The Copy-Cat

by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

  


THAT affair of Jim Simmons's cats never becameknown. Two little boys and a little girl cankeep a secret -- that is, sometimes. The two littleboys had the advantage of the little girl because theycould talk over the affair together, and the littlegirl, Lily Jennings, had no intimate girl friend totempt her to confidence. She had only little AmeliaWheeler, commonly called by the pupils of Madame'sschool "The Copy-Cat."Amelia was an odd little girl -- that is, everybodycalled her odd. She was that rather unusual crea-ture, a child with a definite ideal; and that ideal wasLily Jennings. However, nobody knew that. IfAmelia's mother, who was a woman of strong charac-ter, had suspected, she would have taken strenuousmeasures to prevent such a peculiar state of affairs;the more so because she herself did not in the leastapprove of Lily Jennings. Mrs. Diantha Wheeler(Amelia's father had died when she was a baby)often remarked to her own mother, Mrs. Stark, andto her mother-in-law, Mrs. Samuel Wheeler, that shedid not feel that Mrs. Jennings was bringing up Lilyexactly as she should. "That child thinks entirelytoo much of her looks," said Mrs. Diantha. "Whenshe walks past here she switches those ridiculousfrilled frocks of hers as if she were entering a ball-room, and she tosses her head and looks about to seeif anybody is watching her. If I were to see Ameliadoing such things I should be very firm with her.""Lily Jennings is a very pretty child," saidMother-in-law Wheeler, with an under-meaning, andMrs. Diantha flushed. Amelia did not in the leastresemble the Wheelers, who were a handsome set.She looked remarkably like her mother, who was aplain woman, only little Amelia did not have a squarechin. Her chin was pretty and round, with a littledimple in it. In fact, Amelia's chin was the pretti-est feature she had. Her hair was phenomenallystraight. It would not even yield to hot curling-irons, which her grandmother Wheeler had tried sur-reptitiously several times when there was a littlegirls' party. "I never saw such hair as that poorchild has in all my life," she told the other grand-mother, Mrs. Stark. "Have the Starks always hadsuch very straight hair?"Mrs. Stark stiffened her chin. Her own hair wasvery straight. "I don't know," said she, "that theStarks have had any straighter hair than otherpeople. If Amelia does not have anything worse tocontend with than straight hair I rather think shewill get along in the world as well as most people.""It's thin, too," said Grandmother Wheeler, witha sigh, "and it hasn't a mite of color. Oh, well,Amelia is a good child, and beauty isn't everything."Grandmother Wheeler said that as if beauty werea great deal, and Grandmother Stark arose and shookout her black silk skirts. She had money, and lovedto dress in rich black silks and laces."It is very little, very little indeed," said she, andshe eyed Grandmother Wheeler's lovely old face,like a wrinkled old rose as to color, faultless as tofeature, and swept about by the loveliest waves ofshining silver hair.Then she went out of the room, and GrandmotherWheeler, left alone, smiled. She knew the worth ofbeauty for those who possess it and those who do not.She had never been quite reconciled to her son'smarrying such a plain girl as Diantha Stark, althoughshe had money. She considered beauty on thewhole as a more valuable asset than mere gold.She regretted always that poor little Amelia, heronly grandchild, was so very plain-looking. Shealways knew that Amelia was very plain, and yetsometimes the child puzzled her. She seemed to seereflections of beauty, if not beauty itself, in thelittle colorless face, in the figure, with its too-largejoints and utter absence of curves. She sometimeseven wondered privately if some subtle resemblanceto the handsome Wheelers might not be in the childand yet appear. But she was mistaken. What shesaw was pure mimicry of a beautiful ideal.Little Amelia tried to stand like Lily Jennings;she tried to walk like her; she tried to smile likeher; she made endeavors, very often futile, to dresslike her. Mrs. Wheeler did not in the least approveof furbelows for children. Poor little Amelia wentclad in severe simplicity; durable woolen frocks inwinter, and washable, unfadable, and non-soil-show-ing frocks in summer. She, although her mother hadperhaps more money wherewith to dress her than hadany of the other mothers, was the plainest-clad littlegirl in school. Amelia, moreover, never tore a frock,and, as she did not grow rapidly, one lasted severalseasons. Lily Jennings was destructive, althoughdainty. Her pretty clothes were renewed everyyear. Amelia was helpless before that problem.For a little girl burning with aspirations to be andlook like another little girl who was beautiful andwore beautiful clothes, to be obliged to set forth forMadame's on a lovely spring morning, when thinattire was in evidence,dressed in dark-blue-and-white-checked gingham, which