CHAPTER VIII.
drop-cap
Fanheard the sound of the voices without distinguishing the words, and turned to an inspection of the dresses. There was a dainty apron overskirt of the muslin, with the same lovely ruffling around it, and plenty for the waist and sleeves. The others were blue and white striped, one very narrow, the other about an inch wide, with a kind of embroidered figure in the stripe. The skirts were long and full, and with one there was a mantle.
Miss Churchill returned presently.
“You have not mutinied in my absence, have you? My dear girl, I do not want to place you under any obligation, yet I thought these garments might be of some use to you and your sister. It would not do to send them to the sewing society to be cut up for the very poor. Don’t give yourself an anxious thought. Nowgo in to Lucy who is waiting for you, and when she is ready you must come down stairs and see our nephew.”
Miss Lucy was much rested. “I have had three or four naps which did me a world of good;” she said. “You see I was very tired, and that made me rest delightfully. All my good things come at once. Winthrop is here.”
She looked bright and cheerful.
“Can I not do something for you?” asked Fanny. “I might brush your hair, I often do mamma’s.”
“If it would not trouble you—Essie does it in the morning, and I generally manage it in the afternoon. But I am afraid—”
“No,” returned Fan cordially, divining the delicate fear. She took up the brush and soon had it in order.
Usually Miss Lucy walked about without any assistance, but being somewhat weak now, she had to help herself with a cane which she always kept in her room. Fan tried to anticipate her wants, and she was ready so soon that she rang the bell for her brother, who came to assist her down stairs.
“This is our nephew, Mr. Ogden;” announced Miss Churchill, “Miss Endicott.”
Fan remembered seeing him at church occasionally. He was about twenty-two, and had matured considerably in a year. He was medium height, with a rather handsome, rollicking face. There was a laugh in his hazel eyes, in his curly chestnut hair, and it seemed to play hide and seek about his mouth, the upper lip being shaded by a soft brown moustache.
“Ah, Miss Endicott,—though I ought to know you without a formal presentation, only I could not save your life I suppose if I were not introduced. How are you, Aunt Lucy? Why you have roses, actually! I thought from Aunt Essie’s letter that you must be a pale shadow!”
“The roses are in your honor, and not very durable. I am glad to see you, but oh how you have—changed!”
“For the better allow me to hope!”
She laughed. “But how did you come to take us so by surprise? I thought you were at Newport.”
“I was yesterday. But I had to dance so much night before last, that I was afraid of impairing my constitution. I began to sigh for simple country life, and came hither, thinking of uncle Kenton’s horses.”
“They are in a fine condition;” said Mr. Churchill.
“And I can have only a fortnight’s vacation now, so I mean to make the most of it. The other two weeks will come in September.”
“Your mother and Helen—?”
“Are delightfully well and charmingly entertained—can you ask more?”
He gave a droll little smile at this.
We heard sometime afterward that Miss Ogden was engaged, and her lover’s mother being very fond of her, they had gone to Newport somewhat on her account.
“Come out on the porch. Here is your chair Lucy,” and Mr. Churchill wheeled it round. “Why youdolook quite bright. Miss Endicott, we must thank you for part of it.”
“I have not done much, I am sure.”
“Oh, Aunt Lucy, have you a protege, or has Miss Endicott kindly consented to rule you for the nonce? Will my occupation be gone?”
“What nonsense, Winthrop! Miss Endicott came over to spend the day, taking pity on me. I have been so forlornly lonesome of late.”
“Then I have arrived just in the nick of time, if that word has any meaning or relationto anything above or under the waters. Let me feel your pulse. Quite reduced, I must admit. Beef tea and camomile flowers three times a day. A long walk morning and evening. Cheerful society—a new bonnet—and—but try that first. My knowledge is not exhausted.”
“Could you take the ride, think, Lucy?” asked Miss Churchill. “Kenton we will have the large carriage and all go.”
“What conspiracy have you planned?” inquired Winthrop.
“A harmless drive,” returned Miss Lucy mirthfully. “If it looks suspicious we will leave you at home in Hugo’s charge.”
Hugo was a handsome English hound, as aristocratic as his master.
They all asked and answered questions, drawing Fan within their beautiful circle by the fine tact of thorough breeding. She was so gay and charming, and withal natural without any aiming at position or special notice. Indeed she and Mr. Ogden had two or three passages of sharpness between them that made their elders laugh.
