From the Relief Society Magazine, 1928-29 –

The Evolution of the Ugly Duckling

By Estella Webb Thomas

Chapter 1

December 25 — It was purely by accident that I happened on this funny old red diary, given me by Granny five years ago this Christmas, and carefully sealed up with adhesive plaster and hidden away in an old chest of treasures when I had finished recording an episode in my fifteen-year-old life. I planned to burn it but suppose my thrifty nature must have prevented that — it has such pretty red morrocco backs. And then it was a gift from Granny; and now that she’s gone, I’m glad I kept it.

But how I came to find it, and decide to fill in the blank pages is a long story, and I’d better begin at the beginning.

To begin with, then, I’m a country school teacher. Naturally! Don’t Ugly Ducklings always turn into old-maid school teachers? And of course I couldn’t spoil the picture — though it took some persuasion to make mother and the dear professor see my point. It was fine in the professor to want to stake me to a college education and all that ; but I knew he couldn’t really afford it with Lisbeth to educate, and mother needing trips in the summer vacation to keep her well ; so, after the expense of Inez’s wedding was over, I, Margaret, alias Daisy, decided manfully to shoulder my share of the family budget, and strike out on my own, as the original Ugly Duckling did.

However, I have not developed any swan-like qualities yet, and am certainly not prepared to sing my swan song ; for though, like the hod-carrier’s, there are many ups and downs in a school teacher’s life, it’s all the more interesting for that, and I’m enjoying myself immensely.

Inez, after being engaged to Dick Burton and Charlie McGee, finally married Henley Melton, whose father is the richest man in town; and she can have pretty things to her heart’s content. They are spending this winter in Florida, and her letters are like communications from another world.

Lisbeth is at a musical school in the East, getting voice culture. That brings me to the present, and the dilemma I’m in. It seems she has developed a case of measles right here at holiday-time; and mother and the professor decided to spend Christmas with the invalid, so long as she couldn’t come home, and sent me a telegram to that effect. All this I have found out since I arrived, however, for I left Green Valley before the telegram was sent, spent a day with a friend, Marie Jackson, who teaches in the next district, and reached home after ten o’clock on Christmas Eve.

It was a disappointment not to be met at the station ; but after I had succeeded in finding a cab and getting myself and suitcase transported through the storm, it was a real blow to be confronted by a dark, silent house, instead of the brilliantly lighted, festively decorated one I had anticipated.

The front door proved to be locked, and the rear ones as well, when I had tramped about in the snow to investigate. Shivering disconsolately on the front steps, I considered the situation. Of course there were people in town to whom I might go for the night, but my pride rebelled at thrusting myself, unexpected, into someone’s house late on Christmas Eve. Our old friends the Bartons had moved from the house next door, mother had written me, and strangers now occupied the place. I must certainly do something, as I was slowly, but surely congealing in the frosty air. When I had come to the decision that there was nothing for it but to break in at a window, I suddenly remembered that I had a house key, which I finally succeeded in finding after a frantic search with stiff fingers through all my belongings.

The house loked cold and cheerless when I had turned on the light, and it seemed an hour before I got a fire going in the grate and thawed out my aching fingers. When I was comfortably warm, I made an excursion into the kitchen in search of forage. There were some pies on the pantry shelf and a big fruit cake, and there mother’s Christmas preparation’s seemed to have ceased; but I found some cold ham in the ice-box, and with this and some bread and butter on a tray on the living-room table, was trying to make myself a cup of cocoa over the fire when a sound in the hall startled me. Turning with the little sauce-pan in my hand, I confronted a very tall, rather dishevelled young man, who was evidently as astonished at the sight of me, as I was to see him. For an instant we were both silent, staring stupidly at one another, and then I collected myself and demanded indignantly what he was doing there.

“Just what I was going to ask you,” said the young man, politely, My answer wasn’t so polite: “If it happens to be any of your business, I’m trying to make cocoa over this smoky old fire!” I retorted, feeling that I was not looking my best, as I crouched over the fire with a sauce-pan in my hand, and one of mother’s big aprons over my suit.

“Well, you’re a cool one, at least,” he said admiringly, “and if you’re as desperately in need of food as you seem to be, I’m sure the hospitable Sturtevants would not begrudge you a Christmas Eve supper. But why did you do it? You are so evidently not that kind of a person — Were you in such desperate straits as all that? My mother and I would have been glad to have taken you in, and will still.”

