CHAPTER XI
THANKSGIVING WITH THE NESBITS
"I am sure I never before had so much to be thankful for!" was GraceHarlowe's fervent declaration as she viewed with loving eyes the littlecircle of friends of which she was the center.
It was Thanksgiving eve, and the Nesbits had gathered under theirhospitable roof a most congenial company to help them commemorateAmerica's first holiday. Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe, in company with Mrs.Gray, had come from Oakdale. J. Elfreda Briggs had won a reluctantconsent from her family, who invariably spent their Thanksgivings atFairview, to make one of Miriam's house party. Anne, who was playing anextended engagement in New York City, was transplanted from theSouthards' to Miriam's home for a week's stay. There were, of course,many loved faces missing, but this only made those who had assembled fora brief sojourn together more keenly alive to the joy of reunion.
"This is the first Thanksgiving since my senior year in high school thatI've been given the chance to sit between Father and Mother and countmy blessings," Grace continued, looking fondly from one to the other ofher parents. She was occupying a low stool between them, her favoriteseat at home when the day was done, and the devoted little familygathered in the living room to talk over its events.
"We are counting our blessings, too," smiled Mr. Harlowe. "One of themis very lively, and runs away almost as soon as it arrives." He pinchedGrace's soft cheek.
"But it always runs back again," reminded Grace, "and it's always yoursfor the asking. I'd leave my work, everything, and come home on wings ifyou needed me."
"I used to hate Thanksgiving when I was a youngster," broke in J.Elfreda. "We always had a lot of company and I always behaved like asavage and spent Thanksgiving evening in solitary confinement. I'd waillike a disappointed coyote and make night generally hideous for thecompany. I've improved a lot since those days," she grinned boyishly ather friends. "I can see now that it was a pretty good thing the PilgrimFathers set aside a day for counting their blessings. If they thoughtthey were lucky, I wonder what we are."
Elfreda had unconsciously gone from the comic to the serious.
"We are favored beyond understanding," Mrs. Harlowe said solemnly."When one thinks of the poor and unfortunate, to whom Thanksgiving canbring nothing but sorrow and bitterness, it seems little short ofmarvelous that we should be so happy."
"I don't wish to be selfish and forget life's unfortunates, but I'drather not think about them now," was Miriam's candid comment. "Wemustn't be sad to-night. Grace must sparkle, and Elfreda be funny, andAnne must recite for us, and I'll play and David must sing. I'vediscovered that he has a really good tenor voice. We've been practisingsongs together this fall."
"Really?" asked Grace, with interest. "And all these years we never knewit. David, you can surely keep a secret."
"Oh, I can't sing," protested David, coloring. "Miriam only thinks Ican. Our real singers are among the missing to-night."
"You mean Hippy and Nora?"
"Yes," nodded David. "Isn't it strange we didn't hear from them. I wroteTom, Hippy and Reddy to come on here for Thanksgiving if they could.Reddy and Jessica couldn't make it. They are coming home for Christmas,though. Tom Gray is away up in the Michigan woods. Still he sent atelegram that he couldn't come. But Hippy didn't answer. This morning Isent him a telegram, and so far there's no answer to that, either."
"I hope neither of them is ill." Mrs. Gray's face took on a look ofconcern. "It is not like Hippy to neglect his friends."
"Nora is usually the soul of promptness, too," reminded Anne.
"If I don't hear anything to-night, I'll telegraph Hippy againto-morrow," announced David.
There was a pleasant silence in the room. Every one's thoughts were onthe piquant-faced Irish girl, whose sprightly manner and charmingpersonality made her a favorite, and her plump, loquacious husband,whose ready flow of funny sayings never seemed to diminish.
"There aren't any wishing rings nowadays," sighed Grace, "so there's nouse in saying, 'I wish Nora and Hippy were here.' Come on, David, andsing for us. Miriam says you can, and you know it wouldn't be nice inyou to contradict your sister."
"You can sing, 'Ah, Moon of My Delight,'" suggested Miriam to herbrother. "It is Omar Khayyam set to music, you know"--she turned toGrace--"from the song cycle, 'In a Persian Garden.'"
"I love it," commented Anne, her eyes dreamy. "Do sing it, David."
As Miriam went to the piano the whirr of the electric bell came to theirears.
Grace glanced interrogatively at David. "Perhaps it's a telegram," shecommented.
