I A THANKSGIVING GUEST
"What a gorgeous day for a sleigh-ride! Did you ever see such sunny,twinkling snow, and such crisp, crackly air? It fairly snaps off as youbreathe it!"
Betty McGuire stood on the steps of the veranda as she spoke. Her mother,in the doorway, was smiling down at her, and her pony, Dixie, wasjingling his bells and pawing at the snow and ice in the driveway below.
It was the first trial of the pretty new cutter, and the joyousexcitement of the occasion made Betty's cheeks as red as her scarlettam-o'-shanter cap, or her red cloth coat with its high fur collar. Bettydrew on her driving-gloves, still talking to her mother.
"Isn't it a darling sleigh, Mother? Did you ever see such a pretty one?And Dixie is so proud of it."
"It's a beauty, Betty. I know you'll enjoy it. Are you taking Tilly for aride?"
"No; I'm going for May Fordham to-day. We're planning for the party, youknow. I'll take Tilly some other day."
"Very well; be home by sundown, won't you?"
"Yes; or very soon after. All right, Pete."
The face of the big Irishman beamed with pleasure as he assisted Bettyinto the new sleigh and tucked the fur robe round her.
"'Tis a foine turnout, Miss Betty," he said; "an' mosht becomin' toDixie,--the proud little baste!"
"He is proud of it," agreed Betty, as she gathered up the lines. "He'sjust vain enough to love those silver bells jingling about him. Good-by,Mother."
"Good-by, darling," said Mrs. McGuire, and after watching Betty disappeardown the winding drive, she returned to the house.
Denniston Hall, though a beautiful summer place, was equally attractivein winter. Then the wide front veranda was inclosed with glass, and,heated by an arrangement of steam-pipes, made a delightful sun-parlor.The house was of the old-fashioned type that has two front doors openinginto two large halls.
Large parlors between these halls and a wing on either side, providednumerous rooms, and several of these boasted wide fireplaces wherecrackling logs blazed gaily or smoldered comfortably, as occasionrequired.
The family at Denniston was a rather unusual one. The place belonged toBetty, the fifteen-year-old daughter, who had recently inherited a largefortune from her Grandfather McGuire.
She had supposed herself an orphan, but after buying her home andestablishing herself there, she had discovered that her mother wasliving, and, to their mutual delight, they were at last brought together.Mrs. McGuire had come to Denniston to live with Betty and was more thanwilling to accept also Betty's adopted brother, Jack, and thethree-year-old baby, Polly.
And now, though Mrs. McGuire was nominally head of the household, yet, asthe details of housekeeping were looked after by capable Mrs. Kinsey,Betty's mother had little to do except to enjoy the reunion with herlong-lost child. As for Betty, now that her mother was restored to her,there seemed to be no flaw in her happiness, and the merry girl dancedgaily through life, like a ray of glad sunshine.
Unused to advice or restraint of any sort, she could not at once accustomherself to asking her mother's permission for anything, but Mrs. McGuireappreciated the unusual circumstances, and wisely concluded to bide hertime, and establish their rightful relationship by degrees.
Moreover, she was so happy herself, at the reunion with her idolizedchild, whom she had lost as a tiny baby, that she had no wish to dictateor to interfere with Betty's plans. Mrs. McGuire was a gentle littlelady, with golden hair and blue eyes, and her amiability made her belovedby all the servants and adored by the three children. She had fitted intoher niche at Denniston without disturbing any one else, and had suppliedthe one want of Betty's life, that of a real mother, who would love herwith real mother-love. And happy in the knowledge and possession of thislove, Betty felt that life had no further joys to offer her; and she wasas contented as any girl of fifteen could wish to be.
On this particular sunny afternoon, as she went skimming along the whiteroads in her new sleigh, her mind was divided between the actual delightsof the bracing winter atmosphere and gay jingle of her new sleigh-bells,and her busy imagination which was looking forward to some fine plansthat she and May Fordham had in prospect. She drove in through the opengates of a large, well-kept place, and as she neared the house, May, whohad watched from the window, came out, all ready for the sleigh-ride.
