All Kneeling/Chapter 1
Christabel Caine sat by her open window writing "A Pleasant Incident of My Vacation" in the moments when there was nothing to distract her attention. But a good deal was happening that afternoon. Three times the door bell rang in quick succession, and she heard Katie Sullivan muttering: "Ring, ring, ring! God save us!" as she pounded to the door, heard the rattle and slam of bureau drawers from her mother's room.
Great-aunt Ann came first. The brougham glittered in the sun; Prince jingled his harness. Then the Shady Lawn victoria. Plum-colored Albert jumping down from the box, he and Aunt Clara helping out the small, slow, important bundle that was Great-aunt Deborah. Last, the anticlimax of Mrs. Plummer, with her yearning stretch of chin and stringy neck, and the Bersagliere hat she wore "because of, my Italy," propping her bicycle against the fence.
Hearing her mother's silk petticoat descend, Christabel took pad and pencil out to the piece-box at the top of the stairs in order not to miss anything, and presently heard her name.
"I wanted to ask you if you thought Christabel would be in a little play I've written for the children, a little fantasy, Princess Brighteyes and Prince Trueheart, I called it"
"Thee couldn't have made a better choice for Princess Brighteyes," Aunt Ann said, and Mrs. Plummer answered, nervously:
"Well, as a matter of fact—hm!—you see I felt that since Christabel was going to be the leading lady in the little French play—Mademoiselle Soulas happened to tell me—and Annette Perry says she's having her do the solo dance at the dancing-school exhibition, why, I thought it wasn't fair to Christabel to ask her to do anything that would take too much time, so I—hm! hm! I asked little Helen Barnes to be Princess Brighteyes"
"Asked who?" Aunt Deborah questioned.
"Asked Helen Barnes," Aunt Ann said, coldly. "Thee knows, Sister Deborah, that stout plain child, Caleb Barnes' granddaughter."
"Thee means the child with the large front teeth?"
"Of course I would rather have had Christabel, but since I asked little Helen Barnes"
"Oh yes, of course. And Christabel is very busy," Mrs. Caine murmured, politely.
"A court lady seems a very tiny part to offer Christabel, such a born little actress."
Helen Barnes! Christabel thought. I just despise that old Helen Barnes! I wouldn't be in that old play for anything
But a vision of herself as a court lady floated before her. Only a court lady, but simply taking the shine out of Princess Brighteyes. She could see herself, in her mother's new claret-colored evening dress, unconscious, lost in her part; she could hear people saying: "Who is that exquisite child with the sensitive face? See, she has forgotten it isn't real; she is a court lady. The other children are acting their parts, but she is living hers." "Yes, mother dear," she whispered. "Yes, Mrs. Plummer, I'll try to be a court lady"
The conversation moved on from her and was no longer interesting. But still she hung over the banisters, for she had caught sight of her reflection in the glass of an engraving of the Sistine Madonna, and gazed at herself against a background of saints and angels until her mother's voice broke the enchantment and sent her tiptoeing back to her room before she answered, "Yes, mother dear?"
"Come down a minute, darling."
In the mirror over the fireplace Christabel saw herself again as she laid her smooth peach-pink cheek against the great-aunts' withered dead-leaf faces, Aunt Clara's doughy whiteness, Mrs. Plummer's sallowness. Dark bright eyes with fringing lashes, dark auburn satin hair, feathers of eyebrows delicately drawn on a white brow. She went back and gave Aunt Ann, who was sitting opposite the mirror, an extra hug.
"Mrs. Plummer wants to know if you will take part in a little play she's written, darling."
"Princess Brighteyes and Prince Trueheart—I want you to be one of the court ladies, dear. I'm afraid it's a very tiny part, but"
"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Plummer. I'd love to. I'll try to be a court lady."
Aunt Ann and Aunt Deborah exchanged proud glances, and Aunt Clara whispered a piercing "Sweet!" As for Amy Caine, she threw her arms about her little daughter and kissed her.
"No, Christabel, you cannot wear my red silk. Now, come, be mother's dear little daughter and get into your costume."
Sobs from the floor where Christabel had cast herself.
"Come, Christabel."
Heartbroken moans.
"You look so sweet in your costume; everyone said so when you wore it at Ernestine's party."
On the bed lay the chintz panniers and net fichu that might have represented Martha Washington or The Sweetest Girl in Dixie or just that faithful st-and-by, Old-fashioned Lady. With her face still hidden, Christabel kicked in its direction and cried in a muffled voice:
"I'd rather die!"
"Now, Christabel, get up and wash your face. Mother's simply astonished! A big girl like you! Nobody's going to notice your costume. Come"
"No! No! No-o-o!"
The front door slammed. Mr. Caine had come home early to accompany his ladies to the house that all Germantown spoke of as the Edith Johnson Plummers'.
