Part 10

Some of the materials bought were open to more or less criticism, and later Julia meant to make certain of these mistakes the subject of a little talk. They had done very well, she thought, for the present, in buying practically all the things that she had intended to have them buy with their money. Each of them, too, had a small surplus, and Inez was the only one who proposed to use hers up by spending it at once for candy. A little persuasion turned her aside from this purpose, and Julia was careful that evening to offer her and the girls some especially fine confections when they gathered in her room after tea. They all seemed so receptive then that she thought it a good time to show them just how their fifteen dollars might have been spent to the best advantage,--a third for the dress materials, a third for shoes and hat, a third for stockings and the other smaller things; and comparing what they had done with her ideal purchases, she was interested to find that Nellie, the young Irish girl, had really come the nearest to her standard, and accordingly Nellie's face was wreathed in smiles as she learned that she was thought to have been the ideal purchaser; for although Maggie had also done very well, Julia was not wholly satisfied with her having substituted the cotton for the woollen dress.

That evening, as it was Saturday, they all played games in the large gymnasium, where there was space enough for the exciting French blindman's buff, in which, instead of having one of the players blinded, she had her hands tied behind her back, and do her best, often she could not catch the others.

When they were tired of active sports, hjalma and draughts and other games were ready for them, and occasionally they had charades or impromptu tableaux, in which all the powers of their elders were taxed; for the girls themselves lacked originality, and Miss South or one of the other older members of the household had to supervise all that they did.

In these sports sometimes little unexpected jealousies arose, and Julia, or Pamela, or Ruth, or Anstiss, as the case might be, had her hands full trying to keep peace. The least desirable characteristics of the girls came to the surface at times, and at times, too, their best qualities were displayed in an equally unexpected way. Phoebe alone of them all did not care for games. While the others were playing she was apt to bury herself in a book, and often Julia and Pamela would insist that she should put this aside to mingle with the others.

XV

WAR AT HAND

As the weeks went on, Angelina and her little group of special friends followed closely the newspaper reports of the troubles in Cuba; that is, Angelina read the despatches and surmises, and told the others how things were progressing. Except in the case of such definite events as the destruction of the "Maine," the others were not extremely interested in what Concetta called "stupid" accounts of distant happenings. Angelina, however, was all excitement, and her theories were an interesting supplement to all that the Board of Enquiry didn't find out. When she read of Mr. Cannon's bill appropriating fifty millions for defence she was sure that war was near at hand. When Maggie said that there would be no money left in the country if so much was spent in war, Angelina made a rapid calculation that this meant less than a dollar for every person in the whole land, "and it would be a strange thing," she said, "if we couldn't afford that."

Even at the meetings of the League the conversation turned to war, and they hastened through their readings of the Quaker poet to talk about things that were rather far away from his teachings, except that he was always on the side of the oppressed, and in the war of his time was heard with no uncertain voice.

The stripping of the fleet for war and the movement of the troops that began early in April were described vividly by Angelina, after she had read about them. The girls all took more interest when war seemed really at hand, and Angelina was called upon to explain many things in which her knowledge hardly equalled her willingness to impart it.

"The mosquito fleet; oh, what can that be? Is it to bite the Spaniards?" Inez had asked, and Angelina had replied most scornfully:

"Of course not; it's a lot of long, thin iron boats that skim over the water as fast as a mosquito flies--all made of iron, of course, with long, thin legs that go out from the side like a mosquito's."

"Legs," exclaimed Haleema dubiously; "on a boat!" and Angelina responded hastily:

"Well, not real legs, only kind of paddles, that make them go faster;" and as no older person heard this original explanation, the girls continued to have their very special interest in the curious mosquito fleet.

When the first shot was fired and the little "Buena Ventura" was captured on April 22, young and old knew that peace was at an end, and there was no surprise when the declaration of war came a few days later.

"I've been looking for it," said Angelina, "ever since the 'Maine' was destroyed, and I should have been dreadfully disappointed if war hadn't come. But I was quite certain that there'd be fighting soon when I heard that an officer had been sent abroad to buy warships; for what in the world should _we_," with a strong emphasis on the "we," "want of warships if we hadn't made up our minds to have a war?"

During all these weeks Brenda had been no less interested than the younger girls in the question of what should be done for Cuba. Washington had become the centre of the world for her in the strongest sense of the word, and evidently for the time it was the centre of interest for the whole country.

Arthur's letters to her continued rather brief. He spoke of being overworked, and Belle in writing rarely failed to say that she had seen him at this or that social function, and almost as often she mentioned how popular he was. Brenda at last wrote one or two brief notes to Arthur, asking him to return for a dinner that she was giving before Lent; but he took no notice of these missives, at least he did not write to her until Lent itself was half over, and then he made a simple little reference to her request with a mere "I was sorry that I could not do what you wished, but you must have known that I could not before you wrote."

