The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER IV.

  MARY'S "PROMISED LAND"

  It was a hot, tiresome journey back to Kentucky. Joyce, worn out withall the hurried preparations of packing her mother and Norman off to themines, closing the Wigwam for the summer, and putting her own things inorder for a long absence, was glad to lean back in her seat with closedeyes, and take no notice of her surroundings. But Mary travelled in thesame energetic way in which she killed snakes. Nothing escaped her.Every passenger in the car, every sight along the way was an object ofinterest. She sat up straight and eager, scarcely batting an eyelash,for fear of missing something.

  To her great relief the peeling process had been a short one, and thanksto the rose balm, not a trace of a blister was left on her smooth skinto remind her of her foolish little attempt to beautify herself insecret. The first day she made no acquaintances, for she admired thereserved way in which her pretty nineteen-year-old sister travelled, andtried to imitate her, but after one day of elegant composure she longedfor a chance to drop into easy sociability with some of her neighbors.They no longer seemed like strangers after she had travelled in theircompany for twenty-four hours.

  So she seized the first social opportunity which came to her nextmorning. A middle-aged woman, who was taking up all the available spacein the dressing-room, grudgingly moved over a few inches when Mary triedto squeeze in to wash her face. Any one but Mary would have regarded heras a most unpromising companion, when she answered her question with agrumbling "Yes, been on two days, and got two more to go." The tone wasas ungracious as if she had said, "Mind your own business."

  The train was passing over a section of rough road just then, and theyswayed against each other several times, with polite apologies on Mary'spart. Then as the woman finished skewering her hair into a tight knotshe relaxed into friendliness far enough to ask, "Going far yourself?"

  "Yes, indeed!" answered Mary, cheerfully, reaching for a towel. "Goingto the Promised Land."

  The car gave a sudden lurch, and the woman dropped her comb, as she wassent toppling against Mary so forcibly that she pinned her to the wall amoment.

  "My!" she exclaimed as she regained her balance. "You don't mean clearto Palestine!"

  "No'm; our promised land is Kentucky," Mary hastened to explain. "Mammaused to live there, and she's told us so much about the beautiful timesthat she used to have in Lloydsboro Valley that it's been the dream ofour life to go there. Since we've been wandering around in the desert,sort of camping out the way the old Israelites did, we've got into theway of calling that our promised land."

  "Well, I wouldn't count too much on it," advised the woman, sourly."They say distance lends enchantment, and things hardly ever turn out asnice as you think they're going to."

  "They do at our house," persisted Mary, with unfailing cheerfulness."They generally turn out nicer."

  Evidently her companion felt the worse for a night in a sleeper and hadnot yet been set to rights with the world by her morning cup of coffee,for she answered as if Mary's rose-colored view of life so early in theday irritated her.

  "Well, maybe your folks are an exception to the rule," she said,sharply, "but I know how it is with the world in general. Even old Moseshimself didn't have his journey turn out the way he expected to. Helooked forward to _his_ promised land for forty years, and then didn'tget to put foot on it."

  "But he got to go to heaven instead," persisted Mary, triumphantly, "andthat's the best thing that could happen to anybody, especially if you'reone hundred and twenty years old."

  There was no answer to this statement, and another passenger appearingat the dressing-room door just then, the woman remarked something abouttwo being company and three a crowd, and squeezed past Mary to let thenewcomer take her place.

  "_She_ was more crowd than company," remarked Mary confidentially to thelast arrival. "She took up most as much room as two people, and it'sawful the way she looks on the dark side of things."

  There was an amused twinkle in the newcomer's eyes. She was a muchyounger woman than the one whose place she had taken, and evidently itwas no trial for her to be sociable before breakfast. In a few minutesshe knew all about the promised land to which the little pilgrim wasjourneying, and showed such friendly interest in the wedding and theother delights in store for her that Mary lingered over her toilet aslong as possible, in order to prolong the pleasure of having such anattentive audience.

  But she found others just as attentive before the day was over. Thegrateful mother whose baby she played with, welcomed her advances as shewould have welcomed sunshine on a rainy day. The tired tourists whoyawned over their time-tables, found her enthusiastic interest ineverybody the most refreshing thing they had met in their travels. Bynight she was on speaking terms with nearly everybody in the car, and atlast, when the long journey was done, a host of good wishes andgood-byes followed her all down the aisle, as her new-made friendswatched her departure, when the train slowed into the Union Depot inLouisville. She little dreamed what an apostle of good cheer she hadbeen on her journey, or how long her eager little face and odd remarkswould be remembered by her fellow passengers.

  All she thought of as the train stopped was that at last she had reachedher promised land.

  Those of the passengers who had thrust their heads out of the windows,saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man come hurrying along toward thegirls, and heard Joyce exclaim in surprise, "Why, Rob Moore! Who everdreamed of seeing _you_ here? I thought you were in college?"

