Chapter Two

Poor little Maggie! good-tempered and right-principled though she was, she had some feminine vanity, and liked to look as well as her neighbors. So the idea of sitting in her high plaid frock beside her desk-mate, all gorgeous in white muslin and corn-colored ribbons, took all the pleasure out of her anticipations of the morrow, and she felt as if she had almost rather not come to the reception at all.

She had not faith in the "coaxing" which Nelly had suggested. She knew her mother always considered carefully the right and propriety of a matter, and was not apt to change her mind when once it was made up. Still she knew also that her mother liked to make her little daughter happy; and while there was life there was hope; so with this comforting thought simple little Maggie brightened up, and went on with her wreath, wishing, meanwhile, that the time for dismissal would come soon, that she might hurry home, and make an appeal to her mother's heart on the matter that lay nearest for own.

She was heartily glad when it was all over, the wreaths, the emblems, and the mottoes all put up, and the great rooms left to the janitors to be swept and dusted for the morrow. Even then, however, she could not go home, for Miss Kavanagh wanted her class to come into the library, and rehearse the "piece," as the children called it, which was to form their share in the entertainment of the visitors at the reception.

It was Poe's famous poem of "The Bells;" and each verse, The Sledging Bells, The Wedding Bells, the Fire Bells, and the Funeral Bells, was to be recited by a different girl, selected for the purpose, while the whole class chimed in most musically, in the "tintinnabulation" of the bells in the chorus.

Nelly Morgan had the verse about the Funeral Bells. Her voice was uncommonly deep and strong for a little girl, and she rolled out the solemn lines, --

"Hear the tolling of the bells,
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought
Their monody compels!"--

in a hollow, resonant tone, which was really very expressive, and added greatly to the effect of the recitation.

Maggie Lang, with her merry blue eyes, and bright, silvery voice, was the very one for the merry sledging bells and it was really quite a musical treat to hear her repeat the crisp, ringing lines, ''--

"How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
On the icy air of night,'
While the stars that over-sprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
In a crystalline delight,"--

and then the whole class chime in,--

"Keeping time, time, time,"--

and so on, through the while of the wonderful and fascinating poem.

Indeed, all the parts had been carefully distributed and diligently practiced, and Miss Kavanagh seemed quite satisfied with the success of the rehearsal this afternoon.

"Be sure you all come early tomorrow morning," she said, as the girls bade her good afternoon, "and we'll try this over once more before the exercises begin, just to make sure that none of your little bells have lost their tongues!" And they all laughed, and promised they would be on the spot, and up to time; and then they ran off, eager to tell their mothers how beautiful the rooms looked, and what a grand time they were sure to have a that the Christmas Eve celebration.

Maggie Lang only started off with a slow step and a heavy heart; for, impatient as she had been to get home and prefer to her request, now that the time had come, she felt really ashamed to ask of her mother what she felt in her own wise little heart was such a very silly and imprudent thing. Her clouded face, as she entered the house, was so unlike her usual sunny looks, that her mother noticed it at once, and asked, in surprise, --

"You don't look very happy this afternoon. What has happened?"

Maggie colored with shame at her own pettishness and her mother's kindness, and one bright tear forced itself out, and twinkled on her eyelash. Still she tried to answer in an indifferent tone, --

"O, nothing has happened; only Nelly Morgan has made me feel as if I was going to look so mean at the reception tomorrow. She's going to wear her Swiss muslin, and she says all the girls in the first class intend to wear white too, and I expect ever so many will in our division; and I'd rather stay at home, for I don't want to look like a dowdy, in a thick, dark dress; and think you might let me, mother, now!"

"Might let you what?" answered Mrs. Lang, scarcely able to keep from laughing at the puckered up face, an the incoherent speech poured out faster and faster, and ending at last in that almost spasmodic "now," which was a great word with Maggie when she was excited.

"Might let me wear my white dress, too," said Maggie, half laughing herself, amid her tears.

"That is to say, might let you have a first-rate chance to get the croup, and the diphtheria. and the pneumonia, and the pleurisy, and I don't know how many more terrible things in those great, chilly rooms tomorrow! Why, Maggie, your father would think we were both crazy if you were to come down to breakfast in a low white dress!"

"But, mother, Nelly said--"

"But, Maggie, Nelly said a great deal more than she knew, no doubt. I don't believe the teachers will allow any such nonsense and imprudence at school tomorrow, and I want you to have as much faith in your mother as in such a vain and silly girl as I'm sorry to say I think Nelly Morgan is. I never sent you anywhere yet looking 'like a dowdy'--did I, Maggie?"

"N-no, but--" said Maggie, hesitatingly; but her mother interrupted her, cheerily, --

"Then trust me that I shall not do it tomorrow either; and now, if you have got nicely warm, I'll tell you what we will do. We'll go out to the florist's, and see if we can't have him make up a pretty bouquet for you to take to Miss Kavanagh tomorrow. You say all the teachers have them -- don't they? Would you like that?"

The clouds cleared up on Maggie's face in a moment; the rain-drops dried, and the sun shone out as bright as ever.

"O, mother, how nice of you!" she exclaimed, in delight; "I never gave Miss Kavanagh anything, and she's so kind! O, that's a great deal nicer than wearing a white dress; and there shall be roses, and geraniums, and heliotrope, and everything!--shan't there, mother?"

"Not quite everything, I'm afraid, Maggie," said her mother, smiling, "but whatever you like best in Mr. Budd's greenhouse; and now you mind baby, and I will go and put my things on."

So Maggie sat down, with her foot on the rocker, happy as could be, while Mrs. Lang went to her room glad at heart that at least her little daughter was not sullen or selfish.

To be continued ...

This e-book © 2002 Being Virtuous Women. All rights reserved. Please request permission from BVW before using any portion of this e-book. Thank you very much.

« Return to Fine Feathers Do Not Make Fine Birds