doctor"This is my new doctor—Dr. Inglis."—p. 509.
"This is my new doctor—Dr. Inglis."—p. 509.
"This is my new doctor—Dr. Inglis."—p. 509.
"And who may the Inglises be?"
"Some girls who live at West Kensington," returned May, colouring at his lordly tone.
"Their brother is a doctor—a very unsuccessful one at Beachbourne," put in Miss Waller irritably. "They are very poor, and live in a poky flat. What May can see in them I can't imagine; and I'm sure she'll get lost if she goes alone."
"I can take a cab, aunt." By a perfect miracle she had a few shillings in her pocket.
"I'll tell you what," pompously proclaimed Mr. Lang. "You shall go in a cab, Mrs. Burnside, if you really must, and I'll call and bring you back in my carriage. Eh, Miss Waller?"
"Oh, what a splendid idea!" gushed the spinster, brightening; and, though May protested earnestly against troubling Mr. Lang, he was resolute. Then he carried them off to inspect a picture in a Bond Street shop which took his fancy—a seapiece, with violently ultramarine waves tumbling about the canvas. May considered it a most irritating production, and boldly said so; for, despite her aunt's frowns, she refused to flatter Mr. Lang. He took her criticism very good-naturedly, however, and insisted on their coming to luncheon with him at a fashionable Regent Street restaurant, where only African millionaires and suchlike could afford to go.
But at length May's ordeal was over, and she drew a great breath of relief as the lift deposited her at No. 18, Windermere Mansions. Lulu herself admitted her, evidently delighted to see her, and announced that just then she was alone.
"Esther isn't back yet, but I expect her every minute," she explained. "Mabel, our chum, has gone to see some friends. We don't keep a servant, but a charwoman comes morning and evening. Our flat is a mere cupboard, as you see; but, such as it is, you are very welcome."
She conducted May over it, and tiny it certainly was; only one sitting-room, a speck of a kitchen, three small bedrooms, and a bathroom. But it was very comfortable and homelike; and, though many of the articles were merely of wicker and bamboo, it was furnished with a taste which betrayed the instincts of gentlewomen.
"How I envy you!" exclaimed May, as she sank into a chair in the cosy little sitting-room. And then, to Lulu's consternationand to her own intense disgust, she burst into tears.
Lulu looked quite alarmed; for the modern girl reserves all such exhibitions for the privacy of her own apartment, and tears and hysterics are as much out of fashion nowadays as poke bonnets and sandalled shoes. It is not that the new girl can't feel, but that she considers it undignified to cry.
tearsTo Lulu's consternation ... she burst into tears.
To Lulu's consternation ... she burst into tears.
To Lulu's consternation ... she burst into tears.
"Forgive me," apologised May, blushing furiously. "I'm overtired—I've been doing too much in this heat. I feel quite ashamed to be so foolish."
"We'll have tea directly Esther comes; that will revive you," replied Lulu cheerfully and she proceeded to light a dainty spirit-kettle which formed part of a most inviting tea equipage. May watched her enviously, thinking how sweet and homelike it all was. She had never known a real home since leaving her father's house. Her married life was a horrible nightmare, and Victoria Square was little better; and if she yielded to pressure and married Mr. Lang——But no! that would not bear thinking of!
"There's Esther!" cried Lulu eagerly, as a latch-key clicked in the hall door.
May had expected to find Miss Inglis handsome; but she was not prepared for such a young goddess as now swept into the room, with a stride of long, well-knit limbs which made the place seem ludicrously small. Esther Inglis would have attracted notice anywhere, with her splendid, keen-cut, dark face and stately poise of head; and her family might well be proud of her.
She was better dressed than Lulu, in a plain but well-fitting gown which was very becoming.
"Tired, dear?" asked Lulu affectionately, as her sister, after greeting May, reclined her tall figure in a basket-chair.
"Rather; that is, I've a Saturday afternoon kind of feeling. The office was very hot, and the new man can't quite manage the telephone. Where's Mabel?"
"Gone to see her friends at Richmond. Give me your hat, dear."
She removed her sister's outdoor garb with a deft motherliness which charmed May.Miss Inglis was clearly accustomed to being waited upon; but it seemed quite natural, with her splendid face and figure.
"And how is Harold, Mrs. Burnside?" Esther asked as they sipped their tea.
May gave as favourable an account of his progress as she could, to which Miss Inglis listened thoughtfully. "I'm afraid he has an uphill struggle before him, poor old fellow! Without capital, it seems to me, you can do nothing nowadays? Are there many doctors at Beachbourne?"
