THE DUNNS
"Marjorie," said Mrs. Sherwood, one morning, "do you know where Mrs.
Dunn lives?"
"Yes, Grandma; down the river-road, toward the blacksmith's."
"Yes, that's right; and I wish you would go down there for me and carry
a small basket. There isn't any one else I can send this morning and I
have just heard that she is quite ill."
"They're awfully poor people, aren't they? Are you sending them
something nice?"
"Yes; some food. Mrs. Dunn scalded her hands severely last night, and I
fear she will not be able to work for several days. So if you will
carry them these things for their dinner, I will try to get down there
myself this afternoon."
"Of course I will, Grandma; I'm glad to help the poor people. May I ask
Molly to go with me?"
"Why, yes; I don't care. If there are two of you, you can carry more
things. Run over after her, and I'll have the baskets ready by the time
you get back."
With a hop and a skip, Marjorie took the shortcut across the fields to
Molly's house. It was a beautiful summer morning, and Marjorie didn't
stop more than half a dozen times, to watch the crows or the bees or
the clouds or a hop-toad.
She captured Molly, and after waiting for that dishevelled young person
to scramble into a clean frock, the two girls hopped and skipped back
again.
Marjorie was somewhat inexperienced in the practical matters of
charity, and looked with surprise at the large quantity of substantial
viands.
"There is a large family of the Dunns," observed Grandma, "and they're
all blessed with healthy appetites. These things won't go to waste."
"Are there children?" asked Marjorie.
"Yes, indeed, four of them. You must see how Mrs. Dunn is and find out
if she's badly hurt. Ask her what she wants especially, and tell her I
am coming this afternoon, and I'll carry it to her."
The girls trotted away with the well-filled baskets, and Grandma
Sherwood looked after them a little uncertainly, as she saw how
preoccupied they were in their own conversation, and remembered how
careless Marjorie was, and how prone to mischief.
"Thim scalawags'll be afther havin' a picnic wid thim baskets,"
prophesied Eliza, as she too watched the children's departure.
Grandma Sherwood laughed. "I hardly think they'll do that," she said;
"but they're liable to set down the baskets, and go hunting for wild
flowers or something, and never think of their errand again."
But, on the contrary, the children were quite interested in their
mission.
"Your grandma is an awful good woman," observed Molly.
"Yes, she is," agreed Marjorie; "it's lovely of her to send all these
good things to poor people. It must be awful to be so poor that you
don't have enough to eat!"
"Yes, but it must be lovely when the baskets come in."
"But they don't always come in," said Marjorie.
"They must," declared Molly, with an air of conviction; "if they
didn't, the poor people would have nothing to eat, and then they would
die; and you know yourself, we never hear of anybody dying of
starvation around here."
"No; not around here, maybe. But in China they drop off by millions,
just from starvation."
"Well, they wouldn't if your grandmother was there. She'd send baskets
to every one of them."
"I believe she would," said Marjorie, laughing; "she'd manage it
somehow."
By this time they had reached the Dunns' domain. At least they had come
to a broken-down gate in a tumble-down fence, which Marjorie knew was
the portal of their destination. In their endeavors to open the rickety
gate the girls pushed it over, and nearly fell over, themselves.
But carefully holding their baskets they climbed over the pile of
fallen pickets and followed the grass-grown path to the house.
And a forlorn enough house it was. Everything about it betokened not
only poverty but shiftlessness. Marjorie was not experienced enough to
know how often the former is the result of the latter, and her heart
was full of pity for people who must live in such comfortless
surroundings. The little old cottage was unpainted, and the front porch
was in such a dilapidated condition that one step was entirely missing
and several floor-boards were gone.
"It's like walking a tight-rope," said Marjorie, as she picked her way
carefully along what she hoped was a sound plank. "But it's rather
exciting. I wonder if we can get in."
There was no bell, and she tapped loudly on the door.
Almost instantly it was opened by a child whose appearance almost made
Marjorie scream out with laughter.
