shoe dressing, of mucilage, everything, in fact,
which could be corked in a bottle.
Also, there were some funny little curios and toys which had been
cleverly carved out of cork, and some grotesque dolls with cork faces.
Under the Pine Tree were many things of wood. Matches, skewers, and
kitchen implements, as well as picture frames, book-racks, and carved
wooden boxes. Not all of pinewood, perhaps, but much latitude was
allowed in this market. Here, too, were pillows of pretty silks, filled
with balsam of pine, and little trinkets made of pine cones or pine
needles.
A funny tree was the Weeping Willow. It was cleverly contrived, and
looked almost like a real willow tree. Beneath it was a sale of nothing
but handkerchiefs and onions!
The two merry girls in charge of this pretended to be weeping as they
sold their wares, and so funny were their lamentations that soon they
had no wares to sell.
The Beech Tree had all sorts of seashore goods—shells, coral, postcards
of watering places, little pails and shovels—all reminiscent of the
beach.
The Ash Tree was, of course, the stand for cigars and ash trays, or
other smokers’ utensils.
The candy was sold in a sugar-cane plantation, and refreshments were
served in a thicket of trees called the Peach Orchard, because the
pretty waitresses were said to be “Peaches!”
Altogether, it was a beautiful scene, and after a walk round it all,
Marjorie and Delight reported at Miss Merington’s Orange Tree.
This was one of the prettiest, for the tree was a real one, and large
enough to present a fine appearance.
It was loaded with orange blossoms and with the “oranges” that the girls
had made. There was also a crate of the paper oranges to sell from and,
too, there was a crate of real oranges to be sold.
Then all sorts of orangey things that were good to eat, and
orange-colored fancy articles beside.
Miss Merington had brought lovely dolls dressed in orange color,
beautiful silk college flags, and cushions representing the college that
sports that color, books bound in orange, and orange-colored fans and
scarfs. Miss Merington, herself, looked lovely in her orange gown, and
she told Marjorie and Delight that they were the most attractive things
under her tree.
Marjorie had had a brilliant idea for their tree, and she told Miss
Merington that she would attend to it all herself, and surprise her. The
idea was to serve orangeade.
She had brought from home her mother’s pretty little glass cups, and the
way she proposed to exhibit the orangeade was the novelty. With Thomas’
help she had taken a large cube of ice, and hollowed out the centre,
until it was a sort of square tub.
She had done this by heating a tin bread-pan very hot, and melting out
the inner portion of the ice.
Though she had never seen this done, and had only read about it in a
magazine, the experiment proved successful, and the ice receptacle was
like a large square tub of glass.
Thomas brought it over in triumph, and it was set in place on a gridiron
concealed by a bed of green leaves. These leaves also concealed a big
pan which was to catch the water as the ice melted from the warmth of
the room.
But the sides and bottom of the ice bowl were about four inches thick,
so it was bound to last for several hours, anyway.
“How are you getting on?” said King, coming along, as Midget arranged
the glasses prettily on a tray.
“Fine! The ice well is great! See how nice it looks. Thomas has gone
back home for the orangeade. Ellen made it, so it’s sure to be good.”
“You’re all right, Mopsy. Delight, you look fine. Now I must go back to
my Evergreen Tree. Come and see us when you can. We look pretty
gorgeous, I can tell you.”
King went off, and then Thomas came with the orangeade in a large pail.
“Put in about half, Thomas,” said Midget, “and set the rest away till
later.”
“Yes, Miss Marjorie,” he said, and Miss Merington looked on approvingly
as the rich yellow liquid was poured into the clear ice tank. Ellen had
added thin slices of orange, and some red cherries, and the compound
looked most delectable.
Miss Merington showed Thomas where to store the rest of the orangeade,
and then bade him look round the room and enjoy the gay scene.
The customers had begun to come now, and Marjorie and Delight were kept
busy selling oranges to children who were eager to see what treasures
would come out of the yellow prize packages they bought.
Great laughter ensued when a boy found he had purchased a doll, or a
girl was rewarded with a tin whistle, but surprises like these were
expected, and were part of the game.
Finally, some ladies and gentlemen sauntered by, and paused by
Marjorie’s table, saying they would take orangeade.
Taking up the silver soup ladle which she had brought for that purpose,
Midget turned to the ice well to fill the glasses.
To her amazement, there was not a drop of orangeade in the well.
She could not believe her eyes! Had Delight sold it all when she wasn’t
looking? No, the dainty glasses that she had set on the tray herself had
not been used. Where could the orangeade be? She had seen Thomas pour it
in, not twenty minutes before, and now it was all gone! A few bits of
orange and a few cherries lay in the bottom of the big ice bowl, but not
enough orangeade to fill one glass.
Greatly embarrassed, Marjorie turned to her would-be customers, and
asked them to wait a moment.
“Well, you are doing a rushing business,” remarked the young man who had
ordered the orangeade. “Used up all that tank full already! Why, it must
hold two gallons.”
Marjorie beckoned across the room for King to come to her assistance.
“The orangeade’s all gone,” she whispered to him. “Won’t you get the
pail from that cupboard where Thomas put it, and pour out some more?”
“Sure,” said her brother; “how’d you sell it so quick?”
