CHAPTER X--THE APPLE-BEE

The apple-bee was to occur on Thursday evening, and Mrs. Weston and Randy, with little Prue for "errand boy," had been busily employed in preparation for the delightful event. Prue made a fine little page, so delighted was she to be useful.

"Bring me the yellow mixin' bowl, Prue," called Mrs. Weston. Into the closet darted Prue, and over to the table with the big bowl she hastened. "Now what shall I do to help the apple-bee?" said she.

"Perhaps the apple-bee would like to have you pull all the stems off these raisins," said her mother, laughing. So Prue sat down upon the large braided rug near the door and began to stem the raisins with all her might. Soon Mrs. Hodgkins arrived and imperiously ordered her husband to "lug in that crock from the wagon."

"For mercy's sake!" ejaculated Mrs. Weston, "whatever have you got there?" as, puffing and blowing, Joel Hodgkins landed an immense stone crock upon the kitchen table.

"Well, I'll tell ye," said Mrs. Hodgkins; "I know this is no donation party, but I had this big crock er doughnuts, and I says, says I, 'Somebody will eat 'em ef I take 'em over,' so here they be."

"Sophrony wouldn't think she was takin' part in the bee if some of her prize doughnuts wasn't in the treat."

Every one laughed at Joel Hodgkins's speech, and the doughnuts were very kindly received.

"We all know that your doughnuts are the best in town," said Mrs. Weston, "and I guess everybody'll be glad to have one, I'm sure--" but the remark was left incomplete as she hastened to the door to admit Mrs. Jenks.

"How are ye, Mrs. Weston? I had Reuben drive me over, and I've brought a lot of those big red apples, ef ye don't mind havin' 'em. Reuben an' I have rubbed and polished 'em 'til they shine like everything. I thought maybe they'd make the table look pretty," and she flushed as she offered this first contribution of her life.

"They will look handsome," said Mrs. Weston. "I declare it was real thoughtful in you to bring them. Why, for goodness' sake! How many did ye bring?" as Reuben arrived with basket after basket, which he placed in a row upon the table, and then commenced to make another row upon the swing table on the opposite side of the room.

"I've no idee how many there is," said Mrs. Jenks. "Reuben an' I commenced rubbin' and polishin' 'em right after breakfast, and we never stopped rubbin' 'til we was ready to start. Then we packed in the baskets, and here we be."

Meanwhile the neighbors had removed bonnets and shawls, and three energetic housekeepers, with the help of Randy and little Prue, succeeded in "keeping things moving," as Mrs. Jenks had expressed it.

Suddenly, Jotham Potts's dark face peeped in at the door, with, "Say, Mrs. Weston, I'm a master hand at chopping, so any time I can help, just give me a chopping knife and tray, and I'll work like a major."

"I'll bear ye in mind, and call ye when I want ye," answered Mrs. Weston, and Prue rushed to the door to offer him a handful of raisins, saying, "I give them to you, Jotham, 'cause you're the biggest and the nicest boy I know."

"Thank you, pussy. Hey! where are you now?" and he swung the child lightly up on his shoulder.

"May I go with Jotham 'stead of picking any more raisins?"

"Yes, run along," said her mother, glad to have her in the care of some one whom she could trust to keep her out of mischief.

So busily did every one work that by Wednesday night the cooking for the spread was completed. Old and young had helped with a will to make the evening a success, and at last Thursday arrived, although Prue confided to Randy that she "b'lieved it never would."

When the final decorations for the apple-bee were in place, everything needed for the sumptuous spread ready, there was absolutely nothing to do but wait patiently for the evening to come.

The apples were to be cut, cored, and strung in the kitchen, the spread was to be in the "settin' room," and all the rooms were decorated so gayly that they appeared festive indeed. Randy had decorated the "best room," making it gay with branches of autumn leaves, in gorgeous colors, and sprays of scarlet privet berries.

The Babson girls had had a bright idea in regard to trimming the "settin' room."

"What's the reason we can't tie the corn husks together at the tip ends, and keep on tying 'til we get enough to go around the room, and then hang up the long string of ears and husks just above the pictures?" queried Belinda Babson.

