CHAPTER XIV. A PRODIGAL RETURNS
Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl lived in a whirlwind of dressmaking afterthat, and enjoyed it hugely. Cecily and Felicity also had to havenew dresses for the great event, and they talked of little else for afortnight. Cecily declared that she hated to go to sleep because shewas sure to dream that she was at Aunt Olivia's wedding in her old fadedgingham dress and a ragged apron.
"And no shoes or stockings," she added, "and I can't move, and everyonewalks past and looks at my feet."
"That's only in a dream," mourned Sara Ray, "but I may have to wear mylast summer's white dress to the wedding. It's too short, but ma saysit's plenty good for this summer. I'll be so mortified if I have to wearit."
"I'd rather not go at all than wear a dress that wasn't nice," saidFelicity pleasantly.
"I'd go to the wedding if I had to go in my school dress," cried SaraRay. "I've never been to anything. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"My Aunt Jane always said that if you were neat and tidy it didn'tmatter whether you were dressed fine or not," said Peter.
"I'm sick and tired of hearing about your Aunt Jane," said Felicitycrossly.
Peter looked grieved but held his peace. Felicity was very hard on himthat spring, but his loyalty never wavered. Everything she said or didwas right in Peter's eyes.
"It's all very well to be neat and tidy," said Sara Ray, "but I like alittle style too."
"I think you'll find your mother will get you a new dress after all,"comforted Cecily. "Anyway, nobody will notice you because everyone willbe looking at the bride. Aunt Olivia will make a lovely bride. Justthink how sweet she'll look in a white silk dress and a floating veil."
"She says she is going to have the ceremony performed out here inthe orchard under her own tree," said the Story Girl. "Won't that beromantic? It almost makes me feel like getting married myself."
"What a way to talk," rebuked Felicity, "and you only fifteen."
"Lots of people have been married at fifteen," laughed the Story Girl."Lady Jane Gray was."
"But you are always saying that Valeria H. Montague's stories are sillyand not true to life, so that is no argument," retorted Felicity, whoknew more about cooking than about history, and evidently imagined thatthe Lady Jane Gray was one of Valeria's titled heroines.
The wedding was a perennial source of conversation among us in thosedays; but presently its interest palled for a time in the light ofanother quite tremendous happening. One Saturday night Peter's mothercalled to take him home with her for Sunday. She had been working at Mr.James Frewen's, and Mr. Frewen was driving her home. We had never seenPeter's mother before, and we looked at her with discreet curiosity. Shewas a plump, black-eyed little woman, neat as a pin, but with a rathertired and care-worn face that looked as if it should have been rosy andjolly. Life had been a hard battle for her, and I rather think that hercurly-headed little lad was all that had kept heart and spirit in her.Peter went home with her and returned Sunday evening. We were in theorchard sitting around the Pulpit Stone, where we had, according to thecustom of the households of King, been learning our golden texts andmemory verses for the next Sunday School lesson. Paddy, grown sleek andhandsome again, was sitting on the stone itself, washing his jowls.
Peter joined us with a very queer expression on his face. He seemedbursting with some news which he wanted to tell and yet hardly liked to.
"Why are you looking so mysterious, Peter?" demanded the Story Girl.
"What do you think has happened?" asked Peter solemnly.
"What has?"
"My father has come home," answered Peter.
The announcement produced all the sensation he could have wished. Wecrowded around him in excitement.
"Peter! When did he come back?"
"Saturday night. He was there when ma and I got home. It give her anawful turn. I didn't know him at first, of course."
"Peter Craig, I believe you are glad your father has come back," criedthe Story Girl.
"'Course I'm glad," retorted Peter.
"And after you saying you didn't want ever to see him again," saidFelicity.
"You just wait. You haven't heard my story yet. I wouldn't have beenglad to see father if he'd come back the same as he went away. But he isa changed man. He happened to go into a revival meeting one night thisspring and he got converted. And he's come home to stay, and he sayshe's never going to drink another drop, but he's going to look after hisfamily. Ma isn't to do any more washing for nobody but him and me, andI'm not to be a hired boy any longer. He says I can stay with your UncleRoger till the fall 'cause I promised I would, but after that I'm tostay home and go to school right along and learn to be whatever I'd liketo be. I tell you it made me feel queer. Everything seemed to be upset.But he gave ma forty dollars--every cent he had--so I guess he really isconverted."
"I hope it will last, I'm sure," said Felicity. She did not say itnastily, however. We were all glad for Peter's sake, though a littledizzy over the unexpectedness of it all.
"This is what I'D like to know," said Peter. "How did Peg Bowen know myfather was coming home? Don't you tell me she isn't a witch after that."
