THE HOTTENTOT
Therehad been a family council in which my relatives had all sat around, gravely, and talked about me and my conduct. It was a painful affair. They had mentioned every bad thing which I had done in the course of a whole week, some of which I had not thought they knew about, and then in the middle of it all grandmother Harcourt had made an announcement.
"Rhoda's behavior grows worse and worse," she had advanced, severely. "And as for her manners, she's a regular Hottentot!"
"Hottentot, eh?" granddad Lawrence repeated, whimsically.
He had me upon his knee, and as he spoke he turned my face toward his, and regarded it with much apparent interest. I gazed back at him wistfully. He was company, and it was very hard that company should hear me called a Hottentot. I was sure that I did not look like that dreadful name which had suddenly sprung upon grandmother's lips. It had such an awful sound!
"She's no worse than other children," my mother urged, in defence.
She might blame me herself, but when grandmother Harcourt looked over her spectacles and invented names my mother was sure to grow angry.
"It seems to me that I've heard about Hottentots before," granddad Lawrence went on, nodding his head. "They're very fond of candy, Hottentots are, and they like their own way. Yes, they like their own way."
"Not any more than other children,"my mother said again. "Rhoda gets into mischief solely because she has nothing to do."
"Why don't you send her to school?" granddad Lawrence asked. "She is seven years old."
"Oh, I couldn't send her to school!" my mother cried, anxiously.
"No, not yet," grandmother protested, in her turn.
It was the one subject upon which they agreed.
"Well, let her take lessons in something, then. There's the piano standing untouched. I've heard of Hottentots who had a very good ear for music."
He pinched my ear as he spoke, and puffed out his cheeks in a funny way, as he always did when he wanted to laugh. He had very little hair on his head, and a round, pink face like a baby's, and a pair of wicked blue eyes that saw everything, both before andbehind him. I had never heard of granddad Lawrence being cross. He was good to everybody, from the little newsboy who ran after him every morning in the street to the stray dogs which selected him for a master on account of his smile. Most of all he was good to us, his grandchildren, and hardly a day passed by that granddad Lawrence did not come walking in to hear the news. There were no children at his own house, for Auntie May was growing into a young lady, and granddad Lawrence liked children, being a child himself at heart, with all a child's love of mischief. But to the friends who trusted in him, he was the soul of loyalty, in thought as well as in word.
When he went home I walked out to the hall door with him, as I always did, and then we had what he called a mercantile transaction. He bent down low, and patted his pocket.
"Don't you want to draw on the bank?" he asked, invitingly.
I ran my hand far into the depths of that jingling pocket. I could have whatever I liked, but the little brass pennies were the prettiest, and the cute little silver ten-cent pieces, which seemed especially made for children.
"Draw again," he said, generously. "Now give the cashier a kiss."
I did not kiss him for pennies. I kissed him for pure love.
"Come again, dear granddad," I said, standing at the door to peep after him. "Come again to-morrow."
He waved his hand to me.
"Good-bye, Hottentot," he called, mischievously.
"Good-bye," I answered, in rather a plaintive voice.
I did not think that I liked my new name.
That was the first occasion on whichI heard of my music lessons, but not the last. My mother seemed to take wonderfully to the idea. She was always discussing the things that she meant us to learn, but up to then we had been too small for any of her plans to be of much importance. To take music lessons was a very simple matter. It could not be considered work, but play on a larger scale; and after I had slipped into the parlor, and touched the piano keys with a timorous finger, I knew that I should like it. The keys were voices. When grown-up people touched them, they sang together beautifully. There was one which was a fairy queen, and one which was a prince, and one away down in the lower bass made me tremble when it talked. That was an ogre. I thought that he might eat little children. I ran out of the parlor in a hurry for fear that he should catch me. Something pattered up the stairs behind me,and chased me along the hall, but in my mother's room not even an ogre would dare to come.
"She loves music!" my mother cried. "She is always hanging around the piano."
Grandmother looked at me curiously.
"There has never been a musician in our family," she remarked, in a dubious way.
"I played before I was married," my mother answered. "There doesn't seem to be any time for it now."
She sighed a little as she spoke.
Her lap was full of pretty new cloth which she was making into dresses, and one of the twins was riding on the rockers of her chair, and one was whistling, shrilly. My mother rocked slowly that there might not be an accident. Most people would have thought that she was only a mother, but at that precise moment she was, also, an expresstrain coming into a station, and I was a passenger waiting to get aboard.
"I think I'll get Madame Tomaso to give Rhoda lessons," she said. "We might as well have the best teacher in town. Dad had the best for me when I was a child. It is the first step which always counts."
The whistle sounded again, and two passengers climbed into the rocker behind my mother's back. We were a very tight fit for the chair. She sat a little forward in a meek way, so as to make room for our toes, and rocked more slowly. The train was going uphill carrying a heavy load.
When she was consulted on the subject, Madame Tomaso proved to be very glad to give me lessons. For some reason or other it had been a poor season for her, either because there were only a few little girls musically inclined in the town, or because, which seems moreprobable, she had a name for severity. She appeared very amiable, however, the first morning that she entered our house. She drew me to her, with quite a motherly hand, when I came bashfully into the parlor to meet her.
