The General opened his arms and May leaped into them. Then the hater of petticoats laid his bearded cheek against May's soft, young face and said,—
"I wouldn't exchange my little girl for all the boys in the world!"
A grand stand was not an accomplished fact at Hazelnook, but for all practical purposes the upper rail of the fence surrounding Farmer Clarke's field was as good a position for the enthusiasts as seats on the bleaching boards. The spectators, therefore, that were gathered together to witness the game between the Plainvilles and the home team sat on the fence like a row of birds on a telegraph wire, and among them were Ned Payne and a large party from Plainville. Gay was not there; he was on the diamond in close conversation with Captain Carver.
"You know about what I can do," Gay was saying, at the very moment the game was advertised to begin.
Lyman was silent; his sense of propriety was not largely developed, and since he had known Gay he had lost all prejudice against the presence of the gentler sex in the field of sport, but he was not certain that all those present would share his views.
"They may think it odd to see a girl play," he said at length.
"No matter about that," Gay said, carelessly. "I don't think they'll say much about it!"
"Play ball, can't you?" shouted the boys on the fence.
"Fellows!" shouted Captain Carver, in response to this cry, "one of our men has gone back on us. It is not exactly his fault; his stepmother's baby died this morning, and they won't let Will out, although the youngster is only his half-sister, and they are not going to bury her this afternoon, and Will isn't really needed at home, but——"
Here Lyman shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that the ways of some people were beyond his comprehension; then he continued, "But I've got a substitute: Brown Walcott, of New York."
The Hazelnook boys cheered lustily when Lyman ceased speaking, for Gay was now the heroine, or hero, as the reader prefers, of the village; his treatment of his guests at the memorable party, and his reply to the minister, declaring himself "a radical," having now given him that distinction. In recognition of this evidence of his popularity Gay stepped forward, and with a radiant and comprehensive smile, said:
"How are you, fellows?"
The boys expected a speech, and the hum anddin of the field immediately ceased, but Gay did not go on, and the Plainville faction soon recovered its voice.
"No girls in mine!" shouted one of its members.
Then a succession of derisive remarks were shot off like a bunch of fire-crackers, one after another:
"Make her a short-stop; she can't stop long!"
"Her petticoats will be out on a fly, if she isn't!"
"Put her in the box!"
"She'll get in a box, fast enough!"
"Send her out in the field—to grass!"
"Don't do that; she's the same color, and it would mix everybody up!"
This was more than high-spirited Gay could bear in silence, and he shouted:
"When you get over your bad attack of mouth I'll show you my real color! Unless you're color-blind you won't call it green!"
This quick and truly unfeminine reply so amazed the Plainville boys that they ceased to jeer, and Ned Payne took the time to say:
"I've seen her play."
This quiet remark was more convincing than a long description of Gay's good points. "I've seen her play" hinted at remarkable achievements.There were a few more comments, the reverse of complimentary or chivalrous, but they were promptly frowned down, and cries of "Play ball!" once more rent the air.
Gay was placed, and he was the first to go to the bat.
The pitcher smiled, as if to say, "Fair, high, or low ball, it will be just the same to a girl, I guess."
Gay saw the smile and it increased his determination to do his best and to help win the game for the home team.
"Play!" called the umpire, and the game commenced.
The pitcher, thinking he had nothing to fear, began by putting the ball right on the bat. Gay astonished him by driving it well towards the right field and taking two bases.
This hit delighted Gay's admirers. "Take the third, Brown," one of them shouted.
"What's the color of the grass, now?" cried another.
"The color of two bases," answered a third.
"A two-bagger the first hit!" Ned remarked, casting a triumphant glance at his Plainville neighbors.
"Don't crow too soon," one of them advised. "One hit doesn't make an inning. When Jones goes to the bat he'll beat her pace."
Jones was the crack player of the Plainvilles, and the one that the home team feared most. But this did not seem to Ned to be any reason why he should not say "Oh, Jones!" with a rising inflection that made his companion's face flush.
Gay's successor at the bat helped him to third base and a fumbled ball of centre's sent him over the home base. This led to an exchange of compliments.
"The green grass doesn't grow under her feet, does it?" Ned demanded with an exasperating smile as Gay touched the plate.
"She can't keep it up," replied his companion stoutly. "That's the beauty of Jones; he'd be good for nine times nine innings."
At the same time Captain Carver was offering good advice to Jones's rival. "Take it easy, Brown," he said, quietly, "Don't let them work you up."
Gay sat down on the ground, drew his knees up under his chin and watched the game intently. Lyman threw a jacket over Gay's shoulders and stood by his side, measuring the ability of his own and the rival team. Gay made every error of the Plainvilles an excuse to say something to his late deriders—I said in the beginning that Gay was not a model boy!
