Uncle Blair was spending the summer in Switzerland; and the letter the Story Girl read to us, among the fair, frail White Ladies of the Walk, where the west wind came now with a sigh, and again with a rush, and then brushed our faces as softly as the down of a thistle, was full of the glamour of mountain-rimmed lakes, and purple chalets, and "snowy summits old in story." We climbed Mount Blanc, saw the Jungfrau soaring into cloudland, and walked among the gloomy pillars of Bonnivard"s prison. Finally, the Story Girl told us the tale of the Prisoner of Chillon, in words that were Byron"s, but in a voice that was all her own.
"It must be splendid to go to Europe," sighed Cecily longingly.
"I am going some day," said the Story Girl airily.
We looked at her with a slightly incredulous awe. To us, in those years, Europe seemed almost as remote and unreachable as the moon. It was hard to believe that one of US should ever go there. But Aunt Julia had gone--and SHE had been brought up in Carlisle on this very farm. So it was possible that the Story Girl might go too.
"What will you do there?" asked Peter practically.
"I shall learn how to tell stories to all the world," said the Story Girl dreamily.
It was a lovely, golden-brown evening; the orchard, and the farm-lands beyond, were full of ruby lights and kissing shadows. Over in the east, above the Awkward Man"s house, the Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess floated across the sky, presently turning as rosy as if bedewed with her heart"s blood. We sat there and talked until the first star lighted a white taper over the beech hill.
Then I remembered that I had forgotten to take my dose of magic seed, and I hastened to do it, although I was beginning to lose faith in it. I had not grown a single bit, by the merciless testimony of the hall door.
I took the box of seed out of my trunk in the twilit room and swallowed the decreed pinch. As I did so, Dan"s voice rang out behind me.
"Beverley King, what have you got there?"
I thrust the box hastily into my trunk and confronted Dan.
"None of your business," I said defiantly.
"Yes, "tis." Dan was too much in earnest to resent my blunt speech.
"Look here, Bev, is that magic seed? And did you get it from Billy Robinson?"
Dan and I looked at each other, suspicion dawning in our eyes.
"What do you know about Billy Robinson and his magic seed?" I demanded.
"Just this. I bought a box from him for--for--something. He said he wasn"t going to sell any of it to anybody else. Did he sell any to you?"
"Yes, he did," I said in disgust--for I was beginning to understand that Billy and his magic seed were arrant frauds.
"What for? YOUR mouth is a decent size," said Dan.
"Mouth? It had nothing to do with my mouth! He said it would make me grow tall. And it hasn"t--not an inch! I don"t see what you wanted it for! You are tall enough."
"I got it for my mouth," said Dan with a shame-faced grin. "The girls in school laugh at it so. Kate Marr says it"s like a gash in a pie. Billy said that seed would shrink it for sure."
Well, there it was! Billy had deceived us both. Nor were we the only victims. We did not find the whole story out at once. Indeed, the summer was almost over before, in one way or another, the full measure of that shameless Billy Robinson"s iniquity was revealed to us. But I shall antic.i.p.ate the successive relations in this chapter. Every pupil of Carlisle school, so it eventually appeared, had bought magic seed, under solemn promise of secrecy. Felix had believed blissfully that it would make him thin. Cecily"s hair was to become naturally curly, and Sara Ray was not to be afraid of Peg Bowen any more. It was to make Felicity as clever as the Story Girl and it was to make the Story Girl as good a cook as Felicity. What Peter had bought magic seed for remained a secret longer than any of the others. Finally--it was the night before what we expected would be the Judgment Day--he confessed to me that he had taken it to make Felicity fond of him. Skilfully indeed had that astute Billy played on our respective weaknesses.
The keenest edge to our humiliation was given by the discovery that the magic seed was nothing more or less than caraway, which grew in abundance at Billy Robinson"s uncle"s in Markdale. Peg Bowen had had nothing to do with it.
Well, we had all been badly hoaxed. But we did not trumpet our wrongs abroad. We did not even call Billy to account. We thought that least said was soonest mended in such a matter. We went very softly indeed, lest the grown-ups, especially that terrible Uncle Roger, should hear of it.
"We should have known better than to trust Billy Robinson," said Felicity, summing up the case one evening when all had been made known.
"After all, what could you expect from a pig but a grunt?"