"A good many; and, of course, it takes time to make a practice."
"It's always the same old story—want of money!" sighed Esther pessimistically. "Nowadays the competition is something dreadful; and what will it be for the next generation?"
"Why, Esther, you seem in rather a croaking mood!" remonstrated Lulu.
"Well, my dear, going about daily in trains and omnibuses, and having to run the gauntlet of every man who thinks that because a girl works for her living she can't possibly be a lady, doesn't tend to sweeten one's view of life."
"I suppose there are annoyances in every lot," diffidently put in May. "But there are—there really are—worse things than being obliged to earn one's living. You must be so happy here, able to do just as you like, with nobody to worry you."
Esther's brow cleared. "Yes, it's something to be independent, nowadays. And it's too bad to bore you with my grumbles, Mrs. Burnside. I don't often indulge in complaints, do I, Lulu? We three really have a jolly time here; and my salary is to be raised twenty pounds a year, beginning from next month."
"Oh, Esther, how splendid!"
"Yes, we must go on the river, or have some dissipation to celebrate it. Oh! who can that be?" as a loud knock resounded at the outer door.
"My aunt thought I might get lost, and a friend of ours—Mr. Lang—offered to call for me," said May, flushing. "He is earlier than I expected—I hope you don't mind his coming?"
"Oh, dear, no!" nonchalantly responded Esther, as Lulu bustled out to admit Mr. Lang, who entered with his usual bumptious self-confidence. But when his eyes fell upon the superb figure of Esther, he was palpably surprised.
May introduced him; but, while Lulu gave him a friendly greeting, Esther barely condescended to acknowledge his existence. Miss Inglis, late of Mallowfield Hall, was not to be put down by a vulgar plutocrat.
"I must apologise for coming rather early, Mrs. Burnside," he began, "but I didn't quite know how long it would take to get here; I never was in this neighbourhood before. Don't you find it rather out of the way?" he continued, addressing Esther.
"Itisrather inconvenient, especially as we don't keep a carriage," she coolly returned. A keen observer of human nature, she had taken Mr. Lang's measure in one haughty glance.
"Nice little place, though," he added patronisingly, intending to be very polite. "That drapery over the mantelpiece is a good idea. Did Liberty do it?"
"I did it myself, with a few yards of cheap cretonne and an ounce of tin-tacks."
"Really! How clever!" he exclaimed, not perceiving that Esther was covertly laughing at him. "Old miniatures, too! Are you a collector? I am; I've got some lovely Cosways."
"Oh, dear, no! these are only some of our ancestors. My father has the best ones, down in Cornwall."
"I've rather a good collection at my house in Palace Gardens. You've seen them, haven't you, Mrs. Burnside? It would give me great pleasure to show them to your young friends, if they care to call some day."
"Thank you; my sister and I are working all day, and have very little time. I am not specially interested in miniatures, except those belonging to our family," replied Esther coldly. May inwardly rejoiced at seeing Mr. Lang meet his match for once.
"I believe you have a brother out in South Africa?" presently asked Mr. Lang, turning to Lulu.
"Yes, at Johannesburg. He's on the staff of the Victorina Mine."
"I believe I've met him somewhere. Rather good-looking, with dark hair, isn't he? He must know me; I'm so well known out there in connection with the Springkloof Mine. Have you heard of the Springkloof, Miss Inglis?"
"Yes," answered that superb young lady, fixing her eyes steadily on him. "I have heard a good deal about it from Jack. He was over in England last summer."
"I'm often going backwards and forwards to Johannesburg," continued Mr. Lang; "I should be glad at any time to take charge of any parcels or letters for your brother, if you will let me know. This is my London address," and he laid his card on the table.
"Thank you, we couldn't think of troubling you."
"No trouble, I assure you. I should be very glad to oblige any—any of Mrs. Burnside's friends."
May crimsoned beneath his significant glance and the scarcely veiled scorn on Esther's fine face. How these girls must despise her for associating with this horrible man! Unable to bear it any longer, she rose to take leave.
"I hope we shall meet again before you go," Lulu said wistfully; but May dared not press them to come and see her aunt, knowing they would only meet a chilly reception from Miss Waller. "I will write and let you know," she answered hurriedly.
"Perhaps you young ladies might like a drive in the Park occasionally?" suggested Mr. Lang. "I'd be very happy to send my carriage."
"Thank you," responded Esther, who appeared to be spokeswoman on all occasions. "My sister and I work for our living, and have no time for such dissipations. I am employed in a City office."
"Then it's a shame you should have to work—that's all I can say," warmly rejoined Mr. Lang. "A woman's place is at home, in a handsome drawing-room, with every comfort about her—not jostling about in the crowd with men."
