Protective Mimicry
"Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt,
Nothing's so hard but search will find it out."
—Herrick.
The next day Mr. and Mrs. Henry Raymond with Adele went home. For the first time in their lives the girls took leave of each other with coldness. The older people affected not to notice the lack of warmth in their adieus, believing that time and absence would heal the breach between them. Before their departure Mrs. Raymond had called her niece to her for a little talk.
"Bee, dear," she said, "you don't know how sorry I am for what has occurred. It was a most unfortunate mistake, but you must put all thought of it out of your mind. Be your own bright self again."
"I want to be pretty, Aunt Annie," burst from Bee, whose eyes were swollen and red from much weeping.
"That is nonsense, Beatrice," spoke her aunt sharply. "You cannot change your looks. 'What can't be cured must be endured.' Your personal appearance heretofore has caused you no concern, and there is no reason that it should begin to trouble you now. Beauty is not everything. Sometimes the plainest countenance becomes charming when stirred by the emotions of a noble heart."
"Yes; I know," said Beatrice dully. "I know all that. I've heard it ever since I can remember. My father would say the same thing, I dare say, yet his eyes follow Adele constantly, and he scarcely looks at me. People are always preaching how little beauty matters, and then they turn round and show that it makes all the difference in the world. Take Adele and me, Aunt Annie. Haven't I always had to stand back for her? You know that I have. I have given up my prettiest things to her, and been second in everything. But she shall not be first with my father. She shall not," she repeated passionately.
"You do not realize what you are saying, Beatrice," said Mrs. Raymond coldly, surprised and shocked by the girl's bitterness. It was such an ordinary occurrence for Adele to be admired that she did not fully grasp what it meant to her niece in the present instance. Then, too, Beatrice had always seemed to join in the admiration of her cousin so warmly that the lady was astonished at her feeling.
"I do not see why you should exhibit so much emotion over a simple occurrence," she continued after a moment. "It was a thing that might happen to anyone, and you are exaggerating the importance of it. Think no more about it, but make yourself so lovable that no one will care whether you are pretty or not. It lies in your power to win your father's affection, but it can not be done by continuing in your present frame of mind." And Bee found herself dismissed.
Soon afterward good-byes were said, and the girl's anguish increased as she saw how reluctant her father seemed to bid Adele farewell. To the young all things are tragic, and this which had befallen seemed nothing short of a calamity to Bee. At length, however, they were gone, and then Doctor Raymond turned to his daughter with a smile:
"Well, Beatrice, we are to have the house to ourselves, it appears. I presume that you have some studies, or some way by which you can amuse yourself for a few days. I shall be very busy for a time preparing reports, and arranging my specimens for the university; after which I shall be at liberty to make my little girl's acquaintance."
William Raymond did not mean to be cruel; but he was a scientist much absorbed in his work. He did have a great deal before him. Perhaps too he was not quite at ease with himself for the warmth which he had discovered toward his niece; perhaps, too, there lurked in his heart a faint feeling of disappointment that his daughter was not the lovely girl who had left in place of this silent, sullen appearing maiden who returned a passive:
"Very well, father."
Poor Bee! She had studied butterflies, her father's specialty, on purpose to surprise him. She had thought that he would let her be with him when he unpacked the rare specimens which he had obtained abroad, and she had pictured the delightful chats they would enjoy together.
The reality was so different from the anticipation that her heart swelled with the injustice of the thing, and she wept until the fountain of her tears was dry. The housekeeping which was to have been her pleasure served now to distract her mind. She threw herself into it with so much fervor as to extort a remonstrance from Aunt Fannie, the old colored woman who was the head factotum of the kitchen.
"You all jest a gwine to kill yerse'f," she said reprovingly. "'Tain't no mannah ob use to scrub an' scour twel a fly can't stan' up nowhar. Take hit easy, Miss Bee."
"It's all that I can do for father," responded Bee, and the old woman was silenced.
So the days went by. Every morning she saw her father at breakfast, and received his formal greeting as gracefully as she could. The meal over, Doctor Raymond disappeared in his study to be seen no more until evening. He was never a demonstrative man, and his reserve seemed like indifference to his daughter. Beatrice pondered upon his unconcern until she became possessed with the one idea that somehow, some way, she must do something to attract his attention.
"It's all because I'm not pretty," thought the unhappy child one morning when this state of things had gone on for a week. "I must do something to make him like me; but what?"
Listlessly she took up her butterfly book and turned the pages idly. All at once her eye was caught by these words:
"One of the most singular and interesting facts in the animal kingdom is what has been styled mimicry. Certain colors and forms are possessed by animals which adapt them to their surroundings in such wise that they are in a greater or less degree secured from observation and attack....
"A good illustration of this fact is found in the Disipsus Butterfly, which belongs to a group which is not especially protected, but is often the prey of insect-eating creatures. This butterfly has assumed almost the exact color and markings of the milkweed butterfly, which is distasteful to birds, and hence enjoys peculiar freedom from the attacks of enemies. Because this adaption of one form to another evidently serves the purpose of defense this phenomenon has been called 'protective mimicry.'"
"'Protective mimicry,'" mused the girl thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair and clasping her hands above her head. "That means if an animal wishes to defend himself from another he just puts on the form of one that his enemy doesn't like. 'Actor bugs,' Professor Lawrence calls them. If that can be done why couldn't any creature put on any form he liked? Wouldn't it be funny if a girl could change her appearance every morning just like she does her dress? I could get up then looking just like Adele. Why!—"
Bee sat up suddenly, startled by the idea which came to her.
