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% STORM AND CALM.
All day the angry southwind roaring past,
With warm, tumultuous showers of fitful
rain,
Battled upon my streaming window pane,
And through the autumn woodlands driving
fast.
Stripped off and whirled into the air the last
Few wthered leaves. On the wide misty
plain
The bell, the whistle and the rumbling train
Were silenced in the thunder of the blast.
Now all is still. A few faint wandering sighs
Alone. The patient trees, though robbed and
shorn,
Lift their bare arms and greet the sunset light
Flashing on spires and windows, while the
skies
Glow with the promise of a starlit night,
And the calm sunrise of a radiant morn.
— C. P. Cranch, in Scribner.
SUSY’S BLUE GINGHAM.
The House Committee on Ways and
Means was in session The house be
longed in to John Van Vechten, and stood,
its old-fashioned whiteness, with its
gable end to the road. In front of the
wing •‘stoop,” was what John always called
of his far perhaps the only reminiscence
away Dutch ancestry. The
stoop was the < ommittee-room, and the
committee consi-ted of John, his wife
and their sister Anna.
It was early June, and nine o’clock of
a discussing bright moonlight night, and. they were
whether or not Susy should
go to the seashore for two months. Anna
had brought the question with her from
her school in town. “As I told you,”
she now said. “Superintendent Felton
had invited the Governor to visit the
school that day, and, of course, we were
Ml in a flutter. That is, inside. Cut
side, the school was in beautiful order.
Miss Forsyth, my assistant, knows Gov¬
ernor Fairfax very well. She was a
friend of his wife’s before she died,
several years ago. In fact, she is to go
to little Spruce Beach this summer with his
girl, to mother, you know. She
would give Sue the best of care.”
“If I could see her,” began Mrs. Van
Vechten, doubtfully.
I “I can arrange that. I know Miss
here.” Forsyth would bring Alice Fa'rfax
“But how did he know you were any
relation to Susy?”
“That came about very naturally.
Miss Forsyth introduced me as Miss Van
Vechten, and Mr. Fairfax remarked that
he met a little girl named Van Vechten
under rather peculiar circumstances last
summer. He told me a little of the
story, and I knew the heroine must be
our Susy, for I had heard something of
the same sort before. And in a few days
Miss Forsyth told me about this plan.
I do hope you will let Sue go!”
“But we don’t know Governor Fair¬
fax, Anna.”
“Neither do I—much.” Aunt Anna’s
face blushed and changed in the moon
light, her and an inward protest went with
words. “But I do know Miss For¬
syth, and Susy couldn’t possibly be in
better hands for two months.”
“And make next summer without
any seashore harder than this summer
with it!”
bright-eyed “No, indeed, it will not!” The
little woman spoke posi
tivel,v._ that kind “Our of stuff. little girl Widen is not made of
a life once,
and it stays wider, and so can take in
more, wherever it is.”
Mts. Van Yechten’s face looked puz¬
zled, but not. ill-pleased.
“she hasn’t anything to wear, Anna.”
“I never expected to live long enough
to hear you say that! It does my com
monplace soul good 1 But, seriously, I’ll
lake care of that, if you will let me. In
fact, it is already taken care of. Tell
me I may tell her to-morrow, Mary.”
“I suppose you may,” answered the
mother, doubtfully, as her sister lighted
a night-lamp. “We shall
have our summer in a light¬
house yet, mother, said John, cheerily,
after Anna had gone upstairs. That is,
if 1 can find a lighthouse to let.”
Mr. Van Vechten was not a typical
American farmer. His nose was not un¬
familiar with the smell of new books. He
really liked the outside of the kitchen
best for his wife, and the outside of the
hou c better still. To that end she was
never_witho.it “the infernal regions,” a deputy in what he called
if it were in his
power to obtain one; but the capital was
not quite in proportion to the number of
acres, so the coast of Maine, which their
Western souls longed for, was, as yet, an
impossible luxury.
Aunt Anna sat on the stoop next morn¬
ing, little with girl a pieee horseback, of dainty work, wearing when
a on a
rather short long-skirt of dark blue,
dashed up to the gate, and rcund to the
barn, with from which she presently came
a parcel.