"And she knew about your Aunt Olivia's wedding, too," added Sara Ray.
"Oh, well, she likely heard that from some one. Grown up folks talkthings over long before they tell them to children," said Cecily.
"Well, she couldn't have heard father was coming home from any one,"answered Peter. "He was converted up in Maine, where nobody knew him,and he never told a soul he was coming till he got here. No, you canbelieve what you like, but I'm satisfied at last that Peg is a witch andthat skull of hers does tell her things. She told me father was cominghome and he come!"
"How happy you must be," sighed Sara Ray romantically. "It's just likethat story in the Family Guide, where the missing earl comes home to hisfamily just as the Countess and Lady Violetta are going to be turned outby the cruel heir."
Felicity sniffed.
"There's some difference, I guess. The earl had been imprisoned foryears in a loathsome dungeon."
Perhaps Peter's father had too, if we but realized it--imprisoned in thedungeon of his own evil appetites and habits, than which none couldbe more loathsome. But a Power, mightier than the forces of evil, hadstruck off his fetters and led him back to his long-forfeited libertyand light. And no countess or lady of high degree could have welcomed along-lost earl home more joyfully than the tired little washerwoman hadwelcomed the erring husband of her youth.
But in Peter's ointment of joy there was a fly or two. So very, very fewthings are flawless in this world, even on the golden road.
"Of course I'm awful glad that father has come back and that ma won'thave to wash any more," he said with a sigh, "but there are two thingsthat kind of worry me. My Aunt Jane always said that it didn't do anygood to worry, and I s'pose it don't, but it's kind of a relief."
"What's worrying you?" asked Felix.
"Well, for one thing I'll feel awful bad to go away from you all. I'llmiss you just dreadful, and I won't even be able to go to the sameschool. I'll have to go to Markdale school."
"But you must come and see us often," said Felicity graciously."Markdale isn't so far away, and you could spend every other Saturdayafternoon with us anyway."
Peter's black eyes filled with adoring gratitude.
"That's so kind of you, Felicity. I'll come as often as I can, ofcourse; but it won't be the same as being around with you all the time.The other thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist revivalfather got converted in, and so of course he joined the Methodistchurch. He wasn't anything before. He used to say he was a Nothingarianand lived up to it--kind of bragging like. But he's a strong Methodistnow, and is going to go to Markdale Methodist church and pay to thesalary. Now what'll he say when I tell him I'm a Presbyterian?"
"You haven't told him, yet?" asked the Story Girl.
"No, I didn't dare. I was scared he'd say I'd have to be a Methodist."
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nbsp; "Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians," saidFelicity, with the air of one making a great concession.
"I guess they're every bit as good," retorted Peter. "But that ain't thepoint. I've got to be a Presbyterian, 'cause I stick to a thing when Ionce decide it. But I expect father will be mad when he finds out."
"If he's converted he oughtn't to get mad," said Dan.
"Well, lots o' people do. But if he isn't mad he'll be sorry, andthat'll be even worse, for a Presbyterian I'm bound to be. But I expectit will make things unpleasant."
"You needn't tell him anything about it," advised Felicity. "Just keepquiet and go to the Methodist church until you get big, and then you cango where you please."
"No, that wouldn't be honest," said Peter sturdily. "My Aunt Janealways said it was best to be open and above board in everything, andespecially in religion. So I'll tell father right out, but I'll wait afew weeks so as not to spoil things for ma too soon if he acts up."
Peter was not the only one who had secret cares. Sara Ray was beginningto feel worried over her looks. I heard her and Cecily talking overtheir troubles one evening while I was weeding the onion bed and theywere behind the hedge knitting lace. I did not mean to eavesdrop.I supposed they knew I was there until Cecily overwhelmed me withindignation later on.
"I'm so afraid, Cecily, that I'm going to be homely all my life," saidpoor Sara with a tremble in her voice. "You can stand being ugly whenyou are young if you have any hope of being better looking when you growup. But I'm getting worse. Aunt Mary says I'm going to be the veryimage of Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda is as homely as she can be. Itisn't"--and poor Sara sighed--"a very cheerful prospect. If I am uglynobody will ever want to marry me, and," concluded Sara candidly, "Idon't want to be an old maid."
"But plenty of girls get married who aren't a bit pretty," comfortedCecily. "Besides, you are real nice looking at times, Sara. I think youare going to have a nice figure."
"But just look at my hands," moaned Sara. "They're simply covered withwarts."
"Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up," said Cecily.
"But they won't disappear before the school concert. How am I to getup there and recite? You know there is one line in my recitation, 'Shewaved her lily-white hand,' and I have to wave mine when I say it. Fancywaving a lily-white hand all covered with warts. I've tried every remedyI ever heard of, but nothing does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbedthem with toad-spit it would take them away for sure. But how am I toget any toad-spit?"
