Dimple Dallas
The Further Fortunes of a Sweet Little Maid
BY AMY E. BLANCHARD
_Author of "A Sweet Little Maid," "A Dear Little Girl,"
"Thy Friend Dorothy," "Kittyboy's Christmas," etc._
_ILLUSTRATED BY IDA WAUGH_
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO
103-105 SOUTH FIFTEENTH STREET
Copyright, 1900, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO
TO
GWENYTH WAUGH
WELL BELOVED FOR HER OWN SAKE, AND FOR THE SAKE
ON THOSE WHOSE NAME SHE BEARS
A. E. B.
_CONTENTS_
I. THE NEW SCHOLAR
II. CHANGES
III. TROUBLE WITH DONALD
IV. A NEW DOLL
V. MORE TROUBLE
VI. WHERE IS BUBBLES?
VII. UNCLE HEATH
VIII. SHOPPING
IX. AT CHRISTMAS
X. A HAPPY NEW YEAR
XI. DON AND A PONY
XII. A MAY PARTY
_ILLUSTRATIONS_
BUBBLES TRIED HER BEST TO COMFORT HER
ELEANOR PROCEEDED TO OPEN THE TRUNK
THEY HAD LUNCHEON IN THE LIBRARY
THE TWO LITTLE GIRLS HAD GREAT TIMES PLAYING
BUSY OVER THE CROWN FOR THE QUEEN TO WEAR
Dimple Dallas
_CHAPTER I_
_The New Scholar_
The schoolroom was very quiet except for the whisperings from many
rosy lips as the children studied their lessons. Presently Miss Reese
tapped the bell and immediately there was more of a commotion as sundry
small skirts switched out from between the desks and several little
girls took their places in class. Among them was one with fair hair who
turned very red when a question was put to her by the teacher. It was
Eleanor Dallas' first day in school and she was painfully shy at having
to recite before others, for she had always been taught at home, and
having no brothers and sisters, she felt that in the presence of twenty
or more other girls that it would be impossible for her to remember
how to spell _parallel_ or _separate_ or _conscience_, and she spoke so
low when Miss Reese asked her a word that she could scarcely be heard.
"A little louder, my dear," said Miss Reese; "I cannot hear you."
And then, with all the girls looking at her, and, with a growing
uncertainty as to whether impartial were spelled with a _t_ or a _c_,
she could not say anything.
A titter ran around the class and poor Eleanor was in a state of abject
misery. Miss Reese, however, said kindly, "Never mind, Eleanor, I will
excuse you from recitations this first day, and give you a little
examination after school."
"She's going to be kept in," whispered Laura Field to the girl next to
her, and the words reached Eleanor's ears. She had heard of girls being
kept in, and to think the disgrace had fallen upon her this first day.
It was almost more than she could bear, and she sat for the rest of the
period with downcast eyes to hide the tears which would keep welling up.
Recitations over, the girls flaunted out of the room with many backward
glances directed toward the place where Eleanor was sitting with
such a miserable little face that Miss Reese, looking up and seeing
the trembling lips, felt that something out of the common must be the
matter. "Come here, dear," she said. "Are you not feeling well?"
"Yes, Miss Reese," faltered Eleanor.
"I hope none of the girls have been unkind to you. The first day at
school is always a trying one. I remember well enough how I felt when
I was a little girl. Very much as you do, I fancy." She put her arm
around the child and drew her close to her side. "Now," she said, "I
will go over to-morrow's lessons with you. Your mamma has told me
something of your methods of study, and since you have been using
different books from these, it will be better for me to give you some
idea of what we are going to do. There, now, these are your nice fresh
new books. Shall I put your name in them?"
"If you please," responded Eleanor, quite interested and beginning to
forget her shyness. This being kept in wasn't so dreadful after all.
Miss Reese went over all the next day's lessons and as she closed the
last book a little negro girl appeared at the door. "Miss Dimple, yo'
ma say, what de reason yuh ain't come home?" she said.
"I was kept in," said Eleanor rather shamefacedly.
Miss Reese laughed. "Why, my child, no you were not, at least not with
the general intention that kept in means. I simply wanted to have you
stay that I might go over the lessons with you. Did you think I meant
it for punishment, you poor little girl?"
Eleanor looked up shyly. "I did think so," she answered. "One of the
girls----" She stopped short. Her Cousin Florence had told her that it
was very, very mean to tell tales about the girls, and that when she
went to school she must never do it, or else the girls would dislike
her.
Miss Reese noticed the sudden pause and with tact did not pursue the
subject. "Now run along," she said. "To-morrow I hope you will have
good recitations, and you mustn't be afraid to speak above a whisper."
True enough, the next day Eleanor was so sure of her _tions_ and her
_sions_ that she did not miss a single word, and, moreover, she made
friends with two of the nicest girls who invited her to come to their
own special corner to eat luncheon with them, and in a few days she
felt quite at her ease. She had known several of the girls before she
entered school and before long she had entirely overcome her shyness of
the others. But many of the experiences were novel, especially those
which occurred in the big schoolroom where the whole school assembled
to take part in the physical exercises, to listen to lectures or to
view certain experiments in physics. Eleanor never forgot her first
experience when the subject of electricity was before the school, and
she was invited to stand upon a board set upon four tumblers, and after
a contact with the electrical apparatus found her hair slowly rising
on end. Seeing her startled look, one of her best friends among the
larger girls, Hattie Spear, dropped on her knees and held out her arms.
Eleanor threw herself into them and at the same moment Hattie gave her
a kiss, then she gave a little scream and the girls all laughed, for
Eleanor had given her friend an electric shock.
