Chapter VI: What Happened the First Day

The car flew along by sunny meadows and farms. New York was the first day's goal.

"Barbara," Ruth said to her next-door neighbor, "you are hereby appointed royal geographer and guide-extraordinary to this party! Here is the route-book. It will be up to you to show us which roads we are to take. It is a pretty hard job, as I well know from experience; but then, honors come hard. You don't need to worry to-day. I know this coast trip into New York as well as I know my A.B.C.'s. I have often come along this way with father. Let's have a perfectly beautiful time in New York. We'll make Aunt Sallie chaperon us while we do the town, or, at least, a part of it. Have you ever been to a roof garden?"

Barbara's eyes danced. It didn't sound quite right somehow--a roof garden--but then they were out for experiences, and Miss Sallie wouldn't let them do anything really wrong.

Ruth glanced out of the corner of her eye at Barbara. Miss Stuart was a good little chauffeur who never allowed her attention to be distracted from running her car, no matter what was being talked of around her, nor how much she was interested, but she couldn't help laughing at Barbara's expression; it told so plainly all that was going on inside her head.

"I do assure you, Miss Barbara Thurston, that a roof garden may be a fairly respectable thing, quite well suited to entertaining, without shocking either Miss Sallie Stuart or her four charming protégées." Ruth called back: "Aunt Sallie, will you take us up on the Waldorf roof to-night? You know we are going to stay at the Waldorf Hotel, girls. Father said we might enjoy the experience, and it would be all right with Aunt Sallie for chaperon."

Grace pinched Mollie's arm to express her rapture, and that little maiden simply gasped with delight. It was Mollie, not Barbara, of the two sisters, who had the greatest yearning for wealth and society, and the beautiful clothes and wonderful people that she believed went along with it. Barbara was an out-door girl, who loved tennis and all the sports, and could swim like a fish. An artist who spent his summers at Kingsbridge, once called her a brown sea-gull, when he saw her lithe brown body dart off the great pier to dive deep into the water.

Aunt Sallie had been taking a brief cat-nap, before Ruth's question, and awakened in high good humor. "Why, yes, children," she answered, "it will be very pleasant to go up on the roof to-night, after we have had our baths and our dinners. I am quite disposed to let you do just what you like, so long as you behave yourselves."

Grace Carter pressed Aunt Sallie's fat hand, as a message of thanks. Grace was Aunt Sallie's favorite among Ruth's friends. "She is a quiet, lady-like girl, who does not do unexpected things that get on one's nerves," Miss Sallie had once explained to Ruth. "Now, Aunt Sallie," Ruth had protested, "I know I do get on your nerves sometimes, but you know you need me to stir you up. Think how dull you would be without me!" And Aunt Sallie had answered, with unexpected feeling: "I would be very dull, indeed, my dear."

The girls were full of their plans for the evening.

"That is why Ruth told us each to put a muslin dress in our suit cases! Ruth, are you going to think up a fresh surprise every day! It's just too splendid!" Mollie spoke in a tone of such fervent emotion that everyone in the car laughed.

"I don't suppose I can manage a surprise every day, Molliekins," Ruth called back over her shoulder, "but I mean to think up as many as I possibly can. We are going to have the time of our lives, you know, and something must happen to make it."

All this time the car had been flying faster than the girls could talk. "This is 'going some,'" commented Ruth, laughing.

When they came into Lakewood Ruth slowed up, as she had promised her father not to go any faster than the law allowed. "I cross my heart and body, Dad," she had said. "Think of four lovely maidens and their handsome duenna languishing in jail instead of flying along the road to Newport. Honest Injun! father, I'll read every automobile sign from here to Jehosaphat, if we ever decide to travel that way."

In Lakewood, Ruth drove her car around the wonderful pine shaded lake.

"It's a winter resort," she explained to her companions. "Nearly all the cottages and hotels are closed in the summer, but I wanted you to have a smell of the pines. It will give you strength for the rest of the trip."

Silence fell on the party as they skimmed out of Lakewood. After so much excitement it was pleasant to look at things without having to talk.

Mollie had begun, once in a while, to tap the lunch basket with her foot. The fresh air and the long ride had made her desperately hungry. She really couldn't remember having eaten any breakfast in the excitement of getting off. But nobody said f-o-o-d! She felt she was the youngest member of the party and should not make suggestions before Miss Sallie.

