“Or,” Jennie had a sudden brilliant thought. “Oh, Edna, I wonder if you couldn’t come to my house and stay all night with me. I should be so delighted to have you and I know mother would, too. We aren’t to have our Thanksgiving dinner till six, so you could have two.”
Edna looked quite happy as this plan was suggested. What girl of nine does not delight in such an experience as spending the night with a friend? The thought of two Thanksgiving dinners, though one might be rather a frugal one,had its charm, too. “I think that would be perfectly lovely,” she said, then after a moment’s thought, “but you must ask your mother first and I’ll ask mine.”
“I’ll ask her as soon as I go home and will tell you at the club meeting this afternoon, and then you can ask your mother when you get home and let me know on Monday. I just know what mother will say before I ask her.”
Then the bell rang and recess was over, but Edna returned to her lessons very happy at this solution of what had been a matter of deep thought. It turned out just as Jennie had prophesied, for she brought a veritable invitation to Edna that afternoon in the shape of a little note, and she further said that Mrs. Ramsey meant to make sure by writing a formal request to Mrs. Conway, therefore Edna considered the matter as good as settled.
She was full of the subject that afternoon when she reached home. It was quite dark although she and the others had taken the train which brought them more quickly. The club meetings were so interesting that it was hard to get away in time, but Mrs. Conway was on the watch as the girls came in the gate. Of course Edna had told Celia about all this, and indeed it had been talked over at the club, all the girls agreeing that it was a perfectly lovely thing for Edna to do, so she came in quite exalted by all the approval.
However, when she told her tale and her mother saw that it was a case of genuine desire to do a good deed, and that in the beginning it had appeared in the light of a heavier sacrifice than could be made easily, she felt that she could allow the child to do as she wished, being sure that it was not in a spirit of self-righteousness. And so, on the evening before Thanksgiving after Uncle Justus had returned from seeing Mrs. Horner safely on her journey to her sister’s, he saw a little figure watching for him at the window.
“Well, well, well, little girl,” he said, “how is this? I thought you would have been at home before now.”
“I’m not going till Friday,” replied Edna smiling up at him. “I’m going to stay and have Thanksgiving dinner with you.”
“What? What? What?” Uncle Justus frowned and shook his head, but he took off his spectacles and wiped them very vigorously.
“Yes, I am.” Edna was very decided. “Mother said I might, and oh, Uncle Justus, she knew Aunt Elizabeth would be away and she thought maybe you and I would like some of our Thanksgiving,so she has sent some of her goodies, and we’re going to have a lovely time. I am going to help Ellen set the table and wipe the dishes.”
“But, my child, I cannot allow it. No, no, no.”
“Oh, but, please.” The more Uncle Justus denied, the more anxious was Edna.
“But, my child, it would be selfish and inconsiderate of me in the extreme to take you away from your family on a holiday. I know what it means to little people to have such treats, and to an old fellow like me it will not make such a difference.”
“But you told me you had never had a Thanksgiving dinner alone.”
“That is quite true, but it is no reason why I should call upon a little girl like you to give up the holiday to me.”
“Don’t you want me to stay?” askedEdna wistfully, and feeling a little hurt lest after all, her sacrifice was not really needed.
Then Uncle Justus did a rare thing. He sat down, put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. “My dear little girl,” he replied, “if that is the way you feel, I can only say that I am delighted beyond measure that you want to stay, and you will give me a greater cause for thanksgiving than I have expected or deserved,” and he drew her to his knee.
Edna smiled as she wondered what Florence Gittings, or any of the other girls, for that matter, would say if they could see her then so extremely near the fierce eyebrows.
“But what will you do in the afternoon?” asked Uncle Justus after a moment. “I must go out early, you see.”
“I know that. At first I thought I would get Ellen to put me on the cars togo home. It would be quite safe, for I have gone so many times, but Jennie Ramsey and her mother have invited me to come there to stay all night. I’ll come back here on Friday, if you would like me to, Uncle Justus. I could stay till Aunt Elizabeth comes home.”
Uncle Justus was silent for a moment. He smoothed her hair thoughtfully and then he said gently. “Your mother very kindly has asked me to spend the week end with you all, so suppose we go out together on Friday afternoon. I can take my papers with me and do my necessary work on Saturday there as well as here. Your little club meets on Friday afternoon, doesn’t it? I will meet you and Celia at the station in time for the four-thirty train, which is the one you usually take, isn’t it?”
Edna was surprised that Uncle Justus should know all this about the club andthe time of their going home, but she didn’t say so. “I think that will be a very nice plan,” she told him. “I’ll come back here on Friday morning and have dinner with you, and then I can go to the club meeting. It is to be at Helen Darby’s this time, and that is very near, you know.” The twilight gathered about the two and in the dim light Uncle Justus did not appear in the least a person to stand in awe of, for when Ellen came to call them to supper she was surprised to see the little girl still sitting on the old man’s knee, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder.
IN A BLIZZARD
The enjoyment of helping Ellen, of setting the table and of being consulted on such important subjects as whether the best china and the finest tablecloth should be used almost made up to Edna for being away from home on Thanksgiving day. The basket sent by Mrs. Conway contained several things which made the dinner much more of a feast than it would otherwise have been, for there was a jar of tomato soup, a small chicken pie with scalloped leaves and little balls of crust on top, some delicious pickles, a glass of currant jelly and another of cranberry sauce. Margaret had brought in a bunch of cut flowers from Mrs. MacDonald’s greenhouse, the day before and these set in the middle of the table were a lovely ornament.
“It’s the foinest lookin’ table iver I saw in this house,” said Ellen when Edna called her in to see. “What was it yez were sayin’ about thim little toasty crusts for the soup. I’d be afther makin’ thim if I cud know wanst.”
“Oh, I can tell you just how,” said Edna, “for I have watched our cook make them.” She felt very important to be overseeing this piece of cookery and went in to call her uncle, feeling very much pleased at what had been accomplished.
