I NEVER DID REGARD PICNICS AS PLEASANT AFFAIRS“I NEVER DID REGARD PICNICS AS PLEASANT AFFAIRS,” GASPED MISS ANSTICE.
“I won't touch the old thing,” declared Alexia, in a towering passion, and forgetting it was not one of the girls. “And I may be heedless, but Icanbe polite,” and she threw down the napkins, and turned her back on the whole thing.
“Alexia!” cried Polly, turning very pale; and, rushing up to her, she bore her away under the trees. “Why, Alexia Rhys, you've talked awfully to Miss Anstice—just think, the sister of our Miss Salisbury!”
“Was that old thing a Salisbury?” asked Alexia, quite unmoved. “I thought it was a rude creature that didn't know what it was to have good manners.”
“Alexia, Alexia!” mourned Polly, and for the first time in Alexia's remembrance wringing her hands, “to think you should do such a thing!”
Alexia, seeing Polly wring her hands, felt quite aghast at herself. “Polly, don't do that,” she begged.
“Oh, I can't help it.” And Polly's tears fell fast.
Alexia gave her one look, as she stood there quite still and pale, unable to stop the tears racing over her cheeks, turned, and fled with long steps back to the crowd of girls surrounding poor MissAnstice, Miss Salisbury herself wiping the linen gown with an old napkin in her deft fingers.
“I beg your pardon,” cried Alexia gustily, and plunging up unsteadily. “I was bad to say such things.”
“You were, indeed,” assented Miss Anstice tartly. “Sister, that is quite enough; the gown cannot possibly be made any better with your incessant rubbing.”
Miss Salisbury gave a sigh, and got up from her knees, and put down the napkin. Then she looked at Alexia. “She is very sorry, sister,” she said gently. “I am sure Alexia regrets exceedingly her hasty speech.”
“Hasty?” repeated Miss Anstice, with acrimony, “it was quite impertinent; and I cannot remember when one of our young ladies has done such a thing.”
All the blood in Alexia's body seemed to go to her sallow cheeks when she heard that. That she should be the first and only Salisbury girl to be so bad, quite overcame her, and she looked around for Polly Pepper to help her out. And Polly, who had followed her up to the group, begged, “Do, dear Miss Anstice, forgive her.” And so did all the girls, even those who did notlike Alexia one bit, feeling sorry for her now. Miss Anstice relented enough to say, “Well, we will say no more about it; I dare say you did not intend to be impertinent.” And then they all sat down again, and everybody tried to be as gay as possible while the feast went on.
And by the time they sang the “Salisbury School Songs,”—for they had several very fine ones, that the different classes had composed,—there was such a tone of good humor prevailing, everybody getting so very jolly, that no one looking on would have supposed for a moment that a single unpleasant note had been struck. And Miss Anstice tried not to look at her gown; and Miss Salisbury had a pretty pink tinge in her cheeks, and her eyes were blue and serene, without the tired look that often came into them.
“Now for the story—oh, that is the best of all!” exclaimed Polly Pepper, when at last, protesting that they couldn't eat another morsel, they all got up from the feast, leaving it to the maids.
“Isn't it!” echoed the girls. “Oh, dear Miss Salisbury, Iamso glad it is time for you to tell it.” All of which pleased Miss Salisbury very much indeed, for it was the custom at this annualfestival to wind up the afternoon with a story by the principal, when all the girls would gather at her feet to listen to it, as she sat in state in her stone chair.
“Is it?” she cried, the pink tinge on her cheek getting deeper. “Well, do you know, I think I enjoy, as much as my girls, the telling of this annual story.”
“Oh, you can't enjoy itas much,” said one impulsive young voice.
Miss Salisbury smiled indulgently at her. “Well, now, if you are ready, girls, I will begin.”
“Oh, yes, we are—we are,” the bright groups, scattered on the grass at her feet, declared.
“To-day I thought I would tell you of my school days when I was as young as you,” began Miss Salisbury.
“Oh—oh!”
“Miss Salisbury, I just love you for that!” exclaimed the impulsive girl, and jumping out of her seat, she ran around the groups to the stone chair. “I do, Miss Salisbury, for I did so want to hear all about when you were a schoolgirl.”
“Well, go back to your place, Fanny, and you shall hear a little of my school life,” said Miss Salisbury gently.
“No—no; the whole of it,” begged Fanny earnestly, going slowly back.
“My dear child, I could not possibly tell you the whole,” said Miss Salisbury, smiling; “it must be one little picture of my school days.”
“Do sit down, Fanny,” cried one of the other girls impatiently; “you are hindering it all.”