The home team went out in order and Jones went to the bat amid considerable applause. It was evident that he was away up in the opinion of histeam. He swung the bat from one hand to the other, made a strike or two against the air, exchanged that bat for another and whirled that around till it sung, rejected it for a third, which seemed to suit, for he tapped the plate smartly as much as to say, "This bat'll do; I'm ready now to wipe out the Hazelnooks."
"Jonsey'll do!" was the audible comment after this by-play with the bat.
"Play ball!" shouted an impatient urchin.
Jones smiled invitingly at the pitcher, who replied with a swift ball. Jones put out a short fly; second base, centre and right field went for it, the ball dropping between them, and that sent Jones to second base, from whence he gradually worked home. His slow, safe playing was in direct contrast to Gay's dash and vim and did much to advance the latter in popular favor in which it seemed to be understood the two players were rivals.
Gay's work when the Plainvilles were at bat was good, but not such as to excite envy. When he again took his place at the plate he hit splendidly and came all the way on a ball that centre field started for and misjudged badly.
Then a shout arose from the Hazelnook boys, to which the Plainvilles did not enjoy listening, although they continued by way of encouragement to flatter their own boys and slander their opponentsafter the manner of players of greater skill. Their spirits rose when Jones was next at bat, and hit heavily and got third base with ease; but when he was put out in trying to get home, their spirits dropped again. The fact was Jones was not playing nearly as well as the rest of the Plainville boys, and he knew it, which was, of course, in Gay's favor.
When Gay went to bat the third time he hit fairly, but took his bases easily, stealing second, and getting third by a walk-over, while the ball sent up by muscular Robert was trying to kiss the sky, and making home by a clever sprint.
"Good for you, Brown!" shouted Ned from the fence, and the rest of the boys echoed his cry. As for Captain Carver, his enthusiasm knew no bounds.
"Brown," said he, in an earnest aside, "I always thought before I knew you that girls were a pretty slow lot, but you—you beat any boy I've seen, and give him an hour's start, too."
Gay was silent. There were times when praise made him uncomfortable. It didn't seem fair that Lyman and the other boys should be deceived as to the true reason for his skill and strength, but what was he to do? Confess the truth? "Not yet!" he always said to himself in answer to these silent questionings.
"Don't be too sure of my doing much to-day," he said to Lyman. "The game is too close; a little stupid playing will give it to them."
The game went on, and in the ninth inning, when the score was twelve to eleven in the home team's favor, the pitcher began by tossing a ball over the plate that a baby might have hit, and Gay sent it, for the second time, almost to the right field fence, and took first base.
"Come home!" shouted the boys; "you can do it."
Gay took second base with caution, and third with a dash, and still the fielders were after the ball.
"Come home!" his friends shouted. "Come, for all you're worth!"
And Gay came.
"Look out for your skirt!" somebody shouted; "it's slipping down."
Gay reached frantically for the unloosened skirt, but it dropped below his grasp, caught him at the knees, and tripped him while he was at full speed. He fell heavily on his right side, and lay there motionless.
"Get up!" the boys shouted. "They're sending the ball home."
"Home! home!" cried centre, clapping his hands encouragingly.
By this time Gay was on his feet, and the dress skirt was on the ground.
"Here," centre cried, continuing to clap his hands; "we'll put her out as easy as rolling off a log!"
The ball came whizzing through the air; Gay made a dash forward; centre made a bad fumble, and Gay touched the plate, but his face was strangely white.
"Play the game, boys," he said, faintly, "and don't—tell—mother! My—arm—I——"
Then he fell like a log.
"She's got a fit!" cried the pitcher.
"I'm afraid it's worse than that," said Lyman, a moment later. "I think her arm is broken!"
Gay was sent home in an improvised ambulance, a farm wagon filled with hay. His arm was broken, and it proved to be an ugly fracture. But when it was set the doctor said,—
"You bore it bravely, Miss May—better than most boys."
The doctor's praise was sweet to Gay and he smiled faintly in reply; he was too weak to answer with his usual animation.
The Hazelnooks and even the Plainville boys and Ethel and Julia followed Gay to Rose Cottage and were waiting on the porch for the doctor, and when they saw him they cried in one voice,—
"How is she?"
"Weak, but she bore it like a hero, boys!" replied the jolly doctor. "You will have to stand on your own merits next time; May won't play ball again this summer—the little Amazon!"
"We want to see her, doctor, please," said Lyman.
"I don't please—not for two days," said the doctor.
