PLANS
“Now,” Maida announced at breakfast a week later, “we’ve had all
the vacation we’re going to get--at least all that the Big Six get.
To-morrow begins our work. Father said we could plan it ourselves how
it was to be done and unless our plans were bad ones, we could keep
right on with them. Now I propose that, right after breakfast, you
boys go to the barn and make a program of your work. We girls will
stay here and make a program for ourselves. You remember what it is
you’re expected to do?” Notwithstanding protests that they remembered
everything, she recited briefly again to the boys the list of their
duties.
After breakfast, as directed, the Big Six divided. The boys proceeded
to the barn. The girls settled themselves in the big, comfortable
living-room, began to discuss the work that they were to do. Rosie, in
some inexplicable way, soon took control; was handling the situation in
the practical, efficient way that was typical of her.
“Do you know how to make a bed, Maida?” she asked.
“No,” Maida answered dolefully, “I never made one in my life. It looks
easy though.”
“It’s easy to make a bed _badly_,” Rosie said with emphasis. “How about
you Laura?”
“Well,” Laura replied slowly, “I _have_ made one.”
Rosie groaned. “I know what it will look like,” she commented. “Now I
_can_ make a bed,” she boasted. “Right after we finish this, I’ll take
you upstairs and show you both. Now, how about cooking?”
Maida looked aghast. “I never cooked anything in my life.”
“That’s what I thought,” Rosie remarked grimly. “How about cooking,
Laura?”
“I can make pop-overs, one-two-three-four cake and cup-custard,” Laura
stated proudly. “And, oh yes, fudge!”
“Is that all?” Rosie asked scornfully.
“Yes,” Laura admitted.
“Can either of you make a fire?” Rosie went on.
Two meek _noes_ were the answer.
“Well, as far as I can see,” Rosie decided, “we’ve got to begin at the
very beginning. Now I’ve been thinking this matter over and it seems
to me there’s only one fair way of doing it and that is for us to weed
the flower garden _all together_ every morning; each one of us to take
care of their own room--”
“_Her_ own room,” Maida corrected. She added roguishly, “I thought you
were beginning to feel too important, Rosie.”
“All right, smarty-cat! _Her_ own room. Then when it comes to
Floribel’s day out, we’ll take turns in planning the three meals. But
every Thursday, one of us must have the day in charge. On that day the
other two are only assistants.”
“Rosie,” Maida exclaimed, “I think you are perfectly wonderful! That
seems to me to be absolutely all right. Don’t you think so, Laura?”
“Yes,” Laura answered equally enthusiastic, “I think it’s marvelous.”
“Well, then,” Rosie began again, “let’s begin to plan meals for this
Thursday.”
They were deep in this interesting task when the boys returned from the
barn. They compared plans.
The boys’ plan did not differ so very much from the girls’ except that,
when it came to the work in the vegetable garden they had decided to
weed in rotation. Also in rotation, they were to sprinkle garden and
tennis court nightly, to roll the tennis court daily. Each boy was to
make his own bed. There was a typewriter in the library and they spent
the next half-hour typing out these plans and making as many copies as
there were children. Then they pinned them up in their rooms.
“Say,” Arthur declared suddenly, “you girls have got to show us how to
make a bed. I suppose I could make one, after a fashion, but I never
have. I don’t know how to begin.”
“I do,” said Harold unexpectedly. “I learned how to make beds last
summer at camp. I’ll show you.”
“Show us now,” Arthur demanded.
The three boys started in the direction of the barn.
“Let’s go too,” Rosie whispered. “Isn’t it a joke to think of boys
trying to make beds? I’d like to see the bed after Harold has finished
with it.”
The girls tagged the boys; followed them upstairs into the barn.
At once Harold began in the most business-like way to strip the bed. It
was apparent that on arising he had pulled the covers back to air. Then
with swift, efficient movements, he began to re-make it.
