MORNING
The sun poured through the windows onto Maida’s bed. She stirred.
Was it a bird calling her? No. It was the phonograph. She peeped out
the window. Arthur had brought the phonograph to the opening of the
barn door. It was playing, “Bugle Calls of the American Army.” It was
reveille that she was listening to.
The door to her bed-chamber flew open and Rosie, her heavy curls
flying, her black eyes sparkling, precipitated herself across the room.
“Oh Maida!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it wonderful? I am not _dreaming_ am
I? Ow!” as Maida pinched her. “I have been awake for I don’t know how
long, listening to the birds and everything. I have been waiting ever
so long for you to wake up. I thought you would never stir.”
“Well now that I’m awake, I’ll dress as soon as possible,” Maida
promised. “We’ve got a long day before us. Let’s go in and get Laura
up.”
Laura was still deep in slumber. Indeed she showed a marked
disinclination to awaken. Rosie charitably assisted her efforts by the
application to her face of a very wet--and a very cold--sponge. For
some reason, this action precipitated a pillow fight. In the midst
of it, the breakfast bell sounded but they paid no attention to it.
Finally Granny Flynn had to call: “Stop that running about, children,
and get dressed. Breakfast’ll be on the table in a minute.”
When the second bell rang, the boys came in from the barn and the
twelve children, Granny Flynn at one end of the table and Mrs. Dore at
the other, sat down to a breakfast of fruit, oatmeal, eggs, and all the
milk they wanted.
After breakfast, Maida said, “Now, first, I want to show the six little
children where’s the nicest place for them to play. Do the rest of you
want to come?”
The rest _did_ want to come. Perhaps Laura voiced their sentiments
when she said, “That’s a great idea, Maida. Get the little children
interested, so they won’t be forever tagging us.”
Maida led the way to the side of the house--the north. They crossed an
expanse of lawn, came to an opening in the stone wall. Beyond looked
like unbroken forest. But from the break in the wall, threading its way
through the trees, appeared a well-worn path. They followed it for a
few rods. It ended flush against a big sloping rock.
“This,” Maida said triumphantly, “is House Rock.”
The children swarmed over it.
“Isn’t it a beauty!” Rosie exclaimed.
It was a beauty--and especially for play purposes. It was big, cut up
by stratification into all levels--but low. At its highest end, it was
not three feet from the ground. Trees shaded it; bushes hedged it;
mosses padded it. No wonder it had been named House Rock; for it was a
perfect setting for those housekeeping games in which little children
so delight.
“Now, listen to me, little six,” Maida began.
But Arthur interrupted, “Why that’s a great name for them--the Little
Six. And we,” he added triumphantly, “are the Big Six.”
“Molly and Mabel and Dorothy and Betsy and Delia and Timmie,” Maida
started again, “all of you, listen! You are the Little Six. This is
your playground. There are some toys in the house; dolls and doll’s
dishes and doll’s furniture, which you can bring here to play house
with. But you are not to go far from the Rock. And when you hear the
cow-bell, you must always return to the Little House.”
“Is that all,” Laura asked eagerly, “and now can we leave the Little
Six and go exploring?”
The Little Six waited, dancing with excitement, impatient for the first
time in their lives to have the big children go.
“Not yet,” Maida responded, “just one more thing for the Little Six.”
She led the way around House Rock to its high end. From there another
well-worn path started off. The children followed her down its curving
way. Not far from House Rock, it came into a big circular enclosure;
grassy and surrounded by trees.
“What’s this, Maida?” Arthur asked.
“It’s a Fairy Ring,” Maida answered solemnly.
“A Fairy Ring,” Dicky repeated in an awed tone. “Is it really a Fairy
Ring?”
“That’s what I’ve always called it,” Maida replied. “I don’t know what
it is, if it isn’t a Fairy Ring. I have never seen anything like
it--except in England and there they always call them Fairy Rings, and
besides nobody knows what it was used for.”
Arthur strolled around the entire circumference of the Ring keenly
examining the ground and the surrounding trees.
“It looks like a wood clearing to me,” he said in a low tone to Maida
when he rejoined the group.
Betsy, silenced for the first time in her five years of experience,
suddenly exploded. “Oh goody! goody! goody!” she exclaimed. “Now the
fairies will come and play with us. I’ve always wanted to see a fairy.
Now I’m going to see one!”
“I don’t believe they’s any such things as fairies,” Timmie declared
sturdily.
