MUSIC AND CREAM-PUFFS
Gretel’s first sensation on waking the next morning was that something
pleasant was going to happen. She could not remember for the first
few moments just what it was to be, but then it all came back to her;
her conversation with Dora; her crying fit over the piano, and Dora’s
promise to bring her sister and brother to play and sing for her. She
was conscious of a little thrill of anticipation as she sprang out of
bed and began putting on her stockings. She had lived with Mrs. Marsh
for more than a year, but this was the first time there had ever been
a question of her having visitors of her very own. Mrs. Marsh and her
daughter had plenty of visitors, of course, and some of them had been
kind to the little girl, but that was quite a different thing from
having people coming expressly to see her. In the old days at the
studio they were always having visitors, and she had had almost more
friends than she could count, but since her father’s death all the old
friends had seemed to fade away too. They never came to Mrs. Marsh’s,
not even kind Fritz Lipheim or his mother, with whom she had often
stayed for weeks at a time while Hermann Schiller was away on a concert
tour. Old Mrs. Lipheim had been very good to the child, and had taught
her how to sew on her father’s buttons and mend his socks. She was
sure the Lipheims would have liked to come to see her if they had not
feared Mrs. Marsh would object, but Mrs. Marsh had been so very stiff
and unsociable on the day when she had come to take her away from the
studio, and had not even suggested that Gretel should see Mrs. Lipheim
again, although the little girl had clung to her old friend, crying as
if her heart would break. Gretel was very grateful to Mrs. Marsh, but
there were times when she could not help thinking how much pleasanter
it would have been if her brother had arranged to have her live with
the Lipheims instead of with his cousins.
It was nearly eight o’clock, but Gretel’s room was still very dark.
Indeed, it was never very light at any hour of the day, for its only
window opened on an air-shaft. It was a very small room, and before
Gretel came had always been occupied by the maid-of-all-work, but the
apartment was not large, and Mrs. Marsh had declared it to be the only
room she could possibly spare, so the servant had been relegated to
the maid’s quarters at the top of the house. But small and dark as it
was, Gretel loved her room. To begin with, it was the only place in the
world that was all her own, and then it contained all her treasures.
There was her father’s photograph in a gilt frame, that Fritz Lipheim
had given her as a parting gift; and his old German Bible, out of which
he used to read to her and show her pictures on Sunday afternoons.
There was also her old rag doll, Jemima. She was too old to play with
dolls, now, but it was still very comforting to cuddle Jemima in her
arms at night, when she happened to be feeling particularly lonely, or
when Mrs. Marsh or Ada had been unusually cross. Then there were her
father’s letters tied together with a red ribbon. There were a good
many of them, as there was one for every day that her father had ever
been away from her. Some of the later ones were in German, for Hermann
Schiller had taught his little daughter to read and write in his own
language, and as he and his friends usually spoke in German when they
were together, it was almost as familiar to Gretel as English. But
nobody ever spoke in German at the Marsh’s, and she sometimes feared
she might grow to forget her father’s language, as she was forgetting
the music he had taught her so carefully. Lastly, there were her books,
not many, and all decidedly the worse for wear, but dearly loved,
notwithstanding. There were “Poems Every Child Should Know”--Dickens,
“Child’s History of England”--a few old story-books, and--most
cherished of all--Grimm’s and Andersen’s “Fairy Tales,” which she had
read over and over so many times that she almost knew them by heart.
There was not much space for books in the little room, so they lived on
the floor under the bed, and Jemima slept in the bottom bureau drawer
with Gretel’s night-gowns and petticoats. But notwithstanding its many
drawbacks, that little room was the pleasantest place Gretel knew in
those days, and it was there that all her happiest hours were passed.
Mrs. Marsh was alone at the breakfast table when Gretel entered the
dining-room. She was reading the morning’s mail, and merely glanced up
from a letter long enough to give the child an indifferent nod. But
Gretel had been taught by her father that one should always wish people
a good morning, so before taking her seat at the table, she remarked
politely:
“Good morning, Mrs. Marsh; I hope you had a good night.”