"Oh, Betty, what a beautiful cutter!" she exclaimed, as Dixie paused andstood in prancing attitude to be praised. "And it suits Dix perfectly,doesn't it?" she added, patting the pony, who showed by his actions thathe fully appreciated the applause he was getting.
May jumped in beside Betty, and in another moment, away they went, flyingalong the firm, well-packed road. Betty turned away from the village, andtoward the open country, where they might dash over long stretcheswithout meeting much traffic, and thus have a better chance to chatter.
"Thanksgiving's only just a week from to-day," said May; "will there betime, Betty, to get everything ready?"
"Well, we'll have to fly round, of course. But if we invite everybodyto-day, they can all get to work on their costumes at once. And a week'stime enough, I should think. I hope Tilly will like the idea, but I don'tknow about her,--she's such a fuss."
"We'll soon know," laughed May, as Dixie was gently drawn to a standstillin front of Tilly Fenn's home.
The well-trained little pony always stood without being tied, so thegirls jumped from the sleigh and ran up the steps, moderating their gaylaughter as they decorously pushed the door-bell.
"Come up to my room, girls," called Tilly, over the banister, as theywere admitted.
So in a few moments the three chums were busily talking of Betty'sproject.
"A real old-fashioned Thanksgiving party," said Betty, enthusiastically;"everything Puritan, you know. We'll all wear plain gray dresses andwhite fichus and aprons, and dear little Puritan caps, and the boys mustrig up the right kind of clothes. What did men wear then?"
"Oh, knee-breeches and long stockings, and bunches of bows at the knees,"said May, who was a history lover.
"Yes, and broad white collars, and sort of Norfolky jackets, andbroad-brimmed hats," added Tilly.
"With a feather?" suggested Betty.
"Oh, no; not a feather,--I think,--that isn't Puritanish. But abuckle,--I think,--well, anyway we can look up pictures, and see."
"Yes," agreed Betty, "and I'll fix up Jack's clothes. Mother'll help me.Then we'll have the feast of the real old-timey kind. Baked beans, youknow,--and doughnuts, and cider,--"
"And pumpkin-pies,--"
"And nuts and gingerbread;--it will be lovely!"
"Well, I like it," said Tilly, a little hesitatingly, "but I don't knowabout a dress. Aunt won't help me,--I'm sure;--and I simply can't makeone myself."
"I'll help you," said Betty, "and I'm sure Mother'll make you one, if youcan't get one any other way. But perhaps you could borrow one. The oldAdams ladies have lots of old-fashioned clothes."
"Yes, maybe I could," and Tilly's eyes brightened at this way out of herdifficulty. "And I can make brown bread for the feast. That'sold-fashioned."
"Oh, I'll provide all the supper," said Betty, "because it's my party.And afterward, we'll have old-fashioned dances, with a fiddler to callout the figures."
"I don't believe the Puritans danced," said Tilly.
Betty's face fell. "Well, I don't care to keep it too Puritanic," shesaid. "We'll just have it as old-fashioned as we like, and have the restany way we want it."
"Yes, that's the best," said May.
"But your table must look old-fashioned,--with candles, you know; Aunt'lllend you her old brass candlesticks if you want them."
"Yes, I do; and I know where I can borrow some old blue dishes and pewterplatters."
"Oh, it will be lovely fun!" sighed May. "How many are you going to ask?"
"About twenty. I don't believe Jack will care much about dressing up--hehates it; but I'll coax him to. Well, come on, May, we must go
and invitethe others. Don't worry about your dress, Tilly. If you can't borrow one,Mother and I will fit you out."
"Thanks. You're a dear, Betty; I wish you'd let me make brown bread foryou, though. I can make it to perfection."
"I'll tell you what, Betty," said May, "why don't you have a sort of'Harvest Home.' They're lovely and picturesque. You make a great big pileof things like cabbages and pumpkins and potatoes, and decorate it withcorn husks and things; and then, don't you see, we can all bringsomething for it, and afterward we can give the eatables to the poorpeople in 'The Hollow.' And Tilly can donate some brown bread to them,too."
"That's a fine idea," said Betty; "we'll ask everybody to bring somethingfor the Harvest Home, and then the next day we can all make the round ofThe Hollow in the big box-sleigh."