They murmured loudly against this. "Just let us see her!" they pleaded. "Just a peep!"
"Not a peep!" answered the doctor, firmly. Then the big, bluff man looked grave. "It is for your friend's good," he added.
And they said no more about it, but went away quietly and with sober faces. It was during these two days that the Hazelnook boys and girls found out how well they liked their friend.
"She's so honest and square," said Robert.
"And so full of fun and pluck," said Will.
"So bright and pretty," said Julia.
"Not a frill," said Ned.
"The jolliest girl I've ever seen," said Ethel.
"The finest girl living," said Fred.
"As deep as they make them," said Lyman. "Who else would have said about the Radical to the minister?"
Thus they spoke of the prankish boy with vast admiration and affection, and "May's" remarks and "May's" performances were reported by these young people to their elders and these, also, began to discuss "May Walcott" and to regard her as a clever, if unconventional girl. Even the judge's mother, who, since Gay's descent from the coach, had prophesied gloomily that "Miss Linn'sniece would mortify her to death" suddenly changed her tune and declared that she had always liked the fresh, breezy ways of the child, and that she had known from the first that "May" was destined to be popular.
"Young people nowadays," quoth the judge's mother to the doctor's wife, "like somebody that has some life."
"She certainly has made those rough village boys quite gentlemanly," admitted the doctor's wife.
These rumors and rumors of rumors reached the ears of the Misses Linn and had much influence in reconciling them to their supposed niece's accident on the ball-field. They may have thought that it would not do to criticise such a popular young person, at all events they uttered no word of reproach, but devoted themselves lovingly to the care of the invalid.
The doctor came every day, and upon more than one occasion he found his patient—alas for romance—decidedly cross.
"Oh, Doctor, if I might just sit on the porch and see the boys!" pleaded Gay, the second day after the accident.
"Will you promise to keep quiet and not try to do any left-handed acts?"
"Not an act—if you'll only let me go."
"Well, look out for your arm!" said the doctor, warningly, for Gay ran out of the room with a cry of delight, without waiting for further instructions.
No sooner was Gay seated on the porch than visitors sprang up as if by magic from all sides. The truth was, Lyman was watching outside the gate to get the first word from the doctor, and when Gay appeared Lyman notified Will, who told Robert, who told Ned, who in his turn imparted the knowledge to Ethel, who informed Julia, and at length all his friends in Hazelnook were clustered around the invalid.
Then what a hubbub there was! Everybody talked at once. Everybody laughed at once. There was so much rejoicing that at length they became quiet from sheer exhaustion, and the air about was as silent as it is when a noisy machine suddenly ceases its motion.
"I'm cold!" announced Gay, suddenly.
"Then you must go right into the house," said Miss Celia, greatly agitated. "You can find something in there to amuse your friends."
The young people went in, leaving the aunts on the porch, and soon the sound of lively music was heard.
"I hope May will be careful of her arm," said Miss Celia, anxiously.
"Celia, who is that coming up the drive?" said Miss Linn, without heeding her sister's remark.
"I don't know," Miss Celia answered. Then, for the first time in her life she took the initiative; impelled by an impulse she could not have explained, she left the porch and went to meet the persons who were rapidly approaching.
The unknown visitors presented an extremely picturesque appearance as they advanced. The General, for of course it was he, in holiday attire, was leading May, who wore one of the "little great-aunt's" frocks, which looked for all the world, so faithfully does Fashion repeat herself, as though it had been designed by a modern artist.
"Madam," said the General, bowing profoundly, "have I the honor to address Miss Celia Linn?"
"Yes," murmured Miss Celia.
"I am General Haines, of Cedarville," began the General.
"Don't you know Aunt Celia? I'm May," interrupted May.
"May!" repeated Miss Celia, looking closely at the young visitor for the first time.
"May Walcott," May answered, with a smile, that was strangely familiar to Miss Celia.
"We have one May Walcott with us now," said Miss Celia, visibly dazed.
"Allow me to explain," said the General.
But there was no time for explanations. At that time Gay, followed by the boys and girls agape with curiosity, came running forward as fast as his disabled condition would permit, and kissed May warmly.
Then the twins stood side by side, and everybody exclaimed at the resemblance.
"Could you tell them apart?"
"Except for the arm."
"And the dress."
"The same eyes!"
"Mouth!"
"Hair!"
"I cannot understand it," said Miss Celia; "these are certainly Elinor's twins, but how does it happen that both are girls?"
"I'll tell you——" Gay began.
"Let us go in the house," said Miss Celia, taking the real May by the hand and giving the General, who still held May's other hand, a smile that made him feel that life was as fair as the dawn of spring.
