A WONDERFUL DAY
“It’s the most interesting thing that ever happened to us,” declared
Molly. “It’s almost like a book thing.”
“It would be even more exciting if we had thought Uncle Stephen was
dead,” said Dulcie, in a tone of some regret. “You remember how
exciting it was in ‘Kathie’s Three Wishes,’ when her Uncle Robert came
home rich, after everybody had thought he was dead for years and years.
I wonder if Uncle Stephen is rich.”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Daisy. “He must have a good deal of
money to be able to take us all to the Fifth Avenue Hotel to lunch. I
wonder where he’ll take us afterwards. It might be to the Aquarium.
Do you remember the time Papa took us there, Dulcie, and we saw those
wonderful fish, and snakes, and things?”
Maud’s face clouded.
“I don’t like snakes,” she protested; “I hope Uncle Stephen won’t take
us there. I dream about snakes sometimes, and it’s horrid.”
“Don’t be a baby,” began Molly, rather sharply, but Daisy interposed.
“I wouldn’t worry, Maudie, till we know where we really are going.
Perhaps Uncle Stephen doesn’t intend to take us anywhere except to the
hotel. We may just stay there all the afternoon, and watch the people.
That would be very interesting.”
Dulcie glanced at herself in the mirror. It was only half-past eleven,
but they were already dressed, because, as Daisy wisely remarked,
“Uncle Stephen might happen to come ahead of time, and it wouldn’t be
polite to keep a gentleman waiting.”
“I wish I hadn’t let my best hat get rained on that day,” remarked
Dulcie, with a sigh. “It’s so spotted, I don’t think it’s at all the
right thing to wear to a hotel. If Papa were here, I know he would have
bought me a new one, but Grandma doesn’t care how shabby our things
are.”
“Oh, it isn’t so very spotty, and perhaps nobody will notice,” said
Daisy, hopefully. “Don’t let’s think about anything that isn’t pleasant
to-day. Isn’t it fortunate the sun has come out? If it had kept on
raining, Grandma would have made us all wear our old clothes, and that
would have been a great deal worse than just a few spots on one hat.”
“Yes, but it isn’t your hat,” objected Dulcie. “Yours looks almost as
good as new, and Molly’s and Maud’s are all right, too.”
For a moment Daisy hesitated, and then, with sudden determination, she
took off her own hat, and held it out to Dulcie.
“Let’s change,” she proposed cheerfully. “You’re the eldest, and ought
to look the best, and I really don’t mind a bit.”
Dulcie drew back, blushing.
“As if I would do anything so mean,” she declared, indignantly. “I
believe you’re one of the most unselfish people in the world, Daisy.
It was all my own fault, anyhow. If I had taken an umbrella that day,
as Grandma told me to, I wouldn’t have spoiled my hat. Now, suppose we
go down and wait for Uncle Stephen on the sidewalk. It’s rather hot up
here, with all our things on.”
This suggestion was greeted with favor, and a few minutes later the
front door had closed behind four very happy little girls. Grandma
and Aunt Kate were both out, so there was no one but Mary to see them
start, but Mary happened to be in a good humor that morning, and
greatly comforted Dulcie by the assurance that nobody would notice the
spots on her hat, and that they all looked “just as nice as could be.”
“We’ll walk up and down,” said Dulcie; “it’s too cold to stand still,
but we mustn’t go far, or we might miss Uncle Stephen. Oh, it is grand
to be going somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Do you suppose there’ll be ice-cream for lunch?” inquired Maud,
anxiously.
“Of course there will be,” said Molly. “You can have anything you want
at a hotel. You just pay a dollar, and they’ll bring you whatever you
ask for. I know, because Papa took me to the Clarendon once, the time
you all had the measles, and mine hadn’t come out yet.”
“Can you even ask for two helpings?” questioned Maud, with sparkling
eyes.
“Yes, I guess so, but perhaps it wouldn’t be polite to take more than
one. Uncle Stephen might think it was piggish.”
“Of course he would,” said Dulcie, who had grown suddenly grave; “it
wouldn’t do at all. And that makes me think of something I want to say
to you all. Give me your hand, Maud, so we can all walk together. It’s
about our loyalty to Grandma. You know what Papa used to tell us about
always being loyal to our family, and never telling things that happen
at home. We mustn’t let Uncle Stephen think we don’t have ice-cream,
and nice things like that every day. We mustn’t mention Grandma’s being
cross, or--or any disagreeable things at all. Will you all remember?”
