Dorothy's House Party
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To some there this seemed a very childish suggestion, but not to wise Seth Winters. The very fact that shy Molly Martin had so far forgotten her own self-consciousness as to offer her bit of entertainment argued well for the success of Dorothy’s House Party with its oddly assorted members. But he surprised Helena’s lifted eyebrows and the glance she exchanged with the other Molly, so hastened to endorse the proposition:
“A happy thought, my lass; and as I’m the oldest ‘child’ here I’ll open the game myself with one of the oldest riddles on record. Did anybody ever happen to hear of the Sphinx?”
“Why, of course! Egypt – ” began Monty eagerly, hoping to shine in the coming contest of wits.
Seth Winters shook his head.
“In one sense a correct answer; but, Jamie lad, out with it! I believe you know which Sphinx I mean. All your delving into books – out with it, man!”
“The monster of the ancients, I guess. That had the head of a woman, the body of a dog, the tail of a serpent, the wings of a bird, the paws of a lion, and a human voice;” answered Jim blushing a little thus to be airing his knowledge before so many.
“The very creature! What connection had this beauty with riddles, if you please?”
They were all listening now, and smiling a little over the old farrier’s whimsical manner, as the boy student went on to explain:
“The Sphinx was sent into Thebes by Juno for her private revenge. The fable is that he laid all that country waste by proposing riddles and killing all who could not guess them. The calamity was so great that Creon promised his crown to anyone who could guess one, and the guessing would mean the death of the Sphinx.”
“Why do you stop just there, Jim, in the most interesting part? Please go on and finish – if you can!” cried Dorothy.
Mr. Winters also nodded and the boy added:
“This was the riddle: What animal in the morning walks on four feet, at noon on two, and at evening on three?”
“At it, youngsters, at it! Cudgel your brains for the answer. We don’t want any mixed-anatomy Sphinxes rampaging around here,” urged the farrier.
Many and various were the guesses hazarded but each fell wide of the mark. Helena alone preserved a smiling silence and waited to hear what the others had to say.
“Time’s up! Five minutes to a riddle is more than ample. Helena has it, I see by the twinkle of her eyes. Well, my dear?”
“I can’t call it a real guess, Mr. Winters, for I read it, as James did the story. The answer is —Man. In his babyhood, the morning of life, he crawls or walks on ‘all fours’; in youth and middle age he goes upright on two feet; and at evening, old age, he supplements them by a staff or crutch – his three feet.”
“Oh! how simple! Why couldn’t I guess that!” exclaimed Molly, impatiently. “But who did solve the silly thing, first off?”
“Œdipus; and this so angered the Sphinx that he dashed his head against a rock and so died.”
“Umm. I never dreamed there could be riddles like that,” said Molly Martin; “all I thought of was ‘Round as an apple, busy as a bee, The prettiest little thing you ever did see,’ and such. I’d like to learn some others worth while, to tell of winter evenings before we go to bed.”
“I know a good one, please, Mr. Seth. Shall I tell it?” asked Frazer Moore. “Pa found it in a ‘Farmers’ Almanac,’ so maybe the rest have seen it, too.”
“Begin, Frazer. Five minutes per riddle! If anybody knows it ’twon’t take so long,” advised Mr. Seth, whom Dolly had called “the Master of the Feast.”
“What is it men and women all despise,Yet one and all so highly prize?Which kings possess not? though full sure am IThat for the luxury they often sigh.That never was for sale, yet, any day,The poorest beggar may the best display.The farmer needs it for his growing corn;Nor its dear comfort will the rich man scorn;Fittest for use within a sick friend’s room,Its coming silent as spring’s early bloom.A great, soft, yielding thing that no one fears —A little thing oft wet with mother’s tears.A thing so hol(e)y that when it we wearWe screen it safely from the world’s rude stare.”“Hmm. Seems if there were handles enough to that long riddle, but I can’t catch on to any of them. They contradict themselves so,” cried Dorothy, after a long silence had followed Frazer’s recitation.
Handles enough, to be sure; but like Dorothy, nobody could grasp one, and as the five minutes ended the mountain lad had the proud knowledge that he had puzzled them all, and gayly announced:
“That was an easy one! Every word I said fits – AN OLD SHOE!”
“Oh!” “A-ah!” “How stupid I was not to see!” “‘The farmer needs it for his growing corn!’” cried the Master, drawing up his foot and facetiously rubbing his toes. “Even a farmer may raise two kinds of corn,” suggested he and thus solved one line over which Jane Potter was still puzzling.