It came supper time so soon, that Miss Lucydeclared gaily she had been defrauded; the day certainlywasshorter than usual.
“Yes,” returned Mr. Churchill, “they are. We have passed the longest days.”
“Have you? Sometimes I feel as if I were just coming to mine,” and there was a graver look in her face.
“Aunt Lucy low spirited! Why I thought you were a very princess of philosophy!”
“One’s heart does fail sometimes.”
“But I am to be married you know, and you are to make me long visits. I’ll save my buttons for you to sew on, you shall embroider my initials, and mend my gloves. Will not that be happiness enough?”
“What is your wife to do meanwhile?”
He affected to be puzzled. “Why I suppose she will notknowhow to do anything. Is not that the accomplishment of the girl of the period?”
“There may be girls of the semi-colon who do not go quite so far;” answered Miss Lucy drolly.
Winthrop glanced up at Fan who colored vividly.
“Excuse me, Miss Endicott, I—”
Stephen Duncan.
Stephen Duncan.
Stephen Duncan.
“Winthrop you are not to tease Miss Endicott, nor to classify her, either. I take her under my especial protection.”
“I lay down my arms at once, Aunt Lucy. I am your most obedient.”
And so it went on with bits of fun and pleasantness cropping out now and then. Mr. Churchill unbending, Miss Churchill straying from the little hedge of formalities, sweet as a wild briar blossom. And Lucy was nearly as bright as Fan.
The carriage came around soon afterwards. Mr. Ogden insisted upon driving, so the man was dispensed with. The Churchill estate was very large, including the mountainous track and a good deal of woodland. It was not a much frequented drive, although Round Hill was one of the curiosities of the town. But the Churchills and the Garthwaites seemed to fence it in with their sense of ownership, and it wasnotcommon property like Longmeadow and the Cascades.
But it was very beautiful in the low lying light. Here was a field in deep gloom, shadowed by yonder trees, here a strip of waving grain, then long sweeps of grassy hillsides broken byclumps of young cedars or hemlocks. An irregular wooded chain—the mountains, Wachusetts’ people called them, divided us from the quaint little town lying in the next valley. Here was the delightful opening that appeared more level by contrast with the tall trees on both sides, and next, symmetrical Round Hill, in a flood of golden red light, for the sun was going down between this and the next eminence.
Fan just turned to Miss Lucy and put out her hand. But the eloquent words and the intense appreciation were in her fluttering color, her swelling lip and kindling eye, and the simple gesture.
“I knew you would like it;” said Lucy just as quietly.
Miss Churchill looked over at them. Was she thinking of what Mrs. Endicott had said—how she kept young in her children’s lives? For Lucy’s face was like a girl’s again.
“I sometimes think there can be nothing in Europe more beautiful,” Miss Lucy said at length. “It is my Alps. Ah, if one could paint that glow!”
Winthrop glanced back. “I wish you could have seen some pictures in the Academy, AuntLucy;” and then he went on to describe them in an eager manner, evincing much genuine love for beauty, and a kind of fitness, for his tone was low and earnest, without any assumption of manishness.
Meanwhile as they wound slowly along, the sky changed from the crimson gold, to orange, then to a yellow tint, sending out long rays into the frost-white, not unlike an Aurora. All the edges of the hills were purple and blue, with a peculiar velvety softness, losing themselves presently in hazy indistinctness.
“Kenton,” Lucy said, “this place ought to be re-christened. Sunset Hill would be more appropriate. There is no such enchanting sunset for miles around.”
“But it isn’t always that,” in his dry humorous way. “And itisalways round.”
“Then mine shall be its holiday name, a kind of golden remembrance.”
“It is beautiful;” Miss Churchill said with deep feeling. “Miss Fanny, your father preached a good sermon last Sunday morning, about our longing for loveliness and grandeur which was far away, and not enjoying that right beside us, and our desiring to do some great thing, waitingyears for the opportunity, when we might have made our lives rich with the small daily deeds that are at our very finger ends. And how many of us long for Italy when we have clear skies and glowing sunsets at home that we know nothing about!”
“Because such lives are crowded full to repletion. I sometimes wonder if we do not have too much instead of not enough? I find a large world right around here, because I can’t get out comfortably to any larger one.”
