MOSINA.
In a moment, Jane came up with a telegram from mamma, saying that she
would stay in Marbury all night, as it looked like rain, and Kenneth had
a slight cold.
The children looked at each other in blank dismay. Mamma’s absence, for
one night, really made no difference at all, but they felt as if the
bottom had dropped out of the house. Of course mamma had not known of
papa’s absence for the night, as he had been telegraphed for after she
had left in the morning.
Conscientious Marjorie looked as if the affairs of the nation rested on
her shoulders.
“Oh, dear me!” she sighed. “And this baby on my hands.” And then she
explained to Jane about the police station, and what she wanted.
“Now, if the child is to stay here to-night, we must arrange about its
sleeping,” she added.
“In Kenneth’s bed,” piped up Zaidie.
“I’ll see ’Liza about it,” said Marjorie, turning to the nursery. “Take
her up-stairs, Eunice, do, and keep her amused till dinner.”
“I’ll tell you, Miss Marjorie,” said ’Liza in confidence, “them children
have the notion of adopting that baby. Of course it’s all nonsense, but
you let ’em have her in their room to-night, and they’ll get off the
notion. Tell ’em I can’t have the bother of it here. ’Course I’ll sleep
with one ear open, and if they get into trouble, I’ll go up.”
“Very well, ’Liza, I’ll do that,” said Marjorie, turning away.
Eunice and Cricket proclaimed themselves perfectly _delighted_ with the
arrangement. It was just what they meant to do, anyway.
“Of course, Marjorie, if _we_ adopt the baby, we’d expect to take all
the care of it, you know,” said Cricket. “’Liza has enough to do with
the younger ones; ’course she’ll sleep here. Eunice, you can have her
half the night, and I’ll take her the other half.”
“I may forget to wake up,” objected Eunice. “Suppose I take her to-night
into my bed, Cricket, and you take her to-morrow night. There’s the
dinner-bell. She can stay in the nursery with ’Liza and the twins, and
get her supper, while we’re at dinner.”
“Come, Mosina,” said Cricket. “Oh, Marjorie, I forgot to tell you, we
named her Mosina, after Moses.”
“You are the most ridiculous children about names,” said Marjorie,
laughing. “Come to dinner now. After dinner let us try that duet,
Eunice.”
Marjorie and Eunice were both musical, and each played exceedingly well
for their respective years. Although Cricket loved music, she had no
aptitude for the piano, and her lessons had been discontinued. Instead,
her talent for her pencil was being cultivated. But all the children
were more or less musical. Marjorie and Eunice both had very good
voices, and, with Donald’s aid, they often practised trios, as well as
duets by themselves.
After dinner, Marjorie and Eunice played duets for a time, but Eunice
was so impatient to get back to her adopted baby, and made so many
mistakes, that presently Marjorie, in disgust, sent her off. The two
younger girls immediately flew up to the nursery.
’Liza was getting the twins ready for bed, and gave Eunice some
night-things of Kenneth’s for her charge, together with a shower of
instructions for the night. Then the children carried off the baby,
nodding and heavy-eyed, but quiet and stolid still.
With much giggling and fun, and a feeling of immense importance, the two
girls finally had Mosina undressed and ready for bed. By this time she
was almost asleep on their hands.
“Just see this room!” exclaimed Eunice, looking about her, after the
infant was safely tucked away in her cot. “Doesn’t it look as if a
cyclone had struck it? It’s more mussed up than the nursery ever gets
with all three children there.”
“We’ll put it in order to-morrow, for it’s Saturday, and we’ll have
plenty of time,” said Cricket, gathering up the baby’s things with a
sweep of her arm, and putting them on a chair. “Come on down-stairs
again. Doesn’t it seem grown-up and motherly just to turn down the gas
and go down and leave the baby asleep? _Won’t_ mamma be surprised when
she comes home?”
“We must listen to see if she cries,” said Eunice, beginning to feel the
responsibility of a family.
The children went down-stairs again, to the back parlour, where Marjorie
was deep in to-morrow’s trigonometry. They each took a book and
pretended to read, but each found herself starting up at every sound,
and asking each other if that was the baby’s voice. A dozen times Eunice
tiptoed to the front hall and stood listening at the foot of the stairs,
with a queer feeling of the necessity of keeping very quiet, although
she certainly had never felt that necessity with the twins or her small
brother. A dozen times Cricket started up, fancying she heard a little
wail from above.
“Dear me!” sighed the latter, at last, “I know now what mamma means by
saying she sleeps with her ears open. I have one ear up-stairs, and the
other on my book, and I’ve read this page six times, and I have
forgotten to turn over.”
“It shows your distracted condition, if you are trying to read with your
ears,” Marjorie stopped her studying to observe. “Don’t bother about
that infant, girls. She’s all right. _I’m_ only thinking about her poor
mother. Jane said there had been no inquiries at the police station.”
“Everybody’s been firing that police station at our heads all day,” said
Eunice, “but I couldn’t bear to have the poor little thing put in a
cell.”
