WHERE'S THE KEY?
Very, very early in the morning Edna was awake. She was not used to
farmyard sounds and could not tell if it were a lusty rooster, an
insistent guinea-fowl or a gobbling turkey whose voice first reached
her. But whichever it was, she was quite broad awake while it was yet
dark. She lay still for a few minutes, with an uncertain feeling of
something not very pleasant overshadowing her, then she remembered the
key. "Oh, dear," she sighed, "if they can't get into the spring-house
there will be no cream for breakfast and no butter, either. The key must
be found."
She got up and softly crept to the window. A bright star hung low in the
sky and there was the faintest hint of light along the eastern horizon.
Presently Edna saw a lighted lantern bobbing around down by the stable
and concluded that Ira must be up and that it was morning, or at least
what meant morning to farmers. She stood watching the light grow in the
east and finally decided that she would dress and be all ready by the
time it was light enough to hunt for the lost key.
By now she could see well enough to find her clothes, but, fearing lest
she should waken her mother, she determined to go to the bathroom at the
end of the hall rather than use the wash-stand in the room where she
was, so she gathered up her clothing in her arms, and went down the
entry, made her toilet and crept down stairs. There was a light burning
in the lower hallway, but it was dark all through the rest of the house
and she was obliged to feel her way through the rooms. There was a
noise of some one stirring in the pantry. She opened the door of the
kitchen gently and peeped in. A lamp was burning on the table, but no
key lay there. Edna tip-toed in quietly and felt on the nail where the
key should hang, thrusting aside a gingham apron belonging to Reliance
which hung just above its place, but the nail was empty and she was
forced to believe she had dropped the key somewhere between the
spring-house and the kitchen. She tip-toed out of the kitchen, turned
the key of the outside door and closed it after her as noiselessly as
possible, and in another moment was outside in the chill November air.
It was rather fearsome to make one's way down dim paths where some wild
creature might still be lurking after a night's raid from the woods near
by, and she imagined all sorts of things. First, something stole softly
by her and was off like a shot through the tall weeds growing beyond the
fence; it was only a rabbit who was more frightened at Edna than she at
it. Next, the bushes parted and a small white figure crept stealthily
forth. The child's heart stood still and she stopped short. Then came a
plaintive meow and she discovered one of the three kittens out on an
adventuring tour. She picked up the little creature which purred
contentedly as she snuggled it to her, continuing her way.
The garden left behind, there was the lane to be passed through, and
here some real cause for fear in Edna's opinion, for the cows that Ira
had just finished milking were coming through the bars he had let down.
They stumbled along clumsily, following one another over the rail, and
ambled on to another set of bars where they stood till Ira should let
them through. At first, Edna did not realize that they were not making
for the spot where she stood and she took to her heels, fleeing
frantically back to the garden, banging the gate behind her and standing
still waiting till the cows were through and the bars up again. Seeing
the cows safely shut out from the lane she ventured forth again and
followed Ira's lantern to the barn. Here she stood looking around and
presently the beams from the lantern fell upon her little figure with
the white kitten still clasped in her arms.
Ira looked up in surprise. "Hello!" he cried. "What's took you up so
airly? Why, I jest got through milkin', and, doggone it, it ain't
skeerce light yit."
"I know," said Edna, "but I had to get up early, you see, so as to find
the key before breakfast."
"Key? What key?"
"The key of the spring-house. Reliance gave it to me to carry and I was
to have hung it up on a nail behind the kitchen door, and I forgot all
about it till I was in bed. You see if it isn't found nobody can have
any milk or cream for breakfast."
"Oh, I guess we could manage," returned Ira reassuringly. "Didn't drop
it indoors, did you?"
"I don't think so. I looked in the kitchen as I came out and I didn't
find it there. If it had been picked up, it would be on the nail, I
should think."
"Most likely it would; it would be there sure if 'Mandy found it; she
don't let nothin' stay out of place very long, I kin tell ye."
"As long as I didn't find it in the kitchen I thought I would come here
because I saw you had a lantern, and it really isn't quite light enough
to see very plainly, is it?"
"No, it ain't. Sun don't rise till somewheres around seven this time o'
year. Well, you come with me and we'll work our way long the path from
the spring-house and if we don't find the key we will go inside and
inquire. I alwuz find it don't do no harm to ask questions, and that
there key is bound to be somewheres betwixt this and the house."
He swung his lantern so its rays would shed a broad light along the way,
and Edna pattered along just behind him, trying very hard to keep up
with his long strides. When at last they reached the spring-house, he
slackened his pace and began carefully to look to the right and to the
left.
"You come right straight along, did you?" he questioned. "Didn't go
cavortin' off nowheres pickin' weeds or chasin' cats, did you?"
