Part 11

“Indeed he was. He told short, witty stories, laughed, danced and capered to the children’s great delight. They would clap their hands for joy. It was a rare sight for the grown-ups to watch the color come and go in their expressive faces, their fluffy curls and tangle of waves and braids tumbling about as the little girls shook with laughter, and some of the boys were even more amusing than the girls, because they looked so earnest, even solemn, in their efforts to find an explanation for the old man. One little chap said he would get his father to carry his rifle now all the time, because they might meet the old man sometimes when he wouldn’t feel as jolly, and what then? In fact he was about certain he had seen the old man one day stealing away behind a big stump, and even some of the children laughed when he explained: ‘It was the very same day, that I almost saw a black bear. I could hear him growl. I tell you I ran! Like as not there was a fox too, or a wild cat?”

“Well, after the dwarf exhibition, there were refreshments at which the children toasted marshmallows and popped corn.”

“Why, after all, Maud,” said her mother, thawing out suddenly, “I fancy you may like it here. There seem to be things going on.”

“_Like_ it,” quoted the lady. “No one ever wants to go home when she once gets a taste of Adirondack life. It is like the hounds following the deer. People take to the woods.”

Suddenly there sounded through the hall the first measures of an orchestra.

“The music has begun, and I must dress,” said Miss Friend-in-Need, noting the questioning glance between mother and daughter. “That music is a signal to-night. A few of us give a part of the Midsummer Night’s Dream this evening, in the parlor, and we are to costume ourselves as far as possible before supper.

“What fun we’ve had getting the affair up! You may not know that it has simply poured here for days and days, but we’ve laughed until we’ve cried at our rehearsals, and so have scarcely been troubled by rain.

“You’ll surely come to the first and last performance of this wonderful company, will you not?” and walking away, the lady looked over her shoulder for an answer. And having won a reply in the affirmative, the lady rapidly hurried to her room.

After supper, as Maud’s mother took her seat, to which she was shown by a young man acting as usher, she noticed the parlor had been lavishly trimmed with boughs of green. There was also a tiny wood adjoining the stage, made of small balsam trees.

“I suppose,” she remarked to her daughter, “they went out between the drops and gathered them.” And then both ladies interestedly noticed the guests, as one after the other, with an air of expectancy, entered.

Programmes were passed and eagerly scanned.

It was indeed a gala night. Had Maud and her mother known the various performers, it would have greatly added to their entertainment, but as it was, they could not help adding their applause to that of the others. Even though Maud was a stranger, the joyous shouts of laughter proved too contagious to be altogether resisted, and indeed before the performance was over, close contact with these merry people made Maud feel as though she was one of them, so quickly does one touch of nature make the whole world kin.

As the programme indicated the different characters, they were carefully read, and many ejaculations were overheard, such as: “Oh, that’s Isabel’s character,” and “Why, Carl Adams will be a sight, he’s such a swell, you know. How did such an exquisite ever consent to humble himself in this way?”

To Maud and her mother, however, all were strangers, with the one exception of the proprietor of the hotel, but they very soon learned the names of the people about them. Besides, as Maud’s mother very truly said, “Without it I am not positive that I could remember who the different ones are in the piece, as it is a long time since I have read the Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Therefore, while waiting for the first scene, they read:

THESEUS, Duke of Athens, _Proprietor of the hotel_.

EGEUS, Father to Hermia, _Mr. A——_.

LYSANDER, } DEMETRIUS,} in love with Hermia, _Mr. C—— and Mr. H——_.

PHILOSTRATE, Master of the revels to Theseus, _Mr. T——_.

QUINCE, a carpenter, _Master Carl Adams_.

SNUG, a joiner, _Master John Jones_.

BOTTOM, a weaver, _Mr. Sam S——_.

FLUTE, a bellows-mender, _Mr. Ralph R——_.

SNOUT, a tinker, _Master Diedrick Delk_.

STARVELING, a tailor, _Mr. Percy P——_.

HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus, _Miss Genevieve B——_.

HERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander, _Mrs. Ralph R——_.

HELENA, in love with Demetrius, _Mrs. Sam S——_.

OBERON, King of the fairies, _Mr. James D——_.

TITANIA, Queen of the fairies, _Miss Isabel M——_.

PUCK, or Robin Goodfellow, _Master Alexander Marvin_.

