A Bookful of Girls

“Yes, Hamlet; that was it. And then there was a ghost in it that sent the shivers down my back; ’n’ a king ’n’ queen; ’n’ the king looked for all the world like Deacon Ember, Jenny Lowe’s grandpa, that died before you was born; ’n’ I declare, I did enjoy it! ’Twas jest like bein’ alive in history times! Why, I ain’t had sech shivers down my spine’s the ghost give me, sence that day, till I seen you standin’ there tryin’ to wash your hands without any water, ’n’ your eyes rollin’ fit to scare the cat!”

“Would you like to have me do it again for you, Miss Becky?” asked Nan, springing to her feet with renewed ardour. And straightway she stationed herself at the end of the little room and began propelling herself forward with occasional erratic halts.

The September sunshine came slanting through the tiny panes of glass at the window, and touched with impartial grace the youthful figure of distracted mien, the worsted tidies on the haircloth sofa, and the neat alpaca occupant of the stuffed “rocker.” Again the sewing was forgotten, and Miss Becky’s glittering spectacles were fixed upon the tragic queen. As the queer little figure stalked solemnly down the room, eyes fixed in a glassy stare, hands wringing one another distressfully; as a moving wail rent the air, to the effect that “all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand,” a most agreeable succession of shivers made a highway of Miss Becky’s spine.

“Why don’t you ever go to the theatre now, Miss Becky?” Nannie asked, when, having laid aside her tragic toggery, she came in her own person to take her leave. “I should think you’d like to go again.”

“Oh, yes, I should be reel tickled to go again, but I ain’t got nobody to go with, and, well – there’s other reasons besides.”

Nannie blushed to think how inconsiderate she had been to force her old friend to allude, even indirectly, to her poverty, and she walked up the dusty road to her own gate, filled with compunction. Just outside the gate was a little wilderness of goldenrod and asters. She thought what a pity it was they should get so gray with dust. Poor things, they could not help it; they had to stay where chance had planted them unless somebody picked them and carried them away, and even then they left their roots behind them. Somehow they made her think of Miss Becky, living her little narrow, stationary life all alone in the old tumble-down farmhouse. And just at this point in her reflections a delightful scheme came into her head.

Now, Nannie was the recipient of a slender monthly allowance intended for gloves and ruchings, postage stamps, and the like, and, having spent the last four months far from the allurements of city shops, she happened at this juncture to be in funds. Her stock of gloves, to be sure, was pretty well exhausted, and Christmas was only a few months away. But Miss Becky was nearer still, and Nannie had no hesitation between the two claims. As a natural consequence it happened that, one pleasant day early in October, Miss Becky, in her best black bonnet, found herself steaming up to Boston, about to do Nannie “a real favour” by chaperoning her to the theatre. Miss Becky was so much impressed by the gravity of her responsibility that she hardly took in the fact that she was going to the theatre herself!

They were to see The Shaughraun– a play which her best friend had assured Nannie was “just great”; and as the train rushed up to town the young hostess was at a loss to decide whether she was happier on her own account or on Miss Becky’s. To be sure, she was just a little disappointed about Miss Becky, who seemed curiously silent and stiff; and when they came out of the station and walked up the crowded city street, the old lady held her by the sleeve and looked bewildered and frightened.

“How long is it since you’ve been in Boston?” Nannie asked, looking up into the anxious old face framed in the black silk bonnet which looked twice as old-fashioned as ever before.

“Not sence Sophia was married ’n’ we came up to select her weddin’ gownd. I was quite a girl then, an’ I guess I felt more at home in a crowd than I do now. We don’t often hev much of a crowd out our way.”

They were among the first to take their seats at the theatre. Mr. Ray had got places for them only three rows back from the stage, and, once established there, Nannie felt that they were in a safe haven, where her guest could grow calm and responsive again.

At first Miss Becky was almost too overawed to speak, but after a while she got the better of the situation and began telling Nannie all about Sophia and her “true-so,” and how they got lost on their way to the station and almost missed their train, which was the only train “out” in old times.

“I do hope we sha’n’t miss our train to-night, my dear! It doos seem’s though we might ’f they don’t begin pretty soon,” and the old lady – for a very old lady she seemed to have become all of a sudden – fidgeted in her chair, and looked over her shoulder to see if the seats were not filling up.

“We sha’n’t lose our train, Miss Becky,” Nannie assured her. “You know it doesn’t go until half-past five o’clock, and the play is always over before five. And even if we did miss it we could take the seven-fifteen.”

“Oh, dear, no! I sh’d feel reel bad to miss the train. Why, it gits dark by six o’clock, ’n’ ’twouldn’t be safe for us to be goin’ round the city streets after dark. We might git garroted or, or —spoken to! Dear me! I wish they would begin!”

“If it gets late, Miss Becky, we won’t wait for the end of the play,” said Nannie, while a very distinct pang seized her at thought of missing anything.

“I think that would be better!” Miss Becky cried, with evident relief. “Don’t you think it might be better to go out a little early, anyway? They’ll be such a crowd when everybody tries to go out to once that we might git delayed. My! what a sight of people there is already! And up in the galleries, too! Ain’t you ’most afeared to stay in sech a crowd?”

“Oh, no, Miss Becky. It’s just like this always, and nothing ever happens.”

“Them galleries don’t look strong enough to hold many people. Why, Nannie, see! They ain’t any pillows under ’em! What do you suppose keeps ’em up?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure; but they’re safe enough.”

