when they say that they ‘feel limp as a dish-rag,’” returned Wiggles,
stirring restlessly, “for I feel sort of all limpsy, and jelly-fishy,
if you know what I mean. Ouch, my foot throbs like a toothache!”
“I know it must,” Mother sympathized, appearing with a medicine-glass,
“but the bandages that Daddy put on will soon make it better. Now
I want you both to close your eyes and relax. Your nerves are all
a-quiver from the shock, and you must calm down.”
“Yes,” agreed Wiggles uneasily, “I’ll try. But when the wind goes
‘Whoo-ooo’ and the rain dashes against the pane, it makes me feel sort
of shivery.”
“And every time the lightning flares and the thunder growls, I think a
tree’s going to fall,” quavered Jeannette. “I’ll try to relax; I will
honestly, Mother, but it seems to me it’s an awfully _long_ storm.”
“And when I close my eyes I keep seeing the trees swaying, and the
zigzags of lightning against the black sky, and feel that dreadful
falling--falling----”
“Don’t think about it any more, Polly-Wiggles,” said Daddy, popping
his head in to see what all the chatter was about. “Take some of this
medicine, and try to make your mind a blank. I’ll pull down the shades
so you can’t see the rain, although I’m afraid you’ll still have to
hear it, as, unfortunately, the Weather Man isn’t a friend of mine,
and refuses to stop the downpour. You’ve been good little soldiers and
obeyed instructions so far, and I’m proud of you, so try now to carry
out orders.”
As he spoke he slipped the screen about the beds and went out, closing
the door softly. He was thinking with a shudder how the “carrying out
instructions” might easily have caused their death.
I wish you could have seen those organdie dresses. Torn by bush and
bramble, and covered with stains where the children had fallen, no one
would have recognized the pathetic-looking rags as the dainty frocks
the little maids had started out in, looking so crisp and cool. All
three ladies cried a bit at the tale the sodden garments mutely told.
The tired-out children fell asleep almost immediately, but in the
middle of the night Jeannette was aroused by a loud whisper.
“Jet,--are you awake?”
“Yes. Does your foot hurt you, Wiggles? Don’t you feel well?”
“Yes, just as comfy as can be,” returned Wiggles, snuggling deeper into
the soft bed and listening to the beating of the rain outside. “I was
only thinking about our new organdie dresses. We were going to keep
them so clean and fresh, and they must look like mud pies,”--with a
little giggle. Wiggles’ sense of humor could not be downed long.
Such lame, sore little girls as awoke next morning to a dreary world,
for the storm had settled into a heavy downpour that flooded all
outdoors.
Daddy was delighted to find that there were no signs of colds from
the exposure, but declared that bed for two or three days was his
prescription, and that it would be the end of the week before school
could be resumed.
“Well anyway,” yawned Jeannette, “we’ll be back in time to vote for the
King and Queen.”
“And this will be a good time to write our verses for school,” added
the youthful poetess. “Ouchety, I’m so lame that I couldn’t get out of
bed if I wanted to. I must have what Mandy calls ‘misery’ in my back,
and my foot burns like fire.”
“I should think it would,” said her sister sympathetically.
“Oh-h,”--with a shudder,-- “will you ever forget that ‘crack-crack’
that sounded when that tree was struck? I never shall.”
“Doesn’t it seem good to be safe at home,” said Wiggles in a dreamy
voice. “I’m so thankful that I’m not a snake and have to live in the
woods all the while. Well, if here isn’t Boots.”
“Does Boots want to hear all about his sisters’ adventures?” asked
Jeannette, as the fluffy pussy jumped on the bed and patted her cheek
gently with one velvet paw.
“He’s just trying to tell you that breakfast is on its way,” called
Aunt Elsie, entering with a dainty tray, at which Boots licked his
chops and fastened his green eyes intently upon the breakfast bacon.
“I’se done made you chilluns some ‘jams’ for breakfast,” beamed fat
Mandy, popping a woolly head in the door to inquire after her beloved
‘white chilluns.’ “But I disremembered prezactly if ’twas corn ‘jams’
or grahme ‘jams’ you-all liked best.”
“Oh, _both_,” cried the invalids rapturously, sniffing with
appreciation the steaming hot “gems” and strawberry jam that appeared.
“No one can make them like you, Mandy.”
“Well, I done reckon I knows how to cook, seeing as I’se had a skillet
in one hand and a mixing spoon in t’other evah since I was knee-high
to a grasshoppah,” chuckled Mandy, rolling out, vastly pleased with
herself. They could hear her throaty chuckle all the way down the
hall, and her voice saying, “Yas, ma’am, I knew they’d like some o’
my ‘jams,’ Miss Jean”; for Mandy had been with the family ever since
Grandma was a little girl, and never called Mother “Mrs. Eaton,” but
the “Miss Jean” of her girlhood days instead.
Cubby pattered in a few minutes later, to snuggle down on the bed
beside Boots, and fasten wistful eyes on the strawberry jam, although
she had already eaten her breakfast.
In spite of the continued storm on Monday, Mother had to go into the
city with Daddy to make a visit to the dentist, as one of her teeth had
been grumbling all night, and it would not do to leave it.
“You be a good little nurse to your sisters,” she told Cubby, kissing
them all good-by.
“Poor itty gurrls, so dreffle sick,” mourned Cubby, trotting from one
bed to the other, to put sympathetic kisses on each small sufferer’s
cheek, and greatly enjoying her own importance. It was very nice indeed
to be the one in charge of the two older girls, instead of the other
way about, for hadn’t Mother told her to take care of them?
“Ouch, Cubby, don’t lean against my back,” squealed Jeannette. “It’s so
sore it feels as if it would break in two.”
“Want me to give ‘oo an al-colic rub?” volunteered the baby nurse,
remembering the cooling alcohol sponges given to her when ill.
“No, thank you, Miss Nurse,” answered Jeannette, entering into the
play. “I’m afraid you’re too little. Say, Woggsie, if Cub is a
really-truly nurse, she ought to wear a uniform.”
“Sure enough,” returned that ingenious young lady. “Let me think.
Cubby, you go get me two of Daddy’s handkerchiefs and I’ll fix you all
up.”
Nothing loath, the wee bear left the room, to return in a few minutes
with a beaming face, followed by Aunt Elsie with a little white apron
and a scrap of white lawn in her hand.
“I thought I could fix up your nurse for you,” she suggested, pinning
the lawn into a “sugar-bowl” cap, and fastening it to Cubby’s golden
curls. One of Daddy’s handkerchiefs, folded and placed about her neck
like a fichu, was adjusted next, and when the white apron-strings were
tied about the plump little waist, the cunningest nurse stood before
them that any patient could hope to have.
“I’se a horse-pital nurse,” announced Cubby, flying to look in the
mirror.
“And we are your patients,” replied Jeannette. “Oh, nurse, nurse, I
feel so ill. My fever is so high that my face has scorched the pillow.”
Cubby cast a startled glance at the pillow-slip, and then carefully
felt her patient’s pulse.
“Derry, derry (very) sick,” said she with a frown, “with ’tile
parenthis,” meaning infantile paralysis.
“I have a fever in my feet,” announced Wiggles with a realistic groan
that sent Cubby scurrying to her in alarm, “and my heart has stopped
beating entirely.”
“I’ll cut you open with the sciddors (scissors), like this,” said the
nurse in a bloodthirsty manner, snipping her fingers up and down like a
pair of shears, “and then you’ll be all wite after the apperation.”
The third patient, who was purring loudly on the foot of Wiggles’ bed,
was carefully looked over next.
“Him’s pults (pulse) derry bad,” mourned Cubby, holding one soft paw in
her little hand.
“He has the ‘cat-tar,’ like Grandpa has,” explained Wiggles. “That’s
the reason he snores. I do wonder why they named a disease after a cat.
I must remember to ask Daddy.”
“Well, what does Nursie suggest for her little patients?” smiled
Grandma, entering with a vase of golden daffodils that Marion’s
grandmother had brought to the children.
“An al-colic rub,” replied Cubby firmly, “and some itty sugar pills.”
“That’s a very good prescription,” answered Grandma, kissing the wee
nurse. “And you are looking after your sisters very well.”
“Oh,” replied that small damsel sweetly, “I don’t mind ’musing them for
a little while, Grandma.”
They all laughed at this, for it seemed to be rather the other way
about, but Cubby’s responsible air was too funny for anything.
“Aunt Elsie is downstairs with Mrs. West,” went on Grandma; “and I
think, Cubby, that you had better run down and show them your costume
while your patients take a nap until luncheon time. I am going to lie
down myself, for my head aches rather badly, so the nurse may have an
hour off duty.”
So the windows were opened wide to let in the fresh air, and Grandma
tucked the little girls in their cozy nests for a little “snooze,” and
then went out, taking Cubby with her.
Now Cubby had every intention of going directly downstairs into the
library with Mrs. West and Aunt Elsie, so Grandma, after watching her
trot down the broad stairway, went into her own room to rest.
But at the foot of the stairs was Dr. Daddy’s office, past which Cubby
must go to reach the library, which was at the front of the big house,
and a naughty idea popped into her mind as she peeped in the open door.
The girls had said that she was too little to give an alcohol rub, but
her own Grandma hadn’t laughed, and had indeed seemed to think it a
good idea. She just guessed that she would show them that she wasn’t a
baby after all.
So into Daddy’s office she tiptoed quietly, although it was the one
place in the house where the children were forbidden to go.
“’Cause,” whispered she, to soothe her guilty conscience, “I _must_ get
the ‘al-colic.’”
Onto a tall chair she climbed, to reach the big bottles that stood
on top of the glass case. Fortunately, Cubby knew better than to
touch, or give to any one else, the pills of different colors, that
looked so fascinating, even if some of the white dots did taste like
“sugar-bowls,” as she called lump sugar. Daddy had instilled that “do
not taste” idea very thoroughly in her baby mind, so now it was only
the alcohol for which she searched, remembering the big bottle in which
she had seen it when she had a “rub.”
“I’se my dear Muvver’s itty helper,” murmured she to herself, teetering
back and forth on the high chair. “Won’t Muvver be ’sprised when she
sees what I’se a-goin’ to do?”
She would indeed.
“Seems to be nuffin here but pills,” she went on in disgust, for
Daddy’s big case, of course, was locked. Then suddenly her bright eyes
spied a large bottle within easy reach of her eager little hands, on
Daddy’s desk. Down she clambered, catching her white apron on the
chair-back, and tearing a large hole.
“Such a tender apron,” she mourned, sticking her fist through the hole,
and, of course, enlarging it.
All bottles containing liquid looked the same to the wee nurse, so,
with a struggle, she hastily uncorked it and took a sniff.
“Smells bitter,” she declared, turning up her little nose and making
a face, for anything of which she did not like the smell or taste was
“bitter” to her.
The bottle happened to contain cod-liver oil, but this, of course, she
did not know, and took it for granted that it was the desired alcohol.
It was an awkward shape to carry, and it took great perseverance to lug
it up the long staircase, but, quiet as a creeping mouse, the little
figure stole along.
In the library she could hear Mrs. West and Aunt Elsie chatting about
the storm, and she hardly dared breathe until safely upstairs, where
she peeked softly in the bedroom door.
Both Jeannette and Elizabeth were sleeping soundly, with Boots snoozing
happily beside them.
With a satisfied gleam in her mischievous brown eyes, Cubby slipped
stealthily in, and closed the door.
[Illustration: SHE HASTILY UNCORKED IT AND TOOK A SNIFF.--_Page 125._]
CHAPTER NINE
THE RESULTS
Wiggles was dreaming uneasily. She thought she was running along
through the woods, when her foot slipped and she fell down,--down, into
a slimy marsh, and, no matter how hard she struggled, she could not get
out, but felt the sticky-oozy mud all about her.
Jeannette dreamed, too. It seemed as if she were in the kitchen, and
colored Mandy was teaching her to make gems. She had the batter all
mixed, and Mandy held the yellow bowl full of the mixture to show her
how to pour it into the tiny muffin-tins. But, instead of pouring
it where it belonged, Mandy upset the entire sticky mass all over
Jeannette, and she could feel the clammy stuff trickling down her back.
