Books: Half a Dozen Girls
A >>
Anna Chapin Ray >> Half a Dozen Girls
Pages:
1 |
2 | 3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16
"I believe I am perfectly happy," said Florence, with a sigh of
content, as she leaned back and surveyed the meadows.
"I should be, if I could have some of those daisies," said Polly,
pointing to a great bunch of them close by.
"Want 'em? All right, here goes!" And before Mrs. Adams could
bring Job to a halt, Alan was out over the wheel.
"Don't stop; I can catch up with you," he called. "It's too hard
work to get Job under way again."
He was as good as his word; for he hastily pulled up the flowers
by the roots, came running after the carriage, and tossed them
into Polly's lap.
"There! Now aren't you glad you brought me?" he exclaimed
triumphantly, as he scrambled up the back of the carriage, like a
monkey, and worked his way along to the front seat again. "You're
a daisy, yourself, Alan," answered Polly, leaning out over the
wheel to break off the roots. "These are lovely. Want some,
girls?"
"It's going to rain to-morrow, I just know," said Molly,
disregarding the daisies. "If it does, it will spoil our picnic,
and that will be a shame."
"Oh, it won't rain," said Jean. "What makes you think so, Molly?"
"It always does," said Molly wisely, "when the hills look such a
lovely dark blue. I heard somebody say so, ever so long ago, and I
never knew it to fail."
"I don't believe in signs," remarked Polly vindictively, with her
mouth full of daisy stems. "It's all just as it happens, only some
people have a sign for everything. For my part, I'll wait till I
see the rain coming, before I believe in it."
"That's Polly all over," said Alan. "She won't take anything on
trust; she has to see it first."
"How did the reading come on to-day?" inquired Mrs. Adams, leaning
back in her seat, and letting Job ramble from side to side of the
road, at his will.
"Not very well," said Florence, seeing that none of the others
started to reply.
"I hope I didn't break it up," Mrs. Adams answered, as she took
out the whip, to brush a fly from Job's plump side.
Alan giggled.
"You needn't be afraid, Mrs. Adams; the girls are glad to get off
on any terms."
"I'll tell you how 'tis, Mrs. Adams," said Jean, coming to the
rescue, rather to Polly's relief. "You see, it's such warm
weather, and the book wasn't real interesting, so we decided to
let it go till by and by. Do you think we're very dreadful?" And
she laughed up into Mrs. Adams's face, with perfect confidence in
her approval.
Mrs. Adams laughed too.
"I didn't really think you would carry out your plan for very
long," she said. "Polly takes Aunt Jane's words too seriously. In
old times, everybody read 'Pilgrim's Progress,' but it's going out
of fashion now, and--Whoa, Job! What are you doing?" she
exclaimed, as the carriage tilted to one side so unexpectedly that
Florence and Molly screamed a little.
Job, grieved at finding himself ignored and left out of the
conversation, had apparently determined to amuse himself in his
own way. He had meandered back and forth across the road, as was
shown by the serpentine character of his tracks; now, catching
sight of a tempting stalk of mullein by the fence, he had walked
across the gutter and was just stretching his head forward to
seize the coveted morsel, when Mrs. Adams interrupted him. Her
first impulse was to draw him back, but kinder feelings prevailed,
and she bent forward to give him the full length of the lines,
saying indulgently,--
"The mischief is done already, Job, so you may as well have your
lunch, for you can't tip us up any farther." And she sat there
quite patiently, in spite of her strained position, until Job had
devoured the mullein in a leisurely fashion. Then she reined him
back into the road, remarking, "It isn't fair for poor Job to do
all the work and not have any of the fun, is it?"
"I'll tell you, Mrs. Adams," suggested Alan; "let's all get out
and put Job into the carriage, and draw him a mile or two, just to
rest him."
"You shan't make fun of Job!" said Polly indignantly. "You didn't
like what Jean said to you, and now you go and say, Job is o-l-d
and s-l-o-w."
"What in the world do you spell the words for, Poll?" asked Jean.
"I never have been able to make out."
"Why, Job knows what you are saying, as well as anybody, and may
be he is sensitive about it," replied Polly, to the great
amusement of the girls.
"We might read 'Pilgrim's Progress' to him, then," said Jean
wickedly. "Perhaps it would teach him to go ahead, if he knows so
much."
"Poor old Job! his going days are nearly over, aren't they, Joby?"
said Mrs. Adams caressingly, as she rubbed the whip up and down
over his glossy side. "Well, he's a poor, tired old fellow with a
heavy load, so perhaps we'd better turn here and go home."
