Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 December 1882 — A MOUNT DESERT ESPISODE. [ARTICLE]

A MOUNT DESERT ESPISODE.

It was at Bar Harbor, and in the moot* of August. “He’s a supercilious peacock,” said Molly, digging her parasol into the sand. She was sitting on the rocks, below the town, with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Randolph. At a little distance was the i daughter of the latter, with tl< ijaispensable wooden shovel and pal, i irrepressible a little witch as Fev® ®ked, nicknamed, in the family, Toots. “My dear,” said Mrs. Randolph, expostulating. “Yes, a superciFous peacock,” repeM< Molly, tapping her foot impaIt was only the day before that they had arrived, and already Molly had nearly broken her sister-in-law’s heart. This was especially hard on Mrs. Randolph, who had left her favorite Sarataga Molly had said: “I de'fashion; and' want to go to some plw? where people live sensibly in summer. Mount Desert, everybody saw fs just such a spot; let us go tjete." §4p so Mount Desert they had come. Tlniy had arrived to find Bar Harbor to overflowing. Gay New YoMtCTs; well-born Philadelphians; pretty Baltimoreans; dyspeptic Southerners ; esthetic Bostonians; young gentlemen in knickerbockers; young ladies in navy blue; all stood c owded on the Bodick House piazza, watching the new arrivals when Mrs. Randolph and her party appeared. Molly had preceded her sister-in-law a few steps—for the latter had stopped, for njrnoment, to give directions about the luggage—wheji suddenly our heroine Aford a voice close at her ear. i| gaid, “what a pretty Mq|lv turned angiily, and saw a handsome young man, who looked quite thoroughbred, yet also more contented *MWWlln<rf, mtliig decidedly, almost rudely,,at her. ftnpudent puppy,” she said to hergejf, a hot flush crimsoning her eheiA. > The next instant the offender, recognizing Mrs. Randolph, advanced eagerly, both hands extended. “Can I believe any eyes?” he said. “You hbre, Mrs. Randolph? And outside ( tJie pale of civilization, as some people might think? What has indue d you to desert Saratoga?” “Oh, Mr. Peabody! I’m so glad td see you. But thereby hangs, not a tale, but a great many,” she replied, laughingly; “I’m too tired, however, to talk. Come to see me this evening, and I’ll tell you all about it.” *Well, I congratulate you that you are without a party, or a dozen debutantes in tow,” he said; for he failed to ootinect Molly with Mrs. Randolph, supposing that our heroine belonged to some other arrivals. “You don’t know what it is here. Such swarms of girls seeing with a shrug of the shoiuders. “The g<asshopper plague was nothing to it.” MfHy heard all this, and, turning, fixed: a pair of stern, indignant eyes on the speaker, for was not she a debu-tante--this the first season since she left school ? Fortunately for the young gentleman’s peace of mind, he did not see this by-play. But he was made to realize that something was wrong when i» the evening he came to pay his respects to Mrs. Randolph. That lady, after shaking hafeds again, sank into her arm-chair; and, tapping her fingers with her fan, said, indicating Molly with a little gesture : “My sister-in-law, Miss Randolph. Molly/ Mr. Peabody.” Molly rose and took the offered hand, but trigidly. Her bow was as stiff as the ng ctic circle. “Conceited fop,” she said to herself; “he thinks he has only to throw his handkerchief, and any girl will be glad to pick it up.” His soliloquy was not any less to the point: “My beauty of the afternoon! She overheard me, that is plain. What a mess I’ve made of it! She’ll never forgive me.”