So Fanny flew back to her place, and Miss Salisbury without any more interruptions, began:
“You see, girls, you must know to begin with, that our father—sister's and mine—was a clergyman in a small country parish; and as there were a great many mouths to feed, and young, growing minds to feed as well, besides ours, why there was a great deal of considering as to ways and means constantly going on at the parsonage. Well, as I was the eldest, of course the question came first, what to do with Amelia.”
“Were you Amelia?” asked Fanny.
“Yes. Well, after talking it over a great deal,—and I suspect many sleepless nights spent by my good father and mother,—it was at last decided that I should be sent to boarding school; for I forgot to tell you, I had finished at the academy.”
“Yes; sister was very smart,” broke in MissAnstice proudly—“she won't tell you that; so I must.”
“Oh sister, sister,” protested Miss Salisbury.
“Yes, she excelled all the boys and girls.”
“Did they have boys at that school?” interrupted Philena, in amazement. “Oh, how very nice, Miss Salisbury!”
“I should just love to go to school with boys,” declared ever so many of the girls ecstatically.
“Why don't you take boys at our school, Miss Salisbury?” asked Silvia longingly.
Miss Anstice looked quite horrified at the very idea; but Miss Salisbury laughed. “It is not the custom now, my dear, in private schools. In my day—you must remember that was a long time ago—there were academies where girls and boys attended what would be called a high school now.”
“Oh!”
“And I went to one in the next town until it was thought best for me to be sent to boarding school.”
“And she was very smart; she took all the prizes at the academy, and the principal said—” Miss Anstice was herself brought up quickly by her sister.
“If you interrupt so much, I never shall finish my story, Anstice,” she said.
“I want the girls to understand this,” said Miss Anstice with decision. “The principal said she was the best educated scholar he had ever seen graduated from Hilltop Academy.”
“Well, now if you have finished,” said Miss Salisbury, laughing, “I will proceed. So I was despatched by my father to a town about thirty miles away, to a boarding school kept by the widow of a clergyman who had been a college classmate. Well, I was sorry to leave all my young brothers and sisters, you may be sure, while my mother—girls, I haven't even now forgotten the pang it cost me to kiss my mother good-bye.”
Miss Salisbury stopped suddenly, and let her gaze wander off to the waving tree-tops; and Miss Anstice fell into a revery that kept her face turned away.
“But it was the only way I could get an education; and you know I could not be fitted for a teacher, which was to be my life work, unless I went; so I stifled all those dreadful feelings which anticipated my homesickness, and pretty soon I found myself in the boarding school.”
“How many scholars were there, Miss Salisbury?” asked Laura Page, who was very exact.
“Fifteen girls,” said Miss Salisbury.
“Oh dear me, what a little bit of a school!” exclaimed one girl.
“The schools were not as large in those days,” said Miss Salisbury. “You must keep in mind the great difference between that time and this, my dear. Well, and when I was once there, I had quite enough to do to keep me from being homesick, I can assure you, through the day; because, in addition to lessons, there was the sewing hour.”
“Sewing? Oh my goodness me!” exclaimed Alexia. “You didn't have to sew at that school, did you, Miss Salisbury?”
“I surely did,” replied Miss Salisbury, “and very glad I have been, Alexia, that I learned so much in that sewing hour. I have seriously thought, sister and I, of introducing the plan into our school.”
“Oh, don't, Miss Salisbury,” screamed the girls. “Ple—ase don't make us sew.” Some of them jumped to their feet in distress.
“I shall die,” declared Alexia tragically, “if we have to sew.”
There was such a general gloom settled over the entire party that Miss Salisbury hastened to say, “I don't think, girls, we can do it, because something else equally important would have to be given up to make the time.” At which the faces brightened up.
“Well, I was only to stay at this school a year,” went on Miss Salisbury, “because, you see, it was as much as my father could do to pay for that time; so it was necessary to use every moment to advantage. So I studied pretty hard; and I presume this is one reason why the incident I am going to tell you about was of such a nature; for I was over-tired, though that should be no excuse,” she added hastily.
“Oh sister,” said Miss Anstice nervously, “don't tell them that story. I wouldn't.”
“It may help them, to have a leaf out of another young person's life, Anstice,” said Miss Salisbury, gravely.
“Well, but—”
“And so, every time when I thought I must give up and go home, I was so hungry to see my father and mother, and the little ones—”
“Was Miss Anstice one of the little ones?” asked Fanny, with a curious look at the crow's-feet and faded eyes of the younger Miss Salisbury.
“Yes, she was: there were two boys came in between; then Anstice, then Jane, Harriett, Lemuel, and the baby.”
“Oh my!” gasped Alexia, tumbling over into Polly Pepper's lap.
“Eight of us; so you see, it would never do for the one who was having so much money spent upon her, to waste a single penny of it. When I once got to teaching, I was to pay it all back.”
“And did you—did you?” demanded curious Fanny.
“Did she?—oh, girls!” It was Miss Anstice who almost gasped this, making every girl turn around.
