A VISIT TO MARYVALE.
When the gong sounded for luncheon, Mary, ready for her visit to her
aunt, ran down to the dining-room. Her father and uncle were already
there. Standing before them, she turned slowly around.
"Do you think I will do? Liza says she has never had any practice in
dressing little girls to go visiting. Mother always tells Aunt Mandy
what I am to wear; but we had so many other things to talk about this
morning that neither of us thought of it. So Liza and I had to decide."
"I think you have both shown very good taste," said Mr. Selwyn, smiling.
He wondered whether either of the babies would ever make a prettier
picture than this sweet little daughter, who looked like some dainty
flower in her simple white dress of dotted mull with pale blue ribbons
run through the neck, sleeves, and around the waist.
"We couldn't quite decide about my hat. Liza thinks I ought to wear my
straw one to keep the sun off, because my parasol is not very big, you
know; but I like my new linen one best, because Mother made it. Anything
she makes is _so_ much nicer than what she buys in the stores.
Seven-year-old things are too large, and sixes are too small; but she
always makes things just exactly right; and she doesn't say, 'You don't
mean to tell me _that_ child is seven years old!' Mother put a big blue
bow on my white parasol to match the one on the hat, and I would so like
to show both of them to Aunt Mary. Sometimes, I am almost certain that
she is laughing to herself when I tell her that Mother made this or
that; and I am sure I can't see why."
"You could, pet, if your memory would carry you back to the days of
Mother's first attempts at sewing," laughed the Doctor. "She married
young--just after she had finished school. Our parents died when she and
I were quite small. Aunt Mary was our big sister, and looked after us
and things in general. She thought that Mother had enough to do with her
studies and music, so did not try to teach her sewing and other very
useful things. Mother should have saved the first little frocks she
made for you; and you would see that Aunt Mary has good reason to laugh,
not at the pretty things Mother makes now, but at those which they
remind her of. So by all means, wear the linen hat. It will be cooler
and lighter on your head; and as Aunt Mary will send the wagonette to
the station, you will not be exposed to the sun. Liza will take a large
parasol to shade both of you while you are driving to the ferry."
Mary was glad when the warm, dusty ride on the train came to an end.
"There is the wagonette, Liza, and Aunt Mary has let all the girls who
are staying at the convent for vacation come to meet us. Oh, I don't see
how they can stay away from their fathers and mothers like that!"
"I reckon dey has to, honey. 'Tain't ebery li'l gal has a home lak yo'
has. Dey cud be in a lots wuss place dan May-reevale, whar dey has de
Sistahs tekin' keer ob dem an' plenty ob room fo' to play outdoahs an'
all sech lak."
The little girl was warmly greeted by her friends.
"Guess the grand s'prise I had this morning," she said as she and Liza
took their places in the wagonette.
"Why, your beautiful new doll, of course," cried the children, gazing
with longing eyes at Annette, whom Mary had brought with her.
"Oh, no, not Annette. Uncle brought her to me yesterday. Would you like
to hold her, Effie? The s'prise I mean is a million times grander."
"A--a pony!" ventured one little girl, thinking wistfully of her own pet
in distant Texas.
"A big box of candy!" cried five-year-old Effie.
"Give us a little hint, Mary. Every time you come out here you have just
had some grand surprise, so I should think there could not be much left
to surprise you with," declared Dora, one of the older children, who sat
beside our little girl.
"Yes, Dora, I think we are a very s'prising family. Father and Uncle are
always doing something to s'prise Mother and me, and then we think up
something for them. But this one--well, I know you can never, never
guess it, so I shall tell you. I have the two dearest, darlingest, baby
sisters in the whole world!"
"Twins! Oh, what are their names?" was the eager chorus.
"Roberta after Father, and Elizabeth after Mother; but we shall call
them Berta and Beth until they grow up. Oh, I'm _so_ happy!"
"You _are_!" said a pouty-looking little girl. "Dear, me! I should think
you would _ever_ so much rather be an only child."
Mary looked puzzled.
"Rather be an only child!" she echoed. "Why, Lucille, are you an only
child?"
"Indeed I am not! I have three brothers and two sisters."
"How lovely! I have two little brothers in heaven, and I have been so
lonely without them. But now, I shall never be lonely again. Anyone who
knows how it feels to be an only child, would never like to be one."
"I would be willing to take the risk. I'm sick and tired of having to
share everything I get with the whole family. Oh, you needn't look like
that, Mary! You always have everything you wish for--whole carloads of
it,--and I must say you are generous with your things. Before I would
let a baby like Effie hold such a beautiful doll! But you can afford to
be generous when you know that your father or mother or that grand uncle
of yours will give you something better."
"But--but, Lucille," the look of wonder on Mary's face deepened, "you
don't really mean that you would rather have all the toys and candy and
everything all by yourself than have brothers and sisters to share them
with? Oh, I am sure you can't mean _that_!"
"You will know what I mean well enough three or four years from now when
those little sisters of yours cry for everything nice you have. But, no,
you won't know! As I say, for everything you give away, you will get
something better."