This proceeding met with Job's full approval. He had been walking
more and more slowly, as if overcome by the effort which he had
been forced to make, and seemed scarcely able to totter onward,
stumbling at every stone. But with the change of direction, his
life came back to him, and with a whisk of his tail and an
ungainly flourish of his hind legs, he started off at a trot,
turning neither to the right nor the left, but only intent on
reaching home and supper.
"There!" said Mrs. Adams in a tone of disgust; "when Job does that
I just want to whip him. He has played that trick on me over and
over again, and still I am always deceived by it. It isn't more
than two weeks since Polly and I were driving to the Glen, one
very warm day. It was a strange road, and all at once Job was
taken ill in such a queer way; he staggered and almost fell. Polly
and I were so frightened, for we thought he was going to die,
right then and there. We jumped out and walked along beside him,
leading him and petting him. The road was so narrow that we
couldn't turn him around, without going on ever so far; nobody was
in sight, and we were both of us just ready to cry from sheer
nervousness. At last we came to where we could turn him, and
backed him around as carefully as could be. What did the old goose
do but put down his head and give it the funniest sideways toss,
and then trot off towards home, leaving us standing there in the
road."
"What did you do? did you walk home?" asked Alan, while the girls
laughed.
"No, indeed! We made him stop for us, and he had to trot the rest
of the way, you may be sure. Go on, Job!" urged Mrs. Adams,
shaking the lines violently.
But Job settled that matter by whisking his tail over the lines
and holding them firmly, in spite of the attempts his mistress
made to free them once more. Finding her labors of no avail, she
turned her attention to the girls again.
"What if you take another plan for your reading?" she asked,
pulling off one of her long gloves and turning slightly, as she
rested her elbow on the back of the seat. "If you care to come to
our house one or two mornings a week, through the rest of the
vacation, and read aloud with me some good book,--I don't mean
goody,--I should be delighted to have you. You could do the
reading and amuse me while I sew."
"That's elegant!" exclaimed Jean rapturously. "What shall we read,
girls?"
"But are you sure that you want us?" asked Florence doubtfully,
for her mother was not particularly hospitable to the members of
the V, and it seemed impossible to her that Mrs. Adams could be in
earnest in her proposition.
"Indeed I do," responded Mrs. Adams heartily. "I can take that
time for darning the doctor's stockings, and Polly's too, for that
matter, for her toes are always coming through. I don't like to do
it, but I shall be so well entertained that I probably shan't mind
it at all."
"See here," said the practical Jean; "let's all bring our
stockings to darn. There can't but one of us read at a time, and I
just hate to do nothing but sit and twirl my thumbs."
"But I don't know how to darn stockings," said Florence
helplessly.
"Time you did, then," said Jean. "If you had as many small
brothers as I do, you'd have plenty of practice. Besides, I think
any girl as old as we are ought to know how to mend her own
stockings, whether she's rich or poor."
"So do I, Jean," said Mrs. Adams approvingly; "and yet I am
ashamed to say that I have never taught Polly. But I think I'll
add your plan to mine, and tell the girls to bring their darning-
bags with them; and I will give you all lessons in a duty and
necessity that can be made almost a fine art."
"I hate to sew," said Molly disconsolately.
"So do I," responded Jean calmly, "but I have to just the same;
and that's the reason I thought I'd like to take the time when we
read to do some of the worst things."
"I say," remarked Alan meditatively, as he plunged his hands into
his pockets, "where's my share in this coming in?"
"Why, nowhere; you're nothing but a boy, you know," replied his
sister, with an air of conscious superiority.
"One boy is as good as a dozen girls, though, ma'am," retorted
Alan.
"Do you want to come too?" asked Polly. "He can, can't he, mamma?"
"I don't know as I want to, all the time," said Alan. "I'd like it
when I can't do anything else; but when the boys are round, I'd
rather be with them, of course."
"That settles it," said Polly, leaning forward to tickle his ear
with a long-stemmed daisy. "Take us or leave us; but we don't want
any half-way friends that like us when they can't get anything any
better."
"Don't you mind her, Alan," said Mrs. Adams. "You can come, if you
want to, and I'll protect you myself."
"If you come, though," added Polly, determined to have the last
word, "you'll have to bring some stockings to darn. We shan't let
in any lazy people."
CHAPTER IV.
MISS BEAN COMES TO LUNCH.
"Oh, dear me, Jean!" sighed Polly. "I do believe there's Miss
Deborah Bean coming down the street."
"What of her?" inquired Jean indifferently.
"Why, if 'tis, she's coming here to lunch. She says all the
hateful things she can think of; and you don't know how queer she
is. I can't help laughing at her; and that makes mamma cross, for
she wants me to be polite to her, because she's old as Methuselah
and poor as Job's turkey."