PEASEBLOSSOM,} COBWEB, } Fairies, MOTH, } MUSTARDSEED, } _The Misses Wilson, Bruce, Sim, Conger._

Other fairies attending their King and Queen, _Misses Kate W——, Fanny T——, Eva M——_.

Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta, _Masters Goodwin, Bartlett, Carrington and Scott._

As Maud’s mother inquired when in the seclusion of their own apartments, “Did you really like it so very much?”

Maud answered laughing, “More than I can express.”

The following morning it was a question, “What would be the proper costume for breakfast?”

From one of their windows they had a partial view of the lake, but from the other nothing but tall trees met their eyes. Pines were in abundance, but there was an occasional hemlock, spruce, birch and maple.

“It is summer. Would you think that this white organdy would do?” asked Maud, and the frock, apparently only a cloud of Valenciennes lace, was held towards her mother.

“Do? I am sure I don’t know what is considered correct for such a wilderness, but you might not be warm enough. I fancy it is cold outdoors.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll wear,” said the young lady presently, for she had a wonderful conception of color values, and knew what would look best with her dark eyes, and also what would produce the most fetching effect, should she be able to induce her mother to walk among the trees after breakfast. “I am going to put on my crimson piqué, bodice and all,” for she had several waists that could be worn with the same skirt, and as her quick eyes looked over the guests at breakfast, she was not sorry the decision had been against the organdy.

“All night my dreams were of the entertainment,” said Maud, as, sitting opposite her mother, she tried to pour the cream into her coffee. “It is almost too thick to stir. Did you ever see such cream?” she said.

“I never saw thicker. And this trout is delicious. It would be singular indeed if I were won to this place. But, Maud, tell me about your dream, dear.”

“Oh, I dreamed of Titania and Oberon, Queen and King of the fairies, you know. I could see the airy things moving over the green. It was Midsummer-Night’s Dream truly, for I dreamed of the pretty piece, and isn’t this Midsummer?”

“Why, Maud! I fancy you slept well. Perhaps you’ll be surprised to learn that I too dreamed of our evening’s pleasure.”

“Surprised! Yes, indeed!” and Maud’s eyes sought her mother’s. “What part did you dream about?”

“I think it is the opening of the second act, when the fairy replies to Puck,

Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere.

You remember how it goes, don’t you?”

“Perfectly; and didn’t that fairy look lovely? I am sure I shall be glad to know her. But Puck I am not as sure about.”

“Could you pass me the rolls, Maud?”

“Certainly, take that one,” and Maud turned the plate so that her mother could have a temptingly brown roll.

“And now,” continued her mother, as she contentedly broke the roll open, “tell me more about your dream.”

“You know towards the close, Oberon and Titania entered with their train.”

“Do you mean where Oberon sings,

Though the house gives glimmering light, By the dead and drowsy fire, Every elf and fairy sprite,

And so on?”

“Yes, those are the very words. And didn’t Titania have a sweet voice? I hope she’ll sing often. I am sure everybody must enjoy listening to her. I thought this beautiful:

First rehearse your song by rote, To each word a warbling note. Hand in hand with fairy grace, Will we sing and bless this place.”

As Maud said, “bless this place,” the lady who had welcomed Maud and her mother the evening before was walking past their table, and having overheard the words, she stopped.

“Just what I like to hear.” Then mischievously looking at Maud’s mother. “But I did not expect the woods to have won so much enthusiasm already, did you?”

“No, I did not,” and the mother’s lip unbent into a sunny smile. “But there is no telling what we may both say yet.”

“This fish breakfast has been delicious, and besides everybody looks rested and cheery.”

“That is just the point; no one can help being rested, because midnight-oil is unknown here and how can people help being cheery, when this bracing air is a tonic; And besides we have so many delightful sports. There are to be charades, and rollicking games, such as Twirl the Platter, and Going to Jerusalem, this evening, and to-day there are several things on hand. One is a driving and riding party. All the young people, with two chaperones, are going over to the next hotel to dinner. By the way, do you ride?”

And Maud, whose face was flushed with the memory of her many pleasant hours on horseback, answered, “I could ride almost forever.”