Thereupon, Monty sprang up and snapped his fingers, schoolroom fashion:
“Master, Master! Me next! Me! I know one good as his and not near so long! My turn, please!”
They all laughed. Laughter came easily now, provoked even by silliness, and again a thankful, happy feeling rose in the young hostess’s heart that her House Party was to be so delightful to everybody. Helena Montaigne now sat resting shoulder to shoulder with proud Alfaretta upon a little divan of straw whose back was a row of grain sheaves; Mabel was radiant amid a trio of admiring lads – Monty, Mike Martin, and Danny Smith; Herbert was eagerly discussing camp-life with shy Melvin, who had warmed to enthusiasm over his Nova Scotian forests; and all the different elements of that young assembly were proving most harmonious, as even smaller parties, arranged by old hostesses, do not always prove.
“All right, Master Montmorency. Make it easy, please. A diversion not a brain tax,” answered Seth.
“‘If Rider Haggard had been Lew Wallace, what would ‘She’ have been?’”
“‘Ben Hur’!” promptly shouted Frazer, before another had a chance to speak, and Monty sank back with a well-feigned groan. “I read that in the Almanac, too. I’ve read ‘Ben Hur,’ it’s in our school lib’ry, but not ‘She,’ though Pa told me that was another book, wrote by the other feller.”
“I’ll never try again; I never do try to distinguish myself but I make a failure of it!” wailed Monty, jestingly.
“But Herbert hasn’t failed, nor Melvin. Let’s have at least one more wit-sharpener,” coaxed Dorothy.
But Herbert declined, though courteously enough.
“Indeed, Dorothy, I don’t know a single riddle and I never could guess one. Try Melvin, instead, please.”
The English boy flushed, as he always did at finding himself observed, but he remembered that he had heard strangers comment upon the obligingness of the Canadians and he must maintain the honor of his beloved Province. So, after a trifling hesitation, he answered:
“I can think of only one, Dorothy, and it’s rather long, I fancy. My mother made me learn it as a punishment, once, when I was a little tacker, don’t you know, and I never forgot it. The one by Lord Byron. I’ll render that, if you wish.”
“We do wish, we do!” cried Molly, while the Master nodded approvingly.
So without further prelude Melvin recited:
“’Twas whispered in Heaven, ’twas muttered in Hell,And Echo caught softly the sound as it fell;On the confines of Earth ’twas permitted to rest,And the Depths of the ocean its presence confessed.’Twill be found in the Sphere when ’tis riven asunder,Be seen in the Lightning and heard in the Thunder.’Twas allotted to man with his earliest Breath,Attends at his Birth and awaits him in Death;It presides o’er his Happiness, Honor, and Health,Is the prop of his House and the end of his Wealth.Without it the soldier and seaman may roam,But woe to the Wretch who expels it from Home.In the Whispers of conscience its voice will be found,Nor e’en in the Whirlwind of passion be drowned.’Twill not soften the Heart; and tho’ deaf to the ear’Twill make it acutely and instantly Hear.But in Shade, let it rest like a delicate flower —Oh! Breathe on it softly – it dies in an Hour.”Several had heard the riddle before and knew its significance; but those who had not found it as difficult to guess as Frazer’s “Old Shoe” had been. So Melvin had to explain that it was a play of words each containing the letter H; and this explanation was no sooner given than a diversion was made by Mabel Bruce’s irrelevant remark:
“I never picked grapes off a vine in my life, never!”
“Hi! Does that mean you want to do so now?” demanded Monty, alert. He, too, had grown tired of a game in which he did not excel, and eagerly followed the direction of her pointing, chubby finger. A finger on which sparkled a diamond ring, more fitting for a matron than a schoolgirl young as she.
Along that side of the barn, rising from the hay strewn floor to the loft above, ran a row of upright posts set a few inches apart and designed to guard a great space beyond. This space was to be filled with the winter’s stock of hay and its cemented bottom was several feet lower than the floor whereon the merry-makers sat. As yet but little hay had been stored there, and the posts which would give needful ventilation as well as keep the hay from falling inward, had been utilized now for decoration.
The boyish decorators had not scrupled to rifle the Deerhurst vineyards of their most attractive vines, and the cluster of fruit on which Mabel had fixed a covetous eye was certainly a tempting one. The rays from two Chinese lanterns, hung near it, brought out its juicy lusciousness with even more than daylight clearness, and Mabel’s mouth fairly watered for these translucent grapes.
“That bunch? Of course you shall have it!” cried Monty, springing up and standing on tiptoe to reach what either Jim or Herbert could have plucked with ease.
