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THE HOUSE OF DELIGHT
[Illustration: “WILL YOU HAVE ALICE-BLUE SUITS TRIMMED WITH WHITE
BRAID?”]
THE HOUSE OF DELIGHT
by
GERTRUDE CHANDLER WARNER
With illustrations arranged by the author and photographed by
John A. Carpenter Warner
[Illustration]
The Pilgrim Press
Boston New York Chicago
Copyright 1916
By Gertrude C. Warner
The Pilgrim Press
Boston
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED TO MY GRANDFATHER
John A. Carpenter
WHO WAS MY “BEST” PLAYMATE
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE NEW HOUSE 3
II AT THE SEASHORE 24
III MR. DELIGHT’S SURPRISE 45
IV THE PICNIC 64
V THE CHRISTMAS TREE 83
PERSONS IN THE BOOK
[Illustration:
BETSEY, a real little girl, who takes the parts of
MADAME BETTINA, the French dressmaker
MR. BETTS, the carpenter, and
DR. BETSON, the family physician]
[Illustration:
WILLIAM DELIGHT, a bisque doll, just as long as Betsey’s hand]
[Illustration:
EDITH DELIGHT, his wife, a five-inch bisque doll]
[Illustration:
DINAH MCGINTY, the colored cook, a rag doll]
[Illustration:
DUMPLING DELIGHT, the china dog]
[Illustration:
PRUDENCE DARLING, Edith Delight’s married sister]
[Illustration:
JOHN DARLING, Prudence’s husband]
MR. and MRS. AVERY Betsey’s Father and Mother
TOM AVERY Betsey’s Brother
MARGARET AVERY Betsey’s Cousin
DR. LAWRENCE Betsey’s Doctor
NORAH Betsey’s Mother’s Cook
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“WILL YOU HAVE ALICE-BLUE SUITS?” _Frontispiece_
PERSONS IN THE BOOK
“WILL YOU HAVE A BREADED CHOP, MY DEAR?” 4
“THAT IS QUITE SATISFACTORY TO ME” 14
SHE ALWAYS STOOD MR. DELIGHT UP IN HIS SHIRT-SLEEVES 22
SOON MR. DELIGHT CAME STRIDING BACK 34
“REMEMBER DE FISH, MR. JOHN” 38
“DON’T STIR UP THE WATER SO MUCH DOWN THERE” 42
SO MRS. DELIGHT WENT DOWN IN GREAT ASTONISHMENT 62
“HE SURE DO LOOK MIGHTY STYLISH A-DRIVING DAT KERRIDGE” 68
“TAKE UP A SANDWICH, MRS. D. AND LOOK PLEASANT!” 76
HE LEFT A PRINT OF EACH TINY FOOTSTEP 90
“DINNER AM SERVED, SAH” 96
PREFACE
Betsey was a curly-headed little girl, nine years old, who played with
her dolls in the most interesting way you ever saw. Little Mrs. Delight,
with her soft brown hair and beautiful brown eyes, was Betsey’s very
dearest doll, and she played most of the time with her, and her charming
little husband, Mr. Delight. But Betsey’s sister Anne, who was away at
school and who was much too old to play with dolls any more, had given
Mr. and Mrs. Darling to Betsey, for it did seem too bad to keep them
packed away in their dark, stuffy box.
Now, Betsey didn’t call herself the dolls’ mother, for they were all
grown up, and much older than she was already. And they seemed to need a
new chair or a new bed so very often, that a carpenter was necessary
most of the time. So whenever Mr. Delight wished to order new furniture,
Betsey called herself Mr. Betts, and talked exactly like a carpenter.
When Mrs. Delight needed new dresses or new curtains, Betsey called
herself Madame Bettina, and talked as nearly as she could like Mother’s
French dressmaker. And when any of the dolls were sick, Betsey at once
took the part of old Dr. Betson, and talked gruffly with them about
tonics and pills.
She talked for each of the dolls, too, and if you had listened in the
next room, you would have said that at least three or four people were
talking.
Betsey really was such a very skilful little carpenter and seamstress,
that you will find only five pieces of furniture in the pictures that
she did not make all alone by herself. See if you can find the five
things. She even made Dinah, the colored cook.
Betsey always liked School-time, and Bed-time. And she was a very good
little girl about Errand-time and Dusting-time,—considering everything.
But, do you know, I really think that most of her best lessons in
patience and neatness were learned in Play-time!
