Quicksilver Sue

by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

  CHAPTER II

  THE NEW-COMER

  Sue Penrose went home that day feeling, as she had said to Mary, thatsomething serious had happened. The advent of a stranger, and thatstranger a girl not very far from her own and Mary's age, was indeed awonderful thing. Hilton was a quiet village, and it happened that sheand Mary had few friends of their own age. They had never felt theneed of any, being always together from babyhood. Mary would never, itmight be, feel the need; but Sue was always a dreamer of dreams, andalways longed for something new, something different from every-daypleasures and cares. When the schooners came up the river, in summer,to load with ice from Mr. Hart's great ice-houses, Sue always longedto go with them when they sailed. There were little girls on themsometimes; she had seen them. She had gone so far as to beg Mr. Hartto let her go as stewardess on board the "Rosy Dawn." She felt that avoyage on a vessel with such a name must be joy indeed. But Mr. Hartalways laughed at her so, it would have been hard to have patiencewith him if he were not so dear and good. She longed to go away on thetrains, too, or to have the pair of cream-colored horses that were thepride of the livery-stable--to take them and the buckboard, and driveaway, quite away, to new places, where people didn't have theirdresses made over every year, and where they had new things every dayin the shop-windows. Her dreams always took her away from Hilton; forit seemed impossible that anything new or strange should ever comethere to the sleepy home village. She and Mary had always made theirplays out of books, and so had plenty of excitement in that way; butHilton itself was asleep,--her mother said so,--and it would neverwake up. And now, all in a moment, the scene was changed. Here, intothe very village street, had come a stranger--a wonderful girl lookinglike a princess, with jewels and gold chains and shimmering silk; andthis girl was going to lead a kind of fairy life at a marvelous placecalled a hotel, where the walls were frescoed, and you could make upstories about them all the time you were eating your dinner; and thedinner itself was as different as possible from a plain brown leg ofmutton, which Katy would always do over three times in just the sameorder: first a pie, then a fricassee, then mincemeat. Katy was sotiresome! But this girl with the fair hair and the beautiful namewould have surprises three times a day, surprises with silvercovers,--at least, they looked like silver,--and have four kinds ofpie to choose from. And she came from New York! That was perhaps themost wonderful part of all. Sue sat down on her window-seat, gave along sigh, and fell into a dream of New York.

  They drove curricles there, glittering curricles like those in books.(Sue was very fond of books, provided they were "exciting.")

  And the houses--well, she knew something about those, of course; shehad heard them described; and of course it was stupid to have them allalike outside, row upon row of brownstone; but, on the other hand,perhaps it made the mystery of the inside all the more amazing. To goin at a plain brown door in a plain brown house, and find--find--oh!what would not one find? There would be curtains of filmy lace--lacewas always filmy when it was not rich and creamy; well, on the whole,she would have the curtains rich and creamy, and keep the filmy kindfor something else. And the carpets were crimson, of course, and sothick your feet sank quite out of sight in them. ("I don't see how youcould run," Sue admitted to herself; "but no matter.") The walls were"hung," not papered--hung with satin and damask, or else with Spanishleather, gilded, like those in the Hans Andersen story. Sue had beggedpiteously, when her room was done over last year, to have it hungwith gilded Spanish leather. She had quoted to her mother the songthe old hangings sang after they had been there for ages and ages:

  "The gilding decays, But hog's leather stays."

  But it made no difference; the room was papered. Sue had chosen thepaper, to be sure, and it was certainly pretty; but--she sighed as shelooked around and fancied the Spanish leather creaking in the wind;then sank into her dream again.

  The rooms, downstairs, at least, were in suites, opening out of eachother in long vistas ("vista" was a lovely word! there were no housesin Hilton big enough to have vistas, but probably they would have themat the hotel), with long French windows opening on to velvet lawns--No! Sue shook herself severely. That was the other kind of house--thekind that was embosomed in trees, in Miss Yonge's stories. Of coursethey wouldn't have French windows in New York; the burglars could getin. An adventure with a burglar would be terribly exciting, though!There might be just one French window. Sue's mind hovered for amoment, tempted to wander into a dream of burglary; but she rejectedit, and went on with the house. The furniture would be just perfectlyfine--rosewood and satinwood, and one room all ebony and pale yellowsatin. You wore a yellow crape dress when you sat there, with--yes;now came in the filmy lace, lots and lots of it round your snowy neck,that rose out of it like a dove,--no, like a swan, or a pillar, orsomething. Then, upstairs--oh! she hadn't got to upstairs yet, but shemust just take a peep and see the silver bedstead, all hung with paleblue velvet. Oh, how lovely! And--why, yes, it might be--in the bedthere would be a maiden sleeping, more beautiful than the day. Herlong, fair hair was spread out on the pillow (when Sue was grown upshe was never, never going to braid her hair at night; she was alwaysgoing to spread it out), and her nightgown was all lace, every bit,and the sheets were fine as a cambric handkerchief, and her eyelasheswere black, and so long that they reached half-way down her nose,like that paper doll Mrs. Hart made. Well, and Sue would go up andlook at her. Oh! if she herself were only a fairy prince in green andgold, or could change into one just for a little while! But, anyhow,she would look at the lovely maiden and say:

