Part 17 (1/2)
The Thanksgiving visit had removed all sense of reserve or strangeness with Mrs. Harold, but they did not know Mrs. Howland, and for a moment there seemed an ominous lull. Then Peggy crying:
”I want my old place, Little Mother,” nestled softly upon the arm of the big morris-chair in which Mrs. Harold sat, and rested her head against Mrs. Harold. The other girls had dropped upon chairs, but Mrs. Harold was minded to have her charges pro tem at closer range, so releasing herself from Peggy's circling arm for a moment, she reached for two plump cus.h.i.+ons upon the couch near at hand and flopping them down, one at either knee said: ”Juno on this one, Rosalie on the other; Marjorie beside me and Natalie, Stella and Nelly with Polly,” for Polly had already cuddled down upon her mother's chair.
Before the words had well left her lips, Rosalie had sprung to her coign of vantage crying:
”Oh, Mrs. Harold, you are the dearest chappie I ever knew, and it's already been ten times lovelier than Polly and Peggy ever could describe it.”
With a happy little laugh, Natalie promptly seated herself upon the arm of Mrs. Howland's chair, but Juno hesitated a moment, looking doubtfully at the cus.h.i.+on. Juno was a very up-to-date young lady as to raiment. How could she flop down as Rosalie had done while wearing a skirt which measured no more than a yard around at the hem, and geared up in an undergarment which defied all laws of anatomy by precluding the possibility of bending at the waist line? She looked at Mrs. Harold and she looked at the cus.h.i.+on. As her boys would have expressed it ”the Little Mother was not slow in catching on.” She now laughed outright.
Juno did not know whether to resent it or join in the laugh too. There was something about the older woman, however, which aroused in girls a sense of camaraderie rather than reserve, though Juno had never quite been able to a.n.a.lyze it. She smiled, and by some form of contortion of which necessity and long practice had made her a pa.s.sed mistress, contrived to get herself settled upon the cus.h.i.+on.
”Honey,” said Mrs. Harold, patting her shoulder, ”if you want to live up to your name you'll discard your coat of mail. Your namesake would have scorned its limitations, and your young figure will be far lovelier and more graceful, to say nothing of the benefit to yourself and future generations, if you heave your armor plate overboard.”
It was all said half-jestingly, half-seriously, but Juno gave her head a superior little toss as she answered:
”And go looking like a meal sack? To say nothing of flinging away twenty perfectly good dollars just paid to Madam Malone.”
”I'm afraid I'm a very old-fas.h.i.+oned old lady, but I have no notion of letting any Madam Malone, or any other French lady from Erin dictate _my_ fas.h.i.+ons, or curtail the development and use of my muscles; I have too much use for them. Do Peggy and Polly resemble 'meal sacks?' Yet no Madam Malone has ever had the handling of their floating-ribs, let me tell you. Watch out, little girl, for a nervous, semi-invalid womanhood is a high price to pay for a pair of corsets at seventeen. There, my lecture is over and now let's talk of earthquakes.”
At her aunt's question regarding Peggy and herself resembling ”meal sacks,” Polly laughed aloud and being in a position to practically demonstrate the freedom which a sensibly full skirt afforded, cried:
”If I couldn't _run_ when I felt like it I'd _die_. I tell you, when I strike heavy weather I want my rigging s.h.i.+p-shape. I'd hate to scud under bare poles.”
The subject was changed but the words were not forgotten. The other girls had all gathered about the blazing logs upon cus.h.i.+ons or ha.s.socks, and a pretty group they formed as they talked eagerly of the coming hop, and tried to guess what Captain Stewart was planning, Mrs. Harold and Mrs. Howland joining enthusiastically in it all.
”Tanta,” asked Polly, ”do you know that Lily Pearl Montgomery and Helen Doolittle are here at Wilmot with Helen's uncle? We have christened him 'Foxy Grandpa.' Just wait till you see him. He looks the character exactly.”
”Are they to go to the hop?” asked Mrs. Harold, instantly interested, for even though she had heard amusing tales of the two girls, they were still young girls, and she was concerned for their happiness and pleasure.
”We don't know and we didn't like to seem inquisitive,” replied Polly.
”Yes, they are going, Little Mother. Helen told me so. Foxy Grandpa knows somebody who knows somebody else, who knows the boys who are to take them, but they didn't tell us their names. I wonder if we know them,” was Peggy's laughing explanation.
”I hope they will have a happy time,” said Mrs. Howland gently as she stroked back Polly's silky curls.
”You trust them to have the time of their lives, Mumsey. But oh, _isn't_ it good to be here!” and Polly favored her mother with an ecstatic hug.
”What time are we to go to Severndale tomorrow, Little Mother?” asked Peggy.
”Not until after the hop, dear. It will be very late, I know, but Christmas is a special day of days. That is the reason I'm going to send you all off early tonight. Nine-thirty gunfire will see you started for the Land o' Nod.”
”Aren't we to wait until Daddy Neil comes back?”
”Not unless he gets back before three bells and it looks doubtful, two have already struck. But you'll learn the news the first thing in the morning.”
But at that moment Captain Stewart came breezing into the room. Peggy and Polly flew to him crying:
”Did he say yes? Did he say yes? Oh, answer, quick! Do!” they begged, each clasping arms about him.
”If I answer quick you'll both cast loose but the longer I keep you in suspense the longer you'll lay hold,” was his quizzical retort.
”We won't stir. We won't budge. Tell us.”