"As if Mary thinks of such a thing!" said Dora, hotly, putting her arm
about the little girl. "You wouldn't be happy unless you were dividing
up with someone; would you, Mary?"
Mary flashed her a grateful smile.
"I think that is why I have been so lonely sometimes, Dora. There is not
much fun playing with dolls all by myself; for no matter how hard I
pretend that they hear what I say, I know all the time that they don't.
But my little sisters will hear me, and pretty soon they will be able
to talk and play with me."
Then the wagonette turned in at the convent gates and rolled up the wide
driveway to the front steps.
"Now, Miss May-ree, yo' go 'long in an' see yo' Aunt May-ree an' de
Sistahs, an' I'se gwine obah yondah undah dat big tree an' wait fo'
yo'."
"But won't you come in, too, Liza? Aunt Mary and the Sisters will be
glad to see you, I know."
"I'll see dem byme-by, honey."
Mary ran up the broad, high steps and in at the open doorway, intending
to surprise her aunt; but Sister Madeline had heard the wagonette
approaching, and was waiting to greet the little girl.
"What a pretty hat! Has Uncle Frank been making you a present?"
"He brought me this lovely doll yesterday, Aunt Mary, but not the hat.
Mother made that," and though the child looked closely at her aunt, she
could see no twinkle in the dark eyes.
Had that little bird of which Aunt Mandy had so often spoken, been
hopping about on the window sill at luncheon time, and could it be
possible that it had flown out to Maryvale to chirp a warning note close
to Sister Madeline's ear?
"Let me take your hat and parasol. You have your hands full with that
beautiful dollie. We shall go to the east parlor, for it is the coolest
spot in the house on a warm day."
"I just brought Annette with me to show her to you before I pack her
away. I don't care so much about dolls now that I have some really,
truly, live babies to play with. O Aunt Mary! I do wish that we could
have brought them, too. They are just too sweet for anything!" Mary
looked around to be sure that no one was near, then whispered, "They are
_not_ very pretty,--Annette, this doll, is _ever_ so much prettier,--but
they are darling, anyway. Aunt Mandy thinks they are beautiful babies,
but--but they squeeze their faces all up and cry. Uncle says that they
will improve with age; but I don't want them to grow old--I want them to
stay little even if they are ug--not very pretty."
"But don't you intend to play with your dollies any more? You spoke of
putting them away."
"Dolls! Indeed, no, Aunt Mary! Not when I have two little sisters to
play with. I am going to wash and iron all my doll clothes, and dress
every doll in her best things, and put them all away in my toy box.
Then, I shall close the big doors of my doll house; and the very minute
that Berta and Beth are big enough to play, everything will be ready for
them. The only things that worry me are Snowball and Snowdrop and
Snowflake."
"Dear, dear! What lovely cool names for warm weather! But why should you
worry about your kitten and rabbits? Are you afraid that they may be
jealous of the babies?"
"No, Aunt Mary; but they will grow bigger and bigger and be too large
for the babies to hold; or maybe they might die just as my little black
kitten did. Liza said I killed it with kindness; but I can't see how
that could be."
"If anything happens to your pets, Uncle will find some new ones for
you, never fear. I would not be at all surprised to hear that he had
made you a present of a little white elephant. Now, I am sure that you
will enjoy telling the Sisters whom you know best all about those dear
little sisters----"
"Why, you don't mean to say that you haven't told them _yet_, Aunt
Mary!"
"Not a word. I thought you would like to surprise them. But if you had
not come out to see us this afternoon, I must confess that I could not
have kept the secret over night."
Presently Sister Austin, Sister Dominic, and several others whom Mary
knew very well came in to see her, and heard all about Berta and Beth.
Then, while Sister Madeline had a little visit with Liza, Sister Austin
went with Mary to the garden. The little girl's love of flowers made her
a great favorite with Mr. Daniel, as she insisted on calling the
gardener; and the old man always stopped his work to give her a ride
around the garden in his wheelbarrow, which he first lined with a clean
newspaper. But to-day, Mary felt that she could not delay long enough
for her ride, and carefully explained to Dan the reason why she must
hurry home.
"Aunt Mandy promised to let me sing them to sleep to-night; and I must
sing all the songs first to Mother, so she can tell me which one will be
best. I like _Sleep Little Baby of Mine_ and _Sweet and Low_; but my
little sisters may prefer something else, and Mother will surely know."
So she waited only long enough for Dan to cut the flowers which he
insisted on sending to Mrs. Selwyn. As the beautiful roses fell beneath
his shears, Mary caught up a tiny red rosebud.
"This will be for Berta; and do you think, Mr. Daniel, that you have a
little blue flower for Beth? Oh, I know just the thing! A _white_
rosebud!"
On the way back to the playground for a promised romp with the girls,
she spied some chickens, hatched only a few days before.
"Baby things are so dear--baby flowers, baby chickens, baby everything;
but baby sisters are the dearest of all, Sister."