Alas! His efforts but hindered himself. The vine was only loosely twined around the upright and, as he grasped it, swung lightly about and the cluster he sought was forced to the inner side of the post, even higher than it had hung before.
“Huh! That’s what my father would call ‘the aggravation of inanimate things’! Those grapes knew that you wanted them, that I wanted to get them for you, and see how they act? But I’ll have them yet. Don’t fear. That old fellow I camped-out with this last summer told me it was a coward who ever gave up ‘discouraged.’ I’ll have that bunch of grapes – or I’ll know the reason why! I almost reached them that time!” cried the struggler, proudly, and leaped again.
By this time all the company was watching his efforts, the lads offering jeering suggestions about “sheets of paper to stand on,” and Danny Smith even inquiring if the other was “practising for a climb on a greased pole, come next Fourth.”
Even the girls laughed over Monty’s ludicrous attempts, though Mabel entreated him to give up and let somebody else try.
“I – I rather guess not! When I set out to serve a lady I do it or die in the attempt!” returned the perspiring lad, vigorously waving aside the proffered help of his taller mates. “I – I – My heart! Oh! Jiminy! I – I’m stuck!”
He was. One of the newly set uprights had slipped a little and again wedged itself fast; and between this and its neighbor, unfortunate Montmorency hung suspended, the upper half of his body forced inward over the empty “bay” and his fat legs left to wave wildly about in their effort to find a resting place. To add to his predicament, a scream of uncontrollable laughter rose from all the observers, even Mabel, in whose sake he so gallantly suffered, adding her shrill cackle to the others.
All but the Master. Only the fleetest smile crossed his face, then it grew instantly grave as he said:
“We’ve tried our hand at riddles but here’s another, harder than any of the others. Monty is in a fix – how shall we get him out?”
CHAPTER VI
A MORNING CALL
So ended the first “Day” of Dorothy’s famous “Week.”
At sight of the gravity that had fallen upon Seth Winter’s face her own sobered, though she had to turn her eyes away from the absurd appearance of poor Monty’s waving legs. Then the legs ceased to wave and hung limp and inert.
The Master silently pointed toward the door and gathering her girl guests about her the young hostess led them houseward, remarking:
“That looks funnier than it is and dear Mr. Seth wants us out of the way. I reckon they’ll have to cut that post down for I saw that even he and Jim together couldn’t move it. It’s so new and sticky, maybe – I don’t know. Poor Monty!”
“When he kept still, just now, I believe he fainted. I’m terribly frightened,” said Helena Montaigne, laying a trembling hand on Dolly’s shoulder. “It would be so perfectly awful to have your House Party broken up by a tragedy!”
Mabel began to cry, and the two mountain girls, Molly Martin and Jane, slipped their arms about her to comfort her, Jane practically observing:
“It takes a good deal to kill a boy. Ma says they’ve as many lives as a cat, and Ma knows. She brought up seven.”
“She didn’t bring ’em far, then, Jane. They didn’t grow to be more than a dozen years old, ary one of ’em. You’re the last one left and you know it yourself,” corrected the too-exact Alfaretta.
“Pooh, Alfy! Don’t talk solemn talk now. That Monty boy isn’t dead yet and Janie’s a girl. They’ll get him out his fix, course, such a lot of folks around to help. And, Mabel, it wasn’t your fault, anyway. He needn’t have let himself get so fat, then he wouldn’t have had no trouble. I could slip in and out them uprights, easy as fallin’ off a log. He must be an awful eater. Fat folks gen’ally are,” said Molly Martin.
Mabel winced and shook off the comforter’s embrace. She was “fat” herself and also “an awful eater,” as Dolly could well remember and had been from the days of their earliest childhood. But the regretful girl could not stop crying and bitterly blamed herself for wanting “those horrible grapes. I’ll never eat another grape as long as I live. I shall feel like – like a – ”
“Like a dear sensible girl, Mabel Bruce! And don’t forget you haven’t eaten any grapes yet, here. Of course, it will be all right. Molly Martin is sensible. Let’s just go in and sit awhile in the library, where cook, Aunt Malinda, was going to put some cake and lemonade. There’ll be a basket of fruit there, too; and we can have a little music, waiting for the boys to come in,” said Dorothy, with more confidence in her voice than in her heart. Then when Mabel’s tears had promptly ceased – could it have been at the mention of refreshments? – she added, considerately: “and let’s all resolve not to say a single word about poor Monty’s mishap. He’s more sensitive than he seems and will be mortified enough, remembering how silly he looked, without our reminding him of it.”
