THE END OF THE SUMMER.
Two weeks later everything was running again as usual. Kenneth, quite
recovered, was as lively as possible, though he was a funny looking
little object, with his lovely golden curls, to everybody's great grief,
cropped as close to his head as a prize-fighter's.
"If it only will grow out a _little_, before mamma gets home," mourned
Cricket. "He looks so ridiculous. He looks just like the sheep, after
'Gustus John has sheared them. Even the little lambs don't know their own
mothers, sometimes, auntie, after they're clipped. Oh!" clasping her
hands in horror at a new thought. "Do you suppose mamma won't even
_know_ Kenneth?"
"He doesn't look much like himself, certainly, but I don't fancy that
there's the least danger that his mother won't know him instantly," said
auntie, comfortingly.
"I'm so glad," said Cricket, with a sigh of relief, "if you really
think so. But, anyway, he's the _sheepiest_-looking child."
But, fortunately, his burns had healed beautifully, and the doctor
assured them that he would even outgrow every scar. Cricket was entirely
herself again, with only one deep scar across her right wrist to remind
her of that unlucky sacrifice to the Jabberwock.
Edna was at home, also, delighted to be back with her beloved Eunice.
She proudly flourished, actually, two stories for the "Echo," as the
result of her "banishment," as she insisted on calling her visit. She
was so proud of them that she wanted to carry them about with her all
the time, and was all impatience for the next number of the paper to be
ready. Eunice had been working at it, during Edna's absence, and it was
all ready, excepting to print Edna's story, for which space had been
left.
It was getting well into September now, and the children were looking
eagerly forward to the return of the travellers, who were to sail early
in October. Letters said that mamma was improving so delightfully that
she was quite as strong as ever, and that she was looking forward with
quite as much impatience to seeing the children again as they could
have to see her. The children didn't quite believe this, though.
"She _couldn't_ be glad as I am," said Cricket, positively. "If she were
she would just simply burst. Of _course_ we're gladder to see her than
she could be to see us, because she's _mamma_, and we're only just the
children! I'm chock full of gladness!" and Cricket gave an ecstatic
caper as she waved the letter that definitely set the date of the
travellers' return.
"Look _out_, Cricket," said Eunice, hastily, "that's the second time
you've nearly knocked my ink over," rescuing, as she spoke, the fresh,
fair copy of the "Echo," to which she was giving the finishing touches,
for the afternoon's reading.
"Please excuse me, but I'm so happy! Oh, auntie, it's worth while to
have mamma and papa go to Europe and miss them so, when you are so
gladder than glad when they come back."
"Now, I really flattered myself that you had been tolerably contented
here, this summer," said Auntie Jean, pretending to look aggrieved. "I'm
very sorry that you've been so wretched."
"Wretched! I _haven't_," said Cricket, giving auntie a rapturous hug,
and, at the same time, sending her heels kicking out behind, like a
little wild pony. "I've had an awfully good time."
"Cricket!" shrieked Eunice, "you knocked over the ink at last!" She
snatched up the "Echo" just in time to save it from an inky bath. "Hand
me that blotter, Edna. Never mind, auntie, for it's mostly on the
newspapers. Cricket, you _are_ the ink-spillingest girl!" scolded
Eunice, scrubbing and cleaning as she talked. "Yesterday you knocked it
out of the window, and only the other day you had it all over the
piazza-floor."
Cricket looked much depressed, as she helped Eunice repair damages.
"I rather guess you'll be too relieved for anything to see the last of
me, grandma," she said, mournfully. "I never saw anybody like me. I
never mean to do things, and then I go and do them. I don't see how
you've stood it all summer, anyway, with such racketting children
around, I truly don't."
"You've been a pretty obedient set," said grandma, patting the hand that
stole around her neck. "And when children are obedient and truthful, one
can excuse a great deal else. Indeed, I shall miss my flock
exceedingly, I assure you, in spite of your ink-spilling tendencies."
"Even if I did sprain your ankle?" whispered Cricket, very softly, "and
burn up Kenneth's hair? and break through the plaster in your ceiling,
and lots of other things?"
"Yes, in spite of it all," whispered grandma, back again, just as
softly. "Because I never knew you to do anything I told you not to do,
and whatever you tell me, I know is exactly true."
"You're such a beautiful grandma!" said Cricket, with a hug, and then
she pranced off.
Zaidee and Helen came toiling up from the beach, with their arms full of
dolls. Zaidee dropped down on the top piazza-step.