she had worn forthree summers, and with sleeves which, even tochildish eyes, were anachronisms, was a trial. Thento see Lily flutter in a frock like a perfectly new whiteflower was torture; not because of jealousy -- Ameliawas not jealous; but she so admired the other littlegirl, and so loved her, and so wanted to be like her.As for Lily, she hardly ever noticed Amelia. Shewas not aware that she herself was an object ofadoration; for she was a little girl who searched foradmiration in the eyes of little boys rather thanlittle girls, although very innocently. She alwaysglanced slyly at Johnny Trumbull when she wore apretty new frock, to see if he noticed. He never did,and she was sharp enough to know it. She was alsochild enough not to care a bit, but to take a queerpleasure in the sensation of scorn which she felt inconsequence. She would eye Johnny from head tofoot, his boy's clothing somewhat spotted, his bulgingpockets, his always dusty shoes, and when he twisteduneasily, not understanding why, she had a thrillof purely feminine delight. It was on one such occa-sion that she first noticed Amelia Wheeler particularly.It was a lovely warm morning in May, and Lilywas a darling to behold -- in a big hat with a wreathof blue flowers, her hair tied with enormous blue silkbows, her short skirts frilled with eyelet embroidery,her slender silk legs, her little white sandals. Ma-dame's maid had not yet struck the Japanese gong,and all the pupils were out on the lawn, Amelia, inher clean, ugly gingham and her serviceable brownsailor hat, hovering near Lily, as usual, like a common,very plain butterfly near a particularly resplendentblossom. Lily really noticed her. She spoke to herconfidentially; she recognized her fully as another ofher own sex, and presumably of similar opinions."Ain't boys ugly, anyway?" inquired Lily ofAmelia, and a wonderful change came over Amelia.Her sallow cheeks bloomed; her eyes showed blueglitters; her little skinny figure became instinct withnervous life. She smiled charmingly, with sucheagerness that it smote with pathos and bewitched."Oh yes, oh yes," she agreed, in a voice like a quickflute obbligato. "Boys are ugly.""Such clothes!" said Lily."Yes, such clothes!" said Amelia."Always spotted," said Lily."Always covered all over with spots," said Amelia."And their pockets always full of horrid things,"said Lily."Yes," said Amelia.Amelia glanced openly at Johnny Trumbull; Lilywith a sidewise effect.Johnny had heard every word. Suddenly he aroseto action and knocked down Lee Westminster, andsat on him."Lemme up!" said Lee.Johnny had no quarrel whatever with Lee. Hegrinned, but he sat still. Lee, the sat-upon, was asharp little boy. "Showing off before the gals!" hesaid, in a thin whisper."Hush up!" returned Johnny."Will you give me a writing-pad -- I lost mine, andmother said I couldn't have another for a week if Idid -- if I don't holler?" inquired Lee."Yes. Hush up!"Lee lay still, and Johnny continued to sit upon hisprostrate form. Both were out of sight of Madame'swindows, behind a clump of the cedars which gracedher lawn."Always fighting," said Lily, with a fine crescendoof scorn. She lifted her chin high, and also her nose."Always fighting," said Amelia, and also lifted herchin and nose. Amelia was a born mimic. Sheactually looked like Lily, and she spoke like her.Then Lily did a wonderful thing. She doubled hersoft little arm into an inviting loop for Amelia's littleclaw of a hand."Come along, Amelia Wheeler," said she. "Wedon't want to stay near horrid, fighting boys. Wewill go by ourselves."And they went. Madame had a headache thatmorning, and the Japanese gong did not ring forfifteen minutes longer. During that time Lily andAmelia sat together on a little rustic bench under atwinkling poplar, and they talked, and a sort ofminiature sun-and-satellite relation was establishedbetween them, although neither was aware of it.Lily, being on the whole a very normal little girl, andnot disposed to even a full estimate of herself ascompared with others of her own sex, did not dreamof Amelia's adoration, and Amelia, being rarelydestitute of self-consciousness, did not understand thewhole scope of her own sentiments. It was quitesufficient that she was seated close to this wonderfulLily, and agreeing with her to the verge of immo-lation."Of course," said Lily, "girls are pretty, and boysare just as ugly as they can be.""Oh yes," said Amelia, fervently."But," said Lily, thoughtfully, "it is queer howJohnny Trumbull always comes out ahead in a fight,and he is not so very large, either.""Yes," said Amelia, but she realized a pang ofjealousy. "Girls could fight, I suppose," said she."Oh yes, and get their clothes all torn and messy,"said Lily."I shouldn't care," said Amelia. Then she added,with a little toss, "I almost know I could fight."The thought even floated through her wicked littlemind that fighting might be a method of wearing outobnoxious and durable clothes."You!" said Lily, and the scorn in her