“Yes,” promised Daisy, readily, but Molly looked a little doubtful.
“I don’t see why we should have to be so very particular with Uncle
Stephen,” she objected; “he’s our real uncle, and Grandma’s only a
step.”
“But we live with Grandma,” rebuked Dulcie. “Papa said it was very
disloyal to talk about people we live with. Don’t look so solemn,
Maudie. Of course, if Uncle Stephen or the waiter should ask us if we
would like another helping of ice-cream, it would be all right to say
yes.”
Maud’s face brightened.
“I sort of think Uncle Stephen will ask us,” she said. “He seemed so
very kind, and I’m sure he likes me best, because he said I looked like
Mamma. Let’s cross over. If the singing lady should happen to be at her
window, she might like to see how nice we look.”
The others laughed, but complied with the request.
“There isn’t anybody at the windows,” said Molly, glancing up at the
top floor of the boarding-house. “What makes you so much interested in
that lady, Maud? She may not be a bit interesting.”
“I love to hear her sing,” said Maud, “and besides, I’ve got a secret,”
she added, but in so low a tone that the others did not catch the
words. At that moment there was an excited exclamation from Daisy, of
“here he comes; he’s just turned the corner.” And everything else was
forgotten in the joy of running to meet Uncle Stephen.
“Well, well,” laughed Mr. Maitland, kissing them all round, “so here
you are, all four. No danger of being kept waiting, I see.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t do that,” protested Dulcie, quite shocked at the mere
suggestion. “We got ready early, in case you should happen to come
before twelve. Grandma and Aunt Kate have both gone out, so there isn’t
any use of your going in to see them.”
“You are the people I want to see this time,” said Uncle Stephen, with
a rather peculiar smile. “I came a little early on purpose, so as to
have plenty of time for lunch. I have tickets for ‘The Pirates of
Penzance’ this afternoon.”
“‘The Pirates of Penzance,’” repeated Dulcie, with a little gasp.
“Why--why, that’s at a theatre, isn’t it?”
“To be sure it is, and a very charming little operetta it is, too. I
hope you haven’t all seen it already.”
“Oh, no,” said Dulcie, “we never--that is, I mean we don’t often go to
theatres. Daisy and I saw ‘Rip Van Winkle’ once with Papa. It’s very
wonderful--I mean it’s very kind of you to take us.”
And despite all Dulcie’s attempts to maintain what she considered the
proper demeanor of a grown-up young lady, she could not refrain from a
little skip of delight.
As for the other three, they made no attempt whatever to conceal their
delight, and began plying Uncle Stephen with a shower of questions
about “The Pirates of Penzance,” which lasted till they reached the
corner of Fifth Avenue, where he was obliged to interrupt them, to ask
whether they would prefer walking to the hotel or taking a stage.
“Oh, a stage, please--that is, if you don’t mind,” pleaded Molly.
“We just love riding in the stages. We hardly ever get a ride now,
since Papa and Lizzie went away, because Grandma won’t let us go by
ourselves.”
“Who is Lizzie?” Mr. Maitland asked, as they paused on the corner, to
await an approaching stage.
“She was our nurse,” Dulcie explained, “but she went away last summer.
We really don’t need a nurse any more, we’re getting so big.”
Mr. Maitland glanced down at the four little figures, as if he did not
consider them “so very big,” after all, but just then the stage came
within hailing distance, and he made no remarks on the subject.
It was only a short distance to the hotel, but the children thoroughly
enjoyed the little ride, especially Maud, who, somewhat to Dulcie’s
disapproval, requested to be permitted to pay the fares. Because,
as she explained, “it made one feel so grand to spend money.” Uncle
Stephen laughed so much, and was so kind and genial, that even Dulcie
forgot to be dignified, and by the time they reached their destination,
they were all the best of friends.
“I am going to leave you in the reception-room for a few moments,” Mr.
Maitland said, leading the way across the marble hall of the big hotel,
“while I look up two ladies who are to lunch with us. They are friends
of mine from San Francisco, who have met your father, and are anxious
to see you all.”