At this point the orchestra struck up a popular tune and silence fell upon Miss Becky. She sat, stiff and severe, gazing straight before her, and when Nannie ventured to make a remark she received only a reproving look in reply.

How strange it was, Nannie thought! She had meant to give Miss Becky such a treat, and here sat her guest, looking anxious and distressed – yes, more anxious and distressed than she looked a year ago when her cow died. But then the play had not begun yet, Nannie reflected, with a gleam of hope. When the play had once begun, Miss Becky would forget all her worries and be as “tickled” as she had counted on her being. And when once the curtain had gone up, Nannie at least had no more misgivings. Her fancy was instantly taken captive, first by the charming young officer and his pretty Irish sweetheart, then by the fine old priest, then by Con himself, – dear, droll, happy-go-lucky Con, with his picturesque foibles, his bubbling humour, and his phenomenal virtues. From the moment of his entry, with “Tatters” just not at his heels, Nannie was all smiles and tears.

Miss Becky, meanwhile, sat erect as a ramrod, a look of perplexity screwing her wrinkles all out of shape. Her bonnet had got somewhat askew from her constant effort to keep an eye on those unsupported galleries, and there was a general air of discomfort about her, which was the first thing that struck Nannie when, as the curtain fell upon the first act, she turned to look at her.

“Aren’t you enjoying it, Miss Becky?” she asked, with quick anxiety.

“Oh, yes, I’m hevin’ a reel pleasant time. ’T ain’t through yet, is it?”

“Why, no; it’s only just begun. There’s lots more! May Colby says that Con gets them all out of all their troubles and almost gets killed himself!”

“I sh’d think ’t would take a long time. Are you sure ’t ain’t most five o’clock?”

“Oh, no; it’s only three. See! And my watch is fast, too. Wasn’t it funny about the letter?”

“Well, I didn’t quite understand about that. What made ’em laugh so?”

“Why, that was because he couldn’t read, and so he had to make it all up out of his head.”

“Well!” declared Miss Becky, with strong disapproval, “I don’t think he’d ought to hev deceived his mother that way; do you?”

This was a poser; but at that moment the orchestra came to the rescue with a new tune, and Nannie was spared the necessity of replying.

After that the play became every moment more exciting and the central figure more entirely captivating, and even between the acts Nannie was preoccupied and unobservant. They had got to the prison scene, with all its ingenious intricacies of plot and stage machinery; Con had accomplished the rescue, and was scrambling over the rocks, when suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rang out, followed by another, and then another, in quick succession.

Instantly Nannie felt her arm clutched, and she heard Miss Becky saying: “You must come right away, this very minute!”

“Oh, please not, Miss Becky,” she implored.

But there was a resolute gleam in Miss Becky’s eye.

“Come right along, child,” she whispered, hoarsely, “come right along with me!” – and poor Nannie, to her consternation and chagrin, found herself absolutely obliged to follow.

The whole row of people stood up to let them pass, and every kind of look – glances of amusement and curiosity, of annoyance and of sympathy – followed the oddly assorted pair, as they made their way out of the slip and then up the aisle.

Once outside the door, the tension of Miss Becky’s face relaxed, but she did not waver in her determination.

“There, child!” she cried, as they walked down the slight incline of the long passageway to the street. “There! I am glad I had strength given me to do my duty by you!”

“But, Miss Becky, there wasn’t a bit of danger,” Nannie protested, bravely keeping the tears back in her cruel disappointment. “Really, there wasn’t. Won’t you please go back with me, and just stand inside the door and see the end of it? I’m sure they’d let us stand inside the door.”

“Nannie Ray,” Miss Becky replied, looking very fiercely at the girl’s flushed cheeks and imploring eyes, “if you knew as much about firearms as I do, you wouldn’t ask such a thing. But there! It’s jest because you’re young and inexperienced that your ma wanted me to come and look after you. I guess she’ll be thankful she was so foresighted when she hears of the danger you was in.”

In her exultation and relief of mind, Miss Becky marched on, regardless of jostling crowds and thronging teams. Her whole attitude had changed. She was no longer the timid, shrinking old woman; she was the responsible guardian, aware of the importance of her charge, and nothing was ever to convince her that she had not as good as saved Nannie’s life on that occasion.

Then Nannie, as became a hostess, accepted the situation with the best grace in the world.

“I tell you what let’s do, Miss Becky,” she said. “Let’s go and get some ice-cream. That is, if you like it.”

The stern old face relaxed.

“Oh, yes; I like ice-cream, especially vanilla. But – do you think we’ve got time enough?”

“We’ve got an hour and a quarter before the train goes. Let’s come in here and get it.”

From the crowded street they passed in at the doorway and walked between marble counters to what seemed to Miss Becky a scene in fairyland. Ascending two or three broad steps, on each side of which an antlered stag kept guard, they stepped upon a great carpeted space, lighted from above, – a space in the middle of which was a fountain, springing high into the air, and splashing back into a round basin lined with shining shells and pebbles, over and among which goldfish swam and dove like animated jewels. Ferns and palms grew all about the basin, and in among the greenery was a little table where Nannie and her guest sat hidden safe away from the world.

“Well, this doos beat all!” the old lady exclaimed, gazing at the fountain with an expression of rapt delight – just the expression that Nannie had counted upon seeing among the wrinkles.