“Oh Timmie,” Dorothy Clark remonstrated, “I should think you’d be
ashamed of yourself. Of course they’s fairies.”
“Well, anyway,” Timmie still sturdily stood his ground, “if they are, I
don’t believe they’ll come and play with us.”
“Well, I believe they will,” Mabel Clark reinforced her sister.
But Betsy was capering up and down the length and breadth of the Fairy
Ring. “I know the fairies will come!” she sang aloud. “I know the
fairies will come! I know the fairies will come!”
When the older children left the Fairy Ring, all six of the little
children were capering too. The last thing they heard was Delia’s
mimicking words: “I know the fairz tum! I know the fairz tum! I know
the fairz tum!”
“That’s over,” Maida said. “I told Granny Flynn,” she explained, “that
I’d show the little children a nice place to play. Now let’s go into
the living room and talk. There are a whole lot of things that I’ve got
to tell you that I haven’t had time to tell you yet.”
Although it was a June day--and as warm and sunny as June knows how
to be--they gathered about the big fireplace where already logs were
piled and ready to burn. The boys sat on the fender; the girls drew up
chairs. After they were all comfortable Maida began.
“Father says that this first week we can all rest. It’s to be our
vacation, but after that, we’ve got to work. Father says that there are
some things that every girl ought to know how to do and some things
every boy ought to know. And we’re going to learn those things living
in the Little House.”
Rosie’s eyes danced. “Hurry!” she urged Maida.
Maida drew a long breath. “There’s so much of it. You see there’s
a good deal of work about the house, although it seems so small.
Floribel--she’s the colored maid--is going to do the cooking and Zeke,
her husband, will attend to most of the outside work. Of course Granny
Flynn and Mrs. Dore will run everything. But we girls are to take care
of our own rooms and the flower garden.”
“Oh goody, goody!” Rosie exclaimed, “I love flowers!”
“We are to keep the house decorated with flowers. And once every week,
we are to do the housekeeping for the entire day--that’s Floribel’s and
Zeke’s day off. That day, we have to plan the meals; do the marketing;
cook the food; wash and wipe the dishes.”
“Gee, I’m glad I’m not a girl,” Harold said jubilantly.
“Oh your turn comes now,” Maida declared. “You boys have got to weed
and water the vegetable garden; gather vegetables whenever they are
needed; run errands; take care of the tennis court.”
“For my part,” Laura declared, “I wish we did _all_ the cooking. I love
it.”
“You wouldn’t love it if you did it for sixteen people,” Maida
commented in a scandalized tone.
“It’s just as though we were all alone by ourselves,” Rosie declared
jubilantly.
“We are,” Maida stated. “We’re three miles from the Big House. We
shan’t see any of father’s company. Father has closed one of the
roads that leads to the Little House and the other is a secret one
that nobody but he and Botkins and I know. Your parents are invited
to visit you whenever they wish. Of course father will come to see us
occasionally. And let me tell you he will come when we least expect
it. And if everything isn’t in apple-pie-order--Of course there’s the
telephone if we should need help--or anything happened--But otherwise
we’re almost all alone in the world.”
“It’s like a story book,” Dicky commented.
“Maida!” Rosie said, “you speak of a flower garden and a vegetable
garden but I don’t remember that you showed them to us last night.”
“No, I didn’t,” Maida explained. “We were all getting so tired. But
I’ll show them to you now. Come!”
She led the way through the living room; through the dining room to
the back door of the house. Then she turned north. “This room is the
laundry,” she said. “And here,” pointing to an enclosure, set off by a
high vine-grown lattice, “is the drying yard.” They were now walking on
a path which ran between the house and a file of cypresses, standing
trim and tall and so close that they made a hedge. Maida led the way
to the corner where there was an opening. There a great rectangle
surrounded by cypresses was a garden--all roses. The bushes were
already in rich bloom, great creamy white ones and great pinky white
ones. Others were deep pink, golden yellow, a rich dark crimson.
“This is the rose garden,” Maida explained. “Beyond,” she led the
way into still another cypress-guarded square, “is the old-fashioned
garden. There are nasturtiums here and phlox and pansies and peonies
and lots of other things I can’t remember, and in the fall there’ll be
dahlias and asters.”
Rosie shook herself with joy. “I shall love working in this garden,”
she declared. “This afternoon let’s fill all the vases in the house
with roses.”
“All right,” Maida agreed absently. “Now I’m going to show you the
vegetable garden.”
“I know where that is,” Arthur boasted. “I got up early and explored.”
