Randy and Her Friends by Amy Brooks

A >> Amy Brooks >> Randy and Her Friends

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

So leaving Prue to trudge home with Johnny Buffum as an escort, she had
experienced great delight in seeing herself for the first time in a dainty
party gown.

"Won't mother be surprised when I try on the pretty party dress for her to
see?" thought Randy as she hurried on toward home.

Like many another bit of gossip set afloat in a country town, the story of
the letter from Boston together with descriptions of Randy's costumes
gained with every repetition, until one day on the way from the Centre,
Randy was astonished to be thus addressed,

"Wal, how be ye Randy? I hear ye're havin' a tremenjous lot er gaowns made
ter take ter Boston with ye."

The speaker was a woman whom Randy had seen but a few times, and she was
therefore surprised when the team stopped at the side of the road and its
occupant accosted her.

"It is true that mother is having Janie Clifton make some things for me,"
said Randy.

"Wal, I live on the other side er the place," the woman continued, "an' so
I'm a leetle out er the way er hearin' news, so I'd like reel well ter
know; _be_ ye goin' ter have twelve gaowns, five cloaks, an' a half er
dozen hats as they say ye be?"

"No, that isn't true," said Randy, her flushed cheeks showing that she
resented being thus questioned by a woman who was almost a stranger.
Turning, she hurried on toward home, and the curious one, giving the horse
a smart clip drove off muttering,

"Gitting uppish 'fore she gits ter Boston. Do'no what she'll be when she's
stayed there a spell."

At school, her mates were glad that Randy was to have so delightful a
winter, and many and varied were the comments and speculations regarding
it.

"It'll be stupid here without you, Randy," said Dot Marvin, "I don't know
but that we shall all go to sleep, while you're a flyin' round in the
city."

"I don't expect to do much flying," said Randy, laughing. "I shall be
working at school there instead of this school at home. You must all write
to me and tell me what you are doing, and I'll be glad enough to answer
you."

"Indeed we will," said Reuben Jenks. "Let's write Randy a long letter,
each one of us writing a part of it and send it along to Boston, just to
show her what we can do when we try."

"Oh, what fun!" said Randy, "it will seem as if you were with me when I
read a long letter in which all my friends are represented."

"Lemme print something in it, Reuben, will you? I want to be in the big
letter, too," cried little Prue.

"I guess I will let you," Reuben answered heartily. "What kind of a letter
would it be if you didn't have a hand in it, Prue?"

"I'd like to be going to Boston if it wasn't for one thing," said Molly
Wilson, "and that's those city girls."

"Oh, ho, Molly. I thought you were shy, and it ain't city girls you hanker
for? Then it must be city boys," said Reuben.

"'Tis not, Reuben Jenks," said Molly, with unusual vim; "'tis not any such
thing, it's just that I'd be 'fraid those horrid city girls were watching
everything I did and thinking me countryfied."

"Well, I shall not let that idea make me uncomfortable," said Randy,
stoutly. "I _am_ a country girl, and if they say so, they will not be
telling me anything new or surprising; beside, I think that there must be
nice girls in the city as well as among us here. I intend to like them,
and I hope that they will like me."

"They'll be precious queer girls if they don't," said Jack Marvin.

"I wanted to go to boarding school," said Phoebe Small, "but I didn't
mean a city school. Seems to me I'd rather 'twouldn't be city girls to get
acquainted with. Don't you wish they were not city girls, Randy?"

"I believe that there are just as pleasant girls in Boston as there are
here, and I look forward to meeting them," said Randy.

She spoke bravely and truthfully, yet afterward when in her little chamber
the conversation recurred to her, Randy found herself wondering if the
meeting between herself and these girls who were to be her classmates
during her stay in Boston would, after all, be as delightful as she had
fondly believed.

Randy's pleasure at the thought of meeting them had been genuine, and so
friendly and sincere was she, that until the idea was suggested by Dot
Marvin it had never occurred to her that the meeting could be aught but
delightful.

"I ought not to think that there could be anything which is not charming
where Miss Dayton is, and I believe I'm silly to let Dot's remarks make
me the least bit uneasy. I'll start intending to like every girl I meet,
and who knows? Perhaps I shall," she said with a laugh, and a nod at her
happy face reflected in the tiny mirror.

