Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 (5 page)

 
          
           
"Perhaps I can teach you. I think of making this my profession since I
must do something. Mademoiselle earns heaps of money by it," she said,
sitting down to rest, resolved not to be ashamed of her work or to let Fanny
pity her.

 
          
           
"I wish you COULD teach me, for I know I shall disgrace myself at the
Kirmess. You've heard about it, of course? So sorry you can't take a part, for
it's going to be great fun and very splendid. I am in the Hungarian dance, and
it's one of the hardest; but the dress is lovely, and I would be in it. Mamma
is the matron of it; so I had my way, though I know the girls don't want me,
and the boys make fun of me. Just see if this isn't the queerest step you ever
beheld!"

 
          
           
Fanny started bravely across the wide smooth floor, with a stamp, a slide, and
a twirl which was certainly odd, but might have been lively and graceful if she
had not unfortunately been a very plump, awkward girl, with no more elasticity
than a feather-bed. Jessie found it impossible not to laugh when Fanny ended
her display with a sprawl upon the floor, and sat rubbing her elbows in an
attitude of despair.

 
          
           
"I know that dance! It is the tzardas, and I can show you how it should be
done. Jump up and try it with me!" she said good-naturedly, running to
help her friend up, glad to have a partner of her own size for once.

 
          
           
Away they went, but soon stopped; for Fanny could not keep step, and
 
 Jessie pulled and stamped and
hummed in vain.
 
 

 
          
           
"Do it alone; then I can see how it goes, and manage better next
time," panted the poor girl, dropping down upon the velvet seat which ran
round the hall.

 
          
           
Mademoiselle had come in and watched them for a moment. She saw at once what
was needed, and as Mrs. Fletcher was one of her best patrons, she was glad to
oblige the oldest daughter; so she went to the piano and struck up the proper
air just as Jessie, with one arm on her hip, the other on the shoulder of an
invisible partner, went down the hall with a martial stamp, a quick slide, and
a graceful turn, in perfect time to the stirring music that made her nerves tingle
and her feet fly. To and fro, round and round, with all manner of graceful
gestures, intricate steps, and active bounds went the happy girl, quite carried
away by the music and motion of the pastime she loved so much.

 
          
           
Fanny clapped her hands with admiration, and Mademoiselle cried, "Bien,
tres bien, charmante, ma
cherie
!" as she paused
at last, rosy and smiling, with one hand on her heart and the other at her
temple with the salute that closed the dance.

 
          
           
"I MUST learn it! Do come and give me lessons at our house. I called for
Maud and must go now. Will you come, Jessie? I'll be glad to pay you if you
don't mind. I hate to be laughed at; and I know if some one would just help me
alone I should do as well as the rest, for Professor Ludwig raves at us
all."

 
          
           
Fanny seemed in such a sad strait, and Jessie sympathized so heartily with her,
that she could not refuse a request which flattered her vanity and tempted her
with a prospect of some addition to the "Sister-fund," as she called
her little savings. So she graciously consented, and after a few laborious
lessons prospered so well that her grateful pupil proposed to several other
unsuccessful dancers in the set to invite Jessie to the private rehearsals held
in various parlors as the festival drew near.

 
          
           
Some of these young people knew Jessie Delano, had missed the bright girl, and
gladly welcomed her back when, after much persuasion, she agreed to go and help
them with the difficult figures of the tzardas. Once among them she felt in her
element, and trained the awkward squad so well that Professor Ludwig
complimented them on their improvement at the public rehearsals, and raved no
more, to the great delight of the timid damsels, who lost their wits when the
fiery little man shouted and wrung his hands over their mistakes.

 
          
           
The young gentlemen needed help also, as several of them looked very much like
galvanized grasshoppers in their efforts to manage long legs or awkward elbows.
Jessie willingly danced with them, and showed them how to move with grace and
spirit, and handle their partners less like dolls and more like peasant maidens
with whom the martial Hungarians were supposed to be disporting themselves at
the fair. Merry meetings were these; and all enjoyed them, as young people do
whatever is lively, dramatic, and social. Every one was full of the brilliant
Kirmess, which was the talk of the city, and to which every one intended to go
as actor or spectator. Jessie was sadly tempted to spend three of her cherished
dollars for a ticket, and perhaps would have done so if there had been any one
to take care of her. Laura could not go, and Mr. Vane was away; no other friend
appeared, and no one remembered to invite her, so she bravely hid her girlish
longing, and got all the pleasure out of the rehearsals that she could.

 
          
           
At the last of these, which was a full-dress affair at Fanny's house, something
happened which not only tried Jessie's temper sorely, but brought her a reward
for many small sacrifices. So much dancing was very hard upon her slippers, the
new pair
were
worn out long ago, and a second pair
were in a dangerous condition; but Jessie hoped that they would last that
evening, and then she would indulge in better ones with what Fanny would pay
her. She hated to take it, but her salary at Mademoiselle's was needed at home;
all she could spare from other sources was sacredly kept for Laura's jaunt, and
only now and then did the good little girl buy some very necessary article for
herself. She was learning to be humble, to love work, and be grateful for her
small wages for her sister's sake; and while she hid her trials, withstood her
temptations, and bravely tugged away at her hard tasks, the kind Providence,
who teaches us the sweetness of adversity, was preparing a more beautiful and
helpful surprise than any she could plan or execute.

 
          
           
That night all were much
excited,
and great was the
energy displayed as the scarlet, blue, and silver couples went through the
rapid figures with unusual spirit and success. The brass-heeled boots stamped
in perfect time, the furred caps waved, and the braided jackets glittered as
the gay troop swung to and fro or marched to the barbaric music of an impromptu
band. Jessie looked on with such longing in her eyes that Fanny, who was ill
with a bad cold, kindly begged her to take her place, as motion made her cough,
and putting on the red and silver cap sent her joyfully away to lead them all.