"Yes, I know some families down there who would be more than glad to getthings like that," said Tilly.
"And well may anybody be glad to get the good bread you make," saidBetty. "I'm coming to-morrow, Tilly, to take you for a ride in my newsleigh, and then we can talk about your dress for the party and otherthings to be done."
Gay good-bys were said, and the two girls went jingling away in thesleigh again.
Tilly was not so happily situated in life as Betty and May. She livedwith an aunt who, though she took good care of her, was not verysympathetic in the matter of young people's pleasures, and taught Tillyto sew and to make bread, because she considered such things theimportant part of a girl's education. And she was right enough in that,if she had only realized that a girl of fifteen wants and needs her shareof fun as well as of useful knowledge.
Moreover, Mrs. Fenn was not wealthy, and though she had had sufficientmeans for comfort, she was economical by nature, and would haveconsidered a purchase of a dress for Tilly to wear just for one occasion,a reckless extravagance.
But in spite of her aunt's restrictions, Tilly was a very gay and merrygirl, and was always one of the half dozen that composed Betty's littleclan of friends.
"I don't believe the boys will dress up," said May, as they drove back tothe village to deliver more invitations.
"Then they can stay home," said Betty, promptly. "It's going to be alovely party if everybody takes interest in it, and those who don't takean interest aren't wanted. Now, we'll go to Agnes Graham's, and see whatshe and Stub say about it."
Agnes said yes at once, and declared that she could fix up a dress aseasily as anything. "Come in, Stub," she called to her brother who was inthe next room; "somebody wants to see you."
Stub Graham was so nicknamed because he was the thinnest and scrawniestboy you ever saw. He was very tall for his age, and the name of Stub orStubby was so comical that it pleased his friends to use it.
"Hello, girls," he called, as his smiling face appeared in the doorway."What, Betty, a party? Will I come? Well, I should say so! When is it tobe?"
Stub festooned his length along a sofa and gave a brotherly tweak toAgnes's long, thick pigtail.
"On Thanksgiving night," said Betty, and then she told him what kind of aparty it was to be.
"Gay!" exclaimed Stub. "Of course I'll get up a rig. Sweet little sisterwill help me, and I'll be a regular Miles Standish or somebody like that.May I wear a cloak, I mean a golfcapey thing? I think they wore those inPuritan days, with a dinky white collar, like Fauntleroy's only withoutlace on it."
"Good for you, Stub!" cried Betty. "You have just the right ideas! Can'tyou help the other boys,--if they need help?"
"Sure! I'll get them all together, and if they don't learn quicklyenough, I'll be a dressmaker to 'em. And I'll help you fix your show,Betty. You ought to have strings of red peppers and onions hung acrossoverhead."
"Oh, do help me, Stub! Won't you and Agnes come over in the morning, andhelp me do those things? Oh, _won't_ we have fun!"
After that it was easy. Very few of the girls they invited made anyobjection to wearing the Puritan costume, and if the boys objected, assome did, they were referred to Stub Graham, who soon changed their mindsfor them.
"It's going to be perfectly beautiful, Mother!" said Betty, as, afterdinner that evening, she sat on a low stool at her mother's side.
This was Betty's favorite position, for, though a big girl, she loved tocuddle against her mother and caress her pretty hand, or play with thelaces and ribbons of her dainty gown. And now, in their beautifuldrawing-room at Denniston, they sat before the big open fire, while Bettytold about the party.
Jack, who lounged in a big chair on the other side of the fireplace, wasgreatly interested. To Betty's surprise he was entirely willing to wear aPuritan costume, though he observed, incidentally, he'd rather dress asan Indian, and Indians were quite as appropriate to the period asPuritans.
"But they didn't attend the Thanksgiving feasts," said Betty; "theylurked in the ambushes; so if you want to do that, all right."
"Ho!" cried Jack, "I believe you think an ambush is a kind of a shrub!"
"It is, isn't it, Mother?" asked Betty, turning her big dark eyesconfidingly to her mother's loving face.
"No, my girlie, that's one of your funny mistakes. But you're right aboutthe Indians not joining with the Puritans at table; at least, they didn'toften do so."