It took Mr. Dallas some time to explain the matter to his little
daughter that evening, and she watched for the next thunderstorm
with much interest, for she wanted to show off all this knowledge to
Bubbles. "You know it's electricity that makes the lightning," she told
her.
"Law, Miss Dimple, how you know that?" returned Bubbles.
"Papa told me. Just think, Bubbles, it is the same thing that makes the
light burn in the electric lamps."
"Is dat so?" Bubbles raised her hands and appeared to be much
impressed. Then after some moments given to thought, she said,
"What you say de name of de man what makes de street lights, and de
lightnin'? Mr. Elick Cristy? Whar he live?"
Eleanor looked at her quite puzzled, and then she laughed, but she did
not offer any explanation, for at that moment her mother called her.
But after that Bubbles always spoke of Mr. Elick Cristy's lights out on
the street corner.
Eleanor's pet name at home was Dimple, but Mrs. Dallas felt that there
was danger of her little daughter's becoming altogether known by it,
and had asked Miss Reese to call her Eleanor. Dimple felt that this
was a step toward young ladyhood, and was very particular to instruct
Bubbles to call her Miss Eleanor upon every occasion. But Bubbles would
forget and upon the very first rainy day appeared at school with an
umbrella for "Miss Dimple."
"That's a funny little colored girl," said one of Eleanor's
schoolmates. "I've seen her often but I never knew that she lived at
your house."
"She has lived with us ever since I was a baby. She is quite a nice
child," returned Eleanor in a dignified little way. "Come here,
Bubbles, and put on my waterproof."
"Miss Dimple, yo' ma give me a ribbon fo' Floridy Alabamy, dis mawnin',
an' she got one fo' you too," said Bubbles in a confidential tone.
"Has she?" returned Dimple indifferently. "You may carry my books,
Bubbles. I am going to walk with Janet." Bubbles took the books and
trotted along obediently behind the two girls. Janet was a new arrival
in town and being lately entered at school Eleanor had a fellow feeling
for her.
"Do you ever play with her?" asked Janet. "And she calls you Dimple;
what does she do that for?"
"They call me that at home, and, yes, I play with her sometimes."
"Oh, do you?" said Janet looking surprised. "I believe I'll call you
Dimple," she added.
"No, please don't. Mamma doesn't want any one to, because she says when
I grow up it will sound ridiculous."
"All right, then I won't," Janet returned. "I wish you would come over
to my house this afternoon."
"Oh, no, you come to mine. We can play out in my little house in the
garden, even if it does rain."
"Have you a little playhouse?"
"Yes, one all my own. Papa had it built for me."
Janet was much impressed. "I'll come," she said. And the two little
girls parted to meet an hour later.
It was Friday afternoon, and there were no lessons to be studied, and
therefore Eleanor counted on having a fine time. "Mamma," she said, as
she entered the house, "I have a new friend, at least I haven't known
her very long and she has never been to see me, but she is coming this
afternoon. Her name is Janet Forrester. She lives in that yellow house
on Main Street, you know, the one by the church."
"Yes, I know."
"She hasn't been living in town very long, and that's why she doesn't
know many people. Do you know her mother?"
"Only slightly. I have called upon her. I hope Janet is a good little
girl, and one that is proper for you to associate with."
"Oh yes, she is. She wears lovely clothes, and her father keeps a
carriage."
Mrs. Dallas smiled. "I don't think we can judge by either of those
things. You would better play in your own little house, for your papa
has come home feeling far from well, and I should like to keep the
house quiet."
Eleanor looked distressed. "Oh, mamma, is he very ill? Will he have to
have a doctor?"
"He will see Doctor Sullivan, but I hope he is not very ill. When your
little friend has gone, come and tell me about your afternoon together,
but try not to disturb me while I am with papa."
Eleanor promised, and then went down to her playhouse in the garden. It
was a pretty place, and the little girl was justly proud of it. She
spent much time there, and here she kept her toys, her favorite books
and dolls, and here she most frequently entertained her little friends.
It was not long before Bubbles showed Janet into the room. Bubbles,
too, was very proud of Miss Dimple's playhouse, and she had quite a
grand air as she ushered this new acquaintance into the presence of the
owner of the house, saying: "Company, Miss Dimple."
Janet looked around with a critical air, and was immediately seized
with a feeling of envy. "It's a right nice little house," she said
loftily, "but it isn't as big as the one I had at home in Hartford; and
I had real lace curtains to my windows, and Turkey rugs on the floor.
Oh, there's only one room, isn't there? My house had two. Do you keep
your horse and carriage in that stable, I see out there?"
"No," Eleanor was obliged to confess. "We haven't any horse and
carriage. We keep a cow and chickens, though."
"I had a pony and a little cart of my own," said Janet grandly. "How
many dolls have you?"
"Six, I think."
"I have twenty. You're not going to let that nigger girl stay in here
with us, are you?"
"Why, yes. She often used to play with my Cousin Florence and me."
"My mother doesn't let me play with servants," said Janet with a little
haughty air.
Bubbles looked much crestfallen, but immediately retired when Eleanor
said: "You needn't stay, Bubbles."
"Now, what shall we play?" said Eleanor, left alone with her guest and
intent upon pleasing her.
"We'll pretend we are countesses or duchesses or something. No I choose
to be a duchess, and you can be a countess. I'm company and I must be
the finest lady. Duchesses are more important than countesses."
Eleanor didn't think this was very polite, but she yielded, and,
furthermore, gave up her best doll to her guest. "My best doll is
bigger than this," Janet remarked, "and she has a real gold chain to
wear around her neck. Haven't you more than one silk dress for yours?
All my dolls' dresses are silk. I think a duchess's child ought to be
dressed in silk. I will have to pretend her clothes are much finer than
they really are."