Boots likewise dreamed, but I cannot begin to tell you what he dreamed
about, except to say that it was a dreadful, _dreadful_ “cat-mare.”
Mrs. Eaton returned at twelve, with her tooth all fixed. Mrs. West was
just leaving, and so Aunt Elsie and Mother ran up the stairs together.
Grandmother met them at the top, to inquire about the toothache.
“The children have been taking a nap,” she said, “and so have I. They
must be getting a nice rest, for everything is so quiet--” and at
that, bedlam broke out in the forget-me-not room, and cat-yowls and
children’s excited voices could be heard together.
“Mother, Mother,” shrieked Wiggles. “I think Boots must be having a
fit, and we’re all stuck up.”
“What does the child mean?” gasped Grandma. All three ladies made a
dash to open the door into the children’s room, as the enraged Boots,
looking a queer spectacle, shot out, spitting violently.
“That’s not a fit,” cried Aunt Elsie, “he’s just plain angry. What can
that be that he has all over him?”
“For pity’s sake, children, what have you been doing?” asked Mrs. Eaton
in amazement. “Can these be my little girls?”
No wonder she asked, for Jeannette’s long curls were a glued-together
mass down her back, and the backs of both children’s nightclothes were
dripping with a thick, sticky substance.
A small figure in white arose from the floor, from between the beds,
where it had been sitting, “on duty,” as a nurse should be.
“I gaved ’em an al-colic rub,” said Cubby triumphantly.
“Alcohol nothing,” exclaimed Aunt Elsie, gingerly picking up the large
bottle the “nurse” still clasped. “Cod-liver-oil, instead.”
“What is all the racket about?” inquired Daddy from the doorway, and
gave an astonished glance at his little daughters.
“So that’s where my cod-liver-oil bottle disappeared, is it? Well,
well, I never realized you children were so fond of it that you used it
to bathe in.”
“Cubby, you scamp--,” began Mother severely, but was stopped by an
anguished wail from the wee nurse. “I--I fought it was al-colic,” she
hiccoughed, “and I wanted to hel--lup.”
Of course the first thing to be done was to pop the children into the
tub. Mother took Wiggles, and Aunt Elsie, Jeannette, and into the big
bath-tub they were dipped for more rubbing and scrubbing.
“Aren’t we the most mis-fortunate children you ever saw?” sighed
Wiggles, as she was soused up and down. “Ouch, you’re taking my skin
off, too!”
“I may have to,” Mrs. Eaton said grimly. “I never saw such stuff to
scrape off. Never mind, chickabiddies, it might have been worse, for
Cub might have taken glue.”
Grandma, swathed in a large rubber apron, was dipping the wee culprit
into the big foot-tub, shaped like a sea-shell, for Cubby had liberally
besmeared herself as well.
“The soap’s in my face,” howled Cubby, who was struggling violently.
“Well, the cod-liver oil’s in mine,” said Jeannette savagely, having
the hardest time of them all, as Mother and Aunt Elsie worked over the
long curls.
Down in the basement it was a question as to who was having the worse
time,--Boots or Dr. Eaton. Cats hate water, and poor Dr. Eaton had to
scrub pussy vigorously in the stationary tubs, to get the thick fur
back to its usual state.
“Meow, meow!” went poor Boots, and “scrub, scrub” went the Doctor, both
looking very unhappy, for Boots had struggled until the front of Dr.
Eaton’s suit was all spattered with soapy water.
Hannah was changing the messy bed, with many shakes of her head over
the antics of “dat naughty lamb.”
At last the youngsters were tucked safely away once more, and
long-suffering Mother departed to change her dress.
Fifteen minutes later a chastened Boots strolled in, looking so thin
and forlorn, with his fluffy fur all slicked down, that the children
screamed with laughter.
“Oh, oh, I know just how he feels,” gasped Wiggles, “for I never want
to see a scrubbing-brush again.”
Aunt Elsie fixed him a cushion by the window, where an occasional
sunbeam tried to peep in, and little by little his hair fluffed out
anew.
Then sorrowful wails were heard, and Cubby entered, both hands wrapped
round and round with long bandages until they looked like well-stuffed
pincushions and were impossible to use.
“’Cause my paddies were naughty,” sobbed she, burying her head like a
little ostrich in Aunt Elsie’s lap, “and that’s the ‘why.’”
“Naughty little hands that get into mischief have to be punished so
they will remember not to touch things they should not, again,” said
Mother seriously. “Don’t you think so, Elsie?”
“I do, indeed,” Aunt Elsie replied gravely, stifling an impulse to hug
the naughty little culprit, who howled afresh at Auntie’s words.
“Does she have to have pincushion hands long?” asked the sisters
sorrowfully, for they hated to see the baby bear punished.
“Until dinner-time,” replied Dr. Eaton. “She _must_ realize how very
naughty it was to touch any of Daddy’s medicines. It might have been
acid, or something that would have really injured you, instead of just
making you feel uncomfortable.”
“I’se sorry,” wept the small sinner, with huge crocodile tears raining
down her rosy face.
“What are you sorry about?” questioned Daddy, taking her on his knee.
“I loves ’oo,” cajoled the artful baby, smoothing her father’s hair as
best she could with her pudding-like hands, and planting a kiss on his
cheek.
“Yes,” replied Dr. Eaton unmoved, wishing to make certain that she
fully understood why she was punished. “But what are you sorry about?”
“Why, why,” murmured she, “I’se sorry ’cause I can’t do what I wants to
do any more.”
Dr. Eaton hastily turned away his head. She looked so little and
cunning sitting there, bolt upright, on his knee, with her golden curls
nodding, and the ridiculous pudding-like bandages on each little hand,
that it was hard to continue the punishment. It was easy to see that
she didn’t understand at all why she was being punished, so for a long
time he talked to her in simple words, explaining how she might have
badly hurt her sisters by her disobedience, and, when the luncheon-bell
sounded, she showed that she really understood.
I don’t believe I have told you about the big double room that the
sisters shared at The Lilacs. It was such a pretty room that it was
a pleasure just to lie in bed and look around, while the others were
eating their luncheon. The walls were a soft, cloudy blue, and an
artist friend of Grandpa’s had painted blue and yellow butterflies and
bees, sipping at festoons of forget-me-nots, in a dainty border around
the ceiling. The children loved to rest quietly and look at them, they
were so pretty.
The furniture was white, with twin beds for the little girls; and the
windows were draped with the prettiest cretonne, up which pink buds and
blue forget-me-nots clambered, while blue rag rugs on the floor had
tiny pink and blue posies woven in the border. The white furniture was
painted with sprays of forget-me-nots, while bed-spreads of the same
cretonne as that which draped the windows, covered the beds when the
children were not in them.
The girls were both much surprised when Mother and Aunt Elsie rolled
their beds together, and then placed a bed-table over them, which
was covered with a dainty white cloth. Then, instead of the usual
individual trays, Grandma set the children’s places with the dearest
little blue tea-set you can imagine.
“Where did you get them, Grandma?” demanded Jeannette, examining the
pictures on each side with much interest.
“That set belonged to Jean and Elsie,” replied Grandma, filling a tiny
chocolate-pot as she spoke, and placing cold sliced chicken on the
tea-plates.
“Our own mother and Auntie, when they were little girls,” declared
Wiggles with satisfaction, starting her luncheon with much zest. “It
tastes lots better on these than on ordinary dishes. Just look at those
lovely gooey marshmallow cakes that Mandy baked for us, Jet.”
“I’m going to do more than _look_,” returned Jet with spirit, and
biting into one as she spoke. “Yum-yum, these are a treat. She’s
put chopped cherries in the marshmallow cream inside, and they’re
_heavenly_.”
“She calls them angelettes. It’s her own name for them. I remember
these dishes well,” Mrs. Eaton continued with a laugh. “Helen Cole used
to come over here and have tea-parties on them when we were about your
age, and even younger. We always had sponge cake and lemonade, and two
striped peppermint candies apiece. It seems as if I ought to have some
now.”
“Did Aunt Elsie play tea-party, too?”
Mother cast a mischievous smile at her sister, who laughed as if
recalling something funny.
“Oh, what is it?” cried Wiggles. “I can see by the twinkle in your eye
that there is a joke.”
“Well,” replied Mother, industriously darning socks, “your Aunt Elsie
was my baby sister, as you know, and she was only two years old at the
time we started our tea-parties. She simply adored the chocolate-pot in
that set, and, every chance she got, she would steal it and hide under
the dining-room table with it.”
“I’m s’prised that you were such a little mischief,” remarked Wiggles,
demurely.
“One afternoon Helen and I had been playing dolls on the veranda, when
Mother came to the door to tell us that the tea-party was all ready. We
always had our tea-parties on a little white table on the side porch,
but when we reached the table, the chocolate-pot, full of lemonade, had
disappeared, although all the other refreshments were untouched. It was
the first time that Elsie had found the opportunity to take it when
it was filled, but it really wasn’t the lemonade she wanted, it just
seemed as if the chocolate-pot itself fascinated her.
“Of course we rushed right out to the dining-room, and there, under the
big table, was Elsie, clasping it in her two little hands and gulping
down the contents from the spout as fast as she could swallow.
“I can see her yet, with her long golden curls hanging down over her
shoulders, and the lemonade smeared all over her face and hands, and
down the front of her white frock, but with the most angelic expression
on her face you can imagine.”
“Imagine Aunt Elsie being so naughty,” laughed Jeannette. “Why, she
must have been as mischievous as Cubby.”
“She was every bit as bad, and maybe worse,” said Grandma with a smile.
“In fact, Cubby puts me very much in mind of her. It seemed to me as
if she went from one piece of mischief to another as fast as she could
go. Many and many a time she has had pudding-hands, just like the wee
bear, and I have even known her feet to be tied up because she would go
‘visiting,’ unknown to me.”
“Why, Aunt Elsie, weren’t you dreadful? Won’t you please tell us some
more stories about when she was a little girl, Grandma?”
“Oh, do,” urged Jeannette. “Daddy says we mustn’t read in bed, and,
though I’m so tired of lying still, I’m too lame to get up.”
“How would you like to come in my room for a little change?” asked
Grandma. “You could be together in my big double bed, and I will tell
you some stories, if you like.”
“O goody, that would be lovely!” cried both children.
They clambered out of bed with many grunts of pain, and slipped into
blue bedroom slippers and warm blue corduroy bath-robes.
Then, led as usual by Boots, the little party scurried across the hall
to Grandmother’s lilac room.
CHAPTER TEN
GRANDMOTHER’S STORY-QUILT
Each bedroom at The Lilacs was done in a different color. Jeannette
and Elizabeth had one of the back bedrooms, overlooking the stream and
orchard, while Aunt Elsie’s room, all pale pink with ivory furniture,
was right next door.
Dr. and Mrs. Eaton had the yellow-and-white room, with its buff walls,
white furniture, and daisy-strewn cretonne. This was one of the big
front rooms, and from it opened a wee bit of a room, not much larger
than a playhouse, which Cubby proudly claimed as her very own.
But Grandmother’s room the children all thought the very best of all.
This was the other large front bedroom, opening from Cubby’s tiny nest.
From the windows one could see the brick-pathed, old-fashioned flower
garden, bordered with lilac hedges and syringa bushes, while right
across the road was “White Birches,” the beautiful estate that had
been closed for so many years, and whose velvety terraces sloped down
to the crystal-clear waters of Willow Lake. It was the most beautiful
estate in Meadowbrook, and the children never grew tired of admiring
the beautiful grounds and little rustic bridge that spanned the Lake.
Wonderful little summer-houses dotted the edge of the water, and one,
more daring than the rest, rose like a monstrous white water-lily out
of the very waters, and could be approached by boat or stepping-stones.
The children never tired of hearing about when Mother was a little
girl, and had played with another little girl named Marie Deering,
whose parents had owned White Birches for many years. Many years later
the place was closed, and Mrs. Eaton lost track of her friend, to her
great sorrow.