“Well, well, well,” exclaimed Uncle Justus, “this does look like holiday times. Who did all this?”
“Ellen and I,” Edna told him, “and it was lots of fun.”
Uncle Justus nodded. “I dare say,” he said with a smile, as he sat down.
It was really a merrier repast than Edna had ever eaten under that roof, for instead of eating his dinner in silence as he generally did, Uncle Justus was quite talkative and actually attempted to joke once in a while. When Ellen was taking away the plates before she served the dessert, the old gentleman arose. “I think,” he said, “that this is just the occasion to open that jar of ginger Captain Doane sent me awhile ago.” So he went to his own special cupboard, unlocked the door and brought forth the wicker bound ginger jar which had been there several weeks, and it is safe to say Edna was given her share.
“A famous dinner,” said Uncle Justus as he rose from the table. “I can’t remember that I ever had a pleasanter one, and I have you to thank for it, my dear. Now, I am afraid I shall have to go to my meeting, but I know you havean agreeable plan for the evening, so I do not feel the reluctance in leaving that I should otherwise.”
Edna helped him on with his overcoat, handed him his walking stick and saw him off, standing in the door, and hoping he would look back. He did this giving her a smile and nod as she waved her hand. Then she went back to Ellen and together they did the dishes very carefully. After this both must get dressed, and an hour later they were about to start when the bell rang and Ellen opened the door to Jennie Ramsey.
“I thought I’d just come for you in the motor car,” she said. “Mother said Mack could take us for a little ride in the fresh air so we would have a better appetite for dinner.”
This was quite exciting, for Edna’s opportunities for riding in an automobile were not many.
The magnificence of the Ramsey’s dinner far outdid Aunt Elizabeth’s, but Edna did not enjoy it one whit the more, although it was very delightful to be served by a man in livery, and to have such exquisite china and glass to look at during the meal. The child felt a little shy in the presence of so many strangers, and had little to say. Moreover, she had too often been told by Aunt Elizabeth that “little children should be seen and not heard” for her not to remember she must not chatter. Really the best time came when she and Jennie went up to bed when Jennie showed her all her treasures, her pretty room and her rows of books. They became very confidential as they snuggled down under the covers, and when Mrs. Ramsey came in to kiss them both good-night, Edna felt much happier than had seemed possible she could be when she first considered thatshe must spend the day and night away from her mother.
The club meeting at Helen Darby’s the next day was a fine affair, too, for Mr. Darby had provided an entertainment which pleased them all. A wonderful juggler did all sorts of curious tricks and a young man sang the drollest of songs. Then, too, the refreshments were unusually good. It had been made an inviolable rule that not more than three articles were to be served, but when there were ice cream, delicious cakes and bon-bons, surely these were quite enough.
“You see,” said Helen in explanation, after some of the girls had protested, “father said this was a holiday meeting and it might be a little more elaborate, he thought.”
Uncle Justus took Edna and Celia home that evening, and if he did not enjoy his visit it was not the fault of the girls. Itis probable the old gentleman had rarely had such attentions and such a fuss made over him. He was invited to the Evans’s to supper on Saturday and to Mrs. MacDonald’s to dinner on Sunday. He was taken to drive; he was invited to walk, and really was quite overcome by all this thought of him from the members of the G. R. Club.
Monday morning saw everyone but Celia back at school. Celia having had too much Thanksgiving, or too much something was not able to go, and indeed, had to remain at home for the entire week, and it seemed very much like the old days to Edna when she had to stay at Uncle Justus’s without her sister. Aunt Elizabeth returned home on Monday afternoon, quite “smoothed out” Edna told her mother afterward. So the week sped along in the old way till Friday afternoon.
It had begun to snow a little when Edna started out to the club meeting which was held at Florence Gittings’s. The little girl had no fear, however, for she expected to meet Dorothy and Agnes and go home with them, but for some reason neither was present. Later on it was learned that Mr. Evans had called for them at their aunt’s and had taken them home fearing a heavy storm would prevent their going later. A telegram which they sent to Edna at Florence Gittings’s was not delivered till after the child had left the house.
“You aren’t going off by yourself,” said Florence when the club meeting was over. It had seemed rather a poor little affair after the brilliancy of Helen’s entertainment, and with both Agnes and Celia missing. However they had all done their best, but it broke up rather earlier than usual.
“Oh, I must go,” said Edna. “I am sure Agnes and Dorothy will be at the railway station, and we can all go out together.”
“But it is snowing so hard and the wind is making the snow drift,” continued Florence.
“Oh, but the cars go all the way to the station. I won’t have to walk, and very likely mother will send one of the boys, Cousin Ben, perhaps, to meet me.”
“I wish we had a telephone,” said Florence, “but we haven’t, and I suppose you can telephone from the station if you want to.”
“I might do that,” said Edna.
“I think you’d better go back to your Uncle Horner’s,” suggested Helen.
“Oh, but—” Edna did not want to do this. A whole week at the school without Celia was about all she thought she could stand. “I shall do all right,” she insisted. “I’m sure the girls will be at the station.” So the others saw her depart without urging her further.
Owing to the snow which was drifting heavily, the cars were running much more slowly than usual, and when Edna reached the station her train had just gone. It was the train her father always took and she had hoped to see him. She decided to telephone and took out her purse to see what money she had. Alas! she had but ten cents, not enough for an out-of-town toll. She had her school ticket fortunately. Celia was the one who always carried the money for the expenses, and Edna remembered that her mother had told her to be sure to provide herself with enough. “If you find you run short,” she told the child, “either send down to your father for some change or borrow it from Aunt Elizabeth.”
