Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley. Belle Kanaris Maniates
Amarilly shook her determined little head resolutely.
"We can't afford it," she said decisively. "I'd stay to hum afore I'd spend anything on extrys now when we're aketchin' up and layin' by."
"'Twould be good bookkeepin' fer you ter go," spoke up Flamingus. "You see the preacher's givin' us his business, and we'd orter return the favor and patrynize his church. You've gotter hustle to hold trade arter you git it these days. It's up to you ter go, Amarilly." Mrs. Jenkins looked proudly at her eldest male offspring.
"I declare, Flamingus, you've got a real business head on you jest like your pa hed. He's right, Amarilly. 'Twouldn't be treating Mr. Meredith fair not ter go, and it's due him that you go right, so he won't be ashamed of you. I'll rig you up some way."
The costuming of Amarilly in a manner befitting the great occasion was an all-absorbing affair for the next few days. Finally, by the combination of Mrs. Jenkins's industry and Amarilly's ingenuity, aided by the Boarder and the boys, an elaborate toilet was devised and executed. Milton donated a "shine" to a pair of tan shoes, the gift of the girl "what took a minor part." Mrs. Jenkins looked a little askance at the "best skirt" of blue which had shrunk from repeated washings to a near-knee length, but Amarilly assured her that it was not as short as the skirts worn by the ballet girls. She cut up two old blouses and fashioned a new, bi-colored waist bedizened with gilt buttons. The Boarder presented a resplendent buckle, and Flamingus provided a gawdy hair-ribbon.
The hat was the chief difficulty. On week days she wore none, but of course St. Mark's demanded a headgear of some kind, and at last Mrs. Jenkins triumphantly produced one of Tam o' Shanter shape manufactured from a lamp mat and adorned with some roses bestowed by the leading lady. The belligerent locks of the little scrub-girl refused to respond to advances from curling iron or papers, but one of the neighbors whose hair was a second cousin in hue to Amarilly's amber tresses, loaned some frizzes, which were sewed to the brim of the new hat. The problem of hand covering was solved by Mr. Vedder, as a pair of orange-tinted gloves had been turned in at the box-office by an usher, and had remained unclaimed. They proved a perfect fit, and were the supreme triumph of the bizarre costume.
Not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed in splendor greater than that displayed by Amarilly when she set forth on Sunday morning for St. Mark's. Promptness was ever Amarilly's chief characteristic, and she arrived long in advance of the ushers. This gave her an opportunity to sample several pews before finally selecting one whose usual occupants, fortunately, were out of the city.
The vastness and stillness of the edifice, disturbed now and then by silken rustle and soft-shod foot were bewildering to Amarilly. She experienced a slight depression until the vibrating tones of the organ fell softly upon the air. The harmony grew more subdued, ceased, and was succeeded by another moment of solemn silence. Then a procession of white-robed choristers came down the aisle, their well-trained voices ringing out in carolling cadence.
"Them's the chorus," thought Amarilly.
Entranced, she listened to the service, sitting upright and very still. The spiritual significance of the music, the massing of foliage and flowers in the chancel, the white altars with their many lighted candles, were very impressive to the little wide-eyed worshipper.
"Their settin's is all right," she said to herself critically, "and it ain't like the theayter. It's—"
A sudden revealing light penetrated the shadows of her little being.
"This is the real thing!" she acknowledged.
There was only one disappointment to mar the perfection. She felt quite aggrieved that Mr. Meredith—or Mr. St. John as she still called him in her thoughts—did not "come on" in the first act.
"Mebby he don't hev the leadin' part to-day," she thought disappointedly, as a callow youth, whose hair was pompadoured and whose chin receded, began to read the lessons for the day. Amarilly was kept in action by her effort to follow the lead of the man in front of her.
"It's hard to know jest when to set or stand or pray, but it keeps things from draggin'," she thought, "and thar's no chanct to git sleepy. It keeps me jest on the hump without no rayhearsal fer all this scene shiftin'."
Her little heart quickened in glad relief when the erect form of John
Meredith ascended the pulpit to deliver the sermon.
"That other one was jest the understudy," she concluded.
The sermon, strong, simple, and sweet like John himself, was delivered in a rich, modulated voice whose little underlying note of appeal found entrance to many a hard-shell heart. The theology was not too deep for the attentive little scrubber to comprehend, and she was filled with a longing to be good—very good. She made ardent resolutions not to "jaw" the boys so much, and to be more gentle with Iry and Go. Her conscience kept on prodding until she censured herself for not mopping the corners at the theatre more thoroughly.
At the conclusion of the sermon the rector with a slight tremor in his mellifluous voice pronounced the benediction. Amarilly's eyes shone with a light that Lord Algernon's most eloquent passages could never have inspired.
The organ again gave forth its rich tones, and a young, fair-haired boy with the face of a devotee arose and turned toward the congregation, his face uplifted to the oaken rafters. A flood of sunshine streamed through the painted window and fell in long slanting rays upon the spiritual face. The exquisite voice rose and fell in silvery cadence, the soft notes fluting out through the vast space and reaching straight to Amarilly's heart which was beating in unison to the music. "Oh," she thought wistfully, "if Pete Noyes was only like him!"
She responded to the offertory with a penny, which lay solitary and outlawed on the edge of a contribution plate filled with envelopes and bank bills. The isolated coin caught the eye of the young rector as he received the offerings, and his gaze wandered wonderingly over his fashionable congregation. It finally rested upon the small, eager-eyed face of his washerwoman's daughter, and a look of angelic sweetness came into his brown eyes with the thought: "Even the least of these!"
Colette, statuesque and sublime, caught the flash of radiance that illumined the face of her pastor, and her heart-strings responded with a little thrill.
There was another fervent prayer in low, pleading tones, after which followed the recessional, the choir-boys chanting their solemn measures.
Amarilly in passing out saw John, clad in a long, tight-fitting black garment, standing at the church door.
"He's got another costume fer the afterpiece," she thought admiringly. "He must be a lightning change artist like the one down to the vawdyveel that Pete was tellin' of!"
Then two wonderful, heart-throbbing things happened. John took Amarilly's saffron-clad hand in his and told her in earnest, convincing tones how glad he was that she had come, and that he should look for her every Sunday.
"He held up the hull p'rade fer me!" she thought exultingly.
As he was speaking to her his gaze wandered away for a second; in that infinitesimal space of time there came into his eyes a dazzling flash of light that was like a revelation to the sharp-eyed little girl, who, following the direction of his glance, beheld Colette. Then came the second triumph. Colette, smiling, shook hands with her and praised her attire.
"Did you like the service, Amarilly?" she whispered. "Was it like the theatre?"
"It was diffrent," said Amarilly impressively. "I think it's what heaven is!"
"And did you like the sermon St. John preached?"
Amarilly's lips quivered.
"I liked it so much, I liked him so much, I'd ruther not talk about it."
Colette stooped and kissed the freckled little face, to the utter astonishment of those standing near and to the complete felicity of John Meredith, who was a witness of the little scene though he did not hear the conversation.
Amarilly walked homeward, her uplifted face radiant with