TO MEET ROSALIND.
"Put you in your best array."
Miss Betty Bishop lived in a small white house with brown trimmings, which she herself likened to a white cake with chocolate filling. Everything about it was snug and neat and seemed to the observer a pleasant expression of that kindly, busy, cheery lady; but Miss Betty was in the habit of declaring it had taken her twenty years to get settled in those small, low-ceiled rooms, and that she didn't feel quite in yet.
There had been a great sacrifice of fine old furniture when the big house on Main Street had to be exchanged for the little one in Church Lane, and it was no wonder Miss Betty sighed at the thought. None the less she had accepted courageously the reverses which at twenty brought her gay girlhood to an end, and for fifteen years was a cheerful, devoted nurse to her invalid father. Since his death she lived alone with only Sophy, her old mammy, to cook and care for her.
When it became known that Miss Betty had invited certain of her young friends to tea to meet Rosalind Whittredge, a wave of excitement swept over Friendship.
All the children of the town had heard stories of Miss Betty's beauty and belleship, but those Washington winters belonged to twenty years ago and had no connection with her present popularity. Sophy's skill as a cook no doubt had something to do with the fame of her mistress's tea parties, but besides this Miss Betty knew how to make her guests, whether young or old, have a good time.
When asked if she was fend of children, she was sure to reply, "Some children. I don't like disagreeable children any better than I do disagreeable grown persons." And for this reason, perhaps, it had come to be esteemed something of an honor to be asked to her house.
Miss Betty had at first felt a prejudice against Patterson Whittredge's daughter, deciding in her own mind that she was probably a spoiled little thing; but the sight of Rosalind taking tea with Morgan, and more than this, the frank gaze of those disarming gray eyes, had touched her kindly heart. She knew as well as anybody that it must be lonely in the Whittredge house; and so she had thought of the tea party.
The interest felt in Patterson Whittredge's daughter was very general. Patterson belonged to those old times when peace had reigned in Friendship. He had been a favorite in the village, and to many it seemed only the other day that he had gone away. It was incredible that this tall girl seen walking by Mrs. Whittredge's side could be his daughter. There were those like Mrs. Graham's pupils, who were inclined to invest her with a halo of romance; others criticised her as not at all the Whittredge style, not what one had a right to expect in Mrs. Whittredge's granddaughter. Some pitied Mrs. Whittredge for the responsibility thrust upon her, others pitied Rosalind, and still more, envied her.
In view of all the discussion, it was not possible to regard an invitation to meet her as quite an everyday matter.
"I do wish you had not soiled your embroidered muslin, Belle. You will have to wear your summer silk," said Mrs. Parton, addressing her daughter, who sat on the dining-room floor entertaining a Maltese kitten with a string and spool.
"I forgot to tell you, mother, Jack dropped some wax candle on it last Sunday night, when we were looking for a penny in the grass," Belle replied, lifting her merry black eyes for a moment. "Anyway, it isn't a dress-up party—only to supper."
"Bring that dress to me at once. I am astonished at you. The only decent thing you have!" Mrs. Parton sat down and clasped her hands in an attitude of desperation.
Followed by the kitten, Belle departed, returning directly with the blue and white checked silk over her arm.
"Whatever it is," her mother continued, I want you to look nice; Betty says Rosalind Whittredge has beautiful clothes."
"I just know she is a prig," remarked Belle, caressing the kitten.
"No, she isn't!" A tumbled head and a pair of eyes very like Belle's own peered out suddenly from beneath the table cover. "If she was, she wouldn't have run away to take supper with Morgan."
"Mercy upon us, Jack! you are enough to startle the sphinx. Come out from under that table at once," commanded his mother.
"Did she do that?" asked Belle, with some interest, adding, "Is it very bad, mother? Can you clean it? How do you know she did, Jack?"
Mrs. Parton shook her head; "I'll try French chalk," she said.
"Miss Betty said so. She saw her," put in Jack.
Mrs. Parton rose. "Another time when you lose a penny, I will make it good rather than have your best dress spoiled," she remarked.