Edna would rather have done almostanything than borrow from Aunt Elizabeth and she had forgotten to look in her purse anyhow, before starting. “Even if I had,” she told herself, “I would have thought I had enough for I didn’t expect to need anything but car fare.” The next train would leave at five, but as it was a short run Edna thought she might venture to take it, even though it might be dark when she reached the station. She could telephone to the house from there, if necessary. So she waited patiently till it should be time for her train to be ready and then she went out and took her seat. It was snowing desperately hard she noticed as they moved along, and the train stopped frequently, but at last she reached her own station and got off feeling very thankful to be this near home. She looked around; not a soul was there to meet her. She would have to telephone. She turned toward the waiting-room, butto her consternation found the door locked.
There was not a soul in sight. She stood still for a while. It was getting colder, and the snow was drifting and swirling around at a great rate. What should she do? The station master had probably gone home to his supper, for there were no more trains till nearly six o’clock from either direction. He had not counted on his presence being needed between whiles once he had seen to his freight and baggage, and he had gone to the back of the building where he lived.
It was not more than a ten minutes’ walk to her home in good weather, and Edna at last thought she would venture. She pulled her hat down over her ears and her coat collar up around her neck and started. It was desperate walking here in the country where the sharp wind seemed to search out every unprotectedpart of the body. The snow nearly blinded her, and cut her face like a knife. Every little while she had to stop to get breath, and as she found the difficulties increasing she thought of all the stories she had heard of persons perishing in the snow a few yards from their own door-ways. “I wish I had gone back to Uncle Justus,” she murmured. “Oh, dear, I don’t believe I will ever get there.”
The whiteness of the snow made it possible for her to see a little of the way when she first started, but as she went on and it grew darker she began to wonder if she were in the road. She brushed away the stinging flakes and looked around, peering into the darkness gathering around her. Through the blinding, hurrying flakes she could see twinkling lights here and there, and presently she located the piece of woods just beyond her own home, but it was far to the left,and she realized that she had turned into a by-road instead of keeping to the main one. The tears began to course down her cheeks when she appreciated how far she was from her own house. “I can never go back,” she sobbed. “I can’t. I am so cold and so tired, I’m afraid I can’t get there. It would never do to stand still,” she realized and presently she made up her mind to struggle on toward the nearest light a little ahead.
She bowed her head again and pressed on through the drifts, feeling her strength would do no more than get her to this refuge. At last it was reached, a little house, by the wayside, a tiny garden in front and a small cow-shed behind. Managing to get the gate open, Edna went upon the porch and knocked at the door.
It was opened by a little girl about her own age. “Why,” she exclaimed, “who is it? I thought you were mother.Come right in out of the storm. Isn’t it a dreadful one?”
Edna, scarce able to speak, tottered into the room, warm from a bright fire in a base-burner stove and cheerful by reason of a lighted lamp.
“You are all covered with snow,” the little girl went on. “Do come to the fire and take off your hat and coat. You must be nearly frozen and I expect your feet are wet and cold. I’ll take off your shoes.”
She stooped down and began to unfasten the snowy shoes after removing the rubbers Edna had been fortunate enough to have put on.
In a moment the wanderer was able to tell her story, and to thank her little hostess for her attentions. “I don’t know what I am going to do,” she said. “I’m afraid I can’t get home, and there isn’t any way to send them word to comefor me. Of course they will think I have stayed in the city. If I had known how bad the storm was going to be I would never have started, but I did want to see my mother.”
“And I want to see my mother,” replied her hostess. “She went down the road this morning to see my aunt who is ill, and she was coming back on this train that got in a little while ago, the train you must have come on.”
“I didn’t see anyone get off,” Edna told her, “only two or three men who got into a wagon and drove off before I left the station. Most everyone I know comes out on the train before that, but I missed it, you see.”
“Well, I am very glad to have you here,” said the other. “If mother did not come on that train she won’t come at all, I am sure, for the next ones don’t stop at my aunt’s station, and I should havebeen here all alone. What is your name?”
“My name is Edna Conway, and I live on the main road just this side of that piece of woods you see after you pass Mrs. MacDonald’s. Hers is the big gray house with the greenhouses, you know.”
“Oh, yes I know it very well. My name is Nettie Black. My mother and I live here just by ourselves since my father died.”
“Oh,” Edna felt very sorry that Nettie was fatherless, but she did not know exactly what to say about it. “Will your mother be worried about your being here alone?” she asked after a moment.
“I s’pose she will, but it can’t be helped. I know she would have come if she could. I only hope my aunt isn’t worse. I wish she could know I am not to be alone.”
“And I wish, my mother knew I was safe,” returned Edna. “I am sure,though, that she thinks I am at my uncle’s in the city, and I hope she does think so.”
“Are you quite warm, now?” asked Nettie. “If you are we will have some supper.”
“Oh, you are very kind,” returned Edna a little embarrassed. “I think it is very hard on you to have me come in this way like a stray cat.”
Nettie laughed. “I like stray cats, and we always take them in. There is a lovely one in the kitchen, now, that we make a great pet of. He came to us so thin and miserable, but now he is as fat as butter.”
“I’d love to see him,” returned Edna, “and won’t you let me help you get supper?”
“There isn’t so very much to get,” returned Nettie a little shamefacedly. “There is only bread and butter and whatis left of the rice-pudding I had for dinner. We could toast the bread, and there’s milk. If you don’t mind my taking part of the milk for it, I could have milk-toast and we could drink cambric tea.”
“I like cambric tea,” replied Edna, “and I am very fond of milk-toast. Oh, dear, I am so thankful to be here instead of out in the cold.”
“I am thankful, too. I’ll go out and make the toast. Will you come?”
Edna was pleased enough to do this, to make the acquaintance of the big black cat, and to help make the toast. “I don’t see how you will ever know how to make the dip part,” she said to Nettie.
“Oh, but I do know. Mother taught me, and I can do it very well. The great thing is not to let the milk burn and to put in only the least little bit of thickening.”
