ILLUSTRATIONS
“Oh, mine’s ahead!” cried Marion (Page 27) _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
There was a crash, and a ball of fire seemed to
drop from the sky 102
She hastily uncorked it and took a sniff 126
Beneath his nimble, clever fingers the flag grew
rapidly 214
“Oh, yes, I like frosted cakes derry much” 252
He helped Polly Wiggles into the large pink rose
that formed her seat 300
MISS POLLY WIGGLES
CHAPTER ONE
AT “THE LILACS”
“The Lilacs” was such a pretty place; at least Elizabeth said so, and
every one that saw it was likely to agree with her. It was really the
country home of Grandmother and Grandfather Carr, and Aunt Elsie,
Elizabeth’s young-lady aunt, but every summer the Eatons went there,
too.
In the first place it was so convenient for Dr. Eaton’s practice, and
that was the most important consideration, for a doctor had to be able
to get to his patients quickly, and The Lilacs was only a half-hour run
in the automobile from his city office. Then, too, the children loved
it, and both Dr. and Mrs. Eaton believed it good for their little girls
to play around in the sweet country air.
Now let me tell you about the Eatons. First there was Dr. Daddy, as the
children called him, who was a very busy man, but always ready for a
smile, or a romp with his little brood. Then came Mrs. Eaton, who was
the prettiest young mother any one could imagine, with big brown eyes
that beamed lovingly at her little try-patiences. She was Aunt Elsie’s
older sister, and Grandmother and Grandfather Carr’s big daughter, so
you can imagine the good times they all had together.
As for the children, I must first tell you what they called themselves.
There were just the three little girls. Jeannette, the eldest, was
well past nine and already quite a schoolgirl. Then came Elizabeth, or
Polly Wiggles, as every one nearly always called her. Grandfather Carr
had given her the nickname, because she was such an active little girl
that he declared she was “always on the wiggle,” and that the stately
name of Elizabeth did not suit her at all. She was nearly as tall as
Jeannette, but more than a year younger, and more than four years older
than Evelyn, the baby of the family.
And what do you suppose they called themselves? Why, “The Three Bears,”
to be sure. When they were younger, Mother had read them the famous
story many times, and while Evelyn was still a baby it was Elizabeth’s
fertile brain that thought, “Why, we’re three bears ourselves.
Jeannette is the great big bear, I’m the middle-sized bear, and Evelyn
is the wee little cubby bear.” It was a favorite play with the children
after that, and Evelyn was called “Cub” and “Cubby” so much, that the
name stuck, as many a nickname will, and even Mother and Father called
this chubby, roly-poly, golden-curled daughter, “Cubby.”
The children were never happier than when at The Lilacs, for they
dearly loved their grandparents and Aunt Elsie. Elizabeth was named
after Grandmother Carr, and was very proud of the fact, while Jeannette
had her mother’s name, and Evelyn was the name of Dr. Daddy’s mother,
or their dear silver-haired Grandmother Eaton, who had a home at the
seashore.
Grandmother Carr’s hair was as brown as Jeannette’s, with scarcely
a silver thread in it, but, as Elizabeth said, “Grandfather’s head
pushed up through his hair,” and all around the sides it was gray.
It was early May, but already the big colonial house had been opened
for the season, for Cubby was still coughing from the effects of the
whooping-cough, and Dr. Daddy thought it wise to leave the city.
So Jeannette and Elizabeth were taken from their own school and
attended the country school at Meadowbrook that was within easy
walking-distance of The Lilacs. Jeannette was in the fifth grade and
Elizabeth in the fourth, for both little girls were fond of books and
well up in their studies. They always took their lunches with them, for
the noon period was short, and besides, it was great fun to eat picnic
luncheons on the green slope outside the school, especially as their
two best playmates were with them.
It was a beautiful Saturday morning. Bees were already busy sipping
honey from the flowers that grew in profusion in the old-fashioned
gardens, and blue and yellow butterflies paused to kiss the purple and
white lilac plumes that sweetened the air with fragrance and gave the
place its name.
Under the apple-trees by the brook that wound its way about the orchard
back of The Lilacs, and through the meadows and little woods beyond,
there was a great chattering going on that would make any one think
that at least a dozen little girls were talking at once, instead of
four.
Aunt Elsie, hidden behind a row of purple lilac blossoms, smiled as
she pressed closer in her arms the big gray cat she was carrying, and
watched the four little girls who were comfortably lying on their
stomachs in the green grass, for Elizabeth’s and Jeannette’s best
friends had come over to play.
Alice Maxfield was an only child, and lived next door to The Lilacs in
a pretty summer home called “Sweet Briar.” She and Elizabeth had been
the best of chums since baby days, and Polly Wiggles’ thick black curls
and Alice’s smooth bobbed blonde locks were entwined as together they
looked over a new book of fairy-tales. They were both eight, and in the
same class at school. Marion West was a year older, and the same age
as Jeannette, but she was such an unusually big girl for her age that
she could easily have passed for eleven, and overtopped Jeannette by
half a head.
Marion was visiting her grandparents for the summer at their home,
called “Blossom Banks,” which was farther down the avenue. Her father,
Dr. West, was minister in the church the Eatons attended in the city,
and he usually spent his summers at Meadowbrook. Both she and Jeannette
were busy knitting scarfs for their dolls, and, to judge by the snarl
Jeannette’s wool was in, it would take Mother or Grandmother many
minutes to untangle it.
Aunt Elsie smiled again at the pretty picture the children made in
their bright gingham dresses, for the four little girls were four such
different types. Maybe that was the reason they got along so well
together, for misunderstandings were few and far between, and quarrels
almost unknown.
Alice was plump and rosy, with golden hair cut “Dutch,” and the bluest
of blue eyes. She was a dear little girl, with just enough quietness
in her nature to balance the more mischievous and irrepressible Polly
Wiggles. For Wiggles was mischievous. As Daddy said, “If there was any
scrape to be gotten into, Wiggles was in.”
Such black crinkly curls had Wiggles, hanging just below her shoulders,
and her blue eyes fairly danced with the joy of living. Grandfather
used to say, with a twinkle in his gray eyes, “You’re such a thin
wisp of a girl that some day a puff of wind will blow you away,” and
Wiggles used to laugh at the idea of sailing away over housetops like a
dried leaf. For no amount of teasing ever bothered her, which was most
fortunate, for they were a fun-loving family, although all teasing was
good-natured.
Jeannette had curls, too, long ones, but as Wiggles declared, “They
hung down in the way curls should go, and didn’t snarl all up like
corkscrews.” Then, too, Jeannette had brown eyes like Mother, and a
great deal of Mother’s sweet, calm disposition. She was a thoughtful
little girl, and rarely got into the funny scrapes that her active
sister did.
Marion, who was clever with her fingers, was really doing creditable
work on her doll’s scarf that was to match a cunning little sweater her
grandmother had made. She was a child who took things earnestly, and
had a mass of rippling red hair that hung far below her waist, and was
almost too heavy for comfort.
Wiggles was in a pretty pink gingham dress, and Alice had on her
favorite blue. Jeannette declared that was why it was called “Alice
blue.” Jeannette’s frock was buff, and Marion’s, leaf-green, that
contrasted with her glowing mane of hair.
“I wish my hair grew as quickly as yours,” said Alice, twisting one of
the glowing locks around her finger as she spoke. For Marion’s hair was
cut to her shoulders regularly each summer, and by the next spring it
was long enough to sit on.
“I don’t think Mother will cut it this year,” replied Marion, “but it
does get so warm and prickly-heaty. It’s lots more comfortable like
yours, Alice.”
Alice ruffled her short blonde locks disconsolately. It made no
difference how much she mussed herself or disarranged her hair, as,
for some mysterious reason, she always looked immaculate, and hair,
dresses, and ribbons seemed to fall again into correct folds, no matter
how hard she played.
Maybe that was one reason that she and Wiggles were such chums, because
the contrast was so great. It was a marvelous feat for Wiggles to
arrive home from school intact, for either hair-ribbon or handkerchief
would have vanished, or yawning gathers would show where skirt had once
joined waist before she had indulged in a few games. Wiggles left each
game looking a wreck. Alice was unruffled.
It was a peculiar fact, and one that Wiggles greatly deplored. As
Mandy, the colored cook, declared, “Trouble suah flies to dat chile as
de spahks fly upwahd.”
At the present moment Wiggles’ clean pink gingham had grass-stains
front and back, of which she was serenely unconscious, and the big
butterfly bow on her hair had slid down to the very tip of one fat
black curl, and was rescued from falling off by Marion, who neatly tied
it anew.
Aunt Elsie parted the lilac-bushes gently and placed the beautiful gray
Persian cat, her special pet and pride, on the grass.
“Now be a good pussy,” she whispered into one furry ear, “and take my
message.”
Just as if he understood each word,--and maybe he did,--Pussy arched
his beautiful fluffy tail over his back and picked his way daintily
over the violet-strewn grass. Aunt Elsie slipped back behind the
concealing bushes and watched his leisurely progress.
“Why, look!” exclaimed Jeannette, “here comes Boots. Here, Boots,
Boots!”
“What is that thing around his neck, under his chin?” asked Alice
curiously, peering at the beautiful pussy. “Why is he called ‘Boots,’
Wiggles?”
“’Cause his really-truly name is Puss-in-Boots,’” explained Wiggles,
teetering on one foot as she spoke. “He is marked with four white
boots on his paws, so we call him Boots, for short. Isn’t he a booful
angel pussy? There,” with a change of tone, “he has something around
his neck, sure as can be. Isn’t that queer? Wait and I’ll see what it
is.”
With a dart she pounced on the fuzzy Boots, and with much astonishment
unfastened a tiny gay green-and-white basket that had been fastened to
his collar.
“Oh, my goodness, girls, he’s a postman, or postcat!” she squealed,
much excited. “Here are four little letters addressed to us in the
basket,--one for each of us.”
Boots, much relieved to be separated from his “mail-sack,” curled down
in Jeannette’s lap and took cat-naps, while four excited little girls
tore open the tiny pink envelopes, and read this invitation:
“You are invited to a dolls’ bathing-picnic at ten-thirty this morning
at Fleur-de-Lys Point. Bring your little dolls, and dolls’ furniture.”
Four little girls squealed with pleasure.
“I’ll have to ask permission,” exclaimed Marion and Alice in one
breath. “Won’t it be lovely? What time is it now?”
“It’s just ten o’clock,” announced Aunt Elsie, appearing beside
the little girls, “and I already have asked permission of Marion’s
grandmother and Alice’s mother, so it won’t be necessary for you to go
home, as you have your dolls with you.”
“Oh,” squealed Wiggles, “then let’s pack and go quick.” With a rush she
was off to the house, and reappeared a few minutes later with a huge
market-basket, into which dolls, furniture, and dishes had been dumped
pell-mell. To this she added Jeannette’s, Alice’s, and Marion’s dolls.
Then, led by Aunt Elsie, carrying a big red sunshade, and followed by
the faithful Boots, the little party crossed the rustic bridge and
walked through the green meadow-grasses along the brook, to the spot
near the woods that had been named Fleur-de-Lys Point.
CHAPTER TWO
THE DOLLS’ BATHING-PICNIC
“What is a dolls’ bathing-picnic, Aunt Elsie?” inquired Wiggles
curiously. “Our dolls can’t swim, you know.”
“Wait and see,” replied Aunt Elsie mysteriously.
“You do think of the nicest things,” said Jeannette, slipping her hand
in her aunt’s.
Here Wiggles, who had scurried on ahead of the others, came puffing
back, her hair in a wild curly mass from heat and perspiration.