Mrs. Marsh did not take the trouble to answer, but Gretel never omitted
the little formula, “because,” as she told herself, “Father told me
always to say it, so it must be right.” She slipped quietly into her
place, and began on the plate of oatmeal and glass of milk, which
always formed her morning meal.
She had not taken many spoonfuls, however, when Mrs. Marsh finished her
letter, and began to pour her coffee. Dora, having placed the breakfast
on the table, had gone away to attend to other household duties. Then
Gretel, who was fond of talking, felt emboldened to make another
attempt at conversation, unpromising as such an attempt might seem.
“It looks a little like rain, doesn’t it? Do you think it will rain,
Mrs. Marsh?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” returned Mrs. Marsh absently. “I wonder what
is keeping Ada? Just run and ask her how soon she will be ready,
Gretel, before I pour her coffee.”
Gretel promptly departed, returning in a few moments with the
announcement that Ada was only just awake, and would like her breakfast
in bed.
“Then you had better take it right in to her before it gets cold,”
Ada’s mother advised, and leaving her own breakfast to cool, Gretel
proceeded to prepare a tempting little tray to be carried to Miss
Marsh’s bedside.
But tempting as the meal looked, it did not satisfy the fastidious Ada.
The toast was too hard, and the coffee had to be sent back for more
cream. Couldn’t Gretel make her a few hot slices of toast, and boil a
fresh egg, “not more than three minutes?” Of course Gretel could and
did, and by the time Ada was comfortably settled with her tray, Mrs.
Marsh had finished her breakfast, and Gretel’s oatmeal was quite cold.
She was taking the plate to the kitchen, to warm it, when Mrs. Marsh
encountered her, and asked rather sharply: “Where are you going now?”
“I’m going to warm my porridge,” Gretel explained.
Mrs. Marsh frowned.
“Nonsense,” she said sharply; “little girls shouldn’t be so fussy about
their food. Sit down and eat your breakfast at once; you’ve dawdled
over it quite long enough already.”
“I wasn’t dawdling,” began Gretel; “I was boiling an egg for Ada.” But
Mrs. Marsh was already half out of the room, and did not hear, so, with
a sigh of resignation, Gretel sat down to her cold breakfast.
Mrs. Marsh went out to a meeting that morning, but Ada said she had
taken cold the night before, and declared her intention of staying in
bed till luncheon time.
“If I got up I know I should be worse,” she told Gretel, “and then I
might have to stay at home this evening.”
“You’d better be very careful,” said Gretel in a tone of sudden
apprehension. “You wouldn’t like to have to stay at home this evening,
would you?”
“I should hate it,” Ada declared emphatically. “The Scotts always give
such delicious dinners, and Ethel Scott has promised to put me next a
most delightful man.”
Gretel was conscious of a sensation of relief.
“Would you like some hot lemonade?” she inquired eagerly. “Mrs. Lipheim
once gave me some hot lemonade when I had a cold, and it was very
nice.”
Ada said she did not care for lemonade, but added that if Gretel really
wanted to make herself useful, she might sew some buttons on her boots.
So, in spite of the fact that there were no lessons to prepare,
Gretel spent a busy morning, for after the buttons were sewed on, Ada
suggested that the child might arrange her bureau drawers, which were
“in an awful jumble,” and that task took so long, that by the time it
was finished Mrs. Marsh had returned from her meeting and it was nearly
one o’clock.
It had begun to rain soon after breakfast, and by noon had settled into
a steady downpour. Mrs. Marsh came in wet and cross, and bewailing the
fact that she would be obliged to go out again in the afternoon.
“I shouldn’t think of going under ordinary circumstances,” she
declared, “but I really feel it is my duty to go to Mrs. Williams’ tea.
I dare say ever so many people will stay away in this storm, but that
isn’t my way of doing things. People always appreciate the friends who
take the trouble to come to their teas in bad weather.”
Gretel was a little afraid lest the storm should prevent Lillie and
Peter from coming that evening, but Dora reassured her on that subject.