"Handsome drawing-rooms and an idle life are not within the reach of every woman, nowadays, Mr. Lang," coldly responded Esther, as they shook hands; and the next minute the door closed behind them.
"Horrid man!" cried Esther wrathfully, when the visitors had gone. "Didn't his insufferable patronage make your blood boil? He might well ask if we knew him by name; of course, we do—too well, for, according to Jack, the Springkloof Mine was a byword on the Randt, from the way in which the original owners were cheated out of the property by Mr. Lang and his syndicate. I remember he mentioned this Lang as a man who was well known at Johannesburg to have mixed in many shady transactions."
"What a pity that nice Mrs. Burnside should be obliged to associate with him! He evidently admires her; but, to tell you a secret, Esther, there's somebody who admires her even more—and that's Harold."
"Poor Harold! How can he ever afford to marry? Mrs. Burnside is dependent on her aunt for everything, isn't she?"
"Yes, and her aunt intends her to marry Mr. Lang. Poor thing! I can see she is simply miserable at the idea of it."
Esther took up Mr. Lang's card, to read the address. "He might well say West Kensington was out of the way! If he ever comes again—I don't mean to be at home." And she tore it into the smallest fragments.
"This is what I call perfectly delightful," pronounced Miss Waller solemnly. She looked meaningly at May, who stood near, looking her best in pale blue, with a big white hat, but her niece pretended not to hear.
A week had elapsed since Mrs. Burnside's visit to the Inglis girls; and it was again Saturday afternoon. It had been a week of absolutely tropical heat, exhausting to a degree; and Mr. Lang, noticing May's pale cheeks, had proposed a trip up the river in his steam-launch. So, with their mutual friends the Wingates, and some other people, they were now bound for an island some distance above Kingston, where they intended to land and have tea.
After the scorching and crowded streets, the river, with its green, tree-shaded banks, was indeed a pleasant change; and, had she been free from care, May would have greatly enjoyed watching the numerous gay boats and launches filled with happy holiday-makers. But the presence of Mr. Lang—vulgar, fussy, and pretentious—spoiled everything, and she avoided him as much as possible, greatly to her aunt's disgust.
The island at which they presently arrived was very small; and so crowded with people that at another time the scene would have amused May. They landed with some difficulty, amid the crowd of skiffs, punts, and canoes, which were moored to the banks; and had to walk warily, not to tread upon their late occupants, who were now grouped round every variety of tea equipage, arrayed in every kind of costume. One or two people, ostentatious like themselves, were attended by liveried servants to turn the whole thing into a burlesque; but the great mass had spread their tea with their own hands, and it was comical to see how their ideas of a picnic varied. Here would be a homely meal with thick enamelled tea-things, huge chunks of bread-and-butter, and shrimps or watercress for a relish. Next door would be an aristocratic party with a silver teapot, fairy-like china, expensive cakes, and fruit on artistic dessert plates. Here a stout materfamilias, purple with the heat, struggled to satisfy her hungry brood of eight with hastily buttered rolls; there a pair of lovers, oblivious of all else, sat partaking of nectar and ambrosia, in imagination a thousand miles away. Everywhere was good humour, laughter, and happiness.
At last, after his usual bustle, Mr. Lang contrived to secure a vacant spot for his party; though not without an angry argument withsome plainly dressed people who, with scant respect for African millionaires, declined to move their common delft tea-service to make way for his costly Dresden. Whilst the footman spread the cloth May sat abstractedly gazing over the sunlit river, when suddenly she caught a glimpse in an approaching boat of a figure which made her heart leap. Surely that stalwart young man in flannels, rowing two girls towards the island, was Harold Inglis! With consummate skill he steered his cockleshell craft to the bank, then helped his sisters out, and, carrying a basket, came to find a place to sit down.
"What a handsome girl!" murmured more than one of Mr. Lang's party as Esther advanced with her queenly gait. May, delighted, rose to greet her. "How wonderful to meet you here!" exclaimed Miss Inglis. "Harold had to come up to town on business, and we persuaded him to bring us up the river."
"So glad to see you again, Mrs. Burnside," said the young doctor as they shook hands; his honest English face flushing as his glance met hers. That glance and that handclasp seemed to throw a flood of light upon the secret places of May's soul; for suddenly she realised that she loved him better than her life. He was, and always must be, the one man in the world to her.