“I could just see the Point,” she panted breathlessly, “and, what do
you think, Auntie? I could see some horrid boys there, so we won’t be
able to go there after all. Isn’t that mean?”
“Ugh! I hate boys,” cried Alice. “You can have so much nicer times
when there are just girls. I do think all boys ought to live in a
menagerie, they’re so fond of bugs, and toads, and horrid things.”
“Well,” confessed Aunt Elsie, “you see, I invited some boys myself, so
I don’t doubt but that they are there ahead of us.”
“You did? Boys?” echoed Wiggles. “To a dolls’ party? Why, Auntie!”
Aunt Elsie laughed again. “They’ll only be with us for a little while,”
she explained. “I asked Marion’s brother, Hugh, and your own cousins,
Billy and Dick. They won’t be so bad, will they?”
“I hope not,” replied Jeannette, doubtfully it must be confessed. “They
always have to race around and upset and break things so, and make such
a noise.”
The four little girls walked on together, arms around each other’s
waists, brown, black, yellow, and red hair mingling.
“I do think boys are disgustable creatures,” declared Wiggles, tossing
her curls. “No good at all unless you want to go swimming or something.”
“I think so, too,” declared Marion unexpectedly. “Always pulling my
hair and calling me, ‘Carrots’ and ‘Red Head’ and ‘Ginger.’”
“The idea!” said Jeannette indignantly. “Your hair is perfectly
beautiful.”
“It’s what is called ‘Tissue’ hair,” announced Wiggles with an air of
wisdom. “I heard one of the teachers say so, though I can’t see why
it’s called that. It’s not a bit like tissue paper.”
“Oh, Wiggles!” laughed Jeannette; “you’ll certainly kill me. It’s
‘Titian’ hair, not ‘Tissue,’ and ‘Titian’ is a Latin or Greek name for
‘red,’ I think.”
“Well,” agreed Wiggles serenely, joining in the laughter, “it’s a much
more ’spressive word than ‘red,’ anyway.”
Fleur-de-Lys Point was well named. There the brook gurgled along
over flat stones and tiny pebbles, while masses of purple and white
fleur-de-lys clustered about its bank, and even sent up daring shoots
of green in the rippling water. The mossy bank was thickly carpeted
with violets, and under a huge old willow-tree, that spread its
drooping boughs over the crystal waters, the “disgustable” boys were
waiting.
Wiggles’ cousins, Billy and Dick Gerard, were really very nice, jolly
boys, full of spirits and boyishness, and, notwithstanding the little
girls’ previous remarks, they were very fond of their good-natured
cousins. Richard, or Dick as he was called, was ten; and William, who
never answered to anything but “Bill,” or “Billy,” was past twelve.
They were both strong, husky lads, with dark hair and eyes like
Jeannette’s.
Hugh, Marion’s brother, was Dick’s inseparable pal and bosom crony, and
had a head of heavy mahogany-colored hair several shades darker than
his sister’s.
“If there isn’t Polly Wiggles,” greeted Billy. “Wiggles, every single
hair on your head stands erect.”
The four little girls dropped down on the mossy bank, first carefully
putting the market-basket, which they had taken turns in carrying, at
the gnarled roots of the willow tree.
“Isn’t it lovely and shady here?” said Alice with a blissful sigh of
content.
“Usually is shady under a tree,” teased Dick.
“Goodness,” said Marion, wiping her flushed face and trying to hold up
her heavy hair away from her neck.
Aunt Elsie secured both Jeannette’s and Marion’s long locks with
hairpins on top of their heads, and the two little girls felt quite
grown up.
“Wiggles looks like a Fiji Islander,” said Hugh, for every strand
corkscrewed out from her head in a mass of short, kinking curls.
“All you need is a ring in your nose,” gibed Billy.
“Well,” agreed Wiggles unruffled, “if I had a ring, I’d be a ‘belle’
I s’pose.” There was a general shout at this, and Billy pretended to
faint away at such brain work in one so young.
Then Aunt Elsie pointed to the willow boughs above them, and, looking
up, the little girls spied four small bundles, tied to the branches
within easy reach of their eager hands, and each package was marked
with a little girl’s name.
“More s’prises,” beamed Wiggles. “I just love s’prises. Oh!” with a
shriek of joy; “just see what I have,” and she held aloft the dearest
little celluloid doll, dressed in a brilliant scarlet bathing-suit.
“And mine,” echoed Jeannette, holding up a blue-clad bather. Alice and
Marion had the same, but Marion’s doll wore a green suit, and Alice’s a
purple.
“Now,” said Aunt Elsie briskly, “we will have a swimming contest for
the four doll-ladies.”
Seeing the girls’ look of surprise, the boys shouted.
“Celluloid floats, you know,” Dick explained to the girls at large.
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid they’ll spoil their bathing-suits?”
Billy acted as master of ceremonies, and at his, “One, two, three, go!”
each doll fell with a splash from the stone where it had been held by
its little owner.
The current carried them gently down-stream, and even the boys became
excited in seeing which would pass the “tape” first, which was a piece
of string from Hugh’s pocket, fastened across the brook to the bushes
on each side.
“Oh, mine’s ahead!” cried Marion, her eyes intent on the green-clad
swimmer.
“There goes Wiggles’ first,” said Billy, as Marion’s doll suddenly
swung round in a circle, delaying its progress.
“See mine, see mine!” squealed Alice, jumping up and down on the bank,
and nearly tumbling in to join the bathers.
But it would take too long to tell you all the details of the “swim,”
except to say that Wiggles’ doll was side-tracked by a surprised little
turtle, that snapped angrily at the red cloth, thinking it, no doubt, a
new variety of food. How the children screamed with laughter, Wiggles
as much as any one, although it put her out of the race, as her doll
bumped and stopped against a stone.
Jeannette’s doll swam straight into a mass of fleur-de-lys and became
entangled among them, but Alice’s and Marion’s dolls went gayly
on down-stream, sometimes one ahead, sometimes the other, until a
fluttering breeze caught the purple doll and rushed her under the line
victorious.
Such cheers as then arose! Even the boys clapped and acknowledged that
they would never have believed a doll’s race could be so thrilling.
Then, after the swimmers had been rescued and were once more on dry
land, Alice’s doll received a prize, which proved to be a cunning
little clock for her doll-house, that could tick when wound, and wave
its pendulum back and forth.
If care had not been taken, the boys would have had it apart, to see
“what made it go.” So busy were the girls admiring the prize that
they never noticed when the boys slipped away into the woods for a
few moments, and they jumped with a start when the three lads crept
up behind them and tumbled into each little girl’s lap,--what do you
suppose? A cunning little birch-bark canoe, made with their own hands
from scraps of bark. You can imagine how pleased they were.
“Where did you get them?” cried Jeannette, gazing admiringly at her
tiny craft.
“We made them yesterday, and Aunt Elsie sewed the ends for us,”
answered Dick.
“Then we hid them in a stump in the woods until now,” explained Hugh.
“Aren’t they crackerjacks?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” called Bill, “the next race will be a canoe
race. Only members of the Fleur-de-Lys Country Club may take part in
this, and all who enter must pay an admission fee of one gold-piece,
and, of course, the usual war tax.”
As dandelions were accepted for gold, and violets for the taxes, the
members soon paid their fees, and the Fleur-de-Lys Country Club race
was ready for action.
“Man your boats!” cried Billy.
Into each canoe went a brave swimmer, still in full bathing costume.
What mattered it that each doll had to lie flat on her back, owing to
an inability to sit, as most celluloid dolls are made unbendable.
“It’s a clever canoeist indeed,” laughed Aunt Elsie, “that can paddle
while lying down.”
Then Billy called again, “One, two, three, go!” and away the tiny
crafts sailed, puffed along by the soft spring breezes. The same tape
was again the goal. But, alas, Alice’s and Jeannette’s boats came to
grief very soon. They rammed one another, capsized, and would have
floated unmanned if they had not been rescued by Hugh.
“He deserves a life-saver’s medal,” laughed Wiggles, as the dripping
purple and blue dolls were carried ashore.
“We must roll them over a barrel to bring them to life,” cried
Jeannette. “That’s what they always do if you nearly drown.”
This proved very absorbing, with a large stone used as a barrel, while
“Doctor” Jeannette Eaton looked professionally grave, and Alice gasped,
“My child, my child! Is she dead all over?” At last the doctor declared
them out of danger, and, after recommending some dandelion wine to
brace them up, ordered them rolled up in handkerchiefs and put in the
sun to take a “sun-cure.”
Meanwhile Wiggles’ boat with its scarlet occupant crossed the “tape”
first, and again a prize mysteriously appeared from Aunt Elsie’s
work-bag, in the form of a tiny doll’s piano, just big enough for
a doll-house; for Wiggles was passionately fond of music, and could
hardly wait until fall when she would start music-lessons.
“O, dear me suz, there’s the twelve-o’clock bell. I’ll have to go home
for luncheon,” bemoaned Marion. “Did you ever see a morning go so fast
in your life? Haven’t we had the loveliest time?”
“How are the patients, Dr. Eaton?” inquired Dick, nodding toward the
two dolls, still taking their sun-bath.
“Very, very poorly,” said Dr. Eaton, looking grave and shaking her
topknot of curls. “They have a ‘temperment’ of one hundred and forty
degrees.”
They were indeed very warm from the broiling sun, and were tenderly
carried up under the willow-tree and comfortably arranged on a bed of
moss.
“I greatly fear,” said the doctor, looking wise, “that we shall have to
call in a nurse, as they will have chills soon, and water on the brain
from their nearness to drowning.”
“Do give them something fashionable,” urged Wiggles. “Any one can
have chills. Let’s have something where there can be a card on the
door; it looks so kind of exclusive,--yellow plague, or black peril, or
something like that.”
“Why, where’s your aunt?” asked Alice, noticing, for the first time,
that Aunt Elsie had disappeared. “We must thank her and hurry home.”
“She’s up in the woods,” said Billy, looking as if he wanted to laugh
at something.
So, clutching their treasures, all four girls followed the whooping
boys up the bank, to the curve of the stream at the edge of the woods.
And there, what do you suppose they saw?
CHAPTER THREE
GAMES
There, on the ground, surrounded by wild-azalea bushes, whose
coral-pink blossoms filled the air with a delicious perfume, was spread
a white cloth, and, unpacking things from a big hamper, were Mother and
Grandma, and Aunt Elsie; while James, Grandpa Carr’s colored chauffeur,
was grinning broadly over a big freezer full of ice-cream, and Cubby
trotted around on her fat little legs and got in every one’s way.
It was such a lovely surprise, although the boys had known all about
it; and as Alice’s and Marion’s people had been asked by Mother, the
two little girls could stay with clear consciences and enjoy the
delicious picnic luncheon. There were pink-and-white ham sandwiches,
and stacks of others with jelly, lettuce, and peanut-butter filling.
Then came fruit salad from the thermos bottle, and, of course, olives,
candies, and salted peanuts. And when all these goodies had vanished
down hungry throats, some of Mandy’s chocolate cake appeared, with
two pink candles on it, “Because,” Aunt Elsie explained, “it’s Boots’
second birthday.” How they all laughed and petted Boots, who enjoyed
the ham as much as any one, and washed his paws most daintily after
each course. He blinked his big green eyes in astonishment at the
flickering candles atop the cake, but ate his ice cream with much
gusto, to show how much he appreciated this birthday celebration.
“Oh, do let’s celebrate Boots’ birthday every year!” cried Wiggles,
dancing around with a piece of cake in each hand. “It’s lots more fun
than a real birthday party.”
“We ought to play Puss-in-the-corner so he could join in,” suggested
Alice, but Boots, deciding that luncheon was over, settled himself
under the bushes for a cozy nap.
