WORK AND PLAY.
Miss Brown sat in her accustomed place by the window, where the sun
was pouring in in a springlike way, though it was only February. Her
sitting-room wore a festive air; the curtains looked crisp and white
as if they were just hung, the old mahogany shone with more than its
ordinary lustre, and on a table at her side stood a bowl filled with
white carnations. She looked about her with happy eyes, for she had
been away a month and had discovered that there was no place like
home, after all.
From the pleasant room she turned to the window, and her glance went
across the sunny street and rested on the Big Front Door.
It opened presently, as she rather expected, and Bess and Louise came
out with their work-bags, and stood talking to Aunt Zelie, who
followed them.
"Dear, dear, how those children are growing! It seems only yesterday
that they broke my window and came to confess."
As she watched them Miss Brown thought, as she had so often before,
what a happy home that was, and how much of its brightness found its
way over to her!
"Come for us early this afternoon, Carl, for we want to go out to
Uncle William's," said Bess to her brother, who had joined them and
was carefully marking his aunt's height on the wall.
"You are not expecting me to grow any more, I suppose," said that
lady, laughing.
"I simply wish to prove to you that I am two inches taller, so you
can't lord it over me any longer, madam."
"I was under the impression that the lording came from quite a
different quarter."
"That is a base slander; you know I am your humble slave, so take it
back," and Carl gave her a hug that compelled her to cry for mercy.
"If you must embrace me, let it not be in public; what will the
neighbors think?" she said, as he released her.
"They may think that I am very fond of you, and where is the harm?"
following her into the hall and closing the door.
Over at Miss Brown's a few minutes later five work-bags were being
opened, their owners all talking at once as they took out their
thimbles and needles.
Though nearly two years and a half had passed since the day when the
M.Ks. took their first lesson in knitting, the club still flourished,
and after a month's holiday they were eager to begin the meetings
again.
"We did hardly any work while you were gone, we were so afraid of
making some mistake," said Louise, bringing her chair to Miss Brown's
side.
"Uncle William's dreams ought to be sweet when he takes his nap under
this; I believe Dora's stripe is the prettiest of all," and Bess held
up her friend's work admiringly.
"Dora's stripes are always prettiest," said Elsie; "I wish I could do
half so well."
"Aren't they absurd, Miss Brown, when it is only because daisies look
particularly well on tan color?" said Dora, laughing.
"I think the skilful fingers have something to do with it, but I am
proud of all the work."
"We have improved a little since we made the afghan for Aunt Sallie,
haven't we?" remarked Constance.
"You have, indeed, but you were such dear little girls then, and now
you are growing distressingly tall; I do not half like it." Miss Brown
shook her head disapprovingly as she looked around the circle.
"I think it will be very nice to be grown up," said Elsie, who was
already beginning to consider herself a young lady at fourteen.
"I'd much rather stay a little girl. I don't like growing up. Next
year Carl is going away to school, and all our good times will be
over," and Bess sighed as though the weight of years already rested on
her shoulders.
"Well, we _are_ only little girls yet, so what is the use of
worrying?" said Louise, who, though she was tallest of all, was more
of a child than any of the others.
Dora was perhaps more changed than any of her friends. She was growing
very sweet and womanly, and her manners were as simple and frank as
ever. Her mother's feeble health brought her more care than fell to
the share of most girls of her age, and this made her seem older than
she really was.
This afternoon she seemed somewhat preoccupied and silent. When
appealed to she answered as brightly as usual, but a thoughtful,
anxious look came to her face when she turned to her work.
Miss Brown noticed it and wondered what was troubling her.
"Girls," exclaimed Bess, "suppose we give Uncle William a party when
we finish the slumber robe--just our set, you know."
This suggestion met with enthusiastic approval, and was discussed with
great glee till Louise announced the arrival of the boys.
On pleasant Saturdays they often dropped in about five o'clock, and
when work was put up went with the girls for a walk, a custom which
Aunt Zelie encouraged, for she liked to have her boys and girls
together.
Carl came across the street, followed by Will and Aleck; Ikey, who was
waiting at his gate, joined them; and a moment later Jim came hurrying
round the corner.
"Let's show them the slumber robe," proposed Louise. So they were
called in while Bess and Elsie spread their work over a chair.
The boys went through the ordeal fairly well, being amiably desirous
of pleasing the proud needlewomen.
Will brought down their scorn upon his head by saying it was pretty,
as if it were not "lovely," and Aleck insulted Dora by examining her
daisies with a critical air and then asking what sort of flowers they
were.
For this stupidity Carl promised to punish him.
"Aren't you coming with us, Dora?" asked Bess when they reached the
street, seeing that she turned toward home.