Wiggles and Jet had woven all kinds of romances about the place. They
loved to play that it was an enchanted palace, and that, until the
Fairy Prince, on his white charger, drank thrice of the magic waters
of Willow Lake, the house would stand idle, with closed doors and
drawn shades. But as soon as the prince quaffed the crystal waters,
the palace would stir to life, and a beautiful princess would appear,
who would graciously invite “Miss Elizabeth and Miss Jeannette” over
to play dolls in the fascinating summer-houses, and to ride on the
prince’s white charger.
It was an interesting fancy, and enlivened many a rainy day.
“O dear! why couldn’t White Birches be open, with a little girl to play
with us now,” sighed Wiggles wistfully, as she pressed her nose against
the pane in Grandma’s front window, and stared across at the “Enchanted
Palace,” as they called it.
“Hurry up children, skip into bed,” said Grandma. “We don’t want you to
catch cold, and it’s still very damp.”
“I just love your room, Grandma,” said Wiggles, as she scampered away
from the window. “It’s so restful, and quiet-looking.”
It was a restful room, as Elizabeth said. The furniture was of French
gray, with big cuddly wicker-chairs upholstered in the prettiest
lilac-strewn cretonne. The walls were papered in the softest shade
of lavender, with a deep border of lilac sprays. The children always
called this “The Lilac Room,” while Mother’s was named “The Daisy
Room,” and tall crystal vases filled with the starry yellow-and-white
flowers stood on her dresser and table during all the summer months.
“The Rosery” belonged to Aunt Elsie, and was named from the baskets of
roses that tumbled their crinkly petals down the pink walls from the
border above.
Of course Jet and Polly Wiggles called their own particular sanctum
“The Forget-me-not Room,” and Cubby insisted on calling her spot,
“The Nest,” although, as the older girls pointed out, “Who ever heard
of a bear-cub sleeping in a nest? It ought to be ‘The Den,’ or ‘The
Cubby-Hole.’”
However, it was very convenient to have each room named, for Mother
could say: “Trot upstairs and see if I left my gloves in the Nest. If
not, I dropped them on the floor of the Rosery.”
Or Grandmother would call, “Will you see if I left my glasses on the
Daisy bed?”
It was very comfortable to cuddle down in Grandmother’s downy bed, and
to be tucked about with the huge quilt made of silk patchwork squares,
which Grandma pulled out of her roomy closet.
Aunt Elsie and Mother brought their sewing and settled themselves
comfortably in the wicker-chairs, while Grandmother knitted busily on
a pink sweater she was making for the wee bear. Cubby, still feeling
greatly disgraced, curled down in a little ball by her sisters, while
Boots jumped on the arm of Grandmother’s chair, and watched her
knitting with interest, occasionally stretching one lazy paw to catch
at the wool in a languid effort at play.
“You said you’d tell us some stories,” reminded Jeannette, snuggling
down with a little wriggle of content.
“I brought out my story-quilt purposely for you,” replied Grandma, with
a little nod toward the patchwork covering that billowed about the
children.
“Your story-quilt? Doesn’t that sound interesting? What do you mean?”
asked Wiggles, gazing with eyes like full moons at the bright-colored
silk and satin squares and triangles.
So Grandmother explained that almost every piece in that patchwork had
a story connected with it, and how she had made the quilt herself out
of left-over scraps of material that had an interest for her. “You
choose any square you wish,” she advised, “and if it has any kind of a
story at all, I’ll tell you all about it.”
Many of the silks looked odd to the children’s eyes, with the
old-fashioned designs so different from those of the present day, while
some of the materials were so old that the silk had worn into tattered
ribbons.
Finally, after pausing undecided before several that looked
interesting, Jeannette pointed to a square of white silk, with a
pattern of scarlet checkerberries woven in it, and said, “I choose that
one.”
“I must have been about Cubby’s age,” said Grandmother, “when I had
that dress. Children in those days did not wear thin dresses, like you
little ones do nowadays, except in hot weather, for the houses were not
so well heated in the winter. Instead, we wore thick woolen dresses all
winter, as soon as we could walk, that is, for everyday use, with silk
ones for our very best, and over our dresses we usually wore black silk
aprons.”
“Black silk aprons?” echoed Wiggles. “Why, Grandma, how funny.”
“It didn’t look at all funny then, my dear, when every one else was
wearing them, too,” explained Grandmother, smiling at the children’s
horror.
“We lived in those days in the center of the city, and I had a nice
little room which opened from my parents’ room, down two little steps,
for many of the old-fashioned houses had steps between one room and
another.”
“Why was that, Grandma?” inquired Jeannette.
“I’m sure I don’t know, my dear. It always seemed a very foolish waste
of footsteps to me, and a dangerous way of spraining ankles. For
instance, in our home you had to go down two steps into the bathroom
from the hall. To enter father’s library, you climbed up three steps
from the double parlors, and, as I said, there were steps between
Mother’s room and mine. Of course, if you opened a door suddenly, and
forgot those little steps, you bumped your nose pretty badly.
“I remember my mother’s dressing me in this new white dress, with the
sprays of berries on it, which was trimmed with rows and rows of narrow
cherry-colored velvet ribbon; and putting on my long striped stockings
that had cherry-colored stripes to match my frock, running round and
round like peppermint stick-candy. It was really a very pretty outfit
for those days, and I felt very much dressed up indeed. My flaxen hair
was pulled straight back and held in place with a large round comb, and
then frizzed out behind, just down to the collar of my dress.
“I know I felt very proud of myself, and looked in the long, gilt-edged
mirror that hung in the parlor between two horsehair chairs, with a
great deal of satisfaction.”
“Didn’t you feel dreadfully in such funny striped stockings,
Grandmother?”
“Not half so funny as I would have felt if I had had to wear socks. I
should have been shocked to wear such things, for they were unknown,
and would have looked just as queer to our eyes as striped stockings
look to yours.”
“May I pick out a square now?” asked Wiggles eagerly.
“Yes, it’s your turn next,” replied Grandma, catching Boots just in
time, as he tangled her pink worsted in two playful paws and prepared
to have a fine frolic.
“Him’s naughty puss-cat,” said Cubby severely. “Him ought to have him’s
pawsies tied up, too.”
“So he should,” laughed Mother, “only I’m afraid he’d understand the
reason even less than you did, and I think, Babykins, that your
bandages may come off in another half-hour.”
“Have you decided yet?” asked Grandmother, as Wiggles paused
uncertainly between two pretty pieces.
“I think I’ll choose this dark gray square with the bunches of scarlet
cherries in it,” she said at last. “Has it a story, Grandma?”
“Yes, indeed. It’s another short one, a story about your own mother
when she was a very tiny girl, and went to the World’s Fair at
Chicago.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN MOTHER WAS A LITTLE GIRL
“Your mother was just three years old when your grandfather and I took
her on the trip to Chicago and the World’s Fair, and through the ‘Soo’
to Mackinac Island by boat. It was a long trip for such a little child,
but Jean was a remarkably good baby, and traveled wonderfully well.”
“I can still remember the huge Ferris Wheel at the Fair,” put in
Mother, as Grandma paused; “but everything else is a blur.”
“Did Aunt Elsie go, too?” inquired Jeannette with interest.
“There wasn’t an Aunt Elsie in those days,” replied Grandma, with a
smile, “and so we had only the one little girl to take.
“Jean was such a pretty child that I was very proud of her, and every
one used to turn around to look at her on the street. She had great
big dark eyes like Jeannette, and short chestnut-brown hair that she
wore in a deep bang over her forehead.”
“And what did she wear, Grandmother?” asked Wiggles with interest.
“She wore a dress of that very material, Polly Wiggles, that you have
chosen,--dark gray with bunches of scarlet cherries scattered over
it, and a dark red coat with a big cape collar. Of course her dresses
were long, as it was fashionable at that time for little girls to have
frocks down to their ankles.”
“Just imagine,” cried Jet in horror. “How funny she must have looked.
Did she wear pantalettes, too?”
Both Jeannette and Wiggles had read of the fancy pantalettes that were
worn by the children in olden days.
Grandmother and Mother both had to stop their work and laugh, while
Cubby joined in, although she hadn’t the slightest idea what the joke
was about.
“Why, what’s so funny?” chorused the children, surprised at the mirth
Jet’s remark had caused.
“My dear children,” gasped Grandma, “excuse us for laughing, but they
didn’t even wear pantalettes in _my_ childhood days. It was away back
in your great-grandmother’s time when those were worn, so of course
Jean did not have them.”
“Oh, ‘way back in the dark ages,” exclaimed Wiggles so seriously that
both Grandma and Mother started laughing anew.
“Jean wore the cunningest little scoop bonnet of shirred red silk,”
went on Grandma, resuming her tale, “and she certainly was a picture
with her rosy cheeks and great dark eyes. On her feet she had little
strapped black slippers, and her dress was made with two pockets, in
one of which she carried a tiny silk handkerchief embroidered in red
cherries. It is the same one that you have in your doll trunk to-day,
Wiggles.
“Jean was very funny on the boat, and not a bit afraid of the water;
in fact, she was as good as a kitten most of the time, and a great
pet with all the passengers, although she was very shy and did not
make friends easily. There was one man, a Mr. Sam Brown, who played
with her a great deal. He was a tall, very thin gentleman, with a
little goatee, and I suppose hearing him called ‘Sam’ confused her, so
that she associated him in her mind with the cartoons of ‘Uncle Sam’
in the newspapers, and insisted on calling him ‘Uncle Ham,’ much to
his amusement. For Jean talked very, very crooked, and when we first
reached Chicago she called it ‘He-cargo,’ while when we returned she
had changed it to ‘She-cargo.’
“Several things happened on board boat that were laughable, and once
I was very thankful that she talked so crookedly that no one could
understand her.”
“There was a lady on board who really annoyed the child with
attentions, asking her questions every minute, and keeping at her
constantly to hear her funny talk, until Jean took a great dislike to
her and wouldn’t have anything to say at all. One morning she had been
teasing Jean for a long time, asking, over and over again, what her
name was, and where she lived, and all kinds of things. But not a word
would Jean utter. Finally the lady said, ‘Why won’t you talk to me,
Jean?’
“‘’Cause,’ Jean said decidedly in the sweetest little voice, ‘you’re
too “inquissia.”’”
“_What_ did she mean?” asked both children in astonishment.
“That was what the lady tried to find out. The child meant,
‘inquisitive,’ and it was the nearest she could pronounce it. I really
couldn’t blame her, but for once I was most thankful for her crooked
tongue.”
“It was the same afternoon that she played a trick on me that might
have turned out seriously. I had gone with her to our stateroom to
dress for dinner. I dressed her in her little red frock first, and she
played busily around the room by herself while I was combing my hair.
She had a great fondness for opening and shutting doors, so she slipped
in and out of the room into the corridor several times, fussing with
the key and turning the knob, and not making a bit of trouble. I was
just slipping into my gown for dinner, when, after fumbling with the
lock, she cried triumphantly, ‘I’se locked you in.’
“I thought, of course, that she was just playing, for she had never
before turned a key, and the lock on our door worked very hard; but in
some way or other her busy little fingers had managed it, and there
I was, tightly locked in my stateroom while my mischievous baby was
outside, free to go as she pleased.
“Of course I rushed over and tried the door, only to hear her feet
pattering rapidly down the passage-way, although I called her to come
back. I was nearly frantic. Her father was on deck, talking to some
acquaintances, but it was not at all likely that Jean would go anywhere
near him, now that she had this unexpected liberty, and of course he
believed we were together in our room. No one could tell where she
might take it into her head to roam, and it seemed as if my heart would
stop beating as I thought of the possibility of her going on deck
alone, and maybe falling overboard.”
“Why didn’t you ’phone the office?” asked Wiggles in much surprise,
with a recollection of the telephone service in the hotel room when she
had once stayed over night in New York.
“You must remember that we didn’t have all those conveniences then,”
replied Grandma, “and the boats on the ‘Soo’ were not up-to-date, even
for those times.
“I pounded and pounded on my door, hoping some one would hear me, but
it was a long while before any one chanced by, and when I called out my
predicament, it was discovered that naughty Jean had not only locked me
in, but had taken the key with her as well.”
