CHAPTER X
IN JOYCE'S STUDIO
IT was a wild, blustery day in March, two months after Mary'sinterrupted visit at the ranch. Joyce Ware, sitting before the glowingwood fire in the studio, high up on the top floor of a New Yorkapartment house, had never known such a lonesome Sunday. The winds thatrattled the casements and sent alternate dashes of rain and snow againstthe panes had kept her house-bound all day.
Usually she was glad to have one of these shut-in days, after a busyweek, when she could sit and do nothing with a clear conscience. Everymoan of the wind in the chimney and every glimpse of the snow-whitenedroofs below her windows, emphasized the luxurious comfort of the bigroom. She had had a hard week, trying to crowd into it some specialorders for Easter cards. A year ago she would not have added them to herregular work, but now she was afraid to turn anything away which mighthelp to swell the size of the check she must send home every month. Ifthe days were not long enough to do the tasks she set for herself at acomfortable pace, she simply worked harder--feverishly, if need be, tofinish them.
She had been practically alone the entire day, for the two members ofthe household who were at home were staying in their own rooms. LucyBoyd had a cold, and her devoted little aunt was nursing her with thecare of the traditional hen for its one chicken. Mrs. Boyd had notallowed Lucy to leave her room even for her Sunday dinner, but hadcarried it in to her with her own on a tray. As Miss Henrietta Robbinswas spending the week-end in the country, Joyce did not take the troubleto set the table for herself, but ate her own dinner in the littlekitchenette.
Afterward, to make the day as different as possible from the six othersin the week, in which she sat at her easel from morning till night in along-sleeved gingham apron, she went into her room and put on a dress ofher own designing, soft and trailing and of a warm wine-red. Pushing agreat sleepy-hollow chair close enough to the hearth for the tips of herslippers to rest on the shining brass fender-rail, she settled herselfamong the cushions with a book which she had long been trying to findtime to read.
The story, like the bleak outdoor world, seemed to accentuate her senseof shelter and comfort, but at the same time it somehow emphasized herloneliness. Now and then, when her eyes grew tired, she paused for amoment to look around her. There were several things which gave her keenpleasure every time her attention was called to them, which she feltought to be enough of themselves to dispel her vague depression: theodor of growing mignonette, the sunny yellow of the pot of daffodils onthe black teakwood table, the gleam of firelight on the brasses, and thewarm shadows it cast on the trailing folds of her wine-red dress.
That lighting was exactly what she wanted for some drapery folds whichshe would be putting on a magazine cover next week. She studied theeffect, thinking lazily that if it were not her one day of rest, shewould get out palette and brushes, and make a sketch of what she wantedto keep, while it was before her.
She read for over two hours. When the story came to an unhappy endingshe dropped the book, wishing she had never come across such a tale ofmisfortune and misunderstanding. It depressed her strangely, andpresently, as she sat looking into the fire, the unbroken quiet of thebig room gave her an overwhelming sense of loneliness that was like anache.
"I'd give anything to walk in and see what they're all doing at homeright now," she thought, as she stared into the red embers, "but I can'teven picture them as they really are, because they are no longer livingin any place that I ever called home."
The thought of their being off in a strange little Texas town that shehad never seen made her feel far more forlorn and apart than she wouldhave felt could she have imagined them with any of the familiarbackgrounds she had once shared with them. They seemed as far away andout of reach as they had been that winter in France, when she used toclimb up in Monsieur Greyville's pear tree and cry for sheerhomesickness. That was years ago, and before the Gate of the GiantScissors had opened to give her a playmate, but she recalled, as if itwere but yesterday, the performance that often took place in the peartree.
She began by repeating that couplet from _Snowbound_,--
"The dear home faces, whereupon The fitful firelight paled and shone."
It was like a charm, for it always brought a blur of tears through whichshe could see, as in a magic mirror, each home face as she had seen itoftenest in the little brown house in Plainsville. There was her mother,so patient and gentle and tired, bending over the sewing which nevercame to an end; and Jack, charging home from school like a youngwhirlwind to do his chores and get out to play. She could see Mary, withher dear earnest little freckled face and beribboned pigtails, always soeager to help, even when she was so small that she had to stand on asoap-box to reach the dish-pan. Such a capable, motherly little atom shewas then, looking after the wants of Holland and the baby untiringly.
