PINKIE
The days passed happily at Dana Dene.
There was so much to do, with the gardens and the chickens, and going
for afternoon drives that, except on rainy days, the children were out
of doors nearly all the time.
Their big boxes had arrived, and Dolly’s dolls, and Dick’s more boyish
treasures, were up in the playroom, but were often neglected for
open-air fun.
It had been decided by the aunties that the twins should not go to
school until Fall, for the term was within a few weeks of closing, and
it didn’t seem worth while to start. But they were required to practise
on the piano an hour each day, and a teacher came once a week to give
them lessons. The Misses Dana were fond of music, and as they thought
the twins showed some talent, they insisted on its cultivation, though
Dick and Dolly looked upon their practice hour as drudgery.
They always practised at the same time, if possible, in order to have
their play hours together. If they had been practising duets, this plan
might have been fairly agreeable to the other members of the household.
But the nine-year-old twins had not yet arrived at the dignity of
“pieces,” and were confined to scales and five-finger exercises.
Their scales usually started on harmonious notes, but Dolly’s little
fingers flew along the keyboard so much faster than Dick’s that she
usually finished her scale on the highest notes, and drummed away there
until his chubby hands came up and caught her.
This, though a satisfactory plan to the performers, was far from
pleasant to the sensitive ears of the Dana aunties.
Again, in case of five-finger exercises, they divided the piano fairly,
and then diligently pursued their “one-and, two-and, three-and” quite
irrespective of each other.
As they were careful not to infringe on one another’s territory, they
saw no objection to this arrangement, and quite in despair, the aunts
would close the doors of the drawing-room, where the musicians were, and
retire to the farthest corners of the house.
There was, of course, great temptation for the twins to neglect their
task, and chatter, but they were too conscientious for this.
Neither would have considered it honourable to remove their hands from
the keys during practice hour. So the little fingers diligently worked
up and down, but the counting often gave way to conversation. Instead of
“one-and,” Dolly might say, in time with her counting, “Don’t
_you_,—think _the_,—poles _will_,—come _to-_,—day, _Dick_?” And Dick
would pound away, as he replied, “Yes, _Pat_,—said _they_,—sure
_would_,—come _to_,—day_-ay_.”
Thus a staccato conversation could be kept up while the twenty stiff
little fingers were acquiring proper limberness and skill.
“It’s enough to drive anybody frantic! I can’t stand it!” said Aunt
Abbie, as one day she listened to the measured chatter, and its
accompaniment of pounded keys that didn’t chord.
“I can’t either!” declared Aunt Rachel, “and I’ve made up my mind,
Abbie, what to do. We’ll get another piano,—a second-hand one will
do,—and put it up in the playroom. Then they can practise separately.”
“Ye-es,” said Miss Abbie, doubtfully; “but they wouldn’t like that. They
always want to be together.”
“Well, they’ll have to stand it. It’s enough to ruin their musical ear,
to hear those discords themselves.”
“That’s true. I suppose your plan is a good one.”
So a second piano was bought, and put up in the playroom, and the twins
had to do their practising separately, except for a few little duet
exercises, which their teacher kindly gave them. And it must be
confessed they made better progress than when they combined practising
and social conversation.
In addition to the hour for music, Dolly was required to spend an hour
every day, sewing.
The Misses Dana believed in that old-fashioned accomplishment, and put
the child through a regular course of overhanding, felling, and hemming,
insisting on great neatness and accuracy of stitches.
This hour caused Dolly a great many sighs, and even a few tears. She
didn’t like needlework, and it was _so_ hard to keep her stitches even
and true.
But the real hardship was that Dick didn’t have to sew also. It didn’t
seem fair that she should work so hard for an hour, while he was free to
play or do what he chose.
She remarked this to Aunt Rachel, who saw the justice of the argument,
and thought it over.
“That’s true, in a way,” she responded. “There isn’t any occupation so
necessary for a boy to learn, as for a girl to learn sewing, but I think
that Dick should have a corresponding task.”
So it was arranged that for an hour every day, Dick must do work in the
garden. Real work, not just fun. He was to weed both his own and Dolly’s
flower-beds, and mow the grass and trim the hedges in their playground,
and water the plants, if necessary; in short, do the drudgery work of
the garden, while Dolly plodded along at her sewing.
This plan worked finely, and sometimes Dick had the playground in such
perfect order that he could put in his hour weeding or mowing the other
parts of the lawn. Aunt Rachel bought a small lawn-mower for his use,
and under Pat’s instructions his hour’s hard work each day taught him
much of the real science of gardening.
