Part 38 (1/2)

The girls thought it was; as much as the balsamine blossoms were good for anything, or the brown b.u.t.terflies with golden spots on their wings, that came and lived among them. The brown b.u.t.terflies were a ”piece of the garden;” little brown Vash was a piece of the house. Besides, she would eat some of the berry-cake when it was made; wasn't that worth while? She would have a ”little teenty one”

baked all for herself in a tin pepper-pot cover. Isn't that the special pleasantness of making cakes where little children are?

Vash was always ready for an ”Aaron,” too; they could not do without her, any more than without Sulie. Pretty soon, when Diana should have left school, and Vash should be a little bigger, they meant to ”cooperate,” as the Holabirds had done at Westover.

Of course, they knew a great deal about the Holabirds by this time.

Hazel had stayed a week with Dorris at Miss Waite's; and one of Witch Hazel's weeks among ”real folks” was like the days or hours in fairy land, that were years on the other side. She found out so much and grew so close to people.

Hazel and Ruth Holabird were warm friends. And Hazel was to be Ruth's bridesmaid, by and by!

For Ruth Holabird was going to be married to Dakie Thayne.

”That seemed so funny,” Hazel said. ”Ruth didn't _look_ any older than she did; and Mr. Dakie Thayne was such a nice boy!”

He was no less a man, either; he had graduated among the first three at West Point; he was looking earnestly for the next thing that he should do in life with his powers and responsibilities; he did not count his marrying a _separate_ thing; that had grown up alongside and with the rest; of course he could do nothing without Ruth; that was just what he had told her; and she,--well Ruth was always a sensible little thing, and it was just as plain to her as it was to him. Of course she must help him think and plan; and when the plans were made, it would take two to carry them out; why, yes, they must be married. What other way would there be?

That wasn't what she _said_, but that was the quietly natural and happy way in which it grew to be a recognized thing in her mind, that pleasant summer after he came straight home to them with his honors and his lieutenant's commission in the Engineers; and his hearty, affectionate taking-for-granted; and it was no surprise or question with her, only a sure and very beautiful ”rightness,” when it came openly about.

Dakie Thayne was a man; the beginning of a very n.o.ble one; but it is the n.o.blest men that always keep a something of the boy. If you had not seen anything more of Dakie Thayne until he should be forty years old, you would then see something in him which would be precisely the same that it was at Outledge, seven years ago, with Leslie Goldthwaite, and among the Holabirds at Westover, in his first furlough from West Point.

Luclarion came into the Ripwinkley kitchen just as the cakes--the little pepper-pot one and all--were going triumphantly into the oven, and Hazel was baring her little round arms to wash the dishes, while Diana tended the pans.

Mrs. Ripwinkley heard her old friend's voice, and came out.

”That girl ought to be here with you; or somewheres else than where she is, or is likely to be took,” said Luclarion, as she looked round and sat down, and untied her bonnet-strings.

Miss Grapp hated bonnet-strings; she never endured them a minute longer than she could help.

”Desire?” asked Mrs. Ripwinkley, easily comprehending.

”Yes; Desire. I tell you she has a hard row to hoe, and she wants comforting. She wants to know if it is her duty to go to Yourup with her mother. Now it may be her duty to be _willing_ to go; but it ain't anybody's else duty to let her. That's what came to me as I was coming along. I couldn't tell _her_ so, you see, because it would interfere with her part; and that's all in the tune as much as any; only we've got to chime in with our parts at the right stroke, the Lord being Leader. Ain't that about it, Mrs. Ripwinkley?”

”If we are sure of the score, and can catch the sign,” said Mrs.

Ripwinkley, thoughtfully.

”Well, I've sung mine; it's only one note; I may have to keep hammering on it; that's according to how many repeats there are to be. Mr. Oldways, he ought to know, for one. Amongst us, we have got to lay our heads together, and work it out. She's a kind of an odd chicken in that brood; and my belief is she's like the ugly duck Hazel used to read about. But she ought to have a chance; if she's a swan, she oughtn't to be trapesed off among the weeds and on the dry ground. 'Tisn't even ducks she's hatched with; they don't take to the same element.”

”I'll speak to Uncle t.i.tus, and I will think,” said Mrs. Ripwinkley.

But before she did that, that same afternoon by the six o'clock penny post, a little note went to Mr. Oldways:--

”DEAR UNCLE t.i.tUS,--

”I want to talk with you a little. If I were well, I should come to see you in your study. Will you come up here, and see me in my room?

”Yours sincerely, DESIRE LEDWITH.”

Uncle t.i.tus liked that. It counted upon something in him which few had the faith to count upon; which, truly he gave few people reason to expect to find.

He put his hat directly on, took up his thick brown stick, and trudged off, up Borden Street to Shubarton Place.