 A Real New England Girl by Anna I. Parsons 1. The Shower 2. Oxford County 3. The Stranger and the Girl 4. The Youth and the Girl 5. Pansy and Richard Go Trading 6. The Marvelous Storyteller 7. The Dinner 8. The The Minister Comes for Tea 9. Pansy's Father 10. Pansy and Her Mother 11. Poland Springs 12. The Birthday Cake 13. Ned Patterson Comes for a Visit 14. The Blue Berrying Party 15. The Beginning of Wisdom 16. The Tempted and the Penitent 17. The Concert 18. Stanley's Ride 19. The Bench by the Wayside 20. The Banker and the Widow 21. The Bag of Nuts 22. How They Kept Thanksgiving at Little Farm 23. Hardly a Merry Christimas 24. A Call Down and a Caller 25. The Pride of Mrs. Bradford 26. A Happy New Year 27. Amusement and Winter Sport 28. Kim 29. Richard, the Lion Hearted 30. A Tour of the White Mountains 31. Talking Over the Trip with Henry Bright 32. Thoughts That Lie Too Deep for Words 33. Economics 34. His Toast 35. The Busy Haunts of Man 36. Christmas in New York 37. The Last Night of Their Visit 38. The Language Understood by All 39. Sugaring Off 40. Correspondence 41. Commencement 42. Conclusion Afterward     |
His Toast "They sang of love, and not of fame; Forgot was Britain's glory; Each heart recall'd a different name, But all sang Annie Lawrie." -- B. Taylor Thanksgiving Day was drawing near once again, and as a precursor to the national feast, in the advancing hours of evening, a band of Columbia College sophomores sat about a table in a private room of one of New York's famous restaurants, partaking of the good things of life. To give a list of their names would hardly mean anything to you, except that perhaps in Wint. and Pat. you would elongate the abbreviations into Stanley Winthrop and Ned Patterson who were among the diners. "Did you fellows know that Wint's invited us to attend a ball at Vassar?" asked Voice No. 1, as the dinner progressed. "So far as I can find out, he's the only man so highly favored, but he won't even acknowledge he's delighted at the honor." "My, but won't he cut a swath in those daisies with that Patrician head of his!" said Voice No. 2. "If I were in his shoes, I'd get so swelled up I'd bust, but I suppose it doesn't phase one born in the purple." "It doesn't phase one born with sound common sense, and Wint.'s got a corner on that," said Voice No. 3. He procured for me an invitation to attend that classy dance at Miss Graham's Private School for Girls last week, and the only grudge I have against him is, that he insisted on coming away before it was over. The eternal feminine may charm, but it doesn't dazzle our pet society man." "Cut out that 'pet society man', said Stanley, breaking in on the conversation. "I can stand being called 'a mixer' or even 'a lobster,' but the other -- never." "What's the matter with Pat?" said Voice No. 4. "He's usually in on the good things with his fidus achates." "It's no fault of mine that I'm left in the cold. I bid for an invitation, but the young lady preferred her own brother to me as a partner and guest," answered Patterson woefully. "Don't cry, little boy, don't cry!" said the man in the next seat, throwing his arm comfortingly around Ned. When the feast of material things had ended, the Toastmaster arose, and in masterly English, called upon various men for toasts on given topics that seemed, at least, highly pleasing to the audience if not to the man required to dilate on the same. To the text, "Wither goest thou?" No. 1 got so entangled in the meshes of the theological net, that he ended by confessing he didn't know. No. 2 did somewhat better on "What Will be the Characteristics of an American a Century Hence." Mr. Patterson got around "An S.O.S. from the Chesapeake" in his usual happy style, and two other speakers tackled "The Laughing Lion" and "The Seamy Side of College Life" with varying degrees of success. Then came a straightening in chairs and a general air of expectation as Mr. Winthrop was called upon to toast "The Sweetest Thing in Life I ever Knew." He threw back his head somewhat haughtily as he arose, possibly in resentment of the subject assigned him, but while the full chorus did its utmost to tell that "He's a jolly good fellow," his anger cooled, and he had himself well in hand as he began his speech. "Mr. Toastmaster and members of the Sophomore Class: "I know of no better way to punish your inquisitiveness, than by gratifying it, and if my toast proves a disappointment, as I know it well to most of you, you have only yourselves to blame. "Once upon a time in a fair country, I went trout fishing and caught nothing, but in my endeavor to take a profit from a woodland stream, I met a farmer boy with whom I afterwards became on such friendly terms that we were like brothers, and had he needed my bed, or even wanted it, I would gladly have slept on the floor to accommodate him. He was some four years my junior, and