to all miss polly's guests, that evening was a wonderful experience; but to dan it was an entrance into a fairy realm that his fancy had never pictured; for in the hard, rough ways his childish feet had walked neither fairies nor fancies had place. he had found sailing over sunlit seas in killykinick's dingy boats a very pleasant pastime; but the "sary ann" seemed to sink into a drifting tub when he stood on the spotless deck of "the polly" as she spread her snowy wings for her homeward flight.
dad, who, though very rich and great now, still remembered those "pirate days" when he was young himself, proved the most charming of hosts. he took the boys over his beautiful boat, where every bit of shining brass and chain and rope and bit of rigging was in perfect shipshape; and an artful little motor was hidden away for emergencies of wind and tide. there was a lovely little cabin, all in white and gold, with pale blue draperies; and two tiny staterooms dainty enough for the slumbers of a fairy queen. there were books and games, and a victrola that sang full-toned boating songs as they glided onward.
even dud was properly impressed by the charms of "the polly"; and jim was outspoken in his admiration. freddy was wide-eyed with delight; and dan was swept quite away from his usual moorings into another world,--a world where aunt winnie's boy seemed altogether lost. for, with miss polly slipping her little hand in his and guiding him over her namesake, and freddy telling tad the story of dan's dive among the sharks, to which even the man at "the polly's" wheel listened with interest, with dad so jolly and friendly, and everything so gay and beautiful around him, it was no wonder that dan's head, accustomed to sober prosy ways, began to turn.
"dolan,--dolan? i ought to know that name," said dad, as, with polly and her "nice" boy at his side, he stood watching the roofs and spires of beach cliff come into view. "there was a phil dolan in my class at harvard,--one of the finest fellows i ever knew; rolling in money, but it didn't hurt him. he is a judge now, and i think he had a brother at west point. are you related to them?"
"no, sir," answered dan, who at another time would have blurted out that he was not of the harvard or west point kind. "i--i am from maryland."
"oh, maryland!" said dad, approvingly. "i see,--i see! the dolans of maryland. i've heard of them,--one of the old catholic families, i think."
"yes, we're--we're catholics all right," said dan, catching to this saving spar of truth, in his doubt and uncertainty. "we--we wouldn't be anything else if we were killed for it."
"of course you wouldn't. that is your heritage, my boy! hold fast to it," said dad, heartily. then he turned about to see that "the polly" made the way safely to her private wharf, feeling that he left his little girl with the scion of a family quite equal to the foresters.
with the strange sense of treading in an unreal world, dan passed on with the rest of the chattering, laughing crowd to the pretty, rustic wharf jutting out into the waters, and up to the steep, narrow street where carriages were waiting to take them to the forester home. the wide grounds and gardens were already gay with the gathering guests. pretty, flower-decked tables were set in the maze. the trees were hung with japanese lanterns, that a little later would glow into jewelled lights. there was a group of "grown-ups" on the porch,--mamma, beautiful in cloudy white; sisters and cousins and aunts,--for the forester family was a large one. there were two grandmothers--one fat and one thin,--very elegant old ladies, with white hair rolled high upon their heads. they looked upon the youthful guests, through gold lorgnettes, and were really most awe-inspiring.
the st. andrew's boys were brought up and "presented" in due form. it was an ordeal. how dan got through with it he didn't know. he had never before been "presented" to any one but polly. but dad managed it somehow, and on the porch friendly shadows were gathering that concealed any social discrepancies. then polly flitted off to don her party dress, and dan found himself stranded on the danger reefs of this strange world, with dad giving the fat grandmother his family history.
"dolan?" repeated the old lady, who was a little deaf. "one of the dolans of maryland, you say, pemberton? dear me! i used to visit dolan hall when i was a girl. such a beautiful old colonial home! is it still standing?" she said, turning to dan.
"i--i don't know, ma'am," stammered dan, who found the gleam of the gold lorgnettes most confusing.
"what does he say?" asked the old lady sharply.
"that he does not know, mother dear!" answered dad.
"he should know," said the old lady, severely. "the young people are growing up in these careless days without any proper sentiment to the past. a home like dolan hall, with its memories and traditions, should be a pride to all of the dolan blood. the name is really french--d'olane,--but most unfortunately, as i consider, was anglicized. the family was originally from touraine, and dates back to the crusaders, and is most aristocratic."
"he looks it," murmured the thin grandmother, fixing her lorgnettes on dan's broad shoulders as he moved away to join tad and freddy, who were making friends with polly's poodle. "i have never seen a boy carry himself better. blood will tell, as i have always insisted, stella."
the lady at her side laughed. she, too, had been regarding dan with curious interest.
"what does it tell, aunt lena?" she asked.
"the lady and the gentleman," answered polly's grandmother.
"oh, does it?" said the other, softly. "i suppose i am not very wise in such matters, but one of the nicest ladies i ever knew was a little irish sewing woman who made buttonholes. it was one summer when i went south, more years ago than i care to count; and winnie--her name was winnie--came to the house to renovate my riding habit for me."
the speaker paused as if she did not care to say more. she was a slender little person, not awe-inspiring at all. she had just driven up in a pretty, light carriage, and was still muffled in a soft fleecy wrap that fell around her like a cloud. the face that looked out from it was sweet and pale as a star. it brightened into radiance as polly, a veritable fairy now in her party fluffs and ruffs and ribbons, sprang out on the porch and flung herself into miss stella's arms.