"So this is the small Miss," she said, in a terrifying voice like the ogre's. "And she loves the music? It is well."
She shook hands with me very hard. She had on a dress trimmed with bits of black glass,—I always hated jet afterwards,—and a red silk collar which exactly matched the hearty red in her cheeks. Her hair was black, and her eyes were black. I did not quite like the way that she looked at me. I wondered if she ate little children.
"She is so bright," my mother declared, fondly, pushing the hair back from my forehead. "Stand up straight, Rhoda. You will find that she learns very quickly, Madame Tomaso."
"So?" the ogress answered, in an absent manner.
She was looking at the piano-stool and at me. She was evidently wild to begin, and had not much time to spare for motherly confidences.
"I am afraid that she might fall off the stool," my mother said, hurriedly. "Couldn't you use a chair, Madame Tomaso? Though the chairs are rather low for such a little girl."
They made a chair higher with a big book and a sofa pillow, and set me on top in front of the fascinating white keys. The twins were peeping in the door. I looked back at them grandly. I felt very old and important. It seemed almost impossible that only that morning we had been playing express trains together, like children! Still, there was something about it which frightened me, notwithstanding my pride.
"Go away!" I whispered, warningly, to the figures at the door.
They went quickly in evident alarm. Even Dick did not stop for a second look.
"Will she hurt sister?" Trixie asked, in a high voice, as they climbed upstairs.
Dick peered between the banisters.
"If she does, I'll shoot her," he declared, stoutly.
I was glad to see them escape, but I did not like it quite so well when my mother followed them, and the door was tightly closed. I had such a trapped feeling. And the pillow was so high that I could not get down without help. Anything might happen! Madame Tomaso yawned a little as she settled down by my side, but she was still kind. She put a paper in front of me which was covered with black scratches.
"Which is 'a'?" she asked, sociably, pointing to a row of things.
"'A' was an Archer who shot at a Frog," I recited, in a timid whisper.
The twins and I had learned that out of a pink book with blue edges. The archer was dressed in red, and the frog was green with yellow trimmings. I could, also, say the catechism from cover to cover, if she would like to hear that, and Who Killed Cock Robin. I had never supposed that anybody but my mother cared for such things. She loved to have us say them to her.
"And 'b'?" Madame Tomaso inquired, staring.
"'B' was a Butcher who had a big Dog," I went on, with growing confidence.
I did not feel nearly so frightened now. She was rather nice. If I were very good, maybe she would not eat me after all.
"Don't you know your letters?" shedemanded, in astonishment. "Don't you go to school?"
"No," I answered, sadly. "I am not strong."
"Ah! Bah!" she cried, in a rude way.
I was sure, perfectly sure, that even a Hottentot would never have said that.
Madame Tomaso taught me my letters that morning, at least the first seven of them, which seemed particularly needed in music. She called for a bottle of ink, and wrote their names on the white keys. She was very patient with me, as I afterwards found out when I was no longer a new pupil to be coaxed along the thorny path. She put each finger where it belonged, and once, when I played five notes without any trouble, she went down through a rent in her skirt which was fastened together with safety-pins, and fished me out a caramel from a hidden pocket. It was very old and hard, and looked asif it had seen much service, but she regarded me with a benevolent expression while I ate it, and I felt that we had made a good beginning. Take it altogether, I thought that I liked music, and I practiced for hours. It was a great deal of fun when Madame Tomaso was not there, for then I did it all with one finger, which made it much easier. As my feet hung in the air, the twins worked the pedals for me, and my mother would come into the parlor with a pleased smile, and fix the curtains so that I might have a good light.
"That child will surely be a musician," I heard her tell my father, in an eager way. "I've promised her a ring the day that she can play the Träumerei. It may take a long time, but then she practicessofaithfully!"
My father groaned. I think my mother slapped him.
Of all the family it was, perhaps,Norah who was the most delighted with my lessons. She took a very friendly interest in them. She always dusted the parlor when I was there practicing, and she would sometimes put down a big finger herself on the piano keys in an experimental way, and jump when they sounded. There was only one thing about my music which worried Norah, and that was the fact that I knew no tunes.
"Sure it's time that you were learning something," she would say, suspiciously. "Ain't she keeping you back? Can't you play 'The Wearing of the Green' yit?"
"No," I answered, humbly.
"You ought to have an Irish teacher," she said, conclusively. "Madame Tomaso! It's a cat's name that she has! I never could abide them foreigners."
"Listen, Norah," I urged.
Very carefully, very slowly, with onefinger and infinite pains, I played "Home, Sweet Home" for her. She burst into tears, and throwing her arms around my neck, rocked back and forth with grief. For a moment I thought that I had hurt her feelings, but it was all right. Norah was only homesick for old Ireland. She was paying me the highest compliment that I ever received.
