Peggy-Alone Part 7

Mr. Frederick Dawson and a few of his companions had come in rather late and seats were found for them in the rear, as they refused to allow any at the front to be vacated for them. It was just before the doors opened on the great dialogue where Laura was the mother, in a neat wrapper and gray wig and spectacles, standing in the midst of an interesting family. The back of an easy chair served to support Ivy, who was dressed in white, with red sash and hair ribbons.

What spirit she put in her lines, all leading up to, and centering in, the wish for the young gazelle's light footfall, the rest being only a prelude to that!

Then the other little white-robed girl from her seat in the big chair rose to declare her wish. A color that was not all excitement glowed in her cheeks, thrilling Uncle Fred with the conviction that the Happy-Go-Luckys by banis.h.i.+ng loneliness had brought the blessing of health to Alene.

It was her first appearance before the public, and the thought of it had brought her much nervous apprehension that she might forget her lines, falter, or even run away at the last moment. To perform even before the other boys and girls at rehearsal had always brought a preliminary nerve tension which she had tried to conceal. This, however, was nothing compared with her dread of the great night when she thought of facing a whole roomful of people; but now, strange to say, all her tremors died away. She found it less difficult to recite before the crowd than at rehearsal; she forgot herself in the joy of her lines. That she recited even better, if anything, than when her Uncle had overheard her in the library is all that need be said.

When the ensuing applause died away and the doors refused to open again, Uncle Fred noticed the lips of a small boy seated near him puffed out in disdain. Stooping with a show of solicitude to learn the cause, he heard him say to a companion:

"'A lip to tempt the honey-bee to sip'--I bet she never felt a stinger or she wouldn't wish for such a silly thing!"

"I don't see why that Dawson girl wants the poet's gift, 'the liar!'

Do all poets tell whoppers, I wonder?" said the other boy, looking up into Uncle Fred's face with wide, wondering eyes.

CHAPTER VIII

PICNICKING

Such a merry crowd of Happy-Go-Luckys they were as they came marching along the country road that summer day, wearing gay caps of tissue-paper with floating streamers, while their brothers' hats were decorated with rosettes of the same material.

The day was a perfect one for their picnic; sudden, saucy breezes tempered the warm atmosphere, making the paper ribbons dance merrily around the heads of the girls.

As they came along with dancing steps and smiling faces, and lips of laughter and song, the sight of them was enough to lighten the heart of an onlooker and bring to his mind the shepherds and shepherdesses of old, who surely could not have been merrier nor a whit more picturesque.

But suddenly the gay voices fell to murmurs. A whispered command was borne along the line even to the last straggler. Laura's voice, low but impressive, said, "Hats off!" and off came those gay bonnets and the rosette-trimmed hats, and along the road the children went in solemn silence, with stately step; for over the hill alongside the road they saw a neat little house whose upper windows overlooked the road, all the blinds upstairs and down were closed, and on the door swung long bands of black crepe.

It was this sad emblem which had curbed so suddenly the mirth of the Happy-Go-Luckys, and made them pay respect in their own childish but expressive way to the grief of the mourners; and it was not until the little house had been left far behind that the awe was lifted from their spirits, and the joy of childhood rea.s.serted itself.

They had reached a road bordered with trees that almost met above them, forming a long green arbor into which the sunlight stole through every little c.h.i.n.k, and Ivy was moving along almost forgetful of her crutches, her eyes intent on the green loveliness of the place and the pretty pink parasol with white lace tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs which Alene carried, when suddenly the latter gave a shrill scream and threw the parasol away from her as far as she could.

Immediately the others gathered around, while she stood grimacing, saying nothing but "Ugh! Ugh!" to all their questions. They were greatly puzzled, until someone picked up the pink parasol at which its owner pointed so tragically, to find that all the fuss was caused by two caterpillars which had fallen from the trees.

"'Fraid cat!" said Hugh, contemptuously; "I've seen little tads of four and five let 'em crawl up their bare arms!"

"I'm not a 'fraid cat! But those ugly, crawly things make me feel creepy!" Alene returned with crimsoning cheeks.

"Those ugly things, as you call them, turn into beautiful b.u.t.terflies!"

returned Hugh, in a tone that to Alene sounded offensively preacher-like.

