the golden road-第27部分

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Cecily　put　her　hair　up　in　curl…papers　that　night；　thoroughly　soaked　in　Judy　Pineau's　curling…fluid。　　It　was　a　nasty　job；　for　the　fluid　was　very　sticky；　but　Cecily　persevered　and　got　it　done。　　Then　she　went　to　bed　with　a　towel　tied　over　her　head　to　protect　the　pillow。　　She　did　not　sleep　well　and　had　uncanny　dreams；　but　she　came　down　to　breakfast　with　an　expression　of　triumph。　　The　Story　Girl　examined　her　head　critically　and　said；

〃Cecily；　if　I　were　you　I'd　take　those　papers　out　this　morning。〃

〃Oh；　no；　if　I　do　my　hair　will　be　straight　again　by　night。　　I　mean　to　leave　them　in　till　the　last　minute。〃

〃I　wouldn't　do　thatI　really　wouldn't；〃　persisted　the　Story　Girl。　　〃If　you　do　your　hair　will　be　too　curly　and　all　bushy　and　fuzzy。〃

Cecily　finally　yielded　and　went　upstairs　with　the　Story　Girl。　　Presently　we　heard　a　little　shriekthen　two　little　shrieksthen　three。　　Then　Felicity　came　flying　down　and　called　her　mother。　　Aunt　Janet　went　up　and　presently　came　down　again　with　a　grim　mouth。　　She　filled　a　large　pan　with　warm　water　and　carried　it　upstairs。　　We　dared　ask　her　no　questions；　but　when　Felicity　came　down　to　wash　the　dishes　we　bombarded　her。

〃What　on　earth　is　the　matter　with　Cecily？〃　demanded　Dan。　　〃Is　she　sick？〃

〃No；　she　isn't。　　I　warned　her　not　to　put　her　hair　in　curls　but　she　wouldn't　listen　to　me。　　I　guess　she　wishes　she　had　now。　　When　people　haven't　natural　curly　hair　they　shouldn't　try　to　make　it　curly。　　They　get　punished　if　they　do。〃

〃Look　here；　Felicity；　never　mind　all　that。　　Just　tell　us　what　has　happened　Sis。〃

〃Well；　this　is　what　has　happened　her。　　That　ninny　of　a　Sara　Ray　brought　up　a　bottle　of　mucilage　instead　of　Judy's　curling…fluid；　and　Cecily　put　her　hair　up　with　THAT。　　It's　in　an　awful　state。〃

〃Good　gracious！〃　exclaimed　Dan。　　〃Look　here；　will　she　ever　get　it　out？〃

〃Goodness　knows。　　She's　got　her　head　in　soak　now。　　Her　hair　is　just　matted　together　hard　as　a　board。　　That's　what　comes　of　vanity；〃　said　Felicity；　than　whom　no　vainer　girl　existed。

Poor　Cecily　paid　dearly　enough　for　HER　vanity。　　She　spent　a　bad　forenoon；　made　no　easier　by　her　mother's　severe　rebukes。　　For　an　hour　she　〃soaked〃　her　head；　that　is；　she　stood　over　a　panful　of　warm　water　and　kept　dipping　her　head　in　with　tightly　shut　eyes。　　Finally　her　hair　softened　sufficiently　to　be　disentangled　from　the　curl　papers；　and　then　Aunt　Janet　subjected　it　to　a　merciless　shampoo。　　Eventually　they　got　all　the　mucilage　washed　out　of　it　and　Cecily　spent　the　remainder　of　the　forenoon　sitting　before　the　open　oven　door　in　the　hot　kitchen　drying　her　ill…used　tresses。　　She　felt　very　down…hearted；　her　hair　was　of　that　order　which；　glossy　and　smooth　normally；　is　dry　and　harsh　and　lustreless　for　several　days　after　being　shampooed。

〃I'll　look　like　a　fright　tonight；〃　said　the　poor　child　to　me　with　trembling　voice。　　〃The　ends　will　be　sticking　out　all　over　my　head。〃

