The Milligans
To the moment of Grandma Pike's departure, all their neighbors had been
so pleasant that the girls were deceived into thinking that neighbors
were never anything _but_ pleasant. Although they felt not the slightest
misgiving as to their future neighbors, they had hated to lose dear old
Grandma Pike, who had always been as good to them as if she had really
been their grandmother, and whose parting gifts--sundry odds and ends
of dishes, old magazines, and broken parcels of provisions--gave them
occupation for many delightful days. In spite of the lasting pleasure of
this unexpected donation, however, they could not help feeling that,
with Mr. Black away, Miss Blossom gone, Mrs. Pike living in another
town, and only disabled Mrs. Crane left, they were losing friends with
alarming rapidity. Grief for the departed, however, did not prevent
their taking an active interest in the persons who were to occupy the
house next door, which Mrs. Pike's departure had left vacant.
"I wonder," said Marjory, pulling the curtain back to get a better view
of the empty house, "what the new people will be like. It's exciting,
isn't it, to have something happening in this quiet neighborhood? What
did Grandma Pike say the name was?"
"Milligan," replied Bettie.
"Kind of nice name, isn't it?" asked Jean.
"Yes," agreed Mabel, brightening suddenly. "I made up a long, long rhyme
about it last night before I went to sleep. Want to hear it?"
"Of course."
"This one really rhymes," explained Mabel, importantly. Her verses
sometimes lacked that desirable quality, so when they did rhyme Mabel
always liked to mention it. "Here it is:
"As soon as a man named Milligan
Got well he always fell ill again--ill again--ill--
"Dear me, I can't remember how it went. There was a lot more, but I've
forgotten the rest."
"It's a great pity," said Marjory, drily, "that you didn't forget _all_
of it, because if there's really a Mr. Milligan, and I ever see him,
I'll think of that rhyme and I won't be able to keep my face straight."
"We must be very polite to the Milligans," said considerate Bettie, "and
call on them as soon as they come. Mother always calls on new people;
she says it makes folks feel more comfortable to be welcomed into the
neighborhood."
"Mrs. Crane does it, too. We're the nearest, perhaps we ought to be the
first."
"I think," suggested Jean thoughtfully, "we'd better wait until they're
nicely settled; they might not like visitors too soon. You know _we_
didn't."
"They're going to move in today," said Mabel. "Goodness! I wish they'd
hurry and come; I'm so excited that I keep dusting the same shelf over
and over again. I'm just wild to see them!"
It was sweeping-day at the cottage when the Milligans' furniture began
to arrive, but it looked very much as if the sweeping would last for at
least _two_ days because the girls were unable to get very far away from
the windows that faced west. These were the bedroom windows, and, as
there were only two of them, there were usually two heads at each
window.
"There comes the first load," announced Marjory, at last. "There's a
high-chair on the very top, so there must be a baby."
"I'm so glad," said Bettie. "I just love a baby."
Two men unpacked the Milligans' furniture in the Milligans' front yard,
and each load seemed more interesting than the one before it. It was
such fun to guess what the big, clumsy parcels contained, particularly
when the contents proved to be quite different from what the girls
expected.
"Somehow, I don't think they're going to be very nice people," said
Mabel. "I b'lieve we're going to be disappointed in 'em."
"Why, Mabel," objected Jean, "we don't know a thing about them yet."
"Yes, I do too. Their things--look--they don't look _ladylike_."
"Oh, Mabel," laughed Marjory, "you're so funny."
"Perhaps," offered Jean, "the Milligans are poor and the children have
spoiled things."
"No," insisted Mabel. "They've got some of the newest and shiningest
furniture I ever saw, but I b'lieve it's imitation."
"Oh, Mabel," laughed Jean, "I hope you won't watch the loads when _I_
move. For a girl that's slept for three weeks on an imitation pillow,
you're pretty critical."
Presently the Milligans themselves arrived. Mabel happened to be
counting the buds on the poppy plants when they came.
"Girls!" she cried, rushing into the cottage with the news. "They've
come. I saw them all. There's a Mr. Milligan, a Mrs. Milligan, a girl, a
boy, a baby, and a dog. The girl's the oldest. She's just about my
size--I mean height--and she has straight, light hair. The baby walks,
and none of them are so very good-looking."
It did not take the newcomers long to discover that their next-door
neighbors were four little girls. Mrs. Milligan found it out that very
afternoon when she went to the back door to borrow tea. Bettie
explained, very politely, that Dandelion Cottage was only a playhouse,
and that their tea-caddy contained nothing but glass beads. When Mrs.
Milligan returned to her own house, she told her own family about it.
"You might as well run over and play with them, Laura," she said. "Take
the baby with you, too. He's a dreadful nuisance under my feet. That'll
be a real nice place for you both to play all summer."
The girls received their visitors pleasantly; almost, indeed, with
enthusiasm; but after a very few moments, they began to eye the baby
with apprehension. He refused to make friends with them but wandered
about rather lawlessly and handled their treasures roughly. Laura paid
no attention to him but talked to the girls. She seemed a bright girl
and not at all bashful, and she used a great many slang phrases that
sounded new and, it must be confessed, rather attractive to the girls.