had the most attractive blue eyes and appealing smile I ever saw on a youngster. He could play all kinds of games well, knew the trees and birds and all sorts of things about nature, and was fearless as an Indian; but there was something gentle about him, too, as if he had always been in touch with the finer elements of humanity. After a time he treated me in such a big brotherly fashion, that I actually assumed the role, and nights before the retiring hour arrived, I used to stroll out with my dog to see if all were well around his bungalow. One night while thus roaming under the starry vault, my dog took to wandering from the beaten track, and, willing to indulge him, I followed his lead until, with a howl of foreboding, he brought me to a spot where lay the boy, prone and unconscious on mother earth, with a cruel wound on his head from which the blood was still oozing. It seems that unbeknown to any one, he had gone out to protect property of which some ruffians were conspiring to deprive his widowed mother; and in the melee that followed, the ruffians had proved too much for him single handed. Unable to restore him to consciousness, I took him in my arms, and carried him quickly to his home where drastic remedies were applied and the boy finally restored to consciousness and his wound dressed. Now the boy had numerous kin folks all of whom, figuratively speaking, fell on my neck and wept when the danger signal was hauled down, except a sister who much resembled the boy in looks, but who was some fourteen months older. I had sometimes observed her at a distance, a phantom to delight the eye, but ever observing me with an expression that seemed to say, "Why encumbereth he the earth?" This sister stood in the doorway holding up her grief as cold and immobile as a caryatid. Emboldened by the reception accorded me by other members of her family, I approached and said in my most abject style, 'Fair one, I think at least you should shake hands with the dog, for it was this noble beast who found your brother in his extremity.' She stood irresolute for a moment, then a most unusual thing happened -- she smiled, a winsome, sunny, captivating smile that thrilled me from cowlick to cuticle; a smile that seemed directed to my cardiac region and caused an instant quickening of that organ; a smile that set at nought all other smiles I had seen, so divinely sweet and fair was the ripple that moved those virgin lips. And believe me, fellow classmates, that's the sweetest thing in life that I ever knew." Stanley sat down and a chorus of prolonger O's followed, then a silence that lasted fully a hundred and twenty seconds, after which the Toastmaster arose and prefaced the way for the next speaker. When Stanley and Ned reached their rooms after the dinner, Ned began immediate preparations for retiring, but Stanley sat in a Morris chair, still in evening clothes, reading a book. After a time, Ned came from his sleeping room, dressed in a suit of pajamas and holding a cigarette to his lips with one hand and in the other carrying the white carnation which he had worn at dinner. "Stanley," he said, seating himself on the table. "Well!" "You think a great deal of that little girl down in the country, don't you?" Stanley made no reply, but threw his book on the table. "Don't you think, Ned," he began after a silence, "that it's about time the fellows left off using an adjective that is irritating to me? I regard the privilege of meeting and conversing with cultured people as important in one's education as anything printed in books. I have been glad to open doors in this city to college men that would otherwise have remained closed to them but for a little friendly intervention, and because I have done this, I am dubbed 'the society man.' Frankly, I don't like it, and I think, at least, you might try to correct the erroneous impression which exists that I do." "One should never kick against love and affection," said Ned, sagely. "The man who sat next to me tonight said he found you more democratic than men who talk much about being so; he said he believed you'd get out and shovel snow for a fellow if it would help him out in an emergency." "Did old Merryweather say that!" Stanley's face had brightened up wonderfully. "He certainly did." "I was too distraught to even undress when I came in, but with that for a narcotic, I guess I'll be able to put in a few hours sleep." "Please don't until you've answered my question." "I do think a great deal of that little girl in the country? That hardly expresses it -- I think all the time of her. Does that answer you satisfactorily?" "It does. Will you send her this and tell her I wore it at the dinner," said Ned soberly, laying the white carnation down on the table. Stanley took it without comment, and very soon thereafter, their rooms were shrouded in darkness. Click Here for Chapter 35 |