〃Sara　Ray　is　a　perfect　idiot；〃　I　said　wrathfully

〃Qh；　don't　be　hard　on　poor　Sara。　　She　didn't　mean　to　bring　me　mucilage。　　It's　really　all　my　own　fault；　I　know。　　I　made　a　solemn　vow　when　Peter　was　dying　that　I　would　never　curl　my　hair　again；　and　I　should　have　kept　it。　　It　isn't　right　to　break　solemn　vows。　　But　my　hair　will　look　like　dried　hay　tonight。〃

Poor　Sara　Ray　was　quite　overwhelmed　when　she　came　up　and　found　what　she　had　done。　　Felicity　was　very　hard　on　her；　and　Aunt　Janet　was　coldly　disapproving；　but　sweet　Cecily　forgave　her　unreservedly；　and　they　walked　to　the　school　that　night　with　their　arms　about　each　other's　waists　as　usual。

The　school…room　was　crowded　with　friends　and　neighbours。　　Mr。　Perkins　was　flying　about；　getting　things　into　readiness；　and　Miss　Reade；　who　was　the　organist　of　the　evening；　was　sitting　on　the　platform；　looking　her　sweetest　and　prettiest。　　She　wore　a　delightful　white　lace　hat　with　a　fetching　little　wreath　of　tiny　forget…me…nots　around　the　brim；　a　white　muslin　dress　with　sprays　of　blue　violets　scattered　over　it；　and　a　black　lace　scarf。

〃Doesn't　she　look　angelic？〃　said　Cecily　rapturously。

〃Mind　you；〃　said　Sara　Ray；　〃the　Awkward　Man　is　herein　the　corner　behind　the　door。　　I　never　remember　seeing　him　at　a　concert　before。〃

〃I　suppose　he　came　to　hear　the　Story　Girl　recite；〃　said　Felicity。　　〃He　is　such　a　friend　of　hers。〃

The　concert　went　off　very　well。　　Dialogues；　choruses　and　recitations　followed　each　other　in　rapid　succession。　　Felix　got　through　his　without　〃getting　stuck；〃　and　Peter　did　excellently；　though　he　stuffed　his　hands　in　his　trousers　pocketsa　habit　of　which　Mr。　Perkins　had　vainly　tried　to　break　him。　　Peter's　recitation　was　one　greatly　in　vogue　at　that　time；　beginning；


　　　　　〃My　name　is　Norval；　on　the　Grampian　hills　　　　　　　My　father　feeds　his　flocks。〃


At　our　first　practice　Peter　had　started　gaily　in；　rushing　through　the　first　line　with　no　thought　whatever　of　punctuation〃　My　name　is　Norval　on　the　Grampian　Hills。〃

〃Stop；　stop；　Peter；〃　quoth　Mr。　Perkins；　sarcastically；　〃your　name　might　be　Norval　if　you　were　never　on　the　Grampian　Hills。　　There's　a　semi…colon　in　that　line；　I　wish　you　to　remember。〃

Peter　did　remember　it。　　Cecily　neither　fainted　nor　failed　when　it　came　her　turn。　　She　recited　her　little　piece　very　well；　though　somewhat　mechanically。　　I　think　she　really　did　much　better　than　if　she　had　had　her　desired　curls。　　The　miserable　conviction　that　her　hair；　alone　among　that　glossy…tressed　bevy；　was　looking　badly；　quite　blotted　out　all　nervousness　and　self…consciousness　from　her　mind。　　Her　hair　apart；　she　looked　very　pretty。　　The　prevailing　excitement　had　made　bright　her　eye　and　flushed　her　cheeks　rosily　too　rosily；　perhaps。　　I　heard　a　Carlisle　woman　behind　me　whisper　that　Cecily　King　looked　consumptive；　just　like　her　Aunt　Felicity；　and　I　hated　her　fiercely　for　it。

Sara　Ray　also　managed　to　get　through　respectably；　although　she　was　pitiably　nervous。　　Her　bow　was　naught　but　a　short　nod〃as　if　her　head　worked　on　wires；〃　whispered　Felicity　uncharitablyand　the　wave　of　her　lily…white　hand　more　nearly　resembled　an　agonized　jerk　than　a　wave。　　We　all　felt　relieved　when　she　finished。　　She　was；　in　a　sense；　one　of　〃our　crowd；〃　and　we　had　been　afraid　she　would　disgrace　us　by　breaking　down。