voice wiltedAmelia."Maybe I couldn't," said she."Of course you couldn't, and if you could, what asight you'd be. Of course it wouldn't hurt yourclothes as much as some, because your mother dressesyou in strong things, but you'd be sure to get blackand blue, and what would be the use, anyway?You couldn't be a boy, if you did fight.""No. I know I couldn't.""Then what is the use? We are a good dealprettier than boys, and cleaner, and have nicermanners, and we must be satisfied.""You are prettier," said Amelia, with a look ofworshipful admiration at Lily's sweet little face."You are prettier," said Lily. Then she added,equivocally, "Even the very homeliest girl is prettierthan a boy."Poor Amelia, it was a good deal for her to be calledprettier than a very dusty boy in a fight. She fairlydimpled with delight, and again she smiled charm-ingly. Lily eyed her critically."You aren't so very homely, after all, Amelia,"she said. "You needn't think you are."Amelia smiled again."When you look like you do now you are realpretty," said Lily, not knowing or even suspectingthe truth, that she was regarding in the face of thislittle ardent soul her own, as in a mirror.However, it was after that episode that AmeliaWheeler was called "Copy-Cat." The two littlegirls entered Madame's select school arm in arm,when the musical gong sounded, and behind themcame Lee Westminster and Johnny Trumbull, sur-reptitiously dusting their garments, and ever afterthe fact of Amelia's adoration and imitation of LilyJennings was evident to all. Even Madame becameaware of it, and held conferences with two of theunder teachers."It is not at all healthy for one child to modelherself so entirely upon the pattern of another," saidMiss Parmalee."Most certainly it is not," agreed Miss Acton, themusic-teacher."Why, that poor little Amelia Wheeler had therudiments of a fairly good contralto. I had begunto wonder if the poor child might not be able atleast to sing a little, and so make up for -- otherthings; and now she tries to sing high like Lily Jen-nings, and I simply cannot prevent it. She hasheard Lily play, too, and has lost her own touch, andnow it is neither one thing nor the other.""I might speak to her mother," said Madame,thoughtfully. Madame was American born, but shemarried a French gentleman, long since deceased,and his name sounded well on her circulars. Sheand her two under teachers were drinking tea in herlibrary.Miss Parmalee, who was a true lover of her pupils,gasped at Madame's proposition. "Whatever youdo, please do not tell that poor child's mother," saidshe."I do not think it would be quite wise, if I mayventure to express an opinion," said Miss Acton,who was a timid soul, and always inclined to shy ather own ideas."But why?" asked Madame."Her mother," said Miss Parmalee, "is a quiteremarkable woman, with great strength of character,but she would utterly fail to grasp the situation.""I must confess," said Madame, sipping her tea,"that I fail to understand it. Why any child not anabsolute idiot should so lose her own identity in an-other's absolutely bewilders me. I never heard ofsuch a case."Miss Parmalee, who had a sense of humor, laugheda little. "It is bewildering," she admitted. "Andnow the other children see how it is, and call her'Copy-Cat' to her face, but she does not mind. Idoubt if she understands, and neither does Lily, forthat matter. Lily Jennings is full of mischief, butshe moves in straight lines; she is not conceited orself-conscious, and she really likes Amelia, withoutknowing why.""I fear Lily will lead Amelia into mischief," saidMadame, "and Amelia has always been such a goodchild.""Lily will never MEAN to lead Amelia into mis-chief," said loyal Miss Parmalee."But she will," said Madame."If Lily goes, I cannot answer for Amelia's notfollowing," admitted Miss Parmalee."I regret it all very much indeed," sighed Ma-dame, "but it does seem to me still that Amelia'smother --""Amelia's mother would not even believe it, inthe first place," said Miss Parmalee."Well, there is something in that," admitted Ma-dame. "I myself could not even imagine such asituation. I would not know of it now, if you andMiss Acton had not told me.""There is not the slightest use in telling Amelianot to imitate Lily, because she does not know thatshe is imitating her," said Miss Parmalee. "If shewere to be punished for it, she could never compre-hend the reason.""That is true," said Miss Acton. "I realize thatwhen the poor child squeaks instead of singing. AllI could think of this morning was a little mousecaught in a trap which she could not see. She doesactually squeak! -- and some of her low notes, al-though, of course, she is only a child, and has neverattempted much, promised to be very good.""She will have to squeak, for all I can see," saidMiss Parmalee. "It looks to me like one of thosesituations that no human being can change for betteror worse.""I suppose you are right," said Madame, "butit is most unfortunate, and Mrs. Wheeler is such asuperior