“And because you see the beauty in every thing,” returned Fanny softly. “It’s just like daily bread, the now, and here. We need not starve to-day because of a famine coming a hundred years hence.”
Mr. Churchill raised his grave eyes and smiled, just a little. They moved on quietly again, the wide glory of the twilight heavens falling gently over, clasping hands with the indistinct outlines of the beautiful earth. The creek went rippling and winding around, making a pleasant stir, and the insects began to chirp in low tones as if not quite sure the night was coming.
“What a delightful day! Though I have not done half the things that I meant to,” said MissLucy as they were nearing home. “We were to look over those Russian views this afternoon, and I was to show you my sketches. It is all Winthrop’s fault. We shall have to take the day over again, Fanny.”
“I cannot say that I am sorry I came, having a high regard for the truth. But then Iamgoing; and the world will still last;” he returned.
“That must be our comfort.”
“I wish you and your sister would come over soon, not merely to tea, but to spend a good long afternoon;” said Miss Churchill. “And I have a basket of flowers to send home with you.”
“Does Miss Endicott go alone?” Winthrop asked.
“In the carriage—unless you should have the politeness to accompany her,” answered Miss Churchill rather inconsequently.
“With pleasure—if Aunt Lucy can spare me.”
“I shall march straight to bed, you saucy boy.”
The ladies were helped out. Fanny thought she had better keep right on. Miss Churchill brought a great basket of fragrance and beauty,and said she would send the parcel over the next morning, “that is if you are quite sure that you will not feel patronized,” she whispered.
“No,” returned Fan frankly. “Rose and I will be most grateful.”
Lucy kissed her good by. Miss Churchill’s farewell was a little more formal, but full of sweet cordiality. The coachman sprang up in his seat and turned the horses slowly.
Mr. Churchill assisted Lucy up the steps. “What a pretty behaved girl,” he said. “She is bright and pleasant without being bold or underbred. And she enjoys everything so thoroughly.”
“She makes one feel young again. She fairly gives of her own abundant youth.”
In the meanwhile the two rode home together. There was no moon, but the stars were out by thousands, shining in all their glory. They talked of the beauty of the night, of the improvements in the town, and he asked what was going on in the way of entertainment. This was how Fan came to mention the picnic, and Mr. Ogden was interested in it immediately.
Nelly and the elders were sitting in the wide,airy hall with the lamp in the back part, making a golden twilight within. Fan set her flowers in the midst, and all the air was sweet.
Such a lovely day as it had been! The talk and visiting, the dinner and tea, the two rides,—Miss Churchill and Miss Lucy—the kindly messages to mamma,—the invitation to tea, and best of all, the thought about papa’s sermon. Fan had a way of bringing something home from every place for every body. It was as good as going yourself.
“So papa, dear, it wasn’t my fascination altogether, but a little pinch of your good seed. It springs up occasionally where you do not expect it. And now tell me what you have been doing?”
Our day had proved one of the unsatisfactory days.
Mamma had gone out in the morning to make some calls, and found Mrs. Day’s baby very sick. Edith started from her nap in affright, and while I went down to soothe her, Stuart had tormented my patient into a fit of passion, so that he had a headache and could eat no dinner. Then there had been a steady stream of visitors all the afternoon.
“I didn’t get much of your trimming done,” I said to Fan, “but the picnic is not until Tuesday.”
“And I can work like a Trojan to-morrow. Oh! mamma and Rose, there is something else—I hope you will think I have acted rightly about it.”
Then followed an account of the gift.
“I do not see how you could well have done differently. Miss Churchill was very kind and delicate.”
“Fan,” exclaimed papa as if waking out of a dream—“I think Idosee the good seed. But some things are best to let grow by themselves. If you poke about the roots and snip off and tie up, you don’t get half the bloom and beauty. People like the Churchills might bring forth so much fruit. Perhaps it will come. The same God who made the gourd, made the century plant. Mother, couldn’t we have a quiet little hymn?”
It was a trick he had when there was any special thing on his mind. Mamma’s soft playing seemed to smooth out the tangles.
We sang with her, and then kissed each other good night.
The next day was ever so much better. Mamma had talked to both of the boys, and I think Louisdidtry to be patient and pleasant. Fan came in and helped entertain him while we both sewed. The dresses were sent with a note from Miss Churchill, and mamma thought them extremely pretty. We finished Fan’s pique all but the button holes, by night.