Miss Waller was not pleased at this addition to their party; but she could not interfere when Mr. Lang pressed the Inglises to join the circle assembled at tea. Nor could they well refuse: though independent Esther insisted on making use of the provisions they had brought with them. Harold stationed himself beside May, as a matter of course, and contrived, under cover of the lively chatter of the rest, to tell her about the new patients he had secured at Beachbourne, and hear what she had been doing in London. It was a very harmless, matter-of-fact conversation, but it drew down many jealous glances from Mr. Lang, which May perceived, but did not heed. Why should she not enjoy this brief moment of happiness?
"Shall I see you again before I leave? I'm going back on Monday," Harold observed wistfully, when the tea-things had been packed up for the return journey.
ever"If he ever comes again!"
"If he ever comes again!"
"If he ever comes again!"
But she shook her head, knowing it was useless to invite him to call upon her aunt; nor could she promise to visit Windermere Mansions. "We shall be returning the end of next week, I hope," she answered hurriedly, sorry to seem so inhospitable. "I shall be so glad to leave London!"
"Now, Mrs. Burnside," interrupted Mr. Lang, bustling up, "your aunt's invited me to dine with you at eight; and if I'm to be back in time to dress, we must look sharp. Sorry to have to say good-bye to you, Miss Inglis," he added, turning to stately Esther with his most patronising air. "I wish I could ask you to come back in the launch with us; but there's so little room."
"Thank you, I prefer a rowing-boat. Ithoroughly disapprove of steam launches on a crowded river like the Thames," calmly responded she; whilst Miss Waller gasped, open-mouthed, at such effrontery. Imagine a beggarly girl in an office daring to address such criticism to the great Mr. Lang!
The lovers had perforce to separate, for the rowing-boat would, of course, be soon left behind by the launch. May took her seat with a sinking heart at the prospect of Mr. Lang's company for the rest of the day; and Harold was so silent all the way home that Esther commented on it as they disembarked.
"So this is the end of my little treat in honour of my rise of salary!" she ruefully remarked. "I thought it would be pleasant on the river; but I feel almost sorry we came. Certainly, Mrs. Poyser was right in her opinion of 'pleasuring-days.'"
"Now, May," began Miss Waller in her most portentous tone, on Monday morning, "I must have an explanation with you. I'm going home this week, for it's ruinously expensive being here; and to-day Mr. Lang is coming for his answer. Without any beating about the bush, I expect you to marry him."
"Oh, aunt, don't—don't!" entreated May, wringing her hands. "I cannot marry Mr. Lang."
"What childish nonsense! Fancy refusing a house in Palace Gardens, and all that money!"
"I can't and won't marry him."
"Very well, then, you and Doris must find another home. I have pinched myself to keep you in luxury; but if you will be so wickedly blind to your plain duty, I wash my hands of you."
"I don't care one bit for myself, aunt; I could earn a living, I'm sure, and I'd gladly do it. Let me try," pleaded May, "I will promise never to cost you another penny, if you will only be so kind as to give Doris a home until I am able to keep her myself."
"Which will not be till Doomsday. Talk of earning your living—what rubbish! Why, you haven't even one decent accomplishment. No, if you leave my house, Doris goes, too; I won't have the little spoilt monkey left on my hands."
"But, aunt——"
"Besides, think what advantages you could give Doris if you married Mr. Lang—the best possible education, horses, carriages, Continental trips, everything! If you really cared at all for your child, you couldn't hesitate for a minute."
It was a clever argument, and it made May waver as nothing else could; and Miss Waller did not know whether to be glad or sorry that just then Mr. Lang himself was announced.
"Don't go, Miss Waller," he began, as the spinster, after a few casual observations, was about to leave the room. "I've nothing to say to Mrs. Burnside you may not hear as well. Your niece knows by this time that I am anxious to have her for my wife. I want to marry and settle down now, and I can promise you," he added, turning to face May for the first time, "a most luxurious home—you've seen it—both for yourself and your little girl. Your aunt wishes it, I know; and I hope, Mrs. Burnside—May—you'll make me very happy by saying you'll be my wife before Christmas."
He came closer, and would have taken her hand; but she started back. Her aunt's basilisk eyes were fixed on her, to add to her discomfiture; but she said as firmly as she could, "I am very grateful for your kindness, Mr. Lang; nevertheless, I must refuse your offer, for I do not love you, and I could not marry any man unless I did."
"Now, really, Miss Waller," remonstrated the plutocrat, turning with an injured air to the wrathful spinster, "I call this too bad! It was understood between us that you would prepare Mrs. Burnside, so that it might all be plain sailing. I'm not accustomed to ask and be refused, I can tell you."