“Oh, Mother,” cried both little girls, “what ever made you do it?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you,” laughed Mrs. Eaton, “for I was so
little that I haven’t the faintest recollection of it at all.”
“Fortunately,” continued Grandmother, “Grandfather--only he wasn’t a
grandfather then--had wondered why we were gone such an unusually long
time, so, as I was explaining matters he came along, and of course
hurried right out to hunt up the naughty little runaway immediately,
and get the key to release me.”
“He found Jean on deck with another little girl, having a beautiful
time eating oranges, of which she was very fond. He was very much
relieved to find her safe and sound, and snugly tucked in her tiny
pocket was the key. I had been locked in that stateroom an hour while
she roamed around as she wished and explored the boat. It was most
fortunate that she didn’t get into worse mischief.”
Both children were greatly diverted, and were just going to beg for
another story, when Grandpa appeared in the doorway with a big paper
package tucked under his arm.
“How are the little invalids?” he cried heartily. “You chickabiddies
gave me a scare. I looked in your room, and you had gone, but I thought
I heard a busy twittering down this way, and, sure enough, I find
you’ve flown over to a new roost. Here is something warranted to keep
you busy and out of mischief to-morrow,”--and he tossed the big parcel
on the bed, where it was eagerly pounced upon by the little girls.
Cubby hastily put both bandaged hands behind her, but Grandpa saw them
just the same as he leaned over to kiss her.
“Why, what’s all this?” he inquired. “Why the little pincushions? Have
they been naughty paddies?”
A mute nod was the answer, as Cubby burrowed her curly head in his
waistcoat.
“I think that they have been punished enough,” said Mrs. Eaton, leaning
over to smooth the golden locks.
So Grandpa undid roll after roll, until the mischief-making pink snips
of hands came into sight once more, and, with a rainbow smile, the wee
bear scurried over to look at the interesting big bundle her sisters
were unwrapping with many squeals of delight.
Inside was package after package of tissue and crêpe paper in every
color and shade imaginable, and when they saw the pinks and the
yellows, the dainty lavender and blues, they jounced up and down in the
big bed until Grandpa declared that they had better “go easy” or he
would have to sleep on the floor that night.
Of course all the basket patterns had been lost during the
thunder-storm, but Miss Helen had called Sunday morning to inquire
after the children, and had brought over plenty more, so they could
make as many shapes and varieties of baskets as they wished.
“Oh, you darling Grandpa!” declared Wiggles, giving him a hug that
nearly strangled him, while Jeannette and Cubby joined in until there
was a great powwow.
“We’ve been hearing about how naughty Mother used to be,” said Wiggles
with glee. Truth to tell, she had been greatly pleased to find that she
wasn’t the only one who got into funny scrapes. “We heard all about the
time when she locked Grandma in her stateroom.”
Grandpa leaned over and examined the quilt closely.
“Look here, youngsters,” he said. “Here’s a piece of your Grandmother’s
wedding dress, and this is a snip from the very plaid necktie that I
was wearing when I first spoke to the little girl who many years later
became my wife, and who is now your Grandmother.”
“Oh, do tell us,” implored Jet.
“Yes, do,” coaxed Polly-Wiggles.
“I shall never forget that day,” went on Grandpa, with a teasing smile
at the expectant faces before him.
“Grandfather Carr, that’s mean just to tease us! Please tell us,”
implored both children, snarly black curls and smooth brown ones bent
together over the fascinating story-quilt.
“You youngsters want to remember that you are invalids, and must not be
excited,” returned Grandpa gravely, looking from one sparkling face to
the other. “You must lie down quietly in a darkened room----”
“Grandpa Carr, you mean tease!” put in Jet, reading the twinkle in his
eye.
“--and not be disturbed by _any_ conversation----”
Two deep groans interrupted him.
“--and have gruel and dry toast for your supper,” went on Grandpa
gravely, watching the expression of disgust on each face.
“Ugh. Gruel--we _hate_ it.”
“And,” he continued as if there had been no interruption, “possibly by
next week, or the week after, if you follow these directions _most_
carefully, you will be strong enough to stand hearing me tell a story.”
“_Grandpa!_ Next week or the week after! Aren’t you awful!”
“I only said _possibly_ even then,” reminded Grandfather, who dearly
loved to tease.
“We won’t make you any May-baskets,” Wiggles said mischievously. “And
just think how your heart would break at that.”
“Dear me, if that’s the case I’d better look over that quilt again,”
exclaimed Grandpa in mock alarm. “But remember, youngsters, if you
should have a collapse, that I warned you.”
“We’ll be _warned_,” giggled Wiggles, imitating her grandfather’s
doleful tone and greatly enjoying his nonsense.
“Well, bless my soul. If there isn’t the very first valentine I
ever sent to your grandmother when she was a little girl. Gracious,
Elizabeth,”--speaking to Grandma,--“to think that you have kept it all
these years.”
“Of course I have,” Grandmother returned spiritedly. “It was painted on
white silk, and so I could easily sew it in my memory-quilt.”
The children hung entranced over the faded silk valentine, where two
clasped hands were painted above a wreath of forget-me-nots, with the
rhyme,
“Through rain, through snow, through sun and shine,
Sweet Valentine, will you be mine?”
in tarnished gold letters beneath.
“Oh, do go on and tell us about when you met Grandma,” reminded
Wiggles, giving him an impatient nudge. “It’s just like a story-book.”
“Yes, and my fever is rising rapidly from the excitement of _not_
hearing,” laughed Jeannette.
“Dear me, if that’s the case, I’d better start at once. It wasn’t what
you might call a regular introduction, when I first met your grandma,”
said Grandfather, with a reluctant grin tugging at the corners of his
mouth; “and it wasn’t the first time I had seen her and admired her
either, although I didn’t know her to speak to.”
“Indeed it wasn’t,” retorted Grandma serenely. “You were always
standing on your head, and turning somersaults, to make me look at you
when I was anywhere around; and acting up and showing off in all kinds
of silly ways.”
“Grandpa! Showing off, and ‘acting silly,’--imagine!” murmured Wiggles,
patting his hand. “Do go on, Grandpa,--we’re listening.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
GRANDPA TELLS A STORY
“I first saw Elizabeth Little in school,” started Grandfather.
“_Who_ was Elizabeth Little?” inquired Wiggles, much puzzled.
“There’s Elizabeth Little Carr, sitting over by the window knitting
Cubby a sweater,” explained Grandfather Carr, nodding toward pretty
Grandmother. “She wasn’t Mrs. Carr until after I persuaded her to marry
me, which was many years later, for when I first saw her she was just
a little schoolgirl. I thought ‘Little’ was exactly the right name
for her, for she was the tiniest little flaxen-haired sprite you can
imagine, with big blue eyes and two long flaxen pigtails always tied
with big, perky, blue-ribbon bows.”
“Did _you_ have flaxen hair, Grandma, when you were a schoolgirl?”
asked Jeannette much astonished.
“Yes, indeed, Jet. My hair was very light until I had typhoid fever
when Aunt Elsie was a baby, and had to have it shaved. Then it came
out much darker,” replied Grandma, whose hair was nearly the color of
Jeannette’s.
“Although I knew her name, I hadn’t the slightest idea where my little
girl lived,” continued Grandfather, “until one afternoon, after school,
there was a fire in the neighborhood and I went galloping around the
corner and down Becker Street, which was just one block from Center
Avenue where I lived, and you can imagine my surprise to see Elizabeth,
in her blue dress and bows, standing on one of the front stoops
watching the fire-engines go by. I was so astonished to find that she
lived so near me, that I stopped short and stared at her, and then
blurted out, ‘So this is where you live.’”
“And _what_ do you suppose was the very first thing he asked me?”
questioned Grandma, laughing at the recollection.
“What?” demanded the children breathlessly.
“He said, ‘Is your father a Republican or a Democrat?’”
“Oh, Grandpa, how funny!”
“After that,” went on Grandfather Carr, “I always went to school the
longest way round, so as to pass Elizabeth’s house, although she lived
a block farther away from the school than I did; and I used to spend
many an hour climbing over her father’s high back fence, and hooking
apples, cherries, and peaches from their fruit-trees in hopes I would
see ‘my tow-headed girl,’ as I called her, playing in the garden.”
“And when he did,” added Grandma with relish, “he used to do all kinds
of foolish tricks, ‘showing off’ so that I would look at him.”
“Mandy had been cook for Mrs. Little--Elizabeth’s mother, and your
great-grandmother, children--for a year or so then, and, though only
a very young girl, she was just as fat as she is now, and I used to
be deathly afraid of her when she swept out of the back door and
threatened to give me ‘one powahful lickin’’ with her big shoe if I
didn’t quit climbing ‘her’ back fence,--although Mr. and Mrs. Little
didn’t object at all. Mandy’s mother had been a slave, and Mandy had
fourteen ‘first’ names; and she told Mrs. Little, when she was engaged
as cook, that her name was ‘Pinkie-Rosie Amanda Virginia Magdalene
Mary Martha Petunia Caroline Lillian Marguerite Veronica Rebecca
Camilla--Jones,’ but she always was called ‘Pinkie-Rosie.’ Mrs. Little
stood aghast before the flood of names, and as her sense of humor would
never permit her to call a two-hundred-pound darky ‘Pinkie-Rosie,’ she
chose ‘Amanda,’ which came next in line, and ‘Mandy’ she has always
remained.
“Mandy always wore a bright bandanna handkerchief around her head
like a turban, as you know she does to this day, and, in addition,
gold beads about her throat, and huge hoop ear-rings that showed off
beautifully against her dark skin. She certainly was a fearful and
wonderful sight when she waddled out in the yard with a broom in her
hand.”
“A more faithful servant never lived,” laughed Grandmother, “but she
certainly was feared by most of the neighborhood boys, for that broom
was a formidable weapon, and she could use it with a will.”
“Indeed, she could,” agreed Grandfather vigorously. “I was eleven and
Elizabeth was eight when I first knew her,” he resumed.
“Just about my age,” volunteered Wiggles. “Did you feel in your bones
that some day he was going to be your husband, Grandma?”
“Of course not, child. But I always admired his curly hair and rosy
cheeks.”
“Now Elizabeth had a very odd elderly great-aunt named Mary, who
used to visit the Littles every spring,” continued Grandpa with much
enjoyment. “Out in the big back yard was a wash-house, a small low shed
where Mandy did the laundry work; and about the shed Elizabeth had a
very pretty bed of posies that she tended herself. She was very proud
of those posies, and had the garden outlined with white clam-shells, so
it was most attractive, though I suppose it would look very queer to
you children of to-day. Aunt Mary had the oddest notions about flowers,
and always declared that they should be watered with boiling-hot water
to make them grow quickly; and, of course, the hot water she insisted
on putting on them killed Elizabeth’s blossoms every spring and made
her most indignant. So after I knew Elizabeth, she and I used to
trot busily up and down the ladder leading to the flat roof of the
wash-house, carrying all her flowers up there in pots, every time that
Aunt Mary was due to make a visit. We knew she would never dare climb
up that rickety ladder to get at them. Then Elizabeth and her sister
Louise, who is now Billy and Dick’s grandmother, would take their
china-doll babies there, too, and pull the ladder up after them, while
Aunt Mary called, ‘Come down, little dears, and bring your flowers for
me to see,’ from below.”
“We simply _lived_ on that shed-roof while Aunt Mary was at the house,”
put in Grandmother. “It made an ideal play-house, for it was cool and
shady, as it was surrounded with all kinds of fruit-trees. Many a
picnic lunch we enjoyed up there with our china dolls.”
“Do you remember the time you had the whooping-cough?” chuckled
Grandfather.
“Oh, tell us,” pleaded the small granddaughters expectantly.
“Elizabeth and Lou, as we called Louise, had whooping-cough at the
same time, as they were so near of an age that they were inseparable,
like you and Jet,” explained Grandpa, pinching Wiggles cheek. “One day
before the ‘whoops’ had developed, and no one knew that the girls had
it, although they were not feeling well, Aunt Mary, unknown to their
mother, gave them each an enormous slice of blackberry pie. In about
half an hour they were the sickest little girls you would want to see.