"No, we came as straight as could be. Reliance had the butter and cream
and we didn't stop once."
"Then I guess you likely dropped it inside, for I've sarched careful and
I can't find it. Maybe when it comes real bright daylight you could look
again, but I should advise askin' at the house next thing you do."
He led the way into the kitchen where Amanda was briskly stirring about.
"Well," she began, "what's wanting? Well, I declare if there ain't Edna.
What's got you up so early, missy? I guess you're like the rest of us,
couldn't sleep for thinking of all that's to do for Thanksgiving."
"You ain't picked up the spring-house key nowheres about, have you?"
asked Ira.
"Why, no. You had it?"
"No, I ain't, but sissy there says 'Liance gave it to her to carry and
she ain't no notion of what she done with it, thought mebbe she might
ha' drapped it in here. She got so worried over it she riz from her bed
and come out to hunt it up, says she was afraid nobody couldn't get no
breakfast because of her losing of it."
"I guess we won't suffer for breakfast," said Amanda, looking down
kindly at the little girl. "I don't carry back the milk nights this time
of year. Any that's left I just set in the pantry and there is what was
left from supper this blessed minute; butter, too, and cream, plenty for
breakfast. You just rest your mind on that score."
"But," said Edna, "you will want a whole lot of things for the
Thanksgiving cooking and what will you do with them all locked up?"
Ira laughed. "'Twouldn't be such an awful job to lift the door from its
hinges, and if a body was right spry he could climb in at the window
after he'd prised it open and the things could be handed out. Besides
we've got all the morning's milk and there'll be the night's milk and
to-morrow's milk, so I don't see that we shan't get along first-rate.
There is more than one way out of that trouble, ain't there, 'Mandy?"
"I should say so. Wait till the sun's real high and I guess we'll find
the key fast enough," she said to Edna. "Now, you stay right here and
don't go running about in the cold; you'll be down sick traipsing about
in the wet grass, and then where will your Thanksgiving be?"
Thus warned, Edna was content to stay in the kitchen into which the
morning light was beginning to creep and which was already warm from the
big stove. In a few minutes, Reliance appeared from the next room where
she had been setting the table. She was much astonished to learn that
Edna had been down before her. "What in the world did you get up so soon
for?" she asked.
"To find the key," Edna answered, and then told her all about the
search, ending up with, "You haven't seen anything of it, have you,
Reliance?"
Reliance's face broadened into a smile, as for answer she went behind
the kitchen door and produced the key from its nail, holding it up to
view.
"Why, where in the world did you get it?" inquired Edna in a tone of
surprise. "It wasn't on the nail when I looked there for it a little
while ago."
"You dropped it on the door-mat last evening," Reliance told her. "I
found it there and slipped it into the pocket of my apron, and this
morning when I went to get my apron, there it was so I just hung it up
where it belonged."
"Well, I'm sure," said Amanda, "that's easily explained."
"Who'd ha' thought it," said Ira. "Well, that let's us out of another
hunt. I won't have to wrastle with the door after all, will I?"
So, after all, Edna's early rising was unnecessary, but she did not feel
sorry that she had had such an experience, and was content to sit and
watch Amanda mould her biscuits and to help Reliance finish setting the
table. Amanda insisted upon giving her a drink of buttermilk from the
spring-house to which she despatched Reliance, advising Edna not to go
this time. "You've had one tramp," she said, "and moreover you'll be
starved by breakfast time if you don't have something to stay you."
The sausages were sizzling in the pan, and the griddle was ready for the
buckwheat cakes when Mrs. Conway appeared. "Well, you did steal a march
on us," she said to her little daughter. "How long have you been up? I
didn't hear a sound. You must have been a veritable mouse to be so
quiet."
"I've been up since before daylight," Edna told her. "I took my things
into the bathroom so as not to disturb you; it was lovely and warm in
there." Then again she repeated her story of the lost key.
"Reliance had the joke on her," said Amanda, "for she had the key all
the time."
"Why didn't you tell me you had found it?" asked Edna a little
reproachfully as she turned to Reliance, who had by this time returned
from the spring-house.
"I thought you would forget all about it, and I didn't think it was
worth while to mention. Besides," she added, "I ought to have carried
the key myself anyway."
"You're right there," remarked Amanda. "It is your especial charge and
you oughtn't to have let anyone else fetch it in. Moreover, you'd ought
to have hung it up the minute you found it, and there it would have been
when it was looked for."
"Oh, don't scold her," begged Edna. "It was all my fault, really."
Amanda smiled. "I don't see it just that way. Folks had ought to learn
when they're young that in this house there's a place for everything,
and everything should be in its place. I rather guess, though, that that
special key won't get lost again right away."