Just after tea Mrs. Day sent over. Mamma answered the summons and staid until ten, then she came home to tell us that the poor little life had gone out here, to blossom brighter elsewhere. She had washed it and dressed it for the last time, with her tender hands. Mrs. Downs had come to stay all night, for Mrs. Day was in violent hysterics.
Early Sunday morning the baby was buried. Three little graves in a row, and only Betty and Jem left. I stopped in Church just a moment to give thanks on my knees that our little flock were all alive and well.
“I wonder how you can take such an interest in everybody?” Louis said as I sat with him awhile that evening. “In one way your father and mother have a duty towards all in the parish, but—I don’t know as I canquiteexplain,—you seem to make their troubles and their pleasures your very own. And some of the people must be—very common, and quite ignorant—excuse me, but it is so all over the world.”
“Isn’t that the secret oftruesympathy? If you were in great sorrow and went to a friend, would you not like to have the comfort adapted to your nature, and wants? The other would be asking for bread and receiving a stone.”
“It is very good of course, really noble. But it would fret me to do favors for people who did not interest me one bit. Now I can understand your sister’s enjoying her day at the Churchills, even if she was asked partly to entertain an invalid. They were refined, agreeable people. But that she should give up going to ride with Miss Fairlie yesterday afternoon, to make a bonnet for that woman who lost her baby, and who wasn’t a bit thankful—”
“Shewasthankful,” I interposed.
“Stuart went with your sister, and he said she found fault because it wasn’t the right shape, and because there was ribbon used instead of crape. I should have smashed up the thing and thrown it into the fire, and told her to suit herself.”
I laughed a little, the remark was so characteristic.
“We get used to people’s ways after a while,” I said. “Mrs. Day never isquitesatisfied. If a thing had only been a little different. And very likely next week she will show the bonnet to some neighbor and praise Fanny’s thoughtfulness and taste. You see no one happened to think of a bonnet until it was pretty late.”
“But why could she not have been thankful on the spot? It was ungracious, to say the least.”
“That is her way.”
“I’d get her out of it, or I wouldn’t do any favors for her.”
“I wonder ifweare always thankful on the spot, and when the favor doesn’tquitesuit us?”
There was a silence of some moments, then he said in a low tone: “Do you mean me, Miss Endicott?”
“No, I am not quite as impolite as that. I made my remark in a general sense.”
“Suppose some one gave you an article that you did not want?”
“If it was from an equal, and I could decline it, granting that it was perfectly useless, Ishould do so. But an inferior, or a poorer person, who might have taken a great deal of pains, deserves more consideration.”
“Is it not deceitful to allow them to think they have conferred a benefit upon you?”
“I do not look at it in that light. This person intended a kindness, and I take it at his or her appraisal. I am obliged for the labor and love that went into it, the thought prompting it.”
“Oh,” after a silence.
“And doesn’t that make the good fellowship of the world? When equals exchange small courtesies there is no special merit in it. No self-sacrifice is required, no lifting up of any one, or no going down. The world at large is no better or stronger for the example. It is when we go out of ourselves, make our own patience and generosity and sympathy larger, that we begin to enjoy the giving and doing.”
“But you can not really like poor, ignorant people?”
“Better sometimes than I can like rich, ignorant people. When you walk along the roadside you enjoy the clover blooms, the common daisies and mallows, and every flowering weed. The way gives you its very best. These blossomslaugh and nod and twinkle in the glad sunshine, and you are joyous with them. But if a friend who had a large garden and gardeners in abundance asked you to come, and took you through weedy grass-grown paths, and gathered for you a bunch of field flowers, you would not feel so much obliged.”
“Why no.”
“It is the giving of one’s best. It may also mean the ability to appreciate, when another gives of the best he has.”
“Butcanyou like the work? Pardon me, but it has always seemed to me a hint of a second or third rate mind when one can be happy with such common pleasures. There, no doubt I have offended you.”
“If we were always looking for our own perfect satisfaction, it would not be. But, ‘No man liveth to himself,’ only.”
“Miss Endicott, I don’t wonder you like my brother Stephen. After all,” rather doubtfully, “isn’t there a good deal of cant preached?”
“Only believe. All the rest will be added,” I said hurriedly.