They played quite happily for a time, although Eleanor did not quite
like the giving up of all her choicest things to her visitor, but she
had been taught that her guests must always have the best of everything
and she made no objections. It was toward the latter part of the
afternoon that Janet suddenly exclaimed: "Oh, where is my pearl ring?
It's gone."
"Really?" said Eleanor.
"Yes, I believe that servant girl, you call Bubbles, has stolen it."
"Oh, no, she couldn't have done that," Eleanor protested, quite
shocked. "Not if you had it on when you came in here, and besides she
wouldn't do such a thing."
"I don't know about that; anyhow, I had it on when I left home."
"Perhaps you dropped it somewhere. Let's look for it; you see it has
stopped raining." But no amount of searching revealed the ring, and
Janet repeated her charges against Bubbles.
"I'm just going to hunt her up, and tell her she's got it, and I'll
make her give it back to me," she said.
"Oh, no, please," begged Eleanor; "I know she wouldn't take it."
"Just tell me this then. Has she never taken anything in all her life?"
Eleanor hesitated. Once Bubbles had possessed herself of some scraps
which she coveted for doll clothes, but her offence had never been
repeated, and Mrs. Dallas trusted her implicitly. "I know she hasn't
taken it," repeated Eleanor, much distressed.
"You're just trying to shield her," said Janet. "I'm going home and get
my father to send a police officer after her; that's what I'm going to
do." And she flounced out leaving Eleanor in tears. Such a dreadful
threat and poor Bubbles; perhaps she would have to go to prison.
Eleanor's soft little heart was wrung at the thought, and she rushed up
to the house to find her mother and pour the doleful tale in her ears.
_CHAPTER II_
_Changes_
Mrs. Dallas greeted Eleanor's tempestuous entrance with, "Softly, dear,
you know papa is not well." Eleanor lowered her excited tones and
poured forth her grievance, Mrs. Dallas listening quietly. At the close
of the recital she said: "I am sorry, my child, that it has happened,
and from what you tell me, I do not think Janet will prove to be just
the kind of a friend you would prefer. I think the best plan will be
for me to send a note to Mrs. Forrester and tell her that we will use
every means to find the ring, and ask her to let us know if it is
discovered at her own home."
"Please don't let Bubbles take the note."
"No, I will not. I am going to send a prescription to the drug store,
and the note can be taken at the same time, but if Bubbles does not
take it, I think you will have to."
"O, mamma, I don't want to. Can't Sylvy go?"
"I cannot spare her."
Eleanor was silent for a moment. She did not want to subject Bubbles to
a possible wordy attack from Janet, and yet she dreaded seeing her late
companion again. But her loyalty to Bubbles at last overcame all other
feeling, and she said: "I don't have to go in, do I, mamma? I can leave
the note at the door?"
"Yes, that will be quite sufficient."
"Then I will go instead of Bubbles."
Her mother smiled. "I thought you would decide it so. I can generally
be sure of my little daughter's good heart."
"You don't believe Bubbles took the ring, do you, mamma?"
"No, I think Janet has probably dropped it somewhere."
Eleanor started off on her errand, and after going to the drug store,
she went on to deliver the note, and reached the gate just in time to
meet Mrs. Forrester coming out with Janet. The two little girls looked
at each other in rather an embarrassed way. It was not an agreeable
meeting for either of them.
"This is one of your little school friends, isn't it, Janet?" Mrs.
Forrester asked. "Oh, you have a note for me? Wait a minute."
Eleanor would rather have made her escape at once, but she obediently
remained while Mrs. Forrester read the note. "Why, I don't know
anything about this," said the lady. "What does your mamma mean? What
ring is it she mentions?"
"Janet lost a pearl ring at our house," Eleanor answered.
"Did she? I didn't know she had one," said Mrs. Forrester laughing.
"That is one of your fairy tales, Janet."
"I did have a pearl ring, and that nigger girl stole it," Janet
returned.
Eleanor flushed up. "She means Bubbles, and I know she didn't steal it."
"You are a silly little creature, Janet," said Mrs. Forrester airily.
"Where did you get your valuable ring?"
"I bought it for five cents."
Mrs. Forrester laughed again. "So precious it must have been. Here,
take this five cents and go buy another, and that will end the matter."
"I don't want another, I want that one."
"You spoiled child, I don't believe you did lose it, you just wanted
me to give you the nickel." She turned to Eleanor. "Don't pay any more
attention to it, my child," she said. "It is really of no consequence."
"Her name is Dimple," broke in Janet.
"My name is Eleanor," maintained the other, sturdily.
"It's of no consequence, Dimple," Mrs. Forrester said. "You can tell
your mother that Janet has her ring."
"But she hasn't," said Eleanor in surprise.
"She will have as soon as we can go to the shop and get it."
This sort of reasoning was quite new to Eleanor, and she stood stock
still puzzling over it. While she stood thus a housemaid came out
with something in her hand. "You left this in the sitting-room on
the windowsill," she said to Janet, holding out a little trumpery
ring. Janet shot one look at Eleanor, and Eleanor with a dignified
"Good-evening," turned away thoroughly disgusted with this new
acquaintance, and it is safe to say that Bubbles was immediately
informed of the finding of the ring, and was, moreover, told that
Eleanor did not intend to play with Janet any more, a fact which
pleased Bubbles mightily.
The next few days, however, were very anxious ones for Mrs. Dallas, for
her husband was found to have a severe attack of rheumatic fever, and
even after he was pronounced better, his recovery was so slow that at
last the doctor said he must go away to some famous springs in the far
west. The day after this was decided upon, Mrs. Dallas called Eleanor
to her. "My little girl," she said, "I am going to ask you to do a very
hard thing for papa and me."
