Under the Country Sky
Page 8
CHAPTER VIII
SOAPSUDS
"Will you think I'm dreadful, Georgiana dear," asked Jeannette, lyingluxuriously back upon her pillow while her cousin sat braiding her ownthick locks by the little bedroom fireplace in which the last remnantsof the fire were smouldering, "if I say I shouldn't have believed Icould possibly have such a good time in such a way? I never did anythingthe least bit like it."
"Never coasted?"
"Never."
"Never threw snowballs?"
"Not that I can remember."
"Nor roasted chestnuts?"
"I never tasted one before--except perhaps in the stuffing of a fowl."
"Poor child! But at least you've sat by the fire with other girls andmen and told stories, little Jean?"
The guest considered. "Of course--at house parties. Yet I can't seem torecall any such scene as the one we just left, down by your fire. Icertainly never sat on the floor with my arm on my father's knee, witha group of people around, while somebody told stories--sure not suchstories as you told. Oh, you're the cleverest girl I ever knew, to tellsuch things in such a way! It was perfectly splendid! How those two mendid enjoy it! I don't know when I've heard men laugh in just that way."
"Just what way? Please tell me how they laughed differently from othermen. To be sure, Jimps just lets go when he's amused and raises therafters with his howls of glee; but so do other young men of his age.And certainly Mr. Jefferson laughed decorously enough."
"Yes, but it was so whole-souled with both of them; and yet there wasn'ta thing in your stories but--oh, I can't tell you just what I mean, ifyou don't know. But somehow it all struck me so differently from the wayany girl-and-man evening ever struck me before. There--there seems adifferent air to breathe here--if that expresses it--from any I've everbeen in."
The two regarded each other, Jeannette from between half-closed, deeplyfringed eyelids as she lay back upon her pillows, one arm, half veiledwith the finest of linen and lace, outstretched upon the treasuredold-time counterpane, the other beneath her neck; Georgiana sitting upstraight, with two long, dark braids hanging over her shoulders, herdusky eyes wide open, her cheeks still bright with colour balanced bythe scarlet hue of the loose garment she had put on.
"I've no doubt there is," agreed Georgiana thoughtfully. "Still, thoughyou live a very different life from any I've ever known, I didn'tsuppose your education in the matter of roast chestnuts--and the thingsthat go with them--had been quite so badly neglected. To think of neverhaving had them except so disguised by the manipulations of a French_chef_ that you couldn't recognize them! And to have gone to balls andhorse shows and polo games--and never to have built a snow fort! Dear,dear, what we have to teach you! Life hasn't been really fair to you,has it, my dear?"
This was sheer audacity, from a poor girl to a rich one, but it wascharming audacity none the less and by no means wholly ironic. ToJeannette, studying her cousin with eyes which were envious of thephysical superiority for lack of which no training in the social arts ormere ability to purchase the aid of dressmaker and milliner couldpossibly atone, conscious that Georgiana possessed a mind far keener andbetter trained than her own, the question called for a serious answer.She half sat up and pushed her pillow into a soft mountain behind her asshe spoke:
"No, it hasn't! I thought so before I came here and now I'm sure of it.I feel a weak and helpless creature beside you--helpless in every way. Ican't do anything you can. If my father should lose his money and Ishould be thrown upon my own resources, I shouldn't be able to make somuch as a--snowball for myself!"
Both laughed in spite of Jeannette's earnestness, for the words broughtback vivid memories of the wild sport of the afternoon. Then Georgiana'sready brain leaped to the inevitable corollary:
"Ah, but there'd be sure to be a man ready to dash into your fort andmake your snowballs for you!"
"I'm not so sure."
"I am."
"Of course the men I know don't seem to mind whether a girl is helplessor not, if she can look and act the way they want her to. But--I'mdiscovering that there are other kinds of men, and somehow I like thisnew kind. And I imagine this kind wouldn't care for helpless girls. Youmade snowballs for your man to throw, and they were good hard ones, asmy chin can still testify."
"You can learn to make hard snowballs," said Georgiana, smiling.
Jeannette held up one beautifully modelled but undeniably slender armand clasped it with her hand. "Soft as----" She paused for a simile.