“Goodness!” Rosie exclaimed humbly in a moment, “I can’t make a bed as
well as that. I’m going to learn too.”
Indeed, the bed looked like a mathematical problem which had just been
solved, and as Harold proceeded to clean up the room in the way he
had learned at camp, the others followed him with respectful glances.
Harold tidied the three chiffoniers and the three closets. When he
finished, the room had a look of military perfection.
“Now,” he commanded, “Arthur you make your bed and Dicky you make
yours; I’ll supervise the job.”
“I’m going right back to my room and re-make my bed, Harold,” Maida
declared. “It looks as though somebody had driven an automobile over
it.”
“I will too,” admitted the humbled Rosie. “Think of having a boy teach
you how to make a bed!”
The boys rejoined the girls after a while and again they went over
their plans. In the midst of it all, Granny Flynn came in to see what
was keeping them so quiet. They showed her the typewritten schedules
and she approved them highly. “They ought to work like a charm,” she
averred.
And indeed, it seemed as though her prophecy were a true one. About
the same hour the next morning, twin alarm-clocks rang out; one in the
barn, another in Maida’s room. Very soon after, a sleepy boy--Arthur
had volunteered for the first day in the garden--emerged from the barn;
three sleepy girls from the house. They weeded busily for half an hour.
In the meantime, another sleepy boy was rolling the tennis court which
had been hosed the night before. Then came breakfast. Immediately after
breakfast, rooms were made speckless.
With the girls, this continued to be a kind of game. They not only
prided themselves on keeping their chambers clean, but they actually
tried to match the flowers they placed there to the chintzes and
wallpapers.
“It’s fun to take care of these darling rooms,” Rosie declared again
and again. “They’re so little I feel as though we ought to buy a doll’s
broom and a doll’s carpet-sweeper and a doll’s dust-pan and brush. I
never saw such sweet furniture in all my life, and how I love the roof
slanting down like that!”
“I feel that way too--exactly as though I were putting a doll’s house
in order,” Laura coincided happily.
As for the boys--they bothered with no flowers. Indeed a military
plainness prevailed in the barn. This of course meant also a military
neatness to which no one of them was accustomed but Harold. Harold
constituted himself critic-in-chief. And he proved a stern critic
indeed. He would not permit the sheets on the bed to deviate one hair’s
breadth from perfect horizontality or absolute verticality. A bit of
paper on the floor elicited an immediate rebuke. He even stipulated the
exact spots on the chiffonier-tops where brush, comb and mirror were to
be kept and he saw that the other boys kept them there. The victims of
his passion for military order had to roll their pajamas in a certain
way and put them in a certain place. A similar neatness characterized
the closets. Coats and trousers had to be hung on special hangers; ties
on special hooks. As for bureau drawers--Harold maintained that there
was a place for everything and woe to Dicky or Arthur when everything
was not in its place.
Immediately after the rooms were done in the morning came errands. The
first morning, Granny let the Big Six do all the marketing, even what
could have been done over the telephone; so that they could get to know
where the shops were. They proceeded on their bicycles, with Maida for
a guide, to Satuit Center. Maida took them to the Post Office; to the
butcher; the grocer; the coalman; the wood-man; the hardware shop; the
ice cream establishment--even to the little dry-goods shops and to the
cobbler. She introduced them to all these village authorities.
“After to-day,” Maida explained, “we’ll have to do only part of
Granny’s marketing for her. And only one of us need attend to it.”
“Oh let’s do it every day--and all together,” Dicky burst out
impulsively.
“You think you’ll enjoy that because it’s new to you,” Maida laughed,
“but you’ll soon get tired of it. No, we’d better take turns.”
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday went by. More and more certainly Granny
Flynn’s prophecy seemed on the way to be proved true. The twin sets of
plans worked perfectly. It looked as though the summer were going by
without a hitch. Then came Thursday--Floribel’s and Zeke’s day out.