Marion Berkley: A Story for Girls

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER XVI.

  THE HOLIDAYS.

  The days and weeks at Miss Stiefbach's school quickly succeeded eachother, all passing very much as those I have already described, and theChristmas holidays were close at hand.

  Shortly after Thanksgiving there had been another musicale, at whichMarion played without dropping her music, or making any mistakes, andwon universal admiration for the delicacy of her touch, and above allfor the depth and beauty of her expression. Not that so-calledexpression which has lately become the fashion, which seems to consistin playing half the piece in pp., rushing from that to ff., with arapidity which certainly astonishes the hearer, if it does nothing more;but carefully noting the crescendos and diminuendos, which are to musicwhat the lights and shadows are to painting, and rendering the whole ina manner that appealed to the heart rather than the senses.

  Marion was gradually, and without any noticeable effort on her part,obtaining a different footing in the school. The girls who had admiredbut feared her might now be said to only admire; for the cuttingsarcasms, the withering scorn, which had formerly led them to fear her,were now very rarely observable in either her conversation or hermanners.

  Once or twice some of the scholars had spoken of the difference inMarion's behavior, and, as one of them expressed it, "wondered what hadcome over the spirit of her dreams;" but the answer to the query wasgenerally accepted as a fact, "that it was only one of her odd freaks,and very likely would not last long."

  But it was not one of her freaks; far from it. A change was coming overher whole character; slowly but surely it was approaching; manifestingitself at present in certain ways, or perhaps not so much in certainways as in the absence of certain other ways, which had before been thedark spots in a nature which God had intended to make broad, intense,and noble. God had intended?--no, not that; for what could God intendand not perform? The nature was there, heart and soul bearing theimpress of the Maker's hand; but like a beautiful garden having withinits borders flowers of surpassing beauty and luxurious growth, buttwined and intertwined with rank weeds and choking briers, which thegardener must clear away,--not tearing them apart with rough andruthless hands, and by so doing killing the tender plant; butdelicately, carefully, as a mother would tend her babe; untwiningtendril after tendril, leaf after leaf, propping and sustaining theflowers as he works, until at last the weeds lay withered and broken,but a few moments trailing their useless branches on the ground, ere thegardener with a firm grasp wrenches them from the soil. His hands may bescratched and bleeding from contact with the briers; but what of that?If the plants are rescued; if they raise up their drooping heads, andgladden his eyes with the sight of their buds and blossoms, do yousuppose he will murmur or complain for any wounds he may have received?Not he! The weeds and briers are gone, the blooming plants aresaved,--that is enough.

  Such a garden was Marion's heart, and she had already commenced the workof the gardener; but so slowly did she proceed that sometimes she wasalmost willing to let the work go, so hopeless did it seem to her; onlya few tendrils untwined, only a few leaves saved from the briers whoseroots as yet remained untouched. But such moments of discouragement didnot come to her often, or if they did, she tried not to yield to them.The great trouble with her was the determination with which she held toher resolution in regard to Rachel; she still treated her with the samecoldness, the same formal politeness, which she had shown her on herfirst arrival; she had not succeeded in quieting the still, small voice,which persisted in whispering in her ear; but though she could not helphearing it, she resolutely forbore to heed it.

  Poor Florence had built high hopes on the easy, friendly manner withwhich Marion had treated Rachel the night of the famous Thanksgivingparty, and had thought the pain she suffered with her foot but a smallprice to pay for the bringing together of her old friend and her new;but she had seen those hopes vanish one by one. As the friendshipbetween herself and Rachel increased, Marion's coldness became the moredistressing to both parties; for although Marion had never abated onejot of her affection for Florence, there was a certain barrier betweenthem, which each from her heart deplored, but which seemed destined forthe present to remain uncrossed.

  But, my dear reader, I'm afraid you think I am growing fearfully prosy,and if you don't I am sure I do; so I will hurry on with my story.

  It was the 23d of December, and the young ladies of Miss Stiefbach'sschool were starting off en masse for their various homes; indeed, someliving at the West had already gone, having been called for by parentsor friends, and not a few by their older brothers on their way home fromcollege, who were not at all averse to spending one night in "thatstupid old town," for the sake of a peep at the pretty girls of theschool.

  Marion Berkley, Mattie Denton, the two Thayers, Florence Stevenson, andRachel Drayton, all went by the Boston train, and I don't believe amerrier party ever started on a journey together.