“‘Them chilluns has black diphtheria and is gwine ter die,’ Mandy
moaned, waddling around wringing her hands, for the youngsters were a
terrible sight, with black juice dripping down their clothes and big
dark rings around their mouths.
“‘Run for a doctor, Mandy,’ said Mrs. Little, terribly frightened by
the unexplained black mouths.
“‘No, no, it’s not black ‘theria,’ Elizabeth gasped suddenly, letting
out a regular war-whoop that she had been trying to repress. ‘It’s
black--blackberry pie instead!’”
“Why _Grandma_, I think you must have been just as awful a child as I
am, maybe awfuller,” said Wiggles delightedly.
“Oh, I wasn’t the only one that got in mischief,” rejoined Grandma
briskly. “Why don’t you tell about some of your _own_ escapades, David?
Your experience in the wash-house, for instance.”
“I hate to have my granddaughters realize what a bad boy I used to be,”
explained Grandpa solemnly, tweaking Wiggles’ curls.
“We’ll promise to overlook it, honestly,” she replied mischievously.
“Come, ’fess up.”
“Well, it was one morning during summer vacation, when this happened.
Elizabeth and Lou were busily playing dolls up on the shed-roof, and
Mandy was washing inside, when I quietly shinned up the ladder. I had
every intention of being good,--and Elizabeth was the one that first
put the mischievous idea in my mind,” went on Grandpa.
“Oh, I never, David,” protested Grandmother. “You suggested it your own
self.”
“No, _ma’am_,” Grandpa stoutly denied. “You said, ‘I wish we had a
little tub up here so that we could wash our dolls’ clothes, for it
would be such a fine place to dry them here in the sun’; and then you
looked at me from under your lashes, and Lou kind of gave a little
snicker, as much as to say, ‘Bet you don’t dare.’
“Mandy had just gone into the kitchen for some extra clothes-pins, and
I had a sudden inspiration. There was a small-sized wash-tub in the
shed, as I knew. It was just the right size for dolls’ duds, I thought,
but I was too lazy to carry that heavy thing up the tipsy ladder. I
thought how much easier it would be if I could pull it up some way with
ropes, and how astonished the girls would be at my cleverness.”
“Showing off, you see,” smiled Grandma.
“Yes, I guess I was,” admitted Grandpa with a twinkle in his eye.
“So while Mandy was out of the way, I sneaked down and filled the
little tub with suds from her big wash-tub, took down her good
clothes-line and put through the handles, then brought the ends of the
line up on the roof with a big hook, and, clambering back on the roof,
pulled briskly away. I felt pretty pleased with myself as the tub left
the ground and rose higher and higher. Mandy, hearing our excited
voices and giggles, became suspicious that there was mischief afoot,
and rolled out in the yard just in time to see the tub dangling above
her head. She let out a roar of wrath that made me quake. I declare
I didn’t tip it over purposely, but some way, in my haste, the ropes
pulled unevenly, and that whole tub of soapy water turned upside down
in mid-air and showered down on her red-bandanna turban and calico
dress, until she was drenched.
“‘You good-fer-nothin’ limb o’ Satan,’ she yelled, giving a yank to her
clothes-line, and, before I knew what was happening, clothes-line, tub,
and I went down in a heap together, landing on the ground at her feet.
“I didn’t have a chance to escape,” laughed Grandpa, “for in a second
she had me by my collar and carried me into that shed like a baby, and
soused me up and down in the big wash-tub till I yelled for mercy. But
the funniest part of it was, that after that punishment she was my
firm friend forever, and would call me into her kitchen and feed me
cookies and doughnuts every time I came over. And, as you know, Mandy
surely can cook.”
“What did your mother say when you went home all wet and soapy?”
giggled Jeannette, much entertained.
“That was the saddest part of all,” chuckled Grandpa, “for, in spite
of my forlorn appearance, she didn’t seem to think I had been punished
nearly enough, and gave me a good hard trouncing that I remembered for
many a long day. And for a long, long time after that, I was very wary
of Mandy, remembering her strong right arm.”
“I must ask Mandy to wear the beads and ear-rings some time,” said
Wiggles, “for I would love to see how they would look with her turban.”
“And this piece of necktie in the story-quilt was from the one you had
on when you first met Grandma, wasn’t it? Did she cut it off right
then?”
“Oh, goodness, no, Jeannette. But it was very fashionable for all
the little girls in those days, and the bigger ones, too, to ask the
boys and young men they knew to save the ends of their neckties for
making into quilts. Quiltmaking was as popular then as embroidery is
to-day, and on some of the big pieces of silk and satin you can see the
sprays of flowers that have been embroidered. See, here’s a wreath of
apple-blossoms on this pale-blue satin square, and water-lilies on this
light green triangle. The silks are going in ribbons, and it’s really
the embroideries that are holding them together.”
“I must ask Lou to show you her quilt some day when we are over to see
Billy and Dick,” added Grandma. “Her quilt is much handsomer than mine,
as it is made entirely from big squares of satin or silk, and every
piece is worked with a floral spray. She has golden-rod on the yellow
square, black-eyed susan on the orange, forget-me-nots on the blue, and
roses on the pink. I remember it was exhibited when she finished it,
and won a prize, of which she was very proud. I shouldn’t be surprised
if embroidered-silk patchwork came into style again sometime.”
“Tell us,--” began Wiggles, but Grandfather Carr hastily arose.
“Now, no more tales of my misdeeds,” he firmly declared, “for if I tell
you any more of my naughty doings, you won’t have any respect left for
my few remaining gray hairs. Besides, I am sure I hear Marion and Alice
downstairs, and, without doubt, they want to see how you invalids are
coming along.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE ENCHANTED PALACE WAKES
Any one would have thought, to hear the rapturous greetings, that
the friends had been separated for months instead of days, for they
chattered like magpies, as each one tried to tell everything that had
happened since they had last been together.
“Miss Helen showed us the May-baskets at assembly this morning, and
told us all about your adventure. What a dreadful time you had. Weren’t
you terribly frightened? I know I would have been scared to death,
for it was the worst storm I ever heard,” said Marion, settling down
comfortably on the foot of the big bed and examining the story-quilt
with interest. “The whole school is so interested, and no one talks
about anything else but that and the May Frolic. Did you know that
two miles down the road there was a regular baby cyclone, and a whole
orchard was pulled up by the roots? The trees look as if a giant had
flung them about, and it’s too bad, for they are covered with buds.”
“One farmhouse has fourteen panes of glass broken, and there’s not a
flag-pole anywhere near that hasn’t been struck,” put in Alice eagerly,
smoothing her blue gingham dress so that Boots could curl down in her
lap for a doze. “The flag-pole at school is all in splinters, and I
brought you a big piece as a souvenir of the storm. Gabriel climbed up
the pole at recess and got a big piece that no one else could reach.
He said he hoped you’d be at school soon, and if you wanted any more
pieces of the flag-pole, just to let him know.”
“Well, it was very nice of Gabriel, but I really think this piece is
enough,” said Wiggles hastily, viewing very doubtfully the huge chunk
of wood that Alice produced, and privately wondering where she could
keep it.
“I told him that if he sent any more, he might as well send you the
whole flag-pole and be done with it,” giggled Marion.
“Gabriel is the boy that sits back of you at school, isn’t he,
Woggsie?” asked Mrs. Eaton, much amused at the souvenir. “I remember
meeting him down-town one day, and he gave you the turtle that you have
in your aquarium.”
“Yes, he’s a nice boy, but just crazy over all kinds of squirmy
things,” replied Jeannette with a look of distaste. “He brings the most
wonderful wild flowers and rare mosses to school and knows just where
they all grow. He knows all about mushrooms, too, and is fascinated by
everything he sees in the woods or fields. I never saw such a boy. But
he will carry around such _queer_ things in his pockets.”
“Why, he knows the greatest lot about all kinds of strange things that
the teacher calls ‘wood-lore,’” continued Alice, patting Boots, who
purred like a teakettle. “He can tell you all about butterflies, and
birds, and ants. And I never saw such lovely odd flowers as he finds in
the woods. Oh, that reminds me. Did you know that the old coffee-mill
in the clearing was struck by lightning, too, and burned right down to
the ground?”
Jet and Wiggles looked at each other with startled eyes. To think the
coffee-mill, that had been their refuge, was gone. What if it had been
struck while they were in it?
Mrs. Eaton shivered, and, to change the subject, for she saw how white
the children grew when they heard this news, the basket-patterns were
produced, and the lovely crêpe and tissue papers were exhibited to the
interested girls.
Then Grandmother Carr brought scissors and paste, and, wrapping the
invalids carefully in their bathrobes, she fixed them comfortably at
the big sewing-table by the window, where all four friends tried their
skill at making May-baskets.
“Gabriel says he is going to vote for Wiggles for Queen, and I am,
too,” confided Alice, as she pasted pink petals to a basket she was
making into a huge rosy chrysanthemum.
“Oh, Jet would be a much better Queen than I,” exclaimed Wiggles
earnestly, smearing paste all over her hands in her excitement. “Why, I
couldn’t be ‘haunty’ no matter how hard I tried.” She meant “haughty.”
“Queens have to be just as proper as proper, and I never could be in
the world.”
“The Queen in ‘Alice in Wonderland’ wasn’t proper,” protested Jet,
cutting out daisy petals. “Don’t you remember how she yelled, ‘Off with
their heads!’ all the while? What _are_ you making, Marion?”
Marion giggled as she held up her basket, shaped like a head of
lettuce, to which she was just adding the last crinkly leaves.
“It’s a joke on Hugh,” she explained calmly, as she twisted the pale
green leaves into shape. “Grandfather gave me the idea, so I thought
I’d make the basket while I was here. I’m going to fill this head of
lettuce with vegetables and hang it as a May-basket for him, with a
funny rhyme, ’cause he was a mean thing and wouldn’t show me the basket
I found out he was making for Jeannette. He’d be furious if he knew I
told you, and he’ll be mad as hops when he sees this, ’cause he loves
to call me ‘Carrots,’”--with a toss of her tawny mane--“but says his
own hair is auburn.” She accented the last word with such a disdainful
sniff that the other girls giggled.
“What is the rhyme?” asked Alice.
“I’m going to put a bunch of radishes, a turnip, and some beets inside,
and this rhyme:
“‘Although your nose is turnip,
And your hair a radish Hugh (reddish hue),
Still lettuce send this token,
As our heart still beets for you.’”
“Won’t he be mad?” chuckled Polly Wiggles, “’specially about that
‘reddish hue.’”
“Grandfather helped me write it last night, and said it would be a good
way to tease him back for all the jokes he makes about me. I could
hardly wait until to-day to make the basket. This shade of green is
just right for the lettuce, and doesn’t it look natural? If you’ll give
me a hat-pin, I’ll help curl your chrysanthemum petals for you, Alice.”
“Here’s one on Grandma’s bureau,” said Wiggles. “What do you do with
it?”
“You want to put each petal on the table and rub the head of the pin
real hard against it. It gives it a crinkly look and curls the petal. I
learned how when the Ladies’ Aid had a big tea, for they decorated with
hundreds of yellow chrysanthemums, and I helped make them. The room
looked beautiful.”
“I should think it would have been lovely. It’s a splendid idea,
Marion,” enthused Jeannette, who found it worked beautifully with
her second basket, a big red rose. “Don’t you like this daisy basket
Wiggles and I just finished for Mother? I was so glad that she went
downstairs, for it gave us a chance to make it. We’re going to make a
lilac basket for Grandma next.”
“It certainly is pretty,” returned Alice, examining the dainty
yellow-and-white basket with pleasure. “It was a good idea, making the
basket itself a deep yellow, and then adding the big white petals.
Won’t it be fun, on May morning, to scurry around and hang them on the
door-knobs? Of course it won’t really be May Day, but the day of the
frolic instead. I think it’s lots more exciting than Valentine’s day,
and I do hope we’ll do it every year. Who do you suppose will be May
Queen?”
