"Who did it?" arose. The poor maid who waited on them declared with
tears that not a soul had been in, and she herself only absent five
minutes getting the ice-water. Florence felt that her guests had been
outraged, and promised to find out the wretch, and punish him or her in
the most terrible manner. So the irate young ladies ate their lunch
before it cooled, but forgot to criticise the dishes, so full were they
of wonder at this daring deed. They were just beginning to calm down,
when a loud sneeze caused a general rush toward the sofa that stood in a
recess of the dining room. A small boy, nearly suffocated with
suppressed laughter, and dust, was dragged forth and put on trial
without a moment's delay. Florence was judge, the others jury, and the
unhappy youth being penned in a corner, was ordered to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, on penalty of a sound
whipping with the big Japanese war-fan that hung on the wall over his
head.
Vainly trying to suppress his giggles, Phil faced the seven ladies like
a man, and told as little as possible, delighting to torment them, like
a true boy.
"Do you know who put those cards there?"
"Don't you wish _you_ did?"
"Phil Gordon, answer at once."
"Yes, I do."
"Was it Alf? He's at home Saturdays, and it's just like a horrid Harvard
Soph to plague us so."
"It was--not."
"Did you see it done?"
"I did."
"Man, or woman? Mary fibs, and may have been bribed."
"Man," with a chuckle of great glee.
"Do I know him?"
"Oh, don't you!"
"Edith's brother Rex?"
"No, ma'am."
"Do be a good boy, and tell us. We won't scold, though it was a very,
very rude thing to do."
"What will you give me?"
"Do you need to be bribed to do your duty?"
"Well, I guess it's no fun to hide in that stuffy place, and smell nice
grub, and see you tuck away without offering a fellow a taste. Give me a
good go at the lunch, and I'll see what I can do for you."
"Boys are such pigs! Shall we, girls?"
"Yes, we _must_ know."
"Then go and stuff, you bad boy, but we shall stand guard over you till
you tell us who wrote and put those insulting cards here."
Florence let out the prisoner, and stood by him while he ate, in a
surprisingly short time, the best of everything on the table, well
knowing that such a rare chance would not soon be his again.
"Now give me some of that candy, and I'll tell," demanded the young
Shylock, bound to make the best of his power while it lasted.
"Did you ever see such a little torment? I can't give the nice bonbons,
because we haven't decided who is to have them."
"Never mind. Pick out a few and get rid of him," cried the girls,
hovering round their prey, and longing to shake the truth out of him.
A handful of sweeties were reluctantly bestowed, and then all waited for
the name of the evil-doer with breathless interest.
"Well," began Phil, with exasperating slowness, "Alf wrote the cards,
and gave me half a dollar to put 'em round. Made a nice thing of it,
haven't I?" and before one of the girls could catch him he had bolted
from the room, with one hand full of candy, the other of mince-pie, and
his face shining with the triumphant glee of a small boy who has teased
seven big girls, and got the better of them.
What went on just after that is not recorded, though Phil peeped in at
the windows, hooted through the slide, and beat a tattoo on the various
doors. The opportune arrival of his mother sent him whooping down the
street, and the distressed damsels finished their lunch with what
appetite they could.
Edith got the prize, for her pie was pronounced a grand success, and
partaken of so copiously that several young ladies had reason to think
it well named "Nightmare" by the derisive Alfred. Emboldened by her
success, Edith invited them all to her house on the next Saturday, and
suggested that she and her cousin provide the lunch, as they had some
new dishes to offer, not down in the receipt-book they had been studying
all winter.
As the ardor of the young cooks was somewhat damped by various failures,
and the discovery that good cooking is an art not easily learned,
anything in the way of novelty was welcome; and the girls gladly
accepted the invitation, feeling a sense of relief at the thought of not
having any dish to worry about, though not one of them owned that she
was tired of "messing," as the disrespectful boys called it.
It was unanimously decided to wither with silent scorn the audacious
Alfred and his ally, Rex, while Phil was to be snubbed by his sister
till he had begged pardon for his share of the evil deed. Then, having
sweetened their tongues and tempers with the delicious bonbons, the
girls departed, feeling that the next lunch would be an event of unusual
interest.
The idea of it originated in a dinner which Patty got one day, when
Nancy, who wanted a holiday, was unexpectedly called away to the funeral
of a cousin,--the fifth relative who had died in a year, such was the
mortality in the jovial old creature's family. Edith's mother was very
busy with a dressmaker, and gladly accepted the offer the girls made to
get dinner alone.