Eleanor looked up with wide open blue eyes. "Of course I'll do it,
mamma."
"Wait, dear, till you know what it is. You know the doctor says papa
must go away; now, I do not feel as if he were well enough to travel
that distance alone, besides, in every way it would be better for me to
go with him. He is greatly depressed, and if he were to go off alone he
would mope and be homesick, and the trip would not do him the good that
it ought to. Now, dear, it will be a very expensive journey and it
will not be possible for us to take our little daughter, and besides,
now that she is fairly started in school we do not want her to be
interrupted, so dear----"
"Oh mamma!" came with piteous entreaty.
Mrs. Dallas put her arm around the child and drew her close to her.
"Darling, you do not know how hard it is going to be for me to leave
you."
Eleanor winked away her tears. "Oh mamma, why can't I go to Aunt
Eleanor's and go to school with Florence?"
"Because several of your Aunt Eleanor's children have the
whooping-cough. Florence was the last to succumb, so a letter from Aunt
Eleanor to-day told me, and you know your Uncle Heath and Aunt Dora
have gone to California to look after some business there that must be
settled up, and Rock will be sent to boarding-school, so you cannot go
to them."
"And shall you leave me here all alone?"
"No, indeed; papa and I have talked it over and we have decided to ask
Cousin Ellen Murdoch to come here with her family, and remain while we
are gone."
"She is the one whose husband died a little while ago and left her
with--how many children?"
"Four. Yes, she is the one."
"But, mamma----"
"Well, dear."
"I thought--I didn't know that you were very fond of her."
Mrs. Dallas smiled. "Perhaps I am not so fond of her as I am of some
persons."
"Then why do you let her come to your house?"
"Because she needs a change of scene, and it would be a good thing for
her if she could come here till her affairs are straightened out. It
is not only toward those we like that we should show consideration. We
ought not to be so selfish as to entertain only those persons who are
agreeable to us. If a person needs our sympathy we ought to offer it in
whatever way we can."
"Do you think I ought to entertain Janet?"
"No," answered Mrs. Dallas smiling, "I don't think she needs your
consideration; if she were in trouble and you could do her a kindness I
think you should do it. Some day you may have an opportunity of doing
some such thing, and then I hope you will not hesitate to do it."
"Mamma."
"Well, dear?"
"Was Cousin Ellen ever hateful to you?"
"You mustn't ask such searching questions, dear child. All you have to
do is to make it as pleasant as possible for her while she is here. She
has had much trouble and sorrow, but I know she will take excellent
care of you, and the rest we must not think about. Sylvy and Bubbles
will be here and you will be in your own home."
"But, mamma, I shall miss you so."
"And I shall miss you, my pet." They hugged each other, but when
Eleanor felt tears splash down from other eyes than her own she
squeezed her mother tighter and said: "Please don't cry, mamma, I will
be very good, I will so."
"Thank you for the promise, dear. If papa sees you are bright and
cheerful about our going it will make him feel easier, and so will help
him to get well the sooner. See what a baby your mamma is. I must not
go before papa with such teary eyes."
"With blue eyes trimmed with red," said Eleanor laughing. "Let me go
tell him that I don't mind so very, very much, and--oh mamma, is there
a baby?"
"You mean among Cousin Ellen's children? Yes, there is a little girl
about a year and a half old."
"I shall like that. I love babies." And with this Eleanor left the room
to go to her father.
The next few days were full of excitement, for the packing and
arranging required Mrs. Dallas' constant attention. Mrs. Murdoch was
not to arrive till the evening of the day which saw Mr. and Mrs. Dallas
take their departure. Eleanor kept up bravely till she saw the carriage
turn the corner and then she sobbed unrestrainedly. It was not only
that it wrung her heart to see her father come hobbling on crutches out
of the house, but he looked so pale and thin that the thought of being
separated from him and from her mother was more than she could bear.
Never before did she remember having her mother parted from her for any
length of time, certainly a week, at the furthest, was the very longest
time that they had ever been away from each other.
Bubbles tried her best to comfort her. "Ne' mind, Miss Dimple," she
said. "Yo' pa goin' off on crutches, but terreckly he comin' back
'thout 'em. Yuh don' want him go hippy-hop all he lifetime."
[Illustration: "BUBBLES TRIED HER BEST TO COMFORT HER"]
"No," sobbed Eleanor, "of course I don't, but I do wish he hadn't that
horrid rheumatism, and I want my mamma, I do, I do. It will be so long
before I see her again. I wish I could go, oh, I wish I could go!" she
sobbed afresh.
Bubbles clasped her knees entreatingly, the tears rolling down her own
cheeks in sympathy. "Miss Dimple, ef yuh cries that-a-way, I git so
miserble I won't know what to do," she said.
"I'm miserable," said Eleanor. "I wish Florence didn't have the
whooping-cough, then I could go to Aunt Eleanor's." Then suddenly she
thought of Rock Hardy, who this year was at boarding-school. That must
be worse than being left in one's own home, and she began thinking so
hard about him that the tears ceased to flow, and, although it was a
very mournful little face which was seen about the house for the next
hour, no more tears were shed that afternoon.
Mrs. Dallas had suggested that Eleanor should go with Bubbles to the
train to meet her relatives, and about five o'clock they started down
to the railroad station. "I don't like to see the cars," said Eleanor;
"they make me think of mamma and papa; they are traveling on and on,
and every minute takes them further away." But at this moment the train
came in sight and in watching for the newcomers Eleanor for the moment,
forgot her griefs.
"There they are, Bubbles," she cried. "I am sure that lady in black
is Cousin Ellen, and there are the two little girls and the boy.
