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Updated: August 14, 2024
Monday's mops and pails broke in upon the spell of Amarilly's spiritual enchantment to some extent, but remembrance of the scenic effects lingered and was refreshed by the clothes-line of vestal garb which manifested the family prosperity, and heralded to the neighborhood that the Jenkins's star was in the ascendant. "Them Jenkinses," said Mrs.
Before Amarilly's artistic temperament was awakened by the atmosphere of the studio, she had been wont to array herself in things convenient without regard to color or style, believing herself to be hopelessly homely and beyond the aid of personal adornment; but since Derry had praised her hair, she had scrupulously cared for it and allowed no conflicting color in proximity thereto.
"Ef church air wa'n't so bad fer my rheumatiz, I'd pay car-fare jest to see it onct. I was brung up Methodist though." This desire suggested to Amarilly's fertile little brain a way to make a contribution to John Meredith's pet missionary scheme, whose merits he had so ardently expounded from the pulpit.
The surplice, carefully laundered after the funeral, was ready for new fields of labor. The tenor, first patron of Amarilly's costuming establishment, was wont to loiter in the studio of an artist he knew and relate his about-town adventures. This artist was interested in the annals of the little scrub-girl and her means of livelihood.
"I can't git to go to school till the boys hev more larnin'. I hev to work here mornin's and help ma with the washin's in the arternoon. Mebby, arter a little, I kin git into some night-school." A stage-hand working near by overheard this conversation and displayed instant interest in the subject of Amarilly's schooling. "Couldn't you git off Saturday arternoons?" he asked.
The gray eyes of the young man thus addressed softened as he looked at the small, eager face of the youngest scrubber. "Stop at the office on your way out, Amarilly," he said kindly, "and I'll give you a pass to the matinee this afternoon." Amarilly's young heart fluttered wildly and sent a wave of pink into her pale cheeks as she voiced her gratitude.
The teacher's face cleared as she saw and seized her avenue of escape. "You may all," she directed, "look at Amarilly's work and sew the strips just as she does. Hers are perfect." Amarilly's wan little face brightened, and she proceeded to show the children how to sew, bringing the same ease and effectiveness into her tutoring that she displayed when instructing her brothers and Cory.
He couldn't look like that surplused boy, though. He sorter made me think of Little Eva in the play they give down to Milt's school. I wish Bud's hair was yaller and curly instead of black and straight!" Amarilly's reminiscences next carried her to the look she had seen in the rector's eyes when he beheld Colette coming out of the church.
"Amarilly," he replied fervently, with the look that Colette was learning to love, "you did just right to use the surplices, and this contribution means more to me than any I have received. It was a sweet and generous thought that prompted your concert." Amarilly's little heart glowed with pride at this acknowledgment. At that moment came Bud, singing a snatch of his solo.
"You have been instructive as well as benevolent," he remarked smilingly. "Two of Amarilly's errors of speech have been eradicated." The young Artist flushed in slight confusion, and then with a half- embarrassed laugh, he replied lightly: "Amarilly gave full measure of correction in return."
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