Transcriber's note:
Text in small caps is marked with a tilde ~. A list of corrections made
can be found at the end of the book.
A Dear Little Girl's
Summer Holidays
AMY E. BLANCHARD
[Decoration]
~Whitman Publishing Co.~
RACINE, WISCONSIN
Copyright 1911 by George W. Jacobs & Co.
A Dear Little Girl's Summer Holidays
Printed in 1924 by
Western Printing & Lithographing Co.
Racine, Wis.
Printed in U.S.A.
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I THE INVITATION 11
II THE ARRIVAL 24
III MISS ELOISE 39
IV THE PORCH PARTY 54
V THE LITTLE BUNGALOW 70
VI IN THE FOG 84
VII A SAILING PARTY 98
VIII THE FIRE 114
IX TO BOSTON 128
X THE BAZAR 143
XI OLD NORTH CHURCH 159
XII HOME AGAIN 174
A Dear Little Girl's Summer Holidays
THE INVITATION
It was a very warm morning in June. Edna and her friend Dorothy Evans
were sitting under the trees trying to keep cool. They both wore their
thinnest morning frocks and had pinned their hair up in little pug
knots on the tops of their heads. They had their boxes of pieces and
were trying to make something suitable for their dolls to wear in the
hot weather.
"It's too sticky to sew," said Dorothy, throwing down her work.
"Marguerite will have to go without a frock and sit around in her
skin."
"You mean in her kid," returned Edna.
"Well, isn't kid skin?" asked Dorothy.
Edna laughed. "Why, yes, I suppose it is, and Ben says we are kids,
so our skin is kid skin. Oh, dear, it is hot. I wish I were a fish; it
would be so nice to go slipping through the cool water."
"Yes, but it wouldn't be so nice to be in a frying pan sizzling over a
fire."
"I feel almost as if I were doing that now. There comes the postman, I
wonder if he has a letter from Jennie. We promised one another we would
always write on blue paper because blue is true, you know, and that
looks as if it might be a blue letter the postman has on top. I'm going
to see."
"I'll wait here," returned Dorothy. "It's too hot to move."
She sat fanning herself with the lid of her piece box, watching her
friend the while. Once or twice Edna stopped on her way back, and
finally she began to dance up and down, then ran toward Dorothy,
calling out, "Oh, there's a lovely something to tell you. Oh, I do hope
it can come true."
"What is it?" cried Dorothy, roused out of her listlessness.
"Just listen." Edna sat down and spread out the letter on her knee.
"'We want you and Dorothy to come down to make me a nice long visit.
Mamma is writing to your mothers about it and I do so hope you can
come. I shall be so awfully disappointed if you don't. Oh, Edna, we
shall have such fun. I can scarcely wait to hear.'"
"Do you suppose our mothers have their letters from Mrs. Ramsey?" asked
Dorothy now as much excited as Edna.
"Do let's go and see," returned Edna. "We'll go up and ask my mother
first because that will be the nearest and if she has her letter your
mother is pretty sure to have hers."
All thought of the hot sun was forgotten as they sped across the lawn
to the house, and two little girls with hot faces, panting as they
came, burst into the room where Mrs. Conway was reading her letters.
"Oh, Mother," began Edna, "did you get a letter from Mrs. Ramsey?"
"Mrs. Ramsay? Why, I don't know. I will see in a moment. Just wait till
I have finished this from your Aunt Kitty."
It seemed incredible to Edna that any letter should be of more
importance than Mrs. Ramsey's, and the two little girls danced around
so impatiently that Mrs. Conway finally put down the sheet she was
reading and said, "How warm you children look. Do sit down and cool
off. I never saw such little fidgets."
"We ran all the way from the oak tree," explained Edna. "We were in
such a hurry."
"No wonder your faces are red. You are such an impetuous little
somebody, Edna. You shouldn't forget that mother has so often told you
not to run in the hot sun."
"But we did so want to hear about Mrs. Ramsey's letter," replied Edna
anxiously. How could her mother take things so coolly?
"Is it so very important, then?"
"Oh, Mother, it is so exciting we can scarcely stand it till we know."
"Then there is nothing to do but relieve the strain," said Mrs. Conway
laughing. She turned over the letters at her side. "Let me see. This is
from the dressmaker, and this one from cousin Grace. This must be it."
