FUN AT COUSIN ETHEL'S
Next morning Midget and Kitty were awake early, and found that the
sunshine was fairly pouring itself in at their bay window.
"I don't believe it's time to get up," said Midget, as she smiled at
Kitty across the room.
"No; Mother said she'd call us when it was time," returned Kitty,
cuddling down under her rosebudded coverlet.
But just then something flew in at the open window, and landed on the
floor between their two beds.
"What's that?" cried Marjorie, startled. And then she saw that it was a
large red peony blossom. It was immediately followed by another, and that
by a branch of lilac blooms. Then came hawthorn flowers, syringa, Rose of
Sharon, roses, bluebells, and lots of other flowers, and sprays of green,
until there was a perfect mound of flowers in the middle of the room, and
stray blossoms fallen about everywhere.
"It's Cousin Jack, of course," cried Marjorie. "Let's get up, Kit."
The girls sprang out of bed, and throwing on their kimonas, ran and
peeped out of the window, from behind the curtains.
Sure enough, Cousin Jack was standing down on the lawn, and when he saw
the smiling faces, he began to chant a song to them:
"Susannah and Mehitabel, come out and play!
For it's a lovely, sunny, shiny day in May;
And Cousin Jack is waiting here for you,
So hurry up, and come along, you two!"
Marjorie and Kitty could dress pretty quickly when they wanted to, so
they were soon ready, and in fresh pink gingham dresses and pink
hair-ribbons, they ran downstairs and out on to the lawn. King was
already there, for Cousin Jack had roused him also.
"Hello, Kiddy-widdies!" Cousin Jack called out, as the girls flew toward
him. "However did you get bedecked in all this finery so quickly?"
"This isn't finery," said Kitty; "these are our morning frocks. But say,
Cousin Jack, how did you manage to throw those flowers in at our window
from down here?"
"Oh, I'm a wizard; I can throw farther than that."
"Yes, a ball," agreed Marjorie; "but I don't see how you could throw
flowers."
"Oh, I just gave them to the fairies, and they threw them in," and Cousin
Jack wouldn't tell them that really he had thrown them from a nearby
balcony, and gone down to the lawn afterward.
"Well, anyway, it was a lovely shower of flowers, and we thank you lots,"
said Marjorie.
"You're a nice, polite little girl, Mehitabel, and I'm glad to see you
don't forget your manners. Now we have a good half hour before breakfast,
what shall we play?"
Kitty sidled over to Cousin Jack, and whispered, a little timidly, "You
_said_ we'd play Indians."
"Bless my soul! A gentle little thing like you, Susannah, wanting to play
Indians! Well, then that's what we play. I'll be the Chief, and my name
is Opodeldoc. You two girls can be squaws,--no, you needn't either.
Mehitabel can be a Squaw, and Susannah, you are a pale-faced Maiden, and
we'll capture you. Then Hezekiah here can be a noble young Brave, who
will rescue you from our clutches! His name will be Ipecacuanha."
Surely Cousin Jack knew how to play Indians! These arrangements suited
the young Maynards perfectly, and soon the game was in progress. The
Indian Chief and the Squaw waited in ambush for the pale-faced Maiden to
come along; the Chief meanwhile muttering dire threats of terrible
tortures.
Throwing herself into the game with dramatic fervor, Kitty came strolling
along. She hummed snatches of song, she paused here and there to pick a
flower, and as she neared the bush behind which the two Indians were
hiding, she stopped as if startled. Shading her eyes with her hand, she
peered into the bush, exclaiming, in tragic accents, "Methinks I hear
somebody! It may be Indians in ambush! Yes, yes,--that _is_ an ambush,
there must be Indians in it!"
This speech so amused Cousin Jack that he burst into shouts of laughter.
Kitty, absorbed in her own part, did not smile. "Hah!" she exclaimed,
"methinks I hear the Indians warwhooping!"
Kitty's idea of dramatic diction was limited to "Hah!" and "Methinks,"
and after this speech, Cousin Jack gave way to a series of terrific
warwhoops, in which Marjorie joined. Cousin Jack was pretty good at this
sort of thing, but his lungs gave out before Marjorie's did, for, this
being her specialty, her warwhoops were of a most extreme and exaggerated
nature.
"Good gracious, Mehitabel, do hush up!" cried the Indian Chief, clapping
his hand over his Squaw's mouth. "You'll have all the neighbors over
here, and the police and the fire department! Moderate your transports!
Warwhoop a little less like a steam calliope!"
Marjorie giggled, and then gave a series of small, squeaky, lady-like
warwhoops, which seemed to amuse Cousin Jack as much as the others had
done.
