So I filled a tray with all the dainties of our little feast, and my maid carried it to her where she sat, and then to us at table served dessert. And my strange party went forward with seven guests in my dining-room and one mourner at supper in my living-room.
"How very, _very_ delicate!" said Mis" Postmaster Sykes, in an emphatic whisper. "Mis" Fire Chief Merriman is a very superior woman, an" she always does the delicate thing."
And now as I met Calliope"s eyes I saw that the dear little woman was looking at me with a manner of unmistakable pride. In spite of her warning to me and what she thought had been its justification during the supper, here was an occasion to reveal to me a delicacy unequalled.
Thereafter, in deference to my mourning guest in the next room, we all dropped our voices and talked virtually in whispers. And when at last we rose from the table, complete silence had come upon us.
Then, the tray not having yet been brought from that other room, I confess to having found myself somewhat uncertain how to treat a situation so out of my experience. But the kind heart of my dear Mis"
Amanda Toplady was the dictator.
"Now," she whispered, tip-toeing, "we must all go in an" speak to her.
Poor woman--she don"t call anywheres, an" she stays in mournin" so long folks have kind o" dropped off goin" to see her. Let"s walk in an" be rill nice to her."
Mis" Fire Chief Merriman sat as I had left her, and the tray was before her on my writing-table. She looked up gravely and greeted them all, one by one, without rising. We sat about her in a circle and spoke to her gently on subjects decently allied to her grief: on the coming meeting of the Cemetery Improvement Sodality; on the new styles in mourning; on the deaths in Friendship during the winter; and on two cases of typhoid fever recently developed in the town. (The Fire Chief had died of "walking typo.") And Mis" Merriman, gravely partaking of strawberry ice and cake and bonbons, listened and replied and, with the last morsel, rose to take her leave.
It was then that my unlucky star shone effulgent. For, as she was shaking hands all round:--
"Oh, Mrs. Merriman," I said, with the gentlest intent, "would you care to come out to see my dining-room? My Flowering-currant was very early this year--"
To my horrified amazement Mis" Fire Chief Merriman lifted her black-bordered handkerchief to her face and broke into subdued sobbing.
Suddenly I understood that all the others were looking at me in a kind of reproachful astonishment. My bewilderment, mounting for an instant, was precipitately overthrown by the sobbing woman"s words.
"Oh," Mis" Merriman said indistinctly, "I"m much obliged to you, I"m sure. But how can you think I would? I haven"t looked at lanterns an"
bunting an" such things since the Fire Chief died. I don"t know how I"m ever going to stand the Carnival!"
In deep distress I apologized, and found myself adrift upon a sea of uncharted cla.s.sifications. Here were niceties of distinction which escaped my ruder vision, trained to the mere interchange of signals in smooth sailing or straight tempest, on open water. But I knew with grief that I had given her pain--that was clear enough; and in my confusion and wish to make amends, I caught up from their jar on the hall table my Flowering-currant boughs and thrust them in her hands.
"Ah," I begged breathlessly, "at all events, take these!"
On which she drew away from me and shook her head and fairly fled down the path, her floating c.r.a.pe brushing the mother bushes of my offending offering. And I was helplessly aware that sympathetic silence had fallen on the others and that the sympathy was not for me.
"But what on earth was the matter?" I entreated my guests.
It was that great Mis" Amanda Toplady who slipped her arm about me and explained.
"When we"ve got any dead belongin" to us," she said, "we always carry all the flowers we get to the grave--an", of course, we don"t feel we _can_ carry them that"s been used for a company. It"s the same with Mis"
Fire Chief. An" she can"t bear even to see flowers an" things that"s fixed for a company, either. Of course, that"s her privilege."
Mis" Sykes took my hands.
"You come here so lately," she said, "you naturally wouldn"t know what"s what in these things, here in Friendship. An" then, of course, Mis" Fire Chief Merriman is very, _very_ delicate."
Calliope linked her arm in mine.
"Don"t you mind," she whispered; "we"re all liable to our mistakes."
Half an hour after tea my guests took leave.
"I enjoyed myself so much," said Mis" Holcomb-that-was-Mame-Bliss; "you look tired out. I hope it ain"t been too much for you."
"Entertainin" is a real job," said Mis" Sturgis, "but you do it almost as if you liked it. I enjoyed myself _so_ much."
"I"ll give bail you"re glad it"s over," said Libbie Liberty, sympathetically, "even if it did go off nice. I enjoyed myself ever so much."
"_Ever_ so much," murmured Miss Lucy, laughing heartily.
"Good night. Everything was lovely. I enjoyed myself very much," Mis"
Postmaster Sykes told me. "And," she said, "you"ll hear from me very, _very_ soon in return for this."
"Now don"t you overdo, reddin" up to-night," advised my dear Mis" Amanda Toplady. "Just pick up the silver an" rense it off, an" let the dishes set till mornin", _I_ say. I _did_ enjoy myself so much."
"Good-by," Calliope whispered in the hall. "Oh, it was beautiful. I _never_ felt so special. Thank you--thank you. An"--you won"t mind those things we said at the supper table?"
"Oh, Calliope," I murmured miserably, "I"ve forgotten all about them."
I went out to the veranda with her. At the foot of the steps the others had paused in consultation. Hesitating, they looked up at me, and Mis"
Sykes became their spokesman.
"If I was you," she said gently, "I wouldn"t feel too cut up over that slip o" yours to Mis" Merriman. She"d ought not to see blunders where they wasn"t any meant. It"d ought to be the heart that counts, _I_ say.
Good-by. We enjoyed ourselves very, _very_ much!"
They went down the path between blossoming bushes, in the late afternoon sun. And as Calliope followed,--
"That"s so about the heart, ain"t it?" she said brightly.
XVI
WHAT IS THAT IN THINE HAND?
"Busy, busy, busy, busy all the day. Busy, busy, busy. And busy ..."
"There goes Ellen Ember, crazy again," we said, when we heard that cry of hers, not unmelodious nor loud, echoing along Friendship streets.
Then we usually ran to the windows and peered at her. Sometimes her long hair would be unbound on her shoulders, sometimes her little figure would be leaping lightly up as she caught at the lowest boughs of the curb elms, and sometimes her hand would be moving swiftly back and forth above her heart.
"If your heart is broken," she had explained to many, "you can lace it together with "Busy, busy, busy ..." Sing it and see! Or mebbe your heart is all of a piece?"
Once, when I had gone to Miss Liddy"s house, I had found Ellen in a skirt fashioned of an old plaid shawl of her father"s, her bare shoulders wound in the rosy "nubia" that had been her mother"s, and she was dancing in the dining-room, with surprising grace, as Pierrette might have danced in Carnival, and singing, in a sweet, piping voice, an incongruous little song:--
O Day of wind and laughter, A G.o.ddess born are you, Whose eyes are in the morning Blue--blue!
"I made that up," she had explained, "or I guess mebbe I remembered it from deep in my skull. I like the feel of it in my mouth when I speak the words."