The Colonel's Dream Part 11

Miss Laura had been the first to speak of the desk.

"Henry," she had said, "the house would not be complete without your father's desk. It was my father's too, but yours is the prior claim.

Take it as a gift from me."

He protested, and would have paid for it liberally, and, when she would take nothing, declared he would not accept it on such terms.

"You are selfish, Henry," she replied, with a smile. "You have brought a new interest into our lives, and into the town, and you will not let us make you any return."

"But I am taking from you something you need," he replied, "and for which you paid. When Major Treadwell bought it, it was merely second-hand furniture, sold under the hammer. Now it has the value of an antique--it is a fine piece and could be sold in New York for a large sum."

"You must take it for nothing, or not at all," she replied firmly.

"It is highway robbery," he said, and could not make up his mind to yield.

Next day, when the colonel went home, after having been down town an hour, he found the desk in his library. The Treadwell ladies had corrupted Peter, who had told them when the colonel would be out of the house and had brought a cart to take the desk away.

When the house was finished, the interior was simple but beautiful. It was furnished in the style that had been prevalent fifty years before.

There were some modern additions in the line of comfort and luxury--soft chairs, fine rugs, and a few choice books and pictures--for the colonel had not attempted to conform his own tastes and habits to those of his father. He had some visitors, mostly gentlemen, and there was, as Graciella knew, a lively curiosity among the ladies to see the house and its contents.

The suggestion of a house warming had come originally from Mrs.

Treadwell; but Graciella had promptly made it her own and conveyed it to the colonel.

"A bright idea," he replied. "By all means let it be an old-time party--say such a party as my father would have given, or my grandfather. And shall we invite the old people?"

"Well," replied Graciella judicially, "don't have them so old that they can't talk or hear, and must be fed with a spoon. If there were too many old, or not enough young people, I shouldn't enjoy myself."

"I suppose I seem awfully old to you," said the colonel, parenthetically.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Graciella, giving him a frankly critical look. "When you first came I thought you _were_ rather old--you see, you are older than Aunt Laura; but you seem to have grown younger--it's curious, but it's true--and now I hardly think of you as old at all."

The colonel was secretly flattered. The wisest man over forty likes to be thought young.

"Very well," he said, "you shall select the guests."

"At an old-time party," continued Graciella, thoughtfully, "the guests should wear old-time clothes. In grandmother's time the ladies wore long flowing sleeves----"

"And hoopskirts," said the colonel.

"And their hair down over their ears."

"Or in ringlets."

"Yes, it is all in grandmother's bound volume of _The Ladies' Book_,"

said Graciella. "I was reading it only last week."

"My mother took it," returned the colonel.

"Then you must have read 'Letters from a Pastry Cook,' by N.P. Willis when they came out?"

"No," said the colonel with a sigh, "I missed that. I--I wasn't able to read then."

Graciella indulged in a brief mental calculation.

"Why, of course not," she laughed, "you weren't even born when they came out! But they're fine; I'll lend you our copy. You must ask all the girls to dress as their mothers and grandmothers used to dress.

Make the requirement elastic, because some of them may not have just the things for one particular period. I'm all right. We have a cedar chest in the attic, full of old things. Won't I look funny in a hoop skirt?"

"You'll look charming in anything," said the colonel.

It was a pleasure to pay Graciella compliments, she so frankly enjoyed them; and the colonel loved to make others happy. In his New York firm Mr. French was always ready to consider a request for an advance of salary; Kirby had often been obliged to play the wicked partner in order to keep expenses down to a normal level. At parties debutantes had always expected Mr. French to say something pleasant to them, and had rarely been disappointed.

The subject of the party was resumed next day at Mrs. Treadwell's, where the colonel went in the afternoon to call.

"An old-time party," declared the colonel, "should have old-time amus.e.m.e.nts. We must have a fiddler, a black fiddler, to play quadrilles and the Virginia Reel."

"I don't know where you'll find one," said Miss Laura.

"I'll ask Peter," replied the colonel. "He ought to know."

Peter was in the yard with Phil.