Then Brenda came to the point of deciding that she would never write to him again, and she threw herself into the work at the Mansion with much more zeal than Julia had ever expected from her. She was far less cheerful than the Brenda of old. It was not merely because she could not have her own way, but rather that she felt the shadow of the impending war cloud hanging over the country.

Every Thursday she assisted Agnes at the informal studio tea, and this was really her only amusement, and in the early spring the conversation around the tea-table hovered between the two subjects,--the prospect of war and the correct costume for the Festival.

The Artists' Festival was an institution that the artists of the city planned and enjoyed with the assistance of their friends. Each year those who were invited were asked to appear in costumes suited to a chosen period, the range of which might be several hundred years, but within the limits of time and place each costume had to be artistically correct, and meet the approval of the costume committee. This was to be Brenda's first experience of the Festival, and earlier in the season, when she and Arthur had talked about it, she had planned a certain style of fourteenth-century costume, and Arthur was to go as her page. Ralph had selected the plates, and though the time was then far off, they had talked very definitely of what they should expect from the Festival. But now--

Brenda decided to make a final test of Arthur. She would remind him of the approaching Artists' Festival.

"I shall be mortified to death," she had said to Agnes, "if Arthur does not return in season for it."

"Oh, I fear that he cannot, Brenda, from what he writes Ralph; I should judge that he has work enough to keep him busy all the spring."

"Well, it would be nothing for him to come here for two or three days and then return to Washington; he used to be so fond of travelling."

"You might write," responded Agnes. "Perhaps he may come."

But in answer to Brenda's brief and rather imperative note Arthur wrote simply that it was impossible for him to leave Washington now, greatly as he should have enjoyed the Festival. Then after a page of more personal matter he added that even if he could go to Boston, he should feel indisposed to take part in gayeties at a season when the affairs of the country were so unsettled.

"Humph!" said Ralph, when Brenda repeated this part of the letter to him. "They must be nearer war in Washington than we are here, for I can contemplate an Artists' Festival without feeling that I am deserting my country in its hour of need."

As for Brenda herself, when Arthur's letter was closely followed by one from Belle, in which she described a delightful dinner of the evening before at Senator Harmon's, she tore Belle's letter as well as Arthur's into small pieces; for Belle had told her that Arthur was one of the gayest of the guests at the dinner.

Yet even those who were pretty certain that war was near felt that there could be no harm in planning for the Festival. Pamela was naturally interested, but the medieval period chosen demanded more expensive materials and a more elaborate costume than she felt disposed to prepare. Julia was uncertain whether she cared to give the time to it, and Miss South declared that she herself had not the energy to go.

"So you, Anstiss, are the only one of us who will ornament the scene," said Julia; "though I really think that Pamela ought to go, it is so directly in line with the things that she likes."

"As to that, it is ridiculous, Julia, that you shouldn't be there. When you were out at Radcliffe you used to encourage operettas and tableaux and all such things, but now--"

"Well, now," responded Julia, "I feel as if I were working for a living and ought not to waste my time in frivolities."

"That is where you are very foolish. Soon we shall hear loud protests from your aunt and uncle; indeed, they will probably come and drag you away. They would be justified, too, if you continue in your determination to have your whole life bounded by these walls."

"Very comfortable walls they are, too, but I hate to wander too far in search of costumes, and the thousand and one little things that are necessary to make them complete. It is too much trouble for one evening's enjoyment."

"There!" exclaimed Miss South as Julia had finished, "I have an idea; come with me."

It was late and the pupils had all gone to bed, and Concetta, hearing unwonted steps going to the upper story, pushed her door open a little, and was surprised to see the strange procession winding upwards.

It took its way to the end room in the attic, and when she had lit the gas Miss South asked Anstiss to help her lift out a chest from a corner of the closet. Selecting a small key from her ring and opening the trunk, she began to unfold one or two garments.

"Oh, how beautiful! But who could have worn it?" exclaimed Julia, as a velvet gown trimmed with ermine and with a long train unfolded itself before them.

"Ah, but this is lovelier!" she added, as a dove-colored brocade with pattern outlined in pink was shown, intended evidently to be worn with the pink satin petticoat that accompanied it. Further delving into the trunk brought out pointed shoes, elaborate head-dresses, and other fantastic things.

"Did your grandmother ever wear these clothes?" asked Anstiss in surprise. "I should hardly think that they were of the style even of her day."

"Oh, these things are intended for costume parties," returned Miss South. "My grandmother described some of the occasions when she first wore them abroad. She took the greatest care of them, and every spring she herself supervised her maid when she shook them and did them up again in camphor. Strangely enough I have been so busy the past year that I had forgotten about these particular things. There are two complete costumes. One of them is entirely in the period of the Festival, and the other needs so little alteration that you and Pamela, Julia, will be completely equipped, with almost no thought in the matter."