Ruth turned into a narrow lane; a sign post pointed the way to a deserted village.

"Oh, dear me!" sighed Mollie to herself. "Why are we going to a deserted village, just as we are dying of hunger!"

Ruth said never a word. She passed some tumble-down old cottages of a century ago, then an old iron foundry, and drew up with a great flourish before an old stone house, green with moss and ivy and fragrant with a "lovely" odor of cooking! There were little tables set out on the lawn and on the old-fashioned veranda, and soon the party was reveling in lunch.

"I didn't know food could be so heavenly," whispered Mollie in Bab's ear, when they were back in the car, for Grace had begged for a seat by the chauffeur for the afternoon trip.

Soon Ruth left the country behind, and came out on the sea-coast road that ran through Long Branch, Deal Beach, Monmouth and Seabright.

From carriages and other automobiles, and along the promenades, everyone smiled at the crimson car full of happy, laughing girls.

Ruth was driving in her best fashion, making all the speed she could, with the thought of town fifty miles or more ahead. "It is a sight to see," quoth Barbara, "the way the fairy princess handles her chariot of fire."

It was a little after four o'clock when the car boarded the Staten Island ferry and finally crossed to the New York shore.

"You see, Bab," Mollie said, trying to stuff her curls under her motor cap and to rub the dust from her rosy cheeks with a tiny pocket handkerchief as they sped up Broadway, "I might be dreadfully embarrassed arriving at the Waldorf looking the way I do, if I were not in a motor car, but riding in an automobile makes one feel so awfully swell that nothing matters. Isn't it lovely just to feel important for once? You know it is, Bab, and you needn't say no! It's silly to pretend."

Miss Sallie was again on the border of slumberland, so that Mollie and Barbara could have their low-voiced talk.

"Does Ruth know I have never even been to New York before?" asked Mollie. "I hope I won't seem very green about things. You must tell me if I do, Bab."

But Bab only laughed and shook her head. "You are a foolish baby," she said.

Two respectful porters at the Waldorf helped a dusty, crumpled party out of the big red touring car.

The girls, a little dazed, followed Miss Sallie through a maze of palms and servants in livery, with handsomely dressed people strolling through the halls, until their suite of rooms, which Mr. Stuart had engaged by telegraph a few days before, was reached.

The three rooms adjoined, only separated by white tile bathrooms. Miss Sallie, naturally, had a room to herself, and it was decided that Ruth and Grace were to sleep together, leaving the sisters to themselves.

"Isn't it too beautiful!" sighed Mollie, standing in the midst of their luxurious chamber, gazing around at the single brass beds, with their rose-colored draperies, and the ivory-striped satin wall paper, garlanded in pink flowers. Ruth and Grace were equally fine in a room decorated in blue, and, even in the Waldorf, Miss Sallie's taste seemed to have been consulted, as her room was in her favorite violet shade.

In some mysterious way the crumpled muslin dresses were taken downstairs by a maid, and came back smooth and fresh. Even Miss Sallie's elaborate chiffon gown looked as though it had just come home from the modiste's.

"O Ruth! Ruth!" Mollie exclaimed, as the four girls made their way to the dining-room, Miss Sallie in the lead, "I didn't know there could be such a magnificent place in the world as this. I don't know what I can ever do to repay you, except to love you and be grateful my whole life long."

"Well, I am sure that is all the gratitude I should ever want, Mollie," laughed Ruth. "But wait until you see the houses at Newport."

All eyes near the door turned to see the little automobile party enter the "palm room." Miss Sallie swept ahead in her black lace and chiffon, looking very handsome and impressive. Barbara and Grace came next; Barbara with her red-brown hair breaking into willful curves and waves, her big brown eyes glowing with pleasure, and the deep red showing in her olive cheeks; Grace with her look of refinement and gentle dignity. The blond maidens came in last. Ruth's bright gold hair and fresh coloring showed to best advantage in a dainty white muslin and lace frock. She was half a head taller than dainty Mollie, who looked like a flower with her yellow curls gathered in a soft cluster at the back of her neck and tied with a black velvet ribbon.

On the Waldorf roof, Miss Stuart and the girls sat under an orange tree, hung in some mysterious way with golden oranges. The whole place was decorated with palms and evergreens and beautiful flowers. The soft, shaded yellow lights rivaled the moonlight that glowed above.

