CHAPTER VIII--TABLEAUX

One morning Miss Dayton sent a little hastily written note to Mrs. Weston, saying that she was planning another entertainment which she believed would be as enjoyable as the picnic had been, and asking if Randy might come over and help her make some preparations for the event.

Mrs. Weston read the note, then re-read it to Randy.

"Oh, may I go, could you spare me?" said Randy, eagerly.

"Why, yes indeed," said her mother; "there is less than usual to do to-day, and nothing at all after dinner. Fly 'round and get cleared up, and you can put on your clean red and white gingham and your new hat and go over early."

"Fly 'round!" Randy did fly, and by two o'clock she was off down the road, walking as fast as her feet and her enthusiasm would take her.

What could Miss Dayton be planning, thought Randy, as she hastened toward the farm-house where Helen was staying.

Helen saw her coming and opened the door, smiling at Randy's questioning face, which expressed a world of interest in Helen's scheme, whatever it might be.

"Come right in, take off your hat, and sit down and I will tell you all about my plan for an evening's pleasure. You know I promised when I first met you that I would try to make this summer just a bit gay during my stay here. Now I believe we shall all enjoy an evening of tableaux," but here Helen was obliged to pause and explain just what tableaux were, "and," she continued, "I think that any one of the large girls who attended the picnic, and a few of the little ones, will make a very nice set of pictures."

"Oh, I should think it would be lovely, but," Randy added doubtfully, "what could we wear that would be nice enough for pictures or tab--"

"Tableaux," said Helen.

"Yes, tableaux," said Randy.

"I will agree to furnish the costumes," said Miss Dayton; "they will not have to be very fine to look extremely pretty in the frame. Mr. Gray has made me a fine frame which you and I will cover with evergreen. Then Mrs. Gray has two bracket lamps which we will fasten to the back of the frame to light up the pictures, and I have a lot of odds and ends of pretty things in my trunks which will be sufficiently bright and gay for costumes. Now let us go at once to the barn and decorate the frame."

Mr. Gray's man, Roger, had just brought in an immense load of evergreen. Randy was all eagerness to help, and together they worked all the afternoon.

When she left for home the frame was thickly covered. There was evergreen and asparagus over the pictures in the "best room" where they were to exhibit to the townspeople their tableaux, and Randy had seen her costume which Helen had designed.

Miss Dayton was an ardent admirer of Greuze, and she possessed many photographic reproductions of his paintings. She also owned a number of photographs of Sir Joshua Reynold's portraits of beautiful women and children, and knowing the bareness of the walls in the average New England farm-house, she had brought these pictures with her to decorate her room during her stay. She intended to copy these beautiful pictures in the list of tableaux which she arranged.

Randy was spellbound when she saw the photographs. "Oh, Miss Dayton," cried she, "do you really think any of us will do?"

"Why, yes indeed," laughed Helen, "I have you all selected now. You are to be the girl with the broken pitcher in the painting by Greuze. Would you like to see your costume?"

"I guess I should like to," answered Randy, excitedly clapping her hands; so Helen showed her a waist with large, loose sleeves, a kerchief or scarf, and a wide ribbon "to tie up her bonny brown hair."

Randy went home in a fever of excitement. Think of a girl of fifteen who had never witnessed an entertainment of any kind, and you will understand with what delight she looked forward to an evening of tableaux in which she would take part.

Miss Dayton called upon those girls who she thought would like to pose for the tableaux, and every one was invited to be present.

The girls, both large and small, were delighted, and their elders were quite as pleased with the promise of an evening's enjoyment, and every invitation was enthusiastically accepted. Mrs. Gray's attic proved a perfect treasure room. She generously offered the contents of all the old trunks to Helen, saying, "If you see anything which you can make use of, I shall be truly glad." Mrs. Gray had been a city girl, and had spent the greater part of her married life there, and she brought to the farm-house many trunks containing faded finery, which, while far too good to be thrown away, were of but little use in that small country town. Helen chose those things which she could best utilize and carried them down to the front room, where she deposited them behind an improvised screen.