“Never mind,” Miss Salisbury telegraphed over their heads, to “sister,” which kept her silent. But she meant to tell sometime.
Polly Pepper, all this time, hadn't moved, but sat with hands folded in her lap. What if she had given up and flown home to Mamsie and the little brown house before Mr. King discovered her homesickness and brought Phronsie! Supposing she hadn't gone in the old stagecoach that day when she first left Badgertown to visit in Jasper's home! Just supposing it! She turnedquite pale, and held her breath, while Miss Salisbury proceeded.
“And now comes the incident that occurred during that boarding-school year, that I have intended for some time to tell you girls, because it may perhaps help you in some experience where you will need the very quality that I lacked on that occasion.”
“Oh sister!” expostulated Miss Anstice.
“It was a midwinter day, cold and clear and piercing.” Miss Salisbury shivered a bit, and drew the shawl put across the back of her stone seat, closer around her. “Mrs. Ferguson—that was the name of the principal—had given the girls a holiday to take them to a neighboring town; there was to be a concert, I remember, and some other treats; and the scholars were, as you would say, 'perfectly wild to go,'” and she smiled indulgently at her rapt audience. “Well, I was not going.”
“Oh Miss Salisbury!” exclaimed Amy Garrett in sorrow, as if the disappointment were not forty years in the background.
“No. I decided it was not best for me to take the money, although my father had written me that I could, when the holiday had been plannedsome time before. And besides, I thought I could do some extra studying ahead while the girls were away. Understand, I didn't really think of doing wrong then; although afterward I did the wrong thing.”
“Sister!” reproved Miss Anstice. She could not sit still now, but got out of her stone chair, and paced up and down.
“No; I did not dream that in a little while after the party had started, I should be so sorely tempted, and the idea would enter my head to do the wrong thing. But so it was. I was studying, I remember, my philosophy lesson for some days ahead, when suddenly, as plainly as if letters of light were written down the page, it flashed upon my mind, 'Why don't I go home to-day? I can get back to-night, and no one will know it; at least, not until I am back again, and no harm done.' And without waiting to think it out, I clapped to my book, tossed it on the table, and ran to get my poor little purse out of the bureau drawer.”
The girls, in their eagerness not to lose a word, crowded close to Miss Salisbury's knees, forgetting that she wasn't a girl with them.
“I had quite enough money, I could see, totake me home and back on the cars, and by the stage.”
“The stage?” repeated Alexia faintly.
“Yes; you must remember that this time of which I am telling you was many, many years back. Besides, in some country places, it is still the only mode of conveyance used.”
Polly Pepper drew a long breath. Dear old Badgertown, and Mr. Tisbett's stage. She could see it now, as it looked when the Five Little Peppers would run to the windows of the little brown house to watch it go lumbering by, and to hear the old stage-driver crack his whip in greeting!
“The housekeeper had a day off, to go to her daughter's, so that helped my plan along,” Miss Salisbury was saying. “Well would it have been for me if the conditions had been less easy. But I must hasten. I have told you that I did not pause to think; that was my trouble in those days: I acted on impulse often, as schoolgirls are apt perhaps to do, and so I was not ready to stand this sudden temptation. I tied on my bonnet, gathered up my little purse tightly in my hand; and although the day was cold, the sun was shining brightly, and my heart was so full of hope and anticipation that I scarcely thought ofwhat I was doing, as I took a thin little jacket instead of the warm cloak my mother had made me for winter wear. I hurried out of the house, when there was no one to notice me, for the maids were careless in the housekeeper's absence, and had slipped off for the moment—at any rate, they said afterward they never saw me;—so off I went.
“I caught the eight o'clock train just in time; which I considered most fortunate. How often afterward did I wish I had missed it! And reasoning within myself as the wheels bore me away, that it was perfectly right to spend the money to go home, for my father had been quite willing for me to take the treat with Mrs. Ferguson and the others, I settled back in my seat, and tried not to feel strange at travelling alone.”
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed the girls, huddling up closer to Miss Salisbury's knees. Miss Anstice paced back and forth; it was too late to stop the story now, and her nervousness could only be walked off.
“But I noticed the farther I got from the boarding school, little doubts would come creeping into my mind,—first, was it very wise for me to have set out in this way? then, was it right?And suddenly in a flash, it struck me that I was doing a very wrong thing, and that, if my father and my mother knew it, they would be greatly distressed. And I would have given worlds, if I had possessed them, to be back at Mrs. Ferguson's, studying my philosophy lesson. And I laid my head on the back of the seat before me, and cried as hard as I could.”
Amy sniffed into her handkerchief, and two or three other girls coughed as if they had taken cold, while no one looked into her neighbor's face.