Little by little Madame Tomaso came to treat me differently. The coaxing voice grew gruff, and the black eyes savage. No more caramels came out of the rent in her skirt, and sometimes I almost fancied that she was scolding me! I was very little to be scolded. No one had done that before. I tried harder than ever to please her. I practiced with two fingers, and, at last, even with three, one very heavy in the bass, and two very shaky in the treble. I did not tell anybody about the things which she said, for I was ashamed, but I imaginedthat granddad suspected. Granddad was always so sharp. It was a wonderful comfort to hide my face on his shoulder, and be petted. He was sorry for me without my saying a single word. He made me draw on the bank every day, and he confided to me all the troubles which he had had when he was a boy.
Once he told me of an awful thing that he did. He puffed out his cheeks before he began to talk, so I knew that it was going to be funny.
"I didn't get on well with a maid my mother had," he said. "Her name was Polly. Did I ever tell you about Polly, Rhoda?"
"No, granddad," I answered, eagerly.
I was leaning against his chair, and we had the parlor quite to ourselves. It was a time for confidences.
"Polly didn't like boys," granddad went on.
"But she liked you, granddad," I asserted, loyally.
He shook his head.
"Polly liked me least of all. She may have had her reasons, but it was her fault in the first place, mind you. When I'd bring home a poor stray dog, she would turn it out to starve! And when I brought home stones, and I was always fond of stones, she would dump them out in the road. I felt that I should like to get even."
I nodded at him. I had felt that way myself.
"So I got a lot of pepper, and one day when Polly was going to sweep I scattered it around the house. I rubbed it well into the carpets."
He scraped his foot over the floor to show me just how he did it. For the moment he looked about ten years old.
"I rubbed it in quite hard. It didn'tshow. Nobody could tell that there was anything wrong until she began to sweep. Well, Rhoda, if you could have heard her sneeze, it would have done you good. She sneezed for hours. At first they thought that Polly had a new kind of sickness. They went flying for the doctor; but my mother had noticed me laugh, and she pounced on me. She shook the truth out of me."
He trembled with laughter at the recollection.
"But what did they do to you, granddad?" I asked, breathlessly.
Sometimes his story would have an anticlimax.
"They put me down in the big black cellar," he declared, impressively.
I rubbed my head against his shoulder. I felt that I could never have treated him in that way if I had been his mother.
"Poor granddad," I said, in a consolingwhisper. "They were not good to you!"
He puffed out his cheeks, and his eyes shone.
"That depends," he said, cheerfully. "I didn't mind, bless you. We lived in the country, and they kept their pies in the cellar."
"Yes?" I questioned, eagerly.
"That night when they took stock they were short three pies."
"Oh!" I gasped.
I gazed at him in indecision. He looked back at me quite gravely, save for a lurking twinkle in his eye.
"Did you eat them, granddad?" I asked, confidentially.
He nodded.
"And twenty doughnuts," he said.
I regarded him with deep admiration. What a dreadful bad boy dear granddad had been!
I used often to wish that MadameTomaso had granddad to deal with. I did not think that she would be so cross, or, at least, she would not show it so openly. She had a trick of frowning until her eyebrows grew together in one thick, black line. She would frown and beat time, and I would chase after her on the piano, with a blur before my eyes, and my heart in my mouth. Sometimes we arrived at a bar together, both out of breath; sometimes she left me far behind, very weak and miserable, with stumbling fingers which refused to hurry. She always beat time with a large black fan, and when the chase proved exhaustive, she would open the fan, and fan herself even in the depth of winter. While she fanned herself she would say things to me, unkind things.
Once she told me about her other pupils.
"I have ten," she said, "ten little girls. Some of them do not make goodmusic.I rap them over the fingers with my fan!"
She went on for quite awhile relating long stories of raps inflicted upon helpless little girls, some of whom had actually been saucy to her, and some of whom had merely played false notes like myself. A much larger girl than I had been rapped that very morning for false notes, and had cried! Afterwards she had played a great deal better.
I listened in growing terror. I wondered if she were trying to frighten me. Then suddenly I glanced up at my great-grandfather's picture.
The parlor walls were hung with the pictures of men who had borne my name. Most of them had preached, but some had fought; and he, my great-grandfather, who looked down over the piano, had preached with a sword in his hand. All the Harcourts had been brave men. They had never been afraid of anything.And on the other side there was granddad Lawrence, whose courage no one could possibly question. He would not have stood this when he was a boy. Just think of Polly!
Something inside of me seemed to awake. I turned and faced her, ogress though she was.
"You'll never rap mine," I said, steadily. "Never! I am bad! I am a Hottentot!"
I made a horrid face at her, such as a Hottentot might be supposed to have.
For the first and only time in the course of our acquaintance she laughed. She laughed as if she would die, while I sat on my sofa pillow and watched her. During the rest of the lesson she was remarkably friendly.
My mother was much pleased with the progress that I made. She often spoke of Madame Tomaso's method, and of how brilliantly her little pupilsplayed. My mother had never heard of raps. All the family were encouraging in their comments, and they, also, set me a shining example. My mother rubbed up her musical knowledge, and even my grandmother would steal into the parlor in the early twilight, and play some Old World melody which held within its tune the hurry of dancing feet. All these I was to learn some day, when my fingers had grown as strong as my desire. I played better and better for the admiring circle, until Madame Tomaso herself would have been astonished if she could have heard me.