“That’s right, Dorothy. I’m glad you spoke of it. I’m sure nobody would wish to hurt his feelings and it was – ridiculous, one way;” added Helena, heartily, and Dorothy smiled gratefully upon her. She well knew that the rich girl’s opinion carried weight with these poorer ones and of Alfaretta’s teasing tongue she had been especially afraid.
Nor was it long before they heard the boys come in, and from the merry voices and even whistling of the irrepressible Danny, they knew that the untoward incident had ended well. Yet when the lads had joined them, as eager for refreshments as Mabel now proved, neither Jim, Mr. Seth, nor Monty was with them; and, to the credit of all it was, that the subject of the misadventure did not come up at all, although inquisitive Alfy had fairly to bite her tongue to keep the questions back.
They ended the evening by an hour in the music room, where gay college songs and a few old-fashioned “rounds” sent them all to bed a care-free, merry company; though Dorothy lingered long enough to write a brief note to Mrs. Calvert and to drop it into the letter-box whence it would find the earliest mail to town.
A satisfactory little epistle to its recipient, though it said only this:
“Our House Party is a success! Dear Mr. Seth is the nicest boy of the lot, and I know you’re as glad as I am that he invited himself. I thank you and I love you, love you, love you! Dolly.”
Next morning, as beautiful a Sunday as ever dawned, came old Dinah to Dorothy with a long face, and the lament:
“I cayn’t fo’ de life make dat li’l creatur’ eat wid a fo’k an’ howcome I erlows he’ to eat to de table alongside you-alls, lak yo’ tole me, Miss Do’thy? I’se done putten it into he’ han’, time an’ time ergin, an’ she jes natchally flings hit undah foot an’ grabs a spoon. An’ she stuffs an’ stuffs, wussen you’ fixin’ er big tu’key. I’se gwine gib up teachin’ he’ mannehs. I sutney is. She ain’ no quality, she ain’.”
“But that’s all right, Dinah. She’s only a child, a little child it seems to me. And whether she’s ‘quality’ or not makes no difference. I’ve talked it all over with Mr. Seth and he says I may do as I like. Whoever she is, she’s somebody! She came uninvited and sometimes it seems as if God sent her. She can’t understand our good times but I want her to share them. So, now that you say she is perfectly well, just let her take the place at table near the door where we settled she should sit. Let Norah wait upon her and I do believe the sight of all of us, so happy, will give some happiness to her. ‘Touched of God,’ some people call these ‘naturals.’ She’s a human being, she was once a girl like me, and she’s simply —not finished! She isn’t a bit repulsive and I’m sure it’s right to have her with us all we can.”
“She’s a ole woman, Miss Do’thy, she ain’ no gal-chile. He’ haid’s whitah nor my Miss Betty’s. I erlow she wouldn’ – ”
“There, there, good Dinah! You and I have threshed this subject threadbare. You are so kind to me, have done and will do so much to make my Party go off all right, that I do hate to go against anything you say. But I can’t give up in this. That poor little wanderer who strayed into Deerhurst grounds, whom nobody comes to claim, shall not be the first to find it inhospitable. I’ve written Aunt Betty all about this ‘Luna’ and I know she’ll approve, just as Mr. Winters does. So don’t try to keep her shut up out of sight, any longer, Dinah dear. It goes to my heart to see her pace, pace around any room you put her in by herself. Like a poor wild animal caged! It fairly made me shiver to see her, yesterday, when you led her into the great storeroom and left her. She followed you to the door and peered, and peered, out after you but didn’t offer to follow. As if she were fastened by invisible chains and couldn’t. Then around and around she went again, playing with those bits of bright rags you found in the pocket of her own dress. I’m so glad she likes that red one of mine and that it fits her so well. So don’t worry, Dinah, over the proprieties of your Miss Betty’s home. There’s something better than propriety – that’s loving kindness!”
Nobody had ever accused old Dinah of want of kindness and Dorothy did not mean to do so now. The faithful woman had been devoted to the unknown visitor, from the moment of discovering her asleep upon the sun-parlor lounge; but she could not make it seem right that such an afflicted creature, and one who was evidently so far along in life, should mix at all familiarly with all those gay young people now staying in the house. But she had never heard her new “li’l Missy” talk at such length before and she was impressed by the multitude of words if not by their meaning. Besides, her quick ear had caught that “Luna,” and she now impatiently demanded:
“Howcome you’ knows he’ name, Miss Do’thy, an’ nebah tole ole Dinah?”