“They’ll come if it rains cats and dogs,” she maintained. “They
wouldn’t miss the chance of playing and singing for the world. And you
won’t wonder when you hear Lillie,” she added, with sisterly pride. “I
declare, when she sings ‘Break the News to Mother,’ or ‘Just Before the
Battle,’ it just brings the tears into my eyes.”
“I don’t think I ever heard either of those songs,” said Gretel. “Are
they very beautiful?” To which Dora’s only reply was a confident, “Just
wait till you hear them.”
Gretel was in her room reading “Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs” for
about the fiftieth time, when Ada’s voice once more summoned her
hand-maiden to her side. She had risen in time for luncheon, and was
now lying on the parlor sofa reading a novel, and she greeted Gretel
with the smile that always meant she intended asking a particular favor.
“Gretel dear,” she began sweetly, “would you like to do something just
awfully nice for me?”
Gretel looked pleased. When Ada spoke in that tone she almost loved her.
“I’ll do anything you want me to,” she said, promptly.
Ada glanced rather uneasily out of the window, at the fast falling
rain.
“Well,” she said, “you see, I’ve finished my book, and I haven’t an
earthly thing to do this whole afternoon. If it were not for my cold
I would just run round to the library for another book, but with this
sore throat I really don’t quite dare. So I was wondering if you would
mind going for me. It’s only four blocks, you know, and it wouldn’t
take you any time.”
“I haven’t any waterproof, but I don’t believe the rain will hurt my
dress,” said Gretel, with a dubious glance at the old black skirt,
which certainly did not look as though rain or anything else could do
it much injury.
Ada smiled sweetly.
“You are a dear obliging little girl,” she said. “You can wear my
waterproof, and if you bring me back a nice interesting book I’ll--I’ll
give you a present.”
“How perfectly lovely!” cried Gretel, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll be
right back.” And she darted away to look for her rubbers and umbrella.
When she returned some three minutes later, she found Ada hastily
scribbling the titles of some books on a piece of paper.
“Just ask for one of these,” she directed, handing the paper to Gretel.
“Any one they happen to have in will do. Now run along like a good
child, and hurry back as fast as you can.”
Gretel gave a cheerful nod, slipped the paper in her pocket, and
departed, quite forgetting the fact that Miss Marsh had not repeated
her offer of lending her a raincoat. In less than twenty minutes she
was back again, dripping but triumphant.
“The very first book I asked for was in,” she announced. “Wasn’t it
lucky? I’m afraid the cover is rather wet, it’s raining so very hard,
but I kept it as dry as I could.”
Ada looked very much pleased.
“You really ought to have taken my raincoat,” she remarked,
regretfully; “you look like a drowned rat. Go and dry yourself by the
kitchen fire, and you needn’t mention to Mamma that you have been out.”
Ada had already opened her novel, but Gretel still lingered.
“Is it a nice interesting book?” she inquired rather timidly.
Ada laughed good-naturedly.
“You sharp little thing,” she said; “you are not going to let me out of
my bargain, are you? I’ve got your present right here; guess what it
is?”
“I can’t guess,” said Gretel, her eyes beginning to sparkle once more.
“I haven’t had a present since Father died, except the dress you and
Mrs. Marsh gave me for Christmas. Is it something to wear?”
“No, it isn’t,” laughed Ada; “it’s something to spend.” And she held
out to the astonished Gretel a bright ten-cent piece.
If Gretel was disappointed she managed to conceal the fact quite
satisfactorily, and having thanked Miss Marsh for her unusual
generosity, she sped away to the kitchen, where she burst in upon Dora,
who was peeling potatoes for dinner.
“Dora,” began the little girl eagerly, “I’ve got something very
important to consult you about.”
“Well, you’d better get that wet skirt off before you do anything
else,” objected Dora. “How that fat, lazy thing could send you out in
this storm without a waterproof beats me.”