THE HOUSE OF DELIGHT
Chapter I
THE NEW HOUSE
Mother paused on her way past the playroom door, and listened. She knew
Betsey did not have company, and yet there was a sound of three
voices,—first a pleasant deep, bass voice, and then a pleasant silvery
little voice, and then a pleasant low bark. Mother pushed open the door
very softly and looked in.
There lay Betsey on the great fur rug, with her curly head propped up on
her hand. Before her stood the low, broad Morris chair, divided into two
rooms. Mother knew it must be a bedroom at the back, on account of the
funny bed made of a box-cover, and covered with a gay patchwork quilt,
Betsey’s very first piece of sewing. And nobody could possibly mistake
the dining-room in front, with its large red pasteboard table, and
little Mrs. Delight at one end, and her cute little husband at the
other. Black Dinah stood by the table, smiling as usual, ready to serve
a large platter of salad, and Dumpling Delight barked gruffly once in a
while, because there were so many tantalizing smells in the air.
“Will you have a breaded chop, my dear?” asked Mr. Delight.
“Yes, thank you, William. Will you have some of the creamed oysters?”
“And some of dis yeah lobster salad?” inquired Dinah.
[Illustration: “WILL YOU HAVE A BREADED CHOP, MY DEAR?”]
(“Mercy,” thought Mother, behind the door, “what a dinner!”)
“I’ll tell you what _I_ wish,” said Mr. Delight with a deep cough, “I
wish we could invite your sister Prudence and her husband to spend a
week with us.”
“Where in name hebben would you put comp’ny, now, Massa Willyum? I ask
you dat,” demanded Dinah.
“Yes, William!” echoed Mrs. Delight. “This house is certainly a tight
fit for three, and with two extra ones!”
“I wish I could afford a larger house,” said Mr. Delight in a worried
tone.
“My dear husband!” exclaimed Mrs. Delight. Betsey had to sit up straight
on the rug and take Mrs. Delight around the table to kiss her husband
affectionately. “I didn’t mean a word I said, William; I really didn’t.”
“There, there, my dear, I know you didn’t,” replied Mr. Delight
soothingly.
But Mother suspected that Mr. Delight was worried just the same, so she
softly pulled the door together and tiptoed away to the telephone. She
smiled to herself as she called up the carpenter-shop.
“I want you to make my daughter Betsey a doll-house, Mr. Jones,” she
said. “Just like the one you made for your little girl,—that had four
rooms and six windows, and a big door between the rooms. And _can_ you
get it done for Betsey’s birthday? In four days?”
“I will get it done, paint and all,” promised Mr. Jones. And he did.
On the morning of her ninth birthday, Betsey came smiling to breakfast,
expecting to see a pile of dainty white parcels at her plate.
“Your birthday present is up in the playroom, Betsey dear,” said Mother
with a kiss.
“I’m afraid she won’t like it,” said Father.
Now, whenever Father said that,—“I’m afraid she won’t like it,”—Betsey’s
present was sure to be very large and wonderful. Once it had been her
shiny bicycle, once her new blue playroom, and once her darling black
pony. So Betsey finished her breakfast in great excitement, hurried
upstairs to the playroom and pushed open the door. And there it stood in
the center of the room,—the dear little house, painted snow-white inside
and pale green outside,—with four rooms and six windows and tiny
window-sashes, and the cunningest threshold!
Betsey rushed over to the dainty little cottage, put her head in the
little dining-room and looked through the double doors into the
drawing-room. “Just to see how it would seem to live here,” she thought.
And then her eyes fell on a square white card dangling from one of the
little window-sashes.
“THE HOUSE OF DELIGHT” said the card. “To Betsey, from Father and
Mother.”
“I’ll say thank you before I begin to play,” decided Betsey, tossing
back her curls and clattering down-stairs at a great rate.
“Here’s that child!” exclaimed Father. “I was _afraid_ she wouldn’t like
it!”
“O but she does!” shouted Betsey, whirling around in the middle of the
room. “Mr. Delight has wanted to move for the longest while!”
“What do you say, Mother,” said Father with a twinkle, “if we excuse
Betsey today from doing any hard work?”
“Betsey can simply make her bed,” agreed Mother.
So Betsey whisked the white covers over her little brass bed as smoothly
as she could (with a perfectly new doll-house waiting), and hurried back
to the House of Delight.
Little Mr. Delight was sitting in his law office behind the radiator.
Betsey picked him up, put on his gray derby hat, and walked him rapidly
across the room to the Morris chair.
“Edith, O Edith!” he cried excitedly. “My salary has been raised to a
million dollars a year! Now we can move into a new house!”