“You’ve never toldmethe story of how
you came by your pony, Sue. ’’
“Haven’t I? Kutyouknow?”
“Yes, in a sort of way, but not very
well. Tell me all about it alter you take
off your habit.”
“All right!” called the little girl, al¬
ready disappearing within the doorway.
“If mother doesn’t want me I will.”
“To begin with, Aunt. Anna, I just
hate blue ginghams! Sometimes I feel
like a whole charity school. If mother
would only let me have calico, then this
summer’s dresses wouldn’t be just ex¬
last actly like last summer’s. Well, it was
Fourth of July; ‘Forch o’ Duly,'
Danny calls it.
“I went over to Kate Stevens’s in the
morning, white and she had the beautifulest
dress on! It was just full of trim¬
and ming, ruffles and tucks and emboidery,
she had a Roman sash, and bangs.
It was mean, wasn’t it? She waited till
the night before, after school, so the girls
wouldn’t
banged so she'd look her best.
“Don’t you think a dress is prettier the
do, more and trimming there is on it? Well, I
Kate's was lovely! You see, I
had on my everlasting blue gingham,but
1 hadn’t thought a word about it. The
leaves danced about so, and the sun
shone so bright, and I had been 50 busy
cracking time my torpedoes,that I just hadn’t
to think whether I looked well
enough to go to the Fourth.
“You ought to have seen these steps!
I wished I hadn’t cracked so many when
mother made me sweep them up, and
Danny kept throwing on the clean spots
just as fast as I swept.
“Mamma had put up the lunch. We
had ham sandwiches. I helped chop
the harn, because the knife was sharp; if
it had been dull,I wouldn’t have wanted
to. And jelly cake, and hard boiled
eggs; and cold coffee in a jug, with the
cream and sugar all in. Mother lets me
have that Christmas and Thanksgiving
and Fourth of July and such days. And
ginger-snaps. “That morning had watched the
we
man go past with the cans of water and
the ice for the lemonade, and another
roan with his load all done up in
blankets. That was the ice cream, you
know. They do me up in blankets in
winter to keep me warm, and the ice
cream in summer to keep it cool. I don’t
see why, do you?”
“I had twenty-five cents to spend, too,
that I earned myself raking the yard.
Danny can’t, he’s so little. Well, I
couldn’t keep still till it was time to
start, so I arked mother if I couldn’t go
down to Kate Stevens’s, and they could
take me in when they went by. Kate
Stevens’s houses is that big one you can
see down the road.
“When I got there, Kate said: ‘Why,
Susy Van Vechten, are you going to the
Fourth in your blue gingham? I’ve got
a new dress.’
minute, “That spoiled my good time all in a
and my throat got a big i ump in
it. Queer, isn t it? Does your throat
choke up when you want to cry, Aunt
Anna? I don’t see where the choke comes
from. But 1 didn’t want her to know I
felt badly, so I answered right off: all,
and “ that ‘I’m is not going to the Fourth at ging
why I’ve got on my blue
gam.’ “And it for I wasn’t. I had
was true,
just made up my mind. Mother said
afterward that it was not quite true, for
I had it wrong end foremost. I couldn’t
go with that choke in my throat. Well,
I stayed around till our folks came, and
then went out quick and told mother
that I did not want to go to the picnic,
and if she’d please give me the key, I’d
go back home.
“Mother looked astonished for a
minute, but Kate Stevens came running
out, and called her to see her new dress,
and then I think she knew, for she did
not look She suprised any the more, key, but and only told
sorry. gave me of all there
me that there was some was
in the basket left at home, and that I
could have it for my dinner.
“Then she whispered to me that she
had a book for my b rthday, and that it
was under the sheets in the lower bureau
drawer. I did not care one speck for the
book. I was thinking so much and found about
Kate’s new dress; but 1 went
it the first minute I got home, and then
I forgot all about everything. I tell you
my mother knows so much!’’