: 1 Jirt neither by sign nor word did he this. He was too much of a vaterafti in society matters for that. he cried with great effusiveness, “your sister-in-law Miss Randolph, of whom I have heard so much! Tins is a most delightful surprise. Heretofore whenever I have called I have been told she was at school. And, halloo, here is Toots. Why, Toots, don’t you know your old friends?” And in a moment Toots was in his arjfte, menjtories of bon-bons and Mr. Peabody being Synonymous in her mind. “"Sou see, Miss Randolph,” said Peabody, addressing the young girl, and quits4gnoring her frigid manner, “that Toots and I are fast friends.” • repl ed Molly indifferently, all know toat the affections of *lpQts are very elastic.” But the young man, ignoring this decided snub, turned to Mrs. Randolph. “Omildn't I ind<uef you and your sister ip a feamerof tennis to mbrrow ? Or, to come out on my buck’%e at any rate a novel experience, ” Jj«- * liAdoljlk is charged. Bui humor, looking prettier than ever, howele “Thanks,” she says, ungracious1< Hut I hate lawn-tennis, ahd I don’t ’ o*Wb drive tri a buckboard yet. ” At hearing which Mrs. Randolph is furious, she would like to box t W ears. talk bf the sfeanery. “I like coming to Desert,” says, “.because all along this coast you see mountain on . bihation to be found nowhere else on otfrAtlantic coaSt. You must ascend Graea mountain. The view from it is bdfttfi 1 , Ithink, than that from Mount wSwhmgton even?’ But ba' fails to interest Molly, even in the least, in his next moKiing, Mrs. Randolph, IMb* T}bi quiton# Toots gc the rocks. Mrs. Randolph is qrieifor a while; too much so;‘it is the cahn before the storm; and finally she up, M|d speaks her mind; and than Mouy retorts in the words with

which we open our story: “Why shouldn’t I call him a supercilious peacock?” she defiwtly- “ What on earth ts Charlie Peabody to me? I didn’t want to drive with him, and I abominate speoning.” “Molly',” answered Mrs. Randolph, severely, “you know perfectly well that Charley Peabody is the man of Bar Harbor. It is not of the slightest consequence whether you like him or not. In fact, I much prefer you shouldn’t, for he isn’t a marrying man, everybody knows.” Up goes Molly’s head with an air of pride. Mrs. Randolph continues, appealingly. “But it’s such a good thing to be seen with him. If he takes you up, you’re a success; but there’s no "hope of that now,” and relapses into despondency. But Molly sits, a delicious little frown on her face, throwing stones, occasionally, in a weak, futile way, at an obstinate patch of seaweed that -will bob up and down. “Irma,” she exclaims suddenly, “don’t let’s quarrel. You may just make up your mind that I shall never be a success in society,” and she gives a solemn nod. “I haven’t the brains for it. As for spending all my life to be civil to one man, because he’s ‘the thing,’ I should be a skeleton in a week. Do let me have a good time and be nice to people I like. Life isn’t long enough to fuss over horrid peop e like this supercilious peacock,” and she tilts back her parasol and stamps her foot. “What’s a Bilious peacock, Aunt Molly?” asks at this juncture a shrill small voice at l;er elbow, and Molly, turning, sees the irrepressible Toots. Molly gives a gay laugh. “Toots,” she, solemnly, “come here to your aunt. You saw the big gentleman on the piazza this morning? Well, you thought he was a man, like papa, didn’t you?” A solemn nod from Toots. “But he wasn’t. He was only a supercilious peac ick. What’s that, you ask? Well, that’s a peac ck who thinks himself better than others. Come, now, mamma’s gone on; we’ll be late. Let’s have a race. See which will get to her first.” Toots’ thin legs spin over the ground, and her mass of brown curls floats out on the wind as she flies along, fairly shrieking with excitement. Molly is not much better in point of dignity, for she gathers up her white skirt in one hand, and gives her big hat an excited push on the back of her head. Suddenly they turn a sharp corner. “Heavens and earth!” ejaculates Molly, as she sees Irma standing, gracefully composed, talking to Mr. Peabody. “Oh, Aunt Molly, there it is,” screams Toots; “the peacock, the silious peacock!” “Toots, be quiet,” commands the unfortunate relative, cold chills running up and down her back. “Toots, come here,” implores Mrs. Randolph, the horrors of the situation coming in upon her. But Toots, In all her five years of existence, has never known what it is to mind any one; so she rushes up to Mr. Peabody like a small whirlwind. There she pauses, and begins a grave investigation. “Is you,” she says, with her head on one side, like an impertinent little sparrow, “is you really a silious peacock?” “A what?” repeats Peabody, naturally somewhat astonished, looking down on the small object in front of him. In another instant she will say: “Aunt Molly told me so.” Get out of it she must.

