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Strollers In Tiverton
by
“Stortions!” broke out a voice near me, in virile scorn,–Nance Pete’s,–“stortions! Jes’ like her! Better picked ’em a mess o’ pease!”
It was, indeed, a basket of red nasturtiums, and the sun had touched them into a glory like his own. For one brief moment, we were ashamed of Lucindy’s “shallerness” and irrelevancy; but the circus people interpreted her better. They rose from box and hamper where they had been listlessly awaiting their tardy breakfast, and crowded forward to meet her. They knew, through the comradeship of all Bohemia, exactly what she meant.
“My!” said Miss Lucindy, smiling full at them as they came,–her old, set smile had been touched, within a year, by something glad and free,–“set ’em down now, Molly. My! are you the folks? Well, I thought you’d seem different, somehow, but anyway, we brought you over a few blooms. We thought you couldn’t have much time, movin’ round so, to work in your gardins, especially the things you have to sow every year. Yes, dear, yes! Take a good handful. Here’s a little mignonette I put in the bottom, so’t everybody could have a sprig. Yes, there’s enough for the men, too. Why, yes, help yourself! Law, dear, why don’t you take off your veil? Hot as this is!” for the bearded lady, closely masked in black barege, had come forward and hungrily stretched out a great hand for her share.
We never knew how it all happened, but during this clamor of happy voices, the chops were cooked and the coffee boiled; the circus people turned about, and trooped into the tent where the tables were set, and they took Miss Lucindy with them. Yes, they did! Molly McNeil stayed contentedly outside; for though she had brought her share of the treasure, quite evidently she considered herself a friendly helper, not a partner in the scheme. But Miss Lucindy was the queen of the carnival. We heard one girl say to another, as our eccentric townswoman swept past us, in the eager crowd, “Oh, the dear old thing!” We saw a sad-eyed girl bend forward, lift a string of Miss Lucindy’s apron (which, we felt, should have been left behind in the kitchen) and give it a hearty kiss. Later, when, by little groups, we peeped into the dining-tent, we saw Miss Lucindy sitting there at the table, between two women who evidently thought her the very nicest person that had ever crossed their wandering track. There she was, an untouched roll and chop on her plate, a cup of coffee by her side. She was not talking. She only smiled happily at those who talked to her, and her eyes shone very bright. We were ashamed; I confess it. For was not Sudleigh, also, there to see?
“Oh, my soul!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilson, in fretful undertone. “I wish the old Judge was here!”
Her husband turned and looked at her, and she quailed; not with fear of him, but at the vision of the outraged truth.
“Well, no,” she added, weakly, “I dunno’s I wish anything so bad as that, but I do declare I think there ought to be somebody to keep a tight grip on Lucindy!”
Who shall deem himself worthy to write the chronicle of that glorious day? There were so many incidents not set down in the logical drama; so many side-shows of circumstance! We watched all the mysterious preparations for the afternoon performance, so far as we were allowed, with the keenness of the wise, who recognize a special wonder and will not let it pass unproved. We surrounded Miss Lucindy, when she came away from her breakfast party, and begged for an exact account of all her entertainers had said; but she could tell us nothing. She only reiterated, with eyes sparkling anew, that they were “proper nice folks, proper nice! and she must go home and get Ellen. If she’d known they were just like other folks she’d have brought Ellen this morning; but she’d been afraid there’d be talk that little girls better not hear.”