Elizabeth Winslow, the first wife of the first American statesman, one of the first to pass away in the fatal sickness of that lonely winter; Mrs. Hopkins, who won fame as the mother of the boy Oceanus, born on the Mayflower; Bridget Fuller, the wife of the genial Dr. Fuller, and others, were all impersonated by some one of the Pioneers.
Even the ghosts, as Grace dubbed them, were heard from: Myles Standish’s first wife, known as the beautiful English Rose, who died soon after reaching the new land, and Dorothy Bradford, the young wife of William Bradford, who came to her death by falling overboard while her husband was exploring the shores with Captain Standish and his men.
By the time the story with its variations had been told, the girls, tired of posing with old-time stiffness and ceremony, were all laughing merrily as some one of the band suddenly spied some comical or grotesque aspect of the impersonator, when the Tike screamed shrilly, “Oh, who is that?” pointing to a black-draped figure standing in the doorway of the hall, with red, perspiring face, hat cocked on one side, and a generally bedraggled appearance.
It was the missing Pioneer, Edith, who, after the hubbub had subsided as to her untimely appearance and tardy arrival, pulled off her long black cloak and threw herself on the grass by the side of Lillie. With gasps and sundry emphasizing shrieks she told what had befallen her on the way to the Rally.
“Father was ill last night, so the first thing this morning I had to go for the doctor. Then as mother was busy attending to Father I had to get the youngsters ready,—they were going to a May picnic, for of course,” Edith added petulantly, “no matter what happened to me, Mother would not have the kiddies disappointed.”
Catching Mrs. Morrow’s reproving eye, she stammered apologetically, “Of course, I would not have them disappointed myself—they are dears—but it lost me my morning; and then, just as I was hurrying by the gray house,—oh, girls—” dropping her voice to a tense whisper, “what do you think I heard?”
CHAPTER VII—THE MAYFLOWER FEAST
The tenseness of Edith’s tone, coupled with her mysterious manner, had the desired effect, and the Pioneers all bent forward eagerly with expectant eyes, anxious to hear what she had seen and heard, while some too impetuous one called out, “Oh, do hurry and tell us what it was!”
“It was the most terrible shriek I ever heard,” answered Edith, with a long-drawn sigh. Having succeeded in getting her audience where she wanted them she was anxious to prolong her triumph. “Why, my heart jumped into my mouth, and I—”
“Where did the noise come from?” inquired practical Helen impatiently, who never wasted any time in getting wrought up, as she called it, by the Sport’s yarns.