“Did he seem chagrined1 that I kept his gift such a little while,—that I was ready to part with it so soon?” Ellen asked wistfully.
“Not he. Don Pedro is a very understanding person, you know. I told him what you said about selfish sentimentality and he was much struck with the phrase.”
“It was borrowed from Cousin Rindy; don’t give me the credit for it.”
“Sounds like her. Well, my dear, sometimes our sacrifices come back to us in the form of joys. One never knows what flower may spring from a chance seed. These are pretty dark days for you, but the spring is on its way.”
And truly the spring was bringing the flower of a happy surprise to Ellen, for one day, when she was gathering2 some sprays of forsythia with which to adorn3 the table, she saw Jeremy Todd limping up the street toward her, and by his side walked a girl whose face and form looked very familiar.
Ellen dropped her flowers on the grass and ran down to the gate to meet the two. “It is, it is Mabel Wickham!” she cried. “How do you happen to be in Marshville?”
“Ask Mr. Todd,” replied Mabel laughing. “I hope I have not come because of vain imaginings. May we come in and tell you all about it?”
“Indeed you may.” Ellen opened the gate. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”
“And I am overjoyed to see you, but I want to see your cousin, too. May I? Is she able to receive strangers? Can she leave her room?”
“She not only leaves her room but gets all over the house on crutches4. She is the pluckiest thing ever, and scorns being an invalid5. Come in and I will call her.”
“Such a dear, quaint6 little old house as it is; I just love little houses,” said Mabel enthusiastically as she entered the hall; but she laughed when Ellen tragically7 indicated the ornaments8 on the mantel and the pictures on the walls.
“You can steep your soul in the beauties of our art treasures while I go to hunt up Cousin Rindy,” she remarked with a twist of a smile as she left the room, wondering meanwhile just what had brought Mabel to Marshville, and why she was in such a hurry to see Miss Rindy.
She was not long left in ignorance, for, as soon as Miss Rindy had clumped9 into the room and the usual forms of introduction were over, Mabel plunged10 into her subject.
“Please, Miss Crump,” she began, “put your mind in a receptive attitude, for if you don’t fall in with my plan I shall faint on the spot. To begin away back at the beginning: my grandmother loves to plan things months ahead, and so she commenced as soon as Christmas was over to talk about her summer plans. Year after year she has gone to a very fashionable, but deadly stupid, watering place where she could sit on the porch of a big hotel all day, do fancy work, and gossip with the other guests while they all rocked placidly11. Well, I have stood it just about as long as I can, and this year, being of age, I made up my mind to rebel. My grandmother is neither old nor decrepit12, and doesn’t need me in the least, for she will have hosts of friends in the same house, so I want to go off where I can enjoy myself in my own way. Last year one of my great-aunts died and left me a little cottage on an island off the Maine coast, and that is where I am crazy to go. Now this is where you come in.”
“Where we come in?” exclaimed Ellen excitedly.
“Exactly. Just hold your horses till my tale is told. Of course Gran held up her hands in holy horror when I suggested such a thing. The simple life has no appeal for her, and you would suppose the fisherfolk on the island went around in goatskins and armed with spears. Well, when I found she was deaf to all my blandishments I posted off to New York to my aunt, Mrs. Everleigh, who has more influence over Granny than any one else. Like the dear thing that she is, she listened to my tale of woe13 and promised to stand by me, so we planned out a course of action which promises to be successful if you will cooperate.”
“I may be very stupid, but I still fail to see our part in it,” Miss Rindy spoke14.
“You will see in a minute, dear lady. There were two or three points to be settled before we could approach Granny again. We must have counter-arguments to meet hers. First, there must be some one provided to take my place, and we decided15 that a pretty, beguiling16, and foolish little cousin, a débutante of next winter’s vintage, would be just the one, and we knew she would jump at the chance. Next, it would never do for me to go off into forest jungles and deserts wild without a proper chaperon; a cave man might grab me up at any moment and make off with me in a birch-bark canoe. Granny is still so unmodern as to believe in chaperons, you see, and she is mighty17 particular as to their quality. Well, we were mulling over this question when we happened to go to Mr. Barstow’s studio one afternoon. I was so full of my subject that I was ready to talk about it to every one, and I told my troubles to dear Mr. Barstow.”
