CHAPTER V.
AT "THE LOCUSTS"
Lloyd and Betty had been home from Warwick Hall only two days, and thejoyful excitement of arrival had not yet worn off. The Locusts had neverlooked so beautiful to them as it did this vacation, and theirenthusiasm over all that was about to happen kept them in a flutter frommorning till night.
When Rob's telephone message came that the train was late and that hecould not bring the girls out until after lunch, Lloyd chafed at thedelay at first. Then she consoled herself with the thought that shecould arrange a more effective welcome for the middle of the afternoonthan for an earlier hour.
"Grandfathah will have had his nap by that time," she said, with a saucyglance in his direction, "and he will be as sweet and lovely as a Maymawning. And he'll have on a fresh white suit for the evening, and acah'nation in his buttonhole." Then she gave her orders more directly.
"You must be suah to be out on the front steps to welcome them,grandfathah, with yoah co'tliest bow. And mothah, you must be beside himin that embroidered white linen dress of yoahs that I like so much. MomBeck will stand in the doahway behind you all just like a pictuah of anold-time South'n welcome. Of co'se Joyce has seen it all befoah, butlittle Mary has been looking foh'wa'd to this visit to The Locusts asshe would to heaven. You know what Joyce wrote about her calling thisher promised land."
"I know how it is going to make her feel," said Betty. "Just as it mademe feel when I got here from the Cuckoo's Nest, and found this 'HouseBeautiful' of my dreams. And if she is the little dreamer that I was thebest time will not be the arrival, but early candle-lighting time, whenyou are playing on your harp. I used to sit on a foot-stool atgodmother's feet, so unutterably happy, that I would have to put out myhand to feel her dress. I was so afraid that she might vanish--thateverything was too lovely to be real.
"And now, to think," she added, turning to Mrs. Sherman andaffectionately laying a hand on each shoulder, "it's lasted all thistime, till I have grown so tall that I could pick you up and carry youoff, little godmother. I am going to do it some day soon, lift you upbodily and put you into a story that I have begun to write. It will bemy best work, because it is what I have lived."
"You'd better live awhile longer," laughed Mrs. Sherman, "before youbegin to settle what your best work will be. Think how the shy littleElizabeth of twelve has blossomed into the stately Elizabeth ofeighteen, and think what possibilities are still ahead of you in thenext six years."
"When mothah and Betty begin to compliment each othah," remarked Lloyd,seating herself on the arm of the old Colonel's chair, "they are lost toall else in the world. So while we have this moment to ou'selves, mydeah grandfathah, I want to impress something on yoah mind, veryforcibly."
The playful way in which she held him by the ears was a familiarity noone but Lloyd had ever dared take with the dignified old Colonel. Sheemphasized each sentence with a gentle pull and pinch.
"Maybe you wouldn't believe it, but this little Mary Ware who is coming,has a most exalted opinion of me. From what Joyce says she thinks I amperfect, and I don't want her disillusioned. It's so nice to havesomebody look up to you that way, so I want to impress it on you thatyou're not to indulge in any reminiscence of my past while she is heah.You mustn't tell any of my youthful misdemeanahs that you are fond oftelling--how I threw mud on yoah coat, in one of my awful tempahs, andsmashed yoah shaving-mug with a walking-stick, and locked Walkah down inthe coal cellah when he wouldn't do what I wanted him to. You must 'letthe dead past bury its dead, and act--act in the living present,' sothat she'll think that _you_ think that I'm the piece of perfection sheimagines me to be."
"I'll be a party to no such deception," answered the old Colonel,sternly, although his eyes, smiling fondly on her, plainly spokeconsent. "You know you're the worst spoiled child in Oldham County."
"Whose fault is it?" retorted Lloyd, with a final pinch as she liberatedhis ears and darted away. "Ask Colonel George Lloyd. If there was anyspoiling done, he did it."