Despite the ache in her throat, a smile crossed Joyce's face now andthen, as she went on calling up other scenes. They had had hard work atthe Wigwam, and had felt the pinch of poverty, but she had never known afamily who found more to laugh over and enjoy when they looked back overtheir hard times. But now--the change was more than she could bear tothink of. Jack a hopeless cripple, Mary tied down to the uncongenialwork that she had to take up as a breadwinner, when she ought to be freeto enjoy the best part of her girlhood as other girls were doing. Tearscame into Joyce's eyes as she brooded over the pictures she had conjuredup. Then she rose, and trailing into her bedroom, came back with alapful of letters; all that the family had written her since leavingLone Rock four months ago. Dropping on the hearth-rug, she arranged themin little piles beside her, according to their dates, and beginning atthe first, proceeded to read them through in order. They did bring thefamily nearer, as she had expected them to do, but the later onesbrought such a weight of foreboding with their second reading, thatpresently she buried her face in the cushions of the chair against whichshe was leaning, and began to cry as she had not cried for nearly ayear. Not since the first news of Jack's accident, had she given way tosuch a storm of tears.
It was some time before she sobbed herself quiet, and then she still satwith her head in the cushions, till she heard the faint buzz of anelectric doorbell. It sounded so far away that she thought it was thebell of the adjoining apartment, and gave it no more than a passingthought. So, too, the sound of an opening door, of an umbrella droppedinto a hat-rack, of voices, seemed to have but a vague connection withher world. Then she was startled by hearing Mrs. Boyd's voice at theportiere saying:
"Joyce, dear, here is Mr. Tremont to see you. Ah! I _knew_ you wereasleep. He rang twice, so I answered the bell."
Phil Tremont, pausing between the portieres as Mrs. Boyd slipped back toLucy, caught only a glimpse of Joyce's red dress trailing through theopposite doorway. The scattered letters on the rug bore witness to herhurried flight.
"Come on in to the fire, Phil," she called, through the partly closeddoor. "Poke it up and make yourself at home. I'll be out in a minute. Inever dreamed of such joy as a caller on this dreadful day, or I shouldhave been sitting up in state, waiting to receive you!"
The laughing reply he sent back brightened her spirits as if by magic.The next best thing to having one of her own family suddenly appear, wasthe pleasure of seeing the friend who had made one of their home circleso often and so intimately in the old Wigwam days which she had justbeen crying over. Hastily smoothing her rumpled hair, bathing her eyesand fluffing a powder-puff over her nose to take away the shine whichher tear-sopped handkerchief had left on it, she came out to find himstanding before the fire, looking down suspiciously at the scatteredletters.
As he stepped forward with a hearty hand-clasp, she felt that the keenglance he gave her was a question, and answered as if he had spokenaloud.
"No, I wasn't asleep, as Mrs. Boyd thought. I was just having a goodold-fashioned cry--a regular bawl! I don't get a chance to indulge insuch an orgy of weeps often, but now the storm is over and it hascleared the atmosphere for another year or so."
"What is it, Joyce? Bad news from home? Is Jack worse?"
Phil's voice was so sympathetic, his real concern so evident, that Joycecould not trust herself to answer immediately. She stooped and began topick up the letters.
"I--I'm afraid I boasted too soon about the storm being over. You'llhave to talk about something else for awhile, or I might tune up again."
"All right," he answered, in a soothing tone, reaching down to help hergather up the letters. "That suits me, anyhow, for I came on purpose tobring you a rare bit of news concerning the Tremont family."
In her present mood the mere sight of Phil's broad shoulders was acomfort. They might not be able to lift her actual burdens, but she felttheir willingness, and his unspoken sympathy steadied her like anoutstretched hand. Now with the consideration that was one of his mostlovable traits, he gave her time to compose herself, by rattling on in ajoking way about himself.
