Dorothy's House Party Part 8

"That was an easy one! Every word I said fits--AN OLD SHOE!"

"Oh!" "A-ah!" "How stupid I was not to see!" "'The farmer needs it for his growing corn!'" cried the Master, drawing up his foot and facetiously rubbing his toes. "Even a farmer may raise two kinds of corn," suggested he and thus solved one line over which Jane Potter was still puzzling.

Thereupon, Monty sprang up and snapped his fingers, schoolroom fas.h.i.+on:

"Master, Master! Me next! Me! I know one good as his and not near so long! My turn, please!"

They all laughed. Laughter came easily now, provoked even by silliness, and again a thankful, happy feeling rose in the young hostess's heart that her House Party was to be so delightful to everybody. Helena Montaigne now sat resting shoulder to shoulder with proud Alfaretta upon a little divan of straw whose back was a row of grain sheaves; Mabel was radiant amid a trio of admiring lads--Monty, Mike Martin, and Danny Smith; Herbert was eagerly discussing camp-life with shy Melvin, who had warmed to enthusiasm over his Nova Scotian forests; and all the different elements of that young a.s.sembly were proving most harmonious, as even smaller parties, arranged by old hostesses, do not always prove.

"All right, Master Montmorency. Make it easy, please. A diversion not a brain tax," answered Seth.

"'If Rider Haggard had been Lew Wallace, what would 'She' have been?'"

"'Ben Hur'!" promptly shouted Frazer, before another had a chance to speak, and Monty sank back with a well-feigned groan. "I read that in the Almanac, too. I've read 'Ben Hur,' it's in our school lib'ry, but not 'She,' though Pa told me that was another book, wrote by the other feller."

"I'll never try again; I never do try to distinguish myself but I make a failure of it!" wailed Monty, jestingly.

"But Herbert hasn't failed, nor Melvin. Let's have at least one more wit-sharpener," coaxed Dorothy.

But Herbert declined, though courteously enough.

"Indeed, Dorothy, I don't know a single riddle and I never could guess one. Try Melvin, instead, please."

The English boy flushed, as he always did at finding himself observed, but he remembered that he had heard strangers comment upon the obligingness of the Canadians and he must maintain the honor of his beloved Province. So, after a trifling hesitation, he answered:

"I can think of only one, Dorothy, and it's rather long, I fancy. My mother made me learn it as a punishment, once, when I was a little tacker, don't you know, and I never forgot it. The one by Lord Byron.

I'll render that, if you wish."

"We do wish, we do!" cried Molly, while the Master nodded approvingly.

So without further prelude Melvin recited:

"'Twas whispered in Heaven, 'twas muttered in h.e.l.l, And Echo caught softly the sound as it fell; On the confines of Earth 'twas permitted to rest, And the Depths of the ocean its presence confessed.

'Twill be found in the Sphere when 'tis riven asunder, Be seen in the Lightning and heard in the Thunder.

'Twas allotted to man with his earliest Breath, Attends at his Birth and awaits him in Death; It presides o'er his Happiness, Honor, and Health, Is the prop of his House and the end of his Wealth.

Without it the soldier and seaman may roam, But woe to the Wretch who expels it from Home.

In the Whispers of conscience its voice will be found, Nor e'en in the Whirlwind of pa.s.sion be drowned.

'Twill not soften the Heart; and tho' deaf to the ear 'Twill make it acutely and instantly Hear.

But in Shade, let it rest like a delicate flower-- Oh! Breathe on it softly--it dies in an Hour."

Several had heard the riddle before and knew its significance; but those who had not found it as difficult to guess as Frazer's "Old Shoe" had been. So Melvin had to explain that it was a play of words each containing the letter H; and this explanation was no sooner given than a diversion was made by Mabel Bruce's irrelevant remark:

"I never picked grapes off a vine in my life, never!"

"Hi! Does that mean you want to do so now?" demanded Monty, alert. He, too, had grown tired of a game in which he did not excel, and eagerly followed the direction of her pointing, chubby finger. A finger on which sparkled a diamond ring, more fitting for a matron than a schoolgirl young as she.

Along that side of the barn, rising from the hay strewn floor to the loft above, ran a row of upright posts set a few inches apart and designed to guard a great s.p.a.ce beyond. This s.p.a.ce was to be filled with the winter's stock of hay and its cemented bottom was several feet lower than the floor whereon the merry-makers sat. As yet but little hay had been stored there, and the posts which would give needful ventilation as well as keep the hay from falling inward, had been utilized now for decoration.