“And a wild idea crossed my mind once, of rushing up to the conductor and telling him of my trouble, to ask him if I couldn't get off at the next station and go back; but a minute's reflection told me that this was foolish. There was only the late afternoon train to take me to the school. I had started, and must go on.”
A long sigh went through the group. Miss Anstice seemed to have it communicated to her, for she quickened her pace nervously.
“At last, after what seemed an age to me, though it wasn't really but half an hour since we started, I made up my mind to bear it as well as I could; father and mother would forgive me,I was sure, and would make Mrs. Ferguson overlook it—when I glanced out of the car window. Little flakes of snow were falling fast. It struck dismay to my heart. If it kept on like this,—and after watching it for some moments, I had no reason to expect otherwise, for it was of that fine, dry quality that seems destined to last,—I should not be able to get back to school that afternoon. Oh dear me! And now I began to open my heart to all sorts of fears: the train might be delayed, the stagecoach slow in getting through to Cherryfield. By this time I was in a fine state of nerves, and did not dare to think further.”
One of the girls stole her hand softly up to lay it on that of the principal, forgetting that she had never before dared to do such a thing in all her life. Miss Salisbury smiled, and closed it within her own.
There was a smothered chorus of “Oh dears!”
“I sat there, my dears, in a misery that saw nothing of the beauty of that storm, knew nothing, heard nothing, except the occasional ejaculations and remarks of the passengers, such as, 'It's going to be the worst storm of the year,' and 'It's come to stay.'
“Suddenly, without a bit of warning, there was a bumping noise, then the train dragged slowly on, then stopped. All the passengers jumped up, except myself. I was too miserable to stir, for I knew now that I was to pay finely for my wrong-doing in leaving the school without permission.”
“Oh—oh!” the girls gave a little scream.
“'What is it—what is it?' the passengers one and all cried, and there was great rushing to the doors, and hopping outside to ascertain the trouble. I never knew, for I didn't care to ask. It was enough for me that something had broken, and the train had stopped; to start again no one could tell when.”
The sympathy and excitement now were intense. One girl sniffed out from behind her handkerchief, “I—I should have—thought you would—have died—Miss Salisbury.”
“Ah!” said Miss Salisbury, with a sigh, “you will find, Helen, as you grow older, that the only thing you can do to repair in any way the mischief you have done, is to keep yourself well under control, and endure the penalty without wasting time on your suffering. So I just made up my mind now to this; and I sat up straight, determined not to give way, whatever happened.
“It was very hard when the impatient passengers would come back into the car to ask each other, 'How soon do you suppose we will get to Mayville?' That was where I was to take the stage.
“'Not till night, if we don't start,' one would answer, trying to be facetious; but I would torture myself into believing it. At last the conductor came through, and he met a storm of inquiries, all asking the same question, 'How soon will we get to Mayville?'
“It seemed to me that he was perfectly heartless in tone and manner, as he pulled out his watch to consult it. I can never see a big silver watch to this day, girls, without a shiver.”
The “Salisbury girls” shivered in sympathy, and tried to creep up closer to her.
“Well, the conductor went on to say, that there was no telling,—the railroad officials never commit themselves, you know,—they had telegraphed back to town for another engine (he didn't mention that, after that, we should be sidetracked to allow other trains their right of way), and as soon as they could, why, they would move. Then he proceeded to move himself down the aisle in great dignity. Well, mydears, you must remember that this all happened long years ago, when accidents to the trains were very slowly made good. We didn't get into Mayville until twelve o'clock. If everything had gone as it should, we ought to have reached there three hours before.”
“Oh my goodness me!” exploded Alexia.
“By this time, the snow had piled up fast. What promised to be a heavy storm had become a reality, and it was whirling and drifting dreadfully. You must remember that I had on my little thin jacket, instead—”
“Oh Miss Salisbury!” screamed several girls, “I forgot that.”
“Don't tell any more,” sobbed another—“don't, Miss Salisbury.”
“I want you to hear this story,” said Miss Salisbury quietly. “Remember, I did it all myself. And the saddest part of it is what I made others suffer; not my own distress.”
“Sister, if you onlywon'tproceed!” Miss Anstice abruptly leaned over the outer fringe of girls.
“I am getting on to the end,” said Miss Salisbury, with a smile. “Well, girls, I won't prolong the misery for you. I climbed into that stage, it seemed to me, more dead than alive.The old stage-driver, showing as much of his face as his big fur cap drawn well over his ears would allow, looked at me compassionately.
“'Sakes alive!' I can hear him now. 'Hain't your folks no sense to let a young thing come out in that way?'
“I was so stiff, all I could think of was, that I had turned into an icicle, and that I was liable to break at any minute. But I couldn't let that criticism pass.
“'They—they didn't let me—I've come from school,' I stammered.