"But why won't you go yourself?"

"I have quite made up my mind about that; for the present, at least, I have no desire for gayety."

It was really amazing that these two costumes should have been found so perfectly to meet all the requirements of the Festival. Julia, of course, could have had a costume especially designed for her by a costumer, but as she had said, in talking it over with Brenda, she was by no means in the mood for this, and she would have stayed home rather than waste the time in this way.

Brenda threw herself into the preparations for the Festival as if she had no other interest in the world. She was to be a principal figure in the group that Ralph had arranged. With an artist's sense of beauty, and an accuracy that no one had ever before suspected, Ralph planned the costumes, and insisted that they should deviate in no particular from his design. To effect this proved an unending occupation for Brenda and Agnes.

"There's one thing, Ralph, that has come out of this," said his wife one day after he had given her a lecture on the unsuitability of certain trimmings that she had selected. "After this I shall never worry about our future."

"Have you been doing so?" he asked in some surprise.

"Well, I have had misgivings as to what might happen if you should become blind, or if your pictures should fail to sell, or if Papa should lose his money, or--"

"How many more 'ifs,'" he asked; "I had no idea that you were a borrower of trouble. What have I done to deserve this thoughtfulness, or perhaps I should say thoughtlessness, on your part; for you say that now you have ceased to worry."

"Why, I am sure that you could transform yourself into a man milliner; in fact, I'm not sure that I may not try to persuade you to change to a more lucrative profession than that of a mere painter of portraits. From the very way in which you hold that little pincushion under your arm, I am sure that you would be a great success."

Ralph only smiled as he snipped a bit from the end of a velvet train. Then he moved off a little, that he might survey his work from a distance.

"It looks like a milliner's shop," said Brenda, pointing to the litter of silk and velvets, embroideries and fur, strewn over chairs, tables, and divan.

"Yes, and I feel much as if I were waiting for customers. I believe, however, that no more are expected this afternoon. I can therefore attend to my mail orders. Tom Hearst, by the way, is coming on, and I am designing something for him."

"Well, if Tom can spare the time, I should think that Arthur might."

"Ah, Arthur writes that he is too much concerned at the prospect of war. He apparently does not approve of our frivolous doings. The times are too serious."

"I do not see why he need take things so to heart. He is not a--a reconcentrado." Brenda's words may have seemed like an attempt at levity, but, indeed, she felt far from cheerful. She concluded with a weak, little "But you don't think that there will be a war, do you, Ralph?"

"I do, indeed, think that there will be a war, dear sister-in-law, but I also think that it may be some distance off, and that we might as well eat, drink, and be merry, in other words, enjoy the Artists' Festival," he rejoined.

XVI

THE ARTISTS' FESTIVAL

It was unfortunate that the Artists' Festival should have fallen on the evening of the day succeeding the formal declaration of war, or, as some of the younger people put it, that war should have been declared on the eve of the Festival; for, they urged, the arrangements for the Festival had been made before war had been even thought of, and so, if the President and Congress had only waited a day--

But public affairs take their course, and Boston is a very small corner of this large country, and though some persons may have absented themselves from a sense of duty to their country, Brenda agreed with Ralph that these never would be missed, so crowded did the hall prove after the French play had ended and the seats had been removed.

The patronesses, seated on a dais on one side of the hall, were gorgeous in robes of cloth of gold, with the elaborate head-dresses of the time.

The procession as it passed along was well worth seeing,--the trumpeters at the head, the craftsmen and village folk, the brown-robed monks singing a solemn chant, crusaders in scarlet coats, knights in armor, ladies in sweeping trains, and everywhere the high-horned cap with its graceful and inconvenient veil.

On the stage at the end of the hall a French play was given, perfectly rendered, complete in every detail of dress and scenery as well as of acting. But it was a tragedy, acted so perfectly that Brenda, perhaps, was not the only one who found it too gloomy for the occasion. The tournament that followed, in which two hobby-horse knights tilted against each other, was much more to her taste.

"Why, Brenda Barlow! I was wondering if we should see you."

Brenda looked up in surprise. The voice was surely Belle's, and immediately she recognized her friend. Belle did not wait for questions after the first greetings.

"Oh, a party of us came on from Washington last night. The rest are going back on Thursday, but I shall stay in New York for a month. Annabel didn't come, nor Arthur either. You must have been awfully disappointed that he wouldn't take any interest. I've always thought he was a little uncertain. How do you like my costume? We ordered them at the last minute from a costumer. I think he did very well, considering the time. Tell me, is mine frightfully unbecoming? I've been trying to make Mr. De Lancey tell me, but he simply says it's indescribably fetching. I can't be sure whether or not he's in earnest. Oh, let me present him to you; I forgot that you did not know each other."

