The Collected Works of Susan Coolidge: 7 Novels, 35+ Short Stories, Essays & Poems (Illustrated). Susan CoolidgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
was glad to carry her away to the play-room.
“Come out to the bower,” she said, putting her arm round the blue barège waist.
“A bower!” cried Imogen. “How sweet!” But when they reached the asparagus boughs her face fell. “Why it hasn’t any roof, or pinnacles, or any fountain!” she said.
“Why no, of course not,” said Clover, staring; “we made it ourselves.”
“Oh!” said Imogen. She was evidently disappointed. Katy and Clover felt mortified; but as their visitor did not care for the bower, they tried to think of something else.
“Let us go to the Loft,” they said.
So they all crossed the yard together. Imogen picked her way daintily in the white satin slippers, but when she saw the spiked post, she gave a scream.
“Oh, not up there, darling, not up there!” she cried; “never, never!”
“Oh, do try! It’s just as easy as can be,” pleaded Katy going up and down half a dozen times in succession to show how easy it was. But Imogen wouldn’t be persuaded.
“Do not ask me,” she said, affectedly; “my nerves would never stand such a thing! And besides – my dress!”
“What made you wear it?” said Philly, who was a plain-spoken child, and given to questions. While John whispered to Dorry, “That’s a real stupid girl. Let’s go off somewhere and play by ourselves.”
So, one by one, the small fry crept away, leaving Katy and Clover to entertain the visitor by themselves. They tried dolls, but Imogen did not care for dolls. Then they proposed to sit down in the shade, and cap verses, a game they all liked. But Imogen said that though she adored poetry, she never could remember any. So it ended in their going to the orchard, where Imogen ate a great many plums and early apples, and really seemed to enjoy herself. But when she could eat no more, a dreadful dulness fell over the party. At last Imogen said:
“Don’t you ever sit in the drawing-room?”
‘The what?” asked Clover.
“The drawing-room,” repeated Imogen.
“Oh, she means the parlor!” cried Katy. “No, we don’t sit there except when Aunt Izzie has company to tea. It is all dark and poky, you know. Besides, it’s so much pleasanter to be out-doors. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, sometimes,” replied Imogen, doubtfully; “but I think it would be pleasant to go in and sit there for a while now. My head aches dreadfully, being out here in this horrid sun.”
Katy was at her wit’s end to know what to do. They scarcely ever went into the parlor, which Aunt Izzie regarded as a sort of sacred place. She kept cotton petticoats over all the chairs for fear of dust, and never opened the blinds for fear of flies. The idea of children with dusty boots going in there to sit! On the other hand, Katy’s natural politeness made it hard to refuse a visitor anything she asked for. And besides, it was dreadful to think that Imogen might go away and report “Katy Carr isn’t allowed to sit in the best room, even when she has company!” With a quaking heart she led the way to the parlor. She dared not open the blinds, so the room looked very dark. She could just see Imogen’s figure as she sat on the sofa, and Clover twirling uneasily about on the piano-stool. All the time she kept listening to hear if Aunt Izzie were not coming, and altogether the parlor was a dismal place to her; not half so pleasant as the asparagus bower, where they felt perfectly safe.
But Imogen, who, for the first time, seemed comfortable, began to talk. Her talk was about herself. Such stories she told about the things which had happened to her! All the young ladies in The Ledger put together, never had stranger adventures. Gradually, Katy and Clover got so interested interested that they left their seats and crouched down close to the sofa, listening with open mouths to these stories. Katy forgot to listen for Aunt Izzie. The parlor door swung open, but she did not notice it. She did not even hear the front door shut, when Papa came home to dinner.
Dr. Carr, stopping in the hall to glance over his newspaper, heard the high-pitched voice running on in the parlor. At first he hardly listened; then these words caught his ear:
“Oh, it was lovely, girls, perfectly delicious! I suppose I did look well, for I was all in white with my hair let down, and just one rose, you know, here on top. And he leaned over me and said in a low, deep tone: ‘Lady, I am a Brigand, but I feel the enchanting power of beauty. You are free!’”
Dr. Carr pushed the door open a little farther. Nothing was to be seen but some indistinct figures, but he heard Katy’s voice in an eager tone:
“Oh, do go on. What happened next?”
“Who on earth have the children got in the parlor?” he asked Aunt Izzie, whom he found in the dining-room.
“The parlor!” cried Miss Izzie, wrathfully; “why, what are they there for?” Then going to the door she called out, “Children, what are you doing in the parlor? Come out right away. I thought you were playing out-doors.”
“Imogen had a head-ache,” faltered Katy. The three girls came out into the hall; Clover and Katy looked scared, and even the Enchanter of the Brigand quite crest-fallen.
“Oh,” said Aunt Izzie, grimly, “I am sorry to hear that. Probably you are bilious. Would you like some camphor or anything?”
“No, thank you,” replied Imogen, meekly. But afterwards she whispered to Katy:
“Your aunt isn’t very nice, I think. She’s just like Jackima, that horrid old woman I told you about, who lived in the Brigand’s Cave and did the cooking.”
“I don’t think you’re a bit polite to tell me so,” retorted Katy, very angry at this speech.
“Oh, never mind, dear, don’t take it to heart!” replied Imogen, sweetly. “We can’t help having relations that ain’t nice, you know.”
The visit was evidently not a success. Papa was very civil to Imogen at dinner, but he watched her closely, and Katy saw a comical twinkle in his eye, which she did not like. Papa had very droll eyes. They saw everything, and sometimes they seemed to talk almost as distinctly as his tongue. Katy began to feel low-spirited. She confessed afterward that she should never have got through the afternoon if she hadn’t run up stairs two or three times, and comforted herself by reading a little in “Rosamond.”
“Aren’t you glad she’s gone?” whispered Clover, as they stood at the gate together watching Imogen walk down the street.
“Oh, Clover! how can you?” said Katy. But she gave Clover a great hug, and I think in her heart she was glad.
“Katy,” said Papa, next day, “you came into the room then, exactly like your new friend Miss Clark.”
“How? I don’t know what you mean,” answered Katy, blushing deeply.
“So,” said Dr. Carr; and he got up, raising his shoulders and squaring his elbows, and took a few mincing steps across the room. Katy couldn’t help laughing, it was so funny, and so like Imogen. Then Papa sat down again and drew her close to him.
“My dear,” he said, “you’re an affectionate child, and I’m glad of it. But there is such a thing as throwing away one’s affection. I didn’t fancy that little girl at all yesterday. What makes you like her so much?”
“I didn’t like her so much yesterday,” admitted Katy, reluctantly, “She’s a great deal nicer than that at school, sometimes.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said her father. “For I should be sorry to think that you really admired such silly manners. And what was that nonsense I heard her telling you about Brigands?”
“It really hap–” began Katy. – Then she caught Papa’s eye, and bit her lip, for he looked very quizzical. “Well,” she went on, laughing, “I suppose it didn’t really all happen; – but it was ever so funny, Papa,