THE JOURNEY
As the train drew into the Satuit Station, it seemed to spill children
from every door. Counting them carefully, Granny Flynn and Mrs. Dore
found to their great relief that the twelve, with whom they started,
were still all with them. But--big and little--they were all so full
of the excitement of the trip that it looked as though, at any moment,
they might vanish in the strange country which surrounded them. Arthur,
leading the two boys, started an investigation of the station. The
three big girls followed. Only the little children, tired by the
trip and awed to quiet by the unfamiliar surroundings, stayed close
to the women’s skirts. Timmie’s big full eyes surveyed in wonder the
strange new world. Delia, who had fallen comfortably asleep in her
mother’s arms, suddenly waked up, rubbing her eyes, and looked about
her. “Oh take me back to Shalstown!” she wailed in a sudden attack of
homesickness and fortunately fell asleep again.
“Oh here’s the car!” Maida called.
A big comfortable limousine came round the bend of the road. The driver
alighted, and came forward. “Here I am at last, Miss Maida,” he said,
his hand to his cap.
“Oh good afternoon, Botkins,” Maida greeted him. She introduced him to
Granny Flynn and Mrs. Dore; then to the children.
“I’m sorry I was late, ma’am,” Botkins said to Granny Flynn, “but I
nearly ran over a dog in the road. I stopped to see if it was all
right.”
“And was it?” Rosie Brine, who had a passion for animals, asked eagerly.
“Right as a trivet,” Botkins answered.
“What is a trivet, Maida?” Rosie asked in a mystified aside.
“I’ll show in a few minutes, goose,” Maida rejoined. “It’s an English
word.”
Botkins, who was English also, began stowing the party away in the
automobile: Granny Flynn and Mrs. Dore on the back seats; Betsy and
Delia between them; and Mollie and Timmie at their feet. Maida and
Laura each holding a very active Clark twin, occupied the little seats.
Rosie, to her great delight, was permitted to sit with the driver. The
three boys hung onto the running board.
“We look like an orphan-asylum,” Arthur commented as, with a long call
of warning from the horn, they started off.
The road stretched straight before them, wide and yellow, furred with
trees on both sides; then vanished under an arch of green as it turned
to the left.
“Aren’t there any houses in Satuit, Maida?” Laura asked.
“Plenty,” Maida answered. “We’ll come to some in a minute--then to
more. In a little while, we’ll go right through the town.”
For a few moments nobody spoke; just watched for the first house.
Presently a little white farmhouse, gambrel-roofed and old, popped into
view at one side.
“Oh did you see that lovely old well with the long pole?” Rosie
exclaimed from the front seat.
“That’s a well-sweep,” Maida explained. “It has a bucket at one end.”
“Oh see the ponies! One, two, three, four, five--” but the car shot
Laura past before she had all the ponies counted.
“Gee, look at all those hens!” came from Arthur. “Must be a hundred!”
And then followed a chorus of “Oh sees!” The beautiful big barn with
its wide doors! The lovely little pond covered with lily pads: The
trim little vine-covered summer house perched on the hill! Bee hives!
The old grave yard!
And, “See the moo-cow!” piped up Betsy Hale and “Tee the moo-tow!”
Delia, as usual mimicked her.
Timmie did not speak; but his big eyes, made bigger by wonder, mirrored
everything.
“There’s the town!” Maida said finally and again for a few moments
there was silence.
The town manifested itself at first only by scattered farmhouses.
But these began to draw closer and closer together until, finally,
they seemed almost to huddle about the beautiful little white church
standing amidst rows of old lichen-covered slate gravestones, and
pointing with a slender, delicately-cut-and-carved, white spire at the
blue sky. Stores were here too, a moving picture house; a small inn; a
post office; a garage.
Then the road turned suddenly and for an instant it was almost as
though their speed would take them across the broad stretch of a
velvety green lawn into the blue harbor which expanded beyond. This
harbor bore here and there white-sailed boats. Not far away, a boy was
fishing from the side of a dory. There was a chorus of delighted _ohs_
and _ahs_ from the car. But their speed did not abate for a moment.
On they went and on; and soon the village was behind, far behind;
houses were drawing apart from each other. The forest was closing about
the farms, separating them.... Now the car was on the smooth hard road
again, thick tree growths on both sides.
With a contented sigh, Betsy closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.