"Oh, Belinda!" screamed Randy, "that's such a bright idea, what ever made you think of it?"

"I just did think of it, that's all," said Belinda, much pleased that her design for decoration met with approval. So the girls rushed out to the barn to find Mr. Weston and ask permission to use the corn.

"Land, yes," he said when approached, "use anything within reach, I say, so long as it helps to make the house look pooty;" so, laughing gayly, the girls filled their aprons with corn, and running to the house commenced, in furious haste, to tie the husks together.

All the young friends had called that morning in a body to offer their help to Randy, and she had most gladly accepted it.

While the girls were tying the corn husks, Jotham Potts and Reuben Jenks were making themselves very useful, for by this time the girls had discovered that it required a great many ears of corn with which to garland or festoon the room. The boys brought the corn in wheelbarrow loads and then offered to help do the tying.

"Oh, boys couldn't do this," said Phoebe Small, who was much piqued to see that whenever Jotham sat down to rest, he sat near Randy.

"That's one of your pleasant speeches, Phoebe," said Reuben Jenks, before his friend Jotham could reply; whereat Phoebe tied a hard knot in a corn husk with such unnecessary vim that it broke.

Reuben laughed slyly; and Randy with her usual kindness, appearing not to notice the tilt, praised Phoebe's pretty arrangement of red and yellow ears, and thus smoothed "ruffled feathers."

Jotham looked at Randy with real admiration. "I b'lieve she always does the right thing," thought the boy; so Phoebe's spite only strengthened the admiration of Randy's young cavalier.

"I think I've got a first-rate notion for decorating," said Jotham, "and if you'll let me and Reuben do it I tell you we can make that front walk as light as day, and as handsome as a picture for to-night, Randy," and Jotham looked at the girl with eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm.

"Of course I'll let you do it, if it's fine," said Randy.

"Now you needn't ask questions, for it's a secret; and Reuben an' me'll do it, without telling anybody but your pa," said Jotham, and out rushed the boys to hold a whispered conclave on the back stairs.

"My, won't that be prime!" ejaculated Reuben, amazed at the brilliancy of Jotham's plan, and proud to be taken into a secret by a boy three years older than himself.

Mr. Weston laughed long and loudly when the boys unfolded their plan, and declared that he'd do his part of it now. Accordingly, he soon appeared in the path which led from the road to the door, and began to drive long stakes into the ground on either side of the walk.

"What are you doing, father?" called Randy.

"Drivin' stakes, ain't I?" he responded, and with that she was obliged to be contented. The boys were out of sight, and the girls wondered what they were doing; but when at night a line of brilliant lights glowed on each side of the walk, they willingly declared the decoration a success.

Mr. Weston had driven the stakes quite near together and every one was capped with a jack-o'-lantern made from a great golden pumpkin, so that, from road to doorway, a line of grinning goblins served to give a flaming welcome.

At last everything was in readiness and the guests began to arrive. Reuben's mother had listened with much interest to the boy's scheme, and had insisted on donating all the pumpkins required.

And now the wagons began to arrive, and great praise was bestowed upon the boys for their novel lighting of the walk. The pumpkins made very fine lamps, and one giant of its kind, fastened high above the door, smiled broadly upon each new arrival.

Team after team drove up to the door, and shouts and laughter rang out on the crisp evening air as the guests first saw the gleaming lantern rows.

At last nearly every one had arrived, and the rooms were bright with happy faces. In one corner a group of old ladies were chatting about the bees and huskings which they had enjoyed in their youth.

The farmers and their wives were buzzing away over the latest bit of village gossip, the women telling it as they "b'lieved it was," and the men using convincing arguments to show that they had heard it "straight" at the store at the four corners.

Girls and boys tried to out-talk each other, and everywhere the children ran in and out, playing "hide-and-seek" behind the sturdy forms of their elders.

Helen had coaxed Randy to refrain from brushing back every curling lock, telling her that her hair was made to curl; and thus convinced, Randy appeared at the bee with a soft fluff of her light brown hair making a halo about her face.