"I am sorry, but I can't this afternoon," she said.
They united in coaxing her, but she would not listen, and with a
cheerful good-by walked briskly away.
"Mayn't I carry your parcel for you?" asked a voice at her side.
"Why, Carl, I thought you had gone with the others! It isn't dark. I
do not need anyone."
"Please, ma'm, I'd like to walk with you if you don't mind."
Dora couldn't help smiling, though she said severely, "I don't believe
you. It is because you think I am lonely by myself. I am much obliged
to you, but I wish you would run after the others."
Carl coolly took possession of the work-bag. "You will have to make
the best of it, for I am going home with you."
They walked on in silence for a minute; then he asked meekly, "Are you
mad?"
"You know I am not."
"Then you might tell what is the matter. You don't know how much good,
honest confession does one."
"Yes, I do, but I have nothing to confess. I am worried about
something, but you cannot help me, and it is not worth speaking of, at
any rate."
"Come home, then, and tell Aunt Zelie; she is pretty good at helping."
"I ought to know that; still I don't know what even she could do. It
is not much, after all; I am just rather low in my mind, as Mrs. West
says." Dora smiled with an attempt at cheerfulness not altogether
successful.
"Don't fib; brace up and make a clean breast of it, and if you need
advice I am full of it."
"Dear me, you are such a goose! I shall not have any peace till I tell
you. Well, then, the beginning of it is that Mrs. West is going to
Florida to live."
"I am sorry, but it seems to me matters might be worse," Carl answered
gravely.
"Of course you don't understand it. It means that we must find another
boarding place, _where_ I am sure I do not know. We can't afford any
that are near here, and Mamma does so hate to board, she is not a bit
happy. I would give anything if we could have a little house all to
ourselves."
"There is one thing certain, you shall not go away from this
neighborhood. Don't worry about it, it will come out all right."
Dora felt a little comforted by Carl's sympathy, though she knew he
could not help her.
"Are you sure you could not find a small house that would do?" he
asked.
"Yes, I know that is quite out of the question. Even a small house
would cost too much, and then it would be too lonely for Mamma, when I
am at school. You see it was foolish in me to tell you, for it only
bothers you for nothing."
"Just wait a minute, I have an idea," said Carl, putting his hands in
his pockets and assuming an air of deep meditation.
"It is ever so much better than Mrs. West's!" he exclaimed presently.
"I am glad the old lady is going. I shall not tell you what it is till
I investigate, but I am sure it will do."
He was so interested in his scheme, whatever it might be, that he
would not wait a moment, but rushed away as soon as the door was
opened.
"Ridiculous boy! What can he be thinking of?" Dora said to herself as
she went upstairs, her curiosity much stronger than her faith.
"Aunt Zelie, can't you come with me over to the bakery?" asked Carl,
bursting in upon her five minutes later.
"If it is a matter of life and death I presume I can," she replied.
"What is going on there?"
"Nothing; I'll tell you about it, only do get your things, or it will
be dark."
As she put on her hat and coat he told her about Dora's trouble, which
she could appreciate far better than he.
"She said she knew they could not find a house that would do," he went
on, "and that reminded me that there is a 'For Rent' sign in the
windows over the bakery. You know if they lived there Mrs. Smith would
be good to them, and perhaps they could get their meals from her. So I
want you to look at the rooms and see what you think. Dora would
listen to you."
Very much amused, Aunt Zelie went with him, agreeing that it might be
practicable.
Mrs. Smith, the wife of the confectioner, was delighted to show her
rooms, and led the way through the store into the entrance hall at the
side, and on upstairs. There were two large, bright rooms opening into
the hall, with a bath-room adjoining. The rent was very reasonable,
and she said she could furnish meals. Aunt Zelie was forced to admit
that her nephew's plan had a good deal to recommend it.
Nothing would do but they must go and tell Dora about it before they
went home.
She was very much surprised to see them, and listened with eyes that
grew bright as the plan was unfolded.
"Didn't I tell you it would be better than staying here?" Carl asked
triumphantly.
"It sounds as if it would be perfect; how did you come to think of
it?" Dora said gratefully.
She could hardly wait till Monday afternoon to go and see for herself.
Mrs. Howard went with her then, and so did Bess and Louise, but they
only sat on the window-sill and built castles while the others made
calculations and discussed carpets and curtains.
"They are such pleasant rooms, so much more so than the one we have
now," Dora said. "I think, and the doctor said so too, that sunshine
is the best thing for Mamma. I believe I have thought of everything,
and it won't cost much more than boarding at Mrs. West's. If it were
only on the other side of the street I could see the Big Front Door."
