The Morning Glory Club Part 36

"Yes, Barbara, every word is true." And then turning to Will asked, "Do you understand now, Will?"

"Yes, father," was the reply, and the two men clasped hands.

"Barbara," said Mr. Flint, as they were walking toward the door, "there is one word that I long to hear you say, I must hear it, you must not deny me any longer." Barbara stopped, she did not understand. "It is the one word from your lips that will fill my cup of happiness to the brim," added the minister, feelingly. "Can't you guess?"

A light came into Barbara's eyes, and smiling through her tears she said:

"Father."

Chapter XXV

Good Cheer--Good Will

SUCCESS, despite the tempestuous history of the first six months of their existence, was staring the Morning Glories in the face. The club had come to stay, and a prosperous and useful future was a.s.sured.

Prosperity meant that the treasury, among other things, had become more than a name, and the members of the club became possessed with a desire to spend the money that had been so laboriously earned, that was as burning as had been the desire to get it.

"The gentlemen Morning Glories have just got to be entertained," Mrs.

Stout had declared at a meeting held the week following Barbara's wedding. "It ain't so much that we want to give them a good time, we want to show the men-folks that we can do somethin' without makin' a mess of it, though I must own that some good has come out of the trouble we've made already." There was no opposition, in fact, the ladies were delighted with the idea. Accordingly, plans for a reception and dinner were quickly made and promptly executed.

On the day appointed for the function, two weeks later, Mrs. Stout and Mrs. Blake stood in the gorgeously decorated Veterans' Hall, admiring the work of the committee, with the keenest satisfaction.

"Ain't it just elegant?" said Mrs. Stout.

"Beautiful," was Mrs. Blake's reply.

"Won't the men-folks be surprised?"

"They ought to be."

"I expect that my Peter won't say a word the whole evenin' long--he ain't used to such things. He tried to beg off, but I put my foot down and said: 'No, sir; we've made plans to entertain you men-folks, and you've just got to be entertained whether you like it or not!'"

"And what did he say to that?" asked Mrs. Blake, laughingly.

"'Give another show,' says he, 'if you want to please the men.' Did you ever hear or know of anything quite so queer as men? And say, Mis'

Blake, what do you s'pose? I got Peter to go in town and get a real full dress suit."

"Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake, who could not imagine Peter Stout dressed in anything except a butcher's frock.

"Yes; I was just bound to have him dressed up once 'fore he died, anyway. Goodness! if it ain't six o'clock. I must run home and help Peter get into his clothes, and get dressed myself."

With that Mrs. Stout scurried home, while Mrs. Blake lingered for one more look at the tables and decorations.

Two hours later the officers of the club, who formed the receiving party, were in their places. They stood on a white sleigh-robe, loaned for the occasion by undertaker Blake, and their background was a j.a.panese screen, which, on every other day in the year, could be found in the parlour of Mrs. Jones. They were flanked on either side by tabourets brought from the homes of Mrs. Tweedie and Miss Sawyer, on which reposed potted palms, the property of Mrs. Thornton, set in jardinieres that Mrs. Darling's uncle, who was a sea-captain, had brought her from India, and that she "wouldn't have broken for worlds."

We common folk in common towns! What good times we do have, but how much greater would be our enjoyment did we not ape the apes of wealth.

Mr. So-and-so is always uncomfortable in his younger brother's dress suit. Mrs. What's-her-name feels as though the glittering brooch at her throat is on fire, because the gems are of paste. Mrs. Up-on-the-hill fears that some one will discover that the beautiful opera cloak, which she threw off so proudly, belongs to a friend in the next town; and Mr.

Ditto swears that never again will he wear hired clothes, and adds several postscripts.

Soon after eight o'clock, the receiving party were overwhelmed with business, common folk usually coming on time, despite their other faults, and Manville society was no exception to the rule. Some of the presentations were not as dignified as many of the Morning Glories desired, Peter Stout being one of the worst offenders. He began by tripping over the white sleigh-robe, which confused him so that he said everything that his wife had told him not to say, and not a word of the speech that she had informed him was the "perlite and proper thing."

When the series of mishaps came to an end, he permitted the lady who had presented him to lead him to a seat, where he sat and glared into s.p.a.ce, his face as red as raw beef, until his wife came to pilot him through the remainder of the evening.

Alick Purbeck said, "How d'y," and pa.s.sed on feeling well satisfied with himself. Deacon Walton's "Cal'late we'll have an early spring," the ladies cheerfully admitted. Sam Billings, dressed as he had never been dressed before, said, "Happy to meet yer," and then began a studied speech, but was dragged away before he got fairly started. Sam had been invited by Miss Sawyer. The difficulties which had made their wooing a thorn-strewn path had been cleared away, and once more Sam seemed, with some certainty of success, to be on the road to matrimony. When some one recently had attempted to joke him on the subject, he replied: "Seein'

everybody's made up their minds that me and Lizzie was goin' to get married, we thought it would be too bad to disappoint 'em." Ezra Tweedie, poor, abused, dear little Ezra, was radiantly happy, and during the whole evening conducted himself in such a gentlemanly manner that, for the time being, he was the pride and joy of his crownless queen.

Then came the dinner. It was no Russian-tea-peanut-b.u.t.ter-frappe-affair--there were things to eat. As the good cheer went in, the good-will came out, reserve broke down, the murmur of voices grew louder, followed by laughter, hearty and spontaneous.

When the feasting was over, the toastmistress, Mrs. Tweedie, arose and graciously welcomed the _other s.e.x_ without using her favourite term.

Then came the toasts, varied, many in number, and followed by long responses. At midnight the feast of good-will had not abated.

Barbara and Will, blissfully happy, wherever they might be, had enjoyed the evening more than any one else. From the beginning everybody vied with everybody else in bestowing upon them kind words and good wishes.

They tried to slip away before the others, but Mrs. Stout hurried after them.

"What are you runnin' away for?" she demanded. "Has anybody been sayin'

things?"

"No, indeed," replied Will, "not a word but kindness."

"More than we deserve," added Barbara.

"Nonsense; more than you deserve, the idea!" exclaimed Mrs. Stout, and then asked, wistfully, "Well, can you forgive us now? We've done all that we know how to do to make it right."

"Don't say 'we,' please, Mrs. Stout," said Barbara. "As for the others, I forgave them long--long ago."

"Bless you, dear child," replied Mrs. Stout, and then she looked about as though in search of something. "Goodness!" she exclaimed, "if I haven't lost Peter! Good night, if I don't find him pretty soon he'll be talkin' b.u.t.ter and eggs."

As Barbara and Will went out into the darkness, the sweet, south wind blew in their faces, and rustled the tiny leaves on the maples overhead.

"They were very kind to us to-night, Barbara," said Will. "But for you, dear, it has been a long, hard journey." He felt her hand tighten on his arm.

"Yes, Will, but the steepest paths lead to the most beautiful places."

"And you do not regret one step of the cruel way you have come?"

"Not one, Will."

"I'm glad you can say that, but I can't seem to understand. What is the secret?"

"Faith, Will."

"Faith?"

"Yes, it's G.o.d's way."

And thus they walked, and talked of G.o.d, and love, and the future, until in the east the sky was gleaming with gold.