woman, and Amelia is her only child, andthis is such a very subtle and regrettable affair.Well, we have to leave a great deal to Providence.""If," said Miss Parmalee, "she could only getangry when she is called 'Copy-Cat.'" Miss Parma-lee laughed, and so did Miss Acton. Then all theladies had their cups refilled, and left Providence tolook out for poor little Amelia Wheeler, in her madpursuit of her ideal in the shape of another littlegirl possessed of the exterior graces which she hadnot.Meantime the little "Copy-Cat" had never beenso happy. She began to improve in her looks also.Her grandmother Wheeler noticed it first, and spokeof it to Grandmother Stark. "That child may notbe so plain, after all," said she. "I looked at herthis morning when she started for school, and Ithought for the first time that there was a little re-semblance to the Wheelers."Grandmother Stark sniffed, but she looked grati-fied. "I have been noticing it for some time," saidshe, "but as for looking like the Wheelers, I thoughtthis morning for a minute that I actually saw mypoor dear husband looking at me out of that blessedchild's eyes."Grandmother Wheeler smiled her little, aggra-vating, curved, pink smile.But even Mrs. Diantha began to notice the changefor the better in Amelia. She, however, attributedit to an increase of appetite and a system of deepbreathing which she had herself taken up and en-joined Amelia to follow. Amelia was following LilyJennings instead, but that her mother did not know.Still, she was gratified to see Amelia's little sallowcheeks taking on pretty curves and a soft bloom,and she was more inclined to listen when Grand-mother Wheeler ventured to approach the subjectof Amelia's attire."Amelia would not be so bad-looking if she werebetter dressed, Diantha," said she.Diantha lifted her chin, but she paid heed. "Why,does not Amelia dress perfectly well, mother?" sheinquired."She dresses well enough, but she needs moreribbons and ruffles.""I do not approve of so many ribbons and ruffles,"said Mrs. Diantha. "Amelia has perfectly neat,fresh black or brown ribbons for her hair, and rufflesare not sanitary.""Ruffles are pretty," said Grandmother Wheeler,"and blue and pink are pretty colors. Now, thatJennings girl looks like a little picture."But that last speech of Grandmother Wheeler'sundid all the previous good. Mrs. Diantha had anunacknowledged -- even to herself -- disapproval ofMrs. Jennings which dated far back in the past, fora reason which was quite unworthy of her and of herstrong mind. When she and Lily's mother had beengirls, she had seen Mrs. Jennings look like a picture,and had been perfectly well aware that she herselffell far short of an artist's ideal. Perhaps if Mrs.Stark had believed in ruffles and ribbons, her daugh-ter might have had a different mind when Grand-mother Wheeler had finished her little speech.As it was, Mrs. Diantha surveyed her small, prettymother-in-law with dignified serenity, which savoredonly delicately of a snub. "I do not myself approveof the way in which Mrs. Jennings dresses her daugh-ter," said she, "and I do not consider that the childpresents to a practical observer as good an appear-ance as my Amelia."Grandmother Wheeler had a temper. It was achildish temper and soon over -- still, a temper."Lord," said she, "if you mean to say that youthink your poor little snipe of a daughter, dressedlike a little maid-of-all-work, can compare with thatlovely little Lily Jennings, who is dressed like adoll! --""I do not wish that my daughter should be dressedlike a doll," said Mrs. Diantha, coolly."Well, she certainly isn't," said GrandmotherWheeler. "Nobody would ever take her for a dollas far as looks or dress are concerned. She may beGOOD enough. I don't deny that Amelia is a goodlittle girl, but her looks could be improved on.""Looks matter very little," said Mrs. Diantha."They matter very much," said GrandmotherWheeler, pugnaciously, her blue eyes taking on apeculiar opaque glint, as always when she lost hertemper, "very much indeed. But looks can't behelped. If poor little Amelia wasn't born with prettylooks, she wasn't. But she wasn't born with suchugly clothes. She might be better dressed.""I dress my daughter as I consider best," saidMrs. Diantha. Then she left the room.Grandmother Wheeler sat for a few minutes, herblue eyes opaque, her little pink lips a straight line;then suddenly her eyes lit, and she smiled. "PoorDiantha," said she, "I remember how Henry usedto like Lily Jennings's mother before he marriedDiantha. Sour grapes hang high." But Grand-mother Wheeler's beautiful old face was quite softand gentle. From her heart she pitied the reacherafter those high-hanging sour grapes, for Mrs. Dian-tha had been very good to her.Then Grandmother Wheeler, who had a mildpersistency not evident to a casual observer, beganto make plans and lay plots. She was resolved,Diantha or not, that her granddaughter, her son'schild, should have some fine feathers. The littleconference had taken place in her