The boyish decorators had not scrupled to rifle the Deerhurst vineyards of their most attractive vines, and the cl.u.s.ter of fruit on which Mabel had fixed a covetous eye was certainly a tempting one.

The rays from two Chinese lanterns, hung near it, brought out its juicy lusciousness with even more than daylight clearness, and Mabel's mouth fairly watered for these translucent grapes.

"That bunch? Of course you shall have it!" cried Monty, springing up and standing on tiptoe to reach what either Jim or Herbert could have plucked with ease.

Alas! His efforts but hindered himself. The vine was only loosely twined around the upright and, as he grasped it, swung lightly about and the cl.u.s.ter he sought was forced to the inner side of the post, even higher than it had hung before.

"Huh! That's what my father would call 'the aggravation of inanimate things'! Those grapes knew that you wanted them, that I wanted to get them for you, and see how they act? But I'll have them yet. Don't fear. That old fellow I camped-out with this last summer told me it was a coward who ever gave up 'discouraged.' I'll have that bunch of grapes--or I'll know the reason why! I almost reached them that time!"

cried the struggler, proudly, and leaped again.

By this time all the company was watching his efforts, the lads offering jeering suggestions about "sheets of paper to stand on," and Danny Smith even inquiring if the other was "practising for a climb on a greased pole, come next Fourth."

Even the girls laughed over Monty's ludicrous attempts, though Mabel entreated him to give up and let somebody else try.

"I--I rather guess not! When I set out to serve a lady I do it or die in the attempt!" returned the perspiring lad, vigorously waving aside the proffered help of his taller mates. "I--I--My heart! Oh! Jiminy!

I--I'm stuck!"

He was. One of the newly set uprights had slipped a little and again wedged itself fast; and between this and its neighbor, unfortunate Montmorency hung suspended, the upper half of his body forced inward over the empty "bay" and his fat legs left to wave wildly about in their effort to find a resting place. To add to his predicament, a scream of uncontrollable laughter rose from all the observers, even Mabel, in whose sake he so gallantly suffered, adding her shrill cackle to the others.

All but the Master. Only the fleetest smile crossed his face, then it grew instantly grave as he said:

"We've tried our hand at riddles but here's another, harder than any of the others. Monty is in a fix--how shall we get him out?"

CHAPTER VI

A MORNING CALL

So ended the first "Day" of Dorothy's famous "Week."

At sight of the gravity that had fallen upon Seth Winter's face her own sobered, though she had to turn her eyes away from the absurd appearance of poor Monty's waving legs. Then the legs ceased to wave and hung limp and inert.

The Master silently pointed toward the door and gathering her girl guests about her the young hostess led them houseward, remarking:

"That looks funnier than it is and dear Mr. Seth wants us out of the way. I reckon they'll have to cut that post down for I saw that even he and Jim together couldn't move it. It's so new and sticky, maybe--I don't know. Poor Monty!"

"When he kept still, just now, I believe he fainted. I'm terribly frightened," said Helena Montaigne, laying a trembling hand on Dolly's shoulder. "It would be so perfectly awful to have your House Party broken up by a tragedy!"

Mabel began to cry, and the two mountain girls, Molly Martin and Jane, slipped their arms about her to comfort her, Jane practically observing:

"It takes a good deal to kill a boy. Ma says they've as many lives as a cat, and Ma knows. She brought up seven."

"She didn't bring 'em far, then, Jane. They didn't grow to be more than a dozen years old, ary one of 'em. You're the last one left and you know it yourself," corrected the too-exact Alfaretta.

"Pooh, Alfy! Don't talk solemn talk now. That Monty boy isn't dead yet and Janie's a girl. They'll get him out his fix, course, such a lot of folks around to help. And, Mabel, it wasn't your fault, anyway. He needn't have let himself get so fat, then he wouldn't have had no trouble. I could slip in and out them uprights, easy as fallin' off a log. He must be an awful eater. Fat folks gen'ally are," said Molly Martin.

Mabel winced and shook off the comforter's embrace. She was "fat"

herself and also "an awful eater," as Dolly could well remember and had been from the days of their earliest childhood. But the regretful girl could not stop crying and bitterly blamed herself for wanting "those horrible grapes. I'll never eat another grape as long as I live. I shall feel like--like a----"