 
          
           
The fun grew rather fast and furious toward the end, and when the dance broke
up there lay in the middle of the floor a shabby little slipper, burst at the
side, trodden down at the heel, and utterly demoralized as to the bow with a
broken buckle in it. Such a disreputable little shoe was it that no one claimed
it when one of the young men held it up on the point of his sword, exclaiming
gayly,—

 
          
           
"Where is Cinderella? Here's her shoe, and it's quite time she had a new
pair. Glass evidently doesn't wear well now-a-days."

 
          
           
They all laughed and looked about to find the shoeless foot. The girls with
small feet displayed them readily; those less blessed hid them at once, and no
Cinderella appeared to claim the old slipper. Jessie turned as red as her cap,
and glanced imploringly at Fanny as she slipped through a convenient door and
flew up-stairs, knowing that in a moment all would see that it must be hers,
since the other girls wore red boots as a part of their costume.

 
          
           
Fanny understood; and though awkward and slow with her feet, she was
kind-hearted and quick to spare her friend the mortification which a poor and
proud girl could not help feeling at such a moment. The unfortunate slipper was
flying from hand to hand as the youths indulged in a boyish game of ball to
tease the laughing girls, who hastened to disclaim all knowledge of "the
horrid thing."

 
          
           
"Please give it to me!" cried Fanny, trying to catch it, and glad
 
 Jessie was safe.
 
 

 
          
           
"No; Cinderella must come and put it on. Here's the Prince all ready to
help her," said the finder of the shoe, holding it up.

 
          
           
"And here are lots of proud sisters ready to cut off their toes and heels
if they could only get on such a small slipper," added another young
Mygar, enjoying the fun immensely.

 
          
           
"Listen, and let me tell you something. It's Jessie Delano's, and she has
run away because she lost it. Don't laugh and make fun of it, because it was
worn out in helping us. You all know what a hard time she has had, but you
don't know how
good
and brave and patient she is,
trying to help poor Laura and to earn her living. I asked her to teach me, and
I shall pay her well for it, because I couldn't have gone on if she hadn't. If
any of you feel as grateful as I do, and as sorry for her, you can show it in
any kind way you please, for it must be dreadful to be so poor."

 
          
           
Fanny had spoken quickly, and at the last Words hid the tremble in her voice
with a cough, being rather scared at what she had done on the impulse of the
moment. But it was a true impulse, and the generous young hearts were quick to
answer it. The old slipper was respectfully handed to her with many apologies
and various penitent suggestions. None were adopted just then, however, for
Fanny ran off to find Jessie with her things on waiting—for a chance to slip
away unseen. No persuasions would keep her to supper; and at last, with many
thanks, she was allowed to go, while Fanny returned to lay plans with her
guests as they disturbed their digestions with lobster salad, ice-cream, and
strong coffee.

 
          
           
Feeling more than ever like Cinderella as she hurried out into the winter
night, leaving all the good times behind her, Jessie stood waiting for a car on
the windy street-corner, with the ragged slippers under her arm, tears of
weariness and vexation in her eyes, and a resentful feeling against an unjust
fate lying heavy at her heart. The glimpses of her old gay, easy life, which
these rehearsals had given her, made the real hardship and loneliness of her
present life all the more irksome, and that night she felt as if she could not
bear it much longer. She longed with all a girl's love of gayety to go to the
Kirmess, and no one thought to invite her. She could not go alone even if she
yielded to temptation and spent her own money. Laura would have to hire a
carriage if she ventured to try it; so it was impossible, for six or seven
dollars was a fortune to the poor girls now. To have been one of the happy
creatures who were to take part in it, to dance on the green in a dainty
costume to the music of a full band,—to see and do and enjoy all the delights
of those two enchanting evenings, would have filled Jessie's cup to
overflowing. But since she might as well cry for the moon she tried to get some
comfort out of imagining it all as she rumbled home in a snowstorm, and cried
herself to sleep after giving Laura a cheerful account of the rehearsal,
omitting the catastrophe.

 
          
           
The sun shone next morning, hope woke again, and as she dressed Jessie sung to
keep her heart up,
still
trusting that some one would
remember her before the day was over. As she opened her windows the sparrows
welcomed her with shrill chirpings, and the sun turned the snow-covered vine to
a glittering network very beautiful to see as it hung like a veil of lace over
the dingy wall. Jessie smiled as she saw it, while taking a long breath of the
keen air, feeling cheered and refreshed by these familiar comforters; then with
a brave, bright glance up at the clear blue sky she went away to the day's
duties, little guessing what pleasant surprises were on their way to reward her
for the little sacrifices which were teaching her strength, patience, and
courage for greater ones by-and-by.

 
          
           
All the morning she listened eagerly for the bell, but nothing came; and at
two o'clock
she went away to the dancing-class,
saying to herself with a sigh,—

 
          
           
"Every one is so busy, it is no wonder I'm forgotten. I shall hear about
the fun in the papers, and try to be contented with that."

 
          
           
Though she never felt less like dancing, she was very patient with her little
pupils, and when the lesson was over sat resting a moment, with her head still
full of the glories of the Kirmess. Suddenly Mademoiselle came to her, and in a
few kind words gave her the first of the pleasant surprises by offering her a
larger salary, an older class, and many commendations for her skill and
faithfulness. Of course she gratefully accepted the welcome offer, and hurried
home to tell Laura, forgetting her heavy heart, tired feet, and disappointed
hopes.