  Florence, finding that Rachel was intending to spend the holidays at theschool, had written to her father, and obtained his permission to takeher new friend home with her. Rachel had at first demurred, dreading toagain encounter strangers; but Florence had plead so earnestly,representing to her how forlorn and stupid it would be for her at theschool, at the same time promising that she should not see any company,or participate in any gayety,--"they would just have a quiet time athome and enjoy each other,"--that she had at last yielded.

  It was a most excellent thought of Florence, for anniversaries of anykind were likely to prove very trying to Rachel; making her realize moreforcibly than ever the loss of her father,--a loss to which she hadtried to reconcile herself; but, strive hard as she would, it was everpresent in her mind, and if she had been left in that great house, withnone of the pupils with whose laughter, fun, and frolic the walls had sooften resounded, it is probable that the melancholy which had at firstseemed fixed upon her, but which the presence of so many bright younglives around her had done much towards dispelling, would have returnedto her with double force, and taken a stronger hold upon her than ever.

  When Florence had communicated her intention to Marion, she answered nota word; but no one knew what a hard struggle it was for her to keepsilent.

  Christmas vacation was always looked forward to by them both, withgreater anticipations of pleasure than any other, for Florence alwaysspent several days in the city with Marion in a round of pleasure. Notballs and parties, but theatres, concerts, picture-galleries, etc., werevisited; in fact, every new thing that came to the city that week, andwas worth seeing, Mr. Berkley always made it a point to take the girlsto see, and those good times were talked over for weeks and weeks afterthey were back at school.

  Marion had been looking forward to the holidays with more than her usualeagerness, for then she thought she and Florence would be together justas they used to be, without any barrier whatever between them; but whenshe heard that Rachel would spend the vacation with Florence, she knew,of course, that there would be an end to all the merry-makings; for evenif she and Rachel had been on good terms, the latter would not of coursehave participated in such gayety.

  The girls were all met at the depot by their respective papas, mammas or"big brothers," and after great demonstrations of delight at meeting,and good-byes, and "Come round soon," etc., from the girls as theyparted, they all separated on their way to their various homes.

  "Marion," asked Mr. Berkley at the breakfast-table the next morning, ashe helped his daughter to the best chop on the platter, "who was thatyoung lady with Florence last night?"

  "Miss Drayton," replied Marion, with the slightest possible change ofmanner,--"Rachel Drayton."

  "Rachel Drayton. That's rather an uncommon name. I don't think I everheard of a real bona fide Rachel before; handsome, isn't she?"

  "No, not exactly; perhaps she would be if she were well."

  "She's uncommon-looking," continued Mr. Berkley, as he helped himself toanother slice of toast; "didn't you notice her, Margaret?--tall, withjet-black hair and eyes. Rache
l is just the name for her."

  "I noticed her; in fact, Florence introduced her, but I was attractedtowards her first by the unusually sad expression of her face. I neversaw it so noticeable in one so young; and I suppose she is young, thoughshe looks much older than you or Florence."

  "She is only seventeen," replied Marion, busily engaged in givingCharley sips of her coffee.

  "Oh, well," said Mr. Berkley in his hearty way, "we'll soon get rid ofthat sad look; we'll have her in with Flo, and I guess after she's seenWarren once or twice she'll learn how to laugh. What do you think,Marion?"

  "It won't be any use for you to invite her, papa. She wouldn't come;she's in deep mourning,--she lost her father just before she came toschool."

  "Poor child!" said Mrs. Berkley, whose heart always warmed towards anyone in trouble; "poor child! Where does her mother live?"

  "She has no mother either; she died when Rachel was a baby. In fact, shehas no relations at all except an uncle, who has been abroad for tenyears, and will not be at home until school closes next spring."

  "Well, I do pity the poor thing!" said Mr. Berkley, who, although deathhad never robbed him of his own dear ones, felt the deepest sympathy forall those who had been so stricken. "I think it is one of the saddestcases I ever knew. I suppose Flo--bless her heart!--could sympathizewith her even more than the rest of you, having lost her mother too."

  "She and Rachel are great friends," replied Marion, wishing the subjectwould ever be changed.

  "Is she well provided for?" asked Mr. Berkley.

  "She is immensely wealthy," replied Marion; "will have two or threemillions in her own right, when she is twenty-one."

  "Whew!" exclaimed Mr. Berkley; "pretty well provided for, I shouldthink. Well, I'm glad of it; she has had trouble enough already, withouthaving to worry about money matters. Marion, have another chop?"

  "No, I thank you, papa, I've had quite enough," replied Marion, rousingherself, and speaking with her usual energy, the absence of which hadnot escaped her mother's ear. "How soon will Fred be home? I'm crazy tosee him."