"I've come a long distance in the rain and snow to tell my news. I'vetorn myself away from all the wiles of Stuart and Eugenia to keep theironly brother with them. I've braved the dangers of Greater New York anddefied the elements in order to be the bearer of such important tidings,and you needn't think I'm going to give it to you as if it were anycommon bit of information. I tell you what I'll do. You may have threeguesses. If you fail you pay a forfeit, say--an invitation to supper,with the privilege of my helping get it ready in that tabloid kitchen ofyours."
"That is highly satisfactory," agreed Joyce, whose voice was undercontrol by this time. She drew her chair a trifle closer to the fire,and, leaning her elbows on her knees, looked into the embers forinspiration.
"It concerns the Tremont family," she mused. "That means all of you.Well, it must be that the old tangle about your great-aunt Patricia'sholdings in England has been settled and you're coming into some moneyafter all these years."
"No; guess again."
Picking up the long brass tongs, she began to trace pictures on thesooty background of the chimney while she tried to think of a betteranswer.
"It concerns _all_ of you!"
"Yes."
With his hands in his pockets, Phil walked over to the window and stoodlooking out over the wide stretch of city roofs below, now almost hiddenby the rapidly deepening twilight. He was smiling while he waited, andhumming half under his breath a song that his old English nurse used tosing to him and his sister Elsie: "Maid Elsie roams by lane and lea." Hehad whistled it almost constantly the last few days:
"Kling! lang-ling! She seems to hear her bride-bells ring, Her bonnie bride-bells ring!"
He hummed it again when Joyce's second guess was wrong, while he waitedfor the third. Then, when it, too, was wide of the mark and she demandedto be told, he began it again; but this time he sang it meaningly, andloud enough to fill the room with the deep, sweet notes:
"A year by seas, a year by lands, A year since then has died, And Elsie at the altar stands, Her sailor at her side. While kling! lang! ling! Their bonnie bride-bells gaily ring!"
Joyce's face grew bright with sudden understanding as he finished, andshe cried, "Elsie is to be married! Is _that_ what you came to tell me?"
"Yes, my littlest, onliest sister is to be married, immediately afterEaster, out in California, in the Gold-of-Ophir rose-garden you haveheard so much about. We are all going--Daddy and Stuart and Eugenia andlittle Patricia and your obedient servant, 'Pat's Pill,' himself."
He left the window, and stretching himself out in the big chair oppositehers, gave her the details that she instantly demanded.
"Elsie's sailor lad is a navy surgeon. The wedding is to be in therose-garden, because there is where they first met, and there is whereElsie has had all the best times of her life. She has always lived withmother's people, you know, since our home was broken up, and even beforemother's death, we used to spend our winters there. Yes, Daddy opposedthe marriage at first, but you know Daddy. He'd hardly think anarchangel good enough for Elsie."
The news had the effect which Phil had foreseen, and Joyce's own affairsretired into the background, while she discussed the matter which was ofsuch vital importance to the whole Tremont family. Later, he asked herto name all the things she considered the most desirable and unique aswedding gifts, and they were still adding to the list from which he wasto make his choice, when they heard Mrs. Boyd come out into the hall toturn on the light. In the bright firelight, they had not noticed howdark it had grown outside. Joyce looked at the clock and sprang up,exclaiming:
"Lucy will be wanting her cream toast, and it's time also for me to paymy forfeit to you. How much of a supper are you going to claim, youngman?"
"That depends on how many good left-overs there are in the pantry andice-box," said Phil, rising also. "I'll come and investigate, myself,thank you."
Pinning up the train of her red gown and tying on a big apron, Joycemade quick work of her supper preparations, and the long, lonely dayended in a jolly little feast, which completely restored her to herusual cheerful outlook on life. Mrs. Boyd joined them, despite the factthat she must leave Lucy to eat alone, in order to do so. It was alwaysa red-letter day in her drab existence when Phil Tremont came into it.She was such a literal little body, that she never joked herself. Shewas mentally incapable of the repartee that always flew back and forthacross the table when Phil was a guest, but she considered his tamestsallies as positively brilliant. When she went back to Lucy she hadenough material to furnish conversation all the rest of the evening.