Aunt Zelie offered to take charge of the cleaning and getting ready,
so that her lessons need not be interrupted, and nothing remained but
to gain her mother's consent to the plan.
Mrs. Warner made no objection to it when she heard that Mr. Hazeltine
and Mrs. Howard thought it wise, but she did not show the interest
Dora hoped for.
Once it was decided upon, things seemed almost to arrange themselves.
All her young friends took an interest in Dora's moving, and Elsie,
who doubted the propriety of living over a store,--for as yet "flats"
had not been heard of in this part of the country,--nevertheless
confided to Bess that she was going to make her a beautiful
pincushion. This suggested an idea to Bess.
"Don't you think it would nice for each of us to give Dora something
for her housekeeping?" she asked at the dinner table that evening.
Uncle William and Aunt Marcia were there, and the Warners had just
been spoken of. "A good suggestion," said the first-named; "suppose we
do."
"I don't approve of this move at all," Mrs. Hazeltine announced; "Mrs.
Warner must have lost her mind to consent."
"It is a great deal nicer than you imagine, Aunt Marcia," urged Bess.
"Dora doesn't care about being fashionable, and you can have more fun
if you don't," observed Louise.
"You seem to care for nothing but fun," said her aunt, with dignity.
"At any rate we all admire Dora's energy and good sense, and would
like to do something to help her," said Mr. Frank Hazeltine.
So they put their heads together and made their plans.
It was arranged that Mrs. Warner should come to her new quarters on
Saturday morning, and Dora lingered long on Friday afternoon putting a
few last touches here and there, arranging her little sideboard with
some pretty glass and china, relics of her mother's early
housekeeping, till everything was in dainty order.
"I do hope Mamma will think it pleasant," she said to Louise, who was
helping.
"She will, I'm sure," Louise answered, looking around the room, which
was indeed very attractive with the afternoon sunshine streaming in
through the windows draped in their pretty muslin curtains.
"Everything is so sweet and cosey I almost envy you," she added,
dusting the top of the clock with a tiny feather duster.
"Louise Hazeltine, how could you envy anybody?" Dora exclaimed. "There
are two things I ought to have, and mean to sometime," she went on,
"and they are some plants and a canary."
Louise looked out of the window to hide a smile.
One more peep had to be taken at the other room, where two snowy beds
looked restful and inviting; then she locked the doors, leaving the
key with Mrs. Smith that the fires might be made in the morning.
"I hope you will like it, Mamma," were her last words that night and
her first thought next morning.
Mr. Hazeltine sent his carriage for Mrs. Warner, and short as the
drive was it seemed tiresomely long to Dora.
"I am glad it is pleasant so that the sunshine will be in your
windows; it is always there by eleven o'clock," she said.
Mrs. Smith was at the door to welcome them, with her small son Tommy
to carry up any bundles.
"I declare," she remarked to her husband, "it doesn't look right for a
woman that has a daughter like Miss Dora to be so terrible
down-hearted."
In her eagerness to see how her mother was pleased, Dora hardly
noticed anything herself when she opened the door.
A more hopelessly gloomy person than Mrs. Warner could not have failed
to be impressed with the sweet, cheerful comfort which pervaded the
room. The sunshine from the south windows lay in two great patches on
the quiet carpet, and glistened in a corner of something that did not
look quite familiar; the fire burned briskly, doing its best to add to
the cheeriness.
"My dear daughter, how could you do all this?" she asked, her face
brightening.
"Do you like it? I am so glad!" Then Dora began to look about in some
bewilderment; something had certainly happened to the room since
yesterday. In the corner by the fireplace was the dearest mahogany
desk, and on it a card which read, "For a brave little girl, from
Uncle William." Glancing up, her eyes rested on the sweet face of a
Madonna, which she guessed at once came from Aunt Zelie.
"How good they are to me!'" she exclaimed, feeling almost like
crying; but just then the canary in the window burst into a song, thus
calling attention to himself and to the pot of ivy from Miss Brown.
It was a morning of surprises. While her mother sat in her easy-chair,
with a more cheerful face than she had worn for years, Dora went about
finding every now and then something new. There were hyacinths from
Helen and Carie, Elsie's pincushion on the bureau, a table cover from
Constance, and on the sideboard a cunning teapot, with this touching
verse tied on the handle:
"Whene'er a cup of tea you drink,
Of me I hope you'll kindly think.
To make the memory more complete,
Be sure to take it very sweet."
This effusion did not need Carl's initials to tell her where it came
from. The last thing to be discovered was a beautiful chair to match
the desk, from Carl's father.
Late in the afternoon a happy face looked in on Aunt Zelie, and a
merry voice exclaimed, "It is going to be a success; and to-day has
been better than Christmas!"