  "In about an hour, I expect," replied Mrs. Berkley; "he is quite asanxious to see you as you are to see him."

  "I tell you what, Mab," said Mr. Berkley, "Fred is a pretty importantmember of society since he got into college; you ought to hear him talkabout 'the men of our class;' it makes me feel old."

  "Oh! he'll get over that," laughed Marion. "I suppose he feelsparticularly grand, because he's younger than most of his class."

  "Yes, I dare say," said Mrs. Berkley, with a little motherly anxiety inher voice. "I wish he had waited a year; it would have been much betterfor him."

  "Oh, nonsense!" answered Mr. Berkley, as he pushed his chair back fromthe table; "the sooner he sows his 'wild oats' the better; besides, he'ssound enough, never fear. But I forgot, Marion; I'm getting to be almosttoo old a beau for you; so I told Fred to bring some one home fromcollege to pass the vacation. He has invited a Mr. Thornton; he took agreat fancy to Fred, though _he is_ a junior; so you can't turn up yournose at him."

  "I don't want to turn up my nose at him; but junior or not, he will notbe my escort. I'll hand him over to mamma; but wherever I go, you'llhave to take me, do you understand?"

  "Oh, yes, I understand perfectly. That all sounds very pretty, no doubt;but you wait till you see Arthur Thornton. Such _heavenly_ eyes!"exclaimed Mr. Berkley, disengaging himself from Marion, and clasping hishands in the most enthusiastic manner, "and such a _magnificent_ figure!and such a _stunning_ mustache, and such--such a--such a surprisingappetite!"

  "Now, papa," said Marion, laughing at her father's romantic gestures,and the very unromantic conclusion of his sentence, "you know I neverrave so over young men; it's so silly!"

  "Now, mamma, just hear her," said Mr. Berkley, turning to his wife; "shenever raves over young men; oh, no! Wasn't little Bob Jones the_loveliest_ dancer she ever saw? and didn't Walter Hargate sing the'rainy day' so as to make one weep _oceans_ of tears? and wasn't JackRichards' profile 'enough to make one _wild_'? and wasn't--"

  "Stop! stop!" cried Marion, jumping up and putting her hand over herfather's mouth; "you shan't say another word; it isn't fair. That wasnearly two years ago, when I was young and foolish; now I am almosteighteen, and, as Fred says, 'I'm going to come the heavy dignity.'"

  "All right," replied her father, as he gave her a kiss; "only don't comeit over me, that's all. Here they are now! Marion! Marion!" he cried, asshe broke from him, and made a rush for the front door, "that's veryundignified, very undignified indeed; you should receive them in theparlor."

  But Marion paid no heed to his admonition, and in a moment more had herarms round Fred's neck, utterly oblivious to the fact that a youngsix-footer stood behind him.

  "Come in, Marion; what do you mean by keeping Mr. Thornton standing outthere in the cold?" said Mr. Berkley, with a mischievous twinkle in hiseyes. "I'm surprised at you! Come in, Mr. Thornton; glad to see you; mydaughter, _Miss_ Berkley."

  Mr. Thornton raised his hat, and bent that "magnificent figure" in themost profound salutation, while Marion responded with a bow, which, asher father whispered to her, "was dignity itself."

  After the usual bustle accompanying an arrival was over, and some littletime had been spent in chatting, Mr. Berkley said:--

  "Come, Fred, you and Mr. Thornton must be hungry; go out and get somebreakfast; we have had ours, but Marion will do the honors."

  "We breakfasted before we left," answered Fred. "I knew we should belate; but we'll do double duty at dinner."

  "I'm sorry for that," whispered Mr. Berkley to Marion, as he handed herhis meerschaum to fill, "for I wanted to prove the last part of mydescription. I know you've accepted the first part already as perfect."

  "Hush, papa! don't be silly," answered Marion, as she dipped her fingersinto the tobacco-box.

  "Miss Berkley, can you fill a pipe?" asked Mr. Thornton.

  "Why, of course she can," said her father; "she's filled mine ever sinceshe was so high. I should have given up smoking long ago if it hadn'tbeen for her."

  "That's all nonsense, papa; you'll never stop smoking till the day ofyour death; so I suppose I shall always fill your pipe."

  "Miss Berkley," said Mr. Thornton, with a graceful little bow, "I wishwhile I am here I might be allowed the pleasure of having _my_ pipefilled by those fair fingers."

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Thornton," said Marion, with the least possibletoss of her head; "but I never fill any one's but papa's."