"Sponge cake," supplied Georgiana, coming over to feel critically of theextended arm. "It _is_ pretty spongy. It needs exercise with a punchballor"--she flashed a mischievous glance at the languid form besideher--"a batch of bread dough."
"Bread dough! Would that help it?"
"Rather! So would sweeping, and scrubbing, and moving furniture about.But you're born to a life of ease, my dear, so those things are out ofthe question for you. But fencing lessons would be good for you--andfashionable, too, which would double their value, of course."
"Georgiana!" Jeannette sat straight up and laid two coaxing arms abouther cousin's firmly moulded neck. "Teach me to make bread, will you,while I'm here?"
"Oh, good gracious!" Georgiana threw back her head to laugh. "Hear thechild! What good would that do, if you learned? You wouldn't do it whenyou went back."
"I would!--Well, of course, I might have difficulty in--but mother wantsme to be strong; she's always fussing about it because I can't endurethe round of society things she says any girl ought to--and enjoy. Ifyou thought bread-making would really help----"
"It would be a drop in the bucket of exercise you ought to take."
"Nevertheless, I want to learn," persisted Jeannette as Georgiana movedaway, evidently with the intention of leaving her for the night. "I'dlike to feel I knew how. And your bread is the most delicious I evertasted. Please!"
"Oh, very well; I'll teach you with pleasure. I shall be setting breadsponge at six to-morrow morning. Will you be down?" Georgiana's smilewas distinctly wicked.
"Six o'clock!" There was a look of mingled incredulity and horror in thelovely face on the pillow. "But--does bread--does bread have to be madeso early?"
"Absolutely. After the morning dew is off the grass, bread becomesheavy."
Jeannette stared into the mocking eyes of her cousin; then she laughed."Oh, I see. You're testing me. Well,"--with a stifled sigh--"I'll get upif you'll call me. I'm afraid I should never wake myself--especiallyafter all that snowballing----"
"Exactly. And I'll not call you. So lie still in your nest, ladybird,and don't bother your pretty head about bread sponges. What's the use?You'll never need to know, and you'll soon forget having had even afaint desire toward knowledge. Good-night--and sleep sweetly."
"Oh, but wait! I'm really serious. Please call me!"
"Never!"
With one laughing backward look and with a kiss waved toward the slenderfigure now sitting up in bed, Georgiana opened the door and fled. Thatshe did not want to teach her cousin an earthly thing, even if she couldhave believed Jeannette serious in her request, was momentarily growingmore evident to her own consciousness. Just why, she might have beenunwilling to explain.
Next morning, however, she found herself destined to carry out the planJeannette had so impulsively proposed. She crept downstairs as quietlyas the creaking boards under the worn stair carpet would permit, andbegan her work in a whirl of haste. But she had not more than assembledher ingredients on the scrupulously scoured top of the old pine tablewhen she heard the kitchen door softly open. Wheeling, she beheld avision which brought a boyish whistle to her lips.
Jeannette, enveloped in a long silken garment evidently thrown on overher night attire, a little cap of lace and ribbon confining her hair,the most impractical of slippers on her feet, stood smiling at hercousin, sleep still clinging to her eyelids.
"I'm down," she announced in triumph.
"So I see. But you're not up," replied Georgiana, regarding the visi
onwith critical eyes.
Jeannette's gaze left the trim morning garb of the young cook, herperfectly arranged hair, her whole aspect of efficiency, and dropped toher own highly inappropriate attire, and she flushed a little. But sheheld her ground.
"You didn't call me, and when I woke it was so near six I didn't darewait to dress. Can't I learn unless I'm dressed like you?"
"If a French doll had come to life and offered to help me in the kitchenI couldn't feel more stunned. What will happen to all those floatingends of lace and ribbon, when they get mixed with flour and yeast? Besensible, child, and go back to bed."
"I'll pin everything out of the way, and perhaps you'll lend me anapron. I really don't want to bother you, Georgiana, but I do want tolearn."
Georgiana relented. "Very well. Come here, and I'll cover you up as bestI can. Or I'll wait while you run up and dress--if you've anything toput on that's fit for bread-making."
"Nothing much fitter than this, I'm afraid," admitted Jeannettereluctantly.
"Poor little girl!" Georgiana's momentary irritation was gone, as itusually was, in no time at all. "Well, here go the frills under a nicebig gingham all-over; and now you look like a combination of SleepingBeauty and Mother Bunch! All right; here we go into business. Do youknow how to scald that cupful of milk you see before you?"