Edna felt that she had brought this lecture upon Reliance and felt
rather badly to have done so, but the prospect of buckwheat cakes soon
drove her self-reproach away and she went in to say good morning to her
grandparents, well satisfied with the world in general and content to
look ahead rather than at what was now past and gone, and which could
not be altered.
Before the day had far advanced, came the first of the arrivals, Aunt
Alice Barker and her two boys, Ben and Willis. Ben and Edna were great
chums, though he was the older of the two boys. Ben was alert, full of
fun and ready to joke on every occasion, while Willis was rather shy and
had not much to say to his little cousin, whom, by the way, he did not
know so very well.
Edna would fain have spent the morning in the kitchen from which issued
delectable odors, but Amanda had declared she wanted all the room there
was, that she had scatted out the cats and dogs and she would have to
scat out children, too, if they came bothering around. Therefore, to
avoid this catastrophe, Edna took herself to a different part of the
house, and was standing at one of the front windows when the carriage
drove up.
"Oh, grandpa," she sang out, "here come Aunt Alice and her boys! Hurry!
Hurry! or they will get here before we can be there to meet them."
Her grandfather threw down his newspaper and laid aside his spectacles.
"Well, well," he said, "it takes the young eyes to find out who is
coming. I didn't suppose Allie would be here till afternoon. What team
have they. Why didn't they let us know so we could send for them!"
He followed Edna, who was already at the front door tugging at the bolt,
then in another moment the two were out on the porch while yet the
carriage was some yards away. Ben caught sight of them. "Hello!" he
cried out. "Here we are, bag and baggage. Didn't expect us so soon, did
you grandpa?"
"No, son, we didn't. How did you come to steal a march on us in this
way?"
"The express was behind time so we caught it at the junction, instead of
having to wait for the train we expected to take. It didn't seem worth
while to telephone; in fact we didn't have time, so we just got this
team from Mayville and here we are. How are you Pinky Blooms?" He darted
at Edna, tousled her hair, picked her up and slung her over his shoulder
as if she were a bag of meal, and dropped her on the top step of the
porch, she laughing and protesting the while.
"Oh, Ben," she panted, "you are perfectly dreadful."
"Why, is that you, Edna?" said Ben in pretended surprise. "I thought you
were my valise; it is too bad I made the mistake and dumped you down so
unceremoniously."
Edna knew perfectly well how to take this so she picked herself up
laughing, and started after Ben who leaped over the railing of the porch
thus making his escape. By this time Mrs. Willis and Mrs. Conway had
come out and the whole company went indoors, Ben the last to come,
peeping in through a crack of the door, and then slinking in with a
pretense of being afraid of Edna. An hour later, these two were tramping
over the place, hand in hand, making all sorts of discoveries, leaving
Willis deep in a book and the older people chatting cozily before the
open fire.
Aunt Emmeline, Uncle Wilbur and Becky were the next to come, Becky being
in a pout because her sweetheart had failed to make the train, and Aunt
Emmeline fussing and arguing with her.
"You know, Becky, that he is coming, and I don't see what difference a
couple of hours will make," she said as she gave her hand, to her
sister, Mrs. Willis. "I am just telling Becky, Cecelia, that she is very
foolish to make such a fuss because Howard is detained; he missed the
train, you see, and can't arrive till the next comes in." She passed on
into the house still talking, while Edna made her escape upstairs. She
had not noticed the little girl, and Edna felt rather slighted.
However, this was all forgotten a little later when her own brothers and
sister as well as her father were to be welcomed. You would suppose Edna
had been parted from them for at least a year, so joyous were her
greetings, and so much did she have to tell. She had scarcely unburdened
herself of all her happenings, before in swarmed Uncle Bert and his
family. There was so many of these that for a little while they seemed
to fill the entire house, for, first appeared Aunt Lucia and after her
the nurse carrying the baby, then Uncle Bert with little Herbert in his
arms, and then Lulie and Allen and Ted. Cousin Becky's sweetheart,
Howard Colby, came on the last train and ended the list of guests. What
a houseful it was, to be sure, and what long, long tables in the
dining-room. Reliance was not able to wait on everybody, and so Amanda's
niece Fanny, took a hand, thus everyone was served.
Edna was rather shy of those cousins whom she had not seen for two or
three years, and after supper preferred to stay close to her sister
Celia and Ben, though her brothers were soon hob-nobbing with Allen and
Ted, and were planning expeditions for the morrow. Ben told such a funny
story about the lady by the willow tree, that Edna could never look at
the picture again without laughing, but he had scarcely finished it
before some one called out: "Bedtime for little folks!" and all the
younger ones trooped off upstairs, grandma herself leading the way to
see that each one was tucked in comfortably.