“Oh, she was very kind,” protested Gretel. “She thanked me so nicely,
and she gave me ten cents for a present. That’s what I want to consult
you about. You see whenever Father had company he always gave them
something to eat. Sometimes he couldn’t afford to have much, but he
said if it was only a cup of coffee it was better than nothing, for
it showed you wanted to be hospitable. I can’t buy much with only ten
cents, but I should like to have some little thing to offer Lillie and
Peter this evening, and I thought perhaps you could tell me something
they would like that wouldn’t cost more than that.”
“Well, now, that’s real kind of you, I’m sure,” declared Dora. “Not
that the kids would expect anything. They’re both crazy for ice-cream,
but you couldn’t get enough for two for ten cents. I’ll tell you what
you might get, though. Lillie just adores cream-puffs and she doesn’t
get them often, they’re so expensive; five cents apiece. You could just
get one for each of them for ten cents.”
Gretel looked much relieved.
“That will be just the thing,” she said; “I hope Peter likes
cream-puffs too.”
Dora said she was sure he did, and with a promise to “hurry right
back,” Gretel once more fared forth into the storm; this time to call
at the baker’s shop on the next corner.
Gretel’s heart was beating high with anticipation as she assisted Ada
with her toilet that evening. Her only cause for anxiety had been
removed now that two fat cream-puffs had been deposited in Dora’s
charge, and she was all eagerness to welcome the expected guests. Mrs.
Marsh and her daughter did not leave for their dinner party until
nearly eight, but Gretel had had an early tea in the kitchen.
“I hope you got thoroughly dry after your wetting this afternoon,” Ada
remarked, with belated anxiety, as she drew on her gloves.
“Oh, yes,” said Gretel, cheerfully; “Dora made me sit by the kitchen
fire till my skirt was quite dry. There was a hole in one of my
rubbers, and a good deal of water got inside, but it didn’t do me any
harm.”
“I’m sorry,” murmured Ada, absently. “I think I have an extra pair I
can lend you the next time you go out in the rain. I suppose you will
amuse yourself drumming on the piano this evening as usual.”
Gretel smiled, but did not answer, and just then Dora announced that
the cab Mrs. Marsh had ordered was at the door, and the two ladies
hurried away to their dinner party.
“Remember, Gretel, you are not to sit up late again to-night,” were
Mrs. Marsh’s parting words. “Little girls must go early to bed if they
want to grow up well and strong.” She glanced rather anxiously at
Gretel’s pale thin little face as she spoke. It had begun to dawn upon
her of late that the child was not looking particularly strong.
Gretel promised that she would not sit up late, adding innocently that
she did not suppose Ada would need any chocolate, as she was going to a
dinner party, at which remark Mrs. Marsh frowned and looked annoyed.
As soon as the closing of the elevator door assured Gretel that Mrs.
Marsh and her daughter were really gone, she flew off to the kitchen.
“Have they come?” she demanded breathlessly. “Ada took so long dressing
I was dreadfully afraid they might get here before she was ready.”
“No, they haven’t come yet,” said Dora, glancing up from the _Evening
World_ which she had borrowed from the elevator-boy, “but they’ll be
here soon now. I told them not to come before eight.”
“You are sure they got your postal, aren’t you?” inquired Gretel,
anxiously.
“Oh, they got that all right,” responded Dora, with so much conviction
that Gretel felt very much relieved.
“I think,” she said, gravely, “that the best way will be to have the
music first and the refreshments afterwards. That’s the way Father
always did. He said people never liked to play or sing right after
eating.”
“Oh, you needn’t bother about that,” said Dora. “Lillie’d sing just
as good on a full stomach as on an empty one. She’s an awful eater,
anyway, and so’s Peter. I never saw two kids that can stuff the way
those two can. But, look here, hadn’t you better keep one of those
cream-puffs for yourself? You didn’t have very much in the way of
supper.”
Gretel shook her head resolutely.
“I wouldn’t eat one for the world,” she protested. “Mrs. Marsh says
it isn’t good for people to eat too much, and Father and I were often
rather hungry the day after he had had company to supper. We never
minded, though, and Father said he would so much rather be hungry than
not be hospitable. Oh, there’s the bell! It must be Lillie and Peter.”