“How perfectly lovely!” cried Mrs. Delight. “Can’t we buy one directly?”
“We certainly can, my dear,” replied Mr. Delight. “We will go down right
away and see Mr. Betts, the carpenter, and see what houses he has on
hand for sale.”
Betsey slipped off the excited little gentleman’s business coat and put
on his black one with the long tails, thrust his cane under his arm, and
propped him up against the chair-back to wait for Mrs. Delight, who was
much slower in dressing. Betsey selected a white silk blouse and
tailored skirt for Mrs. Delight, and opened her gay Japanese parasol.
Then, while the happy dolls were taking the trolley ride to Mr. Betts’
carpenter-shop—(really standing stiffly all the time against the
chair-back)—Betsey hustled the untidy shop into order. Then she drew
the table over to the window, settled her fat tube of paste, her bottle
of glue, her scissors and scraps of satin on it, and sat down before it,
very importantly, as Mr. Betts, the carpenter. And what a smiling
carpenter she was!
“Good day, Mr. Betts,” said Mr. Delight (quite out of breath with the
stairs), “we want to buy a new house.”
“What kind of a house?” asked Mr. Betts thoughtfully, setting his little
customers up against a pile of books.
“A moderately large house, Mr. Betts,” replied Mr. Delight, “that is
well-built,—for myself, my wife, and a colored cook.”
“Aha!” exclaimed Mr. Betts. “I have the very house!”
“Shall we take a look at it, my dear?” said Mr. Delight, offering his
arm to his wife. And presently they stood in Mr. Betts’ brand new house,
that was painted snow-white inside and pale green outside, that was
well-built and just right for three people.
“O what a lovely house!” exclaimed Mrs. Delight.
“How much is it?” asked Mr. Delight, taking out his check-book.
“It is $15,000, but it is _very_ well-built and—”
“That is quite satisfactory to me, Mr. Betts,” said Mr. Delight, calmly
writing his check for $15,000.
“And you can supply us with furniture, I suppose?” asked Mr. Delight,
passing the check to the obliging carpenter.
“Everything from a rocking-chair to a telephone,” said Mr. Betts
happily.
“Betsey!” called Mother’s voice.
“Here is a present from Aunty, for your birthday,” said Mother when
Betsey opened the door.
Betsey sat right down on the stairs, smoothed out the long, pink ribbon
carefully (for she was sure to need it when she became Madame Bettina,
the French dressmaker), and shook out her present. It was a tiny
sideboard with shelves for Mrs. Delight’s china, with fascinating doors
that opened and shut, each set with a little silver-colored knob.
“O for my new house!” cried Betsey. “Isn’t it the luckiest thing,
Mother, for I’m afraid Mr. Betts doesn’t keep sideboards!”
Mother laughed and waved her hand at the happy little figure.
“Now, as long as the house is decided upon,” said Mr. Betts cheerfully,
taking one of the little millionaires in each hand, and sitting down at
his work-table, “I suppose the next thing is furniture.”
[Illustration: “THAT IS QUITE SATISFACTORY TO ME, MR. BETTS,” SAID MR.
DELIGHT.]
“We want everything,” declared Mr. Delight recklessly. “We want a piano,
and a window-seat, and a sideboard—”
“I have a sideboard that came in this morning,” interrupted Mr. Betts,
rolling it out directly.
“O isn’t it sweet?” said Mrs. Delight, clasping her hands. “Dinah and I
will paper the shelves with that scalloped paper that comes on purpose.
Think of it, William, full of our wedding china!”
“Betsey! O Betsey!” called Tom, plunging up the stairs. “See what I’ve
got.”
Betsey turned around and examined with interest a piece of gilt molding
about six inches long that Tom held out.
“See, lay it on this side, and presto! it’s a sofa! You can have it.”
“O Tom, how kind of you! I’ll make a huckaback pillow for it,—pink and
green. It will be too dear for anything!”
“Hum,” thought Tom on his way down-stairs. “I didn’t think she’d be so
awfully pleased with a little thing like that. Maybe I could saw her out
a little chair on my jig-saw—I wonder?”
And in a few minutes there was a strange, buzzing sound down cellar,
that kept time to the hum of Madame Bettina’s tiny sewing-machine
upstairs. For it was Madame Bettina that had to make the sheets and
pillow-cases and net curtains, and all the things which are hardly in a
carpenter’s line.
“How _can_ I make a telephone?” puzzled Betsey. And she gazed
thoughtfully at her box of beads.
“Aha!” exclaimed Mr. Betts suddenly, taking two large silver beads from
his box.
