A LOVELY PLAN
When the boys reached the group assembled in the library, Dolly had
just begun to tell the story of the fire.
Up to that time, the aunts had been employed in dressing the burned
finger, and in recovering their own mental poise.
“You see,” Dolly was saying, “it was an accident, Aunt Rachel, but it
_wasn’t_ mischief, for you told me yourself how you used to make a fire
in that little stove.”
“Oh,” said Aunt Rachel, comprehending at last. “Did you girls make a
fire in the playhouse stove?”
“Yes’m; the pipe was up, you know, and it burned all right,—it hardly
smoked at all. Then one of the paper dolls fell against it and set fire
to all the rest.”
“The stove got so awful hot,” observed Pinkie, “and it was trying to
pick up that paper doll that Dolly burned her finger.”
“And upset the stove?” asked Aunt Abbie.
“No, Auntie, the stove didn’t upset. But Mrs. Obbercrombie caught
ablaze, and then she fell over against the other paper people, and they
all flared up.”
“Whew, Dolly!” exclaimed Dick. “Then you kindled that whole fire
yourself! You ought to have known better than to stuff a place with
paper dolls and then set a match to it!”
“But I didn’t, Dick,” declared Dolly. “The fire was all right at first,
only it kept making the little stove hotter and hotter, until it went
off.”
“Well, it’s lucky Dick heard you yell,” put in Jack, “or the whole of
the big house would have burned as well as the little one.”
“I don’t know what to say to you, Dolly,” said Aunt Rachel. “I remember
that I did tell you I used to have a fire in that stove, but I only
burned a tiny bit of paper and let it go right out. I never thought of a
continued fire. And I really think you ought to have realised the danger
of a fire near so much light paper.”
“Why, I never once thought of that, Aunt Rachel. I never s’posed fire
could jump through an iron stove, and burn up a paper doll! I thought if
we kept the little door shut, the flames would stay inside.”
“Oh, Dolly,” said Aunt Abbie, smiling a little in spite of herself, “you
should have known better. But you’re not entirely to blame. We did tell
you that we used to have real fire in that stove, but father was always
with us to look after it. Children should _never_ play with fire alone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before, Aunt Abbie?” said Dolly, looking at
her with a gentle reproach in her big dark eyes. “If you had, I’d have
called you up, ’fore we lit it the first time!”
“Phyllis,” said Miss Rachel, turning to the little guest, “does your
mother let you play with fire.”
“Why, no, Miss Rachel,” said Pinkie, in surprise. “But then, mother
never lets us do any of the things you let Dick and Dolly do. We haven’t
any garden or arbour or Lady Eliza or playhouse——”
At this, both Pinkie and Dolly began to cry afresh, for they remembered
that now Dolly had no playhouse either! That beautiful house and barn
and lawn and ponds,—all a mass of black, smoking ruins!
Dolly flew to her Aunt Rachel and buried her head on her broad,
comforting shoulder as she sobbed out her woe.
“Oh, Auntie,” she wailed; “isn’t it dreadful! Those lovely little beds
and bureaus, and the dolls Aunt Nine dressed,—and the looking-glass
lake, and that little spotted pig,—he was _so_ cunning,—and the gilt
clock in the parlour,—oh—ooh—o-o-ooh!”
“There, dearie, there, there,——” soothed Miss Rachel, wondering
whether Aunt Nine would think Dolly ought to be punished, and if so,
what for.
“I wasn’t naughty, was I, Auntie?” went on Dolly, between her sobs. “I
wouldn’t be so naughty as to burn up my dear playhouse on purpose!”
“Of course you didn’t do it on purpose, dear; and I don’t believe you
were really naughty. But never mind that, now. Even if you were, you’re
punished enough by the loss of the playhouse.”
“Yes, I think I am. We were having _such_ fun, Pinkie and I. And,
Auntie, it wasn’t a bit Pinkie’s fault either. We wouldn’t either of us
have thought of making a fire, if you hadn’t said we could. I mean, you
said you used to do it.”
“Yes, Dolly, dear; I fully realise how it all happened, and I’m not
going to blame either you or Phyllis. I think you should have known it
was a dangerous pastime, but if you’ll promise never to play with fire
or matches again, we’ll count this affair merely as an accident. But it
was a pretty bad accident, and I’m very thankful that only the playhouse
was burned. I shudder to think what might have happened to you two
little girls!”
“And to the whole house!” said Miss Abbie. “If Dick hadn’t heard you
scream, and if Michael and Pat hadn’t been at home, we might have no
roof over our heads now!”
Then Phyllis and Jack went home, and the others went up to the playroom,
to see what was left in the ruins. Michael and Pat were still cleaning
up, but the whole room had been more or less affected by the smoke, if
not by the flame.
The rug, being a thick, Oriental one, had not suffered much, but the
wallpaper and woodwork were sadly marred, the curtains were a wreck, and
the furniture was scratched and broken.