"marraine! marraine!" she cried rapturously,--"my own darling marraine!"
"why will you let the child give you that ridiculous name, my dear?" protested grandmamma, disapprovingly.
"because--because i have the right to it," laughed the lady, as polly nestled close to her side. "i am her godmother real and true,--am i not, polykins? and we like the pretty french name for it better."
"oh, much better!" assented polly. "'godmother' is too old and solemn to suit marraine. oh!" (with another rapturous hug) "it was so good of you to come all the way from newport just for my party, dear, dear marraine!"
"all the way from newport!" answered the lady. "why, that dear letter you sent would have brought me from the moon. you will be ten years old to-night, it said,--ten years old! o pollykins! pollykins!" (there was a little tremor in the voice.) "and you asked if i could come and help you with your party. i could and i would, so here i am! and here is your birthday present."
marraine flung a slender golden chain around polly's neck.
"oh, you darling,--you darling!" murmured polly. "but you are the best of all birthday presents, marraine,--the very best of all!"
"now, really we must stop all this 'spooning,' pollykins, and start things," said marraine, dropping her, and emerging in a shining silvery robe, with a big bunch of starry jessamine pinned on her breast.
"you are not going to bother with the children, surely, stella?" said dad, who had drawn near the speaker.
"i am," said the lady, flashing him a laughing look. "that's what i came for. i am going to forget the years (don't be cruel enough to count them, cousin pen), and for two hours (is it only two hours we have, pollykins?) be a little girl again to-night."
and, taking polly's hand, she tripped away from the grown-ups on the porch, and things were started indeed.
grove and garden, maze and lawn, suddenly sparkled with jewelled lights; the stringed band in the pagoda burst into gay music. led by a silvery vision, polly's guests formed a great ring-around-a-rosy for an opening measure, and the party began. and, with a fairy godmother like miss stella leading the fun, it was a party to be remembered. there were marches and games, there was blind man's buff through the jewel-lit maze, there was a virginia reel to music gay enough to make a hundred-year-old tortoise dance. there was the jack horner pie, fully six feet round, and fringed with gay ribbons to pull out the plums. wonderful plums they were. minna foster drew a silver belt buckle; her little sister, a blue locket; dud, a scarf-pin; jim, a pocketknife with enough blades and "fixings" to fill a miniature tool chest; and freddy, a paint box quite as complete; while dan pulled out the biggest plum of all--a round white box with a silver cord.
as it came out at the end of his red ribbon, there was a moment's breathless hush, broken by polly's glad cry:
"the prize,--the prize, marraine! dan has drawn my birthday prize!" and, under a battery of curious and envious eyes, dan opened the box to find within a pretty gold watch, ticking a most cheering greeting to its new owner.
"dan,--dan!" polly's jubilant voice rose over all the chorus around him. "oh, i'm so glad you got it, dan!"
and marraine's eyes followed polly's delighted glance with the same look of curious interest that she had bent upon dan a while ago on the porch.
"do you mean that this is for me?" he blurted out, in bewilderment.
"yes, for you,--for you," repeated polly in high glee. "it's real gold and keeps real time, and it's yours forever!"
"it's too--too much--i mean it's--it's too fine for a fellow like me," stammered dan. "what will i do with it?"
"wear it," chirped miss polly, throwing the silken guard around his neck, "so you will never forget my birthday, dan."
and then a big japanese gong sounded the call to the flower-decked tables, where busy waiters were soon serving a veritable fairy feast. there were cakes of table-size and shape and color; little baskets and boxes full of wonderful bonbons; nuts sugared and glazed until they did not seem nuts at all; ice-cream birds in nests of spun sugar; "kisses" that snapped into hats and wreaths and caps. and all the while the band played, and the jewelled lights twinkled, and the stars shone far away above the arching trees. and dan, with his watch around his neck, held his place as the winner of the prize at miss polly's side, feeling as if he were in some dizzy dream. then there were more games, and a grand hide-and-seek, in which dad and some of the grown-ups joined.
dan had found an especially fine place under the gnarled boughs of an old cedar tree, that would have held its head high in the starlight if some of dad's gardeners had not twisted it out of growth and shape. hiding under the crooked shadows, dan was listening to the merry shouts through maze and garden, when he became suddenly conscious of a change in their tone. the voices grew sharp, shrill, excited, and then little polly burst impetuously into his hiding place,--a sobbing, trembling, indignant little polly, followed by a score of breathless young guests.
"i don't believe it!" she was crying tempestuously. "i won't believe it! you're just telling horrid stories on dan, because i like him and he got the prize."
"o pollykins! pollykins!" came miss stella's low, chiding voice.
"halloo! halloo! what's the trouble?" rose dad's deep tones above the clamor. "my little girl crying,--crying?"
"yes, i am!" was the sobbing answer. "i can't help it, dad. the girls are all whispering mean, horrid stories about dan, and i made them tell me all they said they had heard. i don't believe them, and i won't believe them! i told them i wouldn't believe them,--that i would come right to dan and let him speak for himself.--were you ever a newsboy and a beggar boy, dan? did--did you ever black boots? have you an aunt in the poorhouse, as minna foster says?"
