A Daughter of the Rich Part 42

Chi was in his glory. Little Shaver came trotting regularly every day up through the woods'-road, and whinnied "Good-morning" first to Fleet, then to Chi. There were general coaching-parties to Woodstock and Brandon, in which Mrs. Blossom was guest, and a grand tea at the Fords'

for all the guests, with a musicale for a finish, and an informal dance in the Blossoms' barn to which all the Lost Nation were invited.

They accepted, one and all. Captain Spillkins was in his element, so he said. He and Mrs. Fenlick danced a two-step in a manner to win the commendation of the entire a.s.sembly. Miss Elvira and Miss Melissa went through the square dance escorted by Jack and Uncle Jo. There were round dances and contra dances. Uncle Israel contributed an "1812" jig, and Mr. Clyde pa.s.sed round the hat for his sole benefit. There were waltzes for those who could waltz, and polkas for those who could polka, and schottische and minuet. "There never was such a dance since before the Deluge!" declared Mrs. Fenlick, when Captain Spillkins escorted her to a seat on a sap-bucket; and then they all went at it again in a grand finale, the Virginia Reel--Chi and Hazel, Mr. Clyde and Aunt Tryphosa for head and foot couple; Maria-Ann with Jack; Alan Ford with Mrs.

Fenlick; the Colonel with Mrs. Blossom whom he admired greatly; March and Miss Alton--such a double row of them!

Poor Reub sat in one of the empty stalls and watched the fun with slow, half-understanding smile, and Ruth Ford reclined in a rocking-chair in the corner, and with merry laughter and sparkling wit soothed the dull ache in her heart that the knowledge that she was henceforth to be a "Shut-out" from all that life had at first given her.

The next day after the dance there was a grand dinner given at the inn by the Newport party to all the Lost Nation; and, later on, private entertainments for Mr. and Mrs. Blossom and the Fords. At last, when the first maple leaves crimsoned and the frost silvered the mullein leaves in the pasture, Hazel, her father, Jack, and their friends bade good-bye to the Mountain and all its joys of acquaintance, and in some cases, friendship, and turned their faces, not without reluctance on the part of some of them, city-wards.

"Oh, mother! has n't it been too beautiful for anything?" exclaimed Rose, turning to her mother, as the last of the riding-party waved his cap in farewell to those on the porch. It was Jack.

"We have had a happy summer, Rose;--I think they have, too," her mother added, shading her eyes from the setting sun. "You 'll be very lonely here at home, dear, after all this gayety."

"Lonely! Why, Martie Blossom, how can you think of such a thing!" said Rose, still scanning the lower road for a last glimpse of the riders.

"See, see, they are all waving their handkerchiefs!"

The whole Blossom family laid hold of what they could--napkins, towels, a table-cloth, and Chi seized his shirt, which he had hung on the line to dry, and waved frantically until the party was no longer to be seen.

"Lonesome! the idea," said Rose, turning to her mother. "Think of all the studying March and I have to do, and the French evenings, and the Fords, and Thanksgiving coming, and then Christmas, and then--

"Then," said Mrs. Blossom, interrupting her, "my Rose takes a little plunge into that whirlpool of gay life and fashion in New York."

"Yes," said Rose, with a happy smile that spoke volumes to her mother, "I do look forward to it, Martie dear; but the whirlpool shan't suck me under; I shall come home just your old-fashioned Rose-pose."

"I hope so, dear," said her mother, a little wistfully, and called the children in to supper.

Indeed, they found little opportunity to miss their friends in the ensuing months; for there came kindly letters, and friendly letters, and something very nearly resembling love-letters. The mail brought papers, books, and magazines. The express brought to Barton's River many a box of lovely flowers. At Christmas came more than one remembrance for them all, including Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and four special invitations for Rose to visit in New York directly after the holidays. One was from Mr. Clyde--with an urgent request from Hazel to say "yes" by telegram and "relieve her misery," so she put it--; one from Mrs. Heath; one from Aunt Carrie, and a gushingly cordial one from Mrs. Fenlick! Each claimed her for a month. But Mrs. Blossom shook her head.

"No, no, dear, you would wear your welcome out. I shall need you at home by the last of February. I think you can accept only Mr. Clyde's and Mrs. Heath's. You can accept social courtesies from the other four of course."

"But, mother," Rose's face was the image of despair, "what shall I wear?

Just hear what Hazel has planned--'lunches, dinners, theatre, concerts'--why! I can never go to all those things."

"I 've thought of that, too, Rose; but the little colt shan't go bare this time--it will take some courage, dear, to wear the same things over and over again, not to mention the puzzle of planning for it all."

