As the critical hour approached, Elaine was perhaps the least nervous of any of the household, and she gleaned more than a little amusement from the efforts of the others to reassure her. “You know I’ll be right there with the book,” said Aunt Abigail, who had accepted the important post of official prompter. “So it won’t be a serious matter if you forget.” The others had similar encouragement to offer, some of it mingled with good counsel. “Don’t lose your head if you get tangled up,” Peggy warned her. “Because the rest of us know our parts perfectly, and we can go on with it, even if something is left out.” And Elaine, while agreeing not to lose her head, promised herself the satisfaction of surprising the doubters.
Early as the girls reached the schoolhouse, they were not the first arrivals. Farmer Cole’s Joe, transformed almost beyond recognition, by what he would have designated as a “boiled shirt” and a high collar, had already quite a little pile of tickets and silver ranged on the table before him. Jerry and his orchestra were in their places. Jerry’s hand-painted necktie was, of course, in evidence, while the pointed shoes creaked whenever he moved, as if in protest against the exacting service that was being required of them at their time of life. The Dolittle Cottage girls hurried past the observant eyes, and in the improvised dressing-rooms found Lucy and Rosetta Muriel awaiting them. Resentfully Rosetta Muriel had dressed according to Peggy’s specifications, black dress and ruffled white apron, with a jaunty cap perched on her fair hair. Then she had viewed herself in the mirror and had experienced the surprise of her life.
“Why, I look real pretty!” exclaimed Rosetta Muriel staring, but there was no vanity in the observation. Rosetta Muriel announced it as a scientist would proclaim the news of some discovery in physics. She tested the accuracy of her impression by the help of a hand-mirror. She had not been mistaken. “I really look pretty,” repeated Rosetta Muriel, and, for the first time in her life, realized the æsthetic possibilities of simplicity.
Her lingering grudge against Peggy in part dissipated by her scientific discovery, vanished completely when Peggy removed the rain-coat and the heavy veil which had obscured her charms. Peggy’s make-up was very successful in effacing every suggestion of youth and girlish prettiness. Artistically designed wrinkles made her look seventy-five at the least computation, and suggested in addition, a quarrelsome disposition. Rosetta Muriel took one look, and gave way to giggles.
“My goodness, but you are a sight,” said Rosetta Muriel, entirely forgiving Peggy for the prohibition of the apple-green silk. “Is that a wig you’ve got on?”
“Nothing but corn-starch,” replied Peggy, piling her wraps in the corner. “Now, Elaine, you see, Aunt Abigail will sit right here, so you needn’t be one bit nervous about forgetting. Hear the people coming. I believe we’re going to have a full house.”
This pleasant expectancy was confirmed by the continued and increasing shuffling of feet over the bare schoolhouse floor and the hum of voices. The time of waiting was somewhat trying for all the performers, especially for the novices. Lucy Haines, whose part consisted of a dozen sentences or less, grew gradually paler and paler, till she looked like anything but a footlight favorite. Rosetta Muriel smoothed her apron and adjusted her cap with the regularity of clockwork, till it began to look as if both these serviceable articles would be worn out before the little bell gave the signal for drawing the curtain.
All at once the hum of voices outside took on a menacing volume. Behind the curtain the girls were unable to distinguish a word, but judging from the sound, an altercation was in progress. “What can be the matter?” demanded Peggy, turning a startled face on the others.
“Nothing to worry about, child,” said Aunt Abigail soothingly. “Probably some of those young farmers are having some noisy fun.” But the loud voices did not impress Peggy as suggesting good-natured nonsense. And her apprehensions were presently confirmed by Jerry Morton, who slipped under the curtains and came hurrying toward her. The boy’s face was flushed, and he was breathing fast.
“It’s that Cherry Creek crowd,” he exclaimed. “They’re going to spoil everything.”