She opened the letter with what seemed to the children a great lack of
haste, and began to scan the lines, two pairs of eager eyes watching
her the while. "Ah, now I begin to understand," she remarked as she
turned the page.
"Well," said Edna breathlessly.
"Wait a moment, dear." And Edna was obliged to be patient till the last
line was reached.
"Oh, Mother," said the child pleadingly, "you are going to let me go,
aren't you?"
"Why, dearie, I shall have to think about it a little. I can't say just
on the instant, and I shall have to see what your father thinks about
it."
"But, Mother, won't you say that maybe I can? That will be better than
nothing at all."
Mrs. Conway smiled. "I think I can venture to say that much or even a
little more. I can say that I should like very much to have you go."
"Goody! Goody!" cried Edna clapping her hands. "That is almost as if
you said I really could. I had a letter from Jennie, Mother, and she is
just crazy for us to come. You know Dorothy is invited, too. Would you
like to see Jennie's letter?"
"Very much."
Edna promptly handed over the blue envelope, and was not disappointed
to have her mother say, "That is a very nice cordial letter, Edna,
and I am sure the invitation shows that both Mrs. Ramsey and Jennie
really want you. I will talk it over with your father this evening. Now
run along, and don't exercise too vigorously this warm day, and don't
forget what I said about being in the sun." She returned to her letters
and Edna with Dorothy left the room.
"Now we must go to my mother," declared Dorothy.
"Yes, but we must walk slowly and I think we had better take an
umbrella," returned Edna, fresh from her mother's advice.
"All right," said Dorothy, "I think it would be better, for there is
that long sunny stretch along the road, though the rest of the way is
shady."
They set forth talking eagerly. "Don't you think it sounded as if I
might go?" asked Edna.
"Why yes," replied Dorothy, "only I don't see how we can wait till
evening to know."
"Do you believe your mother will say positively that you can or that
you can't?"
"I think she will say just what your mother did; that she will have to
talk to papa about it, but--oh, Edna, I know what I shall do."
"What?"
"I shall ask mother if she can't telephone in to father and find out,
and if she says she can't take the time to do it, I know Agnes will."
"What a lovely idea!" exclaimed Edna. "I shall do that very same thing
as soon as I get home."
"And if he says yes, you can telephone over to me."
"That's just what I'll do. Oh, isn't it exciting?"
In spite of their determination to walk slowly, they covered the ground
very quickly and in a few minutes had reached Dorothy's home. "Where's
mother?" cried Dorothy as she came upon her sister who was sitting on
the back porch.
"She has gone over to Mrs. MacDonald's," Agnes told her.
"Oh, dear," said Dorothy despairingly, "just when I wanted her so very,
very much. Will she be gone long, Agnes?"
"I don't know, honey. What is the particular haste? Can I help you out?"
"I'm afraid not," answered Dorothy in a woe-begone voice. "Do you know
whether mother has had a letter from Mrs. Ramsey this morning?"
"I don't know that, either. She took her mail and said she would read
it while she was driving over. What is it about Mrs. Ramsey, and why
are you so interested?"
"We'll explain," replied Dorothy. "You let her read Jennie's letter
Edna, and that will tell most of it."
A second time Edna handed over the letter to be read, and when Agnes
had finished, she told her about the letter Mrs. Conway had received.
"And so you see," Dorothy took up the tale, "mother is sure to say just
what Mrs. Conway did, only I thought we might find out sooner what papa
thought if we talked to him over the 'phone."
"I don't see why we can't do that anyhow, and get that much settled,"
said Agnes. "Suppose I call him up and tell him about it, then when
mother comes in we will tell her what he says, for she is pretty sure
to have had Mrs. Ramsey's letter."
"Oh, Agnes, that will be lovely," cried Dorothy, clasping her hand. "It
is awfully good of you to think of doing it."
"Let me see," said Agnes, "I think father is pretty sure to be in his
office about this time; we might as well go and get it over."
She went to the 'phone, the two little girls standing by while she
carried on the conversation, and once in a while one of them would put
in a word of argument, so that they could be sure the last word had
been said on the subject. After a while Agnes hung up the receiver and
looked down with a smile.
"That much is settled," she told them. "Father says he hasn't the
slightest objection and leaves it all to mother to decide."
"Then there is nothing to do but wait, I suppose," said Dorothy with a
sigh.
