Margaret had been at home four weeks when the invitation for Patty,
Arabella, Clarabella, and three of the Whalens to visit her, finally
left her mother's hands. There had not been a day of all those four
weeks that Margaret had not talked of the coming visit. At first, to be
sure, she had not called it a visit; she had referred to it as the time
when "Patty and the Whalens come here to live." Gradually, however, her
mother had persuaded her to let them "try it and see how they liked it";
and to this compromise Margaret finally gave a somewhat reluctant
consent.
Mrs. Kendall herself was distinctly uneasy over the whole affair; and on
one pretext and another had put off sending for the proposed guests
until Margaret's importunities left her no choice in the matter. Not but
that she was grateful to the two families that had been so good to
Margaret in her hour of need, but she would have preferred to show that
gratitude in some way not quite so intimate as taking them into her
house and home for an indefinite period. Margaret, however, was still
intent on "divvying up," and Mrs. Kendall could not look into her
daughter's clear blue eyes, and explain why Patty, Arabella, Clarabella,
and the Whalens might not be the most desirable guests in the world.
It had been Margaret's intention to invite all of the Whalen family. She
had hesitated a little, it is true, over Mike Whalen, the father.
"You see he drinks, and when he ain't asleep he's cross, mostly," she
explained to her mother; "but we can't leave just him behind, so we'll
have to ask him, 'course. Besides, if he's goin' to live here, why, he
might as well come right now at the first."
"No, certainly we couldn't leave Mr. Whalen behind alone," Mrs. Kendall
had returned with dry lips. "So suppose we don't take any of the Whalens
this time--just devote ourselves to Patty and the twins."
To this, however, Margaret refused to give her consent. What, not take
any of the Whalens--the Whalens who had been so good as to give them one
whole corner of their kitchen, rent free? Certainly not! She agreed,
however, after considerable discussion, to take only Tom, Mary, and
Peter of the Whalen family, leaving the rest of the children and Mrs.
Whalen to keep old Mike Whalen company.
"For, after all," as she said to her mother, "if Tom and Mary and Peter
like it here, the rest will. They always like what Tom does--he makes
'em."
Mrs. Kendall never thought of that speech afterward without a shudder.
She even dreamed once of this all-powerful Tom--he stood over her with
clinched fists and flashing eyes, demanding that she "divvy up" to the
last cent. Clearly as she understood that this was only a dream, yet the
vision haunted her; and it was not without some apprehension that she
went with Margaret to the station to meet her guests, on the day
appointed.
A letter from Margaret had gone to Patty, and one from Mrs. Kendall to
Miss Murdock, the city missionary who had been so good to Margaret.
Houghtonsville was on a main line to New York, and but a few hours' ride
from the city. Mrs. Kendall had given full instructions as to trains,
and had sent the money for the six tickets. She had also asked Miss
Murdock to place the children in care of the conductor, saying that she
would meet them herself at the Houghtonsville station.
Promptly in return had come Miss Murdock's letter telling of the
children's delighted acceptance of the invitation; and almost
immediately had followed Patty's elaborately flourished scrawl:
"Much obliged for de invite an wes Acomin. Tanks.
"Clarabella, Arabella, an
"Patty at yer service."
Mrs. Kendall thought of this letter and of Tom as she stood waiting for
the long train from New York to come to a standstill; then she looked
down at the sweet-faced daintily-gowned little maid at her side, and
shuddered--it is one thing to carry beef-tea and wheel-chairs to our
unfortunate fellow men, and quite another to invite those same fellow
men to a seat at our own table or by our own fireside.
Margaret and her mother had not long to wait. Tom Whalen, in spite of
the conductor's restraining hand, was on the platform before the wheels
had ceased to turn. Behind him tumbled Peter, Mary, and Clarabella,
while Patty, carefully guiding Arabella's twisted feet, brought up the
rear. There was an instant's pause; then Tom spied Margaret, and with a
triumphant "Come on--here she is!" to those behind, he dashed down the
platform.
"My, but ain't you slick!" he cried admiringly, stopping short before
Margaret, who had unconsciously shrunk close to her mother's side. "Hi,
thar, Patty," he called, hailing the gleeful children behind him, "what
would the Alley say if they could see her now?"
There was a moment's pause. Eagerly as the children had followed Tom's
lead, they stood abashed now before the tall, beautiful woman and the
pretty little girl they had once known as "Mag of the Alley." Almost
instantly Margaret saw and understood; and with all the strength of her
hospitable little soul she strove to put her guests at their ease. With
a glad little cry she gave one after another a bear-like hug; then she
stood back with a flourish and prepared for the introductions.
Unconsciously her words and manner aped those of her mother in sundry
other introductions that had figured in her own experience during the
last four weeks; and before Mrs. Kendall knew what was happening she
found herself being ceremoniously presented to Tom Whalen, late of the
Alley, New York.
"Tom, this is my dear mother that I lost long ago," said Margaret.
