Chapter IV.
"May-party day at last!" cried Susie, dancing gayly about her room. "School ended, and now for a splendid time to-day!" As she went toward the window the sweet June air was coming softly in, the birds, too, were singing, and unconsciously she found herself chanting, "Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord." Then, stopping suddenly, "Why, that reminds me, I forgot to turn over to a new leaf in my Silent Comforter before breakfast. Oh, surely it's the 20th, and I've come round again to that verse with 'In honor preferring one another' in it, which perplexed me so. How this month has flown! It seems at once the longest and shortest I remember. To think Florence is so changed a girl! Why, she really seems like one of the family, rushing in and out at all times, bringing or sending mamma flowers every day; and the girls all like her so well, and wouldn't need any urging now to vote for her. Why, there she is this minute!" as a pretty phaeton stopped at the gate.
"Could the day be finer?" called Florence, as she tied the gray pony. "I thought I saw you drinking in this air, when I was at the turn in the road about half a mile off. Come, bring your hat and take a drive with me. I've something very important to tell you," and she opened the gate to take some rare flowers to Mrs. Kingman, who was sewing on the piazza, with the baby playing near her chair. Florence took the little one in her arms, begging it to say her name. "She can not get any farther than 'Flo,'" said Mrs. Kingman, putting aside her work to go and arrange her flowers.
"That's what my sister Bessie always calls me," said Florence, kissing the little one more tenderly.
"When are you going to show me the picture of that wonderful Bessie?" asked Susie, straightening out the daisies on her hat as they went slowly down the walk.
"I should have brought it over this morning if I hadn't something else on my mind to tell you."
A moment later the pretty pony was carrying the young girls along at an easy gait, pricking up his ears occasionally, as if to catch the drift of the gay chatter going on behind him.
"By-the-way," Florence was saying, "I found this scrap of paper on the floor this morning when I was over at school," handing it to her companion. "The girls were all clearing out their desks—"
But Susie had read the few pencilled words, and looked aghast: "Vote for F. T. We're all going to. S. K. wishes it."
The pony was walking leisurely along. Florence had dropped the reins; her arms were about Susie's neck. "To think I never suspected it!" she said, kissing her.
"I never wanted you to know," said Susie, "and if it hadn't been for Sadie's carelessness—"
"Oh, I'm glad I do know—just as glad as can be, and I can never thank you enough."
"I don't deserve any thanks at all," protested Susie; "and if I did, I felt fully repaid when your uncle offered his grounds, and looked so kindly at—"
"Yes," said Florence, "and from that moment my life changed entirely. Oh, Susie, you can not imagine how lonesome I used to feel, for uncle seldom spoke to me, and I felt that I never could get used to so many strange faces, and I kept wishing myself back with Bessie. But no; our home was broken up. When papa died, mamma only lived a week longer, and after that, where were we to go? Mamma's sister Rebecca was with us at the time, and offered to take one of us, which was a great deal, for she has a large family of her own, and then she wrote to uncle to take the other. He chose me, because I was named after mamma, and I suppose he fancied I would look like her, whereas Bessie is her very image. Well, when I got here, uncle met me at the dépôt, asked one or two questions, and then we rode to Maplewood without another word. I was too homesick to talk. So things went on, one day exactly like another, with simply a Good-morning and Good-night to begin and end up the day. I often found money and other presents in my room, and, oh! how I longed to send each thing on to Bessie, but I really was afraid to ask if I could. But I must hurry on to the red-letter day of my life, the 20th of May. That day, at dinner, after the scene at school, uncle praised my high standing, and began to ask me about Bessie. I showed him her photograph, and he looked a long time at it, murmuring something about 'Florence of long ago,' and asked me if she didn't look a great deal like mamma. 'Everybody used to speak of the wonderful resemblance,' I answered. 'Well,' said he, 'we must have a larger picture of her.' And what do you think he has done? Sent on to have Bessie's portrait painted, and I'm to have it for my room."
"The tears are for joy," continued Florence, in answer to Susie's earnest, "Oh, this is enough! don't tell me any more."
"Uncle grew more and more kind. He seemed to enjoy planning for the May party, and you'll see this afternoon some of the arrangements he has made. It has given him something to think of, which Dr. Folger said yesterday was the best thing in the world for one of his melancholy disposition. Uncle has said again and again, 'I'm glad you take an interest in your studies; it pleases me greatly.' And, Susie, I know all this happiness would never have come to me unless the girls had voted for me that day as they did. I know they used to think me selfish, for one morning—"
"What! you heard what Sadie said?"
"Yes; but I've made up for it since, haven't I? For I haven't been alone once since the day uncle said, 'You can take whoever you choose when you go out.' By that time I had lost all fear, and kissed and thanked him. And so things have gone on, each day better than the last. Uncle handed me a telegram this morning, which read, 'The portrait is on the way'; so we expect it by the first express. Susie, I can never thank you—never, as long as I live; all I can do is to tell you that, next to Bessie, I love you best of any one on earth."
There was a great lump in Susie's throat. She was crying softly, with her cheek against Florence's. At the gate Mrs. Kingman met them.
"Tell your mother all about it," called Florence, touching up the horse; and Susie did.
"To think it's all over!" said Susie, about seven o'clock that evening, as they were going down to supper. "Didn't Florence look lovely?"
"No lovelier than a certain maid of honor that crowned her," said papa, drawing Susie toward him.
"Well, didn't the Squire appear delighted?"
"Yes," said Mr. Kingman, "I think he was; but I doubt if he was as happy as I"—with a loving look at his little daughter—"for mamma had been telling me something."
"And you were glad?" she asked, nestling closer.
"Far more than to have seen you Queen"—kissing her. Then taking a spray of delicate green from a vase near by, "I will crown you myself;" and he tenderly twined it round her head.
But the day was not yet done. A sharp ring was heard soon after at the door, and Susie, on hearing Sadie's breathless "I must see Susie right away," darted into the hall.
"Have you heard?" gasped Sadie, handing her a note.
BESSIE'S PORTRAIT.
"No—what?" questioned Susie, in the same excited tone, grasping the paper, and pulling Sadie into the library. She turned up the light, which fell upon the words:
"Oh, Susie! the portrait has come, and it's Bessie herself! She has come to Maplewood to live. I'm the happiest girl on earth. Bessie says she is, and we owe it all to God through you."
"I am happier than either," said Susie, a great joy lighting up her face. "Isn't it like a story, Sadie?"
"Yes," said Sadie, excitedly. "I was there when she came. The Squire came to Florence's door and asked, 'Shall I bring in the portrait?' We looked around, and there stood Bessie. I shall never forget Florence's face as she rushed forward, nor the Squire's as he said, 'She has come to live with us, Florence.' The first I knew I was crying away as hard as could be, Florence was on her knees, the Squire had his arm round Bessie, and—and—"
"What next?" asked Susie, her face growing more and more bright as she listened.
"Oh, they're so happy! When I came away, the Squire had an arm around each, and said, 'I've got two daughters now'; and they made a lovely picture. Nothing in the May party compared with it. Then Florence said, 'Won't you take this note to Susie, as you go by her house, and tell her how happy I am, if any words can tell?' But how late it's getting! Good-by." Then, coming back: "I forgot to say they want you to come over the first thing in the morning. Florence told her uncle that it was through your unselfishness that she was made Queen, and she keeps saying she owes Bessie to you. I don't half understand it, but I know it was lovely in you to give up the honor;" and off she ran.
"I can hear the word honor now, and not shut my ears to it," thought Susie; and with Florence's note in her hands, and papa's crown on her head, she murmured, "My cup runneth over."