THE MILLINERY STORE
Chicken Little was seated on the end of the kitchen table swinging her
legs and watching Alice make pies.
"Look out--you'll get your stockings black off the stove," warned Alice
lifting a pie from the oven.
"I wisht I didn't always have to wear white stockings--they're such a
nuisance."
"They are hard to keep clean. But the nice families always make their
children wear white, I notice. I don't see why black wouldn't look just
as well with black shoes--especially for school."
"Grace Dart has two clean pairs every day. Did you wear white stockings
when you were a little girl, Alice?"
"In summer--in winter we had heavy knitted ones, red and white or blue
and white striped. Mother used to knit them."
"Did your mother die when you were a weenty girl?"
"No, I was fifteen when she went. Father died five years before. It was
grieving about him, and the hard work and going hungry that killed
Mother before her time. She'd be living now if we'd had our rights."
Chicken Little puckered her brow for a moment trying to think this out.
"What was the matter with the rights? Did somebody take them?"
Alice laughed till she showed her dimples.
"You funny dear! Yes, took them away from us. I am afraid I can't make
you understand, Jane. It was our property--money and this house and some
bank stock that we lost. My father went to the war and left all his
business in the hands of his partner, a man named Gassett. Father fought
in the war two years till he was badly wounded and had to come home.
Some day I'll show you a piece of a Confederate flag he helped capture.
He was never himself again and Mr. Gassett ran everything. Father said
just before he died that he was thankful he at least had the home and
some bank stock to leave us--but he didn't have even that it seems. We
couldn't find any bank stock certificates and Mr. Gassett had a big
mortgage on the house--so he got it, too. Mother said she was sure
Father had paid off that mortgage two years after he went into
partnership with Gassett--but, pshaw, you can't understand all this!"
"I can, too, I'm very quick. I heard Mother tell Mrs. Halford so and she
said I had the strongest will she ever saw in a child!" Chicken Little
was indignant.
Alice smiled but went on fluting the edge of an apple pie with a fork.
"Please tell me some more, Alice. Did your mother get awful hungry? Was
that why you brought us some supper?"
"How do you know I brought you any supper?"
"'Cause. It was you--wasn't it, Alice?"
"Yes, Jane, and I expect your mother would be very angry with me if she
knew. But I can't bear to have anybody go hungry since Mother--and I
know how it feels myself--there's Katy whistling, you'd better run
along."
Katy's smooth brown head appeared above the high board fence on her side
of the alley that divided the Morton and Halford places. Chicken Little
promptly mounted the top of their fence by the aid of a convenient wood
pile.
Few days passed in which the children did not visit across the alley.
They were not permitted to go outside their own yards without leave,
but no embargo had been placed upon the fences. So they sweetened the
days when permission to visit was denied by consoling each other across
the alley. The result of this conference sent Chicken Little scurrying
in to her mother.
Mrs. Morton sat by one of the long French windows with a small writing
desk on her lap, busily writing a letter.
"Um--n--yes--what did you say?"
"May I have ten cents, Mother? We're going to start a millinery store
and you can get a lot of the loveliest little roses and forget-me-nots
down to Mrs. Smith's for ten cents. They fall off the wreaths you know.
Grace Dart has promised to buy a hat and Katy's Cousin Mary said maybe
she would, and it's Saturday and we can work all day--say, will you,
Mother?"
"Dear, dear, what's all this? A millinery store? You and Katy and
Gertie, I suppose. Well, I don't know but that would be a nice way to
help teach you to sew. You must comb your hair again and put on a clean
white apron before you go downtown--and don't go anywhere but Mrs.
Smith's. By the way, have you finished your practicing?"
Chicken Little wriggled painfully before she reluctantly shook her head.
"Well, do your hour first, then you may have the money."
"Oh, Mother, couldn't I practice after dinner--the girls are waiting for
me?"
"Duty before pleasure, little daughter, go finish your hour and I'll
hunt up some bits of tulle and ribbon for you myself."
"Oh, will you, Mother? Goody, goody! May I go tell the girls? I'll come
straight back."