Where is the baby, I wonder. Oh, the conductor is lifting her down.
She can walk, you see, for he has set her down on the platform." She
went forward rather timidly, saying, "I am Eleanor Dallas, and this
is Bubbles. You are Cousin Ellen, aren't you? Shall Bubbles carry the
baby?"
Mrs. Murdoch assented. "I shall be glad if some one will take charge of
her. I am tired to death. Here, Donald, take these checks and find an
expressman to take the trunks. Eleanor will show you where to go. Come,
Olive, come, Jessie, we can go on."
Thrust thus suddenly into the company of a strange boy, Eleanor had
nothing to say for some minutes. She was not used to boys, and, as a
rule, avoided them. The one before her was not specially attractive,
she thought, but after a while she found her voice and said: "Here is
the place."
Donald threw down the checks. "Where are the trunks to go? What is your
number?" he asked Eleanor curtly.
She told him and when the address was given they went on, Donald
striding along with his hands in his pockets and vouchsafing no reply
to Eleanor's "we go this way."
"Do we have to walk? Aren't there any electric cars?" he asked when
they had turned the first corner.
"Yes, but it isn't very far, and the cars don't go by our house,"
Eleanor told him.
"'Tisn't much of a place, is it?"
"It isn't a real big city, of course. Did you think it was?"
"No, but you needn't be so smart."
Eleanor wondered wherein she had shown her special smartness, and made
up her mind, then and there, that this boy was not going to be any
company for her. He was about nine years old, but assumed the manner of
a boy older. The two girls seemed to be about six and eleven.
Eleanor was glad when they reached home; the others had already
arrived. It gave the child a pang to see Mrs. Murdoch established in
her mother's room, although it seemed perfectly proper that the girls
should occupy the guest chamber. A little room back of it was set apart
for Donald.
"Say, mamma, I don't like that room," he said on seeing it. "I want one
next to you. Isn't there one there?"
"Yes, but it is Eleanor's room."
"Well, I don't care. I always have a room next to you. Her mother isn't
here and she won't care."
"You will be next to your sisters," said Mrs. Murdoch.
"I don't want to be next to a pair of giggling girls. I want to be next
to you, so I can call you if I have earache or anything."
Mrs. Murdoch looked uncertainly at Eleanor. "Perhaps Eleanor would just
as lief be next the girls," she said.
"Mamma said I was to keep my own room," returned Eleanor with rising
color. "It has always been my room since I had one."
"Oh, very well," said Mrs. Murdoch. "We'll see about it after a while,
Donald." But Donald's black looks did not add to Eleanor's serenity,
and she felt that every mouthful of supper would choke her although
Sylvy had prepared a specially appetizing meal.
_CHAPTER III_
_Trouble With Donald_
Eleanor soon found that her favorite among the Murdoch children would
prove to be Jessie. Olive, the eldest girl, was not a very pleasant
child, being "touchy," critical, prim, and absorbed in herself. She was
fond of reading, but did not enter very heartily into the plays which
entertained Eleanor and Jessie. Mrs. Murdoch was a careful housekeeper,
and also a careful mother but a very indulgent one, and although she
attended most conscientiously to all of Eleanor's creature comforts she
did not give her any of the tenderness which she lavished upon her own
children, and very soon Eleanor came to feel like an outsider in her
own home.
Her refusal to give up her room to Donald won her that spoiled
youngster's ill-will, and he never lost an opportunity of teasing her,
to Bubbles' great distress, so that finally there was open warfare
between the boy and the little colored girl.
To Bubbles was given the care of the little baby, Alma, and Eleanor
was seldom allowed to have any of her old-time plays with the little
nursemaid. "You have Jessie and Olive now to play with," her Cousin
Ellen told her, "and I can find other things for Barbara to do." Cousin
Ellen was very precise in some matters and she considered the name
which Eleanor in her baby days had bestowed upon the small negro girl
as a ridiculous one, she therefore called her Barbara. At first Bubbles
declined to respond to this, but she soon found that she must. Sylvy
took her leave shortly after Mrs. Murdoch's arrival, declaring that she
would not come back till Mrs. Dallas returned. "I don't like nobody
al'ays fussin' roun' my kitchen," she said, "an' I wants to res' up,
anyway."
Therefore another woman was installed in Sylvy's place and Eleanor was
never allowed to go into the kitchen to make patty-cakes or to help
Bubbles in order that she might the sooner get through her work and
come out to play with her beloved Miss Dimple.
Nevertheless, Bubbles was permitted to take little Alma down to the
playhouse, on occasions, and many a good time Eleanor promised herself
there, for this was specially her own, and if she wanted a quiet place
of retreat she could always go there.
But one Saturday morning when she was skipping down to her little
house, she was surprised to see Donald busily engaged in carrying her
toys out on the small porch, and depositing them there. She stood still
in amazement, and then cried out sharply, "What are you doing, Donald?
Let my things alone."
"I'm not hurting your old things," Donald returned. "I'm putting them
down carefully enough, silly dolls and trash as they are."
"They are not trash, and I'll thank you to put them back again."
"I'm not going to do anything of the kind; I'm going to have this for
my house while I'm here."
"Where did you get the key?"
"From where it belongs, on the nail behind the dining-room door."
Eleanor was aghast, then, with a lump in her throat, which threatened
every moment to be followed by a flood of tears from her eyes, she ran
back to the house, and hunted up Mrs. Murdoch. "Oh, Cousin Ellen," she
cried in a tumult, "Donald is taking all my toys out of my playhouse.
Please, won't you make him stop?"