"I didn't suppose your mother was ever cross," said Jean.
"Oh, she isn't cross, exactly; but sometimes she doesn't like
things as well as others."
"Most people don't," remarked Jean sagely.
Miss Bean's present home was in the poorhouse, from which place of
retreat she made expeditions into the town, at intervals, to visit
her old acquaintances, and among them was Mrs. Adams, for whose
mother she had sewed, during her younger, stronger days. On these
great occasions, she was wont to cast aside the plain gown which
she ordinarily wore, and bring out to the light of day the one
that had for years served as her best when she went into the
institution. Accordingly, it was a strange figure that turned in
at the doctor's gate, and came to a halt before the two girls who
were sitting on the grass under one of the tall elms on the lawn.
Her gown was of some black woollen stuff, figured with green, and
its short, full skirt fell in voluminous folds over her large
hoops. A white muslin cape covered her shoulders; and her head was
adorned with a yellow straw shaker bonnet, in the depths of which
her wrinkled face, with its pointed chin and bright eyes, looked
like the face of some mammoth specimen of the cat tribe, an effect
that was increased by her high, shrill voice. Black lace mitts
covered her hands; and she carried, point upward, a venerable
brown umbrella, loosely rolled up, and held in place with two
rubber bands.
"Is your ma at home?" she asked Polly abruptly.
"She's in the house," answered Polly, rising with some reluctance.
"I'll go and call her. You stay here, Jean."
"Jean who?" inquired Miss Bean, bringing her spectacles to bear on
Jean's blooming face.
"Jean Dwight, ma'am," said Jean demurely, in spite of a strong
desire to laugh.
"Bill Dwight's daughter?"
Jean nodded, while her color rose at the rough abbreviation of her
father's name.
"I want to know! He was a son of old Enos Dwight and Melissy
Pettigrew; and I can remember the time, and not so very long ago,
either, when the Adamses wouldn't have had anything to do with
such folks," remarked Miss Bean, who Avas not only a firm believer
in the aristocracy of the old town, but regarded it as her right
to utter all the disagreeable truths that came into her brain.
To-day she had spoken rashly, for Polly, angry at the insult to
her friend, faced her with blazing eyes, while every little curl
on her head was dancing with indignation.
"It doesn't make any difference what you think about it, Miss
Bean. My mother has charge of me, not you; and she's glad to have
Jean come here."
"Dear sakes! Red hair does show in the temper," sighed Miss Bean,
unconsciously touching another sore spot, for Polly's hair was one
of her trials.
"I'd rather have red hair and a temper, than meddle with what
doesn't--" Polly was beginning hotly; but remembering that the old
woman, though uninvited, was yet a guest, she added hastily, "Come
into the house."
When she came out under the trees again, she found Jean still
sitting on the grass, with a little suspicious moisture around her
eyes. Polly dropped down by her side, and impulsively pulling
Jean's head over into her lap, she bent down and kissed her.
"It's a shame, Jean!" said she. "Don't you mind a word the old
thing says. I don't care anything about your grandpa and grandma;
they might have been brought up in jail, for all I care. It's you
that I like. She's a horrid old woman."
"I don't mean to care," said Jean disconsolately; "but some people
always have to tell me I'm a nobody."
"No, you aren't, you're somebody," contradicted Polly. "And as
long as you're splendid yourself, I don't see what difference it
makes whether you have forty cents or forty million dollars, and
whether you carpenter for a living or doctor for it,--or beg for
it, the way she does."
They were silent for a minute, and then Polly added, with a
laugh,--
"There's one thing about it, we'll have some fun out of her, for
she's going to stay to lunch, and she's so funny at the table. She
minces so, and she never refuses anything to eat without telling
just why she doesn't like it. One time, mamma offered her some
pie, and she said, 'Oh, my, no! I never eat it. Pie-crust is
grease packed in flour.' I'm so glad you are here to-day."
When the girls went into the house at lunch time, Miss Bean was in
the midst of a stream of gossip. Her usual surroundings gave rise
to no more varied subjects than the personal appearance of her
companions, and the routine of the housework, in which they all
had a share. Doubtless it was partly for this reason that the
worthy woman made the most of her brief outings, to gather up any
bits of information which might serve to enliven the days to come,
and render her an object of admiration in the community where she
was passing her time. In spite of Aunt Jane's frowns, and the
efforts of Mrs. Adams to turn the conversation, she was running on
and on, helped by an occasional word from the doctor, who derived
much amusement from the old woman's visits. As Polly and Jean
seated themselves across the table from her, she glanced up to eye
them with little favor, and then went on,--
"As I was saying, I stopped in to Miss Hapgood's on my way up, and
she'd just got a letter from Kate. You remember Kate Harvey, her
sister that married Henry Shepard and went out to Omaha to live,
don't you? He's made a lot of money, but people always said he was
a miserable sort of fellow."