Maida led the way past the croquet ground, past the tennis court to
another cypress-bordered square. Here, in parallel lines, were rows
of green sprouts. The earth must have been turned over in the spring,
indeed it might have been turned over in the previous fall, rich loam
and cultivator added. It looked like freshly-grated chocolate.
“Gracious, I think I could make fudge of that earth,” Rosie exclaimed.
“How tidy it looks,” Laura commented.
“Yes,” Maida agreed. “That’s because the gardener has put it in perfect
condition for you boys. But after this, you’ve got to take care of it
yourselves. And weeds grow like--like--” She paused for a comparison.
“Like sixty!” Arthur finished it for her. “I know; I’ve weeded my
aunt’s garden in Maine. Believe me it’s hot work. The thing to do is to
work a little every day--that’s the only way you can keep ahead of the
weeds.”
“Sure, early in the morning!” Dicky remarked.
“How did you know that, Dicky?” Maida asked curiously.
“I just happened to read it in a book,” Dicky explained.
“Now, when I tell you,” Maida went on, as one suddenly remembering the
rest of her instructions, “that we shall have to go to bed at nine
and get up at seven, I have told you all I have to tell you. Father’s
very strict about our sleep. He says we must have ten hours. There’s
one exception. Saturday night, when we can sit up until ten and Sunday
morning when we can sleep until eight. Now, how would you like to go to
the Magic Mirror?”
“Oh I’ve been on pins and needles every moment since we got up wanting
to go to that Pond,” Rosie declared, “but then I want to see everything
at once.”
“Arthur, do you know how to row a canoe?” Dicky asked.
“No, I don’t,” Arthur admitted.
“I do,” said Harold with a slight accent of superiority, “but you don’t
_row_ a canoe. You row a _boat_ and you _paddle_ a canoe.”
“Does it take long to learn?” Dicky asked with great interest.
“No, and it’s as easy as pie when you get the hang of it, but you fall
overboard a hundred times before you do that.”
“I can’t swim,” Dicky said disconsolately.
“Never mind, Dicky,” Maida comforted him, “you’ll soon learn. Can you
swim Rosie?”
“Yes. I’ll teach you Dicky. You begin first with water wings and then--”
In the meantime, following Maida’s lead, they were moving north.
“Hi!” Arthur remonstrated. “The way to the Pond--I mean the Magic
Mirror--is over in that direction.”
“This is another way to it,” Maida explained. “Once you’ve taken it,
you’ll never take any other.”
A little path disengaged itself from the trees which fringed the lawn,
began to wind away, almost hidden, among the trees. The children
followed Maida in Indian file. For a few moments they could hear Granny
Flynn calling to the younger children; then the voices gradually died
away; bird voices took their places; the calm and the hush of the deep
forest fell upon them.
“Oh isn’t it wonderful!” Rosie said in an awed tone. “It makes me feel
like--It makes me feel like--Well, it’s like being in church.”
On both sides the fresh green of the trees made an intricate screen
through which the sunlight poured and splashed. The birds kept up
their calls; and many insects called too. A bee buzzed through a tiny
interval of silence; then a crow cawed. The road turned, dipped, sank.
“Isn’t this pretty?” Maida exclaimed as they descended into a hollow
with high, thick, blossoming wild-rose bushes on both sides.
Involuntarily, the Big Six stopped and looked about them. They stood
in a little dimple in the earth--bushes growing thick and high on its
sides.
“How hot it is down here,” Laura commented, “and how sweet it smells.”
“I call it the Bosky Dingle,” Maida explained.
“What does Bosky Dingle mean?” Dicky enquired.
“It’s a poetry phrase,” Maida told him. “It means a kind of woody
hollow.”
“There’s the Pond!” called the practical Harold.
The children broke into a run.
They came out on a cleared space with a boat-house and a long jetty,
leading from a newly-shingled shed into the water. “This is for the
canoes,” Maida explained. She unlocked the door and showed a single
wide empty room.
“Oh let’s go home and get the canoes and bring them down here,” Arthur
explained. “I’m wild to try them.”
“It will take two to carry each canoe,” Harold explained, “and we need
bathing suits.”
“There are bathing suits at home for all of us,” Maida explained.
“Shall we turn back?” She asked this question politely, but she said it
a little reluctantly.
Rosie seemed to see her reluctance.
“Did you have another plan, Maida?” Rosie demanded.
“Well you see,” Maida answered slowly, “there’s a gypsy camp half way
round the Magic Mirror and I thought you might like to visit it.”