Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley. Belle Kanaris Maniates
"The flowers, the lights, oh, it was great!" she thought. "Bud could sing like that if he was learnt. He couldn't look like that surplused boy, though. He sorter made me think of Little Eva in the play they give down to Milt's school. I wish Bud's hair was yaller and curly instead of black and straight!"
Amarilly's reminiscences next carried her to the look she had seen in the rector's eyes when he beheld Colette coming out of the church.
"It was the look Lord Algernon tried to give Lady Cecul," she thought, "only he couldn't do it, 'cause it wasn't in Him to give. And it couldn't never be in him the same as 't is in Mr. St. John and Miss King. It ain't in her yet to see what was in his eyes. Some day when she gits more feelin's, mebby 't will be, though."
When Amarilly had faithfully pictured the service to the household,
Bud's anaemic face grew eager.
"Take me with yer, Amarilly, next time, won't yer?" he pleaded.
"It's too fer. You couldn't walk, Buddy," she answered, "and we can't afford car-fare fer two both ways."
"I'll take him to-night," promised the Boarder. "We'll ride both ways, so fur as we kin. I'd like to hear a sermon now and then, especially by a young preacher."
The little family stayed up that night until the return of Bud and the
Boarder who were vociferous in approval of the service.
"It ain't much like our meetin'-house," said Bud. "It was het and lit. And the way that orgin let out! Say, Amarilly, thar wasn't no man in sight to play it! I s'pose they've got one of them things like a pianner-player. Them surplused boys sung fine!"
"He give us a fine talk," reported the Boarder. "I've allers thought if a man paid a hundred cents on the dollar, 't was all that was expected of him. But I believe it's a good idee to go to church and keep your conscience jogged up so it won't rust. I'll go every Sunday, mebby, and take Bud so he kin larn them tunes."
"I never go to no shows nor nuthin'!" wailed Cory.
"I'll take you next time," soothed Amarilly. "I kin work you'se off on the kinductor as under age, I guess, if you'll crouch down."
CHAPTER VI
Monday's mops and pails broke in upon the spell of Amarilly's spiritual enchantment to some extent, but remembrance of the scenic effects lingered and was refreshed by the clothes-line of vestal garb which manifested the family prosperity, and heralded to the neighborhood that the Jenkins's star was in the ascendant.
"Them Jenkinses," said Mrs. Hudgers, who lived next door, "is orful stuck up sence they got the sudsin' of them surpluses."
This animadversion was soon conveyed to Amarilly, who instantly and freely forgave the critic.
"She's old and rheumatic," argued the little girl. "She can't git to go nowhars, and folks that is shut in too long spiles, jest like canned goods. Besides, her clock has stopped. Nobody can't go on without no clock."
Out of pity for the old woman's sequestered life, Amarilly was wont to relate to her all the current events, and it was through the child's keen, young optics that Mrs. Hudgers saw life. An eloquent and vivid description of St. Mark's service was eagerly related.
"I allers thought I'd like to see them Episcopals," she remarked regretfully. "Ef church air wa'n't so bad fer my rheumatiz, I'd pay car-fare jest to see it onct. I was brung up Methodist though."
This desire suggested to Amarilly's fertile little brain a way to make a contribution to John Meredith's pet missionary scheme, whose merits he had so ardently expounded from the pulpit.
"I'll hev a sacrud concert like the one he said they was goin' to hev to the church," she decided.
She was fully aware of the sensation created by the Thursday clothes-line of surplices, and she resolved to profit thereby while the garments were still a novelty. Consequently the neighborhood was notified that a sacred concert by a "surplused choir" composed of members of the Jenkins household, assisted by a few of their schoolmates, would be given a week from Wednesday night. This particular night was chosen for the reason that the church washing was put to soak late on a Wednesday.
There was a short, sharp conflict in Amarilly's conscience before she convinced herself it would not be wrong to allow the impromptu choir to don the surplices of St. Mark's.
"They wouldn't spile 'em jest awearin' 'em onct," she argued sharply, for Amarilly always "sassed back" with spirit to her moral accuser. "'Tain't as if they wa'n't agoin' into the wash as soon as they take 'em off. Besides," as a triumphant clincher, "think of the cause!"
Amarilly had heard the Boarder and a young socialist exchanging views, and she had caught this slogan, which was a tempting phrase and adequate to whitewash many a doubtful act. It proved effectual in silencing the conscience which Amarilly slipped back into its case and fastened securely.
She held nightly rehearsals for the proposed entertainment. After the first the novelty was exhausted, and on the next night there was a falling off in attendance, so the young, director diplomatically resorted to the use of decoy ducks in the shape of a pan of popcorn, a candy pull, and an apple roast. By such inducements she whipped her chorus into line, ably assisted by Bud, who had profited by his attendance at St. Mark's.
The Jenkins dwelling was singularly well adapted for a public performance, as, to use Mrs. Wint's phraseology, "it had no insides." The rooms were partitioned off by means of curtains on strings. These were taken down on the night of the concert. So the "settin'-room," the "bedroom off" and the kitchen became one. Seats were improvised by means of boards stretched across inverted washtubs.
At seven o'clock on the night set for the concert the audience was solemnly ushered in by the Boarder. No signs of the performers were visible, but sounds of suppressed excitement issued from the woodshed, which had been converted into a vestry.
Presently the choir, chanting a hymn, made an impressive and effective entrance. To Amarilly's consternation this evoked an applause, which jarred on her sense of propriety.
"This ain't no show, and it ain't no time to clap," she explained to the
Boarder, who cautioned the congregation against further demonstration.
Flamingus read a psalm in a sing-song, resonant voice, and then Amarilly announced a hymn, cordially inviting the neighbors to "jine in." The response was lusty-lunged, and there was a unanimous request for another tune. After Amarilly had explained the use to which the collection was to be put, Gus passed a pie tin, while an offertory solo was rendered by Bud in sweet, trebled tones.
The sacred concert was pronounced a great success by the audience, who promptly dispersed at its close. While the Boarder was shifting the curtains to their former positions, and Mrs. Jenkins and Amarilly were busily engaged in divesting the choir of their costumes, the front door opened and disclosed a vision of loveliness in the form of Colette.
"I knocked," she explained apologetically to the Boarder, "but no one heard me. Are the family all away?"
"They are in the woodshed. Walk right out," he urged hospitably.
Colette stepped to the door and, on opening it, gazed in bewilderment at the disrobing choir.
"These are not St. Mark's choir-boys, are they?" she asked wonderingly.
Mrs. Jenkins felt herself growing weak-kneed. She looked apprehensively at Amarilly, who stepped bravely to the front with the air of one who feels that the end justifies the means.
"It was fer him—fer Mr. St. John I done it," she began in explanation, and then she proceeded to relate the particulars of her scheme and its accomplishment.
She had but just finished this narrative when suddenly in the line of her