Nobody said anything, but all were conscious of a sensation of
disappointment, which Molly was the first to put into words, the moment
they found themselves alone in the reception-room.
“If there are going to be ladies,” she said, ruefully, “Uncle Stephen
will talk to them all the time, and we won’t have half so much fun.”
“Perhaps they are very nice ladies,” suggested Daisy. “He said they
knew Papa, and wanted to know us. Anyhow, we’re going to a real
theatre, and nothing can spoil that.”
“I’m afraid ladies notice other people’s clothes more than gentlemen
do,” said Dulcie, with a sigh, and a glance in the long mirror. “Do you
think those spots show very much, Daisy?”
“No, not so very much,” answered Daisy, divided between her desire
to speak the truth, and fear of making her sister still more
uncomfortable. “Perhaps the ladies won’t notice the spots at all, if
the light isn’t too bright.”
Dulcie sighed again, but was forced to make the best of the situation,
and in another moment Uncle Stephen returned, accompanied by such a
very pretty young lady that, in their surprise and admiration, the
children quite forgot to worry about their own shortcomings.
“This is Miss Florence Leslie, children,” said Mr. Maitland. “Her
mother, Mrs. Leslie, will be down in a few moments.”
“You see, I couldn’t wait for Mother,” the young lady explained,
smiling, and showing such fascinating dimples, that Daisy and Molly
both longed to kiss her. “I was so anxious to see you all. Now let me
see if I can guess which is which, from your father’s description. This
tall one must be Dulcie, I am sure, and the little curly-haired one is
Maud. These others are Daisy and Molly.”
“Why, you know all our names,” exclaimed Molly, in astonishment. “Did
you ever see us before?”
“No, but I have heard a great deal about you from your father. We saw a
good deal of him in San Francisco, before he sailed for Hong Kong, and
he and my brother are in business together now. I wonder if you would
each be willing to give me a kiss.”
“Of course we would,” said Dulcie, heartily, and four little faces were
eagerly raised. Miss Leslie kissed them all, “not just duty kisses,”
Molly said afterwards, but as if she really liked doing it, and in less
than five minutes they were chattering away to this new acquaintance as
if they had known her all their lives.
Then Mrs. Leslie appeared, and they all went into the dining-room. Mrs.
Leslie was not as pretty as her daughter, but she had a very sweet
face, and was so kind and motherly that the little girls soon felt
almost as much at home with her as with Miss Florence.
“And now who is going to order the luncheon?” Uncle Stephen asked, when
they had taken their places at one of the round tables in the big,
crowded dining-room. “Will you do it, Mrs. Leslie?”
“Suppose we let Dulcie order,” suggested Miss Florence. “When I was a
little girl, and we went to a hotel, I remember half the fun was in
ordering things to eat.”
Dulcie gasped, as the waiter handed her the long bill of fare.
“I--I don’t think I could,” she faltered; “there are so many things, I
shouldn’t know where to begin. What’s the matter, Maud?”
“It’s about the ice-cream,” whispered Maud. “It doesn’t matter what
else we have.” Maud’s whisper was sufficiently audible to be heard by
the whole party, and all the grown-ups laughed, somewhat to the little
girl’s embarrassment. Then Miss Leslie said, kindly:
“I will help you, if you would like to have me,” and on Dulcie’s
grateful request, she gave the waiter an order, which seemed to the
children almost appallingly large.
What a delicious meal it was, and how they all enjoyed it! Even
Dulcie forgot her intention of taking a light lunch, for fear Uncle
Stephen might think she was hungry, which would reflect unfavorably
on Grandma’s providing. Miss Leslie certainly did not forget to order
ice-cream, and, better still, she took two helpings of it herself, and
advised them all to do likewise. Mr. Maitland and Mrs. Leslie seemed
to have a good deal to say to each other, but Miss Florence devoted
herself almost exclusively to the children, and before luncheon was
over, had succeeded in winning all their hearts.
“I wish you were going to the theatre with us,” Molly remarked,
regretfully, as they were leaving the dining-room, and she gave her new
friend’s hand an affectionate squeeze.
“I am going,” said Miss Leslie, smiling; “your uncle invited me. He
asked Mother, too, but she declined on account of a headache.”
