 | A HOUSEFUL OF GUESTS Arabella |  |
18. A HOUSEFUL OF GUESTS
Arabella made a charming hostess, with the Purple Lady in the background to keep her, as it were, up to the mark, and offer timely suggestions. There was, moreover, about the girl a sturdy character, inherited, probably, from dead and gone generations, which enabled her to rise to the occasion and acquit herself creditably of her duties as entertainer. Everything possible for the comfort and pleasure of the house-party was thought out and planned between these two, and therein they were ably seconded by Mrs. Christie and Aunt Alicia. Both of these latter were brought, in spite of themselves, very much to the front, by the desire of Arabella and the easy good breeding of the guests. Gentle little Alicia became a prime favorite with every one, while the sterling qualities of her sister were fully appreciated.
Silas Christie, aroused out of his taciturnity, especially when in company with Mr. Robert, Mr. Frederick and the boys, was a host in himself. He guided the masculine portion of the party to the best places for fishing and boating. He drove them to the most inaccessible places, and introduced them to half the country side. He had not the slightest awe of any of the fine folk, not even Mrs. Winslow herself, and his blunt simplicity of manner atoned in their eyes for his want of polish.
During the week which Mr. Frederick, Mr. Robert and their sister remained at Kenoosha, it is quite possible that one or both brothers would have been glad to renew their former relations with Millicent Van Brugh, but the latter, who understood the art of gracefully effacing herself, made them understand in her gentlest and most gracious fashion, that the belle of long ago no longer existed.
"My life is enveloped in the shadows," she said, half jesting, "the purple shadows which come at evening, and which can never take on the glory of morning. So you see that I have been well named."
In this fanciful manner she defined her attitude, and once she said to Mrs. Winslow, as she caught a wistful look upon her face:
"It is very peaceful, Clara. You must not pity me."
The children, of course, knew nothing of this little by-play, nor that one or two of their elders went away with real regret in their hearts. All the younger members of the party were left behind, the negro mammy charging herself with a general superintendence of those who needed her care.
Such a period of pure enjoyment as began after that it would be difficult to chronicle in cold black and white. For, after all, it is difficult to set down those delightful outings in the country, the wanderings through woods and cool, shaded roads, the drives on hay carts, the fishing, the bathing, the wading in cool streams, the rowing, or the sailing, or the driving. The boys in particular were devoted to out-door sports, George being on intimate terms with half the boys in the village, and rejoicing in the freedom he enjoyed of "getting to know other fellows," even if they wore shabby clothing, and in some instances had no shoes at all upon their feet. He liked going out with Mr. Christie in all sorts of vehicles and helping him at any work picking up quaint expressions from him and quite winning the old man's heart. One day George said confidentially to Arabella:
"I wish mother would let me come down here to live. I'd like to be a farmer or something like that. It's tiresome being rich and living in a brown stone house."
"Still, it's nice to have money," said Arabella, from the height of her experience. "I've tried both, and I know."
"Oh, It's all right for you, because you've got a house, or, at all events, a wing of your own, and, anyhow, you're a girl. Every boy ought to be poor."
"You might give away all your wealth," suggested Marion, who sat near, supported by cushions.
"I can't give it away," grumbled George, "because I haven't got it, but it's there, and I have to be a rich boy whether I like it or not. Now Carrie likes to be rich. she always wants good clothes and things."
"Carrie has got some sense," cried Reginald, taking up the cudgels for his little sister, who, quite undisturbed by the accusation, sat complacently dressing a doll.
"Not so much as Arabella," retorted George, "because she was poor once."
"Oh, shut up with your theories," exclaimed Reginald, " Arabella will think you crazy."
"No, she won't," cried George, waxing somewhat fierce.
"You ought to be satisfied, George," Marion put in, gravely. "What would you do if you were like me, and what would I do if I were poor? Everybody ought to be satisfied."
