But we must go back to Anne, whom we left telling fairy tales to an
audience across the hedge. A rainy afternoon a few days later, a trim
nurse-maid brought a note to Miss Farlow. It was from Mrs. Marshall who
lived in the brown-stone house next door, asking that a little girl
whose name she did not know, a child with a big rag doll called
Honey-Sweet, might come to spend the afternoon with her children. Her
little boy, just recovering from typhoid fever, was peevish at being
kept indoors. He begged to see the girl who had entertained him a few
days before by telling fairy tales. A visit from her would be a kindness
to a sick child and an anxious mother.
"It is Anne Lewis that is wanted," said Miss Farlow. "I don't know
about letting her go. Visiting interferes with the daily tasks. I think
it better not to--"
"Please'm," entreated the bearer of the note, hastening to ward off a
refusal, "do, please'm, let the little girl come. He's that fractious he
has us all wore out. And he do say if the little girl don't come he'll
scream till night."
"Why doesn't his mother punish him?" asked Miss Farlow.
"Punish him! Punish Dunlop!" exclaimed Martha, in amazement.
"Oh, well! the child's ill. I suppose I must let her go," Miss Farlow
consented reluctantly. Anne was sent up-stairs to scrub her already
shining face, to brush her already orderly locks, to take off her
gingham apron and put on a fresh dimity frock. She returned to the
office, twisting her hat-ribbon nervously.
"If you please, Miss Farlow," she said appealingly, "Honey-Sweet--my
baby doll, you know--was in the note, too. Mayn't I take her with me?"
Miss Farlow nodded consent and Anne tripped away with Honey-Sweet in her
arms. What a contrast 'Roseland' was to the 'Home' next door! Anne
followed Martha across a great hall with panelled walls and
glass-knobbed mahogany doors and tiger-skin rugs on a well-waxed floor.
Martha led the way up broad, soft-carpeted stairs and turned into a room
at the right. What a charming nursery! It was a large room with three
big windows, which had a cheerful air even on this gray, bleak day. It
had soft, bright-colored rugs and chintz-cushioned wicker chairs. There
was a dado of Mother Goose illustrations on the pink walls. And there
were tables and shelves full of picture-books and toys of all kinds.
Dunlop stood in the middle of the room, frowning, with hands thrust in
his pockets. He had just kicked over a row of wooden soldiers with which
his small brother was playing and the little fellow was crying over
their downfall.
"Martha! thanks be that you've come!" exclaimed the maid in charge.
"Here she is! here she is!" cried Dunlop. "I thought you weren't coming,
girl. You were so slow.--I was just getting ready to begin to scream,"
he warned Martha.
"How do you do, Dunlop?" said Anne, putting out her hand.
"Say 'howdy' and ask your visitor to take off her hat," Martha
suggested.
"You come on and tell me a story," said Dunlop, seizing Anne's hand.
She resisted his effort to drag her to a chair. "I said 'how do you do'
to you. And you haven't said 'how do you do' to me," she reminded her
host. "I want to do and be did polite."
"Aw! come on," persisted Dunlop.
Anne stood silent.
The memory of his former encounter with her stubborn dignity came back
to Dunlop. He said, rather sullenly, "How do you do? and take off your
hat. But I don't know your name."
"My name is Anne Lewis," said his guest. "And this is Honey-Sweet. I
know your name. Martha told me. You are Dunlop Marshall. Your little
brother's name is Arthur. What a soft, curly, white little dog!"
"'At's my Fluffles," explained Arthur.
"Do you know any more stories, Anne Lewis?" inquired Dunlop. "Martha
said she 'spected you didn't."
"Yes, I do."
"How many?"
"O--oh! I don't know. Many as I want to make up. I'm playing a story now
while I wash dishes--this is my dining-room week. I pretend that a funny
little dwarf climbed the beanstalk with Jack--and when the giant tumbled
down he stayed up there in the giant's castle. Do you want to hear that
story?"
"You bet! Tell on," said Dunlop--and then added, as an afterthought,
"please."
"'Please!' Ain't that wonderful?" commented Martha. "Why, you make him
have manners!"
An hour or two later, Mrs. Marshall came into the nursery to see the
little girl whom her son had insisted on having as his guest. Martha was
serving refreshments--animal crackers and cambric tea.
"Anne has to go at five o'clock," Dunlop explained. "It's nearly that
now. So we're having a party."
"Anne--what is the rest of your name, little one?" asked Mrs. Marshall.
"I know. Let me tell," exclaimed Dunlop. "She's named Anne Lewis and she
lived in a big white house on a hill by the river at--at--you tell
where, Anne."
"'Lewis Hall,'" said Anne.
"You are a Lewis of 'Lewis Hall!'" exclaimed Mrs. Marshall. "Is it
possible? Was your father--could he have been--Will Watkins Lewis? He
was such a dear friend of my Bland cousins. I remember seeing him at
'Belle Vue' when I was a girl. I never saw him after he married and
settled down at his old home. Let's see. Your mother was a Mayo, wasn't
she?"
"I am named for her. Anne Mayo Lewis."
"To think you are Will Watkins Lewis's child! He is dead?--and your
mother?"
"I can't hardly remember him. But I can shut my eyes and see mother. I
was a big girl--seven when she died."
"You poor little thing! And where have you been since?"
"In New York with Uncle Carey. He's mother's brother. Then I was in
Paris at school. Mr. Patterson brought me back to Virginia. I've been
here ever since."
"Dear, dear! Will Watkins Lewis's child!" repeated Mrs. Marshall. "Where
are all your kins-people and friends?"
"I don't know 'bout kinfolks. But I have lots and lots of friends," said
Anne, brightening. "All the girls--and the cook--and the 'spress
man--and there used to be Miss Drayton and Pat. And there's always
Honey-Sweet," continued Anne, giving her doll a hug. "Oh, I must hurry!
It's beginning to strike five--and Miss Farlow said five o'clock
pre-cise-ly. Good-by. And thank you."