CHAPTER XVII.
GIPSY'S RETURN TO SUNSET HALL.
"This maiden's sparkling eyes Are pretty and all that, sir; But then her little tongue Is quite too full of chat, sir."--MOORE.
The effect of Archie's announcement on our party may be imagined. Lizzieuttered a stifled shriek and fell back in her seat; the squire's eyesprotruded until they seemed ready to burst from their sockets; Louisgazed like one thunderstruck, and caught hold of Archie, who seemedinclined to leap on the stage in search of his little lady-love.
"Let me go into the green-room--let us go before she leaves," criedArchie, struggling to free himself from the grasp of Louis.
The crowd were now dispersing; and the squire and his party arose andwere borne along by the throng, headed by Archie, whose franticexertions--as he dug his elbows right and left, to make a passage, quiteregardless of feelings and ribs--soon brought them to the outer air; andten minutes later--the squire never could tell how--found them in thegreen-room, among painted actresses and slip-shod, shabby-lookingactors.
Archie's eyes danced over the assembled company, who looked rathersurprised, not to say indignant, at this sudden entrance, and rested atlast on a straight, slight, little figure, with its back toward them.With one bound he cleared the intervening space betwixt them, andwithout waiting to say "by your leave," clasped her in his arms, andimprinted a kiss upon her cheek.
"Dear me, Archie, is that you? Take care! you're mussing my new dressdreadfully!" was the astoundingly cool salutation, in the well-knowntones of our little Gipsy.
"Oh, Gipsy, how _could_ you do it? Oh, Gipsy, it was _such_ a shame,"exclaimed Archie, reproachfully.
At this moment she espied Louis advancing toward her, and accosted himwith:
"How d'ye do, Louis?--how's Celeste and Minnette, and Mignonne, and allthe rest? Pretty well, eh?"
"Gipsy! Gipsy! what a way to talk after our long parting," said Louis,almost provoked by her indifference. "You don't know how we all grievedfor you. Poor Mrs. Gower has become quite a skeleton crying for her'monkey.'"
"Oh, poor, dear aunty! that's too bad now. But here comes Guardy andLizzie. I don't think Guardy was breaking his heart about me anyway! Helooks in capital condition yet."
At this moment the squire came over with Lizzie leaning on his arm.
"Hallo! Guardy, how are you? How did you like the opera?" exclaimedGipsy, in the same tone she would have used had she parted from him anhour before.
"Oh, Gipsy! you little wretch you! I never thought it would come tothis," groaned the squire.
"No, you thought I wasn't clever enough! Just see how easy it is to bedeceived! Didn't I dance beautifully, though, and ain't I credit to younow? I'll leave it to Archie here. Aunt Lizzie, I'll speak to you assoon as I get time. Here comes old Barnes, the manager, to know what'sthe matter."
"Oh, Gipsy, you'll come home with us, my love, you really must,"exclaimed Lizzie.
"Couldn't, aunty, by no manner of means," replied Gipsy, shaking herhead.
"But I'll be shot if you _don't_, though," shouted the squire, "so nomore about it. Do you think I'm going to let a ward of _mine_ go with agang of strolling players any longer?"
"I'm no ward of yours, Squire Erliston; I'm my own mistress, thanks beto goodness, free and independent, and so I mean to stay," exclaimedGipsy, with sparkling eyes.
"But, oh, my dear! my _dear_ Gipsy, do come home with us to-night,"pleaded Lizzie, taking her hand.
"You will, Gipsy, just for to-night," coaxed Louis. And: "Ah, Gipsy,_won't_ you now?" pleaded Archie, looking up in her saucy little face,with something very like tears shining in his usually merry blue eyes.
"Well--maybe--just for to-night," said Gipsy, slowly yielding; "butmind, I must go back to-morrow."
"And may I be kicked to death by grasshoppers, if ever I _let_ you goback," muttered the squire to himself.
"Here comes the manager, Mr. Barnes," said Gipsy, raising her voice;"these are my friends, and I am going home with them to-night."