During all the planning and preparation for Randy's departure, Prue had
been eager to see the pretty new dresses, had insisted upon seeing the
hats and gloves, and had talked of little else at home or at school.
Indeed, the little girl had been so happy in the thought of the promised
pleasure for her sister, that she had not seemed to realize how much the
parting would really mean.

But when the morning arrived on which Randy was to start, and dressed in
her smart gray suit she stood waiting for her trunk to be placed in the
back of the wagon, Prue seemed all at once to understand that Randy's long
stay in Boston meant loneliness for her little self. As the thought swept
through her mind, its full meaning came to her, and she did what she had
never been known to do in all her sunny little life. Throwing herself
upon the great braided rug near the door she cried out,

"O Randy, my Randy, I can't let you go!"

Randy stooped and gathered the dear little sister to her breast, saying,

"I'm not going to stay always, dear. Look up, Prue, while I tell you. I'll
write you nice long letters, and you shall write to me, and I'll send you
something 'way from Boston. Won't that be nice? Come, kiss me, Prue. I
want to think of you smiling instead of crying, dear."

Choking back her sobs, Prue made a brave effort to smile, but it was not
much of a success, and Randy found it difficult to say good-bye with even
a semblance of cheerfulness. She possessed a singularly loving and tender
nature, and this was the first time that she had left home, so that while
her heart was full of anticipation, it was impossible for her to go
without feeling keenly the parting.

Tears filled her sweet eyes, as turning to her mother she said,

"The planning has been so delightful, and I have been anticipating so much
that I have looked forward to this morning when I should start, but now
the time has come I almost wish I'd never said I'd go."

"I know just how ye feel, Randy," said Mrs. Weston, "an' I must say 'twas
easier ter plan ter have ye go than ter say good-bye. Ye must cheer up,
though, and look bright an' happy when ye meet Miss Dayton in Boston. The
long ride in the cars will be new to ye, and ye must remember that yer
Aunt Prudence is ter be with us while ye're away, ter help me an' ter keep
me from bein' too lonesome, fer mercy knows how I shall miss ye.

"I want ye should go, though; it's a great chance fer ye, and don't forget
ter write, Randy. I couldn't stand that," and Mrs. Weston's voice had in
it a suspicion of a sob.

"Oh, I could not forget you all," said Randy, then with a kiss and a
clinging embrace she clambered into the wagon to a seat beside her father,
and her mother's waving handkerchief and Prue's little face with its
quivering lip were photographed upon her mind as she rode to the Centre to
take the train.

They talked but little on the way to the depot. Randy found it a task to
keep her tears from falling, and the expression of her father's face told
more plainly than words what this parting cost. When her trunk had been
taken charge of and Randy had chosen a seat, her father bent to kiss her,
saying as he did so,

"God bless ye, child! I never knew 'till ter-day what it meant ter say
good-bye ter ye. I only hope the visit will bring ye joy enough ter repay
ye fer this partin' and then I shall be satisfied. Write often to us, that
we may know ye are safe, and spend the money I put in yer little wallet.

"Ah, don't say a word, Randy, I could well afford it, an' I put it there
jest fer a little surprise."

As Randy was about to speak, the conductor entered saying, that those
persons who intended leaving the train must do so at once, as it was about
to start.

With a hasty kiss and embrace, Randy saw her father leave the car and she
waved her hand to him as he stood upon the platform, then in a sudden
panic of desolation she hid her face in her handkerchief and cried like a
little child. A long time she crouched upon the seat, her head against its
plush back and her eyes hidden by her handkerchief, but after a time it
occurred to her that she was not doing as her father would wish.

"I'm crying like a child," thought Randy, "and father and mother have done
every generous thing which they could think of to make me enjoy the long
ride and the visit.

"Father would wish me to be brave, and mother would not like to see me
crying."

Accordingly she sat up, and wiping her tears, made a determined effort to
look as she felt sure that a girl should look who was starting out for a
delightful visit.

As she looked from the window and saw the flying landscape, it seemed as
if the rumbling wheels were saying, "Going away, going away," and again
the tears lay upon her lashes, but after a time the novelty of the
situation dawned upon her, and her sunny disposition found much that was
amusing in what was going on about her.

Mrs. Weston had put up a tempting lunch in a pretty basket, so when a boy
came through the car bearing a large tray covered with doubtful looking
viands, and shouting in stentorian tones:

"Poy, coiks, tawts an' sanditches," Randy was not tempted to buy, but she
watched the boy and wondered how he had the courage to walk the aisle
loudly bawling his wares.