As to the playhouse, the actual framework was fairly intact, except
where the dining-room had been burned away, but it was blackened and
charred everywhere.
Miss Rachel directed the men to take it to the cellar, and leave it
there for the present.
“Sometime,” she said, “we may have it rebuilt and re-decorated, but I
can’t seem to think about it just now. Do you want to keep any of these
things, Dolly?”
Dolly looked over the half-burned toys that Dick and Jack had picked out
of the ruins, and more tears came as she recognised what had been the
blue satin sofa, and the baby’s crib.
“No, I don’t want them,” she said; “they only make me feel worse.”
Then they found the little stove, that had been the immediate cause of
the catastrophe. It was unharmed, except that it looked dull instead of
shiny, as before.
“I think you’d better set this on the mantel, Dolly,” said Aunt Abbie,
“to remind you not to play with fire.”
“I’ll never play with fire again, Auntie,” said Dolly. “But I will put
it on the mantel, to remind me of my dear playhouse. Oh, I did love it
so!”
Dolly had a great fondness for all her belongings, and the playhouse,
with its myriad delights was her dearest and best beloved possession.
“It’s too bad, Dollums,” said Dick. “If Aunt Rachel ever does decide to
have the house done over, I’ll do the yard all over again for you.”
“An’ I’ll make yez a new barn,” said Michael, who was just removing the
burned remnants of the old one; “but I can’t be doin’ it this summer;
there’s too much other wurrk. Next winter, when the wurrk is lighter,
I’ll have a thry at it.”
And none of them felt like doing right over again the work they had done
so recently, so the burned-out cottage was put in the cellar, and stayed
there for a long time. The playroom itself had to be done over at once.
A carpenter had to come first, and replace the burned window sill, where
the curtains had blazed up; then the paper-hangers and painters; so that
it was several weeks before the room could be used.
Meantime, Dick and Dolly played out in their out-of-doors playground.
It was now late in May, and the flowering vines had almost covered the
long arbour, making a delightful place to sit and read, or make things
at the table. The twins loved to make things, and often they thought
they’d make furniture for the renovated playhouse, but it’s hard to do
things so far ahead, and so they didn’t get at it.
Fortunately Lady Eliza had been on the other side of the playroom during
the fire, so had escaped without even a scorch.
But Dick and Dolly played she was a great heroine, and often
congratulated her on her narrow escape from the fearful conflagration.
They never grew tired of Lady Eliza. She was useful for so many games,
and all the children who visited the twins learned to look upon Eliza as
one of their own crowd.
“Let’s have a party for Eliza,” said Dolly, one day, as she and Dick
were working in their gardens. “Oh, Dick, there’s a thrush! Sh! don’t
frighten him.”
Silently the children watched, as a thrush perched on a nearby branch,
and sang his best musical selection. There is more sentiment in a
thrush’s song than in that of any other of our birds, and though the
twins didn’t recognise exactly that fact, they loved to listen to the
thrush.
It was their habit, after carefully watching a bird, to look it up in
their big, illustrated “Birds of North America,” and learn its name and
habits.
“That’s a Hermit Thrush,” whispered Dolly. “See the lots of spots on his
chest.”
“Maybe,” said Dick, softly; “but I think it’s the Olive-Backed Thrush.
See how brown his back and tail are.”
“Yes, perhaps it is. Listen to his call,—he says ‘Whee-oo! Too-whee!’
We must look him up to make sure. Oh, there comes a robin after him! Now
they’ll fight!”
“Go ’way, you horrid thing!” called Dick to the big, fat Robin
Redbreast, but unheeding, the robin flew at the thrush, and bothered
him, until the thrush flew away, and Dick and Dolly saw it no more.
“I think it’s too bad robins are so cross,” said Dolly, “and they’re so
pretty, too. I’d love them, if they wouldn’t pick-peck at the other
birds.”
“They are horrid,” said Dick; “but if we didn’t have robins, we wouldn’t
have much of anything. There are so few of the other birds,—’ceptin’
sparrows.”
“That’s so; well, as I was saying before the thrush came, let’s give
Lady Eliza a party.”
“Let’s ask Aunt Rachel first,” said Dick.
The twins were learning to ask permission beforehand, when they planned
anything out of the ordinary. This had already saved them trouble, and
the aunts were already congratulating themselves that the children were
learning to “think.”
“Yes, we will. But don’t let’s go in now. Let’s plan it, and then we’ll
ask auntie before we really do anything about it.”
“Well, who’ll we invite?”
“That’s ’cordin’ how big the party is. If Auntie Rachel ’grees, let’s
have a big party, ’bout a dozen, you know. And if she thinks bestest,
we’ll only have Pinkie and Jack.”
“But what’ll make it Eliza’s party?”
“Why, we’ll ask each child to bring a doll or something, so’s to be
comp’ny for her.”
“Boys can’t bring dolls.”