Edna watched the process admiringly. Nettie was so very expert and bustled around like an experienced housekeeper. The house was very small, only two rooms downstairs and two up, with an attic over all, but everything was neat and clean, and the dishes, of course, were set out in an orderly manner upon a white tablecloth. The dish of smoking toast flanked by the rice pudding made an excellent meal. Nettie poured the tea and served her guest in the most hospitable way. They ate their meal in the front room before the fire, and now that she was warmed and was no longer hungry, Edna began to be interested in her surroundings. It was a plainly furnished room, a faded carpet on the floor, an old-fashioned sofa against one wall, a claw-footed mahogany table against the other, a bookcase between the windows. One or two engravings hung on the wall and a dingyportrait in an old frame. The chairs matched the sofa, one being a comfortable rocker with cover of haircloth.
After they had washed the supper dishes, Nettie made ready for the night by putting more coal on the fires and carefully barring the shutters and doors below. Then with a small lamp in her hand she escorted her guest to the upstairs room. It was rather chilly and was also plainly furnished, though the old-fashioned four-poster bed was made up neatly, and the high bureau showed a clean cover. The wind howled and whistled around the house, the sharp snow crystals clicked against the panes, but as Edna crept under the covers she could feel only thankful that she had this shelter and was soon asleep with Nettie beside her already in the land of Dreams.
COUSIN BEN TO THE RESCUE
The next morning when Edna opened her eyes she saw a white world. Trees, fences, roofs, were covered with snow. It was banked up in great drifts along the road. The path to the gate was so deeply snowed under that it was an impossibility to think of getting from the house. At the back it was no better. The two little girls looked rather sober.
“I wonder if mother can get home to-day,” was the first thought in Nettie’s mind, and, “I wonder if I can get home to my mother,” was that in Edna’s.
It seemed rather forlorn to think of facing the day without some older person, but Nettie bravely went to work to do herbest. First she went down into the cellar for coal which she lugged up to put on the two fires. Edna came down to find her busily taking up the ashes.
“Oh, how do you know what to do to make the fires burn?” she asked.
“Oh, I know, for mother has told me, and I often do this for her. The kitchen fire is easy enough but it is hard to lift the coal bucket up high enough to get the coal into the other stove.”
“I can help,” said Edna. So together they managed.
“Now, I must see what there is for breakfast,” said Nettie. “I think there are two eggs, and the hens must have laid more, but I can’t get out to hunt them till a path is made. I think there is still a little milk, for it didn’t take much for the cambric tea, and we can have more of that. Then there is bread enough and butter. We can boil the eggs.”
This they did, Edna watching the clock very carefully to see that they were not over done. They concluded to toast the bread, and made a pretty fair breakfast, though it was not a very hearty one, Edna thought. There was a little of the milk toast left which they warmed up to give to the cat who must miss his morning’s milk, as the milkman had not appeared.
“I don’t suppose he will get here at all,” said Nettie a little anxiously. She was wondering what she could give her guest for dinner if it should be so that her mother did not return. She set to work in a very housewifely way to tidy up the house, Edna helping all she could. Then they stationed themselves by the window to see if by any chance there might be someone coming along whom they could hail. But the road was not much frequented and there was not a footstep nor a track in the deep snow. Onlythe smoke from neighboring chimneys gave any evidence of life. Once they heard sleigh-bells in the distance and concluded that the main road was being used.
“I wish I could get out to feed the chickens,” said Nettie after a while. “I am afraid they will be hungry.” She went to the back door to view the prospect, and tried to shovel away some of the snow, but it was slow work. Edna brought another shovel and together they managed to clear a few feet of the path, but it was very wearying and they soon had to give it up.
Then they went back to the window, but the monotony was not relieved by any change in the face of things and so they determined that it was rather stupid to stand there. Nettie brought down her two dolls and they played with these for a while, but keeping house in a make believe way was not so exciting when therewas the reality close at hand, and they decided that paper dolls would be more entertaining.
“I think there is a fashion book upstairs in the garret,” said Nettie, “and we can take that. Mother said I might have it.”
Edna followed her up into the attic and they found the book, took it down into the front room and began to make their selections and cut out paper dolls till it suddenly dawned upon Nettie that it was time for another meal. She laid down her scissors with a sigh. “I really don’t know what we shall have for dinner,” she said. “Mother was going to bring something back with her. I shall have to rummage.”
She went into the little pantry, Edna following. “There are two potatoes, but they aren’t very big,” she said, “and there is some codfish. I might make somecodfish balls if I knew how. Do you know, Edna?”
“I think they are made of fish and potatoes, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how much fish and how much potato, besides I am afraid there aren’t potatoes enough. I suppose we shall have to give that up. Oh, here are some more eggs; that is fine. If I could find some ham or some bacon we could have ham and eggs, and that would be very good.” But nothing of this kind could be discovered and Nettie brought out the potatoes, laid them on the table and said rather ruefully, “It seems to me that we aren’t going to have much dinner. There isn’t another thing except sugar and tea and such things.”
“There might be rice,” said Edna with a sudden thought of Aunt Elizabeth’s desserts.
“Why, of course, and rice and brownsugar are very good indeed. I am so glad you thought of it. I know there must be rice.” She went back to the pantry and presently came out with a box in which she had discovered the rice. “I’ll get the eggs and we can have them fried,” she remarked, “they will seem more like meat that way.”
“And we can have the potatoes baked because they will be easier to do,” said Edna.
Nettie made another visit to the pantry. “I’ve found something else,” she called.
“What?” asked Edna going to the door.
“Two apples. Now, I am sure that is every blessed thing.”
“Well,” said Edna cheerfully, “I think we are very lucky to find so much.”
“I must put the potatoes in the oven right away,”declaredNettie, “for ittakes them a good while to bake. I will put onsome water for the rice, too. I wonder how much rice I should take. Have you any idea?”