"You'll be back to-morrow in time for the rehearsal" inquired Mr.Barnes, in no very pleased tone of voice.
"Oh, yes, to be sure," said Gipsy, as she ran off to get her hat andcloak.
"_We'll see about that!_" said the squire, inwardly, with a knowing nod.
Gipsy soon made her appearance. A cab was in waiting, and the wholeparty were soon on their way to the hotel.
"And now, tell us all your adventures since the night you eloped fromSunset Hall," said Louis, as they drove along.
"By and by. Tell me first all that has happened at St. Mark's since Ileft--all about Celeste, and the rest of my friends."
So Louis related all that had transpired since her departure--softening,as much as he could, the outrageous conduct of Minnette.
"Poor Celeste!" exclaimed Gipsy, with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes."Oh, don't I wish I'd only been there to take her part! _Wouldn't_ Ihave given it to Minnette--the ugly old thing!--beg pardon, Archie, forcalling your cousin names."
"Oh, you're welcome to call her what you please, for all I care,"replied Archie, in a nonchalant tone. "I'm not dying about her."
"There's no love lost, I think," said Louis, laughing.
By this time they had reached the hotel. Lizzie took Gipsy to her roomto brush her hair and arrange her dress, and then led her to the parlor,where the trio were waiting them.
"And now for your story!" exclaimed Archie, condescendingly pushing astool toward Gipsy with his foot.
"Well, it's not much to tell," said Gipsy. "After leaving _you_, Guardy,that night, in an excessively amiable frame of mind, I went up to myroom and sat down to deliberate whether I'd set fire to the house andburn you all in your beds, or take a razor and cut _your_ windpipe, byway of letting in a little hint to be more polite to me in future."
"Good Lord! I just thought so!" ejaculated the horrified squire.
"Finally, Guardy, I came to the conclusion that I would do neither. Bothwere unpleasant jobs--at least they would have been unpleasant to you,whatever they might have been to me, and would have taken too much time.So I concluded to let you burden the earth a little longer, and quoteSolomon for the edification of the world generally, and in the meantimeto make myself as scarce as possible; for I'd no idea of staying to beknocked about like an old dishcloth. So I got up, took my last supply ofpocket-money, stole down to the stables, mounted Mignonne, and dashedoff like the wind. Poor Mignonne! I rather think I astonished him thatnight, and we were both pretty well blown by the time we reachedBrande's Tavern.
"There I took breakfast, left Mignonne--much against my will--jumpedinto the mail-coach, and started for the city. Arrived there, I was forawhile rather at a loss in what direction to turn my talents. Mypredominant idea, however, was to don pantaloons and go to sea. Beingdetermined to see the lions, while I staid, I went one night to theplay, saw a little girl dancing, and--Eureka! I had discovered what Iwas born for at last! '_Couldn't_ I beat that?' says I to myself. Andso, when I went home, I just got up before the looking-glass, stood onone toe, and stuck the other leg straight out, as she had done, cut afew pigeon-wings, turned a somerset or two, and came to the conclusionthat if I didn't become a _danseuse_ forthwith, it would be the greatestloss this world ever sustained--the fall of Jerusalem not excepted. To ayoung lady of my genius it was no very difficult thing to accomplish. Iwent to see Old Barnes, who politely declined my services. But I wasn'tgoing 'to give it up so, Mr. Brown,' and, like the widow in theScripture, I gave him no peace, night or day, until he accepted myservices. Well, after that all was plain sailing enough. Maybe I didn'tastonish the world by the rapidity with which my continuations went upand down. It was while there I wrote that letter of consolation to AuntyGower, by way of setting your minds at ease. Then we went to Washington,then to New York, and everywhere I 'won golden opinions from all sortsof people,' as Shakespeare, or Solomon, or some of them old fellowssays. I always kept a bright lookout for you all, for I had a sort ofpresentiment
I'd stumble against you some day. So I wasn't muchsurprised, but a good pleased, when I saw Guardy's dear old headprotruding, like a huge overboiled beet, from one of the boxes to-night.And so--_Finis_!"