"Yes, but don't get so excited. Little ladies should learn to be more
composed--and don't stand on one foot. Come here--the top button of your
dress is unfastened." Jane submitted to the buttoning process then flew
off to tell the others, who were already setting up shop in the fence
corner.
"Oh, Jane," they chorused the moment she came in sight, "Mother gave us
the loveliest yellow satin and some pink flowers and lace, too!"
"Yes, and I found six chicken feathers that'll be grand for turbans,"
broke in Gertie.
Chicken Little flung herself breathless upon the grass and explained
between gasps.
"If it wasn't for that horrid practicing!" she finished.
"Never mind," said Katy, "Gertie can be fixing the store and I'll start
right in on a hat. It'll take a lot of work I tell you--we're going to
charge ten cents a hat."
Chicken Little started reluctantly back to the house and still more
reluctantly settled down on the old green-velvet piano stool to
practice. There was not much music in her soul, and sitting still at
anything was torture. She squirmed even when she read, and her brother
Frank said she got into sixty-nine different positions by actual count
during the sermon one Sunday. He had made her a standing offer of ten
cents whenever she could sit perfectly still for five minutes, but so
far his money was safe.
The moon-faced clock on the opposite wall ticked monotonously and
Chicken Little's small fingers thumped stiffly at the five-finger
exercises while she painfully counted aloud, partly to get the time and
partly for company.
At the end of ten minutes she looked up at the clock in despair--surely
it must have stopped! But no, the big pendulum was swinging faithfully
to and fro. She tried scales, then she went back to exercises. She
squirmed and wriggled and counted the big white medallions in the
crimson body-brussels carpet. These medallions were her especial
admiration, for each was bordered with elaborate curlicues, and
contained a gorgeous basket of woolen flowers, the like of which never
bloomed in any garden, temperate or tropical. There were fifteen of
these across the room and twenty-five lengthwise.
The lace curtains were floral, too. She occupied five minutes trying
for the hundredth time to decide, whether a delicate lace bloom with the
circumference of a holly-hock was intended for a lily or a rose. The old
steel engraving of General Washington's household hanging over the piano
helped on a few moments more. The colored servant back of the general's
chair had a fascination for her even greater than Martha Washington's
mob cap and lace mitts. But, alas, even with the aid of these diversions
she had only worried through twenty-five minutes.
Then she had an inspiration. "Grimm's Fairy Tales" lay on the sofa open
face downward where she had left it half an hour before. She propped the
book on the music rack and started in once more on the exercises. The
exercises, however, refused to combine with reading--the discords were
painful even to Jane's ears so she tried scales which worked like a
charm. Mechanically her hands rippled up and down the keys while her
fancy fluttered off after "Snow White" and "Rose Red." And the big clock
was so neglected that it was five minutes past the hour before she
thought to look at it again.
"Finished your hour, Daughter? Did you practice faithfully?"
Chicken Little considered a moment before replying.
"I didn't play the exercises much," she said doubtfully.
"Well, you did the scales very nicely."
Again Chicken Little paused.
Her conscience was pricking. On the chair beside her mother was a
glowing pile of odd ribbons and old artificial flowers and her mother's
kindness suddenly made the child realize that the Grimm hadn't been
quite fair--she did not like the feeling of not playing fair. She
twisted the handle of the door trying to muster up courage to confess,
but Mrs. Morton was in a hurry to finish her letters.
"Run along now. Here are some things for you and here's the dime. I am
busy, dear."
And Chicken Little feeling that the Fates had excused her, flew off
joyfully to join the girls.
The fence corner was swept and garnished. An old lumber pile and several
soap boxes had been pressed into service for shelves and counters and
were artistically covered with an old lace curtain. Gertie was just
putting a vase of real flowers on a table as a finishing touch, when
Jane came up.
"Um-m, isn't that too sweet for anything, and see what I've got!"
"Look at this! It's most done," Katy held up an adorable creation of
white tulle and pink rosebuds which her nimble fingers had almost
completed.