Miss Linn met them at the hall door, but no one thought to introduce her, and she followed them into the drawing-room, where Gay told the story of the masquerade with which we are already familiar.
"What!" they cried, when he was finished, "are you a boy?"
"Yes—thank goodness!" said Gay, piously.
GAY CAME RUNNING FORWARD
GAY CAME RUNNING FORWARD
"I'm glad that you are a boy," said Miss Linn, with a sigh of relief; "it explains a good many things."
"My actions?" said Gay. "Oh, it was awful, I can tell you. It is just like waiting to sneeze in church when you know all the time you mustn't, to try to be a girl when you are really a boy!"
There was a general laugh at Gay's comparison, in which it might have been noticed the Hazelnook young people joined very faintly. After a slight pause Lyman arose; his companions rose, also, for by some mysterious method of communication they knew that they were in sympathy with what he was about to say.
"I think," he said, slowly, but with suppressed feeling, "that it was a pretty crooked thing to deceive us deliberately by making us think that you were a fine girl. It can't help making a difference in our opinion of you, and I guess we'd better say good-by."
Lyman bowed to the company, the others did the same, then, like icicles under the noonday heat of the sun, they melted away out of the room.
When the little maid, in the quaint old-time frock, saw the favorite thus stripped of favor she put her arms about his neck and whispered—
"You have me, no matter what happens. Don't fuss," she added, for she had learned the lesson ofpatience. "If they really like you it will come out all right."
"I don't know about it," said Gay, gloomily. "I'm afraid I'm frozen out altogether."
And not until that moment did Gay realize how highly he valued his popularity.
It would be difficult to decide which position was the more enviable, the fallen idol's or that of his erstwhile worshipers. The latter left Rose Cottage swayed by two emotions, disappointment and indignation; in twelve hours disappointment alone was left; in twenty-four hours disappointment was succeeded by a desire to talk the matter over. Not that they were weakening, far from it, but they wanted to look at the case squarely—and they met at Ethel's to look at it!
"I think you are rather hard upon May—I mean Gay," said Ethel. "After praising him to the skies you suddenly turn round and drag him through the dust. He never said he wasn't a boy; all he did was to put on skirts, answer to his sister's name, and act like a boy all the time. We deceived ourselves."
"He did it all under false colors," Lyman said stoutly.
"Didn't you go into the orchard under falsecolors?" retorted Ethel. "But when you met Gay he overlooked that and made friends with you, and you, at the first chance, desert him."
"You don't understand it, Ethel," began Ned. "It really wasn't the thing, you know."
"I understand it as well as you do," replied Ned's sister. "And you don't always do the right thing."
"None of us do the right thing all the time," said Will, "but——"
"There isn't any but about it," cried Ethel. "If you won't accept a but in Gay's case you have no right to offer one in your own."
"Think how he bore the pain of his broken arm," said Julia. "And you said yourselves that he won the ball game for you. And you boys wouldn't have been treated so well by us if it hadn't been for Gay's splendid manners the day of the party."
The boys were somewhat affected by this argument, but not greatly.
"He put up a job on us," said Lyman, stubbornly.
"We find it hard to forgive Gay because we thought he couldn't do wrong," said slow Robert. "We thought he was immense, and when we found out that he was a little worse than most of us it was like a crack side of the head."
"Did he ever do anything that wasn't splendid except to fool you about being a girl?" Ethel asked.
"His aunts forgave him," urged Julia gently.
"And General Haines forgave Gay's sister, and he had as much right to be unforgiving as you have," Ethel said.
"Nobody is unforgiving," muttered Lyman. "But I thought that he was twice as good as the minister or anybody, and——"
"He always behaved like a gentleman," interrupted Ned.
"Yes, that's where the laugh comes in," Will said.
"You may be as hateful as you like," announced impetuous Ethel. "Julia and I have made up our minds to go to Rose Cottage and try to make it up with Gay."
There was some little controversy. Robert was on the girls' side and the others soon followed his lead. Lyman, who had been fondest of the youthful impostor, was the last to forgive him, but in the end he signified his willingness to accompany the girls. They went on their way with some feeling of shyness, which increased as they approached the house, and deepened still further when they failed to descry either May or Gay on the porch.
"Suppose he is stand-offish," said Ethel gloomily.
"I really can't go up there and ring the bell," said Will, whose courage was beginning to ooze away.
There was no need to ring the bell; Gay and May had seen them coming, and together they went to meet the approaching regiment, wondering if it came with peaceful or hostile intent.
"How do you do?" said Gay, determined to do his share of the peacemaking.
