Six Girls and the Tea Room

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER VI

  UP-STAIRS AND DOWN-STAIRS

  POLLY, who demanded little of fate and who least of all the Scollardfamily asserted herself, received some things unsought. For instance,her tenth birthday came to her early in January, bringing a mild littlecelebration of Polly's passing into double numbers.

  In its honor all the girls came down to the tea room in the afternoon,that Polly need not be separated from any of them, and they hoped itmight prove a day cloudy enough to allow for playtime.

  Instead it was a bright, crisp, ozoneful day and people dropped in ingreater numbers than they had come since Christmas, so the girls wereas busy as bees. They had not seen much of their attractive landlady.Her chaperonage was rather in moral effect, knowing that she wasabove stairs ready in case of need, than in actual service. The teamaidens caught glimpses of her, and exchanged a few words with heroccasionally, enough to make them, Margery especially, wish they mightknow her better. She was busy with her classes and there was scantopportunity.

  To-day, however, Mrs. Stewart came in at one o'clock, and smiled herreadiness to wait till Margery should be at leisure to speak to her.Mrs. Jones-Dexter had turned up again after an absence of ten days, andMargery was patiently trying to fit her out; physically, with tea thatshould be neither too strong nor too weak, too hot nor too cold, andmentally with a novel equally perfect.

  Margery had not yet acquired Happie's faculty of bearing up withequanimity under this singular person's trying ways.

  The moment Mrs. Jones-Dexter caught sight of Mrs. Stewart she desertedMargery and the book shelves, and crossed over to the little dancingteacher.

  "What have you been doing to my little Serena Jones-Dexter?" shedemanded.

  "Teaching her to dance?" said Mrs. Stewart with an interrogation pointin her voice, not knowing what the little Serena's grandmother mightmean.

  "Teaching her to do nothing but dance!" retorted Mrs. Jones-Dexter."The mite puts chairs in a row, carefully spaced, and dances throughand around them all day long, if no one interferes. What are you tryingto make her do?"

  Mrs. Stewart laughed. "Trying to make her do nothing of that sort,"she said. "But I have suggested that practice for the older children,to help them learn the reverse. I suppose your little Serena isas imitative as are most tots. She has not reached the age whendifficulties are demanded of little women."

  "I hope not!" said Mrs. Jones-Dexter, and Margery saw that her questionhad not been put to Mrs. Stewart in a fault-finding way, but proudly,and she remembered that Mrs. Charleford had said she was wrapped upin her little grandchild. "Have you seen my little Serena?" Mrs.Jones-Dexter asked turning to Margery.

  "I'm afraid not. I have never been up-stairs during the classes,"Margery replied.

  "She's worth seeing," said Mrs. Jones-Dexter crisply. "It's not agrandmother's doting that finds her a rare blossom of a child, is it?"she demanded of Serena's teacher.

  Mrs. Stewart shook her head. "I have never seen a child as lovely," shesaid, and Margery saw that the praise was sincere.

  "She is precisely like her name, sweet, exquisite, like a bit ofold-time porcelain. You would appreciate her. Mrs. Stewart, pleasearrange for Miss Scollard and her sister to see my little girl," saidMrs. Jones-Dexter. Margery was amazed to discover in this speech proofthat the difficult lady considered her and Happie fitted to appreciatethe fineness of this rare child.

  "I came to ask Miss Margery Scollard to come up-stairs this afternoon.I suppose both the elder girls cannot come together?" Mrs. Stewartpaused for the negative that Margery murmured. "Well, then will one ofyou come and bring with you your two youngest sisters? And I will showyou Mrs. Jones-Dexter's grandchild; you will find her all we say," Mrs.Stewart continued. "I wanted to ask a favor of you, if I may."

  "I'll take myself out of earshot," said Mrs. Jones-Dexter promptly. "Isee your sister has my tea. I'll come in to-morrow to hear your candidopinion of Serena. She is a shy child, not inclined to friendships, butI think you will win her regard. I wish you would try to. She is notstrong, a sensitive creature, and I should like to have her play withyour pretty little Penelope, who is as vigorous and normal as Serena isunearthly."