Randy thought the evening would never come; so did little Prue, for she, too, was to be one of the "tab things," as she called them. She could not remember the word "tableaux."

But the evening did arrive, and with it all the girls whom Helen had drilled for the proper posing, all of the boys who were curious to see the girls "fixed up for pictures," as Reuben Jenks had expressed it, and all of the farmers and their wives, who were nearly as excited as the young people.

Mrs. Gray and Helen received the friends and neighbors as they arrived, showing them the photographs on the walls and telling them that the girls, correctly dressed, would look very much like pictures when seen in the frame.

The frame was in place with a dark background behind it, and stretching from either side of the frame to the side walls of the room were some old brocatelle curtains which Helen had found in Mrs. Gray's attic. These curtained spaces served as dressing rooms.

Besides the tableaux Helen had planned quite a little programme, and although much drilling had been necessary, each performer was perfect in her part.

Jotham Potts had, after much urging, agreed to read the programme, and Helen had promised to contribute a song, and a piano solo which should be the opening number.

The hum of conversation rose loud and cheery, and so lively did it become that it was impossible to hear a completed sentence.

"They say your Phoebe's goin' to be a dreadful pretty picture to-night."

"What's she goin' to--"

"Wal', I dunno, seems Miss Dayton thinks our Jotham has a good voice, so she asked him to read the--I forgit what you call it, but anyhow I guess--"

"Yes, Miss Dayton says my hair is auburn and not red, and she says--"

"Why, ef here isn't Mis' Weston's little Prue!"

"Yes'm, I'm going to be one of the tab things, and sing a little tune what Miss Dayton learned--no, taught me," said the little girl, very proud to think that she had remembered the correction.

"Well, I think she's real nice to come up here and plan such good times," but here Helen tapped upon the piano, and the conversation ceased so abruptly that one might think that the audience held its breath.

The girls rushed behind the curtains on either side of the frame, and Jotham Potts, clearing his throat, read the first number for the evening.

Helen had drilled him in pronouncing those names which he found difficult, and very clearly he read,--

"Our first number will be a piano solo by Miss Dayton, entitled, 'Marche Militaire.'"

Mr. Potts nudged his wife, saying, in a loud whisper, "Our Jotham did that just like a city feller, didn't he?" His wife ejaculated "Sh--," but she smiled and nodded, for she was of the same opinion.

Helen in her white muslin looked very beautiful, as she took her seat at the piano. That piano was the only one in town, and the only one that many of the audience had ever heard. Helen was a good musician, and the piece, grand in itself, rang out brilliantly, to the great delight of every one present, and many were the words of praise which reached her ears when she arose. One voice, bolder than the others, said, "That's what I call great; just one more piece, Miss Dayton, ef it ain't asking too much."

This was an honest if unceremonious encore, so Helen seated herself once more, and for those simple country people played a brilliant polacca.

"Wal', 'twas all I could do to keep from dancin', I dew declare," said old Deacon Turnbull, which made every one laugh, as the deacon was a very dignified old man.

Helen rose and saying, "Now, Jotham," she stepped behind the curtains. "Our next number," announced Jotham, "will be a tableau as nearly as possible like the painting entitled 'The Age of Innocence.'"

"That's it over there," said Mrs. Buffum to her husband, pointing at the photograph on the wall, and every one looked that way. When the curtain was drawn aside, there was chubby little Hitty Buffum, her hands clasped upon her breast, a wee bit of a smile on her parted lips--a very good counterpart of Sir Joshua Reynolds's picture.

"Oh! oh my! She looks just like it. Isn't she cunnin'?" and similar remarks greeted the little girl in the first tableau. She had done her very best for Miss Dayton. Then the curtain swung across the frame and Jotham announced, "The next number will be a song by little Miss Weston."

"I didn't know as the Weston children could sing, did you?" queried one neighbor, but there was no time for an answer, for little Prue had taken her place on the improvised platform, and Helen was playing a little prelude.

Mrs. Weston laid her hand upon her husband's arm. Would Prue, her little Prue, get through the song without faltering? She need not have feared. Out rang the childish treble in the song which Miss Dayton had taught her. How fresh and clear the little voice sounded!