"How do you do?" the group answered in one voice.
Then there was an awkward pause.
"We have come——" began Robert, "to——"
"Oh, Gay, we are so sorry!" interrupted warm-hearted Ethel.
"So am I, and ashamed, too," Gay replied, soberly. "May and I talked it over last night and we decided that although we didn't mean to we had done a lot of deceiving. It might have been worse, I suppose, still my sister went through a great deal, and here is my broken arm and all on account of our masquerading. If you can excuse me for being a fraud I'm sure I can excuse you for being mad about it when you found it out. I was ashamed very often, although I tried to think it was a lark. I am the one to ask pardon."
What generous words these seemed to the boys and girls! They had never made any real mistake; Gay was worthy of their admiration.
"Boy or girl; Gay or May, you're a brick," cried Lyman. And he voiced the sentiment of all.
"I knew if you really liked Gay it would come out all right," May said, with a bright smile.
"We really like him, and you, too," Ethel said, warmly.
"If you like me you must like her for we are just the same as one," said Gay, whose good spirits had returned.
Just then Aunt Celia, who surmised that a treaty of peace had been arranged, invited them all in to have lemonade and little Queen's cakes. She knew, wise aunt that she was, that nothing cements a treaty like good cheer, and that many a controversy has been buried out of sight in a harmless merry-making. After much laughter and lively talk the boys and girls went away, satisfied with themselves and with Gay. When they were alone May said, soberly,—
"It hasn't been all harm. I have learned to depend upon myself and I should not have done so if I had had you to depend upon."
"I have learned never again to try to be a girl, even in fun!" said Gay, looking ruefully at his arm.
"There is one thing that troubles me, Gay; just what mother will think of us," said May.
For once Gay said nothing in reply. "What would mother think?" It was a question that he could not answer.
The aunts, the uncle and the minister were in the flower-perfumed drawing-room the next morning when Mr. Walcott's letter came. The mother was so far advanced towards health that the doctor had ordered her away from the city.
"We shall collect our children and go to Lake Hopatcong," wrote Mr. Walcott.
"Lake Hopatcong, indeed!" growled the General. "Cedarville will do Edward's wife more good than that breezy place. I shall telegraph Edward to that effect. When do they start?"
"To-morrow," said Miss Celia, to whom all the General's questions were addressed by design. "The children will take your message to the telegraph office."
"An admirable suggestion!" gallantly responded the General. "The longer I live the greater is my amazement that I have ever dreamed of governing myself without the assistance of the feminine mind." He had forgotten Sarah's frequent "assistance!""My little girl taught me this," he added, thinking that this explanation completely disguised the odor of the implied compliment to Miss Celia.
"Will you not write your telegram at Celia's davenport?" asked Miss Linn.
"With pleasure, madam," responded the General, rising with unnecessary alacrity. To sit at "Celia's davenport" was a privilege for gods—not men!
While he was writing the twins came in.
"Listen, little girl," said the General. "I am going to beg your father and mother, the children, your good aunts, and Mr. Livermore here, and Gay—the rascal! to go back with us to Cedarville; entreat them for me."
"Oh, you will come, won't you?" said May, by way of entreaty.
Much to everybody's surprise, the minister was the first to accept the invitation. Miss Linn declined, but said that Celia might go. Involuntarily the General's eyes sought those of Miss Celia, and in them he fancied he read a desire to go to Cedarville. For an instant—his heart beat so—he could not speak, but finally he said, in a low voice:
"You will favor me with your presence, Miss Celia?"
"Thank you—for a few days—until my sisterneeds me," said Miss Celia, with a faint blush that the General thought adorable.
"You've forgotten something," said Gay.
"What is it, sir?" demanded the General.
"You haven't invited Uncle George Walcott and Miss Maud Berkeley. They are lovers—and you want two of every kind in your party, like there was in the Ark, don't you?" said Gay.
The General added something to his telegram to Mr. Walcott.
"I have remedied that defect," he said; "have you any further suggestions?"
"Invite the boys and Ethel and Julia to go with us," said Gay; "that would be immense."
"You may invite them," said the General; "you and my little girl."
"Thank you," said Gay, heartily. "It's some fun to have an uncle like you."
"Thank you," said the General, much pleased with this flattery.
"Wouldn't it be a good thing to telegraph to Sarah?" said May, thoughtfully.
"I think it would," the General said, dryly.
Miss Linn left the room when the twins did, leaving the two gentlemen to feast their eyes upon the pretty picture of domesticity made by Miss Celia at her needlework.
On the way to the telegraph office May said:
"The minister likes Aunt Celia almost as well as Uncle Harold does."