“Oh! I don’t know it, honey. Not her real one. That’s a fancy one I made up. She came to us in the moonlight and Luna stands for moon. So that’s why, and that’s all! So go, good Dinah, and send your charge in with Norah. All the others are down and waiting and, I hope, as hungry for their breakfast as I am!”
Dinah departed, grumbling. In few things would she oppose her “Miss Do’thy” but in the matter of this “unfinished” stranger she felt strongly. However, she objected no more. If Mr. Seth Winters, her Miss Betty’s trusted friend, endorsed such triflin’, ornery gwines-on, she had no more to say. The blame was on his shoulders and not hers!
Since nobody knew a better name for the stranger than “Luna” it was promptly accepted by all as a fitting one. She answered to it just as she answered to anything else – and that was not at all. She allowed herself to be led, fed, and otherwise attended, without resistance, and if she was especially comfortable she wore a happy smile on her small wrinkled face. But she never spoke and to the superstitious servants her silence seemed uncanny:
“I just believe she could talk, if she wanted to, for she certainly hears quick enough. She’s real impish, witch-like, and she fair gives me the creeps,” complained Norah to a stable lad early on that Sunday morning. “And I don’t half like for Miss Dolly to ’point me special nurse to the creatur’. I’d rather by far be left to me bedmakin’ an’ dustin’. She may be one of them ‘little people’ lives at home in old Ireland – that’s the power to work ill charms on a body, if they wish it.”
“True ye say, Norah girl. ’Twas an’ ill charm, she worked on me not an hour agone. I was in the back porch, slippin’ off me stable jacket ’fore eatin’ my food, an’ Dinah had the creature by the hand scrubbin’ a bit dirt off it. I was takin’ my money out one pocket into another and quick as chain-lightnin’ grabs this queer old woman and hides the money behind her. She may be a fool, indeed, but she knows money when she sees it! and the look on her was like a miser!”
“Did you get it back, lad?”
“’Deed, that did I! If there’s one more’n another this Luny dwarf fears – and likes, too, which is odd! – it’s old black Dinah; and even she had to squeeze the poor little hand tight to make its fingers open and the silver drop out. Then the creature forgot all about it same’s she’d never seen it at all, at all. But Tim’s learned his lesson, and ’tis that there’s nobody in this world so silly ’t he don’t know money when he sees it! ’Twas a she this time, though just as greedy.”
But if Norah dreaded the charge of poor Luna the latter made very little trouble for her attendant. She did not understand the use of knife and fork and all her food had to be cut up, as for a helpless infant; but she fed herself with a spoon neatly enough, though in great haste. Afterwards she leaned back in her chair and stared vacantly at one or another of the young folks gathered around that big table. Finally, her eyes rested upon the gaily bedecked person of Mabel Bruce and a smile settled upon her features; while so unobtrusive was she that her presence was almost forgotten by the other, happy chatterers in the room.
“Who’s for church?” asked Mr. Winters, with a little tap on the table to secure attention. “Hands up, so I can count noses!”
Every hand went up, even Luna following the example of the rest, quite unknowing why. Seeing this, Dorothy must needs leave her seat and run around to the poor thing’s chair and pat her shoulder approvingly.
“The landau will hold four, and it’s four miles to our church. Who is for that?” again demanded the Master.
There was a swift exchange of glances between him and the young hostess as she returned:
“Shall I say?”
“Aye, aye!” shouted Monty, with his ordinary fervor. The considerate silence of his house-mates concerning his mishap in the barn had restored his self-possession, and though he had felt silly and awkward when he had joined them he did not now.
“Very well. Then I nominate Jane, Molly Martin, Alfaretta, and Mabel Bruce, for the state carriage,” said Dorothy.
“Sho! I thought if that was used at all ’twould be Helena and the other ’ristocratics would ride in that,” whispered the delighted Alfy to Jane.
But the young hostess had quickly reflected that landaus and other luxurious equipages were familiar and commonplace to her richer guests but that, probably, none of these others had ever ridden in such state; therefore the greater pleasure to them.
The Master produced a slip of paper and checked off the names:
“Landau, with the bays; and Ephraim and Boots in livery – settled. Next?”
“There’s the pony cart and Portia,” suggested Dolly.
“Helena and Melvin? Jolly Molly, and Jim to drive? Satisfactory all round?” again asked the note-taker; and if this second apportionment was not so at least nobody objected, although poor Jim looked forward to an eight-mile drive beside mischievous Molly Breckenridge with some misgiving.