SUNDAY AFTERNOON
Of course the Chinese kitten came to Boston with Dora. To visit Miss
Chandler without wearing her gift would be rude. Mother took a pair of
pliers and bent the clasp on Dora’s silver chain so that it unfastened
less easily. It must have come apart while Dora was sleeping, and so
Arcturus found a chance to escape. Mother made sure that Vega could not
get away.
Dora was holding the dear kitten in one hand while Miss Chandler
explained her afternoon plan. They were to see “Jack and the Beanstalk.”
This was a play, not a film picture, but a most unusual play, because it
was acted, not by real people, but by dolls!
Lucy and Dora both opened their eyes wide. How could dolls act a play?
They had sometimes tried to have a play with their dolls, but the stupid
things would not take any interest.
Miss Chandler explained that these dolls were called marionettes. All any
one could see was the stage with the marionettes giving the play, but
they were really worked by strings attached to their jointed arms and
legs. These strings went up above the stage and were pulled by people out
of sight.
A great many children came to see the marionettes and Lucy and Dora
enjoyed looking about at all the little girls and boys.
When the curtain rose, showing Jack and his mother and their cottage,
they could scarcely believe that the figures, or puppets, were only
dolls. They looked the right size for people. They walked about easily
and rapidly. It was possible to understand just what they were saying,
or rather, what the people behind the scenes were saying for them.
How all the children laughed when the cow galloped clumsily in! A frisky
cow she was, for she tossed her horns and kicked up her heels when Jack
tried to catch her. And then he sold her for the magic bean and planted
it, while his mother scolded him and wept.
The magic bean began to grow! Away it went up past the top of the stage,
and away went Jack, climbing the stalk while his mother wrung her hands
and begged him to come back.
Lucy liked the giant and his wife, but Dora never cared for that part of
the story. She was glad when the giants were done with and Jack brought
home the gold and chopped down the uncanny beanstalk.
There followed a second play, and this time the actors were cunning
rabbits with pointed ears and furry faces. They wore gingham dresses or
trousers and acted much like real boys and girls.
All over the theatre the children laughed aloud when a naughty boy rabbit
got himself wet and Mother Rabbit hung him to dry on a line behind the
kitchen stove. But it was the grown-ups who laughed when the postman came
with a letter, for the postman was a turtle, and turtles, you know, never
move very fast.
Lucy and Dora enjoyed every minute. They could have watched the
marionettes for hours and were sorry when it was over.
Miss Chandler knew some of the people who managed the puppets, so she
took the children behind the scenes. They were astonished to find that
Jack was a small doll, and that the giant was only as large as Lucy’s
biggest one. Because everything on the stage was made just the proper
size for the puppets, it seemed as though they were really as large as
living people.
The girls who managed the puppets were dressed in knickerbockers and
stood on planks raised above the stage. One of them showed Lucy and Dora
exactly how she held Jack, and how by pulling one string or another,
she could make him walk across the stage, or raise his arms, or turn
his head. It seemed wonderful to the children, and, indeed, it _was_
wonderful.
After the play they ate supper at a place called a dairy lunch, with nice
milk and butter and white shiny tiled walls. But here there was no music.
“Now we will go home,” said Miss Chandler. “I am sure you have seen
enough for to-day.”
Another electric car took them where Miss Chandler lived. On the fifth
floor of a tall building, she had three rooms which were called an
apartment. The first was a living-room, with a big table and a lamp and
comfortable chairs and many books. There was one bedroom and a tiny
bathroom with a tub for short people. Lastly was a sort of cupboard where
there was a gas plate and some pretty dishes. This, Miss Chandler said,
was called a kitchenette, because it was too small to be a real kitchen.
Lucy and Dora were pleased with this name. They knew now that they had
used a kitchenette at the beach.
The suit-case was there before them and on Miss Chandler’s bureau was the
rosebud cushion. She had liked it very much.
The children were tired enough to go to bed early, but they did wonder
where they were to sleep, for the bedroom contained only one bed, and
it was altogether too narrow for more than one person. Three would be a
tight fit.
Miss Chandler moved some books from the mantel in the living-room. She
pulled a knob. The whole front of the mantel came down and there was a
deep box with a mattress.
“This is a folding-bed,” said Miss Chandler. “Did you ever sleep in one?”
“Never,” said Dora.
“Will it shut up while we are in it?” asked Lucy doubtfully.
“It can’t do that,” said Miss Chandler. She showed them a bolt which kept
the bed from shutting until the proper time in the morning. Even if at
heart it wanted to close, it couldn’t until the people were ready to put
it away.
Miss Chandler brought sheets and blankets, and in five minutes a
comfortable bed was ready for two tired little girls. Soon they were
tucked into it.
“I shall be reading in my bedroom for a while,” said Miss Chandler. “If
you want anything, just speak to me.”
Miss Chandler expected that the children would talk for a time, but they
did not. Lucy was sleepy and Dora had so much to think about that she
didn’t feel like talking. Very soon Lucy was asleep.