"Why, I don't know," said Agnes after a moment's thought. "Why can't
you call up Mrs. MacDonald's and get mother there? She will have read
the letter, you see, and it will be fresh in her mind."
"Why, of course," said Dorothy delightedly.
"Shall I do it myself, Agnes?"
"You might as well plead your own cause."
So Dorothy was soon discussing the matter with her mother, and finally
won from her the assurance that she did not see anything to prevent,
though she would not say positively until she had discussed it with
Mrs. Conway.
"Then, Mother, will you please stop there on your way home?" was
Dorothy's final prayer.
"She's going to stop and talk it over with your Mother on her way
home," was the news she gave Edna. "Now I suppose that is all that we
can do. Do you think it is, Agnes?" she asked.
"I don't see why Edna couldn't call up her father just as you did
yours," returned Agnes, "and then there would be only the mothers to
deal with."
"Why, of course," agreed Dorothy, with a pleased look. "Come on, Edna,
and see what he says."
But here they met with a disappointment, for Mr. Conway was not at
his office and it was uncertain when he would be, so his word on the
subject must be left till later.
At Dorothy's urgent request Edna stayed until Mrs. Evans' return,
and the two spent most of the intervening time in watching for the
carriage.
At last it was seen slowly coming up the drive, and the two little
girls rushed out to meet it.
"Go in out of the hot sun," called Mrs. Evans, as the little figures
took up a place either side of the carriage. "What are you thinking of?
Do you want to have a sunstroke?"
"Oh, but, Mother, please stop and let us get in; then we won't be in
the sun," said Dorothy.
"Stop then, William," Mrs. Evans ordered the driver, and the two
children clambered in.
"We just can't wait," began Dorothy. "Mother, do please tell us what
you and Mrs. Conway decided."
"We decided that we would not decide until we found out what our
husbands had to say."
"Oh, but we know what your husband has to say," returned Dorothy
triumphantly. "Agnes called him up on the 'phone and he said he had no
objection as far as he was concerned and he would leave it all to you."
Mrs. Evans laughed. "Well, you certainly have not wasted any time."
"Then, please, please say what you think."
"Why, my dear, you haven't given me time to think."
"How long will it take, then," continued Dorothy, pressing the matter.
"I will try to decide by this evening. There is no great hurry, is
there?"
"Why, Mother, of course there is. I don't think I could sleep unless I
knew."
"Then, I shall try to prevent such a catastrophe by settling it before
bedtime. Here we are. You will stay to lunch won't you, Edna?"
"Why, no, Mrs. Evans, thank you, I don't think I ought, for I didn't
tell mother I would stay."
"Then let William take you home; it is too warm to walk. The horses
haven't been very far, and William can drive slowly."
So the two little girls parted and Edna returned to her own home. She
was not long in finding her mother, and in plying her with questions
upon the all-important subject, but she received no further assurance
than had been given her in the beginning and was fain to exercise her
patience and unburden herself to her sister Celia, who was interested
and sympathetic. But at last even Celia became tired of the topic and
went off to take a nap in her own room. So Edna went down to a cool
spot at the back of the house where there was a little stream, and
tried to amuse herself with a book.
But even her favorite fairy tales failed to fix her attention, so she
returned to the house to find everyone given up to napping and the
place so still that finally in the coolest corner of the library where
a little breeze found its way through the open windows, she herself
fell asleep.
When she awoke it was to hear her father's voice saying: "Hallo! who is
this? The Sleeping Beauty?"
"Oh, Papa," cried Edna, awake in a moment, "how nice and early you have
come home."
"It was too hot to stay in the city any longer than necessary," her
father told her. "There wasn't much doing, so I thought I would be
better off here."
"I called you up on the 'phone this morning," said Edna, "but you
weren't at the office."
"And what did you want of me?"
"Mother will tell you," answered Edna, suddenly shy of meeting a
decision which might disappoint her.
"Then I'd better find mother and see what it is all about."
Left to herself Edna waited for what seemed to her a very long time,
quite long enough for the affairs of a nation to be settled, and then
she went slowly up the stairs, and paused before the open door of her
mother's room. To her surprise her parents were talking about something
quite different from the subject uppermost in her own mind.