  Mr. Thornton bowed, flushing slightly as he rose to follow Fred to hisroom, mentally resolving never to waste pretty speeches again on thatgirl; and Mr. Berkley observed as he left the room, "A perfect scorcher,Marion! If you keep that dignity up for the rest of his visit, therewon't be a piece of him left as big as a chicken's wing."

  The following morning was as bright and beautiful as ever a Christmasmorning could be, and indoors the merry party at Mr. Berkley's was quitein keeping with the weather; such strife as to who could wish "MerryChristmas" first, such an exhibition of presents, and such generaljollification, could only be found where every one was in the best ofspirits, and all determined to enjoy themselves to the utmost.

  The Christmas gifts had been arranged by Mr. and Mrs. Berkley theprevious night in the parlor, where the door was kept fastened untildirectly after breakfast, when Mr. Berkley unlocked it, and let in thewhole family. Marion was in a perfect state of excitement over herpresents, quite forgetting the talked-of dignity in her admiration ofthem; and the charming way in which she thanked Mr. Thornton for abouquet, bearing his card, quite did away with the effect of her hauteurof the previous day. From her father and mother she received what shehad long expressed a wish for,--"Goethe's Female Characters illustratedby Kaulbach," a book which her intense love for art enabled her to fullyappreciate; from Fred a beautiful amethyst ring; a pretty necktie fromCharley, which, as he said, "he choosed hisself;" a bust of Clytie fromher Uncle George; besides gloves, bows, embroidered h
andkerchiefs, etc.,too numerous to mention, from various aunts and cousins.

  "But, Marion, there is something else," said her mother; "lift up thathandkerchief and see what is under it."

  "Oh, is that for me? I didn't understand," said Marion, as she took upthe handkerchief that hid something from view. "O mamma, how perfect!Isn't it lovely? She couldn't have given me anything I would have likedhalf so well;" and the tears started to her eyes, for the present wasfrom Florence, and Marion had thought she had nothing from her, and wascut to the quick; for they had always exchanged Christmas gifts eversince they were children. This one was an exquisitely colored photographof Florence herself, beautifully framed in blue velvet and gilt.

  "She had it taken just before she went back to school," said Mrs.Berkley, "and I colored it for her; isn't the frame lovely? She had itmade to order. I never saw one like it."

  "It is lovely; just exactly like her;" and Marion looked fondly at theeyes that smiled into hers with such a sweet, affectionate expression,and as she did so thoughts of the past and present flitted quicklythrough her mind, and further speech just then was quite impossible.

  But it is useless to attempt a description of each of those many merrydays; they all passed only too quickly. Mr. Thornton proved himself tobe a very valuable addition to the home circle, as well as a most heartyparticipator in all their schemes for going about here, there, andeverywhere. During the holidays Mr. and Mrs. Berkley received severalinvitations to large parties, in which 'Miss Berkley' was included; butall were declined, for Mrs. Berkley had no idea of having Marion gointo society for more than a year yet. Her father had said, in hisjolly, easy way, "Oh, let her go, it won't hurt her; why, you and I didmost of our courting before you were as old as she is."

  "I can't help it, my dear; because you and I were foolish is no reasonwe should let her be," replied her mother. "I have no objections to hergoing to the little 'Germans' given by girls of her age; but regularballs and parties I can't allow."

  But Marion was not at all disturbed about the party question; she wasenjoying her vacation to the utmost. At first she missed Florence verymuch. She had been out to see her once or twice. The first time she sawher alone for a few moments, and thanked her warmly for her photograph,receiving Florence's thanks in return for her present of a lovelylocket, and promising to have her own picture taken to put in it.

  "Marion," said Mrs. Berkley one day, "don't you intend to inviteFlorence and Miss Drayton in here to spend the night?"

  "I don't think Rachel would come, if I asked her, mamma. You know we arepretty gay now that Mr. Thornton is here."

  "But you need not ask any one else, and I don't believe she would mindhim;--he seems like one of the family."

  "I don't think she would come, mamma."

  "Very well, my dear, you know best;" and Mrs. Berkley did not againrefer to the subject. She felt instinctively that Marion did notentertain the same friendship for Rachel that Florence did; but she saidnothing about it, never wishing to force herself into her daughter'sconfidence, knowing well enough that, if she waited, that confidencewould come of its own accord.

  Everything must come to an end at last, and so did those Christmasholidays, and Marion went back to school, and Fred and Mr. Thornton tocollege; the latter young gentleman, if we might judge from a littlescrap of conversation he had with his chum on his return, not quiteheart-whole.