“Dear Don Pedro, he would be just the one you would tell them to,” commented Ellen. “I haven’t a doubt but he could point to some way out.”
“He certainly did, so now it is up to you two. Oh, won’t you go with me? We could have such heavenly times, Ellen, and I am sure that invigorating air would do you a world of good, Miss Crump, make you over in fact. Please, please, don’t turn me down. I don’t mean that you are to decide at once. I shall be here till to-morrow, and you can sleep on it.”
“Do tell me what Mr. Barstow said,” Ellen urged.
“He sat thinking over the question when I put it to him, and all at once he looked up with that quizzical smile of his and asked: ‘What’s the matter with Ellen North and that fine cousin of hers? Why wouldn’t they be just the ones?’ I nearly fell on his neck. Then I rushed over and dragged Aunt Nell away from the people she was sitting with, and we all talked so fast that we had to begin all over again; but finally Mr. Barstow had the floor, and he proposed that I come down here and talk it over with you. He thought Mr. and Mrs. Todd might take me in for a day or two, which they have very kindly18 done, and that Mr. Todd would meet me, so here I am, thanks to the two blessed men.”
“But are you sure your grandmother will agree?” inquired Miss Rindy with caution.
“Oh, yes, I know she will, for Aunt Nell came back with me to Baltimore and we talked it all over. I think Gran is rather looking forward to watching Fan’s flirtations. The only thing that is uncertain is the matter of a cook, that is, provided you go. We could take our meals at a boarding-house, but it would be more fun to have them at home, don’t you think? I wouldn’t mind a course in domestic science myself, and it would be rather jolly to go to the store and pick out things, you and I, Ellen.”
“It all sounds so perfectly19 heavenly,” murmured Ellen. “I’ve never spent a summer at the seashore, and I have always longed to go to Maine.”
“You must understand,” Mabel went on hesitatingly, “that there will not be the slightest expense attached to the undertaking20, and that whatever salary should be attached to the office of chaperon will be yours, Miss Crump. You will be my guests, of course.”
Miss Rindy’s head went up. “I could not think of demanding a salary. To be your guests would be a privilege sufficient to balance matters.”
Mabel looked helplessly at Ellen, who shook her head warningly. One must not antagonize Miss Rindy in matters of this sort. It was evident that she was disposed to think favorably of the proposition, and of Mabel, so the latter switched off to another subject.
“One lovely thing about going up to this island is that we don’t have to bother about clothes. We can dress any old way we choose. We shall need some warm things, I warn you, for it never gets very hot, except sometimes in the middle of the day, and even then you can count upon a breeze from the sea. I was there for a week once, and I know.”
“One would suppose it was all settled,” said Miss Rindy smiling.
“Oh, but it is, at least nearly, isn’t it?” said Ellen, throwing her arms around her cousin.
“I’ll tell you to-morrow. How is an old hoppety-go-quick like me to take that long journey on crutches? When do you expect to go, Miss Wickham?”
“It’s perfectly lovely up there in June. Could you go as early as the middle of that month?”
“We’ll see.”
“You’ll be giving up your crutches and be walking with a cane21 by that time,” Ellen broke in; “the doctor said so.”
“You could go all the way by water if you liked, or we could motor up. At all events it would be made as easy a journey for you as possible,” Mabel promised.
Miss Rindy only nodded reflectively. “We’ll let the matter rest for the present,” she decided, and nothing further would she say.
Mr. Todd had taken his departure before Mabel had started her explanations, and now Ellen bore her friend up to her own room, where they chattered22 like magpies23 while Ellen made ready to go out with Mabel to show her the town.
It is superfluous24 to say that for the rest of the day the two were in a wild state of excitement. While Ellen despised snobbishness25, she nevertheless could not but feel an inward pride in her new friend, not so much because of her wealth, but because of her little high-bred air, her gracious, unaffected manner, free from any gaucherie. Mabel could not lay claims to great beauty, but her small, well-set head, her fine carriage, her wide-open, frank, blue eyes set rather widely apart, the unmistakable elegance26 of her dress, all distinguished27 her.