Both Betty and Jack had been deprived of early education, and though theywere now studying very hard in a brave endeavor to "catch up" to otherchildren of their own age, they frequently made errors which were quitefunny enough to make any one smile.
So Jack good-naturedly explained to Betty about Indians in ambush, whichwas a subject he had quite thoroughly studied in his history lessons.
"And if I can't be an Indian," he went on, "I'll be a Puritan gentleman.Grandma Jean will make my toggery; I'll tell her just how, and I'll makeyou proud of me, Betty."
Grandma Jean was Mrs. Kinsey, the housekeeper and general assistant tothe children, whenever they needed her capable aid.
"And what shall I wear, Mother?" asked Betty, draping the soft frills ofher mother's trailing gown across her own slippered feet.
"I think you'll have to be the 'Puritan maiden, Priscilla,' though you'refar from the right type. Your dark curls, dancing eyes, and red cheeksought to be pale, fair hair in smooth bands, and a pale face with meekeyes."
"Ho!" laughed Jack, "you're not very Puritanic, are you, Betty? Butyou'll look all right in a cap, I'm sure."
"I think I'll make you a dress of gray silk," went on Mrs. McGuire; "witha soft mull fichu crossed on your breast, and a starched cap, turned backin Puritan fashion."
"I like red," observed Betty, looking down at her own red cashmere frockwith black velvet bows on it.
"But not for Puritan attire," said her mother, smiling. "I'll fix yourcostume, Betty, and you must promise not to slip up-stairs and add a redsash at the last minute."
Betty's fondness for bright colors, and especially red, was a householdword, and Mrs. McGuire fancied that the novelty of plain dove-gray andwhite would not be unbecoming to rosy-cheeked Betty.
For the next few days nothing was talked of but the old-fashioned party.
Pete was consulted about the Harvest Home part of it, and he suggestedthat an old flower stand which was out in the tool house should bepainted up, and put in one end of the dining-room to hold the donationsof fruits and vegetables.
Then, by adding a few vines and flowers, it could be made an attractivedecoration.
"Fine!" cried Betty. "That'll be just the thing! We can put pumpkins andcabbages down below, and apples and potatoes in the upper shelves, andtrail vines over them all."
Ellen, the cook, was quite willing to make all sorts of goodies that weredeemed appropriate, and to the lists of baked beans and gingerbread, wereadded such satisfactory dishes as roast turkey and pumpkin-pie.
But no ice-cream or dainty salads or bonbons were allowed, for Bettywanted to keep the real atmosphere of a plain old-fashioned PuritanThanksgiving.
Preparations went busily on, until on Tuesday a letter came fromGrandfather Irving.
&nb
sp; He was the father of Mrs. McGuire, and lived in Boston. Both Mr. and Mrs.Irving had been invited long ago to spend Thanksgiving at Denniston, buthad declined because of another engagement.
Now, Mr. Irving wrote, the other engagement had been canceled, and theywere greatly pleased to say they could go to Denniston after all.Moreover, he announced, they would bring with them a charming young ladywho was visiting them.
"She is an English girl," Mr. Irving wrote, "Miss Evangeline Maxwell. Asshe is sixteen years old, she will prove a delightful companion forBetty, and I am glad to show her such an attractive portion of ourcountry, as I am sure Denniston must be. She has never visited Americabefore, and though she finds some of our ways strange, she tries to adaptherself to them. We will arrive on Wednesday afternoon about fouro'clock."
Betty read this letter with dismay. Mr. and Mrs. Irving were of an oldand aristocratic Boston family, and Betty rather stood in awe of them.They had not yet been to Denniston, but Betty had made a brief visit totheir Boston home.
The somewhat oppressive grandeur of the great house on CommonwealthAvenue made a strong impression on simple-minded Betty, and she haddetermined that when Mr. and Mrs. Irving should visit her at Dennistonshe would do all in her power to surround them with the careful formalitythey seemed to enjoy.
So when she learned that on the very next day not only Mr. and Mrs.Irving would arrive, but also a strange young lady from England, Bettywished she had more time for preparation.