"Let the doctor give you some of the oysters, Miss Bean,"
interrupted Mrs. Adams desperately. "No, I don't eat oysters now;
there's no R in August," replied Miss Bean frankly.
"Unless you spell it O-r-gust," whispered Jean, in an aside which
made Polly choke over her glass of water.
"Well," resumed Miss Bean tranquilly, "Kate's got two daughters of
her own, about Molly's age, and she wants 'em to come there and
board, and go to school at Miss Webster's. I don't know's I
wonder, for I don't suppose there's any schools in them little
western towns; but Mis' Hapgood's all upset about it. I told her
she'd better take 'em, and charge a good, round price for 'em; but
she says she hasn't much room, and then she don't know how they'd
get along with Molly."
"Do you think they'll come?" inquired Polly eagerly.
"I don't know," answered Miss Bean coldly. "Mis' Hapgood hasn't
made up her mind. She sets great store by Kate, being her only
sister," she went on, turning back to the doctor; "and so I
shouldn't much wonder if she took 'em, after all. They say his
father shot himself, and--"
"Have some of these preserved plums, Miss Bean," said Mrs. Adams,
lifting the spoon persuasively.
"No, thank you. Preserves isn't very hulsome, and I don't go much
on them, excepting pie-plant and molasses," answered Miss Bean, as
she poured out her coffee into her saucer.
At this somewhat unexpected response, Jean pinched Polly's hand
under the table, and they both giggled.
"Some folks," continued Miss Bean reflectively, "say it's a coward
that commits suicide; but, my soul and body! I think it's just the
other way; I never should get up spunk enough." Then, with an
abrupt change of subject, she added: "Speaking of folks dying, I
see Mr. Solomon Baxter as I was coming along. He's aged a good
deal since his wife died, and no wonder, poor man! with all his
six children to look out for. He shook hands with me, and he
seemed so all cut up when I told him how lonesome he looked, that
I says to him: 'Mr. Baxter, why don't you get married again?
There's lots of good women left, as many as there ever was. Why
don't you take Miss Roberts, now? She'd manage your children for
you, I'll warrant.'"
This was too much for the doctor and the girls, and they burst out
laughing, while Aunt Jane remarked stiffly,--
"Thank you, Miss Bean; but I have no present desire to be
married."
"Well, I didn't know but what you might think 'twas a case of
duty," responded Miss Bean grimly.
As soon as the meal was over, Polly and Jean adjourned to the lawn
again, and sat down to discuss the situation, for they were both
much excited over the possible coming of Molly's cousins.
"I saw some pictures of them, once," said Polly, as she settled
herself in the hammock. "They were pretty, and they were just
elegantly dressed, with piles of lace and things, and gold chains
round their necks."
"Miss Bean said they had lots of money," said Jean thoughtfully.
"Yes," answered Polly; "and they looked as if they had it all on..
Mamma says 'tisn't a good idea for young girls to wear jewelry,
and she won't let me have any at all, but just these." As she
spoke, Polly touched the string of gold beads that lay closely
about her throat. They had been her great-grandmother's beads, and
Polly had received them for her name.
"I shouldn't wonder if they did that more out West," said Jean.
"How old are they, Polly?"
"One is older than Molly," answered Polly "and the other is about
Alan's age. Molly hasn't ever seen them, for they've always lived
out there I hope they won't come, though," she added emphatically.
"Why not?" inquired Jean. "If they're nice I think it would be fun
to have them here."
"I don't," said Polly. "There are just enough of us, as it is; and
if they were here, we shouldn't get any good of Molly."
"It won't make any difference, if they don't go to the same school
with us. And besides, you said this morning that you couldn't bear
Molly," said Jean a little maliciously.
"You know I never meant any such thing, Jean," said Polly
impatiently. "I like Molly Hapgood better than any other girl in
this town, and you know that just as well as I do."
"What about me?" inquired Jean, laughing, for she was accustomed
to Polly's moods, and was by no means angry at the alarming
frankness of her reply, as she said tragically,--
"I like you ever so much, Jean; but, honestly, I like Molly
better, when she's nice, for we've always been together; and I
don't want these dreadful girls to come in between us."
"I don't believe they will, any more than Florence and I do," said
Jean soothingly.