The church bell was ringing its middle peal. There was a long pause then it took up a sweetand rather rapid jangle, subsiding into the slow swells of tender melody. We always called it the middle peal and began to get ready, as that gave us just time to go to church. I rose now, and uttered a pleasant good night.
“Say a little prayer for me, if you don’t think I am too wicked;” he murmured faintly, turning his face away.
How peculiar he was! When I thought him softening, he was always sure to draw back into his shell again, and his confidences invariably came unexpectedly. Then too, they puzzled me, I was not fit to cope with them. They seemed to jar and jangle with the every day smoothness of my own life.
Mr. Ogden was at church alone that evening, and though the Maynard girls were there, walked home in our circle. I was going to stay with Fannie, but Dick Fairlie was on the other side of her, and George and Allie West swallowed me up in the narrow path.
“I am coming in to-morrow morning to tell you of the picnic plans,” said Allie as we were about to separate.
“Can’t I come in the evening and hear?” asked Mr. Ogden. “Or am I the man on the other side?”
“No indeed,” spoke up Allie, “we shall be glad to have you. I will leave a special message.”
They were a little acquainted with him, having met him at the Maynards the summer before. The young ladies of that family had declined participating in the affair.
We heard all the plans on Monday morn. They were to go out to Longmeadow in wagons and carriages, taking refreshments and conveniences. There was just a nice party. “The kind of people who harmonize,” said Miss West. “I never can endure Tom, Dick and Harry—everybody and his wife.”
“Of course you wouldn’t want everybody in a small party,” I returned.
“I wish you were going, Rose.”
“The Sunday School picnic comes the week after. I could not go to both.”
“This will be ever so much nicer.”
“O, I am not sure. There will be more enjoyment at that, because there will be so many more to enjoy everything.”
“Your way of thinking! Well, if I was a clergyman’s daughter I should have to go I suppose. I am glad that I can choose my pleasures.Fanny Endicott, if Mr. Ogden calls this evening give him my compliments and a special invitation.”
Fan colored and made some laughing retort.
He did come over with a message from his aunts, asking us to tea on Thursday evening if it was convenient. Then he wanted to know about the picnic, and said that he might be expected, sure.
Dick and Kate came over for Fanny. Mrs. Fairlie was in the wagon and leaned out to make some inquiries about Mr. Duncan. Stuart had taken a knapsack and started on foot.
I went a few steps further on to fasten up a spray of clematis. Dick followed.
“I don’t see why you couldn’t have gone too;” he said rather crossly.
“Should I have added so very much?”
“I suppose that grand chap of the Churchills’ will be there?” he went on without noticing my remark.
“Yes. He was invited by Allie West, you know.”
He snapped off a piece of honeysuckle. What was the matter with him this morning?
Fan came down in her new pique dress, herbroad sun hat trimmed with light blue, and her white parasol lined with the same tint. She was pretty and stylish enough for any lady’s daughter. Kate was in a silvery, much be-ruffled poplin, and a jaunty round hat that scarcely shaded her eyes.
Louis was considerably improved that day. He walked into the next room, arranged some flowers that I brought him, and was quite cheerful. He wanted very much to go down stairs, but mamma thought he had better not, so he acquiesced pleasantly.
“If you are no worse to-morrow you may try it,” she promised.
Fan had a royal time, though she declared she was half tired to death.
Up in our room she told me all the particulars.
“Everything was just lovely! Servants to do the work, make fires and coffee, and spread tables, while we sat, or walked in the shade, or rambled through the woods. We had the violins and quadrilles and gallops and laughing, and may be a little flirting. It was absolutely funny to see young Ogden.”
“Oh, Fan, I hope you didn’t—”
“My dear little grandmother, I am afraid I did, just the least bit. You see Kate and Allie West tried so hard for Mr. Ogden, and he kept by my sidesoeasily. I had only to look. And Dick Fairlie was like a bear. Something has vexed him.”
“I thought he was cross this morning. But, oh, Fan, I wouldn’t have you do any thing to—to displease the Churchills.”
“And I wouldn’t, honestly Rose. This is nothing beyond summer pastime. Why can’t we all be bright and nice and social? It is a humbug to think of everybody’s falling in love. I don’t believe young peoplewouldthink of it, only some one is afraid and speaks before the time, making a tangle of it all. I do not expect any one to fall in love with me—at present.”