“No, I haven’t, but I should think we will want quite a good deal, we haven’t very much else, have we?”
“No, we have not. I will take a large cupful. It swells up so, I should think that might do. You soak it first, I think.” She measured out a full cup of the rice, poured some water over it, washed it and then set it to soak till the water should boil. The potatoes were put in the oven and then the two went back to the next room. “It won’t take the rice as long as it does the potatoes, I am sure,” said Nettie, “and the water will have to boil first.”
They returned to the paper-dolls, becoming quite interested in them till presently they heard a great sputtering, and running out found the water was boilingover. “I’ll put on the rice now,” said Nettie, “for I am getting hungry, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, a little,” acknowledged Edna.
Nettie was rather uncertain as to what she should cook the rice in, and next, how much water she should pour over it, but after some discussion it was decided, and they went back to set the table. “Doesn’t it seem funny to be keeping house just like grown-ups?” said Edna. “I never knew how much trouble it was before, did you, Nettie?”
“I knew, but I didn’t think about it, I suppose,” returned Nettie. “We will pile up our dolls and papers over here on this other table and then they will be easy to get at when we want them. I wish the milkman had come, for I really don’t know what to give to Tippy. We haven’t any meat. To be sure he will eatmost anything, but I am afraid he will go hungry to-day.”
“Couldn’t you give him an egg and some bread or some rice, if we have enough.”
“I could do that, I suppose. I hope there will be rice enough, but it is very hard to tell when you aren’t acquainted with such a thing as the boiling and swelling of it.”
“Oh, I smell something burning,” cried Edna, “and something is making a funny popping noise.” They flew to the kitchen to see that the rice had burst all bounds and was dancing out of the saucepan all over the hot stove, puffing and popping at a great rate.
“Oh, dear,” exclaimed Nettie. “I never saw so much rice come from one cupful. Could you believe it? Why, it has taken up all the water and the saucepan is full up to the top besides all thatis on the stove. Oh, dear, I wish I knew just how to cook it.”
“Haven’t you a cook book?” asked Edna with a quick suggestion of what might help out the question.
“Why, of course mother has one. I will set this off and go hunt it up.”
The book was found on the shelves and the two put their heads together to discover the best way to boil rice. “I think this seems the easiest way,” said Nettie, pointing to one of the pages of the book, “but I hope it won’t hurt it to wait, for I’ll have to put on more water to boil. It says to have a great deal of water and keep it boiling like mad.”
After some time the rice was transferred to another and larger saucepan and was soon boiling “like mad,” then the eggs were fried and after a somewhat anxious and laborious period of time the dinner was pronounced ready.
“Oh, dear me, but it is hard work,” said Edna sighing as the two sat down to partake of the meal which they had prepared after so much difficulty.
“Yes, it is hard work,” agreed Nettie, “but we did it all ourselves, and the potatoes are really done and the rice looks all right.”
“It looks fine,” said Edna, “and so do the eggs. I don’t mind their being broken a little; I don’t see how you could dish them up without.”
They had been so long in preparing the meal that they were quite starved and ate with a relish. “I’m glad there is more rice,” said Nettie, “for now that I know what a little it takes to make a big dish I shan’t be afraid of our starving while it lasts.”
“Oh, dear,” Edna put down her spoon, “you don’t think we shall have to stay here alone for days, do you? The snowwill have to melt after a while and the roads be cleared.”
“It doesn’t look much like it yet,” returned Nettie.
“Oh, but it never, never, never could keep on like this.” Edna was determined to be hopeful. “I’m going to believe someone will come this very afternoon, either your mother or somebody.”
Her faith was not without foundation for along in the middle of the afternoon they heard jangling bells, and ran to the front window to see the milkman in a huge sleigh, his milk cans in the body of it. He plowed his way to the front door which was opened to him before he could knock.
“Oh, Mr. Snyder,” said Nettie, “I am so glad you have come. We are all alone and we haven’t a drop of milk.”
“That so?” said Mr. Snyder. “I thought as much. It’s pretty hard travelling and I’ve been hours getting around to my customers, but now the road is broken it won’t be quite so hard getting back. I’d better leave you double quantity in case I’m late to-morrow.”
“Oh, you are our milkman, too, aren’t you?” said Edna. “You leave milk at Mrs. Conway’s, don’t you?”
“To be sure I do.”
“And have you been there yet?”
“No, I’m on my way now. You’re out a bit, you know, but what are you doing down here?”
Edna told him her tale in which he was much interested. “Well, I declare,” he said. “Want me to take you home with me? I can bundle you in there with the milk cans, and I reckon you wouldn’t freeze.”
For a moment Edna thought she must accept this invitation, then she looked at Nettie. Suppose her mother should notcome that evening, and she should be there at night all alone. “Couldn’t you take Nettie, too?” she said.
“Why, certainly. The two of you aren’t much more than two milk cans, and I’m sure you’re not so big round.”
“Oh, but suppose mother should come,” said Nettie. “She would be so worried, and I must be here to keep up the fires.”
“Then,” said Edna firmly, setting her face against the temptation of the cheerful supper table at home, the dear mother arms, the greetings of the boys and all the rest of it. “I will tell you what I can do. I will write mother a little note and ask her if she can send somebody or find some way to get us something to eat, and I’ll stay till your mother comes, Nettie.”
“Oh, I think you are lovely to do that,” answered Nettie.
“Could you wait a minute, Mr. Snyder?” asked Edna. “I won’t write much.”
“I’ll wait,” hesaid,“and ifyou will give me a shovel I’ll make a path to your gate. I reckon you’re right about staying, sissy. I’ve got two little girls of my own and I know I shouldn’t like them to be left alone either one of them.”
Edna hurried through her note which said: “Dear mother, I am with Nettie Black. She lives in the first little house on the side road on the way to the old mill. We are all alone for her mother hasn’t come back. Please send us something to eat if you can, for we have nothing left but rice and milk. There may be eggs in the hen-house, but we can’t get at them. I want to come but I’d better not. Your loving Edna.”
