CHAPTER III
A NEW FRIEND
Although some of the applications which Mary sent out did not have asfar to travel as the first one, she did not count on hearing from any ofthem within two weeks. However, it was to no fortnight of patientwaiting that she settled down. She threw herself into such an orgy ofpreparations for leaving home, that the days flew around like the wheelsof a squirrel cage.
She could not afford any new clothes, but everything in her wardrobe wasrejuvenated as far as possible, and a number of things entirelyremodelled. One by one they were folded away in her trunk untileverything was so shipshape that she could have finished packing at anhour's notice. Then she insisted on giving some freshening touches toher mother's winter outfit, and on beginning a set of shirts for Norman,saying that she wanted to finish all the work she possibly could beforeleaving home.
Mrs. Ware used to wonder sometimes at her boundless energy. She wouldwhirl through the housework, help prepare the meals, do a morning'sironing, run the sewing machine all afternoon, and then often, aftersupper, challenge Norman to some such thing as a bonfire race, to seewhich could rake up the greatest pile of autumn leaves in the yard, bymoonlight.
These days of waiting were filled with a queer sense of expectancy, asthe air is sometimes charged with electric currents before a storm. Nomatter what she did or what she thought about, it was always with thesense of something exciting about to happen. The feeling exhilaratedher, deepened the glow in her face, the happy eagerness in her eyes,until every one around her felt the contagion of her high hopefulness.
"I don't know what it is you're always looking so pleased over," the oldpostmaster said to her one day, "but every time after you've been inhere, I catch myself smiling away as broadly as if I'd heard some goodnews myself."
"Maybe," answered Mary, "it's because I feel all the time as if I'm just_going_ to hear some. It's so interesting wondering what turn thingswill take. It's like waiting for the curtain to go up on a new playthat you've never heard of before. My curtain may go up in any part ofthe United States. It all depends on which letter it is that brings me aposition."
"I should think you'd be a leetle mite anxious," said the Captain, whowas in somewhat of a pessimistic mood that day. "They can't all beequally good. You remember what the old hymn says:
"'Should I be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease Whilst others fought to win the prize, and sailed through bloody seas.'"
"Oh, I'm not expecting any flowery beds of ease," retorted Mary. "Idon't mind hard work and all sorts of disagreeable things if they'llonly prove to be stepping-stones to carry me through my Red Sea. I don'teven ask to go over dry-shod as the Children of the Exodus did. All Iwant is a chance to wade."
"That's right! That's right!" exclaimed the Captain admiringly. "That'sthe proper spirit to show. It's a pity, though, that you can't do yourwading somewhere around Lone-Rock. We'll miss you dreadfully. And I'mnot the only one who thinks so, either. From all I hear there's somebodyup the street who would almost rob the mails if doing so would keep youfrom getting a letter calling you away."
From the twinkle of the eyes which peered at her through the steel-bowedglasses, Mary knew that he was referring to Pink Upham, but before shecould reply the mail carrier dashed up on horseback from the railroadstation, with the big leather pouch swung across the horse in front ofhim. It was the signal for every one along the street, who had seen him,to come sauntering into the office to wait for the distribution of themail. Mary climbed up on the high stool again. She had started out fromhome, intending to take a tramp far up the mountain road, but stoppingin the office to post a letter had stayed on talking longer than sheintended.
Pink Upham was one of the first to come in. He had been at the houseseveral times since his first call, and while some of his mannerismsannoyed Mary even more than they had at first, she liked him better astheir acquaintance progressed. She could not help being pleased at theattention he gave her slightest remarks. No girl can be wholly obliviousto the compliment of having every word remembered, every preferencenoted. Once, when they were looking at some soap advertisements, in amost careless off-hand way she had expressed her dislike for strongperfumes. Since then the odor of rose geranium was no longer noticeablein his wake. Once she announced her admiration of a certain kind ofscarlet berry which grew a long distance up the mountain. The next daythere was a bunch of them left at her door. Pink had taken a trampbefore breakfast to get them for her.
There was a family discussion one night about celluloid. Nobody couldanswer one of Mary's questions in connection with it about camphor gum,and she forgot it almost as soon as it was asked, although she hadassumed an air of intense curiosity at the time. But Pink remembered. Hethought about it, in fact, as one of his chief duties in life to findits answer, until he had time to consult Mr. Moredock's encyclopaedia.