Delia had long ago surrendered to the sand-man. Molly was trying her
best to keep awake; but it was obvious that she could not hold out
long. Timmie’s eyes were beginning to film with fatigue, but he fought
it manfully. Even the Clark twins had become silent. But the other
children were as wide-awake as when they started.
More yellow road and more yellow road--more green trees and more green
trees. In the front seat, Rosie bounced. “Oh Maida,” she called, “it
seems to me I can’t wait. Will we ever get there?”
Maida’s eyes danced. “Oh in an hour or so,” she said airily.
“An hour,” Laura groaned. “We have gone a thousand miles already.”
Even as she spoke, the motor turned smoothly, the horn emitting a long
silvery gurgle. They entered, between two massive stone posts, a long
avenue which curved away in the distance like a wide gray tape thrown
amidst the trees.
“Maida Westabrook you fibber!” Rosie exclaimed, “we’re here now!”
Maida only twinkled.
On they went. On both sides grew great trees. But, unlike the forests
that stretched away from the public roads which they had just
traversed, these woods had been freed of their underbrush. The grass
beneath them was like velvet and lying on it, as though liquid gold had
oozed or poured through the branches, shone tiny splashes and great
pools of sunlight. It looked as though the whole green earth were
caught in a golden net.
On and on! To the impatient children it seemed that they went miles.
“Oh!” Arthur Duncan exclaimed suddenly. And then, quite like a girl,
again and again, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
The car had turned so that it looked straight down into a cleared
glade. At the end of the vista, a group of deer, dappled in white all
over their lovely, dead-leaf brown bodies, lifted their heads, and with
their great soft eyes surveyed the car. But they stared for such a
tiny fraction of a second that it scarcely seemed that the thing had
happened at all for--flash! There was a glimpse of white as they turned
tail. They vanished as instantly, as completely, as miraculously as
though they were ghosts.
“Oh _Maida_!” Rosie exclaimed. “Deer! How wonderful! Do they belong to
your father or are they wild?”
“Those that you saw are dappled deer. Father had them brought here from
England,” Maida answered. “But once in a while we do see wild deer in
this country.”
“Oh I’d like to see some _wild_ deer,” Arthur said.
Dicky didn’t speak but his eyes were luminous. As for Harold, he was
still gasping with the surprise of it.
On they went. The road curved and rippled like a ribbon being
constantly thrown ahead of them. Suddenly they came to a great cleared
space, smoother than any plush. Botkins stopped the car. At the end
towered a huge house of white marble, with terraces. On the lawn, which
stretched between the children and the house, grew, widely-separated, a
few stately trees; wine-glass elms, oaks; copper beeches and powdered
spruces. It was very still now and, unimpeded, the setting sun was
sending great golden shafts across that stretch of plushy grass. They
struck a pool of water in a marble basin in the middle of that emerald
velvet; and through the fountain which played about it. Here ... there
... yonder ... motionless in that liquid golden light ... were white
objects....
“What are those white things?” Dicky asked curiously.
And then, one of the white objects arose, opened like a fan, spread to
a wonderful size its snow-white tail; moved in stately fashion along
the velvety-green lawn.
“Maida!” Dicky gasped. “Not--Yes they are--white peacocks!”
“Yes,” Maida answered. “White peacocks. I am so glad they were there.
Everything has happened just as I wanted it. Sometimes it will be days
before you see deer, although there are so many here. And sometimes
the peacocks wander to the back of the house. I knew you wanted to see
them, Dicky, and I’ve been hoping all along that they would be here for
you. There are seven. We have a dozen.”
Dicky was listening with all his ears; but at the same time he was
looking with all his eyes. For out of the trees to the left, suddenly
appeared another pair of peacocks in full sail. Not white ones this
time; great prismatic, blue and green creatures--the sun struck bronze
lights out of them as they floated on.
“It’s like a fairy tale,” Dicky breathed.
“Are we going to live there?” Rosie asked in an awed tone.
“Oh mercy no!” Maida answered. “That’s father’s house--the Big House.
Our house is ever so much nicer.”
“I hope it isn’t any bigger,” Laura said, her voice a little awed too.
Maida laughed a little. “No it’s not quite as big as that,” she
admitted.
“Shall I go on, Miss Maida?” Botkins asked.