Molly gave vent to her satisfaction by a little squeal of delight, and
Maud--who was nothing if not truthful--remarked in a sudden burst of
confidence:
“We didn’t think we were going to like it when Uncle Stephen said
ladies were coming to lunch, but you’re not a bit like an ordinary
lady.”
“Maud!” cried Dulcie, reprovingly, but Miss Leslie laughed merrily, and
did not seem in the least offended.
That was a wonderful, never-to-be-forgotten afternoon. Long after
their elders had ceased to think of it, the four little girls loved
to recall its delights. The bright little opera, with its charming
music, and amusing dialogue. The funny pirate chief, who frightened
Maud at first, and then fascinated her for the rest of the afternoon.
The pompous major-general, with his numerous family of daughters. And,
last but not least, the gallant policemen, who were as much afraid of
the pirate band as the pirates were afraid of them. It was all one
continuous delight. But even better than the play was the pleasant
companionship. Long before the afternoon was over, they had all come
to the conclusion that, with the exception of Papa, and possibly the
faithful Lizzie, Uncle Stephen and Miss Leslie were “the two nicest
grown-ups” they had ever met.
But everything, even “The Pirates of Penzance,” must come to an end at
last, and all too soon the curtain had fallen on the last rollicking
chorus, and they were making their way out through the crowd, into the
dusk of the winter afternoon.
“Wouldn’t it be lovely if nice things never came to an end?” remarked
Dulcie, as they stood on the cold corner, while Uncle Stephen went in
quest of a cab.
Miss Leslie smiled.
“There wouldn’t be any next time to look forward to, then,” she said.
“But we don’t have any next times,” began Molly, and checked herself,
warned by a reproving glance from Dulcie.
Miss Leslie looked rather surprised, but before she could ask any
questions, Uncle Stephen returned, and they were all packed into a cab,
Mr. Maitland explaining that he and Miss Florence were in a hurry, and
must get home as soon as possible.
“It’s been the loveliest afternoon we ever had in our lives,” declared
Daisy, as the cab drew up before their own door. “Oh, Uncle Stephen,
won’t we see you again--have you really got to go back to California
to-night?”
“I am afraid so,” Uncle Stephen answered, with a kind glance at the row
of sober little faces, “but perhaps I shall come back again before such
a very long time.”
“Don’t forget there’s always a next time to look forward to,” said Miss
Leslie, with her bright smile. “We’ve all had a delightful afternoon to
look back upon. I hope you won’t forget me.”
“Indeed we won’t!” cried Dulcie and Daisy both together, and Molly
added, plaintively:
“Oh, have you got to go back to California, too?”
“Yes, dear, Mother and I are leaving to-night, on the same train with
Mr. Maitland. But I want you to remember me, for I have an idea that we
shall meet again some day, and in the meantime I wonder if you would
write to me occasionally. I love to get letters from little girls.”
“We’d love to,” said Daisy, blushing with pleasure. “We none of us
write very well except Dulcie, but if you wouldn’t mind a few mistakes
in spelling----”
Miss Leslie said she wouldn’t mind in the least, and by that time Mary
had opened the front door, in answer to Uncle Stephen’s ring, and the
good-byes had to be said.
“I feel just the way I’m sure Cinderella must have felt when she got
back from the ball,” remarked Dulcie, throwing herself wearily on
the nursery sofa. “That’s the only trouble about having good times;
everything seems so dull when they’re over.”
“I don’t mind,” said cheerful Daisy. “Just think what fun we’re going
to have talking it all over. I don’t think we shall ever feel quite so
lonely again, now that we know Uncle Stephen and Miss Leslie.”
“I don’t see what good they can be to us away off in California,”
objected Molly, who was sharing some of Dulcie’s depression.
“But we’ve promised to write to them both,” argued Daisy, “and that
will be very interesting. I wonder how soon it will do to write our
first letter.”
“I think we might write just a short one to Uncle Stephen to-morrow,”
said Molly. “It would be polite to tell him again what a beautiful time
we had, don’t you think so?”
Nobody answered, and there was a short silence, which Maud broke.
“I don’t think I want any dinner,” she remarked, with a long sigh.
“There’s going to be corned beef, there always is on Saturday, and
I hate corned beef. I’d like some more ice-cream, but I don’t want
anything else to eat. My head aches, and I think I’m going to have
another sore throat.”