CHAPTER VIII
THE CIRCUS
Tom was right. That moment was the turning-point for Sue Penrose. Whenshe saw that group on the familiar door-step across the way, somethingseemed to clutch at her heart, something seemed to fall from her eyes.What did this all mean? There were her friends, her dear old friends,with their honest faces and their clear, kind, true eyes. She had seenthe longing look in Mary's eyes, and Tom's grave glance which seemedto say that he was sorry for her. It was the afternoon playtime, andthey were all going to play together some of the happy boy-and-girlplays in which she, Sue, had always been the leader; and she was notwith them. She had lost them all, and for what? All at once, Clarice'sgiggle, her whispered talk of dresses and parties and "gentlemenfriends" sounded flat and silly and meaningless. What did Sue care forsuch stuff? How could she ever have thought she cared? What would shenot give for a good romp in the orchard, and a talk with Maryafterward! A small voice said in her heart: "Go back! A kiss to Mary,a word to the boys, and all will be forgotten. Go back now, before itis too late!"
But two other voices spoke louder in Sue's ear, drowning the voice ofher heart. One was pride. "Go back?" it said. "Confess that you havebeen wicked and silly? Let the boys and Lily see you humblingyourself--you, who have always been the proud one? Never!" The otherwas loyalty, or rather a kind of chivalry that was a part of Sue. "Youcannot desert Clarice," said this voice. "She is a stranger here, andshe depends upon you. She is delicate and sensitive, and you are theonly person who understands her; she says so. She isn't exactly nicein some ways, but the others are hard on her, and you must stand byher. You cannot go back!"
So when Clarice tittered, and whispered something about Mary's dress,Sue pressed her arm, and straightened herself and walked on, lookingsteadfastly before her.
"My! Sue, what is the matter?" her companion asked. "You look as crossas a meat-ax. No wonder! I call the way that boy stared at youdownright impudent. They seem to have taken up with Lily, now thatthey can't get you. He, he!"
And a new sting was planted in Sue's heart, already sore enough. Yes;they had taken up with Lily; Lily was filling her place.
Sue took the pain home with her, and carried it about all day, andmany a day. The little sister had never been much to her, as we haveseen. Her own life had been so overflowing with matters that seemed toher of vital importance that she had never had much time to bestow onthe child who was too old to be set down with blocks and doll and toldto amuse herself, and yet was too young--or so Sue thought--to sharethe plays of the older children. She had "wished to goodness" thatLily had some friend of her own age; and "Don't bother!" was theanswer that rose most frequently to her lips when Lily begged to beallowed to play with her and Mary.
"Don't bother, Lily. Run along and amuse yourself; that's a good girl!We are busy just now." She had never meant to be unkind; she justhadn't thought, that was all.
Well, Lily did not have to be told now not to bother. There was nodanger of her asking to join Sue and Clarice, for the latter had fromthe first shown a dislike to the child which was heartily returned.People who "think children are a nuisance" are not apt to be troubledby their company.
After the morning hour during which she sat with their mother, readingto her and helping her in various ways (how was it, by the way, thatLily had got into the way of doing this? she, Sue, had never had time,or had never thought of it!), Lily was always over at the Harts' inthese days. Often when Sue and Clarice were sitting upstairs,talking,--oh, such weary, empty, stupid talk, it seemed now!--thesound of Lily's happy laughter would come from over the way and ringin her sister's ears.
They were playing Indians again, were they? "The Last of theMohicans"! Tom was Hawkeye, of course; but who was Uncas in her stead?She had always been Uncas. She knew a good many of his speeches byheart. Ah! she thrilled, recalling the tremendous moment when theDelawares discover the tortoise tattooed on the breast of the younghero. She recalled how "for a single instant Uncas enjoyed histriumph, smiling calmly on the scene. Then motioning the crowd awaywith a high and haughty sweep of the arm, he advanced in front of thenation with the air of a king, and spoke in a voice louder than themurmur of admiration that ran through the multitude.
"'Men of the Lenni-Lenape,' he said, 'my race upholds the earth. Yourfeeble tribe stands on my shell. What fire that a Delaware can lightwould burn the child of my fathers?' he added, pointing proudly to thesimple blazonry on his skin. 'The blood that came from such a stockwould smother your flames!'"
Ah! and then the last speech, that she always spoke leaning against atree, with her arms folded on her breast, and her gaze fixed haughtilyon the awe-struck spectators: "Pale-face! I die before my heart issoft!" and so on. They all said she did that splendidly--better thanany one else.
What was Clarice saying?