own room, a large,sunny one, with a little storeroom opening from it.Presently Grandmother Wheeler rose, entered thestoreroom, and began rummaging in some old trunks.Then followed days of secret work. GrandmotherWheeler had been noted as a fine needlewoman,and her hand had not yet lost its cunning. She hadone of Amelia's ugly little ginghams, purloined froma closet, for size, and she worked two or three daintywonders. She took Grandmother Stark into herconfidence. Sometimes the two ladies, by reasonof their age, found it possible to combine with goodresults."Your daughter Diantha is one woman in a thou-sand," said Grandmother Wheeler, diplomatically,one day, "but she never did care much for clothes.""Diantha," returned Grandmother Stark, with asuspicious glance, "always realized that clothes werenot the things that mattered.""And, of course, she is right," said GrandmotherWheeler, piously. "Your Diantha is one woman ina thousand. If she cared as much for fine clothes assome women, I don't know where we should all be.It would spoil poor little Amelia.""Yes, it would," assented Grandmother Stark."Nothing spoils a little girl more than always to bethinking about her clothes.""Yes, I was looking at Amelia the other day, andthinking how much more sensible she appeared inher plain gingham than Lily Jennings in all herruffles and ribbons. Even if people were all notic-ing Lily, and praising her, thinks I to myself, 'Howlittle difference such things really make. Even ifour dear Amelia does stand to one side, and nobodynotices her, what real matter is it?'" GrandmotherWheeler was inwardly chuckling as she spoke.Grandmother Stark was at once alert. "Do youmean to say that Amelia is really not taken so muchnotice of because she dresses plainly?" said she."You don't mean that you don't know it, as ob-servant as you are?" replied Grandmother Wheeler."Diantha ought not to let it go as far as that," saidGrandmother Stark. Grandmother Wheeler lookedat her queerly. "Why do you look at me like that?""Well, I did something I feared I ought not tohave done. And I didn't know what to do, but yourspeaking so makes me wonder --""Wonder what?"Then Grandmother Wheeler went to her littlestoreroom and emerged bearing a box. She dis-played the contents -- three charming little whitefrocks fluffy with lace and embroidery."Did you make them?""Yes, I did. I couldn't help it. I thought if thedear child never wore them, it would be some com-fort to know they were in the house.""That one needs a broad blue sash," said Grand-mother Stark.Grandmother Wheeler laughed. She took her impe-cuniosity easily. "I had to use what I had," said she."I will get a blue sash for that one," said Grand-mother Stark, "and a pink sash for that, and a flow-ered one for that.""Of course they will make all the difference,"said Grandmother Wheeler. "Those beautiful sasheswill really make the dresses.""I will get them," said Grandmother Stark, withdecision. "I will go right down to Mann Brothers'store now and get them.""Then I will make the bows, and sew them on,"replied Grandmother Wheeler, happily.It thus happened that little Amelia Wheeler waspossessed of three beautiful dresses, although shedid not know it.For a long time neither of the two conspiringgrandmothers dared divulge the secret. Mrs. Dian-tha was a very determined woman, and even herown mother stood somewhat in awe of her. There-fore, little Amelia went to school during the springterm soberly clad as ever, and even on the festivelast day wore nothing better than a new blue ging-ham, made too long, to allow for shrinkage, and newblue hair-ribbons. The two grandmothers almostwept in secret conclave over the lovely frocks whichwere not worn."I respect Diantha," said Grandmother Wheeler."You know that. She is one woman in a thousand,but I do hate to have that poor child go to schoolto-day with so many to look at her, and she dressedso unlike all the other little girls.""Diantha has got so much sense, it makes herblind and deaf," declared Grandmother Stark. "Icall it a shame, if she is my daughter.""Then you don't venture --"Grandmother Stark reddened. She did not liketo own to awe of her daughter. "I VENTURE, if that isall," said she, tartly. "You don't suppose I amafraid of Diantha? -- but she would not let Ameliawear one of the dresses, anyway, and I don't wantthe child made any unhappier than she is.""Well, I will admit," replied Grandmother Wheel-er, "if poor Amelia knew she had these beautifuldresses and could not wear them she might feelworse about wearing that homely gingham.""Gingham!" fairly snorted Grandmother Stark."I cannot see why Diantha thinks so much of ging-ham. It shrinks, anyway."Poor little Amelia did undoubtedly suffer on thatlast day, when she sat among the others gaily clad,and looked down at her own common little skirts.She was very glad, however, that she had not beenchosen to do any of the special things which wouldhave necessitated her appearance upon the littleflower-decorated platform. She did