“Then you are the very young lady we want,” and turning to Maud’s mother, “I’m to be one of the chaperones. I’ll promise to bring her home safe. There is a fine saddle-horse waiting to be ridden, and——a fine young man, who is in despair because every one but himself has a riding companion. He is a New York lawyer. May I introduce him?” were her words, as the trio left the breakfast-room together.

The answer must have been “Yes,” because, an hour later, one dowager said to another, “Did you hear that new girl, that airish creature with the golden hair, and sleepy-looking dark eyes, who came just before supper last evening, has gone off horseback riding with the one we called ‘the dissatisfied young man?’ He seems to be perfectly satisfied now. I suppose neither of our daughters was good enough for him.”

THE FLOWER-TEST.

The postman rapped at my door, and presently the trim little maid brought me a big square letter on a tray. I knew that hand. Nobody but Penelope writes in that scraggly style, plain, too, as a pikestaff, and easy to read. “Darling Gertrude,” she began, “I am about to plead for a visit. It seems a little bit of forever since I saw you and I want you here in my country house where we’ll have time to enjoy one another, talk of the past and present tenses to our hearts’ content, and perhaps plan a happy future.

“Let me tell you whom you’ll meet: Mr. and Mrs. Burkhardt,—you remember that sweet little girl bride who succeeded so well in blinding us—at first; dear old General Bolton, and his youngest brother, who paints almost as well as he talks; pretty Elsie Sterling and my cousin Bob. You see I put them together, but so would you if you could look out of my window and see them now. Bob has just mounted Elsie on White Baron, and now as I write the words he’s up on Caper and off they go. Well—we’ll borrow White Baron and Caper later on, you and I, and perhaps as we canter along side by side we may feel ourselves back again,—back—how many years? Never mind, we’ll not count. The years have been happy to us both, I hope.

“But you’ll come—you must not say _no_, remember. Cordially your friend,

“Penelope T. Gerard.”

Indeed I would not say “No.” I would arrange and rearrange my summer plans to meet Penelope once more.

It was scarce three years since I last saw her. She was then a bride of but two months and I spent three days with her just as I was leaving for Germany. During the interval our letters were more or less frequent, and so in a way we each kept track of the other and felt as close friends as we had been since our childhood.

So it was with infinite pleasure I wrote an acceptance.

“The Maples” is an unpretending rambling sort of a house, with piazzas, and “corners,” and nooks where one would least expect them. There is no rhyme or reason to the architecture, and an architect would shake his head in sad consternation. However, if he were told that three generations of Gerards had idled their summers happily away within and without its walls, and that each owner had added his share to the original pile, perhaps the exact architect would turn his critical smile to one of content and count himself fortunate to be allowed to enter this abode of happiness.

It was a sunny day when I first drove up the long maple-lined driveway and there on the lawn, close to the entrance, was Penelope making tea and laughing one of her old merry laughs as the General stood before her. I suppose he was telling her one of his funny stories. I don’t know, for of course I only saw them a moment before the carriage stopped, and once more Penelope and I were together.

The General had known us both as girls, and soon we were talking over old faces and scenes, and it seemed as though we had never been parted. The rest of the party had gone for a long drive and would not be back until seven o’clock. So we three talked on and on.

“Oh, it does seem so good to be here, Pen,” I said, and added, “As I came up the driveway, the first thing I heard was your laugh. You know how mamma used to like to hear you laugh.”

“Yes, I remember how irrepressible I was. But, Trudy, you too would have laughed if you’d heard the General hang me.”

“Hang you?”

“Why, yes. Don’t you know the game?” Then seeing my bewilderment, she went on. “You must learn it. It’s fine for two people. Especially when one gets short of subjects to talk about.”

Here General Bolton threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Short of subjects to talk about! I guess Trudy would as soon believe the Atlantic had gone dry as to think your nimble tongue was ever still. No, indeed! On the contrary, Trudy, she was bound she would make me let out a secret, and I, old fool, would probably have fallen into her trap, only she warned me by—but never mind how she warned me, or even that will fail me next time. So I hung her. Yes, I caught her well.” Then with a chuckle. “Tell her how, Pen, you know best how, for you know you were _hung_, and well hung.” And again he laughed.

“That’s true. But try me again sometime, or rather, I’ll try you and we’ll see who does the _hanging_. No, not now, you need not look so eager.”

“Bah, you’re afraid.”