At his last visit to the Wares he had seen a kodak picture of Mary,taken at the Wigwam years before. She was mounted on the Indian ponyWashington. She wore short dresses then. Her wide-brimmed Mexicansombrero was on the back of her head, and she was laughing so heartilythat one could not look at the picture without feeling the contagion ofher enjoyment. There was nothing she liked better than horseback riding,she remarked as she laid the picture aside, but she had not tried itsince she was a child. That was one thing she was looking forward to inher promised land, she told him, to owning a beautiful thoroughbredsaddle-horse, like Lloyd Sherman's.
Then Pink was shown "The Little Colonel's Corner," for the collection ofLloydsboro Valley pictures were grouped in panels on one wall of theLone-Rock home as they had been at the Wigwam. First there was Lloyd inher little Napoleon hat, riding on Tarbaby down the long locust avenue,and then Lloyd on the horse that later took the place of the black pony.Then Lloyd in her Princess Winsome costume, with the dove and thespinning-wheel, and again in white, beside the gilded harp, and again asthe Queen of Hearts and as the Maid of Honor at Eugenia's wedding.
In showing these pictures to Pink and telling him how well Lloyd rodeand how graceful she was in the saddle, Mary forgot her casual remarkabout her own enjoyment of riding, but Pink remembered. He had thoughtabout it at intervals ever since. Now catching sight of her on the highstool, he hurried into the post-office to tell her that he could securetwo horses any morning that she would go out with him before breakfast.His uncle owned the team of buckskins which drew the delivery wagon,and was willing for him to use them any morning before eight o'clock.They were not stylish-looking beasts, he admitted, like Kentuckythoroughbreds, but they were sure-footed and used to mountain trails.
As Mary thanked him with characteristic enthusiasm, she was conscious ofa double thrill of pleasure. One came from the fact that he had plannedsuch enjoyment for her, the other that he had remembered her casualremark and attached so much importance to it. She'd let him know laterjust when she could go, she told him. She'd have to see her motherfirst, and she'd have to get up some kind of a riding skirt.
Then the Captain threw up the delivery window, and half a dozen peoplewho had been waiting crowded forward to get their mail. Mary waited onthe stool while Pink took his turn at the window and came back with hermail. His own, and that for the store, he drew out from one of the largelocked boxes below the pigeon-holes. While he was unlocking it Marylooked over the letters he had laid in her lap. There was one fromJoyce, one to her mother from Phil Tremont, and one bearing the addressin an upper corner of one of the agencies to which she had written. Sheopened it eagerly, and Pink, watching her from the corner of his eye ashe sorted a handful of circulars, saw a shade of disappointment crossher face. Every one else had left the office. She looked up to see theold Captain smiling at her.
"First ship in from sea," he remarked knowingly. "Well, what's thecargo?"
"No treasure aboard this one. It's just a printed form to say that theyhave no vacancies at present, but have put me on the waiting list, andwill inform me if anything comes up later."
br /> "Well, there're others to hear from," the Captain answered. "That's thegood of putting your hopes on more than one thing. In the meantime,though, don't get discouraged."
"Oh, I'll not," was the cheerful answer. "You see, I have two mottoes tolive up to. One was on the crest that used to be sported in theancestral coat of arms once upon a time, away back in mamma's family. Itwas a winged spur with the words '_Ready, aye ready_.'
"The other is the one we adopted ourselves from the Vicar of Wakefield:'_Let us be inflexible, and fortune will at last change in our favor._'So there I am, ready to go at a moment's notice, but also bound to keepinflexible and wait for a turn if fortune wills it so. I don't knowwhat the Ware family would do sometimes without that saying of the oldVicar's. His philosophy has helped us out of more than one hole."
The Captain, rather vague in his knowledge as to the old Vicar, noddedsagely. "Pretty good philosophy to tie to," he remarked. Pink, to whomthe Vicar was merely a name, one of many in a long list of Englishnovels he had once memorized for a literature recitation, made noresponse. He felt profoundly ignorant. But remembering Mr. Moredock'shospitable remark that the latchstring of his library was always out forhis friends, he resolved to borrow the book that very night afterclosing hours, and discover what there was in it that had "helped theWare family out of more than one hole."