“Ho-ho!” he laughed, rummaging excitedly in the closet where he kept his
smooth pieces of kindling wood.
“Yes, Mr. Delight,” he remarked calmly, “I will personally see to it
that the telephone is put in the very first thing, so you won’t lose an
important call.” He began to paint a small piece of wood a rich, deep
brown, with water colors.
“Another small piece of wood for a battery box,” murmured Betsey,
whanging away at an obstinate nail. “The two silver beads for bells, a
two-pointed tack to hold the receiver—a green cord—a roll of black paper
stuck into a black bead for a receiver—. Now, what on earth for a
speaking tube?”
Speaking of tubes! Mr. Betts triumphantly took the cap from his tube of
paste, and with one resounding rap of his hammer, nailed it securely in
the exact center of the new telephone!
“Hullo, up there!” called a deep voice at the foot of the stairs.
“Come up, come up!” called Betsey, running to open the door for her
father. “See the telephone.”
“Well, quite a telephone, indeed!” said Father admiringly. “Now, what
can you do with this?” He laid a polished wooden stamp-box in her hand.
Betsey thought a moment. “A clock. Glue the cover down, paint a lace,
stick on a pendulum—”
“And hang it on the wall!” finished Father. And he smiled over his
shoulder to see Betsey change so suddenly into Mr. Betts, who must
somehow sell to Mr. Delight a Grandfather’s clock,—solid oak, keeping
perfect time, and extremely reasonable in price.
“Do you want to live in your new house at once, or wait until everything
is done?” asked Mr. Betts.
“O live there at once, William!” pleaded Mrs. Delight. “I am just crazy
to hang the curtains!”
“O.K.,” said Mr. Delight. “You get Dinah to come over to help you, and I
will superintend Mr. Betts and his moving men.”
Soon the tiny drawing-room was in great confusion. Dinah and her
mistress sat among great piles of net and lace, running the dainty
curtains on their poles, tying them back with wide rose-colored ribbons,
and getting up and down on the step-ladder to arrange the folds.
Suddenly, as Betsey swung Mrs. Delight gently from the little ladder, a
tiny elastic between Mrs. Delight’s arms snapped, and down fell her
round right arm on the soft new carpet!
“Massa Willyum!” shrieked Dinah. “Miss Edith done broke her arm
a-falling off dis yeah step-ladder! Telephone for de doctor, wid de new
telephone!”
Mr. Delight rushed distractedly to the telephone. “Dr. Betson, please
come _immediately_! Yes, my wife has broken her arm. It’s very serious
indeed!”
“I will come just as soon as my motor can get there,” replied Dr.
Betson.
Dinah was wringing her hands and crying when Mr. Delight hurried into
the drawing-room.
“Don’t feel so badly, Dinah,” said Mrs. Delight bravely. “Dr. Betson is
the best surgeon in the world.” And as she smiled a little, Dr. Betson
rang the bell violently.
“Well, well!” he said heartily, kneeling down to examine the break.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Delight, because I can fix this arm in a trice! Just
spread a few blankets on the floor for a comfortable bed and I’ll go to
work.”
Betsey pulled a piece of new elastic (kept for just this purpose) out of
her work-box, threaded Mrs. Delight’s arms on, and tied them tight. And
then to make her work look quite professional, she bandaged the right
arm beautifully with cheese cloth.
“Is it possible the arm is set?” asked Mrs. Delight as the doctor put up
his instruments (a ribbon-runner and a pair of blunt scissors).
“All done, Madam,” declared Dr. Betson. “This is a very fortunate kind
of break. Now that it is properly set, you do not even need to be
careful. I would suggest that you take a good rest, however.”
[Illustration: “SHE ALWAYS STOOD MR. DELIGHT UP IN HIS SHIRT-SLEEVES, TO
SUPERINTEND THINGS IN GENERAL”]
“Indeed she will!” agreed Mr. Delight shaking hands with the gruff
doctor. He was still quite pale. “Now, as soon as I can move Mrs.
Delights bed up to her room, we will all go to bed, for we are very much
exhausted with moving.”
Betsey carefully slipped on Mrs. Delight’s long, lacy night-dress, and
tucked her in gently, and soon she was asleep.
And soon Mr. Delight left Dumpling asleep, and tiptoed up to bed, and
soon _he_ was asleep. As for Dinah, she was asleep in two minutes. So
the tall, shiny clock on the wall ticked through the night alone, for
Betsey crept happily into her own white bed, and fell asleep herself,
for she had worked hardest of all!