It was Lillie and Peter. Dora went to open the door, and when she
returned she was accompanied by two guests; a girl of thirteen, in a
green plaid dress, and wearing two long pigtails hanging down her back,
and a boy of eleven, with very red hair, and so many freckles, that
Gretel regarded him with a kind of fascinated horror. She was sure he
was the very plainest boy she had ever seen in her life.
“Here they are,” announced Dora, proudly, as she ushered in the
visitors; “this is my sister Miss Lillie Grubb, and this is my brother
Peter Grubb. Miss Gretel Schiller.”
Both the visitors looked rather embarrassed, and Peter’s freckled face
grew very red indeed, but Gretel, with native politeness, came forward
and held out her hand.
“I’m so glad you could both come,” she said in her sweet, cordial
little voice; “it was very good of you. You can’t think how anxious I
am to hear you play and sing. I haven’t heard any music in such a long
time.”
“I’m sure we were very pleased to accept your invitation,” returned
Lillie, in her most grown-up manner, and she shook Gretel’s hand very
much as though it had been a pump-handle. Peter said nothing, but stuck
both hands into his pockets, and grew redder than ever.
“Dora says you sing beautifully,” Gretel went on, “and your brother
plays. My father was a great pianist; perhaps you have heard of him;
his name was Hermann Schiller.”
“N--no, I don’t think so,” Lillie admitted, reluctantly. “I’ve heard
of Dan W. Quinn and George J. Gaskin, but they were both singers. Did
your father play for the phonograph company?”
“Oh, no, Father didn’t care much for phonographs; he played in concerts
and wrote beautiful music. Perhaps your brother plays some of his
things.”
Lillie looked very much surprised.
“I thought everybody loved phonographs,” she said; “we have one that
Father bought second-hand, and we keep it going all the time we’re in
the house. We’ve got some dandy records. Peter makes up most of his
own pieces; you see, he’s never had a lesson in his life. Where’s your
piano?”
“In the parlor,” said Gretel. “Take off your things, and we’ll go right
in. I’m so anxious to have the music begin.”
She turned to Peter with a friendly smile, but that young man was
absorbed in removing his rubbers, and did not respond. Lillie, however,
appeared to be quite equal to the occasion, for she remarked politely:
“You must play for us, too; Dora says you play the piano something
grand.”
“Oh, no, I don’t,” protested Gretel, blushing. “I used to play much
better than I do now; I’m afraid I’ve forgotten a great deal. I shall
be glad to play for you, though, if you would really like to have
me.” And then, as the visitors had finished removing their out-door
garments, she led the way to the parlor.
The first object to attract Peter’s attention was the candy box on the
parlor table, and he opened his lips for the first time, and remarked
in a rather high-pitched voice:
“Gee! you’ve got something good in that box, I bet.”
Gretel was very much embarrassed.
“I’m afraid we can’t have any of it,” she explained. “I’m very sorry,
but you see, it doesn’t belong to me. A gentleman sent it to Miss
Marsh, and I don’t believe she would like to have us touch it. We’re
going to have some--some refreshments by and by.”
Peter--who had already lifted the lid from the candy box--looked rather
crestfallen, but Lillie again came to the front.
“Never mind him,” she remarked, airily; “Peter’s an awful greedy boy.”
“Shut up,” retorted her brother. “I ain’t one bit greedier than you
are.”
Lillie flushed indignantly, but before she could reply, Dora--who
had lingered behind to hang the children’s wet raincoats up to
dry--appeared upon the scene, and hastened to interpose.
“Now stop fighting this minute, the two of you,” she commanded. “You
didn’t come here to fight. Sit right down at that piano, Lillie, and
show Miss Gretel how you can sing.”
Thus admonished, Lillie took her place on the piano stool, and the
other three seated themselves in a solemn row on the sofa.
“What shall I begin with?” inquired Lillie. “I know such a lot of
songs; I never have any idea what to sing first.”
“Sing ‘Poppa, Tell Me Where is Momma,’” suggested Dora. “That’s a
beautiful song, and so touching; I know Miss Gretel will love it.”