not know of theconversation between Madame and her two as-sistants."I would have Amelia recite a little verse or two,"said Madame, "but how can I?" Madame adoreddress, and had a lovely new one of sheer dull-bluestuff, with touches of silver, for the last day."Yes," agreed Miss Parmalee, "that poor child issensitive, and for her to stand on the platform inone of those plain ginghams would be too cruel.""Then, too," said Miss Acton, "she would re-cite her verses exactly like Lily Jennings. She canmake her voice exactly like Lily's now. Then every-body would laugh, and Amelia would not know why.She would think they were laughing at her dress, andthat would be dreadful."If Amelia's mother could have heard that conver-sation everything would have been different, al-though it is puzzling to decide in what way.It was the last of the summer vacation inearly September, just before school began, that aclimax came to Amelia's idolatry and imitation ofLily. The Jenningses had not gone away that sum-mer, so the two little girls had been thrown togethera good deal. Mrs. Diantha never went away duringa summer. She considered it her duty to remain athome, and she was quite pitiless to herself when itcame to a matter of duty.However, as a result she was quite ill during thelast of August and the first of September. The sea-son had been unusually hot, and Mrs. Diantha hadnot spared herself from her duty on account of theheat. She would have scorned herself if she had doneso. But she could not, strong-minded as she was,avert something like a heat prostration after a longwalk under a burning sun, nor weeks of confinementand idleness in her room afterward.When September came, and a night or two of com-parative coolness, she felt stronger; still she wascompelled by most unusual weakness to refrain fromher energetic trot in her duty-path; and then it wasthat something happened.One afternoon Lily fluttered over to Amelia's,and Amelia, ever on the watch, spied her."May I go out and see Lily?" she asked Grand-mother Stark."Yes, but don't talk under the windows; yourmother is asleep."Amelia ran out."I declare," said Grandmother Stark to Grand-mother Wheeler, "I was half a mind to tell thatchild to wait a minute and slip on one of thosepretty dresses. I hate to have her go on the streetin that old gingham, with that Jennings girl dressedup like a wax doll.""I know it.""And now poor Diantha is so weak -- and asleep-- it would not have annoyed her.""I know it."Grandmother Stark looked at GrandmotherWheeler. Of the two she possessed a greater shareof original sin compared with the size of her soul.Moreover, she felt herself at liberty to circumventher own daughter. Whispering, she unfolded a dar-ing scheme to the other grandmother, who staredat her aghast a second out of her lovely blue eyes,then laughed softly."Very well," said she, "if you dare.""I rather think I dare!" said Grandmother Stark."Isn't Diantha Wheeler my own daughter?" Grand-mother Stark had grown much bolder since Mrs.Diantha had been ill.Meantime Lily and Amelia walked down thestreet until they came to a certain vacant lot inter-sected by a foot-path between tall, feathery grassesand goldenrod and asters and milkweed. They en-tered the foot-path, and swarms of little butterfliesrose around them, and once in a while a protestingbumblebee."I am afraid we will be stung by the bees," saidAmelia."Bumblebees never sting," said Lily; and Ameliabelieved her.When the foot-path ended, there was the river-bank. The two little girls sat down under a clumpof brook willows and talked, while the river, full ofgreen and blue and golden lights, slipped past themand never stopped.Then Lily proceeded to unfold a plan, which wasnot philosophical, but naughtily ingenious. By thistime Lily knew very well that Amelia admired her,and imitated her as successfully as possible, consid-ering the drawback of dress and looks.When she had finished Amelia was quite pale. "Iam afraid, I am afraid, Lily," said she."What of?""My mother will find out; besides, I am afraidit isn't right.""Who ever told you it was wrong?""Nobody ever did," admitted Amelia."Well, then you haven't any reason to think it is,"said Lily, triumphantly. "And how is your motherever going to find it out?""I don't know.""Isn't she ill in her room? And does she evercome to kiss you good night, the way my motherdoes, when she is well?""No," admitted Amelia."And neither of your grandmothers?""Grandmother Stark would think it was silly,like mother, and Grandmother Wheeler can't go upand down stairs very well.""I can't see but you are perfectly safe. I am theonly one that runs any risk at all. I run a great dealof risk, but I am willing to take it," said Lily witha virtuous air. Lily had a small but rather involvedscheme simply for her own ends, which did not seemto call for much virtue, but rather the contrary.Lily had overheard Arnold Carruth and JohnnyTrumbull and Lee Westminster and another boy,Jim Patterson, planning a most delightful affair,which