  "So I was till day before yesterday," he answered, as they shook handslike the best of old friends. "But grandfather was so ill theytelegraphed for me, and I got leave of absence for the rest of the term.We were desperately alarmed about him, but 'all's well that ends well,'He is out of danger now, and it gave me this chance of coming to meetyou."

  Mary, standing at one side, watched in admiring silence the easy graceof his greeting and the masterful way in which he took possession ofJoyce's suit-case and trunk checks. When he turned to her to acknowledgehis introduction as respectfully as if she had been forty instead offourteen, her admiration shot up like mercury in a thermometer. She hadfelt all along that she knew Rob Moore intimately, having heard so muchof his past escapades from Joyce and Lloyd. It was Rob who had givenJoyce the little fox terrier, Bob, which had been such a joy to thewhole family. It was Rob who had shared all the interesting life at TheLocusts which she had heard pictured so vividly that she had long feltthat she even knew exactly how he looked. It was somewhat of a shock tofind him grown up into this dignified young fellow, broad of shouldersand over six feet tall.

  As he led the way out to the street and hailed a passing car, heexplained why Lloyd had not come in to meet them, adding, "Your trainwas two hours late, so I telephoned out to Mrs. Sherman that we wouldhave lunch in town. I'll take you around to Benedict's."

  Mary had never eaten in a restaurant before, so it was with an inwarddread that she might betray the fact that she followed Joyce and Rob toa side-table spread for three. In her anxiety to do the right thing shewatched her sister like a hawk, copying every motion, till they weresafely launched on the first course of their lunch. Then she relaxed herwatchfulness long enough to take a full breath and look at some of thepeople to whom Rob had bowed as they entered.

  She wanted to ask the name of the lady in black at the opposite table.The little girl with her attracted her interest so that she could hardlyeat. She was about her own age and she had such lovely long curls andsuch big dark eyes. To Mary, whose besetting sin was a love of prettyclothes, the picture hat the other girl wore was irresistible. Shecould not keep her admiring glances away from it, and she wished withall her heart she had one like it. Presently Joyce noticed it too, andasked the very question Mary had been longing to ask.

  "That is Mrs. Walton, the General's wife, you know," answered Rob, "andher youngest daughter, Elise. You'll probably see all three of the girlswhile you're at The Locusts, for they're living in the Valley now andare great friends of Lloyd and B
etty."

  "Oh, I know all about them," answered Joyce, "for Allison and Kitty goto Warwick Hall, and Lloyd and Betty fill their letters with theirsayings and doings." Mary stole another glance at the lady in black. Sothis was an aunt of the two little knights of Kentucky, and the motherof the "Little Captain," whose name had been in all the papers as theyoungest commissioned officer in the entire army. She would havesomething to tell Holland in her next letter. He had always been sointerested in everything pertaining to Ranald Walton, and had envied himhis military career until he himself had an opportunity to go into thenavy.

  Presently Mrs. Walton finished her lunch, and on her way out stopped attheir table to shake hands with Rob.

  "I was sure that this is Joyce Ware and her sister," she exclaimed,cordially, as Rob introduced them. "My girls are so excited over yourcoming they can hardly wait to meet you. They are having a littlehouse-party themselves, at present, some girls from Lexington and twoyoung army officers, whom I want you to know. Come here, Elise, and meetthe Little Colonel's Wild West friends. Oh, we've lived in Arizona too,you know," she added, laughing, "and I've a thousand questions to askyou about our old home. I'm looking forward to a long, cozy toe-to-toeon the subject, every time you come to The Beeches."

  After a moment's pleasant conversation she passed on, leaving such animpression of friendly cordiality that Joyce said, impulsively, "She'sjust _dear_! She makes you feel as if you'd known her always. Nowtoe-to-toe, for instance. That's lots more intimate and sociable thantete-a-tete."

  "That's what I thought, too," exclaimed Mary. "And isn't it nice, whenyou come visiting this way, to know everybody's history beforehand! Thenjust as soon as they appear on the scene you can fit in a backgroundbehind them."

  It was the first remark Mary had made in Rob's hearing, except anoccasional monosyllable in regard to her choice of dishes on the billof fare, and he turned to look at her with an amused smile, as if he hadjust waked up to the fact that she was present.

  "She's a homely little thing," he thought, "but she looks as if shemight grow up to be diverting company. She couldn't be a sister ofJoyce's and not be bright." Then, in order to hear what she might say,he began to ask her questions. She was eating ice-cream. Joyce, who hadrefused dessert on account of a headache, opened her chatelaine bag totake out an envelope already stamped and addressed.

  "If you'll excuse me while you finish your coffee," she said to Rob,"I'll scribble a line to mamma to let her know we've arrived safely.I've dropped notes all along the way, but this is the one she'll bewaiting for most anxiously. It will take only a minute."

