THE LADY ARRIVES
IT was about four o’clock when Miss Larkin arrived. Mindful of their
newly-acquired dignity, the children awaited her in the drawing-room.
But when Sarah opened the hall door for the guest, a great commotion was
heard.
“Yes,” said Miss Larkin’s high, shrill voice; “that trunk must be put in
my bedroom; also these two suit-cases, and this hold-all. Oh, yes, and
this travelling-bag. That other trunk may be put in your trunk-room if
you have one—or attic, if you haven’t. I sha’n’t want it for several
weeks yet. This basket, take to the kitchen—be careful with it—and
these other things you may put anywhere for the present. Where are the
babies? the dear babies?”
“Oh, King, she’s fairly moving in!” said Marjorie, in a whisper, as she
saw James, the coachman, carrying a rocking-chair through the hall, and
Sarah’s arms piled with wraps and bundles.
But encumbered as she was, Sarah managed to usher Miss Larkin into the
drawing-room.
“Oh, here you are, little dears!” exclaimed the visitor, as she rushed
rapidly from one to another, and, disregarding their polite curtseys,
kissed each child heartily on the cheek. “My poor, orphaned babies!
Don’t grieve for your parents. I will be to you all that they could be.
Come to me with your little troubles. I will soothe and comfort you.”
“Yes, Miss Larkin,” said Marjorie, rather bewildered by this flood of
conversation. “Mother said you would look after us. And now, would you
like to go to your room, and have some tea sent up?”
Miss Larkin stared at her in amazement.
“Tea!” she said; “why, bless my soul, child, yes, of course, I should
like tea; but I supposed I should order it myself. What do you know
about tea, little one?”
It suddenly dawned on Marjorie that Miss Larkin looked upon them all as
helpless infants, and had no realization that they were not all of Rosy
Posy’s age. She suppressed a smile, and said:
“Why, Mother said you were to have it when you came; either down here,
or in your room, as you wish.”
Still Miss Larkin seemed unable to take it in.
“Yes, dear,” she said, “I’ll have it upstairs, whilst I rest, and unpack
some of my things. But I came here to be housekeeper for you, not to
have you look after me.”
“All right, Miss Larkin,” said King, pleasantly. “You can housekeep all
you like. Midget isn’t very good at it. Now, if you’re going to your
room, we’ll all go, too, and see how you like it.”
“Ess, Miss Larky,” put in Rosy Posy. “Come on—see booful f’owers and
pitty welcome flag.”
“What’s a welcome flag?” inquired Miss Larkin, but her question was not
answered, as the children were already leading the way upstairs.
They were followed by two or three of the servants, who were carrying up
the astonishing amount of luggage which the guest had brought. Marjorie
thought they had never had a visitor with so many bags and boxes; but
then their visitors didn’t often stay so long as six weeks.
The children pranced into the room first, and waited in delighted
impatience to hear Miss Larkin’s words of approval.
“What are you doing here?” she inquired, pleasantly. “Having a fair of
some sort? Is this your playroom?”
“No, Miss Larkin,” explained Marjorie. “This is your room. We decorated
it on purpose for you. We want you to feel welcome.”
The lady looked around at the bewildering array of greens and pink
flowers.
It was a trying moment, for Miss Larkin’s tastes were inclined toward
the Puritanical, and she liked a large room almost bare of furniture,
and scrupulously prim and tidy.
Had she followed her inclinations, she would have said to Sarah, “Sweep
all this rubbish out”; but as she saw the children’s expectant faces,
evidently waiting for her to express her appreciation, her tactfulness
served her just in time.
“For me!” she exclaimed; “you did all this for me! Why, you dear, dear
children!”
They capered round her in glee. It was a success, then, after all.
“Yes,” cried Marjorie, “it’s all for you, and we’re so glad you like it.
That is, the ‘Welcome’ is for you; the other sign, with the flags on it,
is for Mother and Father—in their memory, you know.”
“Yes,” said Miss Larkin, though her lips were twitching, “yes, I know.”
“The ribbons, of course, we will take back,” explained careful Kitty;
“for they’re our sashes and hair-ribbons. But they can stay all the time
you’re here—unless we need some of them—and the flowers you can take
home with you, if you like. They’re only paper, you see.”
“Of course,” said Miss Larkin. “One couldn’t expect real roses at this
time of year, and anyway paper ones are so much more lasting.”
“Yes, and they smell good, too,” said Marjorie, “for I sprayed them with
the cologne atomizer.”
“Where are you going to put all your things?” asked Kingdon, with
interest, as the servants continued to bring in luggage.
“Well,” said Miss Larkin, thoughtfully, “I don’t know. I brought this
rocking-chair, because I never go anywhere without it. It’s my favorite
chair. But I thought we could take out one of your chairs to make room
for it. I don’t like much furniture in my room.”