“But they don’t put lost children in cells, goosie,” said Marjorie. “I
suppose they have a woman to take care of them. They send to the Central
Office and tell them they have a lost child there. Then anybody who has
lost a child goes to the nearest station and tells about it. Then they
send to the Central and ask if a lost child has been reported there, and
then they telegraph back if it has, and the parents go and find it,
wherever it is. You know I sent to the station to say it is here.”
“How very simple,” said Eunice, thoughtfully. “I wish we had known that
this morning. I didn’t think about the mother’s part of it, as I do now.
How we would feel if Kenneth was lost for even an hour.”
“Come, Eunice,” said Cricket, shutting her book with a slam. “Let’s go
to bed. I’ve had such an exciting day that I’m just _reeking_ with
sleep. Good night, Meg.”
“Good night, and take care of your infant.”
The children tiptoed into their room, and turned up the gas a very
little.
“Do look at that child,” said Eunice, stopping short.
Certainly if Mosina was quiet by day she plainly made up for it at
night. She had twisted, and wiggled, and kicked, till the clothes were
lying in every direction, and she herself was curled into a little ball
at the foot of the bed, with her beloved thumb tucked into her mouth as
far as it would go.
“How shall we get her back again without waking her? Would you dare lift
her?”
“We’ll have to. You can’t sleep without any clothes over you, can you?
Come up here, you rascal,” and Cricket lifted the small round ball
gently in her arms and laid her, right side up, at the other end of the
bed. Baby settled down with a gurgle.
After the girls were in bed, and silence and darkness had reigned for
ten minutes, Eunice suddenly remarked:
“Do you know, Cricket, I never realised before how small this cot is.
This midget seems to take up all the room. She slips right down into the
middle.”
“Sleep on the other side,” murmured Cricket, drowsily.
“I can’t very well sleep on both sides of her at once; I’ll move her
along once more.”
Silence again, broken by a sudden grunt from Eunice.
“Ugh! she’s planted her feet whack in my stomach. Cricket, she flops
just like a little fish. I never know where she’s going to land next;
and she’s a regular windmill with her arms. There she comes, whack, on
my nose again.”
“Tell—her—to—stop,” advised Cricket, in far-away tones.
“Much good that would do! Now, you midget, get over on your own side,
and stay there;” and Eunice, having lost all fears of awakening her
protegé, placed her with much firmness back on the other side.
Poor Eunice! As the cot was only three feet wide, and as she was
entirely unaccustomed to sleeping with any one, much less a wriggling,
squirming baby, she naturally found her present experience rather a
trying one. She listened enviously to Cricket’s even breathing, which
showed that she was safe in the Land of Nod; but when she herself was
almost there, a tiny foot or hand was suddenly planted on her, or the
soft, round little body came rolling over, and landed plump upon her.
“_Oh_, DEAR!” cried Eunice at last, in despairing capitals, “how do
mothers ever sleep at night, if their babies sleep with them?”
She stretched herself on the outermost limit of her cot, after pushing
Mosina well along to the other side. For a time quiet reigned, and
Eunice’s heavy eyelids fell. She was peacefully sailing away to
dreamland, when suddenly a thud and a roar awakened them. Of course
Mosina had fallen out of bed.
“Cricket! Cricket! do get up and light the gas! I’m afraid to get out
for fear I’ll step on her. Do hurry, Cricket!”
Cricket tumbled sleepily out of bed and groped for the matches, which
hung in a little swinging receiver on the gas-jet. She hit it
accidentally, and every match went flying to the floor. Meanwhile Mosina
steadily roared. Eunice leaned over the edge and felt around for her.
“Where have every one of those plaguey matches gone?” demanded Cricket,
with emphasis, groping around on her hands and knees, and hitting every
kind of object save a match. Just at that moment Eliza, aroused by the
uproar, appeared, carrying a candle.
“The baby fell out of bed,” explained Eunice, somewhat unnecessarily,
springing out of bed herself as the welcome light appeared. Mosina lay
sprawled on her back, kicking her fat legs, and screaming lustily.
“’Tain’t hurt, by the way it cries,” said Eliza, picking up the baby
with a practised hand. “It’s mad. There now! ’sh! hushaby! Where was it
sleeping, Miss Eunice?”
“Here in my bed. Cricket, perhaps it _would_ be better to take half a
night apiece instead of every other night. I want _some_ sleep. She
thrashes like a whale. I’m all black and blue where she has punched me.”
By this time Mosina, hushed in Eliza’s arms, had gradually ceased crying
and was shutting her sleepy eyes again.
“Yes, give her to me,” said Cricket, hopping into bed, and holding out
her arms. “Isn’t she soft and warm, though. She’s just like a little
hot-water bag. I’ll put you on the side next the wall, you cunning
thing, so you can’t fall out again.”
Eunice jumped into bed and drew up the blankets with a perfect groan of
relief, and Eliza departed, leaving them in darkness and quiet again.
“If she kicks _very_ hard, Cricket, I’ll take her back, after I’ve had a
little—snooze—but—I’m so—” and Eunice dropped off, even as she spoke.
Cricket cuddled the baby in her arms, where it actually lay still for a
minute or two, and Cricket improved the opportunity to go to sleep
herself.