"No fancy dishes, if you please; the boys come in as hungry as hunters,
and want a good solid meal; so get something wholesome and plain, and
plenty of it," was the much-relieved lady's only suggestion, as she
retired to the sewing-room and left the girls to keep house in their own
way.
"Now, Edie, you be the mistress and give your orders, and I'll be cook.
Only have things that go well together,--not all baked or all boiled,
because there isn't room enough on the range, you know;" said Patty,
putting on a big apron with an air of great satisfaction; for she loved
to cook, and was tired of doing nothing.
"I'll watch all you do, and learn; so that the next time Nancy goes off
in a hurry, I can take her place, and not have to give the boys what
they hate,--a picked-up dinner," answered Edith, pleased with her part,
yet a little mortified to find how few plain things she could make well.
"What do the boys like?" asked Patty, longing to please them, for they
all were very kind to her.
"Roast beef, and custard pudding, with two or three kinds of vegetables.
Can we do all that?"
"Yes, indeed. I'll make the pudding right away, and have it baked before
the meat goes in. I can cook as many vegetables as you please, and soup
too."
So the order was given and all went well, if one might judge by the
sounds of merriment in the kitchen. Patty made her best gingerbread,
and cooked some apples with sugar and spice for tea, and at the stroke
of two had a nice dinner smoking on the table, to the great contentment
of the hungry boys, who did eat like hunters, and advised mamma to send
old Nancy away and keep Patty for cook; which complimentary but rash
proposal pleased their cousin very much.
"Now this is useful cookery, and well done, though it looks so simple.
Any girl can learn how and be independent of servants, if need be. Drop
your class, Edith, and take a few lessons of Patty. That would suit me
better than French affairs, that are neither economical nor wholesome."
"I will, mamma, for I'm tired of creaming butter, larding things, and
beating eggs. These dishes are not so elegant, but we must have them; so
I may as well learn, if Pat will teach me."
"With pleasure, all I know. Mother thinks it a very important part of a
girl's education; for if you can't keep servants you can do your own
work well, and if you are rich you are not so dependent as an ignorant
lady is. All kinds of useful sewing and housework come first with us,
and the accomplishments afterward, as time and money allow."
"That sort of thing turns out the kind of girl I like, and so does every
sensible fellow. Good luck to you, cousin, and my best thanks for a
capital dinner and a wise little lecture for dessert."
Rex made his best bow as he left the table, and Patty colored high with
pleasure at the praise of the tall collegian.
Out of this, and the talk the ladies had afterward, grew the lunch which
Edith proposed, and to the preparation of which went much thought and
care; for the girls meant to have many samples of country fare, so that
various tastes might be pleased. The plan gradually grew as they worked,
and a little surprise was added, which was a great success.
When Saturday came the younger boys were all packed off for a holiday in
the country, that the coast might be clear.
"No hiding under sofas in my house, no meddling with my dinner, if you
please, gentlemen," said Edith, as she saw the small brothers safely
off, and fell to work with Patty and the maid to arrange the dining-room
to suit the feast about to be spread there.
As antique furniture is the fashion now-a-days, it was easy to collect
all the old tables, chairs, china, and ornaments in the house, and make
a pleasant place of the sunny room where a tall clock always stood; and
damask hangings a century old added much to the effect. A massive
mahogany table was set forth with ancient silver, glass, china, and all
sorts of queer old salt-cellars, pepper-pots, pickle-dishes, knives, and
spoons. High-backed chairs stood round it, and the guests were received
by a very pretty old lady in plum-colored satin, with a muslin pelerine,
and a large lace cap most becoming to the rosy face it surrounded. A fat
watch ticked in the wide belt, mitts covered the plump hands, and a
reticule hung at the side. Madam's daughter, in a very short-waisted
pink silk gown, muslin apron, and frill, was even prettier than her
mother, for her dark, curly hair hung on her shoulders, and a little cap
was stuck on the top, with long pink streamers. Her mitts went to the
elbow, and a pink sash was tied in a large bow behind. Black satin shoes
covered her feet, and a necklace of gold beads was round her throat.
Great was the pleasure this little surprise gave the girls, and gay was
the chatter that went on as they were welcomed by the hostesses, who
constantly forgot their parts. Madam frisked now and then, and "Pretty
Peggy" was so anxious about dinner that she was not as devoted to her
company as a well-bred young lady should be. But no one minded, and when
the bell rang, all gathered about the table eager to see what the feast
was to be.