"And I said to him, I said: 'I don't know what you mean,' I said. 'Oh,yes, you do,' he said. 'No, I don't,' I said. 'I think you're realsilly,' I said. And he said: 'Oh, don't say that,' he said. 'Well, Ishall,' I said. 'You're just as silly as you can be!'" And so on andso on, till Sue could have fallen asleep for sheer weariness, save forthose merry voices in her ear and the pain at her heart.
But when Clarice was gone, Sue unlocked her journal and wrote:
"I am very unhappy, and no one cares. I am alone in the world, and Ifeel that I have not long to live. My cheek is hollow, and my eyesgleam with an unnatural light; but I shall rest in the grave and noone will morn for me. I hear the voices of my former friends, but theythink no more of the lonely outcast. I do hope that if I should liveto be fifteen I shall have more sense than some people have; but sheis all I have left in the world, and I will be faithful to death. Theyhave taken my sister from me--" But when she had written these lastwords Sue blushed hotly, and drew her pen through them; for she was anhonest child, and she knew they were not true.
Then she went downstairs. Her room was too lonely, and everything init spoke too plainly of Mary. She could not stay there.
Mrs. Penrose looked up as she entered the sitting-room. "Oh! it isyou, Sue," she said, with her little weary air; "I thought it wasLily."
"Would you like me to read to you, Mamma?" asked Sue, with a suddenimpulse.
"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Penrose, doubtfully; "isn't Claricehere? Yes, I should like it very much, Sue. My eyes are rather badto-day."
Sue read for an hour, and forgot the pain at her heart. When thereading was over, her mother said: "Thank you, my dear; that was areal treat. How well you read, Sue!"
"Let me read to you every day, Mother," said Sue. She kissed hermother warmly; and, standing near her, noticed for the first time howvery pale and thin she was, how transparent her cheek and hands. Herheart smote her with a new pain. How much more she saw, now that shewas unhappy herself! She had never thought much about her mother's illhealth. She was an "invalid," and that seemed to account foreverything. At least, she could be a better daughter while she lived,and could help her mother in the afternoon, as Lily did in themorning.
* * * * *
The day of the circus came. A week ago, how Sue had looked forward toit! It was to be the crowning joy of the season, the great, thetriumphal day. But now all was changed. She had no thought of "backingout"; an engagement once made was a sacred thing with Sue; but she nolonger saw it wreathed in imaginary glories. The circus was fun, ofcourse; but she was not going in the right way, she knew--in fact, shewas going in a very naughty way; and Clarice was no longer theenchanting companion she had once seemed, who could cast a glamourover everything she spoke of. Sue even suggested their consulting Mr.Packard; but Clarice raised a shrill clamor.
"Sue, don't speak of such a thing! Puppa would lock me up if he hadany idea; he's awfully strict, you know. And we have both vowed neverto tell; you know we have, Sue. You vowed on this sacred relic; youknow you did!"
The sacred relic was a battered little medal that Clarice said hadcome from Jerusalem and been blessed by the Pope. As thi
s was almostthe only flight of fancy she had ever shown, Sue clung to the idea,and had made the vow with all possible solemnity, feeling likeHannibal and Robert of Normandy in one. This was not, however, untilafter she had told Mary of the plan; but, somehow, she had notmentioned that to Clarice. Mary would not tell, of course; perhaps, atthe bottom of her heart, Sue almost wished she would.
The day was bright and sunny, and Sue tried hard to feel as if shewere going to have a great and glorious time; yet when the hour cameat which she had promised to go to the hotel, she felt rather as ifshe were going to execution. She hung round the door of her mother'sroom. Could this be Sue, the foundling, the deserted child of cloudyBritish princes?
"If you need me, Mamma, I won't go!" she said several times; but Mrs.Penrose did not notice the wistful intonation in her voice, and shehad not yet become accustomed to needing Sue.
"No, dear!" she said. "Run along, and have a happy day. Lily and Katywill do all I need." Then, with an impulse she hardly understoodherself, for she was an undemonstrative woman, she added: "Give me akiss before you go, Susie!"
Sue hung round her neck in a passionate embrace. "Mamma!" sheexclaimed, "Mamma! if I were very, very wicked, could you forgiveme?--if I were very dreadfully wicked?"
"I hope so, dear!" said Mrs. Penrose, settling her hair. She hadpretty hair, and did not like to have it disarranged. "But you are notwicked, Sue. What is the matter, my dear?"
But Sue, after one more almost strangling embrace, ran out of theroom. She felt suffocated. She must have one moment of relief beforeshe went. Dashing back to her room, she flung herself upon herjournal.