As he and Mary left the office together the Captain called after her,"By the way, I noticed a foreign stamp on one of your letters. Mexican,wasn't it? If you're not making a collection yourself, I'd like to speakfor it. My little grandson's just started one, and I've promised him allI can get."
Mary paused on the doorstep. "The letter is mamma's, but I'm sure shewould not mind if I were to cut the stamp out of the envelope."
In an instant Pink's knife was out of his pocket, and he was cuttingdeftly around the stamp, while Mary held the envelope flat against thedoor. He did it slowly, in order not to cut through into the letter, andhe could not fail to notice the big dashing hand in which it wasaddressed to Mrs. Emily Ware. It looked so familiar that it puzzled himto recall where he had seen it before.
"I can bring you a lot more like this, if you want them," said Mary, asshe gave the stamp to the postmaster. "Jack and I each get letters fromthis friend down in Mexico, and he writes to mamma nearly every week."
The Captain thanked her emphatically, and she and Pink started offagain, she towards home and he towards the store. A dozen times beforeclosing hours Pink recalled the scene at the post-office, Mary holdingthe letter up against the door for him to cut out the stamp. What firm,capable-looking little hands she had, with their daintily kept nails,and how pink her cheeks were, and how fluffy and brown the hair blowingout from under the stylish little hat with the bronze quills.
Each time he recalled the letter he puzzled over the familiar appearanceof the address, until suddenly, as he was filling a jug at the spigot ofa molasses barrel, he remembered. He had seen the same handwritingunder a photograph on the mantel at Mrs. Ware's: "Philip Tremont,Necaxa, Mexico." And on the back was pencilled, "For Aunt Emily, fromher 'other boy.'" Mary had called upon Pink to admire the picture whichhad arrived that same day, and had referred to Phil several times sinceas "The Best Man."
Pink almost let the molasses jug overflow, while thinking about it andwondering why she had given him such a nickname. He resolved to ask herwhy if he could ever screw his courage up to such a point.
Mary, hurrying home with the letters from Joyce and Phil, eager to hearwhat was in them, never gave Pink another thought till after supper,when she remembered his invitation and began a search for Joyce's oldriding-skirt. It was not in any of the trunks or closets in the house,but remembering several boxes which had been stored in the loft abovethe woodshed, she made Jack climb up the ladder with her to open them,while she held the lantern. At the bottom of the last box they foundwhat she was searching for, not only the khaki skirt, but the littleNorfolk jacket which completed the outfit. Thanks to Joyce's orderlyhabits they had been packed away clean and whole, and needed only themagic touch of a hot iron to make them presentable.
There was something else in the box which Mary pounced upon and carrieddown the ladder. It was a bag containing odds and ends of zephyrs andyarns, left from various afghans and pieces of fancy work. Opened underthe sitting-room lamp it disclosed, among other things, several skeinsof wool as red as the flash of a cardinal's wing. "Enough to make awhole Tam-O'-Shanter!" exclaimed Mary jubilantly, "and a fluffy pomponon top! I can have it ready by day after to-morrow. I've been wonderingwhat I could wear on my head. I simply can't keep a hat on when I ridefast! Here, Norman, be a dear duck of a brother and hold this skeinwhile I wind, won't you?"
Norman made a wry face and held out his arms with pretendedunwillingness, but she slipped the skein over his hands, saying, "Itemfor Uncle Jerry's Column. 'A young gentleman should always spring nimblyto the service of a lady, and offer his assistance with alacrity.'"
"Say," he interrupted in the tone of one having a real grievance."You've got to quit making a catspaw of me when you want to teach PinkUpham manners. You know well enough that I always pick up yourhandkerchief and stand until mamma is seated, and things like that, soyou needn't hint about 'em to me when he's here. You're just trying toslap at Pink over my shoulders."
"Oh, you don't mind a little thing like that," laughed Mary. "It's forthe good of your country, my boy. I'm just trying to polish up one ofthe pillars of the new state that you and mamma and Jack are sointerested in. Besides, Pink is so quick to take a hint that it's reallyinteresting to see how much a few suggestions can accomplish."
"Humph! You're singing a different tune from what you did at first. Youthought he was so tiresome and his laugh so awful and that he had suchdreadful taste--"
"I still think so," answered Mary, "but I don't notice his wild laugh somuch now that I am used to it, and he has many traits which make himvery companionable. Besides, I am sorry for him. He'd have been verydifferent if he'd had _your_ opportunities, for instance."