"You are certainly great kids!" he exclaimed. "I'd like to buy the whole
bunch of you! But come on, my Squaw, we waste time, and the pale-faced
Maiden approacheth. Hah!"
"Hah!" replied Marjorie, and from behind his own distant ambush, King
muttered, "Hah!"
Kitty stood patiently waiting to be captured, and so Chief Opodeldoc
hissed between his teeth, "Hah! the time is ripe! Dash with me, oh,
Squaw, and let us nab the paleface!"
"Dash on! I follow!" said Marjorie, and with a mad rush, the two fierce
Indians dashed out from behind their bush, and captured the pale-faced
Maiden.
Kitty struggled and shrieked in correct fashion, while the Indians danced
about her, brandishing imaginary tomahawks, and shrieking moderately loud
warwhoops.
The terrified paleface was just about to surrender, when the noble young
Brave, Ipecacuanha, dashed forth, and sprang into the fray, rescuing the
maiden just in the nick of time. Holding the paleface, who lay limp and
gasping in his left arm, the young Indian madly fought the other two of
his own tribe with his strong right arm. Apparently he, too, had a
tomahawk, for he fearfully brandished an imaginary weapon, and did it so
successfully, that Opodeldoc and his faithful Squaw were felled to the
ground. Then the brave young Indian and the fair girl he had saved from
her dire fate danced a war dance round their prostrate captives, and
chanted a weird Indian dirge, that caused the fallen Chief to sit up and
roar with laughter.
"You children do beat all!" he exclaimed once more. "And, by jiminy
crickets! there goes the breakfast bell! Are you wild Indians fit to
appear in a civilized dining-room?"
"'Course we are!" cried Marjorie, jumping up and shaking her frills into
place. Kitty stood demurely beside her, and sure enough, the two girls
were quite fresh and dainty enough for breakfast.
"You see," explained Marjorie, "this wasn't a real tumble around play.
Sometimes when we play Indians, we lose our hair-ribbons and even tear
our frocks, but to-day we've behaved pretty well, haven't we, King?"
"Yep," assented her brother, looking at the girls critically, "you look
fine. Am I all right?"
"Yes," said Marjorie, as she smoothed down one refractory lock at the
back of his head. "We're all ready, Cousin Jack." She turned a smiling
face toward him, and remarking once again, "You do beat all!" the
ex-Chief marched his young visitors in to breakfast.
After that delightful and very merry meal was over, Cousin Ethel
announced that she would take charge of the two girls that morning, and
that King could share in their occupation or not as he chose.
"You see, it's this way, girlies," said Cousin Ethel, after she had led
the way to a pleasant corner of the veranda, and her guests were grouped
about her. "A Charity Club to which I belong is going to have a sort of
an entertainment which is not exactly a fair or a bazaar, but which is
called a Peddler's Festival. Of course, it is to make money for charity,
and while the older people have charge of it, they will be assisted by
young people, and even children. Now I think it will be lovely for you
chick-a-biddies to take part in this affair, if you want to; but if you
don't want to, you must say so frankly, for you're not going to do
anything you don't like while your Cousin Ethel is on deck!"
"S'pose you tell 'em about it, Ethelinda, and let them judge for
themselves," said her husband, who was sitting on the veranda railing,
with Midge and Kitty on either side of him, and Rosamond in his arms.
"Well, it's this way," began Cousin Ethel. "Instead of having articles
for sale in any room or hall, we are going to send them all around town,
in pushcarts or wagons, each in charge of a peddler. These peddlers will
be young people dressed in fancy costumes, and each will try to sell his
load of wares by calling from house to house. Some peddlers will have
pushcarts or toy express wagons, or even wheelbarrows. Others will carry
a suitcase or a basket or a peddler's pack. They may go together or
separately, and the whole day will be devoted to it."
"Great scheme!" commented Cousin Jack. "Wish we might be in it, eh, Ned?"
"Well, no," said Mr. Maynard, "I don't believe I care about that sort of
thing myself, but I rather think the Maynard chicks will like it."
"Yes, indeed," cried Marjorie, her eyes dancing at the thought; "I think
it will be lovely fun, Cousin Ethel. But can we girls push a big
pushcart? Do you mean like the grocers use?"
"There will be a few of those," said Cousin Ethel, "and in all cases
where the vehicles are too heavy for the girls, there will be young men
appointed to do the pushing, while the girls cajole the customers into
buying. It will not be difficult, as everybody will be waiting for you
with open hearts and open purses."
"It's a grand plan," said Kitty, speaking with her usual air of
thoughtful deliberation. "What shall we sell, Cousin Ethel?"
