Harper's Young People, September 7, 1880 Part 4

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: AT THE SEA-SIDE.]

IN SEPTEMBER.

BY MARY DENSEL.

It had been a hot summer, and Ca.s.sy Deane, shut up in a close street, had been treated to every atom of heat that the city contained. So at least it seemed to her, for the family had only lately moved into town from the country, and Ca.s.sy was like a little wind-flower that had been transplanted from a cool wood into a box of earth near a blazing fire.

No wonder that she drooped. She seldom had even a drive to console her.

"Because we are only _middling_," she explained to herself. "If we were poor, we could go on excursions with the charity children; and if we were rich, we'd travel to the mountains or the sea. We're only middling, so we stay at home."

At first Ca.s.sy was ready to envy Marion Van Dysk, who started with her mamma and a dozen trunks for Saratoga; and she breathed a sigh over the fortunes of Lillie Downs, whose father had built a cottage on the coast of Maine, where the ocean surged up to the very piazza.

But by-and-by Ca.s.sy forgot her woes, such a delightful piece of news came to her ears. Her mother told it to her one evening, and Ca.s.sy never went to sleep for two whole hours after she was in bed, so excited was she by the bliss that was to be hers in September.

The truth was that Mr. Deane had come to the city for the express purpose of giving his little daughter the benefit of no less an establishment than Madame McLeod's "Boarding and Day School for Young Ladies." Ca.s.sy knew that Marion Van Dysk and Lillie Downs and a host of other damsels were also "to enjoy its advantages." Ca.s.sy was overwhelmed with the honor and the joy of it all. She had always been a solitary chick up in her country home, and it seemed almost too good to be true that she was actually to have real live girls to play with, and that she could talk of "_our_ games," and "_our_ history cla.s.s."

What matter that the August sun scorched and flamed? What matter if the bricks, baked through and through by day, took their revenge by keeping the air as hot as a furnace all night?

Ca.s.sy was as gay as a lark, and sang and chattered by the hour, while she helped her mother run up the breadths of an extraordinary changeable silk gown, which had been cut over from one that had been her grandmother's. This was to be Ca.s.sy's school-dress. Think what richness--silk for every-day wear!

"We can't afford to buy anything new," argued Mrs. Deane. Still, it was a solemn moment when the key snapped in the lock of the cedar chest, and that changeable silk was taken from the place where it had lain these thirty years, wrapped in a pillow-case and two towels.

Ca.s.sy fairly gasped when the scissors cut into its gorgeousness. She gasped even more when Mrs. Deane also brought from the chest six yards of an ancient bottle-green ribbon to trim the robe withal. To be sure, the ribbon drooped despondingly under the chastening influence of a hot flat-iron, but, "We'll put it on in bands," said Mrs. Deane. "Bows would really be too dressy for you, my daughter."

St.i.tch, st.i.tch, st.i.tch, Ca.s.sy's fingers flew. And all the time she sewed, her busy brain was weaving the most rapturous visions of the new life that was to be hers. In her dreams she made polite little courtesies to Marion Van Dysk, whom she imagined as standing on the threshold of the "Boarding and Day School" to welcome her. To be sure she only knew Marion by sight, but as Marion knew her in the same way, she thought they would instantly become friends. Then Lillie Downs would entreat her to join in all the games, for Lillie Downs was already an acquaintance: at least she had said, "How do you do?" one day when she saw Ca.s.sy on the sidewalk. Ca.s.sy was sure there were a dozen girls who would stretch out their hands at once, and perhaps she could even think of a secret to tell some of them, and then they would, of course, be friends forever.

"And even if they wear common clothes, I sha'n't be proud in this magnificent dress," thought Ca.s.sy. For the changeable silk was finished now, and Ca.s.sy stole twenty times a day into the guest-chamber that she might behold its splendor as it lay on the bed.

It did seem as if August would never end. But at last September appeared, and the morning of all mornings dawned.

Ca.s.sy rose bright and early. Her mother dressed her with her own hands, and tied up her hair with a narrow pink ribbon.

"Pink goes so well with the green on your gown," said dear, guileless Mrs. Deane; "and, Ca.s.sy, here are some new shoes that father bought for you yesterday. He'll go himself with you to the door, so you sha'n't feel strange like."

