And the Beebes and Mr. and Mrs. Babbidge and the “Scrannage girls,” all had very especial invitations; Miss Sally composing a neat little piece that would tell Mr. King how thankful they were for the old home saved to them, and that would supplement nicely Miss Belinda’s stiff note, written after the first shock of finding the check was over. For the old Scrannage pride had somehow melted away, in a fashion that probably would have surprised the old squire, who had not much else to hand down to them but his crotchety disposition and the mortgage. And Bella Drysdale was invited to stay a few days with Grace, who was in the seventh heaven of delight that Phronsie Pepper was now really her cousin.
And dear Mrs. Beebe had a pretty new cap that had a great deal of pink ribbon about it, that Phronsie had bought abroad for her, and sent home by Polly. Barby and Elyot begged so hard to carry the box containing it down to the little shoe-shop, that they were bundled into the pony-cart one fine morning, and Johnson took them down, each holding fast to the box between them. And old Mr. Beebe protested, at the trying on that began at once, that he never had seen a cap in all his life that was so beautiful nor so becoming—oh! and the shops in the village were all to be closed on the day of the fête, so that everybody, old as well as young, could be at “The Oaks.” And the long supper-tables were to be set on the upper lawn, and the lower as well, where the terraces ended; and the little brown house, filled like a very bower of flowers, would be open from morning till night to guests—for was not this to be Phronsie’s own dear, sweet home?
Oh! and the ground was broken a little distance off in the beautiful old meadow, where the “Five Little Peppers” used to play when any moments in their busy childhood allowed; and there, near the old apple-tree, was to be laid the corner-stone—a beautiful block of marble from Roslyn’s Roman studio—of the new studio that was to rise very soon. And this was to be put in place on the fête day.
Was there anything that was beautiful and bright and joyful that was not to be crowded into that blessed day?
And Johnny Fargo, his burns all well, after many repentant talks cuddled up in Polly’s lap, was comforted. And one day he tugged in a poor, lean cat, found nobody knew where. “She’ll like it,” he said stoutly, “when she comes home; and I shall give it to her.”
And every farmhouse dotted here and there around the hill that overtopped Badgertown Centre had letters from city folk for the next two weeks, to know if they would take boarders about that time, and there wasn’t a farmer’s wife who said “No.” And the hotel in Hingham had all it could do to get ready for the friends who were going there. And the steamer was hurrying over the sea, that was bringing Phronsie and her husband, Grandpapa, Mamsie, little Doctor Fisher, Charlotte Chatterton, and Ben.
At last the day arrived, one of September’s most golden ones, when Mr. Marlowe telegraphed, “Steamer in. Take the 12.10 train for Badgertown.” And all the good old town, in waiting for this same beautiful message, hurried to the little station, at the signal from the church chimes.
The schoolma’am down at the little schoolhouse on the road to Spot Pond dismissed her scholars instantly on the first note, and tied on her bonnet, locked her door, and put the key in her pocket, to hurry off with the rest.
Over the roads to the little station they came by twos and threes, and in wagons and carryalls, and everything that could be drawn by a horse. And down around the hill wound an ox-team or two; and every child held a little nosegay—and then there were the flower maidens, gay with their baskets of blooms. Oh, old Badgertown was in its gala dress! While as for the small station, when they arrived it looked like a flower-garden indeed!
“How can we ever wait, Jasper?” cried Polly, the color flying in and out of her cheeks, as they found their way out, from among the groups of waiting people, to the end of the platform; “isn’t it almost time they should be here?”