It was in vain that Mrs. McGuire told her that her grandparents were notat all exacting.
"Why, Betty," she said, "Mother and Father and I used to spend oursummers down in that old country house of the Rosses', and do you supposethere was much form or ceremony there?"
But Betty was not to be turned aside from her purpose.
"I'd be ashamed not to do the right honor by my grandfather andgrandmother," she said. "And it's not but what my home is good enough,and my ways of living, but I must not have the foolish party I was goingto have. I must have a fine and bountiful Thanksgiving dinner, with soupsand fancy ice-creams and things with French names to 'em. I'd not setbefore them the baked beans and pumpkin-pies, at all. And I'd not have arollickin' crowd of boys and girls dressed up in the silly rags we'rethinkin' of!"
It was only when Betty grew very much excited that she neglected herfinal g's and _almost_ relapsed into her long-discarded Irish accent. Butshe was so earnest in this matter, that she lost control of her tongue.
"An' I'd think shame for the stylish English girl to see such cuttin'sup, so I would! They're all right for us Greenborough girls as likes 'em;but the fine young lady shall find accommodations more to her taste, thatI'm bound!"
And so what did impulsive Betty do but jump into her little sleigh, andfly round the village, recalling her invitations to a PuritanThanksgiving feast, and asking the young people to come instead to adance in the evening, and to wear their prettiest and most correct partyfrocks. Then she consulted with her mother and Ellen and Mrs. Kinsey, andamong them they planned a dinner that would have pleased the mostfastidious diners-out in any city. Betty did not herself know the namesof the dishes she wanted served, but the services of a competent catererwere to be assisted by the skilled work of the home servants, and Bettyfelt that she had done the best she could to honor her relatives with aThanksgiving feast.
Mrs. McGuire tried to persuade her not to give up the Puritan party, butBetty was firm.
"No," she said, with snapping eyes; "I'll not have the English young ladymaking fun of our country games. I'll give her as good as she has in herown country, and I'll do the best I can for my grandparents as well."
"Well, I think it's a shame!" declared Jack. "Here I've the loveliestbrown cloth rig you ever saw. Cloak and knickerbockers and buckledslippers! Why, Betty, your grand Miss Maxwell would like me a heap betterin those togs than in my Tuxedo."
Betty faltered for an instant, then said:
"Maybe she would, Jack; but the girls and boys haven't all such finecostumes. Some are just fixed up out of cheese-cloth and waterproofs. No,sir, it isn't right by quality people to give 'em the kitcheny things wewere going to have to eat at the feast, and if we leave out theold-fashioned dinner, there's no fun in the old-fashioned clothes."
"All right," said Jack, who always bowed to Betty's commands and neverpresumed to dictate.
And Betty was honest in her motives. It was not at all pride in herhandsome home and its beautiful appointments that influenced her; it wasthe impulse to give of her very best to honor her dear grandparents andtheir young guest, and it was a more severe disappointment than any oneknew, for her to give up the gay and jolly party she had planned for.
But Betty's determination was of the immovable kind, and every plan forthe Puritan party was dropped, and every plan for the proper reception ofthe guests was pushed forward; and so ably was all this done, that, onWednesday afternoon, the house was in readiness and the family, inholiday attire, awaited their guests.
The Denniston carriage brought them from the station, and the reunion wasa most happy one.
Mr. and Mrs. Irving may have seemed a bit punctilious as to the formalroutine of their own house, but that in no way interfered with theirhearty expressions of pleasure at finding themselves under theirgranddaughter's roof. And they soon showed both by joyous words andmanner that they were genuinely glad to meet Jack and Baby Polly andGrandma Kinsey.
Miss Maxwell was not quite as Betty had pictured her. She was quiet andreserved, but she seemed shy rather than haughty.
Betty tried hard to draw her out, but the English girl replied inmonosyllables, and though most courteous and polite, was bafflinglyunresponsive to the cordial chatter of both Jack and Betty.
"Iceberg!" thought Jack, to himself; "I've a good notion to say Boo! andsee if she'd jump."
But he didn't, for Jack was always on his good behavior when Betty wantedhim to be.