The little note was safely stowed away in Mr. Snyder’s pocket with a promise of sure delivery, and he went off, hishorses plunging through the deep drifts up to their middles.
“I think you are just as good as you can be,” said Nettie. “I don’t feel as if I ought to let you stay, but I do hate the idea of being left all alone.”
“I’d want you to stay with me if I were in your place,” returned Edna remembering the G. R. Club. To be sure Nettie did not belong to her school, but she was quite as much one of those “others” to whom one should do as he would be done by.
“It really looks as if something had happened,” remarked Edna. “When we see the path to the gate. I wish he had had time to make one at the back, too.”
It was almost dark and they were about to turn from the window to light the lamp, when ploughing through the deep snow they saw someone coming down the road. They watched him eagerly. Except themilkman he was the first person they had seen that day. “He is coming this way,” said Edna hopefully. “Oh, Nettie, I believe it is Cousin Ben. He has a basket and see how he has taken to the road where Mr. Snyder’s sleigh went along.” She watched for a few minutes longer. “It is Cousin Ben,” she cried joyfully. “He is coming here. Light the lamp, Nettie, while I go let him in.”
She hurried to the door to see Ben stamping off the snow from his feet. “Whewee!” he exclaimed, “but isn’t this a sockdolager? I never saw such a storm? How are you Ande, my honey. Of all things to think of your being this near home and none of us knowing it.”
“Then mother did think I was still at Uncle Justus’s,” said Edna.
“Just what she did. You rung a surprise on the whole of us, I can tell you.”
He came in and set down the basket,took off his cap and overcoat and looked down at the two little girls with a smile.
“This is Nettie Black,” Edna told him. “She has been so nice to me, and I don’t know what would have happened if I had not been able to get to her house.”
“Don’t speak of it,” returned Ben with a little frown and a shake of his head. “I’ll sit down and warm myself and then you can tell me how this all happened.”
He drew up to the fire, took Edna on his knee and she poured forth her tale. “Pretty tough,” he said when she had completed her story. “I’m glad your mother didn’t know you had started. Now, Miss Nettie if you will let me sleep on that big sofa I am going to stay right here till we can dig you out and your mother comes. There’s a lot of provender in that basket and we’ll be as jolly as they make ’em.”
“Oh, but you can sleep upstairs,” returned Nettie. “There is plenty of room.”
“Good! Then upstairs be it. What was that about hens and eggs and things, Ande?”
“Oh, we can’t get out to the hen-house, you know. We tried to make a path but it was too hard work for us so we gave it up.”
“I should remark. Well, that will be done first thing in the morning, and I’ll go see what I can find. Eggsactly, as it were. What about the fires? Any coal up here?”
“A little,” Nettie told him. “We have carried up all we could at a time, but we couldn’t bring enough for the fires to-night. We are going down to get more.”
“You are going to do no such thing. Got a candle? Where are the coal scuttles? One of you hold the light andshow me your coal bin and up comes your coal.” Cousin Ben was already making for the cellar door.
Of course no one was going to be left out of this expedition and all three descended to the cellar, from which they presently came forth all laughing. It was certainly a cheering thing to have someone so willing to come to their aid. Next the basket was unpacked and it goes without saying that there were neither eggs nor rice for supper that night. Moreover, Tippy had such a feast of milk as well as other things as he had not seen for several days. Ben kept the little girls in such a state of giggle that they could scarcely do the dishes, but what with the labors of the day and the later excitement they were ready for bed early, and went up leaving Cousin Ben with a book before him. Later his light half wakened Edna, but as he closed thedoor between the rooms and she realized that he was there, she turned over with a sigh of content, feeling very safe and sleepy.
DISTURBANCES
Sunday morning was bright and clear. It was so dazzlingly bright when the little girls arose that they thought it must be much later than it was. Cousin Ben, however, was already up and dressed and had been down some time when the two finally descended to the lower floor. This was made known by reason of the fires burning brightly and of there being a path cleared to the hen-house, while as many as a dozen eggs were in a bowl on the kitchen table.
“Oh, Cousin Ben,” cried Edna, “what a lot you have done. It is so cosey and warm down here, and we won’t have to wait at all for breakfast.”
“I hope not,” he returned, “for I’m hungry, for one. What are you going to have?”
Edna turned to Nettie who considered the question. It was a great occasion when there were two guests to be provided for. “As long as there are so many eggs,” she said, “we can have muffins or something and some eggs. I could have some kind of breakfast food, too, I believe there’s some oat-meal.”
“Never mind the oat-meal,” said Ben. “You get me out the flour and stuff and I’ll make the muffins. There is a royal fire and I’ll get them ready in three shakes of a sheep’s tail.”
“You?” Nettie looked amazed.
“Of course. Did you never hear of a man cook? I’ve served my apprenticeship, I can assure you. I’ll make the coffee, too, if you have any.”
“Oh, there is some already ground, inthe basket mother sent,” Edna assured him. “We don’t drink it, but we can have cambric tea.”
“All right, you go along and set the table, and I’ll do the rest.”
Nettie was rather glad to have the responsibility taken off her hands in this summary manner, though she said to Edna, “Do you think it is polite to let him do it all?”
“Why, certainly,” replied Edna. “He does those things at home for his mother sometimes, for he has no sisters, and the boys have to pitch in and help when the servant goes out. He has told me all about it. And as for its being polite, I remember mother said it was always more polite to let your company do the thing which made them comfortable than to insist upon doing something for them that would make them uncomfortable.”
Nettie considered this for some time before she quite took in the sense of it. She was a thin, demure little girl, not at all pretty, but with a kind face, big blue eyes and sandy hair. She was dressed very plainly, but her clothes were neat and simply made. She was not the kind of child Edna might have expected to find in such a little house.
