Annie Laurie and Azalea

by Elia Wilkinson Peattie

So there was the little gold watch from Mrs. Carson, and the ivory toilet set from Carin, a set of Tennyson from Mr. Carson, and a handmade petticoat from Annie Laurie, and some old eardrops of pink coral made into a brooch by Miss Adnah, and a knitted shoulder shawl from Miss Zillah, and a kind of zither thing that Sam had made himself, and a box of sweets from Dick Heller, and—are you out of breath? Because there are ever so many more things. There was a rag rug, beautifully woven, from Mrs. Kitchell, and a whisk broom holder from Hi, and a wonderful melon-shaped basket, fine and delicate, from Haystack Thompson, who knew more than most about weaving baskets, and there was a white parasol from Ma McBirney—who never could afford a parasol for herself—and a new riding whip from Pa McBirney, and from Jim a new curry comb which he said he would use when he curried Paprika, the pony. And then other people, about whom you know nothing, brought their contributions. Everything was laid out in that pleasant, open chamber, which it will be remembered divided the McBirney house in two.

The people who came to this party weren’t the sort whose singing is ruined by something good to eat. After the dishes had been cleared away they sat where they could look off at the valley as the shadows began to stretch long and purple down from the ridges.

And then everyone regretfully realized that it was time to go home. So there was a great mounting of horses and piling into wagons, and Jim and Hi held stirrups and helped ladies into the high mountain wagons—the sort you can turn the wheel under if you have to make a short curve—and presently they were all off and away.

Azalea, all in her pretty white, slipped on Paprika’s back and rode for a way with her guests. But at the first turn she shouted her good-byes to them and turned back up the mountain. It was getting to be dusky now even along her high path, and the coolness of the evening was settling about her. It was a fragrant dusk, for the summer was at its height and sent out a thousand pleasant perfumes. She brought her pony to a halt as she reached the top of the ridge, and waited for a moment to let herself sink fairly into the place and the hour. The trees, whispering in her ear, seemed her close friends; the night was like a protectress; the little sleeping creatures in the trees and the holes of the ground seemed close and kind.

For once that eager nature of hers, which asked for so full a measure of joy and delight, was satisfied. She spoke a word to her little mare, which began picking out the road again with her sure feet. As Paprika drew near the house she whinnied, and Azalea laughingly imitated her.

“Send her along, sis,” shouted Jim from somewhere in the gloom. “I’ll put her up.”

“Thanks,” called back Azalea. She slipped from her saddle and ran into the lighted room. Pa McBirney was smoking, Ma McBirney was still busy putting thing to rights. Azalea gave her a gentle push which sent her into her own deep-armed rocker.

“Daughter will do the rest,” she said.

“Oh, my dear,” protested Mary McBirney, “aren’t you tired? You’ve been going like a streak all day.”

“Yes, but I didn’t begin before sunup the way you did, mother. My, my, what a happy day it’s been! What a happy day! And a little more than a year ago—” she could not go on.