David, who had just risen from his chair to go to the piano, stoppedshort and listened. "False alarm. Must be the doctor. One of the maidsis sick." He crossed to the piano where Miriam already stood, turningover a pile of music. Having found the song for which she was searching,she took her place before the piano and began the quatrain's throbbingaccompaniment.
David's voice rang out tunefully. He sang with considerable feeling andexpression. He had reached the exquisite line, "Through this sameGarden--and for One in Vain!" when a clear high voice from the doorwaytook up the song with him.
With a startled cry of "Nora!" Grace ran to the door.
The song came to an abrupt end. Miriam whirled on the piano stool. Oneglance and she had joined the group that now surrounded a slender figurewith a rosy, laughing face and a saucy turned-up nose.
"Nora O'Malley! You dear thing! No wonder David didn't hear from Hippy.But where is he? Not far away, I hope."
"Ah!" called a voice from behind the thin silk curtain of a small alcoveat one end of the hall, and Hippy emerged, the picture of offendeddignity. "Missed at last," was his sweeping rebuke. "I had begun tothink I was doomed to languish behind that green silk curtain for life.It's all Nora's fault. If I had been immured there forever and always,it would be her fault just the same. She proposed that I should hide.'Make them think I came alone. They will be so disappointed,' was herdeceitful counsel. And I believed her and wrapped myself in the curtainto wait for you to be disappointed. I see it all now. It was merely ascheme to attract attention to herself. She is jealous of mypopularity."
"Oh, hush, you wicked thing," giggled Nora. "You didn't give any onetime even to ask for you."
"That sounds well," was Hippy's lofty retort, "but remember, all thatprattles is not truth."
"Squabbling as usual," groaned David, shaking Hippy's hand with anenergy that belied the groan.
"Just as usual," smirked Hippy. "Neither of us will ever outgrow it. Yousee we once lived in a town called Oakdale and associated daily with anumber of very quarrelsome people. I wouldn't like to mention theirnames, but if some day you should happen to go to Oakdale just ask anyone if David Nesbit and Reddy Brooks ever reformed. They'll understandwhat you mean."
"Your Oakdale friends will have cause to inquire what awful fate hasovertaken you if you don't reform speedily," warned David. "I'm obligedto stand your insults because you are company. Just wait until thenewness of seeing you again wears off, and then see what happens."
"You don't have to show me," flung back Hippy hastily. "I'll take yourword for it. I believe in words, not deeds. You know I used to be sofond of quoting that immortal stanza about doing noble deeds instead ofdreaming them all day long. Well, I've altered that to fit any littleoccasion that might arise. I find it much more comforting to say it thisway:
"Be wise, dear Hippy, from all violence sever, Say noble words, then do folks all day long. Avoid rash deeds, by sweet words e'er endeavor To prove your friends are wrong."
A ripple of laughter followed Hippy's sadly altered quotation of thefamous lines.
"That's a most ignoble sentiment, Hippy," criticized Miriam. "I can'tbelieve that you would practice it."
"I didn't say I would practice it," responded Hippy, with a wide grin."I merely stated that it was comforting to have around. Must I repeatthat I believe in words, and lots of them."
"We
all knew that years ago," jeered David. "I believe in words, too.Sensible words from Nora explaining how you and she happened to drift inhere at the eleventh hour. You haven't a sensible word in yourvocabulary."
"I have," protested Hippy. "Nora, as your husband, I command you, don'tgive David Nesbit any information."
Nora dimpled. "I won't tell David," she capitulated. "I'll tell Miriamand Anne and Grace." The five Originals were still grouped together inthe hall. "When David's letter came we were just wondering how we wouldspend Thanksgiving with not one of the old crowd at home. Hippy handedme the letter. It came while we were at luncheon. 'Let's go,' we bothsaid at once. So we locked little fingers, wished and said 'Thumbs.' Isaid 'salt, pepper, vinegar,' but Hippy went on indefinitely with suchpleasant reminders as 'death, famine, pestilence, murder.' He believesin words, you know." She shot a roguish glance at her broadly-smilingspouse. "Finally I reduced him to reason and we planned to surprise you.This morning found two lonely Originals hurrying to catch up with theirpals." Nora surveyed her friends with a loving loyalty that brought herextra embracing from Grace, Anne and Miriam.
"We mustn't be selfish," reminded Grace. "The folks in the living roomare anxious to welcome you."
Hippy and Nora were escorted into the living room by a fond bodyguard,and were soon exchanging affectionate greetings with the older membersof the house party. J. Elfreda Briggs had not gone into the hall on thearrival of Hippy and Nora. She could never be induced to intrude uponthe more intimate moments of the Originals.
