 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     |
The Busy Haunts of Men "When half a woman, half a child, Thy very artlessness beguiled." -- Whittier One day near the middle of December, there came a letter from Mrs. Winthrop to Mrs. Bradford, written in bold script on exquisite note paper, formally extending to Pansy and Richard an invitation to spend their Christmas holidays in New York. "Mr. Winthrop joins me in urging that you grant us this pleasure. He will send a man who is entirely trustworthy to conduct them from Paris to New York, and we will also see that they are safely returned to you again," she wrote. Mrs. Bradford talked the invitation over with her brother and Ruth, and as there was a difference of opinion about letting these very young people go so far from home, finally came to the conclusion that she would leave the matter to Pansy and Richard themselves to decide. Their trip in the summer with the Winthrops had proved a source of great pleasure and benefit to them, and she was not the mother to stand selfishly in the way when she could honorably and consistently grant them pleasure. Pansy and Richard looked pleased when the letter was shown to them, but serious when it came to deciding so important a question themselves. They thought it over and talked it over for sometime before reaching a conclusion. "What do you want to do, Richard?" asked Pansy at last. "Why, what do you want to do, Pansy?, asked Richard in return. "It seems almost unholy to go away from home at Christmas time." "It seems almost ungrateful not to go when Stanley wants us so much." "I think you want to go, Richard." "I'm sure you want to go, Pansy, but you think mother and Ruth and Uncle Will will be lonesome without us." "I'm sure we should be lonesome without them." "If we huddle around home all the time, we'll never find any fat worms for college expenses." "That's just it, Richard, we've got to get out and scratch for ourselves before long, and the sooner we venture even into another man's garden, the better it will be for us." "I cast one ballot that we go to New York." "I cast another ballot that we go to New York." They adjourned to the living room where their mother sat sewing. "It has been unanimously voted that we go to New York," announced Richard. "Also that our regrets be noted that we cannot, at the same time, spend Christmas at home." "We shall miss you very much, but we'll manage to get along somehow," said Mrs. Bradford, "and the first Saturday after you get back, we'll have our Christmas feast together." So the momentous question was settled, and Mrs. Bradford wrote a letter to Mrs. Winthrop accepting the invitation. Pansy's nature, though entirely frank and incapable of deception, ran deep like a subterranean stream that only occasionally rises to the surface in refreshing springs of pure water. She hardly realized herself how deep seated was her friendship for Stanley, but after the trip to New York became a surety, her heart was so light that all unconsciously she hummed the tuneful melodies that had so often gladdened her summer evenings. Mrs. Bradford and Ruth might be troubled over the most approved fashion for misses dresses, [but] she saw beyond the wearing of these the rapture that would come from association with one whose mental endowments surpassed her own, and who was ever ready to lay before her deep appreciative senses the choicest thoughts of a choice mind. On the 22nd they started on their four hundred mile journey, and after spending a night and forenoon in Boston with their mother's cousin Lizzie, late in the afternoon of the 23rd they mingled with the intermittent stream of humanity that flowed through the gates of Grand Central Station, and were the first to discover Stanley in an attitude of watchful waiting, but looking a little over their heads into the crowd, so that they stood beside him ere he was aware of their presence. "Here we are!" said Pansy, in girlish glee at having to announce their arrival. His gaze suddenly left the shifting throng to look into those healthy, happy, laughing faces, and as he did so, a feeling of joy akin to Heaven thrilled him. Gently he shook the hands outstretched to him for a moment. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," he said. "We are just as glad to see you," put in Richard. Then there was laughter and chatter, and finally Stanley noticed the man sent to escort them from Paris to New York standing off at a respectful distance. Did Dent prove a good travelling companion?" he asked. "He's a regular grandmother," said Pansy, casting a furtive glance about her. "He cautioned me so many times not to speak to strangers, that I hardly dared address a remark to Richard, and now I'm so pent up with conversation I'm like one of those geysers in Yosemite National Park; I've got to spurt it all up or there'll be an explosion of some kind, so please prepare your ear for such a deluge." "You may begin as soon as we are in the limousine. Dent will have to look after your baggage, so you need have no fear of his espionage. Give him your keys if you have not already done so." Pansy did not begin the threatened deluge of talk even when they were rolling along Forty-second Street, because there was so much activity in the street and the many lights were so alluring, that she and Richard were kept constantly busy watching the ever changing scene. Stanley ordered the chauffeur to drive west and up Broadway to 59th Street that they might see part of this great thoroughfare under the blaze of light and color that had proved so enticing to visitors to the city and pleasure seekers in general. "How do you like the Great White Way?" he asked, when the car had turned east and was crossing Fifty-ninth Street to go to Fifth Avenue. "It has the Milky Way skinned a mile," said Richard. "It's a regular hotch potch," said Pansy. "High buildings, low buildings, big buildings, small buildings, brick buildings, stone buildings, white buildings, red buildings, plain buildings, trimmed buildings, blazing lights and moving figures, racing cars and bob tail horses, men, women, children, workmen in dirty clothing, and ladies in scarlets and velvets. All colors mixed make white, and I suppose that's how it gets its name; if everything on it were blended, white would prevail." Stanley only looked at her with a soft light in his eyes and smiled. He had often heard New England frankness condemned, but he hoped he would hear more of it while showing his friends about the city. When they arrived at the Winthrop mansion and had alighted from the car, Pansy and Richard stood still on the sidewalk and looked about in every direction, seeming