WELLINGTON AGAIN.
"Oh, it is nice to be back home," sighed Molly, settling herself
luxuriously in the sleepy-hollow chair that was supposed to be set
aside for the master of the house. With the girlish habit she had never
outgrown, she slipped off her pumps and stretched out her slender feet
to the wood fire, that felt very comfortable in the crisp autumn
weather.
"That's what you said when we arrived in Kentucky in the spring," teased
her husband.
"Well, so it was nice. The migratory birds have two homes and they are
always glad to get to whichever one is seasonable. I reckon I am with my
two homes as Mother is with her seven children. I love them just the
same. Thank goodness, I haven't seven of them, homes, I mean."
"Yes, I think two are enough."
"Which home do you love best, Wellington or the Orchard Home?" asked
Molly, smiling fondly at her husband, who was dandling little Mildred on
his knees with awkward eagerness.
"Why, neither one of them is home to me unless you are there, and
whichever one you grace with your presence is for the time being the one
I like the better."
"And the baby, too, whichever one she is in makes it home!"
"Oh, certainly!" exclaimed Edwin Green with a whimsical expression on
his face. "I see that when I make love now it is to be to two ladies and
not to one."
"Don't you think Mildred has grown a lot? And see, her eyes have really
turned brown, just as Mother said they would. Don't you think she looks
well?"
"Yes, honey, I think she looks very well, but I don't think you do."
"Me! Nonsense! I am as well as can be, just a little tired from the
trip."
"Yes, I know. Of course that was fatiguing, but I think you are thinner
than you have any right to be. I am afraid you have been doing too
much."
"Oh, not at all. I have had simply nothing to do but take care of the
baby, and that is just play, real play."
"Humph, no doubt! But maybe you have played too hard and that is what
has tired you. I thought you were going to bring Kizzie along to nurse."
"Oh, that was your and Mother's plan! I never had any idea of doing it.
'Deed and um's muvver is going to take care of 'ittle bits a baby
herself," and Molly reached out and snuggled the willing Mildred down in
the sleepy-hollow chair. Daddy's knee was not the most comfortable spot
in the world, and a back that has only been in the world about four
months cannot stand for much dandling.
"But, Molly darling, Kizzie is a good girl and it would help you ever so
much to have her. You know we can well afford it now, so don't let the
financial side of it worry you."
"But, Edwin, I can't give up taking care of the baby. I just love to do
it."
"All right, my dear, but please don't wear yourself out."
The fact was that the long strain of waiting for news from Kent had told
on Molly, and she was looking quite wan and tired. It was not just the
trip from Kentucky, which, of course, was no easy matter. Twenty-four
hours on the train with an infant that needed much attention and got
much more than it really needed was no joke, but the long hours and days
of waiting and uncertainty had taken Molly's strength. She did feel
tired and had no appetite, but she felt sure a night's rest would
restore her. She rather attributed her lack of appetite to the poor food
that the new Irish maid, whom Edwin had installed in her absence, was
serving.
"I'll take hold of her to-morrow and see what can be done," she said
rather wearily to herself. "I wish Mother could train her for me. I
should much rather do the cooking myself than try to train some one who
is as hopelessly green as this girl."
That night little Mildred decided was a good time to assert herself.
The trip had not tired her at all; on the contrary, it had spurred her
on to a state of hilarity, which was very amusing at first but as the
night wore on, ceased to be funny. She had come to the delightful
knowledge of the fact that she had feet and that each foot had five
toes. The cover did not stay on these little pigs one moment. Every
time Molly would settle her tired bones and begin to doze, there would
be a crow from Mildred, a gurgle, and straight in the air would go the
bed clothes, tucked in for the millionth time by the patient young
mother. Then the pink tootsies would leap into sight and soon find
their way to a determined little mouth.
"Darling, you must go to sleepsumby!" Molly would remonstrate. "And you
will catch your death if you don't keep covered up!"