We were not surprised to find that Billy Robinson"s contribution to the library fund was the largest handed in by any of the scholars. Cecily said she didn"t envy him his conscience. But I am afraid she measured his conscience by her own. I doubt very much if Billy"s troubled him at all.
CHAPTER X. A DAUGHTER OF EVE
"I hate the thought of growing up," said the Story Girl reflectively, "because I can never go barefooted then, and n.o.body will ever see what beautiful feet I have."
She was sitting, the July sunlight, on the ledge of the open hayloft window in Uncle Roger"s big barn; and the bare feet below her print skirt WERE beautiful. They were slender and shapely and satin smooth with arched insteps, the daintiest of toes, and nails like pink sh.e.l.ls.
We were all in the hayloft. The Story Girl had been telling us a tale
"Of old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago."
Felicity and Cecily were curled up in a corner, and we boys sprawled idly on the fragrant, sun-warm heaps. We had "stowed" the hay in the loft that morning for Uncle Roger, so we felt that we had earned the right to loll on our sweet-smelling couch. Haylofts are delicious places, with just enough of shadow and soft, uncertain noises to give an agreeable tang of mystery. The swallows flew in and out of their nest above our heads, and whenever a sunbeam fell through a c.h.i.n.k the air swarmed with golden dust. Outside of the loft was a vast, sunshiny gulf of blue sky and mellow air, wherein floated argosies of fluffy cloud, and airy tops of maple and spruce.
Pat was with us, of course, prowling about stealthily, or making frantic, bootless leaps at the swallows. A cat in a hayloft is a beautiful example of the eternal fitness of things. We had not heard of this fitness then, but we all felt that Paddy was in his own place in a hayloft.
"I think it is very vain to talk about anything you have yourself being beautiful," said Felicity.
"I am not a bit vain," said the Story Girl, with entire truthfulness.
"It is not vanity to know your own good points. It would just be stupidity if you didn"t. It"s only vanity when you get puffed up about them. I am not a bit pretty. My only good points are my hair and eyes and feet. So I think it"s real mean that one of them has to be covered up the most of the time. I"m always glad when it gets warm enough to go barefooted. But, when I grow up they"ll have to covered all the time. It IS mean."
"You"ll have to put your shoes and stockings on when you go to the magic lantern show to-night," said Felicity in a tone of satisfaction.
"I don"t know that. I"m thinking of going barefooted."
"Oh, you wouldn"t! Sara Stanley, you"re not in earnest!" exclaimed Felicity, her blue eyes filling with horror.
The Story Girl winked with the side of her face next to Felix and me, but the side next the girls changed not a muscle. She dearly loved to "take a rise" out of Felicity now and then.
"Indeed, I would if I just made up my mind to. Why not? Why not bare feet--if they"re clean--as well as bare hands and face?"
"Oh, you wouldn"t! It would be such a disgrace!" said poor Felicity in real distress.
"We went to school barefooted all June," argued that wicked Story Girl.
"What is the difference between going to the schoolhouse barefooted in the daytime and going in the evening?"
"Oh, there"s EVERY difference. I can"t just explain it--but every one KNOWS there is a difference. You know it yourself. Oh, PLEASE, don"t do such a thing, Sara."
"Well, I won"t, just to oblige you," said the Story Girl, who would have died the death before she would have gone to a "public meeting"
barefooted.
We were all rather excited over the magic lantern show which an itinerant lecturer was to give in the schoolhouse that evening. Even Felix and I, who had seen such shows galore, were interested, and the rest were quite wild. There had never been such a thing in Carlisle before. We were all going, Peter included. Peter went everywhere with us now. He was a regular attendant at church and Sunday School, where his behaviour was as irreproachable as if he had been "raised" in the caste of Vere de Vere. It was a feather in the Story Girl"s cap, for she took all the credit of having started Peter on the right road. Felicity was resigned, although the fatal patch on Peter"s best trousers was still an eyesore to her. She declared she never got any good of the singing, because Peter stood up then and every one could see the patch. Mrs.
James Clark, whose pew was behind ours, never took her eye off it--or so Felicity averred.
But Peter"s stockings were always darned. Aunt Olivia had seen to that, ever since she heard of Peter"s singular device regarding them on his first Sunday. She had also given Peter a Bible, of which he was so proud that he hated to use it lest he should soil it.
"I think I"ll wrap it up and keep it in my box," he said. "I"ve an old Bible of Aunt Jane"s at home that I can use. I s"pose it"s just the same, even if it is old, isn"t it?"