“No, indeed I am not. Just now however I mean to take Gertrude and show her where her room is. She has been ever so patient.”

“But, my dear, please explain first about the _hanging_. It sounds so sanguinary.”

“Well, it is. Now listen and I’ll explain, and then we’ll go indoors. ‘To hang a person with a word,’ is the name of the game. You take any word you like in your mind and simply mention the number of letters it has. The other party has to guess, by letters, without making twelve misses. If she fails to guess without twelve wrong guesses, she is _hung_ as I was. That doesn’t seem very clear to you, I suppose.”

“Well, not exactly.”

“I’ll take a word and show you. Now, General, I did not mean to give you your battle now. But you may have it if you’re ready.”

“Steady, fire.”

“All right.” Then she whispered to me the word “Eyelet.”

“Well, I’ll hang you, General Bolton, with a word of six letters.”

“Bah, that’s easy. First, I’ll guess L.”

“Right. It has fourth place.” Then she explained to me, “You have to tell the position of the letter.”

“M.”

“Wrong. That’s one. You help me keep count, Trudy. Remember, twelve wrong guesses and I’ve hung him.”

“A.”

“Wrong. That makes two.”

“E.”

“Right. First place.”

“I.”

“Wrong. Three.”

“O.”

“Wrong. You see he’s trying the vowels. How many does that make?”

“Four.”

“Oh, you girls need not look so jubilant; four doesn’t make much. I’ll guess U, next.”

“Five,” we both shouted.

“Well, T.”

“Right, and sixth place.”

“An e, an l, and a t. Let me see. Any n’s in it?”

“No. That makes six. Oh, we have you, General, that is half the number.”

“The battle is not won yet; no, nor lost yet. Well, I’ll guess G.”

“Seven.”

He looked down at the grass and drummed his fingers on his knee, then said, “D.”

“Eight.”

“An e, an l, and a t. That’s a queer combination when all the other vowels are out. Holloa! Is there another e?”

“Yes. Third place.”

“Oh, and another l?”

“Nine.”

“I hope this word is in the English language?”

“Oh, yes. It is English and it is used to-day, but a generation back it was used more frequently.”

“A generation back! Bah!” and he straightened himself and rising strode back and forth with his hands clasped back of him. “I have it! That is, I am pretty certain. Has a y, hasn’t it?”

“Yes—second place.”

“Eyelet!” he shouted. “Bah, you thought you had me. Well, you almost did. Those pesky vowels were at fault.”

“Never mind, I’ll hang you yet. I have another word in mind. But not to-day. Come, Gertrude. You see it all now, I guess, and we must hurry in, or Will and the others will be back before we are ready for dinner. Good-bye for a time, General. Look to your guns. I shall be after you again.”

II.

Breakfast was more than half over, some mornings later, when in came Bob and Irving Bolton. A chorus of “Fie, fie,” greeted them, and Elsie Sterling shook her fingers threateningly as Bob explained, “Pen, don’t be hard on a fellow. Irving and I talked too late, I suppose, last night. At any rate I know I should never have turned up this morning only that he yelled across to me that lunch was most ready. And then he loitered to help me share the blame of our lateness. Hey, old fellow?” and he looked across at Irving as he slid into the vacant place between Elsie and Mrs. Burkhardt.

“You are both rascals, both of you,” growled the General. “Burkhardt and I have been up hours and have planned the finest sort of a day for the rest of you ungrateful ones. Shall we tell them, Burkhardt?”

Before Mr. Burkhardt had a chance to reply, Penelope interposed, “Let me try and guess.”

“All right, Mrs. Gerard, but you’ll have to try twenty questions or some such game or you’ll not hit it. It’s a fine scheme.” And Ned Burkhardt nodded triumphantly while he put a piece of buttered toast on his wife’s plate.

“I’ll guess just once, and without the help of twenty questions either. It’s a picnic.”

“Bah!” exclaimed the General. “You overheard, or somebody told you.”

“Perhaps I did, or perhaps that omnipresent ‘little bird’ chirped it in my ear. But, at any rate, it’s a fine idea. What say the rest of you?”

“Just the thing. Fine,” was the reply.

“How shall we go, Will, and where?”

“Oh, let’s go to Sylvan Grove. It is only ten miles. Let me see. Two of you can ride horseback.