even in the cases of the boys was fraught withdanger, secrecy, and doubtful rectitude. Not oneof the four boys had had a vacation from the villagethat summer, and their young minds had becomecharged, as it were, with the seeds of revolution andrebellion. Jim Patterson, the son of the rector, andof them all the most venturesome, had planned totake -- he called it "take"; he meant to pay for it,anyway, he said, as soon as he could shake enoughmoney out of his nickel savings-bank -- one of hisfather's Plymouth Rock chickens and have a chicken-roast in the woods back of Dr. Trumbull's. Hehad planned for Johnny to take some ears of cornsuitable for roasting from his father's garden; forLee to take some cookies out of a stone jar in hismother's pantry; and for Arnold to take some pota-toes. Then they four would steal forth under coverof night, build a camp-fire, roast their spoils, andfeast.Lily had resolved to be of the party. She resortedto no open methods; the stones of the fighting suf-fragettes were not for her, little honey-sweet, curled,and ruffled darling; rather the time-worn, if nottime-sanctified, weapons of her sex, little instrumentsof wiles, and tiny dodges, and tiny subterfuges, whichwould serve her best."You know," she said to Amelia, "you don't looklike me. Of course you know that, and that can'tbe helped; but you do walk like me, and talk likeme, you know that, because they call you 'Copy-Cat.'""Yes, I know," said poor Amelia."I don't mind if they do call you 'Copy-Cat,'"said Lily, magnanimously. "I don't mind a bit.But, you see, my mother always comes up-stairs tokiss me good night after I have gone to bed, and to-morrow night she has a dinner-party, and she willsurely be a little late, and I can't manage unless youhelp me. I will get one of my white dresses for you,and all you have to do is to climb out of your windowinto that cedar-tree -- you know you can climb downthat, because you are so afraid of burglars climbingup -- and you can slip on my dress; you had betterthrow it out of the window and not try to climb init, because my dresses tear awful easy, and we mightget caught that way. Then you just sneak down toour house, and I shall be outdoors; and when yougo up-stairs, if the doors should be open, and any-body should call, you can answer just like me; and Ihave found that light curly wig Aunt Laura worewhen she had her head shaved after she had a fever,and you just put that on and go to bed, and motherwill never know when she kisses you good night.Then after the roast I will go to your house, andclimb up that tree, and go to bed in your room. AndI will have one of your gingham dresses to wear, andvery early in the morning I will get up, and you getup, and we both of us can get down the back stairswithout being seen, and run home."Amelia was almost weeping. It was her worshipedLily's plan, but she was horribly scared. "I don'tknow," she faltered."Don't know! You've got to! You don't loveme one single bit or you wouldn't stop to think aboutwhether you didn't know." It was the world-oldargument which floors love. Amelia succumbed.The next evening a frightened little girl clad inone of Lily Jennings's white embroidered frocks wasracing to the Jenningses' house, and another littlegirl, not at all frightened, but enjoying the stimulusof mischief and unwontedness, was racing to the woodbehind Dr. Trumbull's house, and that little girl wasclad in one of Amelia Wheeler's ginghams. But theplan went all awry.Lily waited, snuggled up behind an alder-bush,and the boys came, one by one, and she heard thiswhispered, although there was no necessity for whis-pering, "Jim Patterson, where's that hen?""Couldn't get her. Grabbed her, and all her tail-feathers came out in a bunch right in my hand, andshe squawked so, father heard. He was in his studywriting his sermon, and he came out, and if I hadn'thid behind the chicken-coop and then run I couldn'thave got here. But I can't see as you've got anycorn, Johnny Trumbull.""Couldn't. Every single ear was cooked for din-ner.""I couldn't bring any cookies, either," said LeeWestminster; "there weren't any cookies in the jar.""And I couldn't bring the potatoes, because theoutside cellar door was locked," said Arnold Car-ruth. "I had to go down the back stairs and outthe south door, and the inside cellar door opens outof our dining-room, and I daren't go in there.""Then we might as well go home," said JohnnyTrumbull. "If I had been you, Jim Patterson, Iwould have brought that old hen if her tail-feathershad come out. Seems to me you scare awful easy.""Guess if you had heard her squawk!" said Jim,resentfully. "If you want to try to lick me, come on,Johnny Trumbull. Guess you don't darse call mescared again."Johnny eyed him standing there in the gloom.Jim was not large, but very wiry, and the ground wasnot suited for combat. Johnny, although a victor,would probably go home considerably the worse inappearance; and he could anticipate the conse-quences were his father to encounter