“What let’s play?” asked Jeannette. “I’ve eaten and eaten until I don’t
want to move.”
“Here’s a new game I’ve found for you, children,” said Grandma,
producing papers and pencils, which she passed around. “I’ll read you a
list of questions, and each answer must be in two words. The first word
must start with your first initial, and the second word with your last
initial. Some of the answers turn out very funny, and I’m sure you will
enjoy it.”
Mother and Aunt Elsie decided to finish clearing away the remains
of the picnic, so only the children played, while Grandma read the
questions.
They worked industriously, with many a stifled giggle, and when all
were finished, the papers were passed to Grandma to read aloud.
The first question had been, “How would you describe yourself?” Marion,
whose initials were M. W., had written “Marvelously Wise.” Spelling
was not counted, and it was most fortunate, as there were some odd
blunders. “What is your chief sport?” brought the answer, “Mangling
Wash,” over which there were many laughs.
“You’ll make your fortune if you turn wash-lady nowadays,” said
Billy. “You’d better start saving your pennies toward an electric
washing-machine, if that is your chief aim in life.”
The third question was, “What is your favorite food?” to which Marion
had written “Maple Whip,” which Grandmother and Mother thought very
appropriate.
But she had a hard struggle with the last question, which asked what
trade or profession she wished her future husband to follow. Finally,
after much pencil-nibbling and thought, she put down, “Merely Workman.”
The girls declared it great fun, and listened with interest as
Grandmother read Dick’s paper next.
For his description he had, “Real Good,” which caused them to shout, as
Richard was always in mischief and out again. “Riding Goats” was his
favorite amusement, and “Rich Gravy” his favorite food. The boys put
their own future profession for the last question, and Dick decided to
be a “Real Gentleman,” which ended his paper.
“This is lots of fun, Grandma,” laughed Jeannette. “Why didn’t you tell
us about it before?”
“Because I only saw it myself last week, in a newspaper,” confessed
Grandma. “I’ll read Alice’s now.”
“‘A’ is such a pretty letter to have,” sighed Wiggles enviously. “Just
think, both my initials are the same, and it made it awfully hard
’cause I had so little choice.”
“Well, don’t look so doleful about it, Miss Polly-Wog-Wiggles,”
returned Billy. “Any one that has three such marvelous nicknames as
Polly, Woggsie, and Wiggles ought not to complain. Oh, Aunt Elsie, will
you ever forget the time we were shopping in Morristown, and that old
gentleman complimented Wogs on her name?”
“What was the joke?” inquired Marion with interest.
“Why, one time Grandfather, Aunt Elsie, Wiggles, and I were doing some
marketing in Morristown. Grandfather--he’s not really my grandfather,
but I always call him that--was in a hurry to get home, and called to
Wiggles, who was looking in a shop window, as all girls will,”--here
Wiggles interrupted with a loud sniff of disdain,--“and said, ‘Get
a wiggle on, Polly.’ There was an old gentleman passing by, and he
stopped and beamed and said, ‘It certainly is a pleasure to hear an
old-fashioned name like Polly, after the new-fangled names they call
children nowadays. Always be proud of your name, little Miss Polly.’”
“What did you say?” asked Alice, much amused.
“I didn’t get a chance to say a single word,” replied Wiggles, “for I
was so s’prised that I just stood stock-still until he was ’way down
the street, and then I didn’t want to go rushing after a strange man
and say, ‘My name isn’t Polly at all, just “Polliwog,” and Wiggles for
short.’ Wouldn’t he have been ’stonished?”
“I think he would,” laughed Mother, seating herself on the soft grass
and pulling Cubby beside her. “You’re such a heedless little witch,
that it would have been just about like you.”
“How are the literary efforts coming along?” inquired Aunt Elsie, as,
after sending James home with the empty hamper, she joined the laughing
crowd.
So Grandmother started once more, and they found out that Alice
described herself as an “Ambitious Maiden,” and gave her favorite
sport as “Any Mathematics,” which drew a giggle from Wiggles, as Alice
disliked arithmetic more than anything else.
“You thought ‘A’ was such an easy letter, Wiggles,” declared Alice,
“but it was dreadfully hard.”
One and all declared Alice’s favorite article of food, “Almond
Macaroons,” to be the best of all, and Marion cried, “Wouldn’t they
taste good with my ‘Maple Whip’?”
“Don’t, for pity sake, talk about eating,” groaned Jeannette. “I ate
three times more than I should have, and I don’t believe I could eat
another thing.”
“That’s because you were piggy,” jeered Dick, pulling one of her brown
curls that had fallen from the knot atop her head.
“Not half so piggy as you,” retorted Jeannette. “Who ate five slices
of cake and three plates of cream, I’d like to know? And as for
sandwiches, I couldn’t begin to count.”
“Order, order!” cried Aunt Elsie, and they all quieted down to hear
that Alice’s future husband would be “A Mason.”
“Read Jeannette’s next,” implored Wiggles. “‘J’ is such a hard letter.”
So, as Grandmother was tired, Mother started on the next slip of paper.
Description, “Just Elegant,” wrote Jeannette in her round, clear hand.
“Favorite sport, ‘Just Eating,’” broke in Dick, snickering. “Ha, ha,
Jet, I got you that time.”
“No, it’s Juggling Elephants,” replied Mother with a smile. “You’ll
need a good deal of muscle for that sport, my dear.”
Favorite food, “Juicy Egg-plant,” went on the writing, and Jeannette
had settled on a “Jolly Eskimo” for her future partner.
“You’ll have to live in a snow hut and eat whale-blubber and delicacies
like that,” put in Billy. “What a happy future to look forward to. You
know they woo you by seizing you by the hair of your head and dragging
you away. You have good hair for an Eskimo bride. See, he’ll do like
this--” and Billy grabbed the long curls and gave a blood-curdling
exhibition of an Eskimo groom, until Jeannette shrieked that he was
pulling her hair out by the roots, and Cubby’s lip began to quiver
suspiciously.
“You’re a bad, bad boy to hurt my Jet,” she wailed. “I don’t think your
muvver has brought you up derry (very) nicely.”
“He was just fooling,” explained Jet, wiping away the big tears
streaming down the wee bear’s face.
“I offer my humble apologies,” said Billy gravely. “There, Cub, does
that suit you? I am afraid she’ll find the weather a trifle chilly up
by the North Pole. In fact, little Miss Snippets, if you cried like
that up in Eskimo land, all your tears would turn to ice and freeze
your face.”
Cubby felt her plump cheeks cautiously, as if fearing the freezing
process might have already started.
“Maybe Jet will live wite next door to Santy Claus,” she volunteered
happily. “And--and maybe when I visit her she’ll let me eat lots and
lots of Eskimo pie.”
Billy let out a war-whoop. “I never thought of that, but maybe she
will,” he told the ecstatic Cubby, who was beaming at the idea. “How
about it, Jet?”
“Well, she won’t have to complain about my eating too much raw fish and
blubber when I visit her,” teased Dick.
“How do you know you’ll be invited?” returned Jeannette calmly.
“Hugh, you are next,” said Mother. “Hugh describes himself as ‘Heavily
Whiskered,’ so I suppose that is the way we are to imagine him.”
“Oh, Hugh,” cried Alice in horror. “Just think how terrible red
whiskers would look.”
“I am going to have them down to my waist when I grow up,” declared
Hugh calmly, not at all upset by the shrieks of derision that greeted
his announcement.
“Lovely place for a bird’s nest,” put in Dick kindly. “One thing
though, they’d be fine for polishing your shoes, and you’d never need
to wear a necktie or a clean shirt, because no one could ever tell, if
you were camouflaged with billy-goat whiskers.” “Oh, that reminds me,”
laughed Grandma suddenly, “of one time when Wiggles was about Cubby’s
age, and Grandfather and I, and her great-grandfather--my father,
children--took her to Bronx Park to see the menagerie. She was charmed
with everything, but stood longest before a little goat, and gazed and
gazed at her. Finally she piped up in a shrill, loud voice, with a most
angelic smile, as she pointed at the goat, ‘Oh, him has whiskers just
like my dear, dear, great-grandpa.’”
“What did you do with me?” demanded Wiggles in horror. “Wasn’t I a
disgraceful child?”
“Maybe your ‘muvver’ didn’t bring you up ‘derry’ well, either,” quoted
Billy mischievously.
“I didn’t do anything,” said Grandma, laughing at the recollection,
“except laugh, for every one around just shouted. You talked so very
plainly that every word could be understood, and your great-grandfather
never got over telling about when he was compared to a goat. He thought
it was very cunning.”
“Well, I think it was just dreadful,” declared Wiggles solemnly. “I
don’t see, Mother, where you ever got such a mortor-fying child.”
“Well,” said Mother cheerfully, “I seem to stand the strain very well.
Now, let’s see what Hugh has chosen as his favorite sport.”
“Harpooning Whales” was to be the bewhiskered man’s hobby, and “Hot
Waffles” his chief joy to eat.
“And that’s true,” broke in Marion suddenly. “He ate seventeen one
morning, just oozing with syrup.”
“Yum-yum, weren’t they good,” murmured her brother with a far-away look
in his eyes. “And I could have eaten more, only Grandma wouldn’t let
me.”
“I should think not,” said Aunt Elsie in dismay. “How did you ever do
it?”
“That’s nothing,” broke in Dick, not wishing to be left behind. “I ate
twenty-two hot cakes one morning, didn’t I, Billy?”
“Well it’s nothing to brag of,” said Wiggles crushingly. “I think boys
are the queerest----”
“Help, help,” cried Billy. “Some one head her off, quick! If Wiggles
once gets on the subject of ‘What I think of boys,’ she’ll expound on
their faults and shortcomings until night.”
“And then not have nearly enough time to mention them all,” put in
Wiggles, bound to have the last word.
“To resume our reading,” said Mother, “‘Hard Work’ is to be Hugh’s
profession.”
This raised another shout, for Hugh was a bookworm, and greatly
believed in putting off until to-morrow everything that could be done
to-day.
“Here, Woggsie,” said Aunt Elsie, “this much-besmudged paper looks like
yours. I’ll read the next two, and give Mother’s throat a chance to
rest.”
“Description,” scrawled Wiggles, whose handwriting was not of the best,
“Extremely Exquisite.”
“You don’t mind patting yourself on the back, youngster, do you?”
inquired Billy, pulling a crinkly curl.
“I can’t help my initials,” answered Wiggles loftily. “’Twasn’t a bit
of fun having both letters the same, I can tell you.”
Wiggles’ chief hobby was “Entertaining Earls,” at which Billy gave
a deep groan; and she was fond of eating “Enormous Eclairs,” which
happened to be true. As for her husband-to-be, he was an “Electrical
Engineer,” which she declared to be the only easy answer she had.
“Now for William Gerard, better known as Billy,” said Aunt Elsie. “Here
it is; Description, ‘Wise Guy.’”
“Now who thinks a lot of himself?” jeered Wiggles, turning up her nose.
“Look out, look out,” called Billy, as if in great alarm. “It turns up
enough now, and if you tilt it up too far, it may never get back.”
“Silly,” was Wiggles’ lofty reply.
“Chief sport,” continued Aunt Elsie, “‘Western Gunning.’” For Billy was
wild to hunt and shoot. “Favorite food,” Aunt Elsie resumed, “‘White
Grapes.’ Future profession, ‘Writing Geographies.’”
“You’ll be some literary gentleman,” jeered Hugh.
“But haven’t they been fun?” beamed Wiggles. “I wish there were more to
read.”
“Here is one more question you may each answer aloud,” said Grandma.