"I must say Miss Dayton's right; I like the looks of it," said Mrs. Weston, when Randy appeared before her with her hair dressed in the manner which Miss Dayton had suggested; so with much impatience Randy waited to see the look of approval on Helen's face when she should arrive. And others were looking for Helen in whose honor this festival was planned.

At last a resounding "Whoa! Be still, can't ye?" announced the arrival of old Sandy McLeod, and great was the surprise when, as Randy opened the door, Helen--smiling, radiant Helen--came in, saying, "Good evening, friends," and followed by her ancient cavalier, old Sandy.

"The lass is late because too many lads wanted to bring her," said Sandy, his old eyes twinkling.

"That is true," said Helen, laughing, "too many lads, so I gave my choice to the eldest. Now for my bundle," and stepping out into the centre of the room Sandy showed, for the first time, that he held a large parcel.

"I have a little surprise for you, dear friends," said Helen; "I wished to offer my mite toward the evening's pleasure, so I will ask Mrs. Weston to allow Mr. McLeod--"

"Call me Sandy, lass," said the old man, gently.

"To allow Sandy," corrected the girl, "to place this box on the centre of the supper table, to be opened when we are all seated around the spread."

So the big box held its place of honor, and great was the curiosity concerning it.

The children now commenced to play "the needle's eye," an old game popular among the country children, which is very similar to "London Bridge."

"The needle's eye it doth comply With the thread which runs so true. It has caught many a very fine lass, And now it has caught you."

Little Hitty Buffum found herself a prisoner. However, she was soon kissed and released, and through the arch formed by clasped hands and uplifted arms trooped the children, keeping time to the sing-song chant of the queer verse. They saw nothing funny in the verse, however, and played the game with great enthusiasm.

Meanwhile the apples were being pared by industrious hands and soon the "stringing" began. Merrily the work went on with jokes and lively chatter, and before it seemed possible the task was completed.

The boys now gathered up the parings, carried them away, and once more the room was in order.

"Now, friends," said Randy's father, "let's all have supper." No one waited for a second invitation, and a cheery, happy party made a complete circle around the long table. What a spread that was! Hot baked beans and brown bread, mince pies, pumpkin pies, gingerbread and doughnuts, nuts and apples, made a "treat for a king," said old Sandy McLeod.

"Now, Mr. Weston," said Helen, "please open my box;" and when the cover was removed a chorus of "Ohs" and "Ahs" greeted the sight disclosed. Helen had sent to Boston for an immense box of bonbons, and to those simple country people, who knew naught but home-made confections, the rose and violet tinted dainties looked like a fairy gift. But if they were unacquainted with such candies, it took a fabulously short time to learn to like them, and soon the bottom of the box appeared.

Happy Helen, to have given so much pleasure! And now the table which had been so bountifully spread was beginning to look bare, for everybody had had a most excellent appetite, and had done full justice to the meal. The chairs were pushed back and old Sandy asked to have a bit of music. "The little lassies who sang the other night, canna they sing?" said he, looking kindly at Prue and Katie, who were playing "bean porridge hot" together.

"Ain't any pi-ano here," said Katie.

"Never mind that," said Helen; "I think if you and Prue sing the little songs which you sang the other evening so sweetly, Sandy will, in return, make some music for you."

"That I will," responded the old man, heartily; "but there's naught so blithe as the sound of a bairnie's voice."

So wee Katie was mounted upon a chair, in lieu of a platform, and she sang the little solo, "Once there was a little mouse," giving all the verses, and even remembering to make a little bow as Helen had taught her. Indeed, she bowed so vigorously that she barely escaped losing her balance. Then she hopped down, and little Prue sprang up in her place, singing, "Sometimes I am a daisy bloom," just as she had sung it at Mrs. Gray's on the evening of the tableaux. When she had finished the last lines,

"And next to those I love the best I love each one of you,"

she kissed her little finger tips to her admiring audience, as Helen had taught her to do.

Every one applauded, and old Sandy called the children to him, saying, "I'll make the music for ye now, I wad na hae the heart to refuse," and rising hastily he left the room. Every one was surprised at this abrupt movement and wondered if the childish voice had moved him too deeply, awakening the memories of his Scottish home and friends.