"Sometimes I am a daisy bloom, I make believe 'tis true, I play that all I ever eat Is early morning dew.

"Sometimes I am a butterfly,-- Just see my gauzy wings! Sometimes I play I am a bird, Who only sits and sings.

"But always I am mama's girl, And papa's girlie, too, And next to them I love the best, I love each one of you."

Putting up her dimpled hands she daintily kissed her finger tips, made a very cunning little bow, and tripped back to Miss Dayton, saying, "Did I do it nice?"

"Just splendid, little Prue," said Jotham.

"Couldn't have been better," said old Mrs. Green.

Then Prue crept up on her father's lap to see "all the other tabs," she said.

"The 'Chapeau Blanc,' which Miss Dayton says means the White Hat," announced Jotham. This time the curtain swept aside to disclose Phoebe Small's little face beneath a hat with white gauzy ruffles upon the brim, and a feather held in place by a knot of blue ribbon. A pearly kerchief about the shoulders was most becoming to Phoebe, whose usually expressionless face looked almost piquant under the saucy white hat and feather.

"Don't she look like a photograph?" whispered Mrs. Small, "and a good deal nicer, if I do say it as shouldn't," and Mrs. Small looked around with a sniff at those present who possibly thought their daughters prettier.

Now, Phoebe's principal defects were an abundance of freckles, and an absence of character in her small face; but the costume was becoming, and the freckles not apparent in the light in which she was posed; so her heart was delighted with words of commendation, and she hoped that Jotham Potts had seen her tableau.

As a matter of fact, Jotham had not seen her; for, having announced that number, he had sat down and waited for Miss Dayton to appear. The next number on the programme was his, and now Helen stepped from behind the curtain to announce it.

"We will now listen to a solo by Jotham Potts."

"Oh! oo! oo! Does your Jotham sing?" asked Mrs. Brimblecom of Mrs. Potts.

"Why, no; leastways I never heard him," said Jotham's mother, with a twinkle in her eyes, for did she not know of Jotham's evenings spent in practising this very solo with Miss Dayton's accompaniment?

Randy had said one day to Helen, "You'd ought to hear Jotham Potts whistle. He does it just splendid. It sounds just like the brook rippling."

When Helen made her plans for the entertainment, she invited him to give a whistling solo.

"Oh, I'd do anything to 'blige you, Miss Dayton, but who'd want to hear me whistle?" said Jotham.

Then Helen told the boy how many people gave whistling solos in the city, with a piano accompaniment, and Jotham consented to "jest try it" with the piano.

After announcing the number, Helen seated herself, and played a pretty little prelude, and then Jotham commenced to whistle a simple piece which Helen played, called "The Alpine Echo," in which there was an imitation of an Alpine horn, followed by echoing notes an octave higher.

Jotham was, indeed, a charming whistler, and as his courage rose, his notes sounded true and flutelike, making the song and echoes, the piano ever aiding him, until with a final thrill and flourish he finished his solo, and, blushing and bowing, retired.

The little assembly was much excited and there were repeated calls for one more whistling solo, and cries of "fine," and "that beats all," and "whistle just once more, Jotham." So Helen resumed her seat at the piano, and this time Jotham whistled a medley in which were heard "The Girl I Left Behind Me," "Yankee Doodle," and "The Star-Spangled Banner."

"Hooray for Jotham and Miss Dayton, I say!" shouted Reuben Jenks, and everybody cheered.

Jotham was very happy over his musical success, and with a beaming face he announced, "Our next tableau is a copy of the large photograph on the right wall called 'The Broken Pitcher,' by Greuze."

This time the curtain drew aside and there stood Randy, sweet Randy, as the demure little maid with the broken pitcher hanging to her wrist, her beautiful hair loosely bound, and her large gray eyes looking out at one for all the world like the Greuze model.

"Isn't she lovely, mother?" said Jotham, who had stolen out in front of the frame in order to make sure of seeing this tableau.

