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CHAPTER IX
For just a few moments let us enter that house of the lighted window, that we may witness certain strange happenings.
We come into an immense, old-fashioned kitchen or scullery.
A candle burned on a mantel, sending its tranquil light out into the room and creating ghostly shadows. Under the mantel, in the deepest shadows of all, andirons and a crane seemed to be slinking back as if they were hiding.
In the center of the room there was a rough wooden table. Over against the wall, near the door which opened to the highway, stood a grandfather's clock, ticking severely, as if it were dissatisfied with the way things were going in the house. There were a number of other doors visible, all closed as if they were saying, "This is an orderly house, and everybody has gone to bed, of course!"
But everybody hadn't gone to bed! Over beyond the wooden table, against the wall, there was a bed, and there was nobody in it. Moreover, there was a figure seated at the wooden table: the figure of a woman, who silently polished the spoons which were scattered before her. She had already scoured certain pots and pans which were piled in a heap near her hand.
Suddenly the strange happenings began.
A mouse appeared among the pots and pans on the table. It sat an instant, with alert eyes and fidgety nose and whiskers, and then it scrambled down the leg of the table and crossed the floor in the direction of the grandfather's clock. An instant later there it was again, climbing up the white face of the clock!
The clock ticked more severely than ever. The mouse disappeared amid the works of the clock: and presto! The clock loudly struck one.
The mouse darted into sight again, slipping down across the face of the clock. Then it disappeared.
The vibrations of the clock, filling the room as with a great clamor, slowly died away.
Then there was another sound: a nervous rattling of the latch on the door opening to the highway. The door opened rather abruptly, and Cinderella, panting and pale, stood on the threshold.
For an instant she seemed afraid to enter; yet plainly she was also afraid to remain standing there on the threshold. She glanced swiftly about the room and then she entered and closed the door sharply behind her. She stood for a moment, panting and leaning against the door.
There was something very strange about her; for although she was weary and frightened, and clad in the shabbiest old dress imaginable, her face nevertheless shone with rapture.
Need I tell you what had occurred to her? She had forgotten what the good fairy had told her about coming home before one o'clock; and as a result her coach-and-four and her coachman had been changed back to what they had originally been: a pumpkin, a rat, and four mice. What a disaster!
Yet after she had stood against the door long enough to catch her breath she advanced into the room, thrusting her arms upward and forward as if she were embracing a lovely vision. Her eyes burned with a glorious light.
She had not seen the figure at the table, bending over the spoons. It was plain that in imagination she was seeing something far different. And then she uttered these words (to nobody at all!):
"Oh, the wonder of it, the wonder of it!"
Then something else happened. One of the inner doors opened and a young lady stood craning her neck so that she could look into the room. She stood so an instant, and then she was joined by another young lady, and both came into the room.
They were both simply glorious in party-frocks, though on the skirt of one the ruffles had been bunched clumsily, and the bodice of the other was slightly twisted.
They were Cinderella's sisters.
The first sister had opened the door just in time to hear what Cinderella said; and now she rather cleverly imitated Cinderella's words and manner—
"'Oh, the wonder of it!' The wonder of what?"
For a moment longer Cinderella gazed into space, her eyes holding a glorious vision. Then, lowering her gaze and observing her sisters, she said, a little less fervently, "Oh … everything!"
The second sister now spoke. There was a pitying note in her voice as she said to the first sister, " As if she had the slightest idea of anything as wonderful as the things we've seen! "
To which the first sister replied with a sigh—"Poor Cinderella!"
But Cinderella only turned away from them that she might hide the secret in her eyes. She sat down before the fireplace, and the two sisters seated themselves on either side of her. None of them had taken the slightest notice of the figure at the wooden table in the middle of the room.
Cinderella seemed to be dreaming again, while the two sisters were plainly overflowing with excitement. They glanced at each other across Cinderella as if to say, "Shall we tell her?" And each nodded eagerly to the other.
Then said the second sister: "It is we who have seen the truly wonderful things, Cinderella."
"Yes," said Cinderella dreamily, "I know."
Said the first sister: "But you don't know—not the half. You know we've been to the ball, but you don't know what happened there."
Cinderella leaned forward, resting her cheeks in her hands. Her sisters could not see her eyes. "Tell me what happened," she said.
"The most wonderful princess came to the ball," said the first sister. "Quite a stranger—not a soul knew her. She was a sensation."
The second sister could scarcely wait to add, "The loveliest creature ever seen!"
Cinderella looked at her sisters now, one after the other. Her eyes seemed to caress them. "Ah, tell me about her," she said.
Said the first sister: "She first came last night—and then again to-night. She came late, from nobody knew where in an equipage the like of which was never seen before. She came late and left early."
Cinderella forgot herself a little. "Yes, I know," she said, "but where——"
"How should you know?" demanded the second sister sharply.
Cinderella hastened to say, "I mean—tell me more about her."
It was the first sister's turn to speak. "We could never describe her," she said. "Her eyes—they were like certain bright flowers shining in the dusk …"
"Oh, were they!" cried Cinderella softly.
And now the second sister said, "And her form—it was like a young poplar tree in the wind …"
"Oh, how good of you to tell me!" cried Cinderella.
The first sister could scarcely wait to say, "And her dress—it was like dew on the grass!"
Cinderella brought her hands together with rapture. "Was it truly?" she asked.
"Quite like it," said the first sister. "And her hair and cheeks—they were—they were like yours, poor Cinderella, only of course much more beautiful!"
Cinderella's hands were still clasped. "Oh, much more beautiful, I know!" she murmured softly.
Then a silence fell upon all the sisters. Cinderella clasped her hands about her knees and gazed dreamily into the fireplace. Her sisters stole pitying glances at her. They noted her wretched dress, and gentle regret shone in their eyes.
At length the first sister said generously, "You know, Cinderella, we should be very glad to have you go places with us and have a good time, too, if mother——"
But the second sister interrupted dutifully, "If it were the custom for the younger sister to be treated like the older sisters."
Cinderella nodded, "I know it is a custom—that's all," she said. "Maybe my turn will come when you've both got good husbands and fine establishments of your own."
The two sisters arose. The first began to yawn loudly; but remembering her manners she patted her lips with her finger tips, changing the yawn into a smile. She advanced toward the door by which she had entered. The second sister made as if to follow her, but turned for a final word.
"It's lovely of you not to be jealous of us, Cinderella," she said. "I hope your turn will come, too. Good-night."
Cinderella had already relapsed into her dreamy mood. "Good-night," she called. And she continued to sit and gaze into the fireplace.
But suddenly she started up excitedly and turned about. She fixed her gaze upon the door opening to the highway. Her left hand moved unconsciously to her heart.
Some one was timidly knocking on the door!
She stood for a moment as if to make sure that she had not dreamed that some one had knocked. It was very late, and the house was in a lonely spot. Then she advanced, marveling yet unafraid, and removed the bar from before the door.
The door opened quietly and Everychild stood on the threshold.