“Will you and Irving ride, Gertrude? And, Burkhardt, you and madame and Elsie and Bob might take the buckboard, and we three old fogies—pardon me, General,—will follow on with the provisions. Will that suit, Penel?”

“All right. And now let’s get ready. Can you all start in three quarters of an hour?”

“Yes, indeed.”

Promptly we all sallied forth, and it was a merry party. The air was perfect, and Irving, Bolton and I cantered on ahead, and finding ourselves far in advance, we turned and rode across country for a few miles.

It was a perfect day, and the picnic was a perfect success. At dinner that night we voted it as the best day yet.

“Well, to-morrow is the golf tournament, you know,” said Will, and turning to his wife, he added, “Didn’t you say there was a dinner on too?”

“Oh, yes. I nearly forgot. Dear old Mrs. Preston asked us all to dinner.” Turning towards me she said, “You remember at our tea, the day after you came, a white-haired lady accompanied by her granddaughter?”

“Yes, indeed I do. I think you said she lives in that gray stone house we passed to-day.”

“Yes, that is the one. It’s a lovely house too—and such china! Why, Mrs. Burkhardt, she has a willow set that would make your mouth water. Perhaps we’ll see it.”

Then turning swiftly, for dinner was over and we were just leaving the room, “Listen, all of you, please. To-morrow night at Mrs. Preston’s, and next night nowhere. It is Gertrude’s last night here and let’s spend it all alone,” and having made her little speech she slipped her arm around my waist and we went out together.

We passed through one of the French windows, out on the piazza, and sat there late into the night. Snatches of conversation came to us again and again, and Mrs. Burkhardt’s sweet soprano as she and Elsie sang together, while Irving accompanied on the mandoline. But we, Penelope and I, remained alone, each happy in the other.

The last night came, as all “last nights” must, and with it, “in sympathy with our mood,” was the General’s courteous construction, came a heavy, moaning storm. Will poked the fire and piled on the logs as though a blizzard were raging without. Finally, he paused and said, “I guess, Pen, dear, you may have your wish. No one will disturb our family serenity this night.”

How cosy it seemed and how happy all appeared. Elsie and Mrs. Burkhardt, Irving and Bob were playing checkers in the next room. Ned and Penelope were talking about dogs and horses and comparing their relative intelligence. The General was looking over some foreign photographs, while Will and I bestowed our attention on the fire.

“Truly,” spoke General Bolton, “did you ever get up early enough to see Covent Garden Market in its glory!”

“Oh, General, do you mean to infer absolute laziness, or do you mean that the gray gloom of London would forbid an early awakening?”

“Never mind what I inferred. Did you ever go to the market—early?”

“Strange as it may seem to you, I did. I went one morning to Covent Garden Market, and early, about six o’clock, with an English girl. It was a wonderful sight.”

“See,” he interrupted, “it was this picture of a costermonger with the palms and ferns that made me ask you.”

“It is very natural—the little donkey, the barrow and all. And how very cheap the plants and flowers are—why that morning I bought for sixpence as many moss roses and buds as I could carry.”

“Gertrude, did you ever see that?” And Will gave me a printed slip that he had been searching for in his pocketbook. It was called the Floral Test.

“No, but isn’t it good? Let’s ask the others the questions and see who can answer the most.”

“Come, all you people,” called Will, and he stepped over to the next room. “Aren’t you tired of checkers? Gertrude has a new game.”

When all were seated around expectantly he said: “Now, Gertrude, you ask the questions and we’ll reply. It is called,” he explained, “the Floral Test. She’ll ask questions and we’ll give answers in the names of flowers.”

“Tell me the name of a maiden, and the color of her hair.”

“Maria-gold,” shouted Irving.

“Good for you, old fellow. How did you know?” questioned Bob.

“O here,” and young Bolton tapped his forehead significantly.

“What adjective fitted her and what was her brother’s name?”

All were silent until Mrs. Burkhardt timidly said, “Is it Sweet-William?”

“That’s right. Now try this,—What was his favorite sport in winter?”

“That’s easy. Snowball,” and Bob threw his handkerchief at Will, who sharply returned it.

“Ned, what was his favorite instrument?”

“Is it the trumpet?”

“That is right. Can you tell me, Elsie, at what hour he awoke his father by playing on it?”

“Four o’clock.”