Under the Country Sky, Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  A SEMI-ANNUAL OCCURRENCE

  "Father Davy, the 'Semi-Annual' has come!" Georgiana, tugging with bothstrong young arms, hauled the big express package into the living-roomof the old manse, and shut the door with a bang. Breathing rapidly fromher exertions, her cheeks warmly flushed, her dark eyes glowing, shestood over the package, looking at her father with a curious sort ofsmile not wholly compounded of joy and satisfaction.

  "That is very good," said Father Davy in his pleasant voice; "and veryopportune. It was but yesterday, it seems to me, that I heard daughterdeclaring that she was 'Oh, so shabby!'"

  "Yes, yes--but what do you wager there is there?" questioned Georgiana."I can tell you before I take the cover off. Three evening gowns,frivolous and impossible for a little town like this; one draggledlingerie frock, two evening coats, and possibly--just possibly--a lastyear's tailored suit, with a tear in the front of the skirt and not ascrap of goods to make a fold to cover it. Why, oh, why, do they neverhave any pieces?"

  "The reason seems obvious enough," Mr. Warne suggested, as the girlstooped and began to wrestle with the cords which tied the big package.His glance fell musingly on the down-bent head with its masses ofdark-brown hair, upon the white and shapely arms from which the sleeveswere rolled back,--Georgiana had been busy in the kitchen when theexpressman came,--upon the whole comely young figure in its blue-printmorning dress. "They never have need of the pieces, I should judge,"said he.

  "But I have. Jeannette might think of me when she orders her clothes,not just when her maid is packing the box with a lot of castaways. Well,here's hoping there's just one thing I can use," and she lifted thecover of the box and looked within, it cannot be denied, with eagercuriosity.

  "There are always many things you can use," her father gently remindedher; "you, who are so ingenious."

  "Here's the evening frock!" cried his daughter, lifting out the topgarment and holding it up before them both. "Oh, what a dress to send apoor country cousin! Fluff and flimsy, trimmed with sparklers; cutfrightfully low, no sleeves, and a draggly train. Doesn't it looksuitable for me?" She flung it aside with a gesture of scorn. "Ah,here's something a shade better! A little dancing frock ofrose-coloured chiffon--and her clumsy partner stepped on the hem of it.The maid in the dressing-room sewed it up for her to have her last dancein, and then she came home and threw it into the box for me. Well, I canget a gorgeous motor veil out of it--I who have so many drives in thecars of the rich!"

  "The--the under part looks available to me," suggested Mr. Warne,striving to be of comfort.

  Georgiana shrugged her blue-clad shoulders. "Oh, yes, if I could dressin slitted silk petticoats and you could wear them for dressing-gowns,we'd have plenty. Well, look at _this_! Here's a velvet--cerise! What aglorious, impossible colour! And here's the lingerie frock; that's notso bad; I really think it will stand a couple of launderings before itfalls to pieces in my hands. And here's the evening coat--pale gray withfox trimmings--and she's fallen foul of some ink or something, and thecleaner couldn't get it all out. Father Davy, look!"

  "It seems to me," said Mr. Warne in his gentle tones, which were yet notwithout more firmness than one might expect from so frail a person,"that I have heard somewhere a homely proverb to the effect that it isnot quite in good taste to----"

  "'_Look a gift horse in the mouth,_'" finished Georgiana. Her eyes wererebellious. "And there's another: '_Beggars mustn't be choosers._' Yes,I know. Only, semi-annually I certainly do experience a burning wishthat my dear rich relations were persons with a trifle keener sense ofdiscernment as to which of their old clothes would be most appreciatedby their poor cousins. They must now and then, Father Davy, wearsomething sensible. They must have morning clothes and streetclothes--adorable ones. Why do they send only the worldly clothes to themanse? And why--_why_ do they never put in so much as one of UncleThomas's discarded cravats for the Little Minister himself?"

  "Your Uncle Thomas and I may possibly have different tastes in thematter of neckwear," replied Mr. Warne with such gravity of manner butsuch a sparkle of humour in his blue-gray eyes that his daughter laughedin spite of herself. "Come, come, dear, is there nothing you can approveamong all those rich materials? You might make me innumerable cravats,and I am such a fop I could wear a fresh one each day--to please you."

  "Father Davy!" Georgiana sat back on her heels. She had slipped herbared arms into the armholes of the sleeveless white "fluff-and-flimsy"evening frock, and the "sparklers" of the low-cut bodice now framed herblue-print clad shoulders with an astonishing effect of incongruity. "Ihave a wonderful inspiration. Let's ask Jeannette out here for avisit--an object-lesson as to the state of life whereunto the countrycousins have been called. She hasn't seen me in ten years, and all Iremember of her is a fluffy, yellow-haired girl with a sniffly cold inher head. What do you say, Father Davy? Shall we ask her?"