him."Shucks!" said Johnny Trumbull, of the fine oldTrumbull family and Madame's exclusive school."Shucks! who wants your old hen? We had chickenfor dinner, anyway.""So did we," said Arnold Carruth."We did, and corn," said Lee."We did," said Jim.Lily stepped forth from the alder-bush. "If,"said she, "I were a boy, and had started to have achicken-roast, I would have HAD a chicken-roast."But every boy, even the valiant Johnny Trum-bull, was gone in a mad scutter. This sudden appari-tion of a girl was too much for their nerves. Theynever even knew who the girl was, although littleArnold Carruth said she had looked to him like"Copy-Cat," but the others scouted the idea.Lily Jennings made the best of her way out of thewood across lots to the road. She was not in a par-ticularly enviable case. Amelia Wheeler was pre-sumably in her bed, and she saw nothing for it butto take the difficult way to Amelia's.Lily tore a great rent in the gingham going up thecedar-tree, but that was nothing to what followed.She entered through Amelia's window, her primlittle room, to find herself confronted by Amelia'smother in a wrapper, and her two grandmothers.Grandmother Stark had over her arm a beautifulwhite embroidered dress. The two old ladies hadentered the room in order to lay the white dress ona chair and take away Amelia's gingham, and therewas no Amelia. Mrs. Diantha had heard the com-motion, and had risen, thrown on her wrapper, andcome. Her mother had turned upon her."It is all your fault, Diantha," she had declared."My fault?" echoed Mrs. Diantha, bewildered."Where is Amelia?""We don't know," said Grandmother Stark, "butyou have probably driven her away from home byyour cruelty.""Cruelty?""Yes, cruelty. What right had you to make thatpoor child look like a fright, so people laughed ather? We have made her some dresses that lookdecent, and had come here to leave them, and totake away those old gingham things that look as ifshe lived in the almshouse, and leave these, so shewould either have to wear them or go without, whenwe found she had gone."It was at that crucial moment that Lily enteredby way of the window."Here she is now," shrieked Grandmother Stark."Amelia, where --" Then she stopped short.Everybody stared at Lily's beautiful face suddenlygone white. For once Lily was frightened. She lostall self-control. She began to sob. She could scarce-ly tell the absurd story for sobs, but she told, everyword.Then, with a sudden boldness, she too turned onMrs. Diantha. "They call poor Amelia 'Copy-Cat,'" said she, "and I don't believe she would everhave tried so hard to look like me only my motherdresses me so I look nice, and you send Ameliato school looking awfully." Then Lily sobbedagain."My Amelia is at your house, as I understand?"said Mrs. Diantha, in an awful voice."Ye-es, ma-am.""Let me go," said Mrs. Diantha, violently, toGrandmother Stark, who tried to restrain her. Mrs.Diantha dressed herself and marched down thestreet, dragging Lily after her. The little girl hadto trot to keep up with the tall woman's strides, andall the way she wept.It was to Lily's mother's everlasting discredit, inMrs. Diantha's opinion, but to Lily's wonderful re-lief, that when she heard the story, standing in thehall in her lovely dinner dress, with the strains ofmusic floating from the drawing-room, and cigarsmoke floating from the dining-room, she laughed.When Lily said, "And there wasn't even any chicken-roast, mother," she nearly had hysterics."If you think this is a laughing matter, Mrs. Jen-nings, I do not," said Mrs. Diantha, and again herdislike and sorrow at the sight of that sweet, mirth-ful face was over her. It was a face to be loved, andhers was not."Why, I went up-stairs and kissed the child goodnight, and never suspected," laughed Lily's mother."I got Aunt Laura's curly, light wig for her," ex-plained Lily, and Mrs. Jennings laughed again.It was not long before Amelia, in her gingham,went home, led by her mother -- her mother, whowas trembling with weakness now. Mrs. Dianthadid not scold. She did not speak, but Amelia feltwith wonder her little hand held very tenderly byher mother's long fingers.When at last she was undressed and in bed, Mrs.Diantha, looking very pale, kissed her, and so didboth grandmothers.Amelia, being very young and very tired, went tosleep. She did not know that that night was to marka sharp turn in her whole life. Thereafter she wentto school "dressed like the best," and her motherpetted her as nobody had ever known her mothercould pet.It was not so very long afterward that Amelia,out of her own improvement in appearance, devel-oped a little stamp of individuality.One day Lily wore a white frock with blue rib-bons, and Amelia wore one with coral pink. It wasa particular day in school; there was company, andtea was served."I told you I was going to wear blue ribbons,"Lily whispered to Amelia. Amelia smiled lovinglyback at her."Yes, I know, but I thought I would wear pink."


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