SATURDAY
"Isn't it glorious to be living and for it to be Saturday?" yawned Lucy.
"Yes, and not to have to catch that old train," and Nan snuggled down
luxuriously under the bedclothes. "I used to think Saturday was a pretty
good institution when we lived in town, but now--Oh, ye gods! Now!"
"Did you know that Saturday was decreed a half-holiday in the days of
the Saxon King Edgar 958 A. D.?" asked Lucy, who had a way of springing
historical facts on people.
"No, but I know it's going to be a whole holiday for Nan Carter in the
year of grace 1916. I intend to do nothing but laze the whole day long,
laze and read."
"I bet you won't. I bet you go nutting with Mag and me, because if we go
it means Billy goes along, and if he goes along he'll be in a terrible
grouch unless you go, too."
October had delightfully spread over into November. The weather had
obligingly stayed good, and although our Carters had been at Valhalla
more than a month, they had experienced no real bad days.
Nippy, frosty nights had put Mr. Carter wise to the many cracks that he
must stop up. Weather strips must be put on windows and doors, panes of
glass must be puttied in. Suspicious stains on walls and ceilings warned
him of leaks, but he had to wait for a rain to locate them. He found
himself almost as busy as he had been before his breakdown, but busy in
such a different way.
"I'm glad it's Saturday! I think I won't work today," he had remarked to
his wife at about the same time Nan and Lucy were having their talk.
"Come and walk in the woods with me."
That lady had graciously consented, if he promised not to go far and to
lift her over fences.
"I think I'll wash my hair today; and darn the stockings; and go over
the accounts; and write some letters; and read the _Saturday Evening
Post_," said Douglas as she and Helen dressed hurriedly. Their little
attic room was hot in summer and cold in winter.
Douglas had been thinking a great deal about her ride with the count.
Had he only meant to tease her? Was he trying to flirt with her? Did she
like him at all or did she in a way distrust him? She asked herself all
of these questions. Of course she liked him! Why should she distrust a
man because of the way his moustache grew? Of course he was teasing
her, and who could help teasing a silly goose of a girl who sat on the
roadside and bawled until her nose was disgracefully red, and then
insisted it was all because her little brother had aided and abetted in
the crime of putting fleas down a little girl's neck? He had made a good
guess about Lewis Somerville, because no doubt her father had told him
that she and Lewis had been chums from the time they were babies.
"I only hope I will be able to make up to him for my discourtesy by
being very polite to him the next time I see him," she thought.
"Count de Lestis is coming to lunch with us today," said Helen, almost
as though she had been reading her sister's mind. "Father asked him."
"That's good! Isn't it nice for Father to have such a congenial friend?"
"And Mumsy! She enjoys his visits so much. I am going to try and have a
scrumptious luncheon, but I tell you I am going to leave mighty little
of it to Chloe."
"I think she is improving, Helen."
"Of course she is improving. She is trying so hard to do what I want her
to and I am trying so hard to be patient. I think I am improving some
myself."
"Oh, honey, you are simply splendid. I think you have the hardest job of
all and I think you are doing better than any of us."
"Nonsense!" But Helen looked very happy over her sister's praise. "I'd
rather do general housework for six dollars a month than go every day
and teach thirty little nincompoops a-b, ab."
"But the thing is you are doing general housework for nothing a month."
"I am doing a little teaching of a-b, ab, too, only my methods are
different. I have evolved a very advanced style of teaching and Chloe,
too, is learning to spell. My method is somewhat that of Dotheboys'
Hall--you remember: 'W-i-n-d-o-w, window--Go wash them.' I make her
spell and write all the kitchen utensils. She learns while she is
working and it makes her take an interest in becoming educated."
"Oh, Helen, you are so clever! You must let me help about the luncheon."
"How about washing your head; and writing your letters; and casting up
the household accounts; and the _Saturday Evening Post_?"
"Well, the letters and _Post_ will keep!"
On Saturday the rule was that the dead warriors must make up their own
beds and clean their own rooms, so shortly after breakfast there
was a general scramble in process. Helen turned Chloe loose in the
dining-room to have it swept and garnished for their distinguished
visitor.
