Poor, Dear Margaret KirbyNorris, Kathleen Thompson
General
Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby
Norris, Kathleen Thompson
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories
"Well, looks like some one round here is in love, or something!" said
Johnnie, freshly. "I never had it that bad, did you, Ellen? Ellen's
been telling me how you're fixed, Mary Bell," she went on with deep
concern, "and I was suggestin' that you run over to the general store,
and ask Mis' Rowe--or I should say, Mis' Bates," she corrected herself
with a grin, and the girls laughed--"if she won't sleep at your house
tonight. Chess'll tend store. It'll be something fierce if you don't
go, Mary Bell, so you run along and ask the bride!" laughed Johnnie.
"I believe I would," approved Ellen, and the girls accordingly crossed
the grassy, uneven street to the store.
An immense gray-haired woman was in the doorway.
"Well, is it ribbon or stockings, or what?" said she, smiling. "The
place has gone crazy! There ain't going to be a soul here but me
to-night."
Mary Bell was silent. Ellen spoke.
"Chess ain't going, is he?" she asked.
The old woman shook with laughter.
"Chess ain't nothing but a regular kid," she said. "He was dying to go,
but he knew I couldn't, and he never said a word. Finally, my boy Tom
and his wife, and Len and Josie and the children, they all drove by on
their way to Pitcher's; and Len--he's a good deal older'n Chess, you
know--he says to me, 'You'd oughter leave Chess come along with the
rest of us, ma; jest because he's married ain't no reason he's forgot
how to dance!' Well, I burst right out laughing, and I says, 'Why
didn't he say he wanted to go?' and Chess run upstairs for his other
suit, and off they all went!"
There was nothing for it, then, but to wait for Lew Dinwoodie and the
news from Aunt Mat.
Mary Bell walked slowly back through the fragrant lanes, passed now and
then by a surrey loaded with joyous passengers already bound for
Pitcher's barn. She was at her own gate, when a voice calling her
whisked her about as if by magic.
"Hello, Mary Bell!" said Jim Carr, joining her. But she looked so
pretty in her blue cotton dress, with the yellow level of a field of
mustard-tops behind her, and beyond that the windbreak of gold-tipped
eucalyptus trees, that he went on almost confusedly, "You--you look
terribly pretty in that dress! Is that what you're going to wear?"
"This!" laughed Mary Bell. And she raised her dancing eyes, to grow a
little confused in her turn. Nature, obedient to whose law blossoms
were whitening the fruit trees, wheat pricking through the damp earth,
robins mating in the orchards, had laid the first thread of her great
bond upon these two. They smiled silently at each other.
"I'm not even sure I'm going!" said Mary Bell, ruefully.
The sudden look of concern in his face went straight to her heart. Jim
Carr really cared, then, that she couldn't go! Big, clever, kindly Jim
Carr, who was superintendent at the power-house, and a comparative
newcomer in Deaneville, was an important personage.
"Not going!" said Jim, blankly. "Oh, say--why not!"
Mary Bell explained. But Jim was encouraging.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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