A Hurried Retreat
The girls, of course, had been barred out while all these exciting
latest events were taking place in their dear cottage; but Marjory, who
lived next door to it, had seen something of the Milligans' hasty exit
and had guessed at part of the truth. Mrs. Knapp, who seemed a pleasant,
likable little woman, in spite of her unwillingness to accommodate her
new landlord, unknowingly confirmed their suspicions when she told her
friend Mrs. Crane about it; for Mrs. Crane, in her turn, told the news
to the four little housekeepers the next morning as they sat homeless
and forlorn on her doorstep. It was always Mrs. Crane to whom the
Dandelion Cottagers turned whenever they were in need of consolation
and, as in this case, consolation was usually forthcoming.
The girls, in their excitement at hearing the news about their late
possession, did not notice that sympathetic Mrs. Crane looked tired and
worried as she sat, in the big red rocking chair on her porch, peeling
potatoes.
"Oh!" squealed Mabel, from the broad arm of Mrs. Crane's chair, "I'm
glad! I'm glad! I'm glad!"
"I can't help being a little bit glad, too," said fair-minded Jean. "I
suppose it wasn't very pleasant for the Milligans, but I guess they
deserved all they got."
"They deserved a great deal more," said Marjory, resentfully. "Think of
these last awful days!"
"If they'd had _much_ more," said Mrs. Crane, "they'd have been drowned.
Why, children! the place was just flooded."
"I'm ashamed to tell of it," said Bettie, "but I'm awfully afraid that
our boys took off part of the pieces of tin that they nailed on the roof
last spring. I heard them doing _something_ up there the night we
moved; but Bob only grinned when I asked him about it."
"Good for the boys!" cried Marjory, gleefully. "I wouldn't be unladylike
enough to set traps for the Milligans myself, but I can't help feeling
glad that somebody else did."
"It was Bob's own tin," giggled delighted Mabel, almost tumbling into
Mrs. Crane's potato pan in her joy. "I guess he had a right to take it
home if he wanted to."
"Anyway," said Jean, from her perch on the porch railing, "I'm glad
they're gone."
"But it doesn't do _us_ any good," sighed Bettie. "And the summer's just
flying."
"Yes, it does," insisted Jean. "We _can_ stand having the cottage
empty--we can pretend, you know, that it's an enchanted castle that can
be opened only by a certain magic key that--"
"Somebody's baby has swallowed," shrieked Mabel, the matter-of-fact.
"Mercy no, goosie," said Marjory. "She means a magic word that nobody
can remember."
"That's it," said Jean. "Of course we couldn't do even that with the
cottage full of Milligans."
"No," assented Marjory, "the most active imagination would refuse to
activate--"
"To _what_?" gasped Mabel.
"To work," explained Marjory.
"I should say so," agreed Mabel, again threatening the potatoes. "It was
just as much as I could do to come over here this morning to breathe the
same air with that cottage with those folks in it staring me in the
face, but now--"
"After all," sighed Bettie, sorrowfully, from the other arm of Mrs.
Crane's big chair, "having the Milligans out of the cottage doesn't make
_much_ difference, as long as we're out, too. Oh, I _did_ love that
little house so. I just hated to think of cold weather coming to drive
us out; but I never dreamed of anything so dreadful as having to leave
it right in this lovely warm weather."
"If Mr. Black had stayed in town," said Mabel, feelingly, "we'd be
dusting that darling cottage this very minute."
Mrs. Crane sniffed in the odd way she always did whenever Mr. Black's
name was mentioned. This scornful sniff, accompanying Mrs. Crane's
evident disapproval of their dearest friend, was the only thing that the
girls disliked about Mrs. Crane.
"I _know_ you'd like Mr. Black if you only knew him," said Bettie,
earnestly. "In some ways you're a good deal like him. You're both the
same color, your eyebrows turn up the same way at the outside corners,
and you both like us. Mr. Black has a beautiful soul."
"Indeed," said Mrs. Crane. "And haven't I a beautiful soul too?"