Mrs. Murdoch put down her piece of sewing very deliberately. "Donald
asked me if he could have the use of the playhouse," she said. "I
never allow him to play in the street, and his room is so small that
he cannot enjoy playing there, and there is no room that can be spared
for a play room in the house, besides, if there were it would be much
better to let him play out there in the garden where he can make all
the noise he chooses."
"But," said Eleanor, the tears beginning to rise, "that is my
owny-doney house. Papa had it built e'spressly for me. It's my own, my
very own, and I don't want Donald to have it. I should think he could
play in the garden and the wood-shed and in such places as the other
boys in the town do."
Here spoke up Olive. "I think you are very selfish. Don't you, mamma? I
always give up to Donald when mamma asks me to, don't I, mamma?"
"I don't care; he is your brother and that is different," replied
Eleanor.
"All the more that he is not your brother," returned Olive. "I don't
think you are a bit generous about your things when Donald is a
stranger here, too, and he doesn't know near so many people as you do.
Mamma said that if he got acquainted with one or two nice boys that she
would allow him to have them here to play if they could play in the
playhouse."
Poor Eleanor looked the picture of distress. To be accused of
selfishness and to be robbed of her dearly loved place of refuge, that
was too much to stand, and she turned from the room without a word,
scarcely hearing Mrs. Murdoch's words: "You can have Barbara, for a
little while to help you move your toys. Olive will be kind enough to
give a portion of her time to the baby, I am sure. Go, Olive, and tell
Barbara to help Miss Eleanor to carry in her things. Your room will be
quite large enough to hold them, Eleanor."
By this time Eleanor had fled to the garret and there Bubbles found
her, after some searching, crying as if her heart would break. "He
stole my key, Bubbles, he did, and he's moving everything out of my
dear house, and----Oh, I wish mamma would come home. Nobody loves me
here. I want my own mamma." Bubbles was the picture of distress, she
possessed herself of one of Eleanor's hands; patting and stroking it,
she begged the unhappy child not to cry, comforting her as best she
could, so that after a while Eleanor, with a great sigh, stopped her
sobbing and said: "I suppose I am very selfish, for mamma gave up her
house to Cousin Ellen, and I ought to give up mine to Donald. Come,
Bubbles, let's move the things, but I hate Donald; I just can't bear
him."
They proceeded to the garden where Donald was still busy setting dolls
and dishes outside the little house. Without a word Eleanor and Bubbles
began picking up the things to carry them to the house. "You can just
leave the books and pictures," said Donald, condescendingly. "I don't
mind having them there. Most of the books are girl books, but some of
them, those fairy tales and things like that, I can read."
"I shall not leave one single thing," said Eleanor shortly.
"You're a mean, selfish girl," retorted Donald, and catching sight of
her swollen cheeks and red eyelids, he added: "Cry-baby, cry-baby, had
to give up your house whether you wanted to or not, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't," returned Eleanor fiercely. "I gave it up because my
mother was kind enough to give up her house to your mother when she
didn't have anywhere else to go, and I am doing the same, but I wish my
Cousin Rock were here to fight you. I'd fight you myself if I were a
boy, and I wish my father would whip you till you couldn't see."
In a transport of rage Donald picked up one of Eleanor's dolls and
hurled it to the ground, and then sprang at Eleanor. But Bubbles
interfered between them and received the blow; then she caught the boy
by the shoulders and shook him with all her might, and being a strong
little creature, she managed to throw him down and began to pound him
while he shouted lustily: "Mamma! Olive! Come quick! They're murdering
me!"
His yells brought Mrs. Murdoch in great excitement. "Eleanor! Barbara!
Stop!" she said in stern tones. "My poor boy, what are they doing to
you?"
"They set upon me just because I wanted the house to play in," said
Donald, scrambling to his feet, more dusty than hurt.
"Oh," cried Eleanor, "it wasn't that at all, it was because you broke
my doll and tried to strike me."
"No, it wasn't, mamma," protested Donald, "they were just mad, and I
didn't break the doll on purpose; it slipped out of my hand. Why didn't
Eleanor come and take out her old things herself? Here I was trying to
help her, and that's all the thanks I get."
Such a statement of the case amazed Eleanor, but no matter how she
tried to protest, Donald was ready with his excuses, and to his tale
alone would his mother listen, so that Eleanor and Bubbles were marched
back to the house in disgrace, Mrs. Murdoch declaring that she would
not have such a desperate character as Bubbles in the house and that
she must be sent away. "I cannot imagine how Cousin Florence could keep
such a creature, a perfect savage," said Mrs. Murdoch, "and as for you,
Eleanor, you are a very bad example to my children: ill-tempered,
untruthful, selfish; I am almost tempted to write to your mother and
tell her that I will give up the house altogether, and go back to the
city, for even poor rooms would be better than a spot where my children
are in danger. I cannot stand such scenes. Perhaps, however, if we can
remove the evil influence of that colored girl we can get along. I will
see at once about her going."
At this Bubbles burst into loud weeping, and implored Mrs. Murdoch not
to send her away, reiterating that she was only standing up for Miss
Dimple, and that no boy had any right to hit a girl; to all of which
Mrs. Murdoch was deaf, and both Bubbles and Eleanor were sent to their
respective rooms in a very desperate state of mind.
From her window Eleanor could see her little house bereft of her toys.
These lay on the ground outside, and Eleanor wondered whether they
would still be allowed to remain there in case of rain. She stood
looking wistfully out when she heard a queer noise from the garret
window above, and leaning out with eyes directed to the window, she
saw Bubbles making mysterious signs.
Eleanor hesitated for a moment, and then stole into the entry and up
the stairs to the garret. "What are you doing up here, Bubbles?" she
asked in a whisper.
"I jus' a-tryin' to git a-holt o' yuh, Miss Dimple. I gwine run away."