When the twins had been at Dana Dene a week, they had as yet made no
acquaintances beside Jack Fuller. This had happened only because the
ladies had not found it convenient to take the children to call
elsewhere, and Dick and Dolly themselves had been so wrapped up in their
gardens and other joys that they had not cared for outside
companionship.
Pat had sent for extra long poles, that their playhouse might be of
goodly size. When these came, and were put in place, the tent-shaped
arbour was about ten feet by twenty, which was amply large for their
purpose. Vines were planted at once, both seeds and cuttings, but of
course it would be several weeks before the leaves would form a green
roof for them.
However, the sun was not unpleasantly warm in May, and by June or July
the leafy roof would be a protection.
In the meantime, Aunt Abbie, who was most ingenious, planned a cosy
arrangement for them. In one corner of their playground, Michael built
them a table. This had a section of a felled tree trunk for an upright,
on which was placed a round top.
From the centre of the table top rose a stout, straight stick, with
leather loops nailed on it at intervals. Into these loops could be
thrust the handle of a very large Japanese umbrella, which, opened, made
a gay and festive-looking roof, and which could be taken into the house
in case of rain.
Benches and rustic chairs Michael made for them, too, and Dick helped,
being allowed to use his “work-hour” for this.
As the playground achieved all these comforts, it became a most
delightful place, and the children spent whole days there.
Sometimes, good-natured Hannah would bring their dinner out there, and
let them eat it under the gay umbrella.
Aunt Abbie gave them a fine garden swing, as she had promised.
This was one of those wooden affairs that will hold four comfortably,
but except for Jack Fuller, none but the twins had yet used it.
Aunt Rachel’s gift proved to be a fountain.
This was quite elaborate, and had to be set up by workmen who came from
town for the purpose. It was very beautiful, and added greatly to the
effect of the playground. When the weather grew warmer they were to have
goldfish in it, but at present there were aquatic plants and pretty
shells and stones.
It was small wonder that the children didn’t feel need of other
companionship, and had it not been for Jack Fuller, Dolly would never
have thought of being lonely.
She and Dick were such good chums that their company was quite
sufficient for each other; but when Jack came over to play, he and Dick
were quite apt to play boyish games that Dolly didn’t care for.
On such occasions she usually brought out her doll-carriage and one or
two of her favourite dolls, and played by herself.
And so, it happened, that one afternoon when Dick and Jack were playing
leap-frog, Dolly wandered off to the wood with Arabella and Araminta in
the perambulator. She never felt lonely in the wood, for there were
always the squirrels and birds, and always a chance that she _might_ see
a fairy.
So, with her dolls, she had company enough, and sitting down by a big
flat rock, she set out a table with acorn cups and leaves for plates,
and tiny pebbles for cakes and fruit.
Arabella and Araminta had already been seated at the table, and Dolly
was talking for them and for herself, as she arranged the feast.
“No, Arabella,” she said; “you can’t have any jelly pudding to-day,
dear, for you are not very well. You must eat bread and milk, and here
it is.”
She set an acorn cup in front of the doll, and then turned to prepare
Araminta’s food, when she saw a little girl coming eagerly toward her.
It was a pretty little girl, about her own age, with dark curls, and a
pink linen frock.
“Hello,” she said, softly, “I want to play with you.”
“Come on,” said Dolly, more than pleased to have company. “Sit right
down at the table. There’s a place. I fixed it for Mr. Grey Squirrel,
but he didn’t come.”
“I didn’t bring my doll,” said the little girl in pink, “I—I came away
in a hurry.”
“I’ll lend you one of mine,” said Dolly. “They’re Arabella and Araminta;
take your choice.”
“What’s your own name?” said the visitor, as she picked up Araminta.
“Dolly,—Dolly Dana. What’s yours?”
“I don’t want to tell you,” said the little girl, looking confused.
“Never mind,” said Dolly, sorry for her guest’s evident embarrassment,
but thinking her a very strange person. “I’ll call you Pinkie, ’cause
your dress is such a pretty pink.”
“All right,” said Pinkie, evidently much relieved.
“You’re not—you’re not a fairy, are you?” said Dolly, hopefully, yet
sure she wasn’t one.
“Oh, no,” said Pinkie, laughing. “I’m just a little girl, but I—I ran
away, and so I don’t want to tell you my name.”
“Oh, I don’t care,” said Dolly, who was always willing to accept a
situation. “Never mind about that. Let’s play house.”