"Now," said Phil, when he and Joyce were back in the studio again,before the fire, "I don't want to upset your equanimity, but if you cantalk about it calmly, I'd like to hear exactly how things are going withJack and Aunt Emily and that little brick of a Mary. I had one letterfrom Jack the first of the winter, and I've had the casual reportsyou've given me at long intervals, but I've no adequate idea of theirwhereabouts or their present sayings and doings."
"Suppose I read you some of Mary's letters," proposed Joyce. "I've beensurprised at the gift she's developed lately for describing hersurroundings. Really, she's done some first-class word-pictures."
In answer to his pleased assent, Joyce turned over the letters till shecame to the first one that Mary had written from Bauer.
"It was written on pieces of a paper sugar-sack while she was gettingsupper," explained Joyce. "But you can fairly see the little town spreadout between the spire of St. Peter's and the tower of the Holy Angels'Academy, with the windmills in between and the new moon low on thehorizon."
Phil, lounging back in the big chair, sat with a smile on his face as helistened to Mary's account of the rector's call, while she was perchedup on the windmill. But when Joyce reached the closing paragraph aboutits being a good old world after all, and her belief in GrandmotherWare's verse that the crooked should be made straight and the roughplaces smooth, a very tender light shone in his keen eyes. He said in alow tone, "The dear little Vicar! She's game to the core!"
Urged to read more, Joyce went on, sometimes choosing only an extracthere and there, sometimes reading an entire letter, till he had heardall about her visit to Gay, her first experience at a military hop,their brave attempt to make a merry Christmas among strangers, andfinally her experience with the Mallory children, because of theirdesperate need of money.
"Don't skip!" insisted Phil, still laughing over her account of her "dayof rest" at the Barnaby ranch, when the peacock lost its tail.
"The next one isn't funny," replied Joyce, "but it is especiallyinteresting to me because it shows how Mary is growing up."
She hunted through the disordered pile until she found one dated twomonths ago.
"'The night after I brought Brud and Sister back from the ranch I layawake for hours, trying to think what to do next to find the vulnerablespot in my _kleinen teufel_. I couldn't think of a thing, but decided tobegin telling them Kipling's jungle stories instead of any morefairy-tales, and to try Mrs. Barnaby's suggestion of making themrespons
ible for their own entertainment part of the time.'
"Oh, this isn't the one I thought," exclaimed Joyce. "It goes on to tellabout the last news from Holland, instead of the children. Here is theone I wanted, written two weeks later:
"'Hail, Columbia, happy land! I've found the "open sesame," thanks toKipling, and in a way I little expected. The children showed abreathless interest in the Jungle stories from the start, and begandramatizing them of their own accord. They have thrown themselves intothe play with a zest which nothing of my proposing has ever called out.For two weeks I have been old Baloo, the Brown Bear, and Father Wolf byturns. There are two little hairless man-cubs in our version, however,for a Mowglina divides honors with Mowgli. Sister says she has chosenthe name of Mowglina "for keeps," and I sincerely hope she has, if whatMr. Sammy Bradford said about names having a moral effect on her istrue.
"'We have our Council Rock up on the high hill back of St. Peter's,where Meliss sometimes plays the part of the Black Panther. We no longergreet each other with "Good morning." It is "Good Hunting" now, and whenwe part, it is with the benediction, "Jungle favor go with thee!" Youremember Baloo taught the wood and water laws to Mowgli, how to tell arotten branch from a sound one, how to speak politely to the wild beeswhen he came upon a hive of them, etc. But more than all he taught theMaster Words of the Jungle, that turned every bird, beast and snake intoa friend. It is simply amazing to me the way they seemed to be charmedby that idea, and it is strange that such utterly lawless childrenshould be not only willing but eager to abide by the rules laid down foranimals. It does my soul good to hear Brud, who has never obeyed anyone,gravely declaim:
"'"Now these are the laws of the Jungle, And many and mighty are they, But the head and the hoof of the law And the haunch and the hump is--_obey_!"
"'Or to hear saucy little Sister in the role of Mowglina, repeatingKaa's words to Uncle August, "A brave heart _and a courteous tongue_,they will carry thee far through the Jungle, manling."
