Part 25 (1/2)
”Belle,” she said slowly, ”does what you said mean that you're really willing I should tell Barby? Right away?”
Belle waited an instant before replying, then taking a deep breath as if about to make a desperate plunge into a chasm on whose brink she had long been poised, said:
”Yes. Uncle Dan'l would rather have her know than anybody else. He sets such store by her good opinion. But oh, _do_ make it plain it mustn't be talked about outside, so's it'll get back to Father Potter.”
The next instant Georgina's arms were around her in a silent but joyful squeeze, and she ran upstairs to write to Barby before the sun should go down or Tippy get back from the Bazaar.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER XXIV
A CONTRAST IN FATHERS
GEORGINA was having a beautiful day. It was the first time she had ever taken part in a Bazaar, and so important was the role a.s.signed her that she was in a booth all by herself. Moreover, the little mahogany chair in which she sat was on a high platform inside the booth, so that all might behold her. Dressed in a quaint old costume borrowed from the chests in the Figurehead House, she represented ”A Little Girl of Long Ago.”
On a table beside her stood other borrowed treasures from the Figurehead House--a doll bedstead made by an old sea captain on one of his voyages.
Each of its high posts was tipped with a white point, carved from the bone of a whale. Wonderful little patchwork quilts, a feather bed and tiny pillows made especially for the bed, were objects of interest to everyone who crowded around the booth. So were the toys and dishes brought home from other long cruises by the same old sea captain, who evidently was an indulgent father and thought often of the little daughter left behind in the home port. A row of dolls dressed in fas.h.i.+ons half a century old were also on exhibition.
With unfailing politeness Georgina explained to the curious summer people who thronged around her, that they all belonged in the house where the figurehead of Hope sat on the portico roof, and were not for sale at any price.
Until to-day Georgina had been unconscious that she possessed any unusual personal charms, except her curls. Her attention had been called to them from the time she was old enough to understand remarks people made about them as she pa.s.sed along the street. Their beauty would have been a great pleasure to her if Tippy had not impressed upon her the fact that looking in the mirror makes one vain, and it's wicked to be vain. One way in which Tippy guarded her against the sin of vanity was to mention some of her bad points, such as her mouth being a trifle too large, or her nose not quite so shapely as her mother's, each time anyone unwisely called attention to her ”glorious hair.”
Another way was to repeat a poem from a book called ”Songs for the Little Ones at Home,” the same book which had furnished the ”Landing of the Pilgrims” and ”Try, Try Again.” It began:
”_What! Looking in the gla.s.s again?
Why's my silly child so vain?_”
The disgust, the surprise, the scorn of Tippy's voice when she repeated that was enough to make one hurry past a mirror in shame-faced embarra.s.sment.
”_Beauty soon will fade away.
Your rosy cheeks must soon decay.
There's nothing lasting you will find, But the treasures of the mind._”
Rosy cheeks might not be lasting, but it was certainly pleasant to Georgina to hear them complimented so continually by pa.s.sers-by.
Sometimes the remarks were addressed directly to her.
”My _dear_,” said one enthusiastic admirer, ”if I could only buy _you_ and put you in a gold frame, I'd have a prettier picture than any artist in town can paint.” Then she turned to a companion to add:
”Isn't she a love in that little poke bonnet with the row of rose-buds inside the rim? I never saw such exquisite coloring or such gorgeous eyes.”
Georgina blushed and looked confused as she smoothed the long lace mitts over her arms. But by the time the day was over she had heard the sentiment repeated so many times that she began to expect it and to feel vaguely disappointed if it were not forthcoming from each new group which approached her.
Another thing gave her a new sense of pleasure and enriched her day. On the table beside her, under a gla.s.s case, to protect it from careless handling, was a little blank book which contained the records of the first sewing circle in Provincetown. The book lay open, displaying a page of the minutes, and a column of names of members, written in an exquisitely fine and beautiful hand. The name of Georgina's great-great grandmother was in that column. It gave her a feeling of being well born and distinguished to be able to point it out.
The little book seemed to reinforce and emphasize the claims of the monument and the silver porringer. She felt it was so nice to be beautiful and _to belong_; to have belonged from the beginning both to a first family and a first sewing circle.
Still another thing added to her contentment whenever the recollection of it came to her. There was no longer any secret looming up between her and Barby like a dreadful wall. The letter telling all about the wonderful and exciting things which had happened in her absence was already on its way to Kentucky. It was not a letter to be proud of. It was scrawled as fast as she could write it with a pencil, and she knew perfectly well that a dozen or more words were misspelled, but she couldn't take time to correct them, or to think of easy words to put in their places. But Barby wouldn't care. She would be so happy for Uncle Darcy's sake and so interested in knowing that her own little daughter had had an important part in finding the good news that she wouldn't notice the spelling or the scraggly writing.