"It doesn't sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow," shuddered Cecily."I'd rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe if you didn't cryso much over every little thing, you'd be ever so much better looking.Crying spoils your eyes and makes the end of your nose red."
"I can't help crying," protested Sara. "My feelings are so verysensitive. I've given up trying to keep THAT resolution."
"Well, men don't like cry-babies," said Cecily sagely. Cecily had a gooddeal of Mother Eve's wisdom tucked away in that smooth, brown head ofhers.
"Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?" asked Sara in a confidentialtone.
"Goodness!" cried Cecily, quite shocked. "It will be time enough when Igrow up to think of that, Sara."
"I should think you'd have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as crazyafter you as he is."
"I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea," exclaimed Cecily,goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested name.
"What has Cyrus been doing now?" asked Felicity, coming around thecorner of the hedge.
"Doing NOW! It's ALL the time. He just worries me to death," returnedCecily angrily. "He keeps writing me letters and putting them in my deskor in my reader. I never answer one of them, but he keeps on. And in thelast one, mind you, he said he'd do something desperate right off if Iwouldn't promise to marry him when we grew up."
"Just think, Cecily, you've had a proposal already," said Sara Ray in anawe-struck tone.
"But he hasn't done anything desperate yet, and that was last week,"commented Felicity, with a toss of her head.
"He sent me a lock of his hair and wanted one of mine in exchange,"continued Cecily indignantly. "I tell you I sent his back to him prettyquick."
"Did you never answer any of his letters?" asked Sara Ray.
"No, indeed! I guess not!"
"Do you know," said Felicity, "I believe if you wrote him just once andtold him your exact opinion of him in good plain English it would curehim of his nonsense."
"I couldn't do that. I haven't enough spunk," confessed Cecily with ablush. "But I'll tell you what I did do once. He wrote me a long letterlast week. It was just awfully SOFT, and every other word was spelledwrong. He even spelled baking soda, 'bacon soda!'"
"What on earth had he to say about baking soda in a love-letter?" askedFelicity.
"Oh, he said his mother sent him to the store for some and he forgot itbecause he was thinking about me. Well, I just took his letter and wrotein all the words, spelled right, above the wrong ones, in red ink, justas Mr. Perkins makes us do with our dictation exercises, and sent itback to him. I thought maybe he'd feel insulted and stop writing to me."
"And did he?"
"No, he didn't. It is my opinion you can't insult Cyrus Brisk. He is toothick-skinned. He wrote another letter, and thanked me for correctinghis mistakes, and said it made him feel glad because it showed I wasbeginning to take an interest in him when I wanted him to spell better.Did you ever? Miss Marwood says it is wrong to hate anyone, but I don'tcare, I hate Cyrus Brisk."
"Mrs. Cyrus Brisk WOULD be an awful name," giggled Felicity.
"Flossie Brisk says Cyrus is ruining all the trees on his father's placecutting your name on them," said Sara Ray. "His father told him he wouldwhip him if he didn't stop, but Cyrus keeps right on. He told Flossie itrelieved his feelings. Flossie says he cut yours and his together on thebirch tree in front of the parlour window, and a row of hearts aroundthem."
"Just where every visitor can see them, I suppose," lamented Cecily. "Hejust worries my life out. And what I mind most of all is, he sits andlooks at me in school with such melancholy, reproachful eyes when heought to be working sums. I won't look at him, but I FEEL him staring atme, and it makes me so nervous."
"They say his mother was out of her mind at one time," said Felicity.
I do not think Felicity was quite well pleased that Cyrus should havepassed over her rose-red prettiness to set his affections on that demureelf of a Cecily. She did not want the allegiance of Cyrus in the least,but it was something of a slight that he had not wanted her to want it.
"And he sends me pieces of poetry he cuts out of the papers," Cecilywent on, "with lots of the lines marked with a lead pencil. Yesterday heput one in his letter, and this is what he marked:
"'If you will not relent to me Then must I learn to know Darkness alone till life be flown.
Here--I have the piece in my sewing-bag--I'll read it all to you."
Those three graceless girls read the sentimental rhyme and giggled overit. Poor Cyrus! His young affections were sadly misplaced. But afterall, though Cecily never relented towards him, he did not condemnhimself to darkness alone till life was flown. Quite early in life hewedded a stout, rosy, buxom lass, the very antithesis of his first love;he prospered in his undertakings, raised a large and respectable family,and was eventually appointed a Justice of the Peace. Which was all verysensible of Cyrus.