Part 20 (2/2)
Felicia clapped her hands.
”It's the weeds--this is going to be a wonderful, wonderful day, Dulcie, you're going to be so glad--just think! The tailor and the tailor's missus and all of them are going--”
They were not only going, they had already started. All day long the old house groaned under their leave-taking. All day long Felicia chattered to Dulcie of her plans of how they should find where the old furniture had gone and bring it back; of how they should make the whole house lovely.
Dulcie was shy and silent most of the time, her eyes were still red, she was still numb from her nerve-racking day before, still shamed by the fact that this queer little creature had given her her bed and slept in a chair beside her. Late afternoon found the two of them standing in the empty room that had been the nursery. They had been laughing a little over the absurdity of their situation; the tailor's missus had removed the bed and chair from Mademoiselle's room, and they were furnitureless. But Dulcie was waking up mentally after her day of stupor. ”Impractical” as her aunt had proclaimed her, she proved the contrary very quickly.
”Steamer chairs,” she decided instantly, ”I left two steamer chairs and some rugs over on Ella Sloc.u.m's back porch--I'll bet we could get a grocery boy to bring them over for us--”
”Only what good will it do?” she tramped about the great room restlessly, ”It's no use, Miss Day, you might better have let me quit --you've got troubles enough without bothering with me--”
”Isn't there room enough?” asked Felicia shyly. ”Isn't it big enough?”
”It's big enough for the model stand--” she admitted moodily. ”It's a good light. I could paint these silly papered walls--” Felicia sighed.
Dear old shepherds and shepherdesses! It was not the gathering twilight alone that let them mist away as she looked.
”Are they so silly?” she asked. ”I didn't know.” But the girl did not answer her.
”It's no use,” that moody creature was muttering despondently.
”There's s.p.a.ce enough but it's no use. I don't seem to want to do it any more--I used to sit and dream about how I'd do it and how it would make other people dream just to look--it wasn't going to be any ordinary Pandora--it was to be a symbol--a symbol of what goes on in your heart when you're young--before you know about life--oh, I can't chitter-chatter about it--but I used to think I could make it--”
”Of course you can make it,” Felicia insisted. ”Not just now--” she led the girl to the window, ”right now, the first thing you'll have to do is to help me in the garden. Doesn't it look ugly down there? It used to be lovely. Probably as soon as it's lovely again you will walk around in it and dream about your Pandora. I used to dream a lot of things in that garden. Some day, while I'm off sewing on my stupid sewing, you'll come das.h.i.+ng upstairs--and begin! Think what fun it will be when I get home that night! I'll call out, 'Where's my sculptor girl?' And you'll call out--'Here, I've begun!'” Felicia waved her hand into the gloom behind them as though Pandora were already mysteriously there. Perhaps she was!
At any rate that was the moment that Felicia won!
The Sculptor Girl laughed, a nervous little laugh, and dashed off to arrange for the steamer chairs. Presently she came back with them and found Felicia had kindled a fire in the Peggoty grate. It was delightfully cosy with two candles burning recklessly on the mantel- shelf and Felicia and Dulcie sitting by the embers of the little fire.
They'd had a supper of sandwiches and milk. Bab.i.+.c.he was curled at their feet and they were planning excitably what they'd do with the house, when from the depths of the empty hall the old bell shrilled.
They'd bolted the doors an hour before when the last of the tailor's tribe had departed. It was the Sculptor Girl who mustered courage to go down.
”It's all right,” she called up to Felicia, ”it's Miss Sarah from the Exchange. There's a Mr. Alden with her--will you come down?”
He was a very apologetic Mr. Alden.
”I know it's after eight,” he said, ”but I've had a time finding you.
It's Uncle Peter. He's--well, Miss Grant and the doctor think he's pretty bad tonight. He's a notion he wants to play chess with you, he's been asking all day. I couldn't find you till now. Would you come along for an hour or two to pacify him?”
The Sculptor Girl decided for her.
”Bab.i.+.c.he and I will wait up for you,” she said. ”We'll wait--”
It was as comfortable a motor as the Judge's. Little Miss Day let herself rest in its cus.h.i.+ons. She felt rather lonely without Bab.i.+.c.he, but she was glad she had had her to leave with the Sculptor Girl.
”Maybe the dear old duffer will be asleep when we get there and I can send you right back,” Mr. Alden suggested hopefully. ”He was so darned good to me when I was a kid that I can't let him miss anything I can get for him--Lord knows that's not much--I thought I could get you right away but I didn't have any name and I couldn't find out where you came from--my wife didn't have your address--”
They entered quietly and were up the stairway quickly. Outside the door he paused, ”Just as soon as he is asleep,” he whispered, ”you come out and let me know--I'll be in the library downstairs with some chaps and I'll phone for the car to come around for you--you're awfully good to come--” he was a bit awkward.
”Uncle Peter” looked no more miserable than, he had the week before when she had met him, save that his eyes burned deeper. His voice was more petulant, he wasted no time in preliminaries, merely e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a grateful,
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