"May must have lost her senses to reject such an offer, Mr. Lang," returned Miss Waller, with an annihilating glance at her niece. "She is an ungrateful, undutiful girl; and if she refuses you, I will have nothing more to do with her."
"Well," rejoined Mr. Lang, with a gulp, as if swallowing something very nauseous to the taste, "I must confess I didn't expect to be sent to the right-about like this. However, young ladies often change their minds; and perhaps, when Mrs. Burnside thinks my offer quietly over, she may alter her opinion. I've great faith in your persuasions, Miss Waller. I've just had a telegram, saying a fall of rock has damaged the machinery at the Springkloof, and I'm wanted out there, so I must sail for the Cape at once. I expect to be away some months; by November I shall probably be back in England. I give Mrs. Burnside until then to consider my offer; I won't look upon this as a final rejection. I'm sure, when she thinks of all I'm in a position to offer, she can't be so foolish as to refuse."
"How kind—how generous!" exclaimed Miss Waller, as May stood in stony silence. "I promise in my niece's name that when you come back she will accept you. I hope we shall see you again before you leave?"
"Well, no, for I've a lot to do before I go. But I'll write to you; and as soon as I possibly can I shall return for Mrs. Burnside's answer."
wondeful"How wonderful to meet you here!"—p. 513.
"How wonderful to meet you here!"—p. 513.
"How wonderful to meet you here!"—p. 513.
As if in a sick dream, with this threat ringing in her ears, May mechanically tendered him her limp hand in farewell. When they were once more alone her aunt said in crisp, dry tones:
"I shall return to Beachbourne on Wednesday, and make arrangements for spending August and September in visiting amongst our friends in the country. We have plenty of invitations. I have said all I need say on the subject of Mr. Lang. Meanwhile, you can choose between Palace Gardens and every luxury, and a life of starvation and beggary for you and Doris."
Despite the apparent calm with which Mr. Lang had taken May's rejection of his flattering offer, he was nevertheless in a very bad temper when he left the house and jumped into his victoria. He was not accustomed to rebuffs—which made the fact that he had just been rejected by a penniless widow, only saved from actual want by her aunt's charity, doubly galling.
"I'm mad to care so much about a pale-faced girl with nothing to say for herself; and I really ought to do better. I could easily marry a lady of title, or anybody I choose; and it would serve her right if I went straight off and proposed to somebody else, just to show her that rich husbands don't grow on every bush!"
Revenge is always the first thought of a mean mind which is smarting from a sense of injury. Mr. Lang chuckled over this idea for some time, and the result was, that when Esther Inglis entered their one sitting-room about half-past five that day, she found Mr. Lang seated in the most comfortable chair, awaiting her.
She instantly assumed her thorny manner; but it had no more effect than it would have had upon a rhinoceros. "I've come to say good-bye for the present, Miss Inglis," heairily remarked, as if his visit were a matter of course. "I leave to-morrow for Johannesburg on business; and as I shall probably see your brother, it would give me great pleasure to take charge of anything you may wish to send him."
Esther's handsome face relaxed. Really it was very kind and thoughtful of Mr. Lang, who, with his influence, might prove a valuable friend to Jack.
"It is very good of you, and in his last letter Jack asked us to send him some collars and ties; they are such a fearful price at Johannesburg, and not good. But they are not bought yet, and you say you leave to-morrow?"
"Yes, but the shops will not be closed for some time, and my victoria is at the door, if you will honour me by using it to go where you wish."
Esther hesitated a moment; but the opportunity of saving expensive and troublesome postage, besides serving Jack, was too good to lose. Mr. Lang rose, and indicated a box lying on the table.
thanks"Oh, don't thank me."
"Oh, don't thank me."
"Oh, don't thank me."
"I've brought you a little fruit, Miss Inglis, just sent to me from my country place near Dorking. My head-gardener prides himself on his peaches and nectarines; but I must leave you to judge."
"Oh, thank you!" cried Esther, with sparkling eyes; for she had not tasted a nectarine since leaving Mallowfleld. In a moment she had undone the satin ribbon which tied down the lid, and was feasting her eyes on such peaches as she had seldom seen.
"As you seem fond of fruit, I'll give orders to my gardener to send you a box periodically," observed Mr. Lang. "Oh, don't thank me; I shall be away, and somebody may as well enjoy it. And if you'll have the parcel and letters ready, my footman shall call for them to-morrow morning."
He accompanied Esther down to the street, where his beautifully appointed carriage was waiting; and it must be confessed she enjoyed finding herself seated behind a spruce coachman and footman once more. "You will take this lady's orders," pompously commanded Mr. Lang. "Keep the carriage as long as you like, Miss Inglis, and I'll not forget about the parcel."
