Furnishing the Cottage
After tea that Saturday night four tired but spotlessly clean little
girls sat on Jean's doorstep, making plans for the coming week.
"What are you going to do for a stove?" asked Mrs. Mapes.
"I have a toy one," replied Mabel, "but it has only one leg and it
always smokes. Besides, I can't find it."
"I have a little box stove that the boys used to have in their camp,"
said Mrs. Mapes. "It has three good legs and it doesn't smoke at all. If
you want it, and if you'll promise to be very careful about your fire,
I'll have one of the boys set it up for you."
"That would be lovely," said Bettie, gratefully. "Mamma has given me
four saucers and a syrup jug, and I have a few pieces left of quite a
large-sized doll's tea set."
"We have an old rug," said Marjory, "that I'm almost sure I can have for
the parlor floor, and I have two small rocking chairs of my own."
"There's a lot of old things in our garret," said Mabel; "three-legged
tables, and chairs with the seats worn out. I know Mother'll let us take
them."
"Well," said Bettie, "take everything you have to the cottage Monday
afternoon after school. Bring all the pictures you can to cover the
walls, and--"
"Hark!" said Mrs. Mapes. "I think somebody is calling Bettie."
"Oh, my!" said Bettie, springing to her feet. "This is bath night and I
promised to bathe the twins. I must go this minute."
"I think Bettie is sweet," said Jean. "Mr. Black would never have given
us the cottage if he hadn't been so fond of Bettie; but she doesn't put
on any airs at all. She makes us feel as if it belonged to all of us."
"Bettie _is_ a sweet little girl," said Mrs. Mapes, "but she's far too
energetic for such a little body. You mustn't let her do _all_ the
work."
"Oh, we don't!" exclaimed Mabel, grandly. "Why, what are you laughing
at, Marjory?"
"Oh, nothing," said Marjory. "I just happened to remember how you
scrubbed that bedroom floor."
From four to six on Monday afternoon, the little housekeepers, heavily
burdened each time with their goods and chattels, made many small
journeys between their homes and Dandelion Cottage. The parlor was soon
piled high with furniture that was all more or less battered.
"Dear me," said Jean, pausing at the door with an armful of carpet. "How
am I ever to get in? Hadn't we better straighten out what we have before
we bring anything more?"
"Yes," said Bettie. "I wouldn't be surprised if we had almost enough for
two houses. I'm sure I've seen six clocks."
"That's only one for each room," said Mabel. "Besides, none of the four
that _I_ brought will go."
"Neither will my two," said Marjory, giggling.
"We might call this 'The House of the Tickless Clocks,'" suggested Jean.
"Or of the grindless coffee-mill," giggled Marjory.
"Or of the talkless telephone," added Mabel. "I brought over an old
telephone box so we could pretend we had a telephone."
There were still several things lacking when the children had found
places for all their crippled belongings. They had no couch for the sofa
pillows Mabel had brought, but Bettie converted two wooden boxes and a
long board into an admirable cozy corner. She even upholstered this
sadly misnamed piece of furniture with the burlaps and excelsior that
had been packed about her father's new desk, but it still needed a
cover. The windows lacked curtains, the girls had only one fork, and
their cupboard was so distressingly empty that it rivaled Mother
Hubbard's.
They had planned to eat and even sleep at the cottage during vacation,
which was still some weeks distant; but, as they had no beds and no
provisions, and as their parents said quite emphatically that they could
_not_ stay away from home at night, part of this plan had to be given
up.
Most of the grown-ups, however, were greatly pleased with the cottage
plan. Marjory's Aunty Jane, who was nervous and disliked having children
running in and out of her spotlessly neat house, was glad to have
Marjory happy with her little friends, provided they were all perfectly
safe--and out of earshot. Overworked Mrs. Tucker found it a great relief
to have careful Bettie take two or three of the smallest children
entirely off her hands for several hours each day. When these infants,
divided as equally as possible among the four girls, were not needed
indoors to serve as playthings, they rolled about contentedly inside the
cottage fence. Mabel's mother did not hesitate to say that she, for one,
was thankful enough that Mr. Black had given the girls a place to play
in. With Mabel engaged elsewhere, it was possible, Mrs. Bennett said, to
keep her own house quite respectably neat. Mrs. Mapes, indeed, missed
quiet, orderly Jean; but she would not mention it for fear of spoiling
her tender-hearted little daughter's pleasure, and it did not occur to
modest Jean that she was of sufficient consequence to be missed by her
mother or anyone else.
The neighbors, finding that the long-deserted cottage was again
occupied, began to be curious about the occupants. One day Mrs.
Bartholomew Crane, who lived almost directly opposite the cottage, found
herself so devoured by kindly curiosity that she could stand it no
longer. Intending to be neighborly, for Mrs. Crane was always neighborly
in the best sense of the word, she put on her one good dress and started
across the street to call on the newcomers.