"The boys say he's going to marry her," said Gay, coolly.
"Uncle Harold will feel dreadfully! He wants to marry her himself," May asserted, so boldly, that one would have said she was in the General's confidence.
"Then he shall have her," said Gay, with decision, "and we'll help him along; he's an old bachelor, and he won't know what to do."
"He must have read in books. You know in Jane's novel Rudolph de Montmorenci says to Lady Arabella, 'Angel of my life, fly with me!'"
"That wouldn't help Uncle Harold any. Aunt Celia can't fly, and he doesn't look as if he could! No, May; he'll never do it by himself. We must help him."
"I guess anybody as big as Uncle Harold can manage a little woman like Aunt Celia by himself."
"I don't know about that. Aunt Celia is little, but she's 'kinder skittish,' for Margery says so. But it isn't her as much as the minister we've got to look out for. It is my opinion, May, that he is just going to Cedarville to get ahead of Uncle Harold. Oh, you needn't smile! A minister is only a man, and hates to be done out of a thing asmuch as anybody. But he'll be done out of Aunt Celia—I can tell him that!"
"How? who will do it, Gay?"
"Wait and see!" was the mysterious response.
"Phyllis, listen to this," and Sarah unfolded the General's telegram from Hazelnook, and read:
"Expect the family and two more by 11.30 train to-morrow morning. Prepare as for garden party."Harold S. Haines."
"Expect the family and two more by 11.30 train to-morrow morning. Prepare as for garden party.
"Harold S. Haines."
"That's a definite telegram!" Sarah said, indignantly. "'Expect the family!' What family? How do I know how many there are in a family I don't know anything about? The 'two more' are of no consequence, but there may be three, two, ten, six or one in that 'family.' The General certainly needs a keeper if any man ever did."
"He knows you are equal to entertaining fifty at a few hours' notice, Miss Sarah," Phyllis said, soothingly.
"I don't know about that!" Sarah replied, somewhat mollified by Phyllis' appreciative remark. "But if nobody-knows-how-many-and-two-more areto be dropped down upon me at a moment's notice, I certainly do not intend to disgrace myself. Phyllis, we shall have to work!"
"Yes'm," said Phyllis, dropping easily into the old monosyllable.
As may be imagined, the old mansion was in perfect order the next morning. Flowers were everywhere, and the August sunshine flooded the stately rooms, for every blind and shutter was wide open. In the great oak dining-room the table was already spread with crystal and silver and china and damask, the united rich possessions of many generations of Haines' housemothers. Fruit and flowers were not lacking, and these had been arranged by Phyllis' deft and willing fingers. In the kitchen the banquet—a bountiful one, you may be sure, for who could say how many hungry mouths that mysterious "family" might contain?—was well under way. And Sarah—oh, Sarah was everywhere!—planning, ordering, executing, and, of course, scolding in her whimsical way, but in splendid humor, withal, for she gloried in an occasion where there was encouragement to put forth her best abilities.
Sarah was on the porch when the guests came, a line of maids, with Phyllis at their head, behind her, and her face was a study when she saw one carriage after another drive up, and a stream of people pour out as water flows from an invertedpitcher. All the General's carriages, and a roomy buckboard, containing as many boys and girls as could crowd in, made an impressive show. There were Mr. and Mrs. Walcott, Miss Celia and the minister, the General and May, Miss Maud Berkeley and Uncle George, nurse and baby, Ned and Jane, and Gay, Ethel, Julia, Ned Payne, Lyman, Robert, Will, Fred, Herb, and even Philip and Rob Lawrence, who had been picked up in the village at May's request.
"Mercy me!" thought Sarah. "If all but 'two' belong in her family no wonder Mrs. Walcott has nervous prostration! 'She,'" with a glance at Miss Celia, "is one of the 'two.' She is prettier than her picture and the image of his mother. Those two young people are lovers. How alike those twins are! No wonder they fooled everybody. Our child is a little sweeter than the boy. Who under the sun is that lank man with her? Another admirer, I should say. Well, such a figure as that can have no show beside the General, who is a fine-looking man, barring his outlandish clothes. Not much, Mr. Long-Legs! I'm glad I had that second lot of ice-cream made, with all those children there won't be a bit too much!"
During this soliloquy Sarah was welcoming everybody; directing the maids as to the disposal of the guests and looking so amiable the while that theGeneral was in a tremor of delight. He had not been without misgivings as to her appreciation of this large house party, for, as we know, he had neglected to inform her of his invitation to the Hazelnook boys and girls. When the last guest was disposed of, the General followed Sarah into the library, and looked expectantly at her.