"Oh, Bubbles, please don't."
"Yass, m', I is. I ain't gwine let nobody boss me an' call me
story-teller an' all kin' o' names."
"Oh, but Bubbles, where will you go?"
"I gwine to Sylvy. She let me come. She res'n up, yuh knows. She at her
father's house in de country."
"But that is, oh, ever so far?"
"Yass, miss."
"Do you know the way there?"
"No, m', but the butterman, he do. Sylvy live jes' noways fum his
house, an' when he come I gwine ax him will he tek me."
"Oh, Bubbles, and I will be left all alone."
Bubbles looked distressed. "She gwine sen' me off, anyway."
"I'll beg her not to. She has no right to do it."
"Dat don' do no good. She kaint see nothin' 'cepin' them childern o'
hern, an' ef dey lies den it all right, an' ef we speaks truff we ain't
all right."
"I wish I could go, too," said Eleanor mournfully. But just then came a
voice. "Eleanor, where are you? I forbade your leaving your room."
"You jes' sass her," said Bubbles. "Ef she believe I'm bad, I'm gwine
be bad."
And Eleanor answered flippantly, "I'm up here, Cousin Ellen."
"Come down."
"Tell her yuh won't," urged Bubbles.
Eleanor hesitated. "What do you want me for?" she compromised by saying.
"Come down, and I will tell you."
"You are not my mother, I don't have to come," encouraged by Bubbles,
she said.
"You are a very bad, impertinent child. Come at once. I want you to go
and bring in those toys that are lying out on the ground cluttering up
the place."
"I'll do that," said Eleanor, turning to Bubbles. "I'll be there
directly," she called to Mrs. Murdoch. "Tell me before we go, Bubbles,
when are you going to Sylvy? I won't tell."
"Wednesday, when de butterman comes. I'll sneak out an' tek my bun'le
an' git in de wagon."
"He comes in the morning when I am at school, doesn't he?"
"Yass, miss."
"All right, I reckon you'd better do that. I am sorry, but oh, Bubbles,
I shall miss you."
Bubbles' fists went up to her eyes and she sat sniffling as Eleanor
departed.
The latter went immediately to the garden, taking no notice of Donald,
except to make a face at him as she began removing her toys. He
answered with a mocking "Cry-baby!" and Eleanor longed with helpless
rage to do something to punish him, but she could only toil back and
forth from the big house to the little one, carrying her toys, her
books, her pictures. The broken doll she took up tenderly looking down
upon it with sorrowful eyes. "You were such a pretty little thing," she
whispered, "and I did love you so much. Oh, that wicked boy! I'd like
to see how he would feel if some big giant were to dash his brains out
on the ground; you poor dear little thing. You were such a nice size to
play with, and I could do all sorts of things with you that I can't do
with my big dolls."
She was very tired when the last one of her possessions was removed,
but she called Jessie and told her that she meant to bury her dear
Florence, and Jessie cheerfully acquiesced when asked to attend the
funeral. So Florence was buried under a lilac bush, and then Eleanor
dragged her tired little legs into the house, feeling as if the clouds
were gathering thick and fast over her usually sunny sky.
But when she went up to her room for the last time that evening she
found on her table two letters, and both of them brought comfort. One
was from her mother. It was full of words of love and bade Eleanor be a
good girl and give her cousin no trouble. Her papa was very tired after
his journey, but hoped he would begin to improve as soon as he was
rested.
The other letter was from Rock Hardy, and among other things it said:
"Boarding-school isn't much like home, and I'm having a pretty tough
time, but I'm only telling this to you, for I wouldn't be so mean as
to bother mamma about it. I guess I can stand it if the other fellows
can." And these words set Eleanor thinking.
_CHAPTER IV_
_A New Doll_
Mrs. Murdoch was very cool to Eleanor after this, and Olive followed
suit, while Donald did everything in his power to annoy his cousin.
Jessie, however, was too sweet-tempered to make herself disagreeable,
and little Alma was too much of a baby to be influenced against any one
who was always kind to her and ready to amuse her. Mrs. Murdoch kept
Bubbles strictly under her eye, and would not allow her to take Alma
out of her sight, a fact which Eleanor resented more than Bubbles did.
"As if Bubbles would be cruel to a little baby," she said to Jessie.
"But you know she beat Don dreadfully," Jessie replied.
"She didn't hurt him hardly one bit, and besides, he was going to
strike me."
"Well, you know he didn't strike you," returned Jessie, and Eleanor
felt helpless to argue the point.
Rock's letter had cheered her and strengthened her. If Rock would not
tell his mother that he was having a hard time, neither would she tell
her mother about her worries, for she was sure that her dearest mamma
had more to trouble her than had Mrs. Heath, Dallas Rock's mother, and
the child bore Olive's snubs and Mrs. Murdoch's cold looks with open
defiance, but she would not tell any one but Rock; to him she wrote
quite a long letter.
"It is so dreadful here now," she wrote. "My little house in the yard
is all full of all sorts of stuff, and it is oh, so dirty, for the boys
that Don brings in there do just as they please. Cousin Ellen is very
partikular about mamma's house, but she don't care what comes of mine.
I'm not going to worry mamma, Rock, but I wish you and Florence were
here instead of Don and Olive. Jessie is a right nice little girl but
she is a good deal littler than I am." These and other things Eleanor
wrote to Rock and he answered in kind, so that Eleanor felt that they
were comrades in misery as they had been comrades in pleasure the
summer before.
It was the day before the butterman made his appearance, that an
express package, addressed to Miss Eleanor Dallas, was left at the
door. As it happened Eleanor was in her room when Bubbles came running
upstairs saying: "Somepin fo' yuh! Somepin fo' yuh! Miss Dimple. Ain't
I glad!"