  "Love, if thy tresses be so dark,--"

  But these tresses were fair! Well, never mind; she could change that:

  "Love, if thy tresses be so fair, How bright those hidden eyes must be!"

  That was really almost as good as the real way. It would be justlovely to be a poet, and say that kind of thing all the time! Suewondered how one began to be a poet; she thought she would try, whenshe got through with this. And then the maiden would wake up and say:"Hallo!" and Sue would say: "Hallo! what's your name?" and she wouldsay, soft and low, like the wind of the western sea:

  "Clarice!" And then they would be friends for life, the dearestfriends in the world--except Mary, of course. But then, Mary wasdifferent. She was the dearest girl that ever was, but there wasnothing romantic about her. Clarice! It was a pity the other name wasPackard! It ought to have been Atherton, or Beaudesert. ClariceBeaudesert! That was splendid. But Mr. Packard didn't look as if hebelonged to that kind of people. Well, then, when Clarice grew up shewould have to marry some one called Beaudesert--or Clifford. ClariceClifford was beautiful! And he would be a lord, of course, becausethere was the good Lord Clifford, you know. And--and--well, anyhow,Clarice would get up, and would thrust her tiny feet into blue velvetslippers embroidered with pearls (if there had really been fairies,the very first thing Sue would have asked for would have been smallfeet, instead of these great things half a yard long), and throw roundher (they always threw things round them in books, instead of puttingthem on) a--let me see--a long robe of pale blue velvet, to match thebed, and lined with ermine all through; and then she would take Sueround and show her the rest of the house. That would be perfectlylovely! And they would tell each other the books they liked best; andperhaps Clarice would ask her to stay to tea, and then they would sitdown to a small round ebony table, with a snowy cloth,--no; bare wouldbe finer if it was real ebony,--and glittering with crystal and silver(they always do that), and with rose-colored candle-shades, and--and--

  Tinkle, tinkle! went the dinner-bell. "Oh, dear!" said Sue. "Just as Iwas going to have such a delightful feast! And it's mincemeat day,too. I hate mincemeat day!"

  * * * * *

  When she was not dreaming, Sue was planning how she could make themuch-desired acquaintance of the new-comer. Mary advised waiting alittle, and said her father was going to call on Mr. Packard, and themeeting might perhaps come about naturally in that way. But t
his wasaltogether too prosaic for Sue. She must find a way that was not justplain being introduced; that was stupid and grown-up. She must find away of her own, that should belong entirely to her.

  Of course, the best thing, the right and proper and story-book thing,would be for Mr. Packard's horse to run away when only Clarice was inthe carriage. Then Sue could fling herself in the path of theinfuriated animal, and check him in mid-career by the power of hereye--no; it was lions you did that to. But, anyhow, she could catchhim by the bridle, and hang on, and stop him that way. It didn't soundso well, but it was more likely. Or if Clarice should fall into theriver, Sue could plunge in and rescue her, swimming with one hand andupholding the fainting form of the lovely maiden with the other, till,half-unconscious herself, the youthful heroine reached the bank, andplaced her lovely--no; said that before!--her beauteous burden in thearms of her distracted parent. Oh, dear, how exciting that would be!But nobody ever did fall into the river in Hilton, and the horsesnever ran away, so it was not to be expected. But there must be someway; there should be!

