BOO!
The days of Marjorie's imprisonment went by pleasantly enough. Every
morning Molly would come over, and they played with their paper-doll
houses. These houses continually grew in size and beauty. Each girl
added a second book, which represented grounds and gardens. There were
fountains, and flowerbeds and trees and shrubs, which they cut from
florists' catalogues; other pages were barns and stables, and
chicken-coops, all filled with most beautiful specimens of the animals
that belonged in them. There were vegetable gardens and grape arbors
and greenhouses, for Uncle Steve had become so interested in this game
that he brought the children wonderful additions to their collections.
It was quite as much fun to arrange the houses and grounds as it was to
play with them, and each new idea was hailed with shrieks of delight.
Molly often grew so excited that she upset the paste-pot, and her
scraps and cuttings flew far and wide, but good-natured Jane was always
ready to clear up after the children. Jane had been with Mrs. Sherwood
for many years, and Marjorie was her favorite of all the grandchildren,
and she was never too tired to wait upon her. She, too, hunted up old
books and papers that might contain some contributions to the
paper-doll houses. But afternoons were always devoted to rest, until
four or five o'clock, when Uncle Steve came to pay his daily visit.
One afternoon he came in with a fresh budget of letters.
"Letters!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Goody! I haven't had any letters for
two days. Please give them to me, Uncle, and please give me a
paper-cutter."
"Midge," said Uncle Steve, "if you think these are letters, you're very
much mistaken. They're not."
"What are they, then?" asked Marjorie, greatly mystified, for they
certainly looked like letters, and were sealed and stamped.
"As I've often told you, it's a good plan to open them and see."
Laughing in anticipation at what she knew must be some new joke of
Uncle Steve's, Marjorie cut the envelopes open.
The first contained, instead of a sheet of paper, a small slip, on
which was written:
"If you think this a letter, you're much mistook; It's only a promise
of a New Book!"
"Well," said Marjorie, "that's just as good as a letter, for if you
promise me a book, I know I'll get it. Oh, Uncle, you are such a duck!
Now I'll read the next one."
The next one was a similar slip, and said:
"This isn't a letter, though like one it seems; It's only a promise of
Chocolate Creams!"
"Oh!" cried Marjorie, ecstatically, "this is just too much fun for
anything! Do you mean real chocolate creams, Uncle?"
"Oh, these are only promises. Very likely they don't mean anything."
"YOUR promises do; you've never broken one yet. Now I'll read another:
"This isn't a letter, dear Marjorie Mops, It's only a promise of
Peppermint Drops!"
"Every one is nicer than the last! And now for the very last one of
all!"
Marjorie cut open the fourth envelope, and read:
"Dear Mopsy Midget, this isn't a letter; It's only a promise of
something much better!"
"Why, it doesn't say what!" exclaimed Midge, but even as she spoke,
Jane came into the room bringing a tray.
She set it on the table at Marjorie's bedside, and Marjorie gave a
scream of delight when she saw a cut-glass bowl heaped high with pink
ice cream.
"Oh, Uncle Steve!" she cried, "the ice cream is the 'something better,'
I know it is, and those other parcels are the other three promises! Can
I open them now?"
Almost without waiting for her question to be answered, Marjorie tore
off papers and strings, and found, as she fully expected, a box of
chocolate creams, a box of peppermint drops, and a lovely new story
book.
Then Grandma came in to their tea party and they all ate the ice cream,
and Marjorie declared it was the loveliest afternoon tea she had ever
attended.
Even Puff was allowed to have a small saucer of the ice cream, for she
was a very dainty kitten, and her table manners were quite those of
polite society.
But the next afternoon Uncle Steve was obliged to go to town, and
Marjorie felt quite disconsolate at the loss of the jolly afternoon
hour.
But kind-hearted Grandma planned a pleasure for her, and told her she
would invite both Stella Martin and Molly to come to tea with Marjorie
from four till five.
Marjorie had not seen Stella since the day they came up together on the
train, and the little girls were glad to meet again. Stella and Molly
were about as different as two children could be, for while Molly was
headstrong, energetic, and mischievous, Stella was timid, quiet, and
demure.
Both Marjorie and Molly were very quick in their actions, but Stella
was naturally slow and deliberate. When they played games, Stella took
as long to make her move as Molly and Midge together. This made them a
little impatient, but Stella only opened her big blue eyes in wonder
and said, "I can't do things any faster." So they soon tired of playing
games, and showed Stella their paper-dolls' houses. Here they were the
surprised ones, for Stella was an adept at paper dolls and knew how to
draw and cut out lovely dolls, and told Marjorie that if she had a
paintbox she could paint them.
"I wish you would come over some other day, Stella, and do it," said
Midge; "for I know Uncle Steve will get me a paint-box if I ask him to,
and a lot of brushes, and then we can all paint. Oh, we'll have lots of
fun, won't we?"
"Yes, thank you," said Stella, sedately.
Marjorie giggled outright. "It seems so funny," she said, by way of
explanation, "to have you say 'yes, thank you' to us children; I only
say it to grown people; don't you, Molly?"
