EXPIATION
A very quiet group of children gathered at breakfast the next morning.
Conversation was intermittent and devoted mainly to piling offers of
assistance in the housework on Granny and Mrs. Dore.
“When you have finished your own work, we’ll see,” Mrs. Dore steadily
answered all these suggestions.
The children finished their work in record time and with the utmost
care. The girls swept and dusted their chambers. They washed the
furniture, the paint and the windows. Everything was taken out of
closets and bureau-drawers, shaken and carefully put back. They shook
rugs. The boys in a frenzy of emulation followed a program equally
detailed. Having accomplished all this, the Big Six again begged for
more work and Granny and Mrs. Dore, taking pity on the penitent little
sinners, thought up all kinds of odd jobs for them to perform.
At length, Maida said, “Now we’ve done all the work we can do, there’s
one other thing I’d like to see attended to. I woke up in the middle
of the night--I don’t know what woke me--but I began at once to think
of that turtle--that poor, horrid turtle. And it suddenly came into my
head that it was a very cruel thing to put a creature in fresh water
who is accustomed to salt water. I suppose it’ll kill him in time,
won’t it?” she appealed to Arthur.
“Gee _whillikins_,” Arthur answered, “I never thought of that! Of
course he’ll die. But what are we going to do about it?”
“I thought,” Maida began very falteringly, “if you would let us,
Granny, we’d ask Zeke to drive us over to the beach and we’d take the
turtle and put him back in the water where he came from. We won’t stay
there but a moment.”
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t do that,” Mrs. Dore accorded them
thoughtfully.
“And as for me, I’ll be glad to be well rid of the craythur,” Granny
said shudderingly.
So it was settled. After luncheon, the three boys went down to the
Magic Mirror, hauled the poor awkward beast out of the water; pulled
it along the trail to the barn. They loaded it into the lunch hamper
again; stowed it in the automobile; and then Zeke drove them to the
beach.
Once there, they lifted the hamper out of the machine, removed the
cover and dumped its living contents onto the sand.
There was no question as to the turtle’s wishes in this matter. Without
an instant’s hesitation, he turned in the direction of the ocean;
and lumbered toward it over the sand--lumbered awkwardly but with a
surprising swiftness. The waves were piling in, like great ridges of
melted glass, green edged with shining, opalescent filigree. They
shattered themselves on the sand and seemed miraculously to turn into
great fans of green emerald trimmed with pearl-colored, foam lace.
The turtle struck the broken wave ... swam into it ... dove through
the next wave ... and the next ... and the next.... Suddenly they lost
sight of him.
When they returned, still unnaturally quiet, to the Little House, to
their great surprise Billy Potter came forward to meet them.
Their subdued spirits took an involuntary jump. Nevertheless they
greeted their guest in an unusually quiet way. Billy’s perceptions,
always keen, apparently leaped in an instant of calculation to the
truth. After a while, in which he devoted himself to the Little Six,
he suggested that the Big Six take a walk with him. They accepted the
invitation with alacrity and plunged into the woods.
When they were out of sight of the Little House, “Now what’s the
matter?” Billy Potter suddenly demanded.
They told him; all at once; each interrupting the other, piling
on excuses and explanations; interrupted with confessions and
self-accusals.
“We feel that we’ve treated Mr. Westabrook rottenly,” Arthur concluded.
“And we don’t know what to do to show him we’re sorry,” Rosie after a
pause added.
“That’s pretty bad,” Billy commented. “Now let’s think of some way out
of this.” He himself meditated for an interval, falling into a study so
deep that no one of the children dared interrupt it.
“I’ll tell you,” he burst out after a while, “Why not invite Mr.
Westabrook down for an afternoon--to make another inspection of the
house--and to stay for supper. You probably haven’t shown him for a
long time how well you can cook.”
“No, we haven’t,” Maida said. “I think father has eaten only one meal
that we girls cooked.”
“I think that would be lovely,” Rosie agreed.
“Let’s do it as quickly as possible,” Arthur suggested. “This is Friday
morning. Why don’t you invite him for Monday night?”
The children caught the suggestion at once. That night, working
together--for Billy Potter stayed over only one train--they painfully
drafted a formal invitation to Mr. Westabrook to spend Monday afternoon
with them and stay to supper. They posted it the next morning and
almost by return mail, they received a formal acceptance.
Monday was a day of the most frantic work that the Little House had
ever seen. Everything was swept that could be swept; dusted that
could be dusted; washed that could be washed; polished that could be
polished. Rosie even washed off the stepping stones that led to the
Little House. And Maida not to be outdone, shined the brass knocker
on the door and the knob. Laura was only stopped in time from pinning
flypaper, which she had bought with her own pocket money, on the
outside of the screen door.
“There are no flies in the house,” Mrs. Dore protested, “and we can’t
catch all the flies in the outside world.”
The boys cleaned the barn, the little cellar to the house, its tiny
garret. They rolled and re-rolled the tennis court. They begged for
other work and Mrs. Dore gave them all the table silver to polish and
some pots, obstinately black, to scrape.
When Mr. Westabrook came, the place looked, as he said, as though they
had cleaned the outside with manicure tools and the inside with the
aid of a microscope. The supper which, in deference to Mr. Westabrook,
included a single hot dish, consisted of one of Rosie’s delicious
chowders; one of Maida’s delicious blueberry cakes; one of Laura’s
delicious salads; and a freezer full of the boys’ delicious ice-cream.
Mr. Westabrook said that he had eaten meals all over the United States
and in nearly every country in Europe and he could not recall any one
that he had enjoyed more than this.
That night the Big Six went to bed with clear consciences.