"It's like the enchanted garden in the French fairy story, isn't it, Miss Sallie? Where the flowers and fruits bloomed all the year round?" whispered Barbara, who sat next their chaperon.

Miss Sallie smiled very kindly at her enthusiasm.

"I expect it is, but I am afraid I have forgotten the story. It has been a long time, remember, Barbara, since fairies and I have had much to say to each other."

Barbara blushed. "Oh, I am not so young as all that, Miss Sallie; but I have never forgotten the fairy tales I read when I was a little girl. Though I must confess I liked boys' stories better. I just love adventures!" And Barbara's eyes shone. In a little while the music commenced, and she forgot everything but that.

Mollie was differently occupied. What she liked best was to gaze around her at the women in their jewels and wonderful gowns.

Just across from her on the other side of the aisle was a rarely beautiful woman in a white lace gown, with a string of pearls round her throat, and a pearl and diamond butterfly that glowed and sparkled in her hair.

Mollie was so fascinated by her beauty that she couldn't help watching this stranger, and even overhearing a little of her conversation. "It isn't exactly eavesdropping," Mollie apologized to herself, "because I don't know them and they can never possibly know me." So nobody noticed, but Mollie, that when the woman gave a laughing toss of her head in answer to some question from her husband, who sat back of her, that the beautiful, jeweled butterfly slipped softly out of her hair, fell into the softer lace folds of her gown and then down--down--to the floor!

The little girl waited half a minute. No one else had noticed the loss. At any time an usher might come down the aisle and crush the exquisite jewel. Mollie forgot herself and her shyness. If it had been Barbara she would not have minded, but Mollie was timid before strangers. She slipped quietly across the aisle and picked up the butterfly.

"I beg your pardon," her soft voice explained, "but I saw this fall from your hair, and, as you did not notice it, I was afraid it might be crushed."

The lovely woman turned in surprise. It is just as well to call her "the lovely lady," now, for that was Mollie's name for her ever afterwards.

"My dear," she said, "I am very grateful to you. How could I have failed to see it? I am especially obliged to you, because I am very fond of this ornament."

Mollie blushed rosy-red, as the people close to them had observed what had happened and were watching her. As she tried to slip over to her seat, the lady reached out and gave the child's hand a gentle squeeze of thanks, glancing across as she did so to see what friends the little girl was with, and so caught Ruth Stuart's eye.

The intermission came at this minute.

"Why, Ruth Stuart!" Mollie, to her surprise, heard her friend's name called in a low voice, and Ruth came across to them.

"It's Mrs. Cartwright," she said. "I am so pleased! I didn't suppose you would remember me."

"Of course I remember you, Ruth," Mrs. Cartwright protested. "It has been only two years since I saw you at my own wedding in Chicago. My memory is surely longer than that. Isn't that your aunt, Miss Stuart?" Mrs. Cartwright moved across the aisle to speak to Miss Sallie and to introduce her husband. When they had shaken hands, Mrs. Cartwright asked: "May I know what you are doing in this part of the world at this season?"

"I am playing chaperon to my madcap niece and her three friends, who are doing an automobile trip to Newport without a man. Ruth is her own chauffeur," Miss Sallie explained, laughing.

"How jolly of you, Ruth, and how clever! I am so glad you are going to Newport. Did you know my summer place is down there? I am only in town for a day or two. My husband had to come on business and I am with him. We shall be motoring home, soon, and may pass you if you are to take things slowly. Why not join me at New Haven? My husband's brother is a junior at Yale, and we've promised to stop there for a day. There is a dance on at Alumni Hall. I'd be too popular for words if I could take you four pretty girls along with me!"

Ruth turned to her aunt with glowing eyes. "We did want to see the college dreadfully," she said. "I have never seen a big Eastern university. We didn't dream of knowing anybody who would show us around. Wouldn't it be too much for you to have us all on your hands?"

"Certainly not," said Mrs. Cartwright, "but a most decided pleasure. I shall meet you in New Haven, say, day after to-morrow, and I'll telegraph to-night to my brother, whose name is Donald Cartwright, by the way, to expect us."

The music was about to begin again, but, before Mrs. Cartwright went over to her seat, she put her hand on Mollie's curls. "I must see this little girl often at Newport. Then I can thank her better for saving my lovely butterfly for me. I hope to make all of you have a beautiful time." She put the jewel into her hair again, and Mollie looked at it thoughtfully. She was to know it again some day, under stranger circumstances.