Peter muttered something about “that stuff being no good,” but nobody
paid any attention to him, and after striking a few preliminary chords
Lillie began to sing:
“‘Poppa, tell me where is Momma?’
Said a little child one day;
‘Tell me why I cannot see her--
Tell me why she went away.’”
Gretel gave one little horrified gasp, and clasped her hands tightly.
For the first moment she was so disappointed that she could scarcely
keep back her rising tears. Was this the music to which she had been
looking forward so eagerly all day? By a great effort she controlled
the sudden desire to put her fingers in her ears, to shut out those
dreadful, unharmonious sounds, but politeness soon overcame other
feelings, and by the time Lillie had finished her song and turned from
the piano for the expected applause, she was able to give a faint
smile, and murmur something about “it’s being very pretty.”
“Now sing ‘Hello, Central. Give Me Heaven!’” commanded Dora, who was
looking both proud and triumphant, and without a second’s hesitation,
Lillie plunged into another sentimental ballad, if possible even more
mournful than “Poppa, Tell Me Where is Momma!”
The hour that followed was one of the most uncomfortable Gretel had
ever spent. It seemed as if Lillie’s stock of songs was endless. The
moment one came to an end her proud sister requested another, and the
more she sang the more she appeared to be enjoying herself. Peter
looked very much bored, but dared not express his feelings in Dora’s
presence, and was forced to content himself with chewing a large piece
of gum, which he had produced from his pocket and occasionally giving
vent to his emotions by kicking the legs of the sofa viciously. Gretel
was just beginning to wonder whether Lillie intended to go on for the
rest of the evening, when a diversion was caused by a ring at the
door-bell, which caused a momentary excitement.
“I’ll go and see who it is,” said Dora. “Just keep still till I come
back, Lillie. If it’s callers they mustn’t hear anything. They might
tell Mrs. Marsh.”
Dora hurried away, and profound silence reigned in the parlor during
her absence. Peter stuck his tongue out at Lillie, by way of giving
vent to his long pent-up rage, but she was so much absorbed in trying
to recall the third verse of “Just as the Sun Went Down,” to notice
him. In a few moments Dora returned.
“It’s all right,” she announced cheerfully; “it was only a girl I know,
who lives down on the second floor. She wants me to go to her room for
a minute to fit a waist on her. I won’t be long, and mind you behave
yourselves while I’m gone.”
“Of course we’ll behave,” protested Lillie, indignantly; “what do you
think we are, anyway?”
“Oh, you’re all right, I guess, but I’m not so sure about Peter. You’ll
be a good boy, won’t you, Peter?”
“Yep,” promised Peter, and Dora departed, after repeating the assurance
that she would not be long.
No sooner had the outer door of the apartment closed behind Dora than
her younger brother was on his feet. A look of daring and defiance had
suddenly replaced the rather vacant expression of his countenance. In
two rapid strides he reached the piano, and seized his sister firmly,
but not gently, by one of her long braids.
“Come off of there,” he commanded in a tone of authority. “Quit your
squalling, and give somebody else a chance to show off.”
“Leave me alone, Peter,” urged Lillie, coaxingly; “I haven’t finished
yet. I’ve just remembered the third verse.”
“No, you don’t,” returned Peter, with decision. “You’ve sung seventeen
songs already; now it’s my turn.”
“Oh, do let Peter play for us,” put in Gretel, eagerly. “Dora says he
plays so well, and I do love the piano so much.”
Lillie looked as if she would have liked to refuse, but she had been
warned by her mother to “remember her manners,” and, moreover the grip
on her braid assured her that Peter meant business, so, with a sigh of
resignation, she vacated her seat on the piano stool, remarking as she
did so:
“Oh, all right, of course, if you want to hear him, but he really can’t
play worth a cent.”
“Can’t I, though?” shouted Peter defiantly. “Who says I can’t?
Ain’t Father trying to get me into vaudeville to do my stunts? Just
listen, and I’ll show you the noise it makes when a drunken man falls
down-stairs.”