  She walked across the room to the table at which Polly patiently waitedher coming. Margery turned to Mrs. Stewart. "I can hardly believe myears!" she cried. "I was thinking that I would never again try toplease her, that I must leave her to Happie forevermore, and suddenlyshe turns brusquely cordial!"

  "She's peculiar to herself," laughed Mrs. Stewart. "People say thatMrs. Jones-Dexter has been a martinet in her family, that she and herson, this little Serena's father, got on no better than she has goton with her nieces, nephews, brothers and sisters. But towards Serenashe is pathetically tender and adoring. And it is all true about thelittle girl. She is six years old, and the most flower-like, angeliclittle being one could imagine. Now my favor: dear Miss Margery, I wantto take your Polly and Penny into my class, just for the pleasure ofhaving them,--that, and because I want to do something that wouldgive Miss Bradbury pleasure. As there is nothing I can do for herdirectly, please let me teach the children. I know--better than you do,possibly--how much she cares for you all, and I know that I can gratifyher in this way. She has done so much for me! Say yes, please, my dear!"

  "I shouldn't know how to say no," said Margery. "It would be a greatadvantage to the children, not to speak of the delight of it--Penny'sfeet are set to dancing as naturally as other children are made towalk. You are more than good, Mrs. Stewart, but it doesn't seem quitefair."

  "Don't you see that the class must be taught, and that two more littlepersons in it do not affect my work? Then it is settled. I heard yousay the other day that your Polly would be ten years old to-day; willyou send her up this afternoon? I should like her first lesson to be abirthday present--Penny too, of course." Mrs. Stewart looked as eagerlyglad as if she had been ten years old that day herself, and Margerykissed her in spite of dignified tea drinkers who might wonder. "I'lltelephone up to Gretta to bring down their white frocks and slippers,"she said. "I shall have to send mother down to thank you; I can't. Whattime must the children come up?"

  "At half past two, please. It's I who thank you for giving me such apleasure," said the little dancing teacher.

  "Gretta and Laura will be down long before that," said Margery. And shewatched Mrs. Stewart away, thinking, "I never saw any one with quiteher combination of sadness and brightness of expression. She _is_ adear little woman, as Aunt Keren said."

  Mrs. Stewart had hardly disappeared before a shadow fell over thedoor-sill, a shadow that invariably struck the tea maidens as darkerand more sinister than ordinary shadows. It was cast by the man inthe cloak and sombrero, who instantly dispelled it by crossing thethreshold in his own person, and dropping into the corner which theproprietors of the tea room reluctantly saw he was beginning toconsider his own.

  So regularly he came to occupy the chair and tiny table, just bigenough for one, which stood here, that he had grown familiar to themall, but not more attractive than he was at first.

  Happie came to bring him his tea. It was understood that she was tocope with the more difficult human problems, for she had a way withher that melted crankiness and might, perhaps, disarm unkindness, orconvert wickedness--at least Margery believed so, though Happie, inturn, believed all things possible to Margery's loveliness.

  "Where is your musician?" asked the mysterious man.

  "She has not come yet; she will be here later," Happie replied. Thensomething in the man's face that she had not noticed in it before, norstopped now to analyze, wistfulness that was not merely sadness, butemptiness, if one may so describe it, made her add the first voluntaryremark she had ever addressed to this customer. "You are fond of music,aren't you?" she said.

  "Fond of it? Are you fond of air, food, the earth, your life, child?Music is my life," he exclaimed with a gaunt look of passionateearnestness.

  "Yet you are ready to
listen to a little girl's playing! Of course wethink my sister plays wonderfully, for a girl of thirteen, but we arepartial," said Happie.

  "You may be partial, but you are quite right," said the man as if hisdictum sufficed. "She has extraordinary talent. Her whole life ought tobe consecrated to music."

  "Oh, I'm very glad she didn't hear you say that!" cried Happie. "Pleasedon't say it to her. She can't consecrate her life to music, and it'sbad enough as it is to have her so wrapped up in it." Happie stopped,wondering to find herself half confiding in the person she feared.