Silent he had ever been in regard to home and kindred, answering questions in a manner which invited no further queries; but since Helen's stay in the village he had warmed wonderfully toward his neighbors, and seemed quite unlike the silent old man whom they had known.

But while they were wondering about his absence, Sandy reappeared. What a change! Arrayed in all the bravery of a Scottish chieftain, old Sandy stood before them, a picture indeed.

Over a kilt of tartan he wore the red coat and plaid, and on his head, crowning his white locks, sat a genuine Scotch "bonnet," with an eagle feather black as night. In his hands he carried the bagpipes, and while the children stared, open-mouthed, Sandy commenced to play. "Scots Wha Hae" rang out with a wonderful skirl, followed by "Bonnie Prince Charlie," "Jock o' Hazeldean," and a half dozen more, until old Nathan Lawton declared that there was no keeping still with such music, and when at his request the pipes commenced to play a rollicking reel, old Nathan remarked that he used to cut "pigeon wings" and he guessed he could now, took his position in the centre of the floor, and proceeded to cut them in a wonderful manner.

If the children were delighted, so were their elders, for was this not a treat of which they had not dreamed? and, best of all, two old people who had been so cold and forbidding now were warmed and charmed into a friendly feeling with all their neighbors.

When Sandy and Nathan Lawton stopped to rest and regain their breath, the young people crowded around them to thank them and to examine the fine Scotch costume which Sandy wore.

"That's a pretty dress and jacket," said little Prue, admiringly, "and you've got such a long sash, too."

The child's admiration for his costume pleased the old man, and it was of small consequence to him that she called his kilt a dress. Lifting Prue upon his knee, he stroked her short fair curls, telling her how like the little lass she was who used to be his playmate in bonnie Scotland.

"Is she big as me?" asked the little girl, all unmindful that Sandy's child mate had had many years in which to grow.

A moment the old man hesitated, then, very gently, he told the child upon his knee of that other child away in bonnie Scotland; told her that when his little mate was a child, he had been a child too; that he had known her all his young life; that she had grown old as he had, and now--but here he paused, and practical little Prue, looking up at him, asked, "Is it far to Scotland?" Sandy told her that it was very far indeed.

"Too far to send letters?" was the next question.

"No," he assured her; "it was not as far as that."

"Then why don't you send the little girl a letter?" questioned Prue.

Those who had heard the question were fearful that the old Scotchman would be displeased.

For a moment a look of amazement rested on Sandy's face as he stared at the innocent questioner; then, as with an effort, he said, "I will, little lass, I will."

"I would," said little Prue, "and tell her there's another little girl, what you know, sends her love to her, will you, Sandy?"

"Bless the bairn! Ye hae mair wisdom than ye ken;" adding under his breath, "a deal mair wisdom than Sandy McLeod."

It was Helen, who, while walking by his house, had heard Sandy playing the pipes ever so softly, and looking in, had seen him playing, and, at the same time, looking lovingly at the old Scotch costume as it lay spread out upon the wooden chest in which it was usually kept. She had coaxed a part of his story from him that day, and he had declared he felt better for the telling.

The costume was one which his father had worn as chief of his clan when Sandy was a young man. There had been a dispute in which he and his father had been equally obstinate.

When the old man died, Sandy had left Scotland, taking with him the suit of tartan, the bagpipes, and, dearer than all, a letter in which his father forgave him for his part in the dispute. Further than this he refused to talk, saying nothing whatever as to living kinsmen or friends.

Having told a part of his story to Helen, to which she listened with ready interest and sympathy, it needed but a hit of judicious coaxing to get him to promise to play at the apple-bee.

And now the gayety, which had lulled while every one had listened to the music, revived, and each one present seemed to be trying his best to out-talk his neighbor.

"Isn't Miss Dayton's blue dress the very handsomest dress you ever saw?" said Jemima Babson.

"Yes, and isn't she the handsomest person you ever saw in _any_ dress?" said Phoebe Small, looking sharply at Randy, who was looking unusually pretty with her hair dressed to show its curls and ripples.