"Gipsy," exclaimed Archie, "you're a regular specimen of Young America!You deserve a leather medal, or a service of tin plate--you do, byJove!"
"'Pon honor, now?"
"Oh, Gipsy, my love, I'm very sorry to think you could have degradedyourself in such a way!" said Lizzie, with a shockingly shockedexpression of countenance.
"Degraded, Aunt Lizzie!" exclaimed Gipsy, indignantly. "I'd like to knowwhether it's more degrading to earn one's living, free and merry, as arespectable, 'sponsible, danceable dancer, as Totty would say, or tostay depending on any one, to be called a beggar, and kicked about likean old shoe, if you didn't do everything a snappish old crab of an oldgentleman took into his absurd old head. I never was made to obey anyone--and what's more, I won't neither. There, now!"
"Take care, Gipsy; don't make any rash promises," said Archie. "You'vegot to promise to 'love, honor, and obey' _me_, one of these days."
"Never-r-r! Obey _you_, indeed! Don't you wish I may do it?"
"Well, but, my love," said Lizzie, returning to the charge, "though itis too late to repair what you have done, you must be a dancing-girl nolonger. You must return home with us to Sunset Hall."
"Return to Sunset Hall! Likely I'll go there to be abused again! Not I,indeed, Aunt Lizzie; much obliged to you, at the same time, for theoffer."
"And I vow, Miss Flyaway, you _shall_ go with us--there!"
"And I vow, Guardy, I _sha'n't_ go with you--there!"
"I'll go to law, and _compel_ you to come. I'm your rightful guardian!"said the squire, in rising wrath.
"Rightful fiddlesticks! I'm no ward of yours; I'm Aunty Gower's niece;and the law's got nothing to do with me," replied Gipsy, with anaudacious snap of her fingers; for neither Gipsy nor the boys knew howshe was found on the beach.
"And is that all the thanks you give me for offering to plague myselfwith you, you ungrateful little varmint?"
"I'm _not_ ungrateful, Squire Erliston!" flashed Gipsy--a streak offiery red darting across her dark face. "I'm _not_ ungrateful; but I_won't_ be a slave to come at your beck; I _won't_ be called a beggar--apauper; I _won't_ be told the workhouse is my rightful home; I _won't_be struck like a cur, and then kiss the hand that strikes me. No! I'mnot ungrateful; but, though I'm only a little girl, I _won't_ beinsulted and abused for nothing. I can earn my own living, free andhappy, without whining for any one's favor, thank Heaven!"
Her little form seemed to tower upward with the consciousness of inwardpower, her eyes filled, blazed, and dilated, and her dark cheekcrimsoned with proud defiance.
The squire forgot his anger as he gazed in admiration on thehigh-spirited little creature standing before him, as haughty as alittle empress. Stretching out his arms, he caught her, and seated heron his knee--stroking her short, dancing curls, as he said, in theplayful tone one might use to a spoiled baby:
"And can't my little monkey make allowance for an old man's words? Youknow you were very naughty and mischievous that day, and I had cause tobe angry with you; and if I said harsh things, it was all for your good,you know."
"All for my good!--such stuff! I wish you'd put me down. I'm a younglady, I'd have you to know; and I ain't going to be used like a baby,dandled up and down without any regard for my dignity!" said Gipsy, withso indignant an expression of countenance, that Archie--who, as I beforementioned, was blessed with a keen sense of the ludicrous--fell back,roaring with laughter.
"Now, Gipsy, my love, do be reasonable and return home with us," saidLizzie, impatiently.
"I won't, then--there!" said Gipsy, rather sullenly.
But the tears rushed into Lizzie's eyes--for she really was very fond ofthe eccentric elf--and in a moment Gipsy was off the squire's knee, andher arms round Lizzie's neck.
"Why, aunty, did I make you cry? Oh, I'm so sorry! Please don't cry,dear, _dear_ aunty."
"Oh, Gipsy, it's so selfish of you not to return with us, when we are solonesome at home without you," said Lizzie, fairly sobbing.
"Yes; and poor Mrs. Gower will break her heart when she hears aboutit--I know she will," said Louis, in a lachrymose tone.