As she walks away her prophecies come true. She hears the shrill, childish treble: “Is you—Aunt Molly said so—a silious peacock?” “Ah!” she hears him answer. “Aunt Molly says I’m a peacock. But I don’t quite grasp the adjective." “Never mind the adjective,” thinks Molly, grimly; and then she wonders if there be a corner in this wretched island where she can hide from that man; for, as to ever looking him in the face again, she never can. However, she need not trouble herself about that. He will probably turn his back upon her before she has the 'chance. She seeks refuge in the d'ning-room, which is beginning to fill with the crowd of hungry pedestrian-w By and by in sail Irma and Mr. Peabody. Toots has disappeared. “Irma has probably garroted her,” thinks Molly, with great satisfaction. They seem to be in the best of sp rits. As they approach Molly, to her horror she hears Mr. Peabody say, “If you’ll allow me, Mrs. Randolph, I’ll take this vacant seat next to Miss Randolph.” “Is he going to speak or mention it?” she thinks, in an agony. Peabody seemingly takes no notice of the wretched, blushing little being at his side, at east for some minutes. “Poor little soul,” he thinks, “how wrelched she is miking herself. She shall call me a whole Zoological Garden, if idle only won’t look like th >t.” So, half in fun, half in earnest, he leans over her with, “I don’t m nd a bit, indeed 1 don’t. 1-dare say you’re right; we men aiie wretched creatures. ” He liad a funny, staccato way of speaking which in the morning Molly had dec ded to be particularly disagreeable. Strange, it doesn’t seem so now!

Molly’s spirits return. “It’s cert i ily very nice in him,” the thinks, “not to be sulky.” “Really,” says she, laughing, and looking a little bit in earnest through it all, “do you kn >w I think it’s very nice of you. I should mind, immensely, if you called me names,” giving him a shy glance from under het long lashes. “Perish the thought! You'suggest an impossibility,” he retorts. “How delightfu',” exclaims Mol y, cheerfully. “Perhaps I may like then.” “Will you two people eat yoir dinner?” interrupts Mrs. Randolph, nho has been watching this proceeding wth the utmost satisfaction. And she sa s to herself: “Perhaps—supposing if—after all. It w uld be a capital thing.” But every paradise has its serpent. The serpent at Bar Harbor turns up in the person of Mrs. Crosby, a widow, irreproachable in family, but envious, malicious, gossiping, and with a pale, dejected daughter 30 years old. Mrs. Randolph hears of this arrival with consternation. She rushes up to Molly, who is sitting on the piazza by a diningroom window, chatting with Peabody. “Qur good time’s over,” she cries. “Mrs. Crosby is here, and Maria’s with her, and by to-morrow none of us will have any character left. ” Peabody looks consternation itself. Molly cries: “The slanderous old tabby. ” She has hardly spoken when a voice from behind the dining-room blinds cries: “Maria, my dear, will you close that window? The clatter outside is so tiresome.” And they know they have been overheard. “Gracious Heaven!” -cries Mrs. Randolph; “she’s there and listening!” Nothing followed this catastrophe, however, for many days; and Mrs. Randolph began to think they had not been overheard. Peabody even went so far as to begin to pay court to Mrs. Crosby, hoping to cut her fangs, if not to propitiate her. He had been talking to her one day, when he saw Molly in front of the piazza, without hat or parasol. By this time he and she had grown quite intimate, Mrs. Randolph, like a wise woman, looking on and saying nothing. They had ridden, walked and boated together, and had sat for hours side by sidejvn the rocks, watching the sea, off to Mie south. He now rushed forth wiSk almost an air es proprietorship.

“How can ydu,” he said to Molly, “stand out here, in that way, in the heat 1. A nut-brown maid is one thing; but a Sioux or Cherokee —” “Are two,” interrupts Molly, gayly. “It’s a hopeless case, Mr. Peabody," and she hold out two little brown hands for his inspection and then looks up into his face with laughing eyes. “Are you ashamed of me ?” “I wish you would let me tell you how I do feel toward you,” he whispers impetuously, and in an accent he has never dared to use before. Molly blushes furiously. She is utterly taken aback She had never thought of this. What does he mean ? Oh, perhaps he means nothing. She is saved a reply by the approach of Mrs. Randolph. Peabody is his usual cool-mannered, well-bred self in a moment. “Ah, Mrs. Randolph,” he says, “I am the bearer of a flag of truce from her Majesty Mrs. Crosby. She wants to know if you have forgotten her, and if you won’t bring up Miss Randolph to talk to her.” “Must we back out of the royal presence when we retire?” says Molly, mischievously. “Hush,” answers Peabody; “here we are. ” “A very nice old lady,” is Molly’s judgment, as she listens to the bland, quiet voice purring away to Irma. Presently she hears: “Is this your first visit to Bar Harbor, Mrs. Randolph? But how then—do tell me—did you know what a happy hunting-ground it was?” Mrs. Randolph was a courageous little woman, with a very quick temper. In an instant she scented battle, and in another was fully armed and equipped. “But I didn’t,” she said, with a naive little laugh, “ How do you mean ? For what kind of game ?” “Game?” rejoined the other, with a sneering laugh. “Good partis, of course. I hear that so far you’ve been moderately successful.” All the little group around were silent. Molly, alone did not take in the meaning of her words. Peabody stood looking, as some one said afterward, as if he were going to murder her. But what could he do ? A man interfere between two women ? It was impossible. Mrs. Randolph was absolutely white with anger. The coarseness of the attack stunned her for a moment; but only th it.

