THE QUEEN’S FAN

As Colonel Baxter led the way to the drawing room, he said: “Now girls, have you been real good, today?”

“Of course we have!” the girls exclaimed together.

“We’re always good!” said Joy.

“All right then, I’ll show you something nice.”

“What is it?” cried Bet clapping her hands. “Don’t tell me it’s an old musket or sword or anything warlike. I’m fed up on guns!”

“No, I think this treasure will bring a response from your hearts, if you are as feminine as I think you are.”

“It must be a ring!” exclaimed Joy.

“Something far more exciting!” laughed Colonel Baxter.

“Another gown!” suggested Shirley.

“Never. He has too many of them already. It must be something very special, for Dad’s so excited. Has it jewels and everything?” laughed Bet.

“Guess!”

“Jewelled slippers?” said Kit.

“That’s old stuff. He has three pair of those already. I know Dad wouldn’t enthuse over slippers.”

“What can it be? I’ll guess that it’s a necklace.”

“No, Kit, it’s still more interesting than a necklace,” answered the Colonel.

“Oh, I know,” suddenly cried Shirley. “A musical snuff box!”

“He had several of those once, I know he wouldn’t make a fuss over them, they’re not so valuable.”

“Then what is it? Tell us quickly,” pleaded Joy who never did like to play the game of guessing.

“Do you give up?”

“No, no, not yet!” pleaded Bet. “One more try.”

“All right, but only one more, remember,” laughed the Colonel.

“I’ll guess that it’s one of those crystal flasks for smelling salts.”

“What were smelling salts for?” asked Kit.

“Well, you see in those days it was the fashion for young ladies to be frail and delicate and the least noise was apt to startle them and make them faint.”

“Oh ho, I see,” shouted Kit, “so they carried their restoratives around with them. Some idea!”

“Think of it,” said Bet contemptuously. “Wanting to faint in order to look interesting.”

“And is it a crystal flask?” asked Kit.

“No. Come on upstairs and I’ll show you what it is.”

They followed, laughing and chatting as they went. Kit had some difficulty in handling her long skirts. Bet watched her with amusement.

“Those gowns may be beautiful to look at, but for comfort, give me my short dress with no flounces or trains.”

“That’s what I say, too, Bet, but what can you expect from ladies who liked to faint?” laughed Kit.

“Did you ever think about it, Kit, how lucky we are to be born in this age? Girls have such a good time.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Colonel Baxter calling, “Come along, girls!”

As they entered the room he sat at his desk holding a small package in his hand.

“This is something I bought a few months ago, and I took it out of the vault to have a photograph made of it. I am not quite sure that it is worth a lot of money, but I think it is. Here we are.”

The Colonel unfolded a piece of silk and placed the treasure on it.

“A fan!” exclaimed Bet. “Oh, Daddy, what a beauty!” She held out her hand as if to take it, then hesitated. It seemed too pretty to touch.

The sticks and guards of the fan were of ivory, elaborately carved and pierced. The raised figures and designs were gilded. The mount of the fan was of parchment, painted with a scene of the Luxembourg gardens in which a fête was taking place. Young lovers in the dim sunlight under the trees, paid court to their ladies. There was flirting and teasing and romping play. Though gaiety and frivolity were expressed yet there was a certain wistfulness as well, a little heart-throb of haunting regret.

“It seems as if the artist had told a whole story in that tiny picture,” said Kit quietly.

“That’s it, exactly,” exclaimed Colonel Baxter, bestowing a smile on Kit. This young girl had caught the idea of the painting at a glance.

“How can you tell whether it is valuable or not?” asked Shirley.

“We know it is worth a lot of money, for Watteau, a famous painter of the 18th Century did this work. But there is another detail to be decided before we can say how valuable it is.”

The four girls, sensing a romance, looked on with interest and pleasure. Colonel Baxter fingered the fan with the touch of one who loved beautiful things. His hand caressed the carved ivory.

“Whose was it, Dad?” begged Bet. “It couldn’t have been an ordinary person’s fan.”

“Of course it wasn’t!” said Kit emphatically.

“Did it belong to Martha Washington?” asked Bet suddenly.

“We seem to be doing a lot of guessing today.”

“No, it did not belong to Martha Washington. A lot more interesting than that!”

“Lady Betty Merriweather! I’m sure it was hers,” exclaimed Kit.

“Wrong again! No, the fan once belonged to a queen, a beautiful, light-hearted queen of France, who came to a tragic end.”

“Marie Antoinette!” gasped Bet. “Oh, Daddy, think of it!”