"Beatrice Raymond," she cried, "you can do it. Why it's done every day. Didn't Emma Drew come back from St. Louis with golden hair when she had gone away with it black? Wasn't Mrs. Simpson's hair red, and then all at once wasn't it black? And the girls are always doing things to their complexions. Why, I can be just like Adele if I wish. Oh, why didn't I think of it sooner? I've lost a whole week." And with that she jumped up from the chair, went to the mirror, and surveyed herself critically:
"I could not change my eyes," she mused, "but I don't believe that would matter. Adele's are sometimes so dark that they seem black. But oh dear! My complexion is horrid, and my hair is so dark! They would have to be changed. Now what is the way to do it?"
At this moment Bee was in need of tender guidance from an older woman. She was a warm-hearted, loving, undisciplined girl; prone to do things on the impulse of the moment which she would afterward deeply regret. She had brooded over the indifference of her father and his apparent preference for her cousin until the matter had assumed gigantic proportions. Had it not been for the unfortunate change of photographs, and her father's consequent mistake, the question of looks would never have bothered her. As it was, the idea that if she could make herself like Adele, her father could not help but love her, filled her mind to the exclusion of anything else, and she thought of nothing save how the thing could be accomplished. Presently she turned from the glass and went down stairs to the kitchen.
"Aunt Fanny," she said to the negro woman, "do you know of anything that would make my skin white?"
"Lawsie, chile! What am de mattah wid yer skin? Hit am good ernuff," answered Aunt Fanny.
"But do you?" persisted Bee. "Because if you do, and will tell me, I will give you my string of yellow beads. Do you know anything?"
"'Cose I does, honey," answered the darkey, her eyes glistening at the mention of the beads. "Habn't I larn'd all erbout yarbs?"
"Then please tell me," coaxed the girl.
"Yer want hit like Miss Adele's?" questioned the old woman shrewdly.
"Yes," answered Bee eagerly.
"All yer has ter do, Miss Bee, is to git jim'son—yer know jim'son weed, honey?"
"Yes, yes," cried Bee impatiently. "Go on."
"Yer gits jim'son, an' makes a poultice ob de leabs. War dat ober night on yer face, an' in de mawnin' yer'll be as fair as de lily ob de valley. Miss Adele can't hole a candle to yer."
"Are you sure, Aunt Fanny?" questioned Bee gleefully.
"'Cose I'se sure. What'd I be tellin' yer fer ef I ain't sure?"
"And could you make my hair yellow like Adele's?"
"No'm; I cain't do dat. Dere's a worman down in de town kin, but I cain't. No'm; I kin do mos' anything, I reckon, but dat."
"Do you mean Miss Harris, the hairdresser, Aunt Fanny?" asked Bee with sudden enlightenment.
"Yes'um; she'll make yer hair yaller, er red, er anything yer wants hit," returned Aunt Fanny pompously, proud to be able to give so much information to her young mistress.
"Thank you, thank you," cried Bee, springing up joyfully. "I'll get the beads now, and if everything comes out all right I'll give you something nice."
She ran up to her room, and soon returned with the beads. Walnut Grove was a few miles farther out on the turnpike than was her Uncle Henry's place; consequently it was too far from the town to walk. Bee chafed at the necessity of waiting until Joel could get the buggy ready, so impatient was she to put her new idea into practice. It was brought round at length, however, and soon she found herself entering the only hair dressing shop that the little town afforded.
"What can I do for you, Miss Raymond?" asked the proprietress coming forward.
"Miss Harris, can you change the color of the hair?" asked the girl abruptly.
"Certainly," answered Miss Harris, evidently surprised by the query. "Why?"
"Because I want you to change the color of mine," spoke Bee quickly.
Miss Harris hesitated.
"Does your father know of it, Miss Raymond?"
"Why! he wishes it," declared Bee with sincerity.
"Very well then. What color did you wish?"
"I want it sunny and yellow; with gold lights all through it," answered Bee promptly. "Can you do it?"
"Yes, Miss Raymond; but your complexion—"
"I know," interrupted Bee. "It should be fair to go with it. Can you help me about it?"
"No; I only do the hair. I don't know of any here who does treat the skin. It's a small place, you know."
"Yes;" assented Bee. Silently she watched the deft movements of the woman as she applied the bleach. It was done finally, and Bee found herself the possessor of locks as yellow as her cousin's. She eyed the result doubtfully.
"I like my own best," was her mental comment. "But if it pleases father I don't mind."
"You understand," said Miss Harris as the girl prepared to depart, "the application will have to be renewed as the hair grows. Otherwise it would be dark at the roots while the ends would be yellow."
"Will it?" asked Bee in dismay. "I thought that this was all there was to it."
"No. It takes time and patience to attain gold even in the hair." Miss Harris laughed at her little joke. "Whenever it needs touching up, come in and we'll soon fix you up."
"Thank you," said Beatrice as she left.
"It's going to take every cent of this month's allowance," she mused as she stopped at a milliner's and ordered a white chip hat with purple pansies for trimming sent home, "but it costs to be a beauty. One must dress for it, Adele always says. I always liked her best when she wore great big purple pansies on her hat. Now for the jimpson."
Jimpson weeds abounded by the roadside. Bee filled the bottom of the buggy with them, and then drove home. Ignoring Joel's surprised looks the girl reached the house without meeting any one else, and went directly to her room.
"I won't go down to dinner," was her thought. "I'll burst upon father in the morning like a new being. Won't he be surprised?"