She dispatched Gertie and Chicken Little to Mrs. Smith's for more
flowers while she trimmed away industriously. It was a very happy
Saturday. The fame of it spread throughout the neighborhood and the
three little girls were kept busy snipping and fussing with the tiny
headgear. Katy had natural style and taste and some of the little hats
were really charming.
The boys dropped over once or twice to see what was going on. Finally,
they were so fired by this business enterprise that they started a
lemonade stand just outside the front gate, having painfully secured a
capital of five lemons by dint of much coaxing of mothers and maids.
Their venture could hardly be called a success. They sold one glass for
five cents, then Carol, who was always awkward, upset the whole
pitcherful. The ice melted out of the second, and no customers
appearing, the boys were drinking it up themselves, when Sherman
gallantly proposed to treat the little girls. The supply was getting low
by this time, but they carried over one rather skimpy and distressingly
seedy glass to be divided among the three.
The young ladies were too grateful for this unexpected attention to be
critical. Besides their exchequer was filling up beautifully.
"How much did you make? We've got thirty cents already," said Katy.
"Gee, how'd you make such a lot?" Sherm looked impressed.
"Say, lend us a quarter, won't you?" urged Carol.
"Not much we won't, but I'll tell you. If you'll take this hat down to
Cousin May's we'll give you five cents, 'cause Mother won't let us go so
far by ourselves. And I'm afraid she'll change her mind about taking it
if we wait till Monday at school."
The boys dickered a while and reckoned up the number of blocks their
weary feet would have to travel. Carol insisted that seven cents was
none too much for the effort, but Katy was a good business woman and was
firm in sticking to her first offer.
The lads finally agreed to take it on their way to the ball game, but
this small errand raised a veritable tempest in the little company
before it was finally settled.
The tiny package was carefully wrapped and the boys carried it with due
respect and delivered it into May Allen's hands. They duly pocketed not
only the ten cents in payment but another as well, for May was so
delighted with the hat and the elegant manner in which it had been
delivered, that she sent an order, with payment in advance, for another
bonnet.
All would have been well but for the seductions of a certain ice-cream
parlor where candy, apples and cigars were temptingly displayed in a
window, draped genteely with a fly-specked lace lambrequin.
Sherman suggested they get a dime changed and expend their nickel for
the sweets. Once inside, the sight of sundry acquaintances eating
alluring pyramids of creamy coolness confronted them. The boys had been
standing around at Brown's field watching the ball game. It was hot and
dusty and their mouths watered. Carol had ten cents of his own. By using
their nickel and the remaining fifteen cents they could each have a
dish. Ernest hesitated about this borrowing, but the boys said they
could pay it back. Ernest was sure he had that much in his toy bank at
home, and the other boys were positive they could shake it through the
slit if they tried hard enough.
So the tempter won and the trust money was speedily converted into
ice-cream. The ice-cream once down the transaction began to take on a
different phase. The boys plodded home rather silently.
Sherman voiced the first doubt.
"Say, Ern, are you sure you've got enough?"
Ern was wondering himself if he had.
"I guess we'd better go in the side gate and get it out before the girls
see us," he replied.
The boys slipped in the side gate in a manner so noiseless that it might
almost be called sneaking. On up to Ernest's room they filed and
hastily secured the bank.
Alas, no rattle of coin repaid them. Absent-minded Ernest had entirely
forgotten that his father had taken the contents to the savings bank for
him the preceding month, and that he had not been able to save up
anything since.
The boys looked at each other.
"Maybe Mother'll lend me fifteen cents," said Ernest after a pause.
A speedy search of the house revealed the sad fact that Mother was not
at home.
The boys' faces fell. They someway did not care to meet the little
girls. Ernest twisted his scalp lock in deep thought.
"Say, I'll cut home and ask Sister Sue for it," volunteered Sherm, who
didn't have red hair and freckles for nothing. "She'll almost always
help a fellow out."
The boys watched impatiently. Fifteen minutes passed. They could see
from the window that the little girls were all on the front fence
watching for their return.
"How'll Sherm ever get in?" asked Carol gloomily.