"Scald it?" repeated Jeannette doubtfully--and so the lesson began.
Absolute ignorance on the part of the pupil, assured knowledge on thatof the teacher--the lesson was a very kindergarten in methods. Therewere times when Georgiana had much difficulty in restraining her inwardmirth, but she soon saw that this must be done, though Jeannette herselflaughed at her own clumsiness, and evidently was determined to letnothing escape her.
"Kneading looks so easy when you do it," she lamented; "but I can't seemto help getting stuck."
"That will come with practice--if you ever try another batch, which Idoubt. And it's the kneading that is so good for your arms."
"Yours are beautiful--and so strong, it must be fun to own them."
"There are times when a bit of muscle is of use in a hustling world,"admitted her cousin. "There, I think that dough will do very well. Turnit over and lay it smoothly in the bowl--so. Cover it with its whiteblanket--so; and leave it right here, where it will have a good warmtemperature to rise in. Now, run up and snatch another nap; you'll haveplenty of time."
"You're not going back to bed?"
"Rather not!" Georgiana's smile strove to be tolerant. "There are just afew things to be done about the house, and they are best done beforebreakfast. Off with you, lady cousin!"
"Do you always get up so early?" Jeannette persisted.
"I have an extraordinary fondness for early rising," Georgianaexplained. "It's foolish, of course, but it's an old habit. Good-bye, mydear; my next errand is down cellar," and she vanished from the sight ofher guest, quite unable to keep herself longer in hand before theamazing point of view of this daughter of luxury.
The "next errand" was the washing of the handful of fine towels withwhich the painstaking hostess was keeping the guest-room supplied,unwilling to furnish the aristocratic young person upstairs with thecoarser articles used by herself and the others. Jeannette, all unawarethat the snowy linen with which her room was kept plentifully suppliedwas constantly relaundered in secret by Georgiana's own hands, was aslavish in her use of it as she was accustomed to be at home, and theresult was a quite unbelievable amount of extra work for her cousin.
Mr. Warne, coming upon his daughter by chance in this very early morningflurry of laundering, expressed himself upon the subject in the gentlebut positive way which was his.
"Why do it, my dear?" he questioned. "Are the sheets and towels we usenot quite good enough for others?"
"Not half good enough for Lady Jean," responded the laundress, rubbingenergetically away--yet carefully, too, for the old linen was not sostout as it once had been.
"You are intentionally deceiving her, aren't you, daughter? Why dothat?--since it is not necessary for her comfort."
"But it is. She would shudder at the touch of a cotton sheet. As for acommon huck towel----"
Mr. Warne shook his head. "I can't agree with you. So that the sheetsand towels are spotless--as your sheets and towels are--the mere degreeof fineness is not essential. And if she knew how much labour it costsyou, I am very certain she would infinitely prefer to be less of aspendthrift in the matter of quantity."
"I've no doubt she would. But I'd rather wash my fingers off than notgive her the fresh towel for her perfect face each time she uses one.I'd like it myself. I'd like a million towels, all fine as silk. I'dlike----" She stopped abruptly, seeing the look upon her father's face."Oh, I'm sorry!" she flashed at him repentantly. "I truly don't mindbeing poor in most ways. It's the lack of certain things that go withnicety of living that grinds me most. I shouldn't mind wearing ginghamoutside, if I could have all the fine linen I want underneath.It's--it's--oh, well, you know! And I'm an idiot to talk about it whenthe thing we really need is books--books for your starving mind. If Icould get you all you want of those----" Her voice broke upon the wish,always strong with her.
"My dear, my mind will never starve while it has the old books to feedupon. Listen, on what a pertinent thought did I come this morning. I wasdelving in good old Thomas Fuller, of those fine seventeenth-centurywriters whose works still glow with fire: '_Though my guest was never sohigh, yet, by the laws of hospitality, I was above him whilst under myroof_.'"
The girl laughed, dashing away a hot tear with the back of a soapy hand."Trust you to find a classic to turn a tragedy into a comedy," she said."Go away now, Father Davy, and I'll soon be through. It's a poorwasherwoman I am to be thinning my suds with brine!"