So manifest was his desire to propitiate, that Esther could do no less than bid him a civil farewell, with the hope that he might have a pleasant journey. Then she rolled away, looking so much at home in the smart carriage that Mr. Lang gazed after her admiringly.
"By Jove, how well she sets the whole thing off! Looks like a lady used to carriages all her life. May Burnside really isn't a patch upon Esther Inglis; there is no mistake about that!"
Had Miss Waller only been there to hear him, she might well have trembled for the success of her darling scheme of marrying May to a rich man.
[END OF CHAPTER TWELVE.]
Easter eggs
I"Going to Mr. President's!"
"Going to Mr. President's!"
That is what the hundreds of little boys and girls will tell you any Easter Monday morning, should you chance to stop them and ask their destination as they go toddling along the streets of Washington with baskets of eggs hanging on their arms and a glad delight shining in their eyes.
They make up a very "mixed" crowd, these children! There is the dainty little miss in richly embroidered frock and wide silk sash, with one tiny hand held tightly in the grasp of a big negro nurse and the other hand clasping lovingly a basket of pretty coloured eggs; there is another little girl in a very clean but much-faded gingham or print apron, trotting along at her mother's side—the mother dressed, perchance, in shabby black, belonging to the class known in the Southern part of the States as the "poor whites"; there is also the trio of little "darkey" girls, dancing merrily along the sidewalk, swinging their egg-baskets as though with intention of spilling the eggs over passers-by, yet never quite dropping them, and singing the while as they keep step—
"Tra la la la, tra la la la,Easter Monday morning!"
There are nice, smart-looking little boys, strutting along proudly in their first pair of knickerbockers, with pockets bulging out with Easter eggs, their black nurses walking just a few steps behind them; there are the poor white boys whose clothes are patched and boots worn with toes protruding. On other days they sell newspapers, black boots, and do "odd jobbs" to earn a few cents, but on Easter Monday morning they somehow get together a collection of coloured eggs and go to see the President. Then there are the little black boys, some smartly dressed (for many of the coloured people of Washingtonare well-to-do), and others as shabby as shabby can be. But no matter. Are they not provided with Easter Monday eggs and going up to the White House to see "Mr. President," who every Easter Monday gives over his beautiful lawn to as many little boys and girls as like to go and see him, and roll their eggs over the grassy slopes that look out over the Potomac River?
invasionLester Ralph.THE INVASION OF THE PRESIDENT'S LAWN.
Lester Ralph.THE INVASION OF THE PRESIDENT'S LAWN.
Lester Ralph.
THE INVASION OF THE PRESIDENT'S LAWN.
On no other day during the year does Washington present so interesting and picturesque an appearance as on Easter Monday, and it is the happiest day of all the year with the children of the Capitol City. In England, of course, Easter Monday is always a Bank Holiday, but not so in the United States. In New York and other large American cities banks and shops and schools are open as usual; but in the district of Columbia, where Washington is situated, it is a legal holiday. That in itself makes it a happy time for the children. Then, add to the joy of having no lessons to learn the fact that they are allowed to takedozens of coloured eggs to the White House lawn and play the games of "egg-picking" and "egg-rolling" as the specially invited guests of the President of the United States, and it will be easily understood how festive an occasion is Easter Monday to the children of Washington.
Not even the oldest inhabitants of Washington can remember the time when the boys and girls of the city did not celebrate Easter Monday by "egg-rolling," although the children of fifty years ago rolled their eggs down Capitol Hill, under the shadow of the magnificent Capitol building, instead of on the White House lawn. Year after year the children of former generations trudged up the great hill with their egg-baskets over their arms and had the happiest times imaginable with their Easter games.
One Easter Monday, however, about twenty years ago, hundreds of boys and girls went to Capitol Hill with their eggs just as they had done in previous years, when they were astonished to be hustled off the grounds by special messengers and policemen from the Senate and House of Representatives, who declared that the distinguished Senators and Congressmen in convention assembled had made up their minds that their "door-yard" was no longer to be disfigured for days after Easter Monday with broken eggs and vari-coloured shells! They were weary of having their highly polished boots smeared with yolks of eggs, and Easter Monday "egg-rolling" in Washington was to be ended!
Then there went up all about the precincts of the nation's Capitol a loud wail of anguish and wrath from hundreds of childish throats, in which the numerous nurses and attendants joined. Many boys and girls gathered on the steps of the building, sobbing in disappointment, some of the larger boys throwing out direful hints of vengeance to be wreaked on the heads of the nation's law-makers; but the stately Senators remained stony-hearted, in spite of it all. In the midst of the tearful hubbub the President's carriage drove past, and President Hayes (the then head of the nation) drew up near the portico to inquire why the children wept instead of rolling their eggs on Easter Monday.
