Part 5 (2/2)
”Dat's too bad. Ef I was Miss Patty I'd hab some nice gal or udder heah all de time ter keep Mister Lee company. If dey don't gib him a good time he'll up an' leab de family an' de orange an' grapefruit business.
Dere ain't nottin' a boy needs so much as de right kin' ob a lil' gal ter play wid.”
”You're to have Tom's room now, Sister,” Ellen said as they started for bed.
Hertha expostulated. ”You need a room to yourself, Ellen, I know you do.”
Ellen knew it too, but she was desirous to give her sister everything within her power. ”No, I'm all right,” she said decidedly. ”It's all arranged. Mother and I didn't say anything before because we wanted to surprise you. You've wanted, I know, to be by yourself, dear; and Tom would be glad to think you were in his room.”
She showed her sister the little things she had done for her comfort, and with a kiss left her to herself. It had been a long day and the young girl went at once to bed and fell asleep. But after a little she awoke and lay for hours in the still heat of the night, living again the morning's happenings. She went over in her mind, her heart beating fast, the foolish little game that carried with it so much happiness. He thought her as beautiful as a G.o.ddess; and he had not said it cheaply as though she were some common, gaily daubed plaything that one dangled to-day to throw away to-morrow. His eyes looked honestly into hers. He was strong and capable, loving the fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne and the green trees. He was gentle, kind to the people here, kind to her. With her eyes fixed on the dim window square that saved the room from utter darkness, she dreamed of his near presence, feeling his breath upon her cheek, until, her whole body swept with emotion, she clenched her hands and pressed them to her lips to keep back the welling tears. For then came the dread reality: her color, her station, these two facts loomed above her, fell and crushed her with their weight. No young white man should choose as his companion a Negro servant. She must forget the morning playtime, and never commit the fault again. Striving to drive him from her thoughts, she made plans for the morrow--the finis.h.i.+ng of Miss Patty's dress, the letter she would write to Tom. And, tossing on her bed, between her new-found happiness and her misgivings, she cried herself to sleep.
Is there any greater difference than that between night and morning? All the hobgoblins, the fears, the morbid misgivings disappear with the bright sunlight and the feel of cold water. As the fresh drops fell from Hertha's face she was sure she had misjudged the pleasant facts of yesterday. She coiled her hair that fell in little curls as the brush left its silky fineness, and hummed a song to her smiling face in the gla.s.s. Fastening the last hook of her blue cotton dress, the soft, gray-blue that she and Miss Patty liked, she went in to help the others with the breakfast, master of her fate. There was no hesitation in her step when, a little earlier than her wont, she turned toward the orange grove.
”Honey,” her mother called after her. ”Jes' ask Pomona ef she'll gib me her big stew-pot to-day. I's layin' ter make some jelly. An' don' work too hard. Dat ole black woman's allus tryin' ter git you ter do her work.”
CHAPTER IV
”Good morning, Princess.”
”Good morning.” And then, shyly, ”It isn't nice to drop from a G.o.ddess even to a princess.”
”Wait until I tell you the princess that you are! You're Snowdrop who was given to the dwarfs to keep. You remember her, don't you?”
”I think she had a cruel mother who wanted to get her out of the way.”
”Yes, but it was all because Snowdrop was the most beautiful woman in the world; no one else was half so fair. How was it? When the mother looked into her mirror and asked if any one were fairer than she, she saw Snowdrop's face. Of course, no woman could stand that, so she cast Snowdrop out and the ugly dwarfs took care of her.”
”The dwarfs were kinder to her than her own people.”
Merryvale, with a hasty glance at the girl, sensed the ugly reality of his story and, turning very red, began plucking the dead leaves from the nearest tree.
”It must be wonderful,” he remarked, rather clumsily, ”to be a new person every day. Who will you be to-morrow?”
”Miss Patty's maid.” All her brightness had gone and she moved as if about to leave him.
”Oh, no,” he exclaimed, ”not that! Cinderella, perhaps. To-morrow you will be Cinderella before the fairy G.o.dmother came to take her to the ball.”
”Yes, because nothing had happened then.”
”Not before the ball, but after; the next morning when the prince searches with the golden slipper in his hand.”
”If I were going to be Cinderella at all,” Hertha was gently emphatic, ”I would be at the ball itself, a beautiful ball in a long, golden room filled with lights and blooming flowers, where every one wore filmy silk dresses and danced to swaying music.”
”You and I would dance together, you in soft blue silk, the color of the dress you have on, and I--what should I wear?”
”Pale pink satin,” she answered, laughter in her eyes, ”and your hair in long curls.”
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