“Yes. When she first came to France as the bride of the Dauphin, Louis XV admired her for her great beauty and showered her with gifts. And we believe this fan was given to her by the king. As soon as I hear from an expert who is working on the case, I will know for sure.”

“A queen’s fan!” exclaimed Kit. “Doesn’t it sound romantic?”

“And she would use it like this!” And Bet took the fan from her father, flourished it back and forth coquettishly with a flippant smile, half hidden by the fan.

A chorus of laughter greeted Bet’s imitation of a flirt.

“Where did my daughter learn all those arts?” asked her father.

“She didn’t have to learn them. They came natural,” sang Joy, as she danced out of the room.

“Ladies used their fans to send messages to the lovers they preferred and to tease them with arch glances at other suitors,” explained Bet. “It was a gay life at Court!”

“And I can imagine that Marie Antoinette knew how to flirt with her fan. She was so gay and lighthearted,” mused Kit.

“Poor Marie Antoinette! I’ve always pitied her, even if she was thoughtless and spoiled. She didn’t deserve to be punished as she was!” Shirley said pensively.

“I always like to think of her at Little Trianon, where she used to play at being a farm girl and churn, and feed the chickens. She was just a child. I do hope the fan was hers,” said Kit.

“And I hope so for many reasons,” smiled Colonel Baxter. “It will be worth three times as much money if she owned it.”

“Wouldn’t old Peter Gruff open his eyes wide if he could see it?” exclaimed Bet. “How that man loves antiques!”

Peter Gruff was a second-hand dealer in Lynnwood whose hobby was picking up antiques at a ridiculously low price and selling them at fabulous sums. In a trade, he could stand watching.

As the Colonel folded up the fan carefully and put it away, Bet exclaimed: “Come on, girls, there’s something in my room that I’d like to show you.”

“Wait a minute, Shirley,” called the Colonel. “Do you want to take a picture of the queen’s fan for me?”

“Oh, Colonel Baxter, do you suppose I can do it?”

“Certainly, there’s no trick about it. Bring your camera the next time you come up.”

“That will be on Monday morning.”

“Good! I’ll be home until noon.”

Half an hour later the toot of an auto horn sounded from the driveway.

“Aw, that’s Bob coming to take me home,” pouted Joy. “Wish he’d wait until I telephone. He always comes before I’m half ready.”

The Colonel was at the door before the young man could ring the bell. Bob Evans and Phil Gordon were two boys that the Colonel admired and was always glad to welcome to the Manor.

Like his sister, Bob was light-hearted. Yet he could be serious at times, and it is well that that was the case, for Joy’s mother was a gay, frivolous young woman, who loved to go to parties and there were times when Joy might have been neglected had it not been for her brother’s care.

He was a slightly built boy with a head of curly blond locks that were the envy of Joy, for her hair was neither blond nor dark and had no sign of curl.

Phil was the opposite. He was almost as dark as Kit, a tall, handsome fellow whose dark eyes were sombre and gave the impression that he was brooding.

Bob seemed to bring the breeze from outside in with him as he smiled and held out his hand to Colonel Baxter.

“Joy would never come home if I didn’t drag her away, Colonel.”

“That’s because we are never quite willing to give up our little sprite,” replied the Colonel with Old World courtesy. “We couldn’t get along without Joy’s laughter.”

“Giggles, you mean,” answered her brother playfully.

“Sounds just like a brother!” laughed Joy, looking up at the pleasant-faced boy beside her.

Bob and Phil were introduced to Kit and were quite startled at the vision of the Colonial maid.

“Having a masquerade?” asked Phil.

“Nothing like that,” answered Bet. “Lady Betty Merriweather decided to come out of her frame, and here she is.”

“She’s much better looking than Lady Betty, if you ask me,” exclaimed Bob, but if Kit liked the compliment she didn’t show it. Lady Betty was perfect and no one could outdo her in anything.

“Come on, Joy, hurry up. Let’s get started!” said Bob suddenly.

“But we’ll have to wait for Kit to get out of that dress and change to her own.”

“So Lady Merriweather isn’t going to step back into the frame? Too bad!” laughed Phil. “It was very becoming!”

The girl who appeared a few moments later in torn skirt was no less attractive than the Colonial maid. To the eyes of the modern young people, she seemed far more human and companionable.

As the automobile carried them away. Bet turned to her father:

“Did you ever see anyone who could choose such good friends as I can?”

“Never in this world, Bet!” laughed the Colonel as he pinched her cheek.