“I’ll give you five minutes to think of your favorite flower.”
“Nothing starts with a ‘J,’” bemoaned Jeannette. “I’ll never think of
one.”
“Time’s up,” said Mother, looking at her wrist-watch. “Who’ll answer
first?”
“I will,” answered Dick. “My flower is ‘Red Geranium.’”
“Very good,” approved Grandmother. “Now I can see that Marion is ready.”
“‘Milk-Weed,’” replied Marion blushing. “It’s the only thing I can
think of with my initials.”
“‘Elephant’s Ears,’” called out Wiggles. “You know, those big flappy
plants that grow in front of the post-office.”
“‘Japanese Elderberry,’” ventured Jeannette, “and I’m not even sure
that there is such a Japanese plant.”
“It will do,” answered Grandma, smiling at her little granddaughter.
“What shall we hear from you, Hugh?”
“Hardy Wisteria,” said Hugh triumphantly. “My, that was hard. Hurry up,
Bill; you ought to be ‘Sweet William.’”
“Ladies first,” returned William with a gallant flourish toward Alice,
whose brow was puckered with thought.
“Prithee tell me, little one, what your favorite posy may be?”
“‘Autumn Marigolds,’” answered Alice quickly. “Now tell yours.”
“‘Winter Green,’ ma’am. How does that suit the Lady Alice?”
“That isn’t a flower at all; it’s a flavor,” cried Marion.
“You ask Grandmother,” cried William loftily, “if it isn’t a plant, and
a flowering one, too. Dear, dear, such ignorance as you kidlets show.
Ta-ta, youngsters, we _men_ are going fishing.”
“Men, indeed,” sniffed Wiggles, much amused. “Why, you’re nothing but
just little boys.”
After the boys had gone, the grown-ups collected embroidery-bags and
other belongings, and, with Boots and Cubby leading, the procession
returned once more to the willow-tree and Fleur-de-Lys Point.
CHAPTER FOUR
CUBBY’S ADVENTURE
It looked as if the fairies had been at work, for there under the
spreading willow-tree were five tiny tents, each big enough to hold a
family of dolls with comfort.
With cries of delight, all four friends and Cubby danced round and
round, exclaiming: “Where did you get them? Aren’t they cunning?”
While the children were enthusing, Grandma, Mother, and Aunt Elsie
settled themselves comfortably with their embroidery, and smiled at the
children’s raptures.
“Do you like them?” asked Aunt Elsie.
“Indeed we do. We never saw dolls’ tents before,” chorused the girls.
“I know you’re ’mused about something by the ’spression around your
mouth, Aunt Elsie. Please be a dear good auntie, and stop teasing us
and tell us where you got them?” implored Wiggles, dancing up and down
in her excitement.
“Yes, pretty please,” begged Jeannette. “You have a wicked twinkle in
your eyes.”
“Oh, oh, let me see it!” demanded Cubby, approaching on a run, and
peering at her aunt’s eyes with interest. “Does it hurt you, Aunt
Elsie?”
“Does what hurt?” asked Aunt Elsie, catching up the wee bear to give
her a hug and a kiss.
“The--the thing that Jet said was in your eye. You know, the
‘squinkle,’” explained Cubby, hunting through her mind for the word and
bringing it out triumphantly.
“Oh, oh, Mother, she thinks it’s something like having a cinder in the
eye,” shrieked Wiggles, much amused.
Cubby was much offended by the mirth her remark caused. She hated to
be laughed at by the older girls. “It’s not polite to laugh,” she told
them with dignity, her very curls bristling with indignation. “You just
wait till you’re a itty bit of a gurrl and I’m a big grown-up lady,
and then see how you feel when I laugh at your ‘steaks.’”
“So you shall,” replied Wiggles good-naturedly. “You shall look at me
like this,” and she gave a condescending glance down toward her feet.
“And you may laugh at my ‘steaks’ as much as you want,--and my chops,
too,” she finished with a giggle.
“And what will you do?” asked Cubby breathlessly, all dignity gone
before this absorbing by-play.
“Oh, I’ll shrink, and shrink, beneath your withering stare, until I
shrivel up like a dried leaf, and blow away. Now Auntie, do tell us
where you got the tents.”
“Well, those ‘disgustable’ boys made the framework,” replied Aunt Elsie
demurely, “and Mother and I made the cotton squares to cover them. We
thought your dolls might enjoy tenting for a change.”
“I’ll never call those boys ‘disgustable’ again,” puffed Wiggles,
rushing back and forth like a busy little beaver, and carrying dolls’
furniture and dishes with which to arrange the tents. “They’re just
perfect pets,” she finished.
It was to be doubted as to whether or not the boys would have enjoyed
being called “pets.” Perhaps it was just as well that they did not hear.
“It’s the loveliest picnic that I ever saw,” declared Alice positively,
arranging a tiny bed with covers and pillows. “Let’s pretend that this
is a girls’ camp on a big lake.”
The idea was seized with enthusiasm, and Jeannette rushed to get the
“invalids,” who were still resting on their mossy beds.
“They are here for their health,” she announced importantly, “as their
doctor told them they needed to go to a health resort.”
“What shall we name the camp?” demanded Marion, arranging a table,
out on the mossy “lawn,” with tiny dishes and cups. “They must eat
out-of-doors, for that’s the way they do at Maine camps.”
Marion had spent part of one summer in the Maine woods, and so the
children considered her an authority on camping.
“Pine Grove,” suggested Jeannette. “Oh, I forgot there aren’t any pines
near by.”
“Pebbly Brook Camp,” suggested Wiggles, which was declared just the
thing.
“It seems to me,” said Mother, who had been watching the camp with much
interest, “that you need some hammocks out under your trees. Don’t your
dolls enjoy swinging?”
“Oh,” said Marion earnestly, “we had lots and lots of hammocks when we
were at camp in Maine, but I don’t see how we could fix any here.”
“How would these do?” asked Mother, holding up the cunningest little
cocoon-shaped hammocks that she had been busy making from scraps of
muslin and string. “Cubby, you rascal, what have you done with my
scissors and thread? Somebody rescue them. Quick, catch her!”
The advice came too late. Splash, splash, went the scissors into the
brook, and Wiggles rescued them with difficulty by going out on the
stepping-stones and teetering there while she fished for them. Of
course she fell in. If there was an inch of water, Wiggles always
landed in it. So off had to come the pink gingham dress and be hung on
the bushes to dry, while, wrapped in an old apron which, fortunately,
Grandma had brought to protect her dress while dishing out ice-cream,
Wiggles serenely went back to her play, unmindful of the funny
spectacle she made, wound about in a lavender percale apron, fastened
with safety-pins.
The hammocks were hung before fleur-de-lys plants, and the campers
greatly enjoyed using them. Ting-a-ling-a-ling rang Alice, using the
bell on Boots’ collar for a dinner-bell, and causing him to open one
indignant eye at being so rudely disturbed. “Come to the camp dinner.”
So all the campers in swimming, and those boating or comfortably
resting in hammocks, hurried out to the dinner-table, and partook of
violet soup, sweet-grass salad, chocolate,--made by mixing mud and
water,--and many other such delicacies. Then trays were made from big
leaves and carried to the two invalids, who were now allowed to recline
in the hammocks under the “trees.”
“Gracious,” said Alice, looking at her prize clock that was wagging
its pendulum merrily, “it’s almost time for them to go fishing or the
fish won’t bite.” So, making rods from pieces of twig, to which were
fastened bits of thread from Mother’s embroidery bag, the doll-families
hastened to the river to catch a fish for dinner.
“My Clementine,” said Jeannette, naming the invalid doll, “feels that a
bit of fresh salmon with egg sauce would tempt her appetite for dinner.”
“So does Muriel,” declared Alice, tenderly tucking the poor child under
a heavy quilt. “She feels very low, and I think salmon is the only
thing that will save her. She’s getting worse and worse by the minute.”
“Put hot-water bags at her head, and ice-bags at her feet,” ordered Dr.
Jeannette Eaton hastily; “and I’ll catch a salmon and she may eat it
all for dinner.”
“Is your poor itty dolly derry derry sick?” asked Cubby, making a
grieved lip and unwinding yards of Mother’s white cotton in her
earnestness.
“She’ll be better soon,” said Wiggles cheerfully. “She has the
‘epizoodic’ and needs a specialist’s care. Don’t you want to play with
us, and with your cunning little tent?”
“No,” replied Evelyn positively. “I wants to pick some booful flowers
up dere,” pointing with a dimpled finger at the vivid azalea bushes at
the edge of the woods where they had eaten their luncheon.
“All right, Baby,” said Mother; “you pick me a big bunch of flowers,
only don’t go any farther away than where we had our lunch.”
So Cubby scurried off in delight, and the other children dropped dolls
and fishing-lines when told by Aunt Elsie to choose a turtle apiece
from the stream for a turtle race.
“What’s a turtle race?” demanded the children in a breath, pelting down
the bank in search of the turtles that inhabited the crystal-clear
brook.
“I just know it will be fun,” said Alice happily, bearing her dripping
captive toward Aunt Elsie. “What shall I do with this, now that I have
it?”
“Put it on the ‘race-track,’” replied Aunt Elsie, laughing at the
curiosity shown in each eager face, as she pointed to a space on the
ground marked with two chalk-lines.
“Are these race-horses?” inquired Jeannette, much diverted at this
novel idea. “Mine’s a blue-ribbon racer, named ‘Rubber,’ and he’s a
long-distance champion.”
“Mine is ‘petty-greed,’” announced Wiggles, who hadn’t the slightest
idea what she was talking about. “His name is ‘Elastic,’ and he’s won
fourteen gold cups, all hand-engraved.”
“My, he is some racer,” laughed Grandma. “What is the name of your
race-turtle, Marion?”
Marion placed her pet gingerly on the ground. “Let me see,” she said
undecidedly. “His name is ‘Marmaduke,’ and his picture appears in all
the best papers and magazines. He’s particularly noted for his speed,
and has been nicknamed ‘Lightning.’”
“He looks it,” giggled Alice. “My turtle’s name is ‘Whiz.’ Note his
jaunty air and his speaking countenance. He’s a high jumper, and is
confident of victory in this race.”
“On the line,” said Aunt Elsie, “ready, set,--go!”
It was the funniest race of all. Wiggle’s turtle absolutely refused
to move at all, and Alice’s racer strayed far from the track. So Aunt
Elsie declared that Marion’s “Marmaduke” was the winner of the first
prize, with “Rubber” a close second. And after the “race-horses” had
been returned to the stream, two more interesting tissue-paper packages
appeared, and were unwrapped with many “ohs” and “ahs” of delight.
Jeannette received a carpet-sweeper not much bigger than her little
finger, while Marion beamed with pleasure at beholding a tiny
doll-carriage, so small that it sat on the palm of her hand, and held
with comfort the “littlest camper.”
“Isn’t it just too scrumptious to think each one of us won a prize?”
smiled Wiggles. “Now we can fix up our doll-houses, and all the dolls
may take music-lessons on my little piano.”
Cubby had appeared several times among the azalea bushes with her
chubby hands full of blossoms, and had brought down a few for Grandma
before returning for a “dreat big bunch.” Being of a venturesome
disposition, she started on an exploring trip by herself, dragging
after her Auntie’s scarlet “payasol,” as she called Aunt Elsie’s
sunshade, for which she cherished a deep affection.
There were so many things to look at as she trudged along. It was so
exciting to chase the yellow butterflies, and dart after the sleek gray
squirrels that kept chattering at her from the tree-tops.
“’Spect those ‘quirls’ are glad to see me,” she murmured to herself as
she wandered farther and farther away on her quick little feet into
the meadows on the other side of the grove, where she had a faint
recollection of finding some wild strawberries one day when walking
with her daddy.