It was really a great undertaking for Mrs. Crane to pay visits, for she
was a stout, slow-moving person, and, owing to the antiquity and
consequent tenderness of her best garments, it was an even greater
undertaking for the good woman to make a visiting costume. Her best
black silk, for instance, had to be neatly mended with court-plaster
when all other remedies had failed, and her old, thread-lace collars had
been darned until their original floral patterns had given place to a
mosaic of spider webs. Mrs. Crane's motives, however, were far better
than her clothes. Years before, when she was newly married, she had
lived for months a stranger in a strange town, where it was no unusual
occurrence to live for years in ignorance of one's next-door neighbor's
very name. During those unhappy months poor Mrs. Crane, sociable by
nature yet sadly afflicted with shyness, had suffered keenly from
loneliness and homesickness. She had vowed then that no other stranger
should suffer as she had suffered, if it were in her power to prevent
it; so, in spite of increasing difficulties, kind Mrs. Crane
conscientiously called on each newcomer. In many cases, hers was the
first welcome to be extended to persons settling in Lakeville, and
although these visits were prompted by single-minded generosity, it was
natural that she should, at the same time, make many friends. These,
however, were seldom lasting ones, for many persons, whose business kept
them in Lakeville for perhaps only a few months, afterwards moved away
and drifted quietly out of Mrs. Crane's life.
That afternoon the four girls realized for the first time that Dandelion
Cottage was provided with a doorbell. In response to its lively
jingling, Mabel dropped the potato she was peeling with neatness but
hardly with dispatch, and hurried to the door.
"Is your moth--Is the lady of the house at home?" asked Mrs. Crane.
"Yes'm, all of us are--there's four," stammered Mabel, who wasn't quite
sure of her ability to entertain a grown-up caller. "Please walk in. Oh!
don't sit down in that one, please! There's only two legs on that chair,
and it always goes down flat."
"Dear me," said Mrs. Crane, moving toward the cozy corner, "I shouldn't
have suspected it."
"Oh, you can't sit _there_, either," exclaimed Mabel. "You see, that's
the Tucker baby taking his nap."
"My land!" said stout Mrs. Crane. "I thought it was one of those
new-fashioned roll pillows."
"_This_ chair," said Mabel, dragging one in from the dining room, "is
the safest one we have in the house, but you must be careful to sit
right down square in the middle of it because it slides out from under
you if you sit too hard on the front edge. If you'll excuse me just a
minute I'll go call the others--they're making a vegetable garden in the
back yard."
"Well, I declare!" said Mrs. Crane, when she had recognized the four
young housekeepers and had heard all about the housekeeping. "It seems
as if I ought to be able to find something in the way of furniture for
you. I have a single iron bedstead I'm willing to lend you, and maybe I
can find you some other things."
"Thank you very much," said Bettie, politely.
"I hope," said Mrs. Crane, pleasantly, "that you'll be very neighborly
and come over to see me whenever you feel like it, for I'm always
alone."
"Thank you," said Jean, speaking for the household. "We'd just love to."
"Haven't you _any_ children?" asked Bettie, sympathetically.
"Not one," replied Mrs. Crane. "I've never had any but I've always loved
children."
"But I'm _sure_ you have a lot of grandchildren," said Mabel,
consolingly. "You look so nice and grandmothery."
"No," said Mrs. Crane, not appearing so sorrowful as Mabel had supposed
an utterly grandchildless person _would_ look, "I've never possessed any
grandchildren either."
"But," queried Mabel, who was sometimes almost too inquisitive, "haven't
you any relatives, husbands, or _anybody_, in all the world?"
Many months afterward the girls were suddenly reminded of Mrs. Crane's
odd, contradictory reply:
"No--Yes--that is, no. None to speak of, I mean. Do you girls sleep
here, too?"
"No" said Jean. "We want to, awfully, but our mothers won't let us. You
see, we sleep so soundly that they're all afraid we might get the house
afire, burn up, and never know a thing about it."
"They're quite right," said Mrs. Crane. "I suppose they like to have you
at home once in a while."
"Oh, they do have us," replied Bettie. "We eat and sleep at home and
they have us all day Sundays. When they want any of us other times, all
they have to do is to open a back window and call--Dear me, Mrs. Crane,
I'll have to ask you to excuse me this very minute--There's somebody
calling me now."
Other visitors, including the girls' parents, called at the cottage and
seemed to enjoy it very much indeed. The visitors were always greatly
interested and everybody wanted to help. One brought a little table that
really stood up very well if kept against the wall, another found
curtains for all the windows--a little ragged, to be sure, but still
curtains. Grandma Pike, who had a wonderful garden, was so delighted
with everything that she gave the girls a crimson petunia growing in a
red tomato can, and a great many neat little homemade packets of flower
seeds. Rob said they might have even his porcupine if they could get it
out from under the rectory porch.
By the end of the week the cottage presented quite a lived-in
appearance. Bright pictures covered the dingy paper, and, thanks to
numerous donations, the rooms looked very well furnished. No one would
have suspected that the chairs were untrustworthy, the tables crippled,
and the clocks devoid of works. The cottage seemed cozy and pleasant,
and the girls kept it in apple-pie order.
Out of doors, the grass was beginning to show and little green specks
dotted the flower beds. Other green specks in crooked rows staggered
across the vegetable garden.
The four mothers, satisfied that their little daughters were safe in
Dandelion Cottage, left them in undisturbed possession.
"I declare," said Mrs. Mapes one day, "the only time I see Jean,
nowadays, is when she's asleep. All the rest of the time she's in school
or at the cottage."
"Yes," said Mrs. Bennett, "when I miss my scissors or any of my dishes
or anything else, I always have to go to the cottage and get out a
search warrant. Mabel has carried off a wagonload of things, but I don't
know _when_ our own house has been so peaceful."