But the four months' old baby had been too busy in her short life
learning other things to bother her head about a mere language. The
business of the night was feet and feet alone. There was too much to do
about those wonderful little feet for her to think of sleep. Finally
Molly gave up. She closed the windows, as too much fresh air on bare
feet and legs might not be best and already the little limbs were icy
cold. Then she kindled a fire in the grate, the furnace not yet having
been started, and gave herself up to a night of sleeplessness. Early in
the action, Edwin had been banished to the guest chamber, as he must get
sleep no matter what happened, for he had a busy day ahead of him.
Toward morning little Mildred mastered her pedagogy, as her father had
called it, and then she dropped off into a deep and peaceful sleep. The
weary Molly slept, too.
Before he went to his lectures, Edwin crept into the room to look at his
sleeping treasures. The chubby baby still had a toe clasped in her hand
but from very weariness had fallen over on her side and was covered up
all but the pink foot, which was asserting itself in the remarkable
position that only the young can take. Molly looked very pale and tired
but was sleeping peacefully. Edwin smiled at them. He had given the
green maid from the Emerald Isle strict orders not to awaken them. He
devoutly hoped that Molly would not know what a very mean breakfast he
had endeavored to choke down; burnt bacon and underdone biscuit washed
down with very weak coffee and flanked by eggs that had been cooked too
long and not long enough, thereby undergoing that process that the
chemist tells us is of all things the most indigestible: half hard and
half soft. The burnt bacon had been cold and the underdone biscuit still
cooking, seemingly, when the poor young husband and father had tried to
nourish himself on them.
He had rather hoped when Molly once got back to Wellington that his food
would be better; no doubt it would as soon as she, poor girl, could get
rested up. He was thankful, indeed, now that she was asleep and tiptoed
out of the room and house without making a sound.
She slept until late in the morning and then the business of the day
began, getting little Mildred fed and washed and dressed and fed again
and then to sleep. The good-natured, if wholly incapable, Katy hung
around and waited on the pretty young mistress. Katy had never been out
in service in the "schtates," but had come from New York in answer to an
advertisement in a newspaper inserted by the despairing professor when
he had come back to Wellington alone while his wife waited in Kentucky
for news of her brother. He had had kindly visions of getting a good
Irish cook and having the housekeeping all running beautifully before
Molly's return.
Immigrant Katy proved rosy and willing but with no more conception of
how to cook than she had how to clean. She was great on "scroobing,"
but walls and furniture and carpets were not supposed to be scrubbed.
The kitchen floor and pantry shelves were alike beautiful after her
administrations, but gold dust and a stiff brush had not improved the
appearance of the piano legs. Edwin had come home in the nick of time
to stop her before she vented her energies on Molly's own Persian
rug, the pride of her heart because of the wonderful blue in it.
"What time is it, Katy?" asked Molly after the baby was absolutely
finished and tucked in her carriage to stay on the porch.
"'Tis twilve of the clock, Miss, and I haven't so much as turned a hand
below schtairs."
"Oh, it can't be that late! Lunch at one! What are we to have?"
"And that I am not knowing, Miss. Sure and there is nothing in the
house."
"Oh, Katy, and I have been dawdling up here for hours! I forgot about
keeping house, I was so taken up with the baby."
"Yes, and no doubt your man will be sour about it, too."
Molly, still in her kimono, flew to the regions below and began
frantically to search for something to concoct into luncheon. A forlorn
piece of roast veal was excavated and half a loaf of stale baker's
bread. A can of asparagus, a leftover from the housekeeping of the
spring, was unearthed. Olive oil was in the refrigerator, also, butter,
milk and eggs. The veal looked very hopeless, evidently having reposed
for hours in a half cold oven before it had furnished forth a miserable
dinner for the poor professor.
"Now I'll 'form a miracle on the vituals,' as dear Aunt Mary would say,"
declared Molly to herself. "Katy, get the dining room straight. Don't
scrub anything but just clear off the table and then set it again as
well as you can. Put on a fresh lunch cloth and clean napkins; then see
that the fire in the library is all right."