The muffins turned out a great success, and Ben said his coffee just suited him. “I never saw fresher eggs than your hens lay,” he said, looking at Nettie with a serious face.
“Of course, they are fresh,” she returned, “when they were only laid yesterday.”
“That’s what I said,” returned Ben, with gravity.
Edna laughed. She was used to Cousin Ben’s ways, but Nettie was a little puzzled.
The breakfast was as merry an affairas the supper had been, and after it was cleared away there was a consultation upon what should be done next. “There’s no use in thinking of church,” said Ben. “We couldn’t get there if we tried.”
“And there are so few trains I don’t suppose I can expect mother this morning,” said Nettie.
“Better not expect her at all,” replied Ben, “that is, not while the roads are so snowy. There is scarcely any use in even a sleigh while these drifts are so high. Ande, what is the use of a sleigh, anyhow?” he asked, turning to his cousin who saw a joke.
“You tell,” she answered.
“Snow use” he replied. “Now, I’ll go out and feed the hens, and then I’ll put on my boots and start on the road again. I’ll see what’s going on at the house, and then I’ll come back again.” They watched him ploughing through the snow, but because he had been there and was coming back it seemed not lonely at all, though Nettie said, wistfully, she did hope her mother could come that day, and Edna hoped she could find a way of getting home.
Toward noon they saw a queer box-sleigh coming from the main road. They watched it interestedly from the window as it approached nearer and nearer. “I do believe it is mother,” exclaimed Nettie, joyfully. And sure enough the sleigh did stop before the door, a man got out, and then helped a slight woman in black to alight. “It is mother,” cried Nettie, running to the door, and presently she was in her mother’s arms.
Then there were great explanations. Like the little girls, Mrs. Black had been snowed in, for her sister lived quite a distance from the station, but she had atlast been able to get some one of the neighbors to bring her across, as he had to go to the doctor’s, and was willing to take her the short distance further.
“If I had known how well cared for you would be,” she told her daughter, “and that you were not alone at all, I should have been much less anxious. Certainly, we have a great deal to be thankful for.”
Edna felt that she certainly had a great deal to be thankful for when a little later she saw a big black sleigh stop before the door. She recognized it as Mrs. MacDonald’s, for it was driven by her coach-man, though in it sat Cousin Ben. He had come back as he promised, but in great state. And because Nettie’s mother had returned he bore Edna off alone, after many good-bys and promises to see her new friend as often as she could.
“How did you happen to come in Mrs. MacDonald’s sleigh?” she asked her cousin.
“Well, I will tell you. When I reached the house I found that Mrs. MacDonald had telephoned over to ask about all of you, and to see how Celia was. When she heard where you were and all about it, she said she would send over her sleigh and I could go for you and Nettie in it, and so as that seemed a good arrangement I was going to put it into execution. We had decided to leave a note for Mrs. Black in case she should get back to-day, so she wouldn’t be worried.”
“It’s really much better this way,” returned Edna, “for now she has her mother, and I will have mine.”
It seemed a delightful home coming, and because the snow was still so deep there was the extra holiday on Monday, but by Tuesday all started off to school again.Mrs. MacDonald knew all about Mrs. Black, and said she was a very good woman, who had taken this little house in the country because she could live there more cheaply, and because in such a place as she could afford in the city her little daughter would not be surrounded by pleasant influences. Nettie went to the district school, and was such a little girl as Edna’s parents would select as a companion for their daughter. So, Edna felt she had made quite a discovery, and planned all sorts of times with Nettie when the winter was over.
Matters went on at school uninterruptedly, until just before Christmas, when it was suddenly made known that Miss Ashurst was to be married, and that another teacher would take her place after the holidays. The G. R.’s got up a linen shower for the departing teacher, but the Neighborhood Club did nothing.Its numbers were dwindling, for when it was learned what good times the rivals had at their meetings, there was more than one deserter. For some reason, Clara Adams had picked out Edna as the prime cause of all this. She had never forgiven her for winning the doll at the fair the year before, and was likewise furiously jealous of her friendship for Jennie Ramsey. If Edna had been a less generous and sweet-tempered child, matters might have been much worse, but even as it was they were made bad enough.
No sooner had the new teacher appeared than Clara set to work to do everything in her power to make Edna appear to disadvantage, by all sorts of mean innuendoes, by sly hints, by even open charges, till the child was almost in tears over the state of affairs.
“I would just tell Miss Newman, so Iwould,” said Dorothy indignantly, when a specially mean speech of Clara’s came to her ears.
“Oh, but I couldn’t be a tattle-tale,” declared Edna.
“She’d better not say anything about you to me,” returned Dorothy. “She knows better than that. I’d tell her a thing or two.”
“If Uncle Justus knew, he would believe me and not Clara,” said Edna. “I don’t cheat in my lessons, and he knows I don’t, whatever Clara may say, and I’m not the one who sets the girls up to mischief, you know I’m not.”
“I know mighty well who it is,” declared Dorothy, “and if this keeps up I shall tell, so I shall.”
It did keep up till one morning the climax was reached when Miss Newman came into her school-room to find on the board a very good caricature of herself,with under it written: “Ugly, old Miss New,” in scrawling letters. Clara came into the school-room late, and slipped into her seat after the exercises had begun. Miss Newman left the drawing on the board and made no reference to it, using a smaller board for what was necessary. She was far less attractive than Miss Ashurst, and had a dry little way with her, which many of the girls thought oldmaidish, but she was a good teacher, if not a very beautiful one. When the girls returned from recess, in place of Miss Newman at the desk stood Mr. Horner, his eyes fairly snapping with indignation, and his eyebrows looking fiercer than ever.
“Oh,” whispered Dorothy, as she sank down into her seat by Edna’s side. The rest of the girls looked pale and awe-stricken. Never before had they any recollection of Mr. Horner’s coming intothe room. Offenders were sometimes sent to him in the larger room, but this was a new experience.
