"Daffydowndilly has come up to town,
In a yellow petticoat and a green gown,"
sang little Friend Lydia, as she pushed the doll carriage up and down in
the warm spring sunshine. From the window of each little house in
Lydia's street, bowls of bright daffodils or tulips nodded to her as she
passed, and the flower-beds in the near-by park were masses of scarlet
and yellow bloom.
"It's spring, Lucy Locket," chattered Lydia. "That's why you have a new
hat and a new dress. Sit up straight and don't crush your flowers." And
Lydia sat Lucy up and straightened her gay rose-covered straw bonnet.
"There's Father coming," went on Lydia. "Hold on tight, and we'll go
meet him." And Lydia ran the carriage over the stones so fast that poor
Lucy slipped down under the blanket quite out of sight, hat and all.
[Illustration: _"IT'S SPRING, LUCY LOCKET," CHATTERED LYDIA. "THAT'S WHY
YOU HAVE A NEW HAT AND A NEW DRESS"_]
"Father!" called Lydia. "There's something the matter with Miss Puss.
She wouldn't come riding to-day, and she ran away from me down cellar.
She's hiding behind a barrel and she won't come out."
"She probably doesn't feel well," said Mr. Blake, waiting for Lydia at
the foot of their own steps. "I should leave her alone, if I were you,
until she is better. You know when a cat is sick she goes off by
herself, and I shouldn't be surprised if that is why Miss Puss hides
down cellar. Perhaps she has spring fever." And Mr. Blake smiled down
into Lydia's anxious face.
"Can't you give her some medicine?" she asked. "You made me well when I
had a pain."
"She may need a change of air," answered Father seriously. "Suppose we
take her to the country?"
"For a whole day, with lunch?"--and Lydia beamed at the thought.
"No, for the whole summer," said Father, pinching Lydia's cheek. "Lock
the front door here and go."
"When?" demanded Lydia, her eyes shining--"to-morrow? I'm ready. I have
a new hat, and so has Lucy. Come up here, you poor child, and we'll go
in and tell Mother." And Lydia dragged the long-suffering Lucy, still
smiling, from under her blanket, and darted into the house, leaving
Father to follow with the carriage.
"Mother, we're all going to the country!" cried Lydia, running into the
studio, where Mother was setting the table for lunch. "Maybe we'll go
to-morrow. Shall I pack my bag right away?"
Mrs. Blake sat down to laugh.
"Well, now that Father has told you, the sooner we go the better, I'm
sure," said she. "Pack your bag, if you like, but I don't think we can
be ready to go before ten days at least."
"Ten days?" And Lydia looked as disappointed as if Mother had said ten
years.
"That isn't long," said Father encouragingly. "Come here, and I'll show
you how short it is."
Mr. Blake was busy with paper and scissors. Snip, snip, snip, and ten
little paper dolls holding hands in a row were unfolded before Lydia's
curious eyes.
"Here's a doll for every day," said Mr. Blake. "Tear off one each
morning until there is only one left, and that is the day we go to the
country." And Father set Lydia on his shoulder and wheeled gayly about
the room.
"Come to lunch, you ridiculous pair," said Mother, laughing at them.
"Lydia, you haven't asked yet where you are going, and so I'll tell you.
You are going up to Hyatt, where the children have their summer home,
and our little house is just over the way from Friend Morris's big
house. And you can see Mary Ellen and Sammy and all of them every day if
you like, and Father's going to paint his masterpiece, and we'll have
the nicest summer we've ever had in all our lives."
And Mother, out of breath, with cheeks as pink as Lucy Locket's rosy
hat, joined her "ridiculous pair" in a second dance of joy down the room
and back to the luncheon table again.
For the next ten days Lydia was as busy as a bumble-bee. She packed and
unpacked her new little traveling-bag no less than a dozen times. She
trotted about on errands until Father took to calling her "Little
Fetch-and-Carry." She spent a great deal of time instructing Lucy Locket
how to behave on the train, and she tenderly cared for the invalid Miss
Puss, who was slowly recovering her former high spirits.
Day after day she tore off the paper dolls and put them away in a box
for "Lucy to play with on the train," and when at last there was only
one doll left, Lydia placed a kiss upon her tiny paper cheek.
"You are the nicest one of all," she whispered, "because to-day we go."
And go they did, Father carrying a heavy suitcase and Lydia's little
bag, Mother with Miss Puss in a wicker basket, and Lydia bearing the
proud Lucy Locket, decked in her finest and on her very best behavior.