"Edna, dear," said her mother, catching sight of the little figure,
"you'd better get ready for dinner. We shall have it a little earlier,
so Susan won't be kept so late over the hot fire."
Edna took a step into the room. "Did you ask him?" she said wistfully.
"Ask what? Oh, yes, I forgot dear," she said turning to her husband.
"Edna has had a very cordial invitation from Mrs. Ramsey to spend
some weeks at the Ramsey's summer home. She and Dorothy Evans are both
invited, and I think the Ramseys really will be disappointed if we do
not allow Edna to go. What do you think?"
Wasn't it just like mother to put it that way? thought Edna. Surely her
father could not be so heartless as to refuse his consent after that.
Her faith in her mother's tact was not misplaced for her father
replied: "Why, I think that will be great for Edna. Of course let her
go."
"Oh, Mother, Mother, may I? May I?" cried Edna with clasped hands and
beseeching eyes.
Her mother turned from the mirror before which she was standing to
arrange her hair. "Well, honey," she said. "I think it is decided that
you may."
Edna flew to her to bestow a rapturous hug and kiss, and then sped out
of the room and downstairs to the telephone. "One, six, seven; ring
two," she called in an excited voice.
Presently there was an answering "Hallo," from the other end.
"Is that you, Dorothy?" called Edna.
"Yes. Oh, Edna, I hoped it was you. Do tell me, is there any news?"
"I'm going," came the triumphant reply.
"So am I," came promptly back to her.
CHAPTER II
THE ARRIVAL
For the next few days there was much talk of clothes and packing, of
trains and time-tables, and it was a matter of some discussion as
to the best way for the little girls to make their journey of some
hundreds of miles. Dorothy had never been so far away from home, and
was therefore the more excited of the two. After some writing back and
forth it was decided that the two children should go to the city under
Mr. Conway's care and there he turned them over to Mr. Ramsey who was
to join his family at the seashore in about a week.
"Do you suppose we shall get homesick?" asked Dorothy as the time drew
near for them to make their start.
"Oh, I hope not," returned Edna fervently. "I was awfully homesick at
Aunt Elizabeth's, but this will be quite different, for there will be
Jennie, and Mrs. Ramsey is a real mother; besides we shall have one
another."
"I know all that," returned Dorothy a little dubiously, "but Jennie's
mother won't be mine nor yours."
Edna was willing to admit this, but she had gone through some rather
trying experiences and was not disposed to think that anything but
pleasant times awaited them. As Jennie had pictured it the visit was
to be one long season of delight, so Edna said determinedly. "Well, I
don't intend to be homesick."
"Then I'll try not to be," returned Dorothy, not to be outdone in
courage.
However, when the trunks stood ready packed, and Edna said good night
for the last time before undertaking the journey, she held her mother
very tightly around the neck and whispered: "I wish you were going too,
Mother."
"That can't be, darling," said her mother. "You will have such a fine
time that you will not miss your mother at all."
"Oh, but I shall," returned Edna, half wishing she were not going after
all. "I 'most wish it was time to come back instead of time to go."
Her mother laughed. "And this is the little girl who could scarcely
wait to be told she could go. Never mind, dearie, you will feel quite
differently to-morrow morning. Now go to sleep, for you must get up
bright and early, you know."
Edna settled down with a sigh, but, in spite of her excitement,
she soon fell asleep to waken in the morning with the feeling that
something very important was to happen. Her mother came in to see that
she was properly dressed and to tie the bows on her hair. Then just as
they were about to sit down to breakfast, the expressman came for the
trunk, and next Dorothy arrived all impatience.
"Why, Edna, haven't you had breakfast yet?" she asked. "Aren't you
afraid we shall be late?"
"We don't have to go till papa does, and he hasn't half finished,"
replied Edna. So Dorothy had to possess her soul in patience for there
was no gainsaying the fact that they could not go without Mr. Conway.
At last the good-byes were said, and Edna waved to her mother till she
could no longer see the white figure on the porch. Agnes and Celia had
gone on ahead to the station and the boys were there, too, to see them
off. Soon the train came in sight; in another moment they had been
helped aboard, and the next they were off. It was but a short ride to
the city, and this part of the journey was not exciting, as it was one
with which they were very familiar. But when they were ushered into Mr.
Ramsey's private office, they felt that here began their untrod way.