“Yes, please Botkins,” Maida answered. And they continued to go
on through more winding, geometrically perfect, beautifully-kept,
gray roads; past armies and armies of trees: high, plumy-tipped,
feathery-trunked aristocratic elms; vigorous, irregular-shaped,
peasant-like oaks; clumps, gracefully-slender, fluttering a veil of
green leaves, of white birch; occasional pine, resinous and shining;
beeches; firs. Suddenly everybody exclaimed at once, “Oh see the pond!”
“What pond is it?” Harold asked.
“It’s called by some people Spy Pond,” Maida answered, “but I call it
the Magic Mirror. It’s our pond and I think I ought to be allowed to
call it what I want.”
“I think so too,” agreed Laura.
“What do you mean by _our_ pond?” Arthur asked.
“Just what I say,” Maida replied promptly. “It’s our pond. It belongs
to my father and it’s a part of the grounds of Maida’s Little House.
We can go swimming in it every day. That is if we don’t prefer--” She
broke off in a little embarrassed laugh.
“Oh Maida you are so full of secrets I could _kill_ you,” Rosie
threatened.
Maida only laughed.
They passed the pond which stretched for a considerable distance, long
and crescent-shaped between its tree-hung banks, and now they were in
the real forest. The road was smooth as always and beautifully-kept,
but on both sides, the forest had been left to grow as it pleased. It
was filled with underbrush. The tree trunks were obscured by great
bushes. Here and there through openings, the children could see
gigantic rocks thrusting great heads and shoulders out of the masses of
rusty-colored leaves.
“Oh isn’t it lovely!” Rosie said in a perfect ecstasy. “Lovely, lovely,
lovely!” she went on repeating dreamily as though caught in a trance of
delight. She ended with a scream. “Did you see that? What was it Maida?”
“A woodchuck,” Maida answered smilingly.
Timmie awakened by Rosie’s scream, asked if there were any lions and
tigers about. Much disappointed at Maida’s _no_, he fell asleep again.
And now they seemed to be going up hill, slowly but steadily up. Up,
up, up. The car had begun to speed a little. Ahead was another rounding
curve. Botkins took it with a flash.
The car came out in front of--
It was one of the little colonial farmhouses a story-and-a-half in
height; weather-colored, slant-roofed; to which addition after addition
has been added by succeeding generations. It was set in an expanse
of lawn, cut cleanly in two by a path of irregularly-shaped, sunken
stones, dominated, one on either side, by twin elms of enormous girth
and amplitude. The house faced the east.
The additions, which now merged into one long structure, had gone off
to the right and the north where they joined a big barn. This barn
was the same velvety, gray weather-color as the house but with great
doors painted a strange deep old blue which had faded to an even
stranger, deeper blue. The sun struck into the open door and shot
over the shining sides of half-a-dozen brilliantly colored canoes
lying face-downwards on the floor; glittered in the bright-work of
half-a-dozen bicycles, drawn up in a line.
The front door of the house opened as the automobile came in sight and
a colored man and woman, young and smiling, came out to meet them. The
automobile seemed to explode children, who started over the lawn of the
house.
What a house it was!
The pointed-topped, pillared vestibule entrance was covered with
roses which smothered it in a pink bloom. Hollyhocks, not blooming
yet, marched in files along the front of the house. Lilacs, in heavy
blossom, bunched in hedges at the ends. At one side, a trumpet vine,
with a trunk as thick as iron cable, had crept to the very top spine
of the house, was crawling towards the single ample chimney which
protruded from the middle of the roof. At the other side, a graceful
elm thrust close to the shingles. A syringa bush and a smoke bush grew
in front. But charming as was the house, interesting as was the barn,
the children’s eyes did not linger long on either of them, because
inevitably their gaze fixed on that Annex which made an intermediate
house between them. For in the middle of it--yes _in_ it and _through_
it--grew an enormous gnarled oak. Its trunk emerged from the roof
and its long level branches spread over it in every direction. More
than that--above that roof--securely caught in those flatly-growing,
widely-spread branches was a little Tree House.
The colored pair were almost on them now.
“Good afternoon Floribel,” Maida greeted them, “Good afternoon Zeke.
Let me introduce you to Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Dore.”
Then she turned to the rest of the group.
“Children,” she commanded in a tone of happy pride, “behold Maida’s
Little House.”