"Auntie Jean, I'm all in such a pusferation," she sighed. "It's so much
work to take care of such a lot of children as I have. I wish I had a
little live nurse to help me. Couldn't I?"
"Take Cricket," suggested Auntie Jean. "She wants something to do."
"No, I thank you," said that young woman, decidedly. "I'm glad _I_ don't
have to follow Zaidee up all day."
"And I wouldn't have you," returned Zaidee, with equal decision. "You
tooked up my Beatrice by the neck, and it hurted her. She told me so. I
don't want you for my dollie's nurse, or for my nurse, either."
"_Your_ nurse!" exclaimed Cricket. "I wouldn't be 'Liza for anything!
I'd as soon take care of a straw in a high wind, as take care of you."
Auntie Jean laughed, and drew Cricket down into her arms.
"Did you ever think, honestly," she whispered, "that Zaidee is a little,
just a little, like one of her older sisters?"
"Oh, she's not so bad," responded Cricket, instantly. "But because she's
like me is no reason I like it any better. I like it all the worse.
Besides, I don't set up to be a polygon."
Hereupon Auntie Jean laughed until grandma demanded to know what the
joke was, and why they were talking secrets.
"No secrets," answered auntie, wiping her eyes. "Cricket was only
telling me that she didn't set up to be a _paragon_."
Cricket flashed a quick glance at auntie, caught her eye, and nodded her
thanks.
"There's George Washington," she hastily remarked, changing the
subject. "Come here, sir, and play a little. You've been as sober as a
judge lately. I haven't seen you run after Martha for perfect ages."
The September days slipped by, until the first of October was just at
hand. It was arranged that Auntie Jean should go and get the house in
town in readiness for the family's return. At first she expected to go
alone, but the girls begged to go with her, and finally she concluded to
take them.
Will and Archie had already gone back to Philadelphia, on account of
their school, so this arrangement would only leave the younger ones and
Eliza with grandma for a few days longer.
Then, oh, joy! that blessed Auntie Jean further decided that she would
take them all down to New York the day before the steamer was due, so
that they might have the earliest possible glimpse of the family. Was
not all this enough to fill any little girl's cup of bliss to
overflowing?
For once, reality surpassed anticipation. Such excitement for the last
week in packing up; such walks and rows and drives between times; such a
fine number of the "Echo," to wind up with; such a funny farewell
call--laden with all manner of good things--to the old woman, who was
still overcome by the thought that she had seen Miss Cricket; then such
parting hugs and kisses for dear grandma and the children; such
hand-shakings with old Billy, who distributed peppermints like a red and
white snow.
Then came the jolly three days' picnic in the empty house in town. The
three girls thought that they rendered perfectly indispensable aid to
auntie and the maids, in opening the house, getting off holland covers,
and arranging everything, till it was all in apple-pie order for the
homecomers.
Then came the last and loveliest treat,--the delightful trip to New York
in the night boat, and the vast importance of the thought of going to
meet their European travellers. They discussed them, as if they had been
gone ten years, at least. Eunice wondered if she would know Marjorie,
and if Donald's mustache would be as long as papa's, while Cricket was a
little afraid that they might have forgotten how to talk English.
The steamer was not due till late in the afternoon, so that they had the
day before them, and a day crammed with good things it was. Although
they had often been there before, the children immediately voted for
Central Park and the Metropolitan Museum first. Then they visited some
of the great stores, and then lunched at Delmonico's. In the afternoon
they went for a long, lovely ride up Riverside Park, and then, at last,
came the crowning joy of watching the steamer's arrival.
"There's mamma!" shrieked Cricket, regardless of the crowd about her, as
the great steamer swung into her moorings, and in five minutes more
everybody was being rapturously hugged by everybody else.
THE END.
Transcriber's Note:
Variations in spelling and hyphenation, and unexpected spelling found in
the original have been retained.
The following changes have been made in this version:
Punctuation errors have been corrected without comment.
Oe ligatures have been expanded as in Phoebe.
page 76
'adventures' changed to 'adventure': a new adventure.
page 123
'liitle' corrected to 'little': his poor little
page 165
'sittingly' corrected to 'sitting': were sitting cosily
page 260
'at at any' corrected to 'at any': at any time
page 324
'Anntie' corrected to 'Auntie': Auntie Jean knew
End of Project Gutenberg's Cricket at the Seashore, by Elizabeth Westyn Timlow