"Oh, land, yes," she said, "we came here from Chicago where we had all
kinds of money, and clothes to burn--we lived in a beautiful flat. Pa
just came here to oblige Mr. Williams--he's going to clerk in Williams's
store. Come over and see me--we'll be real friendly and have lots of
good times together--I can put you up to lots of dodges. Say, this is a
dandy place to play in--I'm coming over often."
Jean looked in silence at Bettie, Bettie at Mabel, and Mabel at Marjory.
Surely such an outburst of cordiality deserved a fitting response, but
no one seemed to be able to make it.
"Do," said Jean, finally, but rather feebly, "we'd be pleased to have
you."
Except for a few lively but good-natured squabbles between Marjory, who
was something of a tease, and Mabel, who was Marjory's favorite victim,
the little mistresses of Dandelion Cottage had always played together in
perfect harmony; but with the coming of the Milligans everything was
changed.
To start with, between the Milligan baby and the Milligan dog, the girls
knew no peace. Mrs. Milligan was right when she said that the baby was a
nuisance, for it would have been hard to find a more troublesome
three-year-old. He pulled down everything he could reach, broke the
girls' best dishes, wiped their precious petunia and the geraniums
completely out of existence, and roared with a deep bass voice if anyone
attempted to interfere with him. The dog carried mud into the neat
little cottage, scratched up the garden, and growled if the girls tried
to drive him out.
"Well," said Mabel, disconsolately, in one of the rare moments when the
girls were alone, "I _could_ stand the baby and the dog. But I _can't_
stand Laura!"
"Laura certainly likes to boss," said Bettie, who looked pale and
worried. "I don't just see what we're going to do about it. I try to be
nice to her, but I _can't_ like her. Mother says we must be polite to
her, but I don't believe Mother knows just what a queer girl she is--you
see she's always as quiet as can be when there are grown people around."
"Yes," agreed Mabel, "her company manners are so much properer than mine
that Mother says she wishes I were more like her."
"Well," said Marjory, uncompromisingly, "I'm mighty glad you're not.
Your manners aren't particularly good, but you haven't two sets. I
think Laura's the most disagreeable girl I ever knew. Just as she fools
you into almost liking her, she turns around and scratches you."
"Perhaps," said Jean, "if her people were nicer--By the way, Mother says
that after this we must keep the windows shut while Mr. Milligan is
splitting wood in his back yard so we can't hear the awful things he
says, and that if we hear Mr. and Mrs. Milligan quarreling again we
mustn't listen."
"Listen!" exclaimed Mabel. "We don't _need_ to listen. Their voices keep
getting louder and louder until it seems as if they were right in this
house."
"Of course," said Marjory, "it can't be pleasant for Laura at home, but,
dear me, it isn't pleasant for _us_ with her over here."
Badly-brought-up Laura was certainly not a pleasant playmate. She wanted
to lead in everything and was amiable only when she was having her own
way. She was not satisfied with the way the cottage was arranged but
rearranged it to suit herself. She told the girls that their garments
were countrified, and laughed scornfully at Bettie's boyish frocks and
heavy shoes. She ridiculed rotund Mabel for being fat, and said that
Marjory's nose turned up and that Jean's rather large mouth was a good
opening for a young dentist. Before the first week was fairly over, the
four girls--who had lived so happily before her arrival--were grieved,
indignant, or downright angry three-fourths of the time.
Laura had one habit that annoyed the girls excessively, although at
first they had found it rather amusing. Later, however, owing perhaps to
a certain rasping quality in Laura's voice, it grew very tiresome. She
transposed the initials of their names. For instance, Bettie Tucker
became Tettie Bucker, Jeanie Mapes became Meanie Japes, while Mabel
became Babel Mennett. It was particularly distressing to have Laura
speak familiarly in her sharp, half-scornful tones, of their dear,
departed Miss Blossom, whose name was Gertrude, as Bertie Glossom. Mr.
Peter Black, of course, became Beter Plack, and Mrs. Bartholomew Crane
was Mrs. Cartholomew Brane, to lawless young Laura.
"I don't think it's exactly respectful to do that to grown-up people's
names," protested Bettie, one day.
"Pooh!" said Laura. "Mrs. Cartholomew Brane looks just like an old
washtub, she's so fat--who'd be respectful to a washtub? There goes
Toctor Ducker, Tettie Bucker. Huh! I'd hate to be a parson's
daughter--they're always as poor as church mice. What did you say your
mother's first name is?"
"I didn't say and I'm not going to," returned Bettie.
"Well, anyhow, her bonnet went out of style four years ago. I should
think the parish'd take up a subscription and get her a new one."
"I wish, Laura," said exasperated Jean, another day, "that you wouldn't
meddle with our things. This bedroom is mine and Bettie's, and the other
one is Mabel's and Marjory's. We wouldn't _think_ of looking into each
other's private treasure boxes. I've seen you open mine half a dozen
times this week. The things are all keepsakes and I'd rather not have
them handled."
