HOUSE-HUNTING
The Beans, the Kilpatricks, and the Jessups might as well have taken
their houses with them so far as the Mulvaneys were concerned. Mr.
Bean's father and mother were to live in their vacant house. The
Kilpatrick home was rented to an old couple related to the Beans, while
the residence of the Jessups was to be torn down.
Cornelia Mary and Sally drove slowly homeward after their first
experience in country house-hunting.
"Now what do you think?" inquired Cornelia Mary, giving the reins an
impatient jerk.
"I think—" began Sally, "well, I think we got left."
That remark made the girls laugh. Having laughed the prospect seemed
less dismal.
[Illustration: "POINTING TO A DILAPIDATED WEATHER-BEATEN STRUCTURE
ALMOST HIDDEN FROM VIEW"]
"Wasn't it too bad about the Jessup house?" Cornelia Mary resumed. "It
was so tumbled down the rent couldn't be much and they might have got
along somehow. Was it a great deal worse than the house they live in?"
"Worse," echoed Sally, "it was sixty hundred times better. Why, the
Mulvaneys live in a little bit of a black old shanty—" Sally stopped
suddenly, then exclaimed in excited tones, "A house! A house! Whoa!"
"A house?" questioned Cornelia Mary, looking into the sky as if
expecting to see it drop from the clouds.
"Right there!" continued Sally, pointing to a dilapidated
weather-beaten structure almost hidden from view by overgrown bushes
and old weed stalks.
"Giddap," laughed Cornelia Mary, "trot along. Why, Sally, you gave me
such a start. I am sure I know now how Columbus felt when the mariners
shouted land."
"But it's a house," insisted Sally, "and no one is living in it. Whoa,
horse! Make him stop, Cornelia Mary, I want to get out. Who owns that
house and why is it empty?"
"All right, whoa, Bess! Climb out, Sally, you shall see the house, that
is if you can reach it without tearing your dress. Wait a minute while
I tie the horse to this tree."
"But it's deserted!" Sally exclaimed, "and the windows are all boarded
up; we can't see much. Who owns it? Let's go for the key?"
"No one will ever live in that house again," declared Cornelia Mary.
"To begin with, it's the oldest house in the country and the man who
built it lived in it for a long time. Then he built a new house and
his hired man lived here. After that a great many different families
rented it; then for years it was empty. One time a crazy man, whose
folks owned the mill, broke in the house and said he was going to stay
there until he died. The owner said let him have his own way as he was
harmless, and if the family would supply his wants he might have the
house rent free."
"And did he live here all alone way back from the road?" asked Sally,
gazing curiously about the place.
"Yes, and they say he was happier than he ever was in his life before;
he kept chickens and pigs and had gardens—why, Sally, there is a
regular wild flower garden here every summer to this day, and the man's
been dead since long before I was born."
"And hasn't anybody lived here since?" asked Sally.
"Of course not."
"Why?"
Cornelia Mary shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, folks are queer about some
things, Sally. I wouldn't stay all night in this house for anything,
myself, not for anything."
"Why not?"
"Well, don't you see, the old fellow was crazy, and sometimes he used
to sing and howl all night long."
"But, Cornelia Mary, he's dead now, and this is a good, big house. It
would be a palace for the Mulvaneys. Who owns it?"
"The same man who allowed the poor old lunatic to have it for a home.
He's queer, too. I never said anything but 'good morning,' or 'how do
you do' to him in my life."
"Where does he live?"
"Oh, just a little way from here around the next corner on the Bay
Shore road."
"What's his name?"
"Welcome Hodgkins."
"Oh, he's the Hodgkins district, is he?"
"No," laughed Cornelia, "not exactly, although his ancestors gave
the district its name. I tell you he's a queer old fellow—the only
Hodgkins left in the country. I really shouldn't like to call on him,
but we'll do it if you think the Mulvaneys would live here, and if
you'll do the talking."
"Well, come on then," said Sally.
"Oh, Sally, but my heart is set on teaching school this summer; I do
hope they'll come. Yes, I'll go with you to see Mr. Hodgkins. We'll
walk. He has the best farm in the country but I tell you he's queer;
nobody ever goes to see him. He lives in that large white house
straight ahead."
"But, Cornelia Mary, the blinds are all closed. I don't believe he's at
home."
"That's nothing, Sally, he lives alone in the back of his house. I told
you he was queer."
"Where's his wife?"
"Dead, years ago."
"Glad to see you, come in," said Mr. Hodgkins, opening wide his kitchen
door, at the girls' timid knock.
The man's eyes were so kind and he smiled so pleasantly Sally liked him.
"We've come on an important errand, Mr. Hodgkins," she began. "It's
about Cornelia's school. Unless you will help us, Cornelia Mary can't
teach school this summer."
"Indeed?" questioned Mr. Hodgkins. "I shall certainly be pleased to do
all in my power to assist the young lady."
Sally told him the story of the Mulvaneys. When she finished speaking
there was silence for a moment. "Guess he is queer," thought Sally. Mr.
Hodgkins's first remark was unsatisfactory, to say the least.
"Oom—um—I dunno," he murmured.
"Is it about the rent?" Sally inquired.
"Ooom—um," replied Mr. Hodgkins.
"Unless you wanted too much money," continued the child, "I think she
could manage it. She has to pay rent where they live now."
At that Welcome Hodgkins found his voice. "It's the children," he
confessed. "They could have the house and welcome, but I can't say as I
relish having the young savages raising Cain on my farm."
"It seems to me they could be trained," faltered Sally.
Something in her tone troubled Welcome Hodgkins. "Come with me and see
the house," he suggested, "and we'll consider the matter."
For the first time in years spring sunshine streamed across the
threshold of the lonely dwelling among the bushes. Once more the old
rooms echoed a childish voice and footsteps from the outside world.
"It's not a bad sort of a house after all," remarked the owner, having
lighted the lamp he carried. "Musty and damp now to be sure, but it's
roomy and might easily be repaired. Well, I dunno, let them come and if
they misbehave, we'll train them."
"Mr. Hodgkins, you're an awful nice man, and Mrs. Mulvaney'll say so
too, when she gets my letter."
"I don't know how to thank you," added Cornelia Mary.
"Well, children, here's the key. I'll unboard the windows any time you
give the word. I'm thinking, Miss Cornelia Mary, that you and I will
have our hands full this summer. Good day."
"Isn't he a nice man?" whispered Sally, as Welcome Hodgkins sauntered
homeward.
"Oom—um—I dunno," was the response. "I still think he's queer."