"Mother, dear, can't you shake hands with Tom?"
Tom advanced. His face was a fiery red, and the freckles shone luridly
through the glow.
"Proud ter know ye, ma'am," he stammered, clutching frantically at the
daintily-gloved, outstretched hand.
Margaret sighed with relief. Tom did know how to behave, after all. She
had feared he would not.
"And this is Mary Whalen, and Peter," she went on, as Mrs. Kendall
clasped in turn two limp hands belonging to a white-faced girl and a
frightened boy. "And here's Patty and the twins, Clarabella and
Arabella; and now you know 'em all," finished Margaret, beaming joyously
upon her mother who was leaning with tender eyes over the little lame
Arabella.
"My dear, how thin your poor little cheeks are," Mrs. Kendall was
saying.
"Yes, she is kind o' peaked," volunteered Patty. "Miss Murdock says as
how her food don't 'similate. Ye see she ain't over strong, anyhow, on
account o' dem," pointing to the little twisted feet and legs. "Mebbe
Maggie told ye, ma'am, how Arabella wa'n't finished up right, an' how
her legs didn't go straight like ours," added Patty, giving her usual
explanation of her sister's misfortune.
"Yes," choked Mrs. Kendall, hurriedly. "She told me that the little girl
was lame. Now, my dears, we--we'll go home." Mrs. Kendall hesitated and
looked about her. "You--you haven't any bags or--or anything?" she asked
them.
"Gee!" cried Tom, turning sharply toward the track where had stood a
moment before the train that brought them. "An' if 'tain't gone so
soon!"
"Gone--the bag?" chorused five shrill voices.
"Sure!" nodded Tom. Then, with a resigned air, he thrust both hands into
his trousers pockets. "Gone she is, bag and baggage."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," murmured Mrs. Kendall.
"Pooh! 'tain't a mite o' matter," assured Patty, quickly. "Ye see, dar
wa'n't nothin' in it, anyhow, only a extry ribb'n fur Arabella's hair."
Then, at Mrs. Kendall's blank look of amazement, she explained: "We only
took it 'cause Katy Sovrensky said folks allers took 'em when they went
trav'lin'. So we fished dis out o' de ash barrel an' fixed it up wid
strings an' tacks. We didn't have nothin' ter put in it, 'course. All
our clo's is on us."
"We didn't need nothin' else, anyhow," piped up Arabella, "for all our
things is span clean. We went ter bed 'most all day yisterday so's Patty
could wash 'em."
"Yes, yes, of course, certainly," agreed Mrs. Kendall, faintly, as she
turned and led the way to the big four-seated carryall waiting for them.
"Then we'll go home right away."
To Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, Arabella, and Clarabella, it was all so
wonderful that they fairly pinched themselves to make sure they were
awake. The drive through the elm-bordered streets with everywhere
flowers, vine-covered houses, and velvety lawns--it was all quite
unbelievable.
"It's more like Mont-Lawn than anythin' I ever see," murmured Arabella.
"Seems 'most as though 'twas heaven." And Mrs. Kendall, who heard the
words, reproached herself because for four long weeks she had stood
jealous guard over this "heaven" and refused to "divvy up" its
enjoyment. The next moment she shuddered and unconsciously drew Margaret
close to her side. Patty had said:
"Gee whiz, Mag, ain't you lucky? Wis't I was a lost an' founded!"
The house with its great stone lions was hailed with an awed "oh-h!" of
delight, as were the wide lawns and brilliant flower-beds. Inside the
house the children blinked in amazement at the lace-hung windows, and
gold-framed pictures; and Clarabella, balancing herself on her toes,
looked fearfully at the woven pinks and roses at her feet and demanded:
"Don't walkin' on 'em hurt 'em?
"Seems so 'twould," she added, her eyes distrustfully bent on Margaret
who had laughed, and by way of proving the carpet's durability, was
dancing up and down upon it.
The matter of choosing beds in the wide, airy chambers was a momentous
one. In the boys' room, to be sure, it was a simple matter, for there
were only two beds, and Tom settled the question at once by
unceremoniously throwing Peter on to one of them, and pommeling him with
the pillow until he howled for mercy.
The girls had two rooms opening out of each other, and in each room were
two dainty white beds. Here the matter of choosing was only settled
amicably at last by a rigid system of "counting out" by "Eeny, meany,
miny, mo"; and even this was not accomplished without much shouting and
laughter, and not a few angry words.
Margaret was distressed. For a time she was silent; then she threw
herself into the discussion with all the ardor of one who would bring
peace at any cost; and it was by her suggestion that the "Eeny, meany,
miny, mo," finally won the day. In her own room that night, as she went
to bed, she apologized to her mother.
"I'm sorry they was so rude, mother. I had forgot they was quite so
noisy," she confessed anxiously. "But I'll tell 'em to-morrow to be more
quiet. Maybe they didn't know that little ladies and little gentlemen
don't act like that."