“Of course,” said Marjorie, politely. “King, won’t you put that wicker
rocker in Mother’s room? Then Miss Larkin’s chair can be by the window.”
“Good boy,” said the visitor, with an approving smile, as King took away
the wicker chair.
“And now,” she went on, as he returned, “if you’ll just take away also
that small table, and those two chairs over there, and that
sewing-screen, and that large waste-basket, and that tabouret and
jardiniere, I’ll be much obliged.”
“Whew!” said King; “I think I’ll ask Thomas to come up and help me. Are
you sure you want all those taken out, Miss Larkin?”
“Yes, child. The room is too full of useless furniture. I can’t stand
it.”
“Well, Miss Larkin,” said Marjorie, “I’m sure Mother would like you to
have things just as you want them. But I don’t believe we children can
help you fix them. I think we’d better go downstairs and be out of your
way. Then you tell Sarah and Thomas what you want, and they’ll do it.”
“Very well,” said Miss Larkin, with a preoccupied air. She was trying
her rocking-chair as she spoke, now at one window and now at another,
and seemed scarcely to hear Marjorie’s words.
Just then, Sarah appeared with the tea-tray, and so Midget told her to
await Miss Larkin’s orders, and to call Thomas, if necessary, to help
her move the furniture.
Then the four children went downstairs, and after giving Rosamond over
to the care of Nurse Nannie, they held a council of war.
“She’s crazy,” said Marjorie, with an air of deep conviction.
“I knew it!” declared King. “You know I called her Loony Larky. You
needn’t frown at me, Midge; I’m not calling her that now. I’m just
reminding you.”
“Well, I believe she is. Did you ever hear of a guest cutting up so?”
“I don’t believe she liked the decorations,” said Kitty, thoughtfully.
“She said she did,” observed King.
“Yes; but that was just so she wouldn’t hurt our feelings,” went on
Kitty. “I saw her look when she first got into the room, and I thought
she looked disgusted. Then, to be nice to us, she said they were
lovely.”
“Then she’s deceitful,” said Marjorie, “and that’s a horrid thing to
be.”
“’Most always it is,” argued patient Kitty; “but it’s sometimes
’scusable when you do it to be polite. She couldn’t very well tell us
she hated our greens and roses—but I know she did.”
“I know it, too,” said King, gloomily. “We had all that trouble for
nothing.”
“Well,” said Marjorie, after thinking a moment; “even if she didn’t like
the welcome and garlands, she must have ’preciated the trouble we took,
and she must have understood that we meant to please her.”
“’Course she did,” said Kitty, “and that’s why she seemed pleased about
it. Now, I think, we’d better go up and tell her that if she wants to,
she can have all that stuff carted out.”
“Oh, Kit!” cried Midge, reproachfully. “It’s so pretty, and we worked so
hard over it.”
“I know it, Mops, but if she doesn’t want it there, it’s a shame for her
to have to have it.”
“You’re right, old Kitsie,” said King; “you’re right quite sometimes
often. Mops, she _is_ right. Now let’s go up and inform the Larky
lady—I mean Larkin lady, that we won’t feel hurt if she makes a bonfire
of our decorations in her honor.”
“I shall,” said Marjorie, pouting a little.
“Oh, pshaw, Mops; don’t be a silly. A nice hostess you are, if you make
a guest sleep in a jungle, when she likes a plain, bare room.”
Marjorie’s brow cleared. A sense of responsibility always called out her
better nature, and she agreed to go with the others to see Miss Larkin.
Upstairs they tramped, King between his two sisters, and as the Maynards
rarely did anything quietly, they sounded like a small army pounding up
the steps.
“What _is_ the matter?” exclaimed Miss Larkin, flying to her door as
they approached.
“Why, we came to tell you,” began Marjorie, somewhat out of breath,
“that—that——”
“That if you’d rather not have that racket of ‘Welcome’ stuff in your
room, you can pitch it out,” continued King.
“Just tell Thomas,” went on Kitty, in her soft, cooing way, “and he’ll
carry it all away for you.”
“But why shouldn’t I like it?” said Miss Larkin, who hadn’t quite
grasped the rapid speech of the children.
“Oh, ’cause it _is_ trumpery,” said King. “And we think that you just
hate it——”
“And that you said it was nice, so not to ’fend us,” went on Kitty, “and
so, we’ll freely forgive you if you don’t want it. But we do want our
ribbons back.”
“And we may as well keep the ‘Welcome’ and the mournful signs,” added
Marjorie; “for you see, our next guest might be of a more—more gay and
festive nature.”
“Oh, I’m gay and festive,” said Miss Larkin, with her funny little
giggle, which somehow always irritated the children; “but since you
insist, I believe I will have these greens taken away. The scent of
evergreens is a little overpowering to my delicate nerves. I shouldn’t
have dreamed of suggesting it, but since you have done so—ah, may I
ring for Thomas at once?”
Sarah answered Miss Larkin’s bell, and Thomas was sent for.