"Miss Dayton's splendid, we all know that," said Jotham, blushing furiously; "but it don't make it out that Randy Weston isn't amazing pretty."

And here another voice chimed in, "Did yer ever taste anything like that candy in yer life?"

"It was just splendid, and I do b'lieve--"

"Have ye noticed Mrs. Jenks? I do declare, she's as much different from what she used ter be as possible. Why, she sent them fine apples, and gave the hull of them pumpkins, and--"

Just at this point Mrs. Buffum ejaculated, "Well, as I live! ef it ain't half-past ten o'clock," and she commenced at once to collect her brood. All were loath to leave the joyous scene, but the lateness of the hour made it imperative. Some one proposed a song before saying good night, and soon old and young voices chimed sweetly together as they sang:--

"All the year round, all the year round, What are the seasons to you or to me? Summer may go, bleak winds may blow, Roses crown winter if cheery we be. Sounds of the glad spring, pleasures the birds bring, These live in loving hearts where'er they're found; Sweet is the May time, sweet is the hay time, So sweet are loving lips, all the year round."

"Hooray for the apple-bee! Hooray for Miss Dayton!" shouted Reuben Jenks, "Hooray for the bagpipes and the dance!" Every one cheered, and Jotham, laughing at his friend's enthusiasm, shouted, "Hooray for every one and everything!" and they even cheered that; so, laughing and cheering, with lively chatter and snatches of song, wraps were donned and good nights said.

After the last guest had departed, Randy turned from the doorway, and going back into the house she sat down opposite her father, a happy smile upon her lips.

"Well, Randy," said her father, kindly, as he saw she had something to say.

"Oh, father," she said, "doesn't it make you happy to see every one having a good time?"

"Yes, indeed, it does," said father and mother together.

"I mean to try always to make people happy," said Randy.

"So do I," said little Prue; "but now let's go to bed."

Randy laughed, and saying, "You've done bravely, Prue, to keep your eyes open to-night," led her little sister up the stairs to their tiny chamber, where soon they were fast asleep.

The Babson girls talked until after midnight over the evening's entertainment, declaring it to be the "very greatest bee they ever went to."

Phoebe Small, having no sister to talk it over with, kept the candle burning until late that night, while she wrote in her diary a lengthy description of the event. Phoebe had heard her mother tell of keeping a diary when she was young, so, of course, Phoebe, who ardently admired her mother, immediately commenced to keep one.

Old Sandy McLeod, as he gallantly helped Helen Dayton to alight at Mrs. Gray's door, thanked her over and over again for the pleasure she had given him in allowing him to be her escort, telling her that he was glad enough that she had urged him to play the pipes, since the music had given such pleasure; adding, "Old Nathan and old Sandy hae' na been the best of friends and neighbors, but to-night we hae shaken hands an' we're to be friends forever."

"Oh, I'm so glad," said Helen.

"And ane thing mair, lass," he interrupted, "about that letter the little lass was talking of, I'll write it to-night!"

"It is late, now," said Helen.

"None too late to write. I'll do it to-night and sen' it to-morrow, as sure as I'm Sandy McLeod."

True to his word, Sandy sat at his table until late into the night, writing a long, long letter. The candle flickered as his hand moved back and forth across the pages.

Many times he paused while writing, and with his head resting upon his hand, he seemed to be thinking how best to express himself, so that his message might find favor with his old friend and playmate.

At last, apparently, the letter was completed satisfactorily; for as the old man arose from the table, a faint smile flitted across his face.

Crossing the room to the old chest by the window, he fumbled about until he brought from its depths a little package; then, walking to the table, he placed the tiny parcel between the folded pages of the letter, put the letter into its envelope, and with utmost care addressed it, reading the address over three times to make sure that it was correct. Under his pillow he placed the letter, saying, "With the light o' day I'll start ye on the journey." And of all the merry party who laughed and sang away the hours at the apple-bee, not one possessed a happier heart than Sandy.

And Helen murmured, softly, as she lay half awake and half asleep, "Every one was happy to-night."