“It was all about those old Greeks
and Romans. That’s whyr I called my
pony Pegasus. I named him first ‘The
call Flying him Horse for of the Prairie,’ but now I
“I read ‘Peg’ and short. and
of the picnic, on but od, I never hungry thought "by
was
eleven o’clock, I always do get hungry
quicker when there’s something good to
eat; don’t you? Mother won’t let me
bring a book to the table, but I had a
good time that day, for I just rocked and
ate my sandwiches and read about
Achilles.
“When I was a little girl I used to
wonder whether I would rather marry a
man who kept, a candy store, or one who
kept mind. a book store. I couldn’t make up
my Which would you? And I
thought little if I could only find one with a
confectioner's shop back of the
books, I would be perfectly happy; but
I’m not so silly now.
and “Pretty soon I happened to look up,
I saw a blue smoke over the corner
of Mr. Stevens’s corn barn. And I
thought Portland, of fire-crackers, and the city of
where Prudy Parlin’s house
was burned up, and I knew Jim Stevens
had his out there that morning.
“Then I ran 1 The woodshed was just
blazing, little and the kitchen had caught a
on one corner. And then I thought
of Davy Stevens!”
“Who is that? You have not said
anything Anna. about him before,” asked Aunt
“Oh, it’s their lame boy. He can’t
walk a step—not one step. At least he
couldn’t; he’s getting better now. Just
as quick as I opened the kitchen door,he
called out that he was so gl id I’d come,
and what was that dreadful smoke? And
there he was lying on his cot by the
kitchen window, and just choking. .
“He told me to run down the road
and get some men, but I said I had to get
him out first; and he thought I couldn’t,
and I did not know as I could, but I
knew that kitchen would burn before I
could go to the grove and get back
again. began the
“I to, push cot, but it was
too shaky, and I thought of the wheel¬
barrow. I wheeled it in and put it right
at the end of the bed. It was one of t his
kind like a cradle, sidewise, you know.
I laid a pillow in it, and then just pulled
him straight on. I suppose it almost
killed him. He helped himself a little
with his hands, though.”
“I wonder how yon dared try it, Sue,”
said Aunt Anna, quietly, but with a
sparkle in her eye.
“Dare! I didn’t dare. I was as afraid
as I could be. But there wasn’t any¬
door, thing else to do, auntie. It was a wide
but I hurt .his foot dreadfully get¬
ting him through, and he fainted. How
he looked with his head hanging down
on one side and his feet on the other! i
just put him ou the other side of the
wind, so the smoke wouldn't choke him,
and ran down the road as fast as I could
go. Aunt Anna, I was never so hot in
my life!
“When I got there, there was a man
speaking In minute and throwing Stevens his arms about.
a I saw Mr. on the end
of a bench. So I told him as still as I
could that his house was on fire.. But he
just and shouted everybody and followed rushed him. for his "’horses,
“Mrs. Stevens said something real
quick about Davy, and ian too. The
man that was who speaking do came down, and
Aunt Anna, you think it was?
“The governor!
“I thought he would be dreadfully
angry with me for making such a dis¬
turbance in his meeting, but he wasn’t,
and got in father's wagon and rode with
us down to Mr. Stevens’s. When we got
there, there was a whole line of men
from the well to the house, and they
were pumping water and handing pails
from one to another just as fast as they
could. But there wasn’t much left of
the kitchen.”
Anna. “Where was Davy?” asked Annt
“Oh, dear me 1 He was on a bed they
had brought out, and the doctor was
pulling him around and talking about
‘the shock to the system.’ He was not
faint any more and he smiled a little
weak kind of smile, and said I’d given
him a ride for the Fourth of July.
Stevens “By-and-by the and fire shook was out, and Mr.
came hands with
me, and the Governor stood up in a
wagon and said he would make them a
little supplementry speech. What is
remembered ‘supplementary,’ that Aunt word. Anna? And I’ve he said just
maybe they didn’t all know why the
whole house wasn’t burned down, and
Davy in it. And then he told them.”
“Told them what?”
“Why—about—what I did, you know.
I was so ashamed 1 And then Mr.
Stevens lifted me into the wagon, and
the crowd cheered.”
“What did you think about, Susy?”