A chorus of voices informed him that the "nasty Senators wouldn't let them play any more because they messed up the grounds"; and then again from the throng of little ones confronting the President there arose fresh outbursts of grief and indignation.
Mr PresLester Ralph."GOING TO MR. PRESIDENT'S."
Lester Ralph."GOING TO MR. PRESIDENT'S."
Lester Ralph.
"GOING TO MR. PRESIDENT'S."
"Never you mind, children," said President Hayes soothingly. "You may come right up to my house and play in my back yard."
Then the mourning was turned to rejoicing. Every child knew that in all the city of Washington there was not so wonderful a "back yard" as that which belonged to the White House. Its beautifully kept slopes were ideal places for "egg-rolling," and then there was the great fountain in the middle of the lawn! So when the President's carriage started to return to the White House, it was followed by several hundred boys and girls swinging their egg-baskets, and singing and shouting out their gratitude to the President of the United States, who was going to let them play in his garden. I doubt if ever an American President had an escort of which hehad such cause to feel proud as that which accompanied President Hayes to the White House gates on that memorable Easter Monday.
White HouseLester Ralph.ON THE WAY TO THE WHITE HOUSE.
Lester Ralph.ON THE WAY TO THE WHITE HOUSE.
Lester Ralph.
ON THE WAY TO THE WHITE HOUSE.
Outside the gates they were kept waiting for about an hour, while the President gave his hurried instructions to the gardeners to put the place in readiness. At eleven o'clock the gates swung open, and from that time till six o'clock the children rolled their eggs.
Ever since then Washington children have gone regularly every Easter Monday to play in the President's "back yard," each of President Hayes's successors having kept up the custom of inserting in the Washington papers each year an invitation to all the children residents of the town to spend the day rolling eggs on the lawn.
In President Hayes's time his own children joined in the sport, and during the last term of President Cleveland the President's little girls, who were considered too young to roll eggs with the elder children, were kept on the back portico with their mother or their nurse, where they could watch the progress of the games.
Two years ago, on Easter Monday, I spent the day on the White House lawn, watching the big "Presidential children's party," as it is called. The gates were opened at a little after ten o'clock, and during the day there were several thousand children playing in the grounds. Many of the children, besides carrying their baskets of eggs, carried also their luncheon-baskets, and when tired of games they sat about on the grass, picnic-fashion, eating bread-and-butter and cakes and hard-boiled eggs. I should here mention that, although the President does not consider it necessary to make any rules for the preservation of order among his young guests—it being taken for granted that all children invited to the President's garden will behave in their very best style—he always requests that those who accept his invitation to roll their eggs on his lawn will be particular to bring with them only eggs that are thoroughly hard boiled, for in the game of "egg-picking" the use of raw or soft-boiled eggs would be, to say the least, most inconvenient!
The game of "egg-picking" is a very simple one, although it is entered into most enthusiastically by the boys and girls. The children separate themselves into groups of eight or ten, then seat themselves on the grass at the top of the slopes and roll their eggs down to the bottom. The eggs that make the descent without getting cracked or "picked" may be brought back and re-rolled, until they do get cracked or until the game is over, while those that get "picked" are placed back in the baskets. The boy who can hit his neighbour's egg and "pick" it without "picking" his own is looked upon as something of a hero. Of course, toward the end of the game many of the players drop out, all of their eggs having got "picked." Very often the players are reduced to two who show themselves particularly expert, and then there is great excitement watching for the winner.
Besides the game of "egg-picking" there are egg-ball games, egg croquetgames; but plain "egg-rolling," which consists of rolling eggs down the slopes, going after them, and rolling them again and again, seems to be the favourite amusement. Then, too, the children engage in "jumping the rope" and other similar amusements.
Although many of the children spend the entire day on the lawn, numbers of them remain for a couple of hours only. By this means the grounds are not kept so crowded as they would otherwise be. The hours between three and five o'clock, however, are considered the most enjoyable, as during that time the President always arranges to have the Marine Baud to entertain the children with music, and it is at that time also that the President makes his appearance out on the back portico to greet the children. It is, of course, thoroughly understood that so busy a man as the President cannot spend his whole day with his young visitors. He entertains them by turning over his grounds to them, and they enjoy themselves in their own way without molestation.