"Well, I must say, she is," said Mrs. Potts. "She's always a pretty girl, but I do declare to-night she's nothin' short of handsome."

"So I say," said Jotham, and even Randy's parents were surprised at her beauty. The tableau was recalled, and this time Randy blushed most becomingly because of the encore.

"Oh, do see my Randy!" called little Prue, who had been nodding when the tableau was first shown, and awoke with a start to see her dear Randy looking out from the frame.

"The next number will be a solo by Katie Buffum." Immediately wee Katie was in position. She was not diffident in the least, and clasping her chubby hands she at once piped up with cheery voice:--

"Once there was a little mouse No bigger than my fumb; He crept into my pocket, Where he hunted for a crumb.

"I put my finger in there, Just to see what there was in it; But the little mouse was naughty, And he bit me in a minute."

This solo, so cunningly sung by the pudgy little mite, "brought down the house," and little Katie and her family were delighted with the praise which she received. Still the little girl stood upon the platform until the audience began to think that she wished to sing another verse.

"Go on, Katie," called her brother Jack, "what yer waiting for?"

"I forgot somefin and I dunno what. Oh, yes, I do. It's dis," and, making a comical little bow, this very conscientious little soloist left the platform, feeling that now her performance was complete.

Every one laughed and gave Katie more praise, and she curled up in her mother's lap, feeling her wee self to be a very successful singer.

"We will now look at a tableau called 'Titian's Daughter,'" announced Jotham.

Away flew the curtain and Jemima Babson stood in the fine pose, copying to perfection the engraving of that subject. Jemima was resplendent.

"Oh! oh!" ejaculated every one. A glint of bright light shone in her eyes. She had liked that picture better than any which Miss Dayton had shown the girls when they had called for the first rehearsal, and was delighted when Helen chose it for her tableau.

Next came her sister Belinda as the "Magdalene." Belinda always wore her yellow hair in braids, but to-night it shone like rippling gold over her shoulders. With her blue eyes uplifted, and the shimmering mass of yellow hair, who could believe that the "Magdalene" was Belinda Babson, the girl who climbed every apple tree in her father's orchard, and laughed at chance passers-by from the highest branches.

"A solo by Miss Dayton will close the entertainment."

Helen had sung at church with the congregation, but until to-night no one, not even Randy, had heard her sing a solo.

Ah, how sweet and clear sounded her voice as, looking across at old Sandy McLeod, she sang "The Bluebells of Scotland."

The proverbial pin could have been heard had it been dropped. As the last notes ceased, old Sandy arose, and, stoutly thumping on the floor with his cane, shouted, "Well, noo, that's bonny, say I, Sandy McLeod."

"That's so," said little Reuben Jenks, under his breath, for he sat quite near old Sandy and was a bit afraid of him. The old Scotchman owned a large farm on the outskirts of the town and was reported to have a deal of money, which most people said he never spent. He lived alone and was said to be rather crusty.

One day, when out for a walk, Helen, in passing his door, saw old Sandy sitting on his door-stone, trying to thread a needle. Helen paused for a moment, saying kindly, "Please let me thread it for you."

The old man scowled and hesitated, then surrendered the needle. Helen threaded it; then, after a few pleasant words, resumed her walk.

The old fellow mumbled something, possibly thanks, and ever after that morning pulled off his cap to Helen when he met her.

Mrs. Gray laughed when Helen said she intended to invite him to the entertainment, saying that he would never come. He came, however, very promptly, and it was for him she sang the old Scotch ballad.

"Now," said Helen, "let us all sing, 'Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot,'" and with a will they sang it, old Sandy joining in the chorus.

It was now quite late, but good old Parson Spooner rose and proposed three cheers for the young lady who had planned such a beautiful entertainment. They were given heartily, and then every one crowded around Helen to clasp her hand and thank her again, and of all the merry party no one was happier than she.

Turning to Mrs. Gray, after the last guest had departed, Helen said, "I have often helped to entertain, with some success, but in the city one does not always feel the thanks so enthusiastically expressed to be sincere, but who could doubt the genuineness of the kind words spoken to-night?"