“I think one of the older girls will get the most votes, don’t you?”
asked Jeannette.
“You never can tell,” said Marion wisely.
“Jane Juggins is positive that she will be chosen, and gives herself as
many airs and graces as if she had been crowned already. She makes me
sick. She said this noon that she was the only real blonde in school,
and that therefore she’d look best as Queen, and that she was going to
have a real satin and chiffon dress with a _train_ if she was selected.”
“Well, I hope to goodness sake she won’t be,” broke in Alice decidedly.
“Of course she is older, and mighty sure of herself, but I don’t think
she’s so very popular.”
“Dear me,” said Wiggles, rumpling her curls, “won’t it be thrilling to
have the names of King and Queen read out before the whole school, and
then see them go up to the platform and select their attendants? I can
just imagine how shivery and excited they will feel, can’t you?”
“I don’t care who is Queen, as long as Jane Juggins isn’t,” sniffed
Marion. “She called after me this morning, ‘Well, Red-Head, you won’t
have to worry about being Queen or Maid of Honor. Your hair’s so fiery
it would set fire to the Maypole!’”
“The horrid creature!” snorted Wiggles wrathfully, “when every
one thinks your hair is stunning, and lots prettier than that
molasses-taffy color of hers. I wish I’d been there.”
Alice dropped her chrysanthemum and scissors, and opened her
black-fringed blue eyes wide at the interesting news she was about to
impart.
“What _do_ you s’pose?” she demanded breathlessly. “I have some news,
and I almost forgot to tell you.” She paused impressively, with a true
sense of the dramatic, and looked from one interested face to another.
“Yes, yes; go on,” they chorused eagerly.
“Well, White Birches has been opened, and the people are going to live
there every summer. Their name is MacAllister and they have one son,
and-- Oh, my goodness, girls,” with a squeal of excitement, “there he
is now!”
Four eager faces leaned toward the windows as a handsome dark-eyed boy
on a beautiful white pony, followed by a big white collie dog, dashed
up the driveway of White Birches.
“Oh, oh, _oh_, that lovely pony,” sighed Wiggles rapturously. “Did you
ever see such a darling in all your life? Isn’t it a picture under that
arch of birch-trees, with that snowy dog capering along behind? Just
look!”
May-baskets were forgotten as they watched the graceful lad race up and
down the paths, followed by the excited dog.
“Maybe,” said Wiggles hopefully, with visions of riding on that
entrancing pony in her mind,--“maybe he has a sister, about your age.”
“Well, maybe he hasn’t,” returned Alice disconsolately, “’cause Mother
said that there was _one_ child, a son. Isn’t it a shame? They just
came yesterday, and have lived abroad for several years.”
“If _only_ he had been a girl,” sighed Wiggles sadly. “What good times
we all could have had together. We could have played dolls in those
dear little rustic summer-houses----”
“And gone boating on Willow Lake,” put in Jeannette glumly.
“And ridden on that darling pony,” added Alice. “But boys are
so--so----”
“Not ’xactly disgustable, but--well, uninteresting,” bemoaned Polly
Wiggles with a toss of her black mop of curls. “Wouldn’t it have been
gorgeous if he had been a twin?”
“I should say it would,” agreed Jet, looking very downhearted.
“With a beautiful dark-eyed sister named Jacqueline,” continued Wiggles
dreamily. “You know we _always_ thought the ‘Enchanted Palace,’ as
we called it, would belong to a dark-eyed Prince Charming, who would
appear on a snow-white charger, and quaff three times from the water of
Willow Lake, and the Palace would wake to life.”
“Well, there’s your dark-eyed Prince on his white charger. What more do
you want?” demanded Alice calmly, motioning toward the lad on the white
pony. “Goodness, you can’t complain when your fancies come true like
that. I think it’s perfectly thrilling that your Prince appeared just
as you pretended.”
“Don’t say ‘my Prince,’ as if he belonged to me. You all pretended
about him, too. And he’s not a Prince anyway, he’s only an everyday
boy,” sniffed Wiggles.
“Not exactly an _everyday_ boy,” disagreed Marion. “He’s not an
everyday boy like my brother, Hugh, for instance,--any boy that owns
a snow-white dog and pony, and has been abroad, and lives in such a
gorgeous place!”
“And he certainly is dark-eyed, and he’s riding a white charger,”
volunteered Jeannette, wide-eyed at the coincidence.
“That’s not a charger,--it’s a rather fat white pony,” Wiggles
corrected, gazing critically at the good-looking lad. “Yes-s, I admit
his eyes _are_ dark, I can see that from here. But he hasn’t taken a
drink from Willow Lake, and he isn’t a really grown-up Prince----”
“Give him time, give him time,” murmured Alice absently. “Remember that
a Prince can always grow up,--but he can’t grow down; and he’s older
than we are, anyway. Oh, will you look!”
There was no need to ask them to look. Four pairs of eyes stared
unwinkingly, for, as if Wiggles’ remark had been a signal, the boy,
unconscious of the interest he was causing, had jumped from his
pony and sauntered down to the edge of the lake. He was warm from
his trot about the grounds, that was certain, for he shook back his
thick chestnut-colored hair, and fanned himself vigorously with his
handkerchief. Then, as the girls stood rigid with excitement, he
stooped to the edge of the water, and, cupping his hands together,
drank three times from Willow Lake.
As if indeed the dreamy spell that had hung over the place so long had
been broken, a big limousine, driven by a colored chauffeur, rolled
up the driveway, and the front door of the house opened to disclose a
pleasant-faced lady, who hastened down the steps, and then paused to
speak to a groom, who appeared to lead away the white pony.
“I’m ready, Donald,” she called, and the boy hurried toward her,
gallantly assisting her into the car, and then bundling himself and the
big collie in as well.
“His name is Donald MacAllister. Isn’t that an attractive name?” asked
Alice approvingly, as the car disappeared down the road.
“He looks as if he were nice and full of fun,” added Marion, “but
wasn’t it odd that the whole place _did_ come to life just as he drank
from Willow Lake? I felt just as if I were looking at a play.”
“Every single thing turned out just as we pretended, except the
sister,” declared Jeannette in an awed voice, “and we can’t expect
everything. It’s just like a fairy-tale come true.”
“Well, I know one thing I can expect if I don’t skip for home,” laughed
Marion with a glance at the clock. “Seems as if that clock must be
telling fibs, but I don’t suppose it is. The afternoon has just flown,
and it’s six o’clock already, and I’ll get a scolding if I don’t
practise an hour.”
“Do tell us all about the Enchanted Palace,” pleaded Alice, gathering
together her materials. “Maybe there is a fairy godmother to appear
yet. And, talking about appearances, here comes----”
“Gruel,” put in Grandfather Carr mischievously, as he appeared with a
dainty tray for two.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AN OLD FRIENDSHIP RENEWED
“Watch me turn a cart-wheel,” shrieked Wiggles, flashing down the
veranda steps and turning cart-wheels so rapidly down the path to where
the three other girls were waiting for her by the gate, that it made
them dizzy to look at her.
“There,” she puffed triumphantly, coming up rosy and breathless and
shaking back a mop of tumbled black curls, “I feel better now that I’ve
let off steam. That’s to prove that I’m not an invalid any more. Won’t
it seem nice to be back at school again, Jet?”
“Look how you’ve tumbled your clean dress,” reproved Jeannette, looking
her sister over critically. “Mother wouldn’t like you to act like
that, anyway,--it isn’t ladylike.” Jeannette was fond on occasions of
adopting an elder-sister tone.
“Well, who wants to be a lady?” returned Wiggles, tossing her curls and
casting a quick glance at her crisp linen frock. “I don’t, I’m sure.
When I get so old that I can’t jump around or climb fences or wade in
brooks or do anything that’s fun at all, then I’ll have lots and lots
of time left over in which to be ladylike; and, oh, won’t I hate it!”
On the green lawn opposite, the handsome lad astride the white pony
had sat up with interest and an alert look in his dark eyes, as the
mischievous Wiggles went whirling down the path.
“That’s some girl,” he told the white pony, and his eyes rested with
approval on the glistening black curls of the small maiden who was
waiting impatiently while her hair-ribbon was more securely anchored,
and Jeannette straightened the belt of her dress.
“I _never_ saw a girl in France or Spain or Japan or England or any
other place turn cart-wheels like that,” Donald MacAllister confided
to the pony, who tossed its head impatiently at being held in check.
“American girls beat them all, that’s sure. You know, I’d like to know
that girl, and those boys that I saw over there yesterday. It’s awfully
lonesome not knowing any one around, isn’t it, Snow Queen? Come on,
let’s do some tricks.”
Over the stone wall went the pony, guided by Donald’s capable hands,
and the four children opposite watched with interest as the sturdy boy
put the pretty animal through all kinds of tricks. Finally he jumped
erect, and balancing himself on Snow Queen’s back as she trotted
along, he carelessly reached up and plucked a spray of leaves from the
branches overhead.
“Oh, oh, look at that!” breathed three of the girls in admiration,
watching the good-looking lad with round-eyed amazement.
“Pooh--showing off,” said Wiggles coolly, tossing her curls and
glancing from the corner of her eyes as Donald easily lowered himself
into the saddle and jumped back over the stone wall again. “Thought you
were all in such a dreadful hurry. I’ll race you to the brook.” And in
a second all four girls were off, leaving the boy looking after them
with wistful eyes.
“What’s the matter, Donald?” asked a laughing voice behind him, and
he turned with a smile to greet the slim brown-haired lady who was
strolling over the lawn toward him.
“Just wishing I knew some of the boys and girls around here,” he
replied, dismounting as he spoke, and tucking his arm through his
mother’s with a lordly air that was most amusing.
“Well, Don, I’m sure you’ll soon get acquainted. It’s been many, many
years since I was last in Meadowbrook,” she continued with a slight
sigh, “but I am sure that some of my old friends must still live around
here, and I know that you’ll enjoy having a real home and playmates at
last.”
“Yesterday I saw some bully-looking boys, and this morning a girl that
turned cart-wheels like lightning, over there,” Donald responded with
animation, motioning toward The Lilacs. “Do you know who lives there?”
“Not any more. When I was a girl--” began Mrs. MacAllister, only to
break off and look with startled eyes at the figure that appeared on
the lawn opposite. “Can I believe my own eyes?” she gasped, as Mrs.
Carr, carrying scissors and a large basket, and intent on gathering
bouquets for the house, came into view, with Boots following at her
heels.
“I do believe that The Lilacs has never been sold, and that our old
friends, the Carrs, are still living there. How I hope so! It will make
my home-coming very happy if Jean and Elsie still live opposite. I
heard that Jean married a doctor.”
With a graceful gesture very much like her son’s, she caught interested
Donald by the hand and hastened across the road to where Grandmother
Carr was busily snipping lilac blossoms.
“Marie Deering!” cried Mrs. Carr, dropping lilacs, basket and all, and
seizing Mrs. MacAllister’s outstretched hands. “Can it be you who have
come back to White Birches after all these years?”
“Indeed, it is, dear Mrs. Carr,” returned Donald’s mother, smiling,
“only I’m Marie MacAllister now, and this is my son, Donald.”
She pulled forward the brown-eyed boy as she spoke, who bowed with an
easy grace most engaging, and then stooped to recover the basket and
tumbled lilac-sprays.
“You see,” Mrs. MacAllister continued eagerly, “I’ve always wanted
really to settle down in my childhood home, so White Birches has become
my own again, and I only hope that I am in America to stay.”
“Then you have been living abroad?” questioned Mrs. Carr, smiling at
Donald, who returned the smile with interest.
“Yes. White Birches was sold right after my parents died so suddenly,”
explained Mrs. MacAllister. “Two years later I met Douglas MacAllister,
and married him, and ever since we have roamed over the world, so that
my poor Donald has lived in his own land less than in any other. For
the past two years we have been in England, and at last I am happy to
say that my husband’s business has brought him back to our own country,
and here we intend to remain.”
“We heard that an English widow had bought White Birches,” said
Grandmother Carr, looking much relieved.