They sat for some time, their feet dangling from their high chairs
while Mr. Ramsey conferred with his clerks in the outer office. Their
talk was carried on in whispers, though once in a while a stifled
giggle told that they were in good spirits.
At last Mr. Ramsey appeared. "Well, young ladies," he said, "I am sorry
I had to leave you so long, but when a man is about to take a holiday,
he has so many things to see about that he doesn't know which way to
turn." He looked at his watch. "I think we have just about time enough
to get that ten o'clock train." He pressed an electric button and a boy
in a grey uniform came to the door. "Take these bags, Edward," said Mr.
Ramsey, pointing to the satchels each little girl had placed carefully
by her chair. The boy led the way to the elevator and down they went to
the first floor of the big office building, then to the street where an
automobile stood to whizz them off to the station. Mr. Ramsey directed
the chauffeur to see about the trunks while he conducted the little
girls to the waiting-room where he left them, returning in a moment to
hurry them to the train, and the second part of their journey began.
"I never was in a parlor car before," whispered Dorothy to Edna as
the porter turned their seat to a proper angle and adjusted their
footstools.
"I was once," replied Edna.
Here Mr. Ramsey handed over some picture papers to them and a box of
chocolates. "I am going into the smoking-car," he said. "Do you think
you young ladies can get along a little while without me?"
"We'll try to," replied Edna politely.
"If you want a glass of water or anything, just call the porter," Mr.
Ramsey told them and then he left them.
There were not so very many persons in the car to interest them and
for a time the children gave their attention to the newspapers and the
box of chocolates, but after a while they wearied of these, and began
to look at their fellow travellers. A very pretty young lady smiled
at them from across the aisle, and an older woman back of her looked
interested in their movements. After a while this latter person came
over and took the place directly behind them where Mr. Ramsey had been
sitting.
"Are you children all alone?" she began the conversation.
"No," replied Dorothy.
"Are you sisters?" was the next question.
"No, we are only friends," Edna answered this time.
"And is the gentleman who came with you your father?"
"No, he is just taking us to his house where we are going to make a
visit."
"Is he any relation to you?" came next.
"No relation at all. He is the father of the friend we are going to
visit." It was Dorothy's turn this time.
"And do your mothers approve of your going off this way without a
member of your family?"
This question the children thought a very disagreeable one. They looked
at one another before Dorothy made reply. "If it wasn't exactly right
our parents wouldn't let us do it. They never let us do a thing that
isn't exactly right."
"And nobody knows what is right so well as my mother," Edna chimed in.
"Mine, too," put in Dorothy.
"How far did you say you were going?" asked their questioner.
"We didn't say," answered Dorothy, "but we are going to New York."
She gave a little frown to Edna, who understood that she was not to
vouchsafe any further information. "I just wasn't going to tell her
where we were really going from New York," Dorothy said to her friend
afterward. "It wasn't any of her business."
"New York is a very wicked city," their acquaintance informed them.
"You must be very careful not to be alone in the streets. I would
advise you never to lose sight of your escort for a moment."
Both little girls felt rather glad that they were not to remain in such
a dreadful place, but they made no reply and wished most heartily that
Mr. Ramsey would return to his seat and rid them of this undesirable
companion. Presently Edna had a bright idea. "Would you like to look at
some of our papers?" she asked.
"What have you?" asked the lady putting up her lorgnette.
"We have Life and Puck and Judge and--"
"I'll take Life and Puck." She accepted the papers handed to her and
settled back in the seat she had behind them. The two children looked
at each other with relieved expressions. "Don't you wish Mr. Ramsey
would come back?" whispered Edna.
"Yes, but where will he sit?" Dorothy whispered back. They both
smothered a giggle at this, and looking up Edna caught sight of the
pretty young lady looking at them with an amused expression. She made a
little movement with her hand to beckon Edna over to her.
"Is that old turtle quizzing you?" she asked in a low tone. "She is a
perfect bore. She tackled me first but I wouldn't talk to her. Are you
wondering if she is going to take that seat and keep it?"
"We were wondering what Mr. Ramsey would do," returned Edna.
"I'll tell you what to do; you take her seat and see what will happen.
It is just here in front of me."
Edna took possession and in a few moments the inquisitive lady looked
up and saw her there. She at once hurried over, dropping the papers by
the way. "Here here," she cried, "what are you doing in my seat? You
must get right up. All my things are here, and I don't want anyone to
meddle with them. Get right up."