"Ladies, we have endeavored to give you a taste of some of the good old
dishes rather out of fashion now," said Madam, standing at her place,
with a napkin pinned over the purple dress, and a twinkle in the blue
eyes under the wide cap-frills. "We thought it would be well to
introduce some of them to the class and to our family cooks, who either
scorn the plain dishes, or don't know how to cook them _well_. There is
a variety, and we hope all will find something to enjoy. Peggy, uncover,
and let us begin."
At first the girls looked a little disappointed, for the dishes were not
very new to them; but when they tasted a real "boiled dinner," and found
how good it was; also baked beans, neither hard, greasy, nor burnt;
beefsteak, tender, juicy, and well flavored; potatoes, mealy in spite of
the season; Indian pudding, made as few modern cooks know how to do it;
brown bread, with home-made butter; and pumpkin-pie that cut like wedges
of vegetable gold,--they changed their minds, and began to eat with
appetites that would have destroyed their reputations as delicate young
ladies, if they had been seen. Tea in egg-shell cups, election-cake and
cream-cheese with fruit ended the dinner; and as they sat admiring the
tiny old spoons, the crisp cake, and the little cheeses like snow-balls,
Edith said, in reply to various compliments paid her:--
"Let us give honor where honor is due. Patty suggested this, and did
most of the cooking; so thank her, and borrow her receipt-book. It's
very funny, ever so old, copied and tried by her grandmother, and full
of directions for making quantities of nice things, from pie like this
to a safe, sure wash for the complexion. May-dew, rose-leaves, and
lavender,--doesn't that sound lovely?"
"Let me copy it," cried several girls afflicted with freckles, or sallow
with too much coffee and confectionery.
"Yes, indeed. But I was going to say, as we have no prize to-day, we
have prepared a little souvenir of our old-fashioned dinner for each of
you. Bring them, daughter; I hope the ladies will pardon the homeliness
of the offering, and make use of the hint that accompanies each."
As Edith spoke, with a comical mingling of the merry girl and the
stately old lady she was trying to personate, Patty brought from the
side-board, where it had stood covered up, a silver salver on which lay
five dainty little loaves of bread; on the top of each appeared a
receipt for making the same, nicely written on colored cards, and held
in place by a silver scarf-pin.
"How cunning!" "What lovely pins!" "I'll take the hint and learn to make
good bread at once." "It smells as sweet as a nut, and isn't hard or
heavy a bit." "Such a pretty idea, and so clever of you to carry it out
so well."
These remarks went on as the little loaves went round, each girl finding
her pin well suited to her pet fancy or foible; for all were different,
and all very pretty, whether the design was a palette, a skate, a pen, a
racquet, a fan, a feather, a bar of music, or a daisy.
Seeing that her dinner was a success in spite of its homeliness, Edith
added the last surprise, which had also been one to Patty and herself
when it arrived, just in time to be carried out. She forgot to be Madam
now, and said with a face full of mingled merriment and satisfaction, as
she pushed her cap askew and pulled off her mitts:
"Girls, the best joke of all is, that Rex and Alf sent the pins, and
made Phil bring them with a most humble apology for their impertinence
last week. A meeker boy I never saw, and for that we may thank Floy; but
I think the dinner Pat and I got the other day won Rex's heart, so that
he made Alf eat humble pie in this agreeable manner. We won't say
anything about it, but all wear our pins and show the boys that we can
forgive and forget as "sweet girls" should, though we do cook and have
ideas of our own beyond looking pretty and minding our older brothers."
"We will!" cried the chorus with one voice, and Florence added:--
"I also propose that when we have learned to make something beside
'kickshaws,' as the boys call our fancy dishes, we have a dinner like
this, and invite those rascals to it; which will be heaping coals of
fire on their heads, and stopping their mouths forevermore from making
jokes about our cooking-class."
[Illustration]
The HARE AND THE TORTOISE
Tramp, tramp, tramp! that was the boys going down stairs in a hurry.
Bump, bump! that was the bicycle being zigzagged through the hall.
Bang! that was the front door slamming behind both boys and bicycle,
leaving the house quiet for a time, though the sound of voices outside
suggested that a lively discussion was going on.