"She really does quite well," my father said one night. "It almost sounds like a tune. Is it 'Yankee Doodle,' or 'Old Dog Tray'?"
"Neither!" my mother cried, warmly. "I don't know exactly what it is myself, but it is probably something classic. And she is doing it beautifully!"
"It is 'Yankee Doodle,' mother," I said, in a whisper.
She did not hear me. She was looking at the piano with sad eyes.
"They have taken an awful lot out of it," she said. "It was the first thing that we bought after we were married!"
"Was it?" my father inquired, briskly. "I thought we bought the coffee-pot first. Didn't we fry eggs in the coffee-pot?"
My mother gave him a startled glance.
"We did fry eggs in a coffee-pot," she admitted, reluctantly. "At leastyoufried them. I did not know how."
"Somehow eggs don't taste as good now-a-days as those did," my father said, musingly. "I wonder if it was the coffee-pot."
Grandmother leant over my shoulder, and examined the piano cover.
"What made that, Rhoda?" she demanded, pointing to a broad streak which ran through the plush.
"That is where Madame Tomaso beats time," I answered, meekly.
They looked at one another.
"She is such an excellent teacher," my mother said, apologetically, "that I suppose I ought not to complain. It's very good of her to take so much trouble. Just as soon as they are large enough, she shall teach the twins, too."
"Oh, no, mother!" I cried, quickly.
"Why not, Rhoda?"
I evaded the question.
"Couldn't I teach them, mother?" I asked, anxiously.
They all laughed at me as if I had said something foolish.
It was evident that I should never get rid of Madame Tomaso. She would come year after year, forever and ever, until I and the twins were quite grownup. The twins were little and easily frightened. She would make them cry. I knew that she would. Sometimes, although I was such a big girl, she almost made me cry, when she beat time and shouted, for she was beginning to shout. And that last scene, though I had been victorious, had rankled. I felt that my mother would be highly indignant if I told her, but somehow I could not tell her. There did not seem to be any way out. I looked at the piano cover, and thought and thought.
"Granddad," I inquired next day, "what became of Polly?"
"Oh, Polly left," he answered.
"Right away, granddad?" I demanded, eagerly.
"Just as soon as she could get her trunk packed. Why?"
I rubbed my head against his shoulder without replying.
He did not ask any more questions, buthe looked at me, keenly. He slipped his hand under my chin, and forced me to meet his eyes. I could never hide my thoughts from anybody. And granddad was always so horribly sharp! He chuckled a little as he gazed at me. When he went away he made me draw largely on the bank, and he patted me on the head.
"Keep up your courage," he whispered. "You're game!"
Out in the hall I heard him ask my mother a sudden question.
"When does Madame Tomaso come again?" he inquired, suavely.
It was always on Tuesdays that Madame Tomaso came, and it was strange how Tuesdays raced around. That Tuesday, in particular, arrived almost in a moment while I was still thinking. But I had made my preparations.
"You are very careless about the casters, Norah," my mother said at breakfast."There is actually no pepper on the table."
"But I filled them last night, ma'am!" Norah cried, staring.
It seemed to me that they all turned and looked at me. I slipped from the room in a hurry. Somehow I felt so queer that morning. I kept sighing, and when the door-bell rang I would get quite cold all over. It rang a great many times before Madame Tomaso came, fresh and alert from her walk, with an air of friendliness which was always sure to disappear later. She turned cross very early that day, even before she had taken off her things.
"I have been too lenient with you, little Miss," she told me, in an awful voice. "We will try a new method."
She seated herself by the piano, and folded her arms. I sat perched on my cushion, and stared at her in fascination. Oh, how I wished that I had let thepepper alone! Oh, how I wished that I was good! After all it was so pleasant to be good.
"Play," she said, in a masterful manner. "I will be an audience. I will be a great many mens and womens. We will listen to you."
I played. It was very terrible. Her eyebrows grew together. That was the way she would look when she found me out, only worse, much worse. I played faster. She watched my notes, and sometimes she would moan, feebly, as if something hurt her. I played on faster still, one trembling little hand racing ahead of the other, until musical flesh and blood could stand it no longer. She began to count with a shout.
"One, two, three, four!" she cried, and brought the fan down on the piano cover.
Then she sneezed.
"I knew it," she murmured, grimly,to herself. "I felt it coming on this morning!"
She counted again and sneezed, and I sneezed a little myself in a hurried, guilty way. She looked at me with sudden suspicion. She was sharp, almost as sharp as granddad. In a second she had lifted the piano cover, and found a pile of pepper under that well-worn spot. The things which she said were awful. She said them in three or four languages, and she said them in such a high voice that my mother and grandmother came running in alarm. She pointed at me, with a shaking finger.
"Look at your child," she cried. "She lays traps for me! Pepper traps!"
"Rhoda!" my mother exclaimed.
My grandmother seemed stricken dumb.