"Well, let them wait until they are b.u.t.terflies before perching on my parasol," she retorted.

"It's just one's nerves! They _are_ ugly things, and Alene's not used to seeing them," said Laura.

"And they say the great Napoleon couldn't bear to touch velvet, and he was no coward!" cried Ivy, who felt that her brother was often unjust to Alene.

In spite of their protests, Hugh had his own opinion in the matter.

There are some boys to whom Alene's timidity would have appealed, but he was not one of that kind. He was the most outspoken and the least gentle of all the boys with whom the Happy-Go-Luckys a.s.sociated. But his downright honesty and fearlessness, his renown among the boys as an athlete, and especially his devotion to his little sister which Laura dilated upon, and of which new proofs were daily shown, had awakened Alene's admiration, and made her the more resent his calling her a coward.

"I've stumbled over my toe!" wailed little Lois, carrying the stubbed toe and tearstained face to Laura for repairs.

Mat ran to stroke the offending stone with an exaggerated air of sympathy.

"Naughty girl! The poor stone was standing in the road, never moving until you came along and gave it a kick," he said reproachfully, at which they all laughed, and the caterpillar affair was forgotten for the time by all except Alene, who had picked up her parasol and walked along with an air of unconcern that gave her friends no hint of the tears so bravely forced back.

"'Fraid cat!" her thoughts ran; "why couldn't Hugh have been polite enough to keep from that slighting remark or at least laugh good-naturedly with the rest, and paid no more attention to it, instead of making so much of such a trivial affair!"

She felt at first that the day was spoiled so far as she was concerned; but the gay chatter of the others, the new experience of tramping the country paths, climbing fences and crossing runs, discovering new beauties at every step, made her presently forget her chagrin.

As the day wore on, the smaller children cast wistful glances toward the baskets, and even went so far as to peek through any little opening to make sure that certain favorite morsels, which they had seen put in, had not mysteriously disappeared.

"Laura, you and mother must have loaded this basket with cobblestones,"

cried Mat with a groan, leaning sideways almost to the ground.

"Cobblestones! You take very good care not to call them that when you're begging mother to cut her fresh pies! I'll tell her what you call 'em in company!"

"Well, it's funny how heavy this basket's grown in the last half hour!"

"I've noticed they always do grow heavier toward noon," commented Hugh.

"Can't we lighten 'em some way?"

"Can't we? Just let me try! Keep off, Nettie, or I'll eat you up--I'm as hungry as Red Riding-hood's famous--or infamous--bear!"

"It was a wolf!" declared Nettie, in the tone of one who knew.

"So much the better to eat you up, my honey!" Mat smacked his lips voraciously, displaying two rows of firm white teeth, and made a dart at the little girl. She ran screaming to Laura, who, Ivy often declared, was the children's real and truly Noah's ark of refuge.

Everybody was hungry and they only waited to reach a suitable place for lunch.

"I know the very spot," said Hugh, leading the way.

"Behold a Moses to lead us out of the wilderness!" cried Mat.

"And behold the Promised Land!" Ivy screamed in delight, as her brother set his basket among the great knotted roots of a tree that helped to shade a stretch of green-sward which extended gradually to the river.

"This Moses remains to dine," said Hugh.

The girls spread a white cloth on the ground and proceeded to unpack the baskets.

Although they had made frequent stops on the road, Laura feared the walk had over-taxed Ivy's strength, and wished her to rest; but she refused to be left out of any activity. She it was who sat, a spirit of prodigality, in the midst of the baskets, dealing out the good things one by one, while Alene and Laura arranged them artistically, piling in the center a pyramid of fruit, and placing the cakes and pies and pickles in the most tempting proximity, not forgetting sandwiches, and plain bread and b.u.t.ter. Indeed, as Mat remarked when he came up from the spring with a pail of cold water, "The very look of it was enough to give an imaginative person the nightmare."

"Then don't eat any of it, Mr. Matthew," cried Ivy.

"Thank heaven, I'm not imaginative! I think I'll try a snack of that jelly-roll," he returned, reaching for the cake in Ivy's hand.

"I think you won't! Why, even those greedy children haven't been allowed a taste of anything, though it's a wonder their eyes have left a morsel! What are you laughing at?" she inquired, as Mat's glance strayed beyond her.