The bicycle fever had reached Perryville, and raged all summer. Now the
town was very like a once tranquil pool infested with the long-legged
water bugs that go skating over its surface in all directions; for
wheels of every kind darted to and fro, startling horses, running over
small children, and pitching their riders headlong in the liveliest
manner. Men left their business to see the lads try new wheels, women
grew skilful in the binding of wounds and the mending of sorely rent
garments, gay girls begged for rides, standing on the little step
behind, and boys clamored for bicycles that they might join the army of
martyrs to the last craze.
Sidney West was the proud possessor of the best wheel in town, and
displayed his treasure with immense satisfaction before the admiring
eyes of his mates. He had learned to ride in a city rink, and flattered
himself that he knew all there was to learn, except those feats which
only professional gymnasts acquire. He mounted with skilful agility,
rode with as much grace as the tread-mill movements of the legs permit,
and managed to guide his tall steed without much danger to himself or
others. The occasional headers he took, and the bruises which kept his
manly limbs in a chronic state of mourning he did not mention; but
concealed his stiffness heroically, and bound his younger brother to
eternal silence by the bribe of occasional rides on the old wheel.
Hugh was a loyal lad, and regarded his big brother as the most
remarkable fellow in the world; so he forgave Sid's domineering ways,
was a willing slave, a devoted admirer, and a faithful imitator of all
the masculine virtues, airs, and graces of this elder brother. On one
point only did they disagree, and that was Sid's refusal to give Hugh
the old wheel when the new one came. Hugh had fondly hoped it would be
his, hints to that effect having been dropped when Sid wanted an errand
done, and for weeks the younger boy had waited and labored patiently,
sure that his reward would be the small bicycle on which he could
proudly take his place as a member of the newly formed club; with them
to set forth, in the blue uniform, with horns blowing, badges
glittering, and legs flying, for a long spin,--to return after dark, a
mysterious line of tall shadows, "with lanterns dimly burning," and
warning whistles sounding as they went.
Great, therefore, was his disappointment and wrath when he discovered
that Sid had agreed to sell the wheel to another fellow, if it suited
him, leaving poor Hugh the only boy of his set without a machine. Much
as he loved Sid, he could not forgive this underhand and mercenary
transaction. It seemed so unbrotherly to requite such long and willing
service, to dash such ardent hopes, to betray such blind confidence, for
filthy lucre; and when the deed was done, to laugh, and ride gayly away
on the splendid British Challenge, the desire of all hearts and eyes.
This morning Hugh had freely vented his outraged feelings, and Sid had
tried to make light of the affair, though quite conscious that he had
been both unkind and unfair. A bicycle tournament was to take place in
the city, twenty miles away, and the members of the club were going.
Sid, wishing to distinguish himself, intended to ride thither, and was
preparing for the long trip with great care. Hugh was wild to go, but
having spent his pocket-money and been forbidden to borrow, he could not
take the cars as the others had done; no horse was to be had, and their
own stud consisted of an old donkey, who would have been hopeless even
with the inducement offered in the immortal ditty,--
"If I had a donkey what wouldn't go,
Do you think I'd whip him? Oh, no, no!
I'd take him to Jarley's Wax-work Show."
Therefore poor Hugh was in a desperate state of mind as he sat on the
gate-post watching Sid make his pet's toilet, till every plated handle,
rod, screw, and axle shone like silver.
"I know I could have ridden the Star if you hadn't let Joe have it. I do
think it was right down mean of you; so does Aunt Ruth, and father
too,--only he wont say so, because men always stand by one another, and
snub boys."
This was strong language for gentle Hugh, but he felt that he must vent
his anguish in some way or cry like a girl; and that disgrace must be
avoided, even if he failed in respect to his elders.
Sid was whistling softly as he oiled and rubbed, but he was not feeling
as easy as he looked, and heartily wished that he had not committed
himself to Joe, for it would have been pleasant to take "the little
chap," as he called the fourteen-year-older, along with him, and do the
honors of the rink on this great occasion. Now it was too late; so he
affected a careless air, and added insult to injury by answering his
brother's reproaches in the joking spirit which is peculiarly
exasperating at such moments.
"Children shouldn't play with matches, nor small boys with bicycles. I
don't want to commit murder, and I certainly should if I let you try to
ride twenty miles when you can't go one without nearly breaking your
neck, or your knees," and Sid glanced with a smile at the neat darns
which ornamented his brother's trousers over those portions of his long
legs.