Lydia waved good-bye to Tony, the iceman, and stopped to tell Joe, the
one-legged newsboy, who had a paper-stand on the corner under the
Elevated Road, that she would be away all summer. Then after a short
ride underground she found herself on the train, really bound for the
country.
It is to be hoped that Lucy Locket and Miss Puss behaved on that train
ride as well as they ought, for Lydia, with her nose pressed against the
window-pane, was so interested in all she saw that she quite forgot her
charges, and could scarcely believe it when Father said, "There's the
river, Lydia. We get off station after next."
But sure enough, at station after next there stood Alexander ready to
lift her down the high steps of the train, and to drive them all home
along the River Road behind Friend Morris's fine gray horses, Owen and
Griff. Friend Morris was already settled for the summer, and she was
watching for them on the steps of her broad veranda, overlooking the
river, as Alexander swung round the drive and up to the door in fine
style.
Lydia leaned from the carriage for a peep at her own house just across
the road. She saw a low, white cottage, whose tiny porch, with a bench
at either end, she decided at once would make a good place to play
dolls. The vines over the porch fluttered a welcome to her, the trees
waved and beckoned her to come, and Lydia could scarcely wait to eat her
supper at Friend Morris's before running over and visiting every nook
and corner of the little house. It was not very large inside, but what
of that when two big porches, one upstairs and one down, ran across the
back of the house that overlooked the river.
"The downstairs porch is where we spend our days," said Mother, "and the
upstairs porch is where we spend our nights."
"Me, too?" asked Lydia, all excitement at the prospect.
"You, too, Lyddy Ann," answered Father, "and Lucy Locket and Miss Puss
likewise, unless she chooses to spend her nights in the catnip bed."
For Miss Puss had scented the bed of catnip round the corner of the
house, and was rolling and tumbling in it to her heart's content. Mr.
Blake and Lydia stood enjoying the sight, and Father pointed out a
little garden bed that was to be Lydia's very own.
"Will you plant flowers or vegetables?" asked he.
"Flowers, please," said Lydia, her face aglow with pleasure. "Pink and
red and blue and yellow ones I'd like."
"To-morrow, then, we'll spade it up," said Father. "And now we had
better be off to bed if we are going to do gardening in the morning."
Out on the upper porch stood the three beds in a row. Lydia, in her long
nightgown, hopped about, so excited it was hard to think of going to
sleep.
But Mother tucked her under the warm blankets, and soon the
sleeping-porch was as quiet as the soft, dark night all about it.
But Lydia was not asleep. She lay watching the twinkling stars and
waving tree-tops, and suddenly the thought of Lucy Locket popped into
her head. Lydia remembered just where she had left her, lying on the
table in the hall below. Poor Lucy, missing her own white cradle, no
doubt, to say nothing of her little mother's care.
Softly Lydia crept out of bed and pattered across the sleeping-porch.
She groped her way through the bedroom and started downstairs. And then,
somehow, she tripped over her long nightgown, and down the stairs she
crashed head first.
It seemed as if Father reached the foot of the stairs almost as soon as
Lydia did. He picked her up carefully, and felt all over for broken
bones, and then he carried the sobbing Lydia upstairs, and tenderly
placed her in Mother's arms.
"My head! My foot! Lucy Locket!" sobbed Lydia.
There was a big lump on her head, and out came the bottle of witch hazel
to be used with soothing effect. The bruised ankle was gently rubbed
with something that smelled like furniture polish.
And then Lydia was tucked in bed again, this time with Lucy Locket
beside her.
But instead of going to sleep, Lydia began to cry. She was tired, and
excited, and frightened by her fall. At first she cried so softly that
only Lucy Locket knew it, but the sobs grew so loud that in a moment
Father said, "Lydia, crying?"
A sniff was all Lydia's answer, but it said, "Yes, Father, I'm crying,"
as plainly as could be.
Mr. Blake put out his strong right arm and pulled Lydia's little bed
close beside his own.
"What's the trouble, Lydia?" said he gently.
"I'm afraid," said Lydia, with another sniff. "I'm afraid a big fish
will come out of the river and get me." And she really thought that was
the reason she was crying.
Mr. Blake hunted for Lydia's hand and found it.
"In the first place," said he, "there isn't any such fish. And in the
second place, if he comes I won't let him hurt you. Now will you try to
go to sleep?"
"Yes," said Lydia, "I will."
So holding fast to Father with one hand, and to Lucy Locket with the
other, Lydia at last fell asleep.