I hung my head in shame. I had forgotten how sorry they would be.
She told them all about it. She knewjust why I had done it, and how I had done it. She declared that she would never give me another lesson. No, never! Her voice grew very loud in her denunciation, and the mild words of shocked apology which my mother put in from time to time were swept away in the torrent of her wrath. I saw my grandmother's lip curl, and my mother look astonished. They were judging her by their own standards of quiet reticence and womanly dignity. She was almost justifying me.
Yet before she went she lodged an arrow in my mother's heart.
"As for the child's talent," she cried, and snapped her fingers. "It would be as easy to teach her the tight-rope!"
I heard somebody laugh in the next room. It sounded just like granddad.
My mother and my grandmother went to the door with Madame Tomaso, and saw her out quite as if she were company,and then they came back into the parlor and gazed at me. They did not seem to know just what to say. It was evident that I had done something dreadful. I began to be frightened. We had a big black cellar, with dark, cavernous recesses where cobwebs swayed about, and dwarfs peeped out at you. I wished that it was night, and I was safe in my bed.
Then somebody shuffled in behind me, and patted my head softly. I looked up into two merry blue eyes.
"Don't you fret, Rhoda," a sympathizing voice said. "Granddad will stand by you."
Even now when he is only a memory I can still feel the thrill of gratitude with which I clung to his protecting hand.
A SOCIAL EVENT
"Butshe hasn't any dress!" my mother cried, in consternation. "Only that white Sunday one which is much too short!"
"Let down a tuck," my grandmother said, decisively. "That would lengthen it."
"Oh, do let down a tuck, mother!" I echoed, eagerly.
I had a little pink envelope hugged up close against my apron. On the outside it had "Miss Rhoda Harcourt" written in very large letters, and on the inside it invited me to a party! I was not quite sure what people did at a party; but I knew it must be something delightful, judging from the commotion thepink envelope made in the family. There was a whirlwind of talk about white dresses, and new slippers, and blue bows, and in the midst of the discussion Auntie May caught up her dress and danced.
"Come here, Rhoda," she called. "This is what they do at a party. Come. I will teach you how."
I braced my back, stiffly, and let her haul me around. This was a serious matter, and must be undertaken with a sober mind.
"She hasn't any spring in her," Auntie May exclaimed, ruefully. "Who would think that she is related to me!"
"She does not come of a dancing family," my grandmother replied, with a cold smile. "The Harcourts look after their souls, and let their feet alone."
Auntie May made a wry face. She was my mother's sister.
"Don't shut up like a knife, Rhoda," she said, disconsolately. "Let yourself go. There, I believe the Lawrence side of the family is waking up at last!"
She looked so pretty as she danced in the firelight that I tried to be like her. I copied her courtesies, and followed her steps, and when, at length, she fell breathlessly into a chair, I leaned against her knee with my hand on her pink cheek.
"Auntie May, are you going, too?" I asked, confidentially.
Somehow I thought it would be rather nice to have Auntie May there, just for company.
"Child!" she cried, with a grand air, "it's a children's party. I am sixteen!"
I felt the rebuke. I was only seven myself, and there were whole centuries between us. It was strange, though, how sometimes Auntie May would play with my dolls, and sometimes she wouldtuck up her hair and keep me at arm's length. I never knew which she was going to be—little girl or grown woman.
Auntie May did not live with us, but in another house with a lady who called herself my frivolous grandmother, and curled her hair every day of her life. Grandmother Harcourt wore sober black silk dresses, but this other grandmother liked blue and pink, and even sometimes a gallant touch of red that made her look almost young again. Whenever she looked her youngest, she was greatly pleased, and curled her hair triumphantly. At family meetings the two grandmothers often made those curls the subject for discussion, and oftener still it was my dress and manners which never seemed to suit either of them. One wanted me very quiet and subdued, and dressed in gingham, and the other wanted me very gay and lively, and dressed insilk. As grandmother Harcourt lived in our house, she had the advantage, and, save for occasional bursts of splendor, I went in great meekness of spirit and dress.
I had thought at first that there was going to be trouble about the party. My frivolous grandmother objected seriously to the idea of that tuck. She seemed to think that I should look very shabby among the other little girls. She spoke of her position, and of the great pleasure that it would give her to buy me a dress.
"Nellie," she urged, almost with tears in her eyes, "let me buy Rhoda a suitable dress. You surely don't want that unfortunate child to go to the Otway's with a tuck let down!"
Grandmother Harcourt did not say anything. I fancy that she must have had it all arranged beforehand, for, after a rather appealing look at her, mymother declined the offer in a faint, reluctant voice.
I did not care what I wore. I was going to a party. That was enough for me. All the night before I could not sleep, and when, at last, the hour drew near, and I stood before my mother while she gave a final touch to my floating hair, I felt that it was all a dream. It was a dream going down the stairs while the twins, in their nightgowns, peeped after me, and it was a dream getting into the carriage which Auntie May had brought to take me. The very streets were a dream, with little white-clad girls passing in our direction and little boys, with stiff white collars and solemn faces, walking along behind them. And most of all that big house on the hill was a dream, with the lights shining in all its windows, and the rows of Chinese lanterns in the piazza, and a nearby violin letting off cheerful notes of preparation.