Gretel’s eyes were round with astonishment, but Lillie only shrugged
her shoulders indifferently, and walking over to the other side of the
room, proceeded to make herself acquainted with the contents of Mrs.
Marsh’s workbasket. Peter seated himself on the piano stool, struck a
few thundering chords and began what was considered by his family and
friends his “very best stunt.”
What followed was so awful that Gretel could never think of it
afterwards without a shudder. She bore it in silence for fully five
minutes, while Peter endeavored to represent the different sounds
supposed to be made by the unfortunate drunken man in his efforts
to escape from a saloon, until the final catastrophe, when, having
reached the top of a flight of stairs, he, in Peter’s own words,
“took a header,” and plunged headlong from top to bottom. This Peter
represented by a rapidly running scale from one end of the piano to the
other, ending with a terrific crash, which brought Gretel to her feet
with a cry of horror.
“Stop, oh, please, please stop,” she implored, seizing Peter’s uplifted
arm just as it was about to descend upon the keys with another
deafening crash; “it’s--it’s so dreadful!”
Peter’s arm dropped to his side, and he regarded his little hostess in
amazement.
“You--you don’t like it?” he stammered incredulously.
“No, oh, no,” gasped Gretel. “Please don’t do it again; I’m afraid
you’ll break the piano.”
Peter was offended. Never before had his “very best stunt” been
received in such a manner.
“I won’t play any more,” he said, sulkily. “I don’t know what you want,
anyway.”
“I told her she wouldn’t like it,” scoffed Lillie. “She likes real
music, the same as I do. You’d better let me finish ‘Just as the Sun
Went Down.’”
But Peter had no intention of yielding the point so easily.
“You’ve sung enough,” he maintained doggedly. “It’s her turn to play
now; let’s see what she can do.”
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t care about my music,” said Gretel, blushing.
“Don’t you think perhaps it would be a good idea to have the
refreshments now?”
“All right,” said Peter, his face brightening.
Lillie said nothing, but cast more than one regretful glance in the
direction of the piano as Gretel led the way to the dining-room.
“Now, will you please sit here while I get things ready?” said Gretel,
drawing up two chairs to the dining table. She was feeling decidedly
relieved at having gotten her visitors safely away from the piano.
“What have you got?” demanded Peter, the last vestige of whose shyness
had melted away the moment his sister Dora left the room.
“Something very nice,” said Gretel, smiling; “at least I hope you’ll
think them nice. Dora said Lillie was very fond of them.”
Both visitors looked interested. Lillie seated herself at the table,
and folded her hands primly in her lap. But Peter was not so easily
satisfied.
“Let’s go and see what it is,” he proposed to his sister, as Gretel
left the room.
“Of course not,” said Lillie, indignantly. “Ain’t we company? Company
never goes into the kitchen in places like this.”
“Bosh!” retorted Peter. “She ain’t nothing but a kid, like us. I’m
going, anyway.”
And, deaf to his sister’s expostulations, he followed Gretel into the
kitchen.
Having secured the precious cream-puffs from the ice chest, and
placed them on a plate covered with a napkin, Gretel was in the act
of procuring another plate and a couple of forks, when, startled by
a slight sound behind her, she turned to find Peter once more at her
elbow.
“I say!” exclaimed that youth in a tone of rapture, “it’s cream-puffs,
the best ever; but ain’t there more than two?”
“No,” said Gretel, regretfully, “I--I couldn’t manage to get but two,
but I thought it would be all right. They’re quite large, and you can
each have one. I don’t care about any myself.”
Peter regarded the two fat cream-puffs with longing eyes.
“That pig, Lill, would grab ’em both if she got her hands on ’em,” he
remarked reflectively. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do; we’ll eat ’em up
here, and she won’t know. She’s got such grand manners she won’t come
into the kitchen.”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be at all nice,” protested Gretel, half laughing
in spite of her horror at Peter’s suggestion. “You can each have one; I
truly don’t want any myself.”
But the demon of mischief had entered into Peter Grubb. Before Gretel
had the least idea of his intention, he had sprung forward, snatched
both cream-puffs from the plate, and was brandishing one in each hand.