“Indeed I was,” I responded in a heart-broken voice, deciding now I knew he was not a burglar, but believed me to be one, to carry on the joke. “Starved, and very near frozen, but — no, thanks, to your kind offer, of assistance, I can’t accept help from anyone!”

“Oh!” the young man gave me a peculiar glance. “It isn’t so hard on the pride, then, to help yourself, as it were, rather than to be helped?”

“Not nearly!” I replied, giving my whole attention to the cocoa, which was threatening to boil over. There were a few moments of silence, then the young man said in a different voice, stirring uneasily, “Well, see here, this can’t go on, you know! The nightwatchman over at the bank knows that the Sturtevants left for the East this afternoon, and he’ll be over to investigate when he sees the light.”

“I should have turned off the hall light,” I murmured, not making any move to do so, however.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” queried the visitor, somewhat sharply. “As I said, mother and I will take you in if you need help, and old Tobe Warner will think it queer, to say the least, when he investigates and finds you occupying the Sturtevant’s living room.”

“Better put the light out, if you’re afraid,” I suggested, “Tobe may think it rather strange for you to be here, and while I don’t wish to seem inhospitable, you needn’t stay, you know, if you crave to go. But won’t you have a cup of cocoa and a sandwich first ?” I began making a sandwich as I spoke.

“Say, this is a bit thick!” said the young man, dazedly, mechanically taking the sandwich I handed him, and looking about absently for a place to lay it down again.

“Yes, I know the slices are rather thick,” I said, purposely misunderstanding. “I’m not very good at slicing, I always cut my fingers.” Just then there was a sharp rap on the door, and old Tobe Warner opened it and popped in his head.

“What’s up, here?” he shouted, and then when I appeared in the hall he said in a changed tone, “Oh! it’s you, is it, Miss Daisy? Didn’t know you were expected!”

“Apparently I wasn’t,” I answered, “by the looks of things! Mr. — er — this gentleman tells me mother and the professor have gone East; do you know why?”

“Why, didn’t you get their telegram? I was in the office when Professor Sturtevant sent it. Miss Lisbeth’s been took down with measles, and they left on the afternoon train. They thought you’d stay where you wuz. Well, I’ll be getting back,” he added, with a curious glance at the young man, who had stood in a dazed silence during this conversation, although I had motioned for him to stay out of sight in the living-room. “Didn’t know you wuz acquainted with Miss Daisy, Mr. Douglas, you coming after she left, and all.”

“Oh, yes,” said the young man easily and unexpectedly, “Mis — er — Sturtevant and I are old — that is, we know lots about each other. She knows that I’m a goofy and can’t keep my nose out of other people’s affairs, and I know that she can’t cut thin slices.”

“Well,” drawled Tobe, as a parting shot, “Course it’s none of my business, but seems kinda strange that you’d call Miss Wallace ‘Miss Sturtevant’ if you know her so dog-gone well!” and departed reluctantly, with a glance of suspicion at Mr. Douglas.

That gentleman was apparently leaving, too. In fact, he seemed in rather a hurry to be gone; but he paused in the doorway, as Tobe had, for a parting word.

“Well, good evening, and a merry Christmas, Miss Wallace,” he said, showing a handsome set of teeth in the first smile he had vouchsafed me ; “I seem to have intruded needlessly on your homecoming, but delighted to have played the fool for a few minutes if it gave you any satisfaction!”

“Glad to have you drop in any time you crave a smoky cup of cocoa and a thick sandwich!” I replied heartily, but he was gone, and my invitation echoed on the empty air.

The house seemed terribly cold and dreary after my uninvited guest had gone, and without any more delay I ran up to my room and got shivering into bed.

I found a small jar of cream on the step when I opened the door next morning, and had an excellent breakfast, after which I prepared to amuse myself till afternoon, when I intended to make some Christmas calls.

It was after I had finished my bit of morning work, and come upstairs to rummage around a little, that I ran across this old diary in the bottom of a box of treasures and decided to finish it. It surely is the most absurd thing I’ve seen for many a day! What a solemn little prig I was! And what a crush I had on the professor! He’d get a good laugh out of it if he knew — but he’ll never know, so he’ll have to read the funny paper for his laugh.

But just to pass the time on the first Christmas day I ever spent alone, I began writing in it this morning. Must go now and make myself beautiful. Ha, ha, and sally forth.

(To be continued)