“He looked at me curiously, got up from his seat, opened a box under it, and twitched out a big cape, moth-eaten, and well-worn otherwise; but oh, girls, I never loved anything so much in all my life as that horrible old article, for it saved my life.”
A long-drawn breath went around the circle.
“'Here, you just get into this as soon as the next one,' said the stage-driver gruffly, handing it over to me where I sat on the middle seat. I needed no command, but fairly huddled myself within it, wrapping it around and around me. And then I knew by the time it took to warm me up, how very cold I had been.
“And every few minutes of the toilsome journey, for we had to proceed very slowly, the stage-driver would look back over his shoulder to say, 'Be you gittin' any warmer now?' And I would say, 'Yes, thank you, a little.'
“And finally he asked suddenly, 'Do your folks know you're comin'?' And I answered, 'No,' and I hoped he hadn't heard, and I pulled the cape up higher around my face, I was so ashamed. But he had heard, for he whistled; and oh, girls, that made my head sink lower yet. Oh my dears, the shame of wrong-doing is so terrible to bear!
“Well, after a while we got into Cherryfield, along about half-past three o'clock.”
“Oh dear!” exclaimed the young voices.
“I could just distinguish our church spire amid the whirling snow; and then a panic seized me. I must get down at some spot where I would not be recognized, for oh, I did not want any one to tell that old stage-driver who I was, and thus bring discredit upon my father, the clergyman, for having a daughter who had come away from school without permission. So I mumbled out that I was to stop at the Four Corners: that was a short distance from the centre of the village, the usual stopping place.
“One of the passengers—for I didn't think it was necessary to prolong the story to describe the two women who occupied the back seat—leaned forward and said, 'I hope, Mr. Cheesewell, you ain't goin' to let that girl get out, half froze as she's been, in this snowstorm. You'd ought to go out o' your beat, and carry her home.'
“'Oh, no—no,' I cried in terror, unwinding myself from the big cape and preparing to descend.
“'Stop there!' roared Mr. Cheesewell at me. 'Did ye s'pose I'd desert that child?' he said to the two women. 'I'd take her home, ef I knew where in creation 'twas.'
“'She lives at the parsonage—she's th' minister's daughter,' said one of the women quietly.
“I sank back in my seat—oh, girls, the bitterness of that moment!—and as well as I could for the gathering mist in my eyes, and the blinding storm without, realized the approach to my home. But what a home-coming!
“I managed to hand back the big cape, and to thank Mr. Cheesewell, then stumbled up the little pathway to the parsonage door, feelingevery step a misery, with all those eyes watching me; and lifting the latch, I was at home!
“Then I fell flat in the entry, and knew nothing more till I found myself in my own bed, with my mother's face above me; and beyond her, there was father.”
Every girl was sobbing now. No one saw Miss Anstice, with the tears raining down her cheeks at the memory that the beautiful prosperity of all these later years could not blot out.
“Girls, if my life was saved in the first place by that old cape, it was saved again by one person.”
“Your mother,” gasped Polly Pepper, with wet, shining eyes.
“No; my mother had gone to a sick parishioner's, and father was with her. There was no one but the children at home; the bigger boys were away. I owe my life really to my sister Anstice.”
“Don't!” begged Miss Anstice hoarsely, and trying to shrink away. The circle of girls whirled around to see her clasping her slender hands tightly together, while she kept her face turned aside.
“Oh girls,” cried Miss Salisbury, with suddenenergy, “if you could only understand what that sister of mine did for me! I never can tell you. She kept back her own fright, as the small children were so scared when they found me lying there in the entry, for they had all been in the woodshed picking up some kindlings, and didn't hear me come in. And she thought at first I was dead, but she worked over me just as she thought mother would. You see we hadn't any near neighbors, so she couldn't call any one. And at last she piled me all over with blankets just where I lay, for she couldn't lift me, of course, and tucked me in tightly; and telling the children not to cry, but to watch me, she ran a mile, or floundered rather—for the snow was now so deep—to the doctor's house.”
“Oh, that was fine!” cried Polly Pepper, with kindling eyes, and turning her flushed face with pride on Miss Anstice. When Miss Salisbury saw that, a happy smile spread over her face, and she beamed on Polly.
“And then, you know the rest; for of course, when I came to myself, the doctor had patched me up. And once within my father's arms, with mother holding my hand—why, I was forgiven.”
Miss Salisbury paused, and glanced off over the young heads, not trusting herself to speak.
“And how did they know at the school where you were?” Fanny broke in impulsively.
“Father telegraphed Mrs. Ferguson; and luckily for me, she and her party were delayed by the storm in returning to the school, so the message was handed to her as she left the railroad station. Otherwise, my absence would have plunged her in terrible distress.”
“Oh, well, it all came out rightly after all.” Louisa Frink dropped her handkerchief in her lap, and gave a little laugh.