"So they ought, honey," agreed the negro mammy, "and the good Lord He gibs everybody what's best for them to hab. Sure enough, honey."
George, finding public opinion thus against him, was reduced to silence, but drummed discontentedly on the window, and resolved in his mind various socialistic theories, only the usual order was reversed, and he did not want to possess himself of somebody else's wealth, but to get rid of his own. Arabella, seeing him thus disconsolate, followed him over to the window and addressed him with her usual common sense:
"There's no use bothering about it now," she said. "When you're a man you can give away your money, if you want to, and be a farmer or anything you like."
A further diversion was made by Silas putting his head into the room to announce that he had hired a yacht to take them all, including Marion and the mammy, and even Aunt Alicia, for a sail. It was after their return that evening that a story-telling party was suggested, and they all, with the exception of Silas, who had gone to play cards with a neighbor, and Mrs. Christie, who was busy in her own quarters, assembled in Arabella's parlor. The negro mammy, by special request, led off with a blood-curdling tale of her far-off Southland, "in dem cruel slav'ry days," which she told with her soft, Southern accent, and with unconscious dramatic power. She brought vividly before her listeners' minds the hut in the brushwood, where lived a hunted fugitive, and the supposed ghost, which haunted the fever swamp, but which turned out to be a "poor colored man, as had lost all de wits de good Lord gibbed him." The listeners could almost see the waving of palms, the clumps of dark foliage, enlivened by fireflies, and the hissing of reptiles in the slimy marshes. When the story was almost at its most terrifying climax, steps were heard approaching through the passage, and everybody jumped. It proved to be nothing more formidable, however, than Mrs. Christie herself, with a large dish of hot popcorn, which she had just manufactured.
"Aunt" Alicia was next called upon for a story, and told a very pretty one, but not at all frightful, since neither she nor the Purple Lady were in favor of over-exciting the imaginations of children, and especially delicate ones like Marion. Her story was a true one, of a little flower-girl who sold her wares every day on Twenty-third St., and who saved every penny to support an aged and bed-ridden grandmother. At last, one day, the child herself was rendered, for the time being, helpless. She was run down by an automobile, and had to be taken to a hospital. The driver of the motor proved to be a man of heart. He learned the history of the little flower-girl, interested himself in her welfare, as she gradually recovered, and undertook to provide, thenceforward, for both herself and her grandmother. The little girls, in particular, were charmed with this story, and declared that they should like to follow that gentle employment, which Alicia so graphically described, and tie up roses and violets and tuberoses and lilies of the valley, heliotrope, mignonette and carnations into bunches, and sell them to all comers.
The final story was told by the Purple Lady, who sat in the centre of the ring, her fine face full of thought and expression as she made haste to comply with the request of Arabella and the eager circle of listeners. She was very fond of telling quaint legends of little stories from the lives of the Saints for the instruction and edification of her pupil and these others who were temporarily in her care. And on this occasion she told, with much grace and beauty of diction, a tale of a gentle lad, a scholar in an ancient English monastery who, during his whole life, had had a great devotion to the Queen of Heaven. He lay upon a bed of mortal illness, and being rapt in ecstasy, beheld upon a throne of glory the Blessed Virgin herself, surrounded by a resplendent company of saints and angels. The Heavenly Lady inquired whether the youth would prefer to remain longer upon earth or to enter at once into that happy society. And he, seeing no sadness on the faces of those blessed people, begged that he might join them without delay. Then returning to consciousness, he told the Lord Abbot, and, as it were, obtaining his permission, mounted upwards to join that blissful company.
Now, this story very well prepared every one for the evening devotions in the oratory. They, in their turn, were concluded by the singing of a hymn to the Blessed Virgin. This was so lustily rendered by all those young singers, that the praises of the Queen were sent far away through that atmosphere, which had never before vibrated to such supplications as:
"Show Thyself a Mother, Offer Him our sighs Who for us incarnate Did not Thee despise."
| A HOUSEFUL OF GUESTS Arabella | |