"Christabel, there's father! You don't want him to see you acting like a baby."
"Oh, fah-h-h-ther!"
"Hello! What's the matter with my little girl?"
"The child's got a notion in her head that nothing will do but to wear my new red silk—and here's her own nice costume"
"Oh, father, I'd rather die than wear that horrible old thing. You'd be so ashamed of me!"
"Amy"
He nodded meaningly toward the hall, and Mrs. Caine followed him out, closing the door. Christabel's sobs stopped; she lay rigid, listening to the murmur of voices. Then, stepping out of her slippers, she tiptoed to the door and pressed against it.
"Well, but, Fred—all those children! And Edith Plummer'll probably have something messy like ice-cream afterward, and it'll be my only new dress this winter. Do you really think?"
"Did you notice what was worrying her? She wasn't thinking of herself; she was afraid we'd be ashamed of her."
Tears flooded Christabel's eyes again; her lip quivered. I only want them to be proud of me, she thought. That's the only reason I'm being in this awful old play, just to try to make them happy.
"I know, bless her heart! She's thrown herself into this as if the whole thing depended on her. You know that's the only reason I would like to let her wear what she wants, she's been so sweet about having such a tiny little part; never a word of complaint, and you know it would have been natural. I don't know when she hasn't had the leading part in really everything. Of course it's none of my business, but I can't help feeling it's a little funny of Edith Plummer"
"I'd let her wear it."
"Well—I will, then."
Christabel left the door and stepped into her slippers. Just below her chest was a spreading warmth, a tingling that flowed through her. Darling mother and father, she thought, and suddenly lifted her shoulder and quickly, lightly kissed it.
When she saw herself in the mirror, hair turned up from smooth white neck, eyelashes stuck into points by forgotten tears, exquisite in the claret-colored silk with its pouring train, she flung her arms tight around her mother's neck and cried: "Oh, mother dear, you're so good to me! I'm so happy I think I'll die!" But in the Edith Johnson Plummers' library she was no longer happy. No one was noticing the court lady, except her father and mother. Helen Barnes, in Mrs. Barnes' white satin dress and a gilt paper crown, was getting all the attention.
"Sweet Princess Brighteyes," Prince Trueheart said, belligerently, and paused.
"From afar" Mrs. Plummer prompted.
"From afar."
"I come"
To beg thee, lovelia swun, to share my throne."
And the insufferable Princess Brighteyes replied:
"Nay, thooth, Printh Trueheart, that may never be."
Silence from the Prince.
"Pray, dost thou love" from Mrs. Plummer.
"Oh yes—Pray does thou love another more than me?"
"Nay, but on me there rethth a cruel thpell.
Draw clother, and the thtory I will tell."
"Heavens!"
"Get out of the way, children!"
"What's happened?"
"One of the children's fainted—Christabel Caine."
"Here—put her here on the sofa'
"Look out, children!"
"Here's the water!" cried some one, sprinkling it all over the claret-colored silk.
"Poor little thing, the excitement was too much for her!"
"So highly strung"
"Isn't it unusual for a person who's fainted to have such high color?" Helen Barnes' mother asked. "The child's cheeks are scarlet."
Christabel stirred, moaned faintly.
"She's coming to!"
Christabel opened her eyes and saw people kneeling about her, saw the scared and solemn children on the outskirts. Princess Brighteyes' crown had been knocked off in the excitement. "Where am I?" the court lady murmured, and then, "Mother" and buried her face in Mrs. Caine's bosom.
"There, darling, there! Now you're all right. Now my Christabel's all right!"
"Well, well! What a girl, to give us such a fright!"
"Father!" She put out a weeping-willow hand.
"Hadn't we better take her home?"
"Oh, no, no! I don't want to spoil the play. I'm—all right." She smiled bravely.
"Are you sure you're all right, darling?"
"Oh yes, mother dear, but, oh, did I spoil the play?"
"Did you hear that?"
"Ah-h-h! Sweet!"
"I really don't think it would hurt her to stay, Fred."
"Look, she can sit right here in this big armchair, just like a throne!"
"Yes, just like a throne for little Queen Christabel!"
"Mother?"
"Right here, darling, and father's on the other side. And any time you'd rather go, just tell us."
"Mother, will Mrs. Plummer forgive me for spoiling the play?"
"Mrs. Plummer, we want to know if you'll forgive us?"
"Well, I just guess Mrs. Plummer will! And now," said Mrs. Plummer, with a playful curtsy, "is it Your Majesty's wish that the play goon? All right, children. Shoo, shoo, shoo! Let's get back to our places. Let's see, Helen, where had you gotten to? Does anyone remember?"
The children fumbled for their lines. The command performance proceeded.