Felicity　followed　her　and　recited　her　selection　without　haste；　without　rest；　and　absolutely　without　any　expression　whatever。　　But　what　mattered　it　how　she　recited？　　To　look　at　her　was　sufficient。　　What　with　her　splendid　fleece　of　golden　curls；　her　great；　brilliant　blue　eyes；　her　exquisitely　tinted　face；　her　dimpled　hands　and　arms；　every　member　of　the　audience　must　have　felt　it　was　worth　the　ten　cents　he　had　paid　merely　to　see　her。

The　Story　Girl　followed。　　An　expectant　silence　fell　over　the　room；　and　Mr。　Perkins'　face　lost　the　look　of　tense　anxiety　it　had　worn　all　the　evening。　　Here　was　a　performer　who　could　be　depended　on。　　No　need　to　fear　stage　fright　or　forgetfulness　on　her　part。　　The　Story　Girl　was　not　looking　her　best　that　night。　　White　never　became　her；　and　her　face　was　pale；　though　her　eyes　were　splendid。　　But　nobody　thought　about　her　appearance　when　the　power　and　magic　of　her　voice　caught　and　held　her　listeners　spellbound。

Her　recitation　was　an　old　one；　figuring　in　one　of　the　School　Readers；　and　we　scholars　all　knew　it　off　by　heart。　　Sara　Ray　alone　had　not　heard　the　Story　Girl　recite　it。　　The　latter　had　not　been　drilled　at　practices　as　had　the　other　pupils；　Mr。　Perkins　choosing　not　to　waste　time　teaching　her　what　she　already　knew　far　better　than　he　did。　　The　only　time　she　had　recited　it　had　been　at　the　〃dress　rehearsal〃　two　nights　before；　at　which　Sara　Ray　had　not　been　present。

In　the　poem　a　Florentine　lady　of　old　time；　wedded　to　a　cold　and　cruel　husband；　had　died；　or　was　supposed　to　have　died；　and　had　been　carried　to　〃the　rich；　the　beautiful；　the　dreadful　tomb〃　of　her　proud　family。　　In　the　night　she　wakened　from　her　trance　and　made　her　escape。　　Chilled　and　terrified；　she　had　made　her　way　to　her　husband's　door；　only　to　be　driven　away　brutally　as　a　restless　ghost　by　the　horror…stricken　inmates。　　A　similar　reception　awaited　her　at　her　father's。　　Then　she　had　wandered　blindly　through　the　streets　of　Florence　until　she　had　fallen　exhausted　at　the　door　of　the　lover　of　her　girlhood。　　He；　unafraid；　had　taken　her　in　and　cared　for　her。　　On　the　morrow；　the　husband　and　father；　having　discovered　the　empty　tomb；　came　to　claim　her。　　She　refused　to　return　to　them　and　the　case　was　carried　to　the　court　of　law。　　The　verdict　given　was　that　a　woman　who　had　been　〃to　burial　borne〃　and　left　for　dead；　who　had　been　driven　from　her　husband's　door　and　from　her　childhood　home；　〃must　be　adjudged　as　dead　in　law　and　fact；〃　was　no　more　daughter　or　wife；　but　was　set　free　to　form　what　new　ties　she　would。　　The　climax　of　the　whole　selection　came　in　the　line；

〃The　court　pronounces　the　defendantDEAD！〃　and　the　Story　Girl　was　wont　to　render　it　with　such　dramatic　intensity　and　power　that　the　veriest　dullard　among　her　listeners　could　not　have　missed　its　force　and　significance。

She　swept　along　through　the　poem　royally；　playing　on　the　emotions　of　her　audience　as　she　had　so　often　played　on　ours　in　the　old　orchard。　　Pity；　terror；　indignation；　suspense；　possessed　her　hearers　in　turn。　　In　the　court　scene　she　surpassed　herself。　　She　was；　in　very　truth；　the　Florentine　judge；　stern；