“Came out rightly!” repeated Miss Salisbury sternly, and turning such a glance on Louisa that she wilted at once. “Yes, if you can forget that for days the doctor was working to keep me from brain fever; that it took much of my father's hard-earned savings to pay him; that it kept me from school, and lost me the marks I had almost gained; that, worst of all, it added lines of care and distress to the faces of my parents; and that my sister who saved me, barely escaped a long fit of sickness from her exposure.”
“Don't, sister, don't,” begged Miss Anstice.
“Came out rightly?Girls, nothing can evercome out rightly, unless the steps leading up to the end are right.”
“Ma'am,”—Mr. Kimball suddenly appeared above the fringe of girls surrounding Miss Salisbury,—“there's a storm brewin'; it looks as if 'twas comin' to stay. I'm all hitched up, 'n' I give ye my 'pinion that we'd better be movin'.”
With that, everybody hopped up, for Mr. Kimball's “'pinion” was law in such a case. The picnic party was hastily packed into the barges,—Polly carrying the little green botany case with the ferns for Phronsie's garden carefully on her lap,—and with many backward glances for the dear Glen, off they went, as fast as the horses could swing along.
Top
But drive as they might, Mr. Kimball and his assistants, they couldn't beat that storm that was brewing. It came up rather slowly, to be sure, at first, but very persistently. Evidently the old stage-driver was right. It was “coming to stay.”
“Ye see, ma'am, ef we hadn't started when we did, like enough we couldn't a got home to-night,” he vouchsafed over his shoulder to Miss Salisbury, as they rattled on.
“Dear me!” she exclaimed at thought of her brood. Those young things were having the best of times. It was “wildly exciting,” as Clem Forsythe said, to be packed in; those on the end seats huddling away from the rain as much as possible, under cover of the curtains buttoned down fast. And hilarity ran high. They sang songs; never quite finishing one, but running shrilly off to others, which were produced on several different keys maybe, according to the mood of the singers.And as every girl wanted to sing her favorite song, there were sometimes various compositions being produced in different quarters of the big stage, till no one particular melody could be said to have the right of way. And Miss Salisbury sat in the midst of the babel, and smiled as much as her anxiety would allow, at the merriment. And as it was in this stage, so the other stages were counterparts. And the gay tunes and merry laughter floated back all along the cavalcade, mingling harmoniously with the rainfall.
Suddenly an awful clap of thunder reverberated in the sky. The songs ended in squeals of dismay, and the laughter died away.
“Oh—oh—we're going to have a thunder storm!” screamed more than one girl, huddling up closer to her next neighbor, to clutch her frantically.
“Oh, I'm so afraid of the thunder!” screamed Amy Garrett.
“You goose, it won't hurt you.” Lucy Bennett, whom Amy had crouched against, gave her a little push.
“It will. It will. My uncle was struck once,” said Amy, rebounding from the push to grasp Lucy frantically around the neck.
“You nearly choked me to death,” exclaimed Lucy, untwisting the nervous hands; “don't get so scared. Your uncle never was struck by the thunder, and we haven't had any lightning yet; so I wouldn't yell till we do.”
“Well, there it is now,” cried Amy, covering her eyes. And there it was now, to be sure, in a blinding flash; to be followed by deeper rolls of thunder, drowning the screams of the frightened girls, and the plunging of the horses that didn't like it much better.
Mr. Kimball peered out and squinted to the right and to the left through the blinding storm; then he turned his horses suddenly off from the road, into a narrow lane. “Oh, why do you?” began Miss Salisbury. But this remonstrance wouldn't have done any good had the old stage-driver heard it. At the end of the lane, he knew in a few moments they would all arrive at a big old fashioned mansion where shelter could not be refused them under such circumstances. Although,—and Mr. Kimball shook within himself at his temerity,—under any other conditions visitors would not be expected nor welcomed. For Mr. John Clemcy and his sister, Miss Ophelia, had never exhibited, since they settled down inthis quiet spot after leaving their English home many years ago, any apparent desire to make friends. They were quite sufficient for themselves; and what with driving about,—which they did in a big basket phaeton, or behind their solemn pair of black horses, and the still more solemn coachman, Isaac, also black,—and in the care of the large estate and the big brick mansion, they found ample occupation for their time and thoughts.
Up to this big red brick mansion now plunged Mr. Kimball with as much assurance as if he were not quaking dreadfully. And the other stages following suit, the sudden and unusual uproar brought two faces to the windows, and then to the door.
“May we all git out and go into your barn?” roared Mr. Kimball, peering at them from beneath his dripping hat.
There was an awful pause. Mr. Kimball clutched his old leather reins desperately; and Miss Salisbury, to whom had come faint rumors of the chosen isolation of the brother and sister, felt her heart sink woefully.