Two hours later, still in the gayest of spirits, Lloyd and Betty raceddown the avenue to meet their guests, and tired and travel-stained asthe newcomers were, the impetuous greeting gave them a sense of havingbeen caught up into a gay whirl of some kind. It gave them an excitedthrill which presaged all sorts of delightful things about to happen.The courtly bows of the old Colonel, standing between the great whitepillars, Mrs. Sherman's warm welcome, and Mom Beck's old-time curtseys,seemed to usher them into a fascinating story-book sort of life, farmore interesting than any Mary had yet read.
Several hours later, sitting in the long drawing-room, she wondered ifshe could be the same girl who one short week before was chasing acrossthe desert like a Comanche Indian, beating the bushes for rattlesnakes,or washing dishes in the hot little kitchen of the Wigwam. Here in thesoft light shed from many waxen tapers in the silver candelabra,surrounded by fine old ancestral portraits, and furniture that shonewith the polish of hospitable generations, Mary felt civilized down toher very finger-tips: so thoroughly a lady, through and through, thatthe sensation sent a warm thrill over her.
That feeling had begun soon after her arrival, when Mom Beck ushered herinto a luxurious bathroom. Mary enjoyed luxury like a cat. As shesplashed away in the big porcelain tub, she wished that Hazel Lee couldsee the tiled walls, the fine ample towels with their embroideredmonograms, the dainty soaps, and the cut-glass bottles of toilet-water,with their faint odor as of distant violets. Then she wondered if MomBeck would think that she had refused her offers of assistance becauseshe was not used to the services of a lady's maid. She was half-afraidof this old family servant in her imposing head-handkerchief and whiteapron.
Recalling Joyce's experiences in France and what had been the duties ofher maid, Marie, she decided to call her in presently to brush her hairand tie her slippers. Afterward she was glad that she had done so, forMom Beck was a practised hair-dresser, and made the most of Mary's thinlocks. She so brushed and fluffed and be-ribboned them in a new way,with a big black bow on top, that Mary beamed with satisfaction when shelooked in the glass. The new way was immensely becoming.
Then when she went down to dinner, it seemed so elegant to find Mr.Sherman in a dress suit. The shaded candles and cut glass and silver androses on the table made it seem quite like the dinner-parties she hadread about in novels, and the talk that circled around of the latestbooks and the new opera, and the happenings in the world at large, andthe familiar mention of famous names, made her feel as if she were inthe real social whirl at last.
The name of copy-cat which Holland had given her proved well-earned now,for so easily did she fall in with the ways about her, that one wouldhave thought her always accustomed to formal dinners, with a deftcolored waiter like Alec at her elbow.
Rob dined with them, and later in the evening Mrs. Walton came strollingover in neighborly fashion, bringing her house-party to call on theother party, she said, though to be sure only half of her guests hadarrived, the two young army officers, George Logan and Robert Stanley.Allison and Kitty were with them, and--Mary noted with a quick indrawnbreath--_Ranald_. The title of _Little_ Captain no longer fitted him. Hewas far too tall. She was disappointed to find him grown.
Somehow all the heroes and heroines whom she had looked upon as her ownage, who _were_ her own age when the interesting things she knew aboutthem had happened, were all grown up. Her first disappointment had beenin Rob, then in Betty. For this Betty was not the one Joyce had picturedin her stories of the first house-party. This one had long dresses, andher curly hair was tucked up on her head in such a bewitchinglyyoung-ladified way that Mary was in awe of her at first. She was notdisappointed in her now, however, and no longer in awe, since Betty hadpiloted her over the place, swinging hands with her in as friendly afashion as if she were no older than Hazel Lee, and telling the way shelooked when _she_ saw The Locusts for the first time--a timid littlecountry girl in a sunbonnet, with a wicker basket on her arm.
The military uniforms lent an a
ir of distinction to the scene, andAllison and Kitty each began a conversation in such a vivacious way,that Mary found it difficult to decide which group to attach herself to.She did not want to lose a word that any one was saying, and the effortto listen to several separate conversations was as much of a strain astrying to watch three rings at the circus.