Naughty little Cubby. Well enough she knew that Mother and the rest
believed her safely gathering wild blossoms; but she said to herself,
“I wants to pick some ‘trawberries’ for my dear ‘Mayma’ (Grandma).”
Over the shallow brook and through the pasture-bars she crept, pulling
Auntie’s sunshade along behind her.
“Sun’s hot,” said she aloud, mopping off her flushed face with the hem
of her frock. “Dess I’ll put the booful payasol over me.”
Strange to relate, her strong little fingers actually snapped it into
place, and much pleased with herself, and nearly hidden by its scarlet
folds, she trotted on. Finding a few strawberries, she decided they
were so good that she would eat them herself, wiping the red stains
on her clean white frock, and adding a few smears to her rosy face.
“Muvver’ll be s’prised,” she tried to soothe her uneasy conscience,
“when she sees my ‘trawberries.’” She fully expected to pick many more
to take back with her, but they proved so tempting that she quickly
popped each one into her own eager mouth as soon as plucked.
Now Farmer Brown owned the meadow where she had wandered, and in it, as
grown-ups could well see, by the big signs fastened to the trees, was a
big savage bull.
Little cared Cubby for boards with “Beware of the Bull” on them. She
was too small to read, anyway, and so she puffed along under the big
parasol, getting nearer and nearer the vicious animal.
“Just like a lady, I is,” she said to herself, tossing her curls with
glee. “Wish somebody could see me with this booful big payasol over
me. Guess Billy wouldn’t say then, ‘Look at itty Miss Snippets under
my feets.’ No indeedy. He’d think, ‘My, what a dreat big gurrl is
a-coming along; must be Jet.’” “Jet” was the nearest that Cubby could
get to “Jeannette.” “Then my Pampa and Mayma (Grandpa and Grandma)
wouldn’t say, ‘If here isn’t babykins.’”--For it was a sad blow to the
little one to be so much younger than her greatly admired sisters, and
she always wanted to tag along with them, and do everything they did,
regardless of the difference in age.
But no one was in sight to admire the vain baby, until under a gnarled
apple-tree Cubby spied the bull.
“There,” said she with pleasure, “is a nice bossy cow. Guess I’ll show
bossy my payasol.”
Nearer and nearer she crept, singing “Hey! diddle diddle, the cat and
the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon,” and wondering in her baby
mind if this could be the very cow that jumped.
“See my booful red payasol, bossy,” she murmured sweetly, poking the
sunshade under the bull’s nose.
It was lucky for wee Evelyn that she sang, for the clear sweet voice
attracted the attention of a young man, who, fishing-rod in hand, was
just passing the pasture-bars. What he heard was Cubby saying, “Bossy,
pretty bossy, just look at my booful red payasol,” and then he saw
the golden-haired baby wave a brilliant scarlet sunshade before the
infuriated bull.
How Robert Burnett ever leaped the pasture-bars and seized the
indignant child, he does not remember. Fortunately she dropped the
parasol and it flew in the bull’s face, or else I guess the wee Cubby
bear would have been gored to death.
Back under the willow-tree the turtle-race had proved so absorbing that
Cubby’s continued absence had not been noticed, until several calls had
failed to bring the usual response. At first they all thought that
she was mischievously playing hide-and-seek, but when no baby could be
found, a search began in earnest, and the entire picnic-party arrived
at the pasture-bars in time to see the rescue.
It was a white and trembling young man that placed an angry youngster
in Mother’s arms, for all Cubby would say was, “My booful payasol, all
lost!”
“Oh, my baby, my baby!” cried Mother and Grandma in a breath, while
Aunt Elsie cried as she looked in the field and saw the wreck of what
had once been a parasol, and thought of what might have happened to the
wee bear.
Of course they could not even begin to thank Mr. Burnett, and he was
cordially invited to dinner that evening, where Daddy and all the
others tried to tell him a little of their appreciation, and thank him
over and over for their darling’s life.
Cubby was the calmest of them all, but absolutely refused to make
friends with her rescuer, associating him in her mind with the loss of
her beloved sunshade, and the scolding she had received for running
away.
“Hasn’t it been the greatest day?” said Wiggles, as she consumed
enormous quantities of bread and butter. “First, we had such a lovely
time, and then we had such a scary time. Why, it was like a thrilling
movie, where the hero rescues somebody.”
They all shouted at Wiggles’ description, although Mr. Burnett blushed.
“You do me too much honor, Miss Wiggles,” he said gravely. “Never in my
wildest dreams have I imagined being compared to a moving-picture hero.”
“Well,” said Polly Wiggles honestly, “you’re so tall, you do look
something like one. Only it ought to have been Aunt Elsie you rescued
instead of Cubby, ’cause she’s a young lady, and then you could have
married her and I would have been flower-girl at the wedding, just like
they do in the movies,” she finished in one breath.
“And I don’t see,” she told Jet indignantly, as they were busy
undressing for bed a few minutes later, “why they rushed us off to bed
in such a hurry. Do you?”
CHAPTER FIVE
LIMERICKS
Four little maids were walking home from school. At least, three were
walking sedately, while Elizabeth chased after first one thing and then
another, skipping back to her companions every few minutes to join in
the conversation.
“Oh, it’s perfectly dreadful,” cried Alice, her face all puckered up in
a snarl, and her usually sunny blue eyes stormy, “to make every single
child in school from third grade up, write a verse; we’re too little; I
simply _can’t_.”
“Why, Alice, it’s lots of fun,” said Wiggles earnestly. “I often do it
just to ’muse myself. Just rhyme it up in your head, and then write it
down. We have two weeks to write it in, and Miss Mason said it only had
to be four lines, although it could be as much longer as we wished.”
“Two _years_ would be too short for me, and four lines just four lines
too long,” laughed Marion. “How you can say it’s easy, I don’t see. My
goodness, girls, it’s dreadfully hot. Let’s sit down here on the grass
and cool off, before we go any farther. I’m sizzling.”
Down dropped all four girls, under the shade of a big maple-tree.
“Let’s hear one of your poems, Wiggles,” asked Alice. “Maybe it will
help us along. I don’t even know how to start one.”
“Well, wait a minute till I think,” said Polly Wiggles. Thinking with
Elizabeth never meant sitting still, so, to “clear her brain,” as she
explained it, she spun round and round on one toe.
“Do please stop,” implored Jet. “You make me dizzy to watch you. How
can you be so lively on this hot day? Seems as if I’d melt.”
“I’ve remembered it now, anyway,” cried the budding authoress. “It’s
called ‘At the Zoo,’ and of course it isn’t a really truly poem like
grown-ups make; it’s just a verse!” With a loud “Ahem,” to clear her
throat, she began:
“One day I went a-walking,
A-walking in the zoo,
And closely by my side I took
My little children two.
The day was bright and sunny,
And everything was fair;
We saw the bears, the snakes, and birds.
Also the lion’s lair.
We heard a dreadful roaring,
And o’er the ground there came
A great big yellow lion,
Shaking his yellow mane.
My heart did _not_ stop beating,
As the lion onward flew,
For it was our circus lion,
And I was _their_ kangaroo.”
All this was spoken without pause or punctuation, and so rapidly that
the authoress was decidedly out of breath when she finished.
“There,” she exclaimed with an air of relief, “I didn’t forget any of
it, and I was so afraid I would.”
“Wiggles, how do you do it?” inquired practical Marion in despair.
“That was perfectly beautiful. When you grow up are you going to be an
authoress?”
“Either that, or an editor. I haven’t decided which,” was the modest
reply. “I never have had all the books I wanted to read, and just think
what fun an editor must have, with nothing to do all day long but sit
with his feet on top of a mahogany desk and read, and read, and smoke
big black cigars.”
“Will you smoke cigars?” asked Jeannette, much shocked. “I don’t think
you can be an editor, anyway, Wogs, for I’m ’most sure it’s something
only men can be, like ministers and,--and garbage-men,” she finished
wildly, groping about in her mind for a suitable comparison.
“Well,” retorted her sister undaunted, “then I’m going to ’stablish a
‘presidents.’”
“A what?”
“A ‘presidents.’ That’s what daddy said the other night, and when I
asked him what it meant, he said ‘to start a new custom.’”
“I remember, but it didn’t sound just like that to me,” returned
Jeannette, wrinkling her brow in thought.
“For pity’s sake,” interrupted Marion, who had mentally been going over
the remarkable “poem” again, “how could you tell what a kangaroo felt
like? I couldn’t.”
“Pooh, just as easy,” answered Wiggles much surprised. “Just imagine!
Like we pretend, when we dress up in Mother’s clothes, that we’re
grown-up young ladies. The teacher always says, ‘Put yourself in the
place of the one you’re writing about,’ so I did, and felt just as
‘kangarooey’ as could be. I made that up in bed last night. I often do.”
It was not to be wondered at that Wiggles had a fondness for rhyme,
without, as Mother laughingly remarked, “rhyme or reason.” Aunt
Elsie was always writing limericks about incidents or places, and
Mother was almost as bad; while even Daddy had been known to chant
extemporaneously, after a particularly good dinner:
“I am replete,
Filled to my feet,
With things I like the best to eat.”
So when the news of the poems was broken to the family a short time
later, it did not horrify them as it might have done. Instead, Grandma
said comfortably: “Why not have a limerick contest now? It will be lots
of fun, and practice for you children, too. Here come Dick and Billy. I
suppose they’re in it, too, so somebody get paper and pencils.”
Dick was in the last half of the fifth year, and Billy in the sixth.
Billy had been out of school the year before with a severe attack of
diphtheria. They both shared the family weakness for rhyme, and there
is still told a story of Dick’s baby days. When he was about four years
old, his mother took him marketing one morning, and the clerk who
waited upon them was named Dean. That night at dinner, Dick piped up,
“Mother, I made a piece of ‘poultry’ to-day ’bout that man.” Upon much
urging, he recited his ‘poultry,’ which was:
“Mr. Dean,
Ate a bean.”
Elizabeth and Jeannette rushed indoors for writing materials, and were
back by the time all were seated on the comfortable porch.
It was funny to see the different ways they went about it. Mother,
Grandma, and Aunt Elsie comfortably sat in their wicker porch-chairs,
waiting for an inspiration; but Wiggles curled up on the steps and
chewed hard at her pencil until genius apparently burned, and she
scribbled away industriously.
Dick and Billy withdrew with many snorts and giggles to a corner, where
they mysteriously doubled up with laughter every few minutes, consuming
Jeannette with curiosity.
Poor Alice and Marion wriggled uncomfortably, for though they knew what
limericks were, “it was much easier,” as Marion expressed it, “to laugh
at somebody else’s than write your own.”
“I just know those awful boys are up to some mischief,” cried
Jeannette, glancing over at the corner where the lads were apparently
diligent little scribes.
“Thank goodness, I am through,” sighed Alice, “but I am ashamed to read
it.”
“Well, my dear,” said Grandmother Carr encouragingly, “we can’t all do
the same things well, most fortunately, or this would be a queer old
world. Elizabeth and Jeannette both have the rhyming habit, but neither
is as clever with her fingers as you and Marion, and could not begin to
make such a pretty scarf as Marion knitted for her doll, or the tiny
sweater you finished.”
So the little girls quite cheered up, and drew their chairs up in a big
circle with the others. Then, beginning with Grandma as oldest, each
one read aloud the limerick she had made.
“There are four little girls living near,
Who’ve been playmates for many a year,
They’re always together,
No matter what weather,
And to us they are all very dear,”
read Grandma, smiling at the four little friends, who looked much
pleased.