"Mrs. Otway is giving this party for the two little grandchildren who are visiting her," Auntie May said, peering out of the carriage window. "They come from the city. They are cousins. You saw them in church on Sunday."
So that was who they were! I felt that I had learned something. Only the Sunday before there had come into the pew before me, first a little boy, and then a little girl, followed by a party of ladies. The little boy sat up in the far end of the pew, just as I did, and he had a high silk hat laid on the cushion beside him, and an elegant cane with a silver head to which he seemed much attached. I never noticed little boys as a rule. I divided them into two classes: boys who walked clumsily, in heavy boots, and glanced sidewise at me, andbadboys who made awful faces from behind trees. Never to one of them had I said a singleword. That boy, however, was something quite different. I knew that as soon as I looked at him. He had a light graceful figure, and brave, beautiful eyes. When he gazed over his shoulder and smiled at me, I felt strangely pleased. It was as though some one whom I had known a long time ago had come again.
"Oh, soheis Theodore Otway!" I cried, unguardedly, remembering the name on my pink invitation.
Auntie May laughed a whole minute, just about nothing at all.
"You get down here, Rhoda," she said. "Now, remember to shake out your hair the way that I showed you. And don't you get frightened as you always do. Your dress isn't very fine; but there is one thing that is nice about it. It has real lace basted in the neck. Mother put it in. Just fancy, grandmother Harcourt never noticed! Alwaysgive your right hand first in the ladies' chain. You are the only little girl who has come in a carriage. Oh, dear me, I wish that it wasn't a children's party! I'd just love to go in! The lovely, lovely music! What shall you do, Rhoda, if you get very frightened?"
"I'll shut my eyes, and think that I'm in church," I answered, soberly.
"Good heavens!" I heard her cry as the carriage drove away, "there's the other side of the family coming out after all!"
I went up the steps rather breathlessly. There was a big lump rising in my throat, as if I had run miles and miles. I wondered if they would let me in, or if I would have to say what my name was. I was not real sure in my mind that I knew what my name was. Once, years ago, I had been called Rhoda, but Rhoda always went to bed at seven o'clock. This was a new little girl, a fairy child,who walked under globes of fire straight into fairy-land.
Up, up, I went, past a man with shining buttons who held the door open very graciously for me, past shrubs and flowers banked along the staircase, into a room where there was a great hum of voices. Ever so many little girls, dozens of them, were taking off their hats, and shaking out their skirts, and doing what grandmother called "prinking" before a great glass. I prinked a little myself, following out Auntie May's directions. I thought that I looked rather nice. A woman in a white cap seemed to think so, too. She took a great deal of pains with me, and when the other little girls, who knew one another, went down the stairs in a group, she led me by the hand to the staircase, and showed me where to go.
It was very hard to walk down the stairs alone. I had such a queer feeling,and I could not see a thing for a mist before my eyes. I went quite slowly, step by step. I could hear the people in the parlor talking.
A lady said, "How pretty!" and a boy's voice cried, "Here she is! Here she is, at last!"
Then in a moment some one was shaking my hand. Little by little the mist cleared from before my eyes, and I saw that I was at the party.
The parlor was a long room, running the whole length of the house, but it looked crowded that night. There were groups of little girls, all those whom I had seen upstairs, and more besides, and lots and lots of little boys who stood in corners and laughed among themselves. There were lights on the walls and flowers everywhere, and the few grown-up people who moved about seemed just as gay and festive as the children. By the door were stationed Theodore Otwayand his cousin, and she had on a lovely pink dress with cascades of little bows falling down her back. All the grown-up ladies seemed to watch her, and when she pranced and shook her bows I heard a lady say, "Paris!" in an awed tone.
There was such a hubbub everywhere that I did not notice at first that a boy, whom I had never seen before, was writing his name on my programme. He was quite a stout boy in tight clothes.
"I'll take this first one, just to make sure," he said. "Maybe, after awhile, I'll dance with you again. Don't you forget what I look like."
"No," I answered, humbly.
"That's right," he continued, patronizingly. "What's your name?"
I told him in a bashful whisper.
"Well, you want to watch out, and when I holler 'Rhoda' you come where I am. That will be when the music strikes up. Don't forget."
"No," I said again.
"If you are not there, I might take some other girl," he remarked, as a final caution.
Theodore Otway was going by, led by a lady. She was arguing seriously with him.
"Of course you must dance the first dance with your cousin!" I heard her cry. "I told you yesterday that you must. You can ask the little girl some other time."
He gave me a miserable glance as he went to the other end of the room.
I hardly noticed him. I was so worried over the stout boy, who roved about the room, here and there and everywhere. Once he hid behind a sofa, and once he went out in the hall to get a drink of lemonade. He unbuttoned his jacket, and tried to make himself look different by crossing his eyes. I was sure that he did. And, just when the music struck up,he disappeared altogether! The other little girls all had partners. I was the only one left out. I felt it very keenly.