A little girl of about ten, dressed in a bright pink skirt and a bright
blue waist, stood before them. This startling color combination was
enhanced by a red sash, which, though faded in streaks, was wide and
tied at the back in a voluminous bow. The girl's naturally straight
hair had apparently been urged by artificial means to curl in ringlets,
but only a part of it had succumbed to the hot iron. The rest fairly
bristled in its stiff straightness, and the whole mop was tied up with
a large bow of red ribbon.
This rainbow-hued specimen of humanity opened the door with a flourish
and bowed to the visitors with an air of extreme elegance.
Marjorie looked at her in astonishment. The gorgeous trappings and the
formal demeanor of the child made her think she must have mistaken the
house.
"Is this Mrs. Dunn's house?" she inquired, with some hesitation.
"Yes; I'm Miss Dunn," said the child, with such a ridiculous air of
affectation that Molly giggled outright.
"Yes," Miss Dunn went on, "I am the eldest daughter. My name is Ella.
They call me the Elegant Ella, but I don't mind."
"I am Marjorie Maynard and Mrs. Sherwood is my grandmother. She heard
your mother was ill and she sent her these baskets."
"How kind of her!" exclaimed the Elegant Ella, clasping her hands and
rolling up her eyes. "Won't you come in?"
As Marjorie and Molly had been with difficulty balancing themselves on
the broken boards of the porch, they were glad to accept the invitation.
Their first glance at the interior of the cottage showed that the rest
of the family and the ways of the house did not at all harmonize with
the manner and appearance of the eldest daughter.
Everything was of the poorest, and there was no attempt at order or
thrift.
Mrs. Dunn sat in a rockerless rocking-chair, her left hand wrapped in
bandages and her right hand holding a book which she was reading.
As the girls entered she threw the book on the floor and smiled at them
pleasantly.
"Walk right in," she said, "and take seats if you can find any. Hoopsy
Topsy, get off that chair this minute and give it to the ladies! Dibbs,
you lift Plumpy out of the other one, quick! There! Now you girls set
down and rest yourselves! Did you bring them baskets for us? Lawsee!
What a good woman Mis' Sherwood is, to be sure! Now ain't that just
like her! She's so kind and gen'rous-hearted that she makes it a
pleasure fer folks to get all scalted with hot water! Ella, you fly
round and empty them baskets so's the young ladies can take them home
again. But you set a while, girls, and visit."
"Are you much hurt, Mrs. Dunn?" asked Marjorie. "And how did it happen?"
"Hurt! Land sakes, I guess I am! Why, the hull kittle of boilin' water
just doused itself on my hand and foot!"
"That's why Ma didn't rise to greet you," explained the Elegant Ella,
and again Molly had hard work to keep her face straight as she noted
the girl's comical efforts at etiquette.
"Aw, you keep still, Ella," said her mother; "you ain't got no call to
talk to the young ladies."
But although Mrs. Dunn apparently tried to subdue her elegant daughter,
yet it was plain to be seen that she greatly admired the flower of the
family, and spoke thus merely from a pretended modesty.
"Ella's so fond of dress," said Mrs. Dunn, "that she jest don't hev
time to bother with housekeepin'. So Hoopsy Topsy does it, and that's
why we ain't so slick as we might be. But fer a child of eight, I must
say Hoopsy Topsy does wonderful well."
Mrs. Dunn's pride in her offspring was unmistakable, and Hoopsy Topsy,
who quite understood she was being complimented, smiled and looked
happily self-conscious.
The novelty of the scene quite fascinated Marjorie. She had expected
that abject poverty would leave its victims a despondent, down-hearted
set of people; and instead of that she found them not only pleasant and
amiable, but seemingly happy and care-free.
"My grandmother said, Mrs. Dunn," said Marjorie, "that if you would
tell me of anything you specially want she would come this afternoon
and bring it to you."