“Oh, Mrs. Carr, won’t you please write that out for us to put in our
scrap-books?” asked Marion, while Wiggles rushed over to give her
beloved grandmother a grizzly-bear hug. For all the girls kept big
scrap-books, which they called “memory books,” and in which they pasted
their valentines, and souvenirs from parties and places where they had
been.
“Why not put all the limericks in?” suggested Mother. “I’m sure they’ll
be fun to look at and read next winter when we’re back in the city.”
The girls all thought that would be a lovely plan, so, the question
being settled satisfactorily, Mother read aloud from her slip of paper:
“A boy I know well who’s named Billy,
Ate ‘hot dogs’ one morning, until he
Felt dreadfully then,
And said, ‘Never again;
I think I was oh, very silly.’”
How the little girls laughed, and so did Bill, although he turned
rather red at the recollection.
It seems that a much older boy dared Bill to eat a dozen and a half
“hot dogs,” and volunteered to pay for them if all were consumed.
Nothing loath, and not stopping to think of the after-consequences,
Bill forced them down, every one. The first six were fine, the next six
an effort, and to eat the remaining “dogs” proved to be hard work.
However, Bill was triumphant. “I won the dare,” said he. But the other
boy “reneged,” as Bill put it, and refused to pay, so it was a sick and
sorrowful William that told the tale to Dad.
And then, to make bad matters worse, Billy’s father said that he must
earn the money himself to pay for them, and it would teach him to be
more careful in the future. Poor Billy. Not only did the debt hang over
his head, but his overworked stomach rebelled, and it was several days
before he could get to work cutting grass, raking lawns, and running
errands until the necessary amount had been made. But ever since he had
been more careful about looking before he leaped.
A mischievous smile crinkled up Aunt Elsie’s blue eyes, as she began:
“If there’s water, she’ll surely fall in,
But she always comes up with a grin;
Then little Miss Wiggle,
Will say with a giggle,
‘Why can’t I be proper and prim?’”
Polly Wiggles laughed so much at this true description of her
propensities for mishaps, that she doubled up on the railing where she
had been perched, and fell head over heels, being rescued by Dick, who
had enough presence of mind to grab fast to her slippers and hang on
until she could be pulled up.
Of course she lost her hair ribbon and tore a big hole in her dotted
swiss dress, but those were everyday mishaps.
As soon as the confusion had died down, Jeannette read aloud:
“Who always is playing a trick?
Who always says, ‘Gimme a lick?’
Who loves to pull curls,
When he sees little girls?
Of course it’s our cousin,--it’s Dick.”
How everybody laughed, Dick as much as any one, for the ‘Gimme a lick’
sounded so like his favorite expression when candy was anywhere
around, or cake-making was going on.
“Mine’s awful,” said Marion hopelessly. “The lines seem to sound so
snarly, but it just popped into my head.”
“A girl named Jeannette, from the city,
Brought a pussy cat, furry and pretty,
He wears boots on his paws,
To conceal his sharp claws;
Puss-in-Boots is the name of this kitty.”
“Boots wishes me to say,” cried Aunt Elsie, catching up the furry pet,
“that he feels greatly honored by having a real poem written about him.”
“I think it extremely clever,” approved Mother, “and the lines don’t
sound snarly at all. It’s hard to do, too, until you practise a few
times.”
“Don’t lose that, Marion. I want it for my scrap-book,” put in
Jeannette. “I’ll paste a big snapshot of Boots right above it.”
“Oh,” giggled Wiggles; “if that were lost, it would truly be a
‘cat-astrophe.’”
“Cool her fevered brow,” groaned Billy. “Too much knowledge has gone to
her head.”
“Ssh,” said Wiggles; “it’s Alice’s turn.” The boys, for some mysterious
reason, had insisted on reading their limericks last.
“Here comes Evelyn, just in time,” laughed Alice, as the wee bear
appeared, fresh from Nurse Hannah’s hands, and ran with a crow of
delight to sit on Grandma’s lap. “I wrote about Cubby,” went on Alice,
picking up her much-crossed and re-crossed slip of paper.
So Cubby listened intently as Alice read:
“The wee bear, although very small,
Hopes soon to grow up big and tall,
But plump, round, and chubby,
We best like our Cubby,
Who’s petted by one and by all.”
“That’s true,” laughed Grandma, hugging the small piece of mischief.
“It’s a wonder she isn’t entirely spoiled.”
“Now, Woggsie, it’s up to you,” called the boys. So with a grin that
brought big dimples into her cheeks, Wiggles declaimed:
“Who said, ‘Picnics for girls are no fun?’
Saying, ‘Oh, no, indeed, we won’t come;’
Until hearing of ‘eats,’
Cake and candy and sweets,
You could not keep them off with a gun.”
“No fair! no fair! Who has been telling tales?” cried Dick, looking
from one laughing face to another.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Cubby, who hadn’t the slightest idea what the
joke was about. The four girls shook at the expression on the boys’
faces, for they had all heard the joke about the picnic. The lads had
scoffed at it as “girl stuff” until they heard of the sandwiches and
cakes that Grandmother and Mother were preparing. Then they hastened
to Aunt Elsie and suggested making the canoes, and hanging around to
“help,” to which she gave her permission with a quiet smile, but with a
roguish twinkle in her eye.
“Just you wait, Miss Polly-Wog-Wiggles,” promised Dick as he tweaked
her curly mop. And with a grimace he commenced in a high falsetto
voice:
“Who sticks her nose up with a stare,
And flounces by with such an air,
Because for boys she does not care?
WIGGLES.”
Here Billy joined in:
“Who says, ‘They make the loudest noise,
And muss up things and break our toys?
Oh, aren’t we glad that we’re not boys!’
JET.
“Who says, ‘We’ve nicer times, it’s true,
When there’s just girls. I think, don’t you,
That boys should live out in a zoo?’
ALICE.
“Who says, ‘Why will they call me “Red,”
Or “Carrots,” when the teacher said,
That I had “Tissue” hair, instead?’
MARION.”
Here Dick resumed the tale, while the appreciative audience wiped away
tears of mirth.
“What girl was it who ran away,
With Auntie’s parasol so gay,
And tried to get a bull to play?
CUBBY.
“Who packed up sandwiches galore,
And through the woods the hamper bore?
Why, Grandma, Mother, and one more,
AUNT ELSIE.”
“Only,” as Dick explained in an aside, “it was really James who carried
the hamper, but that was poetic license.”
Then together, in sepulchral tones, both boys burst out:
“Who nobly toiled and worked away,
Acquiring calloused hands that day,
That you have tents and boats for play?
THOSE DISGUSTABLE BOYS.”
“Oh, it was splendid,” cried the girls, clapping their hands, when the
boys, with a deep bow, had taken their seats, and Grandma, Mother, and
Aunt Elsie were wiping their flushed and laughing faces. “But how did
you know we said those things?”
“Why, Dick was on the other side of the stream, behind the bushes, and
you were so busy gabbling away, and talked so loudly, that he heard it
all. He ran on ahead, and beat you to the Point by about five minutes.”
“Now will you be good?” demanded Billy with a ferocious frown at Jet,
as he made a grab for her long curls, and nearly fell off the front
steps as she danced tantalizingly out of his reach.
“‘Listeners never hear good of themselves,’” quoted Wiggles provokingly
as she circled warily around Billy, seeking a chance to grab his
fountain-pen and run.
“No, you don’t, young lady,” said Dick, creeping up from the back and
pinioning her hands behind her back. “Little girls should never----”
“Never what?” asked Wiggles coolly, freeing herself like a particularly
agile eel, and taking Dick’s necktie with her in the bargain.
“Truce, truce,” cried Marion, waving her handkerchief as a white flag.
“It’s getting late and I have to go home, but it was lots of fun.”
“Let’s make up limericks some time again,” suggested Alice
enthusiastically, and she and Marion said good-by until the next day.
They ran down the lilac-bordered path, stopping at the gate to wave,
while the boys followed after them, chanting at the top of their voices:
“Maidens dear, we hate to leave you,
Hate to say a fond farewell,
But we’re honest,--can’t deceive you,
We can hear our dinner-bell.
Hear it calling, ‘Dick, you sinner,
Billy, too, come home for tea.’
There’s a lemon pie for dinner,
And ‘I hear it calling me.’”
“Didn’t we have fun?” said Wiggles, settling comfortably in the
porch-hammock, when Daddy’s voice called from the house, “Better
scurry, kidlets, and wash your hands unless you want to be late; and,
though no lemon pie is ‘calling us,’ there are fried chicken and hot
waffles for dinner.”
So the little girls scurried.
CHAPTER SIX
TEA AT MISS HELEN’S
Polly Wiggles and Jeannette looked with pleasure at the two pretty
dresses that were spread on the bed in the Forget-me-not room.
“Are we to wear our new dresses this afternoon, Mother?” inquired
Jeannette; for the two little girls had been invited by their mother’s
old friend, Miss Helen, to take afternoon tea at her attractive white
cottage about three quarters of a mile from The Lilacs. Miss Helen Cole
was principal of the school at Meadowbrook, and was always planning
delightful surprises for the children, so they both were agog with
impatience to find out what the “something” was that Miss Helen had
whispered she wanted to talk over with them.
“I thought it would be a good time to wear them,” answered Mother,
deftly slipping the rose-pink organdie over Wiggles’ curly head as she
spoke. “Stand still, child, so I can button you up.”
Jeannette’s daffodil-yellow organdie was fastened next, and big
pink-and-yellow butterfly bows were tied to the curly tresses. Then
Mother kissed them good-by with a few final words of caution. “_Don’t_
forget to thank Miss Helen for your pleasant afternoon, and _do_ be
careful of your frocks.”
The sisters fluttered downstairs with a grown-up air of importance
which was increased by Cubby’s wail of “Me wants to go, too.”
“You’re too little,” explained Jeannette kindly, stooping to kiss the
rosy face; “and, besides, you are going out with Mother and Grandma in
the car.”
“Little bits of wee bears don’t go to afternoon teas,” added Wiggles,
wiping away the big tears that slid down Evelyn’s cheeks. “Only big
girls and young ladies go to teas, but we’ll tell you all about it when
we come home.”
“I are a big, big gurrl,” gulped Cubby, heartbroken at being left
behind by her adored sisters.
“Who wants tea, anyway?” inquired Aunt Elsie, coming out of the
music-room to find out what all the sobbing was about. “Cubby and I
are going to have something much better than old tea,” she told them.
“We’re going to have _ice-cream_ while we’re out this afternoon.”
Cubby’s woe-begone face brightened as if by magic, while Aunt Elsie
hastily waved the girls out of the front door.
“Skip along before she starts crying again,” she advised them hastily,
and hurried back to talk over with the excited wee bear the fascinating
possibility of having “choglit” ice-cream, or “striped pink and white.”
“I’m certainly going to be careful to-day,” Wiggles confided earnestly
to Jeannette as they skipped along the pretty woodland path that led
them to Miss Helen’s. “Mother’s taken so much trouble to make these
dresses for us, that I’m going to be very careful about sitting on
anything, or falling into anything, or tearing myself on anything, see
if I don’t.”
“You do have the worst luck,” Jeannette acknowledged, “like that time
we went with Mother to see ‘Cinderella’ at the movies, and you put your
good hat on the seat next to us----”
“And a fat woman came and sat plump on it,” giggled Wiggles; “and I was
so interested in the picture that I never noticed until after it was
over, and then it was as flat as a pancake. Well, you just see this
afternoon. I’m going to go home just as clean as when I started.”
Alas, none of us can tell the march of events, and I am afraid if
Jeannette and Elizabeth could have foreseen how the afternoon was going
to terminate, they would have turned about and run back home again.