"'It was Uncle August, bless his old brown body, who helped me to makemy first personal application of the play. I had just heard of theirlatest prank down-town. (Sad to say, the more angelic they are as littlewolves, the more annoying they are when they return to the Man-pack.)They had dropped a live garter snake, a good-sized one, through the slitof the package box, and the postmistress had picked it up with a bundleof newspapers. She was so frightened that she yelled like a Comanche,and then had a nervous chill that lasted for a quarter of an hour. Thatsame day they filled all the keyholes of the private letterboxes withchewing-gum, as far up as they could reach, and everybody who had tostop to pry it out was _so_ cross.
"'I didn't say anything to them about it till after they had told meabout Uncle August's chasing the calves out of Mrs. Williams' garden,and how she had petted and praised him for it. We talked a few minutesabout the way Uncle August is beloved by everybody who knows him, andhow even strangers on the street stop to pat his head or say somethingkind about him.
"'"It's because he keeps every Law of the Jungle, for dogs," I toldthem, and then I said, quite mercilessly, "but the whole town looks onyou two children as _Banderlogs_! Mere, senseless monkey-folks, outcastswho have no leaders and no laws!" Really, it hurt them dreadfully and Ifelt almost cruel for saying it. I could see that the shot told when Ireminded them how they had been turned out of the hotel and chased outof every store in town. I told them that people said ugly things aboutthem behind their backs, just as Kaa and Baloo did about the silly grayApes who threw dirt and sticks and made mischief wherever they went.
"'That was the climax. They both threw themselves across my lap andbegan to cry, protesting that they were _not_ Banderlogs. They didn'twant people to call them that. I think my good angel must have inspiredme to make the little sermon that I gave them then, for I certainly hadnever thought of the analogy before--how the same thing that is true inthe Jungle holds good in the Man-world; that we must learn the MasterWords for each person we meet, so that every heart will understand whenwe call out, "We be of one blood, ye and I." That just as the elephantsand kites and snakes became friendly to Mowgli as soon as he learned theMaster Words of their speech, so Miss Edna and the postmistress and oldMr. Sammy would be friendly to them, when they showed that they not onlyhad brave hearts, which scorned to play little, mean, silly tricks, but_courteous tongues_ as well.
"'The amazing part of it is that they understood me perfectly, and rightthen and there had a sort of spiritual awakening to the fact that theyreally are "of one blood" with these people they have been tormenting.It is pathetic to watch how hard they have been trying ever since, toconvince people that they are _not_ Banderlogs, but are sensiblechildren, willing to be governed by laws that they never understoodbefore. Now, at parting, they insist on my repeating _all_ the verse:
"'"Wood and water, wind and tree, _Wisdom_, _strength and courtesy_, Jungle favor go with thee."
They seem to believe that it verily holds some sort of hoodoo spellwhich will armor them with magic power to make friends.
"'Already Sister has made peace with the postmistress by the gift of acrude little willow basket of her own weaving, filled with wildflowers.It met with such a gracious reception (due principally to privateexplanation beforehand) that Sister fairly squirmed with the blessednessof giving,--her first real experience of that sort. Brud used hishatchet to split a pine box into kindling, and presented the same, tiedin neat bundles, to Mrs. Williams. Her surprise and voluble thanks (alsosolicited beforehand) were so gratifying that Brud came home sosatisfied with the new application of the game that he burns to play itwith everyone in Bauer, proving with actions, if not words, that he hasa right to say, "We be of one blood, ye and I," and that he is _not_ aBanderlog.'"
As Joyce slipped the letter back into its envelope, Phil leaned forwardto put another log on the fire, saying, as he did so, "Good for Mary!She always manages to find some way out, and it is always a way no oneelse would think of. But somehow I can't quite place her in theseletters. She's the same little bunch of energy that I've always known,and yet there's a difference. I can't quite make out what."
"She's growing up, I tell you," answered Joyce. "That's what makes thedifference. Listen to this one:
"'Yesterday being Valentine's day, we had a picnic at the Council Rock.The hill rises straight up from the public road, just back of theMallory cottage and St. Peter's. There is a roundabout road to the top,leading in from a back lane, which is easy to climb, but, of course, thechildren chose the steep trail starting near their gate. Nothing but agoat could walk up it with perfect ease and safety.