  "Certainly," answered Rob, looking at his watch. "We have over twentyminutes to catch the next trolley out to the Valley. They run everyhalf-hour now, you know. So take your time. It will give me a chance totalk to Mary. She hasn't told me yet what her impressions are of thisgrand old Commonwealth."

  If he had thought his teasing tone would bring the color to her face, itwas because he was not as familiar with her background as she was withhis. A long apprenticeship under Jack and Holland had made her proofagainst ordinary banter.

  "Well," she began, calmly, mashing the edges of her ice-cream with herspoon to make it melt faster, "so far it is just as I imagined it wouldbe. I've always thought of Kentucky as a place full of colored peopleand pretty girls and polite men. Of course I've not been anywhere yetbut just in this room, and it certainly seems to be swarming withcolored waiters. I can't see all over the room without turning around,but the ladies at the tables in front of me and the ones reflected inthe mirrors are good-looking and stylish. Those girls you bowed to overthere are pretty enough to be Gibson girls, just stepped out of amagazine; and so far--_you_ are the only man I have met."

  "Well," he said after a moment's waiting, "you haven't given me youropinion of _me_."

  There was a quizzical twinkle in his eye, which Mary, intent upon herbeloved ice-cream, did not see. Her honest little face was perfectlyserious as she replied, "Oh, _you_,--you're like Marse Phil and MarseChan and those men in Thomas Nelson Page's stones of 'Ole Virginia,' Ilove those stories, don't you? Especially the one about 'Meh Lady.' Ofcourse I know that everybody in the South can't be as nice as they are,but whenever I think of Kentucky and Virginia I think of people likethat."

  Such a broad compliment was more than Rob was prepared for. Anembarrassed flush actually crept over his handsome face. Joyce, glancingup, saw it and laughed.

  "Mary is as honest as the father of his country himself," she said."I'll warn you now. She'll always tell exactly what she thinks."

  "Now, Joyce," began Mary, indignantly, "you know I don't tell everythingI think. I'll admit that I did use to be a chatterbox, when I waslittle, but even Holland says I'm not, now."

  "I didn't mean to call you a chatterbox," explained Joyce. "I was justwarning Rob that he must expect perfectly straightforward replies to hisquestions."

  Joyce bent over her letter, and in order to start Mary to talking again,Rob cast about for another topic of conversation.

  "You wouldn't call those three girls at that last table, Gibson girls,would you?" he asked. "Look at that dark slim one with the red cherriesin her hat."

  Mary glanced at her critically. "No," she said, slowly. "She is notexactly pretty now, but she's the ugly-duckling kind. She may turn outto be the most beautiful swan of them all. I like that the best of anyof Andersen's fairy tales. Don't you? I used to look at myself in theglass and tell myself that it would be that way with me. That mystraight hair and pug nose needn't make any difference; that some dayI'd surprise people as the ugly duckling did. But Jack said, no, I amnot the swan kind. That no amount of waiting will make straight haircurly and a curly nose straight. Jack says I'll have my innings when Iam an old lady--that I'll not be pretty till I'm old. Then he says I'llmake a beautiful grandmother, like Grandma Ware. He says her face waslike a benediction. That's what he wrote to me just before I left home.Of course I'd rather be a beauty than a benediction, any day. But Jacksays he laughs best who laughs last, and it's something to look forwardto, to know you're going to be nice-looking in your old age when allyour friends are wrinkled and faded."

  Rob's laugh was so appreciative that Mary felt with a thrill that he wasfinding her really entertaining. She was sorry that Joyce's letter cameto an end just then. Her mother's last warning had been for her toremember on all occasions that she was much younger than Joyce'sfriends, and they would not expect her to take a grown-up share of theirconversation. She had promised earnestly to try to curb her activelittle tongue, no matter how much she wanted to be chief spokesman, andnow, remembering her promise, she relapsed into sudden silence.

  All the way out to the Valley she sat with her hands folded in her lap,on the seat opposite Joyce and Rob. The car made so much noise she couldcatch only an occasional word of their conversation, so she sat lookingout of the window, busy with her thoughts.

  "Sixty minutes till we get there. Now it's only fifty-nine. Now it'sfifty-eight--just like the song 'Ten little, nine little, eight littleIndians.' Pretty soon there'll just be one minute left."

  At this exciting thought the queer quivery feeling inside was so strongit almost choked her. Her heart gave a great thump when Joyce finallycalled, "Here we are," and Rob signalled the conductor to stop outsidethe great entrance gate.

  "The Locusts" at last. Pewees in the cedars and robins on the lawn;everywhere the cool deep shadows of great trees, and wide stretches ofwaving blue-grass. Stately white pillars of an old Southern mansiongleamed through the vines at the end of the long avenue. Then a flutterof white dresses and gay ribbons, and Lloyd and Betty came running tomeet them.