Then the lady seemed to forget all about the children, and returned to
her tea and bread-and-butter.
Feeling themselves dismissed, they went downstairs again.
“Goodness, gracious, sakes alive!” said King, slowly; “have we got to
live six weeks with _that_?”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” said Marjorie, remembering her father’s words,
“but I do think she’s just about the worst ever.”
“We’ve got to have her here,” said Kitty, “so we may as well make the
best of it.”
“Oh, Kittums,” groaned King, “you’d make the best of a lame caterpillar,
I do believe.”
“Well, you might as well,” protested Kitty, stoutly. She was used to
being chaffed about her optimism, but still persisted in it, because it
was innate with her.
“All right,” said King, “let’s forget it. What do you say to ‘Still
Pond; no moving’?”
This was a game that greatly belied its name, for though supposed to be
played in silence, it always developed into a noisy romp.
But for this very reason it was a favorite with the Maynard children,
and by way of cheering their flagging spirits, they now entered into it
with unusual zest.
“Do you s’pose Miss Larkin is playing this same game with Thomas and
Sarah?” asked Marjorie, as during a lull in their own game they heard as
much, if not more noise in the room above.
“’Spect she’s still moving furniture,” said King, after listening a
moment. “Hope she doesn’t take a fancy to my new chiffonier.”
“We ought to have told her what time dinner is,” said Marjorie.
“You’re a gay old hostess, aren’t you, Mops?” teased her brother.
But Kitty said, “Oh, she’ll ask Sarah. Don’t let’s think any more about
her till dinner time.”
This was good advice, and was promptly acted upon.
And so it was half-past six before the young Maynards saw their guest
again.
Miss Larkin had asked the dinner hour of Sarah, and promptly to the
minute she came downstairs, attired in a black silk dress, quite stiff
with jet ornaments.
“I am your guest to-night, my dears,” she said, as she patted each one’s
head in turn; “but to-morrow I shall myself take up the reins of
government, and all household cares. I have a letter, left for me by
your dear mother, in which she bids me do just as I think best in all
matters. She tells me to order such things as I wish, and to command the
servants as I choose. I’m sure I need not tell you I shall do my best to
make you all comfortable and happy.”
Miss Larkin beamed so pleasantly on the children, that it was impossible
not to respond, so they all smiled back at her, while Marjorie said,
“I’m sure you will, Miss Larkin.”
“And now,” the lady went on, “I have here a little gift for each of you.
I brought them to show my love and affection for you all.”
Then she gave to each of the quartette a small box, and sat beaming
benignantly as the children tore open the wrappings.
Cries of delight followed, for the gifts were lovely, indeed.
Marjorie’s was a narrow gold bangle, set all round with tiny
half-pearls.
Kitty’s was a gold ring, with a turquoise setting.
King’s, a pair of pretty sleeve-links, and Rosy Posy’s a pair of little
gold yoke pins.
“Oh, Miss Larkin!” exclaimed Marjorie, over-whelmed by the beauty and
unexpectedness of these gifts.
“It’s just like Christmas,” declared King, and Kitty, too pleased for
words, went slowly up to Miss Larkin and kissed her.
The baby was scarcely old enough to be really appreciative, but the
other three were delighted with their presents, and said so with
enthusiasm.
“I’m glad you like them,” said Miss Larkin, “and now let us go to
dinner.”
Marjorie felt a little shy as she took her place at the head of the
table, and she asked Miss Larkin if she wished to sit there.
“No, my dear; your mother wrote in her note that she wished you to have
that seat. I shall, of course, exercise a supervision over your manners,
and tell you wherein I think they may be improved.”
This speech made Marjorie feel decidedly embarrassed, and she wondered
why she liked Miss Larkin one minute and didn’t like her the next.
Then she smiled to herself as she realized that she liked her when she
presented pearl bracelets, and didn’t like her when she proposed
discipline!
This was a fine state of affairs, indeed!
And so compunctious did it make Marjorie feel, that she said, “I hope
you will correct me, when I need it, Miss Larkin; for my manners are not
very good.”
King and Kitty stared at this. What had come over wilful, headstrong
Midget to make her talk like that?
But Miss Larkin only smiled pleasantly, and made no comment on
Marjorie’s manners as a hostess, all through dinner.
As the two sisters were going to bed that night, Kitty said:
“I can’t make her out. I think she’s real nice, and then the next minute
she does something so queer, I don’t know what to make of it.”
“I think she’s what they call eccentric,” said Marjorie. “And I do
believe if we let her alone a good deal, she’ll let us alone. She seems
awfully wrapped up in her own affairs. If she doesn’t interfere too
much, I think we’ll get along all right. But I wish Mother was home.”
“So do I. Oh, Mops, there isn’t one day gone yet! Out of forty-two!”
“Well, skip into bed; the time flies faster when you’re asleep.”
“So it does,” agreed Kitty; “good-night.”