“Yes?” she slid, witlira lazy, indifferent laugh. “You slitter me, I’m afraid. But you forget that Mr. Randolph still exists; and Molly, you know, is still a child—years and years, 1 hope, before she will think of anything of that kind. You wouldn’t lose your litt e Maria, would you, yet awhile?” With which she arose. “Ah, Mr. Peabody, we were going sailing,” she said. “I wonder if our boat’s ready? You are coming with u<, as usual, I suppose ? Good by, everybody.” And with a bright smile she tripped down the steps, followed by Molly and Peabody. As they went there was a low buzz, and then Pe ibody heard his name, coupled with Molly’s of course. After that Mrs. Crosby’s cat-like voice: “Intentions? Why none, of course.” He heard and so did Molly. But she walked on, her head proudly erect, her face blazing. Peabody dared not look at her. Mrs. Randolph was so angry that she felt absolutely ill. She said abruptly that she could not go boating; they must go without her; and turned back. Peabody and Molly walked along in profound silence. To this day, Molly can see distinctly the landing, and the very plank on which they stood, while looking around for the boatman;'and where, as the wind began to blow fresher, her companion insisted on putting over her her knit shawl. It was about 11 o’clock. The sun was beating hotly down upon the planks, which sent out a faint odor of tar—to this day Molly ha* es tar. Peabody left her, to signal to one of the little birch canoes bobbing lazily up and down in tne water. Across the waters, Harvard men were singing college songs, and their voices came floating to her. Something, she didn’t know what, made the tears rise to her eyes. How dreadful it all was. How could she ever speak to Mr. Peabody agiin? Just then Peabody came toward her. “This way, Mi-s Molly,” he said, in just his usual voice. “Our canoe is here.”

As he helped her into the canoe he caught sight of her quiverin r lips, her tearful eyes. “Don’t,” he whi pered. “My darling, if you do, I shall most certainly kiss you; and think how disgraceful that would be.” Molly ought to have been very angry ; but she wasn’t—not a bit. Splash! went the paddle. Peabody’s ideas of the view must have been vague in the last extreme; for Molly heart essly interposed her scarlet umbrella between herself and him, leaving him to o -c ipy h mself wi h all kinds of futile conjectures as to how she was looking and what she was doing behind it. Thump, bang, and they ran up on the little pebbly beach. At one side was a steep hill, thickly wooded with pine trees, whose aromatic fragrance came wafted down to them on the crisp morning air. On the other was a jagged pile of stern gray rocks, with nooks and crevices of delightful shadow. With the quickness of long practice, Peabody at once selects the most comfortable and the most accessible spot. As Molly was handed to the shore she had a desperate feeling come over her. Escape she must. But how ? She stopped and looked back at the canoe. Peabody comprehended what was in her mind. Without a moment’s hesitation he stretched out his arms and drew her toward him. “Molly, dearest,” he said, “don’t you know what I have to tell you ?” j Half resisting, half yielding, stammers out a confused “No. ’Y-. • “Molly, Molly,” he went “don’t say no. It’s ‘yes’ you’re going to say to me. Tell me, dearest, is it?” Molly raised her happy, confused face from his shoulder. “If I could only be sure,” she whispered, “that you weren’t simply doing this to spite Mrs. Crosby, and that—and that—you didn’t think me one of the grasshoppers—” Peabody, in spite of all, roars with laughter. Finally he sobers down. “Tell me;” he said, “do you think me a supercilious peacock now?”