  "You see, Sam, I went home with Berkley more to please him than myself.To be sure I knew I should have a stupid time loafing round here, and Ihad no idea of going home; for the house is all shut up while the oldgentleman and mother are in Europe. So I thought, as Berk really seemedto want me, I'd go, and I tell you I never had a jollier time in mylife;" and Arthur Thornton watched the wreaths of smoke as they curledabout his head, quite lost in recollections of the past two weeks.

  "What did you do?" asked his companion, knocking the ashes out of hispipe.

  "Oh! went to the theatre, museum, concerts,--everything! Stayed at homeonce or twice, and had a 'candy-scrape.' It's the best place in theworld to visit, and the most delightful family."

  "All of whom unite, I suppose, in worshipping Master Freddy."

  "Not by a long shot!" replied Arthur Thornton, energetically; "_he_unites with the rest of the family in worshipping at quite anothershrine."

  "And that is--"

  "His sister Marion; the most perfectly bewitching girl I ever saw in mylife!"

  "Arty, my boy, has it come to that?" solemnly asked his companion, as heremoved his pipe from his mouth, and looked at his friend with a faceexpressive of the deepest dejection; "do you mean to say that you'vesurrendered, and gone over to the enemy?"

  "I haven't gone over at all; but she certainly is the best specimen of agirl I ever saw! None of your sentimental, simpering kind! I just wishyou'd seen her when I tried to make a pretty speech to her; didn't shetoss her head up, and flash those eyes at me? By Jove! I never felt sosmall in my life!"

  "If she has the power of producing that effect upon you, she must besomething fearful," replied his friend, coolly surveying the six feet ofhuman frame which lay stretched on the sofa before him. "She flashes hereyes, does she?"

  "Doesn't she? and such eyes!--great, dark-brown eyes with long blacklashes; and such hair!--golden hair! Do you hear? golden hair and darkeyes, and--"

  "My dear fellow," replied Sam, languidly waving his hand before him,"forbear! I entreat you to forbear; half of that description is enoughto do away with the quieting influences of this pipe; if you shouldcontinue, I don't know what would become of me, to say nothing ofyourself. I see that you are lost to me forever. Farewell, my onceloved, never-to-be-forgotten friend; I see that you are--in for it."

  "Don't be a fool, Sam, and just wait till you've seen her yourself."

  "Until that blissful time arrives," replied his friend, rising to leavethe room, "I will occupy all my spare hours in hunting up an armor thatwill be proof against the 'flashes' of those eyes."

  "You're an old idiot!" shouted Arthur; but Sam had dodged back, andslammed the door, just in time to escape being hit by a boot-jack, whichhis friend threw at him.

  To tell the truth, Mr. Thornton was just the least bit in the worldtouched. Marion had done her best to entertain her brother's friend, andindeed that was not a very severe task, when the individual in questionwas a handsome young fellow, intelligent and agreeable, and notpossessing quite the usual amount of conceit that young men of his ageare troubled with. In fact, she succeeded so well in making herselfagreeable to him, that Fred told his mother in confidence, that "it waseasy enough to see Thornton was dead smashed with Mab, and 'twouldn't bea bad thing for her if she should fancy him, for he was a 'regularbrick,' and hadn't he got the rocks!"

  For which inelegant expressions his mother most seriously reproved him,at the same time saying that she thought Marion had taken a fancy to Mr.Thornton, and that was all she ever would care for him; and it was verysilly to be talking about anything serious now, when she was nothing buta child.

  Of course when the scholars all met again at school nothing was talkedof but the vacation; presents were shown and admired, and for days anddays after their return, as soon as study hours were over, little knotsof girls might be seen scattered all over the house, chattering away asfast as their tongues could go, rehearsing again and again the delightsof the holidays.

  The first thing Marion did was to make a visit to Aunt Bettie's to thankthe good woman for her present of a barrel of as rosy-cheeked apples asever grew. She found the old lady well and happy, rocking away in thesunshine, while Jemima made bread in the pantry, singing in a clear,bright voice, which gave excellent proof of her recovered health andcontentment.

  She carried Jemima a couple of bright ribbons, and a pretty embroideredlinen collar, and Aunt Bettie a neat lace cap, which unexpected giftsquite overpowered them, and caused Aunt Bettie to remark, "Seemed as howsome folks was a-doin' and a-doin' all the time, and could never doenuff;" which remark, Marion declared, a
s she ran out of the house,certainly did not apply to her.