"Mary is right," agreed Mrs. Ware, smiling at Norman's grimace. "I thinkit would be a good thing to ask him to stop when you come back from yourride and have breakfast with us."
Norman groaned, then said with a vigorous nod of the head, since hishands were too busy with the skein for gestures, "Well, have him if youwant to, but I'll give you fair warning, Mary Ware, if you go to gettingoff any of your Uncle Jerry remarks on me for his benefit, I'll let thecat right out of the bag."
Mary replied with a grimace so much like his own, that it brought on acontest in which the yarn winding was laid aside for a time, while theystood before a mirror, each trying to outdo the other in makinggrotesque faces.
Two mornings after that, in Joyce's khaki riding-suit and the new redTam-O'-Shanter, Mary swung into the saddle while Pink held both horses,and they were off for an early gallop in the frosty October dawn. Thecrisp, tingling air of the mountains brought such color into Mary'sface, and such buoyancy into her spirits that Pink watched her as hewould have watched some rare kind of a bird, skimming along beside him.He had never known such a girl. There was not a particle of coquetry inher attitude towards him. She didn't glance up with pretty appealingside-glances as Sara Downs did, or say little personal things whichnaturally called for compliments in reply. She was like a boy in herstraightforward plain dealing with him, her joking banter, her keeninterest in the mountain life and her knowledge of wood lore. One neverknew which way her quick-winged thoughts might dart. As they rode on hebegan to feel as if he was thoroughly awake for the first time in hislife.
Up to this time he had been fairly well satisfied with himself. A smallinheritance safely invested and his one year at college had given himthe prestige of a person of both wealth and education in the little townwhere he had lived until recently. Yet there was Jack, who had not evenfinished a High School course, and Mary, who had had less than a year atWarwick Hall, on such amazing terms of intimacy with a world outside ofhis ken, that he felt
illiterate and untutored beside them. Even Normanseemed to have a wider horizon than himself, and he wondered what madethe difference.
He divined the reason afterward when they came back from their ride andsat at breakfast in the sunny dining-room. It was Mrs. Ware who hadlifted their life out of the ordinary by the force of her rarepersonality. Through all their poverty and trouble and hard times shehad kept fast hold on her early standards of refinement and culture, andmade them a part of her family's daily living.
Pink felt the difference, even in the breakfast. It was no better thanthe one he would have had at home, but at home there would have been nointeresting conversation, no glowing bit of color in the centre of thetable like this bowl of autumn leaves and berries. At home there wouldhave been no attempt at any pleasing effect in the dainty serving ofcourses. There ham was ham and eggs were eggs, and it made no differencehow they were slapped on to the table, so long as they were well cooked.There, meal-time was merely a time to satisfy one's appetite as quicklyas possible and hurry away from the table as soon as the food wasdevoured. Here, the day seemed to take its key-note from the illuminatedtext of a calendar hanging beside the fireplace. It was a part of _TheSalutation of the Dawn_ from the Sanskrit:
"For yesterday is but a dream, And to-morrow is only a vision; But to-day well-lived, makes Every yesterday a dream of happiness And every to-morrow a vision of hope. _Look well, therefore, to this day!_ _Such is the Salutation of the Dawn._"
The Ware breakfast-table seemed to be the place where they all gatheredto get a good start for the day. It was Mrs. Ware who gave it, and gaveit unconsciously, not so much by what she said, as what she was. Onefelt her hopefulness, her serenity of soul, as one feels the cheer of awarm hearthstone.
Pink could not recall one word she had said to stimulate his ambition,but when he rode away on one horse, leading the other, he was trying toadjust himself to a new set of standards. He felt that there wassomething to live for besides taking in dimes over the counter of acountry store. One thing happened at breakfast which made him glow withpleasure whenever he thought of it. It was the quick look of approvalwhich Mary flashed him when he answered one of her sallies by aquotation about green spectacles.
"Oh, you know the old Vicar too!" she exclaimed, as if claiming mutualacquaintance with a real friend. "Don't you love him?"
Pink was glad that some interruption spared him the necessity of anenthusiastic assent. He had not been specially thrilled by the book, sofar as he had read, but he attacked it manfully again that night,feeling that there must be more in it than he had wit to discover, elsethe Wares would not have adopted it as "guide, philosopher and friend."