"'Once at the top, the view is lovely. You can see over half the county,and look right down into the chimneys of the town. The whole hilltop iscovered with wildflowers; strange, beautiful things I have never seenbefore--so many exquisite colors, you'd think a rainbow had been brokento bits and scattered over the ground.
"'At one o'clock we started out of the Mallory gate, the most grotesqueprocession that ever went down the pike of Bauer. You see, we'd droppedthe Jungle game for the day, and they were doing St. Valentine honor. Iwent first in my oldest dress, on account of the climb, my Mexican haton my head, my alarm-clock, as usual, in one hand and a thermos bottlein the other. I was taking some boiling water along to make them tea, asa great treat. They don't like it particularly, but they wanted to use alittle Japanese tea-set that had just been sent to them.
"'Sister, fired by some of my descriptions of Valentine costumes, hadelected to attend the picnic as the Queen of Hearts, and had dressedherself for the part with the assistance of Meliss. She looked perfectlyridiculous, spotted all over with turkey-red calico hearts. They weresewed on her dress, her hat, and even her black stockings. She was asbadly broken out with them as a measles patient would have been with ared rash.
"'Brud wouldn't let her dike him out in the same way. She wanted him togo as Cupid. He consented to let her call him Cupid and he carried a bowand arrow, and wore some of
the trimmings, but he wore them in his ownway. The white turkey-wings, which she tried to attach to hisshoulderblades, he wore bound to his brow like an Indian chieftain'swar-bonnet. Long-suffering Uncle August frisked about in a mostremarkable costume. I think it must have been made of the top section ofBrud's pajamas, with the sleeves pulled up over his front paws, andbuttoned in the back. It was sprinkled with big hearts, some blue andsome yellow.
"'But, funny as they looked, Meliss was the comic Valentine of theoccasion. The front of her was covered with an old lace window curtain.Across her bosom, carefully fastened with a gilt paper arrow, was thelithographed picture of a big red heart, as fat and red and shiny as aripe tomato. She carried the lunch basket.
"'I must confess it staggered me a trifle when the procession came outto meet me, but they were so pleased with themselves I hadn't the heartto suggest a single change. I led on, hoping that we wouldn't meetanyone. Well, we hadn't gone a hundred paces till we heard hoof-beats,and a solitary horseman came riding along behind us. Brud looked backand then piped up in his shrill little voice:
"'"Oh, look, Miss Mayry! Look at the soldier man coming!"
"'Naturally, I glanced back, and my blood fairly ran cold, for there,riding along with a broad grin on his face at sight of our ridiculousturnout, was Lieutenant Boglin! I was so amazed at seeing him that Ijust stood still in the road and stared, feeling my face get redder andredder. Somehow I had no power to move. He didn't recognize me till hewas opposite us, but the instant he did, he was off his horse and comingup to shake hands, and I was trying to account for our appearance. Itseems he had been with the troops up at Leon Springs for targetpractice, and was taking a day off while they were breaking camp. He hadbeen commissioned to look at a polo pony somebody had for sale in Bauer,and thought while he was about it he would call and see the Ware family,after he had had dinner at the hotel. He was on his way there.
"'Well, there I was! I couldn't ask him to go on such a babyfied lark asour Valentine picnic. I couldn't leave the children and take him overhome, because my time is Mrs. Mallory's. Even if she had excused me, thechildren would have raised an unstoppable howl, and probably would havefollowed us. They are making grand strides in the courtesy business, butthey are still far from being models of propriety.
"'When I had explained to the best of my ability, I told him I would bethrough at five, and asked him to wait and take supper with us. I couldsee that he was inwardly convulsed, and I do believe it was because weall looked so ridiculous and he wanted to see the show a second timethat he accepted my invitation with alacrity. As soon as he started onto the Williams House, I stopped under a tree and wrote a scrawl tomamma on the margin of the newspaper that was spread on top of thelunch-basket. Then I gave Meliss a dime to run over home with it, sothat the family needn't be taken by surprise if Bogey happened to getthere before I did.
