An Unexpected Letter
The next morning, Jean, with three large bananas as a peace offering,
was the first to arrive at Dandelion Cottage. Jean, a wise young person
for her years, had decided that a little hard work would clear the
atmosphere, so, finding no one else in the house, she made a fire in the
stove, put on the kettle, put up the leaf of the kitchen table, and
began to take all the dishes from the pantry shelves. Dishwashing in the
cottage was always far more enjoyable than this despised occupation
usually is elsewhere, owing to the astonishing assortment of crockery
the girls had accumulated. No two of the dishes--with the exception of a
pair of plates bearing life-sized portraits of "The frog that would
a-wooing go, whether his mother would let him or no"--bore the same
pattern. There was a bewildering diversity, too, in the sizes and shapes
of the cups and saucers, and an alarming variety in the matter of color.
But, as the girls had declared gleefully a dozen times or more, it would
be possible to set the table for seven courses when the time should come
for Mr. Black's and Mrs. Crane's dinner party, because so many of the
things almost matched if they didn't quite. Jean was thinking of this as
she lifted the dishes from the shelf to the table, and lovingly arranged
them in pairs, the pink sugar bowl beside the blue cream-pitcher, the
yellow coffee cup beside the dull red Japanese tea cup, and the
"Love-the-Giver" mug beside the "For my Little Friend" oatmeal bowl. She
had just taken down the big, dusty, cracked pitcher that matched nothing
else--which perhaps was the reason that it had remained high on the
shelf since the day Mabel had used it for her lemonade--when the
doorbell rang.
Hastily wiping her dusty hands, Jean ran to the door. No one was there,
but the postman was climbing the steps of the next house, so Jean
slipped her fingers expectantly into the little, rusty iron letter-box.
Perhaps there was something from Miss Blossom, who sometimes showed that
she had not forgotten her little landladies.
Sure enough, there was a large white letter, not from Miss Blossom to be
sure, but from somebody. To the young cottagers, letters were always
joyous happenings; they had no debts, consequently they were
unacquainted with bills. With this auspicious beginning, for of course
the coming of a totally unexpected letter was an auspicious beginning,
it was surely going to be a cheerful, perhaps even a delightful, day.
Jean hummed happily as she laid the unopened letter on the dining-room
table, for of course a letter somewhat oddly addressed to "The Four
Young Ladies at 224 Fremont Street, City," could be opened only when all
four were present. When Marjory and Bettie came in, they fell upon the
letter and examined every portion of the envelope, but neither girl
could imagine who had sent it. It was impossible to wait for Mabel, who
was always late, so Bettie obligingly ran to get her. Even so there was
still a considerable wait while Mabel laced her shoes; but presently
Bettie returned, with Mabel, still nibbling very-much-buttered toast, at
her heels.
"You open it, Jean," panted Bettie. "You can read writing better than we
can."
"Hurry," urged Mabel, who could keep other persons waiting much more
easily than she herself could wait.
"Here's a fork to open it with," said Marjory. "I can't find the
scissors. Hurry up; maybe it's a party and we'll have to R. S. V. P.
right away."
"Oh, goody! If it is," squealed Mabel, "I can wear my new tan Oxfords."
"It's from Yours respectably--no, Yours regretfully, John W. Downing,"
announced Jean. "The man that was here yesterday, you know."
"Read it, read it," pleaded the others, crowding so close that Jean had
to lift the letter above their heads in order to see it at all. "Do
hurry up, we're crazy to hear it."
"My Dear Young Ladies," read Jean in a voice that started
bravely but grew fainter with every line. "It is with sincere
regret that I write to inform you that it no longer suits the
convenience of the vestrymen to have you occupy the church
cottage on Fremont Street. It is to be rented as soon as a few
necessary repairs can be made, and in the meantime you will
oblige us greatly by moving out at once. Please deliver the key
at your earliest convenience to me at either my house or this
office.
"Yours regretfully,
"JOHN W. DOWNING."
For as much as two minutes no one said a word. Jean had laid the open
letter on the table. Marjory and Bettie with their arms tightly locked,
as if both felt the need of support, reread the closely written page in
silence. When they reached the end, they pushed it toward Mabel.
"What does it mean in plain English?" asked Mabel, hoping that both her
eyes and her ears had deceived her.
"That somebody else is to have the cottage," said Jean, "and that in the
meantime we're to move."
"In the meantime!" blurted Mabel, with swift wrath. "I should say it
_was_ the meantime--the very meanest time anybody ever heard of. I'd
just like to know what right 'Yours-respectably-John-W.-Downing' has to
turn us out of our own house. I guess we paid our rent--I guess there's
blisters on me yet--I guess I dug dandelions--I guess I--"
But here Mabel's indignation turned to grief, and with one of her very
best howls and a torrent of tears she buried her face in Jean's apron.
"Bettie," asked Jean with her arms about Mabel, "do you think it would
do any good to ask your father about it? He's the minister, you know,
and he might explain to Mr. Downing that we were promised the cottage
for all summer."
"Papa went away this morning and won't be home for ten days. He has
exchanged with somebody for the next two Sundays."
"My pa-pa-papa's away, too," sobbed Mabel, "or he'd tell that vile Mr.
Downing that it was all the Mill-ill-igans' fault. _They're_ the folks
that ought to be turned out, and I just wuh-wuh-wish they--they had
been."
"Why wouldn't it be a good idea," suggested Marjory, "for us all to go
down to Mr. Downing's office and tell him all about it? You see, he
hasn't lived here very long and perhaps he doesn't understand that we
have paid our rent for all summer."
"Yes," assented Jean, "that would probably be the best thing to do. He
won't mind having us go to the office because he told us to take the key
there. But where _is_ his office?"
"I know," said Bettie. "Here's the address on the letter, and the
dentist I go to is right near there, so I can find it easily."
"Then let's start right away," cried eager Mabel, uncovering a
disheveled head and a tear-stained countenance. "Don't let's lose a
minute."
"Mercy, no," said Jean, taking Mabel by the shoulders and pushing her
before her to the blue-room mirror. "Do you think you can go _any_ place
looking like that? Do you think you _look_ like a desirable tenant?
We've all got to be just as clean and neat as we can be. We've got to
impress him with our--our ladylikeness."
"I'll braid Mabel's hair," offered Bettie, "if Marjory will run around
the block and get all our hats. I'm wearing Dick's straw one with the
blue ribbon just now, Marjory. You'll find it some place in our front
hall if Tommy hasn't got it on."
"Bring mine, too," said Jean; "it's in my room."
"I don't know _where_ mine is," said Mabel, "but if you can't find it
you'd better wear your Sunday one and lend me your everyday one."
"I don't see myself lending you any more hats," said Marjory, who had,
like the other girls, brightened at the prospect of going to Mr.
Downing's. "I haven't forgotten how you left the last one outdoors all
night in the rain, and how it looked afterwards, when Aunty Jane made me
wear it to punish me for _my_ carelessness. You'll go in your own hat or
none."
"Well," said Mabel, meekly, "I guess you'll probably find it in my room
under the bed, if it isn't in the parlor behind the sofa."
"Now, remember," said Jean, who was retying the bow on Bettie's hair,
"we're all to be polite, whatever happens, for we mustn't let Mr.
Downing think we're anything like the Milligans. If he won't let us have
the cottage when he knows about the rent's being paid--though I'm
almost sure he _will_ let us keep it--why, we'll just have to give it up
and not let him see that we care."
"I'll be good," promised Bettie.
"You needn't be afraid of _me_," said Mabel. "I wouldn't humble myself
to _speak_ to such a despisable man."