Edna arose with alacrity while the pretty young lady leaned over and
said: "I asked her to sit there while you occupied her friend's seat.
I wanted to talk to her, too. It is a poor rule that doesn't work both
ways, you know."
The inquisitive lady gave the speaker a withering look and sank to her
place with an air of great dignity while Edna returned to her place by
Dorothy. In a few minutes Mr. Ramsey returned and both children gave a
sigh of relief, though both kept wondering what would have happened if
he had found someone in his place, and what more would have happened
if he had taken the place the lady now occupied. They soon forgot all
this, however, for Mr. Ramsey began to talk to them about the place
to which they were going and before they knew it they had reached New
York. The pretty young lady gave them a nod and a smile as she passed
out, but the inquisitive lady did not look their way at all though she
still retained the copy of Life they had lent her.
A taxi-cab whirled them up-town to the hotel where they were to lunch.
Mr. Ramsey sent them upstairs to a pretty room, in charge of a neat
maid who tidied them up and then took them down to the dining-room
where Mr. Ramsey was already seated waiting for them. They felt very
grand to be in so fine a place lunching with a gentleman quite like
grown-up young ladies, and both wished their sisters could see them.
Lunch over, Mr. Ramsey took them to a large reception room where he
stationed them at a window so they could look out on the street. "I
think you will be entertained here," he said. "I am obliged to meet
a business appointment, but I will be back as soon as I can. In the
meantime amuse yourselves as you like, but don't leave the hotel. Here
is the key of your room. The elevator boy or one of the chambermaids
will show you where it is, if you would rather go there. I am glad
there are two of you, for you can't be lonesome with one another.
Good-bye." He was off and the two little girls, feeling that they were
very small frogs in an immense puddle, sat by the window looking out
on the street. Although it was not so warm as it had been earlier in
the week, still it was warm enough, and the passers-by looked hot and
tired, and after a while the two little girls wearied at looking at the
constant stream of people.
"Let's go upstairs," suggested Dorothy.
"All right. Let's," returned Edna.
But just as they were standing timidly looking up and down the corridor
trying to determine in which direction to go to find the elevator, a
man wearing many brass buttons on his coat, came up to them. "Are you
the young ladies in Number 136?" he asked.
Dorothy looked at the key she was holding and on its wooden tag she
read the number 136. "Yes, that is the number," she told the man.
"Then here's something that's come for you," he said holding out
two packages. "I knocked at your door, but you wasn't there, and the
chambermaid said you might be in here."
The children thanked him and looked at the packages which were quite
distinctly marked with their names and the number of their room as well
as with the name of the hotel. They inquired their way to the elevator
and had soon closed the door of their room after them.
"I'd a great deal rather be in here to ourselves," said Edna, "so we
can do just what we like. You open one package, Dorothy, and I will
open the other. Do you suppose Mr. Ramsey sent them?"
"Of course, because no one else knows where we are. Isn't it funny,
Edna, to think that even our mothers don't know where we are? Do hurry
and open your package. Mine isn't tied, and I know what it is but I
don't want to tell till you have yours ready."
"This is such a heavy string," said Edna fumbling at the knot. "If I
had a knife I would cut it, but I think I know what this is; it is a
book, I am sure." After much to-do they managed to unfasten the package
to disclose a new book of fairy tales.
"How perfectly lovely!" cried Dorothy. And, "I have wanted to read
those ever since I took a peep at them one day when we were at Helen
Darby's."
"Now we'll look at the other package," said Dorothy, slowly unfolding
the paper which enclosed this.
The second package was found to contain two paper-dolls and two
puzzles. After the paper-dolls were duly admired they were laid aside.
"For," said Dorothy, "we haven't any scissors, so we can't cut out
their frocks."
"I think it was perfectly lovely of Mr. Ramsey to think of getting such
nice things," said Edna warmly.
"I suppose he thought we might get lonely if he stayed so long away.
What would you do, Edna, if something happened that he didn't ever come
back?"
Edna considered for awhile before she answered: "I'd send a telegram to
papa to come and get us."
"It would be better to telephone," returned Dorothy. "We could use the
long-distance 'phone and tell them all about it."
"So we could. I didn't think of that. We could stay right here and not
leave the hotel at all, because that woman said it wouldn't do for us
to go alone in the streets of New York."