“Yes; let’s. You keep this place, ’cause you’ve fixed your table so
nice, and I’ll live over here.”
Pinkie selected another choice spot for her home, and soon the two
families were on visiting terms.
Dolly and her daughter, Arabella, went to call on Pinkie and her
daughter, Araminta, and as they had already selected the names of Mrs.
Vandeleur and Mrs. Constantine, their own names didn’t matter anyway.
Dolly was Mrs. Vandeleur, because she thought that title had a very
grand sound, and Pinkie chose Mrs. Constantine because she had just come
to that name in her “Outlines of the World’s History,” and thought it
was beautiful.
So Mrs. Vandeleur rang the bell at Mrs. Constantine’s mansion, and sent
in two green leaves, which were supposed to be the visiting cards of
herself and her daughter.
“Come in, come in,” said Mrs. Constantine, in a high-pitched voice. “I’m
so glad to see you. Won’t you sit down?”
Dolly sat down very elegantly on the root of a tree, and propped
Arabella against another.
“I’m just going to have supper,” said the hostess, “and I hope you and
your daughter will give me the pleasure of your company.”
“Thank you. I will stay, but I must go ’way right after dessert. I have
an engagement with—with the fairies.”
“Oh, how lovely! Are you going to see them dance?”
“Yes,” said Dolly, greatly pleased to learn that Pinkie believed in
fairies; “they sent me a special invitation.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Mrs. Constantine, promptly. “I’m always invited
to their dances.”
So again the acorn cups and leaves came into use, and the four drank
unlimited cups of tea, and ate all sorts of things, Arabella having
apparently recovered from her indisposition.
“Now, we’ll go to the fairies’ ball,” said Pinkie, as with a sweep of
her hand she cleared the table of dishes and viands and all. “What shall
we wear?”
“I’ll wear red velvet,” said Dolly, whose tastes were gay, “and a wide
light-blue sash, and gold slippers.”
“You’ll look lovely,” declared Mrs. Constantine. “I’ll wear spangled
blue satin, and a diamond crown.”
“Then I’ll have a diamond crown, too,” said Dolly.
“No; you have a ruby one. We don’t want to be just alike.”
“Yes, I’ll have a ruby one, and my daughter can have a diamond one, and
your daughter a ruby one,—then we’ll be fair all around.”
“Yes, that’s fair,” agreed Pinkie; “now let’s start.”
They carried the dolls with them, and going a little farther into the
wood, they selected a smooth, mossy place where fairies might easily
dance if they chose.
“We must fix it up for them,” said Pinkie; “so they’ll want to come.”
Eagerly the two girls went to work. They picked up any bits of stick or
stone that disfigured the moss, and then, at Pinkie’s direction, they
made a circular border of green leaves, and what few wild flowers they
could find.
A row of stones was laid as an outside border, and a branch of green was
stuck upright in the centre.
“Now it looks pretty,” said Pinkie, with a nod of satisfaction. “Let’s
sit down and wait.”
“Will they _really_ come?” asked Dolly, as with Araminta and Arabella
they seated themselves near by.
“Oh, no, I s’pose not,” said Pinkie, with a little sigh. “I’ve done this
thing so many times, and they never _have_ come. But it’s fun to do it,
and then I always think perhaps they _may_.”
But they waited what seemed a long time, and as no fairies came to
dance, and the shadows began to grow deeper, Dolly said she must go
home.
“Yes, I must too,” said Pinkie, looking troubled.
“See here, Dolly,” she said, as they walked along; “don’t you want to
come here and play with me again?”
“’Course I do,” exclaimed Dolly. “Every day.”
“Well, you can’t do it, unless you keep it secret. You mustn’t tell
anybody,—not anybody in the world.”
“Not even Dick and the aunties?”
“No, not anybody. If you tell, we can’t play here.”
“Pinkie, _are_ you a fairy, after all?” said Dolly, looking at her
earnestly.
She was quite unable, otherwise, to think of any reason to keep their
acquaintance secret.
“Well—maybe I am,” said Pinkie, slowly.
“And that’s why you haven’t any name!” exclaimed Dolly, rapturously.
“But I didn’t s’pose real fairies were so big, and so ’zactly like
little girls.”
“Real fairies aren’t. I’m just a—just a sort of a fairy. Oh, Dolly,
don’t ask questions. Only, remember, if you tell anybody about me, we
can’t play here in the woods any more. Will you promise?”
“Yes, I’ll promise,” said Dolly, solemnly, awed by Pinkie’s great
earnestness.
And then they separated, and Dolly ran home with her dolls.