Mrs. MacAllister gave a low laugh. “That’s the way gossip confused
things,” she responded gayly. “Mr. MacAllister will not be here for
another six weeks, and we are still spending most of our time between
Meadowbrook and New York, for the place was badly in need of repairs
before we could move in, but another few days will find us entirely
settled, and then I want you surely to come over and bring Elsie
and Jean and your little granddaughters, so that my boy may become
acquainted. How I shall enjoy renewing my friendship with Jean. My poor
boy has never lived long enough in one land to know what a real chum is
like, and now I hope to give him all he has missed in these years of
travel.”
“Then it is your beautiful white pony that the children have been
talking about,” Mrs. Carr said with a smile at Donald, who gave her a
merry glance.
“Yes, that is Snow Queen,” he replied, “and I have another just like
her, called ‘White Beauty.’ I’d love to have the girls ride on them
any time they would like. They are very gentle,” he continued hastily,
“and wouldn’t hurt them at all.”
“I know that they would be more than pleased,” replied Grandmother
Carr, “and it is very kind of you, for both children are fond of
riding.”
“Is the little girl with black curls your granddaughter?” asked Donald
with interest.
“Yes, that’s Wiggles,--I should say Elizabeth,” laughed Mrs. Carr, “but
‘Wiggles’ so expresses her love of perpetual motion that she is called
it most of the time.”
“I noticed her this morning,” returned Mrs. MacAllister, “and thought
what a captivating little mischief she was. To think that she is Jean’s
daughter!”
“Jeannette is Wiggles’ older sister, and the two other girls are their
inseparable companions, Marion West and Alice Maxfield,” added Mrs.
Carr. “I don’t believe you have seen Cubby as yet. She is the baby of
the family, and her real name is Evelyn.”
“And the boys that I saw yesterday afternoon, who were they?” put in
Donald eagerly.
“They are Jeannette’s and Elizabeth’s cousins, Billy and Dick Gerard,
and are fine manly boys, just bubbling over with mischief. The boy
with dark-red hair is Marion’s brother, Hugh West. I’m sure you will
like them all, and have many good times together after you become
acquainted.”
“Couldn’t you and Jean and Elsie bring the little girls over to see us
some afternoon next week?” asked Mrs. MacAllister. “Any day that suits
you will be convenient for me.”
“Please do,” begged Donald.
“We should love to,” responded Grandmother Carr, smiling into the
pleading dark eyes that begged her to say “yes,” so beseechingly. “I
can’t promise which day it will be, but if it is satisfactory to you,
we will just run in informally.”
“Any day you like. I so anticipate seeing you all again and having an
old time powwow. We have many years to make up, you know,” laughed
Mrs. MacAllister. “Come, Don. If we are going into town to see the
decorators, we shall have to hurry. Good-by, Mrs. Carr. Please remember
me to Jean and Elsie, and don’t forget your promise to run in.”
“And bring Dick and Billy, too, if they can come,” called back Donald.
Mrs. Carr returned to her flower-gathering in a contented frame of mind.
Marie Deering and Jean Carr had been intimate friends in their
childhood days, long before Jean had married Dr. Eaton, or Marie had
become Mrs. MacAllister, and she knew how pleasant the revival of
friendship would be to them all; while gallant, sturdy Donald had
greatly appealed to her, and would be a pleasant companion for the
children. She could easily imagine the many good times they would have
together; and, picking up her basket of blossoms in one hand, and Boots
in the other, she hurried into the house to tell the good news.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GABRIEL’S SURPRISE
Jeannette’s and Elizabeth’s arrival at school was a regular triumphant
entry. They were quite the heroines of the hour after the experience
they had been through, and the pupils were all agog to hear their own
account of the adventure. Older pupils, who had never before noticed
their existence, stopped to inquire all about the dreadful storm, and
offered them fruit and candy.
Naturally the news had spread like wild-fire all through the small
school. In addition the class-rooms buzzed with May Day plans, and even
although the boys had pooh-poohed the idea, they were not above showing
off in anticipation of votes.
It was surprising how rapidly the basket-frames had disappeared. There
could be no doubt but that the May Frolic would be a success, for the
children were wildly enthusiastic.
Slips of paper and pencils were given out at assembly, and each pupil
cast two votes, one for King and one for Queen. Excitement ran high
when, to the stirring march played on the piano, the classes one by one
filed past the big desk where Miss Helen sat, and dropped pale-pink
slips containing the chosen Queen’s name into one big box, and blue
slips on which were written the King’s name into another. The votes
were to be counted during the day, and the names of the King and Queen
of the May would be announced at closing time. It was hard to return to
the class-rooms and settle down to work.
“Say, Wiggles,” whispered Gabriel from the seat behind hers, “I’ll let
you see all my spelling if you don’t know yours, and I have something
to give you at recess,--a surprise for you.”
As Gabriel’s spelling was the worst in the room, Wiggles did not accept
his offer, but she beamed at the idea of a surprise, and during the
lessons kept wondering what it could be.
She was nearly overcome with curiosity all through the morning, for
Gabriel’s black head kept disappearing in his desk, where the surprise
had been carefully stowed away, in a most tantalizing manner.
To Gabriel’s idea of thinking, no girl in the school could compare with
Elizabeth. He declared that any girl who could skip rope, and run, and
walk fences as she did, with the agility of an acrobat, was almost as
good as a boy; and on his prowls through fields and woods he was always
collecting rare ferns for her garden, or the first fragrant sprays of
arbutus, or fragile Indian-pipes, and bringing them to school for her,
just to see her blue eyes open with amazement, and to hear her say,
“Oh, isn’t that lovely! Where did you ever find it?”
He swelled with importance as he thought how she would clap her hands
and spin round on her toes when she beheld the surprise in store for
her at recess, as he had never before found anything so unusual.
As Gabriel was always bringing surprises, and delightful ones, too,
Polly Wiggles wondered with a little wriggle of impatience if it could
be the clump of maiden-hair fern which she had long wanted for her
rockery. Only the week before he had given her a little birch-bark box,
beautifully made, and heaped with the first wild strawberries, scarlet
and tempting, and each one big as her thumb and sweet as honey.
But if Wiggles had known what was to greet her eyes at recess, she
never would have sat so quietly, or listened so intently to the
teacher’s words.
Arithmetic and reading went on as usual, and then paper was distributed
for painting, which was always the first period after recess. Wiggles
loathed painting, and it always mortified her to see her own finished
daubs.
Alice was very artistic, and did splendid work in both drawing and
color work, so she examined with interest the object to be copied, a
pretty yellow teapot placed on a small table at the front of the room,
where it was in a good position for all the youthful artists to see.
Alice was monitor of the paint-boxes, and went about importantly
placing a box and brush at each desk, and tiny glasses of water in
which to wash the brushes.
At last arithmetic came to an end, and the bell rang for recess, which
was a twenty-minute period of relaxation for the children, during which
they might walk about the class-room and talk, or play out-of-doors in
the big school-yard.
It was such a beautiful day that most of the children bolted for the
school-yard, Alice among the first, expecting Wiggles to follow, and
join in a game of Poison Tag, or Illario.
But Wiggles waited with a beating heart to see the surprise.
“I’m so anxious to see it,” she smiled, spinning round in her seat and
wondering if Gabriel could be making her a May-basket. She knew that
Dick was weaving two, one for Marion, and one for Alice, and that Hugh
had already made one for Jeannette, so she was anxious to see if any of
her friends remembered her as well.
“I got it for you yesterday,” Gabriel beamed, plunging into his desk
and rummaging about for a tantalizing time. “Look here--isn’t it a
dandy?”
Now Gabriel had no intention of frightening Wiggles, He was an
enthusiastic naturalist, and loved all the small creatures that
inhabited the woods and fields. Wiggles had exclaimed with pleasure
over a tiny turtle that he had given her, and the thought never entered
his mind that, like other small girls, she might be afraid of his
unusual surprise. So with a comical air of triumph he held out to
her,--not a dainty May-basket, as she half expected, but a wiggling,
slimy snake.
His big black eyes danced with pleasure as he coiled the creature in
his hands, to place on Polly Wiggles’ lap.
With an exclamation of fright and disgust, Wiggles sprang away, and
only with difficulty repressed a shriek, for if there was one thing she
detested above all others, it was any kind of a snake. Her white and
horrified face told Gabriel even more than her faltering tongue.
“Oh! oh! oh! Keep it away from me. Don’t let it get _on_ me!” she
chattered, shivering at the idea.
Gabriel’s face fell.
“I’m sorry, Wiggles,” he mourned, hastily stuffing the snake into his
desk like a wad of string. “I wouldn’t have scared you for anything,
but aren’t girls queer to be afraid of a little snake like this? It
won’t hurt you. Why, Wiggles, it’s most unusual, it’s a----”
“Oh, I don’t care if it’s worth a million dollars,” shuddered Wiggles.
“It makes me feel creepy just to think of it. How _can_ you handle it?”
“But you handled a turtle,” exclaimed puzzled Gabriel, much surprised
at the distinction shown. “I meant to give it to you for keeps, in a
May-basket at first, on May Day, ’cause I thought you’d be kind o’
pleased.”
“I’m sorry, too, Gabriel,” apologized Polly Wiggles, seeing his
disappointment, and trying to keep back a shudder. “I honestly did like
your little turtle ever so much. That was cunning. But _please_ don’t
hang any snakes, or-or--spiders, or _crawly_ things in a May-basket for
me, will you? I like flowers and ferns so much better. Let’s--let’s go
out now, and play tag.”
To tell the truth, Polly Wiggles was decidedly anxious to get as far
away from the snake as possible.
“Don’t tell teacher,” warned Gabriel, banging down his desk-lid. “She
might not like it, either, though I can’t see why she should mind my
having a nice little snake in my desk.”
Still he knew from past experiences that teachers had most peculiar
ideas about what should and should not be brought to school in a boy’s
pockets.
“Are you certain-sure that your desk is tight, so it can’t get out?”
asked Wiggles nervously, seeing in imagination the slimy, slippery
snake crawling over the back of the desk, and down into her own seat.
“Course it’s tight,” Gabriel replied in disgust. “Didn’t you hear how
I banged down the lid? You don’t suppose I want that valuable snake
walking all over the school, do you?”
“Mercy, I should hope not,” shuddered Polly Wiggles in horror.
Now Gabriel honestly believed the desk was tight, and that the prisoner
was safe inside, but in some way the banging had been too hard, and
the lid had sprung back a tiny crack, leaving plenty of room for a
small wriggling snake to crawl through.
Never had the school-yard looked so attractive to Polly Wiggles. The
idea of “telling teacher” never entered her mind. If Gabriel had
brought the “surprise” to school with the idea of being unkind and
frightening her, it would have been different; but she knew that his
intentions had been good, and she had been brought up to scorn tattling.
Recess passed all too quickly. Unfortunately she had a too-active
imagination, which made her feel its slippery length coiling around
her neck, and it was with lagging feet that she left the pleasant
school-yard, and took her seat for the painting lesson. She felt crawly
all over. So it was with thankful heart that she heard Miss Mason tell
her to move her painting things over to the end aisle where the light
was better.
Gabriel, with all memory of the snake erased from his mind, had been
sent on an errand into the sixth grade, which was the highest in the
school, for all older pupils went to the grammar school in Morristown.
Polly Wiggles need not have worried, however, about sitting in her own
seat, for the active little snake no longer rustled about in the dark
desk behind her.
It did not take long to move paints and paper over to the other seat,
and she heaved a sigh of relief as she at last settled her starched
white skirts, and wet her paint-brush.
In back of her sat the artist of the school, Allan Harrison, who
was already, with joyful heart, engaged in coloring his beautifully
sketched teapot a vivid yellow.
Allan’s work was really remarkable, and several of his other sketches
held place of honor on the bulletin board at the front of the room.
Polly Wiggles glanced over her shoulder at his clever fingers, and
then, with a sigh of despair, she hopelessly settled herself to the
hated task.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HAIL TO THE KING AND QUEEN OF THE MAY!