At one station a woman entered carrying an infant whose pudgy face lay
upon her shoulder, and about whose tiny body her right arm was tightly
clasped. In her left hand she carried a large and apparently heavy bag.
Four other children trotted after her down the aisle, and like a rear
guard a burly looking man followed the children carrying a tiny parcel.

"What a horrid man," thought Randy, as he proceeded immediately to make
himself comfortable by occupying the larger part of a seat.

He did permit one child to sit beside him, but he allowed the other three
to crowd around his wife who held the sleeping infant in her arms, and
kept a watchful eye upon the big bag which sat on the floor at her feet.

Randy's attention was about evenly divided between watching the passengers
and enjoying the beauties of the autumn landscape as the flying train
passed first a village nestling at the foot of a mountain, then a forest,
then a lake whose surface reflected the gorgeous coloring of the trees
upon its shore, then another village, then a winding river which,
mirror-like, repeated the blue sky and the floating clouds. This endless
panorama was to Randy a most wonderful thing, and the beauty of it all as
it passed before her, filled her with delight.

At noon the train stopped at a large depot which was far more pretentious
than any which she had yet seen, and Randy wondered why nearly everyone
left the car. When she noticed that many of the passengers had left their
parcels in their seats, she was amazed at what seemed to be gross
carelessness. That they went forth in search of lunch never occurred to
her, but realizing that she was hungry and that nearly all the seats were
vacant, she opened her basket and was touched when she saw that her mother
had remembered her little freaks of taste, and had made up a lunch of what
she knew would tempt her. In one corner was a tiny paper bag on which was
printed in little Prue's best manner,

"For my Randy."

Poor little Prue! The bag of candy which her father had brought from the
Centre to cheer the little girl and help to turn her attention from the
thought of loneliness when Randy should say "good-bye," proved
inefficient. Nothing could make Randy's departure less hard for little
Prue, and she had evidently found a bit of comfort in tucking the little
bag into a corner of the lunch basket, thus contributing her mite toward
Randy's pleasure.

"Dear little Prue," murmured Randy, "she shall have the loveliest doll I
can find in Boston."

The afternoon ride seemed longer and less amusing than that of the
morning. The novelty was wearing off, and Randy was beginning to feel
weary.

When it grew dusky and in the towns along the way bright lights appeared,
a sudden fear took possession of her. What if she should be unable to see
Miss Dayton when she stepped from the train at Boston?

CHAPTER VI

NEW FRIENDS

A brakeman passed down the aisle and commenced to light the lamps, and
Randy peeping from the window saw that the stars were shining. She knew
that at home old Snowfoot and the cows were under the shelter of the great
barn, and that father and mother and dear little Prue were seated around
the table. Tears filled her eyes and she quickly drew the curtain and
began to look about the brightly lighted car with the hope of seeing
something which should hold her attention and thus help to dispel the wave
of homesickness which swept over her.

An old lady with a kindly face turned just in time to see Randy's
handkerchief at her eyes, and she hastened to speak a word of comfort.

"Traveling alone, dear?" she asked so gently that Randy forgot to be
surprised, and she bowed her head in assent in place of the word which,
for the moment she could not speak.

"I thought so," said the old lady, "but don't cry, your friends will
probably be at the depot in Boston when you arrive, will they not?"

"Oh, yes," said Randy, "but it isn't that. I was thinking of those I'd
left at home," and away went the little handkerchief again to her eyes.

"Ah, that is it," said the sweet old voice. "Well, the homesickness will
wear off after a time, and now in regard to to-night, your friends will
doubtless be waiting when this train gets in, but if by chance they are
not, you shall come to my home with me until we can get word to their
address that you are in Boston."

"Oh, how good you are," said Randy.

"I am only doing what I would have some one do for my daughter in a like
position," was the reply, and looking up, Randy saw a beautiful light in
the kind eyes which looked into hers, and without a word she laid her
hand in that of her new friend.

"Boston! Boston!" shouted the brakeman, and with a start Randy found
herself suddenly upon her feet, and with the other passengers making her
way toward the door.

The great train-house, the crowd, the trucks loaded with trunks and bags,
the lights, the noise and bustle so confused Randy that she failed to see
the face for which she was eagerly looking.

