Part 42 (2/2)

”Grand transformation scene!” cried March, as Rose tripped down in the blue taffeta, looking like a very rose herself.

”Beats all!” murmured Chi, who had become nearly speechless with admiration, ”what clothes 'll do for a good-lookin' woman; but for a ravin', tearin' beauty like our Rose--George Was.h.i.+n'ton! She 'll open those high-flyers' eyes.”

”Cinderella--fifth act!” shouted March as, after a prolonged wait, he heard Rose on the stairs.

But was it Rose?

The beautiful India mull of her mother's had been transformed into a ball-dress. She had drawn on her long white gloves and tucked into the simple, ribbon belt three of Jack's Christmas roses.

Maria-Ann gasped, and that broke the, to Rose, somewhat embarra.s.sing silence.

Marshalled by March, the whole family formed a procession, and Rose was reviewed:--back breadths, front breadths, flounces, waist, gloves; all were thoroughly inspected.

Chi touched the lower flounce of the half-train gingerly with one work-roughened forefinger, then, straightening himself suddenly, sighed heavily.

”What's the matter, Chi?” Rose laughed at the dubious expression on his face.

”You ain't Rose Blossom nor Molly Stark any longer. You 're just a regular Empress of Rooshy, 'n' you don't look like that girl I took along to sell berries down to Barton's last summer, 'n' I wish you--” he hesitated.

”What, Chi?” said Rose.

”I wish you was back again, old sunbonnet, old calico gown, patched shoes 'n' all--”

”Oh, Chi, no, you don't,” said Rose, laughing merrily; ”you forget, I shall probably see Miss Seaton down there in New York, and you wouldn't want me to appear a second time before her in that old rig.”

”You 're right, Rose-pose,” replied Chi, his expression brightening visibly. He drew close to her and whispered audibly:

”Just sail right in, Molly Stark, 'n' cut that sa.s.sy girl out right 'n'

left. She never could hold a candle to you.”

”Sh-sh, Chi!” said Mrs. Blossom, meaningly, but with a twinkle in her eye.

”I mean just what I say, Mis' Blossom. Folks can't come up here on this Mountain to sa.s.s us to our faces, 'n' she _did_;--I've stayed riled ever since, 'n' I hope she'll get sa.s.sed back in a way that 'll make her hair stand just a little more on end than it did, when she gave that mean, snickerin' giggle--”

”Chi, Chi,” Mrs. Blossom interrupted him in an appeasing tone.

”You need n't Chi me, Mis' Blossom. These children are just as near to me as if they was my own, 'n' when they 're sa.s.sed, I 'm sa.s.sed too; 'n'

my great-grandfather fought over at Ticonderogy, 'n' I ain't bound to take any more sa.s.s than he took--”

By this time the whole family were in fits of laughter over Chi's persistent use of so much ”sa.s.s,” and, at last, Chi himself joined in the laugh at his excessive heat:--

”Over nothin' but a wind-bag, after all,” he concluded.

On the following morning, Mr. Blossom, Chi, March and Budd drove down to Barton's to see Rose off. The old apple-green pung had been fitted with two broad boards for seats, and covered with buffalo robes and horse blankets. There was just room in the tail for Rose's old-fas.h.i.+oned trunk and a small strapped box, which held two dozen of new-laid eggs, six small, round cheeses, and a wreath of ground hemlock and bitter-sweet--a neighborly gift from Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann to Hazel and Mr. Clyde.

As the train moved away from the station, Chi watched it with br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes.

”She'll never come back the same Rose-pose, livin' among all those high-flyers--never,” he muttered to himself; but aloud he remarked, with forced cheerfulness, turning to Mr. Blossom while he dashed the blinding drops from his eyes with the back of his hand:

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