“Catch me if you can,” he shouted, and the next moment he had darted
out of the kitchen, and was running at full speed down the long entry.
Attracted by the sound of triumph in her brother’s voice, Lillie forgot
manners and everything else, sprang from her seat, and rushed out into
the hall.
“What’s he up to?” she demanded breathlessly.
“He’s taken the cream-puffs and run off with them,” explained Gretel,
almost in tears at such an exhibition of rudeness as she had never
before known. She was still carrying the empty plate, in the vain hope
of reclaiming “the refreshments.”
“Cream-puffs!” shrieked Lillie; “my fa-vo-rites!” And she rushed off in
pursuit of Peter, who had taken refuge in Mrs. Marsh’s bedroom, and
was already cramming a cream-puff into his mouth, with lightning speed.
Then followed a scene the like of which had never before taken place in
Mrs. Marsh’s well-ordered apartment. In the scrimmage rugs were rolled
up, chairs overturned, and portières and curtains roughly torn aside.
Lillie’s temper was up, and she fought for her rights like a true
little street Arab she was. She was two years older than her brother,
and considerably stronger, but Peter was as agile as a monkey, and
moreover, he had the advantage of having been the first to secure the
prey. In the first moment of the fight Gretel had made a futile effort
to separate the combatants, but it was quite useless and she could do
nothing but stand idly by, wringing her hands in helpless despair.
“You’ll hurt each other; oh, you will, I’m sure!” she wailed, as
Lillie, having at last captured her brother, fell upon him, and began
pommeling him furiously, while children and cream-puffs rolled over and
over on the floor in a confused heap.
[Illustration: “CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!”--_Page 59._]
There was so much noise that nobody heard the opening of the outer
door, and it was only when Dora, with a howl of rage, swept down
upon the combatants, that her younger sister and brother were even
aware of her presence.
“You two little limbs of Satan!” cried the irate elder sister; “is this
the way you behave when I leave you alone for ten minutes? Get up off
that floor this instant. Mercy sakes alive, what a mess! How in the
world am I ever to get it cleaned up before Mrs. Marsh comes home?”
How indeed? For even as Dora spoke a key was being turned in the front
door, and in another moment it had opened and closed again. Gretel,
being nearest the door, was the first to note the danger, and with a
desperate effort to save the situation, she sprang forward to meet Mrs.
Marsh and her daughter.
“We--we didn’t expect you home so early,” she faltered. “I hope you
won’t mind very much, but--”
“I had a bad headache and excused myself as soon as we left the
dinner-table,” interrupted Mrs. Marsh. “How is it that you are not in
bed? I thought I told you to go to bed early.”
“I’m very sorry,” began Gretel, but got no further, for at that moment
Mrs. Marsh caught sight of something else--something so astounding as
to drive every other thought from her mind.
“What does this mean? Who are these people?” she demanded in a voice
of such awful sternness that even Peter quailed. He and Lillie had
scrambled to their feet, their faces and garments thickly plastered
with the contents of the luckless cream-puffs.
“Oh, Mrs. Marsh, please don’t be angry,” pleaded the trembling
Gretel. “They’re only Lillie and Peter, Dora’s sister and brother,
and they came to play and sing for me. I bought some cream-puffs for
refreshments, and--”
“That’s enough. I have heard all that is necessary. Dora, send those
children home at once, and then come back here and clear up this
disgusting mess. You know my rules about visitors, but I will say no
more to you until the morning. Go to your room at once, Gretel, and
don’t let me hear another word from you to-night.”
“But, Mrs. Marsh, please don’t blame Dora; it was all my fault. She
only asked them to come for my sake, because I said I was so fond
of music.” Gretel clasped her hands imploringly, and the tears were
streaming down her cheeks, but Mrs. Marsh was obdurate.
“Not another word,” she commanded, waving her hand majestically in the
direction of Gretel’s room. “My head is aching frightfully, and I must
go to bed at once, but in the morning I shall have more to say on this
subject. As for Dora, she knows my rules, and what she has to expect. I
believe her month will be up the end of this week.”