Through the laughter and the repartee of the young people she heard Mrs.Walton say to Mr. Sherman: "Yes, only second lieutenants, but I've beenan army woman long enough to appreciate them as they deserve. They haveno rank to speak of, few privileges, are always expected to do theagreeable to visitors (and they do it), obliged to give up theirquarters at a moment's notice, take the duties nobody else wants, becheerful under all conditions, and ready for anything. It is anexception when a second lieutenant is not dear and fascinating. As forthese two, I am doubly fond of them, for their fathers were army menbefore them, and old-time friends of ours. George I knew as a little ladin Washington. I must tell you of an adventure of his, that shows what asterling fellow he is."
Mary heard only part of the anecdote, for at the same time Kitty wastelling an uproariously funny joke on Ranald, and all the rest werelaughing. But she heard enough to make her take a second look atLieutenant Logan. He was leaning forward in his chair, talking to Joycewith an air of flattering interest. And Joyce, in one of her newdresses, her face flushed a little from the unusual excitement, wastalking her best and looking her prettiest.
"HE WAS LEANING FORWARD IN HIS CHAIR, TALKING TO JOYCE"]
"She's having a good time just like other girls," thought Mary,thankfully. "This will make up for lots of lonely times in the desert,when she was homesick for the high-school girls and boys at Plainsville.It would be fine if things would turn out so that Joyce liked an armyman. If she married one and lived at a post she'd invite me to visither. Lieutenant Logan might be a general some day, and it would be niceto have a great man in the family. I wish mamma and Jack and Hollandcould see what a good time we are having."
It did not occur to Mary that, curled up in a big chair in the corner,she was taking no more active share in the good times than the portraitson the wall. Her eager smile and the alert happy look in her eyes showedthat she was all a-tingle with the unusual pleasure the evening wasaffording her. She laughed and looked and listened, sure that the sceneshe was enjoying was as good as a play. She had never seen a play, it istrue; but she had read of them, and of player folk, until she knew shewas fitted to judge of such things.
It was a pleasure just to watch the gleam of the soft candle-light onKitty's red ribbons, or on the string of gold beads around Allison'swhite throat. Maybe it was the candle-light which threw such a softglamour over everything and made it seem that the pretty girls and theyoung lieutenants were only portraits out of a beautiful old past whohad stepped down from their frames for a little while. Yet when Maryglanced up, the soldier boy was still in his picture on the wall, andthe beautiful girl with the June rose in her hair was still in herframe, standing beside her harp, her white hand resting on its shiningstrings.
"It is my grandmothah Amanthis," explained Lloyd in answer to thelieutenant's question, as his gaze also rested admiringly on it. "Yes,this is the same harp you see in the painting. Yes, I play a little. Ilearned to please grandfathah."
Then, a moment later, Mary reached the crown of her evening's enjoyment,for Lloyd, in response to many voices, took her place beside the harpbelow the picture, and struck a few deep, rich chords. Then, with anairy running accompaniment, she began the Dove Song from the play of"The Princess Winsome:"
"Flutter and fly, flutter and fly, Bear him my heart of gold."
It was all as Mary had imagined it would be, a hundred times in herday-dreams, only far sweeter and more beautiful. She had not thought howthe white sleeves would fall back from the round white arms, or how hervoice would go fluttering up like a bird, sweet and crystal clear on thelast high note.
Afterward, when the guests were gone and everybody had said good night,Mary lay awake in the pink blossom of a room which she shared withJoyce, the same room Joyce had had at the first house-party. She washaving another good time, thinking it all over. She thought scornfullyof the woman on the sleeping-car who had told her that distance lendsenchantment, and that she must not expect too much of her promised land.She hoped she might meet that woman again some day, so that she couldtell her that it was not only as nice as she had expected to find it,but a hundred times nicer.
She reminded herself that she must tell Betty about her in the morning.As she recalled one pleasant incident after another, she thought, "Now_this_ is _life_! No wonder Lloyd is so bright and interesting when shehas been brought up in such an atmosphere."