Polly Wiggles’ work went poorly. Her sketched work looked more like
an overgrown orange than the teapot for which it was intended. The
colors ran and blurred on the erased and re-erased work until it was a
messy, blotchy sight. Over in the next aisle, Alice was lovingly adding
finishing touches to her nearly completed drawing, and wishing with
all her heart that painting periods might come far oftener, and that
arithmetic periods could be skipped altogether.
Polly Wiggles craned her neck to look admiringly at the
daintily-colored teapot, and wondered despairingly why her own work
could never stay neat and tidy like Alice’s.
She surveyed her paper in disgust. “It looks like a sunset on a foggy
day,” she mused, as she tried to smooth the trickling threads of color
that blurred out in smudgy rays from the squat body of the teapot. “No
one would guess in a million years that it was s’posed to be a teapot.
I really think it looks more ‘teapotty’ upside down than it does
right-way-about. Guess I’ll label it so that Miss Mason will know which
way to look at it.”
In a neat hand she wrote, “This is a teapot,” and added her name
beneath in black ink, which unfortunately, mingled with the still wet
paint, and produced a most peculiar and unwished-for effect.
Allan leaned over her shoulder, to look with unflattering astonishment
at the completed work of art.
“What _is_ it?” he breathed curiously in Wiggles’ ear, leaning closer
for a better view.
Polly Wiggles stifled a giggle and pointed silently to the label
underneath.
“I thought it was a crook-neck squash,” added Allan with more honesty
than politeness. “Hand it over, and I’ll try to smooth it out for you.”
With a grateful glance, Polly Wiggles cautiously edged the sopping
piece of paper over the back of her seat, and then, after thoroughly
cleaning her brushes, settled down to study the next day’s spelling
lesson.
A few deft strokes from Allan’s magic paint-brush did wonders to the
“squash,” but he did not dare add too many frills to a work not his
own. Polly Wiggles accepted it back with joy, and resumed her spelling
in a more contented frame of mind, while Allan restlessly looked about
for new worlds to conquer.
He had finished his painting long before, but, lacking anything better
to do, he aimlessly added a soft blurred background, and wrote “Allan
Harrison” in a dashing hand below. On an extra sheet of paper he
started sketching at random, until his alert blue eyes were attracted
by the beautiful American flag that hung in the front of the room, and
he hastily set to work to reproduce it with his brush and colors. The
heavy cream-colored drawing-paper was most unsatisfactory, and refused
to show the proper white stripes between the vivid red ones. Pad paper
was even worse, as it was crossed with narrow blue lines, and the
artist in him sighed for a sheet of plain white on which to work.
Then suddenly his roving eyes were attracted by the expanse of stiff,
dazzling-white linen that was the back of Polly Wiggles’ linen frock.
With fascinated gaze he watched it for a full minute, but with him, to
think was to act, and, never pausing to consider after-consequences, he
rubbed his brush briskly across the red paint, and, unhindered by the
short black curls above, proceeded with an artist’s delight to work on
this novel easel.
Allan’s deportment marks were usually among the best in the room. He
was always absorbed during painting periods, so his work continued
unchecked, for Miss Mason was busily correcting arithmetic papers, and
he had the last seat in the aisle.
Polly Wiggles, absorbed in her speller, never even felt the deft touch
on her back, and beneath his nimble, clever fingers the flag grew
rapidly.
[Illustration: BENEATH HIS NIMBLE, CLEVER FINGERS THE FLAG GREW
RAPIDLY.--_Page 214._]
Alice put down her paint-brush reluctantly, and jumped to her feet to
begin gathering together the finished work from the front desks
of each aisle, where papers were passed when completed, to be laid
in neat piles for the monitor to collect. It was great fun being a
monitor and having the privilege of tiptoeing from one end of the room
to the other, and arranging the drawings on teacher’s desk. Alice
fluttered about like a busy bee, occasionally buzzing a whisper to some
particular friend as she removed wet brushes and glasses of water.
Miss Mason looked up with a smile at rosy Alice, who was a great
favorite of hers. “You may put the teapot on the closet-shelf,” she
said pleasantly as she accepted the pile of drawings, “and be careful,
for it is a very fine piece of china, and I should hate to have it
broken.”
Alice grasped it as gingerly as if she expected it to explode any
minute, but, in spite of all her care, it was the teapot’s last
appearance. As she lifted it carefully with both hands, a wicked little
head with a swiftly darting tongue reared up from the spout, and with
a startled shriek that could be heard through the entire school, the
pretty teapot crashed to the floor, and panic-stricken Alice fled to
the back of the room, where she stood shivering with fright.
In a twinkling the class was in an uproar.
“A snake, a snake!” shrilled frightened girls, clambering on their
seats and gazing with startled eyes at the small wriggling snake that
was as frightened as they were.
“Some one of you boys catch it,” ordered Miss Mason hastily. “Quick,
Allan, head it off. This is some of Gabriel’s doings.”
The door into the corridor opened quietly, and Gabriel entered, his
errand completed and nothing farther from his mind than the thought of
his pet’s escape. To tell the truth, he had entirely forgotten bringing
the snake to school. He stood frozen a moment in the doorway at sight
of the uproarious class-room. Then, as the meaning of the excitement
dawned on his puzzled face, his eyes sought Polly Wiggles’ blue ones in
mute questioning.
Miss Mason surveyed him sternly. “What does this mean?” she questioned
sharply, rapping for quiet. “Shut that door quickly.--Look out, or it
will be out in the hall.”
Gabriel slammed the door, plunged hastily across the floor, and
scrambled to secure his pet, while the class squealed in wild
excitement.
“You may take that creature outside,--and leave it,” Miss Mason
ordered, wondering wearily what next the children would do. “Then
dispose of this broken china, ... and remain after dismissal to-night.”
Gabriel stole quietly from the room with a very red face, to return
shortly and pass ten uncomfortable minutes on his knees before the
class as he gathered up in a dust-pan all that remained of the once
lovely teapot. Evidently the snake had crawled inside and coiled down
while the children were at recess, for the lid had been off when they
returned, and Miss Mason had clapped it on, unconsciously making the
snake a prisoner. And there he had quietly stayed until Alice had
disturbed his resting-place.
Lessons could not be resumed for quite a while, for it was hard to get
the wildly excited pupils to come to order, and for snickerings and
rustlings to calm down. Alice was still shaking from the shock, and
worrying because she, the monitor of the paint-boxes, had broken the
teapot. She felt much better after Miss Mason assured her that it was
not her fault at all.
Gabriel unobtrusively returned with the empty dust-pan and slipped into
his seat with downcast eyes, his very ears scarlet with mortification.
Every Friday afternoon was poetry afternoon, and four pupils were
selected each week to learn any poem of not less than twelve lines to
recite before the class. Poor Gabriel! It certainly was his unlucky
day, for he despised “elocuting,” as he called it, and, unfortunately,
his turn came first.
Gabriel’s choice in poetry was most peculiar. The time before he had
recited a sentimental ballad, with what he considered appropriate
gestures, so the pupils waited with breathless interest as he
unwillingly rose from his seat. But they broke out afresh, and even
Miss Mason had to press a handkerchief to her lips, as he clasped his
hands before him, raised his eyes toward the ceiling, and gloomily
chanted with all the pathos he could put into his young voice, the hymn
starting:
“Hark from the tombs a doleful sound.”
Much to Miss Mason’s relief, Alice came next, and she was always to be
depended upon. She had learned “The Children’s Hour,” and recited so
well that Miss Mason nodded approvingly.
“Very good, indeed, Alice,” she smiled, “and you made an excellent
selection. Elizabeth, you may copy the first two verses on the
blackboard.”
Polly Wiggles jumped to her feet eagerly. She loved the poetry
afternoons, so she started toward the front blackboard entirely
unconscious of the sensation she was causing. There was a moment of
electric silence as she picked up her chalk, and then the class broke
into a perfect gale of laughter, and Miss Mason turned to look with
astonishment at the beautiful American flag that covered the back of
Polly Wiggles’ frock from shoulders to waist.
It was a cleverly painted flag, and only one pupil in the school could
have done it. Scarlet stripes alternated with dazzling white ones,
while a blue field was liberally sprinkled with stars; but neither Miss
Mason, after her first startled glance, nor Polly Wiggles, when she
discovered the cause of the commotion, quite appreciated its beauty.
“Allan, you may remain with Gabriel after school,” announced Miss Mason
grimly, switching Wiggles around so she could examine the dress more
closely, and wondering distractedly what had gotten into two of her
best pupils.
It was the most exciting day the class had ever known, and in the midst
of the excitement the assembly-bell rang to call all the school to the
auditorium to hear the results of the voting.
“Whatever shall I do?” whispered Wiggles despairingly to Miss Mason,
trying to twist about so as to look down her own back. “Everybody
will laugh if I march in looking like this, but I don’t want to miss
hearing the names read.”
“Never mind, my dear. The paint is dry, and the school is so excited
that you’ll not be noticed after you are once seated, and we march in
among the first. I only hope that your dress is not ruined. I think, as
it’s water-color, that it will come out in the wash.”
“It’s an old dress, anyway,” returned Polly Wiggles, taking her place
in line, and obeying the crisp directions, “Forward, march.”
Hearts beat high with excitement as they marched into the big
assembly-room where all the other classes in the school were gathering.
Bows were hastily perked up, and neckties straightened, as one by
one the pupils took their seats. Alice and Elizabeth, by careful
maneuvering, managed to sit side by side, and both twisted around to
smile at Jeannette and Marion, who were two rows behind with the older
girls.
“There’s that horrid Jane Juggins,” whispered Alice softly in Polly
Wiggles’ ear. “_Will_ you look at her self-satisfied ’spression.”
“She looks like a cat that has swallowed a canary,” breathed Wiggles
wickedly, choking back a giggle as she inspected blonde, complacent
Jane, who was already assuming a queenly air. “Do look at her airs and
graces, and watch her toss her head,--it’s killing. If she doesn’t look
out, her barrette will fall off.”
“Hope she won’t be queen. It would spoil the whole May Frolic,”
responded Alice behind her hand. “But she’s so certain-sure, that she’s
already asked her Maids of Honor. Would you think she’d dare?”
Further conversation was checked by the arrival of Miss Helen, and as
she mounted the platform-steps, Polly Wiggles felt a little thrill
shoot down her spine. “My, what fun it would be!” she thought to
herself, “to have one’s name read aloud as May Queen, and to march
first in the big parade.”
“Oh, oh, why doesn’t she begin?” buzzed Alice flouncing about in her
seat impatiently. “I’ll burst if she doesn’t tell us soon. My hands are
just as cold as ice, and I prickle right up to the roots of my hair.”
Luckily for Alice’s peace of mind, Miss Helen chose to begin at once,
and, taking up a big sheet of paper, she smiled at the school and said,
“I am pleased to announce that the greatest number of votes have been
cast for a pupil who has high standing both in lessons and deportment.”
“Then it can’t be Jane Juggins,” muttered Alice with satisfaction, but
quieted at a pinch from Polly Wiggles.
“The largest number of votes for Queen,” resumed Miss Helen clearly,
“were cast for Elizabeth Eaton. Elizabeth, will you please come forward
so that the school may see their future Queen?”
Polly Wiggles nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I told you so,” hissed Gabriel in her ear. “Didn’t I vote for you?”
“No, no, it’s a mistake,” gasped Wiggles, shrinking back in her seat.
“She doesn’t mean me; it’s a mistake.” She crouched down in her chair,
trying to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible, for
every one was turning to stare at her. Seeing she made no effort to
move, a dozen eager hands pulled her up, and in a daze she felt Alice
give her a violent shove forward.
“You’re Queen,--go up on the platform,” directed Alice happily. “Oh,
I’m so glad; I’m so glad I don’t know what to do. Won’t Jane be
furious?” Unconsciously she jumped up and down in her seat, until a
poke from Gabriel brought a startled “Ouch!” from her.
“Say, what do you think you are,--a jumping-jack?” he asked heatedly.
Alice subsided hastily, after a quick glance around at Jane. “She looks
like a thunder-storm,” she thought with satisfaction.