Mr. John Clemcy stepped out,—slender, tall, with white hair and beard, both closely cropped.He had a pale, aristocratic face, and a pair of singularly stern eyes, which he now bent upon the old stage-driver.
“Brother,” remonstrated his sister,—she looked as much like him as possible in face and figure,—“do not venture out in this driving storm.”
“No,” said Mr. Clemcy, “I cannot consent to your going into my stable. I—”
“'Taint Christian,” blurted out the old stage-driver, “to leave human bein's out in sech a pickle.”
“No, I am aware of that,” said Mr. John Clemcy, without a change of countenance; “and so I invite you all to come into my house.” He threw wide the door. “My sister, Miss Clemcy.”
Miss Ophelia stepped forward and received them as if she had specially prepared for their visit, and with such an air of distinction that it completely overwhelmed Miss Salisbury, so that her own manners, always considered quite perfect by parents and friends of her pupils, paled considerably in contrast. It was quite like entering an old baronial hall, as the courtly, aristocratic host ushered them in; and the girls, not easily overawed by any change of circumstance,who had tumbled out laughingly from the stages despite Miss Salisbury's nervous endeavors to quiet them, were now instantly subdued.
“Isn't it solemn!” whispered Alexia, hanging to Polly Pepper, her pale eyes roving over the armor, and old family portraits almost completely covering the walls of the wide hall.
“Hush,” whispered Polly back again.
“But I can't breathe; oh, look at that old horror in the ruff. Polly—look!” she pinched the arm she grasped.
Meantime, although there were so many girls, the big red brick mansion seemed quite able to contain them hospitably, as Mr. and Miss Clemcy opened door after door into apartments that appeared to stretch out into greater space beyond. When at last the company had been distributed, Miss Salisbury found her voice. “I am pained to think of all the trouble we are giving you, Miss Clemcy.”
“Do not mention it.” Miss Ophelia put up a slender arm, from which fell off a deep flounce of rare old lace. The hand that thus came into view was perfect; and Miss Salisbury, who could recognize qualities of distinction, fell deeply in love with the evidences before her.
“Do you suppose she dresses up like that every day, Silvia?” whispered Lucy Bennett, in an awe-struck voice.
Silvia, in matters of dress never being willing to show surprise, preserved her composure. “That's nothing,” she managed to say indifferently: “it can't be real, such a lot of it, and around her neck too.”
Down into the old colonial kitchen, with its corner fireplace, wide and roomy, and bricked to the ceiling, Mr. Clemcy led the way. It was a big room, and not used for its original purpose; being filled with cabinets, and shelves on which reposed some of the most beautiful specimens of china and various relics and curiosities and mementos of travel, Miss Salisbury thought she had ever seen. And she had been about the world a good bit; having utilized many of her vacations, and once or twice taking a year off from her school work, for that purpose. And being singularly receptive to information, she was the best of listeners, in an intelligent way, as Mr. Clemcy moved about from object to object explaining his collection. He seemed perfectly absorbed in it, and, as the girls began to notice, in his listener as well.
Lucy Bennett was frightfully romantic, and jumped to conclusions at once. “Oh, do you suppose he will marry her?” she cried under her breath to Silvia, as the two kept together.
“Who? What are you talking about?” demanded Silvia, who was very matter-of-fact.
“Why, that old man—Mr. Whatever his name is,” whispered Lucy.
“Mr. Clemcy? do get names into your head, Lu,” said Silvia crossly, who wanted to look at things and not be interrupted every minute.
“I can't ever remember names, if I do hear them,” said Lucy, “so what is the use of my bothering to hear them, Sil?”
“Well, do keep still,” said Silvia, trying to twist away her arm, but Lucy clung to it.
“Well, I can't keep still either, for I'm mortally afraid he is—that old man, whatever you call him—going to marry her.”
“Who?” demanded Silvia sharply.
“Our Miss Salisbury, and—”
“Lu Bennett!” Silvia sat down in the first chair she could find. It was very fortunate that the other groups were so absorbed that nobody noticed them.
“Oh, you do say such perfectly silly things!”declared Silvia, smothering the peal of laughter that nearly escaped her.
“Well, it isn't silly,” cried Lucy in an angry whisper, “and it's going to happen, I know, and she'll give up our school to Miss Anstice, and come and live here. Oh my!” She looked ready to cry on the spot. “Look at them!”
Now, Silvia had called Lucy Bennett “silly” hundreds of times, but now as she looked at Mr. Clemcy and Miss Salisbury, she began to have an uneasy feeling at her heart. “I won't go to school to Miss Anstice,” she declared passionately. Then she began to plan immediately. “I'll get mother to let me go to boarding school.”
