The Collected Works of Susan Coolidge: 7 Novels, 35+ Short Stories, Essays & Poems (Illustrated)
is not a thing which I particularly pine for,” retorted Rose, seating herself, and holding the culprit before her by the ends of her short pig-tails. “I don’t want little girls who peep and hide to love me. I’d rather they wouldn’t. Now listen. Do you know what I shall do if you ever come again into my room without leave. First, I shall cut off your hair, pomatum and all, with my penknife,”—Bella screamed,—“and then I’ll turn myself into a bear—a great brown bear —and eat you up.” Rose pronounced this threat with tremendous energy, and accompanied it with a snarl which showed all her teeth. Bella roared with fright, twitched away her pig-tails, unlocked the door and fled, Rose not pursuing, but sitting comfortably in her chair and growling at intervals, till her victim was out of hearing. Then she rose and bolted the door again.
“How lucky that the imp is so fond of that smelly pomatum!” she remarked: “one always knows where to look for her. It’s as good as a bell round her neck! Now, for the secret. You promise not to tell? Well, then, Mrs. Florence is going away week after next, and, what’s more,—she’s going to be married!”
“Not really!” cried the others.
“Really and truly. She’s going to be married to a clergyman.”
“How did you find out?”
“Why, it’s the most curious thing. You know my blue lawn, which Miss James is making. This morning I went to try it on, Miss Barnes with me of course, and while Miss James was fitting the waist Mrs. Seccomb came in and sat down on the sofa by Miss Barnes. They began to talk, and pretty soon Mrs. Seccomb said, ‘What day does Mrs. Florence go?”
“‘Thursday week,’ said Miss Barnes. She sort of mumbled it, and looked to see if I were listening. I wasn’t; but of course after that I did,—as hard as I could.
“‘And where does the important event take place?’ asked Mrs. Seccomb.
She’s so funny with her little bit of a mouth and her long words.
She always looks as if each of them was a big pill, and she wanted
to swallow it and couldn’t.
“‘In Lewisberg, at her sister’s house,’ said Miss Barnes. She mumbled more than ever, but I heard.
“‘What a deplorable loss she will be to our limited circle!’ said Mrs. Seccomb. I couldn’t imagine what they meant. But don’t you think, when I got home there was this letter from Sylvia, and she says, ‘Your adored Mrs. Florence is going to be married. I’m afraid you’ll all break your hearts about it. Mother met the gentleman at a party the other night. She says he looks clever, but isn’t at all handsome, which is a pity, for Mrs. Florence is a raving beauty in my opinion. He’s an excellent preacher, we hear; and won’t she manage the parish to perfection? How shall you like being left to the tender mercies of Mrs. Nipson?’ Now did you ever hear any thing so droll in your life?” went on Rose, folding up her letter. “Just think of those two things coming together the same day! It’s like a sum in arithmetic, with an answer which ‘proves’ the sum, isn’t it?”
Rose had counted on producing an effect, and she certainly was not disappointed. The girls could think and talk of nothing else for the remainder of that afternoon.
It was a singular fact that before two days were over every scholar in the school knew that Mrs. Florence was going to be married! How the secret got out, nobody could guess. Rose protested that it wasn’t her fault,—she had been a miracle of discretion, a perfect sphinx; but there was a guilty laugh in her eyes, and Katy suspected that the sphinx had unbent a little. Nothing so exciting had ever happened at the Nunnery before. Some of the older scholars were quite inconsolable. They bemoaned themselves, and got together in corners to enjoy the luxury of woe. Nothing comforted them but the project of getting up a “testimonial” for Mrs. Florence.
What this testimonial should be caused great discussion in the school. Everybody had a different idea, and everybody was sure that her idea was better than anybody’s else. All the school contributed. The money collected amounted to nearly forty dollars, and the question was, What should be bought?
Every sort of thing was proposed. Lilly Page insisted that nothing could possibly be so appropriate as a bouquet of wax flowers and a glass shade to put over it. There was a strong party in favor of spoons. Annie Silsbie suggested “a statue;” somebody else a clock. Rose Red was for a cabinet piano, and Katy had some trouble in convincing her that forty dollars would not buy one. Bella demanded that they should get “an organ.”
“You can go along with it as monkey,” said Rose, which remark made
Bella caper with indignation.
At last, after long discussion and some quarelling, a cake-basket was fixed upon. Sylvia Redding happened to be making a visit in Boston, and Rose was commissioned to write and ask her to select the gift and send it up by express. The girls could hardly wait till it came.
“I do hope it will be pretty, don’t you?” they said over and over again. When the box arrived, they all gathered to see it opened. Esther Dearborn took out the nails, half a dozen hands lifted the lid, and Rose unwrapped the tissue paper and displayed the basket up to general view.
“Oh, what a beauty!” cried everybody. It was woven of twisted silver wire. Two figures of children with wings and garlands supported the handle on either side. In the middle of the handle were a pair of silver doves, billing and cooing in the most affectionate way, over a tiny shield, on which were engraved Mrs. Florence’s initials.
“I never saw one like it!” “Doesn’t it look heavy?” cried a chorus of voices, as Rose, highly gratified, held up the basket.
“Who shall present it?” asked Louisa Agnew.
“Rose Red,” said some of the girls.
“No, indeed, I’m not tall enough,” protested Rose, “it must be somebody who’d kind of sweep into the room and be impressive. I vote for Katy.”
“Oh, no!” said Katy, shrinking back, “I shouldn’t do it well at all.
Suppose we put it to a vote.”
Ellen Gray cut some slips of paper, and each girl wrote a name and dropped it into the box. When the votes were counted, Katy’s name appeared on all but three.
“I propose that we make this vote unanimous,” said Rose, highly delighted. The girls agreed; and Rose, jumping on a chair, exclaimed, “Three cheers for Katy Carr! keep time, girls,—one, two, hip, hip, hurrah!”
The hurrahs were given with enthusiasm, for Katy, almost without knowing it, had become popular. She was too much touched and pleased to speak at first. When she did, it was to protest against her election.
“Esther would do it beautifully,” she said, “and I think Mrs. Florence would like the basket better if she gave it. You know ever since”— she stopped. Even now she could not refer with composure to the affair of the note.
“Oh!” cried Louisa, “she’s thinking of that ridiculous note Mrs. Florence made such a fuss about. As if anybody supposed you wrote it, Katy! I don’t believe even Miss Jane is such a goose as that. Any way, if she is, that’s one reason more why you should present the basket, to show that we don’t think so.” She gave Katy a kiss by way of period.
“Yes, indeed, you’re chosen, and you must give it,” cried the others.
“Very well,” said Katy, extremely gratified, “what am I to say?”
“We’ll compose a speech for you,” replied Rose, “sugar your voice, Katy, and, whatever you do, stand up straight. Don’t crook over, as if you thought you were tall. It’s a bad trick you have, child, and I’m always sorry to see it,” concluded Rose, with the air of a wise mamma giving a lecture.
It is droll how much can go on in a school unseen and unsuspected by its teachers. Mrs. Florence never dreamed that the girls had guessed her secret. Her plan was to go away