Hippy, with understanding tact, at once proceeded to draw her into thecharmed circle. "Well, well!" he exclaimed. "Whom do I see? J. Elfreda,and in the clutches of the law, so I am told."
J. Elfreda's fear of intruding vanished at this sally. Her own sense ofhumor caused her to claim kinship with Hippy and his pranks and sheanswered him in kind.
"What I don't see is how _you_ ever escaped those same clutches," put inDavid. "Don't you have a hard time, usually, to convince the jury thatyou are not the defendant?"
"Not in the least," responded Hippy, with dignity. "The jury knows mefor what I am. Just let me tell you that if I were to have _you_arrested for slander there wouldn't be the slightest chance of my beingmistaken for the defendant."
Even David was obliged to join in the laugh against himself.
"All right, old man. We'll cry quits. I'll bring my law cases to you ifever I have any."
"And now that you are a broker I'll bring anything I want broken to_you_," promised Hippy glibly. "So far I've left all those littlebusiness details to the maid. She has successfully broken a number ofour wedding presents, and we look for still greater results. She knowsmore about 'brokerage' or, rather 'breakerage,' than would fill a book."
"What a blessed thing it is to find you the same ridiculous Hippy we'vealways known," smiled Mrs. Gray, as Hippy seated himself beside her fora few minutes' sensible conversation. "You and Nora will never be staidand serious. I'm so glad of it."
She sighed. She was thinking of Tom Gray, her nephew, and of how grave,almost moody, he had become during the last year. Long ago she haddeplored the fact that no engagement existed between Tom and Grace. Tomhad grown strangely unlike his old cheery self, and in his changedbearing she read refusal of his love on Grace's part. It saddened her.Her heart ached for Tom. She had always looked forward to the day whenGrace would give her life into Tom's keeping.
She had never approached Grace on the subject of Tom and his love, butto-night, as she watched Hippy and Nora, serene in their mutual love andcomradeship, and marked, too, the quiet devotion of Anne and David, whowere to be married in Oakdale on New Year's night, her heart went out toher gray-eyed boy, far away in the great North woods, and she determinedto say a word for him to Grace.
It was late in the evening before she found her opportunity. With thearrival of Hippy and Nora the interest soon centered about the piano.Grace, while not a performer, was an ardent lover of music, and herdelight in Nora's singing was so patent that Mrs. Gray would not disturbher.
It was during the serving of a dainty little repast that Mrs. Graycalled to Grace, "Come here, Grace, and sit by me."
Grace obeyed with alacrity, drawing her chair close to that of her oldfriend.
"I thought I would ask you, my dear--what do you hear from Tom?" beganthe dainty old lady with apparent innocence.
Grace felt the color mount even to her forehead.
"I haven't heard from him lately," she confessed. "I--that is--I owe hima letter."
"I wish you would write to him. Poor boy. He is very lonely, away upthere in the woods."
Grace did not answer for a moment. Then she said in a constrained voice,"I _will_ write to him, Mrs. Gray. I know he is lonely."
There was an awkward pause in the conversation; then came the abruptquestion, "Grace, do you love my boy?"
"No, Fairy Godmother," replied Grace in a low tone. "I'm sorry, but Idon't. That is, not in the way he wishes me to love him."
"I am sorry, too, Grace. I feel almost as though I were responsible forhis sorrow. For to him it is a deep sorrow. If I had not given HarloweHouse to Overton College, you might have found that your work lay inbeing Tom's wife. He has never reproached me, but I wonder if he everthinks that."
"I am sure he doesn't," Grace's clear eyes met sorrowfully the kind blueones. "Please don't think that Harlowe House has anything to do with mynot marrying Tom. It is only because I do not love him that I am firmin refusing him. My heart is bound up in my work. Really, dear FairyGodmother, I am almost sure I shall never marry. For your sake and his,I'd rather marry Tom than any other man in the world, if I felt thatmarriage was best for me. But I don't. I glory in my work and freedomand I _couldn't_ give them up. I've wanted to say this to you for a longtime, but I didn't know just how to begin. Now that I have said it, Ihope it hasn't wounded you."
"My dear Grace," Mrs. Gray's voice was not quite steady, "I would givemuch to welcome you as my niece, but not unless you love Tom with thetenderness of a truly great love. If that love ever comes to you, Ishall indeed be happy. But my dear boy is worthy of the highestaffection. If you cannot give him that affection, then it is far betterthat you two should spend your lives apart."