On the afternoon of the Easter Monday which I spent in Washington President McKinley came out on the portico at about half-past three. He took off his hat and waved it to the children, who all gathered as near as possible about the portico and shouted out—
"Howdy do, Mr. President? Howdy do, howdy do?"—the boys taking off their caps and the little girls waving their handkerchiefs.
"How do you do, children? Glad to see you, and hope you are having a good time!" shouted back the President.
McKinleyLester Ralph.PRESIDENT McKINLEY GREETING HIS YOUNG VISITORS.
Lester Ralph.PRESIDENT McKINLEY GREETING HIS YOUNG VISITORS.
Lester Ralph.
PRESIDENT McKINLEY GREETING HIS YOUNG VISITORS.
"Splendid time, Mr. President, and thank you for your invitation," called back the delighted little guests.
"That's right!" returned the President, laughing. "I hope you'll all come again next Easter Monday."
"Thank you, Mr. President. Good-bye, good-bye!" shouted the children. Then President McKinley went back to his duties of State and the children returned to their egg-rolling. Mrs. McKinley sat on the portico most of the afternoon watching the merriment. Occasionally a little boy or girl would edge up to the portico, and push a blue or red egg through the railings, saying:
"Please, Mrs. President, I've brought you one of my eggs to keep!"
Mrs. McKinley accepted the little presents with the sweetest of smiles and a "Thank you."
At about two o'clock in the afternoon the White House lawn looked like a large picnic ground. Some of the children had brought napkins to lay upon the grass when they should be ready to eat their luncheon, and on the napkins they spread their boiled eggs and bread-and-butter. One little girl, when I complimented her on her daintiness, explained:
"I does it so I won't get eggshells on Mr. President's grass! My mamma told me I must be careful, cos it wouldn't be very nice if the President of the 'Nited States had to go round to-morrow picking up eggshells after me!"
During the afternoon there were several slight accidents at the fountain. Some of the children delighted in digging all the meat from their eggs through the smallest possible aperture and then floating the empty shells in the lower basin of the fountain where the water was undisturbed. In trying to keep their improvised ships from sailing away, two little girls fell into the water, but they were quickly rescued by their nurses and taken home to be dried.
At five o'clock the crowd began to disperse, and at a little past six the small guests of the President had all left the lawn and were on their way to their various homes. Such a variety of homes, indeed, they went to! Some to magnificent mansions on Connecticut Avenue. Their fathers were high Government officials, Senators, members of the Cabinet, and their mothers well-known society women. Other little boys and girls went to very humble homes and minded their little baby brothers and sisters while their mothers got supper; and then there were the homes in the localities given over almost entirely to the negro population. Before the War their parents and grandparents had been slaves, little dreaming that their descendants would ever be invited along with the children of the aristocratic whites to play in the President's "back yard"!
By the way, what a sight that "back yard" did present on the morning following Easter Monday! There were four gardeners busily at work with rakes and brooms and baskets. They were gathering up the litter of eggshells, breadcrumbs, bits of paper, lost playthings, and tiny bits of muslin and calico that had somehow got torn off the dresses of some of the children. At the fountain one of the gardeners was fishing out pieces of string and floating shells. It was four o'clock when the garden was finally "picked up" and shorn of its festive appearance. It was then absolutely "spick and span," and no one could ever have guessed that the day before it had been a playground for several thousand children!
Elizabeth L. Banks.
decor
Within a spacious hall, before a fireWhose flick'ring light danced weirdly on his brow,Stood Peter mutely brooding o'er his vowTo die with Christ, though thousands should conspireTo wreak their vengeance, profitless and dire,On Christ and all who faith in Him avow.With sin the soul of Peter struggled now,When, "Known, or not, to Jesus?" men inquire."I know Him not"—thus, falsely, thrice he swore;And think you that because this weak man fellThe God-Man would deny him evermore?Christ looked upon him, and that look did spell:"For thee My soul shall on the Cross be riven,And, therefore, Peter, is thy sin forgiven!"Louis H. Victory.
Within a spacious hall, before a fireWhose flick'ring light danced weirdly on his brow,Stood Peter mutely brooding o'er his vowTo die with Christ, though thousands should conspireTo wreak their vengeance, profitless and dire,On Christ and all who faith in Him avow.With sin the soul of Peter struggled now,When, "Known, or not, to Jesus?" men inquire.
"I know Him not"—thus, falsely, thrice he swore;And think you that because this weak man fellThe God-Man would deny him evermore?Christ looked upon him, and that look did spell:"For thee My soul shall on the Cross be riven,And, therefore, Peter, is thy sin forgiven!"
Louis H. Victory.