“Well. Aunt Anna, I was a little
afraid that my face wag dirty, running
so fast- in all that dust; anil I was—
it’s silly, I know, but I was—I mean
I didn’t exactly like to stand up there
with that bluegingham on. And father
asked him home to supper. Just think!
the Governorand he talked with mamma
ever so long. That’s all, auntie.”
like “Well, my deav, your story is rather
the oid saying about ‘the play of
Hamlet, with the part of Hamlet
omitted, by special request.
“Why?” asked Susy, wonderingly.
“I haven’t heard anything about the
pony.”
“So you haven’t. About two weeks
after Mr. Stevens came over one morn¬
ing with him. He had a beautiful side¬
saddle on and Mr. Stevens said he was
Davy's present to me. He didn’t bring
him over right away, he explained, be¬
cause he wanted to have him broken ‘to
the feel of skirts.’ Don’t you think
that’s a funny way to say it? Father
didn’t want me to keep him at first, but
I did beg so hard, and now he is my
lovely, lovely Peg!”
“And how is Davy?”
“That’s the strangest part of it! He's
really getting better. He lias even walked
two or three steps lately.”
“I have a letter for you, Susy,” said
Aunt Anna, taking it out of her pocket.
It was a large, square, white envelope
whtch Susy opened in a flutter and read
“Who is Charley W. Fairfax?” and
before Aunt Anna could answer, “‘My
obedient servant,’ how queer! What
does that mean? Oh, will mother let
me go?”
“Mr. Fairfax is your Governor, Susy,
and I suppose from his letter he is rather
an old-fashioned gentlemen—but that
means the most perfect of all gentle¬
men,” replied Aunt Anna, with a bright
look.
“But will mother”—
“Yes, mother will, Dame Durden, or
I should never have told you. And I’ve
brought you some dresses and things.
Come up to my room.”
“You are better than a fairy god¬
mother, Aunt Anna!” exclaimed Susy,
as she sprang up the stairs, three steps at
a time.
Nothing had ever seemed so full of
interest to her before as the outside of
Aunt Anna’s sole-leather trunk.
“O Aunt Anna! If I’m to go, how I
would like a trunk like yours!”
“You may take this one if you like.
And here’s your bag.”
It was real alligator-skin, but Susy did
not know that. She did not say a word,
but sank down on the floor with a long
sigh of content. dresses?”
“Don’t you want to see your
“Dresses! Oh! I haven’t got as far
as dresses, Aunt Anna.”
But Miss Van Vechten proceeded to
take out and unfold —a grayish-blue
seersucker trimmed with embroidery of
its own shade, a soft, leaf-brown wool,
of dainty fineness, checked off with and with just
one line of the same fady blue,
silken and lights laid white into lawn, all the sheer shadows; and
lastly, a it
beautiful, with enough lace about to
soften ali the edges.
“There, dear, which will you try on
first?”
Aunt Anna began to answer her own
question by taking up the brown. She
went on talking. Forsyth had the buy¬
“You see, Miss
ing of Alice Fairfax’s dresses for the
summer, and she got three for her very
similar to these.”
Wise Aunt Anna! She had been a
little girl herself dressed on not too
abundant means.
“Of course, we did not get things
alike,” Aunt Anna went on, “but they
are of the same kind after all.” If Sue .
had been drawn by wild horses she would
not have asked what Alice Fairfax was
going to wear that summer, but she
wanted to know, and her aunt, like a
loving little woman as she was, knew just
how much she wanted to know.
I do not know the seashore story. To
tell the truth, I am acquainted with the
sands, the sunshine, and the umbrellas,
only through the hearsay of verse and
novel. But I know that the Hon.
himself. Charles Fairfax Miss Forsyth, brought he said, Susy had home
an
engagement to meet before the school
year opened. he did be in
Having come, not seem to
a hurry about going away again. the Two
days he loitered about under trees
with Aunt Anna, while Susy’s busy
mother, glancing out in amused fashion,
remarked to her husband that she began
to suspect that there was a method in
His Excellency’s madness
One brilliant morning in the following
June, a group of people under the trees