Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27. THE TOURAINS. The Tourains had come and were about saddled in their new quarters, saddled as much as persons of their bohemian characteristics ever could be saddled. Hank avoided them consistently, but he was secretly in a state of absolute content and
delight at their proximity. The summer was now nearly over, the new house was completed, all but the finishing touches, and one Saturday afternoon he was roaming from room to room, his old clothes on, a cap on the back of his head, the expression of his face beatific and intense. They say all folks have cares, he was so loquising.
I ain't got one, maybe some are on the way, but I hope not. I say they're having an uncommon gay time over there, and he approached one of the windows that overlooked the Tourain's lawn. It was a pretty lawn, green and fresh, and extensive for so small a house, and in the centre was a group of trees.
Under these trees a small table was set. Afternoon tea, continued Hank, scarcely heard of such a thing, till these folks came. According to them, it is as important as breakfast, dinner or supper. At the table sat Miss Tourain, pouring tea in tiny cups, while her brother stood waiting to pass them to their guests.
My land, Hank went on, if she ain't got all my family over there, even to Dodge and Grappler, who are googling through the hedge. They were indeed all there. Grandpa sat in a cushioned chair, a broad smile on his face, while the tiny Lola, the baby of the family, danced and pantomimed before him.
So clever a mimic was the child that Hank could plainly understand the story she was telling. An hour before Hank had seen two men stop their buggies in front of the cottage of gentility, jump out and proceed to make a bargain in trading horses. The baby was going through the whole thing in pantomime.
She pulled up an imaginary horse with a jerk of her pink fists, sprang out of an imaginary buggy, slapped her crossed fingers in the palm of her hand and pointed to an imaginary pocket. She imitated first one man, then the other. One made his bargain with his feet far apart, the other stood with his close together.
Finally the affair was closed. She paid out an imaginary sum of money, sprang into an imaginary buggy and drove away. The Lola was cackling delightedly and was the baby's only spectator, for the others were so used to her tricks that they scarcely paid any attention to her. Tilda Jane and Perletta sat side by side, both very stiff and very proper.
They were fresh from their lesson with the erratic young lady, who took them at all hours of the day, sometimes not till late at night. But they always get their instruction, I notice, murmured Hank, if she keeps them till midnight. Ain't Perletta a peacock? She thinks she's got one of her big feet in society.
My good girl, every one ain't as frolicsome and easy going as that yellow-haired young lady. What's Aunt Melinda doing? He burst out laughing. A man with a hurdy-gurdy had come along the road and seeing this gay party on the lawn
was favoring them with his whole repertoire. Aunt Melinda, inspired by the sound of the music, had set her cup of tea on the grass and catching up her skirts, had begun dancing up and down and across the lawn. The Lola, not to be a done, seized her little frilled petticoats and tripped to and fro on her tiny toes, followed by her barking fox-terrier, merry wags, poacher and handy-handy,
while Una peaked timidly from behind Tilda Jane's chair and emitted faint yelps of excitement. There's Mr. Hank! Called Miss Terrain's merry voice suddenly. I see him spying at us from an upper window. Bertrand, please go bring him down.
It's a shame for him to be alone this lovely afternoon, a holiday too. The young man, in the white flannel suit, turned round, caught sight of the skulking Hank, deposited the cup he was holding on the table and with the dancing step that kept time to the music, hurried toward his neighbor's house. Come on over, he said after he had run nimbly upstairs and had cornered Hank.
I can't. I've on my old clothes. Never mind that. We're not slaves to fashion. You must excuse me, said Hank firmly.
Bertrand took him by the arm. Look here, old fellow, he said gravely. Ever since we came to this house, you've overwhelmed us with favors. You've lent us things, let your adopted sister give us drives, and my sister thinks it very odd that you don't come and call.
Go change your clothes if you don't want to come this way. I will wait for you. I can't go, said Hank, but his tone was weakening. I'll sit here till you're ready, said Bertrand coolly, and drawing out a little pocket mirror he began to arrange his mustache.