"I gave her your mother's room," said Sarah, abruptly.
There was no need to ask whom Sarah meant; the General knew instinctively that it was Miss Celia.
"How did you know?" he said.
"How did I know where to put her?" said perverse Sarah, for she knew quite well what he meant. "I ought to know where to put guests in this house if anybody does."
"How did you know that nothing could be more gratifying to me than to have Miss Celia Linn in mother's room?" the General asked, earnestly.
"To tell the truth I didn't do it to gratify you; I thought she belonged there; she's the image of your mother."
The General actually grasped Sarah's hands. "Have I your consent?" said he; "I mean do you approve?"
"Yes,—have you hers?" replied Sarah, with a droll smile.
"I dare not hope, but I shall try my fate," the General answered, soberly.
"I am glad if you begin to realize your duty," said this inconsistent woman. "You ought to have married years ago; not waited till your wife will have to share you with old age and rheumatism."
"It was never time until now," the General declared, with youthful ardor. "Could any woman save Miss Celia Linn fitly reign here?—I ask you that, Sarah."
"You'd better ask her about reigning, not me," said Sarah, laughingly, and with this parting shot she left the room.
In the hall she encountered the twins deep in conversation.
"Miss Sarah, Gay says that you won't like him as well as you do me!" cried May.
"If he's as good as you are I shall like him," Sarah replied.
"I can't be half as good as she's been lately," Gay said. "I would have thumped Philip into next week if he had tried that game on me! But May won't be as good now I am here. We need to be together to show just what we are."
"Don't you think Gay might forgive Philip?" May asked! "He says he won't."
"I don't mind what people do to me; but to you, that's another thing," Gay said, stoutly.
"I like to have you speak so about me!" May said, with a gratified smile. "But suppose the boys and Ethel and Julia wouldn't have forgiven you?"
"I'm sick of so much forgiving!" cried Gay. "It's nothing but forgive or be forgiven all the time."
"To forgive and be forgiven—that is life, my son," said a soft voice behind them. "Learn to forgive as freely as you would be forgiven and you will need no other lesson."
It was the gentle mother who spoke, pale and fragile still, but happy to have her children around her once more.
"Your little girl knows what it is to forgive," said Sarah, with a fond glance at May.
"And I know what it is to be forgiven!" said irrepressible Gay. "That evens things up. May and I are one, and sometimes she's the one and sometimes I'm the one, but between us we've learned mother's lesson of life."
"You see Miss Maud and Uncle George under the trees in the garden, don't you?" Gay broke out abruptly, a moment later. "They've been there since we came. They don't know that they are dusty and need dusting just as much as any of us, because they are lovers and don't know things like other people!"
"The garden looks cool and shady enough to tempt any one into it," remarked the mistress, with a longing glance through the open door.
Then Gay offered his arm to his mother and they went into the garden whither everybody drifted after awhile—even nurse, who paced up and down the walks, not looking to the right or left, the peer of the sixth earl of Roslyn gurgling in her arms. Miss Celia was the last guest to appear, and she came leaning on the General's arm. They had been detained by a little dialogue which took place in the library. "Hurrah!" cried Gay on their approach. "We've got two more of Uncle George's and Miss Maud's kind in our ark now!"
All eyes were immediately turned upon the pair, and the General was moved to say something upon this joyous occasion.
"I can't understand it——" he began.
"I can!" shouted audacious Gay. "Auntie's awfully charitable—Aunt Beulah says she never knew of her refusing anything to a beggar in all her life!"
A shout of laughter, in which everybody but the minister joined, greeted this remark, and the General decided to abandon speech-making.
"You'll have to take care, auntie, or he'll make you drill!" said May, who was on the other side of the General, and held his hand.
"If he should persist in making you a soldier, Miss Celia, let me suggest that you follow your grand-niece's example—take out the cartridge and fill the cartridge chamber with cotton," said Mr. Walcott, gravely.
"Oh, father," said May, "I didn't think you would tell!"
"If Uncle Harold values his life he will not encourage Miss Linn in the use of fire-arms—a woman's shot 'may turn out a song or it may turn out a sermon'; that is, it may hit the bull's eye or it may hit somebody behind her," said Uncle George.
"Miss Maud hit pretty near the bull's eye when you were the target, and she's a woman," cried May.
"May!" said the mother in a tone of gentle remonstrance.
"Miss Maud doesn't mind, mother, she isn't even blushing," said Gay.
Miss Berkeley certainly was blushing at these unexpected sallies, and so rosily that Sarah, thinking to divert the attention of the younger members of the company from her, demanded, briskly,—
"What's the matter with you boys and girls; why don't you play some game? You need a little exercise before lunch. Come, scamper!"