“I didn’t sell it; I don’t know who did. But never mind, get some
more—quick.”
“All right,” said King, and in a few moments he brought the big pail and
poured half its contents into the ice-bowl.
Meantime, Marjorie, turning to the guests, asked them to be patient a
moment, and then she would serve them.
As King walked away with the pail, Midge again took up her ladle.
“Now,” she said, smiling prettily, “I’ll give you some orangeade.”
“It’s sure to be good and cold, served from that ice punch-bowl,” said
the young man.
“Yes, indeed,” returned Marjorie, her voice betokening her pride in her
clever achievement.
She turned to the ice-bowl, and there was not a drop of orangeade in it!
“King is playing a joke on me,” she thought to herself, and her cheeks
flushed with indignation that he should be guilty of such an ill-timed
jest.
“King,” she called, for he was crossing the room, “bring back that
pail!”
“Whew!” he cried, turning back, “not sold out again!”
“You didn’t put any in here!”
“I did so; I poured in three or four quarts.”
“Well, where is it? This ice thing is empty.”
“What! Why, so it is! Now, watch, I’ll pour in some more.”
He emptied the pail into the ice-bowl, and they both watched what
happened. It disappeared almost as fast as he had poured it in.
“The old thing leaks!” cried King, going off into a burst of laughter.
“Oh, Mopsy, Midget, you’re a smart one!”
“Well, what makes it leak? Do you suppose anybody bored a hole in the
ice?”
“No; they didn’t have to! It’s full of holes; look at it!”
Sure enough, the ice that formed the bottom of the receptacle showed a
dozen or more good-sized holes. Though the slab was fully four inches
thick, the holes went straight through, as if driven there with an
auger.
The bits of orange and the cherries remained, but the orangeade had
drained right through, and was now in the pan below that had been placed
there to catch the melting ice.
“Oh, Mops! what a joke!” cried King, still doubled up with laughter.
“But who put the holes there? How did they get there?” persisted
Marjorie.
“Why, ice is often that way. I s’pose air makes the holes; it bubbles up
as the ice freezes. Sometimes there are so many holes that it’s as
porous as a sponge. And every time we pour the stuff in, it goes right
through.”
Much crestfallen, Marjorie turned again to the people who were patiently
waiting for their order to be served.
“I’m sorry,” she said, blushing rosily, “but I can’t give you
orangeade—because I haven’t any left.”
“What, what!” cried the young man, teasingly; “why, I just saw several
quarts poured into that ice washtub there!”
“Yes,” said Marjorie, “but it poured itself out again. You see, that’s a
beautiful ice-tub—but it leaks.”
“It needs the plumber,” said King, coming to his sister’s rescue. “Just
a leak in the pipes, somewhere. Sorry not to give you any orangeade, but
we can only offer you these delicious paper oranges instead.”
The young man laughed, and bought paper oranges for his party instead of
the refreshment they had expected.
They didn’t care, of course, for buyers at a bazaar are always
good-natured, but Marjorie was greatly chagrined that her clever
contrivance had failed.
“No matter,” said Miss Merington, who had been occupied on the other
side of the tree, and only heard about the mishap after it was all over;
“no matter; it was a good enough scheme, but it fell through.”
“It was good orangeade, but it fell through, too,” laughed King. “Now I
must skip. Don’t you care, Midget, sell oranges and look happy.”
This was good advice, and Midget acted on it.
“I’m glad it didn’t work right,” said Delight; “for it’s messy stuff,
anyway. I like better to sell paper things—they aren’t sticky.”
Delight had a rooted aversion to any thing sticky or untidy, but
Marjorie was not so “fussy particular,” as she phrased it. However,
there were plenty of other things to sell, so Miss Merington called an
attendant to take away the ice affair, as it was only in the way. Sure
enough, as he lifted off the heavy block of ice, in the tub below could
be seen all of Ellen’s carefully prepared orangeade.
“It does seem a pity,” said Midget, “but, as you say, Delight, it is
sticky, and I’m glad to get it out of the way. Now, I’m going over to
see King’s tree.”
Of course, Marjorie and Delight couldn’t both leave their Orange Tree at
once, so they took turns in going out on little excursions round the
room.
Miss Larkin’s tree was a beautiful, finely-shaped evergreen, and would
have made a good Christmas tree. But it had no resemblance to a
Christmas tree, for it was hung with green fans, parasols, aprons, motor
veils, bags, sofa-pillows, and even some green hats, that a generous
milliner had donated. Miss Larkin, herself, looking very fine in her
green silk gown, was smiling and beaming at her customers, and
incidentally making a great many sales.
King and Kitty were laughing over the joke of Midget’s orangeade, but
Miss Larkin regretted that so much money had been lost from the funds.
“Oh, pshaw, Larky,” said King; “it wouldn’t have amounted to very much,
anyway.”
“And, perhaps, if we had sold it, we might have broken some of those
pretty glass cups of Mother’s,” said Midget, who always found the bright
side.
“Well, then I’m glad it leaked away,” said Kitty; “for I was afraid all
the time you’d break those, and Mother’s awfully fond of them.”
“I know it,” said Mopsy. “I’m going to tell her I took them, but I’ll
never do it again.”