"Do you see your friends?" asked the gentle voice, but as she stepped upon
the platform she was rejoiced to hear her name called by the voice which
she so well knew.

"O Randy dear, you did come didn't you?" and for a moment Helen Dayton
held her young friend closely; then she noticed the old lady who stood
smiling at what was so evidently a happy meeting.

Hastening toward her, Helen extended her hand as she said,

"I am so glad to see you, Mrs. Seymour, are you acquainted with this dear
friend of mine? I thought you were conversing when you stepped upon the
platform."

"We have had no introduction," said the old lady, smiling, "but we became
acquainted on the car just before we reached Boston."

"And she promised to take me to her home if you did not arrive," said
Randy.

"I am glad that I was prompt, that you might know how eager I was to see
you, but had I been late, I could have asked for no kinder friend, or more
charming home for you, Randy, than this which was so sweetly offered you
to-night."

After formally introducing them, and thanking Mrs. Seymour for her
kindness, Miss Dayton led Randy through the depot to a side entrance,
where her carriage stood waiting.

The coachman opened the door, and soon the little country maiden was being
whirled through the city streets, and the blaze of lights from the huge
store windows caused Randy to ask in wide-eyed wonder if there was
"anything special going on."

"Oh, no," said Helen, "the streets are brightly lighted every night, and
the people are walking, hurrying, rushing back and forth, looking into the
windows of the great stores, as eagerly as if the doors were open for
customers; then hastening away to some place of amusement, or to their
homes."

Randy leaned luxuriously against the cushioned back of the coupe, and with
her hand in Helen's, she continued to watch the hurrying throng, and to
wonder vaguely if there were a sufficient number of houses to shelter them
all if they happened to think of retiring.

After what seemed to Randy to be a very long ride, the carriage stopped.

Together they ascended the broad sandstone steps, and as the butler opened
the door, the soft light in the hall showed the glowing red of the walls
above the carved oak wainscoting, and the odor of flowers floated out to
greet them.

Then down the stairway came a beautiful old lady, whose grace and dignity
bespoke the grand dame, as with gentle courtesy she moved toward Randy,
extending her hand in greeting. Without waiting for an introduction she
said,

"My dear, I am sure that you are Randy, and I am going to tell you that I
am Helen's aunt, and that I think I have been as eager to have you with us
as Helen has been."

Randy placed her hand in the one extended toward her, and looking frankly
up into the fine old face she said,

"It is nice to have you so glad to see me, will you let me love you while
I stay? I think I cannot help it."

"While you stay, and always," was the quick response accompanied by a firm
pressure of the young girl's hand, and Randy felt as if at once among
friends.

Miss Dayton who had been giving the coachman instruction in regard to
Randy's trunk, turned in surprise to see her aunt and Randy engaged in
conversation.

"I waived the ceremony of an introduction," said the elder woman with a
smile, "and I do assure you, Helen, that we are already quite well
acquainted."

"While I thought Randy was just behind me waiting until her belongings
were safely housed," Helen answered with a gay laugh, for she saw at a
glance, that her friend had found favor in Aunt Marcia's eyes; those
discriminating eyes which never failed to recognize the frank and the
true, or to detect the sham, however skillfully concealed.

"How lovely she is," thought Aunt Marcia, as Randy with Helen ascended the
staircase toward the room which was to be Randy's own, during her stay in
Boston.

"How handsome your dear old aunt is," said Randy to Helen, as they walked
along the upper hall. "Her hair is like the frost, and her eyes just
twinkle, twinkle, like stars when the night is cold."

"Why, what a pretty thought," said Helen. "Aunt Marcia was a great
beauty, and a portrait of her when she was presented at court, hangs in
the drawing-room. Sometimes I think she is even handsomer now, with her
fine gray eyes and waving hair. If you are pleased with her, Randy, I
assure you that she is delighted with you; and now here we are at the room
which is to be yours while you are with us."

"Oh, what a lovely room," cried Randy. "Roses, pink roses on the walls,
and real roses in the vase on my table, and such a dear little bed. Why,
the quilt has roses on it, too! 'Tis like a fairy tale, and makes me feel
like a princess. Oh, if mother and father and little Prue could see--"

Again a sob arose in her throat, although she bravely repressed it.