At the mention of Florence's name, Polly straightened up, and
looked right into Jean's eyes.
"Jean Dwight," said she, "if you'll never, never tell, I am going
to say something to you that I never told anybody before."
"What is it?" asked Jean curiously.
"You promise not to tell?"
"Why, of course, if you don't want me to."
"Well," said Polly, in a whisper, "I think Florence is a perfect
little flat. There! I suppose mamma would say I was as bad as Miss
Bean, with all her gossip, but I can't help it, it's true. But
don't let's talk about it any more, it makes me so cross. Perhaps
they won't come, anyway."
"Here comes Alan," said Jean, glancing up as the boy turned in at
the gate; "maybe he can tell us something about them." In fact,
the lad had come to see Polly for no other purpose than to talk
the matter over with her, for Polly was his truest friend in the
V, and the two children exchanged confidences with the same simple
good-fellowship they might have shown, had they both been girls.
Polly never snubbed Alan because he was younger, as Molly did, but
invariably stood as his champion when the other girls scolded him,
and tried to send him away; and Alan, on his side, never rubbed
Polly the wrong way, but respected her quick temper. Of course he
teased her, as every natural boy teases the girls with whom he is
thrown; but it was a gay, good-natured sort of teasing that never
irritated Polly in the least. During his long, rheumatic fever of
the winter before, she had been a most devoted friend, dropping in
to see him at all sorts of odd hours, to amuse him with her merry
nonsense, and had greatly disgusted the girls by frankly
announcing her preference for his society over their own. And Alan
returned the compliment with interest, declaring that he would
"rather have Poll in one of her tantrums than the rest of them
with all their best manners."
He came deliberately across the lawn, with his black and white
striped cap cocked on the very back of his head, and his hands in
the side pockets of his gray coat, and calmly disregarding the
curiosity of the girls, he made no attempt to speak until he had
comfortably settled himself on the grass at their feet.
"Well," he inquired at length, after he had arranged himself to
his liking, with his hands clasped under his yellow head; "what is
it you want to know?"
"Everything," demanded Polly, comprehensively.
"All right," he answered, lazily shutting his eyes. "The earth is
the planet on which we live, and is about twenty-five thousand
miles round; a decimal fraction is one whose denominator is ten,
one hundred, one thousand, or and so forth; America was discovered
in--"
"Oh, Alan, do be sensible if you can," said Jean. "We know all
that stuff. What we want is to hear about these cousins of yours
that are coming."
"How did you know anything about them?" asked the boy, in
surprise.
"Miss Bean is here," answered Polly. "She went to see your mother
on the way, and heard about it." "Oh."
There was a world of disgust in Alan's tone. Presently he went
on,--
"Well, everybody will have to hear of it now. I came over to tell
you, Poll, but it seems that old woman is in ahead."
"Are they really coming, then?" asked Polly anxiously.
"Hope not," said Alan, rolling over on his face and pulling up a
handful of grass; "girls enough round already."
"That's not polite," returned Polly; "but go on."
"There isn't any on," said Alan. "All there is about it is that
they want to come, and I'm afraid mother is going to let them.
Molly likes it, but I don't want them round in the way. I know
they'll be prim and fussy, without any fun in them. I believe I'll
come over here and live."
"Come on," said Polly hospitably; then she proceeded in a moral
tone, "But, Alan, you ought not to talk so about them, for they're
your cousins, and you ought to like your relations, you know."
"Do you like Aunt Jane?" inquired Alan, suddenly rolling over to
face her once more.
But Polly was spared the necessity of making any reply, by a
sudden voice behind her.
"And so this is your garden, Mrs. Adams! It's a likely place for
petunias and sweet williams, but I don't think much of those new-
fangled things," pointing to a brilliant bed of dwarf nasturtiums
near by. Then she went on in a sing-song tone,--
"'So I've come out to view the land
Where I must shortly lie.'"
"Needn't think I expect to lie in your garden, though," she hastily
added, evidently fearful of being misunderstood.
"Hush, Alan! you must not laugh at her," said Polly, stifling her
own merriment as best she could.
But Miss Bean, absorbed in her eloquence, had passed on out of
hearing, and Jean returned to the charge.
"Come, Alan, there's a dear boy," she began persuasively, "tell us
about the girls."
"I don't know much about them," answered Alan. "Katharine is the
older one, about fifteen, and Jessie is just my age. Her birthday
is the third and mine the seventh. I suppose they're well enough,
but their pictures look a little toploftical, and I'm not over
fond of that kind. They are going to bring their pony, if they
come, and that will be fun, if mother will only let me ride him."
Pages:
1 |
2 | 3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16