  The man shook his head impatiently, and made that unspellable sound ofprotest, tongue against teeth: "T-t-t-t!" He looked at Happie, drawingtogether his brows, but she did not mistake it for a scowl directedat herself, but at annoying circumstances. "Ach!" he exclaimed with aGerman accent that gave Happie the first clue to his nationality thatshe had caught. "Talent should be first of all considerations. Thatlittle sister of yours should be educated in music at any sacrifice."

  "Oh, no, not that," said Happie, surprised at her own boldness indiffering from such a heavy frown. "There are other things moreimportant than talent--even if Laura were more than thirteen. But sheisn't, so there may be a chance for talents too. We think it is moreimportant that she should do her duty and be a splendid woman--like hermother--and make people happy who love her, than that she should be thegreatest musician in the world."

  "Yes, you're right," said the mysterious man heartily and unexpectedly."It's a black thing to feel that one's art broke a heart." He sighed,and looked so gloomy that Happie characteristically felt instantlonging to comfort him. Before she had made up her mind how to meetthis revelation, the guest stirred his tea and asked: "Only thirteen,you say? She looks more. She is really a wonderful child."

  "Here she comes," said Happie as Gretta appeared in the doorway withLaura, and with Penny in dancing school array. "Please, please, if everyou talk to her don't let her know you think she is wonderful. Mothertries so hard to keep her from thinking so herself."

  "Well, Happie!" exclaimed Gretta as Happie came towards her.

  "So say we all of us: 'Well, Happie!' How did you dare? And you lookedpositively friendly; Gretta and I were watching you," said Margery.

  "He's very unhappy, I believe," said Happie, thus fully explaining herconversation with the Mystery. "I will get Polly ready if you will goover there and smile at those two fluffy girls with hair and fox boasjust alike."

  Usually Laura went to the piano when the Mystery was taking his tea. Agirl less sensitive to admiration than she was, would have discoveredthat the man in the cloak was interested in her music, and Laura wasperfectly aware of the fact. But to-day her skies were leaden becausePolly and Penny had an opportunity to go to dancing school which wasdenied her, and it was scant comfort that they got it because theywere so much younger than she. Laura's genius could not buoy her overchildish trials, though, for that matter, every one knows that geniusis childish.

  The man in the cloak watched Laura as she gloomily served tea to twowomen, one evidently giving economical entertainment to the other, hercountry guest. When she had finished her task, as she passed his littletable in the corner, the mysterious man stopped her. "Won't you playfor me, little Clara Schumann?" he said.

  Laura brightened visibly. "If you like," she answered, and played.

  Her mood was not favorable to music that afternoon, and the man in thecloak was quick to perceive it. He arose from the table and went overto the piano.

  "It goes badly to-day, little musician, does it not?" he said gently."This little instrument is out of tune. Something has made discords foryou, is it not so? Well, it will pass--and come again, till at lastyou will reach the time of a horrible lasting discord, or a beautiful,permanent harmony, according to what you make of your life. Shall Iplay to you to-day? You have so often given me pleasure."

  Laura stared at the mysterious man dumb-founded, but without waitingfor an answer he twirled the piano stool down to a suitable height andbegan to play.

  At the first touch of his hands on the keys Happie instantly becamereconciled to the fact that Margery and not she had taken the childrenup to the dancing class, and the few people who were then in the tearoom forgot everything else to listen. For there was no mistaking thefact that here was a wizard of music.

  The mysterious man played for a long time. People went and came, butstill he played on, passing from Beethoven's sublime conceptions toHungarian dances that were half earthy, half witch music, into Chopin'sheart-breaking nocturnes, into Schumann's noble thoughts, Mendelssohn'scourageous hope, Grieg's innocent imaginings.

  Laura listened enraptured, swept beyond remembrance of Laura Scollard,her vanities, her little disappointments and desires.

  She drew a long breath as the mysterious man ceased playing at last,and turned on the stool to face her. "Oh!" she said with a long-drawnsigh, forgetting to thank him.

  "Good-bye," said this singular person abruptly, and hastened towardsthe door.

  Happie intercepted him. "You have been very kind to us," she said. "Wewould like to thank you, but it seems rather silly to thank any one forsuch music as that. I wish we might know what to call you."