for a moment to forget Stanley's presence. "There, I told you so!" said Pansy, at last facing Richard. "There're as close together as eve swallows' nests, sure's eggs!" said Richard. Then Pansy turned to Stanley with an explanation. "Richard said your house would be at least six feet from any other house so that the milkman could go around to the back door, like in our village, but I said your house would be close to other houses, because people who own much property in New York have to swear off their taxes, and I knew your father would never do that." "Well, no, father never has done it," answered Stanley with a peculiar twitching motion around his mouth. "What does the milkman do?" persisted Richard, "Come around in a balloon and drop the milk down the chimney?" "I'll show you if you'll agree to wake me up early enough some morning to forestall his matutinal promptness," said Stanley. They passed on into the house, of intense interest to them because of association with its young master rather than because of the rich art treasures and rare furniture that it contained. They knew nothing of old masters and period furnishings; they did now that what Stanley liked must be worth considering, because they had found him right in so many other instances. Up a broad flight of stairs and into the music room, Stanley escorted his guests. This was done with a purpose, for the music room, furnished with due regard to acoustics, was the plainest room in the house, and he did not wish to over-awe them at the outset. A maid came and took their wraps, and feeling a little bewildered but interested, Pansy seated herself near where the embers glowed red in an open grate and gazed about the room. The floor was of polished wood, the walls were rich blue and gold, the furniture was without upholstery and exquisitely cared for; a grand piano occupied one end of the room and other musical instruments were scattered about, choice paintings adorned the walls, and above the mantel hung a life-sized portrait of Mrs. Winthrop, painted in her younger days before she had acquired a matronly figure, and representing her as Saint Cecilia. The beautiful, aristocratic head lost none of its charm against a fleecy scarf that floated out from her shoulder like so much soft mist, and roses and cherubs, divinely wrought, afforded a proper environment for so lovely a woman posing as the famed vocal enchantress. In the soft amber light from the electric bulbs, Pansy thought it the most beautiful picture she had ever seen, and her eyes were riveted on it, when Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop, in evening dress, came in to welcome her and Richard to their home. Julia followed them, coolly polite in her greeting, and then they all went down stairs and had dinner in a room and style that might positively have made them feel the worm had they been left time to become the least bit self-conscious. Immediately after dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop left for the opera, Mrs. Winthrop telling Pansy that Freida was to be her maid and would put her to bed at any time she felt like going. For a while they sat before the open grate and listened to Julia playing the minor strains that seemed suited to her nature, or talked with Stanley in more cheerful tones, until Richard showed some signs of sleepiness, and Pansy proposed retiring. Stanley called the maid Freida to care for Pansy, and when bidding her good night, told her again how glad he was to have her and Richard with them for the holidays. When Pansy reached her room, she found her trunk unpacked, and her dresses hanging in orderly array in the closet and her night clothes laid out ready to slip on. She sat down and started to unfasten a shoe, but the maid came, and kneeling before her, took the small foot in hand. Pansy leaned back in the chair and considered the maid, a motherly appearing woman of thirty-eight or more with a wealth of straw colored hair that seemed the most wonderful thing to Pansy that she had ever seen. "Is it all your own?" she asked, when Freida had removed both her shoes. "Yes, it's all my own," answered the maid respectfully. "Some women in our neighborhood who appear to have lots of hair wear switches," said Pansy, "but we haven't any switches in our family, as neither mother, nor Ruth, nor I need one." "Why, no, you have plenty of hair, although it is not very long," said the maid. "Could you remove the pins and let your hair out, so I could see it hanging down your back?" asked Pansy. "No, child, Marie has gone to spend the night with her sick sister, and I must wait up until Madame comes from the opera, and I can't have my hair rumpled up." Pansy submitted patiently to being undressed and washed and her hair brushed and put in proper shape for the night, then she said her prayer, and sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing her feet through the carpet that felt so soft to the touch. The room was done in pale pink and the furniture was a soft tint of brown with cane in the bottom of the chairs and a panel in the foot and at the head of the bed. Choice French prints, in artistic frames of dull gold, adorned the walls, and everything about the room was in perfect harmony. "Get into bed, child, or you will take cold!" said the maid, as Pansy sat with eyes roving about the room, apparently without the least intention of retiring. "Does Julia's maid domineer over her as you try to over me?" asked Pansy, without moving from her posture. "I domineer!" said the maid, shocked at the suggestion. "By the soul of my husband, I'm the meekest of women!" It was Pansy's turn to experience a thrill at the words of the maid, but she only opened her eyes wide for an instant, then resumed her contemplation of the room. "There's one thing more I want you to do," she said at length. "Go and see if my brother is in bed." The maid left the room and returned in a few minutes. "Your brother is in bed and asleep, and Mr. Stanley is sitting up in his bathrobe reading," said the maid. Without another word, Pansy crept into bed, and as the maid bent over to adjust the covers, Pansy put her two arms about her head and ran her fingers lightly over her hair. "There, I've touched it anyhow!" she said. "When I get home I am going to write a composition called 'Freida, My Maid with the Golden Hair.' " The maid had had her hair praised many times before, but nothing quite so genuine had ever come to her ears. It stirred the womanliness within her, and bending close to the recumbent girl, she murmured in her native tongue, "Gute Nacht! Gott heute dich, kliene." Then she turned out the light and left the room. Click Here for Chapter 36 |