Miss Helen greeted the little girls warmly, and soon they were
comfortably seated on the wide porch, chattering gayly with Mrs. Cole
about the dolls’ bathing-picnic.
“Do you know,” said Miss Helen, “I asked you girls over to-day,
especially to find out how you think the school children would enjoy a
May-Day frolic, with Maypoles, a May Queen, and all the other pretty
old customs?”
“O goody, Miss Helen! Wouldn’t that be lovely,” exclaimed Wiggles and
Jet in one voice.
“Only,” added Jeannette sadly, “isn’t it too late? I thought May Day
was the first of the month, and to-day is the middle.”
“You’re right, Jeannette,” replied Miss Helen. “It always has been
the first of May, but spring comes so late nowadays that the flowers
and trees would hardly have been wide enough awake to help us by the
first. Then it would have been far too cool to spend a whole day in the
meadows wearing thin dresses, so I thought we could choose two weeks
from to-day as our official May Day, and be sure of having it warm
enough for both little girls and flowers.”
“Would all the school be in it?” inquired Wiggles.
“All the children that wanted to come,” replied Miss Helen. “I thought
it might be fun to revive the old custom of May-baskets, and I wondered
if you girls would like to help me make some to-day, to use as models
to show to the school on Monday morning when I speak about the May
frolic.”
“We’d love to,” enthused the children, and Wiggles could not resist
spinning around on one toe, “to let off steam.”
“Did you and Mother ever make any when you were little girls?” inquired
Jeannette, for Miss Helen and Mother had been schoolmates together at
Meadowbrook years before, as Grandmother and Grandfather Carr had spent
six or seven months of each year at The Lilacs ever since Mother’s baby
days.
“Yes, indeed, Jean and I always hung baskets on the door-knobs for each
other. Here are the foundation frames that we will use to make the
baskets on.”
Miss Helen and her mother had cut out hundreds of cardboard
basket-frames in preparation, and these were to be placed in the
corridors of the school, so that the children might take as many as
they wished to cover. The work, of course, must be done at home. The
teachers had volunteered to make the Maypoles, and each pupil that
wished to be on one was to furnish a ribbon, any color desired, and
these would be fastened to the poles.
“I want to make a basket for Mother, and Aunt Elsie, and Grandma,
Jeannette, Marion, Alice, and Cubby, and--oh, lots more,” chattered
Wiggles, checking them off on her fingers.
“Suppose I give you three dozen basket-frames, assorted styles, to take
home, and then you can divide with Marion and Alice and get as many
more as you wish at any time. How would that do?”
Both little girls agreed that would be splendid, and the basket-making
started.
Such beautiful crêpe and tissue papers as Miss Helen had provided for
them. All colors of the rainbow were there, as well as many books
showing how to make every kind of basket imaginable.
“These books,” Miss Helen told them, “will be on my desk, and may be
consulted at any time for ideas. I will furnish basket-frames for
all the school, but the tissue paper the children must provide for
themselves.”
“There won’t be any trouble filling them,” said Wiggles, as her fingers
snipped and folded busily, “for the wild flowers are just thick. All
the May flowers are just ready to leave for the season, and all the
June blossoms will just be coming in.”
“But we wouldn’t have had many blossoms if we had planned it for the
first of May,” said Miss Helen wisely. “These last two weeks have been
exceptionally warm, and have just hurried things along. How do you like
this?”
“This” was a dainty yellow basket shaped like a daffodil blossom, with
fluted petals and tiny touches of green.
“Oh, Miss Helen, how pretty!”
“That is for your mother,” said Miss Helen smiling. “And I am going to
hang it myself May Day morning, with a pot of yellow jonquils inside.”
The minutes flew as if by magic. It was such fun to see folds and
twists of colored paper suddenly bloom under one’s fingers; and they
all had to stop and admire each basket as it was completed. It seemed
only a second before Queenie, the colored maid, appeared to tell them
that tea was ready.
“Them suah is powahful handsome,” said she, flashing her white teeth in
a broad smile at the two little girls, of whom she was very fond.
With reluctant fingers Jeannette laid down her scissors, and Wiggles
brushed the snips from her dress.
By the stone wall, under a peach-tree that was covered with fragrant
pink blossoms, a dainty little tea-table had been spread, simply
inviting hungry little girls to eat. There were the white beaten
biscuits at which Queenie excelled, so light you might think they would
fly away. Tiny lettuce sandwiches, and marmalade sandwiches, too, and
stacks of golden-brown curly “leaf” cookies, smelling pleasantly of
spice and other things good, decked each end of the table, while a rosy
mound of Polly Wiggles’ favorite “squince” jelly, as she always called
it, trembled temptingly on a sparkling glass dish.
Then Queenie, her face all one broad grin, brought in bits of patties,
filled to the brim with delicious creamed chicken, and, when these
had disappeared to the last flaky crumb, there appeared tall crystal
glasses heaped with custard ice-cream that was almost smothered with
luscious scarlet strawberries.
It was such fun to eat, with pink peach-blossoms showering petals upon
them, and bluebirds and saucy jays screaming at them from near-by
trees, attracted by the thought of crumbs.
“I almost forgot to tell you about the choosing of the May King and
Queen,” said Miss Helen suddenly, as the little girls nibbled at their
cookies and admired the tiny candy-filled May-baskets of apple-blossoms
that had been at each place as favors.
Jeannette and Polly Wiggles looked up expectantly.
“We are going to choose them by vote,” continued Miss Helen smiling at
the eager faces. “Next Friday each pupil at school will cast two votes,
one for King and one for Queen. Then the boy and girl with the greatest
number of votes will have the honor of officiating at the May-Day
Revels.”
“That’s the only fair way,” agreed Mrs. Cole. “Otherwise there would
be bickering and heart-burnings. Will the May-Day Majesties have any
attendants?”
“Yes, indeed. The King will choose four attendants,--a Herald and three
Couriers. The Couriers will remain with him, and the Herald will ride
before the line of march, blowing a trumpet, and announcing the King’s
approach.”
“Won’t that look pretty?” cried Jeannette. “Seems as if I could hardly
wait.”
“Then,” continued Miss Helen, “the Queen will select four Maids of
Honor, and, like Jeannette, I think it will be a very pretty sight.
Gracious, can that be thunder, so early in the season?”
It certainly was a distant threatening grumble.
“Seems to me it’s getting dark awfully early,” said Wiggles in much
surprise. “Goodness, Jet, it’s six o’clock by Miss Helen’s wrist-watch.”
Miss Helen was much astonished at the lateness of the hour, and
reproached herself for not having noticed before the lengthening
shadows and far-distant rumble. The little girls had told her upon
their arrival that Grandma and Mother, Aunt Elsie and Cubby, had
gone with the automobile into the city, and would not be back until
dinner-time, so she knew there was no likelihood of James coming for
them with the car.
“We didn’t mean to stay so late, but it was ’cause we had such a lovely
time,” said Wiggles ingeniously as she kissed Mrs. Cole and Miss Helen
good-by, and tucked the bundle of basket-frames under her arm.
“I don’t like to have you two little girls take that long walk through
the woods alone,” said Miss Helen in a troubled voice, with a glance at
the dark sky.
“We’ll be all right, truly,” smiled Jeannette. “Thunder-storms don’t
usually amount to much so early in the spring, and we’ll just scurry
along and be home in a twinkling.”
“Don’t take the woodland path,” advised Mrs. Cole, “and then you’ll
surely be all right. Go round by the road instead. It’s only half the
distance that way, even if it is dusty, and there is no glaring sun to
annoy you now. It does look very much like a bad storm to me, but it
won’t come yet awhile.”
So with a parting wave of farewell, the sisters ran down the path,
kinky black and long brown curls flying as they scampered along.
Now there were two ways of returning to The Lilacs. About five minutes’
walk from Miss Helen’s the road forked, one way leading through the
woods, and the other along the highway. The highway was much the
shorter route home, for it was the road used by the farmers and
truckmen, and was well bordered by farmhouses and barns. The woodland
path, by which the children had gone to Miss Helen’s in the early
afternoon, was a long three-quarters of a mile, but it was so cool and
shady, in contrast to the dusty, glaring highway, that the children
greatly preferred it, especially on such a warm day. Now, as they
started rapidly down the highway as Mrs. Cole had suggested, Wiggles
stopped suddenly.
“Oh, I forgot, Jet; we can’t go this way after all. Don’t you remember
that Daddy told us there was a regular epidemic of scarlet fever all
along here, and said until he told us differently we couldn’t use any
but the woodland path?”
“Sure enough,” said Jeannette, stopping short to wipe her flushed and
overheated face. “Goodness, isn’t it dreadfully hot all of a sudden? I
had forgotten all about it, Wiggles. I remember now that he said that
eight of the houses were quarantined. Isn’t it too bad, for I’m so
afraid we’ll get caught in the rain if we take the long way home. Just
look at that sky.”
Heavy thunder-caps entirely concealed the blue, and bright flashes of
lightning went zigzagging across the heavens, while the low steady
rumble of thunder was coming nearer and nearer.
“It does look bad,” said Wiggles, “but it usually takes a long time to
blow up, so let’s scurry”; and two pairs of white-stockinged legs went
flashing down the narrow path that led into the woods.
How dark it was! The overhanging trees completely shut out the little
remaining light, and the path was too narrow for them to run rapidly.
Everything looked so changed. When they had gone through in the early
afternoon, straying sunbeams had dappled leaves and tree-trunks with
patches of golden light, and the slender white birches nodded and
swayed in the gentle breeze. Then they had stopped to admire the huge
feathery ferns, and to gather a few delicate wind-flowers that peeped
through the grasses like tiny pink stars. Bright-eyed chipmunks had
stared at them with beady black eyes, and chattered angrily when
they came too near, disappearing up the tree-trunks like streaks of
brown, and scolding shrilly from the branches overhead. Friendly gray
squirrels had poked inquisitive heads through the green leaves, and
scampered from branch to branch and tree to tree in a riotous game of
tag.
Now bushes slapped angrily in their faces, and a frightened little
rabbit scuttled in the bush, rushing to his bunny home before the storm
broke; and a slippery snake wriggled across the path, as anxious to get
out of their way as they were to have him.
And all the while it grew darker and darker.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OUT IN THE STORM
Neither of the children had ever feared electric storms, and had,
indeed, rather enjoyed the majesty and grandeur of them. But being
alone in a dark wood, when the thunder was growling and the vivid forks
of lightning flashed across the sky, was vastly different from admiring
the coming storm safely from their own cozy home.
They pelted along as fast as the curving path would allow, their hearts
pounding with excitement and the rapid pace.
“It’s raining already,” cried Polly Wiggles in alarm, as a drop
spattered on her cheek and was rapidly followed by another. “Oh, our
organdie dresses!”
Oh, the organdie dresses indeed, for it was raining hard, and had been
for several minutes, but the trees had proved a protection.
“Oh, Wiggles, I’m scared!” quavered Jeannette at a particularly loud
clap of thunder. “There isn’t a house we can go in until we reach the
end of the woods, and Daddy always says that a forest is the worst
place to be in an electric storm, as so many trees are struck. Whatever
shall we do?”
“We can’t _do_ anything,” responded Polly Wiggles in suspiciously shaky
tones. “It’s as black as a pocket, and I can hardly see you, so we
wouldn’t dare branch off anywhere, and it would take us just as long
to try and go back to Miss Helen’s as it would to keep on toward home.
Isn’t the lightning terrible? Nothing looks a bit natural, and I don’t
even know if we’re on the path. It’s so dark I can’t see it at all, can
you?”