With eager fingers Eleanor undid the string, uncovered the box and very
carefully lifted the soft paper snugly packed around the prettiest
little doll just about the size of the one which Donald had so wantonly
destroyed. The child's little scream of delight brought Olive and
Jessie from the next room, and they were soon all examining this new
arrival. The doll wore a pretty traveling dress of grey with hat to
match and grey suede shoes. Pinned to her frock was a note which read:
"DEAR DIMPLE:
"I am sending you a little friend of mine who, I hope, will be able
to comfort you while your mamma is away. Her name is Ada and she is
ready to be loved very much. I should like to have her taught from
the books which you will find in her trunk, and I hope you will
have no trouble in teaching her to be obedient and attentive.
"Your very loving
"AUNT DORA."
The note was type-written and was very easy to read.
"Oh, my dear lovely child!" cried Eleanor. "I am so glad you have come.
But where is the trunk, Bubbles?"
"Law! I nuver brought it up; I thought hit were fo' somebody e's,"
and Bubbles skurried downstairs as fast as her legs could take her,
coming back in a moment with the trunk in her arms. Eleanor proceeded
immediately to open it and found it filled with a most complete little
wardrobe: two school dresses, a handsome suit for extra occasions,
a fine white frock for parties. Then there were stockings, tiny
handkerchiefs, all manner of under-clothing, a set of furs, ribbons,
a little hood trimmed with fur, a cunning hat in a small bandbox, and
at the very bottom of the trunk were found a slate and several funny
little books. Even Olive could not resist many ohs and ahs as one after
another of the dainty garments appeared. Aunt Dora had evidently made
everything with her own hands and the tiny hems, the neat little seams,
so excited the children's admiration that Jessie begged to take them to
her mother to look at.
[Illustration: "ELEANOR PROCEEDED TO OPEN THE TRUNK"]
Mrs. Murdoch's remark was: "They are very nice, Jessie, but I wish
Eleanor were more worthy of such kindness."
Eleanor, hearing the words, retreated to the door of her own room;
standing there she retorted: "I am worth Aunt Dora's kindness as much
as you are worth my mamma's. She wouldn't treat one of your children
the way you do me, and I think when she lets you have her nice house to
live in that you might be a little more polite to me."
"Such a want of fine feeling," sighed Mrs. Murdoch. "When you show a
sweet and amiable spirit, Eleanor, I shall be ready to give you more
affection, but you cannot expect it from those whom you twit and taunt
because of their misfortunes."
"My mamma has a trouble, too," returned Eleanor, "and you are making a
lot for me. I wish I had never seen you."
"Such a dreadfully spoiled child," sighed Mrs. Murdoch. "I would rather
you did not come into my room, Eleanor, since you only stir up strife,
and seem to delight in making impertinent speeches."
"You just keep out of my mother's room," said Olive, looking defiantly
at Eleanor.
With a little choking sob, Eleanor turned and went away, saying only:
"It's my mamma's room; my own mamma's room, and I was never turned out
of it before."
"Never mind her, Olive," she heard Mrs. Murdoch say. "She is a spoiled,
badly-managed child, and you must try to set her a good example. I am
grieved to find that Florence is so indulgent and injudicious a mother."
Eleanor hearing, turned in a perfect storm of tears goaded beyond
endurance to say, "You shall not say such things about my mother.
She is the dearest and best in the world, and I'd like to know where
anybody could find such a hateful, spoiled, wicked, wicked child as
Donald. And as for Olive, she is a horrid little sneak. I saw her steal
cake from the pantry and she told you that Bubbles did it. I don't tell
stories and I don't take things without leave."
"Oh, mamma, I didn't," said Olive turning very red, but denying
Eleanor's charge with emphasis.
"Don't add falsehood to your other sins, Eleanor," said Mrs. Murdoch.
"Go to your room. Indeed, I wish to do my duty by you, but I cannot
have you shield that favorite of yours by telling falsehoods about my
children."
Olive whispered something to her, and she nodded in reply while Eleanor
walked from the room and threw herself sobbing into Bubbles' arms. "Oh,
Bubbles, Bubbles," she cried, "they say I tell stories and it is they
who do, and they call me selfish and wicked when it is they who are.
Oh, what shall I do?"
"Ne'm mind, Miss Dimple," said Bubbles, soothingly. "'Tain't goneter
las' fo'ever, an' yuh jes' go 'long an' don' min' what Miss Murder
say." Then she whispered: "Don' min' 'bout me. She ain't a goin' to
fin' no place fo' me, an' yuh know I is goin' to Sylvy. Mebbe she won't
be so cross when I'm gone. Come, now, le's play with yo' new dolly. My,
ain't she pretty with them big eyes an' them rosy cheeks?"
"She is lovely," returned Eleanor, drying her eyes, "and I shall just
love her, but I wish I could run away with you, Bubbles."
"Sh!" said Bubbles, for just then Olive entered and said in a prim
way: "Mamma says you are not to stay in here with Eleanor, Barbara.
She says you are to go down and set the table for tea, and you are
not to stay in Eleanor's room nor even come in here without express
permission."
Bubbles arose and obediently went below stairs, but she muttered much
to herself and racked her brain for some way in which she could avenge
the trials of her beloved Miss Dimple, who, meanwhile was trying to
comfort herself with her new doll. A letter from her mother that day
had said that Mr. Dallas was not quite so well but that Eleanor was not
to worry, for she hoped to have better news the next time she wrote,
and she was glad to hear that her little daughter was getting along
well at school and that she was well. She must try to be kind and
obedient and helpful to her Cousin Ellen.