  Her father's gaze, quiet, comprehending, more than a little amused, metGeorgiana's, audacious, defiant, mischievous, yet reasonable. The twolooked at each other for a full minute.

  "Do you think she would come?" Mr. Warne inquired doubtfully.

  "Why shouldn't she come? She's had a gay winter so far, but not a happyone. She's no debutante any more, you know; she's an 'old girl' in herfifth season. That's what the society girls get by coming out ateighteen. Now I, who am only a year out of college and who never 'cameout' in my life, am as keen at the game of being grown up as if I werejust putting up my hair for the first time. Well, Jeannette's beenkeeping up the pace all winter, is thoroughly worn out and unhappy, anddoesn't know what to do with herself. It's March--and Lent--the time ofyear when the society folks betake themselves to spring resorts torecover their shattered nerves. Don't you think she'd jump at the chanceto come to the little country town and try what our air and our cookerywould do for her?"

  "You seem to know all about her in spite of not having seen or knownher--except through these boxes of clothes--since she was a littlegirl."

  "Ah, that's just it--through her boxes--that's how I know her!"Triumphantly Georgiana held up the cerise velvet gown. "Don't I know agirl who would wear that? Wild for excitement--that's why she chose thecolour. But she didn't get the fun she expected; he didn't like it--orsomebody said she looked too pale in it--and she fired it at me beforeshe had done more than take the freshness off. _I_ can wear it--seehere!"

  She got to her feet, untied the little black silk tie which held thelow-rolling collar of her working dress at the throat, unfastened a rowof hooks, and let the blue print slip to her feet. Over the glory of herwhite shoulders and gleaming arms she flung the cerise velvet--gorgeous,glowing, wonderful colour, as trying to the ordinary complexion ascolour can well be. But as the gown fell into place, and Georgiana,backing up to her father, was fastened somewhat tentatively into it, itwould have been plain to any beholder that if the rich girl could notwear the queenly, daring robe the poor girl could--as she had said.

  She swept up and down the room, her head held high. She played the partof a lady of fashion and held an imaginary reception, carrying on astream of "society" talk with a manner which made the pale man on thecouch laugh like a boy. Holding a dialogue with a hypothetical maleguest, she led him out into the hall, still within sight of Mr. Warne'scouch, and was in the midst of a scene as inspiredly clever as anythingshe had ever done at college, where she had been the pride of a dramaticclub whose fame had waxed greater than that of any similar organizationfor many years, when the front door of the house suddenly opened, and agust of chilly March air rushed in with the person entering.

  Georgiana wheeled--to find herself confronting the amused gaze of herboarder, Mr. E. C. Jefferson, as read the address upon his mail.

  Mr. Jefferson was by this time, after a month under the roof of the oldmanse, well established as a member of the household, though after thesomewhat remote fashion to be expected of a man whose absorbing workfilled most of his waking hours. He closed the door quickly as he caughtsight of Georgiana in her
masquerade, removed his hat, and bent his headbefore the cerise velvet.

  Georgiana, blushing as vividly as if it were the first time mortal manhad ever beheld her pretty shoulders, threw him a laughing look,murmured: "Dress parade in borrowed finery, Mr. Jefferson; don't let theblaze of colour put your eyes out!" and retreated toward the living-roomwhere her father sat, much amused by the situation.

  She was followed by her boarder's reply: "I find myself still happilyretaining the use of my eyes, Miss Warne. You need not be too much inhaste; it is very dull outside, I assure you."

  He went on up the stairs, but she had caught his smile, momentarilyillumining a face which was ordinarily rather grave. Georgiana closedthe living-room door upon the sight of the lithe figure rapidlyascending the staircase without a glance behind. As she faced her fathershe assumed the expression of a merry child caught in mischief.

  "Our new lodger has certainly come upon me in all sorts of situations,not to mention disguises," she remarked, "but this is the first time hehas met me in the role of leading lady on the melodramatic stage. Pleaseunhook me, Father Davy; the play is over, and it's time to get thepot-roast simmering. And what do you say to inviting lovely JeannetteCrofton to visit us? Would it be too hard on you?"

  "Not at all, my dear. I should be glad to see your Uncle Thomas'sdaughter. Invite her, by all means. You have far too little youngcompanionship; it will do you good to have a girl of your own age in thehouse."

  "I wonder how we shall get on," mused Georgiana. "Anyhow she'll see whata market this is for evening frocks cut on her lines!"