Dinner passed off beautifully. Of course, this was not the grandfeast,--that was for to-morrow; but the well-cooked and well-servedfamily dinner was a credit to Betty's household. The evening was a littlestiff. All sat primly on the brocaded chairs in the drawing-room and madepolite conversation; but there was a certain restraint, which, however,Betty accepted as a necessary result of "having company."
At last they all went to bed, and Betty lay awake, wondering whether itcould be her fault that Miss Maxwell didn't seem to be enjoying herself."No," said her mother, to whom Betty confided her anxiety in a littlebedtime chat. "No, dearie, it isn't your fault, except that perhapsyou're a little overanxious about it all. Perhaps if you'd take MissMaxwell a little more simply,--a little more as you take May Fordham orTilly Fenn,--"
"Oh, Mother, I couldn't talk to Miss Maxwell as--as jokingly as I talk tothe other girls! Why, even her name is Evangeline!"
Mrs. McGuire smiled, as she kissed Betty good night. "It is an imposingname," she said, "but try not to be afraid of it."
Next morning, Betty did try. She took Miss Maxwell for a sleigh-ride, butthey did not make much progress toward chumminess.
It was after luncheon, when the girls went up to Betty's room for alittle chat, that Betty, more perplexed than ever, involuntarily blurtedout her anxiety.
"Are you like this at home?" she said, scarcely realizing that thequestion was extremely personal. "Do you never chum with people?" MissMaxwell broke into a ringing laugh.
"I'm the chummiest thing in the world," she said; "I'd love to be chumswith you, but I'm so--so afraid of you!"
"Afraid of _me_!" exclaimed Betty, opening her dark eyes wide inastonishment. "Why, it's scared to death I am of you!"
Then both girls went off into peals of laughter, for Betty's quick witcaught the real state of the case, and Evangeline, too, saw the truth.
"But I thought you so grand I must be extra polite," said Betty, as theybecame calm again.
"And I thought because you were the owner of this big house, I mustbehave with great dignity! Please be chums. May I
call you Betty?"
"I should hope so! I'm still too much afraid to say Evangeline, though."
"Call me Van, then; lots of my friends do, and I like it."
"I love it! It makes us friends at once. I think it was the 'Evangeline'part of you that scared me most. Why, when I heard that, I made the boysand girls give up our baked beans dinner, and have lobster pates andsoufflee meringue."
"A baked beans dinner! What do you mean? My! but that sounds jolly!"
So Betty told Evangeline of the Puritan party that had been set asidebecause of the unexpected guests.
"Oh, what a shame!" cried Van. "I should have _loved_ it; can't you getit up again? I can scrabble up a frock, I'm sure! It would be so _much_more fun than a grand dinner! oh, a thousand times more! Pumpkin-pie andcider and candle-light! Oh! Oh! _Can't_ you get it back?"
"I don't see how I could, Van. It's after two now, and dinner's at seven.But let's try. Jack! Jack!"
Jack came at Betty's call, and he was informed of the wonderfuldiscoveries the two girls had made concerning each other. He looked alittle disgusted at Betty's lack of intuition in the matter, and said:"Whew! what queer things girls are!" but he accepted the new situation,and set his wits to work to help Betty out.
"Why, I should think we could manage it somehow," he said. "Give Pete andEllen charge of the dinner part of it; send word to your gorgeous catererman that the dinner is postponed; and you, Betty, hop into the cutter andfly round and tell those who haven't any telephone, while I stay here andcall up all those who have. I'll wager they'll all come."
Come they did, every one of them. They wore quaint Puritan costumes,which were delightful to look at, if they were made of such humblematerials as cheese-cloth and silkoline. The boys were stunning in theirpicturesque suits, and the dining-room was truly old-fashioned with itsonions and red peppers strung from the rafters. The homely viands wereeaten with decided enjoyment, and afterward even old Mr. Irving joined inthe Virginia Reel.
"I'm so glad," said Betty, as she and Van went to their rooms after theparty was over, "that I learned of your ability to 'chum,' before it wastoo late."
"I'm glad, too," said her English guest; "I wouldn't have missed thisexperience for anything. I shall always remember what is probably theonly Thanksgiving party I shall ever attend."