The veal, run through the meat chopper, came out better than was to be
expected, and croquettes were formed and frying in deep fat before the
dazed Katy had cleared off the breakfast table.
"Katy, you must hurry or we won't have the master's luncheon ready when
he gets in."
"Faith, and, Mrs. Green, you do be flying round so schwift like, that I
can't get me breath. I feel like the wind from your schkirts was sinding
me back. All I can do is schtand schtill and breast the wind."
"Well, I tell you what you do then," laughed Molly: "You come fly with
the wind," and she caught the Irish girl by the hand and ran her around
the dining room table just to show her how fast she could go if
necessary. Katy, having got wound up, kept on going at a rate of speed
that was astonishing. To be sure, she broke a cup and a plate, but what
was a little chaney to the master's luncheon being served on time?
The faithful can of asparagus was opened and heated; toast was made from
the half loaf of stale bread, and a cream sauce prepared to pour over
the asparagus on toast. Popovers were stirred up and in the oven before
Katy got the table set, although she was going with the wind instead of
trying to breast it. A few rosy apples from the orchard at Chatsworth,
unearthed from the depths of the unpacked trunk, formed a salad with a
mayonnaise made in such a hurry that Molly trembled for its quality; but
luck being with her that day, it turned out beautifully.
"No lettuce, so we'll put the salad on those green majolica plates and
maybe he won't notice," she called to Katy, just as the professor
opened the front door.
"Mol--ly!" he called.
"Here I am."
The mistress of the house emerged from the kitchen in a state of
mussiness but looking very pretty withal, her red-gold hair curling up
in little ringlets from the steam and her cheeks as rosy as though she
had joost come over wid Katy. Her blue kimono was very becoming but
hardly what she would have chosen to appear in at luncheon.
"I am so sorry not to be dressed, but I had to hustle so as to get lunch
ready in time. The clock struck twelve when I thought it was about ten."
"Did you have to get luncheon? Where was Katy?"
"She helped, but I wanted to have a finger in it. If you will wait a
minute, I will get into a dress."
"Why, you look beautiful in that loose blue thing; besides, I have to
eat and run. A faculty meeting is calling me."
The luncheon was delicious, and Edwin gave it all praise by devouring
large quantities of it. Molly could not eat much as she was too hot, and
hurrying is not conducive to appetite. Mildred, who was sleeping on the
porch, awoke when the meal was half over and Molly could not trust Katy
to take her up.
"She might hold her upside down. I will bring her to the table and she
can talk to you while you are finishing!"
So Molly flew to the porch and picked up her darling. She had intended
to take her to the dining room but she remembered it was time for
Mildred to have her food and so the patient Edwin had to finish his meal
alone.
He found his wife and baby on the upper back porch. The color had left
Molly's cheeks and she was quite pale, and there was a little wan,
wistful look in her countenance that Edwin did not like.
"Molly, honey, you are all tired out. You did not eat your luncheon and
you got no sleep last night. What are we going to do about it?"
"Oh, I'm all right! Please don't bother about me! Did you like the apple
salad? They were apples from Kentucky."
"Fine! Everything was delicious. But I don't want you to wear yourself
out cooking. If Katy can't cook, we must get some one who can. If she
can't cook and you won't let her nurse, why what is the use of her?"
Molly, worn out with the sleepless night and the record breaking getting
of a meal out of nothing, felt as though she would disgrace herself in a
minute and burst into tears. She could not discuss the matter with Edwin
for fear of breaking down. Edwin kissed her good-by and tactfully
withdrew.
"You goose, Molly Brown!" she scolded herself. "And what on earth are
you so full of tears over? I know Edwin thinks I ought to have a nurse
and I just can't trust Mildred to any one. I am going to try so hard to
have everything so nice that he won't think about it any more."
A grand telephoning for provisions ensued, and a dinner was planned for
six-thirty that would have taxed the culinary powers of a real chef and
before which Katy bowed her head in defeat. It meant that by four Molly
must be back in the kitchen to start things.