Half a Dozen Girls Part 15

By degrees they told the tale of their woes, not omitting the slightest detail, while Mrs. Adams leaned back on the sofa and laughed till the tears came.

"But there's one good thing about it all," observed Molly, in conclusion. "We've had a perfectly dreadful time, but it will teach us to appreciate our mothers and know a little what they are doing, the whole time."

CHAPTER VIII.

HALLOWE'EN.

"You have such a different way of looking at things from what mamma did," said Katharine.

"Perhaps it is because we have lived so differently," Mrs. Hapgood answered her.

It was a cold, gray day in late October, a day which showed that November was close at hand. The other girls were off for some frolic, Alan was reading and dozing on the sofa in the next room, so Mrs. Hapgood and Katharine had the parlor to themselves, and were snugly settled in two willow chairs drawn up in front of the fire, Katharine busy on a dainty bit of embroidery, Mrs. Hapgood putting a new sleeve into a gown which had yielded before Molly's energetic elbows.

"I wonder if that is it." And Katharine laid down her work and fell to pondering on the matter. After a time, she resumed, "After all, auntie, I don't know but I like your way better. I thought at first it was going to be slow here. At home, there's never any time for quiet talks like this; it's just nothing but a hurry and a scrabble, and when we get through, we've nothing to show for it.

I've only been here six weeks, but I really feel as if I know you now better than I do mamma." And Katharine rested her head against the back of her chair, while the dark eyes fixed on the fire grew a little dim.

Mrs. Hapgood leaned over and rested her hand on the girl's, as it lay on the arm of her chair.

"I'm glad to have you say so, Katharine," said she. "For this year, I am to stand in place of a mother to you, you know, and I like to have you feel at home here."

"I know all that," answered Katharine; "and I'm glad they sent me here, only it mixes me all up. When I was at home and kept hearing little bits about it, the parties and the flowers and the pretty gowns, I felt as if I couldn't wait to be old enough to be in it all. When I came away, mamma said I was to be here a year, and then, go home to come out, so I could be ready to be married at eighteen, as she did. A year is such a little while to wait that I thought I was almost there. But when I came here, I found the girls of my age acting like children, and having splendid times doing what I had always thought was silly, and not caring the least bit about society and all that. I shall just get used to this and like it, and then go back into the other once more."

"But not in just the same way, I hope."

"I suppose not, auntie; but it won't make so very much difference, after all."

"Perhaps not," her aunt answered; "but it may make a little. If you hadn't come to us, you would never have seen the other side, that there are a few good times outside of the parties and the young men. And even if you go back into it when you go home, as you probably will, Katharine, it won't do any harm for you to have had a year to stop and think, and talk matters over, before plunging into the 'scrabble,' as you call it."

"It seemed so queer, when I first came East," said Katharine, as she took up her work again, "to see you and Molly sit down and talk for an hour at a time. Mamma hasn't ever done it with us, only to joke with us, or ask about our lessons once in a while.

But everything that comes up, Molly and Polly Adams say, 'Mamma says so,' or 'Mamma thinks so.'"

She sewed steadily for a few moments, then she broke off, to ask, with an air of mock tragedy,--

"Mamma says she wants me to marry at eighteen; but what in the world should I do, auntie, if n.o.body should ask me?"

"Not get married, I suppose," returned her aunt composedly.

Katharine's face fell.

"What! be an old maid, like Polly's Aunt Jane!" she exclaimed.

"It isn't necessary that you should be like her, even if you shouldn't marry." And Mrs. Hapgood laughed at the horror in Katharine's tone. Then she went on, seriously, "Katharine, may I talk very plainly with you, just as if you were really my daughter?"

"Please do, auntie." And Katharine drew her chair a little closer to her aunt's.

"You were just saying that your mother and I look at things differently, Katharine, and it is true that we do. I wouldn't find fault with her for anything, for she has been a dear, good sister to me; but it seems to me that she has made a little bit of a mistake in letting your head get filled with all these thoughts of being married. You are only a child yet, my dear, and it is years before such ideas ought to come to you. But now they are here, I am going to tell you just what I think about it all. Not all women are fitted to marry; some would be happier and better without it.

The day is long past when a woman must either marry or be laughed at as an old maid. What I want my girls to do is to grow into strong, n.o.ble women who are fitted to fill any position that opens before them, and to fill it well, with no thought of self, but only for the good of others. Then, if the time ever comes that you are asked to be the wife of a man, for the sake of whose love and companions.h.i.+p you are ready to give up all else, then you will do right to marry him, but not until then."