“I know; I’m thinking. Well, the boys can bring Teddy bears, or rocking
horses or anything that isn’t alive, and that part of it’ll be ’Liza’s
party, and the people part will be ours.”
“Sounds good enough. Where’ll we have it?”
“Here, of course; in the playground. We’ll fix it all up partified, and
have Japanese lanterns and everything.”
“We can’t have ’em lighted. It’ll have to be a daytime party.”
“I don’t know. Maybe auntie will let us have it ‘four to seven.’ We can
light the lanterns by six. It’s ’most dark then.”
“All right. Let’s go ask her now, ’fore we plan any further. It’d be
horrid to get it all fixed up and then have her say ‘No.’”
The twins clasped hands and ran toward the house. Dolly’s golden tangle
of curls bobbed up and down in the breeze, and Dick’s dark ringlets
clustered tighter on his brow, as his face flushed with the exercise,
but they ran evenly and swiftly together, keeping perfect step as they
flew over the ground.
Bang! In at the library door they went, and tumbled upon Aunt Rachel,
who sat in her usual chair, placidly holding her hands.
“Oh, Auntie, may we——” gasped Dick, and, “Oh, Auntie, the loveliest
plan!” panted Dolly, when they suddenly realised their aunt was not
alone.
A lady was calling, a lady very much dressed up and formal-looking, who
eyed the children with some severity and much curiosity.
But Dick and Dolly had not proved dull pupils in the matter of etiquette
as taught in Heatherton households. By no means. As quickly as a soldier
stands “at attention,” they stood up straight, advanced decorously to
the lady, and Dolly made her most careful courtesy, while Dick bowed
correctly.
“How do you do, Mrs. Witherbee?” they said, in decorous tones, and
though they were flushed and warm from their run, and just the least
mite out of breath, they reflected no discredit on their aunts by
boisterous or informal behaviour.
Aunt Rachel and Aunt Abbie sat proudly watching them, silently grateful
for the twins’ exhibition of good manners, for Heatherton matrons were
critical of other people’s children, and Mrs. Witherbee was one of the
most particular of all.
“You may go,” said Aunt Rachel to the twins, after they had been duly
questioned by the visitor, and with proper ceremonies of farewell, the
twins noiselessly left the room.
“Well, I ’spect we behaved all right that time,” said Dick, as they
strolled back to the garden.
“Yes, I promised Aunt Rachel I’d ’member my manners carefuller ’n ever.
She does love to have us be polite.”
“I know it; and it isn’t much trouble, after you get used to it.”
It seemed as if Mrs. Witherbee never would finish her call, but it was
really only about ten minutes later, when the twins saw her carriage
drive away. Again they raced to the house, this time to find the aunties
alone and expecting them.
“Well, what’s it all about?” said Miss Abbie, after both ladies had been
treated to a fine demonstration of regard and esteem.
“Why, we want to have a party,” began Dick.
“For Lady Eliza,” broke in Dolly; “she’s never had a party, and she’d
just love one. How many do you think we’d better ask?”
“A party! For Eliza!” said Aunt Rachel, helplessly. “What do you mean?”
“Yes, a party. Girls and boys, you know, and Teddy Bears, and dolls, and
everybody bring something.”
“Bring something! to eat?” exclaimed Aunt Abbie, in dismay, for it
sounded like a general picnic.
“Oh, no, not to eat!” explained Dolly; “but to be company for Eliza,
’cause it’s her party. And if you say so, we’ll only have Pinkie and
Jack, but we’d like to have more.”
“Tell us about it more slowly,” suggested Aunt Abbie; “and don’t both
talk at once.”
“You tell, Dick,” said Dolly. “You can talk slower ’n I can.”
“Well,” said Dick, “we thought it would be fun to have a party of about
a dozen boys and girls, but have it for Lady Eliza’s party,—just for
fun, you know.”
“And what’s this about bears?”
“Yes; have each boy and girl bring a doll or a bear, or a hobby horse or
a Jack-in-the-box, or anything like that, so it will be Eliza’s party
too.”
“Oh, I begin to see,” said Aunt Rachel. “I like the party idea; I’ve
been thinking you children might have a little party. But the Eliza part
of it is crazy.”
“Oh, no, it isn’t, Auntie,” said Dolly, who was patting her aunt on both
cheeks as she talked. “You see, all the boys and girls love Lady Eliza
’most as much as we do. And they’d be glad to have it be her party,
too.”
“Well, we’ll have to talk it over, and see about it,” said Miss Rachel;
“but now it’s time for you to run and get ready for tea.”
“All right, Auntie. But _do_ decide soon, for Eliza is _so_ impatient to
know.”
“Tell her she’ll have to wait, Dolly. But I’ll let her know by
to-morrow, if that will do.”
“Yes, Auntie, that will do, I’m sure;” and with a final pat and a kiss,
Dolly skipped away.