"How's a fellow going to learn if he isn't allowed to try? Might as well
tell me to keep away from the water till I can swim. You give me a
chance and see if I can't ride as well as some older fellows who have
been pitched round pretty lively before _they_ dared to try a
twenty-mile spin," answered Hugh, clapping both hands on his knees to
hide the tell-tale darns.
"If Joe doesn't want it, you can use the old wheel till I decide what to
do with it. I suppose a man has a right to sell his own property if he
likes," said Sid, rather nettled at the allusion to his own tribulations
in times past.
"Of course he has; but if he's promised to give a thing he ought to do
it, and not sneak out of the bargain after he's got lots of work done to
pay for it. That's what makes me mad; for I believed you and depended on
it, and it hurts me more to have you deceive me than it would to lose
ten bicycles;" and Hugh choked a little at the thought, in spite of his
attempt to look sternly indignant.
"You are welcome to your opinion, but I wouldn't cry about it. Play with
chaps of your own size and don't hanker after men's property. Take the
cars, if you want to go so much, and stop bothering me," retorted Sid,
getting cross because he was in the wrong and wouldn't own it.
"You know I can't! No money, and mustn't borrow. What's the use of
twitting a fellow like that?" and Hugh with great difficulty refrained
from knocking off the new helmet-hat which was close to his foot as Sid
bent to inspect the shining hub of the cherished wheel.
"Take Sancho, then; you might arrive before the fun was all over, if you
carried whips and pins and crackers enough to keep the old boy going;
you'd be a nice span."
This allusion to the useless donkey was cruel, but Hugh held on to the
last remnant of his temper, and made a wild proposal in the despair of
the moment.
"Don't be a donkey yourself. See here, why can't we ride and tie? I've
tried this wheel, and got on tip-top. You'd be along to see to me, and
we'd take turns. Do, Sid! I want to go awfully, and if you only will I
won't say another word about Joe."
But Sid only burst out laughing at the plan, in the most heartless
manner.
"No, thank you. I don't mean to walk a step when I can ride; or lend my
new wheel to a chap who can hardly keep right side up on the old one. It
looks like a jolly plan to you, I dare say, but _I_ don't see it, young
man."
"I hope _I_ sha'n't be a selfish brute when I'm seventeen. I'll have a
bicycle yet,--A, No. 1,--and then you'll see how I'll lend it, like a
gentleman, and not insult other fellows because they happen to be two or
three years younger."
"Keep cool, my son, and don't call names. If you are such a smart lad,
why don't you walk, since wheels and horses and donkey fail. It's _only_
twenty miles,--nothing to speak of, you know."
"Well, I could do it if I liked. I've walked eighteen, and wasn't half
so tired as you were. Any one can get over the ground on a bicycle, but
it takes strength and courage to keep it up on foot."
"Better try it."
"I will, some day."
"Don't crow too loud, my little rooster; you are not cock of the walk
yet."
"If I was, I wouldn't hit a fellow when he's down;" and fearing he
should kick over the tall bicycle that stood so temptingly near him,
Hugh walked away, trying to whistle, though his lips were more inclined
to tremble than to pucker.
"Just bring my lunch, will you? Auntie is putting it up; I must be off,"
called Sid, so used to giving orders that he did so even at this
unpropitious moment.
"Get it yourself. I'm not going to slave for you any longer, old
tyrant," growled Hugh; for the trodden worm turned at last, as worms
will.
This was open revolt, and Sid felt that things were in a bad way, but
would not stop to mend them then.
"Whew! here's a tempest in a teapot. Well, it is too bad; but I can't
help it now. I'll make it all right to-morrow, and bring him round with
a nice account of the fun. Hullo, Bemis! going to town?" he called, as a
neighbor came spinning noiselessly by.
"Part way, and take the cars at Lawton. It's hard riding over the hills,
and a bother to steer a wheel through the streets. Come on, if you're
ready."
"All right;" and springing up, Sid was off, forgetting all about the
lunch.
Hugh, dodging behind the lilac-bushes, heard what passed, and the moment
they were gone ran to the gate to watch them out of sight with longing
eyes, then turned away, listlessly wondering how he should spend the
holiday his brother was going to enjoy so much.
At that moment Aunt Ruth hurried to the door, waving the leathern pouch
well stored with cake and sandwiches, cold coffee and pie.
"Sid's forgotten his bag. Run, call, stop him!" she cried, trotting down
the walk with her cap-strings waving wildly in the fresh October wind.