"'But it seems that he forgot the directions I gave him for finding thehouse, and about ten minutes to five, as the children and Meliss werefinishing the lunch which was spread out on the Council Rock, he cameclimbing up the side of the hill. The children had been angelic beforehis arrival and they were good after he came, except--I can't explainit--there was something almost impish in the way they sat and watchedus, listening to everything we said, as if they were committing it tomemory to repeat afterward. Even Uncle August, in his heart-coveredpajamas, squatted solemnly on the rock beside them and seemed to bestowing away something to remember.
"'The lieutenant couldn't glance in their direction without laughing outloud; they looked so utterly comical. So he turned his back on them andbegan to admire the view, which certainly was magnificent. As the sunbegan to go down the wind came up, and the veil I had tied around my hatgot loose, and streamed out like a comet's tail. I couldn't tie it downand I couldn't find a pin to fasten it, and first thing I knew he hadtaken one of those fancy bronze pins from the collar of his uniform,those crossed guns that officers wear, you know, and he gave me that tofasten my veil with.
"'Now, there was nothing remarkable in that. Gay and Roberta have wholerows of such pins that different officers have given them. But Sisterpointed her finger at me and shrilled out like a katydid, as if they hadbeen discussing the subject before, "No, sir, Brud! You can't fool _me_!He _is_ Miss Mayry's valentine. He's her _beau_!"
"'Unless you could have heard the elfish way she said it, you couldn'tunderstand why it should have embarrassed me so dreadfully. My face feltas hot as a fiery furnace. He sort of smiled and pretended not to hear,and I couldn't think of a word to break the awful pause. But just thenthe alarm-clock, hanging on a bush behind us, went off with a whang andclatter that sent us both springing to our feet.
"'They had finished their lunch by that time, so I helped Meliss hustlethe dishes into the basket and headed the party for home as soon aspossible. You can imagine the deep breath of thankfulness I drew when Ifinally left them at their own gate. But I drew it too soon. I shouldhave waited until we were out of earshot. For as they went racing up thepath to meet their mother, we could hear them shrieking to her aboutMiss Mayry's valentine beau who gave her two teeny, weeny guns to pinher veil with.
"'The wind wasn't blowing so hard down where we were then, so as we wentalong I said in a careless sort of way, "Oh,--'lest we forget'--I'llreturn this now," and started to take it out of my veil. But he onlylaughed and said, with such a mischievous glance, "No, keep it, 'MissMayry,' lest you forget--your valentine."
"'Fortunately, it was one of Jack's good days, and he was able to be outin the sitting-room, and the two took to each other at once. You knownobody can give people quite such a gentle, gracious reception as mammacan, and much as I had dreaded taking him into such a barely furnishedlittle house, and serving him from our motley collection of dishes, Ididn't mind it at all after she had made him welcome. Such things don'tmatter so much when you've a family you can be proud of.
"'We had a delicious supper, and he ate and ate, and said nothing hadtasted so good since he left home years ago to enlist. He stayed tillten o'clock, and then went down to the livery stable to get his horseand ride back to camp by moonlight. We sat up for nearly an hour afterhe left, comparing notes on how we had enjoyed the evening, and talkingover all he had said. Jack said it was like coming across a well in athirsty desert to meet a fellow like that, and mamma said she was surehe had enjoyed his little taste of simple home life quite as much as wehad enjoyed having him. He quite captivated her, especially when heasked permission to come again. Norman was so impressed that he has beentalking ever since about the advantages of being an army man. As for me,I found him lots more interesting than he was the night of the hop,although I must say I'll always remember him as a sort of guardian angelthat night, for being so kind and saving me from being a wall-flower.'"
There was a peculiar expression on Phil's face as Joyce laid down thatletter.
"Do you know," he said, gravely, "I feel as if I'd been seeing thelittle Vicar grow up right under my very eyes. I'd never before thoughtof her as being old enough to have 'affairs,' but this seems to givepromise of blossoming into one. Of course, it's what one might naturallyexpect, but somehow I can't quite get used to the idea, and--"
He did not finish the sentence aloud, but as he scowled into the fire,he added to himself, "_I don't like it_!"