"Well, I'm undecided whether to put you two girls together, or put you
each with some one else. I'd like to put you each with another little
girl, but if I do that, I will have to put Marjorie with Bertha Baker,
and I know she won't like it."
"Why won't she like it?" asked Marjorie, innocently. "I'll be nice to
her."
"Bless your heart, you sweet baby, I don't mean that!" cried Cousin
Ethel; "but the truth is, nobody likes Bertha Baker. She is a nice child
in many ways, but she is,--"
"Grumpy-natured," put in Cousin Jack; "that's what's the matter with
Bertha,--she hasn't any sunshine in her makeup. Now as Marjorie has
sunshine enough for two, I think it will be a good plan to put them
together."
"The plan is good enough," said his wife, "if Marjorie doesn't mind. But
I don't want her pleasure spoiled because she has to be with a grumpy
little girl. How about it, Marjorie?"
"I don't mind a bit," said Midget. "We're always good-natured ourselves,
somehow we just can't help being so. And if Bertha Baker is cross, I'll
just giggle until she has to giggle too."
"That's right, Midget," said her father, nodding his head approvingly.
"And if you giggle enough, I think you'll make the grumpy Bertha merry
before she knows it."
"You see," said Cousin Ethel, "everybody else is arranged for. And unless
Marjorie goes with Bertha Baker, the child will have to go alone, for
nobody else is willing to go with her."
"What a disagreeable girl she must be!" said King. "I'm glad I don't have
to go with her."
"But you will have to, King," said Marjorie. "He'll have to push our
cart, won't he, Cousin Ethel?"
"Why, yes, I thought he would do that; but he shan't if he doesn't want
to."
"Oh, I do want to," declared King, agreeably. "I'm not afraid of any
grumpy girl. I'll smile on her so sweetly, she'll _have_ to smile back."
And King gave such an idiotic grin that they all smiled back at him.
"Now," went on Cousin Ethel, briskly, "I thought, Marjorie, you could
have the doll cart, and Kitty could be with May Perry and help sell the
flowers. The flower wagon will be very pretty, and flowers are always
easy to sell."
"So are dolls," said Marjorie. "Can I help you make some. Cousin Ethel,
or are they already made?"
"The more elaborate dolls are being dressed by the ladies of our Club.
But I thought, that if your mother and I and you girls could get to
work to-day, we could make a lot of funny little dolls that I'm sure
would be saleable."
"Let me help, too," said Cousin Jack. "I can make lovely dolls out of
peanuts."
"Nonsense," said his wife, "we can all make peanut dolls. And besides,
Jack, you must get away to your business. Your office boy will think
you're lost, strayed, or stolen."
"I suppose I must," sighed Cousin Jack; "it's awful to be a workingman.
Come on, Ned; want to go in to Boston with me?"
The two men went away, and after a while Cousin Ethel called the children
to come to what she called a Dolly-Bee.
On the table, in the pleasant living room, they found heaps of materials.
Bits of silk and lace and ribbon, to dress little dolls,--and all sort of
things to make dolls of.
King insisted on helping also, for he said he was just as handy about
such things as the girls were. To prove this, he asked Cousin Ethel for a
clothespin, and with two or three Japanese paper napkins, and a gay
feather to stick in its cap, he cleverly evolved a very jolly little
doll, whose features he made with pen and ink on the head of the
clothespin.
And then they made dolls of cotton wadding, and dolls of knitting cotton,
and peanut dolls, and Brownie dolls, and all sorts of queer and odd dolls
which they invented on the spur of the moment.
They made a few paper dolls, but these took a great deal of time, so they
didn't make many. Paper dolls were Kitty's specialty. But she cut them so
carefully, and painted them so daintily, that they were real works of
art, and therefore consumed more time than Cousin Ethel was willing to
let her spend at the work.
"You mustn't tire yourselves out doing these," she admonished them. "I
only want you to work at them as long as you enjoy it."
But the Maynards were energetic young people, and when interested, they
worked diligently; and the result was they accumulated a large number of
dolls to sell at the Festival.
King was given his choice between pushing a tinware cart with another
boy, or pushing the doll cart for the girls.
He chose the latter, "because," said he, "I can't leave Mopsy to the
tender mercies of that grumpy girl. And I don't think tinware is much
fun, anyhow."
"How do we know where to go. Cousin Ethel?" said Marjorie, who was
greatly interested in the affair.
"Oh, you just go out into the streets, and stop at any house you like.
There won't be any procession. Every peddler goes when and where he
chooses, until all his goods are sold."
"Suppose we can't sell them?" said Kitty.
"There's no danger of that. They're all inexpensive wares, and the whole
population of Cambridge is expecting you, and the people are quite ready
to spend their money for the good of the cause"