What a pretty room it was, much the most attractive in the house, with
the exception of the sitting-room, perhaps! Low, rough-hewn rafters were
frankly exposed to view. The walls were sealed with pine boards. Walls
and ceiling were both painted a very soft, pleasing grey-green. On the
high mantel was an old-fashioned wooden clock with painted door, and
this was flanked on both sides by funny old vases with large raised
roses and gilt ears. Two high windows and a glass door, opening on a
covered passage leading to the kitchen, gave a soft and insufficient
light.
Douglas had just put the finishing touch to the table: a bunch of cosmos
sent down by the Misses Grant. Nan had made the mayonnaise; and Lucy had
found a great basket of mushrooms and peeled them for Helen to cream.
Truly they were to have a scrumptious luncheon. The count had arrived
and was playing lady-come-to-see, so Lucy said, with Mrs. Carter.
The whir of a motor drew the attention of all.
"Who on earth!" exclaimed Helen. "Surely not callers at this hour, just
when my popovers are almost ready to eat!"
"Mo' comply!" declared Chloe. "Dat ol' red rooster what yo' paw set so
much sto' by is been a-crowing halleluja all mornin'. I been a-tryin'
ter make him hesh, 'cause we ain't got no mo' cheers fer comply."
"That's so, there aren't but eight dining-room chairs," laughed Helen.
"My 'ployer done come and a soger is in with him!" cried Bobby, tearing
excitedly by the dining-room in his race to open the gate for his
beloved Dr. Wright.
Helen ran out in her pink bungalow apron, first peeping into the oven,
not trusting Chloe yet to keep things from burning.
"Douglas!" she called excitedly, but Douglas, with flushed cheeks, bent
over the bowl of cosmos.
"A soldier with him! What soldier? Could it be Lewis?" she asked
herself.
It was Lewis Somerville, looking very handsome and upstanding indeed in
his khaki uniform, with his face burned a deep bronze so that his eyes
looked very blue and his teeth very white. He clambered out over the
great basket of fruit Dr. Wright was bringing to Mrs. Carter, dropped
the boxes and parcels piled in around him and hugged and kissed all the
female cousins in sight, Helen, Nan and Lucy. He shook Bobby by the
hand, knowing full well that that youngster would sooner die than be
hugged and kissed.
"Douglas, where is Douglas?" he whispered to Helen.
"In the dining-room! You can get there around at the back of the
house--in the basement. We thought you were still in Mexico."
Lewis did not wait to tell her that he wasn't, but doing double quick
time he streaked around the house, and finding the basement stairs
without any trouble, he was down them in one stride.
"Douglas!"
"Oh, Lewis!"
Douglas forgot that not so very many months before this time she had
informed her cousin that she was too big to be kissed and that he was
not close enough kin to warrant indiscriminate hugging. Certainly she
was no younger than she had been eight months before and Lewis was no
closer kin, but now she submitted to his embraces and even clung to him
for a moment.
It was so wonderful to have him back safe and sound. She could hardly
believe it was only yesterday that she had sat on the roadside and wept.
He was her same Lewis, too. She felt instinctively that the count's
suggestion in regard to Mexican beauties was ridiculous.
"And Lewis, sergeant stripes on your sleeve, too! Why didn't you tell
me?"
"I did! Didn't you get my letter?"
"No, not for weeks and weeks!"
"Strange! I must say I am not crazy about that letter's being lost."
"Can't you tell me what was in it?"
"Sure! I'm telling you now," and the young man caught her to him once
more, but Douglas suddenly remembered she was too old to be kissed by a
second cousin, once removed. "I'm not crazy about having anyone but you
read that letter, though, not only because of my telling you this," and
he took another for luck, "but," as Douglas recovered her maidenly
reserve and pushed him from her laughing, "I said some other things in
that letter that I wouldn't like anyone and everyone to see."
"State secrets?"
"Well, a newly-made sergeant would hardly have such things intrusted to
him! It was only my opinion concerning the state of affairs down there
on the border. I may be wrong about things, but a soldier has no right
to blab his conclusions about conditions in belligerent countries,
especially when the press is wary in its comments."
"I wouldn't worry a moment about it. If you could see the road that our
R. F. D. has to come over you would not wonder that some of our letters
jolt out. There is one creek to cross that is like going down the Grand
Canyon."
"If it only jolted out there and found watery oblivion, I shan't mind.
But what a bully little shack this is! Wright was afraid we would not
get here in time for luncheon, and he and I were determined to lie and
say we had eaten, but gee, I'm glad not to have to perjure my soul!"