There was another pause. Mrs. Hapgood went on,--

"And since we are on the subject, Katharine, there is one more word to say. If the time ever comes for you, remember, in making your great decision, that married life is not all suns.h.i.+ne, but that there are the same little every-day worries after marriage as there were before. If a woman is strong enough to be a true, devoted wife, she can have no happier, better life than in her own home. But she has no right to promise without thinking it all over, whether she can sacrifice and work, can suffer hards.h.i.+p and even wrong for her husband's sake. Those are solemn words, dear, and should never be spoken thoughtlessly: 'For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health--'"

"You make it all mean so much more than mamma did," said Katharine thoughtfully. "She never talked to me like this. You make me half afraid of it, auntie."

"So much the better," her aunt replied. "It isn't anything that you can do one day, and undo the next; but it is a matter of life-- and death," she added, as if to herself. Then she went on, with an entire change of tone, "Now, Kit, we have been talking about a very serious matter, and I am nearly through. But we may never speak of it again, so before we leave it, I want to just say that I wish you could put this whole subject out of your head for years, until the great question comes to you,--better still, if it had never been put into your head in the first place. However, that mischief is done. Still, try as hard as you can, for this year at least, to forget all about it. Then, if you must remember it at all, remember it as we have spoken of it, a serious question which must be settled between you and your conscience. In the meantime, do the very best you can to develop yourself into a helpful woman, ready for any call that may come. Your call will come, in one way or another, and all you have to do is to be prepared to answer 'ready.' And the grand secret of this preparation lies in perfect unconsciousness of self. It is all hidden in you, Kit, if you only try to make the most of it. And now I shouldn't at all wonder if we were better friends than ever for this frank talk, should you?"

The girl did not speak, but, bending over, she kissed her aunt impulsively and left the room.

"The child is finding her soul at last," said Mrs. Hapgood to herself. "Kate had smothered it and buried it under her false ideas of womanhood; but it is there, and Katharine might so easily make a woman to be proud of, with her warm, loving nature, if only she could be kept out of the 'scrabble' for a few years longer.

Well, my son, what is it?" she added aloud, as Alan came in, yawning and stretching, and dropped into the chair just vacated by Katharine.

"Nothing, only I'm sick of reading, and came in for my share in the talk. Has Kit gone?"

"She just went up-stairs," answered his mother, surveying her boy with fond pride, for, in all truth, Alan was good to look at as he sat there, a real bonnie boy who might gladden any mother's heart.

Mother-like, she pa.s.sed a caressing hand over his yellow hair, and straightened out his coat-collar, but she only said, "Alan, you are positively growing tall, every single day."

"Am I?" asked the boy absently. Then he went on. "Speaking of Kit, mother, has it struck you that she is leaving off a little of her airs and graces? She isn't near as silly as she was when she first came."

"I don't think Katharine is silly," his mother replied; "it is only a little way she has. You are too critical of her, Alan."

"Well, she makes me tired," responded the boy, rolling up his eyes at his mother, whose deep-seated objection to that phrase he well knew. "She wants to be the very middle of things when we're together, and must have just so much fuss made over her. She'd be well enough, if it wasn't for that."

"Katharine has a great deal of character, after all," said his mother. "You aren't quite fair to her, Alan. If Polly or Florence did the same things she does, you would think it was all right."

"Polly and Kit aren't to be spoken of in the same breath,"

answered Alan energetically. "Florence doesn't count, one way or the other; but Polly is a splendid girl, and about the best friend I have. She always fights for me, and it would be mean if I didn't return the compliment once in a while. Here comes Mrs. Adams now,"

he added, as he glanced out of the window.

It was only an errand, not a call, she hurriedly explained. Friday night was going to be Hallowe'en, and wouldn't Alan and the girls come over to celebrate, as a surprise to Polly? Jean and Florence would be there, too. Then she went away again, leaving Alan to discuss the matter with his mother.

Friday evening came, and the surprise was kept a profound secret.

Mrs. Adams had called Polly up-stairs to try on a new gown which she had just finished, and Polly was still revolving in front of the mirror, making vain attempts to view her back, when the bell rang.

"You go down, Polly," said her mother. "I am all covered with basting-threads."

So Polly, in all the glory of her new gown, went running down the stairs to the door, and started back in astonishment as her six guests came solemnly marching into the house, dressed in their best, to do honor to the occasion.

"Why, what are you doing here?" she was beginning rather inhospitably, when her mother unexpectedly came to her relief and invited the girls to take off their things.

"We're a party, Polly," exclaimed Jessie. "How stupid you are not to see it!"

"It's Hallowe'en," added Florence; "and we've been asked to come to celebrate it."

"Oh-h-h!" And a new light dawned on Polly. "It's a surprise party, is it? Who started it? You, Jerusalem?"

"Why don't you take your little friends into the parlor and converse with them, Polly?" asked Aunt Jane's prim voice. "Don't you know that it isn't polite to leave them standing here?"

A sharp reply was trembling on the tip of Polly's tongue; but she caught her mother's warning glance, so she resolutely turned her back on the blue satin bow which Aunt Jane had donned for the party, and led the way into the parlor.