“And I'll go with you,” exclaimed Lucy radiantly. All this was in stage whispers, such a buzz going on around them that no one else could possibly catch a word. And so in just about two minutes, they had their immediate future all planned.
“Well, you better get up out of that chair,” said Lucy presently, and picking at Silvia's sleeve.
“I guess I'm not hurting the chair,” said Silvia, squinting sideways at the high, carved back. “They asked us in here,—at leasthedid.”
“Well, he didn't ask us to sit down,” said Lucy triumphantly.
“And if he's going to marry her,” said Silvia, in a convincing whisper, “I guess I can sit in all the chairs if I want to.”
“Hush!” warned Lucy, “here comes Miss Anstice.”
Miss Anstice, with her front breadth all stained with jelly cake and marmalade, was wandering around, quite subdued. It was pitiful to see how she always got into the thickest of the groups to hide her gown, trying to be sociable with the girls. But the girls not reciprocating, she was at last taken in tow by Miss Ophelia, who set about showing her some rare old china, as a special attention.
Now, Miss Anstice cared nothing for rare old china, or indeed, for relics or curiosities of any sort; but she was very meek on this occasion, and so she allowed herself to be led about from shelf to shelf; and though she said nothing, Miss Ophelia was so enchanted by her own words and memories, as she described in a fluent and loving manner their various claims to admiration, that she thought the younger Miss Salisbury quite a remarkable person.
“Show her the Lowestoft collection, sister,” called Mr. John Clemcy, from across the apartment, and breaking off from his animated discussion over an old Egyptian vase, in which Miss Salisbury had carried herself brilliantly.
“I will, Brother John,” assented Miss Clemcy, with great affability. “Now here,” and she opened the door to its cabinet, “is what will interest you greatly, I think.”
Suddenly, a crash as of breaking porcelain struck upon the ear. Every one in the old room jumped, save the persons who might be supposed to be the most interested—Mr. Clemcy and his sister. Their faces did not change.
Miss Salisbury deserted the Egyptian vase. “Who,” she demanded, hurrying to the centre of the apartment, a red spot on either cheek, “has done this?”
Mr. John Clemcy followed her. “Do not, I beg,” he said quietly, “notice it.”
“Notice it! after your extreme hospitality—oh! which one of my scholars can have forgotten herself enough to touch a thing?”
The groups parted a little, just enough to disclose a shrinking figure. It was Lily, whose curious fingers were clasped in distress.
“She is very young,” said Miss Clemcy softly, as Miss Salisbury detached her from the group, and passed into another room, crying as if her heart would break.
Mr. John Clemcy then came up to his sister and her visitor. “Your sister must not take it so to heart,” he said.
Miss Anstice was worn out by this time, what with her gown, and now by this terrible thing that would bring such discredit upon their school; and besides, it might take ever so much from their savings to replace, for Lily was poor, and was a connection, so they perhaps would have to help her out. She therefore could find no words at her command, except, “Oh dear me!” and raised her poor eyes.
Mr. John Clemcy searched her face intently, and actually smiled to reassure her. She thought he was looking at her gown; so she mumbled faintly, to draw off his attention, “I am afraid it was very valuable.”
He didn't tell her it was one of the oldest bits in his collection; but while Miss Clemcy slipped off, and quietly picked up every piece of the broken treasure, he turned the conversation, and talked rapidly and charmingly upon something,—forthe life of her, Miss Anstice never could tell what.
And he was still talking when Miss Salisbury brought back Lily by the hand, red-eyed and still sniffling, to stumble over her pleas for pardon. And then, the storm having abated, there were instant preparations for departure set in motion. And Mr. Kimball and his associates helped them into their vehicles, Miss Clemcy's beautiful old lace showing off finely on the great porch as she bade them good-bye.
“It is real, I guess,” declared Silvia, looking closely from her seat next to Lucy. “And, oh dear me, isn't this too horrible, what Lily Cushing has done?”
Mr. John Clemcy helped the ladies in, Miss Anstice putting forth all her powers to enable her to ascend the steep steps without disclosing the front breadth of her gown. Despite her best endeavors, she felt quite sure that the keen eyes of both brother and sister had discovered every blemish.
Miss Salisbury sank back in her seat, as the barge rolled off, quite in despair; for she knew quite well that the broken vase was one of the gems of the collection.
“Oh, see the lovely rainbow!” The girls' spirits rose, now that they were once more on the move. What was one broken vase, after all? And they began to laugh and talk once more.
“Oh dear!” Polly Pepper glanced back. “Alexia, this will just about kill our dear Miss Salisbury!” she exclaimed.
“Well, I'm clear beat,” Mr. Kimball was saying to himself, as nobody paid attention. “You might knock me over with a feather! To think o' that oldreecluse that won't know nobody, him nor his sister, an' is so hifalutin' smart, a-bustin' out sopolite all of a suddint.”