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FOUR LITTLE BLOSSOMS AT OAK HILL SCHOOL
by
MABEL C. HAWLEY
Author of "Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm,"
"Four Little Blossoms and Their Winter Fun," Etc.
[Illustration: The little Blossoms were enthralled by the antics of the
clever beasts and performers. (Page 119).]
The Saalfield Publishing Company
Akron, Ohio--New York
Copyright MCMXX
The Saalfield Publishing Company
Four Little Blossoms at Oak Hill School
Made in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The House That Bobby Built 7
II. School Supplies 17
III. Starting School 26
IV. The Dead Snake 35
V. Another Schoolroom 45
VI. An Unpleasant Meeting 54
VII. A Hard Lesson 64
VIII. The Spoiled Book 73
IX. Bobby in Trouble 83
X. Sent to the Office 92
XI. Old Hornbeck's Picture 102
XIII. A Monkey Hunt 121
XIV. Aunt Polly Arrives 131
XV. Mr. Fritz's Kittens 141
XVI. What Twaddles Thought About 151
XVII. Miss Alder's House 161
XVIII. Tim Roon Is Found Out 172
FOUR LITTLE BLOSSOMS AT OAK HILL SCHOOL
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE THAT BOBBY BUILT
"Let's make a bay window for the front," suggested Bobby, dragging up
a rocking-chair and tumbling his younger brother, Twaddles, out of the
way.
"How do you make a bay window?" demanded Twaddles, whom no amount of
pushing out of the way could subdue for long; he simply came in
again.
"This way," said Bobby.
He tipped the rocking-chair over on its side and turned the curved
back so that it fenced in a space between two straight chairs. Looking
through the carved rounds, if you had a very good imagination, it
really did seem something like a bay window.
"Now, see?" said Bobby, proud as an architect should be.
"But every house has a chimney," protested Twaddles. "Where's the
chimney?"
Before Bobby could possibly invent a chimney, Meg and Dot, the two
boys' sisters, came into the room, each carrying a doll.
"Wait till Norah sees you!" announced Meg severely. "My goodness,
piling up the furniture like this! Mother will scold if you scratch
that rocking-chair."
"What you making?" asked Dot, her dark eyes beginning to dance. "Let
me help, Bobby?"
Bobby sat down gloomily on the edge of the rocking-chair.
"I was building a house," he answered. "Mother said we could 'muse
ourselves quietly in the house. This is quiet, isn't it? What's the
use of having furniture if a fellow can't make something with it?"
"Well, I s'pose if you put it all back before supper, it's all right,"
admitted Meg, rather dubiously. "Only you know sometimes you do
scratch things, Bobby."
Bobby waived this aside. He had other, more important thoughts.
"I was just going to fix the chimney," he explained. "See, this is the
door, Meg, an' over here's the bay window. But we have to have people.
People always live in houses. Don't you want to put Geraldine and
what's-her-name in 'fore I put the chimney on?"
Dot, who was the doll Geraldine's mother, clutched her closely, while
Meg quickly picked up her doll from the couch where she had laid her.
"There won't anything hurt 'em," protested Bobby earnestly. "Go on,
put 'em in--please, Meg."
Meg seldom could resist anything Bobby asked of her, and Dot was
always ready to follow her older sister's lead. So Geraldine and Mary
Maud were placed inside the tower of chairs and stools and rugs that
Bobby and Twaddles called their house, and the architect set himself
to work to construct the chimney.
The children who were so busily employed in the pleasant living-room
this rainy September afternoon were known to all their friends as "the
four little Blossoms."
There was a Father Blossom and a Mother Blossom, of course, and when
you were introduced to the children separately--though the four were
usually to be found, as Norah, the good-natured maid, said, "right in
a bunch"--you met Robert Hayward Blossom, always known as Bobby, seven
years old and as devoted a brother to six-year-old Margaret Alice as
you would ever find. Margaret was much better known as Meg.
Then came the twins, Dot and Twaddles. And a pair they were, into
everything and remarkable for the ease with which they managed to get
out of scrapes for which they were generally responsible. The twins
were four years old, dark-haired and dark-eyed, while Bobby and Meg
had blue eyes and yellow hair.
The Blossoms lived in the pretty town of Oak Hill, and they knew
nearly every one. Indeed the children had never been away from Oak
Hill till the visit they had made to their Aunt Polly, about which you
may have read in the book called "Four Little Blossoms at Brookside
Farm." They had spent the summer with Aunt Polly, and had made many
new friends and learned a great deal about animals. Meg, especially,
loved all dumb creatures. And now that you are acquainted with the
four little Blossoms, we must get back to that chimney.
