“That’s because you’re not well read. If you knew as much about books as Jim Barlow—” she retorted, teasing, then stopped abruptly. That was an unfortunate reference, for who, alas! could tell if that too studious youth were alive or dead?
Alfaretta hurried to cover this mention by demanding:
“Let’s sing ‘rounds,’ ‘Scotland’s burning,’ or ‘Three Blind Mice.’ Now don’t stop to object or say nothin’ but just begin. I will, and Nell, you follow. Then the boys, if any of ’em can sing a note. Sometimes their voices go ’way up in Q and sometimes ’way down suller. But they can try. Now—here she goes: ‘Three Blind Mice—Three Blind Mice—For mercy’s sake, Helena Montaigne, why don’t you take it up? I sing one line, you know, then you sing the same one over—and we each do it three times then change to ‘They—all—run—after—the—butcher’s—wife—who—cut—off—their—tails—with—a—carving—kni-i-ife!—You—never—see—such—a—sight—in—your—life—as—Three—Blind Mice!’ By that time Dolly’ll be ready, over cryin’. She can sing real nice if she’s a mind to. Listen! Everybody do it real solemn, no giggling, no forgettin’ your parts, where you go in and come out at and doin’ that part about the butcher’s wife and the tails just as fast as you can speak it and the end—as—s-l-o-w—a-s—s-l-o-w. Begin!”
Alfy’s rich, though untrained voice, started the song and Helena followed on time, singing very sweetly, indeed, until she came to that tragic part about the tails, when she burst out in a giggle and a vain effort to race along as rapidly as Alfy had done.
Herbert could sing well. He helped Alfaretta carry the thing through to a triumphant finale, they two alone; for all the others had laughed themselves out of place and tune, with Monty interspersing the melody by outrageous cat calls and screechings of “Maria Maouw, come and catch these Three Blind Mice!”
“Maria! Maria! Pussy, pussy cat Maria—Come to supper!” echoed Leslie, laughing as he rarely laughed. To him this company of young people was wholly delightful—except when he felt it his duty to entertain them. When they were thus willing to entertain him everything was all right. He had had so few young intimates in his life that each of these youngsters seemed wonderful to him. Their nonsense and good natured chaffing of one another kept him amused at all times and was doubly pleasant to him that night.
For, like Dorothy, he felt oddly forlorn and deserted in this great beautiful home that was practically his own; and he wished as he had done before that he might step into that cottage of the Babcock’s, “up-mounting” where Alfaretta belonged and where she said everyone was as jolly as the day was long. He hadn’t liked Alfy at first and he still rather looked down upon her. She wasn’t of his station in life, she would not see that money made such a great difference, whether one had it or had not. She was greatly lacking in delicacy of speech, but she was honest to a fault. Not honester than Dolly, perhaps, but in another way. She hadn’t hesitated to give him one of those generous “pieces of her mind” with which she regaled anyone she considered at fault; and the “piece” she had cut for him that day had been:
“Well, Leslie Ford, if bein’ rich as Croesus—whoever he was—or havin’ all creation to wait on you can’t make you no better ’n a coward—I pity you. Yes, I do. That was the lowest-down, orneriest trick to hit an old man like Captain Lem, without givin’ him a chance to help himself. Why, a boy that hadn’t a cent, an’ never looked to have, couldn’t ha’ been no meaner. An’ just sayin’ ‘Forgive me’ don’t undo that job. Worst is, you raised a bigger welt on your own insides, on that thing Mr. Winters calls your conscience, ’n you did on his old head, an’ it won’t heal so quick, neither. I sure was ashamed of you, I sure was.”
This lecture had been in response to his appeal, as they chanced to stand together in the cloistered walk, waiting for supper:
“You don’t think very badly of me, do you, Alfaretta, for getting so angry?”