But such an emergency did not arise, though as the afternoon wore on,
the little girls began to get somewhat anxious. They read several of
the fairy tales; they worked over their puzzles; they watched from the
windows, and finally decided to put on their hats and pack up such of
their belongings as they had taken from their satchels so they might be
all ready. The new book and other gifts were stowed away, too, and this
was hardly done before there came a quick knock at the door, and it was
opened to Mr. Ramsey himself.
"You're all ready?" he cried. "Good! Come right along as fast as you
can."
A boy had already snatched up their hand-bags and was hurrying off
with them. Mr. Ramsey rushed them along the hall and into the elevator,
then they were hurried into a taxi-cab which stood waiting and off they
went.
As soon as they had started, Mr. Ramsey looked at his watch. "It's a
close shave, but I think we can make it," he said. Then he leaned over
to speak to the driver. "Get us to the Fall River boat in time and you
shall have an extra tip," he said.
So through the crowded streets, worming their way among lines of heavy
teams, across car-tracks, and into queer-looking neighborhoods they
were taken, arriving just in time to be taken on board the boat before
she should move off.
It was all very exciting, but not unpleasant, for they felt quite safe
with Mr. Ramsey. He smiled down at them as he led the way to the deck.
"We did make it, didn't we?" he said. "If you children had not been all
ready we should have been goners."
"Suppose we had been too late for the boat what would you have done?"
asked Edna.
"We could have taken a night train, but it would not have been so
pleasant this warm evening. Now you can sit here while I get the keys
of our staterooms, then we will go on deck and see the harbor. Our
staterooms open into one another, so you needn't be afraid, but you
will have to draw lots for the upper berth."
This last matter was easily adjusted for Dorothy begged to be allowed
to climb up while Edna thought she would prefer to be below. After all
this was talked over and settled, they sat on deck till they had seen
the Statue of Liberty, had passed under the Brooklyn bridges, and had
gone beyond the boundaries of New York. Mr. Ramsey pointed out all
the things of interest and at last said they would better have supper.
This over, they returned to the deck till sleep overcame them and they
were put in charge of the stewardess while Mr. Ramsey remained above to
smoke a final cigar.
Edna was awakened the next morning by Dorothy's leaning over to tickle
her ear with a slip of paper. "Do you know where you are?" she asked.
Edna sat up rubbing her eyes. "I didn't at first," she answered, "but I
do now. Is it time to get up, Dorothy?"
"I don't know, but I should think so, for the boat isn't going. I
think it has stopped for good, for there is a great noise of taking off
things, and I hear people talking outside."
In a few minutes there came a knock from Mr. Ramsey's stateroom and his
voice inquired: "Are you getting up, young ladies?"
"We are up," replied Edna, "but we aren't dressed yet."
"Come out when you are and we'll have some breakfast before we take the
train," came the response.
"I should think we'd better hurry a little," Edna told Dorothy. "I'll
do your ribbons and buttons if you will do mine." This mutual help
hastened matters decidedly and they were very soon ready, deciding that
they would be on the safe side in putting on their hats, but after all
breakfast was rather a hurried meal, and next thing they knew they were
on the train for Boston. Here they crossed the city to take another
train which should bear them over the last stage of their journey.
"Jennie is sure to be there to meet us." Mr. Ramsey told them. "I shall
let her know what famous travelers you are. I shouldn't want better. No
stopping to prink at the last moment, no forgetting something when it
is too late to go back for it. Always smiling and in good spirits. You
are models, I tell you."
The girls felt very much flattered at such high compliments, and were
glad they had given heed to the careful instructions they had received
from their mothers.
When at last the train did stop at the station, sure enough there was
Jennie the first one to greet them. She was so eager to welcome her
friends that her father complained that she had no eyes for him. At
this she gave him a hasty kiss, but at once turned back to Edna and
Dorothy. "I am going to take you home myself in the pony cart," she
said. "Papa can go in the motor-car."
"All alone?" queried her father in pretended dismay. "I like that."
"Oh, but you will have Mack," returned Jennie, "and it isn't far."
Mr. Ramsey laughed and the two delighted guests clambered into the
little pony-cart, Jennie took her seat, touched up the pony very
lightly with her be-ribboned whip and off they went full of pleased
anticipations.