"Lawd, Mars Henry!" said Peter, "fiddlers is mighty sca'ce dese days, but I reckon ole 'Poleon Campbell kin make you shake yo' feet yit, ef Ole Man Rheumatiz ain' ketched holt er 'im too tight."

"And I will play a minuet on your new piano," said Miss Laura, "and teach the girls beforehand how to dance it. There should be cards for those who do not dance."

So the party was arranged. Miss Laura, Graciella and the colonel made out the list of guests. The invitations were duly sent out for an old-time party, with old-time costumes--any period between 1830 and 1860 permissible--and old-time entertainment.

The announcement created some excitement in social circles, and, like all of Colonel French's enterprises at that happy period of his home-coming, brought prosperity in its train. Dressmakers were kept busy making and altering costumes for the ladies. Old Archie Christmas, the mulatto tailor, sole survivor of a once flouris.h.i.+ng craft--Mr. Cohen's Universal Emporium supplied the general public with ready-made clothing, and, twice a year, the travelling salesman of a New York tailoring firm visited Clarendon with samples of suitings, and took orders and measurements--old Archie Christmas, who had not made a full suit of clothes for years, was able, by making and altering men's garments for the colonel's party, to earn enough to keep himself alive for another twelve months. Old Peter was at Archie's shop one day, and they were talking about old times--good old times--for to old men old times are always good times, though history may tell another tale.

"Yo' boss is a G.o.dsen' ter dis town," declared old Archie, "he sho'

is. De w'ite folks says de young n.i.g.g.e.rs is triflin' 'cause dey don'

larn how to do nothin'. But what is dere fer 'em to do? I kin 'member when dis town was full er black an' yaller carpenters an' 'j'iners, blacksmiths, wagon makers, shoemakers, tinners, saddlers an' cab'net makers. Now all de fu'nicher, de shoes, de wagons, de buggies, de tinware, de hoss shoes, de nails to fasten 'em on wid--yas, an' fo' de Lawd! even de clothes dat folks wears on dere backs, is made at de Norf, an' dere ain' nothin' lef' fer de ole n.i.g.g.e.rs ter do, let 'lone de young ones. Yo' boss is de right kin'; I hopes he'll stay 'roun'

here till you an' me dies."

"I hopes wid you," said Peter fervently, "I sho' does! Yas indeed I does."

Peter was entirely sincere. Never in his life had he worn such good clothes, eaten such good food, or led so easy a life as in the colonel's service. Even the old times paled by comparison with this new golden age; and the long years of poverty and hard luck that stretched behind him seemed to the old man like a distant and unpleasant dream.

The party came off at the appointed time, and was a distinct success.

Graciella had made a raid on the cedar chest, and shone resplendent in crinoline, curls, and a patterned muslin. Together with Miss Laura and Ben Dudley, who had come in from Mink Run for the party, she was among the first to arrive. Miss Laura's costume, which belonged to an earlier date, was in keeping with her quiet dignity. Ben wore a suit of his uncle's, which the care of old Aunt Viney had preserved wonderfully well from moth and dust through the years. The men wore stocks and neckcloths, bell-bottomed trousers with straps under their shoes, and frock coats very full at the top and b.u.t.toned tightly at the waist. Old Peter, in a long blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, acted as butler, helped by a young Negro who did the heavy work. Miss Laura's servant Catherine had rallied from her usual gloom and begged the privilege of acting as lady's maid. 'Poleon Campbell, an old-time Negro fiddler, whom Peter had resurrected from some obscure cabin, oiled his rheumatic joints, tuned his fiddle and rosined his bow, and under the inspiration of good food and drink and liberal wage, played through his whole repertory, which included such ancient favourites as, "Fishers' Hornpipe," "Soldiers' Joy," "Chicken in the Bread-tray,"

and the "Campbells are Coming." Miss Laura played a minuet, which the young people danced. Major McLean danced the highland fling, and some of the ladies sang old-time songs, and war lyrics, which stirred the heart and moistened the eyes.

Little Phil, in a child's costume of 1840, copied from _The Ladies'

Book_, was petted and made much of for several hours, until he became sleepy and was put to bed.