"Oh, but they'll be so glad to see me I sha'n't feel strange!" cried Ca.s.sy, and down the street she skipped.

But for some reason no one was at the door to welcome her. Ca.s.sy crept into the big school-room. It was full of girls, and there was Marion Van Dysk among the rest. A wee smile came to Ca.s.sy's face. She was about to say "good-morning," but Marion only glanced carelessly at her and turned away.

"Why, she's forgotten that I live round the corner," thought Ca.s.sy.

Lillie Downs had evidently "forgotten" too, or else she was too busy to notice.

Ca.s.sy turned away, and that just in time to catch a whisper.

"Who, under the sun, is that queer image in a dress that came out of the ark?"

Ca.s.sy looked wonderingly about to discover the "image." The girl who had spoken was gazing directly at her with a twinkle in her eyes. Her companion said, "Hus.h.!.+ she'll hear," and the two laughed under their breath, not jeeringly, but only as if they really could not help it.

A "queer image"? Was she "queer"? Ca.s.sy asked herself.

All at once it flashed across her that her gown was certainly very unlike the crisp, ruffled dresses around her. Those flimsy satin ribbons did look as if Mrs. Noah might have worn them. A hot flush sprang to Ca.s.sy's cheeks. She began to almost wish she had not come, such a sense of loneliness rushed over her.

She was even more forlorn when the school was presently called to order, for every other girl was blessed with a seat-mate, and Ca.s.sy sat quite by herself.

When recess-time came she followed the others into a large back yard, and stowed herself meekly away in a corner to watch the fun. She tried to console herself by the thought that she could not have run about even had she been asked to join in the game of "tag," for the new shoes pinched her feet sadly. For all that, she was almost glad when one girl stumbled against her and fairly trod on her toes, for she turned so quickly, and begged her pardon so heartily, that it was worth bearing the pain for the sake of the notice.

Ca.s.sy was sure that all the girls were good-natured. They were only busy with their own affairs, and what claim had the stranger upon any one of them?

When noon came, and Ca.s.sy went home to dinner, she put a brave face on the matter. She knew it would break her father's heart to know how keen had been her disappointment. So she spoke of the large school-room, and of the cla.s.ses in which she had been placed; and Mr. Deane nodded approval, while his wife put her head on one side to see if that changeable silk could not bear to be taken in a little in the biases.

How could Ca.s.sy tell her that the gown was "queer"? How could she even mention that her shoes were coa.r.s.e, and that they hurt her feet?

"Perhaps the girls will speak to me to-morrow," she thought, patiently.

But they did not. Again Ca.s.sy sat in her corner quite alone. In vain she told herself that it was "no matter," in vain she "played" that she did not care.

"I sha'n't mind it to-morrow."

To-morrow came, and it was just as hard as to-day.

At last one morning at recess it did seem as though she could not bear it any longer. A big lump was in her throat, and two tears sprang to her eyes; but still she tried to say, "Never mind; oh, never mind."

Just at that moment a voice sounded in her ear. She turned and saw a face rosy with blushes.

"I didn't know," began the voice, hesitatingly--"I thought you might like--anyway, I am Bessie Merriam."

Ca.s.sy looked out shyly from under her lashes. "I am Ca.s.sy Deane," said she.

"You're a new girl," continued Bessie, more boldly, "so I had to speak first. Would you like to play, 'I spy'?"

Ca.s.sy sprang up eagerly, then drew back. "I wish I could," she stammered, "but my shoes--and father's only middling, so I don't like to ask for more."

"Of course not," broke in Bessie, who, though puzzled to know what it was to be "middling," was sure there was something wrong about the shoes. "Of course not; but maybe you know 'jack-stones'?"

In a twinkling she brought five marbles from the depth of her pocket, and the two were deep in the mysteries of "horses in the stall," "Johnny over," "peas in the pot," and all the rest of that fascinating game.

One person having spoken to the forlorn stranger, two more appeared on the scene. It is always so. These girls wanted Bessie and her new friend for "hop-scotch," but Bessie interfered before there was any chance for embarra.s.sment.

"We can't leave this game," said she, decidedly.