"I 'm not 'Molly Stark' for nothing," laughed Rose, and the two women began to plan for what Chi called "Rose's campaign." The pretty white serge was lengthened and made over to appear more grown up, as Cherry put it; the dark blue wash silk--Hazel's gift that had never been made up--was fashioned into a "swell affair"--so March p.r.o.nounced it; the old-fashioned blue lawn was cut over into a dainty full waist, and then Mrs. Blossom added her surprise--a delicate blue taffeta skirt to match the waist. Rose went into raptures over it, and sought the best bedroom regularly three times a day to feast her girl's eyes on the silken loveliness as it lay in state on the best bed. A new dark blue serge was to do duty for a street suit, with a plain felt hat. For best, there was a turban made of dark blue velvet to match the wash silk.

"And four pairs of gloves! Martie Blossom, you are an angel, to give me these that Hazel gave you a year ago last Christmas. Have you been keeping them for me all this time?"

Mrs. Blossom smiled a.s.sent, and was rewarded by a squeeze that interfered decidedly with her breathing apparatus.

The night before she left, Rose "costumed" for the benefit of the entire family, who were a.s.sembled in the long-room, together with Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, to see Rose in her finery.

"I 'll make it a climax," said Rose, laughing half-shamefacedly, as she slipped upstairs to change her street suit, which had brought forth admiring "Ohs" and "Ahs" from the children, and favorable criticism from their elders.

Down she came in her white serge; there were nods and smiles of approval.

Her reappearance in the wash silk and velvet turban was the signal, on March's part, for a burst of applause, and cries of admiration from Budd and Cherry.

"Grand transformation scene!" cried March, as Rose tripped down in the blue taffeta, looking like a very rose herself.

"Beats all!" murmured Chi, who had become nearly speechless with admiration, "what clothes 'll do for a good-lookin' woman; but for a ravin', tearin' beauty like our Rose--George Washin'ton! She 'll open those high-flyers' eyes."

"Cinderella--fifth act!" shouted March as, after a prolonged wait, he heard Rose on the stairs.

But was it Rose?

The beautiful India mull of her mother's had been transformed into a ball-dress. She had drawn on her long white gloves and tucked into the simple, ribbon belt three of Jack's Christmas roses.

Maria-Ann gasped, and that broke the, to Rose, somewhat embarra.s.sing silence.

Marshalled by March, the whole family formed a procession, and Rose was reviewed:--back breadths, front breadths, flounces, waist, gloves; all were thoroughly inspected.

Chi touched the lower flounce of the half-train gingerly with one work-roughened forefinger, then, straightening himself suddenly, sighed heavily.

"What's the matter, Chi?" Rose laughed at the dubious expression on his face.

"You ain't Rose Blossom nor Molly Stark any longer. You 're just a regular Empress of Rooshy, 'n' you don't look like that girl I took along to sell berries down to Barton's last summer, 'n' I wish you--" he hesitated.

"What, Chi?" said Rose.

"I wish you was back again, old sunbonnet, old calico gown, patched shoes 'n' all--"

"Oh, Chi, no, you don't," said Rose, laughing merrily; "you forget, I shall probably see Miss Seaton down there in New York, and you wouldn't want me to appear a second time before her in that old rig."

"You 're right, Rose-pose," replied Chi, his expression brightening visibly. He drew close to her and whispered audibly:

"Just sail right in, Molly Stark, 'n' cut that sa.s.sy girl out right 'n'

left. She never could hold a candle to you."

"Sh-sh, Chi!" said Mrs. Blossom, meaningly, but with a twinkle in her eye.

"I mean just what I say, Mis' Blossom. Folks can't come up here on this Mountain to sa.s.s us to our faces, 'n' she _did_;--I've stayed riled ever since, 'n' I hope she'll get sa.s.sed back in a way that 'll make her hair stand just a little more on end than it did, when she gave that mean, snickerin' giggle--"

"Chi, Chi," Mrs. Blossom interrupted him in an appeasing tone.

"You need n't Chi me, Mis' Blossom. These children are just as near to me as if they was my own, 'n' when they 're sa.s.sed, I 'm sa.s.sed too; 'n'

my great-grandfather fought over at Ticonderogy, 'n' I ain't bound to take any more sa.s.s than he took--"

By this time the whole family were in fits of laughter over Chi's persistent use of so much "sa.s.s," and, at last, Chi himself joined in the laugh at his excessive heat:--

"Over nothin' but a wind-bag, after all," he concluded.

On the following morning, Mr. Blossom, Chi, March and Budd drove down to Barton's to see Rose off. The old apple-green pung had been fitted with two broad boards for seats, and covered with buffalo robes and horse blankets. There was just room in the tail for Rose's old-fashioned trunk and a small strapped box, which held two dozen of new-laid eggs, six small, round cheeses, and a wreath of ground hemlock and bitter-sweet--a neighborly gift from Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann to Hazel and Mr. Clyde.

As the train moved away from the station, Chi watched it with br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes.

"She'll never come back the same Rose-pose, livin' among all those high-flyers--never," he muttered to himself; but aloud he remarked, with forced cheerfulness, turning to Mr. Blossom while he dashed the blinding drops from his eyes with the back of his hand: