Peggy Raymond's Vacation Part 8

"You don't suppose I'd sell fish on the Fourth, do you?" demanded Jerry with the impressive scorn of a patriot misjudged. "I thought maybe you'd like--like a little music, seeing it's raining cats and dogs." He had thrown apart his soaked coat as he spoke, and the bulging object proved to be a banjo, in a little flannel case, which Jerry hastily removed, tw.a.n.ging the strings of the instrument in his anxiety to ascertain the effect of the dampness on their const.i.tution.

"Music! Why, that's very nice of you, Jerry. Come into the next room and let me introduce you to Mrs. Tyler." Peggy was a little in doubt as to the light in which Aunt Abigail would regard this unceremonious call from the youthful fish-vender. But the shrewd old lady was familiar with the customs of too many lands, not to be able to accommodate herself to the democratic simplicity of a country community. She gave Jerry her hand, insisted that he should take a seat by the fire, where his damp clothing would gradually dry, and forthwith called for "Dixie." And hardly was the stirring melody well under way before the girls were keeping time with toes and fingers, and a general animation was replacing the temporary frigidity induced by Jerry's advent. Jerry really played surprisingly well, and on a stormy day such an accomplishment stands its possessor in good stead.

But it was not left to Jerry to uphold the reputation of the community for sociability. The ringing of the front-door bell interrupted "The Suwannee River," and Peggy, who was nearest the door, jumped up to answer the summons, while Hobo, a little ahead of her as usual, stood with his nose to the crack, gravely attentive, as if to satisfy himself as to the intentions of the new arrival. This time the open door revealed Rosetta Muriel, struggling to lower a refractory umbrella, with her hat tipped rakishly over one eye.

"Why, how do you do?" exclaimed Peggy, attempting to conceal her surprise under an effusive cordiality. "Come right in." But Rosetta Muriel was not to be hurried. She closed her umbrella, righted her hat, and began fumbling in a little beaded bag which dangled from her wrist.

All the heads were turned wonderingly toward the open door before she produced the object of her search, a gilt-edged card, upon which was written with many elaborate flourishes, "Miss Rosetta Muriel Cole."

Peggy gazing upon this work of art, began to realize the importance of the occasion. Rosetta Muriel was making a call. "Will you walk in?"

Peggy repeated, this time with proper decorum, and the caller entered and was presented to each of the company in order.

"Pleased to meet you," said Rosetta Muriel, primly, in acknowledgment of each introduction, but when Jerry's turn came, both she and Peggy varied from the usual formula. "Of course you know Jerry Morton," Peggy said, and Rosetta Muriel admitted the impeachment, with the stiffest of bows.

If not pleased at meeting Jerry, it was evident that she was surprised to find him in Dolittle Cottage, and apparently quite at home.

The music ceased temporarily and conversation took its place. Rosetta Muriel, invited to lay aside her hat, declined with dignity and commented on the weather. After full justice had been done to that serviceable theme, Peggy introduced another.

"We've met such a nice girl several times when we've been picking berries. I suppose you know her?--Lucy Haines."

"I know who you mean," replied Rosetta Muriel coldly. "She ain't in society, you know."

"Not in--"

"Not in society," firmly repeated Rosetta Muriel. "She used to come to my house sometimes, but that was before I came out. After you come out you've got to be more careful about who you a.s.sociate with."

An awestruck silence followed the enunciation of this social law, and Rosetta Muriel addressed herself to Priscilla, whose aristocratic bearing seemed to impress her favorably. "Do you know Mrs. Sidney Dillingham?"

Priscilla stared at this familiar mention of one of the society leaders in her own city. "Why, I never met her, if that's what you mean. I know her by sight. I've seen her at several concerts."

"I suppose you know she's entertaining Sir Albert Driscoll at her Newport house this summer. Quite a feather in her cap, ain't it?"

Priscilla replied with a gasp that she supposed it was, and looked appealingly at Peggy. Peggy's responsive attempt to bring the conversation back to normal levels, proved quite unsuccessful. Rosetta Muriel was determined to impress her new acquaintances with her knowledge of customs of the Four Hundred, and indeed it was evident that she had studied the society columns of the New York papers, with an industry worthy a better cause. Peggy at length grew desperate.

"As long as it's Fourth of July, wouldn't it be nice to sing some patriotic songs? You can play 'America,' can't you, Jerry?"

"Well, I guess," said Jerry, with unfeigned relief, and he struck a resounding chord. After Rosetta Muriel, and the atmosphere of tawdry pretense surrounding her, it was a relief to every one to launch into the splendid words,

"My country, 'tis of thee."

Amy, who did not know one tune from another, sang at the top of her voice. Aunt Abigail hummed the air in a cracked soprano, with traces of bygone sweetness. Priscilla's silvery notes soared flute-like above the others, and even Rosetta Muriel joined after a brief hesitation, probably due to her uncertainty as to whether this was customary in the best society, on the occasion of a formal call.

"That went splendidly," declared Peggy, her face aglow, when the last verse had filled the room with melody. "Now, what about 'The Star Spangled Banner?' Can you play that, Jerry? It's a lot harder than the other."

"You bet it's harder, but I can play it all right." Jerry instantly proved his boast by striking the introductory chords, winding up with an ambitious flourish. "Now," he said, with a nod, and the chorus burst out l.u.s.tily, Priscilla's voice leading.

"O, say, can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming."

The chorus, strong on the first line, weakened on the second. Priscilla sang through the third alone, and then came to a full stop. Jerry drummed a few further chords, and broke off to demand, "What's the matter?"

"Why, I've forgotten just how that goes," cried Priscilla. "What is the next, anyway?"

After a protracted struggle, in which each girl racked her memory and contributed such fragments as she could recall, four lines were patched into comparative completeness. But, beyond this, their allied efforts could not carry them. For the second time that day, Peggy included herself in her stern denunciation.

"It's perfectly appalling. We didn't know how many states there were, we didn't know about the stripes on the flag, and now we don't know 'The Star Spangled Banner.' It's a disgrace. Not a single person in this room knows 'The Star Spangled Banner.'"

"I do," said Jerry Morton.

"Oh, all right. You can teach it to the rest of us, then," declared Peggy, and for the next hour the drilling went forward relentlessly. The company repeated each verse in chorus till there was no sign of doubt or hesitation, and then sang it through. When the verses had been mastered separately, the entire song was rendered with telling effect. Aunt Abigail clapped her hands.

"I've often wondered why the English and the Germans were so much better posted on their national songs than we are. If all patriotic young Americans took this sensible way of spending a rainy Fourth of July, our critics would have one less arrow in their quiver."

The afternoon was well advanced, and Rosetta Muriel rose to make her farewells, expressing an enjoyment which was perhaps a concession to her sense of propriety, rather than a perfectly spontaneous expression of feeling. Rosetta Muriel found the girls of Dolittle Cottage strangely puzzling. She had prepared herself to meet these city visitors on their own ground, and instead of holding her own, she had it all her own way.

Apparently she was the only one of the company who could claim with any show of reason, to be an authority on the doings of the smart set.

After supper, while the rain still pounded unweariedly on the roof, Aunt Abigail told the story of a high-spirited young ancestress, who had lived back in the colonial times, and in the stirring days of '76 had pitted her wits against one of King George's officers, and won from him a concession which was perhaps equally a tribute to her beauty and her brains. It was one of the stories which cannot be re-told too often, full of the audacious courage of gallant youth, and the listening girls felt a vicarious pride in the daring of their countrywoman of bygone days. As for Amy, she straightened herself so as to give the effect of having grown suddenly taller.

"_My_ ancestress," she observed with fitting pride. "How many times my great-grandmother was she, Aunt Abigail? It's no wonder I'm a little out of the ordinary."

In spite of a disheartening beginning, it had been a very satisfactory Fourth. Up-stairs, as the girls made ready for bed, Ruth voiced the general opinion. "For a safe and sane Fourth, it hasn't been half bad."

Peggy who had crossed the hall, to combine sociability with the ceremony of taking down her hair, brushed her refractory locks with energy.

"I wish they'd never tacked that on to the Fourth of July," she said.

"So many things are safe and sane, darning stockings, for instance. The Fourth of July ought to be a lot more. It ought to be jolly, and to teach you something, and make you think. And this Fourth has come pretty near all three."

CHAPTER VI

THE PICNIC

Though the Fourth of July picnic had failed to materialize, it was responsible for turning the thoughts of the girls in a new direction. In the beginning of their stay the cottage porch with its shading vines and inspiring view, had satisfied them completely, but the magic of the word "picnic" had awakened a longing to come a little closer to the heart of things.

"I'm tired of eating off a table," Amy declared. "I want to sit on the gra.s.s, and pick ants out of my sandwiches, and feel as if I was really in the country. What's the matter with a picnic?"

As far as could be gathered, nothing was the matter with this time-honored festivity, and plans and preparations began. The latter were on a somewhat less elaborate scale than those undertaken in honor of the Fourth, partly because Peggy, who easily ranked as chief cook, had undertaken to find a desirable picnic-ground and secure a suitable vehicle for transporting the party. The double responsibility proved engrossing, and the cooking which went on in her absence was less inspirational in its character, and certainly less successful, than when Peggy was at the helm.

As Farmer Cole's carry-all could not accommodate the party, a farm wagon with three seats, and abundant s.p.a.ce for baskets, was put at their disposal, along with two horses of sedate and chastened mien. But Peggy looked at them askance. Peggy laid no claim to skill in horsemans.h.i.+p, and though lack of confidence was not one of her failings, she would almost as readily have undertaken to manage a team of giraffes, as this stolid pair, with their ruminative eyes, and drooping heads.

"I--I don't suppose they're likely to run away, are they?" questioned Peggy, making a brave effort to speak with nonchalance.

Joe, to whom the question was addressed, grinned broadly.

"If you can make 'em run," he replied, "by licking 'em or scaring 'em or anything else, I'll see you get a medal. Why, Bess here is twenty-three years old." He struck the animal a resounding smack upon the flank which demonstration caused Bess to p.r.i.c.k one ear reflectively. "Her frisky days are over," continued Joe, "and Nat ain't much better. A baby in arms could drive 'em."

In spite of such encouraging a.s.surances, Peggy did not feel at all certain of her ability to manage the double team on hilly country roads.

Priscilla's father kept a horse, it was true, but he was a rather spirited animal, and neither Priscilla nor her mother ever attempted to drive him. "They'll all insist on my driving," thought Peggy, as she turned her face toward Dolittle Cottage. "And what if I should drive into a gully and spill them out? I've half a mind to go back and see if Mr. Cole can possibly spare Joe."