"Why, of course," said Bettie, leaning down to rub her cheek against
Mrs. Crane's. "I meant _both_ of you. We like you both just the same."
"Only it's different," explained Jean. "Mr. Black doesn't need us, and
sometimes you do. We _like_ to do things for you."
"I'm glad of that," said Mrs. Crane, "for I need you this very minute.
But don't you be too sure about his not needing you as well. He must
lead a pretty lonely life, because it's years since his wife died. I
never heard of anybody else liking her, but I guess _he_ did. He's one
of the faithful kind, maybe, for he's lived all alone in that great big
house ever since. I guess it does him good to have you little girls for
friends."
"What was his wife like?" asked Mabel, eagerly. "Did you use to know
her?"
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Crane, again giving the objectionable sniff.
"That is, not so very well--a little light-headed, useless thing, no
more fit to keep house--but there! there. It doesn't make any difference
_now_, and I've learned that it isn't the best housekeepers that get
married easiest. If it was, I wouldn't be so worried _now_."
"Is anything the matter?" asked Jean, quick to note the distress in Mrs.
Crane's voice.
"Yes," returned the good woman, "there are two things the matter."
"Your poor foot?" queried Bettie, instantly all sympathy.
"No, the foot's all right. It's Mr. Barlow and my eyes. Mr. Barlow is
going to be married to a young lady he's been writing to for a long
time, and I'm going to lose him because he wants to keep house. It won't
be easy to find another lodger for that little, shabby, old-fashioned
room. I'm trying to make a new rag carpet for it, but I'm all at a
standstill because I can't see to thread my needle. I declare, I don't
know what is going to become of me."
"When I grow up," said Bettie, "you shall live with me."
"But what am I to do while I'm waiting for you to grow up?" asked Mrs.
Crane, smiling at Bettie's protecting manner.
"Let us be your eyes," suggested Jean. "Couldn't we thread about a
million needles for you? Don't you think a million would last all day?"
"I should think it might," said Mrs. Crane, somewhat comforted. "I
haven't quite a million, but if Marjory will get my cushion and a spool
of cotton I'll be very glad to have you thread all I have."
The girls worked in silence for fully five minutes. Then Mabel jabbed
the solitary needle she had threaded into the sawdust cushion and said:
"Don't you suppose Mr. Downing might let us have the cottage _now_, if
we went to him? Nobody else seems to care about it. What do you think,
Mrs. Crane?"
"Why, my dear, I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to ask. You'd better
see what your own people think about it."
"Let's go ask them now," cried impetuous Mabel, springing to her feet.
Forgetting all about the needles and without waiting to say good-by to
Mrs. Crane, the eager girl made a diagonal rush for the corner nearest
her own home.
The others remained long enough to thread all the needles. Then they,
too, went home with the news about the cottage and about Mrs. Crane.
They were realizing, for the first time, that their good friend might
become helpless long before they were ready to use her as a grandmother
for their children, but they couldn't see just what was to be done about
it. The idea of going to Mr. Downing, however, soon drove every other
thought away, for the parents and Aunty Jane, too, advised them to ask.
They even encouraged them.
But when Jean and Bettie, hopefully dressed in their Sunday-best, and
Marjory and Mabel, with their abundant locks elaborately curled
besides, presented themselves and their request at Mr. Downing's house
that evening, they were not at all encouraged by their reception.
Mr. Downing, a man of moods, had just come off second-best in an
encounter with Mrs. Milligan, whom he had accidentally met on his way
home to dinner, and, at the moment the girls appeared, the cottage was
just about the last subject that the badgered man cared to discuss.
Before Jean had fairly stated her errand, the enraged Mr. Downing roared
"_No!_" so emphatically that his four alarmed visitors backed hurriedly
off the Downing porch and fled as one girl. Mabel, to be sure, measured
her length in the canna bed near the gate, but she scrambled up,
snorting with fright and indignation, and none of them paused again in
their flight until Jean's door, which seemed safest, had closed behind
them.