"But you see, mother, it was a church penny," Belle explained, as if she were mentioning some rare and peculiar coin. "Arthur brought the collection home because Uncle Ranney wasn't there, and when he untied his handkerchief on the porch a penny dropped out and rolled into the grass."
"Who is going to Miss Betty's?" Jack asked, as his mother left the room.
"Maurice and Katherine and you and me, and the Ellises, and—I don't know who."
"I know it will be stupid; I don't think I'll go."
"If it is stupid, you will make it so," retorted his sister, adding, "and you will go, too, for mother will make you; besides, you know you wouldn't miss Sophy's waffles." Belle departed with the kitten, leaving Jack to return to the latest Henty book and his retreat under the table.
The Partons' was a square house, with a wide hall dividing it through the middle and opening on a porch at either end. When the weather at all permitted, these doors stood wide open, and dogs and cats and children ran in and out as they pleased. In the afternoons Colonel Parton sat on the front porch smoking and reading, threatening the dogs and the children indiscriminately, receiving not the slightest attention from either.
As she passed him now, Belle mischievously deposited the kitten on his shoulder.
"You baggage, you! Take this thing off me," thundered the colonel, as the kitten made its claws felt in a frantic endeavor to hold on in its perilous position.
"O father! don't hurt her," Belle cried, running to the rescue, and in the scuffle that followed, the unfortunate kitten escaped.
"Don't you let me catch you doing a thing like that again," scolded the colonel, as he picked up his paper and settled himself in his chair again.
Belle laughed, and held up her face for a kiss, which her father gave with a hearty good will.
Mrs. Parton was not the only one who felt dress to be a matter of importance on this occasion. Charlotte Ellis stopped at the bank gate to ask Katherine what she was going to wear.
"My blue lawn, I think," Katherine answered. "Mother says it is nice enough, and that I must keep my new white dress for Commencement."
"Your blue dress is very pretty, I am sure," Charlotte said. She was two years older than Katherine, and her manner was mildly patronizing. "I think I shall wear white. Of course it is not a party, but we want to make a good impression on a stranger."
Katherine felt the force of this, but Maurice, who overheard Charlotte, was inclined to jeer. "Much difference it will make to her what you have on," he said, as Charlotte left them. "Her," meant Rosalind.
"How do you know it won't make any difference?" asked Katherine.
"Because she is not that kind."
"What kind? How do you know?"
Now Maurice had kept his interview with Rosalind to himself, saying nothing to any one when he returned her book. His sudden interest in Shakespeare had not passed unnoticed; but as this or something else had caused longer intervals of cheerfulness, the family had not ventured to disturb the agreeable change by asking questions.
"I know, because I talked to her the other day," he replied.
"Maurice, really?" cried Katherine. "I don't believe it"
"You needn't if you don't want to," was her brother's lofty answer.
On the appointed evening the guest of honor was the last to arrive, and the others were in such a state of expectancy they could not settle down to an examination of Miss Betty's puzzle drawer with which she usually entertained her young guests until supper was announced. Miss Betty, who adored puzzles and problems of all kinds, was continually adding to her collection, and this evening there was a brand new one, brought from the city only the day before; but even Belle, who was especially good at puzzles, and besides affected not to care about Rosalind Whittredge, could not keep her eyes from the window.
The application of French chalk had been successful, and she wore her blue and white silk; Katherine, in her blue muslin, with ribbons to match on her smooth braids, wished her mother had been more impressed with the importance of the occasion. Charlotte was complacent in her white dress with a large ribbon bow on top of her head, in a new fashion just received from her cousin in Baltimore.
"That's the way Rosalind wears hers," whispered Katherine.
The boys fingered the puzzles and talked about the ball game to be played to-morrow, but they shared the feeling of anticipation. Their hostess bustled back and forth.
"Children," she said, pausing in the door, "I want you to be as nice as possible to Rosalind. Remember she is a stranger, and we wish her to have a pleasant impression of Friendship."
"Here she is!" announced Belle, and the rest crowded around the window.
"There's Miss Genevieve," whispered Charlotte; "girls, she is coming in!"
The Whittredge carriage had stopped before the gate and Miss Genevieve, a marvel of grace in soft chiffons that rippled and curled about her slender height and emphasized the fairness of her skin, was actually escorting her niece to the door.