  So it came to pass that on the Sunday after the Packards' arrival,Miss Clarice Packard, rustling into her father's pew in all theconscious glory of a flowered organdie muslin and the biggest hat intown, found in the corner of the pew something that made her open herpale blue eyes wider than usual. It was a large heart of red sugar,tied round with a true-lover's knot of white satin ribbon. Lookinground, she became aware of a pair of eyes fixed eagerly on her, thebrightest eyes she had ever seen. They belonged to a littlegirl--well, not so very little, either; rather a tall girl, on thewhole, but evidently very young--sitting across the aisle. This girlwas ridiculously dressed, Miss Packard thought, with no style at allabout her; and yet, somehow--well, she was pretty, certainly. Itseemed to be one of the best pews in the church. Her mother--that mustbe her mother--was "real stylish," certainly, though her gown was tooplain; and, after all, the girl had style, too, in her way. It wouldbe nice to have some one to speak to in this dreadful, poky littleplace that "Puppa" would insist on bringing her to. The idea of hisnot trusting her to stay alone at the boarding-house! Clarice hadwept tears of vexation at being "cruelly forced," as she said, tocome with her father to Hilton. She had called it a hole, and adesert, and everything else that her rather scanty vocabulary couldafford. But now, here was a pretty little girl, who looked as if shewere somebody, evidently courting her acquaintance. There was nomistaking the eager, imploring gaze of the clear hazel eyes. Claricenodded slightly, and smiled. The younger girl flushed all over, andher face seemed to quiver with light in a way different from anythingClarice had ever seen. There might be some fun here, after all, if shehad a nice little friend who would adore her, and listen to all herstories, which the other girls were sometimes disagreeable about.

  "MISS CLARICE PACKARD RUSTLED INTO HER FATHER'S PEW."]

  Two people in church, that Sunday, heard little of the excellentsermon. Sue could not even take her usual interest in the great eastwindow, which was generally her mainstay through the parts of thesermon she could not follow. To begin with, there were the figuresthat made the story; but these were so clear and simple that theyreally said less, when once one knew the story by heart, than someother features. There were the eight blue scrolls that looked almostexactly like knights' helmets; and when you looked at them the rightway, the round blue dots underneath made the knights' eyes; and thereyou had them, all ready for tournaments or anything. Scruples ofconscience obliged Sue to have them always Templars or Knights ofMalta, and they only fought against infidels. One of the knights hadlost an eye; and the number of ways and places in which he had lost itwas amazing: Saladin had run a lance into it at Acre; he had beentilting, just for fun, with Tancred, and Tancred hit him by mistakeand put his eye out; and so on and so on. Then, there were the jewels,high up in the window; the small, splendid spots of ruby and violetand gold, which Sue was in the habit of taking out and making intojewels for her own adornment. The tiara of rubies, the long, danglingear-rings of crystal set in gold, the necklace of sapphires--how oftenhad she worn them to heart's content! And to-day she did, indeed, makeuse of them, but it was to adorn her new beauty, her new friend. Shewould bring them all to Clarice! She would put the tiara on her head,and clasp the necklace round her slender neck, and say, "All isyours!" And then she, Sue, would go by dale and would go by down witha single rose in her hair, just like Lady Clare; but Clarice wouldcall her back and say: "Beloved, let us share our jewels and ourjoys!"

  Oh! Sue quivered at the thought, and looked so brightly and earnestlyat the minister that the good old man was surprised and pleased, andsaid to himself that he should hardly have supposed his comments onEzra would so impress even the young and, comparatively speaking,thoughtless!

  When Clarice Packard came out of church, she found her would-beacquaintance dimpling and quivering on the door-step.

  "Hallo!" said Clarice, with kind condescension, just exactly as shehad done when Sue waked her up, in the dream!

  "Hallo!" whispered Sue, in a rapturous whisper. This, she toldherself, was the great moment of her life. Till now she had been achild; now she was--she did not stop to explain what, and it mighthave been difficult.

  "Did you put this in my pew?" the new-comer went on, secretlydisplaying the sugar heart. Sue nodded, but could not trust herself tospeak.

  "It was just perfectly sweet of you!" said Clarice. "I'm real glad tohave somebody to speak to; I was feeling real homesick."

  Sue was dimly conscious that it was not good English to say "real" inthat way; but perhaps people did say it in New York; and in any case,she could not stop to think of such trifles. She was in a glow ofdelight; and when Clarice asked her to walk down the street with her,the cup of happiness seemed brimming over. She, Sue Penrose, who hadnever in her life been out of Hilton, except now and then to go toChester, the neighboring town--she was the one chosen by thiswonderful stranger, this glittering princess from afar, to walk withher.

  Sue did not see Mary at first. At length she became aware of her,gazing in wonder, and she gave a little quick, rapturous nod. Therewas no time to explain. She could only catch Mary's hand, in passing,and give it a squeeze, accompanied by a look of intense, dramaticsignificance. Mary would see, would understand.

  Of course Mary would share her treasure, her new joy, sooner or later;but just now she could not surrender it to any one, not even to Mary.As Clarice passed her arm through hers, Sue straightened her slightfigure, and looked as if the world were at her feet. And so theypassed down the street; and Mary, left alone for the first time sinceshe could remember, stood in the church porch and looked after them.