Suddenly I heard some one shout, "Rhoda!"
I turned around, and there he was behind my chair, where he had been standing all the time.
"Come along," he said, just as if it were my fault, although there was a look of elation about him. "If you don't hurry up, we won't get in the top set. That's the nicest of all."
I followed him, meekly. I was very glad to find him again, but I felt an inward conviction that I should never get used to boys.
It was not hard to dance. Somehow it was more fun than it had been at home with Auntie May. I always remembered to give my right hand first in the ladies' chain, and when I met my partner I courtesied to him every time. I did not forgeta single thing! The music was very lively, and everybody was smiling, even the grown-up people at the other end of the room who danced and romped among themselves. I thought that I should like to go on forever, back and forth, and in and out in the ladies' chain. I wished that the music would never stop, but it did, at last, with a sudden chord, and we were all ready for something else.
It was a game this time, a strange, new game called "Post-office." It began by a little girl leaving the room, mysteriously, and calling a little boy out into the hall to receive a letter.
"There's a letter in the post-office for Davie Williams," she cried, in a shrill, high voice that sounded frightened.
All the other little girls laughed. Davie Williams grew very red in the face, but he went out for his letter, and closed the door carefully behind him.
I wondered why he stayed so long, andwhat they could possibly be doing behind the door. It was very exciting. Suppose, just suppose, that there should be a letter for me! More little girls went out, and more little boys. The girls tossed their heads, and the boys went quickly, as though to get it over. One boy called out another boy instead of a little girl, and was laughed at. I did not think that I should like to be laughed at. Then Theodore Otway went out and I heard my name.
He was waiting for me with his hands in his pockets.
"Hello," he said, in a diffident way.
"Hello," I answered, shyly fingering my hair.
I looked about for the wonderful something which I had come to see. There was nothing, only the hall and Theodore Otway still with his hands in his pockets. Strange to say he seemed embarrassed. He fidgeted. He talked in jerks.
"I saw you in church," he said, suddenly.
I nodded at him.
"I saw you, too," I confessed, with a shamefaced smile.
He came a step nearer, and hesitated.
"Say," he said, "I don't live in this house when I'm home."
"No?" I answered, inquiringly.
"No," he replied, seriously.
We were both silent. There did not seem to be anything more to talk about. Still it was rather nice out in the hall.
Somebody rattled the knob. Evidently our turn was over.
"Who's going to take you out to supper?" he asked, with sudden interest.
"I don't know," I answered.
"Well, let me take you, won't you? You'd better. There's a boy here who plays tricks on little girls!"
I shivered. Was it the stout boy?
"Once he made a little girl cry outloud at a party! You'd better. Will you? Say yes."
He came a little closer. He put out his hand, and touched my hair.
"It's like sunshine!" he cried, with a burst of enthusiasm.
I stole a shy glance at him. Nobody had ever told me that before.
"Say yes!" he begged, in a new tone.
"Yes," I whispered, hiding my face behind my hair.
Somebody rattled the knob again. They were growing impatient.
"Well, good-bye," he said, in a hurried way. His hands were back in his pockets.
"Good-bye," I answered.
He went toward the door, then turned again, as if he had forgotten something, and stood thinking.
"Will you give me that?" he asked, pointing to a wee blue bow on my sleeve.
I unpinned it, and laid it in his hand. He fastened it to the front of his coat.He strutted a little as he went into the parlor. I could see by his smile that he was pleased.
It was my turn now, and I must call a little boy, for that was what all the girls did. I looked in the parlor, undecidedly. There was the stout boy going by with a cheerful wink, and away in the back of the room a nice little fairhaired boy named Eddie was watching me, wistfully. I called Eddie, with sudden fearlessness. He came with a rush, and closed the door behind him. Then he kissed me before I could say a single word! I pushed him away, and began to cry. Even through my bitter tears I could see his astonished face. How was he to know that all my life I had hated to be kissed by strangers. And now by a boy!
"Why, that's the game!" he cried, eagerly. "What did you call me out for?"
"I don't know," I answered, sobbing.
He gazed at me with a worried look. Then he pulled out a fat, white lozenge from his vest pocket, and offered it to me.
"Here, take that," he said, generously.
I examined it through my tears with strong disfavor. It looked like medicine. Still I did not want to hurt his feelings. I ate it with misgivings.
"That's right," he said, radiantly. "They are good for sore throat. My father takes them. Don't you feel better now?"
"Yes," I answered, with a weak smile.
It was evident that in his way he meant to be kind, and, perhaps, after all the lozenge like the kiss might be a part of the game.
They were dancing in the parlor when we went back, and the fun was growing loud and furious. One little girl was singing, rapturously, as she danced, andtwo little boys were sliding in a corner. There was talk of supper. Somebody, peeking through a keyhole, had seen pink ice-cream, and had come away dazzled. The great hour was drawing near, and little boys were going about looking for their partners. Up at the end of the room Theodore's mother was talking to him.
He came to me afterwards, with a crest-fallen air:
"Say," he said, "I can't take you out to supper. I have to take my cousin. She says so."