Dora watched the wind blow the sash curtain before the open window and
then she suddenly discovered a strange thing. It was exactly like a
bright round eye on the wall near the door.
Dora looked at it hard, and the longer she looked, the less she liked it.
How could a person or an animal with one eye be staring at her in the
dark? How could any eye shine like that?
Dora tucked the Chinese kitten under her cheek for comfort and tried not
to look at the queer eye. She looked toward the table where the pretty
lamp stood.
That direction wasn’t pleasant either. She saw another queer thing, a
streak of light this time, which seemed in the middle of the air. It was
a thin, short streak, much nearer the folding-bed than the eye on the
wall.
Dora hid her face in her pillow and tried to think what these queer
things might be, but the longer she thought, the worse they seemed. She
turned her head, and there was the round bright eye on the wall. She
looked toward the table, and there was the streak of light in a place
where no streak ought to be.
Dora sat up in bed and saw a line of light under Miss Chandler’s door.
That was a right and proper place for it to be. She got up and put her
arm across her face so she should not see the queer eye as she passed.
She knocked on the door.
It opened instantly and when Miss Chandler saw Dora, she took her in
her arms. “Why, honey, what is the matter?” she asked. “Can’t you go to
sleep?”
For a minute Dora did not say anything. She was contented just to feel
loving arms about her.
“There is a _very_ queer thing in that room, Aunt Margaret,” she said at
last, her head on Miss Chandler’s shoulder. “I don’t like it at all and I
don’t think it ought to be there.”
“What is it, darling?” asked Miss Chandler.
“It is a round bright eye on the wall,” explained Dora. “It looks at me
in the dark. And by the table is a little shiny streak.”
Miss Chandler gave a soft laugh and hugged Dora tight. “Would you be
afraid of that eye if you saw it with me?” she asked.
Dora said she would not feel afraid. Miss Chandler put out the light in
her bedroom. In half a minute, right by the door, out of the darkness
grew a shiny round spot, exactly like the one in the living-room.
“You see it, don’t you, dear?” asked Miss Chandler. “Now, we will put on
the light.”
When the room was bright with electricity, Miss Chandler took Dora over
to the wall where the eye had shone. There was an electric switch with
two push-buttons. One was white and one was black.
“It is this button, Dora,” said Miss Chandler. “The top has been painted
with something which shines in the dark. It isn’t an evil eye at all,
little Dora, but a nice friendly eye that says, ‘Did you want to put on
the electric light? Here am I, showing you just where to touch your
finger and snap it on in a jiffy!’”
Miss Chandler turned out the light and Dora saw the button begin to
shine. She pushed it in and out and saw how nice it was to have a bright
eye to tell her where to find the switch.
“And the streak by the table?” she asked.
“That is a bit of radium paint enclosed in a glass pendant. When you pull
the pendant, the lamp on the table lights.”
Dora gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Aunt Margaret,” she said. “We
have gas at home, and after Mother turns it off, nothing shines.”
Miss Chandler tucked Dora again into bed. When Dora was alone in the
dark, she could smile at the friendly eye on the wall.
On Sunday morning the children had the fun of getting breakfast in the
kitchenette. First, the folding-bed had to be whisked out of the way,
and the room aired and straightened.
There was a wee refrigerator about as large as Mother’s cake-box. In
it were butter and milk, a jar of cream, and a comb of honey. A paper
bag held crisp half-moon rolls, and there was also a tumbler of orange
marmalade. Miss Chandler made coffee for herself, and Lucy proudly boiled
three eggs exactly four minutes. She knew just how, because she often
cooked them for Mother.
After breakfast they went to church, wearing the white dresses. It was
fortunate that Mother thought to send an extra dress apiece, for though
the gingham dresses were still clean, they were rumpled after all the
exciting things that happened on Saturday.
It was a wonderful church to which Miss Chandler took them, big and dark,
with windows like rainbows, and an organ which sounded like heaven. The
service was like that in the Westmore church. Dora wished Uncle Dan were
with her, for he liked music and the Westmore choir could not sing like
this one.
After service, Miss Chandler showed the children the statue of Bishop
Brooks outside the church and told them how good a man he was, and how
people loved him so much that the whole city of Boston mourned for him
when he died, even people who didn’t go to his church. Long years ago he
used to preach there in Trinity Church.
“We are going to do a very interesting thing this afternoon,” Miss
Chandler said while they were eating dinner at the College Club. The Club
was only a pleasant house, and there was ice-cream for dessert, which was
important.
“Will it be a surprise?” asked Dora.
“I think you will be much surprised,” said Miss Chandler.
After the ice-cream was eaten, they walked through a parkway and before
long went into a large building.
Inside was a room where a lady wearing a white dress and a white cap sat
at a desk. Miss Chandler told the children to sit down and she talked
with this lady. A bell rang somewhere.
Presently in came another lady, dressed in the same way as the one at the
desk, but she was much younger. Miss Chandler spoke to her and then came
to the children.
“This is Lucy and this is Dora,” she said. “This lady is Miss Perrin, and
she is going to show us something interesting.”