"Isn't she lovely?" sighed Charlotte, in an ecstasy.
"Not so sweet as Miss Celia," said loyal Belle.
Miss Betty met them on the porch, while her guests in the parlor craned their necks to catch a glimpse, through the open door, of the new arrivals. The languid sweetness of Miss Genevieve's tone floated in above Miss Betty's crisper utterance.
"Mamma is just as usual, thank you. Yes, it was very kind of you to ask her; I have no doubt she finds it dull. Yes, we expect Allan in a week or two, but there is no counting on him."
So absorbed were the listeners, they did not begin their retreat soon enough, and their hostess, ushering Rosalind in, encountered a scene of confusion. Katherine in the excitement fell backward over a footstool and was rescued, flushed and shamefaced, by Jack Parton. Charlotte smoothed her dress and tried to look dignified. Belle and Maurice were in fits of laughter.
Miss Betty surveyed them in surprise. Rosalind stood beside her, and the girls at once noted that she wore pink.
"Is anything the matter?" asked Miss Betty, observing Katherine's flushed face. "I want to introduce Rosalind Whittredge to you. Rosalind, this is Charlotte Ellis, and Katherine Roberts, and Belle Parton—"
Still laughing, Belle held out her hand. "We were peeping at you," she said.
"Didn't you know I was coming in?" Rosalind asked, a gleam of fun in her own eyes.
"We wanted to see Miss Genevieve," added Belle.
As Miss Betty proceeded to name the boys, Rosalind said, "Oh, I know Maurice," quite as if he were an old friend; and she added, standing beside him, "I am so much obliged to you for bringing my book home."
"Does Maurice know her?" whispered Belle.
Katherine nodded, although she had had her doubts until this minute.
Maurice was agreeably conscious of Belle's eyes as he talked to Rosalind. He was not at all unwilling to have the distinction of being the only one to know the new-comer.
"I read the story," he said. "I did not know till after you had gone that it was one of Shakespeare's plays. We read Julius Caesar at school last winter."
"I know that too," Rosalind answered. I have Lamb's stories. Cousin Louis used to read them to me, and then from the real plays, but I like the story of the Forest best."
"Dear me! they are talking about Shakespeare," Belle exclaimed.
Rosalind looked across the room at her, and smiled in a way that seemed an invitation.
"It is a little funny for her to sit down beside a boy the first thing, don't you think?" Charlotte said in a low tone to Katherine, who assented because she was in the habit of agreeing with Charlotte.
Belle overheard. "Silly!" she said, and to show her scorn she went over and sat on an arm of the sofa beside Rosalind.
"Do you like to read?" she asked.
Rosalind opened her eyes. "Of course I do, don't you?"
Belle, who had browsed in her father's library since she had learned her letters, was known as a great reader, and felt rather proud of her reputation; but she found the stranger had read as much as she, and seemed to think nothing of it.
In the warmth of a discussion of favorite stories any stiffness is sure to melt rapidly away. Jack, hearing mention of "The Talisman," joined in and the others drew up their chairs, so that when Miss Betty rustled back from an excursion to the dining room she found the ice broken and sociability prevailing. But she startled them all by an exclamation.
"Jack Parton, for pity's sake, sit up! and you too, Katherine; I cannot allow my guests to sit on their spines."
"But it is so much more comfortable," protested lazy Jack, slowly screwing himself into a more erect position, while Katherine straightened up with a blush.
"There seems to be something wrong with the spines of this generation, and the first thing you know it will react on their mental and moral natures. People without backbone are odious," Miss Betty continued.
"I wish you children could have seen Miss Patricia Gilpin as I saw her once when I was a little child, more than thirty years ago. She was straight as an arrow and pretty as a picture. Such old ladies have gone out of fashion. I remember hearing her describe the backboard and spiked collar she wore for several hours each day when she was a child."
"What was the spiked collar for?" Rosalind asked.
"To keep her head in the correct position."
"I am glad I didn't live then," said Belle.
At this point Miss Betty's sermon was interrupted by the appearance of a small, brown boy in a white apron, who announced supper.