  The man looked down on her, stroking his drooping moustache with theend of his thumb and the side of his forefinger, holding his hollowedhand over his mouth.

  "You can call me Lieder, Hans Lieder," he said, and was gone.

  "Lieder! Songs!" murmured Happie gazing after him. "I'm perfectly surethat isn't his name."

  While this feast of music had been spread for the three lucky girlsdown-stairs, Polly and Penny were rapturously being introduced toanother art up-stairs, and Margery was enjoying watching the childrenwith all her might.

  Little Serena Jones-Dexter had arrived under the care of her nurse, andwhen she came out of the dressing-room with every ribbon falling intoits proper fold of finest mull, Mrs. Stewart took her hand and led herover to Margery.

  "This is Margery Scollard, Serena," she said. "Here is our little girl,Margery. No, don't make Margery a dancing-school curtsey, dear; you areto be good friends, so you need not begin with a stiff curtsey."

  Margery leaned forward, smiling, but did not speak. The soft color inher cheeks, the warm light in her eyes, her youth and loveliness beggedlittle Serena not to be shy, but to trust her. The child looked up atMargery with great gray eyes, and her pale face flushed. She was soethereal, so dainty, so altogether fine and frail that Margery felt asthough she were hardly a child of common clay.

  "Grandma said we were to be friends; will you, Serena? Will you like mea little bit?" said Margery softly.

  Serena hesitated, and then smiled. "I'll be friends," she said, andclambered up on the chair beside Margery to prove her sincerity.

  When the time came for the child to dance she danced more beautifullythan any other child there. Penny lost her heart to her at once, andwent around after her like a happy, healthy little mortal following astray visitor from fairyland. Serena shrank from Penny at first, butshe had quite lost her heart to pretty Margery, and when she found thetwo were sisters she vouchsafed to tolerate Penny, to that merry littlesoul's humble delight.

  A voice in Margery's ear said: "Well, isn't she all that I told you?"

  She looked up to see Mrs. Jones-Dexter unexpectedly at her elbow.

  "She is much more than any one could describe," said Margery, sofervently that the doting grandmother was satisfied.

  "Shall we give the butterfly dance for Miss Margery to see, Mrs.Jones-Dexter?" asked Mrs. Stewart.

  "Not to-night; it takes too long. Let Serena dance alone, her birddance, if you like, and then I must take her home," said Mrs.Jones-Dexter, to whom no other child but her darling was worthexhibiting.

  So Serena danced a pretty little allegory of the bird new-come in thespring, greeting the flowers, singing to its mate, sunning itself inthe warmth, flying from the shower, at last preening its soft feathers,and cuddling down to sleep safely, wind-rocked in the tr
ee.

  Margery came away not less delighted with her afternoon than were Pollyand Penny, though these young ladies were more vociferous, and Pollycould not recover from the wonder that all this had happened on herbirthday, and that dancing lessons for the winter were her birthdaygift.

  Ralph came to escort the girls up town, explaining that Bob hadtelephoned a request to him to do so, as he was detained by Mr. Feltonbeyond his usual hour. Polly took possession of Ralph's left handby the right of favoritism which was hers with this big boy. Shepoured out the tale of her birthday gift, of the steps she had alreadylearned, and imparted to Ralph certain fundamental principles ofcarriage and motion, proud to show her knowledge.

  "And Serena!" she added. "You ought to see Serena!"

  "Now what is Serena?" demanded Ralph. "Who is there with suchan old-time name? It was my great-grandmother's name, mother'sgrandmother, but I never knew any one living that bore it."

  "This little owner of it is living," said Margery taking up the theme,and joining Ralph and Polly. "She is very much alive, but more with thelife of a fairy than a mortal. She is a little creature six years old,the loveliest child imaginable. And the strange part of it is that sheis the grandchild of an elderly lady who uses the tea room, and whom wehave thought until to-day, was a dragon: Mrs. Jones-Dexter."

  "Jones-Dexter!" cried Ralph, stopping so short that Happie and Gretta,immediately behind, almost tumbled over him. "Why, she's mother'saunt! The child is my cousin then. She must be named after that verygreat-grandmother! Indeed Mrs. Jones-Dexter is a dragon!"