Mavis of Green Hill Part 9

Do I not write you from an incredible address, my friend?

Yesterday, the Event took place. It was my Red Letter Day, illuminated with gold. Early in the afternoon, I was carried out of the house, with comparatively little discomfort, on a most ingenious stretcher, by Father and the Very Young Doctor. My dear old Medicine Man was erect in the vanguard, sternly repressing his excitement; while Sarah, visibly jarred out of her usual self, brought up the rear in a flutter of ap.r.o.n strings and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed warnings. We must have made an imposing procession. As long as I live--and I am beginning to hope that it will be for half a century or more--I shall never forget my first sense, after eleven years, of being out in the open. Oh, I've had my windows wide to the four winds, of course, and sunlight across my counterpane and pillows. But how could that be the same? I would have written you, but only one hour of Freedom was granted me.

The Family and the Medical Profession had rigged and ready for me, between the two biggest, most friendly trees on the lawn, a comfy and substantial hammock, cushion-flanked. And so, for that hour, I lay and looked and looked, over the hills and across the valleys, and right into our own garden, which riots in bloom these August days. I must confess that the disagreeable and youthful doctor is an understanding person. After the first fifteen minutes had pa.s.sed in handshaking and congratulations and solicitude, he marshalled my companions and led them away, leaving me alone, in that heavenly air, with the green trees singing all about me. I shall always feel more kindly toward him for that strategic move. But however did the Creature know that even dear Father was a little superfluous?

Will you tell your little Mother of my good fortune? I know you both will be glad for me, but I can't believe anyone can quite grasp my happiness, and my grat.i.tude. Except perhaps, a life prisoner who goes, unexpectedly, free....

By the way, I had hardly been reluctantly settled in the house again, before Father rushed out and wired that amiable go-between, our mutual friend John Denton. He is back in New York again, as no doubt you know, and a return message came from him today, announcing that he will be with us in person on Friday, in order to "celebrate and to see the miracle with his own eyes."

Isn't that nice? And won't your ears burn, distant Poet!

This is Monday. Sky-blue Monday. By Friday, perhaps, I may be allowed to spend the whole afternoon in my Green Playground.

Your friend, and so happily,

THE PRINCESS

NEW YORK August 24th

Princess!

Your letter is here, and so elated me that I put a black cover over my chattering typewriter--it's _just_ like a parrot, you know,--and I must occasionally convince it, by artificial means, that it is night--and left my cave dwelling for the day, in order to fully share your holiday sense. And when I returned, it was not alone. For what do you think? Right in the wilds of Manhattan I found Somebody who fairly begged to be sent to you! He goes to you by Mr. John Denton, and by the time this reaches you I hope he will feel himself very much at home. And I hope, too, that you will care for his companionship. His name is, appropriately, Wigglesworth. Please report to me on his arrival and subsequent behavior.

Lucky dog!

Yours, RICHARD WARREN

CHAPTER IV

MIRACLES AND MISCHIEF

August 21

DIARY, I'M OUT OF DOORS!

August 28

Diary, you're not to scold. I know I've not honored you with so much as an exclamation point since my very first out-of-doors entry. But Mr. John Denton has been and gone--and Wigglesworth is here to stay!

Let me see how it all happened.

Friday last, at exactly three, Sarah arrayed me as a lily of the field in a glorified turquoise and mauve negligee. There were even mauve-and-gold pompomed slippers on my worthless feet, and my newly washed hair was piled high and transfixed with my Mother's tortoise-sh.e.l.l Spanish comb. It was thus festively garbed that Father and Doctor Bill--by which name he shall henceforth be known, as some slight concession to his wizardry--settled me happily under my particular trees, there to await Mr. Denton's arrival. Sarah, at my insistence, smuggled a mirror into my hand and sleeve, and when I heard the smooth purr of the Denton motor, far up the road, I took one little peek. For if I am not allowed to be just an atom vain, what virtue is there in charming color schemes and frothing chiffons?

Certainly, the negligee is distractingly pretty, and I am proud of Father's dress instinct. And something or other had brought the faintest tinge of color to my cheeks, the shadow of a sparkle to my eyes. I was hoping that no one would detect me as I lay and admired myself. But the Doctor Bill person did, of course. He has eyes all over his head, that man! And promptly, he settled a lovely rainbow cushion behind my head, remarking very quietly,

"Perhaps this will heighten the effect, Miss Carroll! Poor Uncle John!"

I could have killed him!

As it was, Diary, although I almost blush to confess it, I--Well, as his disgustingly capable hand slid past my cheek, I turned my head, ever so little, and, quite delicately, I _bit_! Not hard, but in an extremely ladylike manner. There was no occasion for his rude exclamation, and the alarming brick-red which he proceeded to turn.

Happily for us both, for I was torn between insincere apology and laughter, Mr. Denton arrived, engrossing his nephew's attention and my own.

As usual he was accompanied by half a dozen baskets of fruit and half a library shelf of the latest, lightest books. Best of all, he brought his own rotund self--and Wigglesworth!

I was prepared for something by Richard Warren's letter, which had come to me Friday morning. But not for this delicious bunch of black-satin, French bull puppy. For Wigglesworth is the acme, the ultimate perfection of dogdom. When, accompanied by gasps from all a.s.sembled, he leaped at me out of the chauffeur's restraining arms, I gave a perfectly healthy shriek, and clutched him, chiffons notwithstanding.

"Where did you get him, Denton?" asked Father, vainly endeavoring to part us.

"I didn't get him," answered Mr. Denton, smiling. "He was wished on me by an unknown admirer of Mavis."

Father extricated Wigglesworth, and holding him firmly--he has been well named--read aloud, from the silver and leather collar which adorned his fascinating neck, "Wigglesworth." Then, looking closer, added, "What's this? 'Property of H.R.H.'?"

I am afraid I looked guilty. Dr. Denton whistled, and stepped nearer the initials in question, or, shall I say, the questionable initials?

I was annoyed to see in how friendly a spirit Wigglesworth received the condescending medical hand upon his quivering ears.

Father is anything but slow. And I have long since let him into the secret of my romantic correspondence.

"So that's it," he began. And heaven alone knows what he might have added had I not held up an imploring hand.

Father, well-trained, subsided. But I didn't quite like the little crease between his brows. It was Mr. Denton, bless him, who saved the situation.

"Take me up to the house, Carroll," he said. "I have half an acre of Connecticut soil on my person." And off they went, arm in arm, with Mr. Denton casting a rea.s.suring look at me over his shoulder.

Alone with Dr. Bill and the frantic Wigglesworth, "Well," I said, "isn't he wonderful?"

"Who?" asked the obtuse creature.

I pointed to the puppy, chasing his tail with verve.

"Very," he answered drily. "Do you realize, Miss Carroll, that you almost sat up?"

"When?" I shouted, very rudely, and quite disbelieving.

"About five minutes ago, when the dog jumped into your hammock."

"But," I insisted childishly, "I haven't been able to sit up all by myself since...."

"I know," he interrupted, "It's what you _have_ done, not what you haven't, that is the point. Try again."

Half crying from excitement, I tried. But it was no use, and I sank back, helpless and hysterical.

"You see," I said sorrowfully.

"Yes."

He was looking at me out of those steel-blue eyes.