"He won't! They've seen him now, I bet. Watch them all running. Sherm
must be trying to make it in the back way. Gee, they've got him!"
Sherm shook off his pursuer's clinging fingers. His longer legs soon
distanced them enough for him to dash up the stairs and shoot into the
room ahead of them. Ernest promptly shut the door and bolted it.
Sherm dropped panting into a chair, shaking his head.
"Sue wasn't there, and Mother didn't have any small change and said I'd
had more spending money than was good for me anyhow."
The little girls began to pound vigorously on the door.
"We might tell them we lost it," suggested Carol desperately.
"No, we won't!" retorted Ernest. "I'm not that kind, thank you, to spend
the kids' money and then lie about it! Nope, we're up against it and
we'll have to take our medicine," Ernest marched straight to the door
and flung it open.
"What you boys up to?"
"Where's our money?"
"Did you get the hat to her all right?"
The little girls stood in an accusing half-circle and fired their
questions in a broadside.
Ernest put the facts as diplomatically as possible. Sherman and Carol
backed him up manfully, promising to pay back with the very first money
they could get their hands on.
For an instant the children were stunned. Ernest remembered the look of
sorrowful amazement on his little sister's face long after the whipping
his father gave him for the offense had been forgotten. Chicken Little
adored Ernest and he knew it.
She didn't say a word. She just looked. Gertie started to cry, but Katy
flared up and turned red as a little turkey cock.
"I think that's the meanest thing I ever knew anybody to do--it's just
plain stealing, so it is! I'm going right straight to tell your mother,
Ernest Morton--I hear her coming!"
Chicken Little tried to stop her, but Katy was half way down the
staircase before she reached the head. A moment later they heard her
shrill little voice and the grieved tones of Mrs. Morton in response.
Presently Mrs. Morton came puffing up the stairs. The boys fidgetted
uneasily. Ernest began twisting his scalp lock again and Carol hitched
up his suspenders to keep up his courage. He alone was guiltless of
taking the money, but it did not occur to him to desert his companions
in distress. As for Sherm, his face got so red by the time Mrs. Morton's
step sounded outside the door, that his freckles looked like the brown
seeds on a strawberry.
Mrs. Morton entered majestic and angry; her black lace shawl slipping
from her shoulders unnoticed in her haste.
"Boys, what is this I hear?" The inquiry that followed was long
remembered by all concerned. Chicken Little did not utter one word till
her mother declared it her painful duty to tell their father. Then she
plucked her mother's dress and whispered: "Please don't, Mother, I'll
pay it back for him out of my share from the store, he's awful 'shamed."
Mrs. Morton smiled at the troubled little face.
"No," she said firmly, "these boys have done very wrong, and Ernest, at
least, must be punished."
The next morning at Sunday School Carol asked Sherman rather
shame-facedly: "Get a licking?"
"Yep, did you?"
"Nope, but I can't play on the nine for a week."
They both fell upon Ernest as he slid soberly into his seat a moment
later.
"Catch it?"
"You bet--good and plenty! Father made me cut three switches and he
didn't waste any. But I could stand Father's lickings if Mother wouldn't
pray over me."
Carol looked shocked at Ernest's irreverence but Sherm grinned
sympathetically.
"Mother makes me read a chapter in the Bible--but she most always gives
me a doughnut or something when I've finished."
There was no opportunity for further conversation. Miss Rice, their
Sunday School teacher fluttered in at this moment and tactfully seated
herself between Sherm and Ernest. After the teacher stood up to begin
the lesson, Ernest nudged Sherm.
"Say, want to tell you something when we get out. S-h-h, teacher's
looking now!"
On the way home Ernest unburdened himself.
"You know Chicken Little's crazy to go hazel-nutting. S'pose we take the
kids Saturday--to kind of--oh, you know--make up!"
What Ernest said was not exactly clear but the boys understood.
"They couldn't walk to Duck Creek," objected Sherm.
"Maybe Frank would drive us. Perhaps you could get Sue to go too.
Mother'd let Jane go sure if she went."
The boys agreed to think it over and to keep it for a surprise for the
little girls.