"My! ain't she good!" said Mrs. Dunn. "Well, if she don't mind, I'd
like some old linen to wrap around the burns. You see, I am scalted
pretty bad and it'll be a while 'fore I kin get to work again. But, of
course, the children are right handy, an' ef we jest have a stove an' a
bed we can scratch along somehow. Ella, she's more hifalutin. She'd
like red plush sofys and lace curtings. But I say, 'Land, child! What's
the use of worrying? If you can't have them things, you can't!' So,
Ella, she makes the best of what she has, and I must say she doos have
wonderful fine taste."
Marjorie looked at the Elegant Ella, and, though she didn't agree with
Mrs. Dunn as to Ella's taste, she felt sorry for the poor child, who
wanted the refinements of life, yet was doomed to live without them.
"It is of no consequence," said Ella, tossing her head; "we are very
comfortable; and though I should like a piano, I am in no haste to
procure one."
"Lucky you ain't," observed her mother, "as I don't see none runnin'
this way. What's the matter, Dibbsy dear?"
Dibbs, who was a baby of four years, was sitting on the floor digging
both his fists into his eyes. And though not audibly crying, he
evidently was not entirely happy.
"Wants to know what's in de bastick!" he announced without hesitation.
"So you shall," declared his fond mother. "Hoopsy Topsy, lift Dibbs up
so he can see what the young ladies brought."
Nothing loath, Hoopsy Topsy lifted up her brother, who at once forgot
his grief, and, smiling broadly, began to investigate the baskets.
"Land sake, Ella," said Mrs. Dunn, "I told you to empty them baskets
long ago. Whatever have you been a-doin' all this time?"
"I was retying my sash, Ma," exclaimed Ella, reappearing from the next
room; "I think it has more of an air tied on the side."
"Ain't she the airy piece!" exclaimed the proud mother, looking at her
daughter with undisguised admiration.
But it seemed to Molly and Marjorie that, if anything could be funnier
than the Ella who first met them, it was the Ella of the retied sash!
Having arranged her finery to her satisfaction, Ella proceeded with her
work of taking the things from the baskets, and, as she lifted out a
large piece of cold beef, a delicious pie, some tea and sugar, and
various parcels of bread and butter, and a jar of apple-sauce, the
little Dunns all gathered round, quite unable to refrain from noisy
expressions of glee and delight.
"Jiminy Christmas!" cried Hoopsy Topsy, quite upsetting Dibbs as she
made a rush for the pie. And then Plumpy, the baby, wiggled his fat
little self across the floor and joined the crowd about the pie, and
aided by the Elegant Ella, in a few moments there wasn't any pie at all.
"Just look at them," said Mrs. Dunn, placidly; "you'd think they didn't
have no manners! But they're that fond of pie, you wouldn't believe!
They don't never get none, you know, and so it's a novelty."
"We'd like it if we had it every day," announced Hoopsy Topsy, with her
mouth full.
"Pie ev'y day!" agreed Dibbs, as he contentedly munched his piece. The
whole scene made a great impression on the two visitors, but they were
affected quite differently. Marjorie felt a strong inclination to get
away as soon as she could, for, though she felt very sorry for the poor
people and was glad to give them things, yet the situation was not at
all attractive, and having done her errand, she was quite ready to go.
Not so Molly. That active and energetic young person was dismayed at
the untidiness and discomfort all about, and felt a strong desire at
least to alleviate it.
"Mrs. Dunn," she said, "of course with your injured hand and foot you
can't sweep. Mayn't I just take a broom and brush up a little? You'd be
so much more comfortable."
"Land sakes, child, 'taint fer you to be sweepin' our house! Ella here,
she can sweep; and Hoopsy Topsy's a good fist at it."
"I shall tidy up the room to-morrow," said Ella, with an air of haughty
apology, "but to-day I have a hat to trim and I can't be bothered with
household matters."
"Ella's just great on trimmin' hats," observed her mother, "and Mis'
Green, she giv' her her last year's straw; and Ella, she'll trim it up
so Mis' Green herself couldn't recognize it!"
Marjorie didn't doubt this in the least, and as Molly's suggestion had
put an idea into her own head, she began to look upon an acquaintance
with the Dunns as a new sort of entertainment.