There was complete silence, while Mr. Horner looked from one to the other as if he would search their very hearts. Some of the girls returned his gaze pleadingly, some dropped their heads, Clara Adams, with a little smile of indifference, began to play with her pencil. Mr. Horner glared at her. “Put that down!” he said, and she dropped it, though still wearing her impertinent little smile. “I wish to know,” said Mr. Horner, “who was the first to arrive in this room this morning?”
“I was the last,” spoke up Clara.
“You were not asked that,” said Mr. Horner, turning upon her.
After quite a silence, Margaret arose. “I think I was the first, Mr. Horner,” she said, and then sat down again.
“There was no one in the room when you came?”
“No, Mr. Horner.”
“And was this on the board?” He pointed to the drawing.
“Yes, Mr. Horner.”
“You did not do it?”
“No, Mr. Horner,” then with a little catch of her breath, “I wouldn’t do such a mean thing, not for nothing.”
“Not for anything, I think you mean, Margaret,” said Mr. Horner in gentler tones.
“Not for anything,” repeated Margaret, meekly.
“Then, I shall have to ask each separately, and I expect a truthful answer,” said Mr. Horner. He began putting the question, going from one to the next till every girl in the room had been questioned.
“It might have been one of the oldergirls,” said Miss Newman, in an undertone to him.
Clara caught the words, as she was nearest. “I should think it would be very easy to know who did it,” she said, “when there is only one of us girls who stays in the house.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Mr. Horner severely.
Clara was not daunted. “I mean that there is only one girl who can come into the school-room before the others can get here.”
“Do you mean my niece? I should as soon think of suspecting Miss Newman herself.” He looked over at Edna with a little reassuring smile. “However, as we do not seem to be making much headway I shall take other means of finding out who did this very unladylike and unkind thing.” Then he gave them such a lecture as none of them forgot and ifthe G. R.’s did not have their motto brought home to them on that occasion they never did. Then Mr. Horner returned to his own school-room and Miss Newman called one of the girls to clean off the board.
Nothing further was said of the matter, and Miss Newman went on as if it had never happened; but one day the last of the week, the girls were asked to illustrate in pencil drawings a story from their history lesson.
“Oh, Miss Newman, I couldn’t possibly do it,” exclaimed Dorothy. “I don’t expect finished drawings,” she replied, “and you may even make them as humorous as you choose, but I want some little attempt, no matter how slight. Mr. Horner has asked that you do your best, and I shall expect you to hand in something beside blank paper.”
Dorothy and Edna both sighed.Neither one had the slightest idea of drawing and knew that their results would be absurd, but they labored away and finally with half deprecating, half amused expressions showed their drawings to one another. It was as much as they could do to keep from laughing outright, they were so very funny, but they signed their names in the corner as Miss Newman directed them to do, and handed them in. Then, Miss Newman took them into the next room. At the close of school, she said, “Mr. Horner wishes Clara Adams to stay after school; he wishes to see her about her drawing.”
Clara perked up and looked around with a little smirk. So she was the prize draughtsman, and she remained with a perfectly good grace. However, it was a very different looking Clara who was led into the room the next morning by Mr. Horner. Her eyes were swollen withcrying and she wore a rebellious expression when Mr. Horner announced, “Clara Adams wishes to make a public acknowledgment of her part in the rudeness directed against Miss Newman by the drawing you all saw on the board, and she will also make a public apology both to her teacher and to my niece.”
Clara murmured something unintelligible and burst into tears. The only words the girls could make out were “I did it.” It was the most terrible thing that had ever happened to any of them and Edna felt so sorry for the culprit that all resentment vanished altogether. She forgot entirely that she was included in the apology, if apology there was, and all morning she cast the most sympathetic looks across the room at Clara.
It came out later that the drawings were the proof of the child’s guilt, for they were done in the same style as thecaricature and because they were so much better than the rest it was evident that only Clara could have made the figure on the board. She had come very early, had slipped upstairs before anyone else and had gone out again to return later and thus hoped to avoid any suspicion. It happened, too, that Ellen saw her come in and go out again and this of course clinched the matter when she was brought face to face with the Irish girl who did not know her name but recognized the hat and coat she wore.
The affair made a great impression but somehow did not increase Miss Newman’s popularity, for the idea of the drawings was hers and Clara could not forgive her for the position into which she had forced her, therefore she lost no opportunity of making it as unpleasant for her teacher as she could in the thousand and one ways a sly and unprincipledgirl can, and her little pin-pricks were so annoying, that finally Dorothy and Edna, who had not particularly cared for the new teacher, began to stand up for her and to do as many kind things as they could. Perhaps the G. R. Club was mainly responsible for this, but at all events it made matters a little happier for the teacher.
As for Clara, Dorothy set her face against any sort of friendship with her, but it was not within Edna’s heart to be unkind to anyone, and she made up her mind that she would meet Clara half way if ever the chance came.
Uncle Justus never mentioned the affair of the caricature to her, but she knew he had never the slightest belief that she had done it and his open approval of her before the whole class was very much valued. She had won her way into the hearts of most of the girls,and there were only two or three of Clara’s most adoring adherents who still called her “a pet” and said she was at the bottom of all Clara’s trouble. This seemed a very strange way to look at it, but poor Clara was so blinded by jealousy and rage that she saw nothing in the right light. Edna wondered if she would ever cease to dislike her, and insisted to Dorothy that they ought to try to persuade her to come into the club. “You see,” she said, “if she could once find out what doing to others really means she maybe would get over all her hatefulness. Mother thinks so, and I’m not going to give up being nice to her if I get a chance.”
“Well, you don’t catch me,” returned Dorothy. “I don’t want to go with such a horrid story-teller as she is. I shouldn’t think you would, either.”
Edna said not a word, but still hoped.