A moment later, separated from her own party, she was walking with Belle and Mr. De Lancey into the adjacent supper-room, which had been arranged in semblance of a rose-garden. They ate sandwiches and currant buns served to them in baskets, and drank lemonade from pewter mugs. The rooms had been rather cool.

"It's the medieval chill," replied Brenda, when Belle asked her why she was so quiet.

"I believe it's worse in this rose-garden than in the large hall. I'm afraid that these paper roses will become frostbitten."

Soon Tom Hearst and Julia, in their search for Brenda, came upon her in the garden.

"Well, here you are! We've been looking everywhere. The rest of the group has gone upstairs to be photographed. There's a man with a flashlight in one of the studios. Aren't you coming?"

The posing of the group took some time, and then there were single pictures, and Agnes and Ralph were taken together.

An idea came to Brenda. "Why shouldn't we form a group by ourselves?" Brenda had turned to Tom Hearst with her question.

"I should say so," he responded enthusiastically. "I mean certainly. How shall I stand, or rather mayn't I prostrate myself at your feet as your humble page?"

"No, no, how absurd you are!" for Tom was already kneeling in an attitude of devotion.

"It's after twelve," the photographer reminded them, "and there are several waiting."

"In other words," said Tom, "we ought to hurry. So look pleasant, Miss Barlow,--that is, as pleasant as you can under the circumstances," and Brenda assumed her stateliest pose, having first seen that her train was spread out to its broadest extent.

"Really," exclaimed Ralph, who stood near, "you must send a copy of the picture to Arthur."

Brenda did not reply, but when they were again among the gay crowd she was quieter than she had been before, and to the astonishment of Agnes she was ready to go home long before the carriage came.

But, strange to say, Pamela, the conscientious, was much less disturbed than she should have been by the thought that this was the hour of her country's danger. The artistic beauty of the whole scene was such that for the time it occupied her mind completely, and she and Julia, with Tom and Philip as attendant cavaliers, were quite care free as they wandered among the gay throng. Yet her mind was turned a little toward the war when Philip began to tell her of his difficulties.

"In the natural course of events," he said, "I should have been in the Cadets. But I had thought I'd wait a year or two. Now the only thing is for me to enlist, or get an appointment as officer. They say that the President will appoint any number of officers. There is only one thing--"

Pamela waited for him to continue, and at last he took up the broken thread.

"I haven't said much about it to other people, but my father is far from well this spring. I notice this in little things, and he depends so on me that I hesitate about taking a step that will lead to my leaving home just now."

"It is often hard to choose between two duties," said Pamela; "but I believe the general rule is to choose the nearest, and in this case that is evidently your father."

"Where have you been all the evening, Philip? I have looked everywhere for you." Edith's voice had an unwonted note of irritation.

"Why, Edith, child, aren't you having a good time?"

"Oh, I don't know; I've had to listen to such a lot of stuff from Belle, and I haven't seen half the people I promised to meet."

"There, there, child, I know how you feel; Belle has been talking too much, but I will take care of you," and Philip pulled Edith's arm within his own. "A big brother is useful sometimes," he added, for he saw that Edith was a little perturbed. A moment later Nora joined the group, followed by Julia and Tom Hearst, and soon Brenda joined them.

"Why, here we have almost all the old crowd," exclaimed Tom. "If only Will were here--"

"And Ruth; you mustn't forget her."

"Indeed, no, and I dare say that he is thinking of us. I fancy that at this present moment he is just wild to be on this side of the world. With his exalted ideas of patriotism, it must be torture to him that he isn't on hand when there's fighting to be done."

"It seems to me that your sword hasn't been brandished very fiercely, at least, since the President's proclamation."

"Ah! just wait. Within a month I may be waving a flag in Cuba. This sound of revelry by night may be the last that I shall hear for a long time. My uniform may not be as becoming to me as this costume," and Tom threw back his head and strutted a few steps, as if to display to the best advantage the artistic costume that Mr. Weston had designed for him,--a most effective one with its crimson doublet, slashed sleeves, and long, silk trunk hose.

"Oh, don't talk about war," cried Brenda, almost pettishly, while Nora, whose sparkling eyes and bright smile showed that she, at least, had enjoyed the evening, said gently, "Come, Brenda, there are Agnes and Ralph beckoning to us; I suppose they wish to count us all to see that we are safe and sound before they start for home."

A little bantering, a word or two of good-bye to passing friends, and the merry group started for home, never, although they knew it not then,--never to be together again as they had been that evening.

In the next few weeks war news was of chief importance, and Brenda, never a newspaper reader, now turned to the daily papers with great interest.

One afternoon she came into Julia's room at the Mansion with her eyes suspiciously red.

"You haven't been crying?"

"Oh, no, not exactly crying, but--"

At this time a tell-tale tear fell, and Brenda dabbed her eyes fiercely with a crumpled handkerchief.

"There, there, tell me all about it," said Julia.