There is always a moment of terrific stillness before a big storm
breaks, followed by a high wind; and the trees groaned and shivered as
the first blast of the gale twisted the limbs and whipped the branches,
nearly taking away the children’s breath. On top of it came a dreadful
downpour that seemed as if the sky had opened, and in a twinkling both
children were drenched to the skin. That was just the beginning. For
years afterward, that storm was to be talked about as the “big storm,”
for never had thunder and lightning been so intense, and never had the
damage been so great.
The poor children were chilled through and through, and their
sopping-wet clothing clung to them till their teeth chattered with
the cold. The butterfly hair-ribbons had blown away long ago, and
Wiggles’ hair was a silky wet mass on her head, but Jeannette’s long,
wringing-wet curls were blown and twisted about her throat till it
seemed as if cold, damp fingers were trying to choke her.
“Wiggles,” panted Jeannette, trying to lift her voice above the blast
of the gale and the thunder’s boom, “we must get out of this woods or
we’ll be killed by a falling tree.”
“Let’s run till we come to that little clearing in the middle, and see
if we can’t get in that old coffee-mill,” shouted Wiggles in reply,
clinging to her sister.
Down the rough path, black as night, ran the little girls, slipping on
the wet moss, banging into tree-trunks, slapped by the heavy branches,
falling into the mud, picking themselves up, and struggling on. What
would Mother and Daddy think if they knew their darlings were in such
danger?
Wiggles’ slipper, held by a little narrow strap, came off, and the poor
child, unable to find it in the darkness, was forced to continue over
cruel stones that cut her tender feet and made every step a torture.
Then, just when it seemed as if their panting little hearts could stand
no more, there was a crash, and a ball of fire seemed to drop from the
sky, while it felt as if the earth rose up and hit them.
* * * * *
“I am so glad,” remarked Mrs. Cole, “that the children said they
would go home by the highway. This is the most terrific storm I ever
remember, and the dear little mites would be paralyzed with fear if
they were out in it a minute. I shudder at the idea of any one in those
woods to-night. There is no doubt but that lightning has struck there
several times. It looked as if a ball of flame shot right down from
the sky. I never would have believed that we could have such a severe
storm so early in the season, but the weather has been unusually close.”
[Illustration: THERE WAS A CRASH, AND A BALL OF FIRE SEEMED TO DROP
FROM THE SKY.--_Page 102._]
Miss Helen walked about nervously.
“I am afraid I did wrong to let them return. I should have kept them
here, but I never saw a storm spring up so rapidly,” she replied in
a troubled voice, drawn against her will to the window. “Oh, look at
that flash,”--with a little scream. “I never saw anything like it in my
life. Something was struck near by.”
“I don’t think you need worry at all about the children, Helen,”
returned her mother. “I should never forgive myself if they had been
out in this, but they had ample time to reach home before the first
drops fell. That highway cuts the distance in half, you know, for the
wood-path curves and winds so, that it is far longer. Wasn’t Elizabeth
cunning? She simply beamed when you spoke about the May Frolic. I can
just imagine them now, telling the others all about it.”
“They are very dear children,” agreed her daughter warmly. “Jeannette
is very much as her mother was, when she was a little girl. Personally
I would love to have one of them for May Queen, but of course it would
never do to show partiality, and the choice by vote is the only fair
way. I am so nervous over them,” she continued, “that I am going to
call up and be assured they are safely home.”
The telephone gave no response, for the storm had disconnected the
wires, and it was fortunate for Miss Helen’s peace of mind that she did
not know the danger her little friends were in.
It was an experience to cause the stoutest heart to quail, let alone
two children who had always been surrounded by the tenderest love and
care. But in spite of Miss Helen’s nervousness she never dreamed but
that the children were safe at home, eating roast beef and mashed
potatoes, and happily recounting the afternoon’s visit to all the home
folks.
The others just beat the storm, and the automobile drew up at The
Lilacs as the first big drops pattered down.
“Haven’t the children returned yet?” Mrs. Eaton inquired with surprise
as Hannah opened the front door.
“No, ma’am,” responded Hannah. “I guess Miss Cole thought she’d better
keep them till the storm was over. It’s going to be a hard one, ma’am.”
“I wants to see my Jet and Wiggles,” piped up Cubby in a grieved voice.
“Undoubtedly they will stay with Helen,” said Grandma with an anxious
glance out of the window. “She knows that James can get them after the
storm is over. Goodness, what a crash!” And there was a general run to
close the windows as the rain came down in sheets.
Dr. Eaton and Grandpa Carr, who had been in the city all day, arrived
next.
“Why, where are the youngsters?” inquired Grandpa, looking about in
surprise. It seemed so unusually quiet without their happy voices and
merry laughter.
“They went to Helen’s for an afternoon tea-party,” replied mother in a
troubled voice, “and have not returned. I thought they would reach home
long before us, but Helen makes such a fuss over the children, that
she has undoubtedly prepared some delightful surprise for them, that
has kept them longer than usual. You know what lovely tea-parties the
youngsters always have when they go there. Nothing is too much trouble
for her, to give them a good time, and I remember she told me that
there was something she was anxious to talk over with them. Still, I
wish they were safely home. I like my little brood around me in a storm
like this. Just hear that gale. It sounds as if it were hailing.”
Daddy and Grandpa looked worried. It was not like the children to
remain, if it was at all possible to return home, and the same thought
was in each mind, although they said nothing to alarm the others.
“I’ll just ’phone and tell them we’ll be over later when the storm
abates,” said Daddy casually. “H’hm,--the line’s out of order.”
Grandfather was quietly getting out his raincoat and rubbers.
“Guess I’ll take the car, and run over to Cole’s now, even if the storm
_is_ pretty bad,” said Daddy with a glance at Grandpa, who was slipping
a flashlight into his pocket. “Want to come along?”
Neither let himself think that there was the slightest possibility of
the children being out in the storm, but both pulled on old caps and
heavy wraps.
“Oh, if my babies were out in this!” shuddered Mother.
“It’s not at all likely,” soothed Grandpa. “They’re undoubtedly at
Helen’s, as cozy as can be. Still, I’ll just paddle along, too, and
we’ll make sure.”
It was fortunate for their peace of mind that the folks at The Lilacs
believed the little girls chattering with Miss Helen and her mother.
Still, it was comforting to know that Daddy and Grandpa would soon
whisk them home.
It was all the men could do to stand up, as they struggled out to the
garage and climbed into the closed car. There was a tense line around
Daddy’s mouth, and Grandpa’s ruddy face was white, as the powerful car
whizzed along the muddy, slippery road, as fast as it could go with
safety.
It seemed an age before the light from the little cottage-windows came
in sight.
Miss Helen was surprised when Queenie opened the door to two dripping
men, and she hastened out from the pantry, where she had been putting
away the remains of the party.
“I suppose my two little girls are safely with you?” said Dr. Eaton,
listening in vain for a sound of childish voices.
A horrified cry stopped him, and Miss Helen turned so white he thought
she would faint.
“The children?” she gasped. “Haven’t they reached The Lilacs yet? They
left here almost an hour ago.”
Mrs. Cole was as much alarmed as her daughter.
“Don’t you think they have gone into one of the farmhouses on the
highway?” she asked in a frightened voice. “I told them to be sure to
go that way, as it was so short, and I thought they had plenty of time
to reach home safely.”
Dr. Eaton groaned. “I had already told them to use the path through
the woods because of the scarlet-fever epidemic along the road,” he
explained hurriedly. “That’s probably what they have done. My poor
babies! No, don’t reproach yourself, Helen. They could have reached
home easily by the highway. Have hot blankets and a hot drink ready,
please. No one knows in what condition we shall find them.”
The men plunged out into the night, leaving Miss Helen sobbing and
wringing her hands.
And, oh, the weary search that was started through the pouring rain by
Daddy and Grandpa. Where, oh, where, were the children?
* * * * *
When the terrible crash had occurred, the poor children had thought
that their last moment had come. The earth rocked and they went
crashing to the ground.
“Oh,” screamed Jeannette, “that ball of fire!” But Wiggles lay white
and silent for a while, almost stunned into unconsciousness.
Lightning had struck the tree right in back of them, and torn it in
two. It was the very tree they had stood under while Wiggles had groped
for her lost slipper a few minutes before. While just a short distance
away, a giant oak, one of the mighty monarchs of the forest, fell with
a crash, fortunately away from the trembling children, or they would
have been crushed to death.
“Jet, let’s pray,” gasped Elizabeth. So holding tightly to each other,
the two little sisters asked that they might be kept from harm.
The very next flash of lightning showed them the clearing in the woods,
and the ramshackle old mill that had been discarded years before.
Into its poor shelter crept the thankful children, and there, in its
dilapidated and dirty ruins, clasped in each other’s arms, Grandpa and
Daddy found them, almost dazed with the strain they had been under, and
so weak they could hardly stand.
“I knew you’d come,” gasped Wiggles hysterically, as clasped with
Jeannette in Grandpa’s arms, while Daddy drove carefully, they made the
return trip.
The thunder wasn’t quite so terrifying with Grandpa’s coat-collar to
snuggle against, although the men thought the journey would never end,
and their loved charges be safe from danger.
For years afterwards neither Daddy nor Grandpa could think of the
search for the children without shuddering, and it was with thankful
hearts that they saw the lights from Miss Helen’s cottage-windows
in the distance. In five minutes Wiggles and Jet, stripped of their
soaking garments, were rubbed until they cried for mercy, and then
wrapped in warm blankets. Then Daddy bandaged Wiggles’ cut and swollen
foot, and Miss Helen gave them big glasses filled with steaming-hot
lemonade, which she made Grandpa and Daddy partake of as well, for they
were soaked, too.
After the last sip had been taken, the little girls were wrapped in
clothes miles too big for them, and wound about with blankets until
they resembled two very large cocoons, and tucked away in the auto,
with their wet clothes in a sodden pile at the back. Then, snuggling
down by Grandpa with a sigh of content, they went whirling toward home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CUBBY PLAYS NURSE
Such a time as there was at The Lilacs when the two little wanderers
were carried in. Mother, Grandma, and Aunt Elsie, of course, had
thought them safe and sound at Miss Helen’s. So, when Dr. Daddy
splashed up the walk, carrying big bundles of what looked like old
clothes, with rosy faces peeping out the top, there was a great hubbub.
“Any old clothes to-day,--any old clothes to-day?” chanted Grandpa in a
sing-song voice, as Grandma stood with open mouth, gazing at the roll
of bathrobes and quilts that surrounded Wiggles.
“Why-for you all rolled up like a itty (little) baby?” piped Cubby,
scurrying wildly to and fro, and getting in every one’s way.
“You poor little chickens!” exclaimed Mother and Grandma together,
as the story was incoherently poured out by both excited children at
once. Aunt Elsie was frantically dashing from room to room, running hot
baths, slipping hot-water bottles into the beds, and making everything
ready for their comfort, while trying to listen with one ear to the
account.
“They looked more like drowned rats than chickens,” twinkled Daddy,
appearing in the doorway with his blond hair on end, to see how
preparations were going on. He could joke about it, now it was over,
but it was a night he would never forget.
Oh, such hot baths as they were popped into, and such brisk rub-downs
as they received! Then, as carefully as if they were bits of delicate
porcelain, they were tucked into their cozy white beds and fed with
delicious buttered toast and hot chocolate topped with whipped cream.
“Oh, it’s so good to be home!” sighed Wiggles. “I thought I’d never see
my pretty forget-me-not room again.”
“Yes, doesn’t it look homey and cozy,” Jeannette replied, too
comfortable even to turn her head as she spoke. “If I were a cat, I’d
purr, I’m so comfy.”