"Huh! I guess I'll handle 'em if I want to. My mother can't keep me out
of her bureau drawers, and I don't think you're so very much smarter."
A day or two later, the girls of Dandelion Cottage were invited to a
party in another portion of the town. The invitations were left at their
own cottage door and the delighted girls began at once to make plans for
the party.
"Let's carry our new handkerchiefs," suggested Jean, going to her
treasure box. "I believe I'll take mine home with me--I dreamed last
night that the cottage was on fire and that mine got burned. Besides,
I'll have to get dressed at home for the party and it would be handier
to have it there."
"Guess I will, too," said Bettie.
"Great idea," said Marjory, taking her own box from its shelf. "I never
should have thought of anything so bright. Let's all write to Miss
Blossom and tell her that we carried our--Why! mine isn't in my box!"
"Neither is mine," cried Mabel, who had turned quite pale at the
discovery. "It was there this morning. Girls, did any of you touch our
handkerchiefs?"
"Of course we didn't," said Jean. "See, here's mine with 'J' on it, and
there are no others in my box."
"Of course not," echoed Laura.
"Mine's here, all right," said Bettie, who had been struggling with her
box, which opened hard. "Are you sure you left them in your boxes?"
"Certain sure," replied Mabel. "I saw it this morning."
"So did I see mine," asserted Marjory. "After I'd shown it to Aunty Jane
I brought it back to put in my treasure box."
"Laura," asked Jean, "was Marjory's handkerchief in her box when you
looked in it this morning? I heard the cover make that funny little
clicking noise that it always makes, and just a minute afterward you
came out of her room."
"I--I don't know," stammered Laura. "I didn't see it--I never touched
her old box. If you say I did, I'll go right home and tell my mother you
called me a thief. I'm going now, anyway."
The girls were in the dining-room just outside of the back bedroom
door. As Laura was brushing past Jean, the opening of the new girl's
blouse caught in such a fashion on the corner of the sideboard that the
garment, which fastened in front, came unbuttoned from top to bottom.
From its bulging front dropped Bettie's bead chain, various articles of
doll's clothing, and the two missing handkerchiefs.
"They're mine!" cried Laura, making a dive for the things.
"They're not any such thing!" cried indignant Jean. "I made that doll's
dress myself, and I know the lace on those handkerchiefs."
"They're my mother's," protested Laura. "I took 'em out of her drawer."
"They're not," contradicted Mabel, prying Laura's fingers apart and
forcing her to drop one of the crumpled handkerchiefs. "Look at that
monogram--'M B' for Mabel Bennett."
"It's no such thing," lied Laura, stoutly. "It stands for Bertha
Milligan and that's my mother's name."
"Give me that other handkerchief this instant," demanded Jean, giving
Laura a slight shake. "If you don't, we'll take it away from you."
"Take the old rag," said Laura. "My mother gives away better
handkerchiefs than these to beggars. I just took 'em anyway to scare
Varjory Male and Babel Mennett, the silly babies."
After this enlightening experience, the girls never for a moment left
their unwelcome visitor alone in any of the rooms of Dandelion Cottage.
They stood her for almost a week longer, principally because there
seemed to be no way of getting rid of her. Mabel, indeed, had several
lively quarrels with her during that time, because quick-tempered Mabel,
always strictly truthful herself, could not tolerate deceit in anyone
else, and she had, of course, lost all faith in Laura.
The end came suddenly one Friday afternoon. Miss Blossom had sent to the
girls, by mail, a photograph of her own charming self, and nothing that
the cottage contained was more precious. After one of the usual tiffs
with Mabel, high-handed Laura spitefully scratched a disfiguring
mustache right across the beautiful face, ruining the priceless treasure
beyond repair.
Even Laura looked slightly dismayed at the result of her spiteful work.
The others for a moment were too horror-stricken for words. Then Mabel,
with blazing eyes, sprang to her feet and flung the cottage door wide
open.
"You go home, Laura Milligan!" she cried. "Don't you ever dare to come
inside this house again!"
"Yes, go," cried mild Bettie, for once thoroughly roused. "We've tried
to be nice to you and there hasn't been a single day that you haven't
been rude and horrid. Go home this minute. We're done with you."
"I won't go until I'm good and ready," retorted Laura, tearing the
disfigured photograph in two and scornfully tossing the pieces into a
corner. "Such a fuss about a skinny old maid's picture."
"You shan't stay one instant longer!" cried indignant Jean, stepping
determinedly behind Laura, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders,
and making a sudden run for the door. "There! You're out. Don't you ever
attempt to come in again."
Bettie, grasping the situation and the Milligan baby at the same time,
promptly set the boy outside. She had handled him with the utmost
gentleness, but he always roared if anyone touched him, and he roared
now.
"Yah!" yelled Laura, "I'll tell my mother you pinched him--slapped him,
too."
"Sapped him, too," wailed the baby.
"Well," said Jean, turning the key in the lock, "we'll have to keep the
door locked after this. Mercy! I never behaved so dreadfully to anybody
before and I hope I'll never have to again."