Miss Perrin took them into a broad hall and to an elevator which went up
so slowly that the children could see on every floor they passed, more
ladies dressed in white, or in blue with white caps and aprons, and men,
too, who, strange to say, wore white coats and trousers.
Dora looked inquiringly at Miss Chandler. She smiled back. There was a
queer smell in the air. It smelled almost like Mr. Giddings’ drug-store.
Miss Perrin left the elevator and led the way to a door.
The room beyond was unlike anything the children had ever seen. The bare
floor looked as though it were washed every hour, it was so _fearfully_
clean! Not a picture hung on the straw-colored walls. All the woodwork
was white and the table had a glass top. There were only two chairs, and
_they_ were white. You can never guess the rest of the furniture.
All around three sides of the room white baskets stood on tall white
frames, and in every basket lay a tiny, tiny baby. A whole room full of
babies and no grown people at all!
Miss Perrin went straight to the nearest basket. “O dear!” she said.
“Those doctors are so careless. They are forever coming and unpinning
covers. Then these persons kick off their blankets and take cold. This
one’s hands are freezing.”
Such a very little person to kick off blankets! But they were in a heap
at the bottom of the basket and the baby was crying real tears. Dora
could hardly bear to see them on its tiny cheeks and to see how pitifully
its lower lip quivered. Miss Perrin took it up and laid it against her
warm cheek and it stopped being pitiful. Then she tucked it in and pinned
down the covers. It did not cry again.
“That is all men know about babies,” said Miss Perrin. “I don’t mind the
doctors looking at them, but they never leave them as they find them. No
man knows how to put one to bed.”
Miss Perrin looked at every baby to be sure no careless doctor had left
it to kick off its covers.
“I have a friend who is here in the hospital,” said Miss Chandler. “I
want to see her for a few minutes. Would you two like to stay with the
babies? Which is Mrs. Stoddard’s baby?”
“This person here,” said Miss Perrin, indicating a crib. “She is five
days old.”
Lucy and Dora went to look at the friend’s baby. It was sound asleep.
While Miss Chandler went to see Mrs. Stoddard, Lucy and Dora looked at
all the babies. Then Miss Perrin took them into another and much larger
room. Even this big room was full of babies.
They were not sleeping in bassinets like those in the smaller room, but
their beds were just as comfortable. Each one lay on a mattress in a wire
basket which looked something like Mother’s dish-drainer. When a nurse
wanted a special baby, she picked it up, basket and all, and carried it
off.
In the middle of the room was an odd table, with wheels and two shelves.
One of the nurses was collecting wire baskets, each with a wee baby. She
set the baskets side by side on the shelves of the table. When there was
room for no more, she wheeled the table and the babies into the corridor.
“They are going to their mothers,” said Miss Perrin. “The mothers are in
another room and it is time the babies were fed.”
“How do they know which baby belongs to which mother?” asked Dora. “There
are so many that I should think they would get mixed.”
“No, they are never mixed,” said Miss Perrin. “We are careful about that,
for of course each mother prefers her own baby.”
Miss Perrin lifted the blanket of the nearest baby and showed the
children a tag fastened to its dress. On the tag was a number and a name.
The name was that of the mother, and the number that of her bed.
“Whenever a nurse dresses a baby,” Miss Perrin explained, “the first
thing she does is to take off this tag and fasten it to the clean dress.
And she mustn’t touch another baby until the first one is finished. But
we also mark them in another way.”
Miss Perrin uncovered a tiny foot. On its sole was stuck a piece of cloth
plaster with the mother’s name written on it.
“You see they cannot be mixed,” she said. “And, anyway, the mothers soon
know their own babies.”
“Of course,” Dora agreed.
Lucy gave an exclamation. In one wire basket lay a baby, no smaller than
the others, for all were small, but different, because it was a colored
baby. Its skin was black and wee bits of wool covered its head.
“Isn’t it cunning!” said Lucy. “Oh, Dora, I wish we could have it at our
house.”
“So do I,” said Dora.
Miss Perrin laughed. “I guess Mother wouldn’t want you to have it,” she
said. “Her name is Blanche, and she is just as good as a kitten.”
Lucy and Dora could not leave that little black baby. They liked it best
of any, and when Miss Chandler came back, she found them by its basket.
They talked about it all the way to Miss Chandler’s apartment, and while
they were packing the suit-case.
“We have had a beautiful time, Aunt Margaret,” said Lucy, when they were
ready to start for the station.
“Thank you for asking us,” said Dora. “I think Boston is a very nice
place.”
“Nice enough to live in?” asked Miss Chandler.
“Oh, yes,” said Dora, and then she stopped. “If I could live in two
places,” she went on, after thinking a little. “Because Westmore is home,
you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Miss Chandler, and then she kissed Dora. “But you
will like to visit in Boston sometimes?”
“I shall like it very much,” said Dora. “We will always come when you
invite us, Aunt Margaret. That is, if Mother says we may.”
“I shall certainly ask you both to come again,” said Miss Chandler.