"And I'll break mine--I know I will!" added Archie, rubbing his knucklesinto his eyes, and with some difficulty squeezing out a tear.
"And I'll blow my stupid old brains out; and _after that_, I'll break myheart, too," chimed in the squire, in a very melancholy tone of voice.
"Well! la me! you'll have rather a smashing time of it if you all breakyour hearts. What'll you do with the pieces, Guardy?--sell them formarbles?" said Gipsy, laughing.
"There! I knew you'd relent; I said it. Oh, Gipsy, my darling, I knewyou wouldn't desert your 'Guardy' in his old age. I knew you wouldn'tlet him go down to his grave like a miserable, consumptive oldtabby-cat, with no wicked little 'imp' to keep him from stagnating. Oh,Gipsy, my dear, may Heaven bless you!"
"Bother! I haven't said I'd go. Don't jump at conclusions. Before I'd bewith you a week you'd be blowing me up sky-high."
"But, Gipsy, you know I can't live without blowing somebody up. Youought to make allowance for an old man's temper. It runs in our familyto blow up. I had an uncle, or something, that was 'blown up' at thebattle of Bunker Hill. Then I always feel after it as amiable as a catwhen eating her kittens. 'After a storm there cometh a calm,' as Solomonsays."
"Well, maybe there's something in that," said Gipsy, thoughtfully.
"And you know, my love," said Lizzie, "that, though a little girl may bea dancer, it's a dreadful life for a young woman--which you will be intwo or three years. No one ever respects a dancing girl; no gentlemanever would marry you."
"Wouldn't they, though!" said Gipsy, so indignantly that Archie oncemore fell back, convulsed. "If they wouldn't, somebody 'd lose thesmartest, cleverest, handsomest young lady on this terrestrial globe,though I say it, as 'hadn't oughter.' Well, since you all are going tocommit suicide if I don't go with you, I suppose old Barnes must losethe 'bright particular star' of his company, and I must return to St.Mark's, to waste my sweetness on the desert air."
This resolution was greeted with enthusiastic delight by all present;and the night was far advanced before the squire could part with his"little vixen," and allow her to go to rest.
Old Barnes--as Gipsy called him--was highly indignant at the treatmenthe had received, and, going to the hotel, began abusing Gipsy and thesquire, and everybody else generally; whereupon the squire, who neverwas noted for his patience, took him by the collar, and, by awell-applied kick, landed him in the kennel--a pleasant way of settlingdisputes which he had learned while dealing with his negroes, but forwhich an over-particular court made him pay pretty high damages.
Three days after, Louis and Archie bade them farewell, and enteredcollege; and the squire, after a pleasure-trip of a few weeks, set outfor St. Mark's.
In due course of time he arrived at that _refugium peccatorum_; and theunbounded delight with which Gipsy was hailed can never be described bypen of mine.
Good Mrs. Gower could scarcely believe that her darling was reallybefore her; and it was only when listening to the uproar that everywherefollowed the footsteps of the said darling, that she could be convinced.
As for Celeste, not knowing whether to laugh or cry with joy, she splitthe difference, and did both. Even Miss Hagar's grim face relaxed asGipsy came flashing into their quiet cottage like a March whirlwind,throwing everything into such "admired disorder," that it generally tookthe quiet little housekeeper, Celeste, half a day to set things torights afterward.
And now it began to be time to think of completing the education of thetwo young girls. Minnette had left for school before the return ofGipsy, and it became necessary to send them likewise. Loath as thesquire was to part with his pet, he felt he must do it, and urged MissHagar to allow Celeste to accompany her.
"Gipsy will
defend her from the malice of Minnette, and the two girlswill be company for each other," said the old man to the spinster."Girls _must_ know how to chatter French, and bang on a piano, and makeworsted cats and dogs, and all _such_! So let little Snowdrop, here, gowith my monkey, and I'll foot the bill."
Miss Hagar consented; and a month after found our little rusticlasses--our fair "Star of the Valley" and our mountain fairy, moving inthe new world of boarding-school.