Part 16 (1/2)
”Good heavens! The what?”
”The bugs! I can't bear for you to be near me, because I keep wondering if there are bugs and things in your pocket. I'm afraid they'll get over on me. Even now it makes me s.h.i.+ver when you hold my hands, because I know you've been handling the horrible little creatures with yours.” He dropped her hands abruptly, and stared at her. ”And after you leave, I get down on my hands and knees and look over the floor, and examine the chairs, to see if any have crawled off!
It's a terrible feeling, Mr. Rayburn. You know I told you I hated bugs.--I'm afraid I've hurt your feelings,” she said sadly.
”Where in the world did you get such an idea as that?” he demanded rather angrily. ”Do you think I have pet bugs to carry around with me for company?”
”No,--but don't you remember the picnic,--and how you kept gathering them up in your handkerchiefs and putting them in your pockets? And how I kept squirming around to get on the other side,--I was trying to get away from the bugs!”
”But, my heavens, Prudence, those were my field clothes. I don't put bugs in these pockets,--these are my Sunday togs!” He smiled a little.
”And I always wash my hands, you know.” He found it humorous, and yet it hurt him. Such a little thing to prejudice a girl so strongly,--and one he liked so marvelously well!
”You might forget, and put them in these pockets,--it's a kind of habit with you, I suppose. And just plain was.h.i.+ng won't take the idea of bugs off your hands.”
”Prudence, you are only a girl,--a childish girl, but a very sweet one.
I want you to like me. When you grow up, you are going to be a wonderfully good and lovely woman. I--I am going to want you then. I know it. Let's just be friends now, can't we--until later--for a long time yet? I'll promise on my word of honor never to put another bug in my pockets, or my handkerchiefs. But I can't promise not to touch them, for I have to do it in cla.s.s. That's how I earn my living! But I will wash my hands with Ivory soap and sapolio, and rub them with cold cream, and powder them, and perfume them, before I ever come near you again. Won't that do?”
Prudence shook her head. ”I know you are laughing at me,” she said, ”but I always told you I was just a silly simpleton. And--it isn't the bugs altogether. I--I like it better to be with my sisters than----”
”Than with me? I see. As I said, the woman of you is still sleeping.
Well, we are young, and I will wait. I won't bother you any more for a long time, Prudence, but I shan't forget you. And some day I will come back to you again.” He stared at her moodily. Then he put his hands beneath her elbows, and looked into her eyes searchingly. ”You are a strange girl, Prudence. In some ways, you are so womanly, and in other ways so--pitifully girlis.h.!.+ All the woman in your heart seems to be given to your sisters and your father, and-- But you will waken, and I won't hurry you.” Then he put his arms around her again, and whispered in her ear, ”But I love you, Prudence, and--if some one else should do the awakening--it would hurt!” Then he kissed her, and went away.
But Prudence ran up-stairs, singing happily. ”Oh, I feel like a caged-up bird that has broken loose,” she cried to her reflection in the mirror jubilantly. ”Oh, what fun it will be to come home from church with Fairy and the twins, the way I used to do!”
CHAPTER VII
LESSONS IN ETIQUETTE
Connie was lying flat on her back near the register. The twins were sitting on the floor near her, hearing each other conjugate Latin verbs. And Prudence, with her darning basket, was earnestly trying to solve a domestic problem,--how to get three pairs of wearable stockings out of eleven hosiery remnants. So Fairy found them as she came in, radiant and glowing.
”Glorious day,” she said, glancing impartially at her sisters. ”Just glorious! Why are you all hugging the register, may I ask? It is perfect weather. Connie, you should be out-of-doors this minute, by all means. Twins, aren't you grown-up enough to sit on chairs, or won't your footies reach the floor?--Babbie, Eugene Babler, you know, is coming to spend the evening, Prudence.”
”What is going on to-night?” queried Prudence.
”Nothing is going on. That's why he is coming. It's too cold to meander around outdoors these nights, and so we shall have to amuse ourselves inside as best we can.”
The whole family came to attention at this.
”Oh, goody!” cried Connie. ”Let's make taffy, shall we, Fairy?”
”Certainly not. This isn't a children's party. You'll go to bed at eight o'clock as usual, Connie mine.--Now, we must have something to eat. The question is, What shall it be?”
”Yes,” agreed Carol with enthusiasm,--Carol was always enthusiastic on the subject of something to eat. ”Yes, indeed, that is the question.
What shall we have?”
”You will likely have pleasant dreams, Carol,” was the cool retort.
”Babbie did not invite himself to spend the evening with you, I believe.”
”Do you mean to suggest,” demanded Lark with withering scorn, ”that it is your intention to shut yourself up alone with this--this creature, excluding the rest of us?”