CHAPTER XI.GETTING READY FOR OAK CITY.
It was soon known in Samona that the Rector’s aunt had invited Elithe to spend the summer with her and that she was going. One of the miners’ daughters, a strong, capable girl, was to take her place so far as the work was concerned, but no one save the mother herself knew of the pain in her heart when she thought of the days when the busy feet and hands which ministered so lovingly and willingly to them all would be gone.
“It is for her good and I’ll bear it,” she said to herself, and, putting on a brave and cheerful front, she entered heartily into the necessary preparations for the journey.
Elithe’s wardrobe was naturally the first consideration and here Mrs. Hansford felt the bitterness of the poverty which precluded much of an expenditure. Anything she had herself would be sacrificed gladly that Elithe might make a respectable appearance with her relative and friends. It was years since Mrs. Hansford had been in Oak City, which had grown rapidly and must be quite a fashionable resort, if the items in the Boston Herald were to be trusted. How much of society Elithe would see she did not know. Some, of course, and she must not be in the background. She was apt to express her views rather freely, and Mr. Pennington was not ignorant of her trouble.
“Nobody will care what she wears when they see her face,” he ventured to say, wishing that he had the means and the courage to offer a part of it with which to fill the gap.
But he had neither, and contented himself with quietly looking on and marvelling at the faculty of poor people to make a little go a great ways. Miss Tibbs, the dressmaker in Samona, who went twice a year to Helena, and was an oracle on style, was called in, and the trousseau attacked in earnest. A blue flannel gown two years old was ripped and washed and pressed and made over for a traveling suit according to Miss Tibbs’s ideas and the fashions of six months before. Elithe thought it a wonderful achievement and trimmed her last year’s hat with a bit of ribbon to match and a red wing unearthed from a missionary box. There were two of them in the attic, with some articles which had never been used. Among them was a bathing suit of blue serge trimmed with large buttons and flat braid of a peculiar pattern. It had come from Washington two years before, together with the riding cap which Mr. Pennington in his delirium had said looked likeMignon’s. The cap Elithe had worn a great deal, and was rather proud of it, but she had often wondered what Eastern people supposed she could do with a bathing suit in the mountains of Montana. Now, however, she had use for it. To see the ocean was an anticipated delight. To bathe in it was greater, and here was a suit made ready, which Providence had certainly intended for her. It had evidently been worn but little, and must have belonged to some one taller and larger than herself. This she considered an advantage, as it left less of her person exposed. Notwithstanding its size and length, it was very becoming to her. Rob said she was a stunner and wanted Mr. Pennington to see her in it.
To this Elithe objected. She guessed she should not show her arms and neck to Mr. Pennington, or any other man, and when Rob asked if she didn’t suppose any man would see them when she went bathing, she looked perplexed and troubled.
“I never thought of that,” she said. “Perhaps I can’t wear it after all, but I’ll take it.”
Mr. Pennington, who had a way of being within hearing if not in sight, had overheard the conversation and laughed as he wondered how some of the costumes at the seaside would strike Elithe’s unsophisticated eyes. After the bathing suit had been renovated and folded ready to pack, the best dress, to be worn only to church and on state occasions, was considered. Miss Phebe had sent money for a new gown which might be needed, but Samona was not the place in which to buy it, and there was not time for Miss Tibbs to go either to Helena or Butte. In this emergency Mrs. Hansford’s wedding dress, a changeable silk of orange and blue, was brought to light. It was twenty years old and had cost thirty dollars, which had seemed alarge sum to Lucy Potter, and been commented on by some of her neighbors as extravagant. She had worn it but a few times. Once, when she went out a bride, with white gloves and a white feather in her hat; once to the theatre in Boston, where her aunt had played a leading part, and once to the house-warming in Samona, given by the people to their new rector and his bride, who was thought to be too much dressed for a poor missionary’s wife. After that her children had come rapidly, eight in all. Three had died between Elithe and Rob, and she had not much leisure for silk gowns. Elithe should have it, and she brought it from the drawer where she had kept it, folded between two towels, and, laying it across Miss Tibbs’s lap, asked her rather proudly what she thought of it.
In truth, Miss Tibbs thought it old-fashioned for a young girl, but she said it was an excellent piece of silk, and she would do her best with it. Her best was very good, and when the dressmaking was finished no daughter of a millionaire ever felt prouder of her wardrobe than Elithe did of hers. There was the bathing suit, the silk dress, the second best, the third best, and two ginghams for morning,—more than she should need, Elithe thought, and wondered how she could carry them all. The only available trunk was a small hair one which had been her father’s when he was a boy. Mrs. Hansford suggested a new one, but Elithe decided that the hair trunk would probably hold all her clothes, with a little crowding, and it did. As a means of extra protection, a strong cord was tied around it in the shape of a cross and securely knotted over the lock. On each end a large card was tacked with “Elithe Hansford, Oak City, Mass.,” written upon it. Mr. Pennington shuddered when he saw it and thought of the many expensive trunks against which it would rub on itsjourney East. Elithe would be rubbed, as well as her trunk, less on her journey than at the end of it, he knew, and he wished he could help her.
“Perhaps I can,” he thought, and began a letter, which gave him a great deal of care, it would seem, as he rewrote it two or three times, erasing here and there, making additions and reading it over very carefully. With all his pains, it did not suit him, and, with an exclamation of disgust, he tore it up. “Better let matters drift than try to arrange them. She might not listen to me,” he said, and taking a fresh sheet of paper, he dashed off a few hurried lines, took the diamond ring from his finger, put it in a small box with the folded note, and going out upon the piazza, smoked and thought until midnight.
The next morning Elithe was to leave, and after breakfast he said to his landlord, “I am going to Helena for a few days,” and, taking his hand-valise, started for the station. The Hansfords were all there, Elithe, with tears in her eyes, which she tried hard to keep back. Her father had hoped to find or hear of some one who was going at least a part of the way, and to whose care he could confide her, but had been unsuccessful. Elithe, who knew nothing, feared nothing, and declared herself perfectly competent to go alone, and, as there was no alternative, her father had consented to it, knowing there was no real danger to be incurred. His aunt had sent money sufficient to defray the expense of a sleeper, but Elithe preferred the common car, she said. She was young and strong, and would rather give the extra money to her father and mother. That she would take a sleeper after the first night Mr. Hansford was sure, and did not press the matter. The sight of Mr. Pennington at the station buying a ticket filled him with alarm, but when told that he was only going as far asHelena on business and would return in a few days, he felt relieved than otherwise that Elithe would have an escort so far. She was glad that she was not to start upon her long journey entirely alone, and put on quite a cheerful face when she at last said good-bye and left her father and mother and brothers standing upon the platform of the station, kissing their hands to her until a turn in the track hid them from view.