Hank grinned and fled down the staircase, saying, I'll be back in a minute. He donned his best suit of clothes in his quarters in the barn and was speedily back again. Bertrand escorted him over to the lawn and Mr. Raine held out a friendly hand to him from behind the tea table.
Come here, neighbor, said by me, and I'll give you a cup of tea. How's all your care? asked Hank politely, after she had put the cup in his hand. Oh, this family is all quite well, said Mr. Raine with a smile. You sound as merry as crickets, Hank went on. We're all young in our ways in this house, she said with a shake of her light head.
All but Faisal, she added, as the elderly maid appeared in the doorway of the house. Some more hot water, Faisal, then she continued. Look at Aunt there, and she nodded toward the old lady who had sunk on the grass in a state of exhaustion. One would think she was twenty.
How is Perlaea getting on with her studies? asked Hank, glancing toward the big girl who sat a little away from them, still in her condition of solemn content. Progressively, said Mr. Raine gaily, you can't make a bird of paradise out of a state of Maine barnfowl in a day. But will the fowl ever make the bird of paradise? he asked keenly.
The girl shrugged her shoulders, I doubt it. Then is it worthwhile to try? What else could you do? You don't want to destroy the poor fowl's illusions. Let her learn by experience.
If you're contented to try to improve her plumage, I'm agreeable, said Hank. It's none of my business anyway, but I'm glad of the chance to thank you for the pains you're taking with Tilda. Tilda Jane is delicious, said the girl in a low voice. Her ambitions are sensible and pathetic.
Her letter is different. I just scream over her. I wouldn't have missed teaching her for a kingdom. By the way, she says you want a new maid as soon as you move in your house. Faisal has a niece in the country who wishes to come to town.
Would you try her? Is she an orphan? asked Hank anxiously. I don't know. Why do you ask? Well, I don't much hanker for more orphans.
Faisal said the young lady, is your niece an orphan? Her pa and ma was living last week, said Faisal gloomily. Then we'll try her, said Hank cheerily. Let us know when she comes and we'll see her. Look at that child, Hank, cried Tilda Jane suddenly, as she sat with the dooring eyes
fixed on the beautiful Lola. The little one was walking in a stiff, dignified manner over the lawn. Mr. Waysmith is somewhere near, said Mr. Rain. Her remark was superfluous, for everyone saw that the amusing child was mimicking the walk of their friend the merchant.
She had caught sight of him away down the road, and in a flash her slow walk turned into a run and she scampered down the road to meet him and the dilatory muffles. He is a good man, said Hank, under his breath as his employer appeared at the gate. Yes, replied Mr. Rain, who had caught his remark, and he is so reticent about his goodness that he is often misunderstood.
Look at the expression of his face. Isn't it like, bless you, my children? It is, said Hank, getting up and standing a little aside as Mr. Waysmith came up the walk. A few minutes later the Dillson family, humans and dogs, as Hank said, were wending their
way home. Hank, said Tilda Jane, isn't there something in the Bible about it being a pleasant thing for brethren to dwell together in unity? I guess there is, Sissy, it sounds familiar. We're all happy now, said the little girl contentedly, and I don't believe our family
boat is going to run against any more snags, so maybe as Proletta is settled we ought to adopt another orphan. Hank stopped short and planted both feet firmly on the path. Now look here, Tilda, enough is as good as a feast. I've helped comfort two orphans.
I've done my duty, and we'll draw the line there. The little girl laughed mischievously and added, except orphan dogs. You don't know how many Mr. Waysmith may fetch us. There ain't so much responsibility about dogs, said Hank with determination. There is with humans.
They've got souls, excuse me. I must give Dad an arm to his bower. He's walking a bit shaky. He's laughing at something Proletta has said, replied Tilda Jane. Hank, I'll never stop being glad that you let me bring another orphan girl here.
I wouldn't undo it exactly, said Hank, but as I said before, we'll close the series with this one. What with me and Grandpa and Proletta, not to mention the dogs and other critters, you have enough orphans on your hands now. So long life to all of Tilda Jane's orphans, and may Proletta be the last. That's for Providence to say, murmured the little girl, I wouldn't dare take that stand.