Miss Berkeley, Mr. Walcott and Uncle George joined the children and the fun began. Theyplayed tag, run across, and other lively games until they were tired. While they rested Sarah brought forth a minstrel—James, who handled a violin as skilfully as he handled the General's horses.
The banquet was the crowning glory of the day. It began at two; it ended at twilight. Not that they were at table all that time; there were other interesting exercises beside that of feasting on the delicacies housewife Sarah had provided. When the children ceased to demand ices, the General rose and said, with a dignified smile,—
"A toast!"
"Toast after this!" May exclaimed, with a droll smile.
"You don't mean dry toast, do you, Uncle Harold?" demanded Gay.
Then everybody laughed—it is astonishing how little it takes to excite the risibilities of light-hearted people, young or old!
"Uncle Harold was right," said Gay, "it is the proper thing to toast everybody."
"Brown on both sides!" interrupted May.
"And he must be the toaster," concluded Gay.
"Uncle Harold, you are invited to be the 'toaster' upon this delightful occasion," said Mr. Walcott. "You will find the duties attendant upon the position similar to those of the ordinary toastmaster,not of the cook!" The General held his glass of lemonade high as he said,—
"To Miss Celia Linn! The——"
"Uncle Harold thinks it's cream toast!" interrupted saucy Gay.
The General did not finish the toast and Miss Celia's health was drunk amid merry laughter.
"To mother!" cried Gay, leaving his place at table to run to his mother's side to kiss her before drinking her health.
This put an end to formality; they toasted everybody, Phyllis among others, for all knew her loyalty and affection in May's hours of trial.
"Who would have thought that anybody like me would have been toasted by ladies and gentlemen!" said Phyllis, when her health was proposed.
"We never know what may happen to us. We may all be roasted next!" said May, quaintly.
"I don't believe I could hold another drop of lemonade, not even if the president of the United States came in and begged to be toasted!" Gay said, despairingly.
"Wouldn't speeches be easier to swallow than toasts?" asked May, with a sigh that matched Gay's in depth and length.
"What, just plain, dry speeches, without anything to make them slip down easily?" asked Gay.
"Yes," May answered.
"Speech! speech!" cried Mr. Walcott, who was enjoying the fun as hugely as Lyman or Robert or any of the boys there—and the Hazelnook boys were enjoying themselves, albeit they had less to say than the lively twins.
"Let Lyman make the first speech. He's scarcely spoken a word," said Gay.
But Lyman declined the honor, saying he was born to listen not to talk.
"Why do you think so?" Gay demanded.
"Because I've one mouth and two ears," Lyman responded promptly.
"And the majority rules, doesn't it, Lyman?" said May, quickly.
"Say something yourself, Gay," Will urged.
"Yes, do," said the young people, who thought this was their day and that the General's newly-found happiness and the mother's improved health were merely side issues.
"Yes, Gay; rise and shine," laughed May. "I never knew before just what that meant. It means to get up after a time like this and say something bright, doesn't it, father?"
"Yes, that's the philosophy of after-dinner remarks in a nutshell," Mr. Walcott replied.
"It is easy to rise!" said Gay, suiting the action to the word, "but it's not so easy to shine. It seemsto me that after remarks ought to come before! A fellow would feel more like it, wouldn't he, May? (Nod from May.) You can't even get a dog to 'speak for it' worth a cent when he's had all the bones he wants. I mean that you're really fuller when you're empty—oh, dear! what I want to say I can't say; and what I say I don't want to say. But I hope everybody has had a rattling good time—(We have! we have! from the boys in chorus.) So have I," continued the speaker, "and I hope we shall soon repeat this—this—some kind of an occasion—I can't think of the word—bang-up time will do. We couldn't have had it anywhere else in such—such immense shape, and—somebody else must put a P. S. on and thank Uncle Harold and Miss Sarah. I'm tired of shining."
And Gay sat down amid shouts of laughter.
Then somebody proposed singing Auld Lang Syne. Not that anybody specially cared to sing it, but because Auld Lang Syne ends a good time most appropriately, as the benediction closes service.
It was time for candles when they ceased singing—and there is not much more to tell. All the happy, tired children soon were stowed away for the night—no one but Sarah could have arranged such a mosaic of small cots.
Gay and May were not far apart, but they were too sleepy to congratulate themselves upon thepleasant termination of their "lark." They wandered awhile on the borders of dreamland, then the great curtain of sleep fell upon them and upon all the house party. We will leave them to their peaceful repose, nor wait to greet them when the sun shall ring up the curtain on another day.