"Not a tear to-night, Randy dear," said Helen, "but instead let me tell
you what will cheer you, and make you feel nearer to them all to-night.
This little desk is for your use, and all your letters home will be
written here, where you will find paper and pens and ink awaiting you.
Now, would you not like to write just a little note, saying that you
arrived safely, and Thomas shall post it, so that it shall reach its
destination as soon as possible. You are too tired to-night to write much
of a letter, but to-morrow you can write twenty pages if you choose."

"And if I did, in all the twenty pages I could not tell them how much I
miss them, and yet how glad I am to be here," said Randy. "Isn't it odd to
be glad and sorry at the same time?

"Well, I'll write the little note now, that they may receive it as soon as
possible."

"And when it is written, come down to the hall where I will meet you, and
when we have given the note to Thomas, we will have dinner."

"Dinner!" said Randy, "why I thought everyone had dinner at twelve
o'clock!"

"In the city we have dinner at six, and lunch at one, and never a supper
at all," said Helen, smiling at Randy's frank look of surprise. "To-night
dinner will be later, because your train was delayed, and I wished you to
have time for your note."

Randy hastened to write the little letter, and then proceeded to freshen
her toilet, and when with the envelope in her hand she tripped down the
hall where Helen stood waiting, she looked every inch the fresh, sweet
Randy of the New England hills. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright,
and the soft little ringlets curled over her temples in a manner most
bewitching.

Oh, how grand the dining-room looked to the girl who had never seen
anything finer than the parson's house in the country village.

The dinner was a simple one, but to Randy the room with its fine
furnishings, the rare flowers in the centre of the table, the noiseless
tread of the servant with his silver salver, the soft light from the great
chandelier, all seemed a part of the fairyland of which she had so often
read in the old volume of "Grimm's Tales" at home.

It was remarkable, however, that with all that was new and beautiful about
her, Randy seemed as much at ease as if always accustomed to her present
surroundings.

So innocent was she in her frank enjoyment of all the beautiful things
which she saw, and the absence of affectation in her manner made her
sincere admiration so delightful, that Helen felt that Randy was even more
charming than when they had last met, and Aunt Marcia completely
captivated, at once decided that never before had a young country girl
appeared to so great advantage when transplanted to a city home.

After dinner Helen sang some pretty ballads for Randy, and Aunt Marcia
told with evident delight reminiscences of her youth.

Randy admiring the full length portrait of the dear old lady as she had
appeared in earlier days, looked frankly up in her face and said,

"You were lovely then, but I think you are grander now," which of course
delighted Aunt Marcia.

When at last Randy lay in her dainty bed, the light from the great street
lamps shone across the room, and on the wall before her, she could see the
rose vines upon the paper, and counting the blossoms, she fell asleep.

When the sun came in at her window, Randy awoke with a start, and turning
toward the little clock which ticked upon the table she was surprised to
find that it was quite time to dress. When Miss Dayton had told her that
breakfast would be served at eight, Randy had wondered at the lateness of
the hour, remembering that at home, seven o'clock was considered to be as
late as any energetic person would think of breakfasting.

"To think that I shall have just time to make myself presentable, and at
home I should have been awake long ago, and by this time have dressed Prue
and myself and have eaten breakfast. Whatever made me sleep so soundly?"

On the stairway she met Helen, and together they entered the dining room,
where before the crackling fire in the grate stood Aunt Marcia, waiting to
greet them.

During breakfast, Helen proposed a drive to the shopping district when she
could make a few purchases and at the same time show Randy the wonders of
the great stores.

"The school will not open until next week," said Helen, "and we will make
this week a succession of little pleasure trips. We will visit the places
of interest and endeavor to make you wholly at home in our city, and
before school opens I shall invite some of the girls who will be your
classmates to meet you, so that on the opening day you will feel that you
have some acquaintances in the school."

At ten o'clock Randy seated beside Miss Dayton in the coupe, was riding
through the city streets and feeling the wildest excitement as she saw
other fine carriages threading their way among scores of pedestrians,
hurrying throngs passing in and out of the great stores, electric cars
and carriages, and indeed everything which was new and strange to her.

While Helen and Randy were driving about the city, an animated
conversation was in progress in a home not far from Miss Dayton's.

The leader, was a tall, slender girl of about Randy's age, whose dark eyes
spoke of truth and loyalty. She made a graceful picture when having
braided her long, dark hair she proceeded to tie it firmly with a bright
scarlet ribbon.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9