Caro at first was disposed to be jealous, but was soon won over by Mabel’s sweetness, and was the first to sound her praises to an eager circle, Florence Ives among them, and it must be confessed that Caro was overweeningly boastful in the presence of this young person. “I always told you that Ellen had lovely friends in the city,” she said triumphantly28.
“I believe I’ll give a little tea to-morrow and ask Ellen to bring Miss Wickham,” said Florence, much impressed, and always on the lookout29 for desirable acquaintances.
“You can spare yourself the trouble,” replied Caro coolly, “for she leaves to-morrow.”
“O dear!” sighed Florence, and was further chagrined when Frank reported that he, with Claude Fawcett and Julius Safford, had been asked to take supper at Dr. Rowe’s to meet Miss Wickham. In this small town the old-fashioned custom of a midday dinner and a substantial supper was still in vogue30.
“Of course Ellen will be there,” said Frank complacently31, and again Florence sighed.
There were always jolly times for the young people when they met at Dr. Rowe’s. The doctor himself was a jovial32 soul, while Mrs. Rowe was sympathetic and motherly, never frowning upon youthful nonsense, and always ready to indulge her only child in dispensing33 such hospitality as pleased her. Consequently Caro’s invitations were never refused, for, as the boys said, “You are sure of good eats when you go to the Rowes’”; and with boys this counted for much, “greedy creatures as they are,” Caro was wont34 to remark.
They never hesitated to express their appreciation35, however, and declared it was not all loaves and fishes which brought them to the house. “You are such a good sport, Caro,” Clyde told her, “and you don’t treat us like company. We don’t have to just sit on chairs and pay compliments; you don’t even mind a little rough-house as long as we don’t break up the furniture, and you don’t get mad if we jolly you, so that’s why we always like to come.”
Mabel was told all this when at first she hesitated at going to the house of utter strangers. “I’m here for such a short time,” she said, “and I don’t know them at all. Should I be so informal?”
Ellen laughed. “I think there spoke your grandmother. Don’t you like being informal? I thought you did. Caro is a dear, a sort of primrose-on-the-river’s-brim person, but overflowing36 with good-will. The whole family are my best friends, excepting dear Jeremy Todd, of course, and because of that you are their friend, too. The boys are just nice, everyday boys. Frank tries to be grown up sometimes, but the others are nothing but playfellows, and we all have mighty good times together.”
“It all sounds very refreshing37, so if you think it will be all right I’ll be glad to go,” Mabel decided.
Therefore Caro had her triumph, and no one could say that it was a disappointing evening. Caro charged each boy separately that he was not to “sit up and pay compliments,” but must make it as jolly as possible. “Please don’t be stiff,” she begged. “Tell funny stories, and if it helps to break the ice you may jolly me all you choose.” And the boys obeyed her to the letter, so that Mabel said she had never laughed so much in all her life, and that she wouldn’t have missed that supper for the world.
“I am so tired of bridge parties and the grown-up doings that Gran loves to force me into. She is a perfect dear, and adores me, but she is, oh, so conventional and I get so tired of p’s and q’s; that is why I long to get away to more simplicity38 this summer.”
“Have you ever been to Beatty’s Island?” Ellen inquired.
“Once, but only for a week, and that when I was a little girl, but I remember how fascinating a place it seemed to me then.”
This talk took place while the two were putting on their wraps; then Caro appeared, and the subject was dropped, for not a word was to be spoken to others of the summer plans till they were really settled.
Frank and Clyde saw the girls home, when they parted, not to meet again till the next morning.
“I’ll come over right after breakfast,” Mabel promised. “Please don’t settle anything till I get there,” after which rather cryptic39 remark only goodnights were said.
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1
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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8
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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9
clumped
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| adj.[医]成群的v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的过去式和过去分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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10
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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11
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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14
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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beguiling
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| adj.欺骗的，诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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22
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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23
magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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24
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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snobbishness
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| 势利； 势利眼 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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30
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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31
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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33
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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35
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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36
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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38
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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39
cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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