* * * * *
"I go!" she wrote. "I go because I have sworn it, and I may not breakmy word. It is a dreadful thing that I do, but it is my fate thatbekons. I don't believe I am a foundling, after all, and I don't careif I am. Mamma is just perfectly sweet; and if I _should_ live, Ishould never, never, _never_ let her know that I had found it out.Adieu!
"The unfortunate
"SUSAN PENROSE."
After making a good flourish under her name, Sue felt a little better;still, her heart was heavy enough as she put on her pretty hat withthe brown ostrich-feathers, which went so well with her pongee dress.At least, she looked nice, she thought; that was some comfort.
* * * * *
The circus was a good one, and for a time Sue forgot everything elsein the joy of looking on. The tumbling! She had never dreamed of suchtumbling. And the jumping over three, four, six elephants standingtogether! Each time it seemed impossible, out of the question, thatthe thing could be done. Each time her heart stood still for aninstant, and then bounded furiously as the lithe, elastic form passedlike an arrow over the broad brown backs, and lighted on its feetsurely, gracefully, with a smile and a courtly gesture of triumph.That one in the pale blue silk tights--could he really be human, andgo about on other days clad like other men?
Then, the wonderful jokes of the clown! Never was anything so funny,Sue thought. But the great, the unspeakable part, was when the SignoraFiorenza, the Queen of Flame, rode lightly into the arena on hermilk-white Arabian charger. Such beauty Sue had never dreamed of; and,indeed, the Signora (whose name was Betsy Hankerson) was a handsomeyoung woman enough, and her riding-habit of crimson velvet, if alittle worn and rubbed, was still effective and becoming. To Sue'seyes it seemed an imperial robe, fit for coronations and great statebanquets, or for scenes of glory like this.
Round and round the Signora rode, bending graciously from the saddle,receiving with smiling composure the compliments of the clown.
"Well, madam! how did you manage to escape the police?"
"The police, sir?"
"Yes, madam! All the police in Chester--and a fine-looking set of menthey are--are on your track."
"Why, what have I done, sir, that the police should be after me?"
"What have you done, madam? Why, you have stolen all the roses in townand put them in your cheeks, and you've stolen all the diamonds andput them in your eyes; and worse than that!"
"Worse than that, sir?"
"Yes, madam. You've stolen all the young fellows' hearts and put themin your pocket." Whack! "Get up there, Sultan!"
And he smacked the white horse with his hand, and the Signora canteredgaily on. This was delightful; and it was all true, Sue thought, everyword of it. Oh, if she could only look like that, what would she notgive?
But now, a new wonder! The Signora had leaped lightly to her feet, andwas standing on the back of the fiery steed, always galloping,galloping. She was unfastening the gold buttons of her riding-habit;it fell off, and she stood transformed, a wonderful fairy ingold-spangled gauze, with gold slippers, and a sparkling crown--hadshe had it on all the time under her tall hat?--set in her beautifulblack hair. The clown shouted with glee, and Sue could have shoutedwith him:
"Glory hallelujah! See the fireworks! Oh, my! somebody get my smokedglasses; she puts my eyes clean out. Smoked glass, ladies andgentlemen, five cents a piece! You'll all go stone-blind if you try tolook at her without it."
The music quickened its time, the snow-white steed quickened his pace.The Signora called to him and shook the reins, and the good beastsprang forward in response. Faster and faster, louder and louder, tillthe air was palpitating with sound, and that glittering figure flashedby like a fiery star. And now two men in livery came running out,holding a great ring of living flame. They sprang up on two stools.They held the ring steady while the flames leaped and danced, and Suefancied she could actually hear them hiss. The clown shouted and wavedhis hat; the ring-master cracked his whip; the music crashed into amaddening peal; and with a flash and a cry, horse and girl dashedthrough the circle of fire.
AT THE CIRCUS.]
It was over. The flames were gone. The Signora was once more seated,cantering easily round the ring, bending again to the clown's remarks.But Sue still sat breathless, her hands clasped together, her eyesshining. For a time she could not speak. At last she turned to Claricewith burning cheeks and fluttering breath.
"Clarice, from this moment that is what I live for! I can do that,Clarice, I know; I feel that I can. Do you suppose she would take meas a pupil? Do you think she would? If I can do that just once, then Ican die happy!"
"How you talk, Sue Penrose!" said Clarice. "The idea! Who ever heardof a young lady going into a circus? Say, don't look over opposite.Those horrid Hart boys are over there, and they've been staring at youas if you belonged to them. Such impudence!"
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