"The umbrella rack will do," suggested Twaddles suddenly.
He ran out into the hall and dragged the rack in.
"That's fine," said Bobby enthusiastically. "Come on, Twaddles, help
me lift it up."
Strangers always thought that Twaddles was such an odd name. Perhaps
it was; and certainly no one knew how the small boy had acquired it.
"Twaddles" he was though, and he himself almost forgot that he had a
"real" name, which was Arthur Gifford. His twin was never called
Dorothy, either, but always "Dot." Dorothy Anna Blossom was the whole
of Dot's name.
Twaddles now heaved and tugged, trying to help Bobby lift the heavy
umbrella rack. He was elated that he had thought of it, and not for
worlds would he have admitted that it was exceedingly heavy to lift.
"There!" said Bobby, when they had it finally in place. "How's that
for a house?"
"It's perfectly----" Meg began.
She meant to say "perfectly wonderful," but just then Twaddles jumped
down to the floor from the pile. In doing this he jarred the wonderful
structure, and with a crash that could be heard all over the house,
umbrella rack, stools, chairs and rugs slithered together in a
complete wreck.
"Geraldine!" shrieked Dot. "She'll be smashed and killed!"
"For the love of mercy, what are ye doing now?" The long-suffering but
not always patient Norah stood in the doorway. "Bobby, what are ye up
to the minute your mother turns her back? Is Dot hurt? What's she
crying for?"
Norah always asked a great many questions, and it was of no use, as
the children had learned from experience, to try to answer her till
she had had her say.
"What are ye trying to do?" asked Norah again. "'Tis fine and
peaceful the summer has been with ye all at Brookside. And now the
minute you're home again, the house must be torn down about our
ears."
"We were building a house, Norah," explained Bobby. "We're going to
put everything back when we're through. Oh, hush, Dot, Geraldine isn't
hurt."
To prove it, Bobby crawled in under the wreckage and dragged out the
smiling Geraldine apparently uninjured. But as Dot took the doll in
her arms a dreadful thing happened.
Geraldine's head tumbled off!
The four little Blossoms gasped with horror, and even Norah was
startled. Then, as Dot's mouth opened for a loud wail, Meg came to the
relief of every one.
"Daddy can mend it, Dot," she urged earnestly. "See, it is cracked
right across and there aren't any chips out. 'Member how he mended
Mother's china cup and she can wash it in hot water and everything?
Can't she, Norah?"
"Sure then, she can," said Norah heartily. "Don't go crying now, Dot;
the doll can be mended as fine as ever. Put up the furniture like
good children, do. Your mother will be coming home any minute."
Poor little Dot tried to stop crying, and the four youngsters rather
solemnly set about the task of leaving things as they had found them,
which, as you know yourself, isn't half as much fun as getting them
out to play with. However, everything was in its place before Mother
Blossom came home, and after supper that night Father Blossom put some
of his wonderful cement on Geraldine's neck, and over night her head,
as Dot said, "grew on beautifully and tight."
"I wish we had a cat," said Meg the next morning, as she and Bobby
went out to the garage to carry their dog's breakfast to him.
Meg had made the same wish nearly every morning for the last year.
"Well, we have a dog," Bobby pointed out reasonably. "And you know
Norah can't bear cats."
Philip, the dog, came leaping to meet them, and he was followed by Sam
Layton, the man who ran the automobile for the Blossoms and cut the
lawn and did all the hundred and one useful jobs that are always
waiting to be done.
"Why, Sam!" Meg's voice rose in a surprised cry. "Why, Sam, what a
perfectly lovely cat! Whose is it, and where did it come from? Let me
hold her."
Sam put the soft bundle of gray fur into Meg's arms, and Philip sat
down on the grass and tried to look patient. He foresaw that he would
have to wait for his breakfast.
"She's your cat," Sam announced. "Leastways, I told Norah when you got
home you were to have her. Her name is Annabel Lee."
"Annabel Lee!" repeated the astonished Meg. "Did you name her, Sam?"
"I certainly did," answered Sam proudly. "Your father read me one of
your letters where you said your Aunt Polly's cat was named 'Poots';
and I said then and there our cat was going to have a poetry name. And
she's got it."
"It's a very nice name," said Bobby. "But does Norah know we have a
cat?"
Whenever the four little Blossoms had teased for a cat, Norah had
always flatly declared she wouldn't have one within a mile of her
kitchen; and the children knew that a cat that was never allowed in a
kitchen could not expect to be happy. So they had managed to get along
without such a pet.
"This cat," announced Sam mysteriously, "was sent for by Norah. She
wants it. In fact, she as much as said she wouldn't stay if your
father didn't get a cat."