"I don't say it at all," confessed Molly; "I mean to, but I 'most
always forget. It's awful hard for me to remember manners. But it seems
to come natural to Stella."
Stella looked at her, but said nothing. She was a very quiet child, and
somehow she exasperated Marjorie. Perhaps she would not have done so
had they all been out of doors, playing together, but she sat on a
chair by Marjorie's bedside with her hands folded in her lap, and her
whole attitude so prim that Marjorie couldn't help thinking to herself
that she'd like to stick a pin in her. Of course she wouldn't have done
it, really, but Marjorie had a riotous vein of mischief in her, and had
little use for excessive quietness of demeanor, except when the company
of grown-ups demanded it.
But Stella seemed not at all conscious that her conduct was different
from the others, and she smiled mildly at their rollicking fun, and
agreed quietly to their eager enthusiasms.
At last Jane came in with the tea-tray, and the sight of the crackers
and milk, the strawberries and little cakes, created a pleasant
diversion.
Stella sat still in her chair, while Marjorie braced herself up on her
pillows, and Molly, who was sitting on the bed, bounced up and down
with glee.
Marjorie was getting much better now, so that she could sit upright and
preside over the feast. She served the strawberries for her guests, and
poured milk for them from the glass pitcher.
Molly and Marjorie enjoyed the good things, as they always enjoyed
everything, but Stella seemed indifferent even to the delights of
strawberries and cream.
She sat holding a plate in one hand, and a glass of milk in the other,
and showed about as much animation as a marble statue. Even her glance
was roving out of the window, and somehow the whole effect of the child
was too much for Marjorie's spirit of mischief.
Suddenly, and in a loud voice, she said to Stella, "BOO!"
This, in itself, was not frightful, but coming so unexpectedly it
startled Stella, and she involuntarily jumped, and her glass and plate
fell to the floor with a crash; and strawberries, cakes, and milk fell
in a scattered and somewhat unpleasant disarray.
Marjorie was horrified at what she had done, but Stella's face, as she
viewed the catastrophe, was so comical that Marjorie went off into
peals of laughter. Molly joined in this, and the two girls laughed
until the bed shook.
Frightened and nervous at the whole affair, Stella began to cry. And
curiously enough, Stella's method of weeping was as noisy as her usual
manner was quiet. She cried with such loud, heart-rending sobs that the
other girls were frightened into quietness again, until they caught
sight of Stella's open mouth and tightly-closed but streaming eyes,
when hilarity overtook them again.
Into this distracting scene, came Grandma. She stood looking in
amazement at the three children and the debris on the floor.
At first Mrs. Sherwood naturally thought it an accident due to Stella's
carelessness, but Marjorie instantly confessed.
"It's my fault, Grandma," she said; "I scared Stella, and she couldn't
help dropping her things."
"You are a naughty girl, Mischief," said Grandma, as she tried to
comfort the weeping Stella. "I thought you would at least be polite to
your little guests, or I shouldn't have given you this tea party."
"I'm awfully sorry," said Marjorie, contritely; "please forgive me,
Stella, but honestly I didn't think it would scare you so. What would
YOU do, Molly, if I said 'boo' to you?"
"I'd say 'boo yourself'!" returned Molly, promptly.
"I know you would," said Marjorie, "but you see Stella's different, and
I ought to have remembered the difference. Don't cry, Stella; truly I'm
sorry! Don't cry, and I'll give you my--my paper-doll's house."
This was generous on Marjorie's part, for just then her paper-doll's
house was her dearest treasure.
But Stella rose to the occasion.
"I w-wont t-take it," she said, still sobbing, though trying hard to
control herself; "it wasn't your fault, Marjorie; I oughtn't to have
been so silly as to be scared b-because you said b-boo!"
By this time Jane had removed all evidences of the accident, and except
for a few stains on Stella's frock, everything was in order.
But Stella, though she had quite forgiven Marjorie, was upset by the
whole affair, and wanted to go home.
So Grandma declared she would take the child home herself and apologize
to Mrs. Martin for Marjorie's rudeness.
"It was rude, Marjorie," she said, as she went away; "and I think Molly
must go home now, and leave you to do a little thinking about your
conduct to your other guest."
So Marjorie was left alone to think, and half an hour later Grandma
returned.
"That was a naughty trick, Marjorie, and I think you ought to be
punished for it."
"But, Grandma," argued Miss Mischief, "I wasn't disobedient; you never
told me not to say boo to anybody."
"But I told you, dear, that you must use your common-sense; and you
must have known that to startle Stella by a sudden scream at her was
enough to make her drop whatever she was holding."
"Grandma, I 'spect I was mischievous; but truly, she did look so stiff
and pudgy, I just HAD to make her jump."
"I know what you mean, Midge; and you have a natural love of mischief,
but you must try to overcome it. I want you to grow up polite and kind,
and remember those two words mean almost exactly the same thing. You
knew it wasn't kind to make Stella jump, even if it hadn't caused her
to upset things."
"No, I know it wasn't, Grandma, and I'm sorry now. But I'll tell you
what: whenever Stella comes over here again, I'll try to be SPECIALLY
kind to her, to make up for saying boo!"