He looked back over his shoulder, threateningly.
"What she says now, goes. When I'm a man things will be different. Ain't you sorry I can't take you out?"
"Yes," I confessed, candidly.
He seemed to be glad that I should be sorry.
"He's going to take you out," he continued, with a jealous nod at the stout boy. "She asked him to."
I did not want to go with the stout boy. Every time that he looked sidewise at me I felt a sudden fear. Suppose that it should be a trick! Suppose that he should think of something new to do right now! When the inspiring march began, however, and we all fell into line, each little girl on the arm of her partner, I forgot everything in my excitement, and grew almost reconciled.
We passed solemnly around the parlor three times, and then swept across the hall into an opposite room. In the center of the room there stood a beautiful table, and the woman in the white cap, who was the only grown person in sight, was serving out pink ice-cream. The little girls sat on chairs about the walls, and the little boys brought them plates full of goodies from the table. There werelovely things which I had never seen before, much too pretty to eat, and almost too fragile to touch. And over the whole room there fell the soft light of candles.
"Do you like ice-cream?" the stout boy asked, when he had seen me settled in my chair. "I tell you what I'll do. I'll pick out all the things that I like."
He was a wonderful provider. I could see him heaping up my plate, and he always seemed to take the best of everything. No other girl was going to have such mammoth slices of cake as I, and he had a perfect pyramid of candy in his hand. I knew that I could never eat it all, no, not a half. Somehow he did not seem able to find me afterwards. I beckoned to him, but still he turned aside, and went toward a far corner. He was sitting down! He was going to eat the things himself! Was it a trick? I lookeddown hard in my lap. Never, no, never, should he makemecry out loud at a party!
I heard a sudden sound of wrath. I turned around just in time to see Theodore Otway tip the stout boy over on the floor, and sit on him. He seemed to be very angry. He pounded the stout boy. I was almost afraid to look. The woman in the white cap left off serving pink ice-cream, and made a dreadful outcry.
"Oh, Master Theodore," she cried, wringing her hands. "Oh, Master Theodore! You mustn't do that! It's not polite!"
A little boy cheered faintly, and in the next room, where the older people were having their supper, there was a hurried consultation. Then Mrs. Otway came in.
"What is all this?" she asked, in astonishment, looking as if she could not believe her eyes. "Theodore!"
She caught him by the arm, and dragged him up in a hurry.
"For shame!" she cried. "What a way to treat your company! I'm going to put you right straight to bed."
A shudder ran around the room, and we all looked at one another in horror. To be put to bed at a party! There was a disgrace.
"I don't care," Theodore retorted, recklessly, with tears in his eyes. "I'd do it again any day. He's a greedy pig!"
I stole up and slipped my hand in his. Somehow I did not like to see him cry.
"He was eating that little girl's supper," a chorus of eager little boys explained. "He was eating it all up!"
"I wasn't either," the stout boy declared, hastily. "I was only pretending." He dusted off his knees, andlooked around the incredulous circle. "I tell you I was only pretending. I was going to bring it to her all right afterwards."
Nobody believed him, not even I, for had I not seen him eating the pink ice-cream?
"You had better come with me," Mrs. Otway said, laughingly. "Come. You can finish your supper in the next room."
It was very pleasant after she had taken him away. Every one was so good to me. There were lots of nice things left on the table, and Theodore filled the largest plate that he could find. Other little boys stood around to watch me eat, and gave me presents. One gave me his jackknife, and one gave me a penny which he had brightened to gold by rubbing it on the carpet. When we went back in the parlor there were dozens and dozens of little boys who wanted to dancewith me. I could not tell whom to choose. Then, in hardly a moment, Auntie May looked in the door, and I knew that the party was over, and I must go home.
I told Theodore good-bye last of all.
"Good-bye," he said, slipping a little brass curtain-ring on my left hand. "I'm coming back when I'm a man. Then we'll get married, and live in a house. And I'll shoot rabbits for dinner. Would you like that?"
"Yes," I answered, promptly.
He surveyed me for an anxious moment. Our heads were very nearly on a level.
"Don't you grow too tall," he cautioned.
"No," I promised, and was half-way to the door, when he caught me again by the hand.
"If anybody makes you cry," he whispered,ardently, "you write to me, and I'll come back."
I gave him a grateful smile. I knew that he would.
Auntie May said very little as the carriage rolled along, but when, at last, we reached home, she swept me in before the assembled family.
"There were ten little boys telling her good-night," she cried, breathlessly, in a voice divided between awe and delight. "Ten little boys! Just fancy! Our Rhoda! She was a great success. She was the prettiest one there."
My mother put out a tender hand and drew me to her.
"And did you have a good time at the party, Rhoda?" she asked, eagerly. "A real good time, little girl?"
I looked around the listening family circle. They were all watching me. Yes, even my father over his paper.
"I don't know," I answered, bashfully.
"Of course she didn't," grandmother cried, nodding her head triumphantly. "Of course she didn't. She's a Harcourt all over."
I looked down at my little brass ring. I felt that grandmother was wrong.