CHAPTER XVII
OVER THE TEACUPS
Caroline and Aunt Eunice sat in the summer house, making doll clothes.The weather, like the Little Bear's porridge, was neither too hot nortoo cold, but just right. A little breeze made the flowers in the gardencurtsy like so many tall belles, arrayed in bright hues for amerrymaking at the court of the fairies. That was what Caroline toldAunt Eunice. She found it easy to tell Aunt Eunice all sorts of things.
Aunt Eunice sat in a cushioned wicker armchair, which Frank had broughtout for her, and Caroline sat in a low rocker. Mildred sat on the benchat their elbow, lightly clad in a lace-edged camisole and snowy Frenchdrawers. She bore herself with the fine dignity and indifference that aqueen of the ancient regime surrounded by her ladies in waiting wouldhave shown in the like circumstances.
Aunt Eunice was frilling lace into a tiny sleeve. Caroline was settingher finest stitches in the hem of a silken skirt of peacock blue.
"When her new clothes are made, Aunt Eunice," said Caroline, in hersweet, serious little voice, "I think we should let her go on a longjourney to wonderful places."
"I think so, too," Aunt Eunice assented.
"Where should you like to go, Mildred?" asked Caroline. "To the SnowQueen's palace in the cold, blue, frozen north? We are going to make youa cunning cape of black velvet with a white fur collar, and I'm sure itwould be greatly admired by the snow elves. Only there are great silverybears at the North Pole and they might fancy you for a tit-bit, my poordarling. I suppose, Aunt Eunice, they must get tired of eating justseals and Esquimaux and so on."
"I'm sure _I_ shouldn't relish an Esquimau," said Aunt Eunice.
"Then you shall go south, Mildred," said Caroline. "After all, most ofyour clothes are of silk and muslin, and better for a warm climate. Youcan go to the Isles of Greece where burning Sappho loved and sang."
Aunt Eunice looked up from the tiny sleeve, and lifted her brows, neverso slightly.
"Where did you ever hear of Sappho, child?"
"It was in my reader at school," Caroline explained, "and long beforethat, when I was little, I had a gray kitten and her name was Sappho.Were you ever in the Isles of Greece, Aunt Eunice?"
"No, dear."
"Oh!" said Caroline, disappointed. "You've been most everywhere else.Well, let's send Mildred to Italy, where the citrons are, and bandits,and beggars, and Pompeii. Oh, Aunt Eunice, won't you tell Mildred and mehow you went to Pompeii on your wedding journey?"
The little smile brightened on Aunt Eunice's soft old face.
"Why, Jacqueline, dear, you must be sick of the story of my weddingjourney. In the fortnight you've been here, you've heard it thirteentimes at least."
"Fourteen times would be one for every day in the week," Carolinesuggested, with a twinkle in her brown eyes that were usually so grave."Oh, do tell me again, Aunt Eunice! I love to hear about strange,beautiful places. When I shut my eyes at night I see them just as youtell them, and I go to sleep and dream I am there."
Aunt Eunice looked at the glowing little face of her companion.
"You'd like to go to Italy, Jacqueline?"
Caroline nodded.
"I want to ride in a gondola on a blue lagoon," she said, "and see theAlpine glow, and a castle on the Rhine, and walk in those streets of oldancient houses in Paris where Notre Dame is that you tell about."
Aunt Eunice paid close attention to her stitches.
"Of course," she said, after a pause, "you'll go abroad some day soonwith your Aunt Edith."
Caroline gave a quick little sigh. Oh, if only she need not be made toremember, every now and then, that she was not--could notbe--Jacqueline!
"I suppose perhaps I shall," she said, since she must say something.
To herself Aunt Eunice said indignantly that it was clear enough thatEdith Delane had starved the soul of this sensitive, beauty-lovingchild.
"If only I could show her Venice!" thought Aunt Eunice, and then, in herturn, she gave a quick little sigh. She had waited ten years to haveJack's little daughter with her for a summer. She might have to waitanother ten years, before the boon was granted her a second time. In tenyears more Aunt Eunice would be eighty-one. Too old for long journeys.No use for her to plan!
So Aunt Eunice and Caroline, each for good reasons of her own, lapsedinto a silence as deep as Mildred's, and not so sunny. It was fortunateperhaps that just at that moment Cousin Penelope joined them. Shecarried a shallow, woven basket in which were three cups and saucers ofegg-shell thinness, and silver spoons, worn smooth with age, a glassdish of wafer-like slices of lemon, stuck with whole cloves, and anotherdish of crystallized dates. Behind her came Sallie, with the teapot inits queer wadded Japanese basket, like an old lady church-ward borne inColonial days, and a light wicker stand of three baskets, each with itsown brand of goodies wrapped in a white napkin--crisp buttered toast,wee sandwiches of orange marmalade and of cream cheese, and tinynut-cakes, coated with caramel frosting.
Caroline sprang up to help Sallie place the folding table, and spreadthe embroidered white cloth that she carried on her arm, and set out thetea. Aunt Eunice folded her work neatly. Cousin Penelope drew up achair. Only Mildred was idle, but she wore her idleness like a grace,and no one ever thought of rebuking her.
In the oblique light that filtered through the leaves of woodbine intothe summer house, Aunt Eunice and Cousin Penelope and Caroline tooktheir tea. It would have been just like every tea they had taken in thelast fortnight, if Caroline had not ventured on a crystallized date. Amoment later there rippled across her face a little wave of discomfort,which did not escape Cousin Penelope. Strange how quick Cousin Penelopewas--even quicker than Aunt Eunice--to note any change in Caroline!
"What's the matter, Jacqueline?" she asked promptly.
"Nothing, Cousin Penelope."
"You surely don't make faces for the fun of it?"
"Don't tease the child, Penelope," struck in Aunt Eunice.
"Mother, please! I want to know. These involuntary twitchings in a childmean something, always. I've been reading Stanley Hall."
"Very recently, Penelope?"
"In the last week, Mother. Tell me, Jacqueline. There! Your facetwitched again."
"It isn't anything really, Cousin Penelope," pleaded Caroline. "I didn'tmean to--I'm sorry. It was the sugar on the date--and my tooth----"
"Which tooth?"
Caroline almost jumped, so peremptory was Cousin Penelope's voice.
"The one with the hole in it," she faltered, "but it's been there everso long."
"Well!" said Cousin Penelope.
Further words failed her. She looked at Aunt Eunice. Aunt Eunice lookedat her. Volumes of accusation of Edith Delane were in those looks. Awoman, according to the Gildersleeve code, might as well neglect achild's immortal soul as neglect its teeth.
"We won't waste time with any of these local dentists," Cousin Penelopebroke the silence in which Caroline sat quaking. "I shall takeJacqueline down to Boston early in the morning. It promises to be a fineday. We'll take the car. I'll have Dr. Stoddard look her over. If hewon't take her himself, he can tell me of some dentist who makes aspecialty of children."
But this was awful, thought Caroline. Dentistry was fearfully expensive.Cousin Delia had said so, when Caroline's tooth had first begun totrouble her. And now here was Caroline letting Jacqueline's relativesgive her dentistry that was meant for Jacqueline. There were tears inthe little girl's voice as she pleaded hopelessly:
"But I don't want to go to a dentist--don't make me, please! My toothdoesn't hurt much--I'm used to it and----"
"That means the nerve is dying," said Cousin Penelope, in a solemnvoice. "Of all the criminal neglect!"
"Hush, hush!" warned Aunt Eunice.
Caroline took out her handkerchief (Jacqueline's handkerchief!) andwiped her eyes.
"Jacqueline, dear," said Cousin Penelope awkwardly. She moved closer toCaroline and actually put her hand on her
shoulder. "I wasn't angry withyou. I was thinking of something else, if I spoke sharply."
"_Must_ I go to the dentist?" persisted Caroline.
"But we'll do more than go to the dentist," urged Cousin Penelope."Listen, dear, we'll go shopping. We'll buy all the things for the partyI promised you--invitations, and favors, and prizes. We'll select thecandies and the ices. Why, we'll plan the whole party on this trip, andshop for it."
Caroline looked at her, with wet eyes. One word of the truth, and shewould save herself from being dentistried under false pretenses. But shewould say farewell to the piano, and Madame Woleski, and the party.Caroline was going on eleven, and she had never had a party.
"I d-don't mind the dentist," she assured Cousin Penelope, with a waterysmile. "You're very good about the party. I shall love to go to Bostonwith you."
Cousin Penelope smiled at Aunt Eunice, who smiled back. They wouldn'thave admitted, even to their own consciences, that they smiled a littlefor triumph over Edith Delane, as well as for pleasure at the pleasurethey gave the supposed Jacqueline. And Caroline smiled to herself, asshe dried her eyes, because she thought of her party. Mildred, you see,with her fixed, calm smile was the only one of the four who knew thesituation upside down and inside out and roundabout, and who was abletherefore to smile tolerantly and perhaps a little compassionately atthem all.
The Turned-About Girls Page 18