The Forerunner Part 4

How doth the hat with colors dare the eye!

Arrest--attract--allure--affront--appall!

Vivid and varied as are paroquets; Dove-dull; one ma.s.s of white; all solid red; Black with the blackness of a mourning world-- Compounded type of "Chaos and Old Night"!

How doth the hat expand: wax wide, and swell!

Such is its size that none can predicate Or hair, or head, or shoulders of the frame Below thIs bulk, this beauty-burying bulk; Trespa.s.sing rude on all who walk beside, Brutally blinding all who sit behind.

How doth the hat's mere ma.s.s more monstrous grow Into a riot of repugnant shapes!

Shapes ignominious, extreme, bizarre, Bulbous, distorted, unsymmetrical-- Of no relation to the human head-- To beauty, comfort, dignity or grace.

Shape of a dishpan! Of a pail! A tub!

Of an inverted wastebasket wherein The head finds lodgment most appropriate!

Shape of a wide-spread wilted griddlecake!

Shape of the body of an octopus Set sideways on a fireman's misplaced brim!

How doth the hat show callous cruelty In decoration costing countless deaths; Carrying corpses for its ornaments; Wreath of dead humming-birds, dismembered gulls, The mother heron's breastknot, stiffened wings; Torn fragments of a world of wasted life.

How doth the hat effect the minds of men?

Patient bill-payers, chivalrously dumb!

What does it indicate of woman's growth; Her sense of beauty, her intelligence, Her thought for others measured with herself, Her place and grade in human life to-day?

INTRODUCING THE WORLD, THE FLESH, AND THE DEVIL

"O, no--Please don't--I'd rather not meet them!"

I'm sorry but you have to meet them, constantly.

"But I don't have to know them, surely!"

You will find it safer and easier if you do.

"But they are not proper persons to meet--I've heard awful things about them."

Those stories come from people who never really knew them. They have been much maligned I a.s.sure you. Let me tell you a little about them before they come up.

The World yonder is really an excellent fellow, but sulky and erratic because he's not well used. Think of a beautiful, fruitful, home garden used for nothing but to play ball and fight in--and then blamed for its condition. That's the way he feels.

Then there's the Flesh. Never was a good fellow more abused! He's been brought up wrong, from babyhood--but he's all right inside.

As to the Devil--we really ought to be ashamed of treating him so. He'd have died centuries ago, but we will keep him going--and then blame him because his behavior's out of date!

Here they come. Allow me to present:

The World--Just Us; We and our Workshop.

The Flesh--Just Us; Our Natural Vehicle and Servant.

The Devil--Just Us; but an Anachronism--an artificially preserved Extinct Ancestor!

WHAT DIANTHA DID

CHAPTER I.

HANDICAPPED

One may use the Old Man of the Sea, For a partner or patron, But helpless and hapless is he Who is ridden, inextricably, By a fond old mer-matron.

The Warden house was more impressive in appearance than its neighbors.

It had "grounds," instead of a yard or garden; it had wide pillared porches and "galleries," showing southern antecedents; moreover, it had a cupola, giving date to the building, and proof of the continuing ambitions of the builders.

The stately mansion was covered with heavy flowering vines, also with heavy mortgages. Mrs. Roscoe Warden and her four daughters reposed peacefully under the vines, while Roscoe Warden, Jr., struggled desperately under the mortgages.

A slender, languid lady was Mrs. Warden, wearing her thin but still brown hair in "water-waves" over a pale high forehead. She was sitting on a couch on the broad, rose-shaded porch, surrounded by billowing ma.s.ses of vari-colored worsted. It was her delight to purchase skein on skein of soft, bright-hued wool, cut it all up into short lengths, tie them together again in contrasting colors, and then crochet this hashed rainbow into afghans of startling aspect. California does not call for afghans to any great extent, but "they make such acceptable presents,"

Mrs. Warden declared, to those who questioned the purpose of her work; and she continued to send them off, on Christmases, birthdays, and minor weddings, in a stream of pillowy bundles. As they were accepted, they must have been acceptable, and the stream flowed on.

Around her, among the gay blossoms and gayer wools, sat her four daughters, variously intent. The mother, a poetic soul, had named them musically and with dulcet rhymes: Madeline and Adeline were the two eldest, Coraline and Doraline the two youngest. It had not occurred to her until too late that those melodious terminations made it impossible to call one daughter without calling two, and that "Lina" called them all.

"Mis' Immerjin," said a soft voice in the doorway, "dere pos'tively ain't no b.u.t.ter in de house fer supper."

"No b.u.t.ter?" said Mrs. Warden, incredulously. "Why, Sukey, I'm sure we had a tub sent up last--last Tuesday!"

"A week ago Tuesday, more likely, mother," suggested Dora.

"Nonsense, Dora! It was this week, wasn't it, girls?" The mother appealed to them quite earnestly, as if the date of that tub's delivery would furnish forth the supper-table; but none of the young ladies save Dora had even a contradiction to offer.

"You know I never notice things," said the artistic Cora; and "the de-lines," as their younger sisters called them, said nothing.

"I might borrow some o' Mis' Bell?" suggested Sukey; "dat's nearer 'n'

de sto'."

"Yes, do, Sukey," her mistress agreed. "It is so hot. But what have you done with that tubful?"

"Why, some I tuk back to Mis' Bell for what I borrered befo'--I'm always most careful to make return for what I borrers--and yo' know, Mis'

Warden, dat waffles and sweet potaters and cohn bread dey do take b.u.t.ter; to say nothin' o' them little cakes you all likes so well--_an'_ de fried chicken, _an'_--"

"Never mind, Sukey; you go and present my compliments to Mrs. Bell, and ask her for some; and be sure you return it promptly. Now, girls, don't let me forget to tell Ross